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bg-sparrow · 7 months ago

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Introduction

Hi! I'm Erica (BG), and I write fan fiction! I've been writing fic since 2004, and you can find me on AO3 and FFN! As you might have gleaned, I predominantly write Back to the Future fanfic, but I have written for many fandoms over the years!

Side Blogs

This is my main blog, but I have side blogs, too.

@juneofdoom - an annual whump challenge I host because some friends were sad another whump challenge wasn't happening, so I made them a list. Obviously it snowballed.

@piratepianist - Moodboard blog. Colors make me happy, and I express that best through moodboards since I can't draw.

@nopinestimeline - a sideblog I made for my version of Evil!Marty

@bgsbracelets - Thanks to the #bttfbff friendship bracelet exchange, I've gotten so into bracelet making that I'm giving my creations their own sideblog while I set up an Etsy store. This is still very under construction, but if you want to see all the fun fandom bracelets I make, give me a follow!

The Heaviest Back to the Future Trilogy Test

The amount of knowledge I've compiled in researching BttF media for a trilogy rewrite is beyond extensive, and I decided to put some of it to use in this BttF quiz that is actually challenging compared to every other BttF quiz I've ever taken. Have a go! Good luck!

Back to the Future Fan Fiction

Series:

The Time Circuits Series - a trilogy rewrite featuring my OC, Emma Brown, as Doc's daughter and Marty's love interest. This sucker took nine years, but, five works and 273,000 words later, it's done!

Once Upon a Time in the West Series - my version of the "stuck in 1885" AU where Marty's depression and association with Buford Tannen are explored. This four-work saga clocks in at 64,000 words and is now complete.

The Boy Who Leapt Through Time Series - my ongoing McFly July drabble collection.

The Meta of Marty McFly - originally made for the June of Doom whump challenge, this series is an ongoing foray into the ridiculous world of self-insert where I brainstorm fic ideas/ vent at/ torment Marty in my imaginary, infinite office building. It's utter nonsense, and that's why I adore it.

Bhagavad Gita Duology - a history-heavy look at Doc's time on the Manhattan Project, the toll it takes on him, and the mysterious "friend" there at every turn. These two completed stories come in at just under 17,000 words, and they are 17,000 of some of my best, IMO.

BG's Back to the Future Drabbles

This AO3 collection houses all of my bite-sized BttF moments from various challenges on Tumblr and Discord.

The Boy Who Leapt Through Time - McFly July 2022

The Man from the Future - Doctober 2022

In a Kingdom Far, Far Away - Friendship February 2023

The Boy Who Leapt Through Time Again - McFly July 2023

The Boy Who Leapt Through Time Yet Again - McFly July 2021

The Man Who Traveled Time - Doctober 2023

Stand There and Bleed - Whumpril 2024

Multi-chapter

Let's Do the Time Warp Again - Marty's past self gets jumped by Biff's gang at the dance, and Marty has no choice but replace himself at the clocktower, creating a time loop.

Sons and Scientists - an AU in which Marty, stranded in 1940s and living with Doc in Los Alamos, gets drafted into service and there's nothing Doc can do about it. This one hurts, guys. I'm warning you.

By Accident or Design - my version of "the duel goes wrong." This one also hurts. A third and final chapter is being entertained but not certain at this time.

Pennies from Heaven - an Elf/BttF crackfic for Discord Secret Santa 2022. I'm not gonna lie, I had a blast with this, and I'm hella proud of how it turned out. Just go with it!

One Shots

A Fracture in the Space-time Continuum - a sickfic/ injury fic with so much Doc and Marty friendship it's a wonder it hasn't exploded yet. Also affectionately refered to as "Broken Leg Marty".

The Manner of Giving - a 5+1 fic in which Marty tries and fails five times to give Doc a gift (and one time he succeeds).

There's a Time and a Place - No Pine Marty's debut one shot, in which he tells the terrorists where to find Doc the night of the DeLorean Reveal.

Midnight Hour - No Pines Marty visits George in the dead of night to convince him to take Lorraine to the dance.

Stuck in the Stuck in 1885 AU - a silly meta glimpse in which two different Martys from two different “stuck in 1885” stories — daryfromthefuture’s “Until I Get Home” and BG Sparrow’s “Once Upon a Time in the West” — are locked in a room together by their authors to air their grievances. Art by Dary!

Survival is Insufficient

Time Trap

Crime Traveller

The Mystery of the Missing McFly

Roleplays with @daryfromthefuture

These beloved fics feature Dary as Marty and myself as Doc in wholesome, angsty friendship/ sick fics. :)

Lean on Me (When You're Not Strong) - The masterpiece that is Doc seeing Marty through scarlet fever in 1885.

I'll Be There For You (Like I've Been There Before) - Marty glitches, objects at Doc and Clara's wedding, and has a heart-to-heart with Doc about his fears for their future.

I'm Only Me When I'm With You - 1955 sickfic!

Collaborations

Friends Through Time(lines): Chapter 6 - Judge Doc Brown is on the verge of retirment when he meets the child genius renting his garage for the last eighteen months.

Stuck Through Time(lines): 1950s - some first-person Marty reflection on what he's going to do now that he's irrevocably stranded in 1955.

History's Gonna Change: Titanic - Doc and Marty somehow prevent a major historical event from happening and have to ensure it does. I picked the Titanic not sinking!

Back to the Future: Discord - a blind writing game irresponsibly played by the members of our Discord server.

Challenge Masterlists

McFly July 2023

McFly July 2021

Sicktember 2023

Doctober 2023

Comfortember 2023

Whumpril 2024

June of Doom 2024

McFly July 2024

August of Whump 2024 (The Blacklist)

Notable Works in Other Fandoms

Pirates of the Caribbean

Principles of Compromise - Rated T, 64K, drama, Sparrabeth

The Captain - Rated G, 8K, pre-canon Norribeth friendship fluff

Unprecedented Youth - Rated G, 10K, humor, found family

Iron Man (MCU)

These are all Pepperony (Tony/Pepper) and all rated T.

What to Expect When She's Expecting - 4K, pregnancy fic

Extra Dry, Extra Olive - 2K, Tony returns to the roof

For a Decade - 8K, drunken humor/ fluff

Of Toothpaste and Pancakes - 5K, food fight humor/ fluff

Star Wars (Sequel Trilogy)

A Mercy, Tolerant - Rated T, 1200 words, Reylo AU after TFA

Free Space - Rated T, 5K, Reylo bingo card drabbles

National Treasure - Another Clue (Riley/OC, sequel incomplete) Mary Poppins - Under the Weather (sickfic fluff) Jurassic World - Perignon & Paleobotany (pre-canon Claire/Owen) Copying Beethoven - Vibrations on the Air (Anna/Beethoven) Station Eleven - The Pursuit (Kirsten/Tyler) Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - As Promised (Major Character Death) The Blacklist - Somewhere Beyond the Sea (Keenler, Undercover Cruise Fic)

BONUS: Multi-Fandom - FFHQ (currently featuring Pirates of the Caribbean, Iron Man, BBC Sherlock, Game of Thrones, Doctor Who, and the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy)

A lot of my older/ other fandom fics on FFN are in the process of being edited for AO3 and will be posted here when that happens!

Thanks for stopping by! And don't be a stranger - feel free to reach out! Have an awesome day! :D

#masterpost #intro post #blog intro #fan fiction #fanfic

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exy-shmexy · 2 years ago

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Top 5 vs Personal 5

List your top 5 fics ranked by kudos on AO3. are you surprised by what's most popular to your readers? then provide your ranking of your personal top 5 fics, and tag a few fellow writers!

Thank you so much for the tag @fortheloveofexy <3

Tagging @halfpintpeach @brokenpinetree @desolatebee

One thing I want to say first is that I am so grateful for all the friends I have made thanks to all these fics. I have met some incredible people who supported me and offered me much-needed feedback when I needed it most so to each of you, thank you for absolutely everything.

TOP 5 (by Kudos)

Patchwork (2.3k, Andreil)

In this one, Andrew lets a bored Neil doodle on his legs, then decides to keep a permanent trace of it. I'm not gonna lie, I'm very surprised this is my number one. I love it dearly, mostly because it's basically just fluff and I'm a massive sucker for fluffy fics, but the fact it's ranking so high is funny to me. It's a little guy, but one I was very happy with in the end.

2. Of Detention and Passing Notes (7.2k, Andreil)

This one started off as a very silly tweet I posted about a High School AU where Neil meets Andrew in detention and bugs him by tossing paper notes on his desk. I had an absolute blast writing it! It's one of my first long-ish one shots so I was very happy with it at the time. Also I had to ask several people about actually getting into detention because I was too scared to get in trouble back in my high school days.

3. On The Road (1.8k, Andreil)

This is basically Neil getting horny while the team is on their way to an away game. I uh don't know what madness took over my brain for this one but you know what? It was fun to write c:

4. Let Our Hearts Do Their Part (8.1k, Andreil)

This... is not what it was originally supposed to be lmao I'm happy with it, but my brain kinda decided to go in a completely different direction than what I originally wanted, which is fine! Sometimes you have a plan but then along the way your idea strays away from it and another sprouts in its place.

5. As It Was (3k, Andreil)

Oof that's the very first fic I wrote for AFTG. It's a sick fic in which Neil gets the flu, is stubborn about it, so Andrew comes back to PSU to take care of him. I really like it, still now. I was sick myself when I wrote it and pretty mad about it so that was a good way to vent lol

PERSONAL 5

Paw and Order (ongoing currently 22k, Andreil)

This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. This Cat Cafe AU has my entire heart, I absolutely love it and it is just so comforting to write. I have two chapters left to write for it and I'm excited to mark it as completed when the time comes for it although I will probably be sad about it because I just seriously love this silly thing so much.

TW for the paragraph below: mental health, depression, loneliness

Since this post is about being open about your writing, I have to admit that the first two chapters are very heavy on the angst because I was in a similar kind of mood as Andrew is in the beginning of this fic. I tend to get very lost in my own head, and it usually ends up in me feeling very lonely because my brain is great like that. Being able to project on Andrew (sorry my guy) was very helpful at the time. Me being me though, the next chapters get fluffier because even though I try to pretend that I'm a tough emo person, I'm secretly a softie but don't tell anyone. So yeah, this AU will forever have my heart.

2. Querencia (11k, Andreil)

Aw man okay another one I loved working on. To no one's surprise, this is also a very fluffy boy. Neil and Andrew go on a road trip together. This fic has a special place in my heart too for lots of reasons.

3. Snow Angels (1.6k, Aaron)

Listen, we've barely had snow over here. One morning I saw that one video of a dad teaching his kid how to do snow angels, and my brain ran with the idea. It's centered around Aaron because I just know he is the most amazing dad to his twin daughters. Also, they have a puppy.

4. Le Corbeau et le Renard (ongoing currently 40k, all the Foxes)

Basically everything is the same except Ichirou forces Jean to join the Foxes instead of the Trojans after TKM. I have SUCH a love-hate relationship with this fic. I think I was onto something when the idea popped into my brain, but as soon as I sit down to write it my brain just turns off. I like writing about Jean and his relationship with the Foxes, also all the tiny subplots sprinkled in-between, but sometimes I think I was perhaps a bit too ambitious.

Anyway, all of this to say I need to tame this beast and get back to it after I'm done with Paw and Order.

5. Licorice (1k, Andreil)

It's kinda funny because now that I thought about Patchwork again, these two have very similar vibes. I guess I just have a thing for Andreil, being alone in their dorm and some non-sexual intimacy.

#if you read all of this kudos to you I will forever admire you #the way I just decided to ramble on and on #but it was fun!#aftg #aftg fic

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rena-mariefanfiction · 8 months ago

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Ramble, Ramble (5/13)

So, while I was having my mini-vacation (read: brain ick), I tried to read fanfiction to unwind and I found two different Fanfiction Culture things that I wasn't aware existed! And that I'm kind of unsure how to process, like, "huh?"

This is just screaming into the void because I was told that venting is healthy. So *aggressively shrugs* you definitely don't have to read this. Lol.

1) Comment Drama

So, apparently some authors set a minimum comment count for each chapter, then refuse to release the next one until it's met. This is stuff that I heard about when I was on FF.Net, like a decade ago, but never saw in person. I thought it was an urban myth or a fanfiction Arthurian legend. But nope, it's a thing. And, concerningly, it's a thing in modern times.

I went back through my private bookmarks and wanted to read a darkfic to purge emotionally and found that it didn't exist anymore. Not because it'd been deleted, but because the author hid it in an unrevealed collection. Okay, odd, but happens all the time. At least it isn't permanently gone. So I went to the author's page and found that most of their library was gone. Okay, really odd.

All of their remaining works are marked "complete", which is alarming because they had several WIPs last I checked. I delved into the last chapter on one of the fics and found that there was some drama going on. Oh, so very much drama.

They'd apparently set a comment requirement on releasing the next chapter of one of their fics. And it was a pretty high number, from what I can gather. When one of the commenters pointed out that it felt like punishing regular readers to hold the chapter hostage, the author upped it to a MINIMUM of 100 comments. That's... wow.

Next. Level. Petty.

When even more people got upset, the author had a meltdown. They hid all of their completed works, marked all of their WIP stuff "complete", and will only email chapters to people who have commented before. The last chapter of the work in question was also stripped of all text, which was replaced with "Removed. Removed. Removed." They also implied that casual readers are essentially parasites living off of their goodwill. Like, what?

What's wild is that this author averaged about 30+ comments per chapter. That's so many! In what world is that not enough?!

I just... it rubbed me the wrong way, I guess. I felt like the author was ungrateful for what they had. The fandoms that they're in are very large and very active. Some fandoms predate the internet, are dying, or obscure; they get low traffic. There are writers on AO3 that write for tiny niches, with tens of views per chapter, and they never complain about it. Never.

This is all said with the self-awareness that I average a lot of comments for a new(ish) writer, BTW. I'm lucky enough to have quite a few vocal and outspoken people word-vomit (said lovingly) into my inbox every chapter. And it's nice. It's wonderful. It's gratifying. But I'd probably be doing the same thing even with no comments because I love writing my stories with all of my shriveled heart.

The bottom line is this: don't ever feel pressured to comment on my works. I enjoy them, and I try to respond to each and every one, but there should never be any requirement for readers to put themselves in an uncomfortable position while engaging in a hobby. That said, if you enjoy something, comments are ALWAYS appreciated even after years on seemingly abandoned projects. Every author on AO3 does a happy dance when they open their inbox.

Needless to say, my mind was blown from seeing all this. I had to stop and think about it for a hot minute.

:.:

2) Pro-Ship vs Anti-Ship

Purity culture strikes again! Not my beloved smutty fanfiction!

So, this is a thing? Apparently?! Are we seriously having this discussion in 2024? I didn't realize that this was quietly gaining traction until I saw something about it on Reddit.

From what I've gathered, there seems to be a spectrum - and please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong - between the two extremes of this debate. Pro-ship seems to be generally from a "I stan darkfics and only read them" to a "you can read/support whatever you want, no matter how problematic, because I don't have to support it personally". Don't Like, Don't Read, if you will. Anti-ship exists in a state of flux between "I don't support works that I personally consider problematic" and "I believe that we should completely censor works that I personally consider problematic".

There are certain types of fanfictions that I don't particularly care for, even as somebody with pretty wide-ranging tastes. But I make do. AO3 has these cool things called "filters" that I apply liberally.

Anyway...

There was an "Anti" in the comments section of a much-beloved fic going absolutely feral because there was an age gap between two characters of ten years. Never mind that the characters in question were 43 and 33. Lol. It was honestly trippy to read.

They straight up told the creator (it was an Orphan_Account work) to delete it because it was encouraging pedophilia. And when asked why by another commenter, they said, "because she would've been an adult when he turned 8". That's how math works. Congrats, you've discovered basic arithmetic. But they're consenting adults now, when they got together, so why should it matter? "One of them was a child once so this is pedophilia" is an interesting argument. I'm not sure I follow the logic, though.

Like, there are actual moral debates to be had about some of the stuff that exists on AO3, but this particular age gap is what sets you off? "Age gap" was clearly tagged, yet you clicked anyway. Okay, babes. Stay classy up there on your soapbox.

Are we having the morals debate over FICTION where mass censoring is brought up as a solution? That's intriguing. Cool. Not worrying at all.

For the record, I write "problematic" content sometimes. Oops. Sorry, not sorry.

