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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 5

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, ALL THE ANGST. AND MORE TO COME! Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @edlothia-baby @soul-end @willieoo @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy

Author's Note: I have nothing to say for any of the emotions y'all are about to get from this. Enjoy!-Thorne

She wasn’t sure what she expected when she sat down, but the stretching silence growing between her and her estranged family wasn’t it. She tried to look anywhere but them, not because she was ashamed—far from it. But it was more than awkward sitting across from three brothers and a father she’d not spoken to in three years, let alone tell them she was even alive.

Her eyes found Wally’s as he sat down beside her eldest brother and if looks could’ve killed, he’d been dead and buried.

“Glare at me all you want, but I’m not going to apologize,” he shrugged.

Scowling, she turned her attention to the skyline. “Fuck you,” she spat, crossing her arms.

“At least talk to them, (Y/N).”

“And why should I, Wally?” she questioned, glaring at him. “I don’t have anything to say. If I did, I wouldn’t be here in Central.”

“You’re not leaving until you talk to them,” he finalized with a firm look and she growled low in her throat and resigned herself to her fate.

Her eyes darted to her father’s and she couldn’t for the life of her decipher what was in them. “I’ll talk for an hour,” she told him. “I’m not talking about what I’ve been doing in Central City, so don’t ask. I’m not talking about the life I’ve been living, so don’t ask. You’re only allowed to ask me about my departure and that’s it. But after one hour is up, I’m leaving.”

“Who said you get to leave,” Wally questioned, and she shot him the darkest glower she could muster.

“So help me God, Wally West you’ll either take me home or you’ll fix that fucking elevator and I’ll walk myself home. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the world who every vigilante is at this table.”

For once she managed to stump him because his eyes went wide—so did her family’s but she didn’t care—and he finally nodded.

“Alright. One hour.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she turned back to her family, more specifically her father. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Maybe for you to come home, (Y/N),” Jason answered, and she glanced to him.

“Not a chance. Next?”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be hostile. We’re not going to force you here,” Dick said, and she looked at him now, eyes narrowing.

“The manipulation tactic isn’t going to work on me, Dick. I’m not here for to be tricked into coming back. I’m never coming back.” She cocked her leg over the side of the table and reclined, biting out, “Give me your anger. I’d prefer that instead of whatever this pitiful bullshit you’ve got going on.”

In the eighteen years they’d known their sister they’d never heard her say such a callous thing, but her words had practically slapped Dick across the face because hurt etched onto his expression, then immediately turned into anger.

“You want my anger? Fine.” He stood and pointed at her. “What the hell is wrong with you! Why would just up and disappear like you did! Do you have any idea how scared we were for you! How distraught!”

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Knowing how you like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders because you can’t help but be a hero? Probably a lot.” She made a dramatic show of looking at her watch. “You’ve got forty minutes. Keep it up.”

Her eyes shifted to Bruce’s. “Did you let them read the letter? Or did you just throw it away after you read it?”

Dick, Jason, and Tim all turned to Bruce at that.

“Letter?” Tim repeated. “What letter?”

(Y/N)’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape and then she smiled knowingly. “Oh, you never showed them the letter, did you?” She looked to her brothers. “I wrote dad a letter the night I left to explain why I was leaving. It’s sugarcoated bullshit but it is the truth.”

Dick’s face contorted in anger. “(Y/N) left a reason behind and you didn’t tell us about it? Three years and not a single word?”

Bruce merely stared at her as he pulled the letter out of his coat pocket. “I was going to burn it when I found her again. Talk to her before anyone else could.”

Jason snatched the letter from his hands. It had faded a bit, softened around the hard edges, like someone had opened it and read it every day for three years.

His eyes scanned the paper, and he met her gaze, voice chock-full of hurt and she had to fight tooth and nail to keep herself from externally reacting. “You left because you thought we didn’t care about you?”

Dick reached over and took the letter. With furrowed brows and a frown, he started to read aloud, and Bruce gazed at (Y/N) as the memory came back to him.

***

Mornings at the manor were unusually quiet in comparison with the evenings. Everyone was typically too tired to argue so it accounted for a peaceful breakfast of soft words and chewing. Everyone had an assigned seat and every child had learned early on not to take the seat that belonged to another brother or their sister because there would be a fight about it.

Dick and Jason sat next to each other and (Y/N) took the seat at the end of that side; Tim and Damian took the other side—oldest to youngest, just the neat and even way Bruce liked it.

It was rare for any of the boys to be awake before him or Alfred and (Y/N) was usually the first kid to the table, the boys wandering in just minutes after her. Oddly enough, that morning she hadn’t come down for breakfast—which she always came to.

Bruce looked at Alfred. “Is (Y/N) coming down?”

Alfred hummed and gently maneuvered Tim’s arm to the side to he could set down the plate. “When I went to her door, it was locked, and I received no conversation from inside.”

Jason snorted and sipped his coffee. “Probably had a long night with her friends and is still out. I know I would be.”

“How would you know?” Tim interrupted. “You died before you got to the eleventh grade.”

“You’re one to talk, dropout,” Dick countered, and Damian sighed.

“Richard, you dropped out of college. The only son of Batman who has actually completed an entire bout of schooling is me.”

The three boys turned on him with scowls and retorted, “No one asked you, pipsqueak.” Damian glared back at them.

Bruce rolled his eyes, using the side of his fork to cut into his omelet. “Let’s try not to start a free-for-all here in the breakfast room, please.” He glanced at Alfred. “She’s probably tired from all the ceremonies. Let her sleep.”

Alfred nodded. “Of course, Master Bruce. She should be well rested this evening.”

But when the evening came, Alfred still hadn’t been able to get (Y/N) to unlock her bedroom nor speak to him. He certainly wasn’t worried, but it was off for her to be so reclusive. When Bruce and the boys came back from patrol, he mentioned it to him.

“Miss (Y/N) hasn’t come out from her bedroom, Master Bruce. Nor has she said a single word all day.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed and he tugged the cowl off, rising from the seat at the Batcomputer. “I’ll go check on her,” he replied. “You deal with…” his steel eyes drifted to Dick who had Tim in a headlock and Jason who was giving Damian a noogie. “Them,” he finalized, leaving the poor butler behind.

He knocked on the door to her room and pressed his ear to it. “(Y/N)? You haven’t come out all day. Is everything alright?”

Nothing. Not even a breath.

“(Y/N), are you in there?” he asked again and when he didn’t receive a confirmation, he raised his arm, running his fingers along the doorframe until he touched a small metal piece. He pulled it down and stuck it in the door, wiggling the knob for a second before it clicked, and he opened the door.

“Sweetheart, we’ve been trying to—” Bruce went silent when he saw the kempt room. Bed neatly made, everything organized and put away. Even her clothes hamper was empty.

He blinked and walked into the room, quickly heading to the bathroom to check for her there. It was empty as well, and just as clean, leaving him stunned as he exited the bath.

Wandering over to her desk, he saw an elegant envelope sitting on top of her laptop, his name written in beautiful penmanship. He picked it up and unfolded it, pulling out the multi-page letter. He drew his eyes along the golden lines, reading her words.

Dad,

I don’t really know how to start this letter. Truth be told I’ve written at least six before this one, and even then, I’m not entirely happy with it. But if you’re reading this, I’m not here anymore. I haven’t hurt myself in anyway, you don’t need to worry about Vicki Vale or Jack Ryder reporting the discovery of my body. I mean it in a literal sense—I’m not in Gotham anymore. Neither am I ever coming back.

Don’t think this is your fault. You’re a good father, the best I could’ve been given, and my brothers are good siblings. But the truth is that I’m not fit for this family of heroes. And I never have been. My best when trying to be what all of you are, was never good enough and I’ve spent eighteen years staring at your backs, waiting for you all to realize that I’m still here, that I still matter even if I��m not like you. And I don’t want to feel like a stranger in my own home any longer.

I don’t want you to look for me. I know you will, but I wish you wouldn’t. This isn’t some spur of the moment thing I decided to do the night after graduation. If you look at my bank records, I’ve been withdrawing cash from my savings since freshman year—this is four years of planning, so please understand that I’m doing this because I don’t want to be found—ever.

I’ll leave the story for the media up for you, though I doubt that they’ll care long enough to make a deal of it. It’ll pass like winter does spring and they’ll move on to the next bigger story.

Thank you for everything dad, and good luck with Gotham—keep it safe like you always have. And I hope that one day when you think of me, you won’t feel disappointment. I’ve only ever tried to be something that when you looked down on me, you’d only be proud, and I hope one day I’ll achieve what I always dreamed about. Eighteen is young to be on your own and I’m scared. But I’ll be okay—I always have been.

So do me a favor and don’t spend too much time over this. There are plenty more younger kids that need a parent’s hand on their backs to steady them like you once did for me. Find one and fill my spot. Let them shine brighter than I ever could. Let them be the one worthy to be a Wayne—I know I never was.

-(Y/N)

Bruce barely had time to grasp the back of her chair to keep himself from falling to his knees in shock. The letter was clenched in his hand and his lungs wouldn’t take in air like he wanted them to, his heart aching with each palpitation. He looked around the room to her dresser drawers, willing the strength into his legs to moved over to it. He opened every drawer and to his astonishment, they were empty. Hurrying to the bathroom, he noticed the drawers in there were empty as well. She was really gone. And he had no idea what to do.

***

Tears were in Dick’s eyes when he finished the letter and he looked up at her. “How could you ever think we didn’t care about you, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to sit there and explain every time she asked her brothers if they wanted to do something with her and they conveniently had something else to do. Didn’t want to explain every school and extracurricular performance that went unattended and left a little girl standing in front of a crowd barely managing to stave off the tears as she bowed and thanked them for coming. She didn’t want to remember all the memories that chipped away at her heart with every disappointment that occurred. All she wanted to do was leave.

(Y/N) had earlier returned to her original position, hands in her lap and she clenched her fists until her nails bit into the skin of her palms, eyes directed anywhere but Dick’s.

“I think it’s time we call this little reunion done,” she said, standing to her feet. “We’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Not if you run again,” Jason muttered, unconsciously wiping a tear from his eye.

She pointed at him, hissing, “I didn’t run the first time, Jason. I left. On my own accord.”

“You ran instead of coming to us, (Y/N),” Tim said, and she threw her hands above her head in disbelief.

“What the fuck did you want me to do! Wander down into the cave and beg at your feet for someone to pay attention to me! To at least pretend like I was a sister! I did! Every day!”

(Y/N) picked up her purse and yanked it up her arm. “Cassandra seems to be fitting in better than I did. So go and dote on her as the younger sibling. I’m not interested in the position anymore.”

“It’s not a competition,” Dick explained. “We love you just as much as we love Cass.”

She paused and gazed at him, voice laced with disappointment as she disagreed, “Then you should make sure she’s content in the manor, because if you love her with any semblance of how you loved me? It’s not at all.”

Her eyes shifted to Wally’s. “Fix the elevator. Now.”

He stayed seated for a moment, the two of them staring each other down, then he nodded wordlessly and moved to the elevator, starting it again. Her family stayed seated, and she gave them one final look before she followed Wally, silently waiting for the doors to open.

When they did, she stepped inside and turned around, hitting the button. Just before the doors closed, Wally stopped them and murmured, “You’re making a mistake.”

“My worst mistake was becoming friends with you.” (Y/N) blinked at him, then reached up and shoved his hand away from the door and as it closed, she remarked coldly, “And you can go to hell for all I care.”

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redroomwidows · 3 years

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Wildest Dreams | F.W

SUMMARY: They’re in a war, everyone’s life is on the line and Fred doesn’t want Y/n to forget him.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

WARNINGS: fluff, but then angst. canon character death...not described, but there’s some grief.

A/N: This is my second piece for @gcdric’s Taylor Swift writing challenge! This fic doesn’t follow the song as much as Mr. Perfectly Fine did, it’s very much a looser interpretation of it. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

fun fact! I’ve never actually written for Fred before, so this may be really ooc. I’m apologiding in advance lol but hopefully it’s not too ooc!

Fred Weasley x fem! reader

‘Say you'll remember me’

It was quiet.

Silent even. Usually, this would worry Y/n, but today, today it was calming and was a reminder that neither her nor Fred were in imminent danger. Their shared bedroom had rays of sunlight beaming through the curtains and Y/n almost blamed herself for not shutting them properly when she first woke up because of the light on her eyes. Almost. Because when she rolled over, she realised the sunlight let her see Fred’s sleeping face and let her admire the bronze and gold mixed amidst the ginger of his hair.

“Mornin’ love,” he croaks and Y/n smiles slightly, of course he wasn’t actually asleep

“Morning,” Fred slowly opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow slightly

“Were you watching me?”

“Maybe,”

“Weirdo,” he tries to stay serious, but a wide smile breaks through and he scoots closer to his fiancé, snuggling into her shoulder “What were you thinking about?”

“Hm, nothing,”

“So, you were just staring at me?” Fred knew when she was thinking, he always had.

“Fine,” Y/n sighs “I was thinking about how pretty you are,”

“Pretty?” Fred raises his head from her shoulder and looks her in the eyes “You mean handsome,”

“Nope,” she pops the p “pretty,” then kisses his nose, something she knew he hated.

“No, handsome,” he insists

“Pretty,” Y/n sings and Fred raises his hands up in a tickling motion

“Say I’m handsome,”

“Pretty,” she repeats and starts laughing even before Fred’s touched her, and when he does and starts moving his finger around, she laughs louder, kicking about “Stop!”

“Say I’m handsome!”

“Freddie!”

“Say it!” he keeps tickling her and when she starts to struggle to breathe, she shouts out:

“Fine! Fine! Handsome! I was thinking you were handsome!” he stops and Y/n lays still for a moment, breathing deeply and Fred watches, his elbow squashed into the bed as he holds his head in his hand.

Eventually, Y/n regains her breath and leans in to whisper in Fred’s ear “Pretty,”. He doesn’t tickle her this time, just smiles fondly as she giggles to herself, staring up at the ceiling. He’d let her have this one, in fact if he himself wasn’t so stubborn, he’d let her win every time. He liked her like this, calm and happy, unable to keep a smile off her face. He wanted to see her like this forever.

“Let’s run away,”

“What?” Y/n turns to Fred, eyes still glassy from his ‘attack’

“Let’s run away,” he repeats, but he can tell Y/n is still confused “leave here and find a cottage in the woods or something,”

“Fred… are you being serious?”

“Yes!” Fred smiles and excitement floods his voice “Bill and Fleur did it, why can't we?”

“We’re not Bill and Fleur,” Y/n says in disbelief, not sure if Fred was joking or not “they have a baby on the way, your future niece or nephew,”

“Yours to,” Fred gestures to the ring on her left finger proudly. He’d proposed their first year out of Hogwarts, Molly had said it was too soon but when Death Eater attacks became more frequent, she was happy to see her son so happy. She also knew Fred wouldn’t listen to her anyway. He loved Y/n L/n and he would marry her anywhere, anytime. But soon preferably. He adored the idea of being able to say ‘my wife’ and he wanted to call her Mrs Weasley and come up with a whole new branch of nicknames for her based on her new status. But he had to wait, he could do that.

“Our future niece or nephew,” she corrects, “and you and George have the shop,”

“It’s not even open at the moment,” Fred mutters quietly, knowing Y/n was right, but still wanting to believe for a minute more that they could leave “Please?”

“You know we can’t go…” Y/n takes a deep breath as the somewhat jokey conversation becomes serious “we’re gonna be needed…” she looks left and out the window, holding a hand over her stomach.

“I know,” Fred smiles, putting his hand over Y/n’s “Can’t blame me for being in love with ya,”

“Guess I can’t,” Y/n smiles with him as she remembers the last time he said that to her.

It was their last year at Hogwarts and George and Fred had finally grown tired of Umbridge. They haven’t fully told Y/n the plan, but she knew they weren’t coming back. Fred had minutes to say goodbye before him and George had to set the plan into the motion, and he was grabbing Y/n’s hands so tightly she thought the circulation might never come back.

“Come with us,” he whispers and she looks down, smiling lightly

“You know I can’t,”

“Why not?”

“My parents would kill me,” she laughs and presses a kiss to his lips, whispering into them “You would kill me,”

“I would,” he nods “What are you thinking, throwing away your future for a boy?”

“A ginger one nonetheless!” Y/n gasps, playing along

“Oi!” George shouts from behind a door and Y/n laughs as Fred shouts out to him

“Stop eavesdropping you prat!” shuffling is heard and Y/n gazes at Fred again, trying to memorise his face before he leaves.

“Promise you’ll write?”

“Of course. You can hear everything about mine and Georgie’s experiments and how I came up with all of the ideas” Y/n would laugh, but all she can manage is an amused brow raise

“And you’ll be here for graduation?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he nods “Promise,” There’s a knock on the door, a signal Fred needed to go.

“I love you,” Y/n says quickly

“I love you too,” They share one more kiss and Fred whispers into her lips “Come with me?”

“Fred!”

“Can’t blame me for being in love with ya!” with that, he gives her hands a final squeeze before leaving, giving her a wink as he shuts the door.

“Y/n…” Fred waves a hand over her eyes “you there?”

“Hm?” she turns back to him

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she rolls onto her right side so she can look at him properly “You?” Fred seems to be thinking about his answer and Y/n puts her left hand over his shoulder, rubbing soft circles on the soft cotton of his t-shirt “Freddie?”

“We’re gonna be needed,” he repeats her earlier statement slowly “And when we are, something may happen to me...If I don’t make it -”

“Fred!” Y/n’s eyes widen, completely not expecting such a sombre topic to come up on a Wednesday morning, especially after such a somewhat cheery morning “Can we please not, not now?”

“I need to say it Y/n, I need to get it off my chest, I’ve been thinking about it for days,” he had been acting differently, he’d been quieter at dinner and seemed to want to cling to her and George more, talking about going to the Burrow when it was safe to. So maybe that’s why she gave in, or maybe it was the soft ‘please’ he muttered afterwards that he paired with pleading eyes. She could never deny him, not when he looked like that, so sad.

“Okay,”

“If I don’t survive…” he keeps pausing and Y/n supposes that if she was talking about the same thing, she would do the same “I want you to remember me, I want you to remember us -”

“Of course, I’m going to remember you!” Y/n couldn’t believe he’d think she’d ever forget him.

“I know! I just need you to promise. Promise you’ll remember me and us. Promise me you’ll remember when we used to wake up at god knows when just to watch the sunrise and when the sun used to set in summer and we’d just lay out by the lake. Because you always talked about how it calmed you. I want you to remember how you used to write crap poetry and dramatically read to me and I could never really tell if you were joking or not, so I didn’t laugh and you always thought I was annoyed with you,”

Y/n feels a bit hot in the face at the mention of that, she was just a tad bit embarrassed.

“Promise me you’ll remember the sunrises, the sunsets, the parties and the snogging but also promise me you’ll remember this, lazy mornings in bed, cooking together and cuddling. And promise me you’ll see me again, even if it’s in a Quidditch portrait at school or photos around the flat, or memories or dreams. Promise me you’ll remember me?”

“I promise,” she whispers, kissing him slowly “But don’t worry about it too much. Neither of us have to worry, because you’re not dying. Not on my watch,”. Fred smiles and in seconds, the subject seemed to be forgotten as he bops his fiancé’s nose and starts a conversation about what their brunch should be.

Y/n remembered that conversation now as she stood in a graveyard, staring down at what would have been her future husband's tombstone where she’d recently placed some flowers, right next to George’s.

She remembered the sunrises,

“Freddie...I’m too tired for this…”

“Promise me, it’ll all be worth it love,”

and the sunsets,

“Are you okay?”

“No... but just, watch this with me,”

the parties,

“You have had far too much to drink,”

“Y/n! I missed you!”

“I just went to the loo,”

“Yeah, but I love you!”

the snogging,

“Fred...we cannot be doing this here,”

“Shhhh, tell me you don’t get a little bit of satisfaction from doing this in Snape’s classroom,”

and the lazy mornings in bed, cooking together and cuddling.

“I love you,”

“Are you talking to me or the pancakes I just brought you?”

“Y/n, it’s on fire!”

“What?!”

“Joking…”

“You twat!”

“We should get up…”

“No! Stay here, just a bit longer,”

She remembered everything. She would never forget and while she may only ever be able to be with Fred in her dreams, she still loved him more than anything. She’d be with him someday, when it was her time to go.

‘Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams’

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pocketfulofrogers · 3 years

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Everything Comes Back to You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean can count on one hand the amount of weaknesses he has. Despite his every effort to keep his distance over the years in an effort to keep you safe, he find himself at your door a few too many times. Everything changes when it you who calls him.

Notes: My first supernatural piece! A story told through many years.

September 14, 1996

There were few things you despised more in this world than calculus. The lecture had drug on and on, monotone and continuous, until you felt like you could scream. A miracle of reprieve came when the door opened and in walked a boy who seemed to glide on charisma. He made some kind of offhand joke and flashed a smirk that had half the girls already in his palm.

For you, it was what you saw in his eyes that drew you to him. Something akin to the pieces you kept buried deep within you.

December 22, 1996

You’re sweet, unbelievably so. The way you taste, the way you sound, the way you feel. It’s so easy for Dean to bury himself in you, forget about everything that isn’t in this bed. You had been the solace he didn’t know he had been searching for- offering just a few moments of peace in this life he had no say in.

