#sad to say i have not drawn a thing these past several weeks. no motivation. it'll come to me at some point. hopefully soon

[picory]

playing hyrule warriors: age of calamity on yuzu on my laptop at 6 FPS. a perfectly normal way to play that was intended by the creators i'm sure

[sameheart-sameblood]

Live While We’re Alive

(gif by @rex-is-best)

pairing: commander wolffe x f!reader

summary: you thought being a newly recruited civilian doctor to the GAR was hard enough until you developed a hopeless crush on Commander Wolffe

words: 2.8 k

warnings: mature, some suggestive talk, mutual pining, medical exams, co-workers to lovers, a doctor having inappropriate thoughts about their patient 

a/n: I started writing this awhile ago and then lost all creative motivation but I've been in a Wolffe mood the past few days and sad we didn't get to see him in The Bad Batch so here we are. I'd like to apologize to my doctor dad and all medical professionals everywhere lol. Also, I had intended for this to end in smut but then got lost in feelings so there mayyyy be a chapter 2. We'll see ;)

read on ao3!

You want to fuck him. It’s been decided. This realization couldn���t have come at a worse time, though. You’re surrounded by Jedi and Clone Officers in a very important meeting detailing your next mission. But you only have eyes for one of the men and he’s currently standing at the head of the room giving a briefing to the holo of Master Yoda. It’s a testament to Commander Wolffe’s presence that you barely notice the little green Jedi Master he’s conversing with. Well, his presence and his extreme handsomeness.

When you’d first met him, you’d been truly intimidated. The other women you worked with nodded in understanding, whispering they had been thrown off by his cybernetic eye and prominent scar. But that wasn’t it. You’d noticed those things, but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.

It was the fact that he took one look at you and seemed to see right into your soul. You couldn’t explain it but you felt like with just a glance, he could tell your deepest insecurities. And stars, did you have a lot of those.

You had worked your way up through the medical field and had started your residency at the biggest hospital in Coruscant. After your training ended, you had secured a permanent job there. It had been difficult, to say the least. Though you knew you were qualified, even more so than most of your male co-workers, you still doubted yourself often.

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to visit you one nondescript Thursday afternoon, telling you of the need for doctors in the GAR. He said you came most highly recommended when he was searching for recruits but still, you thought a mistake had been made and that someone soon would realize and send you back to your normal life. It was a recurring nightmare you’d developed in the past few weeks that shook you from your sleep.

You had agreed to join the GAR, sympathetic to the cause and wanting to do your part. The next few weeks had consisted of you getting your bearings and meeting the rest of the staff at the base . Kix, the clone medic in charge, had helped you learn the ropes and had introduced you to all his brothers. At first, you had been overwhelmed by the sea of identical faces. As the weeks had gone on, you’d learned everyone’s names and they’d made you feel welcome, like one of their own.

The Commander and you had crossed paths several times. He was polite but distant. Not like you blamed him. He had more important things to do than exchange drawn out pleasantries. With each run-in, though, he seemed to be making more of an effort to be personable. Unfortunately, each conversation left you looking more and more like an idiot. Or a di’kut. The boys had been teaching you some Mando’a.

You were a medical professional, a well-respected doctor and yet Wolffe made you feel unsure of yourself. It had been so long since you’d had a crush that you didn’t realize this was what the beginning of one felt like.

*******

As you sit around the war room table, you feel even more like a school girl. Instead of paying attention to whatever Master Yoda is saying, you’re transfixed by Wolffe’s face. The hazy blue light from the holo reflects off his features, making him look ethereal. His scar looks even more prominent and you blush, remembering how often you’ve wondered what it would feel like to let your fingers trace it.   And his lips. They’re moving, responding to whatever the Jedi has said. They’re mesmerizing and now you’re thinking of what it would be like to kiss him. Or even better yet, to have those lips pressed against the plushier parts of your body.

You continue to stare until you realize his face has turned to you. It probably only takes you a second to come back to reality but it feels like an eternity. Somehow you’re able to respond to the question.

“Yes, Commander. All medical personnel are prepared for an 0800 liftoff. Kix will take his team with the 501st and I’ll have my staff along with the 104th. We’ll reconnoiter once we’ve landed on Hisseen.” The rest of the table nods, moving the conversation along. Wolffe stares at you for a moment, a hint of a smirk on his lips. You avert your gaze, finding the table a much safer object of your attention.

The discussion wraps up and Wolffe stands at attention, puffing his chest out, before Master Yoda disappears. Once again, your eyes are drawn to him. You’re not sure how but he makes something so mundane look indescribably attractive. Wolffe’s head turns in your direction but you’ve already bolted from your seat, hoping to cool down in the hallway.

Kix pushes through the crowd to get to you. “Hey, Doc. How’d the meeting go?” You shrug. “Nothing new to report. Just making sure we’re all set for our campaign.” He’s shifting back and forth, a sort of glazed look in his eyes. You realize he’s not paying particularly close attention. It’s the look of someone asking you something just so they can request a favor in return.

“Hmm oh yeah, that’s nice. Say, Doc, do you think you could cover for me for a few hours? I have some urgent business to attend to.”

“Since when is playing Sabacc with Fives and the boys urgent?”

“Since I remembered how terrible they are at it. I can make a real killing playing against them.”

You laugh. It’s true. You’ve come to love those men but a lot of them are really horrible at the game. You’ll need to give them a remedial course if you have any downtime on Hisseen. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” He rewards you with a huge grin. “Nothing hard! A few higher ups coming in for their physicals. Just the usual. Make sure they’re in tip top shape to get shot at by some tinnies.”

He gives you the list. It’s only a handful of men but the last one on it makes your blood go cold. “Commander Wolffe needs a physical?” Kix is oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Oh yeah, but he knows the drill. Honestly everyone can do it themselves at this point. We’re basically there to oversee it as a formality.”

You swallow down your apprehension and nod. “Sounds easy enough. Go have fun. And take it easy on them, will ya? Let them keep a little of their dignity intact” Kix just grins and shoots you a wave as he runs off.

*******

Your first few appointments go just fine. The officers are professionals and Kix was right, they could do these routine physicals with their eyes closed. You give them all your seal of approval and settle in to do your paperwork before your last, most anticipated patient arrives. The forms in front of you hold no interest and you find yourself checking the chrono every few seconds.

It’s not easy but you manage to finish your work. You set it aside and take steadying breath. Five more minutes and he’ll be here. You scold yourself. The Commander has never been anything but professional. You’re the one thinking these very unprofessional thoughts.

And you’re a doctor, for kriff’s sake. Your patients should be able to come to you without worrying you may be fantasizing about what they look like naked. But these are uncharted waters. It’s your first time having to deal with a patient you’re this attracted to. They really should take your medical license away.

Just as you’re thinking of packing it all up and handing in your resignation to the Jedi Council, a knock at the door snaps you to attention. Well, here goes nothing. You scold yourself once again for checking your reflection in the mirror before answering the door.

You had tried to adopt a passive, professional look to your face before greeting Wolffe but it must not have worked. “Everything alright, Doc? I’m not early, am I?” You shake your head.“Not at all. Punctual as always, Commander.” You beckon for him to come in and take a seat. You close the door, then sit across from him at your desk.

Your datapad hums to life and you busy yourself opening the appropriate forms you need to fill out. The weight of his eyes is heavy on you and your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. You push on through as best you can.

“Well, Commander, how are you feeling today?” There’s that ghost of a smirk again but it vanishes so quickly you're not sure if you imagined it. “I feel like a million credits.” You giggle despite it not even being that funny. You’ve got it bad. “Glad to hear it. This should be quick then.” You gather your equipment and get to work.

First, you take his weight. Then, you listen to his heart. You press the stethoscope to his sternum, thankful you can do this over his blacks. He observes you the whole time. “And what about you? How are you today, Doc?” You risk a glance and meet his eyes. That was a mistake.

“Me? Oh-um just fine. Maybe not like a million credits but a few hundred at least.” You trail off dumbly but he humors you with a chuckle. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard that sound from him before. It’s like music to your ears. “Anything I can do to help? You do look a little flushed. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” You avert your eyes again.

“No. I’m alright. It’s just, uh, hot in these uniforms. The coarseweave doesn’t breathe.”

“You sure? Maybe I should be the one giving you a check-up.”

You realize he’s toying with you now.

“That won’t be necessary, Commander.”

You move on to check his lungs. “Breathe in for me.” You move the stethoscope to his chest, then move it around a few different spots on his back. “You can call me, Wolffe. If you’d like.” He breathes in every time, not even needing prompting, ever the dutiful soldier, even when he’s teasing you.

“I would like that. Thank you, Wolffe.”

Next, you measure his blood pressure. You’re shocked that it’s so low. He sees the look of surprise on your face. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all. The opposite, in fact. Your pressures are great. I just thought with your lifestyle they might, understandably, be a bit higher.”

“What kind of lifestyle do you think I have?”

You’re backtracking as quickly as you can. “I just meant, your life as a soldier, it must be extremely stressful.”

There’s that smirk again. “It is. But you don’t get to be a Commander by not being able to handle the pressure.”

“Of course. But even so, if you’d like some stress relief techniques I can suggest some.” He hums as if really thinking it over. Thankfully there’s only one part of your exam left. Which is good because you’re not sure how much resolve you have remaining.

“Everything looks great. I’ll just do a head and neck exam and then I can send you on your way.”

You need to touch him for this part but you stop yourself, hands hovering but not quite meeting their destination. You feel like once you touch him, really feel his skin under your fingers, there may be no going back.

Wolffe sees your hesitation, then slowly reaches out to take your hands. You watch with wide eyes as he guides them to his neck. He looks up at you innocently enough but you can tell he’s laughing internally. You try to reign in control of the situation.

“Sorry, I just got distracted.” The Commander studies you but this time it’s in earnest. “Are you nervous? This’ll be your first time in an active war zone, right?” You had been anxious but not about that. But now that he mentions it, yeah, you honestly don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Yes, I’m not sure what to expect. I guess you could say I’m a little scared.” Wolffe gently holds your chin, directing you to look back at him. “I won’t lie. It’ll be overwhelming and frightening. Battles can seem never-ending. But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You’re staring into each other’s eyes and you don’t want to stop. But then he’s clearing his throat and gently removing his hand from your skin. You realize you’ve been resting your own hands on his shoulders this whole time. “Thank you, Wolffe. I do feel much better knowing you’ll be there.” You offer him a smile, hoping it conveys just how much you appreciate him looking out for you.

You begin your exam, gently kneading where his neck meets his shoulders, checking for any anomalies. Then you move to his throat. The throat you’ve so often been distracted by. It’s featured prominently in your daydreams. You move your hands along it, under his jawline. Having a man this powerful baring one of the most vulnerable parts of his body to you is intoxicating. Focus, di’kut.

Everything feels normal except for some knots you find resting right below the surface of his smooth skin. “Lymph nodes feel good. You’re a little tense, though. But I bet it’s from that bucket you have to wear most of the day.” He hums in thought. “True. But even so. Maybe you could give me some of those ideas for stress management?” He looks up at you with big eyes. There’s mischief in them but something else. Vulnerability?

You gulp audibly. “Of course. There are a few that work particularly well, um, like deep breathing techniques, going on walks, talking with friends, meditation, journaling, physical activity…” You’re rambling, fighting a losing game against your resolve. Wolffe thinks on it. “Physical activity seems like a good place to start.” His hands come up to gently cover yours that are still resting on his neck.

The sensation of his calloused fingers on your skin sends shivers down your body. You close your eyes, feeling the last of your self-control topple over. “Wolffe,” you whine “We shouldn’t…” He immediately drops his hands, worry etched on his face. “I’m so sorry. It’s just- I thought you wanted-.” He cuts himself off, snapping up to his feet and to attention. “Doctor, you should report me to General Plo Koon for immediate disciplinary action.”

Dank Farrik, you’ve just ruined everything.“Wolffe! No, I’m not reporting you to anyone. If anything you should report me for being so unprofessional.” His shoulders relax a bit but he still eyes you as if you’re a live grenade that might explode at any second. “What do you mean?” You sigh in frustration. This isn’t how you wanted to confess your feelings to him.

“I…want you, Wolffe. The second I realized that I should have asked to be re-assigned to a different battalion. Instead I thought I could push those feelings down and continue to do my job. Looks like that was a mistake.” You hang your head, avoiding his piercing gaze. He’s silent for just a moment but it feels like an eternity.

“So, you want me and I want you?” You nod your head, ashamed, as he continues. “Then what’s the problem, Doc?” Your eyes snap to his, not believing what you’re hearing.

“Isn’t it wrong of us?”

Wolffe sits down on the exam table again, genuinely thinking on it. “I don’t see why. We’re both consenting adults. We don’t work directly with each other- I report to General Koon, you report to General Kenobi- so there’s no real conflict of interest. The worst we’ll face is a little ribbing from the boys if they find out.”

You raise your head to look him in the eyes, needing to make sure he’s serious and that this isn’t some twisted joke. What you find staring back at you is hope and promise. He senses your trepidation and gently takes your hands in his. “I’m sorry if I came on strong. But the thing about this life is that there are no guarantees. Tomorrow isn’t promised and so I figured I’d rather go for something, someone, that I want and have my heart broken rather than regretting my inaction.”

Your eyes roam the scars on his face, evidence of just how true his words are. You’re heading into active battle tomorrow. One or both of you could be injured, or worse. You step towards him. He spreads his legs so you have room to get closer. You rest your forehead on his, breathing him in.

His hands come up to caress your sides. You take a shaky breath. He questions you softly. “Cyar’ika?” Ah, now that’s one of the new words you definitely remember. His vulnerability makes you ache and the decision to hand your heart over is an easy one. “You’re right, Wolffe. Might as well do some living while we can.”

*******

[kimanda]

I guess I’ll drag myself out of my silence to react to this.

Guess the day I had been dreading for the last few years has finally come to pass. After all this time though, I’m surprised by my own feelings. I’m a little bit sad but otherwise... just kind of feels it is my time to move on. 

My own OCs for the UK are now (finally) canon deviant. And I’m okay with that. 

Even if I was still active in this fandom, one truth has remained for me. I will never retire my OCs. They’re my interpretations and I love them dearly. No matter what canon versions of these countries Himaruya throws at me, I will keep holding on to my own versions.

It is maybe time for me to make it official that I will take a break from Hetalia. 

I’m not sure if it will be temporary or permanent, I’d hate to say permanent because I invested too many years to say that I’m done with this series. For all its flaws (from the series to the fandom itself), I’ve met too many wonderful souls along the way to hand wave this experience away. I’ve remained so long because of all the creativity and love people invested in their work, their characterizations and their OCs. For the time I was here, I was happy to participate. 

But I’ve honestly been running on fumes the last... 2 years I’ve been in this fandom? The motivation of drawing just kept dropping until it completely disappeared and now I haven’t drawn a thing in several months. The motivation of writing anything worth uploading died about 3 years ago.  Maybe I just need to stop being in denial and take a step back from the fandom. Give it a few years and I might want to rejoin again with renewed energy. But I’m not really sure if that will happen. Most of the friends I’ve made here have long since moved on, from the fandom, from this site, from everything. I’ve lost touch with them and that upsets me. The fandom has for the most part become a very silent place to me and I miss the people I used to interact with. 

I’ve come to realize that the only reason I was still in the fandom was because I was attached to what other people were creating and me contributing with my own creations. I have still not watched the latest season of the anime and I’ve been barely keeping up with the comic strips. I’ve not been invested in the canon for a loooong time. It got me into the fandom, but it wasn’t what was keeping me around.

I don’t want this to feel so final. I still want to finish Behind the Mask. I promised that I would finish it. I know I keep saying that I will, and believe me, if finishing Behind the Mask is the last thing I will ever do in this fandom, then so be it. 

I guess the timing of the canon UK characters couldn’t have come at a better time. Just last month, something surprising happened: A new series broke through my walls and hijacked the place that had been occupied by Hetalia for so long. I’m obsessed with the new series, something I didn’t think could happen again after Hetalia. I’ve been in a state of almost perpetual giddiness for the past few weeks, just hungrily consuming everything in the series and from fandom and all of it feels like a breath of fresh air. 

The most shocking thing that has happened is that the series successfully broke my writing block with a new story idea. I’ve been writing again! It’s been an amazing feeling and I’m still struggling to understand why this series is the one that got me writing again. I’ve watched tons of other series and films since Hetalia, but none of them managed to capture my attention as fully as this series has.

So that’s me, looking at the introduction of the canon UK characters and walking away from it. I thought I was going to have a much worse reaction to their introduction, since I spent years being anxious about wanting to keep my own OCs and not wanting to be confronted by fans that believe that the canon versions should be immediately accepted without any hesitation.  But surprisingly, I just feel a bit of sorrow. It feels like an end of an era to me. The last page of a book that I’m not entirely sure I want to close. I suppose the sadness comes from knowing that this is the end of seeing different kinds of UK OCs. A lot of people with their OCs will keep holding on to them, but I don’t think I’ll see any new interpretations. 

That does tell me, in some way, why I remained in the fandom for so long. It wasn’t the canon that kept me going, it was seeing the different possible interpretations for all the Scotlands, Wales and Northern Irelands out there. It feels like this phase of the fandom is over now, at least it will not be as active as it used to be.  

I’m still not sure how active I will be on tumblr. I’m so attached to the idea of being a Hetalia blog, almost all blogs I follow are Hetalia blogs and the entire site is reminder of the time I spent being in the Hetalia fandom. I technically should be able to transition my blog to the new series, but a part of me is weirdly anxious about it. But I also don’t want to make a new blog. So I still need to figure this out. 

All of this long ramble is basically me trying to say that I’m taking a break from Hetalia and I’m surprisingly not that heartbroken over the UK becoming canon. Them becoming canon isn’t what is driving me to leave, but I am taking it as a sign that I need to stop being in denial about where I stand. 

Hetalia, for all its flaws, will forever have a special place in my heart. It helped me realize that I actually did enjoy history and wanted to learn about it. It allowed me to explore my own culture and to become invested in others. I met so many wonderful friends through this fandom. I learnt that I could write and tell stories that were worth telling. For all that, I’m grateful.

So you might still see me around, you might not. Wishing you all my best and stay safe!!

[creepy-spooghetti]

The “Ark” Theory

OKAY, so there are a lot of theories out there about Marble Hornets, and I likely haven’t even seen half of them before. But one of the main questions around it is, what exactly is the Ark? There have been speculations that the Ark is Alex, that it’s the “Own Zone” as Joseph called it, or even that it’s a certain mental state that you have to put yourself in.

But what if it’s none of those? What if the Ark isn’t even physical at all? Here’s a theory; there have been many instances when totheark talked about the Ark, one of their more known quotes is, “He will lead me to you. Lead me to death. Lead me to the Ark.”

And so I was thinking, when you die you can either go to heaven or to hell, and if they were talking about one of these places you could only get to them if you did, indeed, die. Now we know that totheark is searching for something, and this “something” is the Ark. It’s unsure who exactly they’re talking to several times; it could be Jay, it could be Alex, it could even be Tim. But maybe it’s none of them. Maybe they’re trying to reach out to someone else for answers, maybe they’re looking for guidance from someone that they’re unable to find.

Here’s where we get into the theory.