#ao3 writer #ao3 #ramblings #vent post

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altcvnningham · 4 years ago

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strings | johnny silverhand

summary: a storm passes through night city, but it isn't that which wakes her. it's the soft sound of guitar strings, being plucked by chrome fingers.

words: 1280

pairing: johnny silverhand / fem v (my v vana, but i avoid physical description, so read the name as whatever you like!!)

content: fluff, mild angst, Yearning™️, johnny plays guitar and it's rly therapeutic

warnings: SPOILERS, death mention, johnny shuts up for once so maybe mildly ooc, idk how guitars work

misc: soooo after listening to this on loop for the last forever, i just needed to vent and get this outta my system. i do use my v's name (vana) in this, but there's no physical description of her, so feel free to imagine v as your own!! also, it's been almost 4 years since i've officially posted any of my writing online, so while this is a little rough and not as detailed as i'd usually like, please be kind, and please enjoy!! (also ao3 link soon maybe but i'm lazy)

***

V doesn’t know what day it is when she awakes, but she does so to the quiet twang of guitar strings.

The metal blinds slide open, aware of her waking, and the morning spills into the room, dim and grey. Rain patters against the glass, and V, with her eyes still closed, curls deeper into the bedsheets to fend off the cold, away from the light towards the dark shelter of the wall. Night City can wait. She’ll enjoy this strange, soft music while it lasts.

Fingers pluck on quietly, nary a breath nor sigh to indicate the person playing. It’s a somber melody, a blue tune teased with the vague, cruel implication of hope, heartbreak, contentment. There‘s something in the way the music seems to move around the room and still the world, something timeless and calm yet so tenderly desperate about it- she feels sad and happy all at once, and suddenly, to be alive- to be dying- seems... a simple, given, painfully temporary thing. It’s a sweet, naïve tune. A fool’s song.

It cuts short.

Razor-sharp static screams in search for a signal. The strumming abruptly stops in response. The radio. It’s automated to switch on when she wakes up.

Then comes a final telltale sigh from the foot of her bed, as some garish pop song resonates brokenly through white noise. Must be a storm, she thinks. Howling wind outside her window confirms it.

A weight rises from the mattress- one that wasn’t there the night before, and V furrows her brows, braving the daylight and turning onto her side to see the figure lifting from the bed.

Chrome fingers curl around the neck of the cheap electric guitar as they prop the instrument back against the bed. A swelling ache closes around Vana’s chest. Loneliness. Separated from him by inches. Feeling without the one bound to the inside of her skull- it's agony.

Johnny. He crosses the room towards the radio in an aimless stride, and he staggers, tired. Vana briefly wonders- occupying her maddened, longing mind with something else- if he’s even capable of feeling that way, or if it’s her own waking lethargy that he feels, that clings to him. It’s usually like that with most things. And he switches the radio off, back arched downwards to reach it. Static finally turns to silence. She sees the thick lock of hair hanging in his eyes, and how he moves it with a careless jerk of his head before sauntering back to the bed again; peculiarly, he’s not wearing the bulletproof vest over his Samurai tank- the projection of the exact same faded shirt she wears now- and without the seemingly invincible façade, he almost looks... normal. Himself, maybe. Of course, when he descends back down to the end of the bed again, the blue glitched fragments of his engram form give him away. Yet somehow, unlike most times, seeing it puts her mind at ease. Not dreaming, at least.

With his back to her, Johnny picks the guitar back up and slings it weightlessly over his knee again. Out of thin air, he materialises a cigarette in his mouth, which wavers absentmindedly between pursed lips as he tunes the guitar and tests each string; Vana watches and remains completely still in her warm, blanket cocoon, not intent on interrupting this rare moment of peace. The rain drums on smoothly. Johnny pauses to pull the cigarette from his mouth. Exhale. Smoke joins in dancing alongside dust motes around the room, and Vana is happy to be alive today.

Johnny adjusts a silver ring on a flesh finger before touching the guitar’s strings again. He hesitates, stops, then straightens himself out before strumming the first note.

And then, it’s as if he loses himself to it- effortlessly playing that same melancholy tune from before without fault, without a sliver of uncertainty. His ‘ganic hand glides along each string with meticulous ease, metal fingers sliding and spreading along each fret, and the bleak light of the storm glints off of each chrome knuckle as he coaxes the music out to fill the quiet. And it's just this. The way in which he messily perfects such a common, mundane art. An ageless, timeless thing. No ugly, restless hand of Night City can snatch this away from her. The way his wrist flicks back with each note, how his hair crowds his face again as he nods slowly along, the heel he fails to notice he’s tapping in rhythm on the floor. For a moment, Johnny Silverhand’s real name lingers like a song in the back of her mind, as distant and unknown as this one, and she wonders if the person at the foot of her bed is him, that fragmented man lost in time.

Alt had said that Soulkiller does exactly by its name, that the soul dies the moment the consciousness is extracted. But watching him now, Vana refuses to believe that the glitched apparition at the foot of her bed is void of that, that same soul that inhabited the real Johnny Silverhand, that this engram isn’t as tangible and complex and real and feeling as she herself is. This projection of him, an amalgamation of every conscious want, need, thought and whim of a man who once existed- and this projection, he wakes up before her, on a morning as cold and grey and miserable as this, and plays a song for no discernible reason at all other than simply wanting to. Feeling like it.

No soul. She could weep- there's soul in every string.

Vana jostles free of the blanket and pushes herself forward, shifting to her knees. Johnny’s old dogtags, a relic of his past that dangle around her neck, clink together with each steady movement she makes towards him- terrified he’d stop playing for even a second- and she sits cross-legged behind him, facing the slender, flexing muscles of his back as he strums. She hugs herself, cold, shivering. He keeps playing. It’s bliss. She’s overcome with a sudden indescribable fondness, so much so that were she any braver in her vulnerability, any kinder to her feeling self, she’d let it bring a tear to her eye.

But Vana can only muster turning her head to the side, and resting her lonely cheek against the center of his back, desperate to feel every single breath that comes and leaves his vague, digital body. Perhaps it’s her own warmth she feels, reflecting back at her from Johnny’s feelings and senses, but she swears she feels him, hot beneath her cheek as though he were flesh and blood. The illusion is just enough that she doesn’t slip through him entirely. Perhaps, this will simply do.

Yes... fleeting as it is, as all things are, this moment is just... okay.

The song ends. Johnny plucks the final string. The chord fades out into a low, droning hum, until all that’s left is the rain on the window, the torrid rolling of the storm, and his calm, firm breaths, moving against her.

She forgets she's dying. And she would happily fall asleep again, right here, with the very thing that kills her, drinking in the song he’s let steep in the silence around them. But he slowly lowers the guitar, his body shifting beneath Vana’s unflinching cheek. Eyes fluttering shut once more, she feels him twist as he turns around, and how he catches her body in slacked repose, and finally- almost as if he wants to, as if he cares- the tangled threading of cold, metal fingers through her hair, towing her under the dark dwelling of sleep once more.

“I got you.”

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casifer-is-king · 4 years ago

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Private Investigator

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rated: T

Warnings: some language, infidelity.

A/N: This is my first piece of writing in like five years.... I'm gonna warn everyone right now that this is probably not great hahaha. But it was impossible for me to get this idea out of my head and once I started writing it just kind of kept going.... And since it's all written out now, I might as well post it. So if you read this, thank you so very much 🥺💜 This is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

You always gave your husband the benefit of the doubt. Even when all of your friends warned you about their suspicions. So, when it came down to you telling them you weren't going to confront him about anything without proof, they took it to heart and got planning.

That is how you found yourself in a crowded coffee shop during the lunch rush. Your two best friends, Ashley and Erin, sit across from you as you all wait for the Private Investigator that they had found who knows where. Supposedly, though, he was very qualified. And prompt, you noted, as the man you assumed was here to meet you walked up to your table three minutes before the appointed time.

"You must be my 12:30 meeting?" he asks."I'm Frankie Morales."

"It's nice to meet you," Ashley speaks up, then goes around introducing you all.

Frankie shakes hands with each of you before taking the empty seat next to you. In the crowded room, his chair is set close to your side and you can feel the heat of his body next to yours. He's definitely a cute guy you notice, in a rough, outdoorsy kind of way. His hair curls out from under a worn baseball cap and his facial hair is scruffy, but kept short with a patch along his jaw that doesn't seem to grow.

“So how can I help you ladies?” he asks.

“Well it's really for our friend here,” Erin states, gesturing to you. “It's her husband. We are pretty certain he's cheating on her.”

Frankie glances over at you. “Pretty certain, huh?” he asks as the waitress brings a cup of coffee over and places it in front of him. You find yourself suddenly distracted as he tears open two sugar packets with long, deft fingers, then picks up the spoon to stir it in.

Realizing that he's probably waiting for an answer, you feel yourself blush faintly. “They are pretty certain. I just want to be sure either way. I don't have any specific proof that he's cheating,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from his hands. He's thoughtlessly twisting the spoon between his index finger and thumb. It's somehow entrancing, the way his fingers move.

“But he's definitely pretty shady,” Ashley steps in. “Suddenly he's working long hours at work, coming home late from the bars and claiming he's with his friends. Plus when is the last time he even took you out?”

The question is pointed at you, but you ignore it by looking into your tea cup instead. It had been months since the two of you had gone on a real date. It's something you both enjoyed a lot in the early years of your relationship - going out to a new restaurant every weekend and ordering three course meals just for the fun of it.

"Yeah, I see this shit all the time," he assures, saving you from having to answer. "If he's doing anything he shouldn't be, I'll find out."

Your friends and him discuss his rates and when payment is due before they rush off, both having to get back to work.

"Did you have to get going too?" Frankie asks you when it's just the two of you left at the table.

"Not yet," you reply.

"That's good." He ducks his head a little so you can't see his eyes anymore, "I was wondering if I could ask a few more questions. Like about your husband's schedule and where he likes to spend his time."

“Of course. He works at an architecture company downtown. It used to be a Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 type of job. But the past few months he's been working late, sometimes he's even going in on Saturdays. Says it's some big project and he's expecting a promotion by the end of it.”

Frankie takes note of your husband's workplace on one of the tiny napkins. When he sees that you're watching him, he ducks his eyes from view again. “Forgot my notebook,” he says sheepishly.

You crack a smile at his embarrassment, but don't say anything, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. You continue on like nothing happened. “He goes out with his friends a lot, but he's always been that way. I stopped going with him a while ago. He said it brings their team spirit down when he always has to explain the game to me.”

“Not big into sports?” Frankie asks, and you can detect a bit of teasing in his tone.

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh openly.

Frankie makes a little bullet point on his napkin and writes, ‘X sports,’ on it. “Any specific places your husband goes to watch the games?”

“Usually Sally's, over on 7th street,” you provide.

“Yeah, I know it. They do the karaoke after the game,” Frankie states nonchalantly.

“Yes! That's why we agreed on that bar. I'm a sucker for bad karaoke,” you laugh.

“You should see my friend Pope after he gets a few drinks in him,” Frankie chuckled. “Man can't even sing when he's sober, let alone drunk off his ass.”

“Those are just the best performances, though,” you say with a smile.

“It's definitely something,” Frankie nods with a snort.

Your phone chimes an alarm, alerting you off your next meeting you need to get to. "I'm sorry, I actually do have to go now," you apologize, actually feeling sorry that you had to leave this conversation. Frankie is easy to talk to, and an attentive listener.

"Oh, right. Well maybe I could get your number? Ya know, just in case I have any other questions as I go?" Frankie asks quietly, dipping his head again and fiddling with his long-empty coffee cup.

"Of course!" You agree readily, taking his offered phone and adding your details into his contacts. "And thank you again for doing this. It may end up being nothing, but my friends are very overzealous."

"It's not a problem. Just doing my job. I'll let you know what I come up with either way," Frankie replies with a small smile.

As you walk out together, he holds the door open for you and your turn to him once you both come out onto the sidewalk. "Does it often end up ending well? For people you've looked into in the past..." you ask.

Frankie squints a little and his eyes show flecks of warm caramel in the sunshine. "Not often," he replies finally.

You nod, your heart dropping faintly. His honesty is appreciated though, so you grace him with a small smile. "Thank you again."

You don't hear from Frankie for the next few days, but you do think of him. Especially any time your husband does something that makes your gut do that little tug of dread.

It's five days later that you get a text.

Game night tonight. Did your husband happen to say if he was going out? Frankie asks.

You reply maybe a bit too quickly, of course he is. He's leaving here soon to meet up with the guys.

You feel a little less self conscious when it's barely a second later and Frankie is already typing back. Well let's hope that's where he'll actually be.

He'd never miss a game XD, you reply. Sports are like religion to those guys. So you get to just go to the bar and watch them watch the game? Sounds fun hah.

No one ever said it was a glamorous job, Frankie sends back. But it's always a perk when I can drink and watch some football while I'm at it.

You send back some laughing emojis, and set your phone down to heat up some dinner.

Your husband sweeps through the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket. “I'm meeting the guys now,” he says.

“Ok, have a good time,” you reply, turning to face him. He nods, pulling on a hat. “I love you.”

“You too,” he replies briskly, dropping a faint kiss on your forehead and walking out the door.

You sigh, plating your food and wandering back to the living room to watch something on TV while you ate.

Your phone flashes a notification and you look down to see Frankie had sent another text.

How have you been doing? He asks.

As well as can be expected, you text back.

Try not to stress too much. I'll let you know if I find anything out, he replies.

It makes you smile, even if you know there's no way you'll stop stressing at this point.

The weeks went by and texts from Frankie became more frequent. He'd ask a few questions about your husband, then branch off into asking about your day. Those conversations then opened up to you both telling stories about your jobs, which would lead to talking about other aspects of your life. You talked a lot about your pasts - he tells you about how he grew up, some funny and interesting stories from his time in Delta Force, and about his best friend's MMA fights.

You tell him about your family, tell him stories about all the ridiculous people you come across at your job, and do a lot of venting about your crumbling marriage and husband.

You feel bad every time you bring it up, but it's always so much easier to talk to Frankie than it is even Ashley and Erin. At least with him, each of your concerns weren't met with a look of pity and “I told you so,” retort.

The marriage has been spiraling for several months now, and maybe hiring a private investigator was the push you needed to really bring the issues to light. You noticed more often when your husband chose to spend nights out “with the guys” and when he'd go into the other room to check his phone. And when you finally point out the lack of time he spends with you anymore, he gets automatically defensive.

You felt alone in your relationship and it was starting to make you feel bitter. He was definitely hiding something, and you trusted that Frankie would find out for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had been working this job for a few weeks now. He'd worked a ton of infidelity investigations since he'd lost his pilot license and finally got clean. But this one was different. He wasn't sure what drew him to her, but he couldn't help but want to know her.

Was it professional to text your client every day asking her if Sally from the overnight shift left a pile of work behind for her to deal with for the fourth day in a row? Probably not. But that didn't stop him from trying to glean any little piece of information about her that he could.

He kept it friendly, though, trying not to cross farther from that line between client and something more. But she was a sweet woman, and she had seemed so quiet at that first meeting in the coffee shop. And sad. Like she didn't want to get caught up in the things her friends were saying, but somewhere deep down knew what they were saying was true.

And, dammit, Frankie always had a soft spot for sweet, sad women.

Which is why he is spending his seventh night in a row sitting in his car across the street from her husband's workplace. During their earlier conversation she had mentioned that her husband claimed he was working late tonight. But in the weeks that Frankie had been on this case, the man never worked late once.

Right on time, his target exited the building. He was not alone this time, though, having his arm around a brunette that Frankie recognized as one of his co-workers that he had gone to lunch with a couple times.

Frankie snapped a few pictures of them together, the target’s arm pulling the brunette closer than appropriate, in Frankie's opinion. They both got into his car and Frankie began to follow behind.

Just as they parked at some restaurant across town, Frankie's phone rings and Benny's name lights up the screen.

“Hey,” Frankie greets.

“Dude, where are you?” Benny asks, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual.

“I'm working,” Frankie replied, keeping a close watch as his target is sat conveniently at a window table.

“Come on, Fish, it's Friday night! Will and I are already at the bar drinking.”

Frankie checks the clock and scoffs a bit when he sees it's only 1830. “Sorry, Benny, but I have to work late tonight.”

“You make your own hours. Isn't that why you chose that damned job? So you can decide when you do and don't work. So just decide you can't work tonight and get your ass over here!” Benny all but whines. “What's the deal with this case, Fish? I thought it was a simple cheating husband. You're not usually so obsessive over these ones.”

And leave it to Benny to call him out on his abnormal behavior. “I'm gonna close this case tonight, I have a feeling. Sorry, brother, but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon for practice,” Frankie placates his best friend.

“Sure, ok man. See ya then,” Benny finally gives in.