Most days he believes you may be the light that will save him, other days he believes it unfair to ask such a thing of you.

You nuzzle into his chest and his arms around you tighten. “What are you thinking about?” You ask.

Maybe it’s how tired he is, running between the motel to check on Sammy and darting straight back to the comforts of this bedroom that has him feeling so unnaturally mushy. You’d say it’s the Christmas spirit looming in the air, threatening to infect him with just a bit of joy.

You did love Christmas, and he loved you.

But love was not something he was allowed in this life - stability never something he’d known. Dean knew the drill all too well. The moment he allows himself to plant any semblance of roots, it’ll be time to load the Impala and disappear. Kansas may have been home once, but it isn’t home now.

Still, he couldn’t help himself when it came to you.

Sometimes his mind wonders to what his life could be if he were to just ask you to run away with him. Leave this little town and never look back. No more hunting, no more fighting, just wonderful, uncomplicated, boring life. Life with you.

He’s never met a hunter that’s successfully left the life, though. The longer you knew him, the higher the chances got for you to get caught in the crossfire and he’d never forgive himself if something were to happen to you.

You’re silently watching him, waiting for a response to a question he had already forgotten.

“I should go check on Sam.”

April 18, 2002

“You gave my address to who? Mom, just because someone says they knew me doesn’t mean you should tell them where I live! It doesn’t matter if he seemed like a ‘wonderful young man’ you know there are things out there.” You’re pacing in your living room now, tempted to grab your shotgun.

“Oh, Y/N, stop it with that nonsense. He had a photo of you and now he’s on his way.” Your mother dismisses you.

You groan and toss your head back. “Well hopefully you can describe what he looked like to the cops when they find me-“

Then a car pulls up, engine roaring and rock music blasting. You knew that car, you knew it well. Sneaking up to the window, you take a peek around the curtains and see the sleek black Impala. A man gets out, the leather jacket he’s wearing tickles a memory long buried.

It isn’t until you see his face that it settles in- butterflies swimming in deep rooted anger. The boy who left you with nothing but an aching hole and a postcard with no return address was all grown up and damn if he didn’t look good.

“Gotta go.” You hang up the phone.

When he knocks, you brace yourself- scrounge up all the will-power you have so you can kick him out. There will be no apologies or pleasantries. No sir. None. Not one.

But Dean’s always been one step ahead of you, so, he’s quick to start when you open the door- death glare only momentarily stalling him. “Listen, I know-“

“Get back in your car and go home.”

“Just hear me out for a minute.” He pleads.

You want to tell him to go, you really do, but one glance at those green eyes and every fiber of your being is pleading for you to just wait. Call it hope, call it weakness, call it a desperate need for some form of closure, you let him in.

Narrowing your eyes, you ask him, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

You hate how that almost settles your anger, how after all these years he still had some ridiculous hold on you. “How can you possibly believe I would want to see you after what you did? That kind of hurt doesn’t just disappear, Dean.”

“I know, I know. I’m also here to apologize. I should have said more-“

“More?” You interrupt exasperated. “Please tell me you did not come all this way to ask me to absolve you of your guilt.”

“That’s not-“

“Because you showed up on my doorstep, asked me to pack a bag and run away with you- leave my life and everything I’ve ever known to go who knows where with you. And then, when the sun rose in the morning, you were gone.”

“You hadn’t exactly been happy with me.” He tries to defend himself.

“Yeah, but you know what I did that night? I packed a stupid bag and waited for hours in front of that stupid diner. Waiting and waiting, but you never showed! You just left me! Know what I got out of it? A postcard from Topeka with a half assed ‘I’m sorry’ written on it.”

He falters under your gaze. “Y/N, I am sorry. I really am.”

“I just want to know why, Dean.” Your voice falls and he can no longer meet your eyes. “Come on, there are a million excuses. You couldn’t leave Sam, you couldn’t leave you dad, you didn’t actually love me. Just pick one so I can move on.”

“I did love you.” He bites back.

“Then what, you couldn’t leave the life?”

His eyebrows furrow as he takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “What do you mean?”

You sigh. “I was young but I wasn’t stupid. The family business wasn’t sales, Dean.” His eyes widen. “People started disappearing right before you and your family showed up. They stop disappearing and then all of a sudden, you’re gone. I had my suspicions, but it wasn’t until I met another hunter a few years later that I knew for sure.”

He makes his way into your living room and you want to ask what gave him the idea that you wanted him in your home.

“If you know about that side of this world, then how can you blame me for wanting to protect you from it?”

Of all of the reasons you had come up with as to why the boy you thought was the love of your life had left you high and dry, this wasn’t one. Had he truly loved you? Had he weighed his heart and your life to determine which he valued most? You can’t tell if that idea hurt more than the rest.

“Who were you to make that decision for me?”

“Who are you to expect me not to have?”

It’s quiet, uncomfortably so. Dean rakes his fingers through his hair and your arms tighten across your chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. None of it. He wasn’t supposed to have left you destroyed, calling out for him in the middle of the night. You were supposed to have moved on, supposed to have said goodbye to the boy with so much sadness in his eyes and so much love in his heart.

You never really do forget your first, though, do you?

He sighs, drawing your attention back to him, and pulls his gaze from the ceiling. “This isn’t what I came for.”

You tighten your arms across your chest and take a step closer, then another. “Do enlighten me, then. What are you really here for?” You’re dangerously close now, a breath away and Dean can barely think. “What is it you want?”

You look up at him and in a second he’s gone, just like that first day. It’s nostalgic and painful and warm all at once. How was it you still had this power over him?

“You.” He breathes out.

October 14, 2006

“Hey, uh, Fairmont? That’s close to Eudora, right?” Dean asks, trying so hard to seem casual.

Sam peaks around the bathroom door, noticing his brother has been ‘cleaning’ the same weapon for the last thirty minutes, and raises a brow. “Yeah, not too far.” Dean just hums. “What’s in Eudora?”

“Huh? Oh nothing, just thought a detour would be nice with everything going on.”

Sam spits his toothpaste into the sink. “Didn’t we spend a Christmas there?”

Dean stalls. “Well, you know, we moved around so much it’s hard to tell when we were anywhere, really. I couldn’t-“

“No, no, I’m sure we did. I had that English teacher that snored through Shakespeare.”

“Your memory is definitely better than mine, I couldn’t tell you much about-“

“And there was that girl, gosh, what was her name again?” Sam prompts his brother, already knowing the answer.

“There’s been so many girls, Sam, can’t expect me to remember all of their names.” Dean chuckles nervously.

The flop sweat on Dean’s forehead is almost reward enough, but hearing him sputter and flail was just too good for Sam to give up.

“She had the hair and the mom, liked Christmas.” Dean stutters again. “Oh right! Y/N! Aka the girl who’s name you say in your sleep on a weekly basis.” Now he’s red. “How long has it been man? If you could’ve made it work, you would’ve. What’d she say when you saw her last?”

Suddenly the floor is very interesting to Dean. “That I can’t keep coming in and out of her life.”

“That’s all the closure you’re going to get, Dean, take it.”

October 18, 2006

Work had been the worst. The only thing you wanted was a bubble bath and a huge glass of wine. The last thing you expected when you finally reached your driveway was Dean Winchester sitting on your porch, but of course, with the cluster fuck of today, this might as well happen.

You take a moment to collect yourself before stepping out of your car.

“Heard you took down a Rougarou in Tennessee. Thought you said you didn’t want a part of this life.” He raises a brow and you can’t tell if it’s an accusation or an ‘I told you so’ moment.

“Was there for business, it was just good timing. Guess you were right, though, can’t just sit by.” You shrug. He looks like he’s waiting for something, something you’re sure you can’t give him. “What are you doing here?” You ask, sounding more tired than upset.

“I know, I’m sorry. But we had a case nearby and Sammy told me no, but next thing I know I’m in my car and then I’m here. Really, it’s your fault. Should’ve moved.”

You snort. “And you wouldn’t have found me?” He only shrugs. “What is it you want, Dean?”

“A friend?”

“You drove all the way out here for a friend?”

“Guess you could say I’m in short supply.”

You look him up and down, noticing the bags beneath his eyes and something in you aches for him. Of course, you had heard about the passing of John, that may be the very reason he’s here, but knowing Dean, it’s not a subject he wants to touch.

Ten years later and you can still read him.

“Fine, but don’t ask me to run away with you.” You tease. “Twice is enough for this lifetime.”

June 16, 2013

Dean is in the middle of another argument with Sam trying to defend the importance of bacon when his phone rings. Sam’s dramatic sigh of relief earns an eye roll from his brother.

“Dean Winchester.” He answers, but he can’t hear anything on the other end. “Hello?” He tries again and this time he makes out heavy breathing. “Who is this?”

“Dean.” His name barely slips from your lips and to his ears before you groan.

He leans forward quick enough to earn concern from Sam. “Where are you?”

“Sound stressed.” You chuckle before sputtering.

“Y/N, tell me where are you.” His voice is the kind of calm that would usually send ice through your veins, but right now you were struggling just to keep your eyes open.

“Not sure.” Your speech is slurred and the panic Sam sees in his brother’s eyes drives his fingers faster as he works on a trace.

“How bad is it?”

“You should see the other guy.”

“Dammit, Y/N, not the time. Where are you hurt?”

“Broken ribs, I think. This gash in my side seems a little alarming.” You squint down at it trying to determine if your blurry vision was a result of the gapping wound or the nice blow to the head you took. “Objectively, all very bad.” You mumble.

Dean is over Sam’s shoulder now and if he hadn’t looked as terrified as he did right now, Sam would be making a less than funny comment about it.

“Were you on a hunt?” His voice is still cool, but he begins to waiver when he has to strain to hear your confirmation. “Is it still after you?” He has to press the question two more times before he gets a response, by then he’s already started the Impala.

“Finished him ‘for he finished me.”

“Y/N, were on our way.” Dean grits out. “You just hold on a little longer and we’ll get you all patched up.”

You barely manage to hum response before everything begins to fade out, Dean yelling your name in the background.

June 17, 2013

They had only barely made it in time. Dean had come sliding to your side, bandages already in hand. He spoke softly to you, a drastic contradiction to the frantic shake of his hands.

Sam had never seen his brother like this before.

“Dean, I don’t think…”

“No! Just,” Dean tossed the keys to Sam and slipped his arms beneath your limp body. “Get us to the nearest hospital.”

He sat in the back seat with you holding as much pressure against the flaps of skin as he could, still talking so softly to you. Sam’s heart ached as he heard his brother beg you not to leave him and make promises they both know he can’t keep.

When he could no longer feel you breathing, his eyes shot up to the review mirror and Sam slammed on the gas.

Squealing into the ambulance drop off, Sam began to yell for help as he pulled open the back seat door. Dean was frozen, all of the color drained from his face.

Emotion cut off from his voice, he had barely managed a whisper. “I think she’s gone.”

From there, he had spent the last six hours trying to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he had lost one of the only good things in his life. Sitting there in some criminally uncomfortable waiting room chair with his head in his hands.

All he could see was you. You twirling around in a bright sundress with the Kansas sunset kissing your skin. Your eyes closed- lips parted slightly as you slept soundly. You angry, red in the face accusing him of using you as some kind of sick tie to a simpler time.

Was that all she was to him? No, he shakes his head at just the thought of it. To him you were the only thing that made sense. A singular constant that he felt like his whole being revolved around.

But he had never told you.

Finally, by 5am he had almost convinced himself that he would be fine.

So, when the doctor comes out with blood speckling the bottom of his scrubs, he wants to shut down, but he needs to know.

“Just give it to us straight, doc.”

“She’s alive.” He says. “The surgery was tough and she gave us quite a scare, but she is alive.”

His knees almost give out from beneath him.

June 20, 2013

Everything hurts. Your side, your chest, your head, your skin. The gentle breeze from the vent above you is what pulls you out of the darkness. The harsh fluorescent lights are almost enough to send you right back to the comfort of the dark, but a shifting pressure at your thigh piques your interest.

Slowly, trying not to groan despite every muscle in your body screaming, you look to your left. Dean’s arm is draped lightly across the tops of your thighs, his hand curling in at your hip. For a moment you do nothing but watch him sleep, his eyes fluttering behind his eyelids every so often.

He looks like shit.

Dark, sunken bags have built up beneath his eyes and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. A part of you feels flattered imagining the fuss he had to have made to not only get you here, but to stay here himself.

Without thinking, you begin to move your hand to caress his cheek. Your fingers trace the lines of his now furrowed brow before you thread them through his hair. The movement hurts, but it’s worth it.

Especially when you’re rewarded with a lovely green as his eyes slowly open. For a moment you think there may be no yelling or ‘are you out of your mind’ speeches when a smile begins to slowly light up his face. And then, as if he’s suddenly remembered what has happened, his smile shuts down into a scowl.

“You almost died.” He hisses lowly.

“Almost.” You echo and try to cough out a laugh, but it devolves into a groan. His alarm doesn’t disappear when you try to wave him off. “I’m fine now, so why don’t you go shower or something? You smell.”

“So you can try to slip out?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Not happening.”

“You’re usually the one that slips out.” You mutter, but he doesn’t hear you. “You can’t kidnap me, Dean.”

“The hell I can’t.”

June 23, 2013

“Bedroom here, bathroom down there. Sam and I are here… and here.” Dean’s pointing to doors as you struggle to hobble behind him on his tour of the bunker. When he stops, you almost run into his back. “Sammy went to grab some stuff from your house, but it looks like you don’t live there anymore.” He only raises a brow when you advert your gaze.

Instead of responding, you turn around to point at a door a couple down. “Mine? Sounds good.” You scurry as quickly as you can into the room, but Dean catches the edge of the door before you can shut it.

“You’re not going to explain yourself?”

You laugh bitterly. “Explain myself? Are you kidding me? I don’t answer to you, Dean.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You want to turn away from him, but he’s holding your gaze too intensely. “What’s going on with you? You’re living out of cheap hotels and hunting on your own now?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“Y/N, cut the shit. It’s just you and me here. Have you even told your mom what happened?”

And it’s this comment, this sincere question that takes the final piece of your resistance from him. He watches as the tense set of your shoulders fall and your face relaxes. The malice and resentment slips from your features and it’s a relief.

“She’s dead.” You barely manage to whisper. “Vetala. Didn’t know they worked in pairs. Her husband found her tied up in the kitchen three years ago.”

He’s stunned. It’s probably the only thing you could have said that would steal his fire in an instant. He knew that kind of pain, that kind of drive. He knew it too well. You sniffle before quickly wiping your eyes and his face falls imagining the pain you’re feeling.

To his surprise, the moment is gone as quick as it started when he watches you swallow down your emotions and rebuild that wall in almost an instant.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not one to be domestic. I’ll be out of your hair the second the doctors clear me.”

It stings. “Just like that?” He asks, not caring this time if you hear the hurt in his voice.

“Why would I stay? You make it clear what you want each time you stop by my house for a quicky and then slip out without a word.” The stunned look on his face is infuriating. “I get it, Dean. It’s convenience and consistency. Not love.”

“Not love?” He repeats your judgement, rolling the word around his tongue and he has to admit he hates the taste. He repeats it again, louder this time and it startles you. “Y/N I gave up everything I ever wanted that night I left you at the diner because I love you. I have tried and tried to stay as far away from you to keep you safe because I love you. I show up on your doorstep in moments of selfish cowardice because I can’t stay away! Almost my whole life I have been drawn to you time and time again and I know it hurts you. It kills me to hurt you, but I can’t stop because I love you.”

Dean’s chest is heaving, his breath falling across your face with how close he is to you now. “You love me.” He has to strain to hear you, but you need the clarification. Love or loved?

“When I saw you laying on the ground, bleeding out, I wished it was me instead. But when I held you in my arms and you…” His voice breaks and his eyes water. “And you stopped breathing…”

Before you know what you’re doing, you have your hands cradling either side of his facing, soothingly hushing him.

“Dean.” You murmur. “I’m okay, you saved me.”

“Stay.” The word bursts through his lips without his control. “Please, just stay.”

A single tear falls from your eyes as you nod knowing that the idea of a place called home had changed over the years, but this, him- he had always remained.

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfic

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narukoibito · 3 years

Note

St. Mungos, since feeling is first who pays attention and Muggle FWB for the WIP Game?

Thank you for the interest, Anon! This took a while because things in my personal life are in chaos, but thank you for the request.

St. Mungos

This is my Healer!Ginny story that has been lurking in the back of my brain since last year. I’ve written a good amount of words, but then an entirely different plot appeared and now I may have to rewrite most of it, hence it’s lack of progress. But I still really want to finish this one day.

Ginny is a Healer on the 4th floor of St. Mungos. Her first patient is someone named Harry Evans. (This is a Harry never to Hogwarts story.)

The first thing Ginny notices is his eyes. They’re the most vivid, bright green that she’s ever seen. It’s unnerving how unseeing they are. A pressure builds up in her chest, an aching pain and nostalgia she can’t place.

The morning light from the window washes over his face, dancing off these round wire-rimmed glasses. His dark hair (black like a blackboard) appears to be on some ineffable scale of entropy — tousled and pointed in every which way, yet somehow it’s charming and works well with his sharp, unconventional features. Some of that hair spills over a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

But it’s also the pleasant, vacancy in those eyes that strikes her, like she’s looking at the embers of a once bright flame. He looks like an innocent, half-lost child, his lips curled in a ghost of a smile.

Her clipboard and supervisor tell her his name is Harry Evans. The name creates an itch at the back of her head, something she wants to scratch at, but the odd sense of nostalgia must be misplaced significance. He’s her first real patient.

He must matter to someone important to have his own room on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s Ward 49. Usually they lumped all the long-term spell damaged patients in one place, let them wander under the supervision of one Healer. But this room is spacious and private, protected by complicated wards and concealing charms. Someone really cares about Harry Evans, and for some reason it causes a subtle burning behind her eyes. Maybe it’s because he looks like a newborn fawn.

Who wouldn’t want to protect him?

“You’re new, but he’s not difficult. It’s mostly maintenance,” her supervisor says. “He makes it easy, don’t you, Harry?”

Harry’s gaze drifts toward the window.

Ginny scans his file. It’s actually surprisingly thick, but a lot of it has been redacted. The summary page sums it up though: he’s twenty-one; he has been here for three years; the diagnosis is vague (severe curse damage); there’s a long slew of attempted cures, none of which were successful obviously; now it’s about making sure he’s comfortable whatever that means.

“All right, let me know if run into any trouble.” Her supervisor is already starting for the door.

“Um — what about — I know his treatment is maintenance, but can I…?” Ginny’s not sure what she’s trying to say exactly. Harry Evans has seen a lot of Healers if the list of attempted cures is any indication, but she gave up Quidditch to become a Healer in the long-term spell damage ward specifically because she wanted to do something.

Her supervisor gives her a rueful smile.

“Stick to maintenance. Harry Evans is a special case.”

Ginny turns back to Harry, who is facing her again, looking painfully innocent.

Somehow she doesn’t need convincing that he’s special.

since feeling is first who pays attention

This was a gift for the Harry/Ginny Discord Incognito Elf exchange. I managed to finish in time to gift it, but I want to take some additional time to rework it before posting. It is missed moments over the years as Ginny and her feelings for Harry evolve.

Ginny presses her face against the wall, peeking between the stair spindles. Her bright brown eye lands on the two boys hunched over a chessboard. Her brother Ron and Harry Potter, who, despite appearing to be losing, doesn’t look the least upset.

Harry Potter.

The Harry Potter is in her house. Looking comfortable on their couch despite the faded, mended cushions. His face crinkles in laughter at something Ron says, his green eyes bright with contentment. Ginny doesn’t miss the occasional look of awe at the things she’s always taken for granted. It’s almost as if he can’t believe he is really here.

He isn’t what she expected – isn’t what she imagined he would look like after all those years listening to Mum recite her favorite bedside story, about the heroic Savior of the Wizarding World. She had pictured neat hair, a dashing smile, someone who would recognize a comrade in her and take her on all sorts of adventures. He would be different, he wouldn’t discount her dreams of flying and doing everything her brothers could and more.

Instead, Harry Potter has the messiest hair ever, a sheepish smile, and clothes that he nearly swims in. Oh, and he has somehow missed the memo and found the comrade in her brother Ron instead.

Her fingers curl around the spindle. Not for the first time, a spike of envy shoots through her. If only she were a little older or a boy. Then maybe she would be the one playing chess with Harry. Maybe she would be the one to hide under his invisibility cloak and battle trolls and face You-Know-Who with him.

Ginny presses her face a little closer and lets out a sigh.

But Harry Potter is kind. He ignores all the times she has made a fool of herself. And he has the greenest eyes she’s ever seen. They are as green as those glowing jars of pickled toads at the Potion ingredients store Mum had taken her to. Pretty and kind and not dismissive of her patched clothes or her glowing red face.

Harry Potter. If he likes Ron, if he looks like he actually likes the Burrow, if his face grimaces at the attention at Flourish and Blotts, could it be possible that one day he could like her too?

