#it just makes me sad to see so many writers shouting into the void

[bardofavon]

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

#ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #tbh even if I got a comment that said ‘I hate you I’m going to kill your family’ on chapter 75 it still means they read 75 chapters first…. #it just makes me sad to see so many writers shouting into the void #and also see ppl complain openly about the specific types of comments they receive #posting screenshots on Reddit like ‘should I be mad at this’ CALM DOWN #sigh

[lligkv]

because of the indelible details I give

“Maybe I have always been involved in some kind of fieldwork,” says Isa Epley, protagonist of Marlowe Granados’s novel Happy Hour, early in the book. Plenty of men and women come under her scrutiny as she relates an account of the summer she and her best friend Gala are spending in New York City, trying not so much to “make it” (there’s not really anything they want to do) as just to live as intensely as they can. There’s Tuzy, a “nouveau-riche” “internet businessman” friend of a not-quite-friend who fixates on Isa and takes her on an awful date. Anabel, a wealthy artist for whom Isa occasionally models in one of the many odd jobs she and her best friend Gala have to cobble together in the absence of visas and the ability to take on conventional work. Coop, a wealthy ex-boyfriend, or ex–love interest, whose house Isa ends up in when her living arrangement with Gala falls apart, only for him to make her his urchin punching bag; he bullies her, invades her privacy—calling her into his office, pulling out her diary, and demanding, I can’t tell how teasingly, that she account for how she’s written about him and his wealthy friends.

There has to be a name for this kind of novel, in which a young striver enters a social scene and relates what it’s like to experience different sectors of society as they try to make a name for themselves or just find a place. But I can’t remember it. I do remember the name for the other kind of book Happy Hour is; by the end it’s clear we’ve been reading a Kunstlerroman, the story of Isa’s becoming a writer.

Isa sometimes seems older than the twenty-one years she’s supposed to be. She’s sharper in the calculations she makes in her self-presentation, and in her sense of the relations of power between herself and Tuzy or Coop, than I remember being at that age. Or maybe I was just more naïve at twenty-one, being shaped by suburban expectations and a family that didn’t encourage much investigation of the inner life. It’s also true I wasn’t the kind of person who’s known precarity intimately enough to be comfortable engaging it and enduring it as they work toward something more, or just go where hunger takes them. Often, those are the folks bent on experiencing everything and defining themselves and others with Isa’s brand of vigor.

It’s also true Granados shows you just how hard-won the kind of wisdom Isa gains over the course of the novel is. She presents it in miniature in a striking sequence late in the book, during an audition Isa does for a hair commercial that doesn’t go well (and leaves the reader with the distinct impression this is it for any ambitions as an actress or model Isa might’ve possessed).

“What are you passionate about?” the casting director asks:

The five other people at the table sat silently watching. The answer took far too long for me to come up with because I did not know that offhand either. First came the thought of having fun in the first place, but can you passionately search for having fun without losing the luster of its spontaneity? Then came ‘getting away with something.’ Could you form that into a passion if its very goal was vague? Third came ‘achieving a form of respect,’ which made me sad but felt honest. Am I not always shouting into the void, waiting to be responded to with courtesy? Is that not what I seem to struggle with each moment, wrestling to get other people to see me how I see myself? I began to unfurl. My very last thought was ‘writing everything down.’ That is seemingly conventional, and I can imagine any regular person answering that way. To write is a task that feels like it is forcibly propelling you forward. I wanted to inscribe myself somewhere, anywhere, besides onto someone else’s life.

And in the end I know I am I’m passionate about glamour—because it is illusive, hard to define, yet identifiable…

Isa, in the course of these thoughts, essentially recounts her own evolution over the novel’s course: from arriving in New York City (or whatever new place one might end up in) and doing what young people do; to engaging honestly with the drive to be recognized and acknowledged that really motivates what young people do, and striving for maturity; and finally executing the pivot that marks the attainment of that maturity: a pivot from the vain effort to get others to see as you want to be seen to simply seeing yourself (and, if you’re a writer, recording that), so as to incarnate yourself, and be enough as you are.

After the audition, sitting at the bar in a nearby restaurant, Isa wonders “whether my memories should stay only mine, or have they ever been?”

Each time I tell someone a story over a watery Pernod, it opens that someone to the possibility of the memory; that’s why I adore talking. Then maybe the stories really are mine, not because they happened to me but because of the indelible details I give. Maybe that is the how that makes them valuable.

And then, at the very end of the novel, Isa meets with an artist friend of Anabel’s, Ester Gladwell, to discuss…something. Anabel, having declared it her duty to “distribute opportunity” to those after her in the NYC scene, has put the two of them in touch; the rest, it seems—what she’ll make of the connection, given her ambitions to write—is up to Isa. Ester recognizes Isa from a painting of Anabel’s, and comments on how “detached” she seemed in the painting. “Aren’t all women in paintings detached, simply unknowable?” Isa counters. “And in that way, they become so easy to attribute just about anything to”:

“But you know, I always prefer the way I see things,” I told her, as she lifted her glass to her mouth. She asked, “Why’s that?” I crossed my legs and said very seriously, “Because it’s all mine and no one can convince me otherwise.”

In the end, it’s just sweet to watch someone, still young and pure in intent, and who stays that way, discover the power in both the image they project and their truth.

#literary #books #marlowe granados

[book-of-baba-fett]

After seeing how you're supporting creators with the shout outs, I really just wanted to thank you. Thank you for always advocating for support towards writers and artists on this platform. Recently I was feeling discouraged about it and after opening up about it to some people, it felt like everyone only dismissed me and told me not to care and not to expect interaction, and then it got worse when I disagreed, and for a moment I really thought I was in the wrong for wanting my work to be seen and that I really should not care about it all

And curiously around this time I've been seeing you and other writers speak up about it and I guess I'm really not alone, so you've really helped me feel validated in my concern for the low interaction in fandom. It's so sad that we're called whiny and so many things just for reminding people that this site is reblog based. Not to mention how hard we work and how discouraging it is when our work seems cast into a void.

I'm rambling. I just wanted to thank you for speaking up on the matter and for making me feel heard and safe regarding all this, as I'm sure you've been able to do for others too 💖

-🌹

Hi my darling 🌹anon! You definitely aren’t alone. There has been a huge dropping in interaction lately, and you aren’t the only one to notice it. I know a few ‘bigger’ creators who are in the verge of deleting because of it. Yes this is something we do for fun, but validation is sometimes needed.

Hope you’re doing well, and I’m always happy to try and shout out the other amazing creators here 💕

[rae-gar-targaryen]

alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself! 

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT-- 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s-- sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference. 

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

----

You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old. 

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life. 

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void. 

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Prominently above them all, you could feel Mr. Adler’s hatred for you, like a thick, toxic wall every time you passed through your front door and into what was supposed to be your sanctuary. 

He shouted at you for inane things, like the pantry door being left open, or the fact that your mother was tired after cooking dinner, insisting you never did enough to help. As a child of eight, what did he expect you to do? You kept your room clean, cleared and set the table, helped your mom water the plants in her garden. What more could Adler want from you?

Still, Mr. Adler’s hate for you colored your every interaction with him, the world you saw him through tinged with an orange-red lens of rage. 

You had never tried expanding upon your grasp of others’ feelings until you had witnessed a boy in your class push your pigtailed classmate, Annabelle, down on the playground. Anna’s shock, fear and sadness had bitten into you from the other side of the sandbox like an unwelcome spider bite, sudden and itchy. 

It didn’t sit right with you. To you, how was this boy any different from Adler? Reigning terror over someone else just because he thought he could. You’d recognize that red-orange tinge in another person anywhere. 

You stood, marching over to the boy, gripping his wrist firmly in your stubby, grubby fingers. Quick as a flash, you were met with every emotion this boy had ever felt -- annoyance at Anna (she wouldn’t share her toys. How selfish, the boy had thought); anger (how dare you grab him!); and finally, prominently, fear. 

Fear looked different for everyone, you had noticed. For some, like this boy, it was an ugly green, so like jealousy. For others, like Adler when he’d been drinking, it was an inky black you could drown in. Fear was clearly the strongest. You knew that now.

You gripped the boy’s fear in your own mind, pushing it to the forefront until he began to cry, his eyes welling with the sudden fear he couldn’t understand. 

“You won’t do that again,” you said. Turning to Anna, you offered a hand to help her up, but she just shook her head, pigtails flying, and scampered away from you. 

Your teachers were clearly afraid of you after that. Could sense that something wasn’t right. Anna? You thought she’d be grateful ... but the chilly pale yellow of her fear, and everyone else’s, followed you wherever you went. 

Fine, you thought. If they wouldn’t be grateful for what you could do, you may as well help yourself. 

From then on, you exploited your teachers’ happiness -- pop quizzes became less frequent. Everytime they wanted to scold you for incomplete homework, they were left grasping at straws and with the daze of an emotion they couldn’t name. 

Adler hated you for it. 

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” he sneered over your mother’s weeping objections. “I don’t know what it is, but I know there’s something.” 

Once you reached 18, you left for the neighboring bustling metropolis and didn’t look back. The world was full of people like Adler, like the boy in the sandbox, like your teachers, who tried to use their own fear to feed their hate, to exploit others. To exercise false power over them. 

Well, you wouldn’t have it. If it meant a few of those assholes got hurt, well, so be it. 

You lived like that for years. Until --

---

"I hope you choke on it," you hissed, watching the smoky black tendrils slither their way around the man, constricting -- bringing him to his knees, hacking and gasping. "I see your fear, I feel it all. You deserve this, you know you do," you lectured, advancing toward the man, your hands raised. 

He was seconds away, you knew it-- and then one more scumbag would be off the streets for good ...

Things were going your way, you were in your favorite position in an altercation-- you know, the one where you had the upper hand? Everything was coming up you, until--

Your ears were met with a whizzing noise mere seconds before a sharp, shiny something nicked your cheek and lodged into the wooden beam just past you. 

Your gaze left the piteous man before you long enough to see what looked like a small, but dangerously sharp, knife embedded in the beam. You reached up and plucked it from its resting place, spinning it in your palm before catching the hilt in a clutching grip. You turned to see where it had come from, your eyes catching a dark blur flipping from the fire escape of the opposite building, before said blur landed at your feet.

Standing at his full height, the blur-- no, the Kraken himself-- towered above you.

You had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Standing before you in head-to-toe black and a harness replete with shimmering, twinkling edges and danger, you could've sworn he was your knight in shining leather. His cropped hair and facial scars gave him the air that he was every bit as sharp and deadly as the many blades that adorned his body. His oilslick eyes so like mirthless pits of danger, daring to suck you beneath their surface. He was, in a word, imposing.

Regarding you from behind his Venetian domino mask, he spoke, "Miss I'm gonna need you to drop the knife and let this man go."

You snorted.

"You're joking, right?" Not giving him a chance to respond, you chuckled as you swung at him with the hand still holding what you now knew to be his blade. 

You'd give credit where it was due, Diego Hargreeves, aka Number Two, aka the Kraken, was every bit as fast as they'd said. In this regard, the stories and Umbrella Academy-related media hadn't been wrong. 

Diego dodged your swing, bending his body back before twirling around to strike at your torso, like a snake, with his heavy, hammered fist.

The hit knocked the wind out of you, effectively breaking your concentration, and, devastatingly, your connection with the previously fear-choked man cowering in the alley behind you. As you recovered from Diego's hit and swung around to check your quarry, you could only watch as he shook himself from your fear-induced trance.

He scraped and scrabbled to get up off his knees as Diego shouted at him to "Go, just get out of here!"

You snarled and swung a well-aimed high kick at Diego's head, connecting with just enough of his jaw to drop him. As soon as your proverbial window opened, you turned from Diego to run after the man. But even grounded from a blow, Diego was formidable. He shot his arm out and snagged your ankle, yanking you to the ground. 

The gritty pavement scraped your palms as you attempted to catch yourself on your way down, growling as you glanced up to see that loathsome cockroach of a man slip out of the alley, huffing as his bloated legs carried himself far away from you. 

You tossed a glance over your shoulder to see Diego righting himself as he stood up, looking down at you before shrugging, offering you his hand.

"Not a chance," you scoffed, knocking his hand away. You rolled slightly back, arched up, and used your hands to help you spring as you lept to your feet in one smooth movement. You landed with a thud of your boots, your feet spread apart, and arms raised in a boxer's stance. 

Diego had the decency to look slightly surprised at your obviously-dangerous athleticism. He shook himself slightly as he regarded you. 

Besides, he thought, taking in your stature, it's not as though you were any match for him. No way.

"Why would you get in my way, Umbrella douche?" You bit out harshly, glaring daggers at the knife-wielding Kraken.

"Come on, hot stuff," Diego shrugged. "If you know who I am, you gotta know it's not like I can just let you mug that man with … well, whatever you were doing to him." What he had seen you do in the alley seemed to be catching up with him as he cocked his head and queried, "What exactly were you doing to him, by the way? I mean, other than hurting a civilian?"

"A civilian?" You spat. "You don't know what you're talking about, do-gooder. If you knew what he was, you wouldn't be defending him so staunchly." 

“And what was he?” Diego pressed. 

“That dickless fuckhead would-be-rapist isn’t worth the shit on your shoe,” you snarled. “And you let him get away. Nice job, hero,” you sing-songed the last word mockingly, taking advantage of Diego’s lowered guard to level a swinging hit to his nose. 

Your punch landed with a satisfying crack, Diego stumbling back, shaking his head. 

“What in the ever-loving FUCK is wrong with you, lady?” Diego shouted. 

“Take your hits like a big boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘Big Deal?’ ” you asked, advancing toward Diego, fists raised. 

“Honey, my reputation precedes me for a reason,” Diego quipped back, blocking your next swing and making one of his own toward your gut. 

The two of you sparred in the alleyway, whirling and spinning in a very violent dance between two unwilling partners -- Diego, clearly pulling his punches, while you were obviously preoccupied with your rage at your escaped quarry. 

Diego flipped and spun and swung his fists with a speed that bordered on unnatural. His jabs and kicks annoyingly landed, as you were really only able to block just about every other hit. Fuck him for being so fast. 

So it was true, you thought, the superpower hype was real. Well, two could play that game. 

At Diego’s next hit, you caught his fist, allowing the contact to create the connection you needed, feeling for Diego and any underlying emotion that would be his undoing, before latching onto your favorite-- past the overstuffed confidence, you tasted simmering rage. Beyond that? A tiny prickle of … was that??…Ah, yes, the stinging, burns-so-good zip of lust... File that one away for later … and beneath it all lay Diego’s stammering, stuttering, suffocating fear. 

You dug your proverbial claws into it once you found it, bringing it to the surface, manifesting it into your signature smoky tendrils. 

Drag them down with their own fear. 

Diego’s eyes widened as he looked down to see his legs wrapped in what looked like snakes. Suddenly, his worst memories of fearful days under his father’s tyrannical reign were the only things in his brain. The shouting proclamation his own inadequacies in his father’s too-posh voice pounded within his skull. It was all he could think about -- Your presence before him seemed to dwindle, he couldn’t focus on you, try as he might-- when he was overcome with the feelings of every bad memory he had ever suffered through bearing down on him like the crushing weight of the ocean, pulling him under with the riptide of his own panic and inadequacies.

What the fuck was this shit? 

He pushed through his sudden indifference toward you to regard you, the woman stood before him. Diego’s fist clenched as he took in your own grip clutching around his wrist. Your eyes were closed as your face was screwed up in concentration. 

Repulsive. You were repulsive, he suddenly thought. How could he have cared so much about hurting you when his own terror and agitation sat heavy on his tongue, like ugly curdled cream?

But he hadn’t always felt this way-- not his usual modus operandi, was it? So what was this? Was this-- you?? Was this what you had done to that man?

Diego began to dredge himself through his own agitation, past his father’s lilting abuse… through the mire of never-quite-being-enough against Luther... dragging his proverbial feet through a bog of his own self-hatred. Just long enough to wrench his wrist from your grip, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning around, slamming you probably a little too hard into the wall behind him. Your eyes snapped open as your head made a minor thwack off the  alleyway-- you had just enough time to tilt your head to the left as Diego brought one of his knives down, driving it into the wall a sliver from the space your face had previously occupied. 

Diego bore his weight on his toes, leaning his imposing height into and over you, panting and snorting heavily through his nose. You looked at his eyes behind his mask-- hardened flints of pissed-off-superhero glared back at you.

“W-wh-What the F-f-UCK was that?” Diego spit, lip curling over his teeth in a gruesome snarl. 

A fleeting flicker of shame passed through you. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that, had he? Before you shook yourself out of it-- No! He let that rat-faced motherfucker get away! 

You fixed your face into an impassive mask of your own before you chirped, annoyingly, “What was what?” 

Diego chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head.  “Nuh-uh. How did you do that?” Diego pressed, leaning even closer to you, if that were possible.

“Do what?” you chimed innocently, tilting your chin up, eyes meeting Diego’s from beneath your lashes. Maintaining your feigned ignorance.

“Don’t do that,” Diego snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I think we both know at this point-- you’re alot of things, and dumb isn’t one of them.” 

“You’d know all about playing dumb, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Or for you, is it not really playing?” You reached up and ran a finger along his sharp jaw before tweaking his chin and dropping your hand back to your side. You sighed at Diego’s stone face. Honestly, it was so boring when they didn’t bite back.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cutie pie. I can’t help it. People are just drawn to me,” you quirked an eyebrow. “Or repulsed by me. I really haven’t decided.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, ever the pretty picture. 

Diego leaned further into you, pressing your back further and further into the wall. All the while, his leather-gloved grip creaked around the handle of the knife he’d plunged into the wall next to your head as he gripped it tighter. 

“Huh,” he mused, scoffing at you lightly. “Ya know something, doll? I just don’t fuckin’ buy it.” 

“Babe, if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask,” you smirked as the stone face slid from his features and gave way to "surprised face."

“Honestly, honey,” you slinked up Diego’s body, propping yourself onto your toes and brushing his lips ever-so-lightly with your own as you spoke into his mouth, “Did you really think you and your reject siblings were the only ones in this whole wide world with a little … taste … of power?” you purred. 

Ah, you thought, and there it was. 

The warming, zinging hum that your ability recognized as Diego’s lust crept through your fingertips that were currently resting on his chin. You were sure if you took the time to analyze exactly who was feeling what, that this feeling of craving wouldn’t be as one-sided as you’d otherwise have hoped. Diego was, you had to admit, very pretty -- for a man. 

The swirling galaxies in his midnight eyes regarded you with confusionangerwant.  Had you really just -- kinda kissed him?

You took advantage of Diego’s surprised state to knock his grip from your shoulder and shove -- hard. Diego toppled back, and you took off as fast as your enhanced body would carry you, cutting down the alley and away from your fascinatingly frustrating new rival. 

Diego took in your retreating form from his final resting place in the disgusting alley’s concrete. Slamming his fist into the rough-gravel ground, groaning out his frustration and anger.

You were gone. 

What were you? 

Were you really like him? Like the others?

---

Diego shuffled into Hargreeves Manor, determined to see who else was around. Surely they, or Pogo, would know if there were others like them out there. Had he been the only one to run into one? Was it all a hoax?

As he wandered into the cavernous, but simultaneously stuffy, living room, sure enough-- there was Klaus, sprawled across the couch, arm slung over his face in a restless nap. 

