#life in the maybe-never-was past is pretty vibrant! there are lots of different peoples living in all kinds of places.

[jaypg9]

good evening gamers and fuckers you're never gonna guess what i have for you (it's more of guys)

#pokemon #pokemon oc #pokemon spoilers // #again in a noncanon sort of way that hints at endgame gimmicks #and because you're here (again) you get MORE BONUS LORE!!! (again) #the yellow color in laggaan's hair comes from oxide rich clay! he combed it in for style. #he's an adept fighter who's just as ready to throw down as his pokemon are. life comes at you fast in paradox prehistory #he's also kind of like prehistory goku. like you're minding your business making a basket out of reeds #and somewhere in the distance you hear an explosion and you're like 'hey what the fuck' #and it turns out this absolute mad lad decided to go fight a bear made out of gunpowder for fun or some shit #life in the maybe-never-was past is pretty vibrant! there are lots of different peoples living in all kinds of places. #the world is still largely warm and tropical (with a cooling & drying trend starting to set in.) #lagaan and his friends live in the sand sea - an enormous sand-and-rock desert. #the fur he's wearing used to belong to a beast that has no name in our time (but may have appeared in the spaceworld demo.) #wicked drill is one of the creatures that lives in the desert - it's well adapted to the harsh conditions. #it's primarily herbivorous (feeding on whatever plants and tubers can weather the elements) but Do Not Turn Your Back On It. #it's a ruthless opportunist that has no qualms about hunting if given an opening. (it's also known for being a cantankerous bastard.) #arcane idol (later given the provisional classification UB-00 'vision') is... not from the desert. #it's very far from home actually. unlike drill (who's known lagen for years) it's a recent addition to the team #but listen when you're as lost as it is? you take kindness where you can find it. #(and its ability to fire lasers and snowball stat boosts comes in handy in a pinch.) #oh btw laggaan is trans and top surgery hasn't been invented yet but that's a post for another day #or maybe never because i think tumblr automod would send me to the shadow realm. #ps apologies for the watermark i just wanna make it marginally harder to use my work in a dataset. lol

[fairyaali]

Could I please request Felix x reader please? Maybe where she’s friends with Adrien and meets Felix and he’s really soft with her and everyone’s really confused lol. Super fluffy please😌🙈

Hi! Sorry for the long wait i was super busy hh :(( but here it is! It’s not as fluffy as intended but i think that’s because i’m not good at writing fluff but nonetheless i hope you enjoy it. I love felix with all my heart so this was a treat to write <3

Pairing: Felix Graham de Vanily X Reader.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and swearing !

Tags: Fluff, Pls felix deserves the world thku very much.

Luka’s boat party at the Seine, something you’ve been looking forward for the past week.

Well, It’s not really a party.

A small get together with great people, good music and drinks.

This is the first time you’ve been invited to one of these parties and Marinette has told you many times that it’s going to be one to remember, even if it is lowkey.

Plus, you could warm up to more people other than the small circle of friends you have at college.

“Woah.” You say without even realising as you look around at the balloons and fairy lights all over the place.

As soon as you enter you see the place peppered with a few people, some people you’ve never seen in your entire life and some familiar faces from college.

Marinette and Alya were by your side, you walked to the boat with them.

“Juleka and Luka live here?” You ask.

“Yeah but Luka’s trying to find a new apartment right now.” Marinette says.

As if on cue, the blue haired boy makes his way over to you guys.

“Welcome ladies.” He says and smiles at all of you. “As usual, make yourselves comfortable, get some drinks and enjoy yourselves.”

“Hey look there’s Adrien!” You say and you were about to go greet him until you felt someone grab your hand, stopping you.

“Thanks Luka, the party looks amazing.” You compliment.

Your eyes fall onto a familiar blond and you smile.

You turn around and see Marinette, shaking her head. “That’s not Adrien, that’s Felix.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Alya asks, gasping.

Marinette shrugs. “I have no clue, Adrien probably invited him.”

“I swear to god if that little blond bitch tries me again I won’t hesitate to kick him in the balls this time.”

“I think Alya needs a drink.” Luka chuckles and Alya nods angrily.

“Who’s Felix?” You ask and the three turn to look at you.

You look at them confused as to what they were talking about.

You could’ve sworn that he was Adrien, he looks exactly like him except his hair was straighter and neater. He reminded you of Draco Malfoy from Harry potter.

“The spawn of satan.” Alya mutters, rolling her eyes and sipping on her drink.

Marinette sighs and steals Alya’s drink from her hand.

“Hey!”

“That’s Felix, Adriens cousin. He’s kind of the complete opposite of Adrien.” Marinette explains.

“Meaning…?” You trail off.

“Meaning he’s a douchebag.” Alya states.

“Alya come on.” Marinette groans.

“Nope, she has a point.” Luka intervenes.

“Listen girl, when we were in middle school he sent us a video of him pretending to be Adrien and telling us how much he hates us.” Alya tells you and crosses her arms over her chest. “And last summer Adrien invited him to the beach with us and he didn’t even talk to us or swim because he’s worried that his pretty porcelain skin will get burnt. Trust me, the last thing you want to do is talk to him.” Alya says and snatches her drink back from Marinette before walking off.

“What Alya is trying to say is that yeah, he’s rude and yeah, kind of a douche too but don’t worry about him too much, he doesn’t really talk to any of us.”

He honestly sounded horrible.

I mean, not talking to them is one thing but almost ruining Adriens friendship with everyone is something else.

“Yeah because he hates us.” Luka says and Marinette glares at him which causes Luka to chuckle.

“Hey guys!” finally, the actual Adrien Agreste has come to talk to you guys.

“Hey Adrien.” You say and smile at him before giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

Marinette does the same to him and before quirking her eyebrow up. “Kagami isn’t here?” She asks.

“No she has to study for her exam tomorrow.” Adrien says and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Uh-huh.” Marinette narrows her eyes at him suspiciously but doesn’t say anything more.

“Oh yeah, guys, Felix is here.” Adrien laughs nervously.

“Adrien.” A voice chimes in.

It belonged to the notorious Felix who was now standing behind Adrien.

“Hey Felix.” Marinette says, smiling at him.

The blond furrows his eyebrows at her and rolls his eyes. “Adrien can we-“ He stops when he looks at you.

“Hi.” You say your name and hold your hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.” You say and he walks closer to you.

You gulp and chuckle awkwardly.

Knowing this guys attitude, you were scared about what he would say about you.

He takes you hand and shakes it. “I’m Felix, it’s nice to meet you too.” He says, a small smile on his face.

Everyone around you widens their eyes at the sight before them.

You look down and notice that he was still shaking your hand, looking at you, dazed.

Maybe he had too much to drink?

He removes his hand from yours quickly and you notice his cheeks tinting red. “Nothing.” He says and walks away.

Adrien clears his throat and pats him on the shoulder, snapping him out of it.

“What did you want to tell me Felix?”

“What. The. Fuck.” Marinette gapes. “I swear, when I met him for the first time he didn’t even shake my hand let alone smile at me.”

You felt like you were on the spot and ultimately it made you feel uncomfortable.

“Maybe he’s drunk or something?” You say and shrug.

“Felix doesn’t drink.” Adrien states.

You gulp. “Well I do.” You chuckle nervously and walk away from them to get a drink for yourself.

You move past people, muttering ‘excuse me’ as you walk to the little table where the drinks were. You pour yourself a drink.

“I’m not Adrien you brat.” You hear someone say and you instantly turn around.

“Ohhhhhhh…” A girl slurs. She was laughing against Felix, who looked incredibly uncomfortable with her presence. “doesn’t matter, we can still have a good time together.”

You watch Felix look around him and sigh, he didn’t even know what to say to her.

“I don’t want to.” He states.

“Why you got a girl or something?” She asks, sipping on her drink and hopping to the beat of the music.

You didn’t even realise that your body moved on it’s own.

“Yeah he does.” You say and walk over to Felix, kissing him on the cheek. “Here’s your drink babe.” You say and wink at him.

The colour of his face matched that of a tomato right now and he slowly took the drink from you, laughing nervously. “T-thank you.” He stutters out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know.” The girl apologises.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, slightly smiling. “I could tell you were uncomfortable.”

“You’re good.” You shrug and grab Felix’s hand, “Au revoir!” You wave before dragging Felix elsewhere.

You found a secluded area on the boat near the railings. You figured he needed some air.

“Yes, I appreciate it.” He says, looking at the sea. “Thank you.”

You stare at him.

Since you’re getting a closer look at him you realise that he actually has different features from Adrien which you don’t notice at first.

His nose was a little longer with a few freckles peppered across it.

His skin was fairer, in fact it was so fair that every time he blushes you can see it evident on his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

His eyes were more narrowed but still held the same beautiful green, maybe felixs’ was more vibrant.

“What the hell did you put in this?” He asks.

You watch his long fingers curl against the cup tighter before sipping the drink.

His face contorts after.

“Liquor.” You state, chuckling. “What you can’t take the alcohol Felix?” You tease.

He scoffs, “Of course I can. Watch me.” He says and downs the rest of what was in the cup.

He looked really cute when he’s laughing.

He starts coughing after he finishes and cusses under his breath.

“That was strong shit.” He says and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

You start laughing, clutching your stomach as you do so.

You hear him slowly join in on your laughter soon after and you slightly open your eyes to see him.

“you know…” He says, wiping some lose tears from his eyes from the laughter “I don’t have many friends so I’m not really used to laughing like this.”

“Why don’t you try making more friends?” You asked him.

“Why am I any different?” You ask. “I mean, you barely talk to Marinette or any of Adriens friends.”

He shrugged at you and leaned against the railings.

“I don’t particularly like being around a lot of people, nor do I really enjoy people in general.” He mumbles, looking down. “But that’s just how I was brought up I guess.”

He stares at the floor boards and sighs. “When I saw you, my first thought wasn’t “oh she’s just one of Adriens friends” or “she’s probably going to talk to me because has to because ‘hey I’m known as Adriens spoiled rich cousin’” my first thought was ‘wow, she’s absolutely beautiful and she’s new around here, she doesn’t know of who I am so maybe I actually have a chance with someone. Even if it’s just a friend.”

You cut him of by getting on your tip toes and giving him a small kiss on the lips.

His comment made your cheeks heat up and a small smile twitch on your lips.

“Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, it’s probably the damn alcohol, I have no idea what shit im spurring out let alone-“

His mouth parts and his eyes were wide. “Maybe it’s the alcohol too or maybe I just wanted you to stop talking.” You whisper.

“I will kiss you again, only if you stop thinking that Adriens friends talk to you because they have to. You’re a sweet guy and you shouldn’t feel left out.” You tilt your head and place a hand on his cheek.

He was frozen. It was a cute sight but you were scared that you terrified the poor guy.

Suddenly he leans in for another kiss but you place a finger on his lips to stop him.

He stares into your eyes for a moment, as if trying to look for something other than the truth.

You could see the green properly, his eyes were glistening, like he had stars in them.

Felix cups your face with both hands and pulls you into a kiss, a deep one.

You may not know him very well but this moment with him felt right, you didn’t see him as just Adriens cousin. He was more than that.

He was Felix and right now with every movement of his lips against yours, you felt butterflies fluttering around your stomach.

“Hey guys.” You wave awkwardly to them and chuckle.

You hear someone clear their throat which makes you pull away from the kiss. You turn around and see your group of friends staring at you.

Alya had her hand clasped over her mouth.

Nino was wide eyed.

Marinette was smirking at you.

Adrien was smiling awkwardly.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere girl! We didn’t know you were sharing spit with Felix.” Alya exclaims walking up to you.  “Is he forcing you into doing something because I swear to god I will-“

“no no Alya, I’m the one who kissed him.” You say, smiling sheepishly.

“Why?” She deadpans, looking at you confused.

“Cesaire.” Felix says walking up to Alya. He clears his throat. “Are you still running that little blog of yours?”

Alya narrows her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes.”

“It’s…” He stops and looks at you, as if for a moment, he’s remembering what you were talking about before. “It’s great. Even people In England are talking about it.”

Alya’s jaw drops. “Holy shit, really?”

Felix nods and you smile at him, knowing that he’s really trying.

“Nino! The ladyblog went international!” She exclaims and goes to hug her boyfriend.

You mentally thank him and he sends you a small wink before holding your hand.

Maybe you were the key to him finally being himself in front of others.

Maybe you could even become his everything.