What if the “Ark” in question is Jesus? Or rather, salvation? Considering the fact that the Operator is obviously an otherworldly, sinister being, it takes people who die to the Own Zone, which is the other world. Its other world. Remember when Tim got teleported there during Entry #65 and he saw the man Alex had killed with the rock? All the surroundings were dark. You couldn’t see past the corpse.

What does the KJV Bible say about hell? “And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.” -Jude 6. Hell is a dark place. But at the same time, it’s filled with flame.

“And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.” -Revelation 20:50. What do we know about Tim? He smokes. We also know that his old hospital was burned down. Most don’t know that Tim himself was the reason it burned down, though. That quick shot of the melting grill, along with the fire as Tim gets teleported back to his room in Entry #83? The fire started in his room.

So maybe that’s why the Operator latched on so tightly to Tim before it found Alex. It was attracted to fire. We know that the devil is associated with fire, not because he’s from hell but because he’s going to be thrown into hell. 

So in this case, let’s say that the Operator represents Satan, the other dimension represents hell, and Jesus is the Ark. Then let’s say that, in terms of Noah’s Ark, that “hell” is the flood. It’s the place nobody wants to be taken to, the place of eternal darkness, flame, and suffering. And totheark doesn’t want to be caught in the flood.

So then what would the Operator be? I thought about this a bit and came to the conclusion that it’s sin. Or rather, the influence of sin. It affects everybody it manages to get its hands on, and Alex is a great example. Then Alex would be the people, the sinners that needed to be wiped off the face of the earth. The only way to get away from the flood would be to find the Ark, which in this case, would be Jesus.

So the Own Zone is the flood, the Operator is sin, Alex is the sinners, and Jesus is the Ark. The only way to escape the flood, ultimate death, would be to find the Ark. But totheark says “lead me to death”. So maybe they want to die, but they don’t want to be taken to hell, which we’ve seen is the Operator’s dimension that it takes victims to. 

It took the man that Alex killed, we can assume it took Jay, and it took Alex. I would say it took Jessica, but since she’s alive and well maybe it only brought her out of danger because she is its new puppet, its ‘people’ that it manipulates. She’s the new sinner.

In the end, maybe totheark wanted one thing besides getting revenge on Alex, and maybe that one thing was salvation. They wanted safety, they wanted to be sure they would be okay in the end. They wanted the Ark. 

Did they get it? Well, we don’t know what happened to Seth, but after Hoody died and was revealed to be Brian, did the Operator take him? No. Even days after being dead, his corpse was still there. We know for a fact that whoever dies due to Alex, or anyone else that had been affected by the Operator, is taken almost immediately after death. That didn’t happen for Brian.

I like to think that he did get what he was looking for in the end. Remember totheark’s video “Null”? It was their last upload, and in it, the person behind the camera, who we now know was Brian, seemed almost... peaceful. There was a sad kind of feeling to the video, but the way he speaks in it sounds like he has peace of mind. Like he knows he has nothing to fear, because maybe he doesn’t anymore. It’s clear that he knew it would be his last upload, that he knew he would have a showdown with Tim. 

He didn’t care if he died in the end or not, why? Because he knew he would be okay, whether he lived or whether he died. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. He found Jesus, he found the Ark, and he boarded it. And he knew he was on his way to heaven, away from the flood. Away from the clutches of the Operator.

As for Tim? Some speculate that he killed Jessica and then himself, as before Alex died he said that it wasn’t over. He would have to keep killing the infected, and then himself. That it was the only way to stop the ‘spread’. 

Some think that he continued being controlled by the Operator, and that would be a reasonable thing to believe because, as you may remember, in the last entry Tim suffered a major coughing fit, with Jessica bending down to ask if he was okay. The video then cuts to Tim driving in a car, seemingly composed a bit. 

The camera stays on him for while before he grabs his pill bottle, continues to stare ahead, and looks moments away from bursting into tears before he swirls the camera around so us, the viewers, are facing the direction that the car is being driven. The screen then goes black and the letters displayed on the screen is but three simple words; “Everything is fine.”

IS everything really fine, Tim? No. No, it is not. At least, that’s what I got from it. Tim’s known to lie, and it wouldn’t be a surprise that his last words to viewers would be a reassuring sentence to try and convince him that he’s okay. But I don’t think he’s okay.

At best, I think he continued to live a life with nightmares, hallucinations, and random blackouts that may or may not lead to him having a broken leg. At worst, he found a nice, quiet place to overdose because he didn’t want to suffer anymore. Except he will suffer. He will suffer for eternity.

But yes, this is my theory behind the meaning of the “Ark” and the basis for the series. Has this been done before? Idk, I’ve never seen it before. I can promise you that I’m not stealing someone else’s theory, at least not on purpose. I feel like this makes a lot of sense, and it gives totheark a good motivation as to what they’re after and why they’re after it.

It’s a nice thought that at least somebody finally got what they were after, that they finally got peace after everything that happened to them. I have no proof that Jay did or did not find the Ark. I suppose that his corpse was still physical, I mean, it was still in the real world. But it had clearly been teleported, and he was sitting on a bunch of pages that Alex had drawn. 

They were nowhere near Tim’s house at the college, which is where he died at. And when Tim finally goes back to his house, Jay isn’t there, the pages aren’t there, “Your fault” isn’t written on the mirror a dozen times. So we can assume that really, he wasn’t in the real world. He was in another dimension, likely the Own Zone. We’ve seen Tim go into that place before, but I don’t recall Jay ever going. So Tim can be teleported into that dimension while he’s still alive, and Brian is also there too. But only for a moment. This is also before he died.

So I don’t know. I think Jay was taken to the Operator’s world, like Alex and the poor rock victim. What do you think? 

Even if this theory is utter nonsense it was fun writing. It’s an interesting concept and I definitely enjoyed it. I’ve been literally breathing Marble Hornets for the past few weeks so I couldn’t stop a theory from popping into my mind and then make me think, ‘hey, what if?’

Actually, I’ve been thinking about making a separate blog solely dedicated to Marble Hornets. Should I? I probably will - after all, this blog I have right now is more about Creepypasta rather than Marble Hornets. And I’m a huge Marble Hornets fan so I want something dedicated to it. Also, it’ll give me the opportunity to talk about my unending love for Brian without seeming sudden and obsessed xD

So... yeah. That’s me done. Happy Valentine’s day, btw! I am very lonely, as I assume a lot of you are, so it’s the perfect excuse to write CP fluff and act as if I won’t end up alone with thirty cats. I already have four of ‘em, guess I’m well on my way. That isn’t a bad thing though. Cats are awesome. Prove me wrong.

So yes, I will be sure to get some Valentine’s day content out for you beautiful people tomorrow unless I find myself totally unmotivated. Fingers crossed, right?

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 37

Read on AO3. Part 36 here. Part 38 here.

Summary: There are only so many ways you can deliver news.

Words: 2700

Warnings: dystopia

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I really didn't think I'd get a chapter out today, but I did, so yay!? Sorry it's a bit short (I remember when 2000 words was normal for me!), but I must be on my bullshit, as always.

Thank you very much to everyone who reached out. I had a shitty week this week, and I anticipate things in the next few weeks will not be super great. If there is a week where an update is missed, I hope you can understand.

I love y'all very much, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! <3

Beyond the sheet, the doctor’s shadow worked in silence, collecting instruments to soon be used to pry and expose your pomegranate flesh. Your monthly exam would never feel routine--prior to the collapse of society, they’d already been unpleasant. But now, separated from the provider by gossamer cloth, scrutinized in anonymity while metal objects cracked you wide, they crushed you in revulsion. The doctor whirled on his stool between your legs, air whispering over your bare skin. You swallowed.

A squeaking, clacking, and the cold metal of the speculum parted your labia and pierced your entrance. You held your breath, willing away the tears that pricked your sight--you’d always cried at this part, even before it became obligatory--drifting to your mind until he was finished. 

Kylo Ren had been gone for 18 days, and in his absence, Gilead had drawn from your veins, a vampire of systemic proportions bleeding you not of life, but of the will to live itself. Without his presence, his power, his capability to extract you from bondage, you’d sunk into it like a tarpit, thick sticky ooze edging ever-closer to your throat. Sutures now removed, antibiotics completed, your days consisted of waking, walking, waiting, and, more than once, weeping, before wishing yourself into a witless slumber. Not that you were surprised. After all, before you’d fucked him in secrecy the first time, you’d asked yourself, what was life without living? 

As it turned out: pretty fucking awful. 

Pain lit up your spine when the doctor dug at your cervix for a swab--you winced, and the exam room door opened.

“Hey, we’re running behind, you do you want me to grab the next one, or--”

“No, no,” your doctor replied. “I’m almost done with this one. Did you get the urinalysis back?”

“Uh, no, sorry, I haven’t checked. I can go do it now.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Oh, hey.” Then he swiveled away--leaving you gaping, a red tunnel open for observation. “Did you hear what the director said this morning?”

The other man hummed in thought. “Something about Commander Pryde. I didn’t really care.”

You stared into the ceiling, hands folded over your stomach, tears stinging again while your thighs began to tremble. Privacy and respect hadn’t been afforded to you in three years; you had long been designated a womb buried in a hunk of meat. But something about having your cervix on display like the Hope Diamond was particularly nauseating. Your stomach groaned in humiliation.

“Yeah. Anyone who’s even spoken with Pryde in the last month is getting rounded up.”

Breath stalled. There was no way the doctor knew who you were--the sheet separating you ensured that. Dread iced over your chest.

“Shit,” the other man replied. “Really? Damn.” A pause, clanging of instruments. “Just questioning, right?”

“For now.” The doctor grumbled. “I just had the tenaculum. What the hell?”

“Isn’t it right over there?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Wheels squeaked across the floor. “Anyway, it’s just a new round of Ren’s bullshit.” He sighed, scooching between your legs again. Something sharp and cold pinched you--you bit your lip. “Dissenters this, threats to Gilead that. I wouldn’t worry about it. Unless--”

A snort. “I hate the both of ‘em.” The man sighed. “You’d think that fixing the birthrate should be their top priority, the way things are going.” 

The doctor grumbled, and something pinched you like talons, shooting pain up your spine. “Yeah. Well. If Ren has his way, half the people in this country are gonna end up dead.”

Your heart was tumbling into a canyon. In the time without him, your belief in your Commander’s defection had dimmed. You’d believed initially that his motivation for Pryde’s capture was revenge--something undesirable, but still understandable--but the longer his campaign went on, the more you realized that there would be nothing that would convince him to release his stranglehold on his position. A gnawing despair within you whispered that whatever Kylo Ren felt for you, he felt it one hundredfold for power and control; convincing him to leave it behind would not only be improbable, but impossible. Yet, as you considered betraying what little affection he might have, sorrow shredded you. The thought of his capture, trial, possible execution--

More tears. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him not here, of being torn from him, of his existence in the past tense. And you also couldn’t sacrifice your freedom for his sins. 

The release of the speculum tugged you back to the exam, and you sniffled, clearing your throat. You’d missed the rest of the conversation.

“Whatever happens, at least we won’t be out of a job. They’ll always need someone to make sure the breeding stock is healthy.” A pause, as if to acknowledge that, yes, you were still in the room. “No offense, of course.”

Bile burned your tongue. You said nothing. 

“Shit, that reminds me,” said the other man. “I’ll go check the urinalysis.”

“Thanks.” 

The door shut. Without warning, latex fingers pushed inside of you, another hand pressing down on your belly. The inspection went on for seconds longer than you thought it should, his fingers curling, as if he was languishing there, reveling in the sensation of feeling your uterus. For a blink, every thought surrounding your Commander’s desertion of Gilead fled your mind, consumed by a venomous desire that he might catch this doctor in the act and crack his skull on the pearly tile, spray his blood, stain the grout. And then the intrusion was over, and your fury dissipated, the ache for retribution hollowing in your heart. 

It wouldn’t have mattered, really, if he had been standing in the room when it had happened--the doctor was no anomaly, but a functioning cog in Kylo Ren’s machine. As long as you both remained in clutches of his own creation, he would spend eternity defending you from its design. Even if you could be an exception, other women would suffer in forced silence. And even if he could mould it to your liking, it would still mean he preferred you to exist in subjugation instead of liberation.

Hope had been a security blanket almost three weeks ago, thick and warm around your shoulders while he’d bathed you with gentle hands. Now it clung in tatters to your ribs, the tiny scraps fluttering like tissue with every gust of reality.

The door opened again. 

“Hey,” the man said. “Got the results.”

A snap of rubber as the doctor removed his gloves. “And?”

“Look for yourself.”

Shuffling paper stifled the sad knock of your pulse in your ears. Perhaps you knew, and had always known, that Kylo might never come to agree with your perspective. You just frequently forgot to acknowledge that it would mean letting him go. Forever. 

“Hey! Okay!” A warm palm slapped your thigh, and you squeaked. “We got another one!”

When no one responded, you realized he had been speaking to you. About a result. A urinalysis. Another one...

You couldn’t speak. Or breathe. Oh--

“You’re pregnant!” 

Like a geyser, it burst from you--your sorrow, your fear, your disgust, your absolute joy--and poured in rivers down your cheeks, your hands clapping over your face. There was no one coherent thought that could be plucked from your mind, just a constant tornado of horrific exhilaration, a celebratory mourning that within you, a tangible testament to you and your Commander’s connection beat and pulsed and flourished with life, growing veins like vines and limbs like wings. 

His child--your child--a physical entity you could nourish in the wake of his reluctance, an unalterable legacy inside of your womb, one that you, if you were to be denied all else, could adore. Your child, but also his child, descendant to a despondent devil, progeny to a preserver of your own imprisonment. A child that, if born into the realm of its father’s regency, would never know normality, or maybe even you--at all. A heaving sob cracked through, and you shivered, trembling with terrified bliss.

The doctor slapped your thigh again. “Don’t stress!” he said. “According to the chart here, you’re about six weeks along. There’s still a chance for disruption. So I’d stay relaxed, all right?” 

Swallowing, you creaked out a noise of assent. There wasn’t a word you could bear to say. 

After the doctor left, you slipped back into your red dress and wings--despite Kylo’s words weeks earlier, you had been provided no other options after he’d left, and you suspected he’d meant for you to only be out of uniform in his presence, regardless. You were escorted by an armed nurse out of the clinic, where a Knight--still masked, no cloak, just in tactical gear--was waiting by the black SUV you’d seen a few of them in before. Averting your gaze, you climbed into the back and buckled in. The vehicle started, you coasted through the parking lot, and onto the road.

For the first time in several days, the sun was out--though it would need more than an afternoon to evaporate the muggy air that had accumulated in its absence. You gazed into the stark, cloudless sky, placing your hands on your belly, as if you could commune with the little being inside of you, know it before it knew you. A question, awful and exciting, lingered in your mind  as you imagined telling Kylo the news, but no answer revealed itself. You replayed the scenario over and over again, practicing it on your tongue--I’m pregnant--digging deep for his reaction. But it was useless, as initially unknowable as anything else about him. Anxiety constricted your heart, a dam about to crumble behind your eyes.

The Knight turned a corner, and you jostled in the backseat. There couldn’t have been much intimacy between them all. But still.

“How do you think the Commander would respond…” You swallowed again--hesitation kept wadding in your throat. “How do you think he’d respond to a pregnancy?”

Long, sweltering seconds ticked by without a word. Balling your hands in your lap, your palms slipped, heartbeat thumped in your clasped thumbs. You’d never heard a Knight say a word, before--you weren’t sure why you were expecting one to answer you. Lava licked at your neck, dripping down your spine, your teeth tearing at your cheeks. 

“Whatever it is,” the Knight said, shattering expectation, “anything in comparison will look like apathy.”

A rush of interminable origin raced your flesh, flushing hot in your blood. That was about as accurate as you could expect. And unsatisfying as you could predict.

When you arrived at home and stepped out of the vehicle, another realization crested over you. Johana. Though your relationship had settled into an uneasy truce since the day the Commander had left, the words she spared you had been few and far between. You knew that your pregnancy was possibly her only dream, but combined with the uncharted territory of her husband’s intentions, you worried it would become her nightmare. 

At the same time, perhaps these worries were unfounded--the threats Kylo would face by disrupting his Wife’s right to your child might be too great for him to risk his power. His concessions had been minor and in relative secrecy, affecting only his relationship with you--everything else had the secondary benefit of securing his reign. He’d said plenty, but how much had he meant? After overhearing the discussion in the exam room, you were fairly certain that if made to choose between Gilead and you, you’d lose.

You followed the Knight into the house, relieved to cross into central air. Taking a few slow steps, you drew a deep breath.

“Ms. Johana!” You paused, listening for a response. You heard none. “Ms. Johana?”

She wasn’t in the house--that meant she was likely out in the yard. In the heat. Sighing, you trudged through the halls through the back door, squinting as light smacked your face. In the weeks since Kylo’s departure, the garden had been cleared and mostly restored at Johana’s behest--the grass gleamed gold, summer flowers replanted in over-saturated swirls of color. You hopped over the stones, turning the words on your tongue, hoping to make them real in your mouth.

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m--

“Ofkylo.”

You stalled, recognizing the moniker as yours, resentful of its familiarity to your ears. Beyond one of the hedges was Johana, prying open a birdfeeder. Heat--though whether it was from the sun or your fear, you didn’t know--sizzled the nape of your neck. You steeled your jaw, grabbing your skirts and tromping through the trimmed lawn in her direction.

“What are you doing out here?” There was a bag of mixed seed at her feet, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows as she wiped the feeder clean with a rag. “I thought you just left for your exam.”

“I did. I’m back,” you said. “I was, um. Looking for you.”

“Oh.” She flipped the top in her little hands, scrubbing it clean, too. “Well, that’s fine. What’s going on? They didn’t find out about the gunshot, right?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no no. That’s fine.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m tired of lying for your benefit. The antibiotics weren’t--”

“I know, Ms. Johana,” you sighed. “So…” The words were so simple, but so difficult to say. “The exam went well.”

She nodded, digging into the seed, scooping a helping. “Uh-huh.”

There was nothing that would make this any less nerve-wracking. You inflated your chest, and let it go. “I’m pregnant.”

Johana stopped, like she’d been shot herself, staring into the ground. The seed fell from her palms and spilled over her shoes. She rose, gaze drifting from your feet, to your hands, to your face, her chin shaking. A smile was threatening to explode across her lips.

“Wait.” She exhaled. “Really?”

Wagging your arms in admission, you nodded. “Yup.”

A human springtrap, she squealed, launching into you and wrapping you in a tight, bony hug. You wheezed from her strength--she squeezed you, pinning your limbs to your sides as she wriggled you like a toy. 

“Yes!” She jumped up and down, still holding you. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Yes,” you repeated. “It’s, um, it’s true!”

Johana released you, erupting with elation. “This is amazing!” she said. “Lord, I’m going to have to go see everyone. Yes, we’ll have to have a party.” She clapped her hands and hugged you again. “Can you let the Marthas know to clean this up? I have to get going.” A playful, devious smirk twisted her mouth as she skipped into the house, congratulating herself. “Oh, they’re going to be so jealous! I’m pregnant!”

You stood, staring down at your belly. It wasn’t obvious, yet--but it wouldn’t be long. The thought of Johana preening, presiding over your stomach like it was her work paralyzed your heart. Had it been any other Commander, any other household, you might have even been relieved to incubate your ticket out of the Colonies, but now, you felt only panic. You didn’t want to give this baby up to her--a desire you never would have anticipated.