Muggle FWB

Hah, so this was the first idea that I rambled off to my beta, which ended up with long, long emails back and forth on this idea that I never wrote! Here’s a snippet of that exchange:

Harry thinks he only see Ginny as a little sister, so when she suddenly proposes that they become friends with benefits in uni, he’s floored and says they’re practically family. Blinded by her anger over the rejection, she kisses him so that he knows what he’ll be missing. Of course, he then realizes his attraction to her. As their physical relationship progresses, they develop feeeeeeelings (gasp!). But Ginny thinks she only wants a physical relationship and once they have sex, it'll get out of her system. Harry has to work to convince her that she actually wants more.

But the backdrop is that Ginny doesn't think she wants more than sex is that when she was 11, she was kidnapped by Tom Riddle for as a kid (they met at the park a lot, and none of her brothers/Harry/anyone realized he'd been "befriending" her). Kid Harry figures out where Riddle took her and saves her.

Ginny wasn’t molested but she/Harry/everyone else is deeply affected by this event even though they don't realize it. Ginny thinks she's overcome it, and she's still a BAMF some the books but she's not fully over it as shown by her fear of being emotionally involved with Harry. It's why Harry refuses for a long time to think of her anything else outside of a brotherly way.

Ginny has a really bad sexual experience (though it doesn't go all the way), and as a result she's disgusted by men (not scared), but doesn't feel any revulsion with Harry. After not being able to get close to any boy for a long time, she decides to proposition Harry. Harry, being noble, absolutely refuses at first, but she kisses him, he's very attracted to her, and is convinced by her that he's helping her get over this tick. So it's FWB but it fits their personalities, and still stays true to the Ginny is subconsciously afraid of a real relationship/intimacy with Harry, who realizes he wants more but doesn't know if just getting to be physical is more than he'll ever deserve and he wants what he can get if not real love from her - until, of course, he realizes he can't do it anymore and she has to decide if she's brave enough to actually let herself feel.

HAHA omg I’m reading over my emails and I talk about getting into The Changeling and only sleeping 4/5 hrs a night and then the exchange ends with my coming up with my alternate dimension idea of Harry getting thrown into the BWL!Neville universe. So you guys can see why this story never went anywhere despite several thousands words between me and my beta.

–

Whew, long post. Hope that satisfied your curiosity!

I’m honestly not sure there are any left, but let me know if you have any other wip asks! Though note that I will be rather absent in the near-future because of life.

#wip title game #anonymous #healer!ginny story #st. mungos #since feeling is first who pays attention #muggle au fwb #languishing wips #i'm not gone for good but will be gone for a little while #just popping my head in now and again #because life #hinny #harry/ginny

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valeskakingdom · 3 years

Text

Request

Hi! I wanted to make you a request for a jerome x reader bc I saw that you write so well! Anyway, could you do a one shot where jerome and female reader meet when hes been kidnapped by Theo and she's an assasin that works for him that interrupts his speech that he's doing to the maniax (and if you could do her with a few tattoos, dressed in leather and covered in blood bc she just ended a "work" For Theo it would be great but you're not obligated) and they are fascinated by each other and begin to be friends and.. Idk if you can use your mind to make them sleep together 😂 and one last thing she has a strong personality but it's not like she never smiles like she has emotions ahahha (so she's not bitchy like I've seen doing in other fics), and she's kinda dominant in bed.. Like she is a switch, if you don't want to do it bc you don't like the idea it doesn't matter

Requested by @rott3nheart

Thank you!! Okay so, I tried to do my best on it. Honestly about the switch thing I kinda felt uncomfortable but still I tried to do my best. Hope you enjoy reading:)

PS: sorry that I took so long. had a lot of stuff to deal with

PSS: I split that request in two parts again because of the enormous length. Post the next part right after that here

Jerome x female reader (part 1)

Warnings: mention of sex, murder and violence

Another day full of work. Another day where a human life had to end.

Another day where you had to do a favor for your boss Theo Galavan.

He want to become the most powerful man in Gotham - the major. He wanted to win the election. It would be a tragedy if he didn't because any of his competitors seem to be better. It would be scandalous, wouldn't it?

Your previous days were the same as now: Theo called you, he wanted you to do him favors which obviously meant to kill people that could cause trouble.

Every day you came back covered in blood with messy hair, Theo thanked you, you had a nice conversation with Tabitha - your best friend - and then you made your way to clean your weapons and slowly drift to sleep.

Your every day life didn't bore you though. Oh no, you loved it! You loved the thrill every time you chase someone, tortured him and then killed him. The whole process was giving you chills, just the thought of it was enough.

You walked after that guy through a crowd of people. You took your time, even bought a coffee and some candies for yourself while chasing the guy. You didn't want to stand out.

Then you just waited for the perfect moment where barely people were around you and BOOM! - that guy was shot by you.

You tried to call Tabitha telling her Theo's competitor was dead, she didn't pick up.

It made you suspicious - usually she always picked up. So either she was busy with killing someone or she had to help Theo with some business.

You sighed for yourself and looked down at the dead body right in front of you. That corpse had to disappear. And so you decided to do what you always did: you carried the corpse to a forest, chopped it up with your axe and buried it anywhere.

And that was what you did. You carried that dead guy, stumbled at first through his weight but then you quickly made your way. Luckily the forest was near the place where you killed him and second of all, you made sure no one was watching you. You knew many ways through where you could literally invisible.

You walked through bushes, ran through little dark alleys and finally arrived the forest. You walked through it, deep enough until you were sure that this place was perfect to bury a corpse. You let the corpse fall on the ground, staring at it for a while. The guy's skin was pale already and he stopped bleeding.

"Well, I'm sorry my dear, but it's time to chop you up." You grabbed the axe from your back pocket and started the process.

First you chopped up the arms, then the legs, the head and then the guy's body in little several parts.

Of course, you always had a shovel next to your axe. How else should you eradicate a corpse? As fast as possible you dug little holes into the ground to shove the guy's body parts into them. It didn't take you that long, maybe an hour or two.

As you finished your work with pride you slowly walked out of the forest still making sure no one was watching you - and luckily no one did.

You tried to call Tabitha again - but again she didn't pick up the phone.

"Ugh, I hope she has a good reason not to respond. If she's fucking someone then I'll fucking kill her!" you hissed putting your axe and the shove back in your pocket and quickly made your way to Theo's Tower.

***

Finally the elevator opened and you entered Theo's living room.

People in some kind of small wagons were standing with their backs in front of you being tied up. Tabitha stood aside while you heard Theo was holding a speech about people's attitudes - you didn't pay attention to his words.

Being covered in blood and dirt you stepped forward, straight walking to Theo.

"Hey, Theo. Work is done!" You nodded to him, then turned your head to Tabitha "Hey Tabby."

"You have some uhm..." In disgust, she gestured that you have 'something' in your face and your body.

"I know. Had to chop up that guy." You shrugged. Somehow you felt watched so you turned back to Theo and his 'fellows'.

Every one was looking around besides a young ginger boy. He was eyeing you with a mischievous grin. His eyes expressed the pure evil. That guy was born to be a villain, that you can tell.

You viewed him from head to toe. He was still in his Arkham clothings.

His skin was pale, almost white. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, his lips red with a permanent smile on his face. The ginger was tall, not too skinny and not too fat. He had a standard body, maybe with some abs. Craziness was written in his face. You could tell he was crazier than all the others together. For you, he was interesting. You saw him as an opportunity to have some fun at work if Theo allows, or for fun after work.

"(Y/n)..." Theo gave you a little annoyed smile which let you know that you interrupted "Haven't expect you yet. You arrived here quite early."

"A simple kill isn't hard work, T," you crossed your arms with a slight laughter positioning yourself right next to Tabitha.

"Anyways," Theo looked back to the inmates walking past them slowly "Today is the first day of a wonderful future for all of you. If you wanna."

"Who are you?" A blonde, actually pretty girl asked him with a stern undertone.

"Well, now the question is: who are you?" Theo turned to the ginger "The world sees criminal lunatics. I see brilliance...I see charisma..." He walked back to the blonde "And power." And that was what he repeated while making deep eye contact with the blonde.

"Yes, exactly my man." The ginger growled with a sigh "That is so spooky, that is me to a T." He swung his head to the other inmate's direction contemptuously "These other bozos are, I don't know but you're singing my song." The ginger grinned.

You zoned out for a moment not listening to what Theo was saying.

You started thinking about the ginger: about how he and you made plans to kill others. It'll surely be crazy. For you he seemed to be like a showman. He needed attention, he was always right, he acted like his actual rivals mwere his best buddies... You could take advantage of it plus he could entertain you a little with jokes or his ordinary behavior.

"(Y/n)?" Tabitha snipped with her fingers in front of your eyes interrupting your train of thoughts "You alright?"

"Yeah. Was just thinking about something." You shook your head quickly trying to stop thinking about that ginger.

"About what?" Tabitha frowned "is it the ginger?"

"Why do you ask?" You scoffed taking a look at your fingernails trying to act completely uninterest. You hated talking about such a topic - especially when there weren't any kind of feelings, just nice thoughts.

"Don't play fool with me-..."

"I'm not." You interrupted her "Have no reason to."

"Tabitha, would you uh...?" You heard Theo say gesturing to the old inmate that Theo has uncuffed before.

Oh damn, that old guy will die you thought because you knew Theo. When he has a plan, everyone had to agree. If not, they'll die. There was no other option, he never showed any mercy.

"Miss Kean is coming with me." The inmate was uncuffed and he made his way to the blonde girl.

"Oh, she doesn't wanna go where you're going to." Theo stated shortly before Tabitha swung her whip and strangled the man.

His head already reddened and gagging for air. His hands tried to pull her whip away from his throat to breathe again. It didn't work though.

Tabitha pulled him on the ground and continued to strangle him. The other inmates, Theo and you just watched the whole scene.

Then she kicked him in his stomach as she sat on his body. He gasped for air still being strangled by her whip and then...she stabbed him - over and over again until she slit his throat. Blood was splashing on her and on the inmates' clothings as it spread along the floor. You heard gasps from the blonde and others every time Tabitha's knife drilled the old man's skin.

One of the inmates, it was a fat smeary man with grubby hair, kept staring at them almost psychotic with a grin. The ginger stared at the corpse staring to cackle.

It made you chuckle. You liked this straining atmosphere somehow. Most of the inmates' faces expressed fear and so you knew they'd do what Theo, Tabitha or you say anyhow. They surely didn't want to end like this old man.

"Anyone else who wanna leave?" Theo gave one of his mischievous grins. The inmates said nothing, some stared at him in fear, others just simply nodded.

"Tabitha, (Y/n)! Uncuff the guys. I'm sure no one likes to be handcuffed at home."

So that's what you did.

You took the little knife that was hidden in your pocket and severed the roped that were tied up all around them. Then you opened their handcuffs.

The smeary fat mam was the first, then a tall baldy, and then the ginger.

You looked at him for a while before you uncuffed him. He was kinda hot in your eyes as you examined him from the near. You affected his craziness, it even turned you on - somewhat. He was kinda special.

Most crazy people you knew were stupid, and dirty, and disgusting. You really didn't want to interact with them - not even for money.

And then there was the ginger. He wasn't nothing of it. He seemed to be clever, have brains...he knew what he wanted and he got everything, whether with or without violence. The word crazy was written in his face - he was everything else than normal. Maybe he was crazier than all the other inmates together? You didn't know yet, but you'd like to know. He aroused your interest a lot with his abnormal behavior.

"How many people have you killed doll?" He turned his head to you that he could still see through the corner of his eyes.

"Surely a lot more than you, sweetie." You responded with a slight chuckle "Guess, I'm some longer into that business than you, freshman."

"You're a feisty one, I like that." He grinned at you as you stood right in front of him.

"And I'm a lot more." You chuckled dark ripping the last handcuffs from his wrists.

You teased a little hoping you aroused his interest as he did with you. You knew Theo wouldn't let you take that ginger. It would cross all his plans and he'd be mad at you, threaten you and such. So you needed play tricks on him.

You didn't know what led you to all this. You just wanted that little ginger for yourself.

"We both speak the same language, how exciting! Finally I'm not only ordinary kid under all those apes. By the way, I'm Jerome." Grinning wider the ginger took a step forward to come down from this wagon and rubbed his wrists "Damn, they were tight."

"(Y/n)" you gave him a short smile "And yeah, just wanted to make sure the little bad boy's not escaping." You grinned shortly before you turned around to head back to your room.

"Oooh! What's that?" You suddenly felt Jerome's grip on your axe - your holy axe.

Within 2 seconds, you pulled your axe out of the back pocket and pressed the blade in against his throat. You could see how some blood covered the blade.

You hated it when someone touched your axe. It was your axe. No one besides you was allowed to touch it, not even to use it. Not even Theo or Tabitha.

Jerome gasped in surprise - probably by your fast reaction. And then again you saw a little smile was formed in his face.

That guy really cannot stop smiling, can he? You thought.

"You shouldn't touch other people's weapons. You could get killed." You pressed the knife a little harder against his throst.

"I know, how impolite, isn't it?" He sighed in shock "People really have no manners."

"(Y/n)! I'd feel relieved if you didn't kill our guest right after their arrival." Theo claimed giving you a stern look.

"Wasn't about to do that," You put the axe back in your pocket giving Jerome a mischievous grin "Just taught the little ginger one of our most important rules."

You turned away again and walked along the floor to your room and swung your hips exaggerating. You knew Jerome was staring at you and you knew he examined your body.

Before you could even open your door, Jerome ran after you eagerly. It was amusing to you. He seemed to be interested in you as well. You felt strange though because he was running after you like a poor dog.

#dc #dcmultiverse #gotham #jerome valeska #dc villains #dc villian #gotham city #gotham fandom #gotham jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #cameronmonaghan #cameron monaghan x reader #cameron monaghan #gotham fanfic #gotham jerome #gotham x reader #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska fandom

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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Not Today XVII

A/N: Wow, this is... a *really* heavy chapter. I'm going to go ahead and preface this chapter with warnings for discussion of infant mortality and themes of child abandonment. This is probably the most serious thing I've ever written, so I really look forward to hearing what you all think of this. I'll have the next update posted on Saturday, as always, and I hope you enjoy this, heavy as it is. Skål.

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

The day had been a tragic one. Ivar and Aethelind could see that Freydis wasn’t quite understanding the full of Baldur’s situation. Not yet, at least. Aethelind had taken to pacing just in front of Ivar. And for his part, he was staring off at some invisible point on the ground, while Freydis slept with Baldur resting against her chest. If not for what Ivar and Aethelind knew, they’d have been happy, perhaps resting as well now the hard part was done, but the hard part wasn’t done. The hard part wouldn’t come for a few days yet.

Ivar’s hand lifted and caught Aethelind’s as she passed him this time, and she paused in her walking to look down at him. He still hadn’t moved his from where he was looking, but she could tell what he needed. So, she sat beside him, and adjusted her hand so that she was holding his more comfortably. She brought her other hand up so she was holding his hand between both of hers, before leaning into his side and resting her chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking?” she asked him softly.

He sighed, and swallowed, as he finally turned to look at Freydis, sleeping across the room with Baldur held close. His chest ached. “He won’t live,” he whispered to Aethelind. “He cannot feed, and a child who cannot feed…” Can’t survive. The words weren’t spoken, yet were understood between them. “What sort of life is he going to have? Hm?”

Aethelind looked up into his face, a deep sort of sorrow in her eyes. “For the days he does live? It won’t be a good life, I don’t imagine. It’ll be alright, at first, probably, but later…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Ivar.”

Ivar looked down at Aethelind with a thoughtful expression, tilting his head a little. “What are you sorry for?” he questioned. “Did you do this to him? Unless you are a goddess, you could not have. So why are you sorry?”

She offered him a sad smile. “Of course I had no control over this,” she said. “And I don’t mean to express regret. More… I know this must be difficult for you. Honestly, it’s difficult for me and I’m not even related to the child. I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

“You would have been, in a way,” Ivar corrected. “Can you tell me he would have not grown up close to you? Perhaps he would not have been your blood, but you would have been family to him.”

He thought of the relationship he’d had with Floki. Though, of course, he had never had any intention of dropping off the face of Midgard as his father had, Ivar knew first hand how close one could become to someone who wasn’t blood to them. Floki had been like a father to him, and had Baldur lived, he didn’t doubt Aethelind would have been as close to the boy as a mother.

Or as an aunt, perhaps, as Freydis wouldn’t be going anywhere either, but the point remained.

His wife had grown very close to the Princess, close enough that Ivar could have believed they’d been friends all their lives, had he not known any better. And she’d gotten quite close to him, as well, despite his reluctancy to trust her for so long. He doubted it would be easy to be so close to both parents, and end up not being close to the child.

Unfortunately, it seemed now that none of them would be able to be very close to the child. Freydis, perhaps, but Ivar’s chest still ached when he considered how long it could be that his son would have to starve. But what was there that could be done?

Aethelind found it hard to sleep that night. Her mind was filled with thoughts of little Baldur, his grieving parents- or parent, she wasn’t sure Freydis had truly come to understand it just yet- and the grief she felt as well. She thought of Hvitserk, wherever he was, and wondered how he was. It had been so long since she last saw him, and she missed him dearly.

Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she hoped he was well. She hoped she’d get to see him again soon. Of course, this turned her mind toward Thora, and her eyes snapped open.

In all the chaos surrounding the birth of Baldur, and the pain of what had come after, no one had told Ivar’s men not to…

Aethelind was out of her bed in an instant, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders and slipping out of her room. She had to find Ivar, quickly, so they could maybe still try to stop Thora from being executed. If she recalled correctly, he had been sitting in the Great Hall when she’d gone to bed, drinking a horn of mead. So, assuming he’d not gone to bed (and she knew him, if he was still thinking about Baldur, he wouldn’t have done, not even though he’d told her to go on to bed and not bother with staying up with him, as he would go to bed soon enough), he would still be there.

Only… he wasn’t there. Aethelind frowned slightly, and though normally she wouldn’t have done this, a life was on the line. So she went back to the chambers he shared with Freydis. Ivar was gone, and something else was wrong, too.

Baldur was gone.

The Princess moved immediately to Freydis’s side, and shook the woman awake. Freydis looked up at her with slowly opening eyes as she woke. “Aethelind…?” she mumbled. “What- what is going on?”

“Freydis, where are Ivar and Baldur?” Aethelind questioned immediately. Freydis didn’t seem to quite understand what Aethelind was asking, groggy as she was. “I just came from the Great Hall, they weren’t in there. Where else might they be?”

Freydis sat up then, the concern in Aethelind’s voice cutting through the fog of sleep. “They are both missing?” she asked, taking a look around the room. Aethelind nodded, and Freydis looked at her with anxiety in her eyes. “Find them,” she almost begged.

“I don’t know where they may have gone,” Aethelind told her. “Is there anywhere Ivar likes to go that he may have taken him to?”

“He sits in the woods often,” Freydis answered. A sinking feeling filled Aethelind, and she nodded.

“I’ll find them. Rest until I do, hm?” Aethelind smiled softly and kissed the top of Freydis’s head, before giving her a brief hug and going off to find Ivar.

She had barely gotten beyond the gates of Kattegat when she found him, crawling back into the town. He was alone, and looked up at her in shock. “Aethelind,” he said. “What- what are you doing out here? You should be in bed.”

“You should be too, Ivar,” Aethelind said tersely. “And so should Baldur. Where is he, by the way? I assume you’re the one who took him from Freydis?”

Ivar looked up at her in a way that was clearly shocked she knew, but he tried to recover that by asking, “He has been taken?”

She huffed, and crossed her arms. “Ivar, you know he was taken. You took him, don’t act surprised. Where is he?” she questioned.

“How do you know I took him, huh?” he demanded. He looked offended at the thought, and she only lifted a brow.

“Because if you didn’t, you’d be denying it, and prepared to tear this town apart until we found whoever did,” she said. “Where is he? Freydis is about to panic, bless her heart, and now I find you here without him? What have you done, Ivar?”

Ivar was silent for a few moments, debating if he should answer her. He didn’t have to, he knew that, but Aethelind was a difficult woman to ignore. She always had been. Not for any bad reason, of course, but actually good reasons. Good reasons, that was, until he didn’t want to confess to what he’d done, but her eyes were begging him to answer her. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t ignore her. Something in her demeanor demanded his attention, and even more, his honesty.

"I could not condemn him to a life of hunger, however long or short it may have been,” he finally confessed, finding suddenly that he couldn’t meet her eyes. “He is probably still there.”

“In the woods?” she asked incredulously. He nodded, and suddenly she demanded, “He is your son, Ivar! How could you do this to him?”

“He is going to die, Aethelind! What good is it to make him suffer days on end, when it can be done in a night, hm?” he questioned. “Why should I put him through that?”

Clearly, this wasn’t a good enough answer for her, as she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, because putting him through a cold, lonely death is so much better than letting him go surrounded by people who love him, is it?” she countered. “Is this your idea of mercy? If it is, I pray I never need your mercy, nor anyone else. Leaving a child alone to die…” She paused, and shook her head, an attempt at composing herself before she yelled at a man who, she reminded herself, was still a grieving father. “Go to Freydis, assure her I’ve gone to get Baldur. Someone needs to calm her before she worries herself to death.”

For some reason, he listened to her. He knew she was right- about Freydis, at least- and so he went. He still disagreed with her on what mercy was for Baldur, but perhaps he could get Freydis to understand. If they were both in agreement, Aethelind might be brought to understand as well.