#felix mlb #mlb #miraculous ladybug #felix graham de vanily #felix graham de vanily x reader

[ot3]

hey kinda heavy ace attorney question ig but I agree with you on many things about aa and feel like you have a good understanding of Phoenix and Trucy so I really wanna ask. How do you think the creation of the bloody ace was handled? I’ve seen the idea that Trucy took matters into her own hands and made it as a failsafe without his knowledge, and that he then covered for her, but if that were the case I wonder how he knew about it and planned around it at his trial. I’ve also seen the idea that he made it himself, but gave it to her for delivery to Apollo; which maybe seems the most apparent but I really dislike it because…. It means he uses her to deliver forged evidence. In much the same way he was given the diary page, really. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve also seen some people suggest that he made it but only gave it to her for use at her discretion, which does give some agency back to her but I also question whether Phoenix would be right in placing that on her shoulders and making it her responsibility. Sorry this expanded into a ridiculously long ask but I really am curious about your take on it?

eoooh yes yes yes i love talking about phoenix and trucy lets goooooo. i actually have a scene from my (still pretty rough and probably never to be finished) wip longfic covering this scene, which ill sick below the cut, but i'll just give my generic thoughts here first.

i think phoenix asked her to do it. trucy having enough detailed knowledge of the crime scene and the events leading up to it and the actual mechanical operation of trials that would be required in order to come up with this plan just doesn't make any sense to me. phoenix is really the only one who could have theoretically concocted this particular move. but since he was presumably held in the detention center until trial, trucy is from there really the only person who could have actually done the thing.

phoenix and trucy are pretty notoriously codependent; i'm headachey and melting from the heat today so rather than doing what i normally do and trawling the wiki to find the quotes that back me up on broadstrokes statements like these so i'm just gonna pull a 'dude just trust me' moment here. the fact that she helps take care of her daddy is a point of pride for her. i don't think it strips trucy of any agency for this to be phoenix's decision because it's not like trucy spends her whole life (or even the entire game) blindly following other peoples orders. her (and phoenix's ) priority at the beginning of aa4 is each other and their own wellbeing, and the decisions they have to make in turnabout trump are indicative of that.

yes, it echoes her bringing the forged evidence to phoenix 7 years ago, but it's more of an inversion/reversal (one might even say a turnabout) than a repetition of past mistakes. in the past she was an unwilling pawn in someone else's plan where her life was collateral, now she's an active and conscious participant in the plan of someone she cares about that she's doing to protect the life she and phoenix have built for themselves. She's not being forced to do it, but i don't think there's any world where she would have said no either. she and phoenix are the most important thing in the world to each other. in their own words, if one of them falls, they both fall.

was it right of phoenix to ask this of her? was it okay for him to do this to apollo, too? obviously it's not a good thing. but it was his only option at that moment. phoenix found himself in a very difficult situation. as an attorney he promised himself to the truth, and that was the principle he lived by, but as a father what he lives by is the promise he made to trucy to never disappear on her. at that moment phoenix did what he had to do to make sure the trial ended the way he needed it to. truth had to take a backseat. his priorities have shifted.

i've also spoken before at length about how i don't think phoenix was plotting against kristoph in the longterm, at least not to the degree which popular fanon seems to agree upon. so really everything he did in turnabout trump was phoenix being backed into a corner using every tool at his disposal to try and snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat. was it right of him to get trucy involved? it's no worse than bringing 8 year old pearl along to crime scenes because he needed her channeling skills. phoenix cares about people deeply but he isn't capable of shielding them from all the harm the world has to offer, and he knows he isn't. half of his capability comes from his shrewdness and willingness and ability to take help when he can get it because he knows, even if its a strain in a short term, he's fighting battles that need to be won at any cost. if that makes any sense

anyway heres the little scene i wrote below the cut.

---------- APRIL 17TH, 2026 DETENTION CENTER VISITOR’S ROOM ----------

Trucy shows up on the dot as visiting hours begin. It’s funny, she thinks. The last time she did this she had a different daddy altogether. Only it really isn’t particularly funny at all, is the thing about it, and she’s going to have quite a few stern words for the man when he gets home.

She picks up the phone on one side of the pane of bulletproof glass and he grabs the other.

“Daddy,” she huffs. “You promised me you’d stay out of trouble.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Truce.” He puts on an easy smile as he says it, and he uses the same affected tone of voice she had used to start the conversation off. Affected. Cautious, in the sense that it’s levity is entirely manufactured. A performance.

It had been like that between them for real at the beginning, both of them still unsure of each other, pantomiming something resembling a sitcom and playing the real feeling filled in as it went. Thankfully, it did, but the theatrics still lend themselves better to specific conversation.

“Well, if you’re sorry, I suppose I can forgive you! But this isn’t going to look good on your employee review, y’know. I’ll have to bring it up with HR.”

“I’m sure Charley can find it in his heart to forgive me, too.”

“He’s a gentle soul.” She nods.

“You should come watch the trial on Monday, I think it’d be good for you to see.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Trucy doesn’t like the courthouse. Daddy knows that. She never comes when he goes to use the library there. She also hates, hates the idea of watching her daddy sit in the defendant’s chair not knowing if he’s ever going to come home again. He knows that too.

“Well, there are always interesting things to learn during a court trial. Plus, having you there would help me out a lot!” I need you to do something for me. She reads through the tone into his words’ real meaning. Her stomach clenches. A favor he can’t just outright ask for, not over the phone in the detention center, where every word would be recorded.

“Oh, daddy, no! I’m a magician, not a lawyer, although I understand the confusion.” She drapes a hand over her eyes in faux anguish. “I simply couldn’t, it isn’t my stage.”

“I disagree. I think it’s a perfect stage. Lawyers need cheering up too, you know! Back when I was a lawyer, I used to get really stressed out during cases like these. I bet one of your tricks would do the job.”

“Well what sort of trick do you want me to do?”

“Do you remember the first trick you ever did for me? It was the day we met, at the courthouse. You pulled a piece of paper out of your hat and gave it to me.”

“Yes,” she chirps, forcing a vibrant bubble into her voice. It feels like a pile of rocks in her gut and her pulse starts to quicken. “Of course I remember!”

“I bet if you did that trick again, it’d cheer up the whole courtroom! I bet I’d win my case in a heartbeat.”

----------

Her legs feel like jelly by the time the bus drops her off at the stop near the office. Daddy had kept on like that, loaded phrasing and a lopsided smile as he laced vapid banter with instructions. With warnings. She walks into the storage closet and grabs a deck of cards - one of his, the same style they use at the club, not hers for her tricks. Abruptly, she has a moment of panic as she realizes she’s not even sure what color she’s supposed to use, but then, just as fast, she forces her head clear and just grabs one of each.

They’re unopened. This makes it a cinch to find the card she’s looking for. Her stomach flips.

The worst part isn’t even what she’s doing. The worst part is that she’s doing it at all. Daddy knows well what this situation is making her feel and he’s asking her to do it anyway.

The only explanation left: he’s completely out of options.

She pulls her gloves off and grabs a needle from her sewing supplies. She pricks her finger, and lets a drop fall onto each ace.

----------

#ace attorney #i literally love them os much theyre perfect #daddy and daughter of all time

[mooshys]

the silver lining of bad first dates

summary: a date gone wrong. a walk in the rain. a simple conversation in a ramen shop. mundane slice of life and mutual pining with kuroo.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note and warnings: curse words galore. set in time-skip. pure word vomit. kuroo’s one of those characters that I’m so scared to even consider writing for because I feel as though I’ll never truly be able to “get” his character. whatever though, I tried.

This date fucking sucked.

Point-blank. No sugarcoating because the dude sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table was more interested in the JASDAQ than your name. Seriously, he couldn’t even be bothered to listen to you talk about your alma mater before he swooped in and started blanketing his insecurities with his recent Bitcoin investment. 

Talk about lame.

Wine and hors d’oeuvres be damned, you were making an escape before he started mansplaining the economy. Even wagyu couldn’t save this candlelit disaster.

Making no attempt to be discreet, you whipped your phone out of your bag and typed up a quick text:

Mind picking me up? Shitty date.

Ping! 

Seriously? Again? What’d this guy do this time?

Ping!

Send the address

Ping!

I swear, this is the last time I’m picking you up

You smiled at the screen, thumbs moving fast.

That’s what you said last week

A bubble with three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.

Ping!

Five minutes.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Like every cliché bad first date, the weather made sure to mimic the mood. The rainfall was nothing less than dreadful, a downpour that left the streets empty as most people kept indoors to avoid getting soaked.

“You’re so lucky that I didn’t have to work overtime tonight,” Kuroo began, standing close to you in an attempt to shield you both from the shower with his janky umbrella. “Otherwise, you’d be walking in the rain or sitting there having your dinner ruined from hearing that guy talk about his gains in the market.”

You laughed at the truth of his words. There really was no one else who knew you like Kuroo. 

“And you know I would’ve walked in the rain out of the two options. I can’t believe someone so dick-ish exists that I’d bail out on a free meal,” you said, raising your voice over the heavy pelting.

Without any warning, a trio of college kids rushed past you two, not paying attention to the other pedestrians walking the sidewalks as their only priority in mind was making it back home before catching a cold. They had their backpacks held up to cover their heads, but it wasn’t much help as their clothes were completely soaked.

“See that?” Kuroo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You would’ve been running like those kids all the way back to your apartment if I didn’t show up.”

You lightly elbowed him and rolled your eyes. Rain fell on your shoulder from the sudden movement, but Kuroo repositioned the umbrella to prevent you from getting wet. “As if,” you murmured, hugging your body in an attempt to keep warm. “Thanks for picking me up. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re oh so welcome,” he waved off your words and then cackled when you narrowed your eyes at him. Sometimes he really knew how to push your buttons. “Anyway, are you trying to date a bunch of crappy guys on purpose? Because I feel like that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s not like I ask to go through a bunch of crappy first dates!” you said, letting out a huff of hot air. The past month had been riddled with unsuccessful first dates. Statistically speaking, you were an outlier; the average person probably went through a handful of bad first dates in a single year: you went through that number in a mere month. Multiple standard deviations past, you were way out of the norm. “Maybe I’m just a magnet for awful guys who only have a thing for themselves.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Or maybe you just like to make my life a little bit harder.”

You smiled at his words.

“Maybe.”

Besides the realization that you were like a honeytrap to flies when it came to bad first dates, another constant came from the start of it all: Kuroo. You weren’t expecting much from the first SOS call; really, just someone to walk you back home when it was late and the taxi fares were jacked up. But you would never forget the first time he waited for you outside that overhyped bar with a bag of take-out, his tie loosened and hair messy because he had just left the office and rushed to the nearest place that sold yakisoba for a decent price.

Maybe you did make his life a little bit harder. It was selfish, but whenever you had a bad date, you actually started to anticipate your escape because that meant Kuroo would be there for you.

He was your silver lining for the past month.

Red brick walls came into view once you two rounded the corner into a more secluded alley, revealing a familiar site that made you hungry. A neon sign which turned brighter due to the haze of the rain drew you in like a moth to a flame. It flickered, but still kept its light. Another constant.

Underneath the awning of the restaurant, Kuroo retracted his umbrella and shook the excess water off of it. He shoved it in the small bin filled with umbrellas belonging to the other patrons and dragged the soles of his shoes on the mat before pulling the door open. 

“Let’s just get some ramen,” he said, ushering you inside. You took the first steps and situated yourself at a lone table. He followed and a waitress quickly took your orders, soon rushing back to the kitchen to help with the line of tickets pinned to the wall. 

“Ramen on a rainy day,” you said, giving a low whistle. “You know your stuff.”

“Duh, ramen tastes best when you’re freezing,” he replied, pulling on his necktie to loosen it. He grabbed two pairs of chopsticks along with a pair of spoons, placing a set in front of you. “And it tastes pretty good after bad dates too.”

“You’re talking to the queen of bad first dates.”

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share too, Your Highness.”

As if on cue, two bowls of ramen were brought over from the kitchen along with an extra soft boiled egg as soon as he finished his sentence. The soup had small ringlets floating at the top from the fat of the broth along with bright green scallions acting as a garnish to offer a vibrant and appetizing color. Wasting no time, you both gave thanks and started to dig in.

“You know,” he started, breaking his chopsticks apart and dipping them into the broth. He pulled up a nice amount of noodles, the steam rising up higher than before. “I really think you should quit dating guys who suck.”

Following Kuroo, you did the same and blew at your noodles. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“It is. It’s so easy.” He ate a mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “You have your top tier guys, your average guys, and then your totally shitty guys. I mean absolute trash—these are the guys you’re dating. Avoid them and all your problems will be solved.”

“Ugh, I feel like we go through this conversation after every single mishap of a date.”

Translation: Kuroo, you sound like my nagging mother.

“Because you never learn.”

Translation: I will nag at you all I want.

You sighed. “Love’s a lot more complicated than you make it.”

“Whatever. Just find a guy who isn’t an asswipe, and then we can talk.”

As you two continued to eat, the kitchen staff remained lively. The sounds of ceramic bowls clattering together along with the static hum of an old radio buzzing some city pop tune your mom would have listened to in her youth acted as background noise while chatting. 

“So... what kind of guy do you think you are?” you asked, curious to hear his answer. Kuroo was in the middle of slurping his noodles and held a hand up to signal you to give him a second.

“Me?” He pointed at himself and you nodded. Who else would you be asking? “I’m your average guy.”

You frowned. “No way.”

“What, you think I’m an absolute trash kind of guy? Harsh.”

“No, I think you’re definitely top tier. Average guys don’t go out of their way to do stuff like this.”

Kuroo raised a brow at you and set his chopsticks down. His bowl was half finished, but he was more interested in what you had to say. “Stuff like what?”

“You know,” you motioned the space between you two, “doing this awful-first-date-rescue-at-the-drop-of-a-hat kind of stuff. No questions asked. Average guys don’t do that. Average guys just pay for your meal and maybe give you their jacket when it’s kind of cold. And sometimes they call you some gross pet name like...” You shivered at the thought. “Kitten or something.”

He looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t like being called kitten?”

“No, something about it sounds gross.”

“That’s just because you haven’t found the right guy to say it to you when—“

Not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say, you quickly crumpled up a napkin into a ball and tossed it at him. He threw his head back, putting on an act as if you actually did any damage to him.

“Stop. Please. Enough. Don’t even finish what you’re going to say.” You went back to devouring your bowl, the noodles more soft than before. Still tasted great as you shoveled in mouthfuls. “I don’t wanf tew heur et!”

Sporting a disgusted look, Kuroo grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser and slid them to your side of the table. “Jeez, you eat like that whenever you’re on a date? Maybe I saved that guy from you.”