But then, none of this had been anything you had the ability to anticipate. A Handmaid was not supposed fuck her Commander outside of the Ceremony, or kiss him, or wake up in his embrace. A Handmaid was not supposed to yearn for her Commander, feel comfort from his  voice, find companionship in his presence, or feel grateful for his brutality and strength. A Handmaid was not supposed to plan her Commander’s downfall, or plan his escape, and especially not plan his future with her in it.

A Handmaid was not supposed to fall in love with her Commander. But you were a Handmaid. And it was too late.

You left the empty birdfeeder and the bag of seed, slinking up the stairs, creeping back to your room. Throat, chest, face tight, you laid in bed, palms planted on your stomach, and breathed. Shutting your eyes, you hoped for the hundred-thousandth time in three years you would wake up in a different world--a world where the father of your child was not your legal owner, a world where another woman was not claiming it as hers, a world where you opened your eyes and you were not alone, and you were free, and you were truly, deservedly loved.

If you fell asleep, you didn’t know--the next thing you recalled was the familiar rumble of the Audi’s engine, dying as it rolled into the driveway.

[silverarmedassassin]

Come Back to Me // Part One

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1760

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, traumatic brain injury, and memory loss. this is going to be pretty angst heavy throughout. 

A/N: Here she is! A lot more people were interested in this than I thought there would be, which really helped motivate and inspire me to get some writing done! So THANK YOU! I also had a few requests to be tagged, so I’m starting a tag list for this series! Let me know if you’d like to be added! I’ve never done a tag list before, so bear with me as I figure it out. 

Thanks for reading! Feedback is welcome :) 

Come Back to Me Masterlist // Masterlist 

Waking up is unpleasant. The distant sound of beeping and deep breathing lure you into consciousness, and the sharp pain radiating through your head helps to clear the fog clouding your mind. There's a strong, sterile scent of antiseptic stinging your nostrils, and your right wrist is throbbing.

Despite the effort it takes, you manage to open your eyes just enough for them to be burnt by a blinding light above you. Turning your head slightly to your left, towards the breathing, you slowly open your eyes again. A softer, more pleasant sight greets you this time. Through groggy, unadjusted vision, you make out a broad mass of a man sitting close to the bed. His soft snoring was making the chestnut locks around his face sway with every exhale.

You sit for a moment staring at the sleeping man trying to make your brain catch up. Where were you? Why were you there? And who was this man? You’re about to open your mouth and try to speak when the door to the room opens.

Another man, blonde and just as broad, appears. His back is to you as he shoves the door open with his shoulders.

“Hey, Buck,” he begins to say as he turns. “I brought some coffee an-" He cuts off when he sees you conscious. "Hey! You’re awake!”

The brunette startles, then, and sits upright. The blonde deposits the box and cardboard cup holder he’d been carrying on the roll-away table next to your bed. “Why didn’t you call me, Buck?”

The blonde turns his attention back to you, a smile on his all-too-familiar face. “Hey, how're you feeling," he asks softly.

He seems kind and gentle, perhaps a little too caring towards someone he doesn’t know. You can tell by his clothes he's not your doctor, but you feel drawn to trust him anyway.

“Where…” You try, but your voice comes out like a croak, your throat scratching and burning from prolonged disuse. The blonde jumps to action immediately, pouring you a cup of water from the pitcher nestled on the counter across from your bed.

“You’re in the medical wing at the Compound,” he says as he hands you the cup. When you don’t have the reaction he was looking for, he turns to look at the brunette before continuing. “Do you know what happened? Know why you’re here?”

You shake your head, growing more confused and agitated with the questions and throbbing behind your eyes. Answers would be great, but all you want is to lean back and go to sleep.

The blonde crouches down to bed-level now, the lightheartedness of his features bunching up into concern. “Do you know who I am?”

You work to better focus your eyes so you can study his face. His blonde hair is cropped with military precision, worry lines creasing his once soft complexion. His blue eyes dance with worry and confusion, but there’s something soft there, too. You spend a few moments more studying his face when something inside your fuzzy brain clicks.

“You’re Captain America. Ste-Steve Rogers,” you say timidly.

Relief washes across Steve’s face as he nods and smiles brightly. “Yea! That's good. What about him?” He motions to the brunette, who's been motionless and quiet since Steve came in.

You look over the man’s features like you had Steve. You study the way his dark hair falls in waves around his face and how his face seems to be permanently turned down in a scowl. His eyes, blue like his companion’s, are cold, sad, and almost desperate. For you to remember? For you to not?

You shake your head when the face doesn’t trigger a memory or a name. He looks familiar, but not in the way Steve had. You’re sure you’ve never met this man.

“No, I’m sorry.”

At least, you don't think you know him. Not until you see it. The brunette shifts closer to you and reaches his left hand out. It’s metal and, when he moves, the plates shift and glide to adjust.

The Winter Soldier.

“Honey…” The words die on his lips as he watches your reaction to his movement. He follows your wide gaze down to his outstretched metal palm. You stiffen, shift away as best as you can among the wires and bandages covering your body. He closes his hand into a fist and brings it back to his body in an attempt to hide it from you.

“Wh-why is he here,” you ask, panic-filled eyes finding Steve’s. The Soldier, Bucky you recall Steve calling him, flinches at your words. You can hear the scraping of metal as he clenches his fist tighter.  

The incessant beeping that had fallen into the background is now stronger and a lot louder. You recognize the sound of the heart monitor as it keeps time with your increasing heart-rate.

"Captain Rogers," a disembodied Irish lilted voice chimes through the room, startling you even more. "Ms. Y/L/N's heart rate and blood pressure have risen to a dangerous level for her condition. Shall I notify Dr. Banner?"

"Don't worry about it, F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’ll get him," Bucky says as he stands. "I was on my way out."

"Buck," Steve says as he reaches out for his friend to no avail. As you watch Bucky's broad form disappear from the doorway, you feel yourself automatically relax back into the bed.

>>>

Bucky didn't stray too far from your room once you were joined by Dr. Banner. Much to Bucky's chagrin, Bruce had insisted he and Steve leave so he could ask you some questions and evaluate your wounds in private.

Steve had reassured Bucky that nothing was going to happen to you if he stepped away for a while, but he'd rather not risk it. That's why he spent the duration of your time with Bruce pacing back and forth in front of your room.

In hindsight, Bruce wasn't sharing any information Bucky didn't already know. Since it was apparent you didn't remember what happened to bring you to the Compound, Banner was most likely filling you in on the details. You'd been in a car accident caused by some asshole who decided that texting his girlfriend back was more important than watching the road.

When they'd got the call that you were en route to the closest hospital, it was Tony who’d insisted that you were immediately transferred into Banner's care at the Compound. There were very few dumb enough to fight with a Stark, so the president of the hospital agreed to release you into his care as soon as you were looked over by the trauma center.

On the surface, everything appeared to be intact. The fractured right wrist, broken ribs, and countless scraps and bruises up and down your body aside, you were in decent condition. But internally, things got tricky.

A CT scan alerted doctors to the real dangers of your accident - severe brain swelling and internal bleeding. It wasn't anything Banner hadn't seen before, but neither condition was necessarily a good diagnosis, even with Avenger-level treatment plans.

Bucky had to admit it was horrifying seeing all the wires, tubes, and cords coming out of you as you lay unconscious for almost a week. Bruce had promised that medically inducing a coma was the best option for you at the time, but Bucky began to question it when you started getting poked and prodded. It was a sight that was going to be forever burned into his already fragile mind.

"You're going to put a hole in the floor if you keep this up," Steve said from where he was sitting. Bucky knew his best friend was just as worried about you as he was, but it grated on his nerves how calm he was being in the moment.

"Steve, she doesn't recognize me. I'm pretty sure she only sees me as the Soldier right now." Bucky turned to his friend, wide-eyed and frazzled. As someone who dealt with the turmoil of having someone they deeply care about not remembering them, Bucky couldn't understand why Steve wasn't at least a little concerned.

"She's just waking up, pal. I'm sure once she spends some time with Banner and comes to a little more, everything will be okay. It's going to be fine."

Bucky huffs as he plops down next to Steve in the uncomfortable hospital-grade chairs. He buries his face in his hands and lets out a shaky breath. Steve had to be right. You were Bucky's tough girl after all. You'd put up with him almost every day for nearly two years. A car accident wasn't going to wear you down.

He feels Stever perk up next to him as the door just down the hall clicks shut. Bucky looks up to find Bruce walking towards them, a solemn look on his face.

"How is she?" Steve speaks first.

Bruce takes the seat on the other side of Steve and exhales. "Well," he starts as he looks at his interlaced fingers in his lap. "The good news is she's going to be fine. I want to do a few more scans and monitor brain activity for a while longer, but everything is checking out fine. But..."

Bruce takes a deep breath and Bucky thinks he might explode from the unnecessary suspense.

"I'm afraid she's suffering from amnesia. Retrograde amnesia to be exact. It's a pretty profound case. She remembers some things, knows who Steve and I are, is aware of the Avengers in general. But it seems like a good chunk of the past few years is gone."

"Well is it going to come back? Are her memories still there?" Bucky interrupts. Of everything that could go wrong, this is the worst in his mind. Not knowing who you are, who your loved ones are is the worst feeling he'd ever experienced. The thought of you having to suffer from the same feelings for any amount of time twisted his gut.

"I can't say. That's why I'm going to do some more tests. Only time will tell how she recovers from this. We just have to stay positive."

Bucky was a lot of things - efficient, honest, and loyal to name just a few - but positive wasn't at the top of that list. He could feel his blood pressure rising as he thought of his next question.

“Does she at least remember me?”

Bruce looked at him then, his face twisted up in pain. “She thinks...she thinks you’re still the Soldier.”

//

Tags: @numwoon44​ @wonderlandmind4​

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

What are your tips for writing a significant character's death? I want it to be sad enough for people to cry.

How to Write Character Death

Character death is a fickle subject thatmany writers struggle to deal with.

Who should die?

When is the best time for them to do so?

How is it going to affect the charactersaround them, as well as the story that comes after?

Here are some tips on how to writecharacter death that will have your readers crying their eyes out.

1. It Can’t Come From Nowhere

Character death should NEVER be a shock factor. 

It shouldn’tcome out of the blue and happen super rushed without some sort of explanation forit.

 Instead of making your readers sad, it will make them super angry. This hasthe potential to ruin your whole book or even your whole series, no matter howwell-written it is or how awesome of a plot it had.

There needs to be foreshadowing or a clear-cut reason whythe character had to die.

Was it an origin story to serve as the catalyst of the plot?

A roadblock that causes a severe shift in the hero’spersonality and motivates them to seek revenge?

A sacrifice the hero had to make in a terrible situation?

The fate of a character who was destined to die from thebeginning?

Whatever the case, the death needs to be significant to thenarrative in a way that if the death had not occurred, everything afterwardwould’ve been completely different.

You should have the character say something that foreshadowstheir death, or have something happen to hint of what’s to come.

Examples:

“I don’t know what I’d do if you died.”

“What would I do without you?”

Victim dreaming about their death before it happens.

“Hey, careful now! The ice is thin,” Person A says to PersonB at the beginning of the book. Person B dies from falling through the ice towardthe end.

“Hey, I’ll always be there for you, no matter what happens.”

2. Know Who Should and Shouldn’t Die

Even though you’re the god of your story, there are somelines that have to be drawn. If you want to keep your readers satisfied (and I’mnot talking fanservice. I’m talking them actually enjoying reading your work),there are some charactersthat are off-limits to the guillotine.

(NOTE: THIS IS MYOPINION. THERE ARE, OF COURSE, SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES AND EXCEPTIONS):

1. The Main Character

The main character is someone that you cannot and should nottouch. Now, I’m not talking about A main character, as in one of many; I’mtalking about the main character. The character whose point of view thestory is told by. 

Now, I’m not saying your main character should be invincible—farfrom it, in fact—but the readers will be furious if they spend all of thistime dedicating themselves to this character’s story only to have them die inthe end.

2. If the character is the only LGBTQ+, POC, female, etc.character

If you have one character who is gay, or one character whois female, that character shouldn’t be the one dying. Either choose someone else or add more representation. 

I know many of you might be outraged by thisand might think “I’ll kill off whoever I want! People have to stop being sosensitive!” but just know that by doing this you’re turning your book over tothe slush pit of thousands upon thousands of books that just consist of white,cis, straight men.

For centuries, these people have ALWAYS died in books. Womendying solely to invigorate the male hero. 

The only POC in the narrative dying despitethere being a huge cast of white people. 

The “bury your gays” trope that theLGBTQ community has been fighting a bitter battle against.

It’s almost 2020 people.

Your book can have the most interesting plot ever, but it’llget lost if it’s about the same group of people.

3. Have It Be Poetic

Bring things full circle and add some dramatic irony alongwith it! It will make the story all the more heartbreaking.

A character with a fear of water, drowning.

A character who was introduced in a field, dying in thatsame field much later in the story.

A character spending the whole story fantasizing about thejourney’s destination, dying right before getting there.

A person who survived a stab wound in their past, dying fromgetting stabbed in the exact same place.

A character who fears being alone, dying with no one around.

A character killed by the one they love most.

A character dying clutching their prized possession.

A normally selfish character giving up their lives forsomeone else.

Dying in their friend/relative, lover’s arms (Not as cliché asyou think!)

If you can somehow tie the character’s death back tosomething that happened in the beginning of the story/something that makes up apart of their personality, then I can guarantee that it will be way more sadthen some random other thing.

4. The Shockwaves Are Sometimes More Powerful Than the Death Itself!

A death can be sad, but the reactions of the characters around them to that death make it 1000x sadder. 

Stoic characters broughtto tears, a normally fair and chivalrous hero turning bitter and vengeful, happy-go-lucky characters standing in sullen silence. The more itchanges the characters’ personalities, the more heart-wrenching it will be!

A beloved pet, one of the character’s children, or their younger sibling not understanding their death

Characters refusing to acknowledge their death, staying by the body in hopes of reviving them

Having their comrades blame themselves for their death

Many weeks spent in mourning, the whole dynamic of the groupflipped upside down.

5. Examples (Spoiler Alert!)

Examples of Well-Executed (No pun intended) Character Death:

Dean Winchester, Supernatural (The First Time)

Ned Stark and the Red Wedding, Game of Thrones

Rue and Primm, The Hunger Games

Tony Stark, Avengers: Endgame

Artax, The Neverending Story

Jenny and Bubba, Forrest Gump

Jack, Titanic

Augustus Waters, The Fault in Our Stars

Leslie Burke, Bridge to Terabithia

Achilles and Patroclus, The Song of Achilles

Matthias Helvar, Six of Crows

Examples of Poorly-Executed Character Death:

Any character on Supernatural past Season 7

Tris, Divergent

 Anyone who died in Season 8 of Game of Thrones

-

Hope this helped and happy writing!

[aperrywilliams]

A Normal Conversation Ch15 (Spencer Reid x Maxine Brenner)

Masterlist

Ch01 Ch02 Ch03 Ch04 Ch05 Ch06 Ch07 Ch08 Ch09 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 Ch16

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Summary: After a night they were both waiting for, Max and Spencer share their feelings about it.

Word Count: 3718

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: References to sex. Some cursing. Fluff. Reference to smut maybe?

A/N: Many things could have happened between S15x04 and S15x09, don’t you think?

——————–

Chapter 15: The next morning

A beam of light slipped through the curtain, forcing Max's eyes to half open. It was clear evidence it was dawn. Slightly disoriented Max looked to her left side and could see Spencer still sleeping. He was on his back breathing deeply. She wide her eyes to contemplate him in silence. Max could see how his chest swelled up as he inhaled and how it went down as he exhaled. He looked so peaceful, relaxed.

Max had really wondered what it was like to spend a night with Spencer. And in her head she recognized how much had already fantasized about it, although she didn't think it was going to really happen 'that' night until it happened. Just remembering past night she couldn't contain a deep sigh as unconsciously bit her lower lip. Thinking about it, Max could say it had been one of the best nights she'd had in a long time. Better than she had imagined.

She was still staring at him when she noticed a grimace on his face. It was a sign Spencer was waking up. Max thought about faking been asleep, but it was unnecessary, because she really wanted to see how  Reid would open his eyes to look at her already awake. A bit of anxiety poured into her, for a second she thought all the wonderful things  they had been through past night might not be a feeling shared by him. A strange feeling Max acknowledged, but she had her own insecurities too.

A second grimace was drawn on his face, accompanied by a half-open eye. After a deep breath mixed with a yawn and a stretch, Spencer turned his head and found a pair of eyes watching him.

"Hey, good morning ..." Spencer said hoarsely from just waking up.

"Good morning handsome..." Max replied.

"I feel observed. How long have you been awake?” Reid said rubbing his eyes with hand’s palms.

"I didn't wake up long ago, but enough to contemplate the Adonis next to me" Max smiled saying it, knowing he would blush for such a compliment.

"If you say so...". Spencer smiled back and stood up to stamp a kiss on her forehead and then roll onto her side so he could look at her head-on.

They both stared at each other in silence for a few minutes. Neither dared to break it until he took the chance.

"Did you think..." he stammered a little "did you think our first time could be like this?" As Spencer asked, he had raised his arm to caress Max's cheek with his hand while parting her matted hair behind an ear.

"What is 'like this'?". Max replied with some doubt as to whether she had understood the question.

"Ehh, well, like this... me being me... my clumsiness when dancing ... not having condoms on hand... etc.". Reid blushed a little. Max looked at him tenderly, took the hand that was caressed her cheek, brought it her lips and kissed before entwining with her own fingers.

"It couldn't have been more perfect" Max said. A sigh of relief ripped from Spencer's chest.

"I thought you might be a little disappointed..." he replied.

"Are you kidding me?... Spencer... two perfectly accomplished orgasms. Believe me, that goes up you in my list a lot” said Max laughing.

"Maybe... you were expecting a few more of them..." Reid said with a shrug.

"Oh my goodness Spencer... Ok, my livid was on the clouds, but I think two is alright for our first time, don't you think?"

"I'm not complaining... it was... amazing" Spencer said as continued to stroke Max's cheeks. “And well, you may have already realized it’s not easy for me to be so… extroverted at times. Is hard to me... to take the lead. It is not I haven’t done it before… but I get nervous… I’m not the type of men who feel like a ladies’ man…”. When he said it tried to avoid her gaze but Max didn’t leave him and staring at him, she answered mischievously.

"I wouldn't say that last night it cost you a lot, Mister Shyness. On the contrary...”. Spencer couldn't help but blush. He thought for a second before answering.

"It must be because I had the perfect motivation..." he said, returning an open smile to flatter Max.

They stared at each other in silence for a while, until Max began to speak.

"I have to confess I really wanted to do it with you... and even more after our failed first time..." Max said with a sigh.

"Yeah. Me too. But I didn't want you to feel forced to this. We said we were going to take it slow...". Reid kissed Max’s top-head and caress her bare arm with his hand. "And we're supposed were on it... ". Spencer said.

"I know, I know I said it. And I think because of me I only created more anxiety and tension between us. That was not my idea…”. Max admitted.

"Don't say that, it's not your fault. I also agreed on it” sentenced Reid.