Ivar didn’t know this yet, but Aethelind was not going to be brought to understand. Nor was Freydis. Aethelind already disapproved of what he’d tried to do, what she hoped to now stop, and Freydis was going to be furious with him when she found out. The Princess just hoped she’d be able to bring a baby home to her.

After all, the forests were always full of danger, danger babies couldn’t defend themselves from. Chances were that this baby wouldn’t die from the cold, but from some creature which came along, and decided he would be dinner.

The thought sent a chill down Aethelind’s spine. As did the sudden cries she heard.

They were the cries of an infant, somewhere in the distance, and this far out she knew there was only one infant that would be making those cries. Baldur. She picked up her skirt and ran, tearing through the woods and jumping over roots on her way to find the child, following his cries and screams. When she finally came to the fallen log Ivar had left him near, she saw an animal sniffing at Baldur, before stopping and looking up at her. A fox.

So, she had arrived just in time. The fox turned and skittered away shortly after laying eyes on her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Baldur would be saved, then. She walked over and lifted him into her arms, holding him close to her chest and whispering reassuring words to him. “Let’s get you home, hm?”

As she walked, the crying of the baby calmed, and soon faded entirely as he fell asleep in her arms, and her chest began to ache. In a way, she could at least understand why Ivar had done what he had, even if she disagreed with it. If nothing else, Baldur deserved to die as comfortably as he could, not alone and afraid. Well, he was a baby. He didn’t deserve to die at all. But that was, unfortunately, something they had no say in. All they could decide was how to handle it.

The first thing Aethelind heard when she walked into the longhouse was Freydis. The woman was almost hysterical, and it occurred to Aethelind immediately that Ivar had clearly failed at calming her down. Likely, he had told her what happened, and it went over horribly. At least, that’s what Aethelind guessed when she heard Freydis again demand of Ivar, “Where is my baby?!”

Aethelind walked into the room with Baldur, and Freydis looked up immediately, panic written in her eyes. “He’s here,” Aethelind said. “Alive. There was a fox, but I scared it away before it could do anything.”

As soon as Freydis had the baby, she began to calm down, and so once Aethelind was satisfied that she and Baldur were settled, she announced she would be going to bed. She had only gotten about halfway down the hall before she heard the telltale sound of Ivar’s crutch thudding against the ground, so she stopped and turned, waiting for him to catch up to her.

“You seem angry,” he commented, referring to the slightly cold look in her eye he could see as she regarded him.

"One might be given to anger when they have to stop a man from abandoning his son to die in the forest,” she answered sharply. “Even if I understand where you were coming from… I can’t imagine you’d have chosen to go in the same way, would you have? If you were Baldur?”

Ivar chuckled bitterly as he reached her. “The choice was not given to me,” he said. “Nor was it given to my mother. My father took me, the same as I took Baldur, and left me in the woods just as I left him. Babies who are not expected to live are left this way, here. It is seen as a better fate than to suffer until death finally comes.”

“And in Wessex, it is a crime to do what you did tonight,” she countered. “It is a horrible thing to starve, but your son was almost eaten by a fox. Surely being ripped apart that way would have been worse?”

Ivar swallowed and looked to the ground. Thinking about it now, he had to admit, that did sound more painful. “I did not want him to suffer,” he said quietly.

Aethelind sighed, and stepped toward him. “I know you didn’t,” she replied. “No parent should ever be faced with losing a child, and certainly not like this.”

When his eyes finally met hers, she immediately recognized in them the same brokenness she had seen in him only briefly before. It spoke of a depth many people ignored in him, when he was suffering. “I thought everything would be perfect,” he confessed. “When Baldur was born. Freydis says this is a sign of the favor of the gods, but I cannot see how this can be true. If we had their favor, would things not be happy for us? Would we not have a beautiful son, a divine son, who would be raised to rule Kattegat when I am gone?”

“I don’t know what your people believe,” she said, “but mine believe that sometimes we are asked to endure hardships, because all hardships hold a lesson in them. It doesn’t take away the pain, but it offers some hope, that what you’re going through isn’t in vain.”

“What hope can be found in this, hm?” he asked. “What hope is there when you have done what you believed impossible, proven you are a god as you have claimed, and then…” He waved a hand, as if to gesture to the situation they found themselves in. “How can this happen to a god?”

“It can’t,” she said honestly. It was what they were both thinking, she had only given voice to it. She saw in his eyes that he could see what he’d believed about himself to be falling apart. It had to be the worst way to finally see reality, and that knowledge made her chest ache for him.

His voice cracked when he spoke again, and when he spoke to ask her, “Why did I have to lose my son to learn this?”

Aethelind wasted no time in walking to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly. She had no words for him, nothing she could say that would ease the pain, because she didn’t know. But she wished desperately that she had something to say when she felt the way he nearly collapsed into her, felt that first broken cry against her shoulder. He’d been holding it all back, holding it all in, since they first learned what fate waited for Baldur, and she could feel the devastation in him.

“Oh, Ivar…” she whispered, and tears of her own began to leak from her eyes when she felt his arm wrap around her, and hold her as if he were desperate to be sure didn’t disappear. Ivar the God was gone, so far as who she held in her arms, who she was comforting at the time, and in his place stood Ivar, the man. Not even Ivar the Boneless, as she didn’t comfort the King of Kattegat. No, she was comforting the broken father who knew his son would live for a few days, and be taken before they could truly know him. The man who wanted a family, who may have estranged himself from his wife by taking the actions he had, and now may have been alone.

The day had been a tragic one, and Aethelind knew the tragedy was not yet done. It was only just beginning. She silently prayed for strength for them all.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood

#ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings history #history channel vikings #not today #chapter seventeen #ivar's heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc #tw: infant mortality #tw: child abandonment

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yume-fanfare · 3 years

Text

Start line

this is the translation of one of the short stories posted to celebrate LIPxLIP’s birthday, you can read it in japanese here. it has been translated from this spanish translation by mieltrabajos

---

“Suzumi-san, why don't you come over to our school?”

It was in her last days of middle school that a Sakuragaoka teacher invited her, told her he was the advisor of the track and field club. At that moment, she was about to go back home, feeling down because she hadn't accomplished the goal she'd set three years earlier: be one of Japan's top 10 athletes.

During middle school, Mr. Yamazaki had taught her about track and field. He was a college professor, but she caught his eye during a race. However, Hiyori had heard that Sakuragaoka was in Tokyo. She didn't quite process it at the time, confused as she was. Studying in Tokyo had never crossed her mind. She thought she'd go to a highschool nearby, just like everyone else.

Hiyori lives in the countryside. There weren't many schools to choose from, and even if they did have entrance exams, most people got in because there simply weren't enough students. For that reason, local public schools didn't have track and field. In fact, most club activities weren't active. And, even if they were, they weren't competitive enough nor had proper teachers. So Hiyori had thought she'd have to give up on running after middle school, it sounded impossible.

Of course I want to keep running. It was what I focused most on my third year of middle school. I loved running more than anything else, it was all that I had. But, Tokyo is too far away. I was told to “think about it” for now, but I still don't know, it's so complicated.

During lunch break, Hiyori slumped over her desk, groaning. Shirakawa Satoe, her best friend and classmate, stared at Hiyori while eating a sandwich.

“What's the matter, Hiyori? Does your stomach hurt from eating too much?”

“Waaaah, Sato-chan, what should I do?”

She held her head in her hands. The week after finishing the club tournaments, Hiyori couldn't do anything but worry about track and field.

Because of this, I feel like my stomach has become very heavy.

Today's lunchbox had two big rice balls and fried shrimp, but she didn't feel like eating.

“Are you still worried about the Tokyo school?”

“I'm worried precisely because it's Tokyo… It's so far away, like on the other side of the world!”

“It'll be fine. You're Hiyori, you'll be able to keep running if you work hard!”

Hiyori shook her head.

“No, it's impossible no matter what!”

“But it's only a couple of hours away by plane, isn't it? And around ten by bus. Maybe it's closer than you think.”

“I don't think I have enough money to fly.”

“True, why is it so hard? If I had money, I'd go to a live in Tokyo or Osaka…”

Hiyori and Satoe sigh.

I wonder if I should give up after all…

She still hadn't talked to her parents about Sakuragaoka yet. Her mom seemed convinced she’d go to a local high school at the last parents-teacher conference.

If I wanted to go to a Tokyo school, Grandma and Grandpa probably wouldn't like it… And Dad will get really mad...

“It's hopeless…” Hiyori said, putting her head on the desk again. “What if I took the exam without permission? If I pass, there would be no going back!”

“... And how would you live in Tokyo?”

Hiyori lifted her head and saw Satoe had crossed her arms.

“That's the problem.”

Paying rent, living expenses and the tuition fees with just a part time job would be really hard. It's not impossible, but Hiyori doesn't think she'd be able to do something like that and track and field. Going to Tokyo would be pointless then.

“But you want to run, right?”

“I do. I've been working as hard as I can and… I haven't given up on being in Japan's top 10.”

“Do you want to be a professional runner in Japan's national team?” Satoe laughed and poked Hiyori's cheek with her chopstick.

“I'm not fit enough for that yet but… I don't want to stop running.”

‘You can run anywhere, you don't have to join a club’. I'm sure that's what my parents would answer. I know. But that depends on each one's determination.

I hadn't thought about going to Tokyo until that teacher appeared with the Sakuragaoka invitation. This wouldn't be happening if that hadn't occurred. That invitation is like Eden’s apple.

“Then, why don’t you take the plunge?”

“You say it like it’s easy!” Hiyori whined.

“Because you want to go, don’t you? It’s written all over your face. You’re easy to read, Hiyori.”

“I don’t think so. Tokyo is… scary. There are lots of people there. I’ll be alone, without any friends… I don’t know the streets or anything, I’ll get lost for sure!”

“But, you’ll be able to make as many friends as you like! You’re Hiyori.”

“But I’ll never be able to make a friend as good as you again, Sato-chan!”

Satoe laughed, shook her head and stood up. Her hair was messy.

“Hearing you say that makes me really happy, Hiyori,” she exclaimed with a booming voice.

“Okay, I've made up my mind! I'll go to the same school as Sato-chan. Never to a different one! It's decided, I'll reject the offer!”

Satoe laughed loudly, full of glee.

But then, her face turned serious.

“But… actually. I want you to go to Tokyo, Hiyori.”

“Eh…?”

“It'd be a waste to stay here in the countryside. I'm sure Tokyo is much more fun.”

“Sato-chan…”

“I want Hiyori to decide herself. Because it's you, Hiyori.”

But what about… us two?

She was confused, but Hiyori mumbled a “yes” as Satoe took out two small packets out of a bag.

“Which one do you choose?” She held up both packets for her and smiled.

They were pockys, a strawberry packet and a lemon one. Hiyori, worried about the hard choice, ends up taking one of each.

“Which is the best one~!” was her answer.

She laughed and bit both of them.

---

When classes finished for the day, she left the school building. The sky was getting more and more cloudy.

High school in Tokyo…

All her life, she'd thought she'd live in her hometown forever. She hadn't even imagined moving away.

But in the end… it's impossible, Sato-chan.

Hiyori looks down at the ground, walking.

Living alone in the city, going to highschool, it all sounded like a surreal future to her. She knew it would be really hard.

No matter how badly she wanted to go.

She heard a cheerful voice coming from the school’s courtyard and stopped walking. The members of the baseball and track and field clubs were practicing on their own. Hiyori and her friends had to retire, since their three years of middle school were over and they were about to graduate. Just a few days ago, though, they also had practice like that. As soon as classes were over, Hiyori remembered, she would change clothes as fast as she could to go to practice.

“It was fun…” The words left her mouth without noticing.

She was completely absorbed looking at the practice, imagining herself with the underclassmen.

Even if she had studied at a local middle school, those three years had been full of fun things. Laughing with her friends, the ones who would go to high school with her if she stayed in the countryside, without the anxiety of having to meet new people.

I know, but my heart yearns for somewhere else.

She was unable to forget her wish to study in Tokyo.

In Sakuragaoka there would be a track and field club and a teacher who would properly guide her. And she’d be able to keep running.

There’s also the want for a nice city environment. There will be a lot of things in Tokyo that I don’t have here. I’ll probably be able to do a lot of things I don’t have here.

Even if Hiyori thought it was impossible, thinking of a new world yet to explore made her excited.

I wonder if I can make it…

For that reason, she had lots of obstacles to overcome. Like convincing her parents.

“Oh, Suzumi-senpai!” A boy noticed her and waved his arms in the air exaggeratedly.

Hiyori walked towards the courtyard where the track and field club members were.

“Suzumi-senpai, are you going home already? Let’s practice together!”

“I’m retired now.” Hiyori laughed, a bit sad.

“Huhhhh,” the boy complained. “Then just watch our practice! Like one of the retired professionals!

“Hum… I wonder if I can run one last lap...” Hiyori brought a hand to her chin, deep in thought.

It really would be her last race in middle school.

“Great! Okay, then I’ll time you!” a second year student exclaimed, holding a stopwatch. Some other club members offered to measure the distance.

Hiyori stood at the starting line and breathed in deeply while looking at the finish line. There, the boy was holding the stopwatch, while the other students observed the race from the side benches.

Hiyori hadn’t brought her gym clothes or a T-shirt, so she still wore the school uniform.

She kneeled on the ground and looked ahead.

Her heart began to race.

The whistle blew and Hiyori lunged forward.

Now, I’m still completely happy.

I have all my friends and classmates. My mom’s meals and lunchboxes are delicious. My grandpa secretly gave me an allowance and my grandma is really good at sewing; this year she made a new yukata for me. And my dad takes me fishing sometimes,

I’m sure I’ll have fun every day here.

If she went to the city, she was sure she’d be alone every day. Living alone would be much harder than she could imagine. She wouldn’t have friends or acquaintances. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get along with everyone at a high school in Tokyo. People might laugh at her and she’d be embarrassed.

But…

There surely was a much bigger world she didn’t know about.

After crossing the finish line, Hiyori breathed in deeply and looked up to the sky. The sun shone softly between the clouds.

Maybe I shouldn’t give up before trying…

---

During the holidays, Hiyori met with Satoe in the lakeside park where they used to play. The lake’s surface was dyed in the sunset’s colors, the wind making small ripples in the water.

They sat on a bench and Hiyori spoke up.

“Um, Sato-chan.”

“Yes, yes, I see.” Satoe crossed her arms and nodded, telling her to go on.

“I haven’t said anything yet!” Hiyori exclaimed, confused.

Satoe smiled at her.

“Yes, but I already know what you want to say, it’s written all over your face. You’ve decided to go to Tokyo, right?”

Hiyori felt her eyes begin to water and she quickly rubbed them.

Of course she knew, they were best friends. Or maybe Hiyori was just that easy to read?

“I’m sorry... Sato-chan, I do really want to go to the same high school as you!”

Hiyori felt like she was betraying someone and that made her heart ache. Hiyori wanted to go away, but Satoe grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the bench.

“I see… but, that’s no good! I won’t let you!”

“Satoe…”

“Because, Hiyori, if you go to that school, you’ll have lots of fun and forget about us!”

“I would never do that. You’re my best friend, Sato-chan, no one else. I’ll contact you every day!”

“... Or so you say, but what if you get a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?!” Hiyori exclaimed, waving her hands. “Impossible! That won’t happen!”

“You’ll go to the city, you don’t know. Maybe you’ll meet a handsome guy, what will happen if he takes over all your free time?!”

“Eh, uh, aaahhhh, what should I… I don’t know…?”

Hiyori felt trapped, but her voice was calmer than before. She pressed her index fingers together nervous.

“After all we've been through, Hiyori will choose love over our friendship! As if everything so far had been a game!” Satoe covered her face with her hands.

“That's not true! All my feelings are about Sato-chan! I'd never do something like that!” Hiyori said very seriously, with a hand on her chest.

Satoe peeked at her through her fingers. Then, she put her hands down and broke out laughing, she couldn't hold it in anymore. Hiyori started laughing too and so they both laughed together till their stomachs hurt. Hiyori even started tearing up a bit, but wiped the tears quickly.

In that same place, she used to sit with Satoe and talk until the sun set. During elementary school, whenever she felt down because she couldn't place high during the tournaments, she'd sit here and cry with Satoe. She had thought they’d be together the next year, and the following one.

She felt lost. She’d been so worried about making a decision.

Their laughs quieted down and Hiyori felt sad again. Her shoulders dropped.

“Sato-chan…”

“Do your best, Hiyori. Don’t lose yourself.”

“Yes…”

“Hiyori, it’s fine. You’re strong.”

“I don’t think so…”

“You can survive till the end in any dangerous environment.”

“Yes… I won’t lose! No matter what!

“And I won’t lose my position as your best friend to anyone!”

“Yes… I won’t have a different best friend ever!”

“If you ever get a boyfriend, send me the first picture you take! You have to!”

“I’m sure… I don’t think I can!”

Hiyori and Satoe met each other’s eyes before bursting into tears.

“Hiyori…”

“Sato-chan!”

“Well, if that happens, then let’s eat a lot of sweets today! Let’s hang out!”

As she talked, Satoe opened her backpack and turned it outside down. Some packets with sweets fell out of it onto her knees, the same ones they had eaten the other day, lemon and strawberry pockys.

“Wow, Sato-chan, why did you buy so many?!”

“You see… if I collect 10 tickets I might win a signed poster! From these two…” Satoe said with a very serious face, clenching her fist tightly.

Then, she held both of Hiyori’s hands.

“Help me eat them… I have to eat and eat. Like an infinite strawberry-lemon loop! I bought an entire box with my pocket money. I really want the poster!”

“Yes but... for a signed poster?”

“Hiyori, which one do you want? You can choose as many as you like!”

“The chocolate-banana ones are better…”

“There weren’t tickets on those though…”

They both opened the packets and began eating. The sunset shone over the lake’s edge.

---

Next spring was graduation.

Hiyori went to the courtyard when the ceremony was finished. The place where she had trained for so long.

“Thank you so much…” she whispered.

In that moment, she heard Satoe call out to her. Other track and field club members were running there too, everyone came.

“I’m glad I made it on time!”

“Sato-chan… what are you guys doing here?”

“Hiyori, you’re leaving for Tokyo tomorrow… so this is our farewell!!”

Satoe gave her a white box with a ribbon. Hiyori, confused, untied it and opened the box. A brand new pair of shoes.

“Umm…” Hiyori’s eyes were wide open as she looked at everyone, amazed.

“Because you’re the star of the track and field club!”

“Please, don’t forget about us!”

“Call me some time!”

Surrounded by exclamations and shy laughter, Hiyori felt her eyes water and she pressed the back of her hand against them. Her chest was full of words she couldn’t pronounce.

“Oh, don’t cry! We’re holding our tears in!”

“Sato-chan, guys… Thank you! I’m glad I was able to run with all of you and join the track and field club.”

“Hiyori…! Someday I’ll go to Tokyo with my pocket money! I’ll go meet Yuujirou and Aizou!” Satoe hugged her tightly as she cried.

“Who are those guys?! You won’t be with me?!”

“Of course, I’ll go meet Hiyori. I’ll pull an all-nighter and we’ll go watch a live!”

“Oh, I see. I’ll be waiting for you! But I don’t know what live are you talking about.”

Wiping their tears and changing them for a smile, everyone hugged Hiyori.

A place she didn’t know. People she didn’t know. But she was sure there would be new encounters. She would be brave and take off running.

Of course, I’ll do my best.

“Guys… I’m off!”

#honeyworks #suzumi hiyori #HERE WE GO #this story............... i love her sm #hworks #mar's translations #hw links

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kasey-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

Okay I’ve never really written angst before and I’m not good with writing things based of songs but I saw @httpskarlnap ask for a C!Ranboo fic based off of the song panic room so here it is!

Warning for- Nightmares , panic attacks , derealization , and heads being cut off! Please let me know if anything else needs a warning!

Panic room C!Ranboo

Ranboo is laid sleeping in the mansion but it’s anything but peaceful, his mind is being plagued with nightmares. In his nightmare and real life his hands shake as he hears voices as if he’s being surrounded by thousands of people each shouting something different at him but yet as he looks around he sees no one. All he sees is some torches that are almost burnt out, he cautiously looks around and begins to make his way down the dim hallway… As he begins walking he notices himself getting colder and colder, more fear starts to set in as he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere he seems to be I. The same place he started just he’s now much much colder. He fiddles for his communicator and eventually finds it but sees it has no signal…

He grips it tightly both in anger and in fear, he’s stuck in a seemingly never ending but ever cold hallway with no way to contact anyone for any help. His only thoughts are to get out and get back to Michael and Tubbo, suddenly he hears a nearly ear piercing piglin like squeal… it couldn’t be could it!? His foot steps quicken trying to find some way out, suddenly he hears what sounds like tubbos voice screaming for him! He feels his chest tightening as he tries to run as fast as he can. He feels almost as if he has icecicles on his body yet he continues running, his chest is so tight he can barely breathe…

Finally he sees it! A light at the end of the hallway it’s so bright he nearly can’t stand to look at it! Suddenly he’s getting very very warm too warm to quickly, he feels himself losing conciseness but he still keeps running he can still hear Michael and tubbo screaming for him he has to keep going he has to save them! Just before he blacks out he makes it to the end of the hallway and then he blacks out… He awakes at he doesn’t know when he has no concept of time in normal dreams let alone nightmares! He raises up groggily rubbing his eyes, his eyes widen as he sees the site before him.