“Well, you’re the one stuck with all of this now,” you motioned a hand to your entirety and wiggled an eyebrow. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He held his chin in the palm of his hand and stared at you from across the table, eyes still holding a glint of amusement under the low lighting of the restaurant. His bowl was nearly finished, yet he focused his attention on you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he pondered your words.

You eyed him, his gaze feeling a bit different from before. “What are you doing?”

“Considering,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...It shouldn’t take you that long to,” you mumbled and ate another mouthful of noodles. He kept at it and soon started to crack up. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he shook his head and pushed another pile of napkins your way. 

“There’s a scallion at the corner of your lips,” he tapped a hand on his bottom lip and cackled when you rushed to grab a napkin and wipe it away. Heat rose to your face and you sucked on your teeth.

“You know what? Forget about me calling you a top tier guy. It never happened.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded by your words. “It was kitten, wasn’t it?”

Unable to contain yourself, you laughed into your hand, shoulders shaking. You had to set your chopsticks down as you fanned your face, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. “If I ever heard that from another guy, I would walk out. The second the word came out of his mouth, I would pack up my things, leave, and never look back.”

“But you’re not right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Because I’m a top tier guy. Admit it.”

Because it’s you.

You shook your head and waved the white flag. “Right, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo crossed his arms in front of his chest, satisfied with your answer. Like he won something from this conversation. He liked the way your lips tugged into a smile, not too tight, but enough to showcase the apples of your cheeks; he liked these nights when he could unwind after a long day of work and laugh about stupid pet names; he loved how easy it all was. 

Consideration done and over with, he went back to finish his bowl, the steam from the broth no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Eat up or it’ll get cold,” he said and sipped on the broth. It was still warm, much to his surprise. “I’ll walk you back home when we’re done.”

You took small bites, prolonging the meal in any way possible: listening to him talk about his lazy cubicle partner, ordering another side of gyoza, folding a napkin to tell him his fortune through grade school methods. Both your bowls were empty, pushed to the side with a sliver of broth left as the focus was neither the food nor the JASDAQ jerk from hours before, but rather mundane conversation that went in circles until the shop emptied out.

A hundred dates could go wrong only for Kuroo to show up and make things right.

Maybe it was time for him to become more than a silver lining.

#I had this in my drafts for 4 months and really could not bring myself to post it #like I absolutely despised it and would reread and edit it over and over again #and I kept this only because of the dialogue line with the top tier guys #Yeah Idk dude it's fine now but begone out of my drafts #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #Ok I also feel like a reason why I *didn't* post this is cuz it's like... rlly different from what I usually post??? #like this was so out of my comfort zone and I honestly feel a bit embarrassed sometimes when I write about ~love~ bc it's like. Ew Gross LOL #constant fear of it being too cheesy and unrealistic lmao

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Eleven: Love - SMUT

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, cunningless, tit play, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, food and drink mention, emotional because we’re nearing the end, a family being brought together and our favourite soft, sad dad loving his son and, well… you.

Word count: 4300>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Eleven - Next

-------------

Just entering Black Gold Cooperative again, when you thought the previous night would be your last, drew tears to your eyes. This extensive size office was the place you’d first journeyed too upon venturing to the world of man. The building meant more to you than you had first realised, and it held so many amazing memories of self discovery. Your eyes flicked between the velvet sofa where you had once slept on, and the plants that peppered each corner of the lobby. They were vibrant and filled with life, symbolic of new beginnings. Now, the only magic in the air was love. You could feel it, Maxwell could feel it, and from the way Alistair perked up as you sneaked up behind him, he could feel it too. Love truly was the most powerful thing.

Seeing the way Alistair ran into his father’s arms, and the way he squeezed Max so tight -- like he was afraid to let him go, was enough to make your heart melt into your chest. “Daddy! You’re back!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Did you win?” He asked, his dark brown eyes glittering with hope. Alistair tugged on Max’s dark blonde shaggy hair as he waited for a reply.

“Yeah buddy, I won,” Max chuckled breathlessly. With those two words of affirmation, Alistair burst into tears. You took a step back as you watched the interaction, sensing how high the emotion was. You knew that Max had waited for this day to come for a long time. “No no, don’t cry. You should be happy.” Max cooed apologetically, his eyes widening as he tried his hardest to comfort his son. You were no longer a Goddess, and you had been stripped of your powers, but you could still feel the compassion between them both. And it was beautiful.

“I am happy,” Alistair choked out in between sobs, pulling back to look at his father. Max wiped away Alistair’s tears and offered him a weak smile.  “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” Alistair confessed, nuzzling his face into his father’s chest.

Max sniffed and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I’m going to redeem myself for everything, Ali. I know… I know I’ve done terrible things and made big mistakes, and I really am a pretty messed up loser but--”

“No,” Alistair cut him off, his tone chaste. “Daddy, you’re a winner. Thank you for fighting for me.”

“Always,” Maxwell hummed, picking up Alistair and cradling him in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

***

Maxwell drove, and Alistair insisted that you sit in the back of the car with him. You obliged, unable to ever refuse the bright eyed little boy. Alistair’s small, clammy hands squeezed yours and he watched intently as you gazed out the window, entranced by all the things you passed. There was still a lot you had to get used to, but it brought you comfort knowing that now, at least you had the time. There was no pressure to return back to Themyscira. D.C. was your home. Wherever Alistair and Max was, you were home.

Alistair nuzzled his head into you and closed his eyes, feeling completely content with your company. “I like your new outfit.” he hummed, his fingers tracing your glimmering gold belt.

“You do?” you asked curiously, and felt Alistair nod against you. “You know Ali, I sorta prefer the normal clothes.” you shrugged, and caught Maxwell smiling in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

“I like this,” Alistair admitted. “You look like a superhero. Like… from my comic books.”

“You don’t need a fancy costume to be a hero, Alistair,” you said, tapping his chin so he looked up at you. “Your dad is proof of that.”

***

Maxwell dropped his keys on the side table by the front door when the three of you returned home. “Are you guys hungry?” he questioned, scratching the back of his head. After a day in court, he’d worked up quite the appetite, he must admit.

Alistair grinned and nodded his head. “Starving! Can we get pizza? Please daddy, oh please can we get pizza?” 

“Hmph,” Maxwell grumbled, displaying a faux annoyance before bursting into an adorable grin. “I suppose so. Since it’s a day to celebrate.” 

“Yay!” Alistair cheered, running into the living room and jumping on the sofa. By the sounds of it, he’d found the remote control for the television and turned on one of his favourite kiddie TV shows.

Walking over to the telephone, Maxwell caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the many mirrors in the hallway and frowned. He was happy, but Gods did he still look a mess. The blonde in his hair was rapidly fading out and he was in desperate need of a trim. He’d been neglecting his biotin supplements and forgetting to moisturize, and oh, his tired eyes. You caught him hyper analyzing his appearance and approached him from behind. Pressing a kiss into his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, you sighed.

“What are you thinking about?” you wondered out loud.

Maxwell swallowed. “I just… I’m not the man I once was,” he ran his fingers through his hair and gestured down to the power suit that he’d worn to court. “I’m not Max Lord anymore. Not this… big oil tycoon businessman. Not on TV anymore. This whole thing is a facade. It’s not me. And everytime I look at myself… I’m reminded of all the mistakes that I made,” he admitted quietly before taking a shaky exhale. “It’s fine,” he quickly backtracked. “Guess I’ll just have to suck it up.”

“The worst part is over, Max. And you’re a survivor,” you told him, taking his hand. “The world can forgive you, but it means nothing if you can’t forgive yourself. You need to learn to love yourself.”

“Will you help me?” Maxwell asked quietly, a nervous tone prominent in his voice.

You offered him a warm smile. “That’s why I’m here,” you reminded him sweetly. “To help.”

Maxwell turned around to face you fully and placed a hand on your cheek. You swore, in that moment and under his touch, that you had forgotten how to breathe. Max might not have been able to see it, but he truly was so beautiful. The gold in his former life may have been gilded, but the gold in his heart was pure and authentic. And now, it was all yours.

Maxwell pulled his tie off his neck and shuffled out of his suit jacket. “I think it might be time for me to hang up this tie for good.” Maxwell sighed sadly, running the patterned silk material between his fingers.

“Do you want to?”

Maxwell paused for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve worked so hard to get here… I just can’t give Black Gold up.”

“Then don’t.” you whispered, shuffling your body into his. He snaked an arm around you and sighed even louder.

“It’s not that easy, darling. I don’t have the money to keep it going.” 

“I won’t let you give up on your lifelong dream, so… we’ll figure something out. Maybe you’ll have to downsize. If oil isn’t making you any money then maybe… you might have to specialise in something else. If the past week has proved anything it’s that all our problems can be figured out through the power of love. And you have that. Right here,” you maneuvered his hand and placed it on your heart before pointing your free hand into the living room at Alistair. The door stood slightly ajar. “And right there.”

Maxwell smiled. “There’s a thing, here. In the world of man…” you could tell he was about to start rambling about Goodness know what. He looked up slightly, avoiding your eye contact as he talked. “Where two people… love each other, a lot. And so they make a promise to dedicate themselves to one another. Asking you to be my girlfriend sounds a little childish,” Maxwell chuckled softly and your eyes widened when you realised where he was going with this. “But I guess… if you wanted…”

“I do!” You said quickly, cutting him off before he could even finish.

“You do?” Maxwell asked, truly stunned that you had agreed so fast. He couldn’t believe someone as magnificent as you would love him back, let alone want to be with him. He never thought he was deserving of love, especially after everything that had happened. If Maxwell had never met you, he would’ve been certain that he’d grow old, cold and alone. 

“I do.” you confirmed, grinning and pressing your lips into his.

The genuine smile that was on his face when he pulled away was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. More beautiful than the sands and oceans on Themyscira. More beautiful than the landmarks and caves in Athens. It differed to his television smile. This was one hundred percent authentic. This was Maxwell Lorenzano. “I’m going to change into my pajamas,” you announced. “And I’ll bring Ali upstairs with me and have him get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” Max acknowledged, still grinning. “I’ll set the dining room table for the pizza.”

You guided Alistair upstairs and followed him into his bedroom. You sat down on his bed, and pulled him down to sit next to you. “I told you I had a gift for you, from Athens.” you smiled and watched as Alistair’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yes!” Alistair cried out, bouncing up and down.

You detached the lasso of Hestia from your tunic and placed the rope gently in his hands. “This is my lasso of truth. Remember that one night when I met Julianna and Theodore, and I came to visit you? And I showed you how it worked? Do you remember?”

Alistair nodded slowly. “Yes. You told me the lasso wasn’t powered by you. It was powered by the truth.” 

“That’s right,” you confirmed, your heart swelling at how Alistair had retained that piece of information. “The lasso is important to me because it was a gift from my mother. And now, I’m passing it down to you. I didn’t get this in Athens, but it is from Athens originally. I hope my lasso will be a constant reminder for you to always tell the truth, and always see the good in people.”

Alistair’s jaw was agape and he was struck with awe as his fingers traced the magical rope. “I love it…” he whispered.

“I’m glad,” you smiled. “It’s very powerful Ali. Who knows, one day you might be able to use it.”

“And I can be a superhero just like you…” Alistair grinned before biting his lip. “And just like my daddy.”

“Exactly. Just like your daddy. C’mon now, I want you to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Then we can go order our pizza, okay?”

Before you left his bedroom, Alistair called your name. You sensed hesitancy in his voice, almost like he was nervous. “Can I… can I try out the lasso... on you? Maybe?”

You wanted to ask him why the child might possibly want to do that, but then you realised, he was probably just curious. So, you obliged, and held out your wrist. Remembering how you’d shown him before, Alistair wrapped the rope around your arm and took a deep breath.

“Do you love my daddy?” Alistair asked, after taking a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Will you promise not to leave him, ever?” 

“I promise.”

“Would you mind if… if… I called you mommy?”

You felt warm tears prick the corners of his eyes. A mother. It’s everything you had always wanted to be. You were the goddess of home and hearth. The urge to one day have a family was in your nature.

“I’d love that, Ali.” you admitted.

Alistair pulled the rope from your wrist and enveloped you into a tight hug. “Okay. Because I love you mommy.”

“I love you too.”

***

“What do you want?” Maxwell asked his son, pen in hand. He’d been scribbling down the order, the businessman in him wanting to have everything planned out before he made the phone call.

“Pineapple pizza! The biggest one!” Alistair exclaimed gleefully, stretching out his arms. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ali, you won’t eat it all,” Maxwell frowned. You nudged him, as if to say, ‘let him have this’. “Okay,” Max sighed. “The biggest pineapple pizza. And what do you want?” he asked, turning to you this time. You furrowed your eyebrows together, taking another look at the menu that had been passed around the dining room table.

“How do I know what’s good?”

“Well, not pineapple.” Maxwell grumbled. 

Alistair gasped, unable to believe the words that had just left his father’s lips. “Don’t listen to him,” Alistair said, grabbing your hand. “Daddy is wrong. Pineapple pizza is so delicious. Will you try some of mine?”

You squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Sure,” you agreed. Maxwell swore his heart melted everytime he witnessed interaction between you and his son. It was so pure, it was like you and Alistair had known each other forever. Granted, you’d known the little boy longer than you knew Maxwell. The day you woke up in the park felt like yesterday. “What do you like, Max?” you quizzed, eventually giving up on the menu. 

“Pepperoni, I guess. I don’t eat pizza much.” He admitted sheepishly. Before you could reply, Alistair’s voice made you jump up in shock.

“Boring!” He called out. Max shot him a playful glare and you rolled your eyes. 