"Me too. But I'll not lie to you. Several times in the past few weeks I've regretted saying that and I was waiting for a sign so I could back off on it”

"And what the sign was?" he asked.

"Last night?... I don't know. We hadn't seen each other for a few weeks, the last time it almost happened. Also, the dance seemed very sexy to me and I could swear that when I looked at you I saw... a lot of desire... as much as I had... and that decided me, I think". Max made sure to stare at him as she said it, biting her lower lip.

"Did you know desire is one of the most primitive feelings in the human behavior...?". Spencer was going to start speaking extensively on the subject. Max interrupted him.

"Spencer... your eyes were on fire. I don't think I've seen your gaze like that before…”

“It is clear that you wholly read me. And while I was willing to wait until you were ready, I don't know… I didn't want to think maybe it wasn't going to be good enough for you to want to do it with me” said Spencer.

"Do you think I made that point clear to you last night?" Max sat up propping one of her elbows on the bed as he stared at him.

"Yes. You did…". Spencer leaned on his side caressing her cheeks and then took her chin with one of his hands, pulling her towards him and then began to kiss her gently several times. "Now don't blame me if I'm rushing more than I should... but... it's hard for me not to say it..." he whispered between kisses. “I… I feel something really strong for you, I like you too much. I don't know how to explain it… it's like… it's like a tickle is constantly fluttering in my stomach when I look at you… and when we're together”

"I... I feel something wonderful for you Spencer ... you don't know how each day that passes... I feel that I need you more...". She also replied between kisses and almost whispering. Max lay on her back while Spencer rested one arm on the bed and the other leaned toward her allowing him to stroke her as they continued to kiss. It was a game of several minutes. They kissed, moved away, laughed nervously again and again. Max interrupted it after a few minutes. “I think… I think meeting you has been one of the best things has happened to me in a long time. Seriously... I want you to know that. I also want ... I want you to know that no matter how difficult or sad it is, you can always tell me what's wrong. I'm here for you".

That statement left Spencer speechless. He knew exactly what Max meant by that. Although Reid always said he did not want to “contaminate” her with the bad things in his life. Accepting a new deal meant being more open and transparent about the things he regularly kept to himself.

"I know" he replied after a few minutes. "I promise to try". That was enough for Max. She knew he meant it and coming from Spencer, she knew it was difficult for him. She moved closer to hug him and snuggle back into his chest.

"How did you sleep?" Max asked.

"Incredibly good. I hope I haven't snored much”. Max started to laugh.

"I think if you did, I couldn't even notice it". Spencer gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. They both laughed.

"Max?". Spencer suddenly said.

"Yeah?". Max replied without moving from her posture.

"There's something I want to ask you...". Spencer tried to follow speaking as he gulped.

"Ok. Tell me then…". There was a small silence before Spencer decided to speak.

"Will you be my girlfriend?". Spencer snapped suddenly.

"What?...". Max sat up to look at him.

"Last night... after... you know... I thought about asking you, but then I thought that you were not going to take me seriously and you were going to think it was my adrenaline speaking for me, as if it were a post-coital effect. Of course, it's true that in those moments the heart pumps more blood to other parts of the body than to the brain…”. Max put a finger on Spencer's mouth to stop him from talking. Then he looked at her nervously.

"Precisely... I don't want this request to be just because we had sex last night Spencer. Seriously, I feel like this going on between us is important, but I don't want you to feel compelled to do things you don't want or are not sure about. We can continue dating, there is nothing to stop it... ". Spencer sat up leaning his arm on the bed and looking Max in the eye.

“Well, I admit that I have a hard time making quick decisions when it comes to my personal life. You have already seen it. But seriously, I wanted to ask you this after our first kiss. So I honestly think I'm pretty sure. So… Max Brenner, do you want to be my girlfriend?” Spencer said solemnly. Max smiled.

“Spencer, if you're really sure, then… of course I do. Dr. Spencer Reid, yes I want to be your girlfriend”. Max replied with the same solemnity. Spencer took her chin and captured an intense and sonorous kiss on his lips. Then he took her by the waist and drew her to him quickly. With one of his hands he took her chin to start kissing her again. With the other hand he began to caress her hair slowly down her back without breaking the kiss. Max responded by adjusting her knees and resting her forearms at his head height. With his hands Reid managed to caress Max hair. The kiss and the caresses intensified as the minutes passed. Max started kissing his cheeks, his forehead, biting his lob ears. Spencer responded by pressing her against his body, caressing her thighs, her back and her breasts. Between kisses Spencer thoughtlessly asked a question he regretted as it came out of his mouth.

"Are you hungry?" Reid asked.

"The truth?... yes". Max replied in a very low tone, almost in a whisper, still biting his lob ear.

"You want breakfast?" Spencer asked, knowing that with that question he had already killed the mood. Max paused for a second and looked him straight in the eye.

"Later..." she answered almost instantly, looking at him with fiery eyes as she bit her lower lip. Spencer knew he shouldn't say anything more. He drew her back to him and they returned to the state of physical exploration they were in. Traditional breakfast would have to wait.

After their sex morning session, they were both lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, catching their breath. Without warning Spencer began to speak.

"There are studies that say morning sex improves brain function and allows better cognitive performance during the day. In fact, there is data showing 45% of those who report having sex in the morning on a regular basis achieve better job performance… ” said Spencer.

"Are you saying that you're using me to you perform better at your job?". Max said laughing.

"No, no ... I just point out the fact that it is a healthy and beneficial activity"

"Yes, I can believe it. But it is not beneficial for time use. I bet we both will be about to be late for our jobs today…”

"I don't think so... it's early still... I think..." Spencer turned to watch on the nightstand and see the time. "Although I think not enough though..." He jerked up from the bed to grab his clothes and start getting dressed.

"I knew it ...". Max said with a huff and also getting up from the bed. As Spencer pulled on his slacks, Max began to search in the closet for the clothes he would wear that day. "I would offer to take a shower here, but I don't think you want to go to work in your same clothes..."

"Don´t worry, I'll manage to stop by my place before going to the BAU..." Reid said as buttoned the shirt he had quickly gone to look for to living room where it had stayed the night before. Max stopped to contemplate how literally in 4 minutes Spencer was fully dressed and about to take his blazer. "Okay, I'm ready," he approached Max who had wrapped herself in a bath sheet. "The rush doesn’t mean I cannot properly say goodbye to my girlfriend...". Spencer said approaching Max and giving her a passionate kiss.

"Silly, now go... I'll go take a shower". Max said laughing.

"I'll call you later" said Spencer, quickly leaving the apartment.

Spencer arrived at the BAU just as Garcia was calling everyone to the conference room. Before going upstairs, Spencer stopped by the kitchen to make coffee. This caught the attention of Luke and Rossi since Spencer used to arrive at least 20 minutes before the usual time precisely for the coffee ritual although he had surely already had breakfast at home. More attention was focused when he took out a muffin from a paper bag from inside his messenger bag. It was evident Spencer hadn't breakfast before coming to work. That was enough for Rossi to comment.

"Did the good doctor fall asleep for the first time in years?"

"What? Me?... Well I think I missed the hour a little” said Spencer not looking at his interlocutor.

"More than a little, you didn't even took breakfast" Luke said.

"I hope this happened for pleasant things" Rossi said, tapping Spencer on the back, who reddened completely.

"I just... lost track of time... a little" he said as tried to eat his muffin.

"But not the appetite" Luke joked.

“Kid, the smile on your face is evident. Which I'll not reproach, but if you do not want a debriefing in the conference room, you'll have to be subtle” said Rossi. Spencer said nothing. “Also your clothes betrays you. Lucky you found something to wear today”. Spencer couldn't help but look at the clothes he was wearing. According to him it was "very normal", only he didn't notice his vest did little justice to his choice of shirt, which seemed more wrinkled than normal, as well as his slacks. He frowned and began to murmur.

“If wasn't this clothes, I would have had to come in the same clothes as yesterday. So I prefer this”. Spencer said, not realizing that he had provided more information than necessary. Luke and Rossi smiled.

"We are waiting for you upstairs" said Rossi, still laughing as he went up with Luke to the conference room.

"Shit..." was all Spencer muttered before finishing his muffin and coming up with his coffee to join the rest.

As they all sat around the table, they watched as Prentiss quickly entered the room. As soon as she set foot on the room, began to speak immediately.

"We'll have to move fast. This case is one of those. It's our turn to Houston this time. Garcia, you can start”

Garcia's description was detailed enough for the entire team to immediately understand Emily was referring to in her opening words. When the reading of the case was over, Prentiss told them they would be leaving in 20 minutes. So each went in search of his travel bag to go to the jet.

In his classic seat, Spencer pulled out cell phone. He wanted to text Max before taking off and starting to focus on the case. “Did you get to school well? Here we have a new case. Departing for Houston. I think it'll be a long one. I'll call you this night. Your boyfriend". The last thing he wrote was to tease Max. Reid knew she would laugh at that. After 5 minutes he received a response. "Hey!, I got on time today. We are now on a break. Take care ok? I'll wait for your call, boyfriend :)”. Spencer couldn't help but smile reading the message. They were already flying and they would begin to discuss the case, so he kept  cell phone on his pocket and went to meet the rest of the team.

Max left school that afternoon to go to Michelle's house. She promised Sammy to help him with homework since Michelle would be late that night. After finishing homework with Sammy, she made some dinner and they ate while watching a TV show. The program was ending when Michelle arrived at her home. Her husband would be a little later than her, so she took advantage Max cooked dinner. While Michelle ate, Max sat down to join her.

"These weeks have been rough apparently..." said Max seeing a visible tired face of Michelle.

"Indeed. It had been a long time since we had this volume of work. I'm exhausted…”. Michelle said as she took bites from her dinner. "We haven't talked much in these weeks, how are you? How has everything gone?"

"Good. School good too…”. Max replied.

"What about Spencer?" Michelle asked as she took another bite from her dinner.

"Please Michelle, I don't want to argue with you now..." said Max thinking this would start a new discussion between them.

"No, no... Max, don't get me wrong. I seriously ask. I know last time we talked about this was a heated discussion, but I don't want that now. I know he's a good guy Max, it's just that the situation with Dad and Eloise got me” acknowledged Michelle.

"Yes, I think to everyone. I can understand that… ”. Max said with a sigh.

"Are you together? As a couple?..." Michelle asked.

"Yes. We do” said Max shaking her head affirmatively.

"And both of you are ok?". Michelle asked as she finished her last bite.

"I think so, I mean... we're in the 'butterflies in the stomach' state yet... so I guess we're good..." Max said.

"Well, I see you have a good mood, I suppose must be one of the reasons" said Michelle laughing.

"Yes, I think it has a lot to do with it. Seriously, you're right, he's a great guy. Spencer has a special lifestyle, well... expected despite everything, but I think so far we've managed well" said Max.

"I don't know, but I have a feeling you'll end up falling in love with him..." Michelle said as she drank from her glass of water.

"Why do you say that?". Max asked laughing.

"I don't know, it's just a hunch. Later you'll tell me if I was right or not” said Michelle.

"Well, to my regret, you are rarely wrong Michelle... so there must be a chance". Max said with a smile.

Max had arrived at her apartment around 11 at night. She lay down on the couch and took off her shoes. She didn't want to go to bed right away, Max needed to enjoy her space before sleeping. Anyway, she closed eyes because felt they burned a little. She didn't know how long was like this, thinking about random things, until the sound of the phone brought her out of thoughts. It was Spencer who was calling.

"Hey you. How is everything going?" Max asked on the phone.

"Hey. Do you remember what I wrote you in the message? What would this case be like?... Well, I think it's worse than that" Spencer snorted.

"Ouch, so sorry... but are you okay?..."

"Yes. I'm ok, just a little frustrated, but fine"

"You think could you sleep tonight?"

"I don't know, I hope so. But seeing what time it is, I think it'll be not enough”

"I'm sorry hear that…"

"Don't be. Anyway I didn't want to call you to disturb you with my frustration. Because despite it, I must say I'm very happy today…”

"And why so happy, Dr. Reid?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about you and..." Spencer paused for a moment and then continued with a lower voice, almost in a whisper "... and in the things we did last night and today morning...". For Max those words were like an arousal blow to her body. She couldn't help but review quick and vivid images about past night and that morning.

"It's unfair that you to make me think about it when you're not here..." Max argued.

"Tell me about it, I'm in a crowded police station right now" Spencer snorted.

"Ok, you are in worse situation. I give you that”. Max said laughing.

"But not everything is bad. At least I can hear your voice. I'll have to satisfied with that for now".

"Same for me" Max said with a sigh. "Will you call me tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course. I hope I have better news tomorrow” said Reid.

"Ok. Try to at least get some sleep tonight, okay?”

"I'll try. Really. I promise. Now I'll return to work… good night, my beauty girlfriend”

"Good night my handsome boyfriend" said Max before hang up the phone. Laid on the couch Max thought could get used to be Spencer's girlfriend from now.

———————

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

the stars always make me laugh (3/4)

Now complete! Here is chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 4, and the epilogue.

A year to the day after Ziva departs D.C. to return to Paris and reunite with her family, her newfound contentment is shaken by an unexpected loss. Tony and Tali are right where they belong—safely by her side—but she still finds herself feeling drawn to reflect on the past. She might just be able to use this new grief to bring peace to old wounds, renewing hope along the way for a future with her family... but only if she can find a way to let go of what haunts her.

Written as a combined response to two different challenge prompts; also available for reading on ff.net (chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3) and AO3 (chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3). After this, there will be one more chapter and a short epilogue.

_________________________

January 12th, 2021, shortly after Ducky's funeral

For fifteen minutes now, Ziva has been standing alone beside Ducky's coffin, staring at the glint of afternoon sunlight on the metal metal rods that suspend it above the pit it will soon rest in. The same sunlight warms her face, and there's a distant part of her that's grateful for the unseasonable warmth of the day.

The graveside portion of the funeral service ended forty-five minutes ago, and the David-DiNozzos are the only ones left; somewhere just out of sight, a cemetery caretaker waits respectfully for their departure.

Ziva knows she can't wait here forever, but for now, she feels compelled to linger.

Eight years ago, she buried her father in Israel. That had been difficult and painful, without a doubt, and this afternoon is reminiscent of that ill-fated trip… There is a significant difference, though: unlike with Eli, Ziva has never had conflicting feelings about the elderly doctor.

She hesitated at Eli's funeral, too, but this time, she's not trying to come to terms with loving a father even though he wasn't good to her. This time, just taking a few minutes to say goodbye. It's bittersweet, part sadness and part nostalgic fondness.

Some hundred yards away, Tony and Tali chase one another through the grass, and Ziva finds herself watching them as her lips move quietly; there is a comfortable familiarity to the rarely thought-about prayers that she's whispering to herself. The sight of Tali's bright smile, so vibrant and full of energy, is soothing, too. Life goes on.

Maybe Tony can feel Ziva's gaze as she watches, because after a little while, he looks up to meet her eye. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. Then he leans down and says something to Tali, too far away for Ziva to hear what it is; Tali shrugs and nods. Leaving Tali to keep playing by herself, Tony turns and jogs back to where Ziva is still standing.

"Hi," he says warmly when he reaches her.

"Hello," she answers, more subdued but no less affectionate.

"You doing alright over here?"

"Yes… thank you for distracting Tali and giving me time to myself."

Tony shrugs. "Seemed like you needed a moment. Do you still want to be alone?"

Ziva shakes her head. "No. I have done what I needed to do." Tony nods, but he doesn't press her for more information on whatever that was. Still, she feels compelled to elaborate. "I was praying," she explains softly.

Tony rests a comforting hand on her upper back and smiles again, understanding. "I'm sure Ducky would have appreciated that."

"Something tells me that he would… in fact, if he was here, he likely would have recited the words with me. I think there was nothing he did not have significant knowledge of."

They share a quiet laugh, and Ziva gravitates closer; she has found over the years that nearness to Tony is an almost-guaranteed serotonin booster.

"He did love learning," Tony agrees, automatically settling his arm around her shoulders. "That reminds me of something that has always made me laugh… not long after I started as a probie, we were investigating a robbery at the Navy Federal Credit Union. The manager who was our main witness was an immigrant from somewhere in Africa, if I remember right—Ethiopia, maybe? Anyway, as soon as Ducky walked in and saw the man, he just… lit up. He could tell where the manager was from, just by looking at him—beats me how he could figure it out—and he went right up to the guy and started talking to him. Not in English, mind—in whatever language they speak in Ethiopia."

"Amharic," Ziva supplies helpfully, amused.

Tony chuckles. "Honestly, it's no wonder you two got along so well. You were both polyglots."

"That is a nice vocabulary word, Tony," Ziva says, hiding her mirth between a slightly wry tone.

Tony laughs harder, shaking his head. "Hey, there's no need to be condescending. I may not speak as many languages as you do, but I know some things."

Ziva laughs, too. "I was only teasing," she assures him, feeling her spirits lifting further.

"I know, I know." Tony squeezes her shoulders. "Anyway, I wonder where Ducky learned conversational Amharic." The last word is said with a wink.

"During his travels, I am sure."

"Undoubtedly. He never was one to sit still."

"No… he was not." Ziva sobers again slightly, that thought sparking a memory. "Perhaps a year after I resigned from NCIS," she adds hesitantly, "he sent me an email—did I ever tell you that?"

"What? No, you didn't! What did he say?"

"He told me that he was hoping to visit Israel—he had done so before, but not for several decades. He was asking for advice on important places to visit. I got the impression, however, that it was really just an excuse to check on me."

"He's not the only one that had the urge to do that."

Ziva doesn't know how to reply without apologizing again for things they've already moved on from, so she just reaches up to rest her hand on top of Tony's where it's still settled on her shoulder.

He doesn't seem to mind.

"Did you answer him?" Tony asks curiously, realizing that Ziva isn't going to comment on what he just said.

Ziva shakes her head. "I could not see how replying would do anything other than bring up old pain for everyone. I kept the email, though. I really cannot say why I did."

Tony seems to get it, though. "Sometimes it's nice to know that someone's out there caring about you, no matter where you are. Maybe it makes the world feel a little less lonely," he adds contemplatively.

Ziva knows that he's speaking from experience, and she looks over to where Tali is running around in circles with her arms out, possibly pretending she's an airplane. "What is it that Gibbs said so long ago? 'When you have kids, you're never lonely.'"

"That might be one of the truest things he's ever said."

"I think so, too. Having Tali… well, that saved me during a very difficult time."

"She's pretty good for that. She did it for me, too."

Ziva thinks for the thousandth time about the difficulty Tony faced in the wake of her feigned death nearly five years ago. In a very short time, he found out that she was dead, found out that he had a daughter he'd never met, and resigned from the career that was not only a job to him but also where he found his family. He hadn't just lost Ziva herself; he had, in effect, lost Gibbs, McGee, Abby… everyone who made the navy yard his home-away-from-home.

Including Ducky.

"Hey, Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"We have talked a lot about my grief this week, but we have not talked much about yours. I am sorry for your loss, my love. You knew Ducky for far longer than I did, and I know he was very important to you."