“Klaus!” Diego barked, startling the spindly man from his perch on the couch and onto the floor. 

Klaus looked balefully up at his brother from his spot on the carpet. “Jeeeesus, Diego, really? What do you want that made that necessary,” Klaus grumbled.

“Have you seen Pogo?” 

“I haven’t seen anything but the back of my eyelids for the last several hours, thank you very much,” Klaus replied, “Although, I did have a very good dream about running into an old friend of mine in the grocery store. He was always so convinced he was straight. But I think the rest of my dream calls bullshit.” Klaus chuckled to himself. 

“Yeah, whatever, man. I need to talk to Pogo,” Diego stressed, turning to leave the living room.

“Well, wait, wait, wait. What is so important?” Klaus queried, clambering up and lumbering across the room to catch Diego’s arm.

Diego sighed, facing his brother. 

“Do you think … Do you think we’re the only ones like us?” He asked.

“Well, there’s no one like you, brother,” Klaus chuckled, taking on a rumbling, Diego-esque mocking tone, “I’m Number Two!” He cackled to himself for a moment before coming back to himself with a sigh. “And honestly, we all know I’m an original. So I’m not sure I take your meaning.” 

“I mean… it couldn’t just be the seven of us, right? There’s a lot of other people in the world… it just makes sense others could do things like what we can?” Diego pressed.

Klaus started. He had never seen this look in his brother’s eye before. The unhinged mania of a fight? Sure. Crushing doubt? Obviously. But not this … fierce certainty buried beneath a question. This was new for Diego. He must be serious. 

Klaus blinked, regarding his brother, before slowly nodding. “I mean… sure… theoretically, there could be others. But I don’t know any. Why? Did you find someone?” 

Diego drew in a breath, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to Klaus. After all, you were his nemesis. His pain in the ass. His whatever you were. 

Diego crossed the room again, back to the couch Klaus had previously occupied, before sitting down in a creak of leather and clink of blades still strapped to his harness. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he placed his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know. I think so? I found her while I was out patrolling, and I … I don’t really know how to describe what I saw.” 

Klaus placed himself next to his erstwhile sibling, tucking his feet beneath himself as he sat, reaching up to pat Diego on the shoulder.

“There, there, big guy. Just… tell me what happened,” Klaus crooned.

Diego launched into the story of finding you in the alley, choking the man with your smoke without even laying a hand on him. He described to Klaus how the two of you had fought, and how you had called the man a “would-be-rapist” before knocking Diego to the ground and making your getaway. 

“Well, she sounds hot.” 

“Helpful, Klaus,” Diego deadpanned. 

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, sweet Dee?” Klaus chimed at the end of Diego’s story. At his brother’s nonplussed look, Klaus continued. “She’s just like you! She likes to put on her Batman underoos and fight crime,” he chuckled. “Even if she is like… us… she clearly can do something different. But I think the most telling thing is how obviously into her you are.” 

Diego sputtered, “Wh-what?? I am not into that … psycho. Whatever she can do, that’s all I want to figure out.” 

“The lady doth protest too much,” Klaus sing-songed. “Whatever you say, brother. But I think the only way you’ll really figure it out is if you run into her again. I mean, we know dad had his secrets. If he knew about other powered children, don’t you think the Umbrella Academy would’ve been a lot bigger? The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s more out there, but, um… we just didn’t know about it until now?” 

Diego sighed deeply. “Oh, joy,” he muttered. Ignoring the tinge of excitement that passed through him at Klaus’s suggestion he seek you out. 

Klaus clapped his hands joyously, cuffing Diego’s shoulder, shaking him. 

“A nemesis, Diego! How sexy! How exciting!” 

---

Your encounter with one of the Umbrella Academy had left you slightly shaken, to say the least. You were so careful when you went out. No one missed those assholes you took care of. Honestly, you were doing the city a favor. 

Patrolling on any given night would yield one or two men who were plotting something less than savory. And all it took was a brush of skin to determine their true intentions. 

You sighed angrily, ripping off your bodysuit and stomping across your apartment to your shower, yanking back the curtain and twisting the knob forcefully. 

Hot water began to pour from the showerhead, steam filling your bathroom. You regarded your reflection in your bathroom mirror, a distinctly palmlike-bruise adorned your shoulder from where Diego had clutched it, not to mention the scrapes that lined your body from your repeated meetings with the concrete during your sparring. 

You met your own eyes in your reflection, regarding yourself as balefulness gave way to venom. 

Honestly, that toadlike little nobody had deserved what you were about to do to him. You had watched him from the back of the bar as he had annoyingly pressed his presence onto a poor girl who was just trying to enjoy her drink. Her drink that the toad had slipped something in when he thought she wasn’t looking. He even went so far as to grab her wrist with his stubby little hands. That was the final straw. 

You steeled yourself, letting the lustful, rowdy feeling of the other bar patrons that permeated the air like thick smoke take you over. Putting on your best, beguiling smile, you crossed the room and brushed your hand over the man’s bare arm, letting him feel the tingling want that you had absorbed. Simultaneously, you felt everything of his disgusting intent-- the hateful, possessive desire for the girl, the hurt he intended to inflict to trample his own inadequacies and sadness. 

Oh, yeah, you were right about this asshole. 

He looked up at you, disgusting gaze lingering on you, before forgetting all about his intended prey, pushing back from his barstool and venturing behind you out into the alley. 

The rest, as they say, is history. And an annoying vigilante type who had an ass that just wouldn’t quit once encased in black leather just had to rain on your proverbial pain parade. 

Diego Hargreeves… Of course you knew who he was. Everyone knew about the Umbrella kids. And you knew the man once-dubbed The Kraken was still doing his best Caped Crusader (sans cape) and kicking ass by night. Annoyingly self-righteous, really, you thought. Choosing ever-so-delicately to ignore the hypocrisy laden in your thought. Is that not, in effect, what you were doing? Albeit with a little more emotional manipulation and bloodshed. 

As you thought of Diego, your fingers traced the slim, sharp cut his knife had made in your cheek as it surged past you. 

You let the remnants of Diego’s rage that you had felt overtake you, amplified by your own, as you slammed your fist into the small mirror over your sink, letting the shards clatter to the ground around your feet.

Payback was a bitch, and so were you. You didn’t know if Diego Hargreeves was a praying man, but he had better hope to whatever deity would listen that he didn’t run into you again.

You wouldn’t be so kind twice, you told yourself, climbing into your shower and letting the blood and grit from your body swirl down the drain. 

---

As luck wouldn’t have it, your gods were decidedly not on your side. And clearly whatever deity you had mentally implored Diego to pray to was on vacation. 

Because you ran into that maddeningly beautiful dipshit, several times over the following weeks. He would do his best to bust up your party, stopping you from exacting your special brand of vengeance. You’d exchange a few quips and blows before running off before he could ask you the question you knew was burning in his mind. 

You managed to evade prolonged encounters with Diego until about another two weeks later. Too soon, honestly. 

Or not soon enough? God, your inner voice was desperate and annoying. 

You encountered Diego again while you were propped against the wall of a seedy dive on the other edge of town, assessing each person as they passed. While your power worked best if you could touch, some feelings were perfectly easy to pick up from a distance. 

So far, nothing. Just a few gross, horny bikers and depressive barflies. It was a maddeningly slow night. And you doubted you were needed here. 

Just as you were about to call it and head to another hotspot, a familiar prickle passed through you. You glanced up, across the street. 

Sure enough, on the neighboring rooftop, perched Diego Hargreeves in the flesh, surveying you like some kind of Great Value Nightwing. 

You sighed, pushing off the wall and crossing the street. Diego watched as you clambered up the fire escape to meet him on the rooftop. 

“Of course you would be here,” you chastised. “Are you fucking following me? I’ve been a good girl. Haven’t killed anyone in a week. I promise!” You held up your hands in mock surrender, coming to stand in front of Diego’s gloriously firm, leather-clad figure. 

“If you say so, Princess. Maybe I’m just here for a drink?” Diego cocked his head toward the shitty bar whose entrance you were haunting mere moments ago. 

“Doubtful, Underoos. I think…” you trailed off, circling Diego, tapping your finger to your chin in a pondering gesture. “I think you’re babysitting me. Making sure I don’t do your job for you and clean up the streets too well.” 

You ceased your vulture-like circling, coming to stand before Diego. His eyes bore into your own, once again partially obscured behind that stupid mask. As if you didn’t know what he looked like without it. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you saw Diego’s eyes flash a quick up-down of your body before resuming his stern visage. 

Oh good, you thought. You recognized the latent feelings buried beneath Diego’s anger. A new one brushed over you-- confusion… He still hadn’t figured you, or, more than likely, your power, out…

You weren’t left in suspense too long. 

“Tell me about what you can do,” Diego pressed, advancing toward you. You took a step back to maintain some distance… best if you can perpetuate some veil of advantage. 

“Ah, ah, ah, baby. It doesn’t work like that,” you chided. “You think I’m just going to spill all of my secrets because why? You’re cute? Try again. Ask nicely,” you smirked, pushing your lips into a tantalizing pout.

Diego rolled his eyes. You weren’t going to play fair? Fine, neither was he. Honestly, his fuse was too-fuckin-short for your shit. He wanted answers, even if he had to beat them out of you. Quick as a flash, he strode toward you, jumping into a flip and kicking you down to the ground upon his landing. 

You looked up at him, standing over your body as it lay on the gravelled rooftop, bringing your hand up to touch your jaw, where his boot had collided with your face not moments ago. 

You grinned widely, savagely, around bloodied teeth and split lips. "So that’s how we’re going to play? Do your worst, Big Deal. I like when it hurts."

With that, you swung your leg at Diego’s, causing him to topple beside you, where you promptly rolled over, coming to straddle his hips, bringing your hands to his wrists, the direct contact allowing you to bring his fear to the forefront. 

Just as you were about to choke him with the smoke of his own fear, Diego surged upright, his arms breaking free from the grip of your wrists, his own hands coming to close around your throat. He squeezed insistently, enough to break your concentration-- the smoke dissipating as soon as it had come. With that, he had managed to roll the two of you over, you flat on your back as one of his thighs came to rest between yours. 

You gasped, looking up at Diego with fiery shock looming in your eyes. 

“Wow,” you rasped, “I told you before-- if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask.” 

Diego removed one hand from your throat, bringing it to his own head and ripping off his flimsy excuse for a mask. He regarded you with nacreous, tarpit eyes that glowed and glittered with the streetlights, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs through his sinfully full lips. His cropped hair was glistening with sweat borne equally from the heat of the night and your encounter. 

“Baby, I think you owe me an explanation first,” He pressed, squeezing your throat lightly, free hand pulling a knife from his harness that he spun in his fingers while gazing down at you. 

You whined, rolling your hips against where his thigh rested between your legs. 

“This would be so much more fun if you’d just do things my way,” you pouted at Diego. 

“Maybe I would, if you would bother to tell me what your way is,” Diego retorted.

“I could tell you, or I could show you,” you purred, rolling your hips again. “I’m all about more fun.” 

Diego sighed. The familiar buzz of lust radiating from your skin-- or was it his own-- that always seemed to hang over your encounters was pressingly prevalent and it was all he could do to not just give in. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head. 

“No. Come on. I know what you’re doing… whatever it is. Just … tell me what it is you can do. Tell me why you’re hurting those people,” he implored.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, using your free hands to knock his grip from your throat and coming to a sitting position, as Diego remained crouched over you. 

“All you hero-types. You’re no fun. You want to know what I can do? That pleasant little hum you feel? That’s you. Well, it’s me. But it’s you. I don’t make anyone feel what they don’t already… but I can use it against them. That first night at the bar? That,” you shuddered, “That rat was going to force himself on some poor girl. I could feel his every feeling as he was preying on her. I had to stop it. It’s simple, honeybunch. I do what you do, but better. I’ll make them choke in it, their own fear, their self-hatred, their inadequacy, their lust, I’ll drown them in it, and they’ll thank me for it. Because I’m nothing if not merciful,” you gritted out. 

Diego’s mind reeled, jaw slack from your confession. He knew it! You were an empath, an enhanced emotional manipulator. Except you seemed to be able to manifest emotions into something tangible, something harmful. 

Suddenly, the weight of your confession seemed to crush Diego, you had exploited every feeling of his during your encounters to gain an upper hand. And he hadn’t truly known about it until now. 

You felt the surge of his rage, his disgust, his fear with you before he could say it-- 

“You c-can’t-- you can’t do that,” Diego said. “Kililng people who haven’t even done anything yet? It’s w-wrong. Y-you’re w-wro-wrong,” He stuttered out, clearly distressed, but advancing even further into your space.

“As opposed to you?” You bit out. “You wait until someone’s already hurting or hurt someone else to do something. How are you any better? Who are you to judge me,” you spit through gritted teeth. 

“You’re a killer,” Diego pressed, pushing back from you and coming to stand.

“Sticks and stones. So are you. But I don’t hate you for it,” you snarled, jumping into a standing position, squaring your shoulders before Diego’s imposing form. 

“You could always work with me,” Diego offered, “ We could take what you can do and just… re-tool it a bit.” 

You ground out a harsh laugh. 

“Unlikely, you absolutely patronizing dick. You don’t want anything to do with me other than to change me, control me. You’re just like them.” 

With that, you unleashed a slew and flurry of attacks on Diego, swinging your hips around to level a kick at his gut, knocking him to his knees, where your arm was ready to strike a heavy blow against his cheek, your rage fueling the unnatural strength behind the hit. 

Diego sprawled against the concrete of the rooftop, half conscious after blows you’d dealt him. 

You stood over Diego now, looking down at his prone form. 

“I would never want anyone who only means to stifle me. To take me apart until there’s nothing left. Never.” You spit a glob of bloodied saliva at Diego’s feet, leaving him in his semi-conscious, battered state-- the guilt only slightly prickling you. 

His fear-- choking on half-gasped words from behind the tremulous task of tripping over his own tongue-- followed you like a stuttering stormcloud. It stung. Knowing that he was afraid of you.

---

Okay. The guilt was more than slight. 

All he had wanted to do was help, right? 

Years alone with your power, the sting of Adler’s rejection as a child, it all weighed down on you like the crushing magnitude of Atlas. You didn’t really want to hurt him. 

You sighed, resolute. You just needed to make sure.

With that, you headed out in the storm. Headed toward Diego. 

---

The rain pounded on the walls of the Fighting Lion, plunking heavily like half-hewn nails tossed onto the small window in Diego’s back bedroom. He could hear as it landed on the brick, the wet stone and stormy atmosphere making the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and rain. 

A kind of whoosh passed through the room, prompting him to turn from where he was folding his laundry on the bed to see you propped against the door, legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit as if you belonged. 

“Wow, Big Deal. Nice digs,” you said as you sauntered in the room, staring at the case at the foot of the bed that was full of Diego’s knives. “Not what I’d expect coming from a dude who hails from the city’s biggest mansion. But still -- homey.” 

Diego ignored the jab about his upbringing in favor of the real question.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, seemingly --and to you, maddeningly-- disinterested in your presence as he continued stacking his paired socks into their rightful place in his bureau. 

“Uh, have you seen this place? It’s not exactly rigged with ‘Entrapment’ levels of security,” you snarked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Does that make you a cat burglar? Are you Catherine Zeta-Jones in this scenario?” Diego glanced at you from his socks, cocking a strong eyebrow. 

“If you want me to be, sweetie,” you shrugged. “But, uh -- and don’t take this the wrong way, Diego, but you don’t exactly have anything I’d want to steal.” 

“Then I’ll amend the question. What are you doing here?” Diego asked, finally turning to fully face you, taking in your form as you stood by his bed. The sight causing a pleasantly-unpleasant little something to prickle across his skin. 

No, no, it’s not like that, he chided himself. Besides. You were an absolutely monumental pain in his ass. And his head. And basically every other body part of his you came in contact with. Nope, nope... Don’t think about her body parts “coming into contact” with anything of yours, he scolded. 

“Aw, well now, Big Deal. Maybe I just missed you?” You mused. 

“Doubtful. Did you come back to kick my ass with your freaky little homicidal chokehold some more?” Diego snapped.

Ouch. Maybe you had gone too far in your last little encounter. After all, wasn't that why you were there? To check on your favorite knife-wielding antagonist? To make sure you hadn't actually hurt him?

But what came out instead was--

"Is there any other kind of chokehold?" You hummed, arching your brow. 

Before he could stop himself, Diego retorted, “Based on our last meeting, I think you know there is." 

Momentarily stunned into silence, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks at the memory of his hands on your throat, you dropped your arms from where they were crossed at your chest down to your sides, hands flexing nervously. You chuckled.

"Heh. As tempting as that offer is, pretty boy, I only came to make sure I didn't ring your bell too bad."

Diego leaned against his dresser, tilting his head back and looking down his perfect, strong nose at you. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I must be going fuckin' deaf. Did you just say you slunk in here with your little kitten tail between your legs to say you were sorry?" Diego snorted, obviously pleased with himself as he saw the obvious fluster cross your face.

Okay, now he was pissing you off. You came here with good will and he sasses you? Two can play at that, as you two so often do...

"You must be fuckin' deaf, dipshit. I didn't say I was here to say I was sorry. I did say I wanted to make sure I didn't kick your sorry ass into oblivion. Which, you're obviously fine, so I'll just be going." You crossed Diego's room, breezing for the door.

Honestly, why did you think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Diego caught your arm as you passed him in your hurried attempt at an exit. You gave a half-hearted tug to pull your arm from Diego's grip, surprised to find how firm it was. You turned your head to meet Diego's gaze, throat closing around your sudden nerves. Diego's eyes were molten, boring into you with quizzical questions and low-burning heat. His grip on your arm afforded you an insight into the unique blend that was his confusion and simmering passion.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Come on," Diego drawled. "You clearly know what I'm feeling. But I have no idea what you're feeling. You have me at a disadvantage. I don't like it."

"Every time we meet, I have you at a disadvantage," you snarked. At the brief hurt that flashed across Diego's face, you sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant what I said when I told you I was coming to check on you … I just--" 

You looked down at your feet, the laces in your boots suddenly incredibly interesting to you. Diego's other hand gently gripped your chin, his thumb pressing into its apex, fingers curled beneath your jaw.

"D-don't do that-- keep going. Tell me what you're feeling for once," Diego implored, eyes meeting yours once more, lips ever-so-close to yours. “Please,” he added, softly.

Had your heart been thudding like this the whole time?? Was your jacket always this hot? All you could hear was the pounding sheet of rain, pressing itself into your brain, growing fuzzier. Diego's proximity to your person was decidedly distracting. Wholeheartedly overwhelming. 

Could he really not tell what you were thinking? You were certain at this point it must be written all over your face. Were you not being obvious?? Your burning ardor for him creeping through every inch of your person, drowning your intentions and better sensibilities in anything and everything Diego Hargreeves. You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm feeling-- was feeling … guilty. The last time I saw you.. I h-hit you...  pretty hard. So, you win. I guess I am here to tell you I'm sorry." You brushed your fingers softly over the bruise that adorned his prominent, proud cheekbone. "I… I just wanted you to be okay. Because I think you were just trying to help. And that's stupid. It's stupid. I'm sorry," you hurriedly stammered. 

Diego relinquished his grip on your arm, allowing his hand to travel down your side until it met your waist. He cocked his head and studied your eyes with his own mercurial ones-- searching for any hint of mistruth in your confession, but seemingly finding none. 