It's another boring hour of staring at his target before they are finally on the move again. Back to what Frankie assumes is the brunette's house, where they both go inside and Frankie adjusts himself in his seat to find a comfy position for the foreseeable future.

It's another two hours later when the door finally opens and Frankie scrambles to get his camera up, keeping his head down. He hopes for a little luck and is rewarded when both parties enter the doorway and embrace with a final, passionate kiss.

Frankie's camera keeps clicking away, even as his anger continues to rise. He has to hold himself back from throwing himself out of the car and punching his target in the face. He wants to know why her husband would bother with another woman when he has her at home waiting. Wants to know why her husband would throw away everything he has with the sweet woman who was so trusting at the start of all this. But that would definitely be crossing a line, and Frankie has never felt the need to go that far before. So he reins himself and waits until the target has driven away and the brunette has closed the door behind her, before he drives home himself to develop the pictures and complete his paperwork.

Developing pictures at home can be time consuming, but Frankie usually finds comfort in the task. It's a hobby he took up to distract himself from his cravings, and the darkroom usually brings him comfort after particularly stressful days. Tonight, though, watching these images fade onto the photo paper, he is angry. He knows this news is going to crush her, regardless of her suspicions. And while this is usually the case with clients, Frankie isn't sure that he could handle it if you broke down in front of him as some women have in the past.

He's learned so much about her in the past few weeks, from her favorite color to her favorite song when she was 10, and all of these things have endeared her to him in a way no other person has before. And he's opened up to her in return; in a way he hasn't any other woman in his past. But she makes it easy.

It's late when Frankie has finished compiling the file, so he decides not to text her yet and strips down for bed and drifts off, hoping for at least a few hours of restful, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got a text from Frankie late the next morning, hey, dulzura. What are your plans today?

Finally my day off lol, you text back.

Think you could pencil me into your busy schedule? Say in an hour?

Frankie had yet to schedule another meeting, opting to ask any questions he had between texts about their days. With a sinking feeling, you quickly type out, definitely. How about the same café as before?

Sounds good. I'll see you then.

You got ready with a sense of dread. You knew that this meant Frankie had found something. There was that small chance that he came up with nothing in these past few weeks, but the more realistic side of you knew how this would end.

The drive to the coffee shop was short, and the parking lot was thankfully much less crowded than last time. Walking in, you spotted Frankie right away at the same table by the windows. You placed your order before heading over to the table. He was stirring a cup of coffee again, but quickly turned his whole focus toward you as you sag across from him.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Frankie asked. “Your friends couldn't make it?”

“I'm good. It's nice to see you again,” you answered. “I actually didn't tell them. I kinda wanted to find out the truth privately. I'll tell them as soon as I've processed whatever you have to tell me. I'm assuming that's why you wanted to meet? You found what we were looking for?”

Frankie's hand moves to the back of his neck as he gives a slow nod. He pulls a yellow envelope from the chair next to him and places it on the table between you. “Yeah. I have some pictures here.”

You begin to reach out, but stop short before touching the folder. You know if you look now, in the middle of this café, you'll just break down when you see the proof of your husband's affair.

“Please just tell me,” you implore, eyes looking up, but not quite reaching his.

Frankie is quiet for a moment, studying you with his chocolate eyes. Finally he lets out a short sigh and responds, “Andrew's having an affair with a coworker. Looks like it's been around five months.”

The news hits you directly in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Knowing it was likely that he was cheating and having picture proof of it are two different things. You feel like it shouldn't hurt this much, but can't help the way your body collapses into itself.

“I know it's not the news you wanted,” Frankie starts, but you cut him off.

“No, but it's what I needed to know. So thank you. I appreciate all the work you put into it. I'm really sorry, but Ashley just went out of town and she won't be back for two weeks. I can get Erin's half of your fee, then get the rest as soon as Ash is back.” You quickly switch to the business end of the meeting, hoping to delay having to come to terms with this new information.

Frankie looks a little whiplashed at the sudden change in topic, but catches up quickly. “It's really not a big deal. I'm not too worried about two weeks. How about we just meet up again once you all have everything together. No stress.”

His hands are fiddling with his coffee cup again, and you focus on them as one index finger absently caresses the handle of the cup, the thumb of his other hand moving up and down the opposite side of it. You're caught off guard again by the movement of his fingers. It's sensual, how his large hands and long fingers massage the warm ceramic.

You're distracted from your observation of those hands when the barista sets your to-go tea in front of you. Finally looking up again, you see Frankie's brows have pinched together, forming a little worry line between them.

“I'll get it to you as soon as possible,” you finally fall back into conversation.

“That's fine. Really, don't stress about it,” Frankie reiterates.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask softly after a brief pause.

“Of course, hermosa.”

“Why did you become a private investigator?”

The question catches Frankie off guard for a second time; you can tell by the subtle widening of his eyes followed by a brief knitting of his brows. Then he quickly hides his eyes behind the bill of his baseball cap, feigning stirring his coffee a couple times. Not used to being able to see his face when the two of you have conversations, you realized he's actually quite expressive. He must know it too, because you note his hidden eyes as something you'd seen him do the first time you met him.

“You don't have to tell me,” you extended a way out for him, noting his sudden discomfort.

“No, it's fine. Um, remember when I told you before how I moved on from being a pilot to this?” At your nod, Frankie continued on slowly, like he was forming each word in his head twice before speaking it. “Well, it was less that I moved on and more that I lost my license. Uh, addiction issues. I know how that sounds! But I swear I'm clean now and -”

You can sense Frankie spiraling, so you impulsively reach out and place one of your hands on his large one. “You don't have to plead your case with me, Frankie. I'm not judging you.”

Frankie freezes momentarily, then relaxes. You feel one of his long fingers twitch on the tabletop under yours and quickly remove your hand. There's a little sigh from him before he continues, “well, anyway, this was kinda just something that fell in my lap. My friend, Ironhead, works with enlisted still and heard it's pretty easy to get into if you have the background and patience for sittin’ around and waiting. Well, I had the experience with my past in Delta Force, figured the patients would come along as I go. Never did like surveillance gigs.”

The last sentence seems like an afterthought, but you catch the mild disdain in his voice and it makes you smile to see the man in front of you sounding so petulant. “Ok, but Ironhead is an interesting name,” you comment.

Frankie huffed a laugh. “His call-sign actually. Most of us had one on my squad.”

“Oh really? And what was yours?”

“Catfish,” Frankie responds immediately.

“Catfish?” You repeat. “Where did that one come from?” you laugh a little bit.

“And that's a story for a different day,” Frankie responds with a laugh of his own.

After another small pause, your eyes drift back down to the inconspicuous envelope sitting on the table in front of you. With another small smile and a nod, you reach for the envelope. “I better get going. Lots of errands to get through on my day off.” It's a lie, but you figure a swift exit is necessary in this moment.

Frankie nods, then shifts his hat to run a hand through his already messy curls. Hat back in place, he stands and gestures that he'll walk you out.

Back outside, in the bright afternoon sun, Frankie looks down at you as he walks you all the way to your car. His eyes are caramel again, but they hold a bit of something akin to sadness in them. He drops his head, those eyes disappearing behind the bill of his cap, and slides his hands into his pockets, shoulders curving inward. “I really am sorry,” he begins. “I had hoped it would be different this time. You deserve better than some cabrón who can't see that he already has something great right in front of him.”

Frankie sounds so sincere that it stops you short. You look up at him as he peeks from under his hat. His mouth is twisted into a frown under his mustache. And that's all it takes for your eyes to begin to fill with tears.

In an instant, Frankie's arms are around you. He doesn't hesitate to pull you into a loose hug. One you could easily step away from if you had the care to do so. Instead, you step forward and accept the comfort. In a second, his arms close around you tighter and you're wrapped in his warmth, face pressed into his brown jacket. Trying not to fall apart right here in the parking lot, you catalog how his arms feel around you, and how warm his chest is.

His jacket smells like an auto garage, faintly like oil, but his shirt underneath smells woodsy - probably whatever cologne he sprayed on this morning - and, underneath that, clean like fresh linen. It's a comforting scent, and you breathe it in for a second longer than probably necessary before you finally lean back. He drops his arms immediately and takes half a step back.

“I am so sorry,” you apologize instantly.

“No, don't be. You have no reason to be. Just, um, get home safe ok?” That worry line is present between his eyes again. “Text me when you get home.”

“I'll be ok,” you assure him. You climb into your car and allow him to close the door gently for you. He steps back and gives a tiny wave before he turns and walks over to his own truck.

The drive home is a bit of a blur. You call Erin and Ashley on the way to tell them the news. Erin is instantly in her car and on her way over. “We are gonna change the locks and have ourselves a movie night,” she proclaims.

Ashley frets over not being there, but you assure her you're okay and she should enjoy her vacation. You only called because she'd freak if you told Erin before her.

Erin gets to your house 30 minutes later with a box of cheap wine and a bag full of snacks. You talk her out of changing the locks, but it doesn't matter either way because when you text Andrew to tell him you're having a girls night he tells you he's going to be out late anyway and not to wait up.

Your heart drops the way it always does when you suspect a lie. This time, though, it's not just speculation. You have the proof right in front of you, in an unopened manila envelope partially covered in chip bags.

“So is that them?” Erin speaks, noticing your gaze on the offending envelope.

“I guess so. Pictures and proof of my husband's affair with some front desk girl at his office.” Your tone is mild, but you feel a pressure building behind your eyes once more and that crushing weight settling over your sternum.

“Have you looked yet?” Erin asked.

“Nope.”

“Are you gonna?”

“We can open them together,” you suggest.

But before she can answer, your phone beeps to alert you that you got a new text message.

Hey, bonita, is everything ok? You never texted me… You safe?

His words bring a small smile to your face. Frankie always has a way of making you feel like he truly cares. Checking in often, but never overstepping into being overbearing. It's a warm welcome compared to the icy breeze of you and your husband's cohabitation of the same home, but never really living together.

You type out, yes. Sorry. Erin insisted on a girls night, and hit send.

That's good. Did she bring the salsa verde doritos?

Your smile grows at the mention of your favorite chips. Of course he'd remember something as silly as that. Frankie had a knack for remembering little details. Things you sometimes even forgot to had ever mentioned he would bring up weeks later in a random conversation. It's probably just a Frankie Morales thing, but it still always made you feel just a little special that he remembered such details.

“What has you suddenly shining like the sun?” Erin questions with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you know you're blushing, but you try to play it cool. “Just Frankie checking in. Making sure you're taking care of me.”

“Um, of course I'm taking care of you! Who else is gonna do it?” Erin jokes, pushing your shoulder teasingly. “Unless Mr. Morales was trying to volunteer for the job?”

“He's just being kind,” you roll your eyes at Erin's implication. “He's been very supportive through this whole thing.”

“Supportive, huh? And what kind of support might he be offering?” In a swift motion your phone is suddenly in your best friends hands and she's danced off to the other side of the room. Ignoring your protests and attempts to claim back your property, she starts swiping through weeks of conversation between you and Frankie. “Holy shit! Have you two even stopped talking since you met?”

“Come on, Erin,” you beg, “he’s just been asking for more information for his investigation and making sure I'm okay.”

“Two days ago you told him about the goldfish you got in college that died within the week. Was that pertinent information to his investigation?”

Seizing an opportunity, you snatched your phone back, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn't you be trying to cheer me up?”

“Looks like your new bestie Frankie should be here instead,” she snarks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shut it and pour me some wine,” you reply with an exaggerated eye roll.

While your friend is busy you quickly type out a response to Frankie. She's pretty much the worst. Brought bbq instead even though she knows I hate them.

Frankie's reply is quick, or maybe that's why she brought them. So she wouldn't have to share with you, avara.

I don't know what you just called me, but I know I'm offended.

Frankie's reply is a long string of laughing emojis.

With the photos forgotten, you let Erin put on some 80’s movie and tried your best to enjoy the night. The envelope would still be there tomorrow, so for tonight you just relax.

It will probably be the last time you'll be able to in a while anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie hasn't heard from her in a few days. She doesn't text as often and it doesn't feel like his place to bother her.

Today, though, he woke up late after being out late on a surveillance job to a text from her. I'm kicking him out. I can't stand to live here with him anymore. I just want him gone and out of my life.

Squinting down at the bright screen if his phone, Frankie replies, is there anything I can do for you, bonita?

Recommend me a great divorce lawyer? Is her response. He knows it's sarcasm, but he shoots her a list of a few lawyers he knows of and trusts anyway.

Frankie was glad she wasn't going to stick around with the bastard. He'd seen that enough times to know it never works out anyway, and always makes things worse in the end.

You're amazing Frankie. Thank you for everything. I also have your payment in full btw. Do you have time this weekend to meet and grab it?

You really don't need to thank me, dulzura. I just want to help. This Sunday is good for me. At the café?

Her reply takes a little longer this time, so Frankie finally drags himself out of bed. A quick look at the time tells him he barely has time for a shower before he has to meet Ironhead and Benny for their planned fishing trip. Once Frankie is back, she had finally replied with a simple, yes.

She had rarely been short in her texts before, and it made Frankie's stomach sink a little. Shooting off a quick, let me know if there's anything you need, he pockets the phone and heads out.

A few more days pass with minimal texts. Frankie makes a point to text at least once a day. Maybe it's intrusive, but she never complains about it. And, if he's honest with himself, he misses her too much to stop now.

He realizes that she has become a fixture in his life. Going from texting multiple times throughout the day to barely a good morning text over his morning coffee makes him twitchy and he feels like he's always wondering what she's doing.

Sunday finally comes and Frankie is at the café ten minutes early, ready to finally see her in person. Ready to hold a conversation with her, even if only for a moment. But the ten minutes pass, then another ten and his leg starts to bounce under the table. She's never been late before, and Frankie checks his phone for a 20th time to make sure she hasn't texted to tell him she's had a change of plans. He decides to shoot her a text himself to make sure she didn't forget about their meeting.

Twenty more minutes with no response to his text and Frankie is back in his truck. He's already talked himself out of driving to her house and just knocking on the door several times. But as his truck rumbles to life and he exits the parking lot, he ends up turning left instead of right. Going to her house would be viewed as crossing some line in Frankie's eyes. He's never gone to a clients home without invitation before. Generally it's best to go about as if you don't even have that information, just to keep people from getting creeped out.

Frankie justifies his actions now by telling himself he just needs to see that she's okay. That her not showing up is abnormal and thus deserving of investigation.

When he pulls up to the curb across from her house, he notes the two cars in the driveway. His heart drops as he sees that one of them is her husband’s, parked neatly behind hers. Frankie knows she had told him she was kicking Andrew out, but his heart drops as he realizes maybe she had reconciled with him and he moved back. Frankie wonders if that's why she had been so distant lately.

He's about to just pull away when he notices the front door open and there she is. She has her arms full of boxes which she unceremoniously drops onto the sidewalk outside. She looks frazzled, but unharmed, Frankie takes a mental note. But she's yelling back into the house, her face red with anger.

Andrew shows himself in that moment, coming outside to scream something in her face. In the next moment, he's grabbing her roughly by the arm and trying to force her back into the house.

Frankie is out of his truck before he really has time to think. He's across the street and reaching them with quick, efficient steps in only a moment, which causes a pause in the fighting for a second. Frankie takes advantage of their confusion to gently pull her away from Andrew's loosened grip and moving her so that he is between the fighting couple.

Andrew, for his part, still has a look of surprise that has rendered him frozen in his spot. Whether that's from the way Frankie had barged into the situation or the pure anger that is radiating off Frankie's body, it's hard to say. But it gives Frankie the window he needs to pull back his fist and firmly plant it into Andrew's nose. Frankie hears the snap and feels the familiar give of a nose breaking under his knuckles.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he growls. “And I suggest not coming back around. Don't come near her, don't call her, don't even think about her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Andrew has run off, finally taking the remainder of his belongings with him, you're left alone with an angry Frankie, his fists still clenched and his shoulders tense.

Honestly, he's sexy as hell and you definitely notice. Anybody would be blind not to, you think to yourself.

You usher him inside, through to your kitchen, and pour two glasses of whiskey, sliding one over to him.

“I'm sorry I barged in,” Frankie apologizes after he takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn't hear from you today and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Shit, your money! I am so sorry.”

“It's fine, hermosa. I'm not worried about the money. I was worried about you.”

His declaration freezes both of you for a moment, before you lift your own cup to your lips and take a sizable sip.

“He was supposed to come by while I was out today, but he showed up early. I guess he's been trying to get ahold of me,” you finally break the silence.

“You guess?” Frankie repeats back.