Tubbo is tied to a chair a bandana has been shoved in his mouth, Michael is in the corner shivering with a figure looming over him, the figure has their back turned making ranboo unable to see their face but the second he hears the first word come out of their mouth his brain is screaming to grab Michael and tubbo and to run, his breathe stops, his body feeling colder than it ever did while walking down the hallway! “Hello ranboo nice of you to join us hm took you a while though I figured you would get here much quicker… you know being half endermen and able to teleport and all”

Right as ranboo is about to begin berating himself for being so stupid the figure lets out a low chuckle “oh that’s right you couldn’t have teleported if you wanted to! I enchanted this place so teleporting takes away three hearts every time you try it and you wind up even farther back than you started!” Ranboo tried to take steady deep breathes as he stood and began walking towards the figure a new purpose sensing to fill his body upon the realization the figure had a hand on Michaels shoulder “Get your hands off my son!” The figure laughs softly “woah woah woah calm down me and little Michael here were just playing a nice game of patty cake weren’t we Michael?”

Michael sniffled in fear as he looked up to his taller dad “p-papa p-please h-help d-dada h-hurt” Ranboos heart shattered as he looked over and noticed one of tubbos horns was chipped and his legs had missing fur patches “Michael don’t worry I’m gonna save you and dada!” He began to walk closer Michael and the figure but he paused quickly as the figure suddenly pulled out an axe and was now facing him as he held the axe up to Michaels small neck “One more step and Michael gets it!” The small piglin squealed in pure terror “PAPA I’M SCARED!” muffled screams could be heard from tubbo and tears could be seen falling from his eyes

Ranboo took a deep breathe eyes narrowing as he attempted to control his panic “Dream… give me my son.. NOW!” Dream smiled evilly “oh wow yelling?! Good job ranboo you’ve come so far since I first found you! What’s next are you gonna actually pull your sword out and threaten me hm?” Dream blinked his eyes dramatically as he titled his head at ranboo as he spoke “because that would be just sooooo precious! Almost as precious as little Mikey here screaming for his dads to help as I ripped him out of his bed but it was far too late! By the time tubbo got to the room Mikey was gone and now he was suddenly trapped and brought to this same room! All while you slept so soundly that you didn’t even notice a single thing you didn’t even so much as turn once! I mean I had to practically drag you here! My gosh that was no easy task!”

Ranboo growled loudly trying to ignore the voices surrounding him telling him what a failed father and failed husband he is not even able to protect his own family! “Dream I am not going to say it again give me Michael now! Or else…” Dream snickered softly rolling his eyes “or else what? You really think you can get your sword out in time to kill me before I can chop sweet innocent little Michaels head off? And before I can swiftly chop yours off leaving tubbo to die alone.. and oh it’s his final life right? So once he dies sure you’ll respawn but Michael? He only has one life so you’ll be all alone left here for eternity left with the voices screaming to you about how you’re such a failure not just as a husband and father but as a friend and just as person in general! You’ll be left here trying to find a way out but each time you think you’ve found it? It’ll just be a room where you’ll be forced to watch Michael and tubbo die over and over again!”

Ranboos hand shook with fear and anger with each and every word Dream spoke… the more he spoke the angrier ranboo got… until finally a huge scream tore from his throat and suddenly the room was filled with dozens of endermen! They all looked to ranboo “Army….” He took a deep breathe as he pointed to Dream “ATTACK!” Suddenly they all flew towards Dream! Screams of pain could be heard from Dream as the endermen attacked him one by one! Ranboo quickly ran over and grabbed Michael hugging him tightly as Michael sobbed onto his shoulder, once he had Michael he ran to tubbo still holding Michael with one arm he used the other to quickly unwrap the bandana from tubbos mouth!

Tubbo gasped for air before managing to say “I knew you would save us!” Ranboo nodded quickly “I could never let you two die you’re everything to me I couldn’t live if I didn’t have you two” tubbo smiled softly and as soon as ranboo got him untied he wrapped his arms around ranboo clinging to his neck as his legs wrapped around him! Ranboo smiled in relief as he held his husband and son, but suddenly a deep evil laugh was heard and ranboo looked to the corner and saw nothing but mere ender pearls and a laughing dream “oh ranboo poor poor ranboo you tried so hard… you really did your best but…” Dream began fake sniffling before smirking “YOU’RE BEST WASN’T ENOUGH!” Suddenly like magic Tubbo and Michael were ripped out of his grip! And before ranboo could even scream …

It was too late their necks collided with dreams axe, ranboo fell to his knees unable to scream, unable to cry, unable to do anything at first all that could be heard in the room was dreams maniacal laughter, suddenly a few more moments pass and finally a ear currtling scream rips from ranboos throat! It’s so loud he can almost feel his volcol cords ripping apart! And that’s when he wakes up sweating beyond belief as his throat feels incredibly dry and sore…

A light turns on and in comes tubbo practically running to ranboos bed “ranboo?!” Ranboo let’s out a strangled scream as he holds his hands up “GET AWAY GET AWAY YOU’RE NOT REAL! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOU DIE AGAIN GET AWAY! GO AWAY PLEASE!” Tubbo holds his hands up slowly “Ranboo ranboo listen it’s me Tubbo your husband remember?! It’s me! I’m real! I’m not going to die I’m real okay?!” Ranboo slowly peaked out through his hands and saw tubbos hand out stretched… he very carefully touched it gently stroking it before grabbing it tightly and pulling tubbo towards him! Tubbo quickly buried himself in ranboos chest as ranboo slowly tried to even his breathing…

“I-I’m i-‘I’m sorry I- he… Dream…” tubbo nodded not needing a full sentence to understand what ranboo meant “shh shh shh it’s okay it’s okay the nightmare is over you’re okay I’m okay-“ suddenly ranboo took in a deep breathe his eyes widening “MICHAEL MICHAEL WHERE IS HE?!” Before tubbo can say anything a small figure clutching a stuffie can be seen in the door way… the figure slowly makes their way towards the bed as tilts their head “dada and papa okay?” Ranboo sighs in relief slumping back on the bed as tubbo grabs Michael swiftly pulling him onto the bed and the three of them promptly cuddling “papa and dada are okay buddy dada just had a nightmare is all!”

Michael titled his head pouting “papa had nightmare? Here!” He held out his stuffy for ranboo smiling proudly “stuffie always make Mikey feel better after nightmare!” Ranboo takes the stuffie holding it gently as he kisses Michaels head “thank you Mikey you’re a really nice boy” Mikey smiles brightly at the praise and tubbo smiles as well before softly looking to ranboo “so are you alright to try and sleep now” Ranboo takes a moment before nodding and pulling both tubbo and Michael closer “I think so”

And so with that the small family was back asleep as if no nightmare had ever disturbed their peacefulness

The end

#C!Beeduo #C!beeduo agnst #c!ranboo #c!michael #c!tubbo #dsmp angst

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boxoftheskyking · 3 years

Text

Pick Up Every Piece - Part One

Ok things to know: -this does not take place in China. It does not take place in the US. It is the year 2000 in a fictional country that I control (this project is a challenge called Let’s Do Exposition). Just go with it. -It’s all talking. That’s what I do, you know this. -Warnings for stuff, I dunno I haven’t written it all yet. When it’s shiny it’ll go on AO3 but for now here’s what I got so far. -There is a lot of alcohol in this fic -Like all fic writers I live on positive reinforcement and this shit is a lot of work. -The title may change, yes it is from NMH

---

There are bodies in the creek bed. Enough bodies to stop the flow of the water. Thirty at least, a dam of them. An old woman and a child. Clothes and hair sodden, darkened and wet. Clouds of darkness hovering in the air around them, seeping into dead flesh. An old woman and a child and others. Others in that middle age, the age that passes comment. Is it wrong that these two bodies stand out to him? After all, if he were among the bodies, if he was lying in this creek bed, thirty, skinny, and unremarkable, he would hardly notice himself. He’d blend into the pile, only serving to make the word a plural. Body becomes Bodies. Alters the language. Murder becomes Massacre. There are thirty bodies and hundreds, thousands of flies. Crawling on the back of the little boy’s hand. A smell like—not burning, not quite. Death. Not rot, fresh death. The sand under his feet is nearly dry. The creek bed is dry.

Wei Ying blinks. The creek burbles on alongside him, one duck lazily riding the current under a fallen branch and along to somewhere more interesting. It’s October, and beautiful, and there’s the smallest twilight bite in the air pricking at his nostrils on every inhale. He blows out a long breath and finds himself scratching at his arms, the backs of his hands, where the old scars are. They’re ugly, blotchy and dark like land masses on a faded old map, and they still itch sometimes. He rubs at them hard with the heel of his palm—it’s a weird half-feeling, the layers of dead tissue. It’s not dead, Wen Qing would correct him. It’s not necrotic, it’s just scarring.

He steps around the gnarled roots that reach up from the banks, trying to get to the road but not ever making it. There’s a few muddy stuffed bears tucked among them, plastic wrap snagged on the bark from cheap drugstore bunches of flowers that have rotted away. A couple of carefully hand-painted wooden signs nailed to the trunks, trying to convince the place that people still remember.

He shakes himself and turns away from the woods, hopping the fence onto the road that leads to the bar. He’s late, but Li Chen is always late in the mornings so he deserves to work an extra fifteen minutes. It’s not like there’s a manager to yell at him.

The bar is across the street from an old gas station, one that got firebombed during the war and then left. That’s the thing about Yiling. Everywhere else, even up in Gusu, the cities have gotten rid of as much evidence as possible. Well, they’ve gotten rid of most and turned the rest into memorials to the victorious dead, nice and shiny and flying the Sunshot flag. Nobody really cares about appearances around Yiling—maybe the city council does, but they don’t have anywhere near the budget to run cleanup. Too much actual infrastructure got hit during the worst of the fighting, and they’ll be years behind the rest of the country for the next decade or so. Memorials here are all handmade, and none of them last long.

There’s a flag, though, spray painted on what’s left of the concrete wall of the gas station. A golden hand covering most of a red sun, partly covered by black—one finger for each of the four leading clans and a thumb for everyone else. Typical. He’s not sure who’d have painted a Sunshot here. No one local, he’d put money on it. He supposes they know about spray paint in Lanling—governments must adapt.

It’s probably intentional, anyway, the lack of cleanup. The lack of progress. Nightless City can be repurposed by the Jin government, but the site of the Massacre should stay ugly and busted for a few more years. So no one forgets what it looks like to lose.

Wei Ying likes it in Yiling. “It’s my kind of town,” he always tells Jiang Cheng, who usually throws something at his head. “You want to be a bartender in a town like this. In a town like this, people need a bartender. It’s nice to be needed, you know.”

It’s a shitty bar by any other place’s standards, but for Yiling it’s cozy. The owner, who everyone just calls Granny, still orders sawdust for the floors like it’s 1860 or something, to soak up spills and puke and, occasionally, blood.

Jiang Cheng always says it’s only a matter of time before they have murder in the bar. “Manslaughter, at least,” he’ll say. “It’s just got that look.” Wei Ying says everyone in Yiling’s too tired. Mostly he and Wen Ning just roll drunks out onto the sidewalk and into a cab if someone can afford it.

Jiang Cheng himself comes in around eight. It’s as much of a rush as they ever get, so he has to wait for a few old men to get their cheap lager and gin before sliding up to the bar on his usual stool. Wen Ning gives him a cheerful salute as he comes in, and Jiang Cheng nods awkwardly back at him.

“You’re back early,” Wei Ying says, drawing him a pint of something bitter. Jiang Cheng still lives in Yunmeng, in the old family home, but he has a sublet in Yiling now that he’s working for the intelligence department. Jin Zixuan calls it “cutting his teeth” monitoring old Wen strongholds. Jiang Cheng calls it “shoveling shit.”

It turns out cleaning up a civil war is a pain in the ass, even five years later.

“We should do lunch with Wen Qing on Saturday. She’ll want to see you.”

Jiang Cheng pulls out his annoying little planner, full of his cramped handwriting and meetings with this informant and that police sergeant. “Have to be brunch, I’ve got a twelve-thirty on Saturday.”

Wei Ying snorts at him. “Brunch, in Yiling. Good luck.”

“Hangover breakfast, then.”

“That we can do.”

Jiang Cheng takes a long pull of his beer and Wei Ying can see the relief run down him from the crown of his head down over his shoulders like something hot and slippery. Oil maybe, or homemade noodles. He groans and drops his head down behind his glass.

“Hey, Wei Ying!” An arthritic hand waves at him from the other end of the bar.

“Gotcha, Riseung,” he calls and starts fishing for the kahlua and cream. It’s always at the back of the cooler; no one else ever orders it. “You’re gonna work yourself into an early grave,” he tosses back at Jiang Cheng.

“Not if you keep giving me beer.”

“Hey, Wei Ying, I saw that story last week. Hell of a thing.” Li Riseung has a little cream mustache, but Wei Ying’s not going to mention it.

“The gas thing?” Wei Ying grins at him. “Yeah, I’m telling you, it’s all connected. You watch the prices when Lanling tries to pass another referendum. It’s all supposed to soften you up. You got something for me today?”

“Still writing your conspiracy theories?” Jiang Cheng calls to him. “Some guys just don’t know when to quit.”

(Someone else comes up, he pulls a pint of stout.)

Riseung bristles. “Wei Ying is the only real journalist left in this country. You’ll see.”

Wei Ying props his chin on his folded hands and waits. Riseung takes another long sip. “Yu Xiuying’s got her popcorn maker up and running. She’s starting to sell what she can, make enough to get the theater back in order.”

“Really? That would be something. I’m sick of taking the train every time I want to see a movie.”

“You should report on that, get her some customers.”

Wei Ying drums his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can work out an ad situation. I need more ads, you know. Papers ain’t cheap.”

Riseung finishes his drink, sets the glass down on the bar. He half-reaches for his pocket. “So, do I owe you, or . . .”

Wei Ying stifles a sigh. Technically it’s nothing he can use. He’s not about to publish an expose on popcorn. Still, he waves a hand. “Your money’s no good here. Go on, keep up the good work.”

The man grins up at him, flashing a row of silver fillings, and heads over to bother someone else.

(Another customer—rum and Coke.)

“You’re just letting people drink for free, huh?” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying wanders back over to him, taking a sip of his own drink (coffee, plus whiskey, just enough to get through the shift).

“Reporting is all about cultivating sources, Jiang Cheng, even you should know that. Li Riseung is a source.”

“A source,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “He’s a drunk.”

“So’s everyone. This whole country’s full of drunks. Drunks make the world go around.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “This city is fucking depressing.”

“Oh, and all of Lanling’s sober, is it? Yunmeng? Everybody’s living like Lans? You’d be much more pleasant with a few more of these in you.” Wei Ying grabs his pint glass and dumps the end of it out, refilling in the same smooth movement. It’s just out of spite. He shouldn’t be wasting a good few ounces of genuinely nice beer. But he can’t help it; Jiang Cheng brings it out in him. He spins and shimmies a bit to the bad pop song coming from the busted speaker above him and grabs a bin of limes to chop.

“When are you going to come home?”

Wei Ying doesn’t slip and cut himself, but it’s close.

“I live in Yiling, Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, for now.”

Wei Ying sighs. “I like it here, okay? You think they’d let me back in Yunmeng, after everything?”

“I’ve got influence now. They wouldn’t say anything.”

(Two lagers, shot of tequila.)

He hasn’t lived in Yunmeng in years. Almost a decade now. He was in Yunmeng at the start of everything, when Wen Ruohan was forced out of office and half the military went with him. He visits now, but there’s still that sense of before when he’s there, like the majority of his life hasn’t happened yet. But Jiang Cheng is never going to get that, he’s a linear person.

“Not saying anything isn’t the same as allowing. I’m not going to make you fight all day just so I can work at some bougie wine bar somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t have to work at a bar. You could—”

“What? Write? You think anyone anywhere is going to hire me at a paper again? Despite all the rumors, you’re not that dumb.”

“Fuck off. You could work with me.”

“Intelligence. Really? How do you think that would work out? ‘Yes, Jin Zixuan, whatever you say, Jin Zixuan—’”

“Fuck off.”

Wei Ying shakes his head and scrapes a pile of lime wedges back in the bin. “I like where I am. I’ve got the paper—”

“It’s not a paper.”

Wei Ying doesn’t slam the knife down, but it’s a close thing. “Jiang Cheng—”

“You’re such a fucking martyr. What, you lose your dream job so you go to the ass crack of the world and set yourself up as king of nowhere?”

“I’m not king of anything, I’m just writing.”

(Three glasses of white wine.)

“Yiling Laozu.” Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue. “I know you can’t use your real name, but that’s embarrassing. Laozu. You and your sources.”

Wei Ying takes a breath and unclenches his jaw. “If Wen Qing were here you wouldn’t be calling us embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassing. She’s not embarrassing.”

“It’s our paper.”

“Wen Qing has dignity. You have none.”

Wei Ying gathers up his knife and cutting board to run them back to the dish pit. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, you love me. I know you do.”

It’s always a good way to end a conversation, their own private code. If you keep pushing here you’re going to break something. A warning. You love me. I know you do. Jiang Cheng doesn't ever deny it, but he never agrees either. He doesn't need to. Wei Ying has proof. The scars on the back of his hands, curling around his wrists and up his arms—burn scars, chemical burns—are proof. Jiang Cheng doesn't like to look at his hands. That's proof too.

When he comes back out, Jiang Cheng isn’t alone. The general noise of the bar has fallen to a murmur, and the rowdy game of dominoes is paused in the corner.

Xue Yang is sprawled over two stools, dressed in shiny black leather and grinning a few inches away from Jiang Cheng’s face.

“How’s it going, Captain Jiang?”

Jiang Cheng leans away. “I don’t see you. You are not here.”

“Course not. Good boy.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand tightens around his glass, and Wei Ying picks up the pace slightly.

“Leave him alone, Xue Yang,” he says, carefully mild.

The grin turns on him, and Xue Yang waves, his weird little black prosthesis sticking out like a lighting-struck tree. “You telling me what to do, Wei Ying?”

“I would never. Here, have a drink. If you want.” He pours him a double from his own secret bottle, the one Granny gave him on a good night in the summer. It’s painfully ironic—Xue Yang would be the only person in Yiling who could afford it if he ever actually paid for it.

Wei Ying nods to him and slides the glass across the bar, along with the usual brown envelope. Jiang Cheng sighs and spins around on his stool, looking away.

“Feels light,” Xue Yang says, like always.

“It’s not,” Wei Ying says, also like always.

Xue Yang grins around the little white stick hanging out of his mouth, and Wei Ying grins back. “Eight percent extra on anything you’re short next time.”

“It’s not short. And it’s five percent, don’t try to fuck with me.” Wei Ying smiles wider and does not blink.

“Maybe it’s changed.”

“Granny would tell me, and she wouldn’t hear it from you.”

“Maybe it’s changing today.” Xue Yang leans across the bar, not quite getting in his face, but close enough. Wei Ying meets Wen Ning’s eye over his shoulder. Wen Ning takes a few steps away from the door, but Wei Ying shakes his head just a fraction and he goes still.

“You don’t have the authority.” Wei Ying lets his grin go a little unnatural at the corners, a little bit of a snarl. “And it’s not short, so it doesn’t matter.”

Xue Yang laughs and tucks the envelope into his jacket, then takes a long swig. Wei Ying breathes, finally, quiet and careful.

“Xue Yang,” he says as he starts to wipe down the bar again. “You know you wound me.”

Xue Yang wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Oh do I?”

“You know it hurts me, deep down in the soul parts of my body, to see you drink top shelf scotch with a fucking sucker in your mouth.”

Xue Yang sticks out his tongue so Wei Ying can see the little yellow nub of it. “It’s pineapple.”

“Great. Thank you. I’m going to go drink bleach now.”

Jiang Cheng half turns to glare at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Xue Yang chugs the rest of the scotch and tosses the empty glass at Wei Ying. He hates that it makes him flinch before he catches it. “Tell Granny I say hi.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, where’s the little one? Haven’t seen her in a minute.”

Wei Ying stiffens. “You’ll stay away from her if you cherish the rest of those fingers.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xue Yang gives him a mocking salute and saunters back out towards the door. He’s nearly out when he knocks into an empty chair, sending it to the floor with a crack like a gunshot. No one hits the deck completely, but the held-breath silence turns into a gasp as all eyes snap to the sound, shoulders up and hands braced on tabletops, thighs tensed and ready to run.

Even Xue Yang is frozen at the door for a second. He laughs, though his jaw is tight. “Just a chair, ladies and gentlemen. Clean this shit up, Wen Ning.” And he’s gone.

Wei Ying deflates, adding some of the good scotch to his own cup. Jiang Cheng makes a face.

“How’s that coffee?”

“Shut up.”

“You should let me talk to Zixuan.”

“You talk to him every day.”

“You know what I mean. How long have you been paying—”

Wei Ying sighs and flicks his rag at his brother. “Thing one: I don’t pay, Granny pays. Thing two: Xue Yang is just a low level street thug with connections, he’s as in charge of the operation as I am in charge of Yiling. Thing three: it all kicks up to the Jins at the end of the day, so what are they gonna do about it?”

“Zixuan isn’t—”

“Yeah, I know your best pal is the paragon of morality.”

(Scotch and soda, root beer, gin and tonic, and three pints.)