After all, he too knew the honesty behind words that struggled to come out.

"You were… worried about me? You?"

"Let's not make a big thing of this, big boy. You're obviously fine. I shouldn't have come… An honest mistake. Won’t happen again," you started to turn your head, breaking his gaze. 

But Diego's grip on your chin firmed, forcing you to look at him again before surging forward and crushing his lips to yours. 

And, oh, this was bliss-- you were just sure of it. Your yearning manifested itself in the hand you had placed on Diego's cheek, cupping your hands to the sides of his face before dragging them back to thread through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then passing your hands up through his longer hair toward the top of his head and tugging. You took advantage of the gasp Diego elicited at that sensation, sweeping your tongue into his mouth. 

Your shared lust bled through your connected skin, hands on faces and elsewhere…  washing over you both like warm static, a pleasant buzz akin to drinking just a little too much champagne. 

Diego’s hands tugged at the hem of your rain-dampened hoodie, tugging it over your head. Your newly-exposed skin prickled with goosebumps at the sudden chill. You had run over here in the rain, after all. Diego’s darkened, honeyed gaze reverently took in your form. 

Never one to waste an opportunity, you took the break in action as your chance to respond in kind-- peeling his skin-tight black crewneck shirt from his own gloriously-sculpted body. 

The two of you stood, staring at each other’s exposed torsos, ragged breaths dragging through the air of passion so-stifling the room like incense you’ve left burning for too long. 

Diego stared at your chest, breasts heaving from behind the scrap of lace that constituted your bralette-- were those piercings that made your nipples poke so prominently through the lace? WIth this realization, Diego felt himself harden. He lunged for you with a growl, scooping you by the waist and dropping you with a bounce onto his bed. 

His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking insistently while his powerful hands rested at the edges of the delicate lace trim of your bra, passing almost reverently across your ribcage. 

You gasped as he brushed a thumb over your nipple, feeling yourself growing wet beneath your leggings. You hmm’d a whine as Diego’s mouth found that spot on your throat, his thumb still rolling circles over your nipple. 

“D-Diego,” you gasped, sucking in air like you’d never properly breathed before.

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Take it off,” you glanced down at the scrap of lace that adorned your chest. “Please,” you intoned, sweetly. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Diego said,” creeping his fingers beneath the lace to lift it off your skin. Suddenly, with that preternatural speed he’d come to recognize as a gift of those who were enhanced, like himself, you seized his wrist and squeezed. 

“It wasn’t meant to be nice,” you ground out. “Take. It. Off. Now.” 

With that, you released his wrist, and Diego gripped the lace where it rested beneath your breasts with this two hands and tugged, ripping your bralette cleanly in two, exposing your tits to his roving gaze. 

“There you go, Big Deal,” you preened in satisfaction, taking your own hands from where they had previously been resting along his strong abdomen, trailing them down to the top of his jeans. You popped the button on his fly and began tugging his zipper down, before Diego caught your hand as quickly as you had just done to him. 

“I’ve got this, baby,” Diego assured. 

With that, he brought his mouth down to your left breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple, taking the hand still clutching your wrist and planting it above your head. He released your wrist, trailing his hand, down your side until it met the waistband of your leggings. He pressed his fingers beneath the waistband, raking his fingers under your panties, to where you wanted him most. 

As he dragged a finger through your wetness, you gasped out a keening sigh. Diego’s long fingers working magic against your center, rubbing up and down your slit before pressing one, long finger inside. He lifted his mouth from your breast, pressing it to yours to swallow your moan with a searing kiss.

After a few more moments, Diego slid his finger from your center, retracting his hand from your pants, his other hand coming to meet it, peeling your leggings and panties from you in one fluid motion. You lifted and wiggled your hips to assist him. As soon as the leggings were free from your legs, you wasted no time in wrapping your bare legs around Diego’s waist, locking your ankles behind him and pulling him to you, dragging your hands up his neck and into his hair, hissing in pained pleasure as you rolled your hips against Diego’s still denim-clad hardness. 

Diego groaned as he felt your hardened nipples press against his chest, the microscopic bite of cold from your piercings as they touched his warm skin made him sigh.

The room felt like it was bordering on a hundred degrees, the previously champagne-drunk feeling of your shared lust now replaced with a frantic urge to taste and mark every inch of the other as their own. 

As you continued to grind your hips into Diego, he kissed you deeply, tongue sliding into your mouth, running along your own tongue and teeth, tasting every bit of your want for him as he succumbed to the heated buzz of the room. 

Your power had its benefits, he reasoned, if it meant this would feel so… resplendent. 

The mutuality of your shared passion was enough to do you in. You couldn’t be imagining that Diego wanted you as much as you wanted him. If that wasn’t the case, you both wouldn’t be burning like this, writhing atop his bed with pent-up passion and aggression. 

Diego broke his hands from where they had previously been digging bruises into your hips, coming up onto his knees to start shucking his own jeans and underwear off. 

And oh, he thought, you were a vision. As he looked at you while he stripped himself, he was overcome. Your half-lidded gaze swimming with hazy, unfulfilled promises, swirling lazily like the drizzle of sinfully sweet syrup over something forbidden. Your lips were flushed, swollen and lightly bruised from the punishing pace of your shared kisses. Your wickedly luscious curves and the glimmering slick between your thighs on display for only him. In this moment, he felt he could die under whatever your power would dish out, if it meant he died feeling like this. 

Now bared to you in his entirety, Diego positioned himself once more between your legs, his impressive length sliding to where he had guided it along your opening. 

You tossed your head back, eyes closed at the glorious feeling of his skin finally meeting yours where you wanted it most… but, still, it wasn’t enough. 

“Di- eh - go,” you panted, your glimmering gaze meeting his lustrously darkened one. “P-please, I need it. I need you,” you cried piteously, clutching his shoulders and grinding your hips once more against him.

Diego chuckled, only to happy to oblige. With a guiding hand and a smooth flex-and-thrust of his hips, Diego entered you with a powerful, needed thrust. You cried out, sound going straight to his cock, twitching from its rightful place inside of you. 

“There, now, baby,” Diego crooned, bringing his mouth back to yours and humming into your open lips. “Doesn’t that feel ... So. Much. Better?” He punctuated each of his last few words with hard, firm thrusts of his hips. 

You nodded, eagerly fusing your mouths together, rolling your hips in kind to meet Diego’s sweet, but punishing thrusts. 

“After all that shit you pulled with me,” DIego ground out, “It’s nice to know-- this is what you really wanted. Fuck--” he broke off as you clenched around him just right. “This is what you needed.” 

You whined your assent, keening and high-pitched. 

“Mmmm, I want y-you, as much as you want me,” you gasped out, Diego’s brutal thrusting brushing your clit with his pubic bone, bringing you ever closer, closer, closer to that teetering edge. You lifted yourself up to balance on one hand and meet Diego’s face where he was hovering above you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressing into one another with a delicious, filthy heat. You looked into his eyes, your jaw slack with the stupidly good feeling of everything he was doing to you. 

You turned your head to face his sculpted shoulder, and grazed your teeth there, biting into the apex of his arm. Diego hissed, obviously pleased with the feeling, bringing his hand to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and tearing your teeth away from his shoulder, guiding your mouth back to his with the pads of his fingers lightly pressing into your airway.

You gasped, the combined feeling of his kiss, his pressing, insistent touch, and his cock inside you brushing repeatedly against that spot of your inner walls causing you to clench, crying out your sudden, gushing release. 

Diego guided your head back to his pillow, clenching his fist, the same battered-knuckled boxer’s fist that had previously clutched your throat, now clutched around his bedframe as he hammered his final thrusts, pounding into you until he met his release, groaning as he came down from his sudden, bursting high. 

He sighed into your neck, the lovingly sticky heat of your sweaty bodies pressed together as he eased himself from you, pulling you into his side.

You sighed in contentment. 

Was everything Diego Hargreeves did punctuated with such beautiful, forthright power?

---

You both lie in the after, bodies pressed firmly together. It would have been romantically intimate had the primary motivator not been the lack of space on Diego's too-small mattress squeezed along the wall in his room. 

Nevertheless, you lie there in complete contentment, basking in the afterglow and Diego's delightfully even, rhythmic breathing.

Said lothario had his head turned into your cheek, nose brushing against your hair. His arm around you, curling you to him and trailing his fingers up and down your side at a slow, steady pace.

Why couldn't it always be like this? 

After all, fire doused with water still burns brightly at one time, but loses its penchant for destruction, tampered in cool, calming depths and leaving behind cooling steam. So, too, had you and Diego drawn a peaceable, but joyfully sweaty truce. 

In that moment, you could see yourself loving him. You know he'd let you, if you gave him enough time and enough of yourself. The man had not had enough love given to him in his life-- he fought for it, tooth and nail. And had come up woefully empty, like clutching at soft sand that slips through your fingers. He'd had the love of his siblings, sure. But this was -- understandably-- different. You recognized a chasm in him that you often thought you'd never mend within yourself. 

But he was so deserving of love. Whereas you? Well, the jury was still out. 

When you think of Diego, you couldn't help but think of strength. Assuredness. Agility. His aura burned red in your deeper sentiments. Power. You do associate his memory with annoyance, sure, but also a biting wit that he so-oft concealed. And an endearing sentimentality. And an iron will suffused with stubbornness.  

You had gleaned some of this from your foray into exploring his emotions, sure. But you don't use your power at every turn. The rest of it was every impression Diego had devastatingly left you with. You had learned so much of him, you yearned to share a piece of yourself, similarly eager for acceptance. Which then prompted you to share--

“You know,” you piped up in the dark, “You remind me a bit of the main character of my favorite books series-- Ever hear of ‘The Dark Tower?’ You know, the legendary Gunslinger?” 

Diego scoffed at that.

“Guns are for pussies, real men throw knives,” he stated primly, but still unable to conceal the smile in his voice.

“That sounds a little rehearsed, Big Deal. But I’ll let it slide. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing,” you acquiesced, turning your head to face him, your noses brushing.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not into all that bookworm stuff. Cuz, ya know, I’m not a fuckin’ virgin,” he chuckled. Obviously pleased with his middle school-grade burn. 

You met his eyes, yours widening in mock surprise. “Oh no?” you gasped. “Well, then why do you dress like one?”

Honestly, it had to be some kind of world record, how fast Diego’s face fell.

"I'm kidding, big boy. You know I dig the black leather," you crooned. Ever eager to smooth the waters of this moment, of his now furrowed brow, back to the placid lake it had been.

"You're goddamn right, you do," Diego chuffed, his grin now prominent in his voice.

You looked at him, your eyes travelling between his shining, ochre eyes and his full lips.

"I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye. 

“I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.

"I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart," you recited.

Diego regarded you for a moment before brushing his lips across yours, kissing you warmly.

"What was that?" He asked.

"'The Dark Tower,'" you replied. "What? I like to read. You really do remind me of him. Surly, but just. Lost, but ever-searching. Pinpoint accuracy. Deadly. But hasn't lost hope." 

Diego kissed you again, running his hand down your body beneath the covers to grip your bum and roll your body over his, urging you to tarry with him on another burning exploration of one another's bodies.

Yes, you think, sighing as Diego's teeth graze that spot on your neck, his warm palm on your breast. You could easily fall in love with him… if you let yourself. You were probably more than halfway in love with him already.

Oh, no.

---

You awoke to the early-morning sun peeking weakly behind the remnants of fat, overstuffed rainclouds from the night before, purpling the sky as sunlight met grey. 

You took in Diego’s, sweet sleeping form-- his long lashes fringing his sweetly-closed eyes, his cropped hair mussed from a night of tugging, rolling, writhing. He breathed deeply, evenly, peaceably, as evidenced by the repetitive motion of his muscled torso, his long-fingered hands resting along his stomach. 

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t taint someone so noble and beautiful with your special brand of poisonous manipulation. 

You couldn’t stop yourself as you spoke softly to the sleeping man beside you, coming to sit on the edge of his bed and brushing one hand through his soft hair. 

“You wanted to know about my power? It’s a curse. You think I want this? This? It’s isolation, Diego-- it’s eternal damnation. I shouldn’t be able to do what I can do …  No one should. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. And it dooms me to a life alone,” your voice cracks as your breath catches in your throat, hitching over tears that were now, suddenly pooling in your eyes. “There’s no trust. It’s what I … It’s what I deserve.” 

With that, you left Diego’s room. Leaving him to wake alone to a cold one-half of his bed, fingers clutching over air and the warm memories of the night before. He blinked in confusion, the sting of your rejection settling beneath his skin. 

---

When you saw Diego again, it was nearly a month after your last… encounter. The sharp knife of anxiety and longing you so regularly felt in yourself since that day, you recognized immediately as emanating from Diego as you watched him limp away from what you assumed was a particularly nasty fight. 

“Big Deal!” You shouted across the street and through the darkness. 

Diego’s head whipped up, head turning to the direction of your voice, before meeting your gaze. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking. Away from you. 

Ouch. 

Honestly, you could understand why he would. You had done the same to him a month ago. Walked away. But the pinging sting of his rejection dug at you, like glass into the thin skin between your knuckles. 

All you had ever wanted was for other people to understand. But mostly, now, you realized… You really only cared that Diego understood. 

You took off after him, enhanced speed helping you catch up to his limping form outside of a boarded-up, long-closed bar. 

“Diego!” You called, stopping in front of him, causing him to halt.

“What could you possibly want with me, after all this time?” Diego spit.

“I.. I deserve that, Big Deal. I do,” you glanced at your boots, scuffing the toe into the pavement. “Please, just… hear me out?” 

You looked up at Diego. Really looked at him. His beautiful, tawny skin damp with sweat from a fight, his usually bright and mischievous eyes sunken under the weight of tired bags that sat beneath them. He looked drawn, more exhausted than you remember. You caught sight of a particularly nasty, jagged cut on the side of his neck that had clearly only recently stopped bleeding, the splotching clot like a raised, splintering cut from a large cat’s claws. A particularly nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye and onto his beautifully-sculpted, prominent cheek. 

You rushed to meet him, your fingers coming to brush along his cheeks, mindful of the bruise. He closed his eyes at your touch, lashes fanning downward in defeat. 

“Who hurt you? What did they do, Big Deal? Who the fuck did this? If anyone hurt you, I would make them hurt. I’ll make them pay”

Diego dropped the knife you now noticed was previously-clutched in his right hand, bringing his hand to meet your wrist. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Don’t do what? Kill the fucker who hurt you? Fine, I’ll just break their knees--” you started, before Diego shushed you.

“No,” he said, “Shut the fuck up. D- Don’t act like you give a shit. Someone who gives a shit wouldn’t bounce for a fuckin’ month. Not after a night like that.” 

Your hand left Diego’s face. 

“I… I deserve that,” you said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” And with that, you plopped yourself onto the pavement, sitting on the sidewalk at Diego’s feet. Annoying? Sure. Dramatic? Sure. But if something is stupid and it works, then it isn’t stupid. 

Diego sighed at you, rolling his eyes before coming to sit beside you, gasping out in pain and clutching an obviously bruised rib or two on his way down. 

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck happened. Why’d you go?”

“Diego--” you started… “I-- I can’t be with someone when I’m like this. It never works,” you confessed. 

“Like what?” He pressed, bringing his hand to your knee. 

“I’m-- I’m a monster,” you cried. “Adler knew it. Everyone I meet knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you know it too. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” The tears you thought you could hold at bay were now creeping up and causing your throat to close around your words of contrition. 

“You’re not--” Diego began, but you silenced him with a harsh wave of your hand. 

“You don't understand. You wanted to know how it works? I’ll tell you. The power works based on the other's emotion, sure. I amplify what they feel. Cripple them with it, even. But that's not all… it only works, really works, if it's something I can draw on. They feel what I want them to feel-- because I feel it too …" you admitted. “Everything I ever do to someone else I can only do because I know how it feels. If I want someone to hurt, they’ll hurt… I -- I don’t want to do that to you, too.” 

“You won’t. Not with me,” Diego pressed. 

“And how can you be sure? Even now, I feel how pissed you are at me for leaving. It’s humming beneath your skin. I can feel it.” 

Diego nodded, picking up the knife he had previously dropped and beginning to spin it around in his hand. 

“I know it because I felt it. When we were together,” he sighed. “We both, we both can do these things. Anyone else would piss themselves if it was turned against them. But you look the danger of what I am in the face, and you laugh. When we’re together, we’re matched. The way that room felt? I know what that was.” 

You sat, stunned at Diego’s read of the situation. 

“I take back what I said the first night we met,” you said. At the question in his eyes, you continued, “You’re not dumb. That was… that was… something. But I know how to flex my power. I know what fells all men. Fear is a powerful emotion." 

Diego smiled at you. 

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not scared of you. I know you think I am, but I’m not. And you know what's even stronger than fear? Love."

You looked at Diego, blinked. He blinked back. You then turned your head with a mocking, retching, gag.

"Jesus, Big Deal. They teach you ‘Hokey Catchphrases 101’ at Dysfunctional Superhero Camp?"

“Hey,” he jostled your shoulder with his. “You know I’m right.” 

You stood, offering Diego your hand.

“Come on, big boy. Walk me home?” 

Diego acquiesced, coming to stand with a stifled grunt. 

“You’re lucky I heal quickly.” 

With that, the two of you walked down the street. You matched Diego’s stride, mindful of his injuries. As you walked side-by-side, your fingers brushed. Before you could stop yourself or think better of it, you took Diego’s hand. 

When you reached your door, you turned to Diego, fiddling with your keys. 

“Everyone’s distinct, you know? Everyone feels differently. Wears their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak. But with everyone, it’s a different emotion. Some flaunt pride. Some are more passive. Do you want to know what I feel when I see you?” 

Diego glanced down to where your hands were still joined. He brought them up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I want whatever you’ll tell me. You’re such an open book,” he admitted sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, I’m being serious here. You feel... you feel...” 

At Diego’s urging look, you continued. 

"You feel like warmth. Like I could wrap myself in you and never feel the biting cold of my heart again. And when you're not around? The absence of you is worse than any feeling I could ever exploit. I hate it when you aren't here."

Diego stared at you in silence for a moment, before he spoke, “I really think you should open the door now and let me take you inside.” 

You smiled, pleased that your honest confession had gone over well, the smile morphing into a smirk. 

“As you wish, Big Deal.”

And in the morning? Well, In the morning, you and Diego were still wrapped up in one another. 

You looked into Diego’s swimming, honey-and-tar eyes, tracing your palms down the sides of his jaw and cupping his cheeks as you told him, “You have my whole heart. It’s yours -- crush it, hold it, bury it in whatever you feel ... Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. Just say you want it-- that you want me.” 

“I want you.” With that, he kissed you deeply.

---

You were a master of emotional manipulation. To do that, you had to have a decent handle on your own emotions. For years, you’d rested on your own laurels of your mastery of self, indulging only in the most passing of forays into others’ feelings for the sake of your own.

So why on Earth were you so fucking nervous? Why couldn’t you get it under control?

Yet, here you were, hand in Diego’s, fingers laced, on your way to Hargreeves Manor to meet his siblings, months after your mutual confessions of want. The two of you had been inseparable. 

Diego clearly sensed your unease, because he turned to you, squeezing your fingers in his own, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead. 

