#so. when i wrote the original piece for this au.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 15: i don't need you to help me, i can handle things myself

"I'm fine." + Suppressed Suffering

2335 Words; Raz Gets A Nap AU, based off of this ask answered by @erigold13261

AO3 ver

Mirtala shifted her grip on the portrait, trying to keep it from falling out of her hands.

She wobbled, a bit, as Queepie shuffled forwards—the heavy portrait was not working in her favor. And the straightjacket hanging off her shoulders wasn’t helping, either. It was long enough to cover Queepie’s face, and it was screwing with her balance just as bad as the portrait.

At least Queepie was the one holding the trophy. And at least they’d been able to close the jacket so that Queepie had enough of a gap to see through it. He shuffled forwards, Mirtala using every trick she had to hold her balance atop his head. Maybe she should be standing on her hands and holding the portrait with her legs?

“Greetings, Dr. Loboto.”

Well, too late to change positions now. Mirtala did her best to hold still as Crispin continued.

“Good to see your face.” Crispin drawled. Mirtala couldn’t see his through the portrait. “I see you’re wearing your favorite jacket, and if I may say so, your claw is looking especially menacing today.” It sounded like he fell for the disguise, though, and Queepie wasn’t making any moves to start running away.

“Up to the secret laboratory then, is it?” Crispin stepped to the side, coming into the edge of Mirtala’s view. She angled the portrait towards him as the sound of metal hinges grating sounded off in front of her. The elevator gate? Queepie shuffled over to it, careful not to ruin Mirtala’s balance as he spun around.

“Taking her up yourself this time, eh Doctor?” Crispin’s voice continued, and Mirtala did her best not to wobble. “Less work for me!” Mirtala heard the sound of the gate closing, then—

“Inmate Whytehead.” Oh, was that Fred? Fred was nice. Mirtala and Queepie got to play the board game in his head.

Whatever Crispin said in response was drowned out by the grind of the elevator going up, up, up, the sudden motion making Queepie stumble. Mirtala wobbled, the portrait threatening to drag her to the ground. She let it fall, not caring about the way it clattered. Crispin wasn’t here to see it, anyway—she didn’t need it anymore.

As the elevator came to a stop, Mirtala flung off the jacket. “Let’s go.” She urged, hopping off of Queepie as the gate opened.

Queepie followed after her. “It looks like a hospital.” He commented, as they crossed over the wooden bridge onto checkered tile.

“That’s because it is, dummy.” Mirtala replied as they continued through the twisting hall. Light floated down from a hole in the ceiling, the chunks big on the floor. Mirtala clambered up over them, Queepie jumping up with the help of a glowing brain ball. “It’s a…” She tried to find the exact words for it, and settled on, “hospital for brain stuff.” That wasn’t the word that she’d heard for it, but it was close enough.

“Yeah, well, it’s a sad hospital.” Queepie decided, using his brain ball to jump over a pile of mattresses. He came back over them after a moment, “It’s all dirty.”

“Because it hasn’t been cleaned, duh.” Mirtala skipped up the steps to the next floor, Queepie keeping pace. Ever since he went into Miss Milla’s head, he’d been hopping and gliding around on his brain ball like it was the coolest thing.

Mirtala wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t. So what if she wasn’t a weird fortune teller like Queepie (or Raz or Frazie)? She was an Aquato! She was a proud acrobat! She didn’t need silly mind tricks.

Mirtala nodded. Yeah. Even with his brain ball, she could easily keep up with Queepie. So really, he just needed the extra help.

They continued on, through poorly-lit halls that twisted around and around. They had to leap over a hole in the floor once, Mirtala grabbing onto a swinging light to get herself across while Queepie boosted his jump with his brain ball. He kept ducking into side rooms, searching for Psi-Cards as he went. Mirtala followed once she realized that the campers’ brains were similarly scattered around.

“It doesn’t squeak like a mouse…” She murmured, holding Benny’s brain. It also wasn’t who she was after—but it wouldn’t make sense for Lili’s brain to be left out in the open, Mirtala decided.

Something squeaked.

Mirtala and Queepie turned to the source of the noise. A rat stood before them, shaking in place. Its head was swollen in two shaking lobes, and it squeaked once more before bursting.

Mirtala wailed. Green gas pooled out from where the rat’s body remained, and Queepie ducked away. The world spun, everything swirling together as Mirtala shook—

And then the confusion faded away, and Mirtala had to run to catch up with Queepie. “Wait up!” She demanded.

Mirtala didn’t glance back at the rat as she continued. More rats came, and it wasn’t long before Queepie switched to shooting at them as they advanced, ducking in and out of rooms and over debris and old beds. A rusty wheelchair rolled past them, pushed by one of the rats exploding, its wheels squeaking and making Mirtala jump.

Queepie jumped higher, though, so at least Mirtala wasn’t the only one startled.

“I hate this place.” Mirtala muttered. She kept hearing weird sounds and squeaks, everything was dangerous and run-down, and the rats kept coming at them and exploding. It was awful. Absolutely awful. Mirtala wanted to find her friend and get out of here as soon as possible.

“Stop being a baby.” Queepie responded, already moving on. “We gotta find Lili.”

“I’m not a baby!” If anything, Queepie was a baby. Mirtala was a big girl! “This whole place is just awful!” It was poorly lit, the shadows crawling around the halls like icky sticky bugs, and Mirtala had seen no sign of her friends. Just more twisting halls going up and up and up.

Worse than the rats, and the broken floors and walls, worse than the dark and the fog—

It was quiet, outside of the rats. The only footsteps were their own, padding up and down the halls. Mirtala could hear her own breathing, hear every whimper when one of the rats startled her.

Which meant Queepie could hear it, too.

But Mirtala could also hear Queepie’s breathing, the way it sped up the further in they got. Mirtala wasn’t stupid—Queepie was just as scared as her. Her little brother was scared and the only thing Mirtala could offer was her own fear, the fear they shared as they climbed.

They went up another set of stairs. The floor was tilted, up here, off-kilter. Mirtala danced across it to the next door, ignoring the unease forming in her gut. Queepie clambered up onto the broken wall, the outside world spilling out before them.

“We’re so high.” Mirtala breathed, staring out at the night. A large part of her was thrilled—not even the trapeze in the Aquatodome could go this high! She could see across the lake from here!

But the reason they were up here clung to her like sweat, cold and slimy in the small of her back. Lili had been taken. Chloe had been taken.

Everyone had been taken, and Mister Sasha and Miss Milla were too busy doing something else to do anything about it. It was up to Mirtala and Queepie.

(Even though Mirtala had scarcely any idea what she was doing. She had to do it, because there was nobody else but Queepie.)

The next jump was too high for Mirtala to reach. Queepie stood on his brain ball, the light of it cutting through the gloom. “Get on.” He held out his hand, and Mirtala only frowned a little before taking it. She wasn’t jealous. Not one bit!

They jumped up together, the night air cold against them. The wind whistled through, and the tower as a whole groaned, like some giant monster waiting to swallow them both up—

Everything was getting more and more twisted. Mirtala wasn’t sure how it was all still standing, at this rate. The spiral staircase was twisted in on itself, the stairs sideways at the top.

Still, Mirtala and Queepie continued. They used an old bed to spring up to the next floor, walking along the wall—the whole hall was twisted onto its side.

“Grrk!” Something ahead of them squeaked. Something peeking down through a doorway in the ceiling-wall, long white curls hanging down below them.

Mirtala flipped forwards. But they were already gone.

She and Queepie continued, into a room so twisted that the floor curled up onto the walls, a pool of bubbling green in a hole in the floor at the bottom. They continued, up broken stairs and onto black and white checkered tiles, overlooking the outdoors once again.

The rest of the tower loomed before them, impossibly tall. A huge chunk of wall was missing, as was most of the floors, revealing an open space that seemed to just go up and up and up. But Mirtala was an acrobat! She and Queepie could handle this, no matter how high they had to climb!

(Even though Mirtala had never climbed this high before, even though this was nothing like the Aquatodome—

She’d make it. She had to.)

So they climbed, jumping up over broken concrete and swinging from bits of rebar. Mirtala ducked through a small window, and—

“Dogen!” Mirtala hugged the brain tight against her chest, “It’s good to see you again.” She’d get his brain back to him. She’d get all their brains back!

“C’mon!” Queepie urged, somewhere above her. Right.

Mirtala ducked back inside and clambered up a pole. She had to be careful—she couldn’t slow her fall like Queepie could. Knowing how to fall was all well and good, but it wouldn’t protect her completely. Not at these heights. Mirtala climbed up exposed rebar like it was a ladder, meeting Queepie at the top of it.

“I saw the thing again.” Queepie whispered. He pointed at a hole in the wall blocked by criss-crossing metal. “It was right there, and it was blue!”

So the thing they kept seeing was blue. Good to know.

Mirtala nodded, then started climbing. The metal went up, up, up, Mirtala and Queepie finally reaching the end of it and hopping off onto the concrete.

The tower still continued up, up, up, impossibly high. Mirtala wondered if she and Queepie would ever reach the top, or if they’d be climbing up it forever.

(The brains in her bag all seemed to pulse in tandem with Mirtala’s worry.

She’d get them all, and bring them back. She had to.)

The tower was quickly becoming near-unnavigable for her, the gaps too large for Mirtala to clear without the help of psychic powers. She was relying on Queepie more and more, and part of her grated at that fact.

(Family was supposed to help and support each other, though—Mirtala knew this.

But it felt like she was somehow inadequate all the same.)

The rats were coming in droves, now, their squeaking loud against the quiet of the night. Mirtala felt her throat tighten.

They made it up, and saw the thing again. “Scram!” They shouted, before disappearing up the hole in the room. Mirtala slapped the glass. “Wait!” But it was already gone. Was that Dr. Loboto?

She and Queepie continued on, clambering up whatever handholds were available. Mirtala grabbed Clem and Nils’ brains—she didn’t hug Nils’ brain as firmly as she hugged the others, opting to push it into her bag. Only four brains left to find—Vernon, Mikhail, Elton, and Lili.

Mirtala turned around—

The thing loomed before them, white curls spiraling above their head. They wore a bright red dress, and their voice squeaked as they spoke.

“This is your last warning! Go back down right now or you’ll be very very sorry!”

Mirtala flinched as lightning flashed through the sky. When the light cleared, the mysterious person was gone.

“Scary.” Queepie mumbled. His eyes flicked to Mirtala, “I mean—” He backtracked, “That wasn’t scary at all. Not at all. I’m not scared!” His voice echoed out into the night, his hands balled up into fists.

Mirtala side-eyed her brother. “Liar.” He was just as scared as her, and she didn’t need to be a fortune teller to tell. She could see it in the way his hands were trembling, in the way his shoulders were taught, his face scrunched into a stony frown.

(Mirtala was scared, too.

But she wasn’t going to say that aloud—not when it would only make the fear real.)

They clambered out onto the stairs that the mysterious person had been standing on, following them down towards another elevator. This was it.

“Big girls don’t cry.” Mirtala muttered. “It’s showtime, and big girls don’t cry.” Her eyes stung all the same.

Mirtala shook her head. She could do this! She was strong!

(She didn’t feel very strong at all.

But there was nobody else who could do this—not with all the campers brainless and the agents gone. It was just her and Queepie, and there was no way Mirtala was going to let Queepie do this alone.)

She was an Aquato. She ate danger for breakfast!

(She’d never been so high before. The wind tugged at her braids, at her clothes—would she be able to fall right, if she was knocked off?)

And Queepie had all those cool powers he’d picked up since coming here! They could do this!

(Queepie was a baby. He was strong, sure, but he wasn’t much taller than Mirtala.

And Mirtala wasn’t that much older than him, either.)

“I can do this.” Mirtala stressed. Her eyes stung, and her throat tightened, but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t—big girls didn’t cry when the show started. She looked to Queepie, who stared back at her with wide eyes.

(Mirtala wasn’t crying. She was scared all the same.)

Her hand slipped into his. “On three?”

Queepie nodded, squeezing Mirtala’s hand. “On three.”

Right. Mirtala brushed her fears aside “One… two… three!”

As one, Mirtala and Queepie stepped onto the elevator. Show time.

[daddyplasmius]

hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

-

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

-

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

-

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

-

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

[pennedbylisse]

INTELLECTUAL CRUSH

ep. 2 | ep. 3 | ep. 4 |

a multi-part series centered around the anonymous exchanges of namjoon and a literature girl. a separate but related installment of the halley universe (see Cupid Operation)

Books Nine Lives Company

Eco-friendly and sustainable trade of old books. Where we repurpose the neglected.

Namjoon pushes his weight into the swinging door and the store sign rattles.

A bell rings overhead - a jaunty, youthful chirp - as he enters the familiar bookstore to be encased in the scent of aged leather, the subtle-sweet vanilla essence of lignin wood-based parchment and the musty scent of carpet that has endured soiled shoes, coffee spills and bladder accidents from the part of the resident senior dog sleeping by the shop window.

He takes a practiced sharp left down a thin hall lined with mahogany-variation shelves, all crammed with books, without a single cubic inch to spare. The walls seem to encroach in on him, the further he disappears into the shop. Hardcovers and paperbacks - some surprisingly intact in condition, others faded, sun-bleached, tearing at the spines - spill from the shelves, pour into unstable, uneven stacks on either side of his legs.

Over the terrain of an old tapestry carpet, his worn logger-lace-up boots part a sliver of shuffling space.

His eyes dart over the labels meant to trim the seams of unrelated sections. During some point in the lifetime of the store, it proved effective. Now there's impractical irony to it. The books spill over their borders, congregate into uncategorized mounds, beg assortment and the inquisitive human graze.

Non-fiction, Poetry, Modern Poetry, Classical Philosophy . . .

"Kant...Kant...Kant," he recites beneath his breath, whilst drawing the tip of his forefinger over the lined spines. The ribbed feel of it in conjunct with the continued drum of his touch reminds him of sliding a hand across piano keys. An unattended grand piano on the courtyard of a local mall, the sound inflating beneath his hands, swirling up and around, diffusing through empty space and through an idle mind.

"Ka-" his finger halts, and shortly after, so do his steps.

He shuffles back to trace down the spine.

Namjoon saunters towards the front desk, skimming the dorsal face of the book cover with a furrowed brow.

There's a golden - well, once-golden, now-rusted coppery bronze - call bell that he would have once rang and been met with silence. He would have questioned ringing it once more at the risk of irritation.

Now, he only sets the book by the register and folds down to greet the senior dog curled into a ball over its dented, worn pillow. Grey, melanin-deprived hairs shade the corners of its snout, and highlight its brows, the tips of his billowing ear-lobes.

"How are you today, Apollo?" he whispers.

The dog lifts its head groggily to sniff Namjoon's outstretched palm. It scrunches and wrinkles its cracked nose and slightly parts the drooping lids of its eyes. Murky white clouds greet Namjoon.

"You make twenty the new twelve."

At the beep of the scan gun, Namjoon starts to rise.

The shop owner, Ruki, has a near-psychic ability to sense the presence of a customer within the maze of shelves. The call bell is for formalities, as is the dainty one hanging off the entrance frame. Uses them as fail-proofs while he disappears into the storage closet towards the rear of the store and pastes barcodes onto the covers of new arrivals.

Namjoon fishes a hand into the internal pocket of his winter coat for his wallet.

Ruki, behind the desk, mirrors the grey, melanin-deprived complexion of the dog, who once had been golden. The old man drums his knuckles on the wood counter and stares out the shop window contemplatively. It looks like it might snow today.

"Stray dogs," he voices, puckering wrinkled lips into a slight frown. "Invincible little creatures, aren't they? At this rate, I fear the damn dog will outlive me."

Namjoon thumbs the lined green bills nestled into his brown wallet.

"2.50's the sum, kid."

Namjoon folds the cash onto the counter and slides it into the man's wrinkled, patchy, outstretched hand.

"Everything alright, Ruki? With you, your family?"

"Yeah, I suppose." He shrugs. "Cancer's back." In a swift and practiced motion, he slips the receipt between the book pages like a bookmark. "I guess I can't be too upset with this fate. I only ever wished to live 'til 85. 84's not bad. Not bad at all." He slides the book face-up toward Namjoon, lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. It doesn't quite reach the point of crinkling the lines strewn around his eyes.

Namjoon grabs the book, taps it on the edge of the counter, as if gathering a deck of cards or a pack of printer paper. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, kid," he slices right through the platitudes, having felt sorry for too long, having learned how much of a waste it is to live in regret and pity. "We all die at some point. It's nature. No use defying it."

"What about treatment? Technology, nowadays, is so advanced. I read a paper discussing the transplantation of a pig heart into a human recipient. Promising developments."

Ruki shakes his head markedly. "Can't go through that all over again. I won't spend whatever time's left - months, maybe a year, if I'm lucky - rotting because of chemo, not being able to tolerate my favorite foods, bleeding from my gums, in hospital rooms surrounded by people in the same death-bound state as me. I wanna be out here, where life is, all types of it. The pretty kind, sweet kind, the ugly, the morose, rude, and real kind. I wanna make memories with my daughter while there's still time."

Namjoon absent-mindedly frays the edges of the book with his thumb, liking the fluttering friction of the thin corners against the pads of his fingers. Tries to think of something better to say but realizes that sometimes silence holds more meaning. Ironically, his words fall short of any value, even amidst a bookstore overflowing with them.

Instead, he voices his unbridled curiosity. "What'll happen to Apollo?" He looks down at his left, at the dog. Very faint golden strikes up its flanks, transitioning into colorless white. "The store, too?"

"Ask myself that daily." He lifts his brows and lets them fall just as quickly, as if he's at a loss for a response himself. "I've been trying to persuade my daughter to assume my position. I even offered her the compromise of opening the shop only two days a week, so that she'll have the rest of the time to dedicate to her studies - wants to be a doctor, my little girl. I have no doubt she will be. Unfortunately, I likely won't be there to see it, to see her pledge her Hippocratic oath, get her white coat."

Namjoon sits at the bus stop, string earbuds in his ears, the book held splayed by the sturdy hold of his right hand over his crossed lap.

He draws the flame of his lighter to the cigarette balanced between his lips before slapping the case over the amber, extinguishing it swiftly.

Ashes descend onto his denim lap.

When the snow starts to glide through the sky, the grey nicotine ashes blend with the pale blanket by his feet. It is clean and fresh, yet untarnished by scruffy boots or bicycle tracks.

He'd read once, a statistic accusing nicotine as the leading cause of lung cancer. Quickly and half-mindedly brushed it off, like burdensome lint on a freshly-washed sweater. Plucked the doubts from his mind one by one before they could poison the rest of his thoughts.

It wasn't because he found it hard to believe. He was certain of its validity, the statistics were convincing, as was the logic, rather he didn't care. Cared more for taunting death a little, daring the universe to kill him the way he predicts. It's a little morbid but something deep inside him knows that life is rarely predictable or tamable.

He could do one action, and the opposite would unfold. It's not hypothetical. He'd tried to refute his hypothesis with trials; the amount of times it was supported soon became too burdensome to track.

Life isn't straight-forward. Good people get sick, die; the evil persist. The talented go unrecognized in the shadows, ghost writers; the connected thrive. It's all pointless to try and make since of any of it. It's all absurd, as Albert Camus would put it.

He tosses the butt of the cigarette to the ground as the bus pulls up, comes to a screeching halt before him, and squanders the faint amber with the sole of his boot pressed into the snow.

It fizzles a little through the worn-thin sole.

The bus shudders to a halt, and Namjoon shakes the slumber from his head, unfolds his lap, stuffs the book into his back pocket while he starts up, swaying clumsily, sleep-drugged. It was a routine practiced enough that he didn't need to count the stops, or read the street signs to know when to hop-off. There's some internal clock in his subconscious that starts ticking away at the minutes as soon as he climbs the steps up the bus before Nine Books.

The gates unfold and slide across the frame of the bus. It drives away with a long draw of its engine, and a squirt of inky smoke from its exhaust.

Replacing its sight, a vintage-style diner comes into view across the street.

Namjoon crosses the striped pedestrian markings towards it.

At the door, he tugs on the sign, hung around a snagged nail, twists it from displaying a scribbled "Closed. Come Again!" to a "Welcome!"

He strolls in, heavy boots echoing dully across the vacancy. Dispersing muddied snow on impact.

On the trajectory towards his quaint square office space towards the rear of the facility, he can't resist the nagging urge to flip the chairs resting on tabletops. He's got a chronic case of twitchy hands, likely a result of the incessant nicotine crave. Makes his mind race, his legs unsteady, unstill.

At first, he means only to flip one, and scratch the mental itch.

It persists.

After the second chair he starts circumferencing the table, figure eights in swift motion towards another table.

The chatter of the legs on tile is enough to fill the buzzing vacancy of his mind. Enough for his hands to clasp onto and anchor themselves.

But just as quickly, his focus starts to blur. Eyes skit over the distant counter in search of the next thing to occupy his time. His mind.