“Don’t be rude!” Maxwell chastised, wiggling his index finger, and you couldn’t hide the smile on your face.

“He’s like you,” you pointed out. “Always has something to say.”

“My son.” Maxwell declared proudly, pulling Alistair into his lap and ruffling his dark hair.

Just like Max had anticipated, Alistair couldn’t eat the large pineapple pizza. In fact, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa after only two slices, a Star Wars blanket draped over him and a stuffed toy curled tight into his chest.

“Alistair asked me if it would be alright if he called me mommy,” you admitted quietly as Maxwell gathered the plates and empty glasses. His head snapped to face you the second the words left your lips. “I told him yes. But I figured… maybe you should have some say in it? I don’t know.”

“It means a lot to me that Ali can put his faith in you, and that he sees you as his mother. But this is a big deal. Family is for life and I don’t… he’s already lost one mother. I don’t want him to lose you too. So of course, it’s fine by me. As long as you promise to always be a mother to him, no matter what.”

“Always,” you whispered in reassurance, cupping Maxwell’s cheek and gazing into his dark eyes. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” Maxwell replied, kissing you on the forehead. “I should take him to bed.”

“Let me handle it,” you replied, stretching before leaning down to pick up the sleeping boy and cradling him in your arms. Clearly, somewhere down the line, you had forgotten you had been stripped of your powers and you were now a mortal. You let out a yelp. Once able to carry Alistair easily, you were now struggling. You wobbled slightly and Max hurried to your side to hold you and help you keep your balance.

“You okay?” Max asked, quirking an eyebrow. “He’s heavier than he looks.” you gasped, already a little breathless.

“Wanna trade?” he quizzed, raising a plate.

You mumbled a ‘yes’ and passed Alistair over to his father. “I’ll do the dishes and meet you upstairs.”

***

Max was still with Alistair by the time you had finished up the dishes and headed to the bedroom. You sat by the dressing table, brushing out your hair, and looked at the pile of discarded armour sat in the corner of the room. Maybe one day it would come of use, but for now, this was it. This was the start of a new life where you didn’t need no Amazonian armour. With Maxwell and Alistair, you had all the protection you could ever need.

“Hi,” Maxwell whispered, padding into the bedroom. You turned to face him and smiled. “I’m glad to be home… now… with you. Glad this is all over.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and began to rub them affectionately. “Me too.” you replied warmly, leaning into his touch and nuzzling your head into his chest. You closed your eyes in contentment. Every second you spent with Max, you spent wishing it would last forever. Although you knew better than to make a wish.

“Are you tired?” Max pondered, smoothing out your hair and admiring your face.

Pushing back your hair and admiring your beauty was up there with one of his most favourite things to do. Your eyes looked like home, your lips tasted like home. You were home.

“Mm, no, not really…” you confessed, staring at the image of both you and Max in the reflection of the dressing table mirror. But Max’s gaze was fixated only on you. “Actually. I had an idea, since you know, we’re celebrating and all,” you confessed after a brief moment of comfortable silence. Maxwell raised a curious eyebrow and waited for you to continue. “Remember our first night back in Athens when we…” you trailed off and glanced over towards the bed.

“Yeah.” Max answered, already breathless from the thought.

“I liked it a lot.” You admitted bashfully as you reminisced on your first time with Maxwell.

“Me too.” he agreed.

“So do you want to do it again…?”

Max didn’t reply with words, but instead he pulled you up from the stool that you were sitting on and twirled you around so you were facing him. He crashed his lips onto yours and let his large hands freely roam your back, desperate to feel every inch of your body. He’d been waiting to do this again.

Without breaking away from the kiss, you pushed him towards his bed and climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips and began to run your hands over his chest, leaning over and kissing along his jaw and down his neck. Feeling his cock already hot and heavy, he cursed under his breath, dipping his hand under the hem of your silk nightgown and smirking upon finding that you weren’t wearing any underwear. He slowly slid his thick fingers between your folds, causing you to gasp at the sudden bolt of pleasure that ran through you. His thumb began to circle your clit and you dug your fingers into his shoulders as he worked at your bundle of nerves.

He loved to look at you and watch as your face twisted in pleasure. He liked to know you were feeling good. His fingers were like magic, and he truly had a golden touch.

“Want you to cum on my fingers, okay?” Max asked, increasing the speed. You tried to push out a word but just came out as a mangled moan. You nodded your head, feeling your cunt desperately clench around nothing and your thighs tighten as you neared orgasm. 

When you came undone, Max’s dark eyes gleamed with desire and pride. He pulled his fingers from under your nightgown and placed them on his tongue, sucking your arousal from his own digits.

“You taste amazing baby,” He praised, unable to contain his smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied back with a smile.

Both you and Max made your way over to the bed, stripping yourself out of your clothes and intertwining your bodies together. 

“I don’t ever want this moment to end.” you confessed with a shaky exhale as Maxwell squeezed your breasts, peppering kisses down the valley of your chest.

“It doesn’t have to, princess, we have the rest of our lives to spend together.”

There it was again. The dumb nickname he’d called you from the day you first met. You’d insist that you weren’t a princess, and by no means royalty, but to Maxwell, you were. You were his princess. A rose stuck amongst a bush of thorns. You were the epitome of hope, beauty and love. And you were all his.

So the nickname grew on you, and you’d come to like it.

You felt the tip of Maxwell’s cock tease against your entrance as he swiftly rubbed his length up and down, between your glistening wet folds. By the time he pushed himself inside of you, just the scrunched up look on his face was enough to make your stomach erupt into butterflies. The crinkle in between his eyebrows and the way his perfect lips parted into an ‘o’ shape as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you-you’re so tight,” He gasped, the Adams apple in his neck prevailing as he tried to swallow away his desire. “Always so tight. So per-perfect. Good girl. Such a go-good girl.” he praised, a small strand of dark blonde hair falling out of place and crossing his forehead.

You shuddered at his words.

“Look at me,” you begged, and he obliged, his chocolate coloured eyes snapping open. Despite the glaze of lust that seemed to cloud his vision, he was able to fixate on you, spending a few moments adoring your face -- the face he fell in love with -- as he remained seated deep inside you. He was stretching you open and Gods, it felt delicious, but you needed more. You desperately needed more. “Move, please.” you whimpered, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

Maxwell began to rock his hips into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. He leaned over you and pressed his forehead against yours as he picked up his speed. “Don’t be too loud,” he warned quietly, his warm breath fanning over your ear.

It wasn’t long before he felt his cock twitch inside of you. “Shit,” he moaned, squeezing your shoulder to signify that he was close. “Neither of us are protected-- fuck, I need, I need to pull out.” 

“Mm, no, no Max. Keep going. Don’t stop.” You begged, your fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You could get pregnant.” he rasped out, suddenly remembering you were now a mortal.

“Would it really be so bad?” you asked, and your question alone was enough to throw Maxwell over the edge.

Would it really be so bad?

You had a point. Max had never imagined having any more kids. Hell, he’d never really planned on having Alistair. But times had changed, and he was so in love with you. He figured -- maybe kids were something he could give another go at. Little mini you’s running around the house would simply be so adorable. And who better to have children with, than the goddess of home and hearth? Having a family was written in your destiny. It was always meant to be. Given the time and the place, the prospect of having kids, getting you pregnant… it just felt right.

The start of a new life… both figuratively and literally.

Of course he was certain that this was what you wanted, and evidently, you wanted it to. But the idea of seeing you swole and round, carrying his children… well that was a whole different thing.

“Fuck princess, you’re gonna look so good carrying my baby.” Maxwell grounded, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

You felt your orgasm wash over you, and your walls clamp around his cock. That was enough to push him over the edge.

Maxwell came inside of you, and he made sure to cum deep, too. Once he’d regained his breath, he grabbed two pillows from his side of the bed and propped them under your butt so the lower half of your body was higher than your upper half.

“What are you doing?” you giggled.

“Making sure not a drop of it goes to waste,” Maxwell replied as he pressed sloppy kisses along your inner thighs.

And when he caught a glimpse of his seed beginning to spill out of you, he plunged his index finger and pushed it back in. 

“I love you so much.” You whispered as Maxwell smoothed out your hair and kissed your lips.

“I love you too, darling. And I can’t wait to embark on this new life together.”

You pondered for a moment, relishing in the comfortable silence before you brought your index finger and pointed it towards Maxwell. “Life is good, but it can be better.”

Maxwell was trying his damn hardest to fight the grin that was edging to cross his lips. How could one person be so adorable?

“It can always be better.” he whispered, bringing his hand down to your stomach and kissing you again.

———————————————

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I Believe In Love taglist : (tagged in replies!)

#maxwell lord #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord smut #pedro pascal x you

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

golden power; never wielded

my first work for @ninjago-angst-week! prompt - abandoned (16/08) Lloyd's never known what it's like to share his heart with another, linking two lives together as if one had found the melody to their chorus, now a song in perfect harmony. If he’d always felt like he was invisible; wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his inability to touch others’ hearts, then, well, that was no one’s business but his own. Of course, that was before he quite literally fell for someone - the first person, actually - who seemed to care. Of course she was too good to be true. Or, the S8 angst I've been wanting to write about 'game of masks' and the aftermath. trigger warnings - suicidal thoughts, brief mention of implied self-harm, not really a warning but it talks a lot about loneliness. "How did you know?"

"It's an Oni Temple. It's safe to assume that only an Oni could take it."

"No. How could you know that I was part Oni?"

How could you know that I was part Oni?

The question repeated itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

Sometimes, he wondered what would've gone down at the temple if he hadn't been so observant.

Well, he thought bitterly, probably not the temple itself.

The walls collapsing, he'd caught a glimpse of his terrified face as the room filled with swirling inky blackness, freezing him to the bone.

But the real pain came from her words.

Ah. Your emotions. You can't get rid of them, can you?

No, he'd wanted to yell, staring listlessly at the shaking grey semblance of sky.

He'd always felt like he wielded the element of light; invisible, trapped behind a barrier that no one cared enough to break. Isolated; locked away from the world. Longing for - yearning for - a single soul to want to know his heart. Pain that almost felt tangible, bleeding into every motion, every day.

Everyone else seemed to find it so easy - so effortless - simple as breathing, taken for granted like it was ingrained into their bones. Everyone else seemed to have given away a little piece of their heart - to their parents, friends, or lovers.

The fact that his was, and had always been, entirely whole?

He was either cursed, the venom from the Great Devourer passed down to him, or there was something fundamentally unlikable coursing through his veins.

By this point, he assumed it was the latter.

Maybe, if anyone had ever cared - wanted to know him - he'd never have felt like it was pressing down on his chest like a casket; a useless block of ice that no one wanted, not even the unfortunate owner it'd been given.

If no one would know his heart, he'd thought, grabbing a forgotten map, he'd strike fear into theirs - until they knew what it was like to sob into invisible barriers, to gaze upon the world with a weary eyes and a heart heavy with the knowledge that if they vanished, no one would even notice.

He'd realized far too late that he had unleashed an evil that couldn't be controlled - or one that could only be controlled by his- by someone else that had sunk beneath the darkness until no light remained-

He'd escaped from the crumbling casket, energy and eyes blazing - only to find that Har- she'd already escaped with the mask.

The Oni Mask of Hatred.

As they had steered the boat through the river, her sweet smile hiding lie upon lie, he'd thought it was somewhat ironic - two lovers, seeking a literal manifestation of hatred.

He'd laughed bitterly; no mirth in the sound.

After his first crush had - well, literally tried to crush him, he didn't think that this day could get much worse.

Until she dropped him into a contraption that was the stuff of nightmares - leaving the others with a seemingly impossible choice.

He'd wanted to yell, scream, that they should save his mother - he'd hurt enough people over the course of his short life, as evidenced by the grief-stricken orphan yelling a foreign language right in front of him.

I'm the expendable one! Maybe she was right - it was my fault the Serpentine were able to release the Great Devourer. And it took thousands of lives - but never the life of the one who was to blame.

He'd grabbed the vengestone bars, the faint sense of numbness they brought a welcoming relief from the storm of emotions that- he honestly had no clue what to do with.

i could drown, he had thought briefly, fleetingly. what if i drowned and i never hurt anyone again-

you have  a responsibility, even though you've pretty much failed to uphold it so far

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, he'd gripped the bars tighter, ignoring the sting of the metal against skin.

If anything, he'd welcomed the sting.

Any pain was better than the agonizing reminder that his heart was, and had always been, entirely whole.

He didn't even realize he was trembling until he heard his father's voice echoing from the vortex.

His father hadn't asked to be bitten by an evil snake, the venom coursing through his veins for years upon years. He hadn't asked to be dumped at a boarding school for bad kids, spending what he had left of his childhood hiding in empty classrooms or yelling empty threats as his classmates snickered.

Against all odds, they'd been reunited. Evil snakes, Fangblades, even Jade Blades - none of it had stood between them.

Just when he thought they might have a future - he might have a- a family - the Cursed Realm decided to curse them all.

His father with imprisonment, him with a life devoid of a father he'd loved, at the end.

Now H- she wanted to resurrect him?

His father had been so much more than the Oni blood in his veins. So was he.

But if he was completely Oni-

Lloyd didn't like their odds. He kind of hated them.

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

---

A few chaotic hours later... they'd won? They'd won.

The Sons of Garmadon (he'd always thought the name was kind of ironic - he, the only son of Garmadon, wasn't in their crazy biker gang) had been imprisoned by courageous, if a bit overzealous, taser-wielding policeman.

Ninjago was celebrating - everyone was; he should be, too.