“They’ll like you,” he promised. 

“How can you be so sure?” You worried, trying to keep all of them straight in your mind based on Diego’s stories, anecdotes and descriptions. 

“Because I like you, and they love to annoy me. So they’ll definitely want to buddy up,” he chuckled with a shrug. “Baby, you’ll be fine.”

With that, you found yourself standing in the ornate living room with five nonplussed persons who introduced themselves to you one by one.

As the largest of the group approached you, you beat him to the punch.

“You must be Luther,” you said, pumping your arm in a handshake where his hand comically dwarfed yours. 

Luther blinked. “How did you know?” 

"Easy,” you said, “You look like a 'Number One.’ " 

Luther straightened, obviously pleased. "Important?" he asked.

"Self-important."

This caused the lithe one with the smudged eyeliner who had introduced himself with a wink as, “Klaus, darling,” to howl with laughter. 

“She’s fuckin’ got your number, Luther,” he gasped out between his chuckles. He turned to the seemingly-empty air beside himself and said, “I know! She is fun!” 

The group found itself sitting around the living room on the various, overstuffed furnishings, in a fun little Q-and-A circle, which was only getting easier all the time, as you found the Hargreeves siblings’ obvious bond to be so endearing. The glamorous one you knew to be Allison had queried about your power, curious as to how you and Diego had met. 

Diego had recounted your first meeting to the group, and proffered an explanation of your powers with, "She takes the idea of 'wrapped up in your emotions' and makes it literal."

“And how did this come about?” Klaus queried, gesturing his long fingers between you and Diego. “It’s not like that first meeting was full of warm-and fuzzies.”

“I don’t know … We’ve …  run into each other a few times,” you offer with a shrug and a shy grin. 

Klaus clapped his hands, a large grin adorning his face.

“Oh-ho! I like this. Diego’s girlfriend beats the shit out of him on the regular!” Klaus happily sang to the massive living room. “Or is that how you two, you know, keep it exciting?” he intoned to Diego in what must have been the world’s loudest and worst attempt at a whisper.

“She does not beat the shit out of me,” Diego protested, rolling his eyes at his brother’s swaggering antics.

“Right, right, you beat the shit out of each other. Honestly, I get it. Kinda hot. No judgment from me, you crazy kids,” Klaus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, flashing you the “Hello” and “Goodbye” on his palms. “Diego told me about you the day after you first met. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself when I’m ever-so-alone at night,” he added with a wink. 

All you could do was chuckle. Who couldn’t love Klaus Hargreeves? 

After that, the questioning from the gathered siblings dissipated into a casual little party, with people pairing off to speak in groups of just them, and with drinks from the open bar being passed around amongst the siblings. Even Five. If you were honest, it was strange to see a thirteen-year-old boy drink frozen margaritas. But you’d had to remind yourself that he was actually older than all of you. Honestly, you’d tried not to think about it too hard. 

In between drinks, you found yourself engaged in silly banter with Klaus and Vanya, laughing at Klaus’s stories of eating bagels from dumpsters and his bantering memories with their brother Ben. You responded in kind with stories of your own-- making your elementary school teachers believe they’d had crushes on one another by exploiting their repressed desires, making your classmates piss themselves every Halloween with some prank or another ...

While Vanya was a bit more reserved with her amusement, you’d caught a smile playing at her lips. Klaus outright howled. 

“Oh, you truly belong here, don’t you? Reggie would’ve haaaated you,” he gestured at the stern portrait of their father. “Which means you’re absolutely perfect for our dear Diego,” Klaus proclaimed, lacing his fingers through your own. 

With that, Klaus turned to you with a conspiratorial giggle and hmm'd into your ear, "You know what they say, peaches. 'A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly.' And if we're being honest, Diego deeeeeeefinitely thinks he's fly." 

You laughed, choking on your sip of margarita. You’d never felt a kind of discordant unity like this one. 

With Diego’s family… with Diego, you felt like you truly did belong.

As you and Diego lay together in bed after the day with his family, he’d asked if you felt comfortable.

“Of course, love.” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of Diego’s nose, nuzzling your own against his. “They were wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

Diego gazed lovingly at you, eyes, a deep, endless pit of an eclipse, brimming with golden honey streaks of mischief. 

“I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your shoulder and settling beside you comfortably. 

Ah. So that’s what that warm, soft, cotton-y, cloud-like feeling you had begun to experience since you’d began your relationship with Diego was ... Comfort. Funny how it blended so seamlessly into the burning, cinnamon-tinged, blooming one you’d come to recognize as his love.

---

Tagging: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @winters-buck @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @ali-cide @fleetwoodmactshirt @stellarkyun @zeldasayer @ayeayecaptaingally @nappingtopknot @holographic-carmen @mandaloriane @pascalplease @phoenixhalliwell @white-wolf-buckaroo @melon-eyes @pancakepike @noturjacky @johnc0nstantine @amarachoren @outrebanx @yespolkadotkitty @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul @netflixandzayn @deadpoolcouldshootme @manchuria @flhorah @halerune @spideymanreads @athousandbuckys @imagining-constantly @dovesgrangers @ravenoussss @pyrosag @rzrcrst​ 

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves fic #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves smut #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fic #the umbrella academy imagines #tua fic #tua #tua imagines #david castañeda #david castaneda smut #my writing #rachel writes #umbrella academy #diego fic #diego x you #diego x reader #diego x oc #diego hargreeves x oc

[ourstarscollided]

jatp fanworks appreciation - day 1 (writers)

motivation - so in true me fashion and my aversion to brevity, i've made three (3) posts (see also artists, gifs/edits) to celebrate the wonderful people in this fandom who have made my jatp tumblr experience what it is; a community of people who simply shout into the void about their love of a ghost band and their fearless female leader. i've enjoyed simply being on the sidelines admiring everyone's love for the show, but i thought this would be a good time to really show my appreciation for all these wonderful people, because if i've learned anything from this pandemic, it's that there is NEVER a wrong time to tell someone that they are simply ✨the best✨.

disclaimer: i don't interact with most of these people personally and i simply absorb their content from afar and scream about how wonderful they are in the tags.

This list kind of became a fic rec, so if you're looking for some wonderful fics to read (or reread), I've also included my favs from the author here as well.

Okay this is gonna get a little long so please bear with me. But I just wanted to preamble this by saying that the fanfiction written by the jatp fandom is what resparked my love for reading fiction after about 3-4 years of not reading for leisure (be an adult they said. it'll be fun they said.). So I'm really grateful for that? I don't interact with a lot of people, just because it makes me a little anxious, but I will constantly yell about your content in the tags as if I were on a set of bleachers with a megaphone.

I also know there are so many wonderful fic writers out there (on Tumblr and not on Tumblr) that make amazing pieces of work, and this is just a tiny peek into that, and is not at all conclusive.

Without further ado here are some writers who live rent free in my head, in alphabetical order, so feel free to just skip to your name to avoid my rambling:

@bluefirewrites -> your Merry Ex-Mas fic had me on the edge of my seat every single time you updated. I am so in love with how you wrote the characters into this and at how many words you churned out for this fic. This was filled with so much adventure, and it was really welcome during a time when the world wasn't allowed to travel. And I simply love all the other drabbles and fics you write, but I especially enjoy the hilarity of Ray Molina, Crime Scene Photographer and Matchmaker.

@captainkippen -> I'm pretty sure Love Drunk was one of the first fics I ever read in this fandom. Your stories and your writing feel so goddamn real and I find myself so immersed in the worlds that you've created. I have reread most of your jatp fics and I still manage to find myself stupidly grinning at my phone each time. Your stories flow so easily and are such perfect characterizations of the characters we know from the show, but elevated to fit into your verse. I cannot say enough how wonderful your writing is and how talented you are!! (also a slight nudge that I am still very much following along with The Key and the Crown and I hope you continue it!)

@catty-words -> Your???? Exhaustive??? Music??? Lists???? The amount of work and dedication and microanalyzing that you put into pulling out every detail from each scene is so admirable. You not only manage to find the details, but you also give us EVIDENCE via your intricately selected gifs. You could've just put the video of the performance, but no, you take your time to find that specific 1 second shot to emphasize your point. And your little fics that you sometimes throw out into the world? They're so beautiful, and so fun to read and I enjoy them so much! (I am STILL screaming about this band's a snack) Thank you for validating my yelling in the tags, and for feeding my hyperfixation to this show. (I'm sad these lists are ending soon, but it's about the journey ya know?)

@lydias--stiles -> I don't even know what to say here because I've yelled so much about your fics that I feel like there's really nothing else to yell. Your Road Trip AU was also one of the first ones I read in this fandom, and really just made me go absolutely feral. Pretty sure I absorbed the rest of your fics in an ungodly amount of time and I just simply think you are incredibly skilled and talented. Every time you post a new fic I always wonder what it's like to be in your head because the ideas you come up with are so unique and so well thought out. Thank you for all the art you create for this show, I will constantly be in awe of you. (Special shoutout to the 5+1 fic that became a 31 chapter monster)

@pearlcaddy -> This list would not be complete if I didn't mention you. First of all, thank you for suggesting this wonderful week, it has been so lovely to see so much love being spread around today. Secondly, I never thought I'd find myself reading a Buffy or a Wizarding World crossover fic, considering I know nothing about those two things. And yet I found myself on various nights after work at 3 in the morning just silently screaming and/or crying into my phone. Your writing is so insane. Your world building is so insane. Your banter/dialogue is insane. The way you capture the love between Julie/Luke in different universes is so perfect. Thank you for gifting us these beautiful pieces of art, and I hope you know that you have at least made one person (me) a very happy reader. I also really admire your dedication to "this will only be a oneshot", only to write like 4 other POVs for it. (Special shoutout to 100 Bad Days)

@ruzek-halstead -> Literally every single fic you have written lives rent free in my head. The way you've managed to build this universe of different Julies and Lukes, and each one still captures the essence of them is astounding. You've extended their characters beyond what we know from the show and I am just in awe of everything you write. Please know that dead of night is both triggering to me and yet the most hilarious thing I have read. (Special shoutout to the Fake Dating Christmas AU and of course the Cinderella Story AU)

@serendipitee -> Your stories and your writing are absolutely magical. I think Write It Down was one of the first multi-chapter fics that I followed super closely and whenever you updated, I would literally drop what I was doing and read it instantly. You have such a way of building the plot and the characters for all of your fics and drabbles, and making the reader just want more. Please know that I am so obsessed with Oh, She Waltzed With the Dead and I cannot wait to see where you take the story!

@sunsetcurbed -> I have no words for your writing. I am simply in awe every time I read something from you. The way you've got down Alex and Willie's voice to a tee is so crazy good. You write their characters and their stories with such grace and care, especially with how you approach the topic of mental health. Thank you for all the research you do and for also writing in your own experiences. I literally binged the Princes Diaries AU during work and lost a good half day to it, and I regret nothing because that fic left me in SHAMBLES. I secretly adore the way you say you're going to keep a fic short, and end up writing an insane amount of words for it. (I have not yet left my obligated long-ass comment on Chapter 4 of the College AU yet because I am still processing the fate/destiny concept.)

@tangledstarlight -> Gahh. Rosie. Please. This is going to sound a little repetitive considering I just screamed at you last night, but now I guess I will just have to publicly confess my adoration for you!!! Thank you for being my first online friend in a very long time, and for putting up with me yelling at you about everything (and also nothing at the same time). I can't believe all it took was one message about your Royals AU for you to post it, but I will gladly take that credit any day. You are so so so incredibly talented with your writing, and your ability to transport me to another world while I read your fics is unparalleled. I adore the way you can come up with a new story to write every day, and then proceed to throw it into your pot of other WIPs. I am so so so so lucky to have gotten to know you and am incredibly grateful that I now have someone to cry about everything with 🧡 (If you read anything from Rosie, you need to read her Seasons/Long Distance Juke "friendship" fic and the Reggie x Photography oneshot that made me bawl my eyes out.)

@thedeathdeelers -> No thoughts. Just soulmates. Jk jk, you know I love your Reggie x Ray x Carlos fics, and I will scream in the tags about it until the day I get more of those fics from you. This is lowkey a threat, but wrapped in kindness. You are so wonderful to see on my dash (albeit scary at times because of the sheer amount of headcanons and theories running through your head), but you radiate such positive energy that it's impossible to not want to jump in and scream about soulmates with you.

Some special mentions to fics that also live rent free in my head:

@sunsetsandcurves wrote a Willex Cruise Ship AU inspired by a Simple Plan song and it’s something I never knew I needed until I read it. 

@phantom-curve wrote a Juke fic based off of Coney Island and I would just like to say, yes, it did shatter me. (Here’s the fluff sequel that makes up for it though)

@unsaidjulie wrote the Juke dog fic of my dreams and I simply cannot express how much I want the Molina’s to have a dog now. 

@pawprinterfanfic managed to get me incredibly invested in a Star Wars AU even though I know absolutely nothing about Star Wars. I just know that I would die for two (2) space boys. 

@sanssssastark  your Later universe made me realize that I do very much want there to be more mature content for this fandom (and you constantly deliver).

@theobligatedklutz wrote a Tangled Willex AU that makes me screech every time there’s an update. Just read it.

@alexthedrummerboy your talent knows no bounds when it comes to your Social Media AU. Also she’s written ORIGINAL songs for Alex and Willie?!?!?! 

@gennified has this really wonderful modern take on pride and prejudice for Willex and I’m so obsessed with how much miscommunication there is.

@bananaleaves okay, I just found your Tumblr today, and I know you don’t know me in any capacity, but allow me to scream about THIS FIC RIGHT HERE. If anyone in this fandom is to read ANYTHING, it’s this fic. This was one of the best things I’ve read in a long time and absolutely wrecked me. Please just read this.

This turned out WAY longer than it was supposed to, and I’m SO SORRY. (I also tried to make sure I got everyone’s pronouns right, so PLEASE let me know if they’re wrong!) A final sincere thank you to everyone in this fandom who writes. Your talent knows no bounds. Gonna stop talking now before this becomes an essay....

#jatp fanworks appreciation week #fic rec #if i realize that i've missed someone i'm gonna bite the bullet and send an ask to you okay. i will not let my anxiety STOP ME FROM #YELLING HOW MUCH I LOVE PEOPLE'S WRITING!! #idk what else to tag this other than i genuinely think this show saved my mental health and so have all the fic writers. #gonna post this now before i chicken out oky aklfwjepofae #motivation monday

[flowerczennie]

✨⭐️ Happy New Year ⭐️✨

Happy 2021 to everyone ✨ If I was told what was in store for us all in 2020, on this day last year, I would not have believed it all. When we were still in 2020, the thought of previous years felt like an alternate reality, people travelling, moving freely, walking around without masks on and even hugging people, all felt like such an alien concept. But I hope that, one day, we can all look back on the year that has just passed and see that year as the alternate reality instead, even if it remains a bumpy road for a while longer. For me personally, I lost my job completely for six months, lost loved ones amidst the pandemic and like so many of us, my anxiety took complete control of me for a couple of months and I felt completely crippled by the world. Despite all this, I can’t look back on the year with complete heartbreak because I lucked out when I decided to click on one video and completely fall in love with seven men and the world they have created. I could go on about them for days but you all know already, that is why we’re here with these blogs. I know, you know, we all know how much they mean to us and the impact they have made on us this year 💕 But perhaps the most important thing is the amazing people they have brought into my life and I can’t begin to thank them enough for that ✨

~ @hobi-gif Of course I have to start with our Hope, who I have been blessed to know for ten years 💕 Sometimes life happens, and even if you don’t talk for the longest time you’re still following each other, rooting for their happiness and if you’re lucky enough, they will come back into your life and end up making one of the biggest changes. This is what Hope did for me this year, it was within the first week of discovering bts, I saw that she was army via instastories and immediately had to know her bias, I needed a bts friend so much. Not only did Hope provide that but she opened up the bts world to me completely. If you know her, you know how warm, inviting, caring, loving she is and, if she could, she would give you the world. I could go on and ramble in classic Clara style but Hope, I want you to know how much you’ve changed my life this year and how much you mean to me. You’ve listened to my story, brought me into this wonderful bts world, introduced me to so many people and I am endlessly thankful. I have one last word to say to you, “OtsukareEeEeEEEeeeee...” ☺️💕 love you!

~ @snackhobi Miss Joy! 💕 Talking of Hope introducing me to people, the thought that I’ve known Joy for less than three months blows my mind. She truly is one of the most caring, selfless, warm, hardworking and magical people I have had the pleasure to get to know. First and foremost, she is one of the most beautiful souls you will ever meet, inside and out, and I can’t stress that enough. She also happens to have me made me laugh until I cry in the middle of work, been someone who will listen to my rambling when I’m sad or stressed, the most fantastic writer and my fellow Team Kim Seokjin team mate. Joy deserves the world and if could give it to her, I would. Love you, Miss Joy 💕✨

~ @hauntedlilies Melissa 🌸 My fellow brain cell, the Hobi to my Jin, my 2seok partner. The person that holds my hand and screams with me into the void because of our respective biases. I feel like when we’re both flailing, we can depend on each other for a hug and laugh. Not only do we have very similar jobs but I feel like we also create a very similar chaos. She is a genius and to top it off, a phenomenal artist too. One word to describe this friendship: feral.gif. Love you M and I’m so glad I know you 💕✨

~ @yeojaa 💘 Erin is the person who has caused and enabled some of the hardest laughs that I have had this year. Without being introduced to Erin, I wouldn’t have been invited to one of the most welcoming, funny and friendly group of people I’ve have ever met. Erin is also one of the kindest, giving and beautiful souls I have ever encountered. She is my Jungkook girl, Jungkook and Erin are so embedded together in my mind that when Jungkook does anything, she is the first person I think of ☺️ As you all probably know, she also happens to be the most incredible writer, the sweetest person to talk to and someone I’m proud to know. ILY Erin 🐰💕✨

I have followed and discovered some of the loveliest mutuals that I have ever known through this blog, that I have only had for a couple of months now. All of you are not only incredibly talented at what you do but you have also created such a wonderful place to be in on this site. I want to give a shout out to you all as well ⭐️✨

@xjoonchildx - @yeoldontknow - @moonchild-mp3 - @mykrokosmo - @smokyy-mountain-rain - @jintae - @namjoonbaby - @teainthelibrary - @daechwitas - @himbojin - @balenciaguks - @gukfae - @yoongiandthebiaswreckers - @bluengrey - @sketchguk - @flowerkth - @cowboyjinbop - @flowerseok - @sweeterthan-suga - @nvmguk - @taegiseok - @sunshinehobi-07 - @strayyoongii - @telepathygf - @kooseokss - @jimindelune - @ladyartemesia - @minsuga202

If you ever want to talk to me, even if you’re not on this list, my blog is a safe place to all and everyone is welcome, always. I’m always a friend when you need one. I am sending you all wishes of warmth, safety and health in new year and beyond. Like Yoongi, I am rooting for you all ⭐️☺️ lots of love, Clara 💕✨

#Happy New Year #⭐️✨ #Friends #Mutuals #💕✨

[waka-chan-out]

It makes me so happy that writing relaxes you and that you love doing it. You’re so talented and we are all so lucky that we get to read your works. Seriously. Sometimes I can’t believe that I get to read some of these fics for free. I can’t write for shit so I M just so amazed that you guys can do what you do.