He's been down this road before. Has made it until noon stil in his winter coat, robust keychain clanking rhythmically against his belt clip. Goes hours without eating anything of substance. The gnawing of an empty stomach numbs before he circles back around to the first intention of the day: visiting his office.

"Office first," he reminds himself today. Inhales deep into his diaphragm and holds it lest it escape his dominion, like the rest of his thoughts and intentions.

He slips the jagged teeth of a golden key into the lock and twists the rusted knob. The door lets out a long groan as it swivels on tired hinges.

Nearing the disheveled surface of a wooden desk pressed against a wall, he plops down his latest read over an assortment of folded papers, receipts, stacked notebooks of moleskin and annotated promotional pamphlets. Try as he might to assign each item its designated square space, it never remains organized long enough. The universe tends towards entropy, he'd justify, it's just the law of nature.

Upon shrugging out of his winter coat, he drapes it over the backrest of his office chair.

His eyes habitually trail over a circular frame standing on the desk's edge. The textured frame accentuates a black-and-white image of his grandpa and grandma caught in a side-embrace, hands clasped over one another's at grandpa's breast.

Gingerly, his tremoring hands collect the frame. He draws his pointer finger over the smooth glass preserving the image, the single moment solidified in time.

He shakes his head clear of some dense sensation and places it back on its designated place, indicated by a square frame of gathered dust.

Shutting the creaking office door behind him, he fishes the carton of cigarettes from his back jean pocket. Plucks a single cylinder from its place and plants it between the groove where his ear adjoins his scalp.

He meanders into the vacant kitchen. Starts a pot of coffee. Nostrils flare as the acidic aroma starts to permeate the empty lot.

The brew drips and bubbles as he strolls to the dormant jukebox on the far end of the establishment. He bends down to plug its chord and starts up. Digs a spare coin out from his front pocket and slips it into the slit on the machine.

In response, it illuminates to life, flickers neon in a hypnotizing pattern.

Pressing a neon green button, he flips through the title slips. He's not registering any of them, though. Just lets his eyes become oversensitive by the mechanized motion of the slips. Defaults to inputting "1-2-4" on the selection panel.

Inside the glass, a wheel of two-hundred discs spins in search of the selection. It slows until it halts and a robotic arm upends a record disc from the rest, lays it out over a turntable.

In a synchronized choreography, as the record is laid over the turntable, a needle descends over its grooves and holds steady pressure.

The machine emanates a crackle that falls into a single voice: [The Song]

Namjoon shuts his eyes in that moment. Allows the familiar tune to send him back in time. An easier time, a more innocent one. Where his only worries consisted of finishing school assignments and coming home by the parent-designated curfew.

His grandparents would dance circles in the diner, hands clasped together, heads leaned to this very song. The customers would cheer, eyes sparkly. They'd submit petitions for the next songs by holding up a shimmery silver coin.

Namjoon would collect them, have them whisper the desired track into his ear. He'd skip back towards the illuminated machine and recite the corresponding track numbers until the current song would come to a cadence.

He sighs. Thinks, I should visit them while they are still there to visit.

It's not something he looks forward to, however. To come to terms with how much time has changed them. To accept that those fond moments are never coming back.

Circling around the kitchen, he procures a metal bowl from the cabinets. Tugs open a drawer and clasps a whisk, its metal cool to the touch.

Opening the fridge door, and bathed in its sterile light, he grabs a couple of eggs, skims the container counting the ones that remain. Provisions should arrive today.

While there, he grabs the tub of butter. Flings the door close with his boot and swivels to pour the ingredients over the counter space, next to the shimmering bowl.

He turns and leans over his head, grabs the flour and sugar from a high shelve. A bit of flour escapes a tiny hole on its bag and dusts his cheek.

Instinctually, he crinkles his eyes, coughs. Shakes his head.

As the batter inflates under the warm luminance of the oven, he grabs a broom propped against the wall inside a storage closet.

His boots clunk rhythmically over the tile floor when he makes his way towards the entrance. Props the door open with its embedded door stump. Starts to part a walkway through the compacted snow. Can't have customers slipping.

It's a cold day in January. The merciless kind of cold that can't be nullified by the festive spirit of the holidays. There's mutable wind changing directions immediately as it blows into him. Delivering the caress of winter and just as quickly withdrawing it.

The muscles of his back and shoulders tense in anticipation for the next gush of frigid wind. The hairs on his exposed forearms prickle.

He starts to envy the batter heating in the kitchen.

He thinks of burning the cigarette nestled over his ear. Imagines how the smoke would warm him up from the inside out. As though a steaming chimney lived inside him.

When he balances the cigarette between his chapped lips, he becomes aware of an approaching figure, strolling up the walkway. She's bundled in a coat, hunched in on her small figure. Raven black hair blowing in the wind.

Namjoon nods in her acknowledgement as he digs around his pocket for his lighter. It's clumsy and desperate and hurried, so the lighter slips his grasp on multiple occasions.

The incomer doesn't slow or detour.

"Morning, boss" the girl quips. Plucks the white cylinder from his lips.

He grimaces at the sensation that a part of his dry lips had been torn along with it. Cups his mouth to verify it isn't true.

"First time I actually get here before you light it."

"You owe me a pack."

"Yeah, well, you owe me the two years of extended lifetime I've gathered you."

"I don't think that's the actual math."

"I've saved you time. Can we just leave it at that."

Namjoon resumes brooming. Still cold. Still tense and prickled. Nicotine deprived.

She shrugs her shoulders out of the billowing coat to reveal at least three more layers of clothing beneath. Long sleeves tugged over her wrists to keep her fingers from tingling.

Norah's armored herself with a black apron, her name affixed to the collar with a pin. She pops out of the doorframe long enough to hand Namjoon a mug of steaming coffee, no sweetener, light milk, but not long enough to allow the wind to ripple a shiver through her.

Namjoon gratefully accepts. Holds the broom handle beneath his arm to allow himself to cup the mug with both hands and derive warmth from that. "Where's your partner in crime? Sleeping late, again?" He mumbles against the ceramic rim, steam billowing up his nostrils.

"En route," she responds over her shoulder. She rounds into the kitchen. Grabs the glass coffee pot and pours herself a black.

Namjoon chortles, accidentally inhaling a gulp of the hot drink. Dissolves into a coughing fit before he's finally composed enough to verbalize "From where? Mars?"

"Actually..." she sets down her drink on the counter. Loses her gaze out the front windows, ravaging her mind for recollection. "No. I think he mentioned it was from Saturn." She angles her head pensively. "Got caught in the current of those spinning rings or something like that."

Namjoon translates, "He's stuck in rush-hour traffic."

[thought of henry's place in addy larue while writing this so thank v.e. schawb for the imagery inspiration]

[calocreek]

OK here it is, a ton of 'production' stuff for the Hot Guy Comic Zine! I've never been part of a project like this. Even though I was working on my comic mostly solo (shout-out to my editor Violet!), the world-building and story arc planning was completely collaborative. For example:

We started out on the world-building by voting on character's superpowers! Plenty of powers were almost unanimously agreed on, but Cuteguy was a HUGE campaign. We were pretty much 50/50 split between can fly/can't fly. Propaganda was exchanged LOL, like this piece where I campaigned for limited flying capabilities 😂 And thats what we ended up settling on!

From there we worked on a ton of brainstorming/world-building that I mostly spectated with an occasional doodle like these haha. I'm new to such elaborate AUs!

Pitch time!! I had pitches for each era and they were all pretty light and banter-y, so my year 1 pitch ended up fitting the vibe the best. My original pitch was 'HG + CG learn some key things about each other and plan to set up a base they can use together.' But when I started my script, I got really caught up in how they were navigating a partnership without knowing each others identities. The more I wrote through that, the more I wanted my story to be ABOUT that! So thats where my script started coming together.

Designs! I'm definitely not a confident costume designer. I was trying to go for low-tech + practical since it was early in their careers, and of course, easy to draw 😂

Process went more or less like this! Full color comics take a LONG TIME but it was a total labor of love. I had the graffiti bgs in mind from the very start since I knew it was dialogue heavy, I wanted to make sure the art was interesting and worth spending time looking at. Oh lord did I get carried away. I'm OBSESSED with the symbolism the fandom has put to the life series and so I tried to sneak in as much meaningful symbolism as possible. AND THE RESULT:

Guess I did pretty well! 😂😂😂

Anyway, I can't overstate how proud I feel to have gotten to work on this project. My whole goal as a hobbyist is to get to work with other artists I look up to and respect so this was a dream come true! Thank you everyone for reading, for 15k downloads (!!!), and for just being an awesomely creative fandom space to make art in! I hope to do more stuff like this again some day 💕

[namisweatheria]

Sorry but I'm growing more and more fascinated in my head with how this would change (and eroticize) Nami and Luffy's relationship. It wouldn't happen all at once. At what point does Nami start seeing Luffy as a girl? She'd start treating her much, much nicer. I think this would be pretty confusing to Luffy, because as intuitive and emotionally genius she is, as I said before, gender is nothing to her. She doesn't get it!

Also, it might be a little saccharine, but I really do think Luffy would become at least a bit attached to being a girl because of Nami and Robin. In canon, he always wants his crew to be laughing and having fun as much as possible, and he seems to try a bit harder with them, because they (especially Nami with her grouchy anxiety) can be more difficult to get to relax and (especially Robin with her restrained demeanor) goof around.

When he finds something funny, he often tries to show Nami first. For as much as he often shows Usopp stuff first too, this might be a bit confusing since she's not an easy audience like he is. I think that's exactly why, though. He wants her to laugh more! And I suspect it's more rewarding to get a laugh out of someone who doesn't do it as much.

Plus, he often doesn't understand why Nami is upset over the things she's upset about. AU Luffy still wouldn't understand a lot of Nami's anger and worry, but I think with the parts she finally would understand she would value that very much. And be angry over, if it's someone's fault.

She'd be a bit of a trans power fantasy, because she wouldn't need to worry about her gender being invalidated and being targeted for it, and she also hasn't internalized some of the harmful gender norms that I think Nami and Robin both have.

Imagine the emotion Nami would feel seeing Luffy beat up Sanji for saying something rude to her and getting up in her space. This isn't something that would happen right away either. At first she'd be thrilled and unquestioningly accepting of the sudden influx of special food. It wouldn't be until she's had too many strangers on too many islands get up in her space and say rude things that she'd react when Sanji does it.

Ough imagining this hurts a lot actually... Nami...

At first Nami is shocked. That's not right! "Sure, it's annoying, but Sanji does a lot of nice things for us, and we know he'd never hurt us, so it's fine!" You're supposed to tolerate it, laugh it off, take advantage of it! "What are you doing?!"

Luffy had punched Sanji, and it wasn't playful. Sanji had been launched across deck, landing on the ground with a loud thud, blood on his face. And Luffy's anger hadn't abated.

"It's not fine! He's pissing me off!" Her gaze is single-minded and unforgiving as she stomps towards him.

"Woah, take it easy!" Nami tries to pull her back. The words ring in her head, and something catches in her chest, but she tries to focus on stopping the fight. This isn't right. This isn't how we're supposed to act. She thinks it, and she knows she doesn't mean the crew, but she doesn't know what she means. She doesn't like it, and it's too much.

"Why should I? You hate it too don't you Nami? Robin?" Luffy's gaze bores into her before she turns and tries for another swing, but not very hard, and Nami holds her back. She clutches tightly. Her eyes burn, and the knot in her chest is getting bigger and harder to breathe evenly around.

She looks around wildly and her eyes land on Robin.

"Robin, help me!" There was a catch in her voice that embarrassed her. Surely this situation wasn’t serious enough to warrant hysteria. But she just couldn’t feel calm.

Especially when Robin doesn’t acknowledge her, staring on at Sanji still on the ground, her eyes very far away.

"Ugh! Luffy!" Nami's face scrunches up in frustration, her mind was in a hot haze she was desperately trying to work through. She tries to plant her feet but Luffy manages to trudge both of them right over Sanji.

"He doesn't even see how tired you are!" Luffy says to her. She gets down in his face. "Sanji! We're tired! Stop it!" She yells, as he looks up at her with wide eyes.

"Okay." Sanji is glancing furtively between the three of them, blood dripping down his chin, and not from a nosebleed. He's confused, but he nods anyways.

There’s a beat, and Nami doesn't know why, but she bursts into tears. She puts her head down and runs off deck toward her room.

"Oh.." Sanji's face is shocked watching her go, before it turns into stupid delight. "See!" He exclaims up at Luffy. "She doesn't want me to stop!" Luffy gapes for a second before her face contorts into a furious snarl. She rears back, but-

Slap!

Silence. They both stare open-mouthed at the hand that had appeared in front of them, before jointly looking up towards Robin. Where she had before been in a typical lounging position, she had stood up, and looked down at Sanji with a dark expression.

Her face trembled with anger. She opened her mouth and closed it again, struggling. After a few moments she walked off-deck, following Nami.

Her gesture had been enough.

"Oh.." Sanji said again. This time his face became grim, and stayed that way. Tears started to well in his eyes, and he got up and walked off deck the other way, lighting a cigarette as he went.

Luffy stood up straight. She huffed. There was no sound now but the waves.

"ZORO!" She yelled. She didn't need to yell. The whole rest of the crew had been right there.

"Uh, yeah?" He answered. He was trying not to show it, but he was shaken by what he'd just seen. I mean, he'd always told that stupid cook off for being annoying, so it wasn't like it was his fault. But. If he had known how it was apparently weighing on Nami... Goddamnit. Why hadn't he noticed? What kind of crewmate was he?

"I'M STILL MAD!" Luffy yelled.

Zoro huffed slightly with amusement despite himself. "Yeah?"

"LET'S FIGHT!"

"Ha! Okay."

Usopp wandered over to Franky while Zoro and Luffy launched themselves at each other. Franky looked perturbed, but pulled a calm cheerful look as he noticed Usopp coming towards him.

Chopper ran over too and leapt into Usopp's arms. "I don't get anything!" He wailed, his furry face a mess of tears and snot. Usopp patted his head sympathetically, trying not to let himself tear up in response. "So Danji wab being mean to Nami bis whole timeb?" Chopper cried. Usopp frowned, unsure of what to say for once.

Franky stepped in. "I guess so little bro." He never minced words when it was serious. Chopper stared up at Franky. Usopp thought if his little eyebrows furrowed any more they'd be able to hold coins.

"But WHY?" The question seemed to come out of him with the sudden force and unpleasantness of a hairball. Neither Franky nor Usopp could take this much pathetic sadness for much longer without breaking down themselves. Franky resisted the urge to look away, but Usopp started finding the sky very interesting, unrelatedly.

"He didn't mean to. Sometimes things like this happen. They'll work it out. We always do on this crew don't we? Cause we're suuuuperrr!" Franky couldn't quite manage to finish saying something comforting without getting silly, but it was for the best, because when he lifted Chopper from out of Usopp's arms and up above his head with the word “super”, Chopper giggled a bit among his tears. He demanded to be let down right after, since as much as he likes to be babied sometimes this was a bit too much now. He is a nearly-grown pirate, after all.

"Should I go see Nami?" Chopper asked, standing now and looking thoughtfully towards her cabin.

"Nah, she just needs some time with Robin. Why don't you hang out with us while we wait for them to come out?” Franky said. Chopper looked a bit doubtful, looking between him and the door.

Usopp added, “Let’s play cards! I’m sure when they come back up they’ll want to join us!” Chopper looked up at Usopp hopefully. It was true both Robin and Nami loved cards.

Usopp struck a pose in response, swiping some cards from his pocket and making a fan in front of his face. "I'll have you know I've cheered up countless people with my show-stopping card playing tricks!” He shuffled the deck as he spoke. “The Amazing Card-Counting Usopp is a name known throughout all The East Blue! They'd take people dying of sadness to see me and they'd be so happy they'd live for hundreds of years!"

"Really? REALLY? Wow!" Chopper seemed to have stars in his eyes.

By the time Nami and Robin came back on deck, the four of them were deeply engrossed in a brand-new game that somehow blended card tricks, dancing, and hitting each other with sticks. Well, mostly Franky was dancing, but it seemed to all come together somehow. They managed to join in without any tension.

Before Nami sat down next to where Luffy was (gently) throwing sticks at a dodging and laughing Chopper, she knelt beside her and hugged her tightly.

"Hm?" Luffy said, glancing at her while switching to her other hand to continue throwing.

Nami pulled back a bit to look at Luffy. "Thank you." She said. When's the last time she took a moment to say that to her, so seriously? It had already been said, a long time ago.

Luffy stared at her intently for a few moments before breaking out in a giant pink-faced grin. Nami felt her heart skip a beat. Had those big brown eyes always been so beautiful? Frozen, she stared longer than she'd meant to. Her face suddenly felt very warm, as did her arms where they were still holding Luffy. Quickly, she pulled away and picked up a stick, throwing it immediately at Zoro. Luckily it was very light and didn't travel well, because she didn't spare any force.

"Hey! What was that for?" Zoro yelped it like a superbly grouchy dingo, but his eyes seemed serious. Was this my fault? He was thinking. Nami smiled at him, overwhelmed with sudden affection for her steadfast, loyal friend.

"How'dya play this game?" She asked with a grin. His shoulders relaxed before he threw it back at her. Bonk. It hit her head.

"Figure it out!"

Thinking so much about an au where Iva's hormone poison treatment also transed Luffy's gender as a side-effect. The way she would simply not care.

Things I'm imagining happening

Her typically refusing to explain how it happened while thinking she's giving a perfectly adequate explanation. "It just happened." "What do you mean??" "It just happened! Jeez." "Well do you want to change back??" "Who cares??" < usual bursting out laughing at Luffy being Luffy >

Everyone just accepting it after that single conversation

Her suddenly finding Sanji more annoying than weird/funny and beating him up until he starts acting normal

Relatedly becoming a lot closer with Nami and Robin in a new way because they keep getting treated the same way by strangers

Meeting Yamato in Wano and being like "Woah you can do that??" and Nami, gently, understandingly, being like "Do you want us to start referring to you as a man again?" and Luffy thinks for a second and is like "Nah, I like being a girl now. It's the same but I understand you better!!" < classic Luffy heart-attack-giving grin > Can you imagine Nami's face. T^T

Nami x Luffy friends-to-lovers slowburn

She'd look basically the same but the difference is enough to confuse the navy for awhile. Shenanigans.

Boa's lesbian awakening.

[signanothername]

firstly: AAA YOUR ART AND COMICS AND STUFF ARE SO AMAZING!!!!

secondly: do you have any advice on how to come up with comics and then get them out of your head and onto paper?

BZHXHXHD THANK YOU SM!!!

And ooh that’s a good question

I usually come up with comics in one of two ways, either seeing something (whether another artwork, a text, something irl, etc) that inspires an idea for a comic, or via artworks I made that I expand on

Other times, it can actually be both

For example, the “A little life update” comic was actually inspired by this beautiful artwork, I saw it, and I immediately thought of Killer, idk something something about the despair of being stuck between a rock and a hard place etcetera etcetera (yes the comic that shows Killer to be in such a better place in life and show the hope he has, was inspired by crushing despair in actuality)

It made me wanna do something with Killer trying to call someone on a public phone, and so the first page came to be

Here’s the twist tho, I originally was gonna just make it into an artwork (yes, one single decision could’ve meant that comic wouldn’t have ever been made)

But a lil habit of mine is ask myself a shit ton of questions when it comes to my own artworks (it actually helps me turn what’s supposed to be artworks into comics), and that’s another way of how you can come up with comics, ask yourself questions, why is the character doing this? What are they doing? What if character did this? Etc

so I saw what was originally gonna be an artwork, and asked myself, who would Killer be calling if he ever did and why?

And the answer to those two questions that made sense to me most was Nightmare, but that led me to two more questions, when would Killer be calling Nightmare and for what?