Tony seems exceptionally unconcerned by this, and his arm around her shoulders rises and falls as he shrugs. "I did, and he was, but grief isn't a competition. I promise that I'm dealing with it—I'm just a little more worried about you right now. Loss is hard enough when it isn't just another thing to add to a lifetime already full of goodbyes." He drops a kiss to her forehead. "May his memory be a blessing for you, Ziva," he finishes in a murmur.

Ziva looks up at him, surprised and touched. "Thank you… I am impressed that you are familiar with that phrasing, since it is a Jewish tradition rather than a secular one. I would have expected you to say something closer to 'may he rest in peace.'"

Tony grins. "Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, sweet cheeks," he teases. Then, more serious again, he elaborates. "I learned a lot while you were gone. I figured that Tali deserved to grow up knowing about your background, not just mine, even if you weren't around to teach it to her."

"That was incredibly thoughtful of you, Tony."

"Yeah, well… I guess I should admit that I didn't learn everything just for her. I had other motives, too."

"Oh?"

He tightens his hold on her shoulders. "As soon as we knew that you were alive, I started planning for the day that we'd get to celebrate your culture with you, too."

"You are a man of many surprises," Ziva manages to say through a throat that has suddenly tightened again; she's genuinely moved by his continuous quiet dedication.

"I do my best." Tony rests his chin on top of her head. "Ha'makom yenahem etkhem betokh she'ar avelei Tziyonvi'Yerushalayim." His Hebrew is careful and he fumbles a few times, but the words are correct, surprising Ziva again.

What he said is the very traditional mourner's farewell: "May God console you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem."

Ziva is not particularly devout and never has been—in fact, she would consider herself culturally Jewish more than religiously Jewish—but something about hearing those familiar words strikes her in the same way that "At lo levad" did years ago. Maybe it's less because of the spiritual aspect of the blessing and more due to the painstaking effort her husband must have gone through to learn the words—which have no other use to him than in comforting her—but either way, it warms her more than the winter sun can.

Her reaction is abrupt, surprising and alarming Tony: she starts to cry again. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks quickly, concerned. "Did I say it wrong? If I accidentally insulted you, I'm sorry."

Ziva laughs through her tears. "No, no, it is not that, it is just—"

She's interrupted by the slightly violent arrival of Tali.

The six-and-a-half year old had changed directions in her running to suddenly speed toward her parents; she apparently misjudged the time it would take her to come to a stop, however, so she crashes into them, knocking them both back a step. They break out of their embrace to steady themselves.

"Oops!" Tali says, turning red and grabbing onto Tony's suit jacket to keep from falling over. "Sorry, Ima. Sorry, Daddy."

Tony snorts. "Don't worry about it, baby girl."

Tali barely hears him, though, noticing that her mother's cheeks are flushed and wet with tears. "Why are you crying, Ima?"

Ziva smiles at their slightly-too-energetic daughter. "All is well, Tali, do not worry. I am a little sad, but I am still a little happy, too."

Tali tilts her head to one side. "How are you sad and happy?"

"I am happy to have you and your Abba, but I also miss my friend Ducky. It is okay to be sad when you miss someone, yes?"

Tali nods. "Daddy has told me that a lot of times. So many times."

Ziva and Tony just chuckle at that. "Do not tell him this, ahava shelli," Ziva replies in a teasing pseudo-whisper, "because I do not want his head to grow so large that he cannot pull his shirts on anymore, but… sometimes, he says some smart things."

Tali grins, catching on. "Just not very often, right?" she says in the same low voice.

"Does anyone else hear whispering? Because I feel like I hear whispering," Tony interjects loudly, playing along.

Tali giggles. "He's funny, isn't he?" she asks Ziva conspiratorially.

"Yes… sometimes."

"Was Saba Ducky funny, too?"

"He very often was. Do you remember him?"

"A little." Tali hesitates slightly, looking from her mother to her father and back again. Then, making a decision, she reaches for Ziva's hand. When Ziva gives it to her, she tugs until Ziva gets the hint and kneels in front of her daughter.

"What is it, chamuda?"

"Do you remember when you were gone?"

"Of course I do, Tali."

"I missed you then. D'you know what Abba said, though?"

"No. Do you want to tell me?"

"Yeah. He said you were like a Gordon angel." Over Tali's head, Ziva can see Tony smiling fondly and mouthing 'she means guardian angel.' "He said you were watching over us and protecting us, even if you couldn't come home."

Ziva nods, squeezing her daughter's small hand. "Abba was right. I was."

"Well, I think maybe Saba Ducky is like a Gordon angel now, too. So don't cry, Ima. He's still watching, he just can't come home."

The simple optimistic innocence of that statement brings Ziva to gentle tears again, and Tali frowns. "I said don't cry, Ima, not start to cry!" She reaches up with clumsy fingers to wipe at Ziva's cheeks.

Ziva draws Tali into a hug, thinking that the girl might just be right. She has suffered too many losses in her life, and this first loss after reuniting with her family could have threatened to push her back into a darker place… but as much as she misses Ducky, and as much as she wishes she could have a chance to talk to him one more time, she's less alone now than she's ever been.

That's a comfort, indeed.

[aiimaginesbts]

Beautiful Resemblance

A/N: A short fic written for Lucien’s birthday :)

Reader x Gavin

Genres: Fluff (PG-13?)

Word count: 3,539 words

Disclaimer/Copyright. Photo from Mr Love: Dream Date.

There’s a growing chill in the air with each passing day that keeps me on my toes. By the time I flip at the calendar on my desk and see the word ‘November’, anxiousness and excitement that have been building up for the past few weeks had hit me all at once. I can’t wait for that day to come. However, if I don’t finish the task I’ve set for myself in time, it will all be for naught.

Just a little over a week earlier, Lucien had unwittingly solved the problem that had been plaguing me since the end of autumn while we were walking down a shopping street together. “Look, isn’t that a figurine of that idol you’re friends with?”

“Huh?” Stopping in my tracks, I’d turned my attention towards the display in the store window that Lucien was pointing at. A small figurine, not much bigger than my hand, stood out amongst other dolls lined up to its right and left. “Oh, wow.” Wanting to take a closer look, I’d unthinkingly released Lucien’s hand to step closer to the glass window. It might have been small, but the details were all there – Kiro’s attention-grabbing blue eyes, the highlights in his blond hair, his bright smile, even his lean muscles – heat had crept up to my face as I’d remembered what a perfect physical specimen he was. It was like a mini-Kiro was right there in front of me. The thought of owning a tiny Kiro amused me to no end, and I’d giggled. “It really is the spitting image of Kiro!”

“Hmm.” Stepping beside me, Lucien had peered into the window, trying to see what I was seeing. “Does that mean you know his features well?”

“Huh? Oh…” Lucien’s sudden question had surprised me. I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I guess… We have worked together several times. Plus, he’s famous. You see him everywhere nowadays.”

“Really? But, if I’m not mistaken, we’ve worked together more, haven’t we?” Pressing further, Lucien had forced me to call forth the number of times he’d appeared on my show; Miracle Finder, and all the times we’d spent together working on planning it. “I’m quite sure that I’ve appeared on your show far more frequently than he has.”

“Yes, of course you have. You’re our guest expert, after all.” My gratitude for all his help had automatically brought a brilliant smile to my face.

“Then…” With one step forward, Lucien had brought himself mere inches away from me. As if that wasn’t enough to leave me all flustered, he’d taken back the hand that I’d let go earlier. “Do you remember my features as well as you know your idol friend’s?”

“Uh-huh,” I’d said stupidly, blinking up dazedly as he’d stared down at me. How was I supposed to think when his gorgeous face was so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath fanning over me? Summoning all my willpower to focus, I came up with an answer; “I can’t really say for sure when you’re right in front of me, Lucien. It’s only when I don’t see you that I can try to recall what I remember.”

“Fair enough.” It’d felt like I’d been released from a spell when Lucien had straightened back up, putting a bit of distance between us. He’d still held on to my hand, though. Not that I was complaining – the heat radiating from our point of contact was welcome in this cold weather. Yet I’d found myself thinking that I wouldn’t have minded it even if he’d held onto me on a hot, sunny day in summer. “Shall we go now?”

“Okay,” I’d given in to his gentle tugging, but as we’d walked off, I’d found myself glancing back towards the store for a final look at mini-Kiro. Even though I’d known all along how popular Kiro was, seeing such a merchandise still came as a nice surprise. Being friends with such an amazing star felt like a dream.

“Do you want to buy it?” Lucien had misinterpreted my attraction to the figurine, and his expression had fallen a little. It was almost as if he was pouting. My attention was drawn back to him instantly. This wasn’t an expression that I saw very often, if at all.

“No,” I’d clarified with a shake of my head. “It’s just mind-boggling that the person I personally know is a toy.”

Chuckling, Lucien had mused, “I wonder if collectors would agree to such a simple term as ‘toy’. But,” he’d smiled teasingly at me, all sulking gone now, “if there was a toy of you, I’d buy it immediately.”

Even though I’d laughed it off then, the thought had stayed with me long enough until I’d found the time to visit an arts and crafts shop two days after that. After explaining what I intended to make, one of the shop assistants had kindly taught me the basics that I’d need. Although I’d managed to buy all the things for the present that I want to make, I’d been so busy with work since that it’s only about half-finished now. The panic is starting to begin in earnest.

Looking at my phone as I hurry up to my apartment, I calculate that I only have less than a week to finish the present before Lucien’s birthday. The unfinished doll sitting on my coffee table is still rough in its development, with only the basic shape of a human, but without any discerning features. I suppose this is where I need to call on my powers of recollection, huh? Lucien’s question the other day about me remembering his features are called to mind, and I can’t help grinning to myself as I work on sewing the doll.

Fortuitously, Lucien is coming on set to shoot an episode of Miracle Finder the very next day. As he talks to the cameras, I find myself watching him intently, paying more attention to his fine features than I normally would. It’s no secret that Lucien is incredibly good-looking, but I’ve never given much thought to his defining attributes. His black hair is kept short and well-trimmed, in line with the rest of his appearance – Lucien has a very neat look. Without his loose, white lab coat, his sturdy build is more apparent underneath his crisp, black dress shirt and slacks. The dark colours contrast sharply with his fair skin, making him look far more noble than the average guy.

However, the feature that draws my attention immediately every time is, without a doubt, his perplexingly beautiful violet eyes. It’s not just the colour, though. There’s wisdom beyond his age hidden behind those vivid irises, so mysterious and intriguing that I can’t help wanting to stare into them for hours just to see if I can uncover what’s hidden within those depths. And yet whenever he smiles as he teases me, a little weight seems lifted from the heavy sadness that always lurks there. I’ve always wished that I can make him smile. Always. So that one day there will be no trace of that sorrow left behind.

Before I know it, shooting is wrapped up, and those eyes I’ve been watching for so long flick in my direction. Oops. Afraid that I’ve been caught in the act, I hurriedly look down at my notebook, although I have completely forgotten why it’s lying open in my lap.

“Is there something on my face?” A soft voice so close to my right ear that his breath ruffles my hair makes me jump in my seat. From the silence that follows – even my co-worker, Kiki’s excited, non-stop chattering comes to a pause – I know that the whole studio heard my startled yelp. Blood rushes to my cheeks immediately. Looking up at the source of my shock, the heat gathered in my face intensifies when I find myself almost nose to nose with Lucien, who’d bent down to whisper in my ear.

Seeing my astonished reaction elicits a low chuckle from him. It’s infuriatingly charming, because that’s what Lucien does to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologises, although his sincerity isn’t all that convincing when he’s literally laughing in my face. I start to pull my face into an indignant pout, then stop when he continues, “It serves you right for staring at me all through the recording session. I could barely concentrate.”

That soft, beguiling grin of his is as nonchalant as ever, making me wonder if his words are really honest or just meant to tease me. On the other hand, regardless of my doubt, just the thought of him being distracted by me is enough to make me flustered. Oh, but I can’t tell him that I really was looking at him! “I was not staring at you!” Panic causes my denial to come out as an unconvincing, embarrassing shriek.

“Really?” Drawing up to his full height, Lucien rubs his chin thoughtfully. Knowing full well that he doesn’t believe me at all, I can’t look up at him. Instead, I give my attention to the notebook in my hand, even though I can’t make sense of anything that’s written on the white pages. “I could have sworn that I have holes from your eyes boring into me.”

“Even if that’s true, which it isn’t,” I ground out, aware of my imminent defeat but refusing to surrender, “You scared me out of my wits, so I’d say we’re even.”

“Indeed. Well, I suppose I’ll have to let you go this time,” he raises his arms in mock surrender, then stoops back down to whisper, “but I won’t go so easy on you next time.”

That titillating threat, blown into my ear like a delicious promise, sends shivers down my spine. Even though I’m at a loss for a comeback, I instinctively turn to face him, but Lucien is already walking away. Remembering that he’d said he still has some work to finish, I refrain from going after him. It’s already very gracious of him to spend his precious time recording my show. I shouldn’t bother him any further.

Fortunately, getting the recording for the next episode done gives me the time and motivation I need for the last spur of effort in finishing Lucien’s present. With the last stitching done to keep a purple button in place, I cut the thread and lean back to examine my handiwork. As far as homemade crafts go, it’s pretty good, even if I do say so myself. I’ve spent some time today to go pick up a small cake at the bakery after work, but I knew I’d have time to finish before midnight. Any weariness I may be feeling dissipates when I look at the doll and think about the man it represents.

And just in time, too. The clock hung on the wall opposite me shows that it’s ten minutes to midnight as I wrap the present with a soft, thin cloth and tie a ribbon at the top. That’s when it hits me; I’d completely forgotten to do the most important thing – ask Lucien if he’s free tonight!

Cursing my own carelessness, I jump off the sofa to get my phone. I was so absorbed in finishing the doll that I didn’t notice if there was that muted noise of the front door of the apartment next to mine closing or not, which would tell me that Lucien’s come home. Even my phone is still in my bag where it has been since I got back. Fishing the device out of my bag, I see that I have one missed call and two messages from the man himself.

“Are you home? I saw your lights are on.”

“Too busy to answer my call?”

Trying to calm myself down so I don’t give anything away, I call Lucien. “Hello?” After three rings, the familiar, comforting voice greets my ear.

“Hi. Sorry for the later response. I was a little distracted,” I say a little breathlessly. My eyes stray towards the clock again. Six minutes to midnight. “Is it okay for me to come over?”

“Now?” He asks, mild curiosity colouring his tone.

“Yes, if you don’t mind. If you’re busy, I won’t stay for very long.” I wished that he isn’t but I quickly add the last sentence anyway, afraid of being turned down.

There’s a short pause on the other end. “… Sure.” The answer prompts me to let out a breath I’m not aware I was holding. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Normally his last statement would be enough to send me into a tizzy, but I’m too pressed for time to put much thought into it. “Be there soon.” As soon as I hang up, I hurry to take the cake out of the fridge, already placed on a nice white plate. All that’s left is to light the candles. A few minutes later, I’m standing before Lucien’s door, wondering how to press his doorbell when I’m struggling to balance the cake and the present in my hands.

Just then, the door opens, revealing Lucien on the other side. “Oh! How did you know I’m here?”

“It’s easy to notice, since I’ve been waiting for you,” Lucien gives me another one of his easy smiles before he looks down at my offerings. “And what is this?”

Internally scolding myself for getting distracted, I burst into a Happy Birthday song. The corners of Lucien’s lips spread out further as he waits for me to finish. “Thank you. Would you like to come inside now?”

“Uh, yes.” Belatedly feeling foolish for singing in the corridor, I hurriedly follow him into his apartment. He closes the door behind me, but doesn’t go further into the house. Feeling awkward standing in the narrow entranceway, I ask, “Shouldn’t we go in?”

“We should,” Lucien agrees. “But before that…” Suddenly, he steps closer to me, prompting me to step back reflexively. There isn’t much space left behind me, so my back immediately hits the wall. Even though he rests a hand on the wall next to me so casually, the effect it has on me is world-shaking. Lifting my chin up, my heartbeat thunders in my ears as he leans down, moving closer and closer to me. “Perhaps I should blow the candles out before they go out on their own.”

“Oh. Right.” Stupid me and my overactive imagination! Trying to will the heat away from my face, I lift up the cake so Lucien can blow out the candles. The light in the entranceway isn’t on, and in the dimness of the small space lit only by the light from his living room, the flickering light from the candles bathes his face almost magically as he moves closer to them. With part of his face shielded by his falling bangs, what I can see of his face glows like an ethereal being. Then he takes a deep breath and releases it over the candles, extinguishing them all in a single exhale, and the moment is over, finally returning my senses to me.

Unaware of how captivated I was by him, Lucien moves away and invites me in. The desk he works at in the corner is littered with papers, but his coffee table remains neat and clear, giving me space to set down the cake and my gift. “Are you still working?”

“I just finished when you came,” he assures me. Although not entirely convinced that he’s telling me the truth, I don’t want to contest his statement. Just give me a chance to give this to him properly. I won’t disturb him for too long, I vow to myself.

“You shouldn’t be working on your birthday, you know.”

“Well, my birthday just started, so technically, I wasn’t.” Informing me of this so matter-of-factly is meant to rile me up, so I fight the urge to pout like I know he’s expecting. Sensing my infuriation anyway, Lucien’s lips perk up as he takes a seat next to me on the sofa. “Besides, now I have the best excuse to stop working and unwind. I can’t think of a better way to start my birthday and end my night than spending it with you.”

Sweet words like thick honey leaves me at a loss for words, and I turn away before he can see how affected I am by them. Correctly assuming that he can’t get a response from me – not anytime soon, anyway – he reaches out for the small bundle next to the cake. “Is this for me?”

“It’s a gift for your birthday,” I confirm with a nod. “It isn’t much, though.”

“No gift from you is too little.” Holding the present in his hands carefully as if it’s precious china, his eyes shine with something that I don’t remember ever seeing before. He looks… happy. Just seeing it lifts my spirits up to new heights. “Can I open it?”

“Go ahead.” As his long, elegant fingers tug at the purple ribbon, my heart starts racing again. For a different reason this time. Is it really good enough to be a present? Would such a clumsy, hand-made knick-knack be a good fit for someone as classy as Lucien? Will he hate it? Questions fly through my mind like a tornado as he unveils the present.

Once he pulls the ribbon, the white cloth that has been wrapping the gift falls away, revealing the doll. Lucien’s eyes widen as he takes it in. Well, at the very least, it seems like I’ve managed to surprise him. It isn’t very big – just about as tall as the tablet he uses at work – but in his large hands, it looks really tiny. Said hands pick it up and turn it over, observing my handiwork from every angle. I feel like my work is being put under careful inspection, and it’s making me really nervous. “It’s nothing special, it’s just a hand-made thing after all. Nowhere as detailed or impressive like the figurine we saw the other day…”

“Yet to me, it is the more precious and amazing than anything you can buy at a store,” Lucien finishes for me, cutting my self-depreciating babbling short. My spirits perk back up with his words. Does that mean he likes it, after all?

“I do. Judging from this, I suppose we can conclude that you do remember my features well,” he answers happily when I’ve mustered enough courage to ask. Then he sobers. “Although, there is just one problem.”

“What is it??” Once again, I start to panic, holding myself back just enough so that I don’t snatch the gift away from him to see what’s wrong with it. Is there a loose thread? Are the violet-button eyes lopsided? Is the pristine white lab coat it’s wearing stained?