“Well, I blocked his number cuz I got tired of his constant calls and texts. He thinks I'm being irrational and we should work this out. But I've also heard that he's been staying with his side piece ever since I kicked him out, so….”

Frankie shoots back the rest of his alcohol. “I can get you paperwork for a restraining order,” he offers.

You smile at that because of course Frankie would offer you more help. “I think you already did enough for me,” you reply.

Frankie's hand goes to the back of his neck and his head dips low, “I shouldn't have hit him. That's just gonna cause you more trouble.”

“Don't worry about that,” you chastise gently. “He got what was coming to him and he knows it. It's just that, you have done a lot for me in general these past few weeks. A lot more than I think I can pay you back for.” Speaking of which, you turn to your purse on the counter, digging through it to pull out the check written out to Frankie.

“Maybe you can pay me back with dinner,” Frankie aims for nonchalants.

It draws a breathy laugh from your throat. “It would take a lot of dinners to cover your fee.”

“Well, we could start with one and see where it goes from there.”

✨✨Part 2✨✨

#triple frontier #triple frontier imagine #pi!frankie #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

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podcastbigbang · 3 years ago

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a rumor of a fight | Strange Case of Starship Iris

a road trip complete with late night, inexplicably space themed diners, hotels with suspiciously few twin beds, and a few gentle interventions.

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You Know Me Well | Welcome to Nightvale

The year is 1811. Carlos is a prolific writer of gothic novels featuring everything from ghosts and spectres to vampires and beyont.

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A Thousand Hours (To Rearrange The Stars) | Welcome to Nightvale

An introspective look into the life and trauma of the beloved radio host of Night Vale, Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

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broken bottle mosaic | Welcome to Nightvale

A fairly introspective little piece about Carlos’ scars, both physical and not, and an exploration about how everyone has flaws or damage from the past, and how those things are not detriments to our whole self but instead a critical part of it.

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take me to the pilot | Wolf 359

What's left of the Hephaestus crew go on a road trip. What could go wrong?

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Funzo 2: It's Back and It's Personal | Wolf 359

Post-finale, the Hephaestus gang gets stuck in Cutter’s old office on the Sol. Things go from bad to weird when they find a certain “Craziest Board Game of 1973” in one of Cutter’s desk drawers.

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a weed usurps a spaceship | Wolf 359

There's an awful lot you see from within the vents. Space Mutant Plant Monster, on her crew, itself, and humanity.

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You Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then) | Wolf 359

A mostly canon-compliant exploration of the SI-5’s past, and the difference between masks and monsters.

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Misroch Grabbing Chairs | Brimstone Valley Mall

In which Misroch grabs chairs, Trainees are acquired, and Belzagor knows all.

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Throw My Dead Body in the Dumpster Behind Weiner World When I Die | Brimstone Valley Mall

What if Brimstone Valley Mall was the other way around. Wouldn't that be fucked up or what?

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Handle With Care / Not Alone Anymore | Brimstone Valley Mall

Hornblas is gone. Belzagor is only just now registering this.

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falling doesn't feel so bad when i know you've fallen this way too | Brimstone Valley Mall

In which Belzagor and Xaphan are ordained by the heavens to clean up the satanic messes they’ve created in South Central Pennsylvania, and between furby reconnaissance and Chole's day jobs, end up hurtling through some identity crises together in true useless lesbian fashion.

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TBS Projects Masterpost | TMA Projects Masterpost | TPP Projects Masterpost

#podcast big bang 2021 #unseen #brimstone valley mall #welcome to night vale #the adventure zone #critical role #wolf 359 #strange case of starship iris #kane and feels #stellar firma #desperado #limetown #dreamboy #taz #wtnv #bvm

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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years ago

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Paper Flowers: the final count down

Roman and Virgil have a fight as the end of their character’s time on Vine draws nearer every day.

You are giggling as you finish reading a PrincexNemesis fanfic on AO3.

It was a great story about Nemesis, named Marcus/Marcia in the story, was cursed at a young age to switch gender every time the sun passed the horizon. Leading to the poor kid being Marcia by day, the Prince’s bethroted whom he could not stand, and Marcus by night, the Prince’s sworn enemy who he was madly in love with. It was mainly a very funny story and the author left it very vague which gender Nemesis was born with. All they said was that Nemesis would be stuck with the gender they were when the received their first kiss. Which was given to them as Marcus. The tension came from whether Nemesis would be able to avoid getting stuck as Marcia on the wedding day, as he preferred Marcus.

It was very funny, but also surprisingly deep. Or maybe you are reading too much into it.

Just when you pressed ‘post’ on your comment you get an alert.

It’s vine time!

The video opens up and you see Prince pushing of an enemy and stabbing him.

You can hear a cheer and the camera turns to dad. “That’s my boy!” he cheers.

Prince kisses a maidens hand. Once more a shout is heard and you see dad. “Great job buddy!”

Prince polishes his sword, yet another shout. “Just look at you!” dad squeals from the doorway.

Prince looks up exasperated. “Can you not!?” Dad looks sheepishly and slowly glides out of view.

You wipe away a tear as you let your laughter subside. Everyone who’s been to any game or play ever has seen one of those parents.

You’ve seen people on tumblr who have jumped on this ‘the characters all live in the same kingdom’ concept and ran with it. It was a fun world they’d created. Teacher was the Prince’s tutor. Nemesis had several potential backstories, from the son of a nobleman to an orphan servant in the castle. Prince was, obviously, heir to the throne. And dad was either a nanny to the prince and other children in court, or father to the Prince or the nemesis. It made for some fun imagined shenanigans, that was for sure.

You are curious though, what will come next.

...

“No.”

Roman groaned in annoyance. “Anxiety, I don’t need your cooperation to propose a skit idea to Thomas,” he reminded him. He didn’t, he’d never asked before they became friends. But they’d been doing so well on communicating since. What, one might ask, made Roman dismiss Virgil’s input now?

A couple of bad nights, for starters. The fact that they’d been having this argument in front of Patton and Logan for the past half hour, meaning he had to keep up pretenses. And lastly, Virgil was just being difficult on purpose it seemed.

All Roman wanted was to have a nice final skit between their characters before they moved to youtube. There still would be skits involving either of them, but he liked the thought of wrapping up the nemesis story line before starting the story of the prince of creativity and Anxiety on youtube.

Virgil, however, seemed unwilling to even entertain the idea of another Prince vs Nemesis skit entirely. Let alone one to wrap up the semi storyline they’d made.

“Then go ahead and do it. See if I care!” Virgil growled before storming off.

Roman let out a frustrated sigh and dropped in the couch. “Impossible! That man is simply impossible sometimes!” he complained loudly. He was angry with Virgil right now. He wasn’t even going to try to deny that. Virgil could be infuriating sometimes.

And he was going to complain and pout as long as he liked, thank you very much. He was not the unreasonable one in this scenario.

“Kiddo, Anxiety is just like that. You know that he has a tendency to disagree on principle.”

Roman huffed. He knew better. Virgil was not usually difficult for no reason. He was a safety measure of sorts. He made sure they all thought through every decision. Every action.

Often a little too much, but he meant it well.

It was rare that he gave Roman no room to argue. A straight up ‘no’, even before their alliance, was rare. There were arguments, objections, doubts. But ‘no’ was usually with very good reason.

Roman just could not phantom the reason right now though. Which was why he was so angry.

He had learned to manage patience when he could see the source of Virgil’s concern. But now?

“Actually Patton, usually when Anxiety disagrees with us, he has at least some form of reasoning behind it. Be it of an irrational sort. It is not often that he gives no form of motivation behind his outbursts. This would lead me to believe that he has reasons, he just does not wish to discuss them, or maybe even might not wish to acknowledge them to himself.”

Roman listened to Logan making perfect sense, as he tended to do. But he didn’t feel like really thinking about that. He was still upset with Virgil.

“Or maybe he is just in a rude mood,” Roman objected stubbornly.

Logan took in a deep breath. “As much as I dislike figuratively feeding your ego, Roman, I feel like the positive changes in his behavior over the last year might be largely due to you.”

Oh, now this was something Roman was willing to pause his sulking for.

He shot up and looked at Logan expectantly.

Logan looked like he regretted speaking to begin with. Luckily for Roman, Patton had gotten curious.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Roman thought there was a strange sting to Patton’s voice, but he must’ve been mistaken, surely.

“Roman… You have been different ever since you asked for your memories of interactions with Anxiety… What was it that you found in there?”

Oh, no. Damn him and his promises.

Roman shrugged, feigning losing interest. “He saved Thomas and his friend earlier that day, and he didn’t seem to consider that a big deal. So I got curious and looked back and found that most of what he said, like you mentioned could maybe be read as trying to help somehow.”

Roman prayed Logan wouldn’t ask more. Luckily he didn’t.

“I see. I assume that this new information led to you changing your approach to your communication with Anxiety and this led to him being less tense around you.

He let you convince him to interact with us, he made an effort to explain himself and collaborated more on your projects,” Logan deduced.

“Could it be that to Anxiety, the start of that positive change in his life is connected to the skits between your character and his?” he wondered.

Roman’s eyes widened. “What? So me ending that storyline feels like me rejecting him or something?” he asks a little incredulously.

Logan looked up in surprise. “Well… That is a possibility,” he nodded. Why was he so shocked Roman could figure stuff out on his own. He could be empathetic enough for this. He might be the ego but he was not that self-centered. Bonds with others was high on his priority list too.

“The poor kiddo feels like he’s all alone now,” Patton mused sadly.

Roman got up. He was not ready to feel bad for Virgil. Especially when he was being ridiculous. As if Roman would end their friendship like this. Did he think so little of him?

He stormed off to his room and landed himself on his bed.

He wasn’t in the wrong, it was not his job to apologize. He kept repeating that to himself but occasionally he wondered if Virgil was overthinking right now. Thinking that Roman hated him now…

No. He was not in the wrong, he got to be mad if he wanted to. Virgil got to be mad with him when he got lost in a monologue and got all kinds of ideas stuck in Thomas’ head without consulting anyone making Virgil feel like he had to be the bad guy for scaring Thomas away from the ideas he loved too much to let anyone else convince him to adjust them.

He’d swallowed his pride and apologized to Virgil then.

So he was going to be petty and stubborn for as long as…

There was a knock at his door. Roman shot up and walked over to his front door and opened it. There was no one to be seen. When he looked down though, he saw something that took his breath away.

He picked up the paper purple hyacinth and the accompanying note.

“I know you are mad. Please let me explain before you hate me forever? I’ll be waiting.”

Roman let out a sigh. Purple hyacinths represent sorrow and regret. And it must’ve been such a pain to get the paper to bend to his will like this.

Now Roman had to go and meet Virgil. He put the flower in the vase along with the rest of the assemble bouquet and hurriedly opened the door to the field.

“Virgil?” he called out before he even closed it.

The anxious man was pacing through the field, trampling a path in the ground.

Luckily the field fixed itself every time they left.

Virgil looked up and his shoulders relaxed. Clearly he saw Roman’s swift arrival as a good sign.

His anger already fading, Roman added the hyacinths to the field to show he’d gotten his apology gift and accepted it.

“I thought about what I said… Or didn’t say and… Maybe I was just… I didn’t want us to stop making skits together,” he rambled, playing with his hoodie sleeves and pointedly not looking at Roman.

Roman let out a sigh. Logan had been on the right path then.

“Virgil, you really think that I did not enjoy working on those with you?” he asked.

Virgil shrugged.

“Well I did. Therefore I will call upon your aid any chance I get. I actually expect you to assist me quite often in the creation of the sanders sides series and many other projects. I merely wanted to give the fanders a satisfying ending to the adventures of the prince and his nemesis on vine,” he explained calmly.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah… I’m sorry. Really I am. I was pretty rude to you and you did nothing to deserve it,” he said softly, glancing up at Roman nervously.

“You are forgiven, Grim Creeper,” Roman smiled reassuringly.

Then he got an idea. It would let him vent the last bits of frustration and Virgil could maybe work of some angsty energy as well. “If you really feel like you’ll miss the prince and the nemesis that much though…”

And just like that Roman summoned two swords, tossing one to Virgil who caught it in surprise.

“I shall teach you the art of the blade!” he declared.

Virgil rolled his eyes but smirked. “Let me have it Princey,” he challenged.

...

While the two younger sides sparred in the field, the fatherly side was headed to the stairs leading down in search of an anxious sides room. Hoping he’d be let in now.

“Patton?” Logan called.

Patton flinched at being spotted. Though he wasn’t sure why. Was it so bad that he tried to help Anxiety?

“Hya Logan!” Patton greeted sheepishly. “I was going to make sure Anxiety was okay…”

Logan cocked his head. “Patton, I’m obviously no expert, but if my interpretation of his thought process of today was correct, he feels rather vulnerable right now. While that might mean he’s more open to sharing and closeness, it also means he might be in a state of heightened alertness.

If you attempt to approach him now you could very well make things worse with small mistakes.”

Patton bit his lip. Logan was right. Anxiety was not in a right state of mind. If Patton wanted to him to let him in, then it couldn’t happen when he was feeling hurt and alone. No matter how badly Patton wanted to comfort him. Going in now would be for Patton’s sake. Not Anxiety’s.

“We will make our way back to him Patton. Who knows? Maybe Roman’s youtube project lends us a chance to interact with him more frequently,” Logan offered.

Patton nodded. They’d get there. Sooner or later they’d be a happy family.

He just had to be patient and let Anxiety decide when he felt ready to try again.

Intorducing the sides

@vixdoesbadart @vpow @apinkline2715 @tired-yeetling @firegirl156 @soysaucevictim @1nsomniacwriter @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

#sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #paper flowers au #prinxiety

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afoolforatook · 4 years ago

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Love is Being Scared and Loving Anyway

Chapter two - Something to Count on

(it's only been....364 days.....ooooooops)

If you haven’t read Ch 1 - Step One

If you want to know more about the unique format of this series - Author's note

While it’s not absolutely necessary to have read my Atlas Ball fic One Step Forward (that is a prologue to the main series), Clover’s POV does reference it briefly.

This chapter has 3 versions (which is why it's posted as an individual work)

Clover’s pov is chapter 1 - Lowest trigger warning

Omniscient (Eye to Eye) is chapter 2 - Medium trigger warning

Qrow’s pov is chapter 3 - Highest trigger warning

If you are worried about triggers, I suggest reading in the order they are posted (and checking the extended list here if needed) and stopping at whatever version you feel comfortable with.

If you aren’t worried about triggers I suggest reading in this order :

Omni

Clover

Qrow

(same applies to Chapter one)

Extended Trigger Warning list under the cut

This is a pretty emotionally heavy fic, and one of the reasons I did the multiple versions was so that there could be options for anyone worried about triggers. Each version on AO3 has a short description of the trigger warnings relevant to that version, but I wanted to go into a bit more detail for anyone who wanted it, and didn’t want to put a wall of text in the chapter notes each time. So this is all the trigger notes for each version, as well as a more complete list of general tags for the chapter.

As always, if you feel I’ve missed something, or that there is a better tag for something I have covered, please let me know. :)

CH 2 - GENERALS TAGS

Characters - Qrow Branwen, Clover Ebi, Summer Rose

Relationships - Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Past Qrow Branwen/Summer Rose

Content - Hurt/comfort, Vent/therapy fic, Fair Game, Hummingbird

Broad warnings - PTSD, Flashbacks, Past canonical character death, Nightmares, *Ch 12 mention, Ch 12 description, Clover death/wound mention, Ch 12 fix it, Ch 12 was Qrow’s nightmare*, Depression, Anxiety, Grief, Loss of partner, Past alcoholism mention, Alcoholism recovery, Dissociation, Trauma, Sensory processing disorder, Intrusive thoughts, Unconscious self, lack of self worth, blood mention, minor injury (Qrow’s)

*Even in the highest trigger level (Qrow’s pov) the ch12 references are relatively short, and conceptual/sensory. There is never any extended or graphic description of Ch12 events in any of the three pov’s

Individual versions

I’m only going to expand on the ones that are a bit loose or less straightforward, so things like ‘Racing thoughts’, are pretty straight forward so explaining would just be spoilers. These, and warnings already explained in earlier versions are listed at the bottom (marked with the version that explains them).

Clover

Blood mention - Pretty minimal in this version.

Dermatillomania/trichotillomania - Not technically/explicitly, but actions that could be triggering

Difficulty breathing - Due to anxiety, or perceived trouble breathing.

Difficulty speaking/Nonverbal - Qrow stuttering and struggling to control his speech

Dissociation - Here, mostly for Clover, for using intentional dissociation as a coping mechanism.