And that led me to have a basic idea of how I wanted the comic to go

So it was basically like

Who would Killer be calling? Nightmare

Why would Killer be calling Nightmare if he ever did? That actually had different answers, to taunt him, to inform him of something, cause he misses Nightmare in his own fucked up way, etc

When would Killer be calling Nightmare? After he’s saved, or while still under him? After he’s saved makes more sense

What would Killer call Nightmare for? To give him an update about his life with Color

How would Killer be calling Nightmare? Through a public phone

Where would Killer be calling from? Somewhere in an AU in the surface

These six questions, what, why, when, who, where, how, are important to think of, they give you a basis to work on when it comes to comics in general

You don’t need to have a very clear answer to each of them to be able to work on a comic, but if you can at least answer 3 of them, that would give you enough information to work with in a comic

Now that I have a tiny bit of a clear idea about what I wanted to do (it doesn’t have to be perfect or completely concise) let’s talk about how you take these ideas out of your head and into paper

You can do that by imagining the dialogue in your head and then immediately putting it into paper, as I mentioned here, I actually struggle a lot with dialogue, art? No problem, I can easily imagine the art, but dialogue? It’s hell (please take the time to read the linked post, I talk in depth about how I handle dialogue)

That’s why you shouldn’t worry about perfection at this stage, just put every little piece of dialogue you imagine into paper, even if it feels like it makes no sense or is out of character, that’s something you can worry about later

Put in the dialogue, every little bit of it, and draw the panels that feels right for the dialogue

Here’s a little bit of example about what I mean when I say put the dialogue in then draw panels that make sense for it

This is a comic I plan on making, I actually drew that first panel as a stand alone artwork, then that inspired the dialogue, I wrote the dialogue down immediately, it’s a rough version of it, maybe I’ll keep it the same, maybe I’ll change it up as I work through the comic, but so far, I’m drawing the panels based on the dialogue so far, see what I mean by write the dialogue down? It helps IMMENSELY

It doesn’t have to be perfect and it certainly doesn’t have to be the final version, but writing it down will help you imagine the art that comes with it

Does that mean you can never start with the art then think of the dialogue? NO

You absolutely can start with the art for the comic first, in fact, sometimes, doing that actually helps you imagine the dialogue better, other times you can’t really think of a dialogue but have a very clear image in your head about certain character interactions, draw that it’s ok, silent comics focusing on character interaction, is a thing that you can do without worrying about dialogue

Now when it comes to the actual making of a comic, first tip is find your own footing when it comes to comic making

Like listen, people are gonna tell you that the correct thing to do is that you have to make thumbnails for the comic before you make the actual comic to make sure the flow is good and you have room for speech bubbles and what not

Here’s the thing, making thumbnails for your comic is a life saver, it’s great, if you can do that go for it! But for a person like me with little to no energy, I can’t do that without losing interest and immediately abandoning my comic, I can’t do that without becoming frustrated and hate art for it

That’s why I say find your footing, if making thumbnails before working on the actual pages works for you go for it! or you can immediately just work on the actual comic itself like I do, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with and what makes more sense to you

That being said, when it comes to the panels themselves, always aim for less panels and more pages than the other way around

Sometimes, emphasis on certain emotions or aspects of the comic can only be done with fewer panels

That’s why my own comics would sometimes have pages that are either one or two panels max

The less panels you have in a page, the more concise, clear, and easy to follow your comic is, one of the biggest mistakes I made as a beginner artist, is that I focused on cramping the story in as few pages as possible rather than focus on the clarity of the comic

Here’s an example

Good luck reading that dggxgdgdh

This is a very old comic I made back in 2018? 2019?, I wanted the comic to be one page so bad I cramped everything into it without thinking about the fact people are gonna have a very hard time reading it, like this easily could’ve been 3-5 pages but old me couldn’t imagine doing that many pages (if she could see me now with 15 pages comics dhhdhdg) not only that, but the panels’ arrangement makes 0 sense

So when you make your panels there are 2 things to keep in mind:

1- less panels and more pages = clear easy to follow comic, as well as a better emotional impact

2- panel arrangement has to make sense and should be easy to follow, you can make sure it’s easy to follow by reading your own comic over and over as you’re making it, if you find difficulty following the dialogue or art, then it’s best to refine, change or edit your panel or dialogue arrangement

Another thing to keep in mind when making the comic is the flow, the best way to go about making sure that the flow makes sense is by thinking of the comic as you would an animation, how did the character go from point A to point B?

For example this page

Killer clearly has a bit of a distance from Nightmare in the second panel, so how did Killer go from being at a distance (point A), to right in front of Nightmare in the last panel (point B)? That’s what the two panels in between the these two points are for, is to show you that 1- Nightmare is using his tentacle, and 2- that tentacle wrapped around Killer’s arm, the rest would easily be filled in by your brain that Nightmare basically pulled him closer

Now for the ending of a comic, not every comic has to have a clear ending where it marks the end of a story, but rather, you can go for whatever satisfies you as an ending, or keep an ending ambiguous or open, to expand on a comic later

I say that the perfect ending for a comic is what gets the point of a comic across, if the point is made, then it’s a good panel to end the comic with

Don’t be afraid to scarp any page or panels if they make the comic awkward or if they don’t make sense or if it seems out of character don’t hesitate to change, edit or completely delete it

An example is the “choice” comic, it actually originally was 4 pages, I just decided to scrap the last page cause of two reasons

1- it added nothing to the comic

2- it was out of character for Stage 2 Killer

My last advice is don’t force the process, sometimes, the best way to go about making comics is to make them on your own time and slowly, sometimes, you get stuck with certain things in the comic, other times, you need a bit to figure out how to proceed with the comic, completely normal in the process, that’s why it’s important to work on comics in a way that suits you, but you can’t find what suits you without trial and error, so go and test the waters, you can never learn until you practice it yourself

Good luck, hope this helps, lemme know if you need more clarification or help, i’d be happy to help where I can <333

[rowdyluv]

Mothers Know Best

summary: it’s luke’s off morning and he’s home alone with emersyn who isn’t acting her usual bubbly happy self. it’s when he puts her down early for her nap he notices something is actually wrong

warnings: soft dad!luke, fluffy -> angst, sick baby, stressed parent, parent feels they aren’t doing right

word count: 1.56k

notes: this was originally wrote for the single dad version of the au so if i missed any name changes please let me know

Emersyn was not the same today. Her usual bubbly giggles were replaced with whines that pierced the quiet afternoon like a siren. Luke had never seen his little girl so clingy and fussy. She was a ball of pink and white, sticking to him like a piece of gum to a hot sidewalk. It was a rare moment he had that she was distracted by her blanks or a toy next to her.

He tried everything to calm her down—his usual go-to distractions of peekaboo, Winnie the Pooh and even the tickle monster. Nothing worked. Her eyes searched for him, wide and desperate, every time he tried to sneak away. The house felt like it was closing in on him, the air thick with the weight of her cries. The moment his body crossed the threshold to the kitchen from the living room she was screaming for him. Mousey little calls for “dada.” Rattled out of her mouth just as the cries rattled her body. Tension was tightening in Luke’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

What was wrong with her? Why was she acting like this? She’s ate, barely, but he fed her. She has a clean diaper. He’s checked numerous times. They’ve played or he’s tried to play and she wasn’t having any of it. She has her blanks and her Finn plushie from Quinn. Luke pulled his hands through his hair and huffed out.

Emersyn drew him out of his thoughts by pulling on the hem of his shorts. She had blanks and fin in one of her hands and the other grasping his shorts. Her bottom lip stuck out quivering.

“Okay, okay, baby girl, let’s go for a nap, yeah?” Luke’s voice was strained with worry. He scooped her up into his arms, the softness of her skin burning against his. She didn’t protest, a sign that something was seriously off. Usually, she’d fight naps like a champ, insisting she was a big kid. But today she just snuggled into his neck, the heat from her forehead seeping into his skin. He carried her to her room, the hallway seeming to stretch on forever. The gentle squeak of his shoes on the floor was the only sound except for her shallow breaths.

Her nursery was a soft explosion of pink and white, but today it felt like a prison cell. The curtains were drawn, leaving only a sliver of light that painted the room in a sad, yellow glow. He laid her down on the crib mattress, her favorite blanket underneath her. He could hear the faint rattle in her breathing, and it was like nails on a chalkboard to his overworked nerves. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, and that’s when it all clicked. He realized how hot she was against him. She was a little furnace that had been running on overdrive. When he had picked her up first thought was she was warm from overworking herself. All the crying she had been doing was what made her warm. But no. This was definitely different.

Panic took over him like a wildfire. He knew that sound all too well. It was the same sound he heard last winter when she had croup. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the feeling in his gut was heavy. He grabbed the thermometer and quickly scanned her forehead. The beep was like a gunshot, echoing through the room. He checked the display. 102 degrees. His heart plummeted.

With trembling hands, he picked Emersyn up again, cradling her closer to his chest. He didn’t know what to do. Was this just a cold or something more? His mind raced with all the worst scenarios. He needed Rosey, she’d know what to do. He fumbled with his phone, his thumbs slipping over the screen as he typed out a frantic text. “Come home. Emmy’s not okay. Something’s wrong.”

But as he hit send, he knew that wasn’t enough. He needed advice now, and his mother, Ellen, was the next best thing. He dialed her number, his voice wavering when she answered.

“Mom, Emersyn’s not right. She’s so warm and... I don’t know. Her breathing is funny again.” The words tumbled out of him like a waterfall.

Ellen’s voice was calm and soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos in Luke’s mind. “Okay, sweetheart, just breathe. Tell me what’s happening. Is she still crying?”

“No, she’s just... listless. And her breathing, it’s like she’s fighting to get air in. And she’s so warm, Mom. So warm. What if I’ve missed something? What if I’m not doing this right?” The doubt in his voice was palpable, even through the phone.

Ellen’s calmness was a balm to his fear. “You’re doing everything right, Luke. You’re a wonderful father. It’s probably just a fever, but we’ll figure it out together. Has she had any other symptoms? Runny nose, cough, anything?”

Luke’s eyes searched Emersyn’s face as he talked to his mom, looking for any sign of distress she might be trying to hide. “No, nothing like that. She’s just been clingy and whiny all day. And her breathing... I.. I didn’t notice it until I tried to put her down for a nap but I swear..it’s like she’s fighting for every breath she takes. Just like last winter.”

Ellen’s voice remained calm, her years of experience as a mother and grandmother steadying him. “Alright, let’s not panic. It could just be a summer cold, but you’re doing the right thing by keeping an eye on her. Give her some children’s Tylenol to bring down the fever. It’s in the medicine cabinet, right?”

Luke nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yes, but I’m scared, Mom. What if it’s more than just a cold?” His voice cracked, and he felt his eyes burn with unshed tears.

Before his mother could respond, he heard the sound of the front door bursting open, followed by the thunder of quick footsteps. “Luke? Emmy?” Rosey’s voice echoed through the house, filled with urgency. Relief flooded him, and he rushed out of the nursery, Emersyn still in his arms.

Her eyes searched the room, finding him in the hallway. They widened when she took in their daughters state. “What’s wrong?” She demanded, breathless.

He met her gaze, his eyes pleading. “Her breathing, it’s off. And she’s so warm. I don’t know what to do. I called you because...” His voice trailed off, his throat tight with emotion.

Rosey took Emersyn from his arms, her eyes scanning her daughter’s flushed face. She felt her forehead and nodded gravely. “We need to get her temperature down. Did you give her anything?”

“No, I just took her temperature and texted you. I didn’t know what to do. I called my mom too. She reminded me to give her medicine but then you got home.. God Ro. See I can’t do this without you here I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Rosey’s heart ached for the fear etched on Luke’s face. He was a fantastic father, but she knew he had moments of doubt like anyone else. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for not being there when he needed her most, but he only has a couple free mornings and errands were demanding her attention. But now was not the time for self-recrimination. Emersyn’s health was the priority.

“Let’s get her some water and meds,” she said, taking the lead. She moved swiftly to the kitchen, her shoes slapping against the cold tile floor. Luke followed, his eyes never leaving their daughter. Rosey grabbed the children’s Tylenol and a sippy cup filled with lukewarm water. The kitchen was bathed in the yellow glow from the nursery, a stark reminder of the concern that now filled their usually cheerful home.

Back in the living room, she placed Emersyn in her play pen, surrounded by her favorite toys. The play pen had seen countless moments of giggles and growth, but today it was a makeshift sick bay. She unwrapped the fever reducer, and with a gentle touch, gave it to Emersyn. Their daughter’s eyes searched hers, full of trust despite her discomfort. With trembling hands, Luke gave her the water, his eyes never leaving hers. They watched as she took a sip, the medicine quickly following. Emersyn’s tiny hand clutched the cup, her grip tight.

Once the medicine was down, Rosey turned to Luke, her eyes softening. “Thank you for texting me. You did the right thing. We’re in this together, okay? Everything with Em is on both of us, not just on you or on me. It takes two, or an army as momma Ellen says.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The tension between them eased slightly.

“Thank you, believing in me, Ro,” Luke murmured, his eyes never leaving their daughter. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. It wasn’t just about this moment, it was about every moment he felt inadequate as a father. Every time he didn’t know what to do, every time he second-guessed himself, every time he thought he was failing. Her belief in him was like a beacon in the fog.

Rosey leaned her head on his shoulder, her hands intertwined with his. “Lukey, I’ve believed in you since we were kids, of course I’m going to believe in you with our baby girl,” she whispered, her voice a balm to his fear.

[krizariel]

Oh don't tell me... you are f*cking my ex?!

(crack, not-fic, jaytim with past timsteph) Talking with friends about how a friend - who was into jaytim and was a tim fan before he was even registered in my radar - unintentionally got me into jaytim; but then he moved on pretty much as I came in and now he has to put up with me and my never-ending duck giggling butt emojis. Or how he eloquently put it: "I'm literally like a tragic dramatic irony mythical Greek MC, just a plaything of fate" Anyway, I remembered this vague idea and then this took shape:

No-capes AU in which Tim was never adopted by Bruce, but the rest (including Steph and Jason) were. Jason is very protective of his family, especially his sisters. And yes, Steph is a gremlin and gets in trouble more often than not, but damn it no one messes with his sister.

Tim and Steph started dating during mid-school; Tim tends to be asked out more often than not and he has trouble saying no. Often times he does not feel truly attracted to anyone; but he does not want to be seen as uptight or impolite or worse... questioned. He often accepts his dates until eventually they get bored of him. Steph was a change of pace of him and at some point he genuinely was feeling attraction to her; but maybe not to the extent she deserved. She asked him out and was always the one initiating anything, and he'd often go along with it. She was amazing, full of life, funny and so pretty; Tim didn't know what exactly she saw in him. However, she'd quickly notice his lack of enthusiasm/interest and often they'd fight. Why say yes when you aren't truly into it? They were on and off for a year until they broke things off for real. Jason of course hated Tim's guts; be that way whatever, but making his sister cry and mistreating her was a different story. After breaking up, Tim tried to reach out to Steph later, to try and explain himself better and be honest with her. She deserved that much. Except Jason found him before Tim could reach his sister; punched him hard enough to send him off-balance, grabbed him and pushed him against the wall to make it very clear he should not get near his sister again or else... (and Tim was scared to shit because danger danger but also creepily turned on when Jason grabbed him and raised him off the floor so easily. He needs to consult a therapist as to why Jason threatening turned him on and somehow that started his bi awakening) Eventually Steph and Tim moved on with their lives, continue dating other people, and given that they still have friends they reconnect, reminiscence of the past and talk it out. They also eventually come out and bond over both being bi. Fast forward years later, neither Tim or Jason had seen each other again; but Tim stays in touch with Steph. Tim is a well known editor at a big publisher and Jay is an aspiring book writer. Steph had given Tim her brother's original novel draft and he actually loved it. Steph: So, remember my brother Jason? Tim: Your hot brother who kicked my ass in front of half the school hates my guts? how could I forget. Steph: Yeah! He is the one who wrote this fabulous piece. Think you can help him? Tim *internally trying not to scream because what are the odds*: ...Sure. If he agrees to meet, I have time tomorrow. But you better be there, in case he remembers he told me not to get near you. I fear for my life. Steph: Don't be dramatic, he probably doesn't even remember you.

---- Steph: Sooo... I have a friend who is an editor at X publisher. He read your work and loved it. He actually thinks it has high chances to be published. Jason: Really? Steph: Yeah! Told him we could meet with him tomorrow for coffee and go over the details. Jason: Wait who is this friend? Do I know him? Steph: Well... remember this boyfriend I had back in mid-school... Jason, as he stops what he is doing, turns to Steph and glares: The one I hit and pushed against the wall and told to never get near you ever again? That one? Steph: Yes! Jason: Wait, he got actually near you again? *starts cracking knuckles* Steph: Yes, but not that way! I wouldn't take that human disaster for a ride and I'd pity anyone who'd date him. Plus I'm perfect with Cass, thank you very much. But we made peace long time ago and we've been good friends since. I'm sure he doesn't hold grudges, after all he knows the work is yours and had no trouble! It's been years, we have all grown up and moved on.

Jason: Fine. ---- The meeting was awkward at the beginning (especially due to Jason's perpetual scowl) but Tim is clearly very professional and jumps right into business. They exchange contact information. It's clear Tim genuinely likes Jason's work. He puts a lot of effort in navigating Jason through the process, giving detailed comments/notes and Jason is happy to see someone catching on the little details and talk excitedly about them. May not be much but internally he is preening. They start meeting often for coffee, at first they'd talk more about work rather than chitchat and then their meetings started evolving into less work and more random talk, getting to know each other. Sometimes they don't finish talking about the book because they got too distracted. Tim opens up about his teen years, how he was (and still is) too dumb for relationships. He didn't know better but as he matured he learned to accept himself. Jason realizes Tim wasn't that bad of a guy as he thought; just someone making mistakes, learning and growing.

Tim finds he hasn't enjoyed someone's company in a while. He has dated guys before and has matured enough to be better and accept what he wants. But as years went by he poured himself into work and has been so busy, he doesn't exactly have lasting relationships so he stopped altogether. This time around, he feels like he genuinely is giving his all. He decides that he will see that Jason's book becomes a reality because Jason is talented, he is amazing and deserves this. And then, he will gather the courage and ask him out. Jason is also troubled because he is developing a fat crush on his sister's ex and he did NOT see that coming.

The day Jason's book is finally out, they celebrate and Tim asks Jason out on a date. ----

Later: Steph: SMH I can't believe you! Jason: ... it's your fault

[travelingtwentysomething]

✨Are you new here?✨

✨🌚)))))(✨Hailey on AO3✨)(((((🌝✨

🪩 Let's Be Honest, If You Could Hop Dimensions, You'd Save Eddie Munson Too (AO3 // REBLOG // My Art: Eddie in Disguise/Comparison) - A Steddie+Original NonBinary Time/Dimension Traveler Character Fix-It Comedy/Adventure

🌚 Devotion Tastes So Sweet On Your Lips (AO3 // REBLOG) - A Spooky Steddie Horror One-Shot (Maybe Series...) Steve Prays To The Old Gods And Eddie The Banished Answers

🕸️ A Sticky Situation (AO3 // REBLOG) - A Harringroveson x Spideypoolverine Crossover Comedy One-Shot +Inspo Post for A Sticky Situation

—+++—Some Bonus Tumblr Only Ficlets—+++—

+Steve Throws Eddie His Yellow Sweater, Eddie Throws Steve His Vest. It's a Whole Thing (It's Canon. Gone a bit Viral, this one🤘) (Further Evidence: Steve Puts on The Vest and Eddie Checks Out His Ass, Also Canon. + Bonus Canon: Every Time Eddie Puts On His Steve Smile)

+Eddie Realizes Steve Is More Than A Babysitter (w/ Inspo Post Steve Slays Demo-Bats, Eddie Reacts, this one has Gotten Popular, but I mainly attribute that to Steve's Titties 🤘)

+Stephanus Concubinus, Emperor Geta's Vita (a Steddie x Gladiator II au blurb inspired by kingsandsaints ' gorgeous painting of Joe Keery wearing laurels and a white sheet🕊️)

+Rockstar!Eddie, Meets Server Duo Stobin, is an Asshole and Gets His Just De'Soup- Later Eddie Comes Back to Apologize and Gets Steve's Number- Then, A Misunderstanding and a Proposal (An Add-On Ficlet started by two very talented writers sabbathbloddysabbeth and estrellami-1🤘)

+Rockstar!Eddie in a Case of Mistaken Identity Gets Dragged to Dustin's 21st "Rockstar Hotel After Party" Themed Birthday by an Oblivious Steve +Bonus Robin Has Something To Say About That (An Add-On Ficlet inspired by Whathehonestfuk's post🤘)

+Rogueddie Famous!Steddie, Eddie Reads Tumblr RPF of Steve, Steve Gives a Rec (Rogueddie Wrote A Blurb, I Wrote A Blurb, an Add-On Ficlet)

+S4 Cut Scene: Steve Pines For Eddie, Dustin is Excited For Two Dad's, or Whatever, He's Not Picky (Eddie Witnesses This Interaction From Afar, Wonders Fondly, an Add-On Ficlet)

+Steve is afraid to scare Eddie away by treating him 'like a girl,' Eddie is frustrated, thinking Steve just can't bring himself to cuddle him because he's a guy. (Until Eddie opens Steve's closet and a mountain of dead and drying bouquets and boxes fall all around him. An Add-On Ficlet) +The Add On Where They Go From Idiots to Lovers

+Steddie!Little Mermaid AU Blurb-let (It started with a whisper- *Steve Herrington* and ended when Prince Eddie kissed he- er, uh, no wait- that's actually Henry the Sea Witch with Prince Steve's stolen voice... Violence and Magic and A Happily Ever After, Oh My!)