So many writers on here are getting burnt out and frustrated and leaving tumblr. And I get it. I feel like things have been weird lately.

I am just always concerned about you. I would be so sad if you left us 😭 if that’s what you needed I would understand. But I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed. So I’m glad to hear that this is still something you enjoy. ❤️

god you’re so sweet 😭 thank you so much darling. that genuinely means the world to me. i’ve noticed that a lot of people are leaving as well! i totally understand it but it’s really fascinating that it’s been happening all at once. it’s unfortunate, but everyone needs some space sometimes so i get why they do it.

i can’t even articulate how much it means to me that you guys care about how i’m doing. like, it makes sense, but it’s weird to know that i’m not just shouting into the void, you know? i care about y’all and it’s amazing that that feeling is returned. but really, i’m doing okay and i try to be pretty transparent about that kind of thing. i don’t see myself leaving anytime soon. i want to write for a living, so something like this has been just a great way to meet people and get myself writing as often as i can. sometimes it’s hard find the motivation on my own, so being able to put stuff out for other people to read and react to is just amazing. i truly love all of you so much because it’s made me re-realize just how much i love writing. even if sometimes it’s just something about getting railed by a fictional character, i have fun writing it and i love seeing your reactions when things are posted. i don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, because this is what i love to do. all of the frustrations and stress that come from writing consistently are just part of the fun. so thank you all for indulging me, because creating this blog really was such a great decision. you’re very much appreciated and i can’t thank you enough for the love and support.

#but yeah my intention is to continue doing something like this forever #not necessarily on a blog #and hopefully!!!! getting paid #but in general i’m never gonna stop writing #so y’all better not get sick of me #meg’s messages 📫

[mcmystery]

We Can’t Have One (long post)

(Cerise and her Husband backstory)

After trying for a baby, Cerise and her husband can't seem to make results. They try often and Cerise keeps a supply of pregnancy tests, but every time, it’s a negative or worse, a false positive.

After many attempts Cerise suggested that maybe something is wrong with her. Her husband says if she feels that way, then maybe a doctor can help find the reason for the unknown problem.

They make an appointment and go see the earliest visit available. The doctor runs through some questions and asks about their intimate lifestyle. To which the husband is embarrassed about saying, but Cerise confirms that they do try often, daily some weeks or a few days out of the week with longer sessions.

The doctor tells them they'll run test on Cerise and mentions they'll need test samples from the husband. He agrees not thinking much of it but was being supportive for Cerise.

They wait a few hours and are called back. The doctor gave the good news, Cerise is perfectly fine and is a condition to have children. Before the doctor can speak again Cerise questions why the no results, to which the doctor carries on his sentence saying that, Cerise is fine...but the husband, unfortunately, cannot produce what’s needed to conceive a child for Cerise.

The husband slips into silent shock, the doctors words mumble in the background as silence fills his mind. Cerise listens thoroughly to the doctor’s explanations while holding her husband's hand tightly.

As they get home, there's a deep weight in the air. Cerise tries to comfort her husband but he responded with silence and avoidance. He states he wants to be alone.

He makes his way to his study and sits at his desk. His eyes stare blankly into space. A voice in his head says a drink could ease the pain. His eyes glimpse to a little bar with some bottles of alcohol. His hand trembles towards it. He stops himself and balls his fist, hitting it harshly against the desk, resisting the temptation to drink. No, it won't numb anything, it won't fix anything. The answer is still the same. He failed to give Cerise what she's wanted. He failed to give her the only thing she's asked of him.

His eyes become blurred. His memories became blurred. All of the happy smiles and sounds of laughter of her in his head are being blurred. He didn't deserve to be hers, someone who couldn't even do this one thing.

His hands covered his face as he began to sob on his desk. Slowly sulking down and crying into his arms. All her smiles in his head made his heartache that much more. The tight painful suffocation in his throat as he wept. The thought of her being better off with someone else, someone who could give her the one thing she asked for. This thought stabbed him again and again as it ran through his mind. A life without her is painful enough, but a life where he can't fulfill her desires feels all that more unbearable.

Slowly he drifted in and out of sobs to quiet tears that never seemed to end. And the study began to darken as the sun set and brought in the night. He would let the tears continue to run as his eyes drifted weakly to sleep.

"...ney... oney... hey, honey?"

He awoke to hear Cerise, she knelt next to him as he lifted his head a bit to see her.

"I know you want to be alone, but... come eat something. I made your favorite little cake."

He rose slightly, arms stiff from sleeping awkwardly on his desk. Head hung and feeling numb but painful at the same time. Cerise held his cheek and stoked it gently to comfortably wake him.

"C'mon, honey, let me cut you a slice." She held his hand and tugged it towards her. They both stood and she began to walk letting her hand slip out of his grip and she exited the study. He soon followed her slowly.

The house had a faded smell of cinnamon and vanilla. He sat at the dining table and just space out onto the tables surface. Cerise made noises in the kitchen as she prepared a plate for her husband.

Cerise came around and present a piece of coffee cake to her silent lover. He looked at it and the image of it blurred in his mind. Always so considerate of him, always finding a way to do these things for him. But he couldn't do that one thing for her, this one thing.

"Milk or coffee, honey?" Cerise asked, but when no response came, she repeated, "Honey?"

He came to and responded, "Ah, um... milk."

Cerise strides away to retrieve what he asks for, and he felt guilty. Again, making eye contact with the slice of cake and just, guilt.

"Here you go, dear." She said as she brought herself a slice and sat next to her husband. She waited for him to start eating.

"Something wrong with the cake?" She asked, he felt guilty, but responded by shaking his head no. A cake is for celebrating, but today didn't feel like something to celebrate. She went out of her way to make this, so again, the guilt slipped back in.

He picked up his fork and took a piece. He took a bite and as he tasted the fluffy texture the familiar flavors came to him. They were filled with love and sadness. He felt guilt most of all, having to swallow this piece, like he swallowed all of Cerise's desires into a void that he could never fill.

Tears streamed down his cheek as he ate that first piece. Cerise took notice.

"Oh, honey...are you alright? Is the cake bad?" She said disappointment on her tone.

He wanted to laugh, this silly girl, whose only ever loved him and done everything he's asked, questioned the flavor of a cake rather than questioning his pathetic excuse of being a man, who can't fulfill his wife's one request. Guilt was the most looming shadow over him.

Before Cerise could speak again he cut the mood with one response.

"I'm sorry."

Cerise looked at him, worried. "If you don't want cake, it’s okay honey, you don't have to eat-"

"I couldn't give you a baby."

Cerise stopped in her tracks.

"You asked one thing from me and..." tears that couldn't stop dripped on the table and onto the cake. "I made a promise to you that I can't fulfill."

Cerise reached out for his hand and touched it, "Honey, it’s alright-"

He pulled away, "It's not!"

Silence and guilt emitted from him. "...it's really not."

He balled his fist until the knuckles were white. "You never ask me of much or close to nothing. I leave you here by yourself with no one to love. Because of me, we can't go out, I can't court you like a husband should, but I desperately want to. Cerise... I wanted so badly to give you, us, something we could share our love together and... I promised you that. I promised..."

"Honey, you didn't know. How were you supposed to know?"

"Either way, I've failed you. I failed our marriage-"

Cerise shot up from her seat. "Don't say stuff like that!"

He was taken back by her sudden outburst.

"Don't ever say stuff like that!" She shouted at him; tears welled in her eyes. "You didn't fail me! You could never fail me! How could we have known? Me? You!? It's not your fault! And I don't love you less because of it. Yes, I asked for a baby, but it’s not the end of the world if we can't have one. We still have each other; I still have you..."

His heart clenched from her words. His mind raced with guilt, with looming responsibility. For how long they would be until the knocks of death came and separated the two. A child would comfort the loneliness if anything were to happen to either of them.

"I don't... want you to be alone, Cerise." He spoke.

She came and knelt next to him, "I'm never alone, you're always with me..." she showed her pinky, tied in a red string that threaded back to his. Her Semblance, a reminder of their fated bond.

"I will always love you, even when your away, I still feel your love, your heartbeat, everything. Just because I asked of something that we couldn't get isn't the end of the world. We must readjust. Maybe there's other ways to fill our home, the doctor did say there was methods that are still in development, they aren't 100% for sure. But it's an alternative we can try?" She tried speaking words of comfort, for both of them.

"...If you want to try them, I'll do it. Anything, I'll do for you, Cerise." He gripped her hand and pulled her towards him.

Cerise stood and let her hand be nuzzled against his face, he gave small kisses that were filled with apologies and deep affection.

Cerise spoke, "I'll have to do research before we commit to something like that, but..." she let her other hand run through the side of his hair as he kissed her hand. Her hand guided to his cheek as she led him to face up at her. "For now, let's just spend some time together, okay?"

He nodded up at her, slowly stood and embraced her tightly. Cerise wrapped her arms around his neck and letting him have his moment hugging her.

"We can spend some time together, right?" Cerise whispered into his ear. "Not to, you know, but for us. Tonight, can we?"

He nodded at her small request. Picking her up and held her against him, kissing her cheek and whispered little apologies as they left their desserts on the table, barely touched.

He walked, holding her towards the bedroom, at least he knew a request like this from her was something he could do. A request from Cerise like this, he would pour all his love, devotion and cherished feelings for her into. Hoping it would ease the pain that the both of them shared.

---------

Thanks for reading if you made it this far! Not much of a writer so sorry for any errors or weird phrase that might not make sense haha

#mcmysteryart #rwby oc #writing #writing concept #Between Destiny #Cerise Han-Brunswick

[pendragaryen]

Before I start I just wanted to say: THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all you brilliant, open minded, always positive and hopeful people and writers in this fandom, in this fam, that i am so proud to call me a part of for many years now. Thanks so much for all you analysers, all you meta-writers and speculators! I love you so much, because i’m shown time and time again, that i’ve chosen THE RIGHT peeps to follow. My dash is 80% hopeful Blarkes! And i LOVE it! Thanks for always being so inspiring and motivational, despite everything that happens on screen (or behind it). THANK YOU, FAM! That’s just my introduction today, before i dive into my mood…..

I probably shouldn’t write anything today for my mind is kind of dizzy bc of the painkillers I’ve taken earlier but well… I’m in a mood to get at least a few things off my chest now.

So. “The queens gambit”. You guys already summed it up, meta-ed about it and speculated the heck out of it so that my own 5 cents seem completely unnecessary at this point. I love some of your opinions, some I don’t. But here’s just what I feel about it (if anybody cares): In contrary to my whole excitement before the episode “Welcome to Bardo” and the tiny possibility that our Bellamy would finally and hopefully be back on our screens, THIS time, while I WAS CERTAIN to see him again, my whole reaction to finally HAVE him back was like… “yeah.. hey.. there you are. Nice.”  And that’s it. I truly wish my excitement would come back. But well… I am exhausted. My job is a pain in the ass too right now. I don’t want to feel bored or even annoyed by my fave tv show ever, this should BE FUN. But yeah a certain scene DID annoy me. Of course. I was in fact very thankful for all the distracting things that happened on Sanctum this time.

For those who know me a bit this isn’t news. I feel sick to my stomach when I have to watch scenes like that B/cho farce today. I did it for Bellamy/Bob AND I did it for Lindsey (congrats on your directing-debut, my queen!). But all your beautifully written and stubbornly hopeful metas couldn’t change the fact that THAT moment was simply painful to watch. It wasn’t even as lovey-dovey as I thought it would be. And I am truly relieved bc of the fact that it seems that Bellamy (at least at this “first time”) had some serious physical needs to get satisfied by that sweaty, sporty woman right in front of him (like it was with “Threesome-Bellamy” in season 1) and that THIS was the primary reason that my boy practically jumped E at that moment… (I mean… she IS attractive… i have to give this to her). With THAT in mind I can live. Everyone his needs. That’s okay. Sex is healthy. Needs are healthy. I am content that they haven’t shown us LOVE here. That wasn’t love. For sure. And their conversation is already wonderfully explained by several posts of you guys, so I won’t say anything else about that godforsaken scene than that it was a pain in the ass to watch for me. Despite all the things I said above and despite the fact, that IT’S JUST THE PAST. It still stings. BUT… It’s not current. And I understand the statement that underlines especially THAT fact: This is long gone and done. It is not current anymore. And now… not even thinkable any longer. I think E knows that too, despite her being clingy to her memories.

Whatever… I’m pms-ing… heavily. Don’t mind my ramblings. What I REALLY wanted to say tho is: I hope that - in comparison to that B/cho scene on the ring - we get to see one other significant scene (or more than just one, I wouldn’t mind it) at some point in S7 : Bellamy grieving the loss of Clarke Griffin - and I mean ON THE RING. That particular grief, that was addressed especially by Murphy last season “If he knows Clarke is dead all of this is for nothing” etc….. PLEASE! That would make the PERFECT opposite to that cringy, awkward B/cho scene today!!! What do you guys and analysts think? Is it possible that we get that somehow? Maybe we somehow get to see how the Bardonians extract memories from Bellamy’s mind at some point? I don’t know. That’s just what I wanted to shout into the void today. I’d appreciate it so much…

Anyway.. I missed Indra in the santum scenes? Where was she? But I really agree with most of you guys today too: Some of the best parts of this episode had to do with finally addressing some bad things people did in the past, bad decisions and actions I thought I have already heard the last  about. I am talking about the Blake’s of course. O’s treating of her brother after Lincoln’s death and Bellamy “forcing” the flame on Madi in S5. Well done. All of this a little late for my taste. But better now than never. Oh and I almost forgot: Murphy was brilliant. Again. His interactions with Sheidrussell… wow… deep. And Emori! What a QUEEN! I’m glad we have these two in Sanctum - tho I’m fearing a bit for their safety now, I have to admit.

Did I mention that i LOVE the Diyozas? No? Yes i love them. Very much. That scene between mother and daughter was TEARjerking. And NOW i’m really afraid of what will happen to especially Charmaine… I cannot put a finger on it WHY. But i TRULY fear for her now… She’s a unique character. I don’t want to lose her tbh… (In contrary there’s Nikki. Or Nelson, for example. To THEM i cannot find any connection at the moment… They are just… there.. making trouble… I wouldn’t shed a tear if they die at some point.)

And then… Clarke tho… CLARKE… These few seconds they’ve been showing her reaction to the news that HER Bellamy’s dead… All these emotions mirrored in her sad, shook eyes in that precise moment… This really made it up for me and saved almost the whole episode imo. Wow… (Eliza… Eliza, you brilliant little thing. I love you. I’ve been reading, that you weren’t allowed to show more than a minimum of a reaction at this point. But you transferred it, ALL the feelings - just through your eyes!) You can almost pinpoint the very moment her heart broke. I can’t wait to see the continuation of that scene. (Btw: Great job, Lindsey! Zooming in on Clarke’s face in just the RIGHT moment… I’m in tears…)

All in all (and despite of a certain scene) a solid episode. (But WHAT THE ACTUAL F.. DO YOU MEAN WITH “YOU’RE MY FAMILY TOO” OCTAVIA?! You CAN’T be serious! E?! YOUR FAMILY?! No..  HELL nO…  That shows without ANY doubt how much she's changed and that she now must be some sort of an all forgiving Buddha, whereas I clearly haven’t grown or changed one bit, bc THAT… hurt like hell to hear from especially her. WTH.. It REALLY bugs me..)

ugh… that was long… i am sorRY

#the 100 #the 100 season 7 #bellamy blake #bellarke #clarke griffin #the 100 spoilers #series 7 #episode #the queen's gambit #review #my edit #me #just me #john murphy #emori #octavia blake #charmaine diyoza #sheidrussell #anti b/cho #the queens gambit

[toomuchponytail]

I don't know if you're taking requests right now but I had this whump idea though I don't usually write whump stories but would like to see your take on it. “In the end…NOBODY WILL EVER LOVED ME!” They let out a sarcastic laugh, broken with pain “I DON’T EVEN LOVE MYSELF! HA! Can you IMAGINE!” Tears started coming through and with that they collapsed on their knees sobbing into themself “How can you ever care for yourself when no one ever care for you, when no one ever loved you!”

AAAHHHH!!!! This is so freakin’ good? Like you don’t write whump and you just…come up with that dang incredible dialog? If you ever decide to change your whump writer status I will 100% read what you throw out into the internet void, (tag meee!!) I love this! Holy baloney batman?! Sorry, I’m just excited….Whew.

Also I am always taking requests! I sometimes don’t see them if they are commented on an actual prompt because I’m always a little scared I’m going to get attacked in the comments for sucking so bad? (Is that embarrassing? I’m embarrassed lol but yeah that’s why I don’t go in there super often…yikes) But I will eventually get to anything that’s submitted! (Unfortunate emphasis on the eventually, sorry Anon) 

Alright, here we go, I’m feeling angsty, so this one is sad, a lil more than a touch dramatic, and TW for suicidal thoughts and talk! Here’s an antagonist who’s full of self loathing, and has never really been loved and a hero in sudden grief, so here we go! *Cracks elbows* 

(It’s long, and I don’t know why anyone would expect anything less from me at this point) 

The hero was sitting at home, feet up, flipping through television channels, having a night off for once. It had struck them as odd that no one had called them asking frantically for help, no one had put his signal in the night sky.

But he wasn’t going to complain, he didn’t remember the last time he’d had a night off. 

He flicked the channels as far as the news–thinking abstractly that the excess of channels but fraction of decent content was a true criminal act, before he stopped, frozen by sudden horror. 

The remote tumbled out of his hand. No, no, no! Was all that their mind was capable of producing. 

A reporter was standing in front of a building overtaken by flames, her hair was being whipped around by the wind, sidekick’s civilian identity was pictured next to their masked one on the screen, “The child of wealthy oil tycoon and owner of a shipping company has been killed this evening, they were better known by their masked identity as sidekick, helping hero fight the crime that has long plagued our streets.” The blonde reporter’s eyes misted with tears, she cleared her throat and continued, “Their secret was uncovered this evening when they were pulled unconscious  in a warehouse fire suspected to have been started by the antagonist, the hospital pronounced them dead on arrival. 

Hero made a soft choking sound, rolling off of the couch and onto the floor, they watched with wide eyes as the reporter wiped tears from her eyes, “There is currently no news of where hero is, and no news of the antagonist claiming the slaying of their longtime enemy. Wherever they are, the police are looking for them, and I have been assured in a statement by the chief of police that the antagonist will be found and questioned in the killing of sidekick,” she looked like she wanted to say more, but swallowed hard instead, when she wrapped up her report her voice was raspy with tears, “More on this as it develops, and to hero, wherever you are, I am deeply sorry for your loss, and to us, the people of this city, I am deeply sorry for our loss as well.” 

Somewhere Hero’s phone was ringing, he let it go, checking it to see if by some awful chance they’d missed sidekick’s call, they hadn’t, but they did miss this one, only when it started up again, his burner phone announcing it’s tinny necessity to the world, he groped for it feeling like his arms were full of wet sand. When he flipped it open he couldn’t say anything, it was like his throat had closed, his eyes burned. 

“God hero,” it was vigilante’s voice, gruffer than usual, “I’m going to make them pay for this, I’m leaving right now, I’ll get them I promise you.” 

Hero didn’t say anything, there wasn’t anything to say, there was, however, something to do. 

The hero got to them first. 