“He’s our brother-in-law.”

“And your brother-in-arms, I know, I’d never dare disparage the mighty—”

“He’s a nicer brother than you are.”

Wei Ying mimes a faint. “I’m going to call Shijie, tell her you’re being mean to me.”

Jiang Cheng goes quiet, looks down at his beer. Wei Ying reaches out for it, an offering.

“Another?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.” A chunk of his hair comes loose from its tie, feathers across his forehead.

“When are you gonna cut that hair, huh?” Wei Ying flicks it back over his ear. Jiang Cheng swipes at his hand lazily.

“I like it like this.”

“You and Zixuan are twins now, huh? You cultivators. Does Lan Zhan still keep his long, do you think?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Stop it, leave it, I have it how I want it.”

Wei Ying laughs at him. “Looks good. Dignified. Hey, did you ever ask for Zidian back?”

Jiang Cheng’s face does something complicated, a little bitter. “Not gonna happen. No spiritual weapons are gonna be authorized any time soon.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours.”

“It’s not mine. It’s the government’s.”

“But it responds to you. What good does it do locked away in—”

“Leave it, Wei Ying. I know you’ve got opinions about cultivation, but I’m fucking tired and it’s not going to change anything.”

“Well, when you’re in charge. Then you’ll show ‘em.”

That does make Jiang Cheng laugh, which is satisfying.

(Two gin and tonics.)

“Hey, you’re not allowed—” Wen Ning calls from the door, followed by the tap-tap of a metal cane. Wei Ying sighs and reaches for the grenadine.

“Wei Ying, you son of a bitch.” The voice is high, reedy, and cackling. “How the hell are ya?”

“A-Qing,” Wei Ying calls mildly. “You can’t be here.”

“Where is here?” she yells, as always. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you tell I’m blind?”

“Get out of my bar.”

“Discrimination!” She makes her way across the room, purposely bumping into every occupied table on her way over, just to slosh beer onto the floor.

“You’re fourteen.” He has her cherry soda on the bar by the time she hops up on the stool next to Jiang Cheng, ignoring him entirely.

“And how do you know that, creepy old man?”

“You made me get you a cake for your birthday, you goblin.”

“Who’s this guy?” She takes a long slurping suck from her straw.

“My didi.”

“You—!” Jiang Cheng hates it, which is the only reason Wei Ying says it.

“Ooh, the famous Jiang Cheng. I bet he looks real grumpy.”

“Yep.”

Jiang Cheng flips him off. He grins and goes back to wiping down the drain.

“He just flipped you off, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.” She finishes her drink and slams the glass down. “Double vodka please.”

“Nope.”

“I drink vodka all the time.”

“Don’t care. I’m not getting fired over your sorry ass. Go drink at home.”

“I’m not allowed vodka at the home.”

“And you’re not allowed here either.” He drops the rag back into the sanitizer and leans his elbows on the bar. “Now, are you here with something interesting or just to pester me?”

Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to interject, but Wei Ying waves him off.

“I can multitask,” A-Qing says before pushing her glass back across the bar. “More sugar first.”

“Diabetes on the rocks, yes madam.”

She takes a long slurping pull, and he folds his arms, waiting.

“Got a new TV at the home. Real big one.”

“A-Qing, I’m waiting.”

Jiang Cheng squints at her. “How do you know how big the TV is?”

“I just know, okay. Anyway. One of the older kids got it. Bought it himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Wei Ying says. He needs to challenge her if she’s going to give him the whole story. If he seems too interested she’ll draw it out just to fuck with him.

“He did. Wen Changming.”

“A Wen?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Lots of Wens in the children’s home. I wonder why.”

Jiang Cheng makes a sour face at him.

“He’s got cash to burn, suddenly. Pockets full.”

“Gee, I wonder how you found that out.”

A-Qing grins at him. “He’s not gonna miss it. He’s in the club now.”

“The club?”

“You know, the club. What do you call it? Do crimes, get money.”

“Mob? Syndicate? Criminal organization?” Jiang Cheng offers.

“So they’re recruiting at the home, that’s what you’re telling me? Is it Xue Yang?”

A-Qing blows bubbles in her soda. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Must be desperate.”

“You do the same thing.”

“I do not.”

She holds out a hand. He sighs and passes over a couple of bills.

“You staying there tonight?” he asks, all casual.

“Maybe. The girls are annoying. Should be nice outside.”

“Starting to get cold.”

“Not really. Only if you’re a pussy.”

“You call me if you need to crash. Here.” He drops a couple of coins in front of her. “I’ll be home after midnight.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she says, pocketing the change. She gives a little salute and hops off her stool. “So long, Wen Ning!” she shouts, walking right at him and making him hop out of the way.

She’s not really blind, of course. Wei Ying’s never brought it up—he knows, but he’s not sure she knows that he knows. One of the nights she crashed at his apartment, months ago, he caught her reading through one of his binders of old clippings—‘91, back before the start of the war, when he was still in Gusu. It kind of kills him, because he wants to ask her what she thought of them. What she remembers from back then, if there’s anything. But they don’t talk about anything serious, not if they can help it.

“Please tell me you don’t have a teenage girl staying at your place,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying gives him a great sigh and grabs his rag again.

“Only when she's got no other place to go. Oh, I have a futon now! You’d see it if you ever came over.”

“Wow, great, you're thirty years old and you have a secondhand futon. Mother would be so proud.”

“I didn't say it was secondhand.”

“Wei Ying, trust me, you do not need to.”

(Four pints.)

Wei Ying makes a face at him. “So mean.”

“It’s weird that she stays with you.”

Wei Wuxian sighs again. “Jiang Cheng.”

“It is. It’s weird.”

“If it’s a bad night at the home then she sleeps outside. I don’t like her sleeping outside, so she stays with me. When she’s not being ornery.”

“She’s a teenage girl.”

“She’s a baby.”

“Not your baby. Why would she sleep outside anyway? Yiling sucks.”

“The home sucks. Look, it’s an orphan thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jiang Cheng pouts. “Hey, I’m an orphan.”

“No you’re not, you’re a grown up.”

(Whiskey, neat.)

“You’re a grownup. My parents are dead; I’m an orphan.”

“Then everyone’s a fucking orphan in this country. The word’s lost all meaning. From now on, if your parents were alive when you were ten, you’re not an orphan. Find a new word, leave ours alone.”

“You’re such a jackass.”

“Jackass! Yes, that’s a good word.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and gets off his stool. He tosses cash down on the bar, though Wei Ying tries to wave him off.

“Oh, you’re going to want to get a flag up in here,” he says, off-hand as he turns to go.

Wei Ying freezes. “Excuse me?”

“Coming down from on high, it’s going to be a new ordinance. To keep the liquor license.”

“The fuck does a flag have to do with our liquor license?”

Jiang Cheng holds up his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”

“I’m not letting the Sunshot flag through these doors.”

Jiang Cheng turns back to him, serious. “Look, I know you have your own . . . feelings—”

“Feelings?” he almost spits, spreading his hands out on the bar.

Jiang Cheng winces and does not look at them. “You have your reasons, I’m not arguing that. But Yiling’s a part of the Republic and people need to get used to it. You don’t have to like it, but your district rep is going to announce the policy in the next week, and I don’t want to see you— Don’t go out of your way to make life difficult, all right? It’s hard enough already.”

Wei Ying says nothing, just leans back and watches the rag twist and untwist between his hands.

“See you Saturday,” Jiang Cheng offers, hesitates, then leaves.

Wei Ying will close up. They close early, still, kick everyone out before midnight. Old habits. He’ll go home and work on his column, the one corner of the paper Wen Qing leaves for whatever he wants. (Literally, the column is called “Whatever.”) Maybe A-Qing will find a pay phone and call him, if she hasn’t spent or hidden the change, or maybe she’ll just show up and lean on the buzzer until he lets her in. He’ll sleep better, if she’s there. He was never meant to live alone.

And he’ll wake up tomorrow, and try to do it all again.

Part Two

#the untamed #cql #assorted writings #pick up every piece

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iliumheightnights · 4 years

Text

No Matter What | Tony Stark x Son!Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Tony Stark x Son!Reader

Summary: After a horrifying betrayal by someone close to him, (M/N) Stark tries to ignore the world.

Warnings: Mentions of Outing and Possible Homophobia.

A/N: After the last fic with Tony I wanted to write one where he actually was there for his kid. Don’t worry a part 2 for that is coming; it's just not this one.

As soon as the last bell rang (M/N) picked up his bag and ran out of the classroom. He didn’t stop running until he made it to the car where Happy was waiting for him. He felt tears running down his face again and quickly wiped them away before opening the door and getting in.

“Hey kiddo how was school?” Happy asked in his usually cheery tone to him, oblivious to the state (M/N) was in.

“It was fine. Ready to get home.” He said in an unusually quiet voice. This prompted Happy to turn and look at him. Instead of his normally happy self, (M/N) had puffy red eyes from crying and he looked like he had been through the ringer.

“(M/N) It doesn’t look…”

“It’s fine. Let’s just go home.”

“(M/N)-”

“Happy. Home. please-” He looked over at the man who was pretty much an uncle to him and felt the tears building up. Happy let out a sigh before turning the car on and pulling onto the road.

“If I noticed. So will your dad.”

He looked down at his hands. “I know.”

The ride back to the compound was eerily quiet. Normally the two would converse with (M/N) talking about topics he found exciting or drama he overheard. If that didn’t happen they would usually listen to music. None of that happened today, just the sound of the car engine and a couple quiet sniffles here and there. When Happy put the car into park (M/N) was quick to get his bag and run inside.

He stopped before he passed the common room. He had to go past it to get to his room and he really wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone. Peeking in he noticed no one was there,luckily. He pushed himself off the walk and continued on to his room before he was stopped. “Hey (M/N) how was school?” Steve. Great. Without even turning around to acknowledge him he said. (It was fine, Little tired tho so I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Okay well-”

“Sorry Steve, I'm really tired.” With that he ran off to his room leaving Steve to wonder what just happened.

…

Tony had just begun the next part of upgrading his suit when Happy came into the lab. “Something’s wrong with (M/N).” With that Tony quickly dropped what he was doing and turned around. “What’s wrong with (M/N)?!” He quickly got out of his seat and started moving towards the hall.

“I don’t know he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Did he look hurt?” The worry in Tony’s voice was breaking through.

“Physically? No. Emotionally? Absolutely.”

Tony was now moving at an alarming speed as he made his way through the compound. He didn’t stop until he was in front of his son’s door. He could hear the sound of soft crying and sniffles on the other side. He hesitated a bit and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“(M/N)? Buddy what’s wrong?” He could hear movement on the other side before it settled.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Tony’s heart was crushed hearing just how drained his son sounded. He rarely, if ever, heard him so broken. He slowly turned the handle and walked in. The room was dark, all the blinds had been closed and the lights turned off. (M/N) was curled up in a ball on his bed quietly sobbing. Tony had never seen his son so broken like this before, not this badly anyways. He sat beside him and slowly started to rub his back.

“What’s wrong kiddo?” Tony said quietly. “It’s not nothing. It’s obviously something that’s hurting you. I’m here for you.”

“Yo-you’ll hate me.” (M/N) was sobbing out the words and was starting to shake.

“(M/N) nothing will ever make me hate you. I love you so much and I don’t want to see you upset.”

Slowly (M/N) uncurled and sat up. He was still shaking and tears were still streaming down his face. He took in a long breath before speaking. “Dad...I” He shook his head and when he spoke again he looked anywhere but his father. “I-I’m gay.”

Tony only smiled at his son. His boy. And he was so proud. (M/N) however looked like he was about to be hit by a train. Like he was waiting for the guillotine to drop. Tony slowly cupped (M/N)’s face in his hand and brought his eyes to meet his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m so proud of you for telling me and I’m so glad you trust me enough to know. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy and I will always love and support you. Okay?”

(M/N)’s eyes were still filled with tears but he gave a genuine smile for the first time that day. He also gave a small chuckle before hugging his dad. “Thank you. I-I should have told you sooner.”

“You didn’t have to tell me at all. This was your’s to tell when you were ready.”

“If only that was true.”

“What do you mean?”

Tony pulled back from the hug and looked at the boy. (M/N) had visibly tensed up again and was starting to shake. He pulled his arms in and hugged himself before looking at the ground. “ I-I’ve been dating a boy at school for the past couple of months. It was going really good and I really liked him. But then he started black mailing me. He wanted me to buy him real expensive things or he wou-” (M/N) started sobbing now. “He would out me to the press. I hadn’t told anyone. And I thought I could trust him. So I did. I bought him the things he asked for, I did anything he asked. But then I told him no,because I realized I couldn’t keep doing it. And then he outed me to the whole school. I’m sure he’s going to the press too.”

Tony felt his heart shatter, while rage built up inside of him. How dare that asshole do this to his son. His son did nothing to deserve this, no one should ever be outed. He quickly pulled (M/N) back into a hug. “I was so...so scared! I didn’t want you to find out and hate me. I didn’t want the others to find out and hate me. I didn’t want to lose you guys.” He continued to sob into his father. Tony did everything he could to try and comfort the boy.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m so sorry that happened to you. That dick isn’t worth your time and I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves. For now I just want you to know we love you and you’ll never lose us. We’ll always be here to support you no matter what. I love you so much Kiddo.”

“I love you too dad.”

There was a pause for a bit. “So who’s this kid?”

“Dad. Don’t do anything stupid.” But (M/N) got up and wrote something down on a piece of paper. He handed it back to Tony who saw that the name of the kid and his address had been written down. “Do something smart.”

Tony smirked at his son. “You really are my kid.”

…

The next day (M/N)’s ex had just stepped outside of his house when he was greeted by not only Iron Man but also the rest of the avengers. “So you’re the douche that outed my son? I hope you’re ready to have your life ruined.”

#marvel #marvel imagines #mcu #tony stark #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x son reader #tony stark x stark!reader #tony stark x stark reader #tony stark imagines #tony stark imagine #x male reader #x male!reader #x reader

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chuckbass-love · 3 years

Note

can i request a super smutty one shot of chris evans and hes obsessed with doing anal and it's the filthiest hottest thing ever ??? i love ur work btw :))

Hi lovely anon, thank you so much for the request and i really apologise for the delay. I’ve been working on a couple other things and obviously Christmas time has been hectic too. However, it’s here now and i hope you love it. Also thank you reading my work, your support means a whole lot and i really appreciate you🥰

A/N: Not written smut in a while so please give feedback as i’m anxious and worried that this is shit. Also, part 5 for Only Love Can Hurt Like This will be out soon. So strap yourselves in for that.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, FILTH, anal fingering, anal intercourse, oral (f, receiving), vaginal fingering and daddy kink. 18+

Word Count: 3,054

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @myimaginesworld go check them out❤️

New Obsession

If you were to tell the truth about how you felt a week ago, then it would be that anal made you nervous. Well, not anymore.

You’ve been with Chris for around a year now, which to many wouldn’t seem like a long time but to the two of you, it feels like a lifetime.

He had a way of automatically putting you at ease with everything. Especially in the bedroom or whenever it came to opening up emotionally and even now, that’s still the case.

He treats you like a queen.

Last week whilst the pair of you were lounging around his Massachusetts home with Dodger nestled in between your legs as you lay in between Chris’s legs. He randomly asked you some rather explicit questions.

Ones mostly about your ass and what you’d let him do to it. It started off with him asking about eating your ass, playing with it and then eventually he asked if you’d ever have anal sex with him,

The mere thought had your puckered hole clenching and your tight cunt slowly starting to drip with your honey like arousal. Yeah sure, you were terrified but you’d always been curious and wanted to explore new territory with him.

You love him and you trust him with your life so you agreed to try.

And after a nice romantic meal, a lot of wine on your part, beer on his. You ended up kissing on the couch. It started off very slow until he stood up with you in his arms, carrying you to the master bedroom. The journey there was spent with his large hand splaying across your soft globes, squeezing them aggressively like he just couldn’t wait to have his filthy way with you.

That night was certainly crazy to say the least. You were a little sore after which only led to Chris kissing you on your delicate hole a couple times and running you a bubble bath.

He’s the king of after care with you. Always checking in with you before, during and after to see if you enjoyed it. The last thing he’d ever want is for you to be in pain or danger.

Since that night though, you’ve been doing it whenever you can. It’s like an addiction. The feel of his huge cock pushing into your forbidden and tight hole is something you can never even begin to explain. It just feels incredible. Plus your little cunt gets extremely excited at all of the attention. Chris tends to rub at your bundle of nerves or even dip his fingers into your honey pot, 3 at once. He says he never wants your pussy to be left untouched.

But like you’ve said. It’s like an addiction to you both. In fact, he’s crazy for it.

The grunts that leave his mouth always have you keening for him to go deeper and deeper inside of you. Every inch of him.

Tonight is no exception.

You had a lovely day at his parent’s house. Lisa cooked a gorgeous lunch and all of Chris’ siblings visited with their kids and partners.

You and Scott spent the entire day laughing and joking about the many times you scared Chris. It’s like a running joke in this family plus Chris hates being scared. He calls himself the master of scaring people so when the tables are turned he gets this huge need to get them back.

Whenever Chris is horny or desperate for you, he has his ways of letting you know without actually saying the words.

For example.

You were helping Lisa with some of the last minute prep for lunch by taking stuff out of the oven and placing it onto dishes to then put on the table.

Chris was sat at the kitchen island, sipping on a beer. Well, he was practically gulping it down. You were in the kitchen also.

Lisa asked if you could take the quiche out of the oven and leave it on the cooling rack. Chris’s eyes followed your ass as you bent over. Something you had anticipated to happen since he’s an ass man and your ass in particular drives him insane.

You turned around to place it on the cooling rack and that’s when you saw his flushed cheeks. His eyes full of hunger and lust. Animalistic even.

Before you left to go to his parent’s house, he was begging for you to ride him quickly.

“It’ll only be a quick one, just wanna feel that ass around my cock again”

His whining was more than tempting and now, since you rejected his offer, he was so close to taking you upstairs into his old childhood room to ram into you.

But instead. Lunch was served and he didn’t have the time.

Hours had passed until eventually it was time to go. Lisa gave you some of the leftover quiche since Chris enjoyed it so much and the two of you got into the car with you in the driving seat this time.

“You’re such a fuckin tease baby” he slurred

“And why’s that?” you asked, feigning innocence as you started driving. With his house not being far from his parent’s house, the journey was only around 10 minutes, not even that.

He never responded to you, just smirked as he sat back in his seat.

The moment you got home however, he was all over you like a rash. You shut the front door and locked it just before he pushed you into it.

Your cheek squished against the cold door.

“Chris” you squealed, he didn’t respond though.

You felt his body lower until you were pretty sure he was on his knees, lifting your sundress up and hooking his thick digits into your soaked panties. He yanked them down and tapped your legs for you to step out of them.

“There they are. God i’ve missed this pretty little asshole and oh my, look at this soaked cunt. All for me, huh baby?” you knew that he was well aware of the kind of effect he had on you and your body but he still liked confirmation from your mouth.

“Yes, daddy. It’s all for you. Please”

Whenever you’re around Chris and about to have sex, you find yourself turning into this pathetic woman who is literally his whore. You crave his touch. You crave the feel of his cock ploughing into you so hard that you forget your own name and he loves how hungry you get.

He stood up then, his eyes dancing over your body, the only thing wrong with the view was that you had clothes on. He soon changed that, stripping you completely before getting back down onto his knees.

Which is how you got here.

Your one leg is over his shoulder and your fingers are tangled up in his hair that was once styled.

“Fuck. Daddy. Yes. Just. Like. That” your breathing is heavy and your heart is beating rapidly. His fingers working wonders inside of you whilst his mouth is sucking on your clit.

You’re on the cusp of yet another mind blowing orgasm from just his fingers and mouth alone. He’s already had you messing all over his fingers once but clearly once wasn’t enough if he’s trying to draw another from you.

He’s always been greedy like that.

“Come on baby, i know you got another one in you, give it to me” his fingers start to curl ever so slightly, pressing at that spot inside a couple more times before you’re falling.

Your cum sliding down his digits beautifully. Just the way he likes.

Before you even have the chance to speak, he’s spinning you back around and spreading your ass cheeks to reveal his new obsession.

Seconds later his tongue is pressed against it, circling too.

You shiver at the sensation, your back arches and your hands rest either side of the door frame. In hopes that it’ll steady you.

“There she is, my little whore”

You bite down on your bottom lip as your eyes roll to the back of your head. There’s no point in trying to hold back the moans anymore and with one final lick to your eager hole you let out a loud pornographic style moan.

With Chris, it’s always hard to hold back and he knows that. There’s been so many times when he’s tested you, fucking you in public areas. But the worst one was when you were in his L.A home.

Lisa came to visit at the very beginning of your relationship. You went for some nice lunch and then dinner which was courtesy of your excellent cooking.

Chris put her up for the weekend and boy did he choose that night to initiate some pretty filthy sex.

You were lying on your stomach and trying to sleep when you felt his hands wondering. Then all of a sudden he’s spitting on his cock for lube, stroking it a couple times before sliding into your pussy with ease. All thanks to your permanent need for him.

The way he fucked you that night was most certainly sinful to say the least. His room being next door to the guest room where his mother was sleeping. You’re surprised she didn’t say something the next day. Chris had to keep pushing your head into the pillow to muffle your pleasure filled screams.