+Eddie Doesn't Give A Fuck About Sleep Paralysis Demon Steve (a bit personal, turned into a Steddie prompt)

📜A Tale in Gifs🍿

—++++—Stories Told in a Montage of Gifs—++++—

+Steve Definitely Doesn't Have A Type: A Steddie Tale in Gifs (+Because I Can't Leave Well Enough Alone, Emotional Damage) (Learned how to make gifs for this post lol took me hours give it some love, my first sort of popular post🤘)

+Eddie Munson the Lunchtime Menace... He Does All His Best Menacing at Tables: A Tale in Gifs (A Montage of Eddie Being Menacingly Innocent 😇👀)

+Steve: If He Fuck Me Good I'll Take His Ass To Red Lobster / Steddie Version / Metal Sandwich Version (🍨⛵🦞)

+The First Time Little Eddie Munson With The Buzzed Hair Gets Called A F*reak, He Is Too Stunned To Speak (Literally, just a sentence ✨with gifs✨ but now I need 100k words, on my desk by Monday morning. Prompto.)

✨everything else you need to know under the cut✨

🪩My Original Posts🪩

#op

+My Singular Piece of Art (Eddie in Disguise/Comparison)

+Jack Whitehall Incorrect Quote/Shipping Gays is the Glue That Holds Fandom Together🤘

+Harry Styles Raps to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Video (if you've never seen this, you're not fully realizing your potential)

+Joe Quinn is Dating Doja Cat? (It only took me a couple minutes to make this gif, skill issue defeated)

+Someone Asked Me "Favorite word?" And I Am A Comedian, So I Said- (you won't regret clicking on this one, here's your first clue that I am hilarious.)

+My Theory on Why Hollywood (And Men™) Thinks All Women Over 30 Are Witches (added to this already hilarious post about the Disney Movie Freaky Friday, your second clue that I am actually the funniest person you don't even know)

🪩Gems You Missed🪩

+ I just realized I caught the GHOST in my haunted house on video 🫥👀💀

+A Break-up Cake Commissioned By Me From The WM Bakery: Mario Kart - "Welcome Back To The Streets" (If We Are Friends, This Is The Kind Of Moves You Can Expect From Me)

+15 Minute Roast Beef and Potato Soup (I make up easy recipes sometimes, ask me about my rotisserie chicken enchiladas with cilantro lime sour cream sauce)

+My Halloween Tree and Blockbuster Wall (About 4,000 DVDs lit up by my Halloween Tree, it's a Spooky Vibe, ask me for a Movie Rec... When I die I'm fixin to haunt the Criterion Closet👻)

+🍯My Dog Honey Watches Scooby Doo / Honey Cuddles Then and Now / Honey Plays Then and Now 🍬 / Honey's Pug-pies: Scooby, Momo, Pickle, and Ponyo

+My 2010 1D Tumblr Origin Story (🤣The true story of how I ended up on Tumblr)

+My Ridiculous Laptop Sticker Collection (feat. Some Steddie Stickers from Raynecreates)

+I'm Allergic to Cats, But I Would Get A Blue Russian to Name Them Comrade, Nickname: Commie (Big Brain Name Game™, Give me some credit and reblog this post🐈‍⬛)

+My High Thoughts About Pyramids (Higher Thoughts💭)

+My Epitaph (My Personal Philosophy, It's A Banger™)

👇Check the #Tags below to narrow down the fun👇

(I go a lil ham with the tags, trying to be thorough, so I'm a safe blog if you utilize tag blocking, search my blog for any of your own interests, you'll most likely strike gold 😂 give it a try if you're curious, or scroll on down and click on a tag)

I RECOMMEND:

#op - posts that I created or I contributed a significant comment to

#personal - if you're trying to see more than just fandom- really get to know me 🥹 also #is it me, #tism, #tis me

#trauma dump and #dream journal - the drama, the tea, the weird dreams that are so ridiculous I had to tell someone, even if it is just shouting it into the void to hear the echo, basically over sharing

#interest - anything that is of interest to me, stuff like #therapy, #linguistics, #anthropology, #sociology, #psychology, #archeology, #movies, #film theory, #politics, basically anything that interests me outside pretty people and shows

#my recipes - I occasionally make up something easy peasy, you like cooking quick churched-up struggle meals?

#thoughts - my own comments/thoughts or posts that made me think, try #high thoughts, #higher thoughts

#comedy - anything that made me #lol

#writing - my own fics and posts I actually contributed commentary to or a lil blurb, or writing inspo and prompts I am interested in, as well as writing resources, tips, etc. #fic prompt

#steddie - probably my most common tag I love them but there's a plethora of tags #steddie art, #steddie fic, #steddie comic

#pretty - it's the boys and the girls and the #aesthetic stuff too

#boys - any of the pretty boys I like to reblog

#femme fatale - pretty girls, alternately #laissez faire

#smile - if you wanna smile, I heard they're contagious and this tag has some beautiful smiles 😁 and a few things guaranteed to bring joy

#spooky - It's #spooky season baby and #halloween is in my veins. We got #spooky art, #house hunting, #halloween decorations, and best of all #spooky steddie

🤌Like this post and I will definitely follow you (*except minors soz)👀

✨REBLOG✨ and we will be ✨MUTUALS✨

[theminecraftbee]

fic masterpost

last updated: august 2024

note that this masterpost does not include tumblr-exclusive fics, because i write those as effectively "sketches"; they're practice and meant to be easy for me, so i deliberately don't 'take them seriously' enough to list them here. (also, there are probably over a hundred at this point.) you can find the tumblr exclusive fics in the tag 'a bee fic' if you're looking for them.

additionally: for ANY of my fics, you can always DM me to ask me to give you spoilers if the tags and summary do not give you enough information to decide if you want to read the fic or if the fic might contain one of your triggers. just let me know in a way i can respond privately, and i will give you that information!

-

multichapter fics

this is about a stuffed bird, hermitcraft, T (warning: a bordeline M), 78k. in which an apocalypse happens that turns much of humanity into horrible monsters, mumbo gets a distressing call from grian and decides to travel across the country to meet him. still my most popular hermitcraft fic and my second-most popular fic overall. heavy on body horror, themes of what makes someone a person, and also evil x is here. i still love the mumbo voice in this, and it even has a complete podfic by quackingfish if you prefer audiobooks.

the continued adventures of the boatem road trip, hermitcraft, T, 28k. a series of events that take place as boatem is trapped in the void together for three months after big moon. originally written as a series of vaguely-connected oneshots on tumblr, gathered here into one place. the ending is a little abrupt, but if you're looking for something with the highest concentration of some of my favorite jokes i've made sitting right next to some good old cosmic horror, this is the fic for you.

the last days of the free angel of carrows, hermitcraft, T, 79k. the angel joe hills and the zombie cleo, owners of the atsign agency, investigate a strange mystery brought to them by pearl, and must save their city as they go. a noir-inspired urban fantasy i originally wrote for a big bang, and still my longest fic! it's got some of my favorite worldbuilding i've done, a great joe-and-cleo plot, a pearl i'm still obsessed with, and so much angel symbolism. if you like aus or urban fantasies, this is the one of my fics you should read.

solving counting sheep, evo, T, 78k. blade-three, living weapon of the watchers, is stolen by martyn after martyn finds its command words and taken home to jimmy to try to rehabilitate. what neither the property police or three itself know is that three is the ultimate fate of grian, their friend who they presumed dead. a fic that is very VERY much about identity and learning who you are, and also plays into many of my favorite living weapon and watcher!grian tropes--as well as subverts them in some heavy ways. probably one of the most personal fics i've ever written, as well. my understanding is that both people who like watcher!grian and people who hate it like this fic, which i take as praise.

the carriers, life series, M, 40k. PET mail (the group made up of Pearl, Etho, and Tango) are mail carriers after the zombie apocalypse, as well as asymptomatic carriers of the zombie virus. when cleo, a person from pearl's past, asks them to bring her a package, they go on a journey that barrels through all three of their pasts. this one is rated M for two specific reasons (both violence) but if you're chill with violence this one turned out pretty well! it is a very me take on a zombie apocalypse, what with the fact that the remnants of heavy industry are almost as much of a threat as the zombies, and a fic that leans pretty heavily on the double life soulmate pairs.

san luis, dream smp, T, 23k, perpetually unfinished. after the other three members of sbi die, philza tries to put back together the pieces. it would be easier if he wasn't hearing their ghosts. this is a fic i'm unfortunately unlikely to finish because it just makes me too sad to write after irl events, but it has some of my best handling of grief, and i know it brings some people comfort. if you don't mind me at my most unrelentingly sad, or are looking for that, i might still recommend it.

in deference to saint george, original superhero work, T, 42k. superhero superball, aka jack harlan, starts dating a customer he meets at the coffee shop he works at, while at the same time dealing with the attacks of the villain dragon and natural disasters. a hero/villain fic with a very ME kind of ending, i am still SUPER PROUD of this. i think the worldbuilding and characters work and it's my proof to myself i can write ow! also, if you've always wanted to read a superhero au from me, good news: this may not be an au, but it's very much exactly that.

-

long oneshots

consequentialism, hermitcraft, M, 5k. as the members of boatem start falling in the boatem hole, their own dead bodies start showing up. peak "WOULD THAT BE FUCKED UP OR WHAT" horror from me, and also the first hermitcraft fic i ever wrote! if you like my horror writing and aren't too squeamish, good news: this exists.

to convey a certain brilliance, hermitcraft, T, 21k. joe hills and zombiecleo slowly, and through many death loops, drag their way out of their collapsed base to try to survive after a lunar apocalypse. this is the second hermitcraft fic i ever wrote and i wrote it before we knew how moon's big would end, inspired by super hostile; people still tell me it has some of their favorite joe characterization.

cura te ipsum, hermitcraft, T, 15k. tango, in a world where the hermatrix is canon, wakes up on-board the hermethius after dying to the moon and has to try to figure out how to cope. still one of my favorite oneshots i've written, full-stop, and the culmination of all my big moon emotions. it can be considered fully canon-compliant, and it's mostly about all the big emotions something like big moon would cause.

jevin's egg disaster, hermitcraft, G, 7k. the eggs from the season nine egg hunt turn into real children. chaos ensues. this is technically sorted into chapters, and written as a series of very short ficlets on tumblr originally. it doesn't really "conclude" as a result. however this is me on pure crackfic and contains my favorite joke i've ever made (it's in chapter 7 if you're wondering) so PLEASE read it if all the rest of my 'everyone talks about their big feelings' is causing you to need a laugh because it WILL make you laugh.

attempt thirty-three, hermitcraft, T, 14k. joe hills experiences the thirty-third loop of the time loop he's been stuck in, trying to save the world from the rift. a fic exploring the idea of "what happens in that middle part of the time loop when you've been there a while, but don't have things solved yet?" if you like joe hills and you also like hurt/comfort, this is very much a fic with both of those things, and some of my best with both of those things.

a thing that is thicker than starlight, hermitcraft, T, 13k. after reuniting on an adventure through space, long-lost siblings cleo and gem return home and try to figure out where they're supposed to fit into each other's lives. written for recursive exchange and based on "out to the galaxy steady she goes" by thedepressedcanary, although this fic stands on its own. it's a vaguely treasure planet-like au, but it's also MOSTLY about the trauma your parents leave you and the feeling of knowing you're supposed to care about someone (but don't know how to yet). this is my sibling feelings fic, read it for sibling feelings.

the inner mechanism of a black box, dream smp, T, 14k. techno is trapped, isolated, in a horrible version of the prison with only his voices for company. still my most popular fic, and also the fic of mine that is most describable as 'whump'. i still really love the techno writing in this one; it may be the first complete thing i posted to the account but it's still good. written before we knew anything about the prison, and so the situation is entirely speculative; also written before 'techno in prison' really became a genre. you can tell both of these things, for both good and ill.

revenant, dream smp, M, 11k. jack manifold descends back into hell in order to drag tommy back up and out with him. written in a fugue state during the like, three days tommy was still dead. jack manifold is way cooler than he deserves in this fic (he is also EXACTLY as cool as he deserves). to be honest i don't remember why i rated this one M, but not stuffed bird? if you can read stuffed bird you can almost certainly read this. has some of my cooler weird formatting decisions in it and a WAY COOLER VERSION OF HELL THAN THE DSMP GAVE US I'LL STAND BY THAT.

bad beat, dream smp, T, 10k. techno goes to play a high-stakes game of poker against quackity, hoping to win insurance for his friends' lives. do you like card games? i like card games. most of this fic is a thriller in which they are playing poker. both people who like and dislike poker like this fic, though, because the thriller elements still work. also, my one take on casino quackity, so if you like quackity, give it a shot.

a kind of playing heartstrings, empires smp, G, 6k. jimmy invites scott to a cod empire gathering. an older fic of mine that's a cute take on empires flower husbands with a LOT of music culture worldbuilding for the codlands! this is just a fic that makes me feel cozy and happy. it is uncomplicated fluff.

survivorship bias, empires smp, G, 9k. an amnesiac jimmy is fished out of the water and into a surviving village that exists a few decades after the rapture, but still a great deal of time before empires season two will happen. a combination of worldbuilding of that transition period and emotions about jimmy, who doesn't remember why he's sad but certainly feels it. i enjoyed meshing different empires cultures together for this a lot!

the perils of updating your vault hunters server before even the public release (seriously who qa checks this), vault hunters smp, G, 9k. in which a bug on the vault hunters server turns all of iskall's friends into cute small children and he has to get them out of a vault again. this one is just an excuse for me to write endless Cute Baby Shenanigans, and if Cute Baby Shenanigans sound like they're your kind of thing, give it a read!

it's a long way down if you want to get up again, yugioh dm, T, 12k. mokuba tries to puzzle out why his brother is acting so strangely; as it turns out, this is because kaiba has recently time traveled. a fic shoving DSoD kaiba into the earliest parts of yugioh. he is very bad as a time traveler, and he's not necessarily making things better, but they aren't necessarily worse. also, a fic with a lot of my feelings about mokuba and seto's relationship, as well as their relationship with gozaburo. the kaibas will always make me feel things.

on burdens, yugioh dm, T, 11k. kaiba realizes that jounouchi is both more complicated than he gave him credit for and probably being abused, which changes his perspective on him. violetshipping, but mostly pre-violetshipping. another fic where i write people playing a card game! it is also as much about kaiba having the world's worst emotional intelligence as it is about kaiba and jounouchi both having shitty dads.

-

selected short oneshots

a question for the dead, life series, G, 1.2k. a script-format fic interviewing the dead players of last life. one of my favorite experiments with formatting of all time, line after line of character study with no wasted words. read it.

different sort of soulmates, life series, G, 926. an aromantic mumbo jumbo hears about double life after the fact, and talks through with grian his fears that he wouldn't have been capable of having a soulmate. cute grumbo friendship and also some feelings about feeling disconnected from the people around you. a personal favorite ficlet of mine.

the long odds, life series, G, 1.8k. martyn is invited to the table with the other writers to play a game. a very meta fic in which martyn plays blackjack with watchers and listeners. this fic is like 80% metafiction and allegory by weight, and i like it very much.

a murder, life series, G, 483. before limited life, jimmy and joel realize it's coming via a flock of birds on empires. a fic both with jimmy and joel's unique friendship and a meta twist on the whole canary thing.

task: answer the following question: do you believe in curses?, life series, G, 1.2k. the surviving members of secret life explain their thoughts on curses. a spiritual successor to 'a question for the dead' and another one of my absolute favorite experiments with formatting. another one with no wasted words that hinges on the character voice of it all.

home, life series, G, 887. cleo and etho have a conversation about their new relationship after secret life, given that cleo's aromantic. man, i love cletho so much, and i also really like the idea of aromantic cleo, so this is my ficlet with both of those things.

do you even lift, bro?, hermitcraft, G, 2.4k. boatem fluff about who can bench press the most members of boatem. this fic is still really cute tbh, not much else to say.

like father, hermitcraft, T, 2k. grumbot prime decides he has to protect grian the same way grian protected grumbot in another world. the horror of being trapped by something you can't escape in a box designed to stop you from hurting yourself; also, the horror of your mistakes coming to haunt you.

forgetful, hermitcraft, T, 977. an interaction between evil x and xisuma near the end of season eight. a ficlet exploring some of my feelings about how season eight evil x can very easily be read as abusive and not even xisuma ever seems to acknowledge that. also, the horror of admin powers in minecraft.

to spite your face, hermitcraft, T, 980. a ficlet where joe gets to be mad about how he was treated by hermitopia during the crossover. i just think i still have so many crossover feelings about joe hills on empires, that's all.

as what you make becomes you, hermitcraft, T, 3.2k. decked out consumes tango, as seen from three perspectives. technically three separate oneshots collected into one fic as one story, the idea of decked out 2 'eating' tango is one of my favorite horror concepts from season 9. this is my execution of it.

missed the shovel talk so this is the next best thing, hermitcraft, T, 941. the rest of the NHO throws a party for doc and then interrogates him about when he even got married to ren in the first place. a goofy, funny fic about the hermits hanging out and being friends. this one is mostly jokes, but i think they're very funny jokes.

-

i also have a number of other 'shorter' oneshots that aren't included here for the sake of the length of the post. to find all of my fics, including those left out of this masterpost, check my ao3! and, as suggested above, browse the 'a bee fic' tag on tumblr to find a collection of everything i've written, including things i either haven't yet transferred to ao3 or will not transfer there.

i hope you enjoy my writing!

[cowboydisaster]

* ˚ ✦ Compass * ˚ ✦

chapter one: La Belle Fleur Sauvage

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 7.9k

summary: modern au; Living out your dreams on a ranch in Colorado; Arthur finally proposes.

a/n: This is a little gift for @margowritesthings. I originally wrote this for you a year ago, but I've rewritten it for you for this christmas. xx

Arthur is nervous, his palms clammy as he pulls a Carharrt t-shirt over his head. The dark hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet as he slowly pulls his clothes on, layering up to defend against the harsh weather. You sleep comfortably in his bed, unaware of Arthur's absence from your side. He slowly approaches, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. You smile in your sleep. 

"Gonna be a good day, darlin'.” He murmurs, pulling the white, fluffy blanket up over your shoulders before stepping out of the room, trying to keep his footsteps quiet.

The coffee machine beeps twice, notifying Arthur that the morning pick me up is finished. Two mugs sit by the machine, as always. But today Arthur doesn't grab his usual, opting instead for a travel mug. It's an old one. One that he'd gotten from some random bank event a while ago, "Strauss Financing" it read. 

He'd used that bank to get a loan for the house and the barn. God– nearly ten years ago now, Arthur realizes. 

The coffee is black and hot, steaming as it's poured into the mug. Arthur leaves the pot on for you before opening the door, and whistling in the direction of the bedroom. He can hear Copper jumping down off the bed, and then he rounds the corner, trotting towards Arthur and out the door. 

"Hey there boy!" Arthur laughs and gives Copper a few pats. He's had the old vizsla about as long as he's had the ranch. Copper follows Arthur outside, happily trotting after the man. Everything outside is coated in a dusting of white. It's the kind of snow that looks like diamonds, where ice clings to the trees and rooftops, but the sun shines down, making everything sparkle. 

When Arthur gets about a hundred feet from the house, with Copper circling around him, he stops and turns around. The log cabin stands proud before him, even after all these years. Arthur had built the place with his bare hands, just him and Copper. 

The Colorado mountains stand proud behind the house, hues of purple and blue painting  their cliffs, the morning rays of sunlight reflecting off of the snow on their peaks.  When he looks at the slowly aging wood of the house, and the warm glow of the porch lights he can't help but smile. It's not the house itself that he is so fond of, it is what you have made the house– a home. 

When the walls were bare, and the house was empty, save for the few pieces of furniture that Arthur could afford, it was incredibly lonely. He tended to the animals and worked on the ranch all day to avoid sitting alone in the house. He spent his evenings at the only bar in town, Pearson's Pub, drinking to forget and to ignore the empty house. 

Things got better once you moved to town, working as a bartender. You warmed the man's cold heart. You were like a breath of fresh air in this old town. You still are. You managed to take his frozen, barely beating heart and melt it in the grip of your soft hands. 

Arthur began to chat with you while you worked. After only a few interactions, he started coming in on the days he knew you would be there. 

Then, one day, he offered to cook you dinner, and you accepted. Now, you lie in his bed, cozy and happy while he plans for the future. Funny, how things work out like that. All those years when Arthur was young, he'd hoped for someone to love. As an adult, he was content with his solitude, until you came along, of course. Divine intervention, you are. 

Copper barks, stomping his paws in the snow, pulling Arthurs attention back to the present. The poor dog is probably cold. The nip in the air makes Arthur's cheeks and nose red, and his breath lingers in the air like a morning fog. 

The truck isn’t far, sitting halfway between the house and the barn. Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking some snow off of his hat as he makes his way towards the old rust bucket. Snow and ice fall from the door frame as Arthur swings it open, leaning in. 

He reaches across the steering wheel, jamming the key into the dash and turning it. He mutters a small prayer when the engine starts to stutter and hiss, but after a few seconds, it turns over. Once the engine is running, Arthur turns the heat the entire way up, setting the knob towards the windshield. 

“Should be right as rain, now, huh, boy?” Arthur smirks, stepping down from the truck, shutting the door. Copper barks, running into the wooden barn where Arthur is heading, stalking the chickens, as Arthur slides through the wooden door. 