Blind with righteous aggression they stormed into the Villain’s base with eyes that already glowed a neon green. Not even having bothered to change into their uniform Hero ripped through the base, destroying everything in his path, not that he could see what he was destroying, his eyes were far too blurred with tears. The tears diffused the neon color, but by the time they reached his chin they were no longer charged with power, just grief. 

“Where are you? You coward!” Hero roared brokenly, “Get out here!” 

A handful of henchmen, all of them covered in ash from the fire rounded the corner, hero recognized the one in the front as the antagonist’s second in command, he grabbed the henchman’s collar lifting them effortlessly into the air before he could turn and get away, henchman had no choice but to grab onto the hero’s forearm as they were lifted. 

“Where are they?” Hero growled, henchman could see the wild and unrestrained grief on the hero’s face. 

“They didn’t mean it, hero you know that,” The henchman’s voice was gentle, their eyes full of regret, “You can’t hurt them,” they were trying to talk some sense into them, this wasn’t like hero at all. 

“Try me!” Hero roared, “Tell me where they are or I’ll–I’ll beat it out of you!” 

“Leave them alone hero,” The antagonist’s voice came from behind hero it was soft, resigned, “I’m right here, I know I can’t hide from this.” 

Hero put henchman back on their feet, they strode over to the antagonist with murder in their eyes, the antagonist flinched when hero grabbed them, but didn’t move away, hero’s red rimmed eyes beginning to glow again, “What right did you have?” Hero choked out brokenly, “they were just a kid, a kid antagonist!” 

The antagonist doesn’t trust their voice, they can’t meet the hero’s eyes. 

Hero shook them, ignoring the sound of henchmen coming up behind them, the antagonist held up a hand their eyes found their second in command, looking on in concern, their hands clenched at their sides, their eyes dark with sorrow, “Go, clear out,” the antagonist commanded over the hero’s shoulder. 

“But…” 

“Go.” The antagonist’s eyes are broken glass, they give away that they know this will be their last order, “No vengeance,” they breathe, “Just get out of here.” 

The henchman swallows hard, but they follow orders, leaving the hero and antagonist together in the ruined base. Their henchman doesn’t look back, it was the kind of goodbye the antagonist figured that they deserve. 

The antagonist’s attention moved back to the hero, tears burned like sand in their eyes, “Go ahead hero,” they whispered, “I won’t stop you.” 

Hero hit them then, letting the antagonist hit the floor, feeling so utterly wrung out by the wrongness of it, by the wrongness of all of this, they let their tears fall freely as they hit the antagonist again, and again, and again. But it didn’t make them feel any better, it wasn’t even really vengeance, hurting the antagonist wasn’t going to make sidekick come back, it wasn’t even revenge, they stopped their attack, hardening their resolve. 

The antagonist struggled back to their feet, a bruise, one of many, forming on their cheekbone, but their eyes are confused, “I said it was okay,” they gesture to the hero’s eyes, “go ahead, nobody will blame you.” 

Hero is staggered by this, even in their raw sorrow, “You want me to kill you?” They’d wanted to kill them when they’d burst in here, they’d been intending to, wanted to blast them until they were little more than a smoldering stain on the linoleum floor, but something was still holding them back, their useless morals, and now the antagonist was asking them for it? 

The antagonist looked away, asking in a small tight voice, “Do I deserve anything else?” 

The hero is not thinking, they want the antagonist to suffer, they want more than anything for sidekick to kick down the door with one of their terrible corny jokes, but that won’t happen, that won’t ever happen again, and that is the antagonist’s fault, maybe they can’t kill them because this isn’t really revenge, maybe the antagonist needs to feel what they do right now. 

“Who’s someone who loves you huh? You monster? Where is there someone who cares about something like you?” Hero asks, their thoughts darkening to something foreign and terrible, thoughts that would keep them up at night for weeks to come.  

In the end it was those questions that broke the antagonist finally, their face screwed up, “This is the end,” they choked out, “do you see anyone here?!” 

Hero swallowed, it was is if they’d been broken out of a trance, taking a half step back from their enemy, scared of what they had been about to do, of what they could be reduced to. 

“I don’t have anyone, nobody will ever love me,” they whispered it like they were realizing it for themselves, then, louder, their voice growing to a shout, ringing full of self-loathing, “In the end …NOBODY WILL EVER LOVE ME!” They force out some mockery of a laugh, broken with pain,” And is that really such a surprise? You both were the sole holdouts, the only ones who’d never called me that. Monster.” the antagonist shuddered, “I don’t even love myself!” they laughed darkly, “HA! Can you imagine?!” Their facade fell then, collapsing to their knees shaking with broken sobs, “How could I? How can you ever care for yourself when no one else ever has cared for you? When no one has ever loved you?” They covered their face with their hands, their body shaking with sobs, “I deserve it, I deserve that title, I proved that tonight! I didn’t want…I didn’t mean…It doesn’t matter!” 

They fixed broken eyes on the hero, “I am a monster, so you’d better kill me, before I have to do it myself!” 

Hero faltered, and because they can’t seem to be able to do anything else, cursing themselves for their own soft heart they drop to the floor and pull the unresistant antagonist into them, they can’t speak over the lump in their throat, but they hold them close, crying tears of their own, not angry anymore, just full of anguish. 

‘I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry hero!” The antagonist sobbed into hero’s shoulder, “I tried to get them! They went back in! I don’t know why!” The hero can’t bring themselves to say anything. 

They sit like that for a while, weeping on the floor of the antagonist’s base, the antagonist crying for what they’d become, for what had happened to sidekick, and the hero crying in grief, both of them mourning what is, what was, and what could never be again. 

After an indistinguishable amount of time, both of them having run out of tears and settled into shell shocked silence, not having moved off of their shared place on the floor, there was a hesitant knock on the door. 

“Boss?” It was the antagonist’s second in command, their voice hesitant,  hero rose on shaky knees, helping the antagonist to their feet wordlessly, the sadness having washed everything away and leaving only exhaustion. The antagonist would have fallen if the hero hadn’t looped their arm around their shoulder, helping them limp to the door. 

“I-I told you to go,” there wasn’t any emotion in the antagonist’s voice, it was a monotone statement. 

“I know, but, um, Sidekick is alive.” 

The antagonist can feel the hero start beside them, “W-what?” Hero croaks out sharply, the antagonist is glad they were able to speak, this time it was their turn to have shock steal their voice completely. 

The henchman pushes the door open, their eyes widen in shock at finding hero still there, let alone finding the antagonist wrapped around them, but they force themselves to look away, clearing their throat, “um, we have it on footage, sidekick left through a secret exit, it looks like they faked their death.” 

“I’m guessing you didn’t know about this?” The antagonist asked hero who looked back at them with wide eyes, they shook their head mutely. 

“What the hell is going on in here!” Vigilante yelled from the doorway, a large weapon clenched in his deft fingers, his eyes were red from crying too, darting from the antagonist to the hero, and back to the antagonist again.  

“Sidekick faked it,” hero stated softly, trance-like, not even moving to let go of the antagonist. 

“Wh-what?!” Vigilante stuttered, dropping the weapon, it clattered noisily on the floor, henchman winced expecting it to go off, when it didn’t they relaxed their shoulders, “yeah, we have the footage,” they repeated, “They were picked up by a limo, and, um,” henchman glanced back at vigilante with a touch of worry, “They looked pretty smug about it too.” 

“What they hell is going on?” Hero wondered out loud, accidentally parroting vigilante. 

“I don’t have any idea,” the antagonist shook their head, “But we need to figure it out.” 

“Together?” vigilante grumbled at the same time as henchman, they were both met with glares from their prospective leaders, one soot stained and bruised, the other who’s eyes just momentarily glinted neon green. 

Together it was.

#HERO X VILLAIN #death #tw suicidal antagonist #whump #emotional whump #crying #grief #beating #bad sidekick I guess??? #twist at the end #Sad #prompt #whump prompt #writing prompt #it's so long #over 2k #sorry #drama #angst #ask answered

[sunevial]

Reflection

Author’s Notes and Commentary

Well, here we are at the end.

When I started writing The Followers, I genuinely didn’t think it would come this far. I wasn’t setting out to write a literal novel’s worth of content (122,655 words between everything before I edit the original Followers fic, to be precise) about some self-insert OCs that some friends and I ended up creating on a whim. When I started with this project, it was supposed to be some fun little things between friends, a little like DMP in that regard: a fun fic writing with friends where plenty of bad things happen. Except like its source material, it turned into something much greater than even its creator could’ve imagined. 

Nearly everything that we came up with was pure speculation, because at the time, DMP didn’t have a lot of solid lore to build a more canon-compliant AU (not that I/we were ever trying to do that in the first place, but I digress). Part of me is a bit sad that I was never able to incorporate other Awakened or even write fics centered around the Awakened as opposed to the Followers; at the time most of this was being written, there simply weren’t enough characters in DMP for me to have a cast I could write with. By the time there were, there was no way I could take on another project of this size. The Followers fit that niche of having a relatively large cast with varying interpersonal dynamics that DMP now has, and at the very least, I am glad to see I was able to predict something in the major narrative.

This being said, as a person, I love making self insert characters for stories and media. In my eyes, if I can see myself or a character I have made interacting with a world someone else has created, that piece of media has made a world that others can see themselves in. Even in its early days, DMP created a world that I felt could be expanded upon beyond what we were explicitly told, which is how the Followers really came to be in the first place. Even if none of it is canon, the lore of the Followers still reasonably fits with the information we were given in Season 1, and that makes me happy.

(No, I’m never updating this to explore what we know as of season 3.)

A lot has changed since I started writing the Followers, and more broadly, writing anything for myself again. For those who didn’t know, I had a lot of hangups writing fanfiction for a long time due to some events in my past, and it wasn’t until DMP that I felt both inspired enough and comfortable enough with the community surrounding it to branch out into fic writing once again. Throughout this two and a half year journey, material and backstory elements were fleshed out behind the scenes, quite a bit of stuff got retconned within the Follower’s AU, and overall, I have quite simply changed as a writer and a person. I’ve made a lot of amazing friends (and a significant other) in this process, interacted with a lot of wonderful people, and in something that surprised even me, some of the DMP cast themselves have read my work. It’s really helped me break out of my shell and branch out into other avenues, and I genuinely don’t know where I’d be without writing the Followers.

So, to everyone who has been here on this journey, whether you helped develop the characters (shout outs to my fellow creators, Onyx, Missfoxx, ArcherOwl, Arahul, CollectorOfMyst, Caaarl, KyleTheWarrior, you guys are sincerely wonderful and amazing people to work with), been an avid fan of the series, or have simply enjoyed watching all of this from the side lines: thank you. I couldn’t have done this alone, and I’m glad to have gone on this journey with you all.

The Followers: Agents of Stories

I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t have a working theme going into this whole novel long journey, but I will be touching on some of the various themes I began to weave into the story as time went on.

The truth matters.

The truth is the single most driving factor throughout the series. Characters uncover each other’s backstories, Young Priest learns the real reason why the stories of the Followers have been so inconsistent, Vincent learns the truth about his wife, and even the readers of this fic learn the truth about the lore I’ve created for this AU. Wanting to know what is really going on is really the driver of any modern narrative, because it’s often the readers who are in the dark since we can only experience things from (typically) one perspective as we read. 

Truth, like history, is often written by the victors and people in power.

Murder God and the Followers are experts at lying. To them, truth is a tool, and whoever knows the truth has the most power. The truth is complicated, the truth is messy, and for beings that powerful, the truth is objectively dangerous. If word gets out Gale is the Witch’s daughter, if too many people know Young Priest’s sister is in the Void, if people learn that Priestess actually cares about Lieutenant, that gives other people power over them. This is where the idea of unreliable narrators also comes into play; there’s simply things that the reader doesn’t know because of who’s POV they’re experiencing the world through and what they’re going to care about letting other people know. They don’t want people to know the truth. I

A story’s message is more important than the truth.

Good narratives and good historical records rarely intersect well. There’s always going to be embellishment, stuff that is left out or skimmed over, or timelines that are changed to better suit the story someone is trying to tell. Because the truth is often written by people in power, it makes sense for the general scope of the narrative to be prioritized over getting every single detail correct. No one actually cares if Witch lost her pregnancy, if Huntress was killed by another god, if Advisor actually feared something happening to him. People care about the Witch, the human who has fallen from grace. People care about the Huntress, bringer of vengeance and the hunt. People care about the Advisor, collector of knowledge and secrets. As long as the mythos is served, who cares about the truth?

General Questions

What is the order the Followers joined?

Old Priestess, Lieutenant, Witch, Bookkeeper, Advisor, Huntress, Part Timer, Young Priest

What do all of the Followers represent in terms of game rolls?

Old Priestess and Lieutenant are the Murderers, Witch is the Witch (you can save someone and you can kill someone), Bookkeeper is the Minion (aids the murderers but does not partake in the killings), Advisor is the Seer, Huntress is the Gunslinger, Part Timer is the Doctor/Bodyguard (protect one person every night), and Young Priest is the Gardener.

How many of the Followers have been replaced?

Less than you think. Witch is the last in a long line of typically human or quasi-immortal witches who didn’t survive. The Young Priest position has changed hands multiple times due to that role actively needing some human morality to work properly, which usually results in minds being broken or rebellions taking place. 

Can Old Priestess and Lieutenant bleed?

Old Priestess, yes. Lieutenant, no, but I suppose he could make blood if he really felt like it.

The Masquerade chapter mentioned something about Priestess having "ichor" that helped stabilize Bookkeepers' blood. What is that quote un quote ichor?

It’s just her own blood. Priestess donated her own blood to help stabilize Bookkeeper.

How many years did it take for Bookkeeper’s legs to heal? Are there any scars?

Time doesn’t really exist in the Void, but if I had to put a number to it, about ten years. There are some very small scars, but they’re not easy to see. Bookkeeper also never wears anything that isn’t long sleeved, so take that as you will.

Could you stick your hand through Part Timer’s eye hole? How does he function with half of his skin gone? Does he get blood everywhere?

Yes, you can, but you’d soon hit red strings. His muscle tissue and bones are held together with magic and magic alone, so his ‘undead’ side needs blood only in the vaguest sense. That being said, his clothes are almost always bloodstained to some extent, so that blood has to come from somewhere.

What are the Followers’ opinions on sleeping? Do any of them need sleep?

None of them need sleep. Most of them are too busy to ever want sleep. Huntress occasionally lies down for a nap, and Witch slept a fair bit while she was raising Gale.

How do Advisor's…emotion switches work? Could they get unwillingly triggered by something?

The switches are more metaphorical. The idea is that since he understands how emotions are processed and created and how he responds to them, he can willingly enable or disable his ability to feel them. This also means he can, in theory, control his mood at all given times. However, as shown in Inter Spem et Metum, if he has had no reason to experience a certain emotion until that exact moment, it can temporarily render that control useless, as he doesn’t know enough about it to control it.

Can any of them get sick? If yes, what could cause it and how would they get better?

Biological illness, no. Curse based illnesses, yes. Typically if one of them were to get cursed by something strong enough to hold, Witch would be the one to break it. She’s their primary curse breaker. If Witch gets cursed, the others know enough about curse breaking to get her out of it.

Can they get sick from something their own bodies do (ie. hives from stress, allergies)?

Almost all of their bodies are so infused with magic that most problems that would plague mortals aren’t as much of a concern. It would be a little bit like, say, Aphrodite getting hives from stress. While she might look human, she’s definitely not, and a lot of the problems that come with being human don’t apply.

When did Retribution take place?

Before Part Timer joined. That’s the closest to an actual answer you’re going to get.

How many of the Followers actually know each other’s stories?

Everyone has an inkling of the truth of the others, but only Witch and Bookkeeper have let the others know their full story. Bookkeeper has never really cared, and Witch was all but forced to tell her full story. 

Are there any ships that the creators ship among the Followers?

Old Priestess and Lieutenant is shipped by Old Priestess’s creator (Missfoxx), Lieutenant’s creator (Onyx), and me. It’ll never be canon, because Lieutenant doesn’t know what love feels like and Old Priestess will never admit her own feelings, but it is a strong ship between the three of us. Bookkeeper’s creator (Caaarl) and I actually ship Bookkeeper and Witch due to their unspoken bond they developed being the only former humans amongst ancient deities and eldritch entities. Again, non canon, but it’s definitely an exploration for both of us how the two of them would cope with such traumatic transformations.    

What actually happened with Vincent’s wish in Chapter 20?

This was intentionally left vague due to it being from Vincent’s point of view, and Vincent calls himself not a smart man. Essentially, Murder God and the Followers caused a timeline divergence due to their canon ability to fuck up timelines as they so desire. Gale still married Vincent Marshall Reid, but he simply just died in the war overseas and never took Murder God’s deal. Vincent Marshall Reid of DMP canon instead grew up in West Virginia and married Abigail Crane. Essentially, the two of them exist in different timelines now, unable to ever interact again in any meaningful way.

Is Gale going to be okay?

Gale is Witch’s daughter. Witch refuses to let Gale get mixed up with the cults. Even with her current actions and making a deal with Murder God, Gale is considered a free agent and always will be a free agent. She and the kids will be fine. Star sickness isn’t a thing in the Followers AU either, so she won’t be coughing up goop.

What is actually going to happen to Young Priest in Chapter 21?

That’s meant for reader speculation; part of the horror of the Followers is not knowing specifically what they’re willing to do to someone and how far they’re willing to go to make someone into the image they need. I’ll probably expand on how I think he turns out once everything has been done to him, but I can tell you this. His eyes are turned a solid sparkling blue.

#the followers #the strings that bind us together #don't read this until you've read chapter 21 #or do #there's spoilers under the readmore

[izcana]

Tommy and the Newt Pt. 4

Sorry, this chapter came a bit later than usual! I was thinking about the plotline again and I've realised that I might have neglected to plan out a storyline when I started writing this...but to be fair, I figured that it would be fine since I'm mostly going along with Beauty and the Beast's timeline. Well, apparently, it's harder than it looks to combine the films and animation with a whole different fandom and to add the appropriate character substitutions and all of that (I won't bore you with the details).

A piece of advice for all of you writers who want to write fairytale AUs – don't start planning when you're in the middle of a piece. Frankly, I think it must be annoying for the readers (which in this case, is you guys – I assume you're annoyed, at least, I would be) and it was very irresponsible of me to do so. You may think it'll be easy since you're going with a fairytale AU , but it's not. It wasn't for me, and it won't be for many other people (though you're lucky if it's easy for you :). Seriously, trust me; it's so much easier if you get your act together and make a plan before you start something, and that applies to most situations as well. Life long lesson right here, guys...

***

The boy (I recall the old man called him Thomas?)'s mouth gaped, though he did not gasp. He understood. How could anyone not gasp at the monstrosity that was him?

"The-The r-rose," the boy - Thomas - stammered, seemingly losing his voice. "It's my fault. I asked for it." The liquid amber eyes glanced defiantly at him and his heart leapt to his throat.

For the first time, Newt finally got a sharp glimpse of the boy. He had feminine features: warm, honey eyes that sparkled with mischief; long, fanning eyelashes that curved onto the flushed apples of his cheekbones; exquisite, milky skin dotted with the most fragile of beauty marks; tousled, chocolate brown hair; perfect, plump, cupid brow lips that wobbled – it was tempting to bite into the roseate swell of the juicy flesh; the inquisitive fire of his stance, the ridged edges of his collarbones gleaming as he knelt, glancing at Newt with little fear.