“So eager for my cock i see but not so fast baby. Gotta get you ready first” the raspiness of his voice makes everything ten times hotter and you can quite literally feel him inside of you without it being a reality.

He stands up and his finger starts to circle before he slowly pushes it in, taking his time to prepare you for another one of his thick digits.

They glide across the walls inside.

One more is added and another until your ass is stretched out nicely.

He continues to work you over, scissoring his fingers too. Despite doing it a lot already, preparation is key with anal.

“Think you’re ready?”

“Please, i need it” you mewl

He lowers his head so that his mouth is just by your ear and his breath fans your skin “yeah, need it huh? Need daddy’s cock deep inside this tight ass of yours?”

You nod your head aggressively, you couldn’t look more keen if you tried.

“How bad you need it baby, tell me. Tell daddy like a good girl” he whispers, his cologne filling your nose and intoxicating you more than ever as his hand reaches in front to rub at your sensitive clit.

“Please, daddy. I need your cock in my ass. I need it so much”

Before you got with Chris, dirty talk wasn’t necessarily something you even thought about during sex but he introduced you to that world. And what a world it is. It seemed as though, the more you did it, the dirtier you got.

Nicknames were thrown around, more kinks were even explored and you became the pinnacle of a mans dream. Woman in the streets, freak in the sheets.

Such a princess to the public. But for Chris. You’re a whore. Only for him though.

“Beg for it baby” he insists, his fingers press down harder as he rubbing pace quickens.

You can feel the tip of his huge size poking at your hole. Just a push and it’ll be forcing it’s way inside of you, stretching you out even more than his fingers did and filling you up in the best way.

“Daddy, give it to me. Stuff my ass full of your cock please. I need it”

“Such a good girl, my good girl. S’fucking tight baby” the pair of you hiss as he begins to push into you, tearing that sweet ass open.

He’s always loved how tight your ass is and if he had it his way, his cock would remain seated inside of you all day every day. Where it belongs. With your peachy ass cheeks adding to the incredible view.

Every time he fucks you from behind, he spoils you with spanking after spanking, not letting up until your ass is sore and it stings to touch. Luckily, you love it, always begging for more.

And tonight is no different.

His hands rest on both globes, rubbing and kneading before eventually lifting off and smacking back down, earning a gasp from your mouth.

With every inch, he gets closer and closer to bottoming out until before you know it, he’s seated deep inside of your ass.

His fingers find your pussy immediately, sliding inside with no time to waste and then it starts. His thrusting. Slow at first of course.

Gradually getting faster and faster.

“Feel me deep in that fuckin ass huh? My little cock whore. Love getting fucked in this ass baby?” the pure filth leaving his mouth has your clit throbbing under his thumb.

“Answer daddy when he speaks to you” he mutters, spanking your ass and gripping your face with one hand and forcing you to turn your head a bit more so that you’re looking at him “sorry daddy” you pout, face flushed just like his was earlier at lunch.

“And?”

“Feels so good with your cock fucking my ass like that, i need it deeper” you cry out, waiting for his pace to change. His hips snap against your skin as he presses you back into the door with his hand tangled in your hair.

He pulls on it harshly causing you to wince in pain. It all adds to the earth shattering pleasure though, you love when he gets like this.

Ever since you first tried anal last week, he’s turned into this animal. He wants to fuck your ass mercilessly whenever he can. Whenever it’s possible and it’s times like these when he’s glad his house is away from others. He can fuck you as hard and as rough as he likes and your moans won’t be heard by anyone. Absolute bliss.

“That’s it baby, take daddy’s cock like the whore you are. Take it deep” he draws the last word out, his breathing hitches and so does yours as you choke on a moan.

“Take. It”

One smack to your ass cheeks.

“My filthy anal loving whore”

Two smacks to your ass cheeks.

“I always secretly knew you’d love this and i was right. Such a dirty little girl for her daddy, aren’t you?” His fingering pace picks up, ramming into you with such vigor as his cock slows down into hard and rough thrusts.

“Let me hear those sweet noises baby, don’t hide them from me. Sing it for daddy, let me know how good i make you feel”

Your back arches and your face lifts off of the door, head falling back to rest on his chest “please, i’m gonna cum, don’t stop i need it” your desperate whimpers are enough to have him ploughing into your ass harder and faster, his grunts, growls and cursing lets you know how close he is to his own earth shattering orgasm.

“Is daddy’s little girl gonna cum too, huh? Gonna cum with daddy, all over my fingers baby as i spill my cum into your ass again. Like last time?”

“Yes daddy, please, i need it. Give me your cum”

“Such a beg, god you feel so fucking good. Can feel that cunt clenching round my fingers. Cumming baby? Huh, gonna cream all over my fingers like the whore you are?”

All you can muster is a pathetic nod and a whine. You’re so close now.

And just like that, with a couple more thrusts in both holes. You clamp down on his cock and fingers, your clit pulsating again as you cum with a shaky sob of his name.

And of course with your pleasure, his is spurred on. You can feel him twitch and spasm inside as he chokes your name out too. Spilling his hot seed into your ass.

“So fucking good” his heart is beating, you feel it as you lay your head on his chest.

“My good girl, taking it like a pro. I’ll never grow tired of that”

He slowly pulls out, making his way to the bathroom and taking your hand so that you can follow him.

Once there, you get this sudden wave of confidence.

“I already miss your cock inside of me” he runs a wash cloth underneath the hot tap for a couple seconds, before using it to clean himself up. He starts running a bath too but you don’t want one.

You want him.

“I guess we’ll just have to do it again after our bath then won’t we?” he wraps his hand around your wrist, tugging you close so that you’re flush against him.

“What if i don’t want a bath?”

He raises his eyebrows at you in question.

“You want me to fuck your ass again?”

Now that he’s saying it out loud, you feel a tinge of embarrassment.

“Come here and sit on this fucking cock then baby, daddy would hate to disappoint you”

So you do exactly that, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

“You’re only fuelling the flame baby”

“I don’t know what you mean” your innocence shining through as you turn your head to look at him through your batting eyelashes.

“This ass of yours, you know what it does to me, having my cock buried inside of it. It’s my new obsession” he starts, caressing your cheek before gliding his hand across your body “now. Show daddy how you bounce on his cock”

It would be your pleasure.

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

I hope this was great and that you all love it!!! Honest feedback pls...💜

I’ve not written smut in a hot minute so if it’s shit i understand.

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @rockyrogers @yassspose @randomsevans

Just Chris & His Characters tags: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo

LMK if you want to be added to my tag list!

#chris evans #chris evans smut #cevans #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x female reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #reader inserts #smut #request

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thattimdrakeguy · 4 years

Note

Why, uh, do ppl hate Tim so much? I just fell down a hole of anti tim and I can’t find a..valid reason for the hate besides that fact tht hes rich and white?

From my experience it’s one of those things where Tim has antagonistic relationships with other Bat-Family members like Damian, Jason, and even partially Steph. So they just crap on Tim, because it’ll make their favs look better.

Like that’s genuinely been the main reason I see, and they use the fact he’s rich and white to make it seem like it’s a social justice thing, even though in the end it really isn’t.

I sort of rant for the rest of the post going in more detail, and mentioning things I’ve been shown, and why I think a lot of it is dumb, but basically it’s just people being petty and insecure, and being unable to handle things in any other way than childishly.

For some Jason fans I’ve seen them talk about how much they hate Tim because they replaced the poor kid with a rich kid, but I’m really freaking poor myself. Obviously I’m not homeless, but there was a time in my life where I slept on the floor, and later on after I did have a bed my bed room had a hole in the floor. But, they’re just looking too deep into stuff just to find a problem anywhere they can.

I’ve also seen some say Tim bullied his way into being Robin after the poor kid died. When 1) that isn’t even an accurate description of what happened and 2) they’re obviously just trying to word it the worst way possible, because they’re pretty freaking childish.

Damian fans try to make Tim and his fans out to be racist cause Tim doesn’t like Damian, when that’s actually because Damian got so close to killing Tim I’m pretty sure Tim actually did nearly die from bleeding out. I think also because Tim once said “what about his biology” when referring to Damian, when Tim wasn’t referring to his race, he was referring to how he’s related to criminals and Damian literally had his biology messed with to make him a fierce warrior and a good body for Ra’s.

Steph fans also try to make Tim and his fans out to be sexist. But their reasoning is really weak, because it’s literally just boiled down to Tim being mean to Steph sometimes, but it’s not like that’s cause of her gender for that to make sense. It’s because in context she is an untrained citizens constantly putting herself and potentially others in-danger without any training to feel safe with her constantly being out there. Plus she flirted with him so much to the point it made him uncomfortable and fit the literal definition of sexual harassment.

And they always do that thing where they gotta make their favs sound better, and Tim sound worse. Which admittedly Tim fans do the same thing, but I’m not really here to pick a side. I’m just here pointing out how freaking annoying fandoms can be, because ultimately I don’t really care what fandom does it. At the moment though I can confidently say, that other fandoms are doing it a lot more than Tim ones lately, because I’m in the Tim tags at least twice a day most days and I’ve barely seen it lately.

It’s kind of a thing to project a lot of stuff on the Tim fandom for the same faux-social-justice kind of jargon they try to do. When you see it from a view like mine, where I’m not on any side of any fandom, even if I am a Tim fan (cause I never really been into deep fandom stuff), it just comes off as hypocritical frankly.

(If you want to hear some dumb things some Tim fans do to even it up, they make him the most frail, emo, emotionally unstable kid ever sometimes. They can focus way too much on making him sympathetic (but even then, literally every fandom does that, but the Tim fandom always does it in a very notable depressing way). They also focus so much on coffee and practically act like he’s all pilled up on anti-depressants he just acts weird that it just seems obsessive and very out of character.)

Like as some examples they’ll bring up how Tim doesn’t trust Damian and put him on a list of potential threats. But Damian literally nearly caused Tim’s death, nearly caused it again in the same story, and at the end it’s shown that Damian isn’t on there because Tim considers him a villain, it’s because he has potential to be dangerous. Wonder Woman and Red Tornado are also on the same list.

To me, I just look at that story as ridiculous, because Damian isn’t dumb, and Tim literally spoke against contingency plan stuff before. Damian’s going to need more than to be on a vague list as a potential threat, especially when he’s visibly on the hero side of it. Damian’s not that thinned skin. He’s got a temper, and obviously really doesn’t like Tim, but even when he felt Tim was insulting him or being patronizing to him before he didn’t try to kill him then immediately. He tried to kill him because he thought that’s what he was supposed to do to earn his place beside his father.

The story’s just dumb in-general.

And then they pull out the New 52 story where Tim is just being a dick to Damian for no good reason, but it’s the same kind of thing. Tim was never that much of a dick without being provoked. The only time I think Tim started a fight was in Red Robin where he was on pills that messed with his mental state, and again had everyone out of character regardless. Because 1) Dick wouldn’t just give away Robin from Tim, because he knows better than that. 2) Damian acts like he’s happy his dad is dead and just acts like a generic child and not even like Damian. And 3) I legitimately can’t see Tim just hitting a kid, even Damian, unless a fight already breaks out.

For Steph fans they point out how Tim is passive aggressive to her, constantly doesn’t want her to be Spoiler, and yada yada. Probably because her Batgirl run portrayed that as being mentally scarring to Steph. Even though one of the panels they chose of Tim being upset and not wanting her to be Spoiler, was after Steph caused Tim to be disfigured and on the pills that messed with his mental state to begin with. Which inadvertedly just makes her look self-centered and narcissistic. But again, I don’t even consider that in-character, because 1) I don’t buy that Steph would listen to Batman especially when it puts Tim in danger, because she never gave a crap about what Batman said till they needed to villainize her before she died. 2) Steph can be arrogant and self-centered, she has it in her, but she wouldn’t ever be that self-centered, to the point she just looks narcissistic. 3) I’m pretty sure at the actual time it happened, Steph is shown being aware she messed up. 4) Steph never cared what others thought. She trespassed on other people’s property to party. She’s a very confident person the majority of the time. Batman tells her to knock it off, she might as well flip him the bird because she just finds him more annoying than anything else. It’s literally in her origin that she doesn’t even like Batman.

There’s also the context for in the 90s when Tim first started doing it. Steph was portrayed as a reckless citizen that could potentially get herself and others into harm because she didn’t know what she was doing, and didn’t have the highest morals. That’s not anything any of the bats would encourage. If Tim was extra passive aggressive, he’s a literal thirteen to fifteen year old boy during that time, no duh he’s going to be immature. That still isn’t a sexism thing. Steph may had saved him twice, but that wasn’t portrayed even in-story as a sign she can handle it like a pro. It was always portrayed as “thank goodness she was with Tim at that time, and knew where he was to save him”. Not to say she was completely unskilled, because I’m not taking that far, but just speaking in generalizations.

She was originally added into Robin to be a very specific foil to Tim, and be a general pain in his side. That was their dynamic. If that makes it seem weird that they eventually had them date then I agree.

And at the same time for both of their characters they also ignore what the character they’re trying to defend has done, because Damian literally nearly killed Tim. They act like Tim should just get over it, because Damian was a kid in a cult, but that explains why Damian did it, it doesn’t excuse it. When something like that happens the person who was nearly killed is probably going to be traumatized (rather or not Tim was can be argued, I’m not saying he was or wasn’t), and not ever trust the person. Like that is the natural and most accurate response for it.

It’s just villainizing for the sake of being petty.

With Steph they ignore the fact she essentially sexually harassed Tim all the time and straight up emotionally abused him for an arc. Which her fans hate to hear, but that is stuff that happened. It was written by her creator. I don’t really care if Tim took her costume away or kissed her first, because I’m aware, and I know the contexts, and it doesn’t take away from what she’s done, because that’s not how that works. They also ignore she caused Tim to be disfigured by saying she was just doing what Batman said. But at that point she was also an adult, and would know better.

Like Steph can be reckless, that’s part of her character, but she isn’t an idiot.

In the end, from what all I’ve seen, it’s literally just fandom pettiness. There’s a lot of fans out there that act childish, treat people like idiots, blatantly lie about things, or exaggerate stuff.

It’s all very dumb, but I find it hard to take serious, because if they can’t acknowledge what their own favs have actually done, it just comes across like they genuinely don’t like the character and can’t admit it. They prefer to stay in their candy land so they gaslit others instead.

For me it’s as easy as paying attention to the story, seeing the contexts, and a lot of the time it’s not even a thing that’s in-character for any of the characters involved, or at least the very least not nearly as serious as they treat it.

Especially for around the past 15 or more years or so. By then the care in making everything is crafted and makes sense went down the drain so it’s often that a story doesn’t even make sense to begin with.

They think fandom is about making everyone else look bad apparently, or at least they sure act like it.

Like it’s comics. I think the fandom in-general that gets so worked up over stuff needs to relax, deattach yourself to look at it from the grander view, and calm down over it. Because things aren’t always what they seem. People try to convince themselves of so much stuff, or bully others for so much stuff, and it’s all so petty and unhealthy.

My personal philosophy in the fandom to avoid any toxic behavior is to just keep it real. I don’t lie to myself, I give everything the same standard, I definitely don’t bully or gaslit anyone, I don’t treat my favorite like they’re a real dang person either, and I look at it all like how it is, fiction.

It’s the reason why I get upset at writing and not fictional characters. I don’t ultimately care when a character does a bad thing, unless it’s out of character. To me the only thing I get upset with is the writing, because it’s the only thing that’s real.

Don’t be obsessed, and keep the peace essentially.

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

Text

what if we rewrite the stars? // sirius black

Summary: Soulmates are dangerous things; you can’t ignore them, no matter how hard you try.

Request: Hi! Could you please write a soulmate au where Sirius and the reader have been dating for a couple of years and everything is great and they're madly in love but when their soulmates are revealed the reader's soulmate turns out to be Regulus, (they're good friends) and maybe Sirius doesn't have any? And could it be fluffy at the start but really angsty after it? Thank you love!

A/N: I would put this as regulus too but he’s not actually in it because this is just sad lol fyi Regulus absolutely breaks my heart my sweet boy

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: none I think? just sad af

part 1 // part 2

“Do you know what Sirius is?” you asked, playing with his hand as you lay shoulder to shoulder, on your backs, in the astronomy tower. You compared the size of your hands as you pressed your palm to his.

“It’s my name.” he said, turning to face you with a smug smile. You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. He poked you in the side, his face lighting up further at the sound of your laughter.

“It’s the brightest star in the sky.” You carried on anyway, folding your lips inward and biting your top lip as you stared up at the dark night sky. It looked so vast from the tower, so endless.

“Huh,” You turned to him, breath catching in your throat at his intense gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his eyes impossibly dark as he stared at your face. “I thought the brightest stars were in your eyes.”

Heat rushed to your face as you exhaled, pushing him with your free hand.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Only for you.”

You rolled your eyes again but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as he interlocked your fingers, using his other hand to stroke the skin of your hand softly.

“That’s Aquila,” you pointed upwards towards a cluster of stars, recalling what you’d learnt in Astronomy. “And there’s Cygnus.”

He kissed your hand gently.

“My uncle was called Cygnus.” He hummed, tilting his head to the side. “He was probably my cousin three times removed as well,” he paused then, his lips twitching in amusement. “A nasty thing is inbreeding.”

You huffed a laugh, feeling him vibrating in laughter too.

“Would you name your children after stars, too, like your family?”

“Planning our kids already, are we, love?” he mused, distracted by your hands. You shook your head at his easy words.

“Sirius, what if we’re not-“ you paused, suddenly nervous. “What if I’m not your soulmate?”

You had no doubt in your mind that on your eighteenth birthday: it would be Sirius’ name scrawled across your forearm or nothing. You couldn’t help but consider that maybe he was meant for another. You felt sick at the idea of someone else’s name written in cursive on his skin.

“That’s impossible, love,” he whispered, tugging you to face him. He looked so sure, so steadfast in the idea. “We were made for each other.”

You swallowed; your chest heavy with the emotion in his eyes.

“Ever since I met you,” he turned onto his side, shoulder pressing into the stone floor. “I knew I would marry you. And that won’t change, because, in a couple months, my name is going to appear,” He pulled his fingers from yours and gently stroked his long index finger down your forearm. “Right here. Right where it’s always meant to be.”

You wanted to regret getting into a relationship before you found out who your soulmate was but you could never regret any time you spent with Sirius. With him, everything felt right; it always had. You felt nervous, though, as your birthday grew closer. Whilst you desperately wanted for you and him to be soulmates, you had heard of people’s soulmates not matching up, or worse, people not having any at all. Your birthday was a couple days before Sirius’ and so, you would know first. That, understandably, terrified you. What if you had him and he had someone else? What if you woke up that day and there was nothing there? You couldn’t shake the thought in the weeks leading up to your eighteenth.

Sirius had been grumbling the day before about a rumour he’d heard about his brother.

“I can’t believe Regulus is on the Slytherin Quidditch team.” He said, leaning back on the sofa in the common room. You sat next to him, barely listening, whilst the others sat dotted around in the chairs with James and Lily sharing.

“Regulus,” he repeated, shaking his head. “My idiot brother.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. Sleeping, lately, had been something solely reserved for those not freaking out about their eighteenth birthday.

“He’s quite good, actually, so I’ve heard.” You mused, thinking about the last time you had seen him.

You and Regulus were quite good friends; he approached you a few years back to see if Sirius was okay, too proud to ask himself. Hearing of Sirius’ family history, you weren’t too fond of him to start with. But time went on and after a few conversations, you grew to like Regulus. He was slighter than Sirius, and shorter too, but it was undeniable that they were brothers. And, although they barely spoke to one another, they were almost scarily alike: they had the same dark sense of humour and they both thrived off of making other people laugh. You and Regulus often studied together in the library whilst Sirius was off pulling pranks and getting detentions.

“Whose side are you on?” Sirius asked incredulously, his shocked expression bordering on theatrical.

“The side of good quidditch.” You replied, teasing. He made a face; you smiled. You felt a brief respite from your worrying but, your good humour didn’t last long. Sirius watched your face fall and, as the others continued their own conversations, pulled you closer to him.

“You know,” he began, wrapping his arm around you and brushing your hair back with his hand. “I’ve never met anyone more beautiful than you.”

Knowing him, you expected a quip at the end; something like ‘apart from me, of course’. It never came this time, though. Your sad smile broke his heart.

“Love,” you felt tears prick in your eyes at his soft tone. “I promise you that everything will be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“How, Sirius?”

“Because no matter what happens tomorrow,” he pushed your head under his chin, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tightly to him. “Soulmates be dammed; it’ll always be me and you against the world.”

“You promise?”

“I swear on every star in the sky. And every star in your eyes.”

You sniffed, wiping your eye with your hand, catching a few lone tears as you shot him a dry look.

“I’m incorrigible, I know.”

You barely slept that night. You considered just waiting up to watch the name appear on your arm; you knew some people did. You couldn’t though. After so many nights without rest, you were too tired to stay awake and instead feel into a restless sleep. The next morning, for the first few moments, you’d forgotten what day it was, only grateful to have got some rest. It wasn’t until you moved to turn over, deciding that you could miss Herbology for the day, that you saw the jet-black words across your skin. Safe to say, you missed Herbology.