Hyper-awareness/Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD)/ Sensory descriptions - Just general over sensitivity, awareness, inability to process during panicked state.

Hypercritical/ Lack of self worth - Overly high expectations of self, perfectionism.

Repressed emotions/needs - Clover continuing to ignore his own needs, some struggling with self worth.

Touch sensitivity/adverse - Qrow not wanting to be touched.

Unconscious self-harm - Felt like this was the best way to put this, but knew some people might not know exactly what I meant. This is regarding Qrow. He isn’t unconscious but rather, during a panic attack he unknowingly hurts himself, and it’s not at all serious.

(I say it this way because this is how I have described similar instances I have had - basically this is “Qrow hurt itself in its confusion” the tag)

Omni

Altered perception of reality/ Flashbacks/ Delusions/ Dissociation/ PTSD - All of these really are for the same thing but I wanted to be overly cautious. None of them fit the instance perfectly, but it is generally Qrow misinterpreting things in his panicked state. Seeing, hearing things not as in actual hallucinations but brain still putting everything in the context of his panic/not being fully aware.

Blood mention - Still minor.

Ch 12 mention/ Clover injury/death mention - Vague/minor short mention, minimal visual/emotional description, not graphic.

Hypercritical/ Lack of self worth - Same as Clover’s but also Qrow’s own self hate and worth issues

Qrow

Blood mention/ Body Horror - Very loose usage, mostly sensory descriptions and blood mentions, made worse by Qrow’s panic.

Ch 12 description/ Clover death/injury mention/ Description/Clover’s body (imagined) - Slightly more than in omniscient, longer mention, more visual/emotional description but still nothing outright graphic or extended.

Over awareness of body/ Sensory descriptions/ SPD/ Touch sensitivity - Same as in Omni but more intense.

#fair game #my fic writing #Love is Being Scared and Loving Anyway #ch 12 mention

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doyouremem8erme · 3 years ago

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i was tagged for this by @calamity-unlocked sdghsdfhjs!!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

on my main pseud? 12. including the ones on my other pseud and the ones i changed to be anonymous bc of old/cringey writing? 18.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

~58k, but a lot of that is from my friend's fic that i coauthored a couple chapters with. my personal total is ~39k!

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

i have a Lot of Extremely old fics lingering in my drive from my warrior cat days of elementary and middle school but my ao3 is only Steven Universe and Amphibia, with one SU/D&D crossover!

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

don't blame yourself (because you tried as hard as hell)

this one is just a oneshot i whipped out in a couple days that ended up being pretty popular! marcanne hurt/comfort apparently resonates with a lot of people, lmao.

heir of the flowers

this is the previously mentioned collab fic! i considered not including it on here since i feel like @fullmusicbard is really the holder of those kudos, but i'm going to just go by ao3's stats, so there's some promo for her! it's a canon-divergent steven universe fic, going with the concept of "what if the escape in the episode 'jailbreak' didn't go as planned?"

heroes on fire

a self-indulgent late-season-3 amphibia theory fic! beginning with the defeat of andrias, going through some recovery stuff, and eventually, the defeat of the night! i really haven't worked on this for a while since i have other projects in progress, but i'd love to get out the remaining chapters before the season 3 premiere!

homesick (if it helps you breathe)

i'm so glad that this fic ended up in my top five after all the work i put into it! this is a songfic, based on "homesick" by sleeping at last, made up of a series of interconnected vignettes about the girls being trapped in amphibia for many years. i put a ton of work into this, and i think it paid off!

noise

a long-abandoned steven universe fic, based on a concept of steven's gem being bleached in change your mind. i wish i could come back to it, but i've lost my interest in a lot of the darkness of this au.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i try to respond to comments as often as possible, but sometimes i feel intimidated if some author whose fics i stalk pops by to post one! sdgsdhj i do read and highly appreciate every single one!

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

frog, i have a lot of very dark fics that i've now set to not show up on my profile. the angstiest one i have currently published would have to either be everything. or look at how my tears ricochet. they are about the same character, same scene, same concept, so i'd say they're tied!

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

one of my current wips is a crossover with redwall! however, the only crossover fic i've actually posted is a D&D crossover with steven universe: on the sea

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

i really don't think i have? if i did i deleted it and blocked it from memory sghfsdjgs

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

absolutely not lmao

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope!

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, i haven't!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i've mentioned this a few times, but i featured as a coauthor on a few chapters of my friend's steven universe fic heir of the flowers! go give that fic all the kudos sgdhfsdhjghj

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

any ship of the calamity trio is awesome ngl. sashannarcy is so snazzy sgdsjhgjs. in order, my other fave ships of them are marcanne, sasharcy, and sashanne. frog i love them.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i have this drabble of the scene where anne breaks her arm in toad tax completely written out but i'm just not sure what to do with it! i feel like it either needs to be half of a two-shot or embedded as a flashback/memory scene in another work (which i've actually done with my drabbles in the past!) but for now it's just sitting in my drive.

15) What are your writing strengths?

i've been told again and again that i'm amazing at emotions, and i think a lot of that is because of how much my character interactions pull from my experiences. for instance, homesick was originally conceptualized as a vent while i was away at summer camp, and i just stretched my own homesickness even further in order to capture the feelings of the girls! it's not uncommon for dialogue in my fics to be pulled directly from my life.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

getting a fic of any actual real length down on paper! i am blown away by anyone who can have a fic that's anything over 50k words– my total wordcount for all my published fics doesn't even break that!

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i've never included another language in a fic, half because i'm too scared of butchering it with google translate, half because i've never had the opportunity or the need to! if i did, i feel like my best option as someone who only speaks english would be to simply write the dialogue in english but note that it was said in another language.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

warrior cats.......

19) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

homesick (if it helps you breathe) or eyes forward!

tagging @fullmusicbard and @ anyone else who wants to steal this!

#lore talks #my writing #homesick (if it helps you breathe)#ony tagging that fic since i talked about it the most #tag game

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haikyall · 4 years ago

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time signature

AO3

ayoo~ this is for sonderdaisies in instagram and discord! Here’s your prompt in my entry for @bnhagiftexchange WC: 4.7K

Pairings: Hawks & Miruko (Keigo Takami & Rumi Usagiyama) AU/Prompt: Musician AU,

Summary: Music brings people together, even if you see each other at work... and live across the street from one another

Three hours. It has been three hours since Rumi has started looking for her portfolio. That portfolio had the pieces she wanted to present to her leader when they start rehearsal tomorrow. That portfolio could bring her career to new heights. That portfolio could get her a promotion. The portfolio is missing.

Her house is already a mess because of trying to flip it upside down just to look for that flimsy clear book. She hates the fact that she is forgetful and things like this happen on the daily basis.

Maybe it’s under the bed— you already checked the bed— how about one more ti— you checked it five times already. Inside the couch? You can’t rip open your couch, Rumi. I can watch me. Okay, where are you going to get a new one? Fuck where is it? I swear I won’t be able to practice tonight without those.

She knows it’s not at the rehearsal studio, she remembers putting it in her envelope… where is her envelope? Rumi suddenly has the motivation to look for something else. Did I leave it at the studio?!?!

Her frustration gets the better of her and she starts to aggressively look for the clear envelope. She gets more annoyed as more time passes and she hasn’t found the thing yet. Her annoyed self got more pissed to know the fact that it was ten in the night. She annoyingly grunts and then she hears it…

Soft piano playing. It was Clair de Lune, Haydn. It was calming, soothing. The volume was soft enough to be heard by neighbors whose houses are just across the street but not loud enough to be causing any disruption. It was like the house the sound was coming from was a huge music box.

Whoever was playing the piano, was very good. The emotions were displayed perfectly and mixing some of their own. You would know if you’re emotional in playing by simply catching the attention of the unsuspecting audience. Rumi notices how the pianist speeds up by half a second and after a while of playing they would realize the speed and calm down. That’s not how you play the song.

The song calmed Rumi down. She listened to it for quite a while, settling on the couch while thinking if she did leave her life’s work at her office. Her brain goes haywire thinking if she even labeled her stuff. She scolds herself for being so damn irresponsible, this wouldn’t be happening because of it.

Her eyelids start to droop the more she listens to the goddamn classical piano player. Times like these are when she wants to throw something to the other house to shut the people up there but this time she has absolutely no reason and energy for that.

Rumi blacks out.

Rumi Usagiyama is late and it was a difference of five minutes… five minutes led to thirty because of her extensive care for her silver hair that reaches the curves of her hips. That same thirty minutes led to an hour because of searching “how to cook pancakes” on Google and ultimately failing, leading her to just settle with cold pizza on her fridge. An hour flew to an hour and forty-five minutes as she was looking for her sheet music which led her to have a massive breakdown because she was missing pages and had to print everything again, and then she realizes that she’s running five minutes late which lead to a total of an hour and fifteen minutes late with ten minutes tardy time.

If it weren’t for that fucking pianist and their fucking Haydn I wouldn’t be so late and slept on the couch.

She frantically runs to her rehearsal room where everyone involved in the project we're talking, tuning their instruments, eating, resting, or a combination of a few. It was like this every morning, you enter a room of people you’ll work with for a few months to play for a musical, and then when the project ends you act like you didn’t know each other’s life story and how they came around with their instrument.

It was always so noisy.

The tan girl sighs as she expects another classic sermon from her superiors saying that “she should be more responsible” or that “if you loved music, maybe be more punctual”.

Well, I happen to love pancakes too so shove your fucking violin bows up your asses. We don’t even play the same fucking instruments.

Rumi sighs as she smiles and bows apologetically to her superiors. Her superiors shake their head and leave her little space in the wide rehearsal room and rolling her eyes, she sits down, reviewing her sheet music as a way of prepping herself.

“Chill down, baby bird, you look like you were gonna pounce on them if they didn’t walk away,” Rumi sighs in relief at recognizing who’s voice now was towering over. The voice laced with concern but 90% consisted of cockiness. She looks up and sees a blond, and stout Keigo Takami with an amused eyebrow raised.

Rumi sends a scowl onto Keigo’s way, “Hahaha, very funny Kei,” Keigo chuckles as he squats to Rumi’s level as she attempts to focus on her work.

“I am quite the crowd-pleaser myself if you didn’t notice,” The blond dude says in reply and it takes for the tan girl to process what in tarnation her colleague just let out.

Rumi peels her eyes off her sheet music one more time, and shakes her head, “No, why would I— why are you even here?” She asks annoyingly to the smirking Keigo who was also looking at her sheet music.

The blond man stands up, “Just wanted to remind you we have rehearsal in five, baby bird— oh, you guys have a similar sheet music to the stringed instruments,”

The silver-haired grumbles as she realizes that Keigo was doing her a favor, she completely forgot about the rehearsal, “Thanks, Kei, I’ll keep it in mind” Keigo turns around but seems to have forgotten to say something and turns back to Rumi who is now doing air-drumming movements, aligning her hands on the imaginary lyre, playing the piece with the correct notes in her head.

“Also, uhh you left some of your sheet music here” Keigo hands her a portfolio with her name at the front and where all of her missing sheet music pages were located. Rumi mentally slaps herself in the face to scold herself for forgetting such an important thing in her life let alone make Keigo return it.

Rumi grabs the portfolio “I was wondering where that went… thank you, sorry about that,” She apologizes and Keigo finally turns around gives her a thumbs up. She remembers a part of her conversation and yells back.

“AND JUST SO YOU KNOW, PIANOS ARE BOTH STRINGED AND PERCUSSION SO DON’T DISCRIMINATE SHIT, BABY CARROT,”

Keigo smiles to himself, finally, a decent reply. The thumbs-up he was showing just now flips and turns into a middle finger as he walks back to his little space of the rehearsal room.

Rumi smiles at the non-verbal reply and shakes her head. He seems to know how to cheer things up huh? She examines the smooth texture of her clear portfolio, once again scolding herself, clutching the plastic material in anger.

So… I had a mental breakdown, and wasted my time for fUCKING NOTHING?!?!?!

___________________

Keigo packs up the last of the things he needs to take his leave from the rehearsal studio. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and starts to stride away out of the building.

The blond man stands in line waiting for the subway to arrive, as he does an old lady in a kimono outfit comes up behind him.

“You have grown, young bird”

Keigo is stunned, is this lady talking to the right guy? The pianist looks in both directions, checking to see if she is talking to the right person. The lady giggles as she sees that Keigo points to himself to be even more sure that it was him.

“Do I know you?” Keigo asks

The old lady smiles, “No, but I’ve seen you grow on this exact hallway, I’m proud of what you’ve done” She then proceeds to point at the place where Keigo used to play songs as people walked by, grateful for any change they drop him with. Keigo remembers this in an instant and scratches the back of his head in embarrassment.

“O-oh, th-thank you, ma’am” He bows toward the elderly and she starts to enter the train,

“Enjoy your trip home,”

Keigo smiles, “You too ma’am” He then enters the train as well.

__________________

Keigo then arrives home to hear xylophones to be the sound that greets him. He’s aware that one of his neighbors plays the xylophone. Keigo is sure it's not anyone from work as the xylophone pieces were never the pieces they would play at work. He assumes that they would practice the workpieces given that the performance is just a week away from now. The xylophone pieces were just popular songs. He sometimes hums along to the songs his neighbor chose. It was like Keigo’s evening couldn’t be complete without at least hearing one note of the xylophone, it served as his lullaby into the night.

Keigo doesn’t complain about the noise. It’s not noise, it was one of the most beautiful harmonies one could ever hear. He would trade the world to hear it again.

“Not in the mood today, huh?” He says to himself as he hears that the xylophone notes were just being played at random, not a single beat or harmony was being made. It was like they were being played out of frustration like a person was venting their anger or whatever they were feeling onto the instrument. He decides to not join them for tonight and sighs at the fact that he won’t be practicing the piano.

Keigo wanders how his neighbor is even still playing, he swore that the amount of frustration they’re letting out onto the instrument seems enough to break the sticks used to make the sound of it. He’s impressed that the xylophone itself is still in one piece to be exact.

Keigo never had the energy or time to know who exactly was his neighbor due to his work and his dedication to it. His neighbor may have thought otherwise and never introduced themselves when they first moved in. He didn’t mind, he respected their privacy plus, it would be extremely awkward if he introduces himself now and not five months ago.

He listens to how frustrated his neighbor seems to be. He chuckles at times when he hears the same key is being played like they were annoyed by the sound of it and tries to fix it by repeatedly playing the note.

Even if the xylophone isn’t exactly playing any song right now, he still believes that it’s still harmony in some way, it invokes emotion… well... his emotions, it was like the instrument was talking to him, ranting on how crappy their day was, a broken music box. He found the thought both funny and intriguing. Sometimes, he wants to know what’s got the lyre player in such a sour mood like this.

As Keigo listens to the horrific music. He searches up piano music sheets as more xylophone playing was starting to give him a headache. “Your Name, huh? Is this what you wanted to learn, baby bird?” He asks himself, remembering one of the pieces that were in Rumi’s portfolio. Keigo simply couldn’t help it, the clear book was thick, and he’s a curious man.

The music then stops, Keigo looks at the time; 10:00 pm. Ah, they should stop now. He notices that whenever it was ten sharp, the music stops, even if it was in the middle of a song. It was their bedtime, Keigo then decides to also call it a night and starts to close all the lights and prepare for bed.

___________________

Rumi barges into the rehearsal room, she sighs in relief to see that no one was there yet. She woke up early today, she didn’t get to practice any songs last night and it pissed her off. She was so busy scolding herself with forgetting the portfolio of her pieces that she had forgotten the more important matter, practicing the exact songs in her portfolio.

She didn’t want to be a burden to the other lyre players since it was evident who knew how to play the lyre if they practiced their pieces before going to work and it would be hella embarrassing if Rumi didn’t have any songs to present her lyre group with.

It was a tradition that the lyre group makes lyre versions of popular songs, everyone in the building loves it. The sounds resembled that of a music box, melodic, lullaby-like, gentle, and peaceful, just with six other xylophones playing.

She then grabs a music sheet stand and shoves her portfolio on it, and she starts playing in an instant. She takes notes of the pauses and how the song escalates. Maybe the group will choose her songs, the songs she’s been choosing have been very difficult, those kinds of songs kind of gives an appealing view to their leader.

Rumi chose quite a popular song, it was “Sparkle” from the movie Your Name. She chose it mainly because she cried at the ending more than she would like to admit. She skips the repetitive piano intro and starts straight at the D#. It was quite a simple piece, she was hoping that the leader would somehow make it more complicated. The leader would always encourage them to bring him something more simple to make it grander to play since he can turn it more difficult the more they play together.