Never had someone been so elegant as to wax poetry about them, but Thomas merited it. He was an exquisite, delicate beauty, indeed.

"If-If I stayed here instead of Papa, would you let him go?" Thomas pleaded, his golden eyes enlarging more. An iridescent tear slipped out of his fluttering lids. "Please?"

"Tom, no!" The old man screeched, his voice resounding in the dungeon. "I am old whereas you still have your whole life left."

Thomas ignored him. "Yes," Newt agreed easily, fixing his frozen face into the usual mask of hostility and indifference. The questioning doe-like eyes peered at Newt again from under his eyelashes, and although Newt knew he could not read my eloquence, he felt as if Thomas was staring into his very soul, unveiled for all to see. The deep, penetrating eyes from the eyes on fire lit a fuse in him, but it was getting out of hand. Newt was no longer in control of that fire.

Vaguely, behind him, he was aware of Minho waving one of his candles on the ledge. "That boy could be the one!" He whispered to Gally, who grunted in response.

It was not only Newt who heard it, though, as Thomas turned his eyes to the shelf as well. Minho went still, but he would find out anyway. "What-What was that?" Thomas asked regardless.

Newt scowled, my facial muscles relaxing into their now-usual stance. He yanked the door of the cell roughly, pulling the man out by his shirt. "Get in."

Thomas' lower lip quivered even more, and he looked like he was about to cry. "But...You didn't let me say goodbye," Thomas murmured mechanically. "Are you really that heartless?" He asked, rhetorically, and Newt felt myself shatter even more at the pure sorrow in his voice.

He groaned. "1 minute. Once this door closes, it will not open again." He returned the man, dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. "1 minute," Newt repeated again.

As void of emotion and care as Newt now was, he turned around to give the son and father pair some privacy. They would not be seeing each other in a long time.

"He could be the one," Minho whispered again into the darkness, masked from the pair by the chatters of reassurances and tears. "You have to hope, Newt."

He frowned at Minho. "It would never work," Newt grunted, but left it at that.

One minute was up. "Time is up," Newt growled, pulling the man by his shirt again.

"No, Tom, you can't go!" He yelled desperately, clutching at the bars. "I won't let you. I'll stay, instead."

Thomas' eyes welled with tears. "B-Bye, Papa," he stuttered, and before Newt could blink, he stuck out his foot and landed the man directly onto his shin. "I'm sorry!" He added, locking the dungeon door on himself.

The heartbreaking (even for him) wails of both son and father echoed in the castle.

–––––––––––––––––––––

Thomas glanced to his cell door tearily, blinking back more. Now was not the time to cry. He could do that once the beast has withdrawn.

"Come out," the beast, who had just reaped away his father out snarled, tugging on the door needlessly hard. "Now."

"I thought 'once this door closes, it will not open again'?" Thomas groused, simply incapable of stopping himself. It was presumably going to get him a sentence here and the Beast would change his mind about permitting Thomas out, but hey, what's in the past is in the past...

"Do you want to stay here, then?" The beast, whose name Thomas still hadn't learnt, asked coarsely.

Thomas swallowed his (already wounded) pride. "No."

"Then, come on," the beast said, hauling Thomas up to his feet with a rigid pull. Thomas stumbled up ungracefully, his ineptitude quickly catching up with himself. Before he knew it, he was tripping over his own cloak, scrambling to get up onto his hands and knees. Thomas thought he heard a chortle from somewhere above him, but it must have been tiredness catching up to him, again. The only other person here was Beast and he was definitely not the one who chuckled.

"What should I call you?" Thomas asked once he got up.

The beast didn't bother turning around from the stone foyers. "Why should I tell you?" He (Thomas could tell it was a he) demanded gruffly.

"So, ya know, I have something to call you that's not 'the Beast' or 'Master of This Castle'?" Thomas retorted, trying to blink back his tears that were suddenly racing in at the reminder that he was trapped here. Permanently. "You must not like the first one..." he murmured thoughtfully, levelling his eyes on the Beast's posterior.

"Call me Newt," the Beast – Newt, Thomas corrected himself – mumbled, his voice sinking another octave. "Not that we'll be talking much," he added hastily. Never mind, then...

"Gee, that's a nice attitude," Thomas muttered, groaning at his situation.

"Shut up," Newt deadpanned, giving him a fierce look with his glowing yellow eyes.

Thomas gulped. "Shutting up, now..." He might not be the smartest Shank around, but he wanted to live beyond 16, thank you very much.

"Here is your room," Newt answered stiffly. "You are to stay here. Do not go to the West Wing."

"What's in the West Wing?" Thomas demanded, biting down on his tongue as soon as he opened his mouth.

"None of your business," Newt uttered. He decided not to reply.

******

Once Thomas got to his room, he immediately crumpled onto the bed, not taking note of his surroundings. "Why?" He wailed. "Why me?"

"Honey, I'm sorry," a mellow voice drifted.

Thomas startled. "Who's there?" He didn't see any people. Who had spoken?

"It is I, Teresa," the same voice said again. "The wardrobe," Teresa, apparently, added, groaned disdainfully.

Thomas snapped his head towards the large closet in the corner of the room. "You talk?" He said, his mouth open wide. Though, considering the events of today, he shouldn't really be surprised that of course, there was a talking closet in his room.

"Many of us do," Teresa said, or more alike to singing. Her voice had a harmonic quality to it as if whispered from the depths of the ocean but risen from the tides.

Thomas' knees buckled from underneath him, and he fell onto the carpet. "W-Wha –––"

What was going on? Where was he? There was something about a beast? A Newt? A talking piece of furniture? I-I c-can't...breathe!

"Breathe, sweetheart," someone was whispering, their voice vociferous in the foggy bleakness of Thomas' mind. "How old are you?"

Thomas tilted his head in bewilderment when he heard the inquisition, but he answered it, nonetheless. "I-I'm...16."

"You're doing great, Darling," the same voice replied, and Thomas breathing started to become distinct. "What's your full title?"

"Thomas...Thomas Edison," Thomas panted, his heart palpitating, clutching at his head.

"Very good..." Thomas could feel his vision returning and that was the last thing he remembered before stumbling to the bed and collapsing.

–––––––––––––––––––––

The Beast himself, meanwhile, was walking to the West Wing. The one he told the boy not to go to.

"Newt, just think about it!" Minho's voice, let loose, was grumbling.

"For once, I agree with this Slinthead," Gally called, jabbing his "thumbs" at Minho. "He might be the one."

"Hey!" Minho's voice cut through the silence. "Who are you calling a 'Slinthead', you egoistic Shuck-face?" Both of his candles were waving around all over the place, and it was giving Newt a migraine. Minho was always energetic and turbulent, and that (seemingly) hadn't evolved.

"Shut up, both of you!" Newt's shout rumbled through the entire wing. Both fell deathly silent right away. "I wish to be alone. Please leave."

Both obeyed, but Minho not before casting a sad look behind him at his best friend. "Consider it, Newt. He might be the one."

To be honest, Newt had thought of it (a lot) but he knew it could not happen. Why would the adorable little boy want anything to do with him, a hideous beast? Perhaps, Thomas even had a significant other at home that he had to leave behind because of Newt. Someone as beautiful as Thomas would certainly have suitors lined up around the block.

*****

"Show me the boy," Newt commanded.

The mirror obeyed, as always, and he found himself facing at a brunette boy whose puffy, red-rimmed amber eyes were staring listlessly into the ceiling while Teresa tried her best to comfort him, but Newt could tell it just wasn't enough. "Honey, he's really not that bad," she was saying. "Newt's a great person, honestly, it's just that he –––"

"Kidnapped me and took me away from my only family left?" Thomas spat out. Newt recoiled.

Of course. Why would someone as perfect as Tommy love...a beast?

***

I hope you can tell I spent a lot of time trying to make this special...I spent so much time on Grammarly for this, lol. I'm not sure if I should have stuck with my old schedule, but here's the new one:

Chapter 5: Saturday 28/11/2020 Chapter 6: Monday 30/11/2020 Chapter 7: Wednesday 2/12/2020 Chapter 8: Saturday 5/12/2020 Chapter 9: Monday 7/12/2020 Chapter 10/Epilogue: Wednesday 9/12/2020

If everything goes according to plan...Well, let's just say it means I can start some new fics soon and you guys can start reading the finished story sooner rather than later...

Thanks for sticking around on this hazardous journey!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX| Part X

#thomas as beauty #newt as beast #minho #teresa #gally #jorge is thomas' father #Beauty and the Beast AU #Newt x Thomas #newtmas beauty and the beast AU #newtmas #tommy and the newt

[numberonepapermaker32]

Quarantine Day#3: The Fault in Our Stars Book Review

So, yesterday was Day #2 of the covid-19 quarantine and I spent my day pretty much like this: Buffyverse wikia, reddit, Gilmore Girls, yoga, sleep. Today, I finally finished reading The Fault in Our Stars. I kept it on my to-read list for too long a time, and now I finally see its genius. Here’s the review with spoilers!!

While Hazel fell in love ''the way you fall asleep, slowly, and then all at once,'' I fell in love immediately and all at once. This is, by far, the best book I've read in a long long time. Yeah, I've read some good books. Some greats books, even some excellent books. But this? It is a masterpiece that surpasses time and age. So far, I've read only one book by John Green. I loved it, but I loved it mostly for his wonderful writing, while the topic was so-so. Here, I adored it all. It may seem how one cannot really go wrong with such a strong theme as teenagers dying from cancer, but that's simply not true. This book could've been a cliche, really. But it's not. The simplicity of the language and the depth of meaning make it wonderful. We know from page one the story can only end badly, in the death of our main characters. What I didn't see was Augustus dying before Hazel. Tricky, John Green. Very tricky. And sneaky. It made my cry for the last couple of chapters. Everything that is described, it is done so in such a simple yet profound manner, you can feel the joy and the pain of everyone involved. You can feel Hazel's happiness in everything involving their trip to Amsterdam, her tenderness toward Augustus when he smiles, and Augustus's devotion toward Hazel when he so much as listens to her speak. Then there's the humor, oh the humor... It's excellent, thought-provoking and just brilliant. This book stays with you the way all great writing does - you want to read it again and again, at times you want to burn it to hell because it made you blubber and question everything, but really you just want to re-live it all over again. I'll share some favorite quotes now and leave myself in silence for a while after this unique experience. “Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.” “I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it-or my observation of it—is temporary?” “My name is Hazel. Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life.” “There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.” “But it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he has Cassius note, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves.” “Without pain, how could we know joy?′ This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.” “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.” “I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way, it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space.” “I’m a grenade,” I said again. “I just want to stay away from people and read books and think.” “There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this will have been for naught.” “Oh, I wouldn’t mind, Hazel Grace. It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.” “You have a choice in this world, I believe, about how to tell sad stories, and we made the funny choice.” “Our fearlessness shall be our secret weapon.” “All your attempts to save yourself from me will fail.” “I will not tell you our love story, because—like all real love stories—it will die with us, as it should.” “You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.” “Only now that I loved a grenade did I understand the foolishness of trying to save others from my own impending fragmentation: I couldn’t unlove Augustus Waters. And I didn’t want to.”

#quarantine #book review #the fault in our stars

[drabblingnonsenseofthings]

Best Friends

A/N: I’m just a drabble writer! Something small and quick to get off my mind and something to share with the fellow fans of the fandom :) I hope you do enjoy! I do not take any requests! Since I drabble on my current obsessions :)

Ignore any grammar mistakes, I got lazy.

Super cliche but you can’t stop me 8D

Best Friends

Kihyun/Reader Word Count: 2700+

Breakups are hard. Especially if since it was a one sided breakup. That's why you're glad to have a best friend to comfort you when you're down in the dumps over some guy who decided to break your heart.

"Thanks Kihyun. I definitely needed someone today. I just don't understand why he decided to do that. Am I not enough?" You groaned and curled into Kihyun's embrace on the loveseat in your apartment. “He just doesn’t see what I see, okay. He’s losing a great woman. His loss.” Kihyun said as he holds you closer.

You and Kihyun are both curled up on the couch binging a show on Netflix together. The one thing you normally do when you’re heartbroken. Also one of the rare times he has to see you when he’s not traveling around the world for his tour and promotions. This was weeks before he had to start Monsta X’s world tour. You loved the days that you both can do nothing but binge a show and relax. He’s an idol. And you’re busy with your work life. 

“Screw him. All I need is you, Kihyun. Plus you’re leaving me for like three months, how could you. I need to have all my Kiki time I can get before I won’t see your face for so long. How am I going to even last.” You whined and hold him tighter. You felt him laughing. “You should come to one of the shows then. You already went to the first show, why not the last US show? Cause I’ll miss your face too.” He said while playing with the ends of your hair. “If I got the time, I will. But otherwise you need to keep messaging me every day and send what you’re eating cause no matter what I’m going to get jealous for going overseas.” You were jealous of Kihyun being able to go everywhere and eat everything.

“Wow, you’re getting jealous of me cause of the food? Woooow.” He threw out an exasperated sigh. “I’m jealous of the food. You’re not going to even miss me.” He pouted. “Nah. Of course I’m going to miss you. But real talk. I’m jealous that you get to eat food. Speaking of food, we should eat something. We’ve potato’d long enough.” You got up from Kihyun’s arms and pulled out your phone.

“Should we order food? Chicken?” 

-

Kihyun left for his World Tour. You were definitely lonely without your best friend. It’s like a giant void. He does try and keep you updated on where he’s at. You would talk at odd times of the day when you can. He tells you that when they got to Europe, Hyungwon fell sick. He told you everything and sent photos in mass loads when he can. The thing he never forgets is to say, “Good Morning” and “Good Night”. 

What did you deserve to have a Kihyun in your life?

Within the month he was gone, you tried to fill the void he left. Such as going out on dates again. You were still sad about the last break up but life moves on, so do you. 

The new dates never prevailed though. You kept comparing your date to Kihyun. This was one of the longest times he had to leave without coming back. 

After a month of him leaving this time around, you realized. You were in love with your best friend. You fell for the most typical thing. Falling in love with your best friend.

And magically you decided to just book a ticket to Los Angeles, after begging your boss for a week off. You wanted to surprise him by showing up at the concert. You kept in contact with the one person who can hold a secret, Changkyun. He helped you get the concert ticket being as sly as he can be to get a backstage pass for you. 

Changkyun helped you fully realize what your feelings were towards Kihyun. And he fully supported it. Changkyun also kept you updated on Kihyun as well. How he does become sad when he misses you. He talks a lot about you when you both are apart from each other.

-

The concert day arrived. You arrived at the venue early to meet up with Changkyun before soundcheck. They did rehearsals the day before. After meeting up with Changkyun, he sat you down for a little bit.

“I’m not sure if hyung said anything to you last night. But he fell in rehearsals and fractured his ribs. He probably didn’t say anything to you because he didn’t want to worry you.” Changkyun told you quietly. You stared at him like he had three heads. “.... That idiot. No, he didn’t say anything like that at all to me yesterday.” You sighed. Your heart feeling really heavy with worry.

“Wouldn’t this affect the concert? He shouldn’t be able to perform. He went to the hospital right? Ugh I hope he’s okay. He didn’t even tell me this. What is wrong with him?” You threw one too many questions at Changkyun. He looked a little solemn at the situation. “Well, he insisted to perform sitting down. He is very persistent on this stage. Because it’s the Staples Center. The stage we all wanted to stand on together.” You bit your lip. He wasn’t wrong. If Kihyun didn’t perform on this dream stage, he would regret it for the rest of his life. 

“There will be a doctor on site for the concert, and he’ll be on some strong painkillers at least. But he will have to rest and sit out on the rest of the L.A. schedule.” Changkyun told you. He looked at his phone and stood up. “I need to get going before it too suspicious on me leaving for a long amount of time. The other hyungs besides Kihyun-hyung knows that you’re here. I told them last night. If you have any problems getting in, call me.” Changkyun waved you off and ran off into the venue. 

You debated if you wanted to go in the venue early and scold Kihyun for not telling you that he got hurt. You ended up just sitting there contemplating on what you’re going to do when you see Kihyun in person after 2 and a half months. 

Get mad at him for not telling you that he got hurt?

Confess your feelings for him before the show?

Not see him at all until the concert starts, so he stays focused and not hurt himself even more?

You groaned and laid your head down on the table. You want to see him but you realized you should really wait until after the show to see him. He might see you in the crowd anyways. He knows how to always find you.

With that thought in mind, you decided to go see him anyways. You’re worried that he will over exert himself on his injury. A little scolding doesn’t hurt.

Strolling through security and into the backstage area, you manage to not get too lost on maneuvering around to the backstage area. You’ve seen a few familiar faces but not alot. Eventually you bumped into Jooheon who was playing with his niece Oli. Jooheon’s face lit up and directed you where Kihyun is without disrupting his play time with his niece. 

Your heart felt heavy at the same time fluttering being able to see the best friend you fell in love with. You knocked on the door lightly and waited before hearing a confirmation on the other side.

You peeked your head in, and see that Kihyun was laying down, not in his full stage outfit resting on the couch that was provided. He had his eyes closed but you can see him breathing slowly to reduce the pain from his chest.

“Hey.” You said. And immediately Kihyun whipped his head over towards you with a giant shock. Struggling to get up safely to greet you better, but the pain got the better of him and he groans out, plopping back down on the couch. “Yah. Stay down you idiot. I don’t want you worse before your show. Why didn’t you tell me you hurt yourself?” You said as you pulled up a chair to sit next to him by the couch.

“You didn’t tell me that you were coming.” He pouted. You rolled your eyes at him. “Because it was a surprise. My surprise was getting news of you hurting yourself.” He pouted and looked away. “I just didn’t want you to worry. Granted you would’ve gotten really mad if you learned it from the official post the company is going to post soon.” He said as he looked elsewhere besides your face. Sighing away, you grabbed Kihyun’s hand that rested on his chest and rubbed it softly. A little dry due to the weather, but it’s Kihyun in front of you, still alive.

“Just let me know next time.. You make me worried. I miss you, ya know.” Mindlessly rubbing your fingers on his hand, like your hands are trying to memorize his hands like it’s the last thing on Earth. You didn’t notice that he was staring at you as you started talking again. “I begged my boss for a week off to see you. Be happy about that. I’m happy I’m here to see you but I can’t even hug you after not seeing you for so long cause you’re hurt. All I can do right now is to hold your hand but it’s not enough for me.” You ranted. 

You were definitely in love with Kihyun. 

Never feeling like this before, where you want to cry after seeing someone you love, in pain.

“Don’t just lay there, say something Kihyun…” You pouted and looked up at him and locked eyes with him. His face was definitely pink. You can see a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. You bit your lip in resistance because of your heart about to burst out of your chest. 

Kihyun opens and closes his mouth a few times and swallowed. His heart felt so full. He can’t form the words to say to Y/N. “I…--” 

Suddenly interrupted by Minhyuk who opened the door abruptly. “Ah! Y/N you’re here! Thank god. Kihyun would not shut up how much he missed you. I kept telling him to tell--” Minhyuk rambled on and Kihyun panicked. “MINHYUK. What is that you need?” Kihyun interrupted his monologue. But also took his hand away from Y/N because he shouldn’t have yelled like that cause the pain just shot up quick. The interruption from Minhyuk quelled down his feelings.