Should he really revel in their victory, though? It was his fault that she'd been able to snatch the last mask, all the safeguards the Oni had put in place practically worthless because of his stupid feelings-

H- Harumi had been thrown in one of the police vans.

"You're right - this isn't me," she'd started, her meekness almost convincing him that she really was the girl he'd fallen for - the girl who'd been forced into a mask she never wanted to wear, but someone who still cared about the world... and- and about him.

"Stop."

He'd cut her off, the venom in his tone surprising both of them.

"Save it for someone who cares," he'd forced out, the hurt welling up his chest almost as painful as their unceremonious descent into the jungle, (the descent she'd orchestrated, he'd thought fleetingly, squeezing his eyes together) unable to believe that this- this liar was the same sweet girl he'd fallen for.

With that, he slammed the door of the van, locking her in - wishing that locking his memories away could be easy.

She'd never cared about him; simply needing to use him as if he was nothing more than the power he wielded.

He watched one of the policemen drive her away, the tired-but-enthusiastic cheers of his teammates nothing more than background noise; static.

Vaguely, he realized that his heart wasn't quite whole - he'd given a piece of it to someone whom he had thought would link theirs together in harmony, the melody to his chorus; what he'd been searching for ever since he'd woken up screaming in a 'boarding school' that seemed more like a prison.

She'd taken more than what he'd given - draining the light from his entire being as if she was the Overlord, stealing his golden power without a shred of remorse.

That failure was practically painless, compared to her-

An almost unfamiliar emotion slowly stated to replace the ache in his chest that he'd grown used to for all those years; it'd become comforting, even. Watching the world go by with a heart that seemed more like a curse, he briefly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be better off without one.

If there was ever a problem that presented itself to Nya while she worked on the Bounty, she used to joke that it'd be easier to just dump their entire hard dive into the sea.

Destruction seemed to be easier than fixing, he conceded - the van now just a glimmer of bright light; one of the many that made up their vibrant city.

"How did you know?" he heard, yet again wondering how he felt so disconnected from his own role in the memory.

How had she known? 

The whisper of a voice long gone bled into his consciousness, his hands shaking at his sides even as the city celebrated.

Why had he even asked that?

Plastering a smile on his face as he walked over to his teammates, the question repeating itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

FSM - she didn't need to be leader of a biker gang to know that.

Who could ever give their heart - the epitome of human connection; golden power all on its own, albeit of a different kind - to an Oni?

Maybe he wasn't the one trapped behind an invisible wall, built on tears and loneliness and yearning and heartache and a lone question - why? Why could no one seem to look past the cage he felt himself trapped in, observing the world rather than playing a part in it.

He hadn't been a- abandoned by everyone, he realized, a weary sense of clarity and shadowed eyes not sure to accept it or push it into the back of his mind like the hours he'd spent there, as if he'd ever want to have hurt his teammates like he did, the twisted ghost-

He trailed behind his teammates as they sang - horribly off key, his mind pointed out, forcing a small smile onto his face - lost in the figurative blizzard, despite the fact that the sun's rays had only vanished a few hours ago.

If no one would know his heart?

FSM - could he really blame them?

(if you read this far, thank you so much, you’ve made my day:D)

#lloyd garmadon #ninjago angst week #harumi #sons of garmadon #ninjago fic #ninjago #lloyd

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 12: café

Character A is stuck working in coffee shop on Christmas Day and Character B is the lonely soul spending their whole day there,, percabeth

Annabeth never thought she’d be the type of person to end up working on Christmas, thousands of miles away from home. She imagined herself at this point in her live with her friends and family, huddled near a fire on Christmas Day.

Instead, this is what she gets.

She gets an uncomfortable table in the corner of a coffee shop, stuck in the middle of a New York winter.

It’s the first time in her life that she didn’t get a warm Christmas, and it’s... different. Not bad, but she misses home. So she supposes this is her attempt to make herself feel better, sitting in a cafe by herself typing away at her computer.

Annabeth sighs, fingers pausing. She honestly doesn’t even know what she’s typing at this point. She’s too distracted by the absence of people around her and wishing that she were anywhere but here.

She doesn’t notice the person behind the counter staring at her until there’s a drink sliding in front of her face. Annabeth looks up in confusion, unaware that they had been so close to her, and is met with a kind smile.

“A drink,” he says, pushing it towards her a little bit more.

She still doesn’t say anything, instead looking back to the drink. It’s a pretty drink, almost too perfect to actually consume. It’s peppermint, no doubt, with the flawless white and red swirls inside the clear cup and steaming out the top.

“You don’t have to pay for it;” he assures her. She drags her eyes back to his, sees him leaning on the counter in patience, a subtle smile still on his face. His eyes surprise her, a vibrant green. “It’s on me.”

She lets herself break. “Thank you,” she says, pulling it towards her. She brings the cup to her lips and takes the runway sip. The second the taste hits her tongue, she is in love. A small, disbelieving laugh bubbles out of her throat in astonishment.

“Secret recipe,” he tells her, winking. She decides then that she really likes his smile that’s warm and welcoming. His eyes light up brighter than the lights strewn around the cafe, and his body language screams that he’s truly a beautiful soul. There’s a Christmas apron tied around his waist, and his name tag that reads Percy has a reindeer haphazardly drawn on it. It’s cute, and it doesn’t look like he’s the one that drew it.

“Thank you, Percy.”

“Aw, that’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

She pauses. “What is?”

“You’re calling me by my name, yet I don’t even know yours.”

She wouldn’t normally tell a stranger her name. She’s careful about those types of things as a girl living alone in a big city, so she doesn’t know what prompts her to answer.

“I’m Annabeth.”

“Annabeth. Huh. That’s a cute name.”

“So is Percy.”

“Please. Percy is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard.”

She laughs, lifting and pinching her fingers close together. “Only a little bit.”

“I blame my mom.” Percy moves to put a few of the things around him away. He’s not looking at her as he asks, “What are you doing here on Christmas, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“What are you doing working here on Christmas?” she counters, but not unkindly.

“You answer a question with a question?”

“You just did the same thing.”

Percy’s hand shoot playfully in surrender. “You got me there.”

Annabeth glances down to get away from his eyes that feel as though they bore down into her soul. “I didn’t have anywhere to go,” she says truthfully.

“No family?”

“California. Couldn’t afford to go this year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Nothing I can do now.”

He pauses in front of her again. “I’ll be your Christmas buddy then, so you’re not all alone.”

Annabeth looks around. Not a single other person is in the shop. She looks back at him, doubtful. “You’re obligated to do that. You work here.”

“I am being one-hundred percent honest when I say I would not care if I got fired from this job,” he says, making her choke slightly. “But you’re wrong. I would have talked to you anyways, even if I was another customer. You looked like you could use someone to talk to.”

“I look lonely,” she summarizes.

“Lonely isn’t a bad thing.”

“It’s getting me your pity points.”

“It really isn’t a bad thing,” he insists. “I want to be talking to you. If I didn’t want to talk, then I wouldn’t have. Besides, I’m in the same boat as you. Family’s a bit far, and I had to work.”

“I’m sorry for making you work then.”

“I’m talking to you at work, not for work. There’s a difference,” he says, eyes gleaming.

She leans forwards. She’s caught onto his game, and she chooses to play along. “So tell me then, Percy, why are you talking to me at work?”

“No one should be alone on Christmas.”

“You wanted to be my special person?”

“Something like that,” he agrees.

“So you made me a drink to win me over, yeah?”

“You got it.”

It’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for her. She wonders if she’s imaging it all. There’s no way someone like this exists. He’s too pure for the world, and she can see it from a mile away with the way he smiles, laughs, and pushes festive drinks in front of strangers because he thinks they deserve so much more than sitting in a lonely coffee shop.

“Do you think you have to work right now?” Annabeth asks, hoping he’ll sit beside her.

Percy looks around the shop. “I don’t know. It’s pretty busy in here.”

She rolls her eyes fondly, patting the stool next to her. “Come. If you’re going to be my Christmas buddy, you have to sit next to me while I work.”

“Not working and sitting next to a pretty girl? Sounds like a win to me.” He comes around the counter and sits next to her. He peers at her computer, and she can tell that he expects her to start typing away. Instead, she shuts the top and rests her hand on her curled-up fist, choosing to talk to him instead.

“Do you have a kid?” she asks, now focused on his nametag again, and the terribly drawn Rudolph.

Percy snorts. “I’m sorry?”

“Your nametag,” she says. “It looks like a toddler did it.”

“Oh. I don’t like you anymore. You insulted my art skills.”

“You actually drew that?”

“No, but what if I did? You could have just destroyed the aspiring artist in me.”

“If you had drawn that, it would’ve stayed as an aspiring artist.”

“That one was good,” he praises, humored. “But in my defense, a toddler did draw it. It just wasn’t my kid because I am twenty-one and have no interest in being a father.”

“No kids?”

“I mean, not now. In the future maybe, with the right person. But not now.”

Annabeth’s heart stutters. She feels like there’s static in the air, thrumming inside her body. “And you haven’t met that right person?”

Percy locks eyes with her and tilts his head earnestly. “I’m still trying to find out.”

And, oh, it makes her feel warm. This isn’t her, but she’s so far in that she doesn’t care. She doesn’t know him, but she is determined to change that because there is just something about him that she needs to figure out. She likes logic and clues, and he is littered with them. There is an equation, and she thinks that just maybe, together they are the solution.

“You’re trying to figure it out about who?” she asks.

Percy must catch her lie because he smirks at her, and she is compelled to kiss the smirk away. “It’s this girl. I haven’t known her long, but she really likes coffee. She’s also so determined, wanting to build a future. I mean, she works on Christmas alone in a café. A lot of people would find it weird, but she’s lucky I find it cute.”

“She sounds familiar. Do I know her?”

Percy hums. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Bummer.” A silence settles between them, but it’s not awkward. She uses the time to look over him shamelessly. He lets her, and returns the favor himself, making her feel beautiful with every agonizing trace of his eyes against her. “What would the girl need to do to get a chance with you?” “Here’s the thing. I like this girl very much. She’d probably think it was weird how much I liked her, but I’ve actually seen her in the shop a million times before, which is probably weirder now that I think about it. But I have her order memorized and have been trying to figure out how to ask her out for the past few weeks. I didn’t get to ask her out until recently though.”

“What did she say?”

Percy bites his bottom lip, a teasing smile, and hands the reigns to her. “You tell me.”

“But her answer would depend on where you want to take her!”

“I thought a cute first date would be on Christmas, actually. I have a small group of friends coming over, maybe two or three, and we’re going to watch movies all night and eat candy. Everyone will be in sweaters and sweatpants, and there will be lots of snuggles. There’s just one thing.”

Annabeth has to force her breathing to calm because this game is going to drive her insane. “And what is that?”

“Do you think she’ll think that’s coming on too strong?”

“Not at all,” she whispers. “She’ll probably say that sounds like the best date she could ever dream of.”

“Then I guess I have to take this girl on a date,” he says.

“I guess you do.”

“Do you think it would be okay if I kissed this girl too? Even if I’ve only known her for around half an hour?”

“That depends on if she believes in love at first sight.” “Does she?”

“She didn’t,” she answers honestly, “until now.”

“So she believes in love at first sight?”

“Let’s call it a Christmas miracle.”

“And she wants me to kiss her?”

“She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

Percy’s eyes are full of every emotion, gorgeous and loving. “Then I guess I have to fulfil.”

And when he pulls her closer to him, settling his lips on hers, she feels content. He’s warm and soft and beautiful and perfect, and she could linger in this moment forever. He pulls away but she follows, desperate to prolong the moment, and he complies.

By the time he pulls away, they’re both breathless. Percy’s breaths hit her lips with every inhale. His eyes are closed, his forehead against hers, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face.

“When can they go on that date?” she whispers.

“Why not now?”

Her heart flutters. “Now’s good.”

It takes a few minutes for him to close before they’re finally walking out of the store. She thinks he’s going to take her to his apartment but surprises her instead when they end up inside of a cheesy Christmas store. The shelves are lined with Christmas pajamas and socks, and he makes her pick some out.

“It’s not Christmas if you don’t look like a candy cane!”

“I don’t like candy canes.”

Percy frowns before spotting a matching pair of socks and pulling them up. “These are perfect! You’d look so cute!”

And yeah, Annabeth thinks she’s falling in love.

There’s something in the air that tells her she’s going to marry this man.

It’s not until three Christmases later that Annabeth is back inside that shop, and Percy is behind the counter. He slides the peppermint mocha in front of her face, and she looks up from her computer long enough to give him a quick kiss. When he comes around the counter, she expects him to sit on the stool next to her.

Instead, he gets down on one knee.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #my writing

[scriptstructure]

part 1 I have multiple alien planets, but the things is I want to to be similiar in earth as in 200 countries, 5000 ethnic groups, 6500 languages, varied climate/terrain/politics. Part of the story is still on earth and obviously as a whole, 99.9999% of stuff on earth isn't even getting used, but we know there is more and sometimes there are little hints. That is stuff we know from real life and generally doesn't need explanation. Example, a character says "We borrowed this from the Russians."

Part 2 Regardless of what is really important, what we know and doesn't need explanation is a lot because we figure readers generally understand--or they can google. Hell, there could even be lots of subtle culture references as well. Anyway, depending on the reader's knowledge, it can enhance the reader's understanding in various and subtle ways. But when I do things similiar in alien planets, it makes no sense and requires extra explanation to fill the details. So, basically useless.

Part 3 Thus it seems I'm unable to fully give the type of experience as when using earth as pretty much everything needs to be important to the story. Unless there's another way to do this so I can make my alien planets seem so much more than what's actually focused on without the needless exposition? It feels like at best I could try to mention a few things but it could never feel as vast as earth does. Perhaps maybe I just need numbers?