Watching my barely-contained anxiousness, Lucien lets out a light, mirthful laugh. “If you remember our conversation from the other day, I said I’d like a doll of you, not of myself.”

“Oh.” For a moment, relief washes over me, before his words sinks in and draws out shyness instead. How could I make a doll of myself?! And especially as a present for him! I’m nowhere near that self-confident enough for that. Trying to wiggle my way out, I giggle nervously. “What would you want something like that for? So you can stick pins in it?”

“I would never do something so horrible to anything that looks as cute as you are,” he titters at the thought. “It’s simply so that I can bring you with me everywhere I go, and look at you all that I want. But since you wouldn’t make me one, you’ll just have to stay by my side. Always.” He shifts closer to me on the couch, until our knees are bumping into each other. My heart drums an erratic beat as he moves closer and closer, until our lips are just about to touch. Then he stops.

Having him stare at me with barely any space between us is making me squirm with anticipation and longing. After a few seconds, I can no longer bear it. “Um, Lucien…?”

“Hmm?” He’s so close that I can feel his very lips vibrating from the sound that he makes.

“Wha– what are you doing?” I whisper. It feels inappropriate to speak above the softest volume imaginable. At this distance, he can hear me breathe anyhow.

“Why, looking at you all I want, of course.” I can hear the trill of laughter in his answer, but I can’t think rationally enough to get mad at him for teasing me, much less come up with a witty retort. “Although… there is no way I can stop myself when you’re this close to me.”

Before I can ask him what he means, Lucien closes the infinitesimal gap between us, and anything I might have to say is lost in our kiss. Wrapped in his tender embrace, drowning in his gentle kisses, I don’t think I mind him looking at me all that much, after all. If this is how it’s going to be, I wish Lucien’s birthday would never end.

Thank you for reading! All feedback is welcome.

[mikeshanlon]

do you like astrology and if you do what signs do you think the losers are

Okay so shoutout @denbrough (mo) for helping me with this, also @stenbranlons (claudia) for nodding alongin our gc, I’m sorry we talked about this for like a week RGLKNRG. To preface,we are in no way astrology experts lmao, we pulled from several differentsources and picked which ones we felt fit best. Which, that being said, we didnot consider any of the canon birthdays for this, just vibes. Ik some peopleare very particular about astrology headcanons LGRNG so these are just our ownopinions, any differing ones are not less valid or whatever. Also, charts arevery complex and have many different factors, like Mercury for communicationand Venus for love, etc, we just decided to do the main three placements. Incase some of y’all don’t know, someone’s Sun sign is essentially their basicidentity and personality, it’s how we act in the world, and our conscious mind.Our moon sign is our emotional self, our unconscious, how we react tothings, our deepest needs. Some astrologists say this is more like our “trueself”. One’s rising or ascendant sign is our social personality, it is howpeople perceive us, and often how we perceive the world and new experiences—it representsthe “outward”. Some refer to it as the mask we wear around others, though thatdoes not mean our rising/ascendant is fake, but rather how we act and thinkwhen interacting with our environment. Anyways because this is me, theseexplanations became super fucking long so I’m sorry about that! This was superfun though, thank you for asking!

Bill:

Leo Sun: Leos are leaders, theyare very charming and pull people in with their loyalty, humor, and confidence.All of the losers love Bill and are very enraptured by him, Leos tend to be inthe spotlight and adored, so I think this is very fitting. They always want tohelp people but sometimes they can also get fixated and arrogant and end up neglectingwhat others need—for instance Bill being so fixated on finding Georgie that hedoesn’t totally realize the other losers are really scared and getting hurt. Still,Leos are very inspiring and fearless and want their people to be happy. Leosare also quite romantic and generous, which I think are traits that can beattributed to Bill.

Cancer Moon: Okay so I have alwayssaid Bill has Big Cancer Energy, but I think it makes most sense as hisemotional self. Cancers are caretaker types; they want the best for theirfriends and do whatever they can to help them. They are persuasive—sometimes tothe point of manipulation. Many Cancers are afraid of rejection/abandonment(hello Bill’s shitty parents and him holding onto the idea of his brother foras long as possible!) Because they are so caring and sensitive towards theirfriends, they can be quite moody—both anger and sadness. (Bill be Crying andpunching his friends sometimes doe!) Cancers like art and are very imaginative(Bill’s art and writing). When I think of Cancers, I think of tender h*rniness.They fall in love very easily and crave a deep love and can be v thirsty attimes lmao, to me that really encapsulates Bill. Cancer Moons are also verydomestic and love comfort, and while I think Bill likes to go on adventures, Ithink he is someone who enjoys a sort of domestic routine with the people heloves from time to time. Cancer also rules the moon so he’s Extra EmotionalLNRGRG.

Aries Rising: Those with Ariesrising are often leaders, lively, generous, warm, and have a reputation ofbeing a troublemaker. They are rash and jump into situations (HELLO BILL KINGOF DUMB IMPULSE DECISIONS). But, they are very engaging and can be greatmotivational speakers (Neibolt speech teas). They want to help friends to thepoint that if they refuse, an Aries rising individual will refuse to acceptthat rejection. Furthermore, sometimes they can come off a bit like arrogantassholes, but they really do care about their friends and just want to helperklgneg. Aries rising people are very emotional and their impulsiveness cansometimes translate into rushing serious relationships.

Mike:

Libra Sun: Libras are very diplomatic;they bring harmony and balance and can see multiple sides. I think this fitsMike very well, for instance during the scene where the losers are by the PaulBunyan statue, Mike understands why Stan is looking at this logically but healso understands Bill’s emotional reaction. He also understands why Bill andBeverly think they should stay together and help, but he also understands whyRichie/Ben/Stan don’t want to keep going. He tries to get everyone to calm thefuck down and cooperate. Libras hate conflict, aside from Mike’s nonviolence(not wanting to kill the sheep and hesitating to hurt Henry until he knew itwas life or death), he also avoided telling all the losers about why he askedthem to return, showing sometimes his aversion to conflict can be a negative. Librasoften get fixated on one thing—the crazy conspiracist Mike of it all… Iunderstand why people think he could be a Taurus because of his commitment tothe losers and staying in Derry for 27 years, but I think that is super tied tothe idea of bringing justice for those who P*nnywise killed and will try to kill,Libras are super into fighting against injustice. Also, Libras are ruled byVenus and love love and are very charming, I think Mike has a certain pull andmagnetism about him.

Taurus Moon: Individuals withtheir moon in Taurus are very warm, affectionate, and sentimental. They like togather all the facts but can be somewhat impressionable, again I think thismakes sense with how he decides that he believes pennywise exists and hisresearch as he stays in Derry. Speaking of, this line from Mo’s book killed me:“when you’re confronted with a problem you look for the most effective way todeal with it, and even if it’s personally painful for you, you get it handled”.Like. Oh my god. They also like creature comforts—often Taurus is linked withluxury but I think in this sense his ‘luxury’ is his kitschy clutter of thingsthat hold sentimental value—supernatural items, knick knacks from his childhood,his favorite books, etc. He holds these dear and this is probably why his homeis a big ol mess but he likes it and finds it cozy. Speaking of, they are veryromantic and want a life of domesticity, which feels very Mike to me! Theyinvest a lot in their friendships, I think this is true of Mike as well seeingas you know.. he sacrifices years of his life so they can be happy.

Capricorn Rising: Those withCapricorn rising can be quite shy with strangers, but once they get to knowpeople, they are very friendly and warm. They are very dedicated to theirgoals, these goals are often to strive for a better life (Mike wanting to savethe people of Derry, Mike wanting to travel, etc). But sometimes this strivingcan make Cap risings feel unfulfilled and they continue to search for somethingmissing. Capricorn rising individuals are smart and concentrated, they are ableto parse through information and plan ahead, though sometimes they go overevery detail too much—Mike is very into research and understanding things andsearches every possibility. They love deeply and are very loyal and protectiveof those they love. They can worry a lot. Mo also added that cap risings are dependent,reliable, and stable. which can be attributed to mike staying in derry allthose years and keeping that promise to call them. Overall he’s very groundedand down to earth with his rising/moon!

Stan:

Virgo Sun: Virgos are veryanalytical and pay attention to the little details. Often times, this leads tothem being very critical of themselves and others, and they are prone toworrying. I think Stan is someone who tries to navigate through life logically,but he can get caught up in the anxieties of everything going wrong and getoverwhelmed. They often like animals and nature (not to be like Stan likesbirds and plants and shit but he does GLKNRG), and value cleanliness, sometimesthis leads to germaphobia or hypochondria especially because Virgos tend toworry (and we know Stan is a germophobe and deals with OCD, he has to clean thebloody bathroom in a certain way, the painting needs to be perfectly straight,etc.). In friendships, Virgos usually play a role of an advisor—they are veryloyal and want to solve problems but sometimes that means they find problems ineverything (I think Stan tries to advise the group but also Bill is like okaylet’s do it like this

Pisces Moon: Some people view Stanas very emotionless or even angry, but I think he’s quite emotional, he justtries to operate with logic first. Pisces moons are often described as ‘dreamy’and want to escape reality (Stan being like it’s summer let’s just forget what’sgoing on and… other stuff lmao). They are very emotional, but those emotionscan be hard for others to read because they are very mysterious, and even hardfor the individual to express. They have a strange sense of humor (kookiekookie lend me your bonessssss). Those with Pisces moon are very sweet andsensitive to others suffering and are drawn to those in crisis often (like.Literally all of the losers LKGNRKRG) and can be overly trusting (I swear Bill!!!).They are also very afraid of the past coming back to haunt them… :(. Mo the ultimate Stan stan also had this to say: ever since claudia tagged one ofmy posts about stan being one of the most emotional losers but no one evertalking about it, i'm constantly thinking about how stan reacts to things. myinitial reaction was scorpio moon, but scorpio moons are really good at hidingtheir emotions. think about stan's reactions to big events in his life: gettingleft alone in the sewers, his bar mitzvah getting mike's call. he has distinctemotional reactions. pisces is also the sign of sorrow and self-undoing, sothinking back to some canon events it just makes a lot of sense to me. piscesmoons are also really selfless when it comes to their friends, but very strictand disciplined when it comes to themselves.

Aquarius Rising: There’s thissection in Mo’s astrology book that just like. So completely encapsulates Stanand how he interacts with the losers imo: “You are often intolerant of otherpeople’s shortcomings and can be wickedly sarcastic and very funny at the sametime. Your razor-sharp powers of observation help you uncover flaws that youcan poke fun at. You are a system of paradoxes. You enjoy being with people butare perfectly content to be alone. You like to travel but love relaxing athome. You are friendly and outgoing but, at other times, moody and reserved.” Like!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Also, those with their rising in Aquarius are very idealistic and want theworld to be happy and harmonious (Stan being like its summer can we chill andnot wanting to be part of any conflict). They can also feel impatient towardsthose who don’t share the same vision.

Beverly: (imma be honest Bev was the hardest toplace so don’t judge lerngerg)

AquariusSun: To me, Aquarians are the epitome of like… chill/friendly stonerthat likes to talk about conspiracy theories and injustices of the world whiley’all are seshing but they are also kinda mysterious bc you never really knowwhats going on in their head …. which is v Bev to me RLGKNNKRG. Aquarians lovehanging out with friends and are really good listeners, which I think is trueof Beverly—they also have odd senses of humor. They are humanitarians that liketo fight for justice, I think Bev is someone who wants to fight for those whoare being hurt bc it’s something she has experienced and wants to provide thehelp that she didn’t get. For instance, she’s the one who’s like we need to gosave Mike, and she also wants to help save Derry and agrees with Bill that theyshould keep fighting Pennywise during the big fight after Neibolt. Aquarians canbe quite paradoxical—at times they are shy, other times loud and eccentric, Ithink this makes sense for Bev, another quality is that those with their sun inAquarius like to have some time alone, both of these things make me think ofthe moments she enjoys on her own and the other times she seeks out fun withthe losers and does crazy shit like jump off a cliff LKGNKNRG. They can bekinda bad at emotional expression and are very guarded with their emotions,sometimes coming of cold/bitchy until they know they can trust someone (Bev toBen at first on the stairs elrkgnerg).

Aquarius Moon: okay Mo wrote this explanation and I thot it was perfect so: Moon in Aquarius brings upthe qualities of sensitivity and perception. Since aqua is the sign of rationalthinking and humanitarianism, moon in Aquarius gives a person a clear mindsetand kinder outlook on life. Moon in Aqauarius are rational, intuitive, andimaginative, which i think can speak for a lot of beverly's character traitsand actions like her monologue in it 2017 where she tries to rationally explainwhy pennywise is going after them and how they have to defeat it, whereaseveryone else is struck by fear and emotional, or at the end of it 2019 whereshe tells richie that eddie is dead, and being intuitive enough to know thatshe has to tell him and tell him in a specific way, the imagination quality isa clear call to her artistic vision as a designer. aqua moons have greatvitality, they're witty conversationalists, and all around great friends. ithink that the friendliness and sociability of her aqua moon can be offset byher sag rising so there's more balance and nuance to her characteristics there.they're interested in the unusual, specifically in people, which could link herto vibing so well with the losers club. they can't stand possessive or jealouslovers, but they unconsciously choose people who aren't available to them (herfirst husband). they need a fine line between commitment and independence,which i think speaks to her behavior as a kid. she needs the stability and thespace to grow she didn't have from her dad. they deeply value platonic love. overall,aqua moons are independent, they have stimulating minds, persuasive charms, anda side of their personality that will always gear towards the unusual

SagittariusRising: Sagittarians love hanging out with their friends, but they alsohave the desire to be free and have adventures (I want to run towardssomething, not away! Queen). They are wise but optimistic, again I think thisties with things like her understanding that they all have to stick together tobeat pennywise, but also believing that they have the ability to kill It aswell. They are humorous and can be quite outgoing and confident, there aretimes when Bev is v confident and wild (teasing Ben, jumping off the cliff,initiating the rock war, etc). Sag risings are also v brave—like every single timeshe fights It or the Bowers or her dad or her husband. They’re good at tellingstories. They are also people who fight for the oppressed and want to createideas that help the world.

Ben:

Pisces Sun: Pisces are super friendlyand will do anything to help others even if they don’t get anything back(Ben!!!!!!!! Ben!!!!!!). They are very compassionate and gentle with others, I thinkthis is very true for Ben as he is p much always super sweet and understanding withthe losers. Their compassion can sometimes lead to being way too trusting—this canbe a problem bc they could fall in with bad company and hate being criticizedand sometimes views themselves as a victim. I don’t think Ben ever tries to like…capitalize on being a victim or anything but I think he does feel that waysometimes especially in regards to Bill/Bev, but he understands that’s her owndecision, again being very compassionate and not expecting anything out of hisactions. Sometimes their strong emotions can manifest in negative ways, likebeing scared, sad, and feeling misunderstood—they also can cry p easily (Ben criesquite a bit for his friends like in the sewers and his own romantic feelingsand stuff). They are super romantic and love unconditionally. They are also quiteintuitive, I think this makes sense (in tandem with the romanticism) withthings like kissing Bev to save her, understanding where to look into stuff inregard to the pennywise bullshit, etc.

Taurus Moon: We’ve talked aboutthis a bit with Mike, but I think Ben is also a Taurus Moon! LunarTaureans are very sentimental and have deep, strong emotions. They are vromantic and hang on to their relationships, both platonic and romantic, (thepostcard…….) they want a devoted and committed relationship that providessecurity. Those with their moon in Taurus really invest a lot in their friendships,I think friendship is one of if not the most important thing to Ben so thismakes a lot of sense to me. There’s a line in one of the sites I looked at thatfeels SO Ben to me: “Taurus moon sign energy has two speeds: relaxed andcontented […] or hyped-up and ready to charge”. That totally reminds me of howBen is usually p chill and easy going but when the people he loves arethreatened he goes crazy to protect them (the rock war scream and him going crazyduring that LGKNNRG and fighting pennywise, etc). While Mike’s affinity for luxuryis more like…. Kitschy clutter trash GLNRG, I think Ben’s interest in architecturefeels v luxurious and the importance of a home base makes sense for him. TaurusMoons also like to gather all the facts first—this makes sense in how heapproaches his friendships/relationships but also other things like investigatingDerry.

Libra Rising: Let’s go diplomatic romanticslet’s goooooooooo!!! Libras want harmony and are therefore good mediators, theywant everyone to have a good time and are good at teamwork. I think this makessense for Ben and can especially be seen in scenes like the reunion dinnerwhere he tries to calm everyone down and let Mike be heard. They are persuasivebut often do so with a ‘nice guy’ approach rather than like Charm andConfidence like Leo/Aries. Again, Libra Risings are SUPER romantic and havegood intuition, they usually know when they have a chance with someone and willcreate an ideal vibe for their relationships to bloom. They like to plan aheadfor the future with their loved ones (hello argument scene where he’s like imgonna be 30 and far away from here). They also feel like they need anotherhalf, which i think is true for romance but also just like. He needs hisfriends and really loves/cares about them. Those with their rising in Libraalso really care about home aesthetics and having a balanced space, again I thinkaiding in his architecture career.

Eddie

Sagittarius Sun: Tbh, I was v tornbetween sag and scorpio for Eddie’s sun, but I think Sagittarius best describeshis sun and Scorpio for his emotional self. Sagittarians are curious and fullof energy, and they value freedom (hello let Eddie be free!!!!!!). They can besuper impatient and tactless with some of the things they say, which is a veryEddie thing to me lernrgge. Furthermore, they can get angry pretty quickly aswell, and often talk quickly too (Eddie speaks so fucking fast and snaps easilyat everyone erglknegr). They also have good senses of humor; they like to teaseothers. Those with sun in Sagittarius are dedicated to their friends and arewilling to do anything… like defy their awful mother and crawl through a sewerwith a broken arm to fight a murderous clown. Sometimes they have blind faithin others, which I think could be translated to his relationship with Bill andto a more intense and negative respect, his mother. Sags want to find knowledgeand understand other people’s beliefs, and they are very vocal about their own,even to the point of exaggeration (like every single rant Eddie goes on LMAO).They also like sports which like LET EDDIE RUNNNN. Also, not to be a reddie butin looking at compatibility with the signs Gemini/Sag fit so much better forthem and made a lot of sense to me.

Scorpio Moon: Those with theirmoon in Scorpio are very emotionally intense and can be quite dramatic. Thiscan allow them to be quite perceptive of the emotions of others. However, theyare very good at hiding their own emotions because they often disprove of themand deny that they are motivated by their strong emotions. (hello repressedEddie). This helps Scorpio moons feel in control, but it can be detrimental. Ireally love this line from Mo’s book: “you must learn to let go emotionally andfeel your pain, and through the experience expand your phenomenalability to love”. Yup lover!!!! Scorpio moons are also very determined andpersistent…. fighter eddie!! Lover and fighter eddie!!! This made me kinda sad,but it says that there’s usually sorrow/trouble in the lives of Moon-Scorpiosand those are often tied to family and health… :/ and that they think ofescapist fantasies to cope with that. Scorpio moons are sensual but thestereotype of ~super sexy scorpio~ is kind of misleading. They have huge trustissues and don’t want to be controlled (oop… also they usually get married multipletimes lmao), it takes a lot for them to be trusting in love but when they do it’sa very deep love.