You were a little shocked from the outburst from Kihyun because it was a lot louder than he should have shouted. You glared at him and he gave a small ‘oops’ grin. “Oh what was I here for again? RIGHT. We need to get ready. Show starts in 45 minutes! Gotta finish putting costumes on and we gotta take some pictures and get ready!” Minhyuk said helped Kihyun up from the couch. You helped out as well. 

“I’ll go see the other guys. Go get ready first. I’ll talk to you later.” You waved him off as he gets kidnapped by Minhyuk off to the coordi. 

-

You got to see Monsta X as a full group and completely dressed. You gave them your luck and told them that you’ll go out with the crowd to watch the stage from the frontal view from the General Standing with the rest of the Monbebes.

As the concert progressed you do see the chair dedicated for Kihyun. And everytime he stood up, you wished you could go on the stage and tell him to sit his injured butt back down. You were pretty sure almost everyone else who saw the message also was like that man needs to sit down. 

You were proud of him though. Withstanding the pain from his chest to show his compassion for the LA show to the Monbebes at the venue and those who were watching on VLive around the world. You definitely could not keep your eyes off of him though. His unit stage, where he literally looked like a boss. His body rolls, that he shouldn’t be doing at all, during Oh My. His high notes during any song. The love in his eyes for Monbebes.

That’s your best friend. On stage being the best he can be for his fans. The one and only Yoo Kihyun. 

Right before the show ended, you went backstage to greet them and congratulate them on a wonderful show before greeting the Monbebes for their event. 

When they all came back, they all had a sad smile because it was their last show for the US tour. They see the end of their concert tour. Of course they were greeted immediately by their makeup crew and coordi. Kihyun was seen by the doctors immediately after the stage, making sure everything is ok with him because he has definitely overexerted himself for sure. After he was attended to. He was to sit down before the hi-touch event. 

Kihyun had waved you over and grabbed your hands as soon as you came within vicinity. Everyone else was prepping for the hi-touch. He looked up at you, since you were standing in front of him. There was a certain look in his eyes that you couldn’t pin down. You looked a little confused, but at the same time, your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast.

“I wanted to tell you something before Minhyuk interrupted before the show.” Kihyun said, then started to mimic the way you were playing with his hands before the show. 

“We’re best friends right?” He asked. You simply nodded. “What happens if I… If I want to be more than that?” He looked straight into your eyes like he was trying to find the answer that question. “I love you, Y/N. Like more than a best friend. These past almost 3 months have been painfully hard for me. I knew in my heart I loved you, I was just in a lot of denial. I missed you too much and nagged the guys to the point they figured out that I like you. ALOT. Soooo… will you do the honors and be my girlfriend?” He whispered to a point no one else around us can hear him but just you. 

You wanted to jump on him and say yes. You had to soak all of that in. Yoo Kihyun confessed first. He asked first. You opened your mouth but your words couldn’t come out. He looked slightly worried since you haven’t moved or said anything in a disturbing amount of time. “Are you breathing, Y/N?” He questioned your state. “Yes.” That’s all you can manage out of your mouth at that moment. “On both.”

“I like like you too, Kihyun. I love you more than a best friend.. It took me those months as well to figure out that I liked you a lot as well.” You whispered to him as well. You can feel your face burn up quickly into a blush. You looked away from his face but he just moves with you to see your reaction. And all you can see is Kihyun’s big grin and pink ears from his sudden confession. His hands gripped a little harder.

“Wow can’t believe we both fell for the best friend trope.” Kihyun remarked. “I’d kiss you right now but that’s not a good idea.” He grinned. “Of course it isn’t a good idea. We’re surrounded by too many people.” You told him while swinging his arms gently back and forth. 

“Also Kiki. Do Monbebes, me, and a doctor a favor. And sit your ass down more often. You know many times I’ve heard, ‘Kihyun, sit your ass back down’ at the concert. Too many. But otherwise, you did wonderful. I love the show. It was amazing, even if you messed up a little bit.” You told him and stuck your tongue out at the end of your little rant. He gave you a little face. "Don't remind me. Everyone else has laughed at me for it." Kihyun whined. "But what are best friends for?" You remarked and winked back.

#monsta x #monstax #monsta x scenarios #yoo kihyun #kihyun #kihyun scenarios #imwhippedforkihyunplssaveme

[maximusthewolfe]

hope in the hopeless

Time Dwarf gets a sandwich. Margo and Eliot go camping. 

Also on AO3

It took Eliot too long to realize that Margo was gone. To more accurately define “too long” in this particular fiasco: it took a slide to the center of the Earth, ham sandwich in hand to exchange for as many psychedelic Fillorian cave mushrooms as he could carry, a gloriously freeing trip that started somewhere around minute 45 of the slide back up to the surface, and a quiet, aching hollow that told him he needed more mushrooms to realize that Margo was gone.

He weighed a mushroom in his hand, staring at it like it held answers to questions he was too chickenshit to ask, before he shoved it back in his pocket and pulled out his flask instead. "Bambi, you better be grateful for this," he muttered under his breath before throwing his head back and gulping greedily. After drinking until he coughed from the burn in his throat, he capped the flask and set off in the direction of the dungeons. It was the only place he could imagine her being. Even on Margo's most furious days, she'd never stayed angry at him this long.

Annoyed, frustrated, and terrifyingly close to sober, Eliot twisted his fingers expertly, blowing the guards at the front of the dungeons away without a second thought. They hit opposing walls like rag dolls and if they were unconscious or dead, he didn't really give a damn.

"This is a little melodramatic, don't you think? Even for us," he mused when he found Margo, clinging to a drab piece of cloth on a cold, stone bench.

"Get me the fuck out of here, would you?" Margo hissed, standing from the bench and meeting Eliot at the bars of her cell.

Eliot knew Fillory wasn't really one for progress, but he thought maybe three centuries would have brought a little more advancement in the way of holding cells. He supposed he should be blessing the kingdom's ridiculous, archaic ways for making this so easy. He glanced up at her for the first time since her dramatic exit. There was a tension in Margo's brow, a tired, sad something in her eyes that hurt for Eliot to look too closely at. Hurt even more to think he might have caused it.

"You sure you don't need a little more alone time?" Eliot sniped, already raising the ring of keys he'd levitated off one of the immobile guards.

"I'm not alone, that's the fucking problem," Margo said, glancing back at the concrete bench. Another quip about fairy overlords being so 300 years ago danced on the tip of his tongue when a strange static filled the air in the cell and, with a few flickering spasms of light, there was Josh.

Oh.

With haste he hadn't felt since returning to his body, he rushed forward, slotting the key into place and turning it, opening the gate and tugging Margo out by the wrist just as he heard Josh's worried, quiet voice echo.

Margo, wherever you are.

"Time for our grand exit," Eliot said, raising his voice to drown out whatever came next. He pretended not to feel the way Margo's shoulders shuddered under his arms as he led them out and hurried them away from the castle.

They were settled somewhere in the Darkling Woods by the time the suns started to set. Margo started a fire with her fingers in record time and with impressively explosive results. Eliot tried not to think of what allowed that power. Eliot tried not to think of a lot of things. He stood from the log he was perched on and walked away from the roaring flames, turning to face the darkness of the wilds around him. He reached into his pocket and broke off a piece of mushroom, and quickly popped it into his mouth.

Eliot didn't want to take away Margo's chance at happiness, not really. But she was all he had, now. He'd seen the pain on her face in that cell. Seen the toll it had taken on her. And here he was, cursing her for it. Cursing the fact that she'd been visited by the trauma ghost of about-to-be-beheaded Josh because it was something. It was more than he would ever see.

"At least you get that," he wanted to say.

He wanted to scream it, to shout until his throat was raw about how she had real memories, from this timeline. About how she had the opportunity to make the right choice, and she did. About how he would give anything including the pathetic, bourbon-washed excuse for a life he was drowning in now, to be visited by the ghost of Q. But that wasn't the kind of thing you got when the man you loved didn't just die - he was obliterated.

All Eliot had was a memory of cowardice. A flash of what he prayed was hope in a short-lived freedom. And something he wished he could forget.

It was right after he'd returned to his body. Right after cooperative magic and Margo's insane desert axes saved his life and almost ended it. Margo was the sweetest thing he could have hoped to see in that moment. Her saving him, it was the image he was clinging to for however long he was trapped inside his own mind. She was everything, everything, everything. His Bambi had saved him. What he hadn't dared to hope for, though, that surprised him. His eyes shifted, just past Margo's shoulder, and there he was. Right there. Almost within reach, if he had any abdominal muscles left to speak of.

Fierce, determined, inimitable Q. Tutting like the world depended on it. Tutting like it was the last thing he would ever do. Both were true, as it turned out.

Eliot remembered looking, staring, drinking in the sight of him. It was equal parts heartbreaking and life-affirming. The kind of feeling that started somewhere beneath the giant gash in his stomach and grew, glowing and brilliant, until he felt like it was pouring out of every piece of him. The kind of thing he assumed all the Renaissance writers were on about all those years.

Peaches and plums. Let's try again.

It was there, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. He was sure it would burst out of him if only Quentin would look over at him.

But he never did. Whatever ancient, unstoppable essence the monster was made of after the axe slashed through him filtered into the bottle and Quentin capped it, grabbed it, lightning-fast. His jaw was set. He hiked the strap of the bottle over his shoulder. Penny popped in. Quentin nodded. The muscle just below his temple flexed, restrained. So much restraint. Then they were gone and the vignette of Eliot's vision faded to black. When he woke up, Q was gone.

Hopeless.

He didn't want to tell Margo that this was hopeless. After everything she'd done to save him. After everything she was still doing to try and bring him back from yet another brink. She deserved to know he wasn't giving up. But hopeless was the only thing he felt. It was a hungry, vicious void inside of him that refused to be sated. It wanted only to consume everything inside of him, everything around him, until he existed in a black hole that felt as insistently, pervasively empty as the hopelessness itself. Empty, he thought, might be better.

He returned to the fire, ignoring the flickering against Margo's sorrow-lined face and how familiar it looked. Ignored the phantom fuzz of a fucking stone fruit in his fingertips as he sat down beside her.

"I'm not giving up," Margo said, resolute.

When they were first years, there was a night, basked in the warmth of red wine and before apocalypse was their baseline state of existence, when Margo looked up at him, her head in his lap, and smiled. Eliot had asked what dirty things she was dreaming up, and Margo had laughed, a softer laugh than he'd ever heard out of his sharp-edged Bambi. "I think I need you," she'd said. At the time, he'd grinned back and waved a hand in the air for vague emphasis. "Of course you do. I'm fucking fabulous," he'd quipped back. But he'd never understood why she said that. Margo fought for what she wanted. He was fairly certain he'd never been resolute about anything other than ascots and alcohol. Eliot needed Margo far more than Margo needed Eliot, from where he stood.

"I know," he said finally, shoving away the memory as the crackling of the fire reminded him they weren’t in the Physical Kids’ Cottage. They weren’t lying on the floor in a too-damp forest. They were here, now, in a reality he was ready to forget.

His muscles were starting to loosen up, his thoughts slipping through the spaces in his mind that the mushrooms created. He was moments away from losing himself in the sway of the fire or the rustle of the leaves on the trees just beyond it. He needed the escape, needed to feel fine again. But he could give Margo something before he slipped into sweet, sweet oblivion. He wanted to. Needed to. Hopelessness wouldn't stop tugging at his ankles, grasping at his wrists and beckoning him into its dark embrace. But if he couldn't fulfill his promise the way he had intended, maybe he could get somewhere close. If Margo needed him, maybe he could, for once, let himself be needed.

Be braver.

"We'll find a way," he said. Margo slid her hand over to cover one of his, and maybe it was the mushrooms slowly leeching away his pain and replacing it with a technicolor version of the wind and the sky, but there was something about the way she squeezed his fingers that said he'd finally done something right.

It wasn't enough, but it could be enough for now.

#the magicians #tv: the magicians #eliot waugh ff #eliot waugh fanfiction #the magicians fanfiction #the magicians ff #eliot waugh #margo hanson #fillory #s5 #5x01 #the magicians 5x01

[ashe-cat]

Thunderstorms Ch. Prequel

Tempest

So here it is, the first chapter to my first fanfic. I’m no writer so if anyone has any advice for me I’ll gladly take it! If youre a Dragon age fan you probably be able to understand whats being said!  You can also read it here on AO3. 

Also shout to friend @karumasa for helping me when she could, and also shout my favorite orc writers, @morphinetune @dust-bun @seventyfiveapples and @bonnietakesnosh-t . After writing this chapter I have stronger appreciation for what you guys do as writer, writing isn’t as easy as it seems!

  It has always amazed me how quickly a person's life can change; almost like a thunderstorm. It starts off small, but then slowly builds into a crescendo of powerful emotions.  Building upon every life changing event, till finally reaching one's pinnacle of serenity and understanding.

My great grandmother once told me that thunderstorms brought our family luck. She said with storms, they brought rains that could wash away all of our sadness, our pain, and all our troubles. They were our sign of clarity and rebirth.

My rebirth….

……………………………………………………

…………………….

………

…

Rain is believed to have a calming effect on people; from the spine tingling sensation when it hits the body just right, to the way it's soft thrum lulls the spirit. Sadly it seemed that the downpour outside of the car could not even begin to quell the storm of emotions brewing in a young mother heart. Her heart felt more cold and dreary than the starless night that she and her companion were driving through. The only thing that gave her solace and anchored her to reality was the shallow breathing of a child. Her child. She often found herself staring and holding her own breath, every time there pause between breaths she couldn't the sinking feeling in her gut

wondering “will this be my child last breath!?”.

“She's going to be alright Aminata, she's stable now.” As if a spell had been lifted, Aminata instantly turned to whom the deep velvety voice belonged to.

“I'm worried for you, love. You both have a long journey head and you haven't slept since we started.”

Offering him a small smile she finally turned back to face the window “I can't… I keep have this feeling she won't make it through night. Are sure she's alright Fenrir?”

As if to calm even his rising doubt, he briefly viewed the child's condition through the rear mirror.

“I'm sure, and the crystal will ensure she's stable until we reached the checkpoint. Once we reached the house I'll finish the healing process.  He replied, taking hold of her and giving a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Until then rest my love, we only have an hour left”

Letting out a soft whimper Aminata slowly allowed herself to succumb to exhaustion.

………………………………………………………..

…………………..

…….

Aminata wasn't sure what woke her first, it was either the SUV coming to a stop or the labored breathing coming from the back seat. Whatever it was she knew without a doubt something wasn't right.

“Fenrir!!”

“Shhh… It's okay Ami, we're here.” Fenrir quickly replied, trying to calm her by taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Grab your things, I'll grab da'len and bring her to the house.”

Before she was completely out of his reach, Fenrir pulled her into a quick embrace.

“I know this is happening all too quickly and I can only imagine how frighten you must be but… Var lath vir suledin… I promise.”

Moved beyond words all Aminata could do was tighten her embrace on him. Letting him go, she gathered her things and headed towards the house. After watching her leave Fenrir finally made his way to the SUV’s back passenger door, opening the door it was clear to him that the child inside was deteriorating fast. Time was of the essence and he needed to move the child to house now in order to treat her. With the utmost care he carefully gathered the child in his arms and began heading towards to the house.

For being only a short distance from the vehicle to the house, time itself seem to stretch on for eternity. They had been traveling for a better part of a week, and all along the way they were met with some setbacks. Even with all of those setbacks none of them felt as difficult as this short walk.

All Fenrir wanted to do was breath a sigh of relief that the journey was over, but that was then furthest thing from the truth. So many emotions filtered through his mind, the prominent being guilt and dread.

The sense of trepidation within him was so strong, that Fenrir swore one could hear the thundering of his heart. He was so overwhelmed with all possibilities the next few hours had in store for him.. and his da'len.

His poor, sweet da'len. She was just shy of her fifth birthday, she was already shaping to be a beautiful and intelligent woman. Looking at her now though, one could only see a mere husk of her former self.It made Fenrir's heart ache to witness her in this state. Skin that once a rich and warm as fresh coffee with cream, was now more of a ashen gray with black splotches scattered about, and those beautiful. Eyes that once held color that could rival any dusk sunset; now looking upon them was like looking at the reflection of the dark grey void of despair locked within his heart.

Lost in his inner turmoil, that Fenrir barely noticed small hands grazing the ends of his shoulder length hair. Large sunken grey eyes stared up at him, and it took all of his willpower not to break down on the spot.

“Da’len you're awake!!” he exclaimed gently, while moving a tassel of curls. “Everything is going to be okay soon, I promise.”

He was so captivated with those eyes that he hadn't even realized he had taken the last few steps towards the house. Tearing his eyes from the child he became aware of a smartly dressed woman waiting for them on the porch.

“Fen'Harel ma ghilana. It's time Fenrir… are you ready?” the woman asked quietly, all while her gaze quickly flickered between him and the child.

“Ghil-Dirthalen. I am, but..” he replied, glancing quickly down at the child only to stare back at the woman.  “Give me a moment.. Please.”

With a small smile and a nod, the woman turned and receded back into the shadows of the house.

This was it, there was no place to go but forward. The next few hours held no certainties of anything promising. So with these scarce minutes he wanted them to mean something.

“Ma vhenan.”

Recognizing that he was addressing her, the child stopped her play with his hair and gave him her full attention.

“Thing a are going to very different from now, but I want you to know that no matter what I… As latha ma vhenan, and I always will.”

For being just a child it was amazing to see just how intuitive she was. She may not fully understand what was going on, but she knew well enough that something wasn't right. Her large eyes instantly swelled with tears and Fenrir did his best to prevent them from falling.

“Shhh, vhenan, everything is going to be fine, I promise. Remember I'm your abo, and I'll do anything to protect you.”

Out of his peripheral vision he could see that someone was once again in the doorway. It was time. With a heavy sigh, Fenrir gathered the child as close as possible to him. If these were truly their last moments, then he wanted to able to remember the way she felt in his arms and the way she smelled.

“I love you and I always will my little Cerrid………… 

………………

..

“DWEN! CERRIDWEN!! CERRIDWEN ATIENA ANDUNË!!! Honey it's time to wake up!!” came a annoyed feminine voice, muffled by the bedroom door.

Letting out a long groan, Cerridwen rolled in bed and sat up to face the door. Not even bothering to turn off the obnoxious artificial  crowing coming from her phone.

“You can come in momma.” She replied releasing a long yawn in the process.

Walking in and clearly annoyed with her daughter, Aminata picked up the phone and promptly silenced the offensive alarm.

“I swear Cerri if you're not going to wake up when your alarm goes off why bother setting one. The stupid thing been going off for… Cerri, love are you alright? Why are you crying?” Aminata asked, her face and voice instantly softening when saw her daughter's face.

“Huh” touching her face, Cerri became aware that she had indeed been crying, and pretty hard if her swollen eyelids were anything to go by.

“ Love did something happened, are you pain? Is your chest bothering you again?”Aminata asked tenderly, seating herself on the bed next to Cerri and slowly wiping away her tears.

“No, I'm fine mom I just had a weird dream.”

“What did you dream about?

Thinking for a moment, her expression went from blank to utter confusion. Looking at her mom's concerned face, Cerridwen opened her mouth as if to say something, to only then close it and turn towards the window. Watching the first few drops of rain hit the glass.

“That's just it mom…”

                                        I don't remember...

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