Reminder that if your question doesn’t fit in a single ask box, you should use /SUBMIT instead.

I have had a few questions in the past which are very similar to this one, [HERE] is about how to introduce invented elements of secondary worlds (stuff that doesn't exist in the real world but has been made up for the story), [HERE] is about how and why we might include extra details about the places that a character is visiting, [HERE] deals with establishing what a 'normal' day in an invented setting is like, and [HERE] is about ways of thinking about worldbuilding, and how much you need to know vs how much the characters know.

So it is a fairly common shortcut, in scifi writing, and scifi film writing in particular, to portray alien planets as kind of 'one thing' settings. Here is the desert planet, and there is the dessert planet, and over there is the Evil planet, and there's the cute jungle teddy bear planet moon. This can be useful if you're making a film or story where you just want the different worlds to work as shorthand for certain ideas 'shitty home world', 'the seat of democracy', 'the swamp where Yoda lives' etc.

But it is very simplistic, and obviously looking at Earth, as you've said, there's a vast array of different climates, cultures, people, languages etc. We do tend to simplify the way that we portray Earth in film and stories, as well--think about, say, Australia being largely signified by the Opera House/ Harbour Bridge, and the Outback™, or the UK being Big Ben and the houses of parliament, or the USA being a vast stretch of corn fields between New York and Hollywood.

So how do we effectively give the sense of a world being bigger than the particular spot that we happen to find ourselves in?

First off, you need to have background information about the world that you're building. If you know what the major cities are, what the main continents are, if your alien world has countries, or if it has a singular centralised system of government--or is it divided into city states? or is it divided into time zones? or is it divided into... etc

Think about how your characters conceptualise their world, and their place in it. Do they think about the world, with all its variety, as a single vibrant whole? Or do they think of 'us on this continent, and them over on that continent'?

How does trade work on this world? Do they have extensive trade networks among the various cities/ countries/ regions? Or do they rely on off-world suppliers for various things?

What kind of cultural exchange is common among these different areas, and what are the cultural touchstones that your characters might be familiar with, or interact with on a daily basis?

As with the examples I gave in the first linked post above, it is less about providing the readers with an exact view of how the politics and interactions of the various places function, and more about demonstrating what that means in practice for the characters.

Say there's a certain kind of fruit that is PROTAGONIST's mother's favourite, and she spends all day searching the hypermarket for one to surprise her mother with for her birthday, but turns out there's none of that fruit available because it's all from OTHER REGION, and there's a war on, or a volcano has erupted and interrupted trade, or the shuttle crews are on strike and so the fruit can no longer be transported down from the moon.

If your protag's favourite pop group is from a polar region and only produces music six months out of the year, because the other six months they have to work with their community to produce supplies for the long dark winter, that tells us something about the way that polar community is organised, and how it interacts with the rest of the world.

What else can we think about when constructing alien planets/ secondary worlds?

It can be difficult to think 'outside the box' of the culture that we're immersed in. It's very easy to slip into thinking that we're doing things the 'correct' way, and if someone else somewhere else does stuff different, that's weird, wrong, or sinister. Often it can be just a different way of doing things that gives the solution that the person is after.

I think it can be very helpful to read books about ancient history, especially stuff about societies that no longer exist, because a lot of the assumptions that we make about the way the world currently works are less useful when we look at ancient history. There are some extremely varied ways of approaching society and culture and a whole lot of stuff which isn't immediately obvious, but which we can understand by looking at the vast differences between ancient societies.

Well written history books can really help you get the sense of how societies form, and how culture develops, and some of the forces involved in cross cultural relations. Also, there are some great examples from the ancient world, of, for example, the various different Ancient Greek societies, and how each of them thought of themselves as 'doing culture the best', of their neighbouring hellenistic states of 'doing culture not quite as well' and of everyone who didn't speak greek properly as barbaric outsiders.

At the moment I'm reading Philip and Alexander: Kings and Conquerors by Adrian Goldsworthy, and I think one of the things that has struck me as super interesting is the difference between how the Greeks vs the Persians organised their societies, and the way that they thought about and approached warfare.

So what are the basic questions we're working with?

-What is the protagonist/ focalising character's relationship to the world? Were they born on-world? Are they adult settlers? Are they traders passing through? Has the character travelled to other places on the world, or have they mostly stayed in their home city/ area?

-How do the protag/ focalising characters think of the other places in the world that they are not currently visiting? (ie, I am in Sydney, Australia, what do I think of Boston, USA, or Paris, France? Big cities with a Reputation, I probably know something about. Small towns or cities I may or may not be familiar with, depending on my life experience or interests)

-How do the material goods which are needed for daily life pass around the world? Are certain goods only available from certain areas? Are there Events happening which may disrupt supply routes? Are there cultural elements which may cause friction in trade?

-What kinds of cultural export or exchange happen on this world? Is there a particular city which is well known for its entertainment production? (Hollywood, California--movies, New York City--the print publishing industry) Does this mean that portrayals of the rest of the world are skewed by the perspectives of that place? (Remember, Australia is just a bridge, an opera house, and red dirt!)

There's always going to be a gap between what your characters know, or are aware of, and what is 'actually' happening in the world of your story, but as long as you have the information decided, and can write the world consistently and with sensory and suggestive details, the reader can and will pick up the puzzle pieces and fit them together.

It's a complex problem, but it's one that can produce interesting complex settings.

I hope this helps!

#writing #worldbuilding #world building

[ladykissingfish]

A Date with an Angel // Part One // Kakuzu and Deidara

((Note: This is a new little mini-series I’m working on at the request of an Anon, about all of tbe guy’s going on a date with Konan. I was just going to put everyone’s together in one post but it’d be way too long, so each post will feature at least two of the guys.))

“So what’s this meeting about, Leader? And where is Konan?” It’s Kisame who asks the question, but everyone is curious about the answer. It was rare for Nagato to get them all out of bed so late at night for a meeting; they all assumed something catastrophic must have happened. As if reading their minds, Nagato clears his throat and says, reassuringly, “There is nothing wrong. I’ve called you here to discuss Konan. I’m sure you’ve all been observant enough to notice how Konan has been acting differently as of late?” All of the boys bow their heads in embarrassment; in truth, none of them have noticed anything “off” at all about the pretty blue-haired lady. When Nagato first informed his group of for-hire mercenaries and bodyguards that he was bringing his old friend into the house that they all shared, none of them had been very enthusiastic, to say the least. “A woman means we can’t walk around naked anymore!” “She’ll probably nag us to pick up and keep the house clean!” “That means no more dirty jokes, no nudie mags, no —“ But Nagato wasn’t hearing it. He moved Konan in, giving her his own bedroom (which was the nicest in the house AND the only one with its own connected bathroom) and told her to make herself at home. Which she did ... and making herself at home wasn’t ALL she did. She managed to turn the old house into a home, a home that she cleaned, a home that she cooked meals for everyone in, a place (and a face) that the others looked forward to seeing after coming home from a long (and often brutal) day. She was always there when somebody needed stitching up, or a hot meal, or just somebody to talk to. But now ... “She’s been feeling depressed as of late.” Then Nagato tells them something they didn’t know; the reason he asked her to live with them in the first place was because he didn’t want her to be alone, after the sudden death of her boyfriend (and Nagato’s best friend) Yahiko. It’s been almost a full year since his passing, but seeing as how the pain is still fresh in her mind, the upcoming “anniversary” of his demise has left her feeling very down. “So here’s what I want you all to do, every day this week, I want one of you to take Konan out of this house, to somewhere that she’ll enjoy herself.” “You mean like a date?” Nagato shakes his head, “She might not be receptive to that word. Instead frame it as an outing between two friends. The point being, take her away from here and make her happy. She deserves at least that much from us, for all that she does for us. Agreed?” Everyone agrees, and then Nagato provides a hat and writes everyone’s name on a slip of paper, to determine the order in which they’ll be asking Konan out. First up?

Kakuzu

Nagato drew Kakuzu’s name out first, which the nonagenarian wasn’t quite happy about. Kakuzu is the oldest member of Nagato’s group, and the smartest with money, which is why he’s been made the group treasurer. Any possible expenses for jobs taken have to be run through and approved by Kakuzu, and he’s known to be very frugal and careful with the group’s fund. While he likes Konan and appreciates all she does for the group, he has never been on a “date” in his life .. and certainly didn’t intend to start now. Nevertheless, when he approaches her and asks her to spend the day with him, she seems very surprised, but receptive. As expected, this man does not intend to do anything with Konan that will put him under any kind of financial strain. Free is the way to be, and you can bet that Kakuzu will already have a list of places or events in his head that don’t cost a penny to attend. For their date, he decides to take the lovely lady to a classical music concert in the park. The weather is beautiful and the park isn’t that far from the “base”, so they walk there. Konan chatters away happily the whole time, which Kakuzu more or less tunes out. He’d rather be back at home reading a book. But once they get to the park, and they spread out the blanket that Konan’s brought and sit, things change. The music is really beautiful, but not more so than Konan’s dreamy face, as she listens and sways along to the peaceful melodies. She’s also packed them a lunch, which Kakuzu nibbles at and appreciates (and not for the first time) how good of a cook she is. One song is so gorgeous that Konan can’t keep still, and she gets to her feet and holds out her hand, asking Kakuzu to dance with her. For the first time in years, he blushes. To be asked to dance by such a pretty young woman ... he stands, and the two move carefully around their little area. Seeing them dance awakens the desire in others, and pretty soon everyone is stepping around to the music. He will, maybe for the first time in his life, feel a bit insecure. He and Konan are only friends, but ... he sees the way everyone is looking at them. He can read their thoughts almost as if they’re being spoken aloud: What’s a pretty young girl doing with an old man like that? At some point in the afternoon, Kakuzu spots a souvenir stand and, seeing as the little trinkets aren’t too expensive, goes to pick one out for Konan. As he stands there, he can overhear a younger man walk up to Konan, shamelessly hitting on her, in fact telling her to “ditch grandpa over there and come back to my place for a good time, sweet-cheeks.” Kakuzu watches as the guy puts a hand on Konan’s arm, and he’s about to go and defend her when Konan takes the guys hand, pulls, and flips him clear over her shoulder and damn near across the park ((stunning the onlookers, and, especially, Kakuzu)). Kakuzu quickly turns back around and takes his souvenir (which is a keychain with a tiny glittery pink penguin on it) up to the table to buy. Konan comes up as he’s pulling out his wallet, and, leaning up, gently kisses his cheek, making him blush once again. Walking back home in the twilight, it’s much colder outside than when they first arrived, and Kakuzu takes off his jacket and drapes it over Konan’s shoulders, which provides her with wonderful warmth. She holds on to his arm all the way home, telling him what a nice time she had with him. They get back to base and Konan spends the entire night gushing to everyone else about their time, how fun it was, how great of a dancer Kakuzu is. Kakuzu tries to act gruff and nonchalant about this but inside, he’s beaming. In the days that follow, he’ll stop and smile every time he sees Konan’s keys hanging up, with the little glittery pink penguin dangling off the ring.

Deidara

Deidara is the second name drawn, and he’s happy about this. He’s the youngest of the group at 19, with long blonde hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a flair for all things “artistic”. He has no less than 10 piercings in each ear, and a self-designed tattoo on his chest. He’s often referred to by the others as being smart, but “really immature“, to which he disagrees. The problem with Deidara is that he has a mind that speeds ahead faster than the average person can deal with, and he often acts on impulse or feeling rather than logical thought. Still, he’s a valuable, strategic member of Nagato’s group ... even if he can be annoying at times. When not working, he’s the type who likes to have a fun time, no matter who he’s with; and Konan has been lots of fun to hang out with in the past. Although ... as far as he can recall, the two of them have never exoerienced a one-on-one outing with each other. Luck is on his side; he sees that there’s a carnival in town and he immediately asks Konan to go with him. She tells him that she has no money and he tells her not to worry about it, HE has money, just go with him because he hates doing fun things like that alone. She asks him if he means go with, on a date, and he gets flustered because Nagato had specifically mandated that they don’t let Konan know what all of this is. BUT, the other hand, he’s never been on a “date” in his life so, why not? “Yeah, hm. Me and you, pretty lady. What do you say?” She ends up saying yes, and the two set out for an afternoon of fun. Konan learns that Deidara is a competitive spirit, and he finds joy in playing the games. He manages to make a giant balloon explode in one game, and in turn wins Konan a huge stuffed giraffe that she needs both arms to carry. He buys her an abundance of fare sweets, such as cotton candy and funnel cakes, and then come the rides. Tilt a whirl, the go-carts, and the Fun House has them both shrieking near-hysterical laughter in the Hall Of Mirrors. Towards early evening, the fair grounds evoke a different atmosphere, as everything blooms into colorful lights. The Ferris wheel looks particularly enchanting, with its pink and blue globe-lights, and Deidara asks Konan if she wants to get on. But she’s a bit apprehensive about this, as heights aren’t really her thing. But Deidara’s eagerness and the beauty of the contraption appeal to her, and she finds herself (along with her giraffe) getting into one of the swinging cars with the excited blonde. They move higher and higher up into the sky, as the cars below them are filled with people, and although Konan is putting on. a brave face, a little jolt makes her jump. “Are you scared?” She gives him a shaky laugh. “N-no. Just startled.” “You’re sure? Because I can ask the guy to let us back off.” But again she shakes her head. once the last customers are loaded, the Ferris wheel starts up and Konan immediately moves closer to Deidara, grasping his arm. She’s shaking, but rather than point this out to her, Deidara begins talking to her, calmly, quietly. Going over all the fun things they did that day, and how much he appreciates her coming with him. Eventually Konan’s fears melt away and she’s able to fully open her eyes and take in the glorious night sky. Towards the end of the ride, their car is stopped at the very top as the people below them get off, and Konan takes the opportunity to move even closer and gently kiss Deidara’s cheek. He blushes fiercely, asking, “What was that for?” and she replies “I was feeling down earlier today. You asked me to come here with you and you made my whole day brighter. So thank you.” Her words give *him* a bright, warm feeling in his chest; one that stays with him as they get off the Ferris wheel, as they go home, and when he takes her to her room door. She’s holding her stuffed giraffe in her arms, and she’s chattering about where she’s going to put it, but Deidara is barely listening; all he can focus on is her soft-looking lips. This woman is his friend, and ONLY a friend, but — “Um, Konan?” “Yes” “Don’t laugh but, um, t-tonight was my

first date, with a girl. And I was wondering if — I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I was wondering if maybe — maybe I could —“ But Konan interrupts him with a feather-touch of a kiss to the lips. Deidara’s cheeks flush and he mumbles a “Thank you” before stumbling down the hall to his own room. The smile on his face follows him into his dreams.