He shakes the snow off of his hat, boots clicking on the floor as he grabs a few scoops of feed and dumps them into each horse's trough. Arthur greets each one, scratching behind their ears, patting their necks. He feeds, avoiding stepping on loose hens, until he reaches Boadicea's stall. A warm smile graces Arthur's face at the sight of the old chestnut mare. She brightens up at the man's arrival, and not just because of the feed he carries. Her head tosses as she whinnies for him..

“There's my girl." Arthur hums, dumping the feed, soothed by the sound of her chewing. Arthur scratches the underside of Boadicea's jaw, earning a slight whinny from the older mare. 

"S’a big day today, y'know." Arthur releases a shaky breath as he strokes the mare's neck. Boadicea lips at Arthur's jacket, searching for treats that he doesn't have. 

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

He huffs through his nostrils then, smiling as he pats the mare one last time. 

"You're gonna be a part of it. I'm countin' on you, girl." 

He then looks to the black quarter horse in the stall beside Boadicea. The horse has a star on his forehead, and a thick dark forelock that covers his eyes. When Arthur had gifted you the gelding, you'd named him Whiskey. It was both an homage to the bar where you met Arthur, and your preferred poison. 

"Hey there boy. You better be good for the lady today, ya hear?" 

He pats the horse who is hungrily lapping up his grain and then brings his wrist up to check his watch. The watch ticks quietly, showing the time as being 6:17am. 

Arthur decides that the truck has had plenty long enough to heat up as he makes his way out of the barn, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Copper has gone off, probably chasing birds in the woods, or attempting to play with the cattle. Once he's done playing he will come into the barn for shelter, at least until you wake up and let him back in. 

Arthur's hands are tinted pink with cold as he opens the truck door, sliding in and shutting the cold out. The heat from inside the cab is nothing short of cathartic as it begins to thaw his frozen features, slowly melting away the ice and causing his nose to turn pale again. 

Arthur turns the radio up a bit, driving down the long road towards the city. He tries to avoid Denver as much as possible. The tall, leering buildings are suffocating, reminding him of a very dark time in his life. 

When Arthur's ma and pa died, he was placed into foster care. When he was twelve, he fought with the other kids, even beat a few nasty boys that were older than him. Arthur learned quickly that anger and aggression were the best ways to protect himself. 

He ran from every foster home he was placed into, never having anywhere to go, just running. Arthur slept outside many nights, surrounded by vermin– both rats and people. He was spat on, cursed at, and kicked down by many of the people he encountered. It wasn't until he was fifteen that he found shelter- a home. 

— — —

Arthur's feet pound against the pavement as he runs. The door remains open, swinging, as Arthur barrels down the driveway without shoes. The blacktop is rough on Arthur's feet, scraping and cutting into his heels as he scrambles, but he pushes through, determined to get away from the outskirts of Denver. 

He follows the driveway until it meets gravel, avoiding it by running through the grass, into the forest. Tears stream down his cheeks, rough gasps for breath mixed with raspy sobs erupting from his chest. 

Arthur bolts from yet another foster home– another abuser. He can barely see as the street lights get farther away, but he pushes on faster at the sounds of sirens. Sticks and rocks dig into the soles of his feet, but he continues, terrified. 

In his hand, Arthur clutches a small bag, carrying the few things that remain of Arthur's childhood: his momma's ring, and a photo of her when she was young. His knuckles are white in their grip.

Horror trickles up his spine, sickness twisting his guts and making him sick. Tears prick at his eyes, threatening to send him to the ground 

Did he just kill a man? 

Disgust bubbles up in Arthur's throat as he searches around in the dark forest, looking for somewhere to hide for the night. Not far in the distance is a building with a light on outside, it appears to be a barn. Arthur tries not to think about anything as he stumbles towards the barn, feeling like he may collapse at any second. His arms are wrapped around himself, and he shivers as he parts the barn doors, stepping inside, sheltered from the cold winds.

A few animals grumble at the intrusion, but Arthur can barely hear them. His vision is blurry, breaths coming in quick pants as he trips. He makes it a few steps to a pile of hay, mind fuzzy and body cold. Arthur is exhausted and unable to breathe.

Suddenly his feet are falling away from him and he collapses. The impact is made softer by the pile of hay, but it still knocks the wind out of him. Arthur stares at his blood stained hands as they clutch his mother's things. 

— 

There is a shuffle. A door? Footsteps? They stop. 

"My, my… What on earth do we have here?" A man says, his timbre deep enough to rattle the barn walls. Arthur's eyes flutter but he is not able to open them. 

"Christ, Dutch– the poor boy's covered in blood, he can't be more than sixteen." A second voice chimes in. 

Then Arthur is being hoisted into the air. He tries to fight, but slowly begins to lose consciousness again. 

"Well take him inside, have Bessie and Annabelle fix him up… Once he's awake, we'll find out who he is, and.. what he needs."

— — —

Arthur thinks back on that time with distaste as his truck rumbles loudly through the crowded streets of Denver. Things got better after he found Dutch and Hosea. He stayed with them, working on their ranch for many, many years, and once he turned twenty-five the two gentlemen gifted him one hundred acres, enough to start a small ranch of his own. 

Arthur sits at a red light, not far from his targeted destination. His fingertips tap the steering wheel impatiently as he thinks of that bag, his mothers contents inside. His stomach twists with anxiety. He hasn't been down this street in fifteen years. Muscle memory tightens his lungs as he pulls his truck along the street parking, brakes squealing before he pushes it into park. 

Arthur sighs, eyes glancing up to the ornate, tall buildings before him. It makes his stomach turn. All this money poured into concrete structures when kids are starving in the streets. 

He gets out the truck, straightening his shirt and jacket out of habit, before approaching the golden gate outside of the apartment building. 

It's not long before he's in the elevator.

Arthur goes to knock on the ornate door, knuckles hesitating for a moment before rapping on the wood twice. It's the only barrier between him and the penthouse. 

Arthur plans to make the trip as quick as possible. He’d vowed not to come here ever since the verbal assault had been thrown at him during an expensive dinner. He’d left in shambles, still young and naive. Arthur places his hands behind his back and pushes his shoulders back out of habit when the door swings open.

"Mary." Arthur acknowledges. 

Her voice is soft, her southern accent spilling from her lips, "Arthur?” She seems worried, shocked. Her eyes scan him quickly, identifying that he's not hurt, “Is everything okay? Dutch? Hosea?"

"Yes Mary, everyone's fine." 

Arthur takes note that Mary's father mustn't be home, and he instantly relaxes. His shoulders come down and his hands rest at his sides. 

“Come in.” Mary says, opening the door, gesturing to the white couch in the middle of the living room.

Arthur hesitates at the door, but complies when she starts leading the way. Nothing has changed in all the years that he's avoided this place. The carpet feels the same as he walks across it.  The couch dips under Arthur as it used to when he sits. 

Mary sits on a chair across from him. The couch he's sitting on is far more comfortable than the one at home, but he prefers the quiet oak house compared to this busy modern apartment. 

She looks to Arthur, her eyes curious. He hesitates, eyes unsure where to land– dancing between Mary's eyes and the floor. 

"I-” He starts speaking and then stops a few times, before taking a breath, getting the words out, “I've met a woman…” 

A pang hits Mary right in the chest, but she hides it well. 

“Happened a few years ago." Arthur speaks low and quiet, his timbre is deep as he explains. Mary remains quiet and allows him to continue, eyes drifting towards the windows, mind caught up in memories that threatens to pull her under.

"She's a fine woman Mary, and… Well, I'm gonna ask her to marry me." 

Arthur looks up to Mary then, her dark eyes contrasting his own. She has a puzzled look on her face as she replies, 

"Arthur, I'm happy for you, but I’m afraid I don't understand…? Did you come all this way just to tell me–”

“Mary…” Arthur whispers, cutting off her snowballing thoughts, redirecting her to the point that he is trying to get across without being harsh. Without demanding. 

She stops in her tracks then, realization dawning upon her, “Oh. I see.” She smiles, bittersweet. Arthur can see the regret in her eyes. He is quick to ease the tension, leaning forward, trying to soothe the old wounds that Mary has yet to heal. 

"I'm sorry, Mary, I am– that things didn't work out between you and I, but– it means a lot to me, and there's no other-”

Arthur is stopped in his tracks as Mary raises her hand to stop him, “It belongs to you, Arthur. She should have it, really.” Mary smiles sincerely. 

She loves Arthur, though she'll never admit it. She loves him enough to let him go, to let him be loved by someone he deserves. Mary doesn't know you, but she knows that since he came here, for this– you must be deserving of his love.

Mary places her pale hand up, signaling Arthur to wait as she stands and disappears into the doorway towards her room.

Arthur fiddles with his hands, emotion bubbling up as he waits. This is the final obstacle. Once he has his this item back he will be able to give you what you deserve, and if you accept, Arthur will be the happiest man alive. 

Mary rounds the corner, her lips pulling into a bittersweet smile, a few tears dripping down her cheeks. There is a small black box in her hand, extended out to Arthur.

His green eyes transfix on the box. The one he hasn’t seen in almost fifteen years. Arthur places his hands on his knees to push himself off of the couch, staring in disbelief at the old thing. 

It is carefully placed in his hands, and he slowly creaks the lid open, staring. It's a gold band, with a ruby placed in the center, and intricately placed diamonds on either side of the gemstone. It’s the one thing he has that ties the man he is now, to the happy young boy he used to be- when he was good. It was his momma's. One of the only things he has left of her. Arthur closes the box, tucking it away into his pocket. 

“Best of luck to you, Arthur.” Mary whispers, a sad smile on her lips. 

“Thank you, Mary.”

The ride home is quiet, for the first half anyway. As soon as Arthur is out of the city, back on dirt roads, he switches the old truck stereo on. A familiar song is playing, one that's been bringing him quite a bit of comfort in the past weeks. 

“Now I know the only compass that I need”

He smiles. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other rests on his jean pocket. He palms at the box as he drives, making sure it doesn’t slip away. 

“Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

His voice is deep, rumbling in his chest as he taps his left foot against the floorboards of his truck. He thinks of you, riding your horse, smiling, of your hair in a messy bun and you in his too-big t-shirts. He thinks of how you love him, with a passion and a fervor. 

“Now I know the only compass that I need Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

He thinks of when you met for the first time, your fates tying together in ways you never could have imagined.

— — —

Arthur enters the old bar, same as he does most every night. It's the same bar he's been going to for fifteen years now. Contrary to some of the other fools here, he doesn’t always drink when he comes here. Sometimes, he just sits at one of the tables, drawing the scenery.

Arthur comes here to drown out the silence of the house, to get away from the loneliness that he refuses to admit is swallowing him whole.

Tonight, he walks around the tables that adorn the small place, straight up to the bar, sitting down in his usual seat. The place is busy tonight. Arthur assumes there's a game being played, or a rodeo on the tv, but he doesn’t ask. Plenty of patrons sit around the bar, most with women or men in their clutches. Laughter and the sound of glasses being slammed on the bar fill the air, and a neon light flickers on the wall.

Arthur is all too aware of the familiar atmosphere around him, and yet somehow, he misses the new bartender serving tonight. Typically Pearson himself is behind the bar, but tonight someone else is handing out drinks. 

Arthur knocks on the bar once, eyes watching the TV in front of him, a bulldogging competition. Suddenly, a form slides in front of him, blocking his view of the television. He adverts his attention to the person blocking his view, and his eyes go wide. 

You stand in front of him, smiling and whipping a bar towel over your shoulder. 

“What can I get for you, mister?” You ask, wiping your hands against each other. 

Your eyes twinkle like they're among stars, and Arthur is sure that he’s never seen a smile so bright. He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, basking in your beauty. Your hair is not tied up, and it falls down, cascading over your shoulders.

Your black long sleeved shirt is tight, clinging to your figure, but Arthur is caught up in your eyes. He shakes his head lightly before responding. 

“Yeah, uh… Sorry– just get me the strongest drink ya got. Make it neat.”

Arthur's typical order is a bourbon on ice, or a beer, but tonight he's going to need something stronger. Everyone knows everyone in this small town, but you're a new face, and Arthur can already feel the singe of the hot brand, burning you into his memory.

“Coming right up.” You raise a curious eyebrow, wondering about this man’s choice of drink. With your interest piqued, you grab a rocks glass and a bottle of patrón, pouring a few fingers of golden liquid into the glass, sliding it across the bar. 

“Have one for ya’self too.” Arthur tosses a bundle of cash onto the bar. 

“Thank you, mister.” You smile, pouring yourself the same drink. 

You eye the mysterious cowboy curiously, noticing the softness hidden behind his rough features. He is attractive, very attractive, with dirty blonde hair, and a five o’clock shadow that exaggerates the scars on his lip and chin. His eyes are hidden from you by a dark cowboy hat, until he peers up and you are met with the most strikingly beautiful, bright, blue-green eyes you've ever seen. 

You have to look down to hide the blush that creeps up on your cheeks from being caught in the act of staring. If he notices your gaze, he doesn’t say anything. Both of your crystal glasses are set on the bar as you lean onto it with your elbows. 

“You ain't from around here, are ya?” Arthur asks. You smirk. The ruckus from the bar seems to die down in your ears. Even your busy mind quietens as you focus on the peculiar man before you. 

“Is it that obvious?” You laugh, “No, I'm not from here, just moved.”

Arthur hums, content. There's an amused sparkle in his eyes. 

“How'd you know?” You ask, wondering what gave it away. What's making you an outsider? You moved here to get away, to blend in. Anxiety curls in your stomach at the thought of being found. 

“Well, miss, you’re far kinder, n’ far prettier than anyone in this old town… Don't help that everyone knows everyone here. We don't come by new faces much.”

Your anxiety quells, cheeks blushing a deep crimson, and after a moment, you raise your glass slightly, angling it towards his. 

“Well thank you kindly, mister.” You hum. 

“Arthur.” He corrects, clinking his glass against yours, swallowing down a swig of the burning liquid. You cock your head, not tracking at first. 

“My name's Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” He reiterates, and you smile. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur Morgan.”

— — —

Your eyes flutter open slowly. The first thing that meets your eyes is the vase of purple flowers on your bedside table. The morning light hits them beautifully, reflecting off of their vase, refracting on the deep purple petals. 

A wave of realization dawns over you.

Sunlight? What time is it?? 

You sit straight up in bed, eyes immediately seeking the alarm clock on Arthur’s nightstand. It reads 9:25am and your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit!”  You curse, swinging your legs out of bed, body barely covered by your cotton shorts and cami.

You feed the horses at 6am every day. Today your alarm mustn't have gone off.  You feel terribly, knowing that the horses must be starving. You frown, hair messily falling around your shoulders as you hurry to your dresser. 

A piece of paper sits on the mahogany, and you hesitate in your rush, placing your pointer finger on the paper and reading its contents. 

Fed the horses so you could sleep in. I had to run into town real quick. Should be back before lunch. Call if ya need anything, Sweetheart. Coffee is hot in the pot for you and Copper is outside. - A

The panic leaves your chest, replaced with warmth as you pocket the note, pulling your slippers on as you move towards the kitchen. 

Arthur is always doing this for you, taking on little tasks to remove some weight from your shoulders. Doing anything he can to ease your troubles. He knows that you've been crazy busy with work lately, as horse training always picks up in the winter, and he's been doing everything he can to help. 

You hum a tune as you round the corner, hand trailing along the smooth oak wall. Your slippers are soft and quiet against the floor as you enter the kitchen, eyes trained to where the black coffee pot rests on the counter top. 

You grab your clay mug, the one you'd made back when you were taking pottery classes, and you fill it with black coffee and a splash of cream.

Wrapping one arm around your torso, you move to the glass french doors in the kitchen, overlooking the barn and the pastures. You sip at your coffee, eyes slipping closed as the coffee wakes you up, the warm liquid heating down your cold bones. Your eyes trail over your farm, the brown and black cattle, starkly contrasting the snow. Snowflakes flutter past the glass as you watch the sun peeking behind a few pine trees in the yard. 

Copper runs through one of the pastures, throwing a stick up into the air and then grabbing it in his maw. You can’t help the smile that graces your lips. 

You head back towards your room, pulling out a pair of jeans. They hug your hips and waist, but leave room for your boots to lay under your pants at the hem. You pull on a long sleeved black shirt and your beige ranch coat before leaving your room and pulling your boots over your socks. 

With one last swig, you finish the last sip of your coffee and set it in the otherwise empty sink before opening the glass door and stepping out into the elements. 

You expect the cold to wind-whip your face, but it doesn’t. Instead, the sun shines down, adding some resistance to the cold weather. It causes the snow and ice to sparkle like diamonds as your boots crunch through the snow. 

You push the barn door aside, heart humming at the warm sound of nickering horses. 

“Alright. Who's up first?” You hum, looking to the chalkboard on the wall. It's outlined with feeding schedules, medication times and dosages, and your training schedule.

You find the designated box for today, seeing that today you'll be getting your work cut out for you. You're working with Doob, a seal brown thoroughbred, off the track, with more energy than he knows what to do with. His owners had brought him in for a bucking problem, one that you're already beginning to curb. 

You make your way down the aisle until you find his stall, promptly grabbing his dark green halter and slipping it over his head. 

“C'mon, boy.” You whisper, petting behind his ears, “You're just a big sweetheart, aren't you?” You chuckle as he nuzzles your palm. Of all the client horses, he's definitely carved a home in your heart. He’s a funny little horse, a character. You'll be a bit sad to send him back when you’re finished, but you know his owners will treat him right. 

A short walk through the snow leads you both to the round pen. You leave him loose in the small pen, and he immediately starts running. 

“Yeah, here we go.” You hum, cold biting your nose. You grab a green lasso from the fence post, moving him up with it, pushing him forward as he runs around the pen.

“Good boy.” You call, “Easy does it.” 

Doob gets his energy out, running to his heart's content, wind flying through his long black mane. You just let him run, only correcting when he tosses a buck or kicks. After a long while of working, he eventually becomes tired out.

“That's a good boy, whoa now.” You cue, and he stops on a dime, turning towards you, walking into the center of the circle. Your head turns at the sound of a rumbling truck, and your eyes brighten at the familiar sight of Arthur coming down the lane. 

“Good job, Doob. That's all for today. You go on and play now.” You smile, handing a treat out to the thoroughbred. He takes it happily before you remove his halter, letting him out into the pasture with the other client horses. He'll surely run off more steam out there. 

A few snowflakes are stuck in your hair, and your nose is already turning red as Arthur steps down from his truck. You make your way to him, ignoring the chill in your bones, and leaning towards the warmth before you. 

“Hey, baby.” You smile as he turns to you, shutting the door to his truck. Arthur smiles back, his hands extending as he grabs your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips are cold compared to his, and he runs his hand up and down your arms to warm you up. 

“Shit darlin’, you’re froze. I was gonna ask if ya wanted to go for a ride but-” 

His eyes go wide as you jump a little, gripping at his coat with your cold hands, interrupting him.

“No, I wanna go for a ride! I'm not too cold, I've got more clothes in the barn.” 

He chuckles, his warm breath creating a fog in the air as he hugs you tightly. You've never turned down a trail ride, not in all the time you've known him. 

“Alright, why don’t you start tackin’ up the horses. I gotta run in the house quick. I'll grab some food too. We can have a picnic.” His deep voice rumbles against your ear as he holds you in his embrace. 

“Okay, I'll grab the horses. Oh- grab the chocolate, okay? The good kind. There's some in the cupboard above the sink.”  

Arthur chuckles, “Sure thing, darlin’.” 

You go to pull away from Arthur, but before you're fully released from his grasp, he gently pulls you back by the chin, catching you in another kiss. He hums against your lips, and you relax into him, allowing him into your mouth. He chases after the taste of you.

After a few seconds, another light peck– or two– you pull away from each other. When your eyes slowly flutter upwards, you see intense emotion in Arthur's eyes. Love. 

Arthur loves you, and he always makes sure to display it, but he's being extra affectionate today, which has your eyebrow raising in curiosity. 

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you chuckle, hands resting on the thick blue fabric of his wool coat. You look up at him with those sparkling eyes, and he falls in love with you all over again. The snow has made your nose pink and cold, and Arthur leans down to kiss it.

“Cause I love you,” Arthur pulls away, “Now, go tack up those horses. I'll grab us a snack.” you peel away from him then, shaking your head. 

One whistle for Copper, and the orange flash is running down from the pasture. Then, he's at your feet, whining happily. The snow crunches and creaks against your boots as you lean to pet the dog, and you both look at Arthur’s back as he opens the door to the house. 

“Your daddy’s actin’ weird today.” You whisper, curiously eyeing the blue coat that moves through the door. Copper barks, as if he is trying to explain, but Arthur had sworn the dog to secrecy. 

You pet Copper before standing up and brushing the snow off of your knees. When you step into the barn,you’re immediately surrounded by the soothing smell of oats and hay. The warm scents envelop you, and wrap you up like the warmth of the barn. 