The silver-haired girl has been tapping on the same notes over and over again but seems to slowly lose count on how many times she should be playing a specific note. “Five D#… wait no… wasn’t it four?”

She plays the notes again to confirms her suspicion and she starts to anger herself at how much she confused herself over the starting line of the notes she’s playing. “If it weren’t for me and my forgetful ass and forgot the fucking portfolio, I wouldn’t be here right now cram practicing,” she grumbles to herself as she lashes her anger on the flipping of pages on her portfolio.

She starts to get impatient with herself since she keeps on making the same mistake on the same note. For some reason, she isn’t keeping track of how many times her glockenspiel on the metal plates “GODDAMMIT ALREADY” She screams out in frustration, flinging her stick towards the other side of the room.

The stick barely misses the incoming blond male that enters the room. His eyes follow the direction of the stick as it hits the wall, taking precautions to not get hit by another stick. He notices that the stick is not a usual drum stick but is more similar to a lyre stick… Rumi. “Woah there, take a chill pill, Rumi,” Keigo says as he enters the room.

“Keigo… hi,” Rumi breathes in and composes herself and Keigo finds this a perfect time to piss her off even more

“Hello baby‘I'm pissed and I throw my stick in anger but luckily I'm alone’bird” Keigo teases while making air quotes as he says the nickname with his index and middle fingers. Rumi rolls her eyes. She paces across the room to pick up her poor glockenspiel as the other person in the room settles his place on the piano

“Well not anymore,” She grumbles and Keigo simply chuckles.

“What you practicing?”

“Just for some presentation,” Rumi shrugs off the question and focuses to prepare to start playing.

“Can I listen?” Keigo says in pure curiosity and Rumi’s answer went out faster before she even thought of saying it.

“NO!”

“And why not?” Keigo asks, raising an eyebrow at the sudden response.

“BECAUSE I HAVENT….” Rumi answers a bit too fast again and shuts herself up and tries to concentrate again on the piece.

“You haven’t what Rumi? I’m not a fortune teller over here and even if you do say no, I’m still going to listen,” Keigo points out and Rumi huffs in frustration at the man’s persistence. She hated at the fact that Keigo is right. He’s assigned to the same orchestra as her so he can’t possibly leave the room, and it’s not like he can’t listen to it even if he wanted to.

“Ihaven’tpracticedityet” Rumi says in a quick and silent voice. Keigo was impressed she managed to speak in a volume that's still too quiet even if they were the only two people in the room

“Sorry what? You were too soft” Keigo says, genuinely and for spite. Rumi inhales deeply, calming herself down before reiterating what she just said, in a slower and louder manner.

“I haven’t practiced yet,”

Keigo scoffs, that’s what she’s so worried about? He looks at her dead in the eye. “I’ll help you then,”

“What’s the piece?” Keigo asks, stretching his fingers as preparation to start playing.

“Sparkle, from—” Rumi calmly says

“—Your Name”

“Your Name,” They both say simultaneously. An awkward silence fills the room and they both freeze at the realization that they said something at the same time.

“Do you play the intro?” Keigo asks and Rumi shakes her head.

“No, it hurts the ears if I play it on the lyre” She explains and Keigo nods.

He then shrugs his shoulders and faces the piano, “I’ll play it then,”

“Whenever you’re ready then,”

Keigo’s hands lay on the white and black pieces, awaiting the right signal to himself to start playing. He calms his senses and takes a sharp inhale of breath. His fingers then start to wander and dance on the piano and the first notes are finally played.

Rumi waits for the repetitive beginning to finally come to an end and joins Keigo in the next measure. The piano and the sound of the lyre start to compliment each other, Rumi is impressed that she can play better with the guidance of a piano… Or maybe it’s Kei— NOPE IT'STHE PIANO.

The flow of the music was so enchanting, the music was attracting the people who weren’t assigned to the studio. The piece itself was already hard to play on the piano alone, concentration only became harder for both as they hear people crowding the entrance of the room. The pressure was killing the pair in the most silent yet obvious manner.

Don’t fuck up, Rumi. Don’t you dare fuck it up now? It’s going to be so fucking embarrassing for Keigo if you dare mess it up. Oh my fucking god, too fast, too fast, too fAST—

It was obvious that the piece was escalating for some reason and Rumi was panicking at the pace they were going for many reasons. One, the tan girl hasn’t memorized the piece, meaning she has to look at both the piece and her xylophone. She’s starting to wonder why on earth she’s speeding up.

Was she not following the time signature? Maybe she didn’t time the rests right. Shit, did she forget to play a note again? Rumi looks at Keigo and everything starts to fall into place. Keigo is panicking.

Keigo’s eyes were so focused on playing the piece it was like he was solely playing the piano on his own. His fingers are going too fast, it wasn’t obvious to the audience but he was a least two beats advanced. He’s forgetting what piece even was in the first place. His eyes are too wide. Keigo is going too fast.

“Keigo!” Rumi screams out. Keigo hears it and he turns around and he finally sees it. Rumi isn’t looking at him but he can see her struggle, the way her eyes are flipping from the notes to the actual instrument was her way of panicking and telling Keigo to slow it down, any faster and she’s going to have to make a mistake on the way of trying to keep up.

“Sorry,” Keigo mouths out and he tries to mellow down the speed but it ends up being too fast for Rumi’s speed again. Rumi hasn’t seen Keigo’s response Rumi feels like her arm is about to fall off. She’s just pulling through the fact that the song is about to end… Okay maybe choosing the six-minute version of the song was a bad idea.

The song finally ends and they get applause from the people who were watching them. The pair never really processed how many people were watching. It looked like only a few caught on to the fact that they were a bit too fast and the fact they ended a bit early because of it.

Keigo and Rumi share a hug and Rumi hit’s Keigo’s nape in the process. “That was pretty stupid of you, Keigo,”

“Sorry about that,”

Keigo and Rumi turn to the crowd and simply bows in gratitude.

“What is going on in here?” The head of the lyre group comes in, the crowd quiets down their noise. It shows on their face that they have no idea why there is a crowd and why Rumi and Keigo are bowing as it turns out the head of the lyre group has just arrived in the building and hasn’t watched the entire scene play out.

“Ah, Keigo was helping me practice,” Rumi explains with a bright smile, satisfied she even finished the song. The leader raises an eyebrow as Keigo bows in front of them, a way of greeting.

“Is that so?”

“She couldn’t get the timing right,” Keigo explains, why he is helping her in the first place.

The leader crosses their hands on their chest, “It sounds to me, you also couldn’t get the timing right, Keigo,” They say with a menacing voice.

“He got nervous, chill out,” Rumi defends.

“A musician that can’t play at the right time signature shouldn’t be playing in the first place,” The leader says, smirking. They’ve pissed off Keigo, it was obvious by the way he was looking down, fist clenched. He’s holding in every urge to bite back at the way the leader was taunting the pair.

“Is that your way of telling Rumi her song choice sucked?” Keigo quietly asks.

“Excuse me?”

“You weren’t here for the performance, more likely you came by the end of it, I can see it in your face,” Keigo points out the bewilderedness of the guy the moment they came in. He can tell that they haven’t calmed down from the shock of the people and the ending of the song.

“That’s not what I—“

“I wasn’t finished,” Keigo says, Rumi is freaking out. She’s trying to calm Keigo down by gripping his arm and silent whispers, scolding his name but Keigo persists and continues, “Now, if you’re going to tell me and Rumi that the piece she chose doesn’t suit your style, then maybe you shouldn’t be a leader because of that selfish thought, 3/4 of your lyre group are already here and they are looking at you with pretty nasty looks,” Keigo reminds the leader as he points to some people in the crowd and the leader sees their members looking at him menacingly or not even looking at them.

“Anyways, if you don’t like the help of other people from your same orchestra, maybe you should take a chill pill,” Keigo says, packing up his stuff and leaving.

“Keigo— wait!” Rumi says, gathering her stuff as well and following shortly, completely ignoring her leader.

“Where are you going?” She says after chasing up to the blond man.

“Home,”

“Let me come with you,”

“but—“ Keigo tries to retort, seeing that the silver-haired girl still has work and has to present the piece they were practicing in the first place yet that same girl cuts him off,

“It’s the least I could do after everything you said, dumbass,”

“Fine,” Keigo sighs continues on his journey with Rumi.

___________________

They both wait for the subway train to arrive, and as they do so, a new but familiar voice enters their conversation, “Hello there, young bird,”

Rumi is shocked to hear an old voice from behind her so she turns around. Keigo already knew the voice so his calm stature doesn’t change, “Hello,” Keigo says, bowing in respect.

“Where are you going?” The old lady asks.

“Home, people at work like to be asses today,”

“I get that, you have a pretty guest too,” The old lady points at Rumi who has a tint of blush on her cheeks after being called pretty.

“Hi, I’m Rumi Usagiyama,” She says, bowing as well

“Hello there, little bunny, ah… well I have to be going, have a wonderful day you two,” The elderly woman says, looking at her watch and departing.

“Take care!” Keigo says as he watches her depart from them. He notices the soft gaze of Rumi as she watches the elder woman disappear, “… you like being called pretty~” He says, teasing the smaller human.

“N-NO I DO NOT,” Rumi says, eyes wide, color creeping up her cheeks, and hits Keigo’s shoulder on instinct.

“Hey, what was that for?” Keigo says a hand goes to the injured area. Not all that injured but still painful.

Rumi rolls her eyes, “You are annoying,”

“You like it when I’m annoyin— okAY OKAY I’LL STOP,” Keigo tries to bite back but Rumi is already a step ahead and pinches and twists Keigo’s ear. The train finally arrives and the two finally calm down and board the train.

___________________

They are finally walking to what Keigo calls his home. As they walk through, Rumi notices how this path seems familiar. Too familiar. It’s like she knows it because she’s been here every day. That’s exactly what it was.

Is he going to make a left there? But I also live there. Then straight ahead for two intersections then another left. wAIT A SECOND—

“You live here?” Rumi asks and the question catches Keigo off guard. Of course, he lives here, where else was this girl expecting?

“Yeah… is there a problem?”Keigo slowly answers. Rumi’s brain is doing the most before short-circuiting again, everything seems to fall into place.

“Did you just so happen to hear instruments playing from your other neighbors?” Rumi asks an oddly specific question “Cause ya know, you’re not the only one who can play an instrument.” She explains and Keigo nods.

“Yeah, just yesterday this neighbor of mine must’ve been pissed~ they were making the most random of notes I swear, poor xylophone just wanted some rest,” He chuckles and Rumi nods. Did this asshat just say xylophone? yeSTERDAY?!

“ARE YOU THE ONE WHO PLAYED CLAIR DE LUNE THE OTHER DAY?!” Rumi again asks a specific question and Keigo answer it absent-mindedly.

“Yes, how did you—“

“WE’RE NEIGHBORS YOU FUCKHEAD,” Rumi freaks out and Keigo doesn’t seem to be on the same page as her.

“… what?”

“The xylophone playing yesterday wAS ME,” Rumi explains that she was the mastermind of the horrific music and Keigo slowly starts to understand.

“YOU?!?!” Keigo points at a laughing Rumi. “WHY WERE YOU PISSED?!”

“CAUSE I LEFT THIS GODDAMN PORTFOLIO AND THE LEADER GOT PISSED AT ME FOR IT,” Rumi explains while waving the envelope she was looking for one and a half days ago.

“BUT I RETURNED IT TO YOU” Keigo tries to make sense of the situation

“EXACTLY WHY I WAS PISSED,” Rumi says as Keigo shakes his head, everything finally clicks into place and they both have calmed down, “Thank you, for a while ago,” Rumi silently says, remembering how they even found out the new information in the first place. She sees her house and yet they turn the opposite way.

“Hmm? Oh, no problem, was getting sick and tired of them treating you like shit anyway,” Keigo simply says as they finally arrive at his home, Rumi feels weirded out at the fact that she isn’t at her house but the house right in front of it.“Care for coffee, neighbor?”

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nightklok · 4 years ago

Note

10-15!

Fun Meta Asks for Writers

10. How would you describe your writing process?

I feel like it’s the equivalency of that kid in math class who used a really bizarre method to answer a question but somehow got it right-

Overall, it can kinda start quite out of place and random. Sometimes, I will begin by outlining the fic and then beginning the story. Or other times I’ll just go right onto writing it without much of an outline. And most of the time; just writing random scenes and dialogue in one document and filling in between the lines later. I suppose my process is more of just doing what I feel is fit for every story and adjusting or fixing when I need to. I really don’t try and push myself to write a beginning or end if that’s not what I’m feeling-if I feel like writing the middle or dialogue that might get cut, then that’s what I do! though I am trying to push myself in outlining just to make sure I don’t forget the key details and know what I plan to do!

11. What do you envy in other writers?

The fact that writers who do long term fics have it all planned out :( I am scared of writing long fics because I just never seem to finish it (Hell I would be surprised at myself if I even finish another chapter of that MML fic i wrote in 2019 by the end of 2020-)- Maybe my 12-14 year old self was onto something by saying ‘fuck you’ to outlines and just throwing every chapter online as I wrote along with no real plan- anyone who can write long chaptered fics and actually complete it really has my respect! Seriously how do you people do it-

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

It would be nice to have your writing be recognized by tons of people though the amount of pressure and stress must be quite incredible-I really would only be comfortable with it if I’m able to go by an alias

13. Do you share your writing online? (Drop a link!) Do you have projects you’ve kept just for yourself?

I do! My AO3′s in my bio though I do have a tag for fics i haven’t uploaded to AO3 yet which is Not on AO3! (I’ll upload it there eventually-)

As for the other question, I have! They are vent fics or comfort fics because trying to find fics that actually portray certain content correctly and non-triggering is like finding a needle in a haystack-Though older vent/comfort fics that i no longer work on do end up getting recycled-

It’s So Cold Today, So I Get Away, and Leave Behind with Nothing‘s main plot was taken from a vent fic I never finished, for example! There is at least one-two fics I might consider publishing if I feel it has done its purpose in giving me the comfort I needed but I’m quite terrified of just publishing something like that if it’s not even requested so who even knows-

14. At what point in writing do you come up with a title?

I feel like it kinda depends but usually I’d have a title set up before a fic is finished because I tend to set it up on AO3 before I finish- I just tend to use song titles or first POV phrases so it makes it all the more easier-

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

I think it’s the tagging that can be hard tbh-while it’s easy to at least tag whatever would be commonly tagged as trigger warnings, it’s harder for the rest of it as I’m not sure what is deemed worthy to tag without spoiling. Do I tag coffee because they talk about coffee for half an hour? A car because they were driving for less than five minutes?-

#thanks for asking! :D #apineappleheart

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writingmessynaruto · 4 years ago

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Let’s Talk

So, I don’t like to do this lmao. I don’t like to come in and have opinions about my fanfics, especially my old ones. I want people to form their own opinions (first at least). I’m not one to impose my view on someone else unless they ask for my perspective. But this has been bothering me for some time. And if you don’t want to read about this, that’s a-okay! I am not insulted at all lol. This is me venting, and honestly, it’s just a show of how much I’ve changed over the years, particularly since 2015.

So, if you don’t want To Woo a Shinobi spoilers, or you’re really not interested in the author’s opinion (yet or ever), then I advise against reading the rest lol!

So, I really don’t like To Woo a Shinobi.

Honestly, there are parts of it that are good and fine. There are definitely moments that are cute in a vacuum. I’ll admit that easily. I won’t even call you crazy if you like it! That’s your opinion.

But I don’t like it lmao.

Why am I posting it? Well, because I wanted to consolidate all my fanfics. Even though I don’t necessarily like everything I’ve ever created, somebody did. And who am I to take that away from someone else? Even if I don’t agree with some aspects of my old writing, who am I to decide for someone else what they can and can’t enjoy? That’s why I’m posting all of my old stuff on AO3 now.

A little while back (within the past year or so) I had some interest in editing/revamping To Woo a Shinobi. I had done that with my trilogy Pirates of the Caribbean fic “Calypso’s Sea Lioness” since I wasn’t happy with how that turned out. So, I started the work on my old Madara fic.

But this fic was literally the first novel length fic I had ever made. It was pretty old. And I was kind of shocked at how much I had changed as a writer in those 5 short years. I remember being so proud of this work, and I respect my past self for that. But the longer I looked at this work, the more I went through it, the more I realized that if I was tackling the same project today, I would go about it so differently that the two works would be completely alien to each other. The plot would be entirely different, the characters would be entirely different. Things would change so massively that it wouldn’t even serve as a similar rewrite. It would be a different story completely.