#the akatsuki #first date #a date with an angel #konan akatsuki #deidara #kakuzu #konadei #kakukona #naruto

[soulmate-game]

Part 1 … Part 2

“So, How was your first day of school in America?” Lois asked as her small family all sat around the table eating dinner. It was almost painfully ordinary, traditional. A married couple and two kids eating a normal dinner and talking about their day.

All of them appreciated that one piece of normalcy in their worlds of superheroes and villains and PTSD.

Marinette snorted, almost choking on her forkful of food. After managing to somehow swallow without causing herself discomfort, she smiled at her mother figure.

“Honestly? I know Jon could fly and I could teleport to school in practically no time at all, but somehow Damian still manages to seem more impressive.”

“Right?!” Jon agreed emphatically, leaning over the table towards her and almost getting his whole plate of food smashed against his chest. “Probably because helicopters are huge and look awesome, but we’re still just us when we use our powers.”

Marinette nodded sagely at that reasoning as if it was something actually serious. Tikki, who was sitting next to her plate with a half-eaten cookie, giggled.

“That makes sense. But be careful Kaalki doesn’t hear you referring to them as ‘not impressive—‘“ Marinette was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Too late, I already heard that blasphemy,” the other Kwami’s voice carried down from upstairs, making Lois and Clark’s lips twitch up in amusement. “I’m a god, dear, I have even better hearing than Kal-El,” for some reason the little horse god always referred to the boys by their kryptonian names, but they didn’t seem to mind much. “Not as impressive as a helicopter, hah! See if I let you use my fabulous powers anytime soon, Guardian or no Guardian.”

Marinette just rolled her eyes. Technically she could just command Kaalki, but that was against her morals and the horse god would never keep her from responding to an Akuma attack anyway. This was just harmless teasing.

And it was really nice in contrast to everything they were used to dealing with.

“Okay, but besides the helicopter,” Clark pressed gently after everyone’s chuckles quieted down. His face was open with genuine curiosity, and a little bit of worry that Marinette caught onto instantly. “I know Damian isn’t always the easiest person to get along with or understand. Did the rest of the day go by alright?”

Marinette actually set her fork down on her plate, her smile turning a little gentle. “Actually? Yeah. When we first spoke I thought he was a stuck-up jerk like some of my ex-friends and a bully of mine from Paris. But he’s just not good with people,” Marinette’s smile turned even softer as she gazed down at the table, at some memory nobody else could see. “It reminds me of my friend Kagami, from Paris. She acts pretty similar. Really impersonal and prickly on the outside, but once you get to know her she’s the most loyal friend you’ll have. Her mom is really strict though, and Kagami never got to interact with a lot of kids her own age, so she still has issues figuring out how to behave around others sometimes,” Marinette actually ended up laughing a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “We uh, we actually had a crush on the same person back when we first met and it sparked a pretty rough rivalry for a while. Once we got past that though, we ended up being best friends.”

Jon snickered, trading knowing glances with their parents. They had already agreed that, unless Damian or Bruce told her themselves, Marinette would have to figure out the Bat’s identities on her own.

“That sounds very familiar,” Jon stated with a little nod. “Me and Damian fought when we first met, too. Legend has it that Dad and Bruce, Damian’s dad, didn’t get along right away either.”

It was Clark’s turn to snort. “I think it’s just a Wayne thing,” the man agreed, amused. “They don’t like getting close to anyone right off the bat,” Lois kicked his leg under the table for that pun, but Clark cheerfully ignored it. “It is pretty funny that you have a similar experience with someone completely unrelated, though. Maybe we should invite her over sometime? Do you know when her school’s next break is?”

Marinette sat up straight in her chair, her smirk wide and almost blinding at the prospect of seeing one of her closest friends in person again. They video chatted and called often enough, but it wasn’t the same. “Actually! Kagami told me that she’s going to Gotham next month for a fencing competition. She’s an Olympic hopeful, you know. She has to make a good enough impression in different national and international competitions to be selected,” Marinette was almost bouncing in her seat, looking like a female version of Jon for a moment with her vibrant blue eyes shining with rare unhindered excitement and her body unable to stay still from the energy.

“I heard that Gotham was holding the World fencing finals this year,” Lois remarked, but kept eye contact with Clark for a moment as the two communicated silently in a way even telepaths couldn’t copy. Marinette recognized the hesitance in their faces, and her bouncing stopped immediately. She knew why they would be reluctant to let her go.

“I know Gotham is dangerous and I still have attacks pretty often,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, but firm in a way that the rest of their little family hadn’t heard from her much at all. It made Clark and Lois look at her, waiting for her to finish making her point patiently. “But self defense isn’t really an issue. Even without any powers, without transforming, I…” Marinette took a breath to steel herself before continuing. “I learned martial arts from Maman. And I’ve used the Miraculous so long that all the combat experience of the previous Ladybugs is mostly muscle memory by now. And Kagami is more than just a fencer, her mom’s trained her in all sorts of sword fighting her whole life. Trust me, nobody messes with Kagami and gets away with it easily,” Marinette actually looked down at her hands, watching as she essentially had a thumb war with herself to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think physical attacks are what we’re worried about,” Lois admitted slowly, frowning. “I mean, yes, it’s a concern. But if I remember the dates for the competition correctly, I’ll be out of town for my first long distance job since you came to live with us. Clark will be at work during the day on the weekend, though maybe he can get a day or two off,” Lois gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second. “I suppose, if Jon wants to go with you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem if something happens…”

Oh. They weren’t worried about people attacking her. They were worried about her own mind. Which, after the last few months? Was perfectly fair.

“I don’t mind if—“

But, as life usually ended up, they were interrupted from their peace. Everyone jolted in their seats as the door was unceremoniously kicked down, and a man in his early twenties walked in carrying a mountain of boxes in his arms. Marinette blinked, no longer on guard since the rest of her new family immediately relaxed. But still, she was confused. Nobody said anything about having a visitor today.

“I know, I know. I haven’t been in touch for way too long, give us a little forewarning, blah blah blah. I brought presents this time though,” the man said, cheerful and casual and blasé. With the boxes on the center of the dining table, Marinette could finally get a good look at him.

He was probably about twenty four or twenty five, if Marinette’s ever-sharp eyes were correct (they hardly ever weren’t), and his hair was spiked up with a bit of gel, but not too much. Just enough to give it kind of a tousled-rebel look, and it was cropped close to his head on the sides. He had on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and slightly down the arms, with slightly baggy black jeans and a plain, worn red shirt. Dark black sunglasses rested on the top of his head, even though the sun had been down for a while.

He did not meet the usual Kent aesthetic of a charming, traditional nuclear family. He was more of an… oddly joyful punk. It actually gave her slight Luka and Jagged vibes, and made her relax a bit into her chair. Contrary to what most might think, Marinette had a bit of a soft spot for the punk rocker look. Most people, that she had met at least, who wore it on a regular basis were amazing people with great senses of humor and large personalities.

“Old man, I got you socks,” he called out with a lazy smirk, chucking the first small box over at Clark. The man caught it with a fond eye roll.

“You always get me socks.”

“Maybe if you stopped being boring, I’d get you something better,” the stranger mocked with good humor. “Lois, jewelry that you’ll never wear,” he handed the box over to the woman with significantly more care, before sliding over one of the bigger boxes to her as well. “And a new camera that you will actually use.”

“Hey, Wait a second, you know you don’t have to—“

“And for the squirt,” the man interrupted without letting Lois finish saying that there was no need to spend so much money. He tossed the last big boxes over to Jon one at a time carelessly, smirking the whole time that Jon playfully scrambled for them. “Video games, geeky shirts, and inside jokes,” he stated happily.

With the table now clear of boxes, he finally noticed the extra body. He blinked, making silent eye contact with Marinette for a tense moment.

“Okay, she’s too old to be a secret child. Did someone make another clone? Did Jon get a girlfriend that looks freakishly like a long lost Asian family member? What did I miss?” He asked, never taking his eyes off Marinette. Clark grimaced.

“If you didn’t break your phone so often, maybe we would have been able to tell you sooner,” the man said slowly, cautiously, with his eyes never straying from the stranger. “This is Marinette. Marinette, this is Connor. He’s… Jon’s brother,” the pause there was a bit odd, and Marinette frowned at the look on Clark’s face. It was like he didn’t know what to say at all, or how to say it. “Marinette is living with us for the foreseeable future. If we get the chance we might officially adopt her, so she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Marinette’s voice came out a lot squeakier than intended, the girl thoroughly whiplashed by this situation. It was hard to think straight. “I— we never talked about adoption.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, not in as many words,” he conceded slowly. “It would be incredibly hard, and we wanted to give you time to settle in before asking. But… well, you’re officially an American citizen and we all feel like you’re family already. So…”

“You wouldn’t have to change your name,” Lois was quick to interject, watching Marinette’s face worriedly. “And you can say no. You’re already a Kent. We would just like to make it official legally, if and when you’re ready.”

“Okay, stop making the poor girl freak out,” Connor interrupted, eyes also on Marinette and gentle in their concern. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ignore them. Clark never had great timing that wasn’t related to legitimate danger. So, sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he leaned back casually, thumbs hooked on his jacket pockets lazily. “Didn’t expect I’d have a new sister when I came back to visit.”

Marinette calmed down a little, but emotions still overflowed in her head, her chest still tight and the air feeling too thin. She offered Connor a shaky smile before standing up, looking over to Clark and Lois. “Um, I— can I— I’m tired.”

Clark sighed, nodding even as his face fell at Marinette’s state. “Yeah. We’ll talk about the competition some more in the morning, get some rest.”

The girl only nodded before making a hasty retreat up to her room, even forgetting to take care of her only half-empty plate. Tikki did her best to calm her bolder down from her place hidden in the girl’s hair, but it wasn’t doing much good. She just needed space, and time to try and process everything.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Aren’t you cold?” Connor’s voice made Marinette jolt, looking over at him with wide eyes. Nobody had ever followed her on her post-nightmare trips before. She wasn’t even transformed. She just sat, in her pajamas, on the empty terrace of her old home. It hadn’t been sold yet so she wasn’t worried about scaring anybody.

“I… should have expected you to be the other Superboy, honestly,” Marinette deflected with a weak smile before turning to look over the city again. She licked her lips, trying to calm herself down. “And yeah, I’m a little cold, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just go back home before it gets too bad.”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out casually. And she was, her whole body was practically vibrating against the terrace railing. Marinette only gave out a pitiful laugh.

“That’s not from the cold.”

Connor only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind them. Gave the girl a little space.

“What did… What did Clark and Lois tell you? About me?” Marinette decided to ask tentatively. Connor raised one brow, honestly a little surprised that she didn’t also have super hearing to go with her powers. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious that Marinette was not exactly like the other Kents, and Connor only liked the jumpy little girl more for it.

“As much as they could without feeling like they were crossing a line,” Connor admitted. “That they took you in after an accident during a metropolis attack a few months ago, when you had nobody else reliable enough to take care of you. That you’re not Kryptonian, but still special and knew about all of our identities already. But strangely enough they didn’t mention teleportation or the fact that you were a Parisian superhero, not that I’m really all that surprised.”

Marinette smiled, snickering a bit at that last part before sobering again. “Is it… weird?”

Connor silently examined the girl for a moment, she probably expected him to ask what she meant. And maybe if he was anybody else, he would have.

“To suddenly come home to a new person that I’m suddenly supposed to accept as a part of the family? Not really. In fact, you’re probably the most normal surprise I’ve dealt with in years.”

“But,” Marinette looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes swimming with uncertainty. “But I just show up out of nowhere, and you really just accept me? Just like that? I mean, you’ve known me less than a day and you just saw me teleport to Paris in the middle of the night— you aren’t worried at all? Or suspicious, or— you really just accept me just like that?”

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, pushing himself off the wall to lean over the terrace railing with her. “You know, technically I’m only eight years old.”