By the time you have both Boadicea and Whiskey fully tacked up, Arthur is walking through the front barn doors. He pushes the door open wide enough for your horses to step through. 

“So where are we ridin’ to today? Maybe we could trail down to the creek? It's beautiful this time of year.” You ask, pulling yourself up into the saddle. The cold leather sends a chill down your spine as you rub at your thigh in an attempt to make warmth.

Arthur shakes his head lightly as he climbs up into the saddle, “Actually I was thinkin’ we’d go on up to the overlook today…”  

The overlook? You hum. Typically you and Arthur only go to the overlook for special occasions. The last time you'd gone up there was about a year ago. It's a special place. 

You both had said your first admissions of love there, let the words pour down into the plains below. Your first kiss with Arthur was at the overlook. 

But the overlook doesn’t just house good memories. You and Arthur had split up, briefly, a few years ago. The separation took place there. It’s a place of much love and heartache, it's you and Arthur’s spot. 

“Okay, sure… It’s been quite a while since we’ve been up there.” You respond quietly, curiously. Anxiety swirls in your stomach, but you push it down. 

You and Arthur trot beside one another, carried by your mounts. The air is chilly, but your heart is toasty warm as you and Arthur chat, laughing and smiling as you go. The ride to Horseshoe Overlook is a long one, and you make the most of the time as you and Arthur ride through the bright snow. 

“I'll race ya cross’ this hill up here.” Arthur drawls, his lips ticking up in a smile as he looks at you from under the brim of his hat. 

You eye the hill in front of you. It's open, probably over one hundred yards. The snow isn’t deep over the grass and it doesn’t appear to be slippery. Adrenaline seeps through your veins as you eye it, swirling and pumping through your heart, flicking the hairs on your neck up like static electricity.

“Alright then…” You adjust yourself on Whiskey, preparing to run.

“Get ready…get set–” You are cut off as the wind whips your hair and Boadicea starts charging forward. Your jaw drops and you watch Arthur barrel ahead of you. Quickly, you spur Whiskey and kiss and cluck to move him forward. 

“You cheated!!” You scream loudly, trumping the sound of pounding hooves. 

Determination sets in your bones then, and you lean forward, spurring the horse forward with every ounce of might in your body. Whiskey shoots forward until he is running side by side with Arthur’s mare.

“I don't play dirty, mister!” You yell in Arthur’s direction. Hooves are pounding loudly against the snow. The two horses are breathing heavily, each determined to win their own races. You see Arthur laugh, but he stops when you spur Whiskey, charging forward. 

Arthur curses as you shoot ahead of him and Bo. Whiskey's hooves kick up snow as he passes, sending it flying into Arthur's face. It slows him down, giving you the advantage. 

You and Whiskey run hard until you reach the top of the hill, and Whiskey slides into a deep stop right before reaching the tree line. After ten seconds, Arthur and Boadicea are at the top as well, stopping hard and breathing heavily. 

“Dammit woman, you can ride, I'll give ya that.” Arthur pants, face wind-whipped as you ride up beside him and lean over your saddle to kiss him. 

His lips are cold, as are yours, but the kiss is still alight with warmth. You grip onto the collar of his shirt, not releasing when your lips pull away from one another. If anything, your grip tightens on his collar as you eye him.

“I know.” You smirk, winking at Arthur as you pull away and canter your horse away from him, and towards the entrance to the overhang.

He watches you canter on, shaking his head. 

“You are somethin’.” He jests, trotting after you.

When the trees break, you nearly gasp. Though you have been here a handful of times, it always steals your breath away. You can see the house and barn in the distance, separated from you by miles and miles of white snow. Evergreens stand tall, dusted white, with a few herds of elk at their trunks. You can see for miles, past the house and to the tall blue mountains far in the distance. 

“So beautiful.” You murmur, eyes bright with wonder. 

“Sure is…” Arthur whispers, eyes not on the landscape, but on you. 

You hop down from Whiskey, patting him for his good work, and offering him the same treats that you'd offered Doob earlier. You always keep a few extra in your pocket. 

You walk towards the cliff, keeping a safe distance from the drop. Your eyes flutter over the rolling hills and plains before you. Everything seems so quiet up here. Troubles seem so far away. Unique snowflakes slowly drop from the sky, dusting your hair and coat with white diamonds. 

Boots crunch in the snow behind you, stopping just a foot from your back. You smile, but don't turn around when Arthur's chest presses against your back. One of his hands wraps around your middle while the other, unbeknownst to you, rests on the small black box in his coat pocket. 

The serenity of the overlook envelopes your senses as you breathe in deeply. The cold air carries notes of pine and sap, familiar scents that comfort you.

“Love you, y'know.” Arthur hums, leaning down, pulling your hair away from your neck, kissing the soft skin under your ear. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you turn in his embrace, chest to chest. 

“You’re actin’ strange, Arthur. Are you feelin’ okay?” You chuckle. 

Arthur exhales sharply, otherwise ignoring your question. Instead, he pulls you up onto your tiptoes, your boots on top of his as he kisses you. 

You melt under his touch, kissing Arthur feels like your muscles relaxing after a long day’s work, like rain after a drought. Kissing Arthur feels like coming home. He's been kissing you all day, unable to pull himself away from you. 

You pull away only for a quick breath before your lips meet again. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, straining on your toes to remain in contact with his lips. Arthur pulls away with a bite to your lip, smiling when he sees how yours are plump and swollen. 

The wind brushes Arthur’s hair into his face as he backs up, pulling you by your hand. He has placed a thick wool blanket on the snow for you two to sit on. You plop down on the blanket beside Arthur, your head resting on his shoulder. Your head rests on his shoulder. Heat radiates from the man, and you are glad for the extra protection from the cold.

“So what snacks did you bring, baby?” you ask, curiously peaking into the bag that Arthur has laid on the blanket. 

“Alcohol.” He says plainly. You laugh, smacking Arthur in the arm as he chuckles. 

“And your chocolates.”

“Arthur!” You chide as he hands you a bottle of golden liquid. You peer at the label. 

It's patrón. You quirk a brow at the drink of choice. Arthur rarely buys the expensive tequila. Curiously, you pull the round cork out from the neck of the bottle and take a small swig. The alcohol burns its way down your throat, warming you from the inside. 

You don't mind the burn, watching as a pair of pronghorn bucks fight in the hills below you. Their hooves slip in the snow as they each attempt to win their battle. Your hands numbly grip the neck of the bottle as you pass it back to Arthur. 

You huff before you speak, “I can’t believe we’re here Arthur. After everything we’ve been through we can just… live now…” You pull your knees up, curling more into his chest. Your past hangs over you, haunting you like a dark cloud. Bit by bit, Arthur has been helping you to push it away, to heal and move on. Today is a good reminder of that progress. 

His hands place the tequila in yours, and you down a swig.

“S’ like your readin’ my mind, sweetheart.”

You smile up at Arthur then, placing your hand on his stubble.

“Y’know this is the first place you told me you loved me…” Arthur says, low and quiet. You smile, the good memories filling your heart as Arthur continues,

“Also the first place I kissed ya…  a lot ‘a memories up here.” 

Your stomach flutters at his words, your brain is flooded with warm memories of Arthur and you in the overlook. 

“C'mere.” Arthur whispers, smiling, taking a shaky breath. Your eyebrows furrow together. but as he stands and extends his hand, you take it. Arthur pulls you up, hands in his own. 

The overlook is beautiful in front of you, serene and perfect. A moment he'd capture with a camera if he had one with. Whiskey and Boadicea watch on from the treeline, ears perked up. They know what's about to happen. Arthur's been telling them about it every day for months. 

“I love you.” Arthur whispers, deep and serious. His eyes soften, and your heart begins to pump loudly in your ears. A delicious red flushes into your cheeks.

“I love you too, Arthur… but why are you.. what's going on?” Your voice is higher than usual, eyes sparkling bright with wonder, reflecting the sun and the white snow.

It isn’t unusual for Arthur to admit his feelings to you, but there are too many factors for this to be a coincidence. Arthur was ‘shopping in town’ all morning, but had come home empty handed. He brought you out to your special spot, bought you your favorite expensive tequila– and is treating you with such delicacy, and love, that butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

Arthur huffs, letting out a humorous chuckle and looking up to the sky, projecting a short prayer, before he holds your hands a little tighter and begins.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible.” He looks away from you for a split second, staring at the ground, before anchoring himself in your eyes again, and continuing, “I didn’t think my life was goin’ nowhere before I met you… I gave up in my twenties, said I wasn’t gettin’ attached to anyone.” Arthur admits, and you frown. You know about his past. You've talked about it, and now you're trying to show him how much he deserves to be loved. 

“I stood by that for a long time…” Arthur's lips crack into a beautiful smile, a chuckle falling over them, “And then you stumbled along.” A single tear drips down his cheek, and landing in the snow below. Your eyes are threatening to overflow with tears of your own.  

“Arthur…?” You whisper, voice cracking. He squeezes your hands reassuringly. 

“You showed me what it felt like to be loved. And love ain't somethin’ I've felt in many a years.” Arthur pauses, gathering his words. A few tears trail down your cheeks, and Arthur’s thumb wipes them away.

“You make me want so much more outta life. You make me wanna wake up every day and work on this ranch, take care of these animals. You make me want a family. I wanna wake up n’ watch our kids playin’ from the window.” 

“But what I want most in life? More than anything…?” A pause ensues, his loving, green eyes locked onto yours, “I want to be with you, every day, for the rest of my life.” 

Arthur thinks back to the song he had been listening to earlier on the way home from the city.

“As long as my compass keeps pointin’ to you, I’ll be where I belong… I’ll be home.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you gasp as Arthur reaches into his pocket, kneeling down on one knee in the snow. 

He looks up at you, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other extending out the black box. Arthur snaps the ring box open, presenting a stunning gold ring to you. The band is adorned with a ruby, and several small diamonds decorate the sides of the gem. Your hands come up to your mouth, as Arthur looks up to you, smiling. 

“This was my Momma's…” Arthur explains, and your eyes flicker down to his, “You’ve already made me the happiest man alive… and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you… So, would you do me the honor–”  Arthur chokes up, “Would you marry me?” 

He looks into your teary eyes, holding the ring box a little higher as he asks the question. You wipe the tears away from your eyes, sight locking onto the scene, wishing you could etch it into your memory forever.

Your head frantically nods, tears flowing down your cheeks as you cry tears of joy, “Yes, Oh, Arthur–of course. Yes, yes!” 

Arthur smiles the brightest that you’ve ever seen, standing before you and slipping his mother’s ring onto your ring finger. The band fits you perfectly, and you marvel at it for a second before Arthur’s arms wrap around your waist. He lifts you up into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist, laughing and crying, overcome with a happiness unlike any other. Your heart leaps with love and passion for the man in front of you.

His lips crash against your, wet tears dripping down your face as you kiss him. Your hands entangle into the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck as you both kiss, pulling apart only to breathe or to laugh. The kiss is deep, bodies singing with love, energy overflowing from the both of you. He keeps kissing you, over and over again, never wanting to leave the taste of your lips. 

You pull apart, foreheads pressing against eachother's, his hands on your thighs, keeping you off the ground. 

“I love you so much darlin’.”

“I love you too.” You whisper against him, the happiest you have ever been. 

The ring rests on your finger as you kiss Arthur again, senselessly. The band of rubies and diamonds holds promises of a future, of a marriage  and a life with him.

As the wind rustles through your hair, carrying your joy so far down the mountains that it can be felt radiating even miles away, you can’t think of anything you could ever want more than that promise.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[cinnamostar]

02: self-fulfilling prophecy

part one.

pairing : jisung x gn!reader

summary : han jisung, the man who is incapable of maintaining a relationship for more than a few months. han jisung, the man who is in complete denial that maybe he is the problem. han jisung, the man who has convinced himself he isn’t meant for love.

wc : 4.6k

cw : not proof read, nonidol!au, angsty, sad, discusses insecurities in romance, sappiness, very dialogue heavy

a/n : if you haven't read part one, pls do! i hope you guys enjoy part two :') i didn't have a p2 planned when i originally wrote this, so i hope this is still good and an ending you guys will be happy with! <3 as always feedback is appreciated

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you exited Jisung’s apartment building, your body on the verge of collapsing as your emotions choked your breathing, your heart feeling as if it had just fallen and shattered inside your chest. Each breath you took caused the emotional pressure on your chest to hurt more, feeling as if your airways had been constricted by your own agony. 

The dreary, rainy weather matched your mood as your legs carried you into the direction of Minho’s apartment, knowing it was the only place close enough for you to walk to at this time of night. The rain began to strengthen, the drops attacking your skin as your hair and clothes soaked it all up, a cold wind causing your body to shiver as you stumbled up the steps to Minho’s apartment. Your fists hurriedly knocked against the door, hoping Minho would somehow be able to sense the urgency behind it as your lips trembled in a poor attempt to stifle your cries.

Minho opened his door, his eyes widened at the sight of your distressed face, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside his home without a second thought, “Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?”

You tried to respond, but all that came out of your mouth was a gut wrenching sob, your body finally deciding to give up on maintaining appearances as you conceded to the stabbing pain your heart just suffered.

Minho stood there with panic rising in his body as he tried to piece together what could’ve left you in this state, unsure on how to comfort you in this moment. “Hey, it’s okay now, I’m here. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll let you borrow some clothes? I’ll make you some tea in the meantime and then we can talk.”

You nodded thankfully at Minho, sniffling as he led you to the bathroom, handing you a bag to place your drenched clothes in, as well as a neatly folded pile of fresh clothes and a towel. 

You entered the shower, letting the water warm your shivering body that had just been brutalized by the cold rain. Your tense muscles slowly began to relax under the heat of the water, giving you a much needed respite from the weight of your emotions. Despite the momentary calm the shower gave you, tears still escaped your eyes, blending in with the water that cascaded from the showerhead.

After drying yourself and changing into the clothes Minho had given you, you found him sitting at the kitchen table with two mugs of tea waiting to be drunk. He smiled when he noticed you approaching, almost relieved to see how significantly calmer you had looked. As you sat down, he slid one of the mugs towards you, motioning for you to take a drink. 

“Did the shower help?”

You brought the mug to your face, blowing it gently to cool it down while nodding, “It did, thank you,” tears still pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You placed the mug down on the table, taking in a sharp inhale as your chest tightened at his question as you recalled Jisung’s words, tears, once again, making their presence known. You did your best to get through your words, but your quivering voice revealed the hurt you were experiencing, “Well, I was with Jisung before I came…”

You squeezed your eyes shut in a feeble attempt to hold back a sob, “And I thought everything was fine, but out of nowhere,” you tried to rush through your sentence, but the overwhelming anguish you were feeling took control as you began to bawl.

Minho instinctively reached for your hand that was resting on the table, rubbing his thumb on your hand to soothe you, “Take your time, we have all night if you need, okay?”

Taking a few more moments to collect yourself, you continued on, “Out of nowhere, he told me he didn't think we were going to work and I… I don’t know, I just left. I feel so stupid right now,” you cried, your eyes puffing up from all the tears you were shedding. 

Minho remained quiet for a moment, confused at his best friend’s actions while trying to find the right words, “Did he say why?”

You sighed while shaking your head, feeling guilty that you had let your panicked mind take control of you in that moment, “N-no, I didn’t even give him the chance, I just… Left… I don’t know, I just didn’t want to hear it. It was only going to make me feel worse and it just felt like he led me on, like all the rumors were true,” you weeped, “I should’ve listened to Hyunjin and Seungmin.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, it must’ve been a lot to take in at once,” he spoke softly, still leaving a comforting hand atop of yours, “But I don’t think you’re stupid, there’s nothing wrong with taking a chance at love.”

“I don’t know, I’m just really sad right now.”

“That’s okay, you’re allowed to be. Is there anything I can do that would help you? Do you want me to call anyone over? Get you something to eat?”

You sniffled, nodding your head, “Could you see if Hyunjin and Seungmin can come over? But please tell them what happened, I don’t wanna say it again.”

“Of course, I’ll do that right now.”

“And can you check on Jisung? He was… he was crying a lot when I left. I want to make sure he’s okay too.”

Minho smiled, “Okay, I’ll have the boys come over and then I’ll head over to his place once they get here. Sounds good?”

You nodded, feeling grateful for Minho’s kindness and patience, but also relieved to know that Jisung would have someone to talk to soon enough.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Minho lightly knocked on the door of Jisung’s apartment, anxiously waiting for the younger boy to open the door, his phone in hand ready to call if he took too long. From the other side of the door, he could hear hurried footsteps scramble towards the door as Jisung swung the door open, his face red and swollen from crying.

Jisung’s eyes widened in surprise and confusion, the hope he had in his eyes disappearing, “Minho? What are you doing here? I thought you were Y/N-”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Huh?”

“They showed up to my place crying and told me what happened.”

“Oh,” Jisung’s face fell into a somber expression as he tried to stammer out an explanation, “Look, listen, please don’t be mad-”

Minho shook his head, letting himself in and gestured to Jisung to follow him in as he sat on the couch, “I’m not mad, I’m worried.”

Jisung gulped, unsure where this conversation was leading as he sat next to Minho, his brain exhausted from the millions of emotions he had been flipping through.

“Jisung, I thought you loved Y/N-”

“I do! I really do, I love them more than anything and anyone, I know that for a fact,” he sighed heavily as he felt his heart tremble in his chest, the pit of guilt growing deeper and deeper, “But I’m scared, I’m really scared.”

Minho let out a deep breath as he ran his hands through his hair, perplexed at his best friend’s words, “Of what exactly?”

“Of hurting them! Of not meeting their expectations, failing them, all of it. I’ve never been a good partner in the past, everyone knows this,” he muttered out each word with shame, “And I just didn’t want to ruin their image of me, I didn’t want to risk hurting them like I’ve done to everyone else… They’d be much happier if we were just friends.”

Jisung tried to blink away his tears, struggling to put in everything he was thinking into a coherent string of words as he nervously scanned Minho’s face, trying to figure out what the older boy was feeling.

“Okay, I can see where you’re coming from, but didn’t you just hurt them anyway? Didn’t you just do the opposite of what you wanted to?”

Jisung stood silent for a moment, not being able to deny any of Minho’s words, “Well, yes, but it was for the best. It’s better to end it now than later because it would hurt more then, right? I would rather hurt them like this than fail them as a partner.”

“I say this with all the love in the world, but Jisung, you’re being an idiot.”

The two stared at each other, waiting for one to make a move. On one end, Minho was hoping Jisung would be able to realize the stupidity in his behavior, while on the other, Jisung was completely dumbfounded and awaited Minho to further explain himself.

Realizing Jisung was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, Minho continued on, “Jisung, look. Everyone knows how much you love Y/N, okay? It’s so obnoxiously obvious, plus I’ve never seen you be so caring and attentive to anyone before. Clearly, they hold a special place in your heart, right?”

Jisung nodded timidly, letting out a small hum in agreement as that was all he could manage while he silently wept.

“It’s okay to be afraid, especially with what you’re struggling with, but just because you’re afraid doesn’t give you the right to make that decision for Y/N,” Minho leaned forward as he looked into Jisung’s eyes as he tried to convey the importance of his message, “Did you even think to consider how Y/N would feel? They know about your past,  Jisung. Even Hyunjin warned them about you, but you know what? They still took that risk with you, and you were quickly proving them wrong before now.”

Minho sighed once more, “Jisung, it’s okay to be afraid, but you cannot make every decision so selfishly when there are other people involved. Y/N isn’t dumb, but they like you and want to take that chance with you. They like you despite your insecurities and flaws. You should’ve told them how you were feeling, but most importantly, they’re allowed to make their own choices. Let them choose to love you, don’t take that away from them.”

Wiping his tears away with his hands, Jisung jutted out his bottom lip in a pout as he sniffled, “They… they probably hate me now, I think it’s best I leave them alone.”

Minho rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch, still looking at Jisung, “Jisung, why don’t you stop assuming things for other people and find out from them directly?”

“But-”

“Y/N told me to check on you because they were worried. Just talk to them. If you truly love them, you’ll talk to them.”

With hands in his pockets, Minho made his way to the front door, “I have to go home, but you better talk to them. I’ll be really disappointed in you if you don’t.”

After Minho’s sentence, all that followed was the sound of the door shutting and the soft cries of Jisung, who was being eaten up by both guilt and anxiety, fearing how angry his friends must be at him. Part of him felt relieved that Minho was the first person he spoke to as his words brought him some sort of comfort, yet the overwhelming remorse and humiliation roared loudly in his mind. 

Doubt and confusion lingered in him as he processed Minho’s words, unsure if you’d even be willing to talk to him after this. In his world, he thought after the hurt he had just inflicted on you, he was even less deserving of you. His irrational behavior and his instinct to react based on his fears and insecurities served as more proof that he was not fit for a relationship, that you were better off with someone who had a better grasp of who they were and what they wanted.