Virgo Rising: Those with theirrising in Virgo are BIG worriers and are super analytical, they often noticetiny details. (Maybe a dumb thing but Eddie is always the first to notice whenone of their friends is gone in the sewers, also in more funny and little wayslike him sniffing Ben’s perfume—that also ties in with his Sag curiosity imo).However, even though they notice details and can be intuitive, they miss out onemotional nuances. Sometimes they can be a little too forward and matter offact with people—I think Eddie speaks before he thinks a lot LKRG and can saysome rude shit sometimes without realizing it. (Ik this is kinda like my own stuffbleeding through but in general I think Eddie can be oblivious to other’semotions LRNGKNLG). They are very critical—often towards themselves, they areinsecure and beat themselves up over just about every little thing they do (SUCHan Eddie thing to me). Furthermore, they are guarded with their emotions untilthey have analyzed the situation and feel comfortable (again. Very Eddie tome). This often means they come off as timid and at times cold/stand-offish,which I think in new situations or times when Eddie’s unsure (aka has not analyzedeverything and feels unsafe whether physically or with his emotions), he tendsto draw in on himself and stay quiet. (But, then, his fire Sag side comes burstingout when he just can’t take it anymore and goes bonkers LKGRNG). Virgo risingsare organized and care about hygiene and cleanliness and are very in tune withtheir body (of course, Eddie’s obsession with cleanliness and hygiene/healthhas a lot to do with his mother’s abuse, but I also think there are some parts withinhim inherently who care about those things, it just got exacerbated in anextremely negative way bc of his mother). Interestingly, Virgo risings are veryenergetic, often with nervous energy, and have a hard time staying still—this feelsvery Eddie to me, his pacing and emphatic hand gestures, etc.

Richie:

Gemini Sun: Geminis are superwitty and funny and love to have a grand ol’ chaotic time with their friends,but then can turn serious suddenly. Oftentimes they feel restless and feel likethey are missing their other half so to speak (the yearning… the emo moments…).They’re very sociable and hate being alone, they love to entertain others, theyare strong communicators. Their love for communication often means they feelthe need to talk A LOT, even to strangers. (Trashmouth Tozier always talking!—Mopointed out that Richie’s talking is so bad that they had to create a separate phase,beep beep, just to be like We Seriously Want You To Shut Up, which I thinkmakes sense for all his placements bc they’re all like. One’s where the person talksso fucking much GRLNRG my annoying king

Gemini Moon: Yup double geminilove this obnoxious legend!!! (jk I like geminis but. It’s true. I am also sayingthis as a gemini moon). A lot of the stuff about his sun can be applicable herebut I’ll add on bc I am incapable of shutting up (the gemini moon of it all…) Thisis from Mo’s book again, I’ll just add some commentary/examples as to why Ithink it fits with Richie: Gemini moons are mutable and erratic. they have anactive mind, and imaginative and creative personality, and are inclined to intellectualpursuits. they have extraordinary quick sensory impressions of the outsideworld and they rapidly sift through info in their minds to make judgements.fast learners, high iqs probably , good critics and have the ability to bothanalyze and verbalize (despite some fanon interpretations, Richie is actually reallysmart, he’s good at math/science, I believe he’s also into politics later in college?).they have great charm. conversations with gemini moons tend to go off onunexpected tangents and take sudden turns and reverse (This feels SO Richie tome lekrnglenr). at heart, a lunar gemini is essentially restless and needsconstant stim (Makes sense for Richie for me, also with his ADHD, he needs tobe playing video games or reading a comic or doing this and that, he hatedhaving to be look out and do nothing for like an hour ergklnerg). lunargemini's are always mentally assessing their feelings. they tend to dissecttheir feelings and emotions to analyze why they think or behave in a certainway. they're quick witted and vibrant and can change their minds often. inemotional relationships they display a free spirit, going on the whims of theother person's emotions. at times their talent can be isolated because theylose interest in this quickly and drop their projects. they perform well whenin a relationship with someone practical and hardheaded (inch resting……..)

Pisces Rising: Taking some morestuff from Mo’s book, these lines I think really resonate with Richie’s outwardself and how he deals with the world: “You want life to be perfect and since itisn’t, you choose not to see what you don’t want to see”. That is SUCH a Richiething to me. “At parties Rising-Pisceans are vivacious and verbal (sometimesyou talk too much); you enjoy performing in front of a group. A talent formimicry makes many Pisces Ascendants turn to theater”. Literally Richie… the Voices,the talking too much and wanting to entertain the losers…. Those with Piscesrising are also very romantic and want to live a fantasy life, but they can bevery sad and moody especially because they feel like they are destined to bealone. (Richie yearning gay….) They are also quite disorganized but work wellin groups (let’s go loserssss clubbbbbb!!!).

[cowgirlontheloose]

The Man Who Cried At Railway Stations

1.  You grew up in the country, so diversions for you and your brothers were mostly outside. Trees to climb, bushes to hide in and a weedy ditch where you collected tadpoles or sailed sticks and leaves. Best of all though, were the CPR locomotives billowing smoke and glory past your home that brought you running always. 

Your ribcage vibrated to 17 tons of thunder and steel huffing by. The engineer with his red neckerchief and one elbow leaning from the window, waved and pulled the cord to ding-dong the brass bell of enchantment. You were close enough to see his moustache and easy smile.

You don’t recall how many trains passed daily, but certainly a couple and at least one night flyer at 11 p.m. heading for Hull, Ottawa and Montreal. You know that for sure. As a kid you lay awake for lonely hours fretting about school which you despised; wondering if you could play sick again. Maybe a stomach ache this time. Finally, thankfully, you heard the first distant chuff of the train. By the time it wailed past the house, your bed had transformed into a magic carpet drifting off to dreamland, the train labouring far below, streaming smoke and sparks into the night. 

Decades later you read accounts by others online who had the same experience. You also find an endless trail of sites offering statistics, studies, commentary, facts, fantasies and minutiae about trains. You find photos and videos, such as an 8-hour train sound track on a site called Virtual Dreamer (”We design sleep sounds for insomnia, tinnitus and noise masking.”) You note that over three million people have visited the site. One fan comments: “I almost cried when I saw this. I thought I was the ONLY ONE who had to hear the sound of a train horn in order to have a peaceful sleep. God bless you.

There are medical studies too. Some indicate that trains passing at night can raise heart rates and lead to cardio-vascular issues. Others enthuse about the calming and reassuring effects of the same. You also discover that people of all ages on the autism spectrum are fascinated by trains. Dr. Amanda Bennett of Philadelphia encourages parents to use this as motivation to reward desired behaviour in kids by “taking the train,” either with a model train or through Youtube videos. 

2.  Your son, now a parent of teenagers, may have genetically inherited his train love from you. The unpretentious depression-era brick farm house where he grew up was far enough from town that only the faintest sounds of passing trains (now diesel) could be heard if the wind was blowing from the south-east. But more likely, it was your partners influence that did it. This man, who spent six years in your lives, brought with him, besides a wicked sense of humour, an abiding affection for all things train.

He constructed, with your blessings, a waist high model train platform ostensibly for your son. It took up half the living room. Together and separately, son and partner tinkered, repaired, upgraded, dusted and ran that railroad like highly paid pros. Yes, they wore engineer hats. You have the photos to prove it. 

One evening as you lie aching in bed with a fever, you begged your man to fill a water bottle with near scalding water from the kitchen kettle. He disappeared downstairs. You waited. And waited. You moaned loudly, hinting. Then from the living room you heard the murmur of voices and yes, the clicking-clack of the model train rocketing across vast plains and through tunnels. You had been sidelined by an obsession. 

3.  At a writing course in creative non-fiction at the University of Minnesota, you meet a delightful couple. Greg and Jean are both in their early 80s. They are feisty and frail, full of curiosity and ideas drawn from long lives of exploring and risking in whatever situations they found themselves in. They became the dominant force in the group in a most charming way. Jean walked heavily with a cane and wore her white hair in one pigtail. At first you wondered if Greg had dementia, or whether he even knew where he was, but you soon discovered otherwise. Although quiet for long periods where he seemed to doze, he would suddenly open his very blue eyes and offer a thought with clarity, insight and humour. 

You all grappled that week to understand what creative non-fiction is or isn’t. You never do get clear about it, but really, who cares. The best explanation is written by Laura Wexler in an excerpt from “Saying Goodbye to ‘Once Upon A Time.’” She says:  “People tell stories to serve their political and psychic needs. Most of the stories aren’t the basis of their truth. Postmodernism allows us to see that even the most unreachable stories -- the stories in which truth seems to purposely hide in the shadows -- can be written as nonfiction by focusing as much on interpretation as event.

So you all write and read aloud some of your own shadowy truths. Several times readers pause when tears well up. It’s hard to explain that sort of thing, but it’s gorgeous when it happens. You yourself choke up reading aloud about your first cookbook and again over a day spent with three biologists and hundreds of rare snakes on a tiny island in Manitoba. Your tears are neither nostalgic nor sad. You are grateful to say them aloud and have them acknowledged with such tender respect.

When Greg reads you are blown away. His very short piece is titled “This Man Cries At Railroad Stations.” He describes how as a small boy, he and his brother spent every weekend without fail riding the transit system around the city. They did this to escape their scary parents. The brothers invented their own transportation system and wove names like Forty Fort, Wounded Knee, Fiery Siding, Temperance River, Steamboat Spring and Thunder Bay into fancied railroad schedules, rejoicing in the evocative, liberating names. It saved them from the hell at home.

As an old man, Greg said he still cries at railroad stations.

You never forget them. You tear up now as you write about them. Somewhere you still have a wee yellow ticket Greg gave you. It says “Good For One Fare Between Minnehaha, Minnesota and All Points West. 

[jokeringcutio]

Arthur Fleck fans I need your advice. I am writing a Reader x Arthur outline and I am stuck. How should I continue this plot?

In short: Reader visits dementing Grandma in Arkham Asylum. Arthur notices her.  Read below the line if you want to read the more detailed outline and help me find a direction for this tale.

Reader reluctantly visits dementing grandma in Arkham Asylum. She is noticed by Arthur who fantasises about her. He tells his psychologist he is in a relationship with her. They haven’t even properly met or talked yet and Reader is unaware of him.

When Reader visits several weeks later, Arthur steps up to her. He is all charming and introduces himself. Arthur is quite nice, she notices, and she wonders why he is here. When she and her grandma have him sit over at their table, a male nurse comes to guide Arthur away. Reader is told Arthur has delusions and that she should not invite him as it would stimulate his fantasies about her.

Reader returns more often to visit her grandma in Arkham Asylum, visits are more fun now that she’s met Arthur. Despite the warnings, she has him sit with gran at their table, they play games, they laugh. She finds out soon enough about his ailment that makes him laugh or cry real hard. She comforts him.

Her visits grow more frequent. She’s told about his delusions from the nurses of the asylum’s perspective. (There are no superheroes defending Gotham, that’s silly.) His behaviour is modelling, perfect. He causes few troubles. He’s mostly known for his emotional incontinence, and for having delusions, fantasising things that aren’t there, such as being a murderer. She’s told he was brought here by his worrying older mum who died because of old age shortly after. Though Arthur keeps claiming he murdered her. She now also visits Arthur in his room. One particularly bad day, Arthur touches her to feel she’s real. They have intercourse, leaving a red stain on his mattress which he cuts out with a knife as a piece to remind himself that she is real and she’s really his. Next time she visits him, the covers are a pristine white. But he reveals the cut out cloth with the stains from his pocket, carrying it with him like a treasure.

Reader knows she’s treading dangerous ground, but she can’t help being drawn to him, feeling addicted really. She finds no information on him on the internet, but feeling there must be more, she visits the local library and an elderly librarian can tell her he’s been on the news in the past. She recognises the name, swears he was arrested and trialed. That he escaped before the trial was due. And once they caught him again, his sentence was reduced to being sent to Arkham because of his ailments, as in the meanwhile another Joker had popped up. She shows you an old archive and you find several articles with his name or Joker in it. He killed a man at his own evening show, he was made fun of, he admitted to having murdered people whilst he was live on television (though that had never been denied, but always said he probably admitted it because of his delusions). All going up to an article about the joker strikes again, showing a different man with a scarred face committing the crimes. That new Joker was the reason Arthur’s sentence was reduced and his motives doubted.

Probably Bruce Wayne had something to do with it, knowing Arthur was his half-brother and mentally ill. Meanwhile, Arthur insists that his medications                 do not make him behave perfectly, like the doctors say, but that instead they cloud his mind and make his conditions worse. He stops taking them and tries to find a way out of Arkham Asylum. In the meanwhile, Reader is trying to find out why all evidence of Arthur’s existence has been obscured. Questions: Will reader help Arthur escape? Should there be another Joker in this, such as Heath ledger’s one? Which direction should this go to? Fluff, angst? Dark, light? Happy note or sad? Any ideas or suggestions to add?

[marvelousworldgeek-blog]

Texting Strangers

Author: Kennedy

Characters: Fem!Reader and…?

Story: Y/N, who’s going through a rough patch, texts a random number in search of a friend.

Rated PG-13 for language, mention of drinking

Warnings: Reader is going through a rough patch, but I tried to keep it on the lighter side. Also, use of language.  

“Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart?”

The lilting voice of The King floated in through the open window as Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the blank screen in front of her. There was plenty of work to be done, sure. But what was the point now. She hated her job, her coworkers, the tiny cubicles, the sound the water cooler made every time an air bubble floated up. And here she was on a Saturday working from home to try and finish whatever dry, boring project her boss had saddled her with, knowing that Y/N was the only person who would actually get it done. Nevermind that Marc had ten years of experience on her two, or that it was actually Kayla’s department that was in charge of this particular project. Or the fact that Y/N was still technically an intern.

“Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare? Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?”

And to throw a cherry on top of this hate-my-life sundae, today marked the official six month anniversary of Jeremy moving out. Break ups were always tough, of course. But things could have certainly been easier if he hadn’t literally picked up and left in the middle of the night. It seemed as though the past year had been one big non-stop “fuck you”. Work? Terrible. Relationship? Long-dead. Family? Radio silence. Friends? Moved away. Apartment? Actually starting to feel like a cave.

Y/N glanced around the room at the stack of empty takeout boxes, the pile of paperwork, the week-old laundry. Motivating oneself to clean up seemed an immense task when the overwhelming feeling in life was ‘why bother?’

“Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?”

The sad song was just too ironic to handle at that moment. Her neighbor across the courtyard was a huge Elvis fan, and listened to old records nearly every night. For the most part it was nice to have the soft music as a background when she was home, but tonight it was a glib reminder of how lonely she actually was.

“This is bullshit,” Y/N muttered to herself and closed the laptop.

It was saturday night and she wasn’t about to stay at home and mope her way through another weekend. No sir. And so with all the energy and false confidence she could muster, Y/N grabbed an outfit out of the closet, threw on some makeup, and headed out on the town.

…

Okay, so maybe the nightclub scene wasn’t what she was after. Thirty minutes to get in, twenty waiting for a drink, then a whole lot of sitting around on garrish plush furniture waiting for someone to walk over and strike up a conversation. The closest she came was two drunk girls telling her they liked her shoes before stumbling off into the sweaty fray. And now this overpriced, watered-down drink was going straight to her bladder.

Y/N set the now empty cup on a table and headed off for the line to the bathrooms. Surprisingly, she only had to wait for two people before she got in and locked herself into a stall. The walls were as high as the ceiling and provided a satisfying amount of privacy. Behind the safety of four walls, Y/N finally had a chance to breathe. And once again the stress of the past months settled in, despite the cheap liquor pumping through her bloodstream. She leaned her head against the wall next to her and sighed, tracing the faded graffiti.

“Satisfaction guaranteed. Call now!” and a number scrawled below, along with a doodle of a stick figure with a ‘censored’ bar over its lower half. Giggling to herself, Y/N snapped a picture and tucked her phone back into her purse. With a defeated groan she clicked back out to the sinks.

“Oh my GOD, couch girl!”

The shrill voice cut through the bathroom, and Y/N (along with everyone else) turned to glance at its owner.

“Come here, come here,” the blonde girl from earlier gripped Y/N’s hand and dragged her out into the club again, “Come dance!”

And then the evening descended into a blur.

…

Y/N woke to the bright morning sun pouring through the window of her own bedroom. Her head was pounding, her feet ached, and her stomach felt sour. Last night had turned into a long, drawn out drunken dance fest with her two new friends (whose names and numbers she had never managed to get), and in the cold light of day Y/N vowed to never try and drink her woes away again.

After much groaning, she managed to shuffle to the kitchen and set the hot water on, all the while cursing her past self. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed her phone and checked the screen. One unread text.

“Dammit,” she groaned.

Work never stops. Reluctantly, she opened the message.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to drop me a line again.”

An unknown number, great. Y/N scrolled back up through the rest of the conversation. And was surprised to find several hours worth of back-and-forth with the mystery person. Somehow, in her intoxicated state, she had poured out her heart to a complete stranger, telling them all about the stress and sadness and heartache over her life. In turn, they had offered support and humor, and if she hadn’t known better she would have assumed this was a conversation between close friends.

“What the-”

Y/N recalled the number from the wall of the club bathroom. In a panic, she checked the photos on her phone. But the number didn’t match the one she had texted. At least not exactly. Somewhere during her night out she had attempted to text this mystery man but instead had hit up some poor clueless stranger and had a long drawn-out conversation over the course of the evening.

With an exasperated sigh, Y/N tossed her phone on the counter and retired to the couch in defeat.

…

“You look really tired,” Kayla’s brunette locks appeared above the edge of Y/N’s cubicle.

Y/N nodded; “It was a long weekend.”

“Did you finish the projection project?”

“I put it on his desk this morning.”

“Ah man,” Kayla sighed. “I was hoping I could hand it in to him. I have some, um, stuff I had to go over.”

“Like taking all the credit?” Y/N thought to herself.

“Oh well, I’ll get the next one. Thanks!”

Then she bounced away, heels clicking loudly against the floor.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the desk and groaned.

“Fuuuck…”

Her phone buzzed and Y/N sat up, rubbing her temple, and pressed the notification.

“Hope they aren’t giving you too much crap today.”

Y/N frowned; it was the stranger from the night before.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

It was only a moment before they replied; “You mentioned you might say that!”

“Ha ha sounds about right. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“A friend.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered to herself, frowning. “Is this being cute? Or shady…”

“A friend with a name?”

“I thought you said we weren’t doing names?”

“Of course drunk me would say that,” Y/N thought.

“Okay friend. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“I’m a member of a secret organization who kept me in a lab for the first part of my life in order to mold me into a super weapon. Now I spend my free time saving the world.”

“You’re funny.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Y/N smiled to herself; “Okay ‘friend’ I’ll leave it be for now. You’re a superhero.”

“Really just a run-of-the-mill hero.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll take your word for it.”

“If you didn’t have to do your job, what would you want to be?”

The question caught Y/N off guard; she hadn’t thought about it in so long. She had been fully focused on getting through school, then getting a job that could get her out of her parents  house and on her own. She hadn’t thought about what she actually wanted to be.

“Um, idk”

“That’s not good.”

“I have a job. That’s what really matters,” she paused, then added, “Do you like your job?”

“I love it.”

“You’re lucky.”

“What do you like to do?”

Y/N sat for a few minutes and considered this.

Another text came through: “???”