So I went with that idea. That’s “That Last Summer” in a nutshell. Along the way, I decided to post To Woo a Shinobi just because why not.

I think To Woo a Shinobi was my most popular work ever. Back when I posted it on Quotev, it got over 200 likes before I had to repost it because it got taken off the site index (for having mature content???? It really didn’t though lol). That repost got another 100 likes at least. So, in my mind, that was really successful, the most success I’ve ever had to date on any fic I’ve ever written, and to me, it shows people really liked it.

I just posted Chapter 11 today. I hate Chapter 11.

I know what my inspirations were for this fic lol. I know which movies I was thinking of when I wrote scenes or lines, or designed character dynamics. While all those things are fine and dandy, I really don’t align or find comfort in those things anymore. And rereading To Woo a Shinobi and hearing echoes of those things is uncomfortable.

An aspect of To Woo a Shinobi I like the least is my main OC, Kiyoko. I designed her to be a lot like me at the time. I didn’t have anything else to go off. I had fun with it at the time, of course, but now, looking at that person, that isn’t me at all. And that’s entirely fair! People change, that’s to be expected. Something that was special to you as a child probably won’t have the same effect for you as an adult. Your needs change from childhood to adulthood, literally. And that’s okay. That doesn’t mean those childhood things were bad.

At the same time, I am uncomfortable with some sexist aspects in this fic. Particularly, in Chapter 11, where Kiyoko just straight up forgives Madara for being a dick to the Stone ninja. She doesn’t wrestle with it. She doesn’t argue with him. She just forgives him even when he didn’t apologize, as if that’s something all women should do (definitely a trait I was taught to have growing up). She had a very good point and she just let it go for the sake of... what. Love? Plot? Both?

Let’s be real, if I tried to rewrite that scene today, or any of the relevant scenes, Kiyoko would have argued. Kiyoko probably would have been completely undesirable to Madara. And don’t get me started on Madara...

Why is he in his 40s???? And she is literally 25??? Nope. Nope nope nope. I blame all those old movies that paired young pretty women with ugly old men in their 50s and called it romantic. I bought into that lie because I was a kid. Now, I look at that and cringe. I don’t mind a bit of age difference, but within REASON lmao. Ten years is about the most I’m comfortable with when we’re going for realism and not just straight up crack. And even then, it’s uncomfortable.

Again, I’ll admit, if you can see past all that, the story itself is alright. And I really do appreciate getting excited comments about this story. I agree with most of them! It is a cute story, it’s a popular one, and I wanted to share it even though I don’t necessarily align with it. I don’t think I’ll ever orphan it. It has too much meaning for me as a writer. But in the face of all that, I’m definitely going to continue to write things that matter to me now, as I’ve always done.

#madara uchiha love story #to woo a shinobi #spoilers #rant #fanfiction #madara x oc #meta #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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logicalbookthief · 6 years ago

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Game Night

So I actually had most of this written before 15x18, and then the episode gave us great Maggie + B team moments, so I figured, well, now I have to deliver.

Featuring drunk interns, Schmico, canon-compliant Jaggie (barely but for the sake of, yanno, canon) and teeny-tiny hints to potential future Caggie because @schmicoismysunsword has convinced me it ships.

Now cross-posted on ao3!

Maggie doesn’t make a habit of mixing her professional life with her personal one. Aside from the fact that her sisters work at the same hospital as she does, as does her boyfriend, and her ex-- Look, the point is, Maggie tries to keep her private life a private one, albeit not with the passion of Dr. Bailey.

Just -- she has the unfortunate tendency to babble. Aloud. To anyone nearby, who might be listening.

Which meant unintentionally venting to interns, who were always around, and always eager to listen. It starts with Parker, who, if not sworn to secrecy, at least has the decency to pretend he isn’t hanging off every word that comes out of her mouth. Schmitt is one of the more eager of the bunch and he happens to be on her service today.

“Game night,” she mutters long-sufferingly. “Why tonight, when Meredith and Amelia are busy, and apparently, I don’t have enough of a life where I have any excuse to be somewhere else.”

“Oh, right, the football game is tonight. Nic-- Dr. Kim mentioned that was a thing-- a thing Dr. Avery does,” Schmitt stutters, casting some furtive, flustered looks her way. Honestly, Maggie isn’t paying attention.

“I hate when I have to pretend to care about sports on TV. You know what else is on tonight? The Magicians. But you don’t see me making a night of it with friends.” Not that she has any, apparently. At least, any without kids or prior commitments.

Maggie deflates, more self-conscious than she means to be. “April enjoyed watching sports. Or maybe she was better at pretending than I am...”

Something dejected in her tone must spark a bit of nerve in Schmitt, who clears his throat. “Hey, you could -- uh, you could come out with us tonight,” he says, shrinking a bit under her stare. “Uh, if you wanted.”

“Us?” she echoes critically.

“Oh, um, well there’s me, Doctors Helm, Qadri, Parker--” All interns, Maggie mentally concludes, at the exact moment Schmitt realizes he’s asking an attending to tag along with his friends.

“Never mind, it--” Finding an extra burst of nerve, Schmitt spews out in a rush, “It’s trivia night at this pub we like and you’d make a great ringer.”

Then he goes on ahead to the next patient on their rounds, as Maggie blinks. Has she sunk so low to consider to hanging out with a couple of kids?

Except, she thinks with a wince, that sounds exactly like something Kiki would’ve said to her. After all, it isn’t as if the interns are that much younger than she is. Maggie’s so far ahead it only feels that way. She was always the kid to talk to the adults rather than friends her own age. And when she attended her first year of medical school still in braces while her peers were all adults, she had no choice but to grow up fast.

Sacrificing one night of professional integrity probably wouldn’t tarnish her career forever. And a trivia night is exactly the sort of brain flexing she would prefer over an evening of her male coworkers yelling about a ball not making it over the right line.

“What happens outside of the hospital, stays outside of the hospital,” Maggie springs on a stunned Schmitt, ending any further discussion with a firm glance. “I’ll be there at 7.”

“Dr. Pierce, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Qadri begins, and then, with the utmost reverence, “You fucking rock at trivia.”

Schmitt and Parker whoop in agreement.

“I do,” Maggie asserts, flushed with victory. And it’s probably the jalapeno poppers, too.

“I can’t believe you argued with the guy asking the questions,” Schmitt admits. “And you won.”

“Well, if you don’t have an encyclopedia knowledge of Happy Potter,” she preens. “Don’t try me.”

Helm returns with the celebratory round of shots, including one for her. Is it unethical to take shots with your interns? While on the clock, yes, definitely. Then again, it’s a little unethical to sleep with interns, too, and yet--

Maggie downs the shot.

Parker hisses as the burn of alcohol slides down his throat. “I need at least three more of those after the study session I pulled last night,” he says, winded.

“Right, your intern exams are coming up.” A swell of fondness rises in her chest as she remembers toiling over her textbooks, the ease of assessment, the pride of passing with high marks. “You guys excited?”

A chorus of groans answers her question. Oh, right. Not everyone was a child prodigy who gloried in tests. Maggie flinches and figures to hell with it, she’s already in this deep. She orders the next round of shots.

“I’ve read so much I wore out my contacts,” Schmitt mumbles, his cheek plastered against the table.

“Did you fall asleep wearing them again?” Taryn huffs at his miserable nod. “Dude, you’re going to go blind.”

“And fail your exam,” Parker adds, prompting another groan.

Maggie has the weird urge to pat his head consolingly. Luckily, Qadri does it instead. “At least if you fail you have a hot surgeon boyfriend to support you,” she mutters enviously.

“You could be a house-husband,” Helm proposes, raising her glass at Maggie and Qadri. “Because it’s 2019 and that’s equality.”

Schmitt seems to consider this seriously.

“You wouldn’t have to shave fish,” Qadri tacks on, wrinkling her nose. “No offense.”

It takes a full minute for Maggie to realize the remark is directed at her. “Oh! None taken,” she says quickly. “I take no responsibility for that exercise. Or the smell.”

“Which still hasn’t come out of my hijab,” Qadri mourns. Seeing Qadri look any amount of sad, Maggie decides suddenly, should be a crime listed under do no harm.

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “I’ll make Jackson buy you a new one!”

For some reason, that sets them into a fit of giggles.

“Drunk Dr. Pierce is the best,” Parker declares, and then blushes, bright and splotchy. “Except for, uh, sober Dr. Pierce. She’s the most wonderful, uh--”

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” says Helm, wryly.

“Sober Dr. Pierce would be at home, pretending to care about sports,” Maggie scoffs.

“With Link, Dr. Avery and Dr. Kim?” Dahlia grins. “Sounds like a dream.”

“Pretty sure we’ve all had that dream,” Levi snorts.

“Uh, hello?” Helm pulls a face, jerking a thumb at herself. “Lesbian.”

“Everyone except Taryn has probably had that dream,” he amends.

“Her, and me,” Maggie says blandly. Alcohol loosens her tongue almost as much as bullies and outrage. “As if our free time isn’t limited enough by his projects, and my environmental research, now Jackson’s gone and bonded with his new buddy Link, who loves sports, and camping, and nature, and -- bikes, I guess?”

“Nico says Link’s got a man-crush on Dr. Avery,” Schmitt whispers in what’s not really a whisper. Parker snorts messily into his drink, which she finds weirdly endearing.

“Please tell me Kim also has one of those secret bro handshakes with Link?” Maggie begs.

Schmitt nods. “Yeah, no, they do. He tried to show me it once, but I, um, accidently hit his chin with my open palm.”

Fits of laughter overcome the group while Schmitt flushes. “Aw. Did you kiss it better?” Parker wheedles.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” says Schmitt, tight-lipped.

“You do so,” Helm snorts, shoving him in the chest.

“Hey,” says Qadri, noting how Maggie’s spaced out. “At least if he’s watching sports and -- I dunno, crushing beer cans? -- with Dr. Link and Levi’s ortho god, then you don’t have to act like you want to hear about baseball.”

“Football,” Parker corrects.

“There’s a difference?” Qadri wonders.

Maggie would try to answer, except the implication has finally sunk in. “His ortho god?” she asks, gesturing skeptically at Schmitt.

“Yuh huh. Dr. Kim is his boyfriend,” Helm shares with relish.

“Oh!” What she means to say is congrats, yet what emerges is a clumsy, “Wow. Good job.”

Schmitt only shrugs. “I don’t know how,” he confesses in a slightly dazed tone. “Sometimes I think I died in that freak windstorm and this is just the last of my synapses firing off one last wet dream.”

“Dude, that’s dark,” Parker murmurs.

“I haven’t slept or had sex in...” Schmitt pauses, clearly wracking his brain. “What’s today?”

“Preaching to the choir,” Maggie mutters. Huh, maybe that has something to do with her mood.

“Oh, God,” Dahlia exclaims, as if she just cracked the code. “What if that’s why. What if Link is sleeping with Dr. Avery??”

Parker nods sagely. “That makes sense.”

“Oh, God,” Maggie echoes. After a couple shots of tequila, the theory seems totally plausible. “Oh, no, what do I--”

“Don’t worry,” Schmitt interjects, radiating a suspicious amount of calm. “Link is too busy fooling around with Dr. Shepperd to sleep with your boyfriend.”

Maggie exhales in relief. Then it dawns on her, what he actually said. “Wait,” she yelps. “What? He’s sleeping with my sister?”

Schmitt blinks. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know!” Maggie gapes. “How did you know?!”

“He’s fucking the other ortho god,” Helm and Qadri chime in.

“Right,” says Maggie, slowly and with effort. “Right, okay, I’ve got to remember that detail for tomorrow. So maybe, only … one more round of shots?”

Helm’s eyes light up. “Dr. Pierce is the coolest,” she declares, and the rest unanimously agree.

Maggie Pierce has never been named the coolest anything -- the most impressive, sure, and the most talented by far -- so she can’t help the thrill that shoots through her, headier than any glass of alcohol.

“We’re taking a Lyft.” Parker has emerged as de-facto leader of the drunk brigade, voted in as least likely to order an axe-murderer for a driver. “Levi, you in?”

Schmitt shakes his head, wincing as it jostles his precarious balance. “Nico said he would pick me up if I wanted.”

Helm snickers. “House-husband,” she sing-songs at him.

“Breadwinner,” Schmitt fires back. Neither of these are insults, Maggie notes, uncertain if she should point this out.

“Ma--” Parker catches himself with another blush. “Dr. Pierce, do you, uh, need a ride?”

“Hey!” Schmitt says like he’s had a full-on brainblast. “You can wait with me and Nico can get you, too.”

“Really?” Maggie perks. It saved her the trouble of calling anyone liable to embarrass her; namely, either of her sisters or worse, Karev. “That would be fantastic.”

“Sure, he’s already at Jackson’s place,” Schmitt replies confidently. If she were slightly more sober, Maggie doubts that logic would hold up to scrutiny. As it is, it makes perfect sense to wait for Schmitt’s ortho god to drop her off at the place he drove in from.

Turns out, Dr. Kim is a sexy sight to behold, even with a proprietary arm wrapped around Schmitt, who’s too busy mumbling grateful nonsense into his shoulder to notice the adoration in his boyfriend’s gaze.

If he is surprised to catch Maggie in a similar state of inebriation, Kim has the decency to make no mention of this. Instantly, he’s her new favorite attending-level doctor. He is also a gentleman, offering Maggie his hand as she clamors into the backseat of his car, all the while still steadying Schmitt with a hand clasped over his waist.

Maggie marvels at the coordination and strength, wonders if he could carry them both simultaneously, should the need arise.

“He’s awesome at carrying people,” Schmitt brags, meaning that, whoops, she said that aloud.

Kim chuckles. “Thanks, babe,” he says, wryly. “But at the risk of oversharing, maybe don’t go into detail.”

“What, that it’s a sex thing?” Schmitt says in what he clearly believes is a whisper for their ears only, before he collapses back onto the seat, supremely self-satisfied. At exactly the same volume, he adds, “See? I can be discreet.”

“Great job,” Kim snorts, unimpressed. And yet unable to resist pressing a kiss into his boyfriend’s brow before he starts up the engine. They’re cute, Maggie thinks blearily, and hopes she managed to keep the thought inside her head.

Judging by the grin Kim shoots her out of the corner of his eye, she probably didn’t succeed.

Jackson looks surprised to see Nico at his door again, not that long after he left. “Hey, man. Did you forget something?”

“Nope,” says Nico, cheerily. “Just doing a drop-off.”

“You--” Jackson stares in bewilderment, until Nico moves aside, allowing his passenger to sidestep his bulk. “Mags?”

Maggie stumbles to the door, using one of his sturdy biceps for balance. “Thanks for the lift, Kim,” she waves over her shoulder.

He nods, still smirking as he walks back to his car, away from the bewildered Jackson.

“Mags, are you -- you good?” He hovers close behind as she carefully navigates the stairs, forgoing the temptation of the couch for the queen-sized bed.

“I,” Maggie begins, slurring with great dignity. “Fucking rock at trivia.”

The morning-after is almost worth the hangover. Watching Jackson try to puzzle out what she got up to last night -- and exactly how Dr. Kim fits into the picture -- is too funny, since Maggie deigns to tell him only the bare minimum, lest she look as silly as she feels when she walks into work with a lingering stuffiness.

“Wow. You look as though you need at least a double-shot,” says a familiar voice, rippling with sympathy, but also a fair bit of humor. “Good thing I got you a triple.”

Maggie stares blankly at Kim and at the to-go cup suddenly placed in her hands. Truly he is a kind and benevolent ortho god. “What’s this for?”

Kim grins. “Last night my boyfriend went on about how cool Dr. Pierce was, and how hungover you’d be, and that it was his fault,” he explains, obviously quite amused. “And this morning he groggily demanded I make amends by being especially nice to you this morning. Hence, coffee.”

“That is--” A level of thoughtfulness that made all boyfriends, including her own, seem like total jackasses in comparison. Nico smirks as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and enjoys the high ground very much. “So unnecessarily sweet. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, and leans in, a sheepish twitch to his unfaltering smile. “I’d also appreciate if he didn’t get fired over whatever you may or may not have heard last night.”

Maggie laughs.

“Honestly, I’ve forgotten a decent amount already,” she admits, for the sake of all three of them. “Except the part about Dr. Link and my sister?”

Kim chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“No, I heard that from your drunk boyfriend,” she replies, picking up the pace to follow his long strides. “But I absolutely need to hear more from you!”

At his reluctance, Maggie pulls out her trump card. “I’ll buy you a bagel.”

Nico stops to considers her. “Multigrain, veggie cream cheese?”

Evidently, Kim has a price. Maggie appreciates in someone who is still, until further notice, her favorite attending.