Yet, while he thought what he was doing was for your benefit, he hadn’t considered once how you’d feel and how this would impact you, especially considering how you both were practically acting like a couple at this point. Especially after he told you he needed more time, but then completely flipped that on its head and left you out in the cold with no real explanation. Minho was right, he was only thinking of himself, this wasn’t him being merciful and saving you from him, this was entirely him avoiding to confront himself. He was fleeing his own vulnerability and masked under some sort of self-righteous sacrifice for you. Much like in the past, he allowed his own selfishness to blind him from reality of his emotions and actions, but at least he was somewhat aware of it.

While Jisung cannot find it in him to forgive himself, he wondered and hoped whether you would, whether you’d look past his mistakes once more and accept him for who he was. He prayed silently that you’d still give him the chance he so desperately craved, yet so foolishly pushed away in the name of fear, wishing you’d still choose him when he didn’t know how to do that himself. Maybe what he needed all along was your neverending affection to finally learn how to love the parts of himself he hated, maybe he needed your gentle hand to guide him through love, maybe he should’ve trusted you while he learned to trust himself again. Just maybe, he would be able to learn what love was truly about if he had just listened to his heart, not his own negative self-hating mind.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Meanwhile, an extremely rageful Hyunjin and Seungmin sat with you on Minho’s couch as they tried to comfort you in sweet, hushed voices, doing their absolute best to keep their anger to themselves. Hyunjin held you in a tight hug as you cried into his chest, his chin resting on top of your head as a comforting hand rubbed your back in gentle circles. Despite the kindness of his actions, his face was a stark contrast as a scowl painted over his features, mentally cursing at himself for letting you get involved with Jisung and not doing a better job at deterring you from it.

Seungmin, on the other hand, was holding back as he bit his tongue, keeping any thought he had to himself because he knew if he opened his mouth, a fountain of expletives would pour out. He knew the last thing you needed right now was him speaking poorly of Jisung, even though he thought he deserved every angry world he had in his arsenal right now. 

Through gritted teeth, Hyunjin softly mumbled, “I’m sorry, Y/N, this isn’t fair to you. You deserve better than that.”

Hiccuping, you whispered, “But I don't want anyone else, I still want him even if he’s being a stupid idiot.”

“Well, he made his choices. A bad one, but all you can do is move forward from it,” he sighed, silently communicating with Seungmin through indignant looks.

All Seungmin could do was hum in agreement, not trusting himself enough to keep his thoughts to himself as he cracked his fingers in frustration, thinking about how he was going to rip Jisung a new one the next time he saw him. 

The front door clicked open, signaling that Minho had gotten back which caused you to sit up from Hyunjin’s embrace as you looked at Minho, tears staining your cheeks. The sight of your face had only made the flames of anger flicker more, serving as the perfect fuel for his seething body. 

“Before you ask, yes, he’s okay,” Minho ressaured you as he made his way to the living room, shooting both Seungmin and Hyunjin a warning look as the two boys quickly hid their vexed expressions from you. You gave Minho a grateful smile as you, for the nth time that night, wiped your tears away.

“I talked to him too, he’s probably going to message you sometime tomorrow to talk things over if you’re open to that.”

You were about to respond, but Seungmin spoke before you could, “Is that a good idea?”

Minho glared at him, “Seungmin, think before you speak.”

Seungmin shrugged, choosing to look down at his phone, but then Hyunjin added, “I mean, he isn’t wrong… I think Y/N should have some time to process their feelings at the very least.”

“Are you Y/N?” 

Both Hyunjin and Seungmin shook their heads nervously knowing they’ve upset the older boy, “Then that isn’t your decision to make. Let Y/N do what they feel is best. We all know how you guys feel about it, so please don’t make this any more difficult for them than it already is.”

The two boys muttered a quick apology to you, not wanting to add any more stress to your current situation, but you knew they only had your best interest in mind and wanted to protect you from any more hurt. 

“It’s okay, thank you for caring for me, but I’d like to talk to him,” you said gently, giving the two boys a reassuring smile, “I’ll be okay, I can hold my ground.”

Seungmin sighed, “Whatever, just say the word and I’ll beat the shit out of him if it doesn’t go well.”

“I’ll verbally beat him,” Hyunjin added, causing you to giggle at the seriousness of their tones since you could never imagine them physically harming any living being.And, as if on cue, your phone vibrated, lighting up with the message:

hi, im sorry about earlier. can we talk tomorrow?

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Across from you sat a nervous Jisung, who was fidgeting since the moment he entered your apartment, his fingers tapping the table anxiously as he struggled to find the words, not knowing if there was anything he could say to truly convey how sorry he was. You stared at him from his seat, arms crossed with an expectant - yet patient - look on your face.  Ten minutes had gone by since he had arrived, and not a single exchange of words had been made, and you were growing tired of it. 

“Jisung, please say something.”

The boy froze his seat, his body tensing, not expecting you to say anything to him, “I-...” he paused for a moment, taking a shaky breath in, “I just do not think there are enough words in the world to express to you how sorry I am and how ashamed of myself I am.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes, his legs once again bouncing as he tried to get the words out, “It’s just a lot for me, I don’t know. I know my feelings for you are like nothing I’ve ever felt before, I know that I want to be with you more than anything in my heart, but…” he sighed heavily, running a hand through his soft locks, “I’m really scared,” he whispered so softly, you barely caught it.

It was your turn for your eyes to water, your heart taking a hit as your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically at Jisung’s words. Although you can recognize his fears and could only guess where he was coming from, it didn’t take away from the pain he caused you and how much it affected your trust in him. 

“Could you explain to me what you’re scared of? I want to understand.”

The concern etched on your face and the genuinity behind your eyes makes Jisung fall in love with you all over again, seemingly making him melt under your gaze as his heart swells. But just as quickly as the affection rushed into his heart, also came the insecurity and negative thoughts that endlessly reminded him how undeserving he was of someone so considerate and selfless.

Jisung shook the thought out his head, reminding himself of what Minho had told him the day before, “I’m scared that I’ll hurt you. I have… well, you know, I’ve hurt my previous partners in the past and I’m terrified I’ll do the same to you,” he murmured, guilt lacing each word, “I’d hate to do the same thing to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself and even now I don’t know if I can.”

Part of you felt relieved to hear those words from Jisung, now knowing his reasonings were not due to a lack or loss of feelings, or did it have anything to do with your looks or his attraction to you, but rather he was battling his own bouts of insecurities. The other part of you felt guilty for assuming the worst in Jisung and not giving him a chance to explain himself initially, you felt terrible for thinking he was only having fun with you and leading on. The expression on his face told you everything you needed to know about him, and that was him being sincere with every word he spoke. He truly did care for you, he wanted the best for you, and was genuinely struggling with his own complex emotions.

“Jisung, it’s okay to be afraid. Trust me, I am too. I know about your past, even way before I even met Minho or you, but the person I’ve come to know is nothing like that. You’ve changed in the best way possible, I fell and still am falling in love with you everyday.”

Jisung’s eyes widened in shock when he heard your words. All his mind could focus on was how you heard about him way before you joined the team, you knew about every horrific thing said about him when you two first met, yet… You didn’t treat him any differently like others had, you gave him a chance to fully know the kind of person people thought of him as, you still… fell in love with him? Wait, did he hear that right? You love him too? Love?

How could it be possible, how could someone like you possibly love someone like him? How did you manage to see past all his ugly personality traits and still managed to fall in love with him? Oh, no. Did he trick you? Had he accidentally fooled you into thinking he was a better person than he actually was ever capable of being? Oh my, Jisung’s brain was short-circuiting as he started to panic, losing any sense of rationality he had.

Your warm hand resting on top of his caused him to break out of his stupor, his wide eyes softening around the edges at your loving expression and oh, how much he adored seeing himself in the reflection of your eyes filled with affection, a sight he swore he could die in.

“Talk to me, Jisung. Tell me what you’re thinking. I’m here for you, I won’t leave your side as long as you let me listen.”

“I… You’ve heard about me before you even met me?”

You laughed, “Yes, I did. Honestly, I thought you were a real asshole, but I’m glad I gave you a chance anyway. I don’t regret meeting you for a moment.” 

His mouth fell open, still processing each word, “Even after I hurt you?”

“Well, I know now you meant no harm. This is hard for you, I can understand that. I also understand being afraid. What you did hurt me, but I love and care for you too much to let that ruin something between us so long you give us the chance too.”

Each word you spoke was as if a love spell was being casted on him, bewitching him completely as his heart began to pound faster, butterflies warming up the pit of shame he had been carrying with him this whole time. Your words enveloped him into a gentle embrace, so tactful and ginger with his soul, so perfectly chosen that it felt like you were healing cracks in his heart he didn’t even know existed. Oh, how could he have ever been so stupid to push away love so saccharine and addicting? He never knew love was truly like, but now he didn’t want to ever let it go, he wanted to relish under his warmth as long as he possibly could. 

“Really? Do you really mean it?” Of course he knew the answer to that already. Just one look into your eyes, and he could see that you were offering him every part of you and a lifetime of love, and he’d be a fool to ever doubt you.

“I do. I mean it with everything in me.”

Your honey-coated words left him in a blushing mess, nervousness still present in his body, but all for a much different reason. Your sincerity excited him, yet it also filled him with anxiety, the fear of disappointing you looming over him, convinced he had tricked you into falling for a false image of him.

“But… What if I hurt you again? What if I disappoint you? What if I turn out to be as bad as everyone said? I’m not as good as you think I am, Y/N, really I-”

“Jisung.”

He stopped in his tracks, biting the inside of his cheek as he felt your hand squeeze his reassuringly.

“We are two different people, with two entirely different life experiences. Yes, eventually, you’ll hurt me, and I’ll hurt you too. In relationships, we are bound to upset one another, but what matters is how we approach those situations,” you whispered softly, scooting your chair closer to him, “I don’t care who you think you are because I love you for you, and I think you’re the most wonderful experience I’ve had. You can be afraid all you want, but I promise I’ll hold your hand through it and show you that you’re worthy of that love.”

As you scooted your chair next to Jisung’s, both your hands reached to cup his face, wiping away the tears he had shed, “I promise. As long as you let me, I’ll be here for you. Even if you don’t trust or believe in yourself, can you trust me? Will you believe me when I say you’re an amazing human being? Will you let me teach you how to love and be loved?”

All Jisung could do is marvel at the sudden closeness, his cheeks and ears flushing the instant he felt your touch. Your words only sent him further down into a frenzy, goosebumps forming at your declaration as he felt himself swoon in his seat, his head dizzying from the overwhelming sensation of both nervousness and affection. He had so much to say, yet his mouth could barely utter out a sound as he shrunk in his seat, your boldness taking him aback. 

Even though he hadn’t moved from his seat once, he felt himself become breathless as he admired each of your features, he swore he heard wedding bells in the background  as you spoke. Oh, c’mon, Jisung, you need to say something. He was panicking, much like he was during your first meeting, struggling to find the words as he became entranced with you, capturing every detail of your face in his mind so he’d never forget this moment.

“I love you.”

That was all he could say, all he could muster up, but that was enough. That was all you needed to hear as you let out a giggle, your eyes crinkling as you smiled, “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry for being an idiot. I want to try my best for you. I promise I will.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize, and I know you will.”

“Can… Can I kiss you?”

His question caught you by surprise, heat rushing to your cheeks while nodding, mumbling a quick ‘of course you can,’ as you pulled his face to yours, planting your lips onto his.

Maybe Han Jisung wasn’t so bad after all.

[mercy-love-joy]

Pride Comes At A Cost

A mini summary of an interaction between my Cookie-fied OC and DragonBerry Cookie

Beast Ancient AU belongs to @cuppajj

Main premise:

"Old Caviar" Cookie had a wife who was a family friend of Royal Berry Cookie. The girl was one of the few friends Royal Berry Cookie had growing up in the palace. Sea Anemone Cookie was an author who wrote many different genres of books (romantic comedy was once a favorite of HollyBerry Cookie) and "Old Caviar" Cookie was a Navy Captain before he retired to marry Sea Anemone Cookie.

After the Ancient Heroes became Beasts, "Old Caviar" refused to allow his wife to go anywhere near the "HollyBerry Kingdom" which has now turned into the DragonBerry Empire. Unfortunately, Sea Anemone Cookie grew ill, she was taken to the Creme Republic but was denied due to too many cookies fleeing to the city for protection, so "Old Caviar" Cookie takes her to a smaller village. In hopes that maybe DragonBerry Cookie was willing to help, "Old Caviar" Cookie sent a letter begging the Queen for help. But got nothing in return.

The author passes away by the touch of Saint Vanilla Cookie when the shark cookie goes to sea to find any medicine for his wife but fails. Struck with grief and guilt, "Old Caviar" Cookie stays on the boat where he and his wife live.

Sometime later, DragonBerry sees the old boat and she recognizes the ship. She goes over to see the couple, only to be greeted by an aggressive and distasteful shark cookie who does not like seeing the Queen on his boat.

The Queen demands to see the author but is struck with the reality of Sea Anemone's death. "Old Caviar" Cookie blames DragonBerry for his wife's death and demands she never speaks with him. And the Queen tosses a half-apology before leaving. The memory of the author disappearing as the Beast of Pride leaves the boat and leaving the old shark to wallow in his grief alone until he crumbles.

Some notes to add to the piece:

This was originally going to be a AO3 fic but I lost motivation as I started to press harder on the details for the drawing so I thought maybe this would be more acceptable. Maybe I'll turn it into a fic when I'm not so burned out.

First time drawing backgrounds and spaces. Somewhat proud but I can improve!

My favorite panel is the one with Sea Anemone Cookie floating behind DragonBerry Cookie, that was my favorite panel to draw and my least favorite was drawing that bookcase. It was so tedious to color and draw.

[autistpride]

Autism Acceptance

Prompt 11: Coffee shop AU

Wordcount: 1000

@wolfstarmicrofic

Remus had trouble finding work. He put in applications everywhere, for any position, because he was desperate. Despite passing all his courses and gaining the required GCSE’s, he bombed his interviews. So he had told his parents that he would take a gap year instead and get some work experience. Only no one called him for an interview and the few that had, turned him away within minutes.

After nearly two months, Remus finally came clean to his parents about his lack of employment. His mum had to hold his dad back from giving a few of the places he applied a piece of his mind. Never one to allow Remus to give up, Lyall decided he would open up his own coffee shop and hire Remus as an employee.

Everything moved quickly and soon The Full Moon Cafe opened its doors. A small quaint little hole in the wall shop that mixed coffee, library, and children’s playground together. One corner of the shop held a little indoor climbing structure, slide, and foam floors for children. The other two walls were covered floor to ceiling in books that people donated. The last wall housed the single unisex toilet and the tiny kitchenette space. It also had the counter and display case that showed off the day’s delicious baked goods that his mum made fresh every morning. 

It took Remus some time to get used to the position and how to make all the different drinks, but everyone was patient with him. By the time his gap year was over, Remus was a pro and asked to stay on instead of trying for university again. He had learned all the regulars names, memorised their orders, and even went so far as to have them ready for when they walked in. Remus hadn’t encountered a rude customer or a confusing order once, that could also have to do with the fact that it was a fairly small town and everyone knew everyone. No one came into the cafe that didn’t know Remus was autistic, at least not until Sirius Black. 

The bell dinged over the cafe door and the prettiest guy Remus had ever seen walked in one after the other. Remus had never seen anyone like them before. They were total opposites yet so oddly the same.

“I’ll have an iced Ristretto, ten shot, venti with breve. five pumps vanilla, seven pumps caramel, and four Splenda poured not shaken, but placed into a trenta cup so it doesn’t splash out the top.”

The look on Remus’ face must have betrayed him because the man looked at Remus and immediately changed his order. “On second thought, I’ll just have a tea.”

Remus nodded and rang the man up, asking for his name. 

“Sirius. Yes I am serious. Sirius, like the star,” the man said while pulling his hair back into a scrunchie he apparently kept in his pocket.

Remus wrote the name on the cup and poured the hot water into it, placing the loose leaf tea into a disposable tea bag and setting it into the cup to steep before handing it to Sirius, the star. 

Sirius nodded his thanks and set up at a small table near the entrance. 

For the following four days later Sirius came back, once again ordering a tea and nothing more. Remus didn’t work weekends, instead his friend James took those shifts. James played football with the local club and attended courses at university during the week, so he took all the weekend shifts.

Remus couldn’t get Sirius out of his head all weekend and when he showed up for work on Monday, Sirius was there right at opening. 

Another week went by and Remus and Sirius had started to talk more, just general pleasantries and small talk. Sirius never ordered anything more than tea and sometimes a pastry. Remus knew he could make complicated orders and he knew Sirius knew after two weeks sitting in the cafe and listening to some of the complex requests from customers that came in, but Sirius never asked for his original order again. 

That third week, Remus had Sirius’ tea ready by the time he walked in every morning, not unlike the other regulars. Yet what Remus never said was that Remus practised at night after the shop closed up. He was determined to get Sirius’ original order right. It took him another week to manage it, and when he did he cheered and danced around the shop.

Monday of the fourth week, Remus handed  Sirius his order when he showed up. Sirius looked at the cup confused. 

“Remus this isn’t a tea” he said with his brows furrowed and his nose scrunched up.

Remus shook his head no with a grin, “no its not.”

Sirius took a tentative sip of the drink and his eyes widened in surprise, stormy grey meeting golden.

“You made my order.” 

Remus nodded, proud of himself.

Sirius took another drink and moaned as if he was drinking the best thing he had ever tasted.

The noise was absolutely obscene in Remus’ ears and his ears turned dark red and his cheeks flushed. 

“Remus this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. You remembered something I told you like a month ago and you, you practised this didn’t you?”

Remus simply shrugged like it was no big deal. 

Sirius set the cup down on the counter before leaning over the counter and wrapping his arms around Remus in the most awkward hug Remus had ever experienced, and he experienced a lot of awkward hugs. 

When Remus didn’t return the hug Sirius dropped his arms and stuttered through another thank you and practically ran to his usual table, forgetting his drink on the counter. 

Remus looked down, seeing the cup, and bit back a laugh before walking it across the cafe to him. 

“Oh fuck thanks,” Sirius mumbled. 

“Hey SIrius?” Remus asked, “can we try that again?”

 Sirius smiled and nodded.

[skullvgirl]

a strange dream | barou

incl. barou 🎀 ( he would kill me )

warnings. completely sfw, fluff, school!au, fem reader, very much ooc, slow burn

an's. i missed him so much i had to revisit

BAROU probably hasnt got any interest in you before your relationship, not in a bad way but lets be honest—he's a soccer addict, he definitely wouldn't notice you until well, he did.

you're both sitting in math class (which did i mention had one hell of alot of students) and someone from the other side of the room asks to pass a note to you, rumor has it they've got a crush.

eventually the note ends up in the large hands of Barou Shouei and he's of course expected to pass it along to you but doesn't see anyone ahead of him expecting to receive it from him. he's confused—who the hell was yn ?

its his bad—he really wasnt to familiar with anything not soccer related.

he looked around, then finally decided to give the piece of paper back to the person he got it from—whoever that was.

you look at barou confused, so the paper was for you? you had originally gave it too him because you weren't sure if the people mumbling in the back of the classroom were really talking about you or not.

you opened your mouth to whisper-yell at him, but he wasn't paying attention to you anymore, his eyes trained on the teacher once again.

you uncrumpled the paper, trying to be as quiet as possible in the dead silence, but with no luck.

"yn?!"

shit

"yes miss?", you hid the paper under the desk, trying not to make eye contact with the 28 other students that had eyes on you.

"care to share with the class whats so important that you need to be passing notes in my class?"

fuck

reason #1 why you really hated this class, your math teacher was a fucking bitch.

'mean girl giggles' echoed throughout the room, barous eyes paying special attention to what you were about to do.

you dreaded the feeling of being forced to stand up in front of the entire class and read aloud whatever was written on the small note.

"get to it missy"

oh fuck off

you looked around the classroom trying to assess anyone who may have been distressed or embarrassed but with no luck, everyone seemed to be waiting on you.

weird...

"im serious yn. if you dont start reading in the next 10 seconds im going to—"

"no, no thats okay—i-im reading"

for whoever wrote me this, i am so sorry.

you cleared you throat in preparation for the humiliation you were about to face, curses be upon you miss peterson.

"hi, i think your really cute, we should go out sometime together, from..."

your heart stopped.

oh no this cant be right

"thats it."

"thats it?" the teacher probed, slowly making her way towards you.

"that it. i-it just says from your secret admirer after that nothing else".

your math teacher narrowed her eyes, looking closely at your expression—she didn't buy it.

dont breakeyecontactdont break eye contactdont breakeyecontactdontbreakeyecontactdontbreakeyecontact—

"really..."

"really!" you broke eye contact.

she pointed her nose upwards, probably as high as possible and began walking towards your desk.

"alright then i wanna see it, i need to have it confiscated"

"what?!, why?" oops you said that kinda loud. the class whom had previously lost interest when you finished reading turned back towards you and miss peterson now intrigued.