Finally she typed, “I love to cook. I actually took a bunch of cooking and culinary arts classes in school. But I would hate being a chef. The hours are outrageous and it gets stuffy in the kitchen.”

“What about a food truck? You could make your own hours, drive to different places every day, you could even travel.”

Y/N actually laughed aloud to herself. She had never considered cooking for a living. She had worked as a waitress when she was in highschool and the kitchen staff were always miserable and overworked. Not to mention kind of mean. She had written off cooking for a living right then and there.

“I’d never thought of that.”

“What is your favorite thing to cook?”

“Breakfast food and baked goods, mostly.”

“That is perfect food truck food!”

“I suppose it is…”

“You should check this out,” they replied, then sent a link to an article titled ‘Considering Opening a Food Truck? Read these fifteen true stories from other chefs who did the exact same thing!’

“I’ll check it out, thanks!” Y/N name typed back, still smiling to herself.

“Hey friend, can I text you tomorrow? I have to go save some kids from a bus on fire.”

“Of course. Be safe, Superman!”

“Hm, nah. Call me ‘Batman’.”

“Okay, be safe Batman.”

“Read that article; I’ll ask you about it tomorrow!”

Y/N chuckled as she pressed save contact and typed ‘Batman’ into the name.

To be continued... 

[hakunamatatazz]

Agony and Hope

   I watched the Illyrian camps from the entrance of the house she shares with Cassian. I hated every bit of this. Hated the way Feyre and the High Lord treated me and hated how Cassian acted around me, as if I would break if he wasn’t careful enough. Getting accustomed to  life at the camps involved making several friends too, something Elain would regard with pride. Nesta never made friends. Only enemies.

     However, the warriors here were not as afraid of me. They were cautious, respected and greeted her as she passed them but they had the courage to look her in the eyes as they spoke to her. Somehow I wasn’t as surprised of the conduct of these warriors since they were trained by Cassian. Cassian who seemed to remember that something darker lurked beneath her skin, but was unfortunately more drawn to her than afraid of that dark part of her.

“Greetings, my Lady” said a woman she had recently befriended. She had grey eyes like Nesta and flaming red hair.

“I told you never to address me as Lady” I responded as I scanned the camps for the oversized bat. “Have you seen Cassian around?” I added.

“Nope, haven’t seen him for weeks. They say he went to some of the neighbouring towns to check on their condition there. Food can be scarce in some towns, he ensures everyone has enough to fill their bellies.” Artemis then turns to me with a wicked smile. “Why are you so concerned?”

“I am not” I said with as much disdain as I could muster. “I wanted to ask him if the Inner Circle is ready to let me out of this place. I want to go back to my old life”

For a moment, I see a flash of pain in Artemis’s eyes but she recovers quickly enough to simply shug to my words and leaves for her tent with a brief goodbye. Maybe she thought that if I didn’t hate my life here, I would want to stay but this was Cassian’s world and I had no place in it. Being drawn to me and loving me were two different things. I think of myself as another danger he thrills in, just a chase and nothing more. Not with Mor still around.

I headed out of the camps to the forest that surrounded the camps. The sun would start to set soon and there was a party tonight I had no intentions of attending. Everyone would be drunk, possibly in love and looking like they love every second of their lives while I only felt cold inside. I found the rock, my constant companion during nights like this, to lay upon. The evening sun shone bright, with its blinding glory. I draped my arms over my eyes and fell asleep on the rock.

The last memory I had was the warm sun on my cheeks and despite feeling like hours have passed since sundown, my cheeks are still warm. I open my eyes slowly to see a man lying next to me with his lips on my cheek. He senses my awakening and lifts his head to look at me with a dazed expression. Cassian.

Cassian brushes my cheeks with his knuckles. And I feel all the longing and agony I’ve been feeling these past few days rushing back to the surface. He looks down at me with a small smile and then kisses me again on my forehead. I let go a soft sigh and that seems to motivate him to kiss me again on my chin. I’ve never been this close to him, I’ve never allowed him to come this close to me. But he seems to have forgotten all his boundaries and I’m losing myself in the scent of him and his presence.

“Nesta” he says softly, as if speaking loudly will make me vanish. “You look…”

“Cassian!” bellows a loud voice, destroying the peaceful silence we were enjoying. We quickly break away from each other, sitting up far away from each other on the rock and the noise from the party comes crashing into my ears. I was so sure there was no noise earlier but I could hear it all now: the music, the laughter and the singing. The voice, it seems belonged to the blonde that holds Cassian’s attention, Morrigan.

Morrigan walks towards us and ignores me, only looking at Cassian as she invites him down to the party. He looks away from her and at me, his eyes locked into mine as if reading me like an opponent whose moves he had to understand and memorise. He raises his lips into a smirk that sets my blood roaring, in fury or in passion, I’m not sure.

“Aren’t you joining the party?” he asks smoothly. Behind him, Morrigan frowns at me and at the invitation he laid out with her arms crossed and her left foot tapping the ground. She despises me and I know it, but I don’t understand why. If she thinks I’m a threat to her hold on Cassian, she is extremely wrong.

“No” I say as I turn my back to them and head back to the house. I may share the house with Cassian usually, but today Morrigan will be there too and I have no intentions of being awake to hear them fucking if they do. I’d rather go to bed earlier while they enjoy the party.

I wake up a few hours before dawn. I can still hear the ongoing music from the party but it has mellowed down with most probably asleep or in their private tents with their lovers. I walk out of my room and pass the living room only to see Cassian laying on the couch alone. Well, no fucking for him tonight then. The sight of him sleeping alone made me feel less irritated at him but also really sad towards him. I’m happy it’s not Morrigan he is sleeping with but I wish he had someone. Someone to love him and kiss his nightmares away. He looked so peaceful asleep, so young and innocent. So different from how he is awake.

The music continues playing as I gaze upon him, a slower hum plays now instead of the loud, party music from earlier. I find myself liking the slow song and wanting to join in the dancing. I walk out of the house and towards the circle that must have been where everyone was partying. Only 4 couples remain around the circle, with one dancing and the other three making out on the grass. The musicians look tired and sleepy but content watching the sweet love being expressed by these couples. I always thought Illyrians would be brutal when it came to love, more aggressive and possessive. But looking at these couples now made them seem so cautious and innocent with each other.

I begin to sway, enjoying the soft hymn and then twirling myself in circles with my hands outstretched. I feel nothing, no happiness and no pain. I feel a quiet peace that is better than all the sex I had in Velaris, all the fights I’ve gotten into and all the alcohol I’ve drained. I didn’t know how long I danced but the sun began to rise and I could see my shadow following my every move.

And then I felt it. Somewhere in my chest, I felt a tug pulling me so hard I thought I might slip. I looked up and saw Cassian watching me from his house My blood boiled, my cheeks felt too warm and I felt my core heat up with passion. He stood at the doorway shirtless and he beckoned me to him with his hands. I walked towards him telling myself it was only so I could make it clear that he has no rights to order me around or to tell me when to come to him. I tell myself he needs to know where he stands in my life no matter the effect he has to my body because he is no Commander to me, I am only a prisoner here by my sister.

I reach the doorway he stands and I see the passion in his eyes, burning more brightly than any star.

“Listen, I know you’re back after a while but the next time you try to order me around. I will kick your balls” I said with my arms crossed. He looked amused, but distracted. He thinks of this as a joke and that annoys me.

“Sweetheart, if I don’t take most of what you say to me as I joke, I will be hiding myself in a closet from you by now. Follow me, I want to show you something”

“Don’t call me sweetheart” I grumble as he grabs my hand and pulls me to the storage room. Again, I let him push me around. Ugh, I need to consult Amren on maintaining a menacing front. It’s just that I find it so difficult to refuse him but one day I’ll have to leave and this friendship will be over.

When I try to ask, what he wanted to show me, he cuts me off by pinning me against the wall of the room. He looks at me with those hazel eyes as if he is studying me again, curious for his own good.

“Why were you dancing out there?” he asks with his grip getting stronger on me, as if pushing me to answer his question.

“Because I wanted to? Isn’t that obvious enough. I enjoyed the music so I danced”

“You have a very sensual dance… it distracted the others around you. It distracted me.”

“Oh, this dance?” I ask as I move my hips over his, earning myself a growl from him. Whatever is happening now, here, It feels wonderful. I love having control over him. I grind myself against him even harder as he buries his face into the crook of my neck. I let out a gasp as he runs his tongue along my neck.

“Don’t stop” he manages to say. And then he turns me around and pins me to the wall with my back to him. I grind even harder, feeling his bulge hardened with his breathing increasing as well. He pushes my arms up and licks my ear. I give out an embarrassing moan and increase my pace.

“I missed you” he suddenly says. “I know you’ll never give me a chance after I’ve failed you so many times. So I’ve always kept my distance. But I met my mother while I was away and she told me about how much she loved my father. How, if situations were different, she could have had a future with him, a family and fight for him harder. The whole time I thought of you, only you.” he turns me around to face him and he rests his forehead on mine as he continues, “I want us to have a chance. I want you and only you. I want to fight for you and love every part of you”

“Do you consent?” he asks shyly.

I look at him, his eyes filled with agony and hope.  

[flyingpups]

A story

                                                    Chapter 1 “Twelve scars on her thighs measuring in about four inches wide, small cuts surrounding her fingertips, and a teardrop imprint on her tertiary finger. Twenty five scars splattered her entire back, all ranging in different sizes and thickness. There are a plethora of scars covering both of her arms as well; minimal and small, but unusual that there are so many. The wounds on her arms will heal over time but…” the guard stares at the parchment with great sorrow. He shakes his head in a displeasing manor, continuing his report as followed. “The gash to her neck seemed to happen very recently, if she were any later to the valet, the valetudia, the valetudan..” “the valetudinarium?”, the other guard states in a mocking tone. “Yes, the clinic. If the people who had discovered her were any later, she wouldn’t be here knocking at death’s door.” “What did she do anyways?”, the second guard contemplated. “They wouldn’t tell us, just said to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t die from her wounds. It’s a shame, I knew her father, she was a very kind sweet girl once. 

It’s sad to think she would be this marked up, at the age of fourteen no less”. They walk towards the prisoner, finding her huddled under some sheets on the cot. The visible pain on her twitches is enough to investigate her motives even more so. The prison medic walks out the cell, her medical bag on her persons with visible despair. She is visibly shaken from the young girl’s wounds.The first guard looks at her with somber eyes, tempted to enter her jail cell and console her. The only thing he managed to do was lay another blanket atop her to warm her up. The second guard lightly grasped his comrad’s shoulder, inviting him back to reality. Sighing softly, he nods and walks away, venturing back to their guards chambers. “So how exactly do you know her, Erza?” he pondered, lifting a mug of ale to his lips. “I’ve known her family for several years, Charles”. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, staring back at her jail cell. “I just don’t know how she accumulated so many scars. I still recall walking into her father’s bakery.” He let out a smirk, turning his eyes back to Charles. “I heavily remember walking into partake on a few lunar berry tarts, when this little girl would run out at the sound of the door chimes. She was coated in a heavy seep of flour and blotted cyan cream on her cheeks. She was only seven at the time…”

She tossed and turned in her sleep, grasping at the sheets often. The sound of water clashing into a pan awoke her from her slumber in a panic haze. The medic washing the dirty bandages nearly had her soul fly away from the sudden screams. She clasped her robe, trying to steady her heart, watching the girl wince in pain from the sudden movement. “You nearly gave me a fright, devil girl!” She hollered loudly. The two guards came rushing by with their swords drawn. The medic waives them off, claiming that everything is under control. Turning back to the girl, she settles her down with a soothing voice. “There there little poppet, you are not in any danger.” Quelling down, she lies on her back, steadying her breathing. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, pretty typical of what a jail cell should look like. Though they seem sparse of a mirror, it was highly unlikely there would be a reason to have one. She takes a good look at the medic salving her wounds. She was quite a hefty lass with; shoulder length amber hair tied into a bun, a holy cross of some sorts around her neck and oval cherry tinted glasses. She was dressed in all white with a auburn toolbelt and blue heeled boots. Her eyes resembled a meadow, bright yellow with a tint of orange. There were minimal freckles across the bridge of her nose and pierced lips of brass, two rings to be exact. She couldn’t be older than fifty five. 

Mary attempts to unwind the binding embracing her arms. She seemed to resile away from her, crawling back against the wall. “Oh stop it will you, do you want your wounds to become infected? Would you rather lose a leg or two? Sit still and let me heal your wounds will you” she pestered the girl and scooted closer to her. Begrudgingly, she sat still and winced while Mary unwrapped her bindings. Blood soaked the rags heavily against her thighs and legs, taking an astonishingly longer time due to her cries of anguish. The bandages on her arms though seem to slide off like water on glass, a few cuts and scrapes but nothing major. the gash on her neck though worried her the most, it was as if someone held the knife in a cumbersome position. They cut her, healed her, and sliced her more so, similar to a scarred tree. Shaking off her nerves, she grabs some cleaning slime and spreads it across her thighs, causing the girl to thrash and holler in pain. “I know it stings poppet but that's how the healing works. I can promise you it won’t be pleasant but it’s better than lying here in constant pain while time heals you. Shame, those scars will remain with you forever. What prickly thorns did you infiltrate to paint your skin like a rose bush”. After half an hour of bellowing screams and hollering, Mary stepped out with a basket full of filthy rags. The girl falls asleep from the searing pain, finally able to dream peacefully. Erza stopped by her chambers, and glanced at her for a moment. She looked back at him, and smiled. “Please, tell me what happened to you, who hurt you, why has the queen ordered you to keep you alive” he questioned her. All she could muster was to shake her head negatively. He simply gave her a reassuring smile and continued on his patrol. The jail house was relatively small, able to house about four hundred criminals. There were three floors to this building, with the guards chambers being in both the second and first floor. At least that’s what the other inmates yell out. Most are in here for petty crimes while others need a shelter from the deadly weathers that come to be. 

As the days went on, so did the bone chilling nights. As requested, Erza gave her several blankets to survive the night, five to be exact. Favoritism was heavily noted between both inmates and the other guards. but who can blame them, it was on the queens order the girl be kept alive. Mary mended her clothing when it had gotten rips, even added pockets to her request. An odd request, but she sought no reason not to grant it. The sound of the other prisoners next door, keeping her up didn't help as well. As the weeks went by, so did the frequent visits from Erza. It made her somewhat at peace, listening to an old friend reminisce about the past. His fondest memories have to be at the bakery her father worked at, the time she tried to sell him an overpriced muffin, and the infestation of drims from her feeding them halodena muffins. Not surprising that they were interested in a muffin filled with tons of sugar and rich creamy halodena berries. Every night he would ask what predicament she was in, every night she still remained mute as ever. She spent the days looking outside the barred windows, staring up into the stars. She couldn’t stay here any longer, as kind as the guards are, they wouldn’t be able to protect her. She made up her mind about the days to come. She has to escape from this prison, any longer and she would be putting other lives at risk. She made sure to keep in shape with minimal exercise, and contemplate her set path.

Slip through the bars, jump to the roof, and climb down the side of the building with greater caution. The jump is only ten feet away, possible with minimal margin of error. Using the blankets, I can make spare clothes for the trip… no that won’t work. Only Mary sews in this place. I can bring one blanket with me to use as a cloak and the other to help me escape. I have to pick a day when they are preoccupied with other things.

She had her plan, she recited it over and over to account for any failures. She recalled her father mentioning a town to the far east and a beast named Drake. What business that beast and her father had, she will never know until she makes the venture for herself. For now, she has to be patient for the right moment. She had remembered the guards are typically overly laxed on fridays. Not to mention, things tend to get overly hectic when a drunkard decides to either barge in or spend a night in a cell. The last drunkard that arrived tossed a guard out the window, and expelled his fluids onto several guards. Safe to say, they keep ample distances away from the wanderers and bar flies.

As she rested her head down on the soft cold pillow, she began to daydream about her lonesome adventure yet to come. She won’t be able to return for a long while, and most likely she will be hunted for escaping the city. Tears began flowing down her cheek; she would miss her father and the smell of the warm bread baking in the oven, the chimes from the door opening, even the birds in the late afternoon waiting for the bread that had gone partially bad. She would undeniably miss her mother’s heavenly voice echoing inside her head. With one shaky deep breath, she closed her eyes and retired for the night. The next day came to be and it started like any other; banging on the metal doors to awaken the prisoners, feeding them their daily rations, and making sure they head to the bathing chambers to clean themselves off. She had been here for one month now, watching ever so vigilantly. She saw when the guards’ patrols were at their weakest, when the prisoners seemed the most unruly, and when mother nature blessed her with fog. Thankfully the fog was exceptionally heavy. Tonight is the night to make her move. Equally lucky, only Charles and Erza seem to be the only guards present on the second floor. Taking the three blankets, she weaves them to a makeshift chain and smiles to herself. 

The sound of the bed scraping against the floors alerted the guards to the prisoners chambers. One by one, they inspected their cells to find anything out of the sort. Everything seemed to be in order, except the girl’s room. They opened up the cell and inspected the body lying on the bed, no sign of disturbance or motion at all. “Hey, wake up will you”, he calls out, banging onto the bars behind him. She laid there motionless and still as a corpse.  Charles ripped off the sheets to discover a makeshift body in place for their prisoner. Her grip was slipping lightly, causing her to pull the bed closer to the wall, thankfully gone unnoticed. Panicking, he lifted up the bed only to find the similar situation. Shifting the bed immensely almost caused her to fall from the side of the wall. With subtle movement she propelled away from the prison wall and caught the ledge of the roof across the way. Charles and Erza quickly rushed towards the windowsill, peered outside to find anything unusual, and saw a silhouette on the opposite side of them. Standing on top of the building ten feet away, they find the escapee wearing the makeshift cloak made out of blankets. The green glow from her eyes seemed almost full of sorrow as she jumped down and escaped into the darkness. Charles quickly ran for the door when Erza grasped his arm.“Wait,” he said with caution, “It’s best if we just let her go, make the excuse that she was never brought here.” “Why are you protecting her? Isn’t it our job to keep prisoners confined? If we hurry now we can still catch her.”, he asked him profusely. 

“I’m considering it a favor for her father, I rather keep the memory of her being a sweet innocent girl, rather than a criminal.” Charles hesitates for a moment, then sighs in defeat. “You owe me a drink if we get in trouble for this”, he states in an annoyed tone. Continuing on their emergency patrol, they make sure all other prisoners on their level are accounted for. They trot back to their station and continue their paperwork. As they continue on their duties, he glances towards her cell, ever thinking about the innocent girl he once knew. 

She continues running down the street, making sure to stay out of the light of the torches hanging by the streets. She sat in silence for a gruesome four minutes, breaking out in tears and soft sobs. She wouldn’t dare go back to her father, considering the situation she is in now. She had no friends, no other immediate family, and she isn’t even fiendish enough to break into another stranger's home and claim it as her own. She had nobody and no home to stay in.  Giving herself a moment to regain composure, she stands up, gazes towards the stars and heads down the road away from town. What she does now will define her actions, but her past, her scars and memories… they will die down and never return to the surface. She wipes her eyes and glances forward with a focussed yet saddened look. “My voice will never be heard, it is better this way. My melody will never be sung, save the rest from my excuses.”, she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath, she shook off her nerves, and ventured forward.