Petition for more of what 15x18 gave us with Maggie and the interns? And for Maggie and Nico to become friends?? Hire me Grey’s

#schmico #schmico fic #maggie pierce #levi schmitt #nico kim #b team #grey's anatomy #taryn helm #casey parker #dahlia qadri

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multisfabulis · 5 years ago

Text

A Game of Spite

Word Count: 4087

TW: Strong language, mention of self harm, mention of past drug usage, and implied abuse

So I went on an unexpected hiatus over on @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine and wrote a kinda vent piece. This is marking the first time I’m putting up a completely unedited segment so this is of lower quality than my other works.

This is also the first segment featuring my other “story” universe, Red Light Dregs! New characters, new setting, and no established links to Corona’s Shadow. Let’s hope people will enjoy it!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA

Luce looked up at the sky as Ravi and Amelia went on ahead of him. Gray clouds covered the expanse above, no trace of blue to be seen. It was hard to tell if it was gonna rain or not, though he leaned more on the latter. Either way, the late morning overcast perfectly set the mood for today.

He’d never been to a cemetery before. He never had any reason to, since the only family he had were his parents and he certainly didn’t want to visit them. However, today was different. He was here on the behalf of his boyfriend and little sister, who came to visit their parents.

It was only a couple days ago Ravi asked him if he wanted to come. Initially, he wasn’t sure, since he didn’t want to intrude on them paying their respects and because parents were a touchy subject for him. Once he met his rose red eyes, though, he could tell he wanted him to come and accepted his invitation. He couldn’t say no to his snowbird, after all.

So here he was. He was shocked at how big it was when he saw it from inside the taxi they took to get over here. That was when he realized the scale in which people died every day. It unnerved him, to say the least.

As he followed the two figures further in, he took in his surroundings. Stone markers were strewn all over green grass, some decorated with flowers, toys, and the like while others were left untouched. Names and dates were engraved or etched on each and every single grave they passed. Some even had pictures of the departed smiling brightly as they once did when they were alive. Would his grave be like these when his time came, adorned with mementos from his loved ones?

A heavy sense of somberness loomed over him. He never gave much thought about death and how he’d want to be dealt with. Why would he, he was only 21 years old and he was more like a reaper with the sizable amount of bodies under his belt. Even when he’d play chicken with the knife slashing across his skin or snort white dust like it was a Pixie Stick, the possibility of death never crossed his mind. Then again, maybe the reason he never thought about death was because the idea of never waking up again scared the shit out of him. Not knowing about what laid beyond death also scared him. Basically, everything about death scared him. He shook his head, stopping himself from thinking about it further.

“Ravi, Ravi, look!” Amelia suddenly shouted, drawing his attention. “It’s the Weeping Angel lady!”

His eyes followed to where she pointed and it was indeed an angelic woman weeping. It was a large statue depicting an angel crying while a wreath of flowers dangled in her hand. It was beautiful, though the splotches of pigeon crap detracted from its beauty some.

“Are we gonna give her flowers again this year?” she asked, looking at her brother expectantly.

“Yeah, we’ll just give them to her after we see mom and dad, okay?” Ravi replied.

“Okay!” She let out a giggle and ran on ahead.

Confused, he caught up to Ravi and asked, “Flowers?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a tradition we have whenever we come here,” he answered. “After we visit mom and dad, Melly gives the statue flowers to ‘make her happy’.”

“She does know it’s a statue, right?”

“Yeah but it makes her happy.”

They continued walking till they reached the northwestern part of the cemetery. It was there they went down one of the many rows of graves to find their destination. He followed after him, trying not to think about how many coffins were underneath their feet as they passed. Then they stopped, having finally arrived.

Amelia was already there, sitting down before two graves. They were simple stone markers, etched with the names “Mason Theodore Allard” and “Valeria Caterina Allard” on them. A string of numbers with their birth and death dates were below the names and they weren’t that much older than him when they died. No mistake, these two were Ravi and Amelia’s dear father and mother.

Sitting down beside her, Ravi greeted the two graves with, “Hey, mom and dad. We’re back.”

He stood around awkwardly as he talked about everything that happened over the past year or so, Amelia chiming in every now and then. What was he to do? He didn’t know them but he didn’t feel it’d be right to leave the two of them alone either. So he just stayed there, biding his time.

“By the way, I wanted to introduce you to someone.” Ravi turned his head to look at him and he already knew what he was going to say. “Luce, get over here.”

“Uh, Snowbird, I don’t know if---”

“Luce, just get the crap over here.”

No use in fighting with him. He sat down beside him, bowing his head in respect while gulping nervously. Well, this was as awkward as he expected it to be. Anything more and this would go into some uncomfortable territory…

“Mom, dad, this is Luce, my boyfriend.” He glanced over to him. “You have anything to say, Luce?”

Well, fuck. Now he had to say something. The only question was what, since his mind wasn’t coming up with jack. Maybe something that was short, sweet, and to the point? That could work.

“Uh… Hey, I’m Luce and I’ve been dating your son for months now,” he said as stiffly and awkwardly as he wished he didn’t. That could’ve gone a lot better…

Letting out a snort, he threw an arm around his shoulders and said, “This is his first time being in a cemetery and meeting important people so he’s gonna suck with his words a little bit.”

Thank god he didn’t have to say anything else. He was already way out of his element being here, he didn’t need to be put on the spot like that too. He let Ravi continue the conversation while he went back to his previous position.

Aside from his talking, he noticed just how quiet the cemetery was. It was strange to not hear the honking of cars and people shouting over each other here. In a way, it was almost… peaceful. If it weren’t for the overwhelming presence of death all around him, he would’ve enjoyed the calm.

The conversation eventually ended, with Ravi fondly saying an “I love you” to the two graves before standing up. Amelia came up next to him and happily declared she was going to the field nearby to pick flowers. So they kept watch over her as she ran around picking the best flowers to give to the Weeping Angel statue.

“Sorry about not saying much,” he said suddenly, “I would’ve prepared more if I had known you’d be introducing me to your parents.”

“Yeah, I probably should’ve been more clear with that, huh?” he replied.

“At least I didn’t mess up that badly.”

“Yeah, you actually did better than I thought you would.”

“Did you not notice how close my voice was to cracking when I brought up how long we were dating?”

“Oh, I did and I’m impressed at how it didn’t.”

“At least mine can crack.”

“Shut the fuck up, you asshole!”

Although his words were harsh, he had an amused smile on his face. Yet, despite that, it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. It was pretty easy to know why, they were only standing a few feet away from where they were buried. He may not show it but it was clear he still missed them.

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he asked, “How were they? Your mom and dad, I mean.”

“You really wanna know?” he answered with a question of his own.

He nodded and Ravi let out a sigh. Despite him asking about them, he wasn’t ready for the discomfort the talk of parents would bring him. Still, he was determined to push past that and listen to him.

“They were...” He paused to clear his throat. “They were good. They worked a lot just to provide for all of us but they tried their best to spend as much time with me as they could. If I had a school thing coming up, they always tried to clear their schedule to be there for me, though it was rare for both of them to show up.

“They were also super supportive of me. Mom cut my hair whenever I thought it was getting too long and picked out clothes she knew I’d like while dad would let me help him out on one of his projects. Hell, there were times I’d walk in on either mom or dad cussing out my teachers or the principal because I either refused to do what they wanted me to do or they excluded me from joining something because I was a ‘girl’.

“Actually, there’s one time in particular where--” he paused again, this time to steady his voice and sniffle before continuing-- “I asked them if they wanted me to be their daughter instead of their son and… they said they loved me, regardless. They loved me and they wanted me to be happy so if I said I was their son, I was their son. They’d always love me because I was their kid, no matter what, and it made me really happy to hear that.”

A single tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He blinked back the others and wiped it away, apologizing with a bitter laugh. Luce walked up to him and placed a hand on the back of his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

He knew it had to be hard for him to be the only one to remember them. Amelia was simply too young when they died for her to have memories of them. Course, Ravi was probably angry at that fact. She didn’t get to have enough time to spend with them when she should’ve. It wasn’t fair that their parents were taken away from them when they were still needed but knowing that wouldn’t bring them back. It was just a sad part of reality Ravi accepted a long time ago.

“Again, I’m sorry about crying like that,” he repeated, rubbing at his eyes carefully to avoid smudging his makeup. “It’s just… I miss them a lot, you know, and I wish they were still here.”

What could he say in this situation? It wasn’t like he experienced the same kind of loss like his snowbird had. He felt he’d be disrespecting him by saying empty words he knew didn’t have an ounce of understanding in them. He wanted nothing more than to comfort him but nothing was coming to him. So he opted to continue standing there with a hand on his shoulder, pretending it did something.

“Hey, Snowbird, how do you…” he began to ask, searching for the right words to say, “how do you… get through it?”

“Get through what?”

“You know, everything. Your parents’ death, the worry of not having enough money, all the shit Eli’s done. How do you get through it all?”

He didn’t answer right away, looking deep in thought. It was a question he curiously wanted to know the answer to, though he could’ve picked a better time to ask it. If it wasn’t solely Amelia, then what was it?

“Well, there’s two reasons. The first obviously being the people in my life, meaning both Amelia and--” he gestured to him-- “you. If it weren’t for her and you, I’d have given up a long time ago.”

Scoffing, he said, “I’m surprised. I would’ve thought I’d be considered as one of the bad things in your life.”

“Hey,” he interjected, almost as if he were chiding him, “don’t you ever say that. You may be an asshole that loves to annoy the shit out of me and tease me about practically everything but I’ve never once regretted meeting you or getting to know you or any of that stuff. You’re probably the only good thing that came out of the hellhole we call home.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah. You fell in love with me, despite how I act like a total bitch every day, and you never stared at my tits or ass whenever we met at work. Why wouldn’t you be?”

No words could even come close to describing how speechless he was. It sometimes shocked him how much of a non-filter his snowbird had. Then again, he figured it was part of his charm so it didn’t bother him much.

“Anyway, there’s another reason and it’s a lot more petty than you’d think.” He smirked. “Lemme ask you this question: do you like games?”

“What does that have to do with---”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“...Kinda? I mean, I don’t play them much but I guess I like them?”

“Tell me, would you want to play a game where your opponent plays unfairly?”

“No, cuz then it’d be no fun and there wouldn’t be a point to playing it.”

Still carrying the smirk, he said rather scathingly, “Then you’d think life would play fairly but no… It doesn’t.

“Life and I have this game it likes to play where it wants me to give up by trying its absolute damnedest to throw just the worst shit at me and beat me down with it. I like to think that’s where the saying ‘life’s unfair’ comes from because it’s a helluva a true statement. It’s like your worst enemy wanting you dead for no other reason than it just hating you for existing.

“I don’t like playing games like that. Why should everything be stacked against me when I didn’t ask for any of the crap I got? So I came up with something that’ll piss my opponent, in this case life, off. If I can’t win the game, then the very least I can do is not give it the satisfaction of winning.

“That’s how I’ve gotten through everything. If life wants me to give up, then I refuse to. It’s a game of spite, if you will. Every time life has thrown me a curveball, I tell it to go fuck itself and move on to the next thing it decides to throw at me. It’s a pretty ridiculous way of looking at it, isn’t it?”

It was an… interesting philosophy to subscribe to. See life as if it were a game and refuse to give it a satisfying victory? Real life wasn’t like the board game. It sounded ridiculous and he probably would’ve said it as such. But the fact that Ravi was the one saying all this made it sound so much more believable. Knowing the kind of person he was, of course he’d think like that.

“Nah,” he replied, “it suits you.”

“I guess.” He pulled out his phone to check the time and slipped it back into his pocket. “Listen, can you watch Melly for a bit? I gotta take a quick smoke before we leave.”

“You can’t smoke here?”

“Luce, I think if I were to put out a cigarette and throw the butt onto one of the graves, it’d be extremely disrespectful.”

“...You may have a point. Go on, I’ll watch the snowdove.”

So he headed back the way they came, leaving him to keep an eye on Amelia. She had a large gathering of flowers and the like in her arms and it continued to grow with each one she added. Surely, they’re not all for the statue, he wondered. Another minute or so passed and she ran back with the mismatched bouquet.

Presenting him with it, she said excitedly, “Lucy, look at all the flowers I picked! Aren’t they pretty?”

“Yeah, they are, Snowdove,” he replied, bending down to take a closer look at it.

The bouquet was comprised of colorful weeds and flowers. Some were in full bloom while others had missing petals or leaves. A few were even left bare, as if it didn’t have the chance to grow beyond a sprout. Still, it was a beautiful bouquet with the heart and care of a child.

She giggled and sat down in front of the graves again. He watched as she carefully placed several flowers beside both the markers. He couldn’t recognize the song she was humming but he didn’t want to interrupt her to ask what it was. Soon, all that was left of the bouquet was a pile of small, crumpled flowers.

“Hey, Lucy? What were your parents like?” she asked suddenly, looking at him with curious eyes.

He instinctively wanted to recoil but resisted the urge to. It wasn’t a question he wanted to answer. He didn’t want to remember all the bad things they did to him when he was a child. They were the reason he was so fucked up, why he hated himself, just everything wrong with him. He hoped they were in the deepest pits of hell for what they did to him. He sent them there so they better be.

But she didn’t know any of that. He didn’t blame her for asking something that a kid in her situation would naturally ask about. He was NOT going to tell her every single thing they did to him, he absolutely refused to. It’d just scar her for life and he did NOT want to be the one responsible for killing her innocence. He’ll just have to answer her in a delicate manner that didn’t bring up bad memories in the process.

“Well, uh…” he began to say, pausing to force the inklings of memory back, “they weren’t… good. They used to hurt me when I was your age. Hurt me a lot and… they weren’t good, not at all. So…”

“Oh…” She played with the hem of her dress. “I’m sorry they used to hurt you. I wish you had a good mom and dad.”

“It’s okay. Besides--” He crouched down next to her and ruffled a hand through her hair-- “I like being a part of this family.”

Giggling, she replied with a smile, “Yeah, I like that you’re family too.”

That was when Ravi returned. She bounced up off the ground and took the small, wrinkled bouquet with her. As she showed it off to him, he had on one of the rare warm smiles he’d only display in quiet moments like this. These two were gonna be the death of him someday.

He stayed a little ways behind them as they all walked back. He wanted some time to think over the conversation he and Ravi had earlier. The whole “life is just a sick game” bit stuck out among everything else.

If life really was a game, what would be the prize? He figured it’d be a good life, a life you can look back on and feel okay with leaving once you died. If that was how Ravi saw it, then he didn’t think he’d be able to have a good life. Maybe even thought he didn’t deserve to live one. Course, if it came down to either him or Amelia to have one, he wouldn’t hesitate to choose her. He found that sad.

He didn’t deserve to live the life he has now. A person as good as him didn’t deserve to have people he loved taken away, to have to put up a mask just to please sleazebags that didn’t truly appreciate him, to be used and abused by someone he trusted. Nobody deserved that kind of life, least of all a guy who’s just trying to raise his little sister in the wretched world they lived in.

Upon thinking that, he wanted to play the game of life. Like his snowbird, he got saddled with issues of his own for no other reason than him existing. However, he didn’t want to cheat it out of a win. He wanted to conquer it and win it himself, the prize being a good life. Wait for an opportunity to show itself, then take it before it vanished. That way, Ravi and Amelia could live a life away from all the destitution.

They stopped by the Weeping Angel statue and, per her request, Amelia gave it flowers. She placed some inside the wreath and carefully stood the rest beside the statue’s lying head. With her hands folded, she stood before it and bowed her head, seemingly praying to the statue.

Seizing an opportunity to talk, he walked up next to Ravi and muttered to him, “I think I’m starting to like games more after talking to you.”

“Oh?” he commented in intrigue, as if he understood the deeper meaning behind his words. “You want to follow my strategy?”

“No, I think I’ve got a better one. Wait for an opening and then go after it to win.”

He chuckled. “Not how I would’ve played but… let’s hope it pans out for you.”

Amelia finished her prayer and said goodbye to the statue. She took hold of Ravi’s hand as they began walking back. He followed after them, looking at all the graves they passed by.

He wondered if they were here too. Probably not, since they were basically criminals that no one would miss being gone. He didn’t want to become like them, he’d kill himself first before turning into them. Now that he was committed to this “game of spite”, he’ll do everything in his power to not end up like them. He was determined to win and get the good life all three of them deserved. No matter what.

#airi's writing #oc; Luce #oc; Ravi #oc; Amelia #Red Light Dregs #strong language #self harm mention #drugs mention #implied abuse

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