Sirius was starting to freak out. He hoped that you’d just slept in but he knew that you not showing up to class meant nothing good. Remus wanted to help but he knew his words wouldn’t soothe his friend’s anxiety and so, silently, he planted Sirius’ mandrake for him before moving onto his own. James tried to distract Sirius, deathly aware of his drumming fingernails on the bench in Potions. It didn’t work. At lunch, Peter offered him his pudding, only to be turned down.

“Sirius,” Lily called from opposite him. Sirius’ head shot up to meet sympathetic eyes. Lily sighed and slide over a piece of paper. He frowned, making no move to take it. “It’s the password to Y/N’s dorm.”

Sirius left without another word and for the rest of lunch, the others sat in silence, even when he returned twenty minutes later in exactly the same nervous state.

It wasn’t until Transfiguration that he saw you anywhere. He was determined to find you, and with a free period afterwards, he decided getting out of Transfiguration as quickly as possible was the right idea. When he turned around to leave, though, whilst everyone else was still packing away their quills, he saw you. Your eyes, extremely bloodshot, he could tell, widened when you saw him and you moved quicker than he’d ever seen to leave. He was faster, though, and before you could run out of sight, he followed you onto the courtyard.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he shouted after you, rushing to catch up.

You froze, tears already flowing down your cheeks. It wasn’t until he circled around to face you that his mild anger dissipated into sadness; his worst fears about the day had been confirmed.

“Whose name is it?” he asked gently, his eyes shining at you looked at him.

“Sirius-“

“Whose name is it, Y/N?”

His voice broke.

You didn’t speak, you just lifted your sleeve, pushing your robes up your arm. You both read the name ‘Regulus Black’ printed across your forearm. You’d been reading it all day, your heart breaking every time. Nothing broke your heart quite like Sirius’ reaction, though. He nodded, swallowing. Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“Sirius-“ you started, biting your lip and tasting your own salty tears. He shook his head, looking away.

“Sirius, I’m sorry.”

He was too far away to hear you, already storming off.

You spent the next few days swimming in grief and guilt. What was written on your arm wasn’t your fault but the image of Sirius’ face when he found out was plastered on your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. You hadn’t seen him in days. Though, really, you hadn’t seen anyone. You woke up, you went to classes, you took food from the hall and then you went to sleep. It was an empty routine but empty was how you felt. You considered talking to Regulus, but he wasn’t eighteen yet and he would have no idea what was happening. You thought it was best to cross that particular bridge later on.

It wasn’t until you heard people talking outside your window that you realised it was Saturday, Sirius’ birthday. You were supposed to go to Hogsmeade. You got dressed in a rush, debating whether it was actually a good idea. It didn’t matter though, you decided. You had to know. When you reached his dorm, you entertained the idea that he had gone to Hogsmeade without you; or with someone else. Your stomach lurched at the thought. You knocked twice before James opened the door. He looked dishevelled and tired and you wondered, at his wide eyes, how much worse you appeared. He shut the door behind him, shooing you down to the empty common room.

“James-“ you said, voice croaky. Before you could say anything else, he enveloped you in a tight hug and you felt something inside of you break. You clung to him tightly and hoped he couldn’t feel the cold of your tears on his shoulder.

“James, I didn’t-“ what? Mean to? You tried to remind yourself it wasn’t your fault.

“It’s okay.” He said gently, holding you to his chest again.

“Is Sirius okay?”

James pulled away, looking down sadly. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. His reaction scared you.

“Who-“

“He doesn’t have one.”

Your whole mind went blank. “What?”

Before James could answer, you blinked, physically taken aback.

“Oh,” your shoulders sagged as you thought about how devastated he would be, how sure he had been. Your eyes met James’. “Can I see him?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good-“

“Please.”

He thought for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw before nodding. You followed him back up the stairs, heartbeat echoing in your ears as he opened the door and you saw Sirius curled up in sheets, shoulders heaving occasionally. Your heart broke at the sight of him and you were barely able to keep the sobs from ripping at your throat.

“I’ll be downstairs,” James said, the door shutting behind him. You didn’t reply. Stepping towards his bed, you bent down to sit on the floor so your faces were at the same level. He looked at you, eyebrows twisted in anguish and face slick with tears. You reached a hand over to him, making sure your sleeves were drawn down. He didn’t move as you brushed his dark hair from his face. After a second, he held your wrist and his touch was warm and familiar. You could feel your own tears falling as he looked at you and for a second, it felt like nothing had changed. It was a lie though, you realised as you watched him. Everything had changed because your soulmate was his brother and, well, Sirius didn’t have one at all.

And so, you sat there, deadly quiet. Nothing you could say would make it better.

#sirius black x reader #Sirius Black imagine #sirius black #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #writing #imagine

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1dcraftawards · 4 years

Text

October Author of the Month...

Drumroll please... our author of the month for October ended in a tie between three wonderfully talented authors!

@bopbopstyles @oh-honey-styles @stylishmuser

Congratulations to all three of these absolutely amazing girls! Check out our interviews with each of them below!

Author of the Month interview with @bopbopstyles !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this? The only fanfiction I’ve ever written has been 1D! I wrote Liam back in the day (oof) but now I’m a Harry girl - but I’ve been considering doing Niall at some point!

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction? I think I wrote some bits of fics back when I was probably 13 or so, but I wouldn’t really say I *wrote* fanfic at that time. I only started writing fanfic in January of this year, but started doing it a lot this summer.

What’s been your favorite fic that you’ve written to work on so far?100000% Rose Colored Glasses. I write historical fiction outside of my fanfic writing life, so RCG was the combination of all the things I love: history, Peaky Blinders, boxer!Harry, and as my agent calls them “cinnamon roll boys”.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did? I have this idea for a time travel fic but haven’t decided if I want to take that idea and use it for a non-fanfic story or not yet, so I haven’t written it. It would definitely be a similar vein to RCG if I did write it though!

What’s your favorite trope to write? FRATBOY HARRY HOLDS MY HEART! (If you couldn’t tell by my multiple fratboy/college!harry fics lol) Also, friends to lovers. The pining. The character development. Ugh. I LOVE.

What’s your ideal space to write in? I can kind of write anywhere, but lately I’ve been writing the best in the evening on either my couch or at my desk! Just someplace that’s comfy and I can completely focus is the main thing. I’m also a bit coffee shop writer (but not when doing smut!!!!!!!)

What inspires you to write? Everything. Music is probably the biggest one, second would be television and movies. I love taking something creative someone else has done and twisting and reinventing it. But also things I see, people I know, my own experiences, art -- everything. (Bad For Me is literally based on my best friend, for example.)

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to? ALWAYS. I’m genuinely always listening to music, and it influences my mood and my writing, so it’ll change depending on the project and the scene. I’ve had playlists for some of my work, but a lot of times it’ll be some moody or lovey playlists I have, other times I’ll just listen to an album I’m loving on repeat. Completely depends! For Elevated Surfaces, for example, it was mostly written to frat party music because that’s where the story was set. You can check out my Spotify here if you want to see some of what I listen to!

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?I’ve been dying to write my Jane Austen series but haven’t gotten the time yet! It’ll take a while, so I’ve been putting it off, but I reaaalllyyyy want to do it at some point. There’s a couple others, but that’s one I really want to do at some point.

Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom? Read, read, READ. That’s my advice for writers in general. Read widely (across genres, age groups, etc) and read critically! A lot of what I learned about how to write has come from analyzing books I read. I used to review books, actually, and it has definitely helped form how I write. I think for fan fiction specifically, though, I think a lot of people have a tendency to struggle with feeling pressured to write or rushed or judged for what they write. It’s definitely the result of the way we consume fan fiction, but I also think that it’s helpful to think about why you’re writing. For me personally, I write because it just genuinely brings me immense amounts of joy and I like sharing that with people. Writing for yourself takes a lot of the pressure off, I’ve found. It’s when you start writing for others that it can turn into a more difficult place. So: try to write for yourself first, before others!

How long does it normally take you, idea to posting, to post a fic?This completely depends on the fic! Once I get an idea I can write it pretty quickly, so I can churn out content quickly if I have the time. However, my pieces are long (most are in the 15-30k mark) which usually will take me a few days. Usually I’d say somewhere in the ballpark of like 10-20 hours total per one shot, but completely depends. Multi-chapter definitely take longer!Right now, for example, I haven’t written fanfiction in two weeks because I’m working on other projects. It really is dependent on what else I have going on in my life, because I also work full-time now, and so my posting has definitely declined in the past two months.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? 100% impulsive, but mostly I write in the evenings and on weekends (aka when I’m not working). But no specific schedule -- I think if I schedule it then it takes some of the fun out of it.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? How much FUN it is! I genuinely adore writing fanfiction and have made so many amazing friends through it. I wish I’d started earlier, in some ways.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots? One shots for SURE. I don’t really plan on doing multi-chaptered again for a while, actually. Partly because it’s just more work, but also because it prolongs the wait for people to read it, and part of why I love fanfiction is the immediate gratification you get from it.

What was your favorite scene to write in “The Only Exception”?OOOOOH. I loved the early scenes when they were still getting to know one another. I’d say probably the scene from Harry’s release party and their emotional conversation after (from Ch.3) were really fun to write because they were so vulnerable. Also their fights. LOVED writing their fights. The Dunkirk premiere from Ch.3 and 4? One of my favorites. So probably the entirety of Ch. 3, I guess!

What is one moment from “Rose Colored Glasses” that you never got to write but wanted to? I struggled SO MUCH with their reunion scene. I re-wrote it like twice and played with a couple of different ways it was going to go, before settling on the final result. I had this one concept, though, where Cicely was going to ride her horse into Birmingham and Harry was going to be called to the stables to pick her up, and Cicely was going to just be so happy and excited to see him and Harry would be so overwhelmed he wouldn’t care about what his friends saw and would just be so tender with her.

What scenes/scenarios are most fun for you to write? I adore writing pining. The pining in Good Together is probably my favorite I’ve done -- the photo shoot scene? *collapses* I also love banter, which was one of the reasons Behind the Bar will always hold a special place in my heart.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? Feedback is literally what I thrive on. I’m in constant need of validation, to be honest, so please tell me when you like what I write! I love it! As far as types of feedback, I think that for my fanfiction, I’m not really posting it to get critiqued. Personally, it doesn’t help my writing in any way, because I’m writing for myself more than for others -- their enjoyment is just an additional plus. So I take critiques in kind of an “okay?” sort of way. It just doesn’t really affect me. I think the other thing about critiques (sorry I’m going off on this question lol) is that you don’t have to take them. I have people in my life whose opinions I trust and those are the people I want to critique my writing. The one caveat here is if my writing is offensive in any way. In that case, I want to be told so that I can fix it, learn from it, and make my future writing better. I will also say that I think part of it is that my fanfiction isn’t really the writing I’m the proudest of. I write outside of fanfiction, have an agent, etc. and so that part of my life is definitely what I care more about. For those projects, I desperately seek critiques, but from people whose opinions I trust!

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? Writing professionally is the dream for me! My agent and I put my last project on submission but it wasn’t picked up, so I’m working on something new right now. Hopefully that will end up getting published, but we’ll see!

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? I hope that my writing brings people joy and helps them learn something, whether that be about themselves or the world. Books are what helped me learn about the world and have brought me such happiness over the years, so I hope that mine can do the same.

Author of the Month interview with @oh-honey-styles !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this? Just for Harry! He’s that obnoxiously endearing, isn’t he?

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction?Okay okay, I guess I wrote something that resembled fanfiction (non-Harry) when I was fifteen or sixteen. That was all extremely idealistic cringy teenage angst that will live under a rock for eternity. But as far as Harry fanfiction, it was about a year ago when I started ‘Met Your Match’.

What’s been your favorite fic you’ve written to work on so far? My personal favorite is ‘January in Japan’. It was the first time I really dreamt up and developed my OFCs. Between Harry’s healing from heartbreak storyline, as well as Stella’s strong, feisty personality, all mixed together against the backdrop of Japan. The entire vibe was, and still is, so special to me. Plus, Japan!H is something else - peak boyfriend material.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?I mean, sure, there are always ideas floating around. But nothing that’s really kept nagging at me.

What’s your favorite trope to write? Fluffy mutual pining between strangers/friends to lovers with a tiny dash of angst.

What’s your ideal space to write in? I don’t really have an ideal space! But I will say, I’ve found that writing tends to really flow during AM hours. I’ve written most of my stories laying in bed, in the dark, between the hours of midnight and 4AM.

What inspires you to write? That bloke Harry Styles is the most endearing menace, so he’s generally my number one inspiration. But I also have a few bad ass women that inspire me more than they’ll ever know. They are my ride-or-die encouragement whose writing and brilliant ideas continuously motivate me to be a better writer.

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to?This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I don’t! I do have artists/songs that inspire my stories (for example, The Sugarhill Gang for ‘Hazy’ and ‘Rise Up’ by Andra Day for ‘Black & Blue’). But for the most part, I love silence while writing.

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?At the moment I’m only focused on ‘Collide’. However, it really doesn’t take long for the bug to bite!

Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom?Well, since I started writing, I’ve been extremely lucky to have amazing advice poured into me by some of the most phenomenal writers in the fandom. So I guess one thing I would pass along is that writing fic is meant to be fun! Continue to write as long as you’re truly, truly loving it. If you’re not having fun writing or enjoying the process, step away and circle back during another season in life. When fic becomes a stress or a burden, it’s time to step away.

What is your writing process like?Honestly? (insert cringe face) It’s a hot mess. I don’t typically do outlines and if I do, they’re always changing. I usually write raw dialogue first and then add in the rest. Sometimes I’ll write a scene out from beginning to end, but I’m generally filling in the gaps. I always keep a doc open on my phone for ideas that pop into my head throughout the day (a conversation or a visual). And then once a scene is completed, I send it off to my betas and they’re the ones who let me know if I’m completely off my rocker or not.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can?100% impulsive. I write and post when inspiration hits and when life allows it.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? That once you start, you can’t stop. The writing bug is fucking relentless.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots?All of the above! Multi-chapter fics are nice, having the freedom to really develop your characters as well as elaborate on a concept. But they’re definitely exhausting. And one-shots are such a good way to bust out an idea with no strings attached. I really enjoy writing both.

What has been your favorite scene to write so far in “Collide”?‘The Wedding’ has been my favorite scene in ‘Collide’ so far. I absolutely adored writing the initial nervous attraction between Harry and Franki. It’s really the initial point in the story where they start to realize that there may actually be deeper feelings there on both sides. Plus, who doesn’t love a nervous, flirty Harry?

What is one moment from “Met Your Match” that you never got to write but want to?Oh wow. ‘Met Your Match’ rounded out pretty well, but I guess I had one moment in mind that I never wrote. It was basically a scene where Harry and Kate are in LA on their way to a BBQ at Niall’s house. One way or another it comes out that Niall was Kate’s favorite during the 1D era. The scene would have included loads of teasing and maybe a tinge of jealous Harry.

What inspired you to write “Collide”? How did you come up with the story idea?The whole concept of ‘Collide’ came about when quarantine happened and the world went into lockdown. With there being hardly any new content, we were all basically just reblogging old Harry posts. So each part is inspired by and based off of a past Harry photo/event etc. It's been really fun to tie them all together in one story.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? Every writer loves feedback. Honestly, feedback is the most incredible gift a reader could give a writer. Pressing ‘post’ on your own blood, sweat and tears is one of the most nauseatingly nerve wracking things ever, so to be acknowledged for it (through messages and sharing) is priceless. As far as a critique goes, there’s a fine line. Personally, if there’s something I’m writing that’s offensive or off putting, I absolutely want to know (in a positive, uplifting, non-anon-asshole way). But if my story’s just not their cup of tea, I’d rather they move along to the next fic out there.

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction?Only a hobby!

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? My purpose in everything I write is to provide a little escape for myself and my readers from this crazy world. Most, if not all, of my stories are meant to be lighthearted and fun - a decent way to step out of yourself for a short moment.

Author of the Month interview with @stylishmuser !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this?The first ever fanfic I wrote was actually for Gossip Girl. It was horribly written, but I had so much fun. After that I wrote Harry Potter fanfiction for about a year, and then I started getting into 1D, and I don’t imagine I’ll ever write for another fandom.

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction? I think I was a sophomore in high school, so… 16, maybe?

What’s been your favorite fic that you’ve written to work on so far?Oh this is hard to answer, to be honest. It probably sounds cliche but I’ve had a favorite aspect in every one of my fics. I think Timeless will always have a special place in my heart, but I have a favorite thing each one of them.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?Oh hmmm I think there are a lot of tropes I want to try my hand at, but I don’t like writing a story that’s been done a million times before, so it’s kind of finding an aspect or angle to it to make it different.

What’s your favorite trope to write? Idk if it’s a trope but, angst with a happy ending!

What’s your ideal space to write in? Honestly, I can write almost anywhere. It just needs to be quiet. I like to write in my living room or at the kitchen counter at like 2 am when everyone else is asleep.

What inspires you to write? I really just like to tell stories. I think words kind of have this power to them. I also am inspired by Harry and Niall, their lifestyles/music/careers, and telling stories about/for WOC. When I was growing up, I always thought that people like me didn’t really deserve love stories. So I guess it’s kind of destroying that notion that inspires me too!

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to? I used to, actually. That first fic I ever wrote was fueled by listening to Mind of Mine on repeat haha. Now I like the quiet, but sometimes if I’m stuck I’ll listen to the playlist for whatever story I’m writing.

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue? This made me laugh because I have four in my mind at any given time. You’ll have to wait and see what they are!

What is your writing process like? It goes something like this: vague idea > random scene ideas that bug me into writing it > visuals > outline > actually writing it.

Do you prefer Au or OU? I prefer OU because I like writing about the music aspect of the boys’ lives. AU is fun too, but it’s a lot more work in my opinion. It needs to be a specific idea or trope or I’ll just go with OU.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? I try to keep myself to some sort of schedule, like 1000 words a night or 1 chapter per weekend or I get off track.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? Oh hmm… I think I would go back and tell myself that it’s okay to want to write WOC characters and it doesn’t matter who likes it, or who doesn’t, or how many notes you get. I think it’s really easy for writers — no matter what they write — to feel like they aren’t living up to whatever popularity standards are going on in their fandom, but at the end of the day it’s about what YOU love to write about. That’s what makes a good story, in my opinion, and as a reader you can tell when an author is really putting their heart into something, and that’s kind of inspiring.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots? Multi chapter. I freak out about one shots now because they end up being 15 or 20k words anyway when I write them haha!

What has been your favorite scene to write so far in “Rumor Has It”? I think my favorite scene from that story was either their first kiss, the morning after they get intimate for the first time, or the scene where Ishika comes clean to Harry about how she feels/why she lied. I remember those three scenes came so clearly to me, I was just stabbing away at my keyboard like a cartoon.

You have such complex characters that readers adore, do you have any advice on planning well written and planned characters? AH that is a very nice thing for you to say! Thank you! I like to think of characters in terms of fatal flaws. It sounds weird but like: What makes your character cry? What keeps them up at night? What makes them happy, or mad? What makes them, them? That’s kind of how I approach it. It’s kind of finding a balance of those characteristics and ‘why are you so frustrating I want to THUMP you’ and ‘I adore them, let’s protect them at all costs.’

What inspired you to write “Kiss and Cry”? How did you come up with the story idea? So I watched this show called “Spinning Out” on Netflix and kind of geeked out about figure skating. I knew nothing about it, which is kind of what got me thinking, this would be cool to learn about and writing for me is the best way to learn. At first I was like, nobody cares about a figure skating fic, and then I was like: good, write it. So here we are!

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? I think feedback is a really personal thing, but there’s a really fine line (haha) approaching it. I really think constructive criticism is an important part of feedback — but it’s often done very poorly. There is a big difference between pointing out to an author what they could’ve done better, or even asking why they wrote something the way they did (because I promise you, they did it the way they did for a reason), and simply telling them they are either a bad writer, have poorly written something, or something worse because god knows we’ve all gotten it lmao. For me, I don’t mind either. But if you’re going to criticize my writing, do it one on one, not on anon where you can add a bite to your words. Feedback is kind of a two way conversation, and I think that’s often forgotten about — especially on Tumblr. And it’s very, very obvious when people do want to act unkind, and say unkind things behind the anon veil on purpose. It’s ok not to like the way someone wrote something, but it’s not ok to be vicious about it, ESPECIALLY on anon. That just makes you a coward. I guess my rule of thumb is: Is what you’re typing out going to hurt the person on the other end? Is it worth it to do that? Or can you reword it in a way that starts a conversation instead of bullying someone for putting their work out there, something that’s vulnerable no matter how many times you do it. But, this is just how I feel. Every writer is different (and valid!)

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? I’d love to write professionally one day! We’ll see what happens. I think whether it happens or not, I just love it so much, I’ll do it for a long time because it’s a big part of who I am.

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? My purpose of writing… that’s so philosophical. I guess, I honestly just like to tell stories that are important to me, and remind people that life sucks but it’s also pretty damn good at times too. I hope to keep making myself happy writing whatever it is I’m writing, and challenge myself to try my hand at stuff that’s daunting, and hopefully people like what I’m doing and if not, that’s ok, because I do! And to remember that’s my real purpose for writing, it’s never been a numbers game or keeping score, it’s been about telling stories that I love crafting.

#author of the month #aom #October 2020 #aomoctober2020

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