"well why not?! it was a distraction in class and now it needs to be taken away to make sure it wont be a distraction again...!"

but that doesn't make sense, if you care so much about us passing notes you should take our notebooks not the gosh dang note !

"but that doesn't make sense—" but you didn't get a chance to finish as the teacher viciously snatched the paper from you and spun around back towards her desk.

you sat down and burried your hands in your face, you couldn't watch this.

"oh this looks fun...says it's from barou shouei, not what i was expecting...not what i was expecting at all..."

fucking kill yourself, PLEASE

the class, which had previously been dormant erupted in a series of raging giggles and screams—shocked at the reveal of who the note was from.

a soccer player.

it was no secret in BLLK High that nobody—under any circumstance—was to mess with a soccer player. they had a bit of a reputation going on. even the nice ones.

" 'cuse me?" a commanding and masculine voice emerged from your left side and you turned as quickly as possible to the over 6 foot ( 182 cm ) tall man trying to explain yourself.

fuck, one day you were seriously gonna kill your math teacher.

"no, no no i promise it's not like that—i seriously don't know who made this i promise it wasn't from me and i know it wasn't from you—"

"you're yn ?" he cut you off smoothly, leaning back in his seat ever so slightly.

"huh?"

his knees were facing yours now. "you're yn right? been wondering who that was for the longest, guess i know now, cool."

"huh?"

okay now you were confused—about multiple things actually. #1, barou shouei, the man you'd been sitting next to for almost a full year now had yet to learn your name untill just now which is—gosh, just outrageous even for a soccer player

and #2 he wasn't toltally angry and going to kill you like everyone said he would have, should you make a fool of him?

no seriously someone explain what was happening.

you didnt get a chance to ponder on your thoughts much longer however, the bell rang loudly in your ear and soon everyone including yourself was making way for the door out the classroom.

what the fuck just happened, what the actual fuck just happened.

"heyy ! yn over here !" you didnt realize it but you apparently had auto-piloted your way all the way through lunch and was now being called over by people you've never talked to a day in your life—and you knew exactly what it would be about.

could this get any worse

you were about to find out. "yes...?" you asked, tray still in hand while you stood awakwardly by the trash can near the lunch table who called you over.

"soo—wait first sit down, we're friends we're friends, sit down first" one of the girls said, patting a seat next to herself eagerly.

you looked at the eyes on you and quickly made a decision to move.

there definitely here to ask me about him. it can't be that bad right? i think her name is ashley? i don't know maybe this'll be fun, maybe they'll be nice.

"so have you guys had sex?"

"what?! no—"

"have you guys even ever kissed yet?"

"no—"

"we used to talk you know", this one was from ashley, a pretty blonde haired girl who's blue eyes sparkled like marbles.

"really?"

she was attractive that for sure but and you could definitely see why some people would wanna date her but barou? not so much.

"really"

like in what world would some super macho super mysterious soccer guy get the hots for some popular pretty blonde girl? not to mention an obnoxious pretty blonde girl.

gosh i sound like a pick me right now, who knows maybe they really did talk

"didn't even know her name" barou said, cracking his neck from side to side.

"seriously man?" asked isagi, popping a fry in his mouth.

"dead serious"

this was the soccer table, a table where only the best of best players would sit for lunch, not that it was official or anything—but new students were warned not to go near The Table anyway.

"so you did ask yn to prom?"

"no bachira, i didn't ask her how many times to i have to say that, i barely know her anyways"

"untill today" kunigami confirmed.

"until today" barou repeated.

"would you though?" chigiri asked, he glanced over at your table—you were pretty that much was obvious but it was barou we're talking about, who knows what he thought of you.

"nah, couldn't."

"why not? shes not ugly" nagi questioned albeit a bit insensitively.

"shes not but..." he trailed off, stringing his eyes from nagi to you, she looks kinda...

"but what"

"i don't want her thinking we're dating after prom or somethin', gotta focus on the game."

"what if i did then, think she'd say yes?" it was reo speaking now who was now also looking at your table.

"nah, your uncanny resemblance to a donkey might turn her off"

The Table laughed as reo scowled at the other players, he didnt find it very funny.

"shut the fuck up shouei, i didn't hear her accepting your undying love now did i?"

"thats because i never really asked her dipshit"

"your point! still better than knowing your rejected as a default"

"is it though?" barou was almost smiling at the purple headed boy.

"oh really? watch me"

the table made boyish "ooo"-ing sounds and reo stood up confidently.

shouts erupted from the table, causing the whole cafeteria to turn towards the players, they payed them no mind however, only staring intently at where reo was walking.

"look, look, look! one if them is coming over here right now!"

"really?!"

you whipped your head around towards where the whole cafeteria's attention had been directed.

nononon, this cannot be happening. you seriously did not need another soccer players thinking you were some freak weirdo because someone else wanted to be messy!

"thats reo, he's super fucking rich, i heard he has a whole two backyards !"

"and an a theater room!"

great, and it was a rich snob kid too.

"does yn sit here?"

your table said nothing, even the loud ashley kept quiet while he was talking. everyones heads turned to you, waiting expectantly for you to say something.

"yeah thats me..." you said meekley.

reo smiled and curled his finger towards himself a few times, asking you to come to him.

this is so awakward

you stood up silently and walked over to where reo was. he didn't stop directing him towards you until you were standing right up against him, close enough to where he could grab your jaw and yank your ear towards his mouth.

"you're hot, go out with me"

your eyes bludged, and your heart accelerated way more than it should have. that was NOT what you were expecting.

reo let go of your face, his hands were in his pockets as he waited for your answer, he looked confident tou would say yes. and most people would, but this was a soccer player we were talking about—and this one specifically was known for being super rich, super smart and a super hoe. three things you couldn't be bothered to even try giving a chance with.

you glanced behind him trying to peer at the damage that had been done.

holy shit the whole fuking cafeteria is looking

"so?"

you were snapped back into reality as reo looked at you, still waiting for an answer. it was pretty obvious what you were going to say.

"no. im sorry but no, i hardly know you and you're really not my type, sorry."

your table made all types of noises as they watched the now humiliated boy bite a scowl and walk back too his table.

you quickly sat back down and watched as The Table made fun of reo's rejection. all the players were laughing but you were only looking at one.

"said i wasn't her type". The Table erupted in laughter, all the players except reo cackling like animals.

"fucking told you so, at least get to know the girl before you start trying to hit on her" isagi joked, slapping reo on the back repeatedly.

"no for real, dont know what made you think she would fall for you in a day, not all girls are so easy you know" kunigami shook his head.

"what did you say too her anyways?" nagi asked now curious as to what got him such a harsh rejection anyways.

"didn't say nothing, js asked her if she wanted to go out, said no, that's it." reo reiterated bitterly.

"knowing him it was probably something like 'youre hot, lets go out'" barou said offhandedly, distracted by the feeling of eyes on him.

"you could hear?" reo asked, now confused.

The Table went silent for a moment and isagi burst out laughing when he realized what reo had just said.

"so you did really say that?!"

the emmbarassment for reo only cotinued further but barou wasn't paying attention to that. the eyes from before were still on him.

it was you.

cute...

BAROU isnt really much of a romantic either, he hasn't got the headspace for it like he does for soccer, so of course—he's not seeking the love. the love is seeking him.

1 week later

you sat quietly in the school library studying like a madman for finals, it was just near the end of the school year and you were determined to get good marks on all of the subjects.

the library was the most perfect and quiet place to relax and work at the same time—without any distractions or problems to bother you from your job.

"excuse me?"

you glanced up to where the voice was coming from and your heart felt like it was going to explode.

it was none other than barou shouei in the flesh.

a whole week, a whole week you had managed to somewhat avoid his presence and pretty much ignore him during math ( your teacher denied you request to switch spots ) it was going fine untill—well, now.

"can i borrow your computer charger? mine just died and a left mine at home"

that was it?

you didn't really know what to expect from the man though. he was known to be pretty brutal on tbe field maybe you were assuming he'd be the same in real life.

although i guess i shouldn't think that considering how chill he was over the fake confession and all of that...

"oh yeah sure, I uh can let your borrow it no problem"

"thanks"

barou took your charger without another word and walked back over too his seat.

the racing in your heart was begining to subside, that wasn't so bad...

you shifted to get comfortable in your seat and began studying once again, right now where was i...

"excuse me?"

and just as you were getting comfortable. barou shoei again.

"yes?"

"sorry im back so soon but, could i sit here for a little bit. the outlet by my table isnt working for some reason" he said it in a polite tone but seemed eager for an answer, he was probably in a rush to get as much study time in before practice like most athletes were.

he really isnt as scary as i thought he'd be...

"yeah of course that's fine, it's better this way anyway, wont forget you had it in the first place ya know" you smiled moving your belongings over to make room for his.

"thanks"

barou set his things down and soon enough a static silence ensued over the both of you, not that you minded though. you still needed to get work done and it was better he wasn't attempting to make conversation with you. it is a bit awkward though...

"you color coded your pens"

the voice that emmited from the other side of the table almost made you forget who was there.

"i did, why?"

"nice, i did too"

barou didnt wait for an answer, but instead pulled out a all black pencil pouch to reveal all seven colors of the rainbow line up in order.

jeez, i just think it looks cool, his has all the pen hooks facing up too, ocd much?

that wasn't the main point though, what was more important was his sticker—on thst rested sturdy on his bag. "you watch graves anatomy too?"

he looked surprised when you mentioned the show, and nodded his head appropriately. "yeah, and im all caught up too, all 22 seasons and counting."

"holy hell, im only on season 12 how to even time for that—aren't you always having games and stuff, scince your on varsity and all..."

barou quirked an eyebrow, "mm you know your stuff—i make it work"

now it was your turn to make a face "you make it work...really, its that easy?"

no. the absurbant amount of school work i have is fucking killing me right now plus i've got sisters too take care of so no, it's definitely not easy

thats not what he said though.

"yup, real easy." he nodded his head and although you didn't buy it, it was hardly your place to nag. he didn't seem like someone you should nag.

"uh huh.." you shook your head up and down slow and repeatedly, "for sure, for sure"

"what you don't believe me?" barou moved his chair closer to yours, so close in fact you think your knees were touching, his arms bulged as he rested his hands on his head ; it was hot nice seeing him in a position that wasn't so straight .

"no i do, you seem really responsible im sure you're great at 'making it work' " you put a thumbs up.

gosh, could you be anymore awakward...

"oh im responsible ? you would know that im responsible?" barou questioned, leaning even closer on his arms towards you.

is he...flirting with me?

you laughed and covered your mouth with your hand leaning slightly away as he got closer.

"i mean yeah" you paused to swipe away the nonexistent dust from your eyes, you just couldn't hold the eye contact.

come on, dont get shy now yn.

"people talk, i guess."

"do they?"

"they do" you nodded your head firmly up and down, since it was the only thing you were sure you could do at the moment.

"mh"

mmh?!? the fuck does that mean ??

"so yn i wanna ask you a question" barou leaned back as he said this, finally returning to his normal position.

holy shit my heart was beating so fast, somebody get me on a stretcher and to the hospital NEOW, i am about to blow!

"yeah?"

barou stayed silent for a few moments, thinking deeply about what he was going to say.

"hypothetically..." he paused, staring directly at you.

"hypothetically..." you confirmed.

"hypothetically if someone, other than reo from the soccer team—just as an example lets say...yoichi ! remember hypothetically speaking—asked you out on a date what would your answer be?"

huh?

"what kind of question is that?"

"a hypothetical one" he said matter of factly.

"a hypothetical one, right, well if—hypothetically of course—i was asked out by isagi, om a date that is...i don't know...yeah? I guess i'd day yes?"

"really, you would?" he looked surprised and you suddenly felt alarmed, was that a bad thing or something??

"yeah? i mean no, not really—maybe not if he asked the way your friend did..."

"mhm"

??? again, what does that mean?

A moment of silence passed between the two of you and you tried and failed at going back to the work you were supposed to be doing in the first place.

"what about chigiri?" he said suddenly.

"chigiri? what do you me—"

"chigiri. pretty, has red hair, plays on varsity and is super fast? chigiri. would you say yes too him?"

"i mean, maybe, yeah he's definitely not ugly and i guess if i knew him well enough I would probably say yes—why are you asking me this?"

barou said nothing and suddenly, the strangest thing began to happen—he looked at you smiling—a large, uncanny smile resembling a creepypasta monster formed from on his face, your heart began to beat but for the wrong reasons.

"wake up yn" it was definitely barou's voice but it sounded far.

"huh?" you couldn't move, and you now realize you probably couldn't move for a while.

what...is happening...

"wake. up."

your head shot up from your arms, ans you looked around disorientedly.

oh...

up untill about the last 30 seconds you were a bit disappointed it had to end. your dream that is.

"yn", a voice—much deeper than you recall im your fantasies spoke out to you as you felt a tap on your shoulder.

it was barou. the real barou.

"i baroued your charged?" he said holding it out towards you. (an's. IM HALARIOUS LAMOSJKWIS)

"oh. right sorry, thanks." you took the cord from him. but he didn't leave, still looming over you in his tall stature he spoke again.

"uh, you got a little.." he pointed to the corner of his lip, scratching at it in expectation for you to do the same.

you did, softly at first, not really sure what is it he was implying but quickly realized what he meant after you felt a crusty dry substance still left from your unconscious.

oh..

oh !

"ive got drool on my face haven't i" he nodded his head, and you swore you saw grin appear on his face—a real one but he turned and walked away before you could make confirm.

"thanks for the charger yn, see ya later"

his back was facing you now, slowly getting smaller and smaller at he walked away from you.

seriously ! could i be anyless embarrassing for even a second!

im afraid not yn.

because according to barou, he thinks your little moments of embarrassment and humiliation were pretty damn cute.

BAROU is never scared. he hardly ever get worried, he's king and one of the best players in his school, he's top of his class always and struggles—never. so why? why was it now, over some so trivial that he was all thoes things he never gets all at once?

1 week later, in the classroom.

barou felt weird.

the truth is, he didnt need a partner for the social studies project. his teacher was allowing groups of two or singles all the same. his reasoning behind why he wanted a partner is what was scaring him.

after almost an entire year, barou realized that you not only were in his math class, but his social studies as well. and his history, and biology—even his orchestra ( he plays cello in case you were wondering ).

he realized that you were everywhere.

barou, for the first time was recognizing someome else, not on the team, not an adult, but a girl, he was acknowledging a girl, as more than nothing.

it was weird.

"yn."

you peered up at him, wide-eyed and adorable. "work with me on the project"

your eyes, (e/c) and beautiful, got impossibly larger.

"yeah—uh—sure we can"

he gave a thumbs up, and went back to his seat.

what am i doing?

"i dont know, maybe we can exchange numbers instead?"

"yeah thats better, since im hardly on social media anyways"

even though you've got so many followers..

"alright cool"

you and barou were in the library, again. instead of dreaming about his muscles however, you were watching them in real time move for your phone and yours the same.

there wasnt mych said after that, only short words to communicate what part of the project you both were supposed to work on, untill...

"yn?"

"yes" and once again, you were looking at him, wife eyed and adorable.

"i've got a question to ask you"

no way, did i fall asleep again?

you sucked in a breath, and pinched your cheeks, not paying any attention to the words that might come out of his mouth.

"ow!" nope, you were definitely awake.

barou raised an eyebrow and couldn't hold himself in. he burst out laughing and you we're glad the library waw empty, because in all his seriousness—barou's laugh was loud. like the sort of thing you'd been holding in for a while.

"what yn, afraid you're gonna fall asleep again?"

your cheeks heated up an intense amount.

"no..."

"you're funny you know, really funny"

"huh?!" you squeaked, shifting all over in your chair. "what does that mean"

barou leaned in close to your face, so close that your noses were touching.

"it means..." he tilted hid head sidewards, waiting for your permission.

"i think you're the stupidest most adorable person to exist..." you didn't move away.

and like a shock, barous lips were on yours so softly it made it feel very much like a dream, but it wasn't.

an's. i know this is not himmm, he wouldn't even look at you after a supposed fake letter i knooow, i couldn't think of a better way to force it ( i was lazy ) and he's cute let me live.

an's. i rushed the end i knoww, leave me alone. i like writing for personal enjoyment shhhhhh.

[hard-core-super-star]

she had the world [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x stark!reader

summary: your first meeting with the future inheritor of bishop security doesn't go as planned and, unfortunately for the two of you, first impressions matter.

warnings: none, i think; enemies-to-lovers vibe but in an accidental way aka kate's a well-intentioned idiot but her comments don't land well; i haven't watched the iron man films in years and this AU definitely doesn't fit the real MCU timeline but shhhhh, just roll with it

wordcount: 944

a/n: wrote this for my lovely 🧞‍♀️ anon who requested an expansion of this headcanon set. i was originally only going to just do another headcanon set but i decided to try my hand at writing a mini-fic. it's sort of a prologue for a longer fic i may or may not write at some point. i just love this little AU i accidentally created so...we'll see what happens. hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

“This is ridiculous,” you grumble as you mess with the top button of your slightly wrinkled shirt. “If the owner of the company couldn’t bother to show up, why do I have to?”

Your comment makes Happy chuckle, although he’s quick to pull himself back together the second he catches sight of the glare Pepper throws his way.

“Listen, I know it’s not an ideal way to spend your night but it’s better than a long meeting with boring investors.”

“Tony wouldn’t show up to those either so my question still stands,” you counter.

This time, you’re the one on the receiving end of the blonde’s glare. She hates when you refer to your dad by his name despite the fact that he couldn’t care less what you call him as long as he’s able to stay in your good graces. Tony Stark has many flaws but he’s not the world’s worst father...even if every news outlet in the world tries to make it seem that way.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, y/n, but you’re going to be responsible for Stark Industries sooner or later. I’m only trying to help you here.” Her tone leaves no room for arguments so you don’t even try, you just look out the window until you reach your destination.

You’re not about to admit it but Pepper’s right. 

Tony has enough on his hands dealing with the aftermath of the Sokovia Accords to spend any time on Stark Industries. Especially when “spending time on '' is equal to going to awful parties and meeting the CEO of every new company that shows up.

Which is a lot harder than it seems considering the amount of “entrepreneurs” living in New York.

So, that means it’s up to you and Pepper to keep the family business afloat. You handle all the public appearances and she makes sure nothing goes wrong regarding the technical and economic side of things. Meanwhile, Tony spends his days fixing up his old Iron Man suits and trying not to let his guilt eat him alive. (He’s failing miserably but at least he still spends time with you)

You’re not happy about the situation you all find yourselves in but it’s not like you can do anything about it. 

Which is how you end up bored out of your mind at a stuffy party hosted by the owner and CEO of Bishop Security. You’ve heard the name in passing, mainly by a frustrated Pepper trying to deny suspicious meetings on your behalf. You don’t know much about Eleanor Bishop but you’ve heard her daughter’s name far too many times to act like you don’t know who they are.

Unfortunately, no amount of rumors could have prepared you for the reality of coming face-to-face with Kate Bishop.

You bump into her, literally, on your way to talk to Pepper in hopes of convincing her that having spent two hours at the party is enough. 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” She instantly apologizes and any hope of appearing annoyed fades away instantly. “I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Her words leave your mind spinning so you reply without thinking, accidentally channeling the small pieces of Tony Stark that live within you. “Should I be worried about that?”

Kate blinks back her surprise at your tone. “I hope not. It’s just…you’re y/n Stark, right?”

There’s a certain amount of awe in her voice that should be flattering but you’ve been burned far too many times to fall for it. Even if her words are accompanied by a genuine smile.

“That depends on what you’re going to say next,” you say, settling somewhere between cautious and unwelcoming.

“Well, I’m sort of a really big fan of the Avengers.”

You hate how adorable she looks with those stupidly soft eyes and fidgeting hands. She might mean well but the Avengers are a sore spot for you and certainly not one you’re going to talk about with someone you don’t know. (Especially when she’s technically supposed to be your main competition)

“Save your breath, Bishop,” you reply with an almost inaudible sigh. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You attempt to walk away from her but she’s far too quick. Her hand reaches out to grasp your forearm and you do your best not to look affected by how strong her grip is. “Hold on, what are you talking about? I thought you were part of the team too.”

“That’s none of your business. Don’t you have something better to do? Maybe yet another girl you’ll ditch by the end of the week?” 

Your comment is a low blow and one that heavily relies on gossip forums dedicated to the brunette. Gossip forums that you merely visited due to curiosity and not because you saw one of Kate’s Instagram posts and immediately ran to check if she likes girls too. (Somehow the jury is still out according to most news outlets but her list of rumors is almost as long as your own)

She’s genuinely speechless after that and you don’t dare give her time to recover. You’re being an asshole, you’re aware of it, but there’s something about the way she looks at you that terrifies you. Something that tells you she already knows the secrets that lie unspoken in the depths of your mind. 

And you hate it.  

So you run.

You force your arm out of her grasp and walk away from her.

She doesn’t put up a fight this time, she merely watches you go with the distinct feeling deep in her gut that she messed up her one chance with you.