Marinette flinched with surprise at the subject change, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Connor laughed at her confusion, rustling her hair a bit. “I’m a clone. I was made with Superman’s DNA, and that of another asshole we won’t mention. Don’t tell Lois I swore. Anyway, I was ‘born’ as a teenager,” he used finger quotations to show that he wasn’t exactly born normally. “With all the mental development and knowledge of a sixteen year old. Pretty much, anyway, but I was still a newborn,” he shrugged. “Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled. Jon was eight at the time, which is why Clark can never decide if I’m the older or younger brother, and he wasn’t exactly planning on another kid back then. Not to mention the whole ‘created in order to kill Superman if he ever went bad,’ and ‘might be a spy because I was made by his arch nemesis’ thing,” Connor waved his hand as if this blasé info dump didn’t actually matter. Marinette just gaped at him, which made it hard for the guy not to smirk. “Point is, Clark was suspicious. Didn’t exactly want anything to do with me. Can’t say I completely forgive him, but it’s mostly water under the bridge nowadays. Especially when we found out that I did have trigger words, and I was unknowingly dangerous. Don’t worry, those trigger words were erased ages ago. Anyway, Clark eventually got his act together. Gave me the Kryptonian name Kon-el, had me live with him for a little bit. We worked it all out,” Connor turned back to Marinette, taking his sunglasses off so he could look her in the eye properly. “I really don’t think a Ladybug is exactly threatening in comparison.”

Marinette was silent for a moment.

“You know I could throw you off this balcony, right?”

“Eh, I can fly.”

Another moment passed before Marinette couldn’t help it, and started giggling. Those giggles turned to laughs, which quickly turned into joyful bellows. Connor joined in, smiling as he laughed alongside her.

“But… you like it with them, right?” Connor suddenly asked, looking over at her. “I know Jon can be a bit overexcitable, and Clark is an annoying boy scout.”

Marinette just shrugged. “Well, it’s not too bad,” she said softly. “I mean, at least neither of them can die by getting crushed by falling debris. So that’s an improvement at least.” Marinette instantly went pale at her own words, slapping a hand over her mouth. Connor snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the exhaustion talking. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed before Clark accuses me of corrupting you.”

Marinette just nodded, doing the world’s quietest transformation before opening a portal back to her room. She was already detransformed, Connor having one hand on her doorknob, when she spoke up again.

“Uh, Kon?” She fidgeted, not able to look up at him. “Thanks.”

The man just smirked, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. “That’s what family’s for, right?”

Marinette smiled, huffing out a tired laugh. “By the way? I’m glad at least one of you Supers has a sense of fashion.”

“We heard that!”

Connor and Marinette broke back out into guffaws, and the girl couldn’t help but think that she was really grateful for her new family. Maybe she wouldn’t call Clark dad or Lois mom anytime soon, those wounds were still too raw, but maybe eventually. And she’d never had brothers before.

Yeah. This was nice.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 4

I don’t think this ended up as good as the others..? But this is the best way I could write this part. Why is this story turning out longer than expected? Geez I need to learn self control. At least this one was actually kinda fluffy.

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #platonic jonette #pre daminette #platonic connette #marinette joins the kent family #marinette kent #jon kent and marinette #connor kent and marinette

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.19 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch has been through a lot in his short time in Backwater, but there's always the Dorothy option.

~~*~~

Read ‘The Dorothy Option’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

As much as things changed, they also stayed the same. But they still changed and there wasn’t a damn thing Stretch could do about it. He never could.

After Red cut him loose from the shop for the day, walking across the main street to the movie theater was the same, but the breeze cutting through the sweltering heat was different. A couple days ago, Stretch would have eagerly lifted his face into it, let it dry the sweat rolling from his skull and basked in the cooling effect.

Today it was a reminder that summer was actually ending, and autumn was creeping in one slow step at a time. He’d always liked the fall season since they came to the surface, there was no such thing in the Underground. But now that he knew what was coming with the end of the harvest season, it only made him a little sad. It wouldn’t be too long until the scarecrow pole in all the fields was empty.

Stretch paused outside the theater, looking back towards the shop and past it, to the forest behind it. He was too far away to hear the rustling leaves, still green and vibrant, untouched thus far by the changing season. He could still hear it somehow, like a leftover echo, the memory of that sound loud in his head as he turned back to the theater, the constant chatter of leaves scratching inside his skull.

The sound cut off like a stopped tape recorder as the door swung shut behind him. Igor was right inside, looking a lot like an out of work funeral director in his threadbare suit. He looked up from where he was sweeping dandruffy bits of popcorn into a pile and wordlessly went behind the counter to scoop out two cartons of fresher stuff. The dilapidated marquee over the concession stand had only one title on it. ‘The Wizard of Oz’.

“weren’t you playing this flick just a couple weeks ago?” Stretch asked curiously, handing over a fiver.

“Popular movie around here,” Igor told him, tonelessly. Yeah, okay, movies about Kansas and great farming fields, and wonderous unknown worlds where danger lurked. Wasn’t hard to see how people around Backwater could form a parallel to that, hell, there was probably a shrine to Judy Garland in every house on the street, set up with offerings of corn and tiny water buckets.

He looked down at the popcorn cartons that were sitting on the counter, the smell of fresh melted butter rising, and asked abruptly, “can i get a box of raisinets, too?”

Igor nodded and took back the single bill he’d laid down, the box of candy rattling loudly as he set it on the countertop.

Stretch took it and the popcorn and headed into the theater. What was that about, he wondered. He didn’t even like raisins. Maybe he’d take them back for Red.

The theater was empty, without so much as an abandoned soda cup in the aisles and the floor still swept entirely clean. So much for people loving this movie. Stretch sat down in the far back row with his popcorn and candy to wait.

Right on schedule, the lights went low, the MGM logo came up, and then with a swell of music Kansas appeared in a grainy sepia.

He’d seen the Wizard of Oz before coming to Backwater. The first time he’d seen it, they were still in the Underground and it was hard not to make the odd mental comparisons when they came to the surface. Now that he was here in this town, Stretch related to Dorothy more than ever. A stranger in a strange land, sure, but the scarecrow sidekick was pretty damn specific. Would Edgar Allen even know what the yellow brick road was? He was pretty sure the scarecrow in his life didn’t get out of his fields much, if ever.

Never going anywhere, never really living. He sat out there in fields with corn and crows for company, guardian and prison as one. Stretch wondered if that was as sad as his mind kept trying to make it or was he putting his own pathos on an anthropomorphic personification of a scarecrow. Maybe Edgar Allen was perfectly happy with his lot in life. Hell, maybe he was looking forward to the harvest season and a chance to rest without the corn chattering to him all the time, it was possible.

Thinking that made him feel a little better about the situation and Stretch sank back into his chair and munched on another buttery handful of popcorn.

He was so absorbed in the movie that at first, he didn’t notice the seat next to him was no longer empty. A blood-streaked hand reaching towards the other carton of popcorn was his first clue and Stretch bit back a yelp, soul hammering in his ribcage as he inwardly cursed himself for being so jumpy. Wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this before, loads of times now, it was what he bought the second carton for.

“hey, there,” Stretch said softly to his ghostly companion. “sorry it’s been a few days.”

“That’s all right,” Doris told him, her faint voice barely audible over the strains of ‘We’re off to see the Wizard.

The Tin Man was lamenting his lack of heart by the time Doris spoke again, tentatively and filled with quiet apology. “I’m very sorry, I feel as if I should know your name, but…”

Oh. Stretch closed his sockets briefly. Damn it, Red warned him about this, to not be surprised if she didn’t remember him. He didn’t allow the faint sting of hurt to show. It wasn’t her fault, it was entirely the fault of whoever had blown away part of her head and left her here to haunt a lonely, dilapidated old theater until it was time for her to go wherever ghosts did when they moved on.

Whoever it was that did this to her, stole her life and left her mostly alone in death, Stretch hoped they felt that sin clawing its way up their back long after they went to the hereafter.

“it’s okay, doris,” he said as gently as he could while Judy Garland danced across the screen, “it’s stretch, like a rubber band.”

“Yes! Stretch!” she laughed delightedly. She clapped her gloved hands together like a child. “Yes, that’s it. It was on the tip of my tongue when I saw you brought me popcorn, but I couldn’t quite shake it loose.”

No surprise there, half the time she didn’t have much tongue left.

She leaned in over her carton to take a deep, ghostly breath and twin streamers of blood ran from her nostrils. His appetite for popcorn faded and Stretch fumbled out the box of raisinets. The cheap milk chocolate barely masked the taste of the raisins and he grimaced, chewing gamely even though the texture always made him think of eating bugs. Dirt-flavored bugs in chocolate, who the hell came up with this so-called treat and were they appropriately punished for it. He could only hope.

They sat together in silence, watching the movie, and by the time the trio made it to the Emerald City, Stretch was squirming in his seat. Doris’s appearance broke the distracting spell of the movie and now his thoughts were wandering back to that morning and Edge’s sudden appearance in the store with so much worry on his pale face. Then there was that soft, unexpected kiss, so sweet against his cheekbone, a punctuation mark on the end of a silent paragraph and maybe he needed someone else to give it a read.

“doris, can i ask you something?”

She turned to him, the ruin of her head solidifying into a pretty young woman as she tilted it curiously. “Of course.”

“it’s kinda a long story.”

She folded her gloved hands primly into her lap. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

And that was her real tragedy, wasn’t it. She was tied to this crumbling old theater, unable to go where she needed to. He didn’t know what happened to ghosts once the building they were tied to was gone. But this place was on its last legs and if it closed, the cushions of empty seats rotting away and the silver screen silent, where did she go? He hoped it was someplace nice, a place where she could rest and always be beautiful, without bringing along the gory remains of her last minutes of life.

But they were working on his issues right now. “it’s about a guy.”

Doris brightened visibly and literally, going briefly more solid. “That Edge person you were speaking of before? The other skeleton.”

“yeah,” Stretch said, relieved. He hadn’t been sure how to bring up what they’d talked about before without making her feel bad for not remembering. “see, it’s like this—"

Doris sat and listened as he talked, as enthralled as she’d been when watching the movie. It was like last time when he’d came to ask her about Edgar Allen; she never flickered when she gave him the full weight of her attention.

It might be bad for the theater to have so many empty seats in the house, but it was good for people with the bad manners to talk over the movie. Stretch told her everything, didn’t hold back a thing. About meeting Edge in Red’s living room and his attempted lamp-ocide, about their impromptu lunch at Mama’s. About his brief starring role as little orange biking hood when he ventured to their cabin in the woods, about Frisk. The only thing he didn’t mention was the whole ‘me from another universe’ thing. That was a lot for even him to bend his mind around and his was still in one piece. Doris never interrupted, listened all the way to the end, until Stretch was nearly hoarse as he said, "…so what do you think?"

"Hmm. He certainly sounds charming, in a rude sort of way. My, it makes me think of Pride and Prejudice," she laughed softly. "Although your Mister Darcy showed his true nature far sooner in your tale.”

Thinking of Edge’s hips in a pair of those tight old-school trousers while he danced a waltz was not at all helping the situation and Stretch shoved that thought deep into a mental closet for later.

“but what should i do? he confuses me so much i don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt around him.” He slid down in the chair until his skull was resting on the back. “and then there’s red to think about, he’s done so much for me. he says he’s not worried about his brother, but…” Stretch trailed off and held up his empty hands.

She nodded thoughtfully. “But you don’t want to stir up trouble in their family, especially since it seems they already have some rough waters.”

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, tiredly. He knew something about stormy weather in a sibling relationship. The last thing he wanted to do to Red and Edge was bring in rainclouds of his own.

“I think you should talk to him,” she said at last. “Tell him what you’re feeling. It seems to me he’d listen to you and he wouldn’t…” Doris’s mouth moved but her words faded. Her pretty visage changed gruesomely, a full show of her shattered face and skull, the fragile bits of bone littered across one shoulder while blood filled the ruin of her eye socket.

Stretch swallowed hard and didn’t look away, waiting until she slowly returned to appearance of a lovely young woman who was finishing triumphantly, “…and who knows what will come of it after that!”

Okay, well, half an advice was better than none and he sure wasn’t gonna ask her to repeat herself.

So. Talk to him. Right. Not bad advice, maybe a little generic, but then, Doris didn’t know about his past history when it came to relationships. She also didn’t know that Backwater wasn’t a permanent assignment for him. He wasn’t too sure about bringing that up, not when it affected her, too. Maybe it would be better to let her forget him when he was gone; with her memory, she might not even realize what she was missing aside from the occasional wistful thought about a spare carton of popcorn.

But she wasn’t wrong, either. Much as he wanted to continue skipping through his life of avoidance, there was only one way he was going to get any real answers. Maybe it was time to figure out exactly where he and Edge stood. His sense of balance in life was pretty damn shaky as it was, and Backwater seemed to treat the laws of reality as more like suggestions. Why would the laws of gravity be any different?

Plus, there was another mystery Stretch was looking to unravel and he was already working on a plan for that. He owed some gratitude to a bony skeleton dragon in the woods and Stretch wasn’t keen on owing debts.

Doris folded her hands into her lap primly. “So? What are you going to do?”

“eh,” Stretch let out a little laugh, “something stupid.”

“Oh.” Doris pursed her lips. “Is it safe?”

“nope,” Stretch said cheerfully and poured himself out another handful of chocolate pseudo-bugs. “but i’ve stayed alive so far. may as well press my luck.”

On the screen, Dorothy was repeating her most famous line and he had to agree, there was no place like home. His only problem with it was that he was starting to get a little fuzzy on where exactly that was.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

[anghraine]

...okay, still thinking about the Dúnedain adaptation:

- I really want to see Lebennin. The Elves still sing songs about how beautiful it is and it’s sadly underappreciated. Also, Pelargir could be awesome. Also, there’s a substantial population of heroic, short, dark, mainly non-Númenórean,  resilient Gondorians in Lebennin who are completely ignored outside the text and it’d be good to bring them forward IMO. The book just says they’re the descendants of the ‘forgotten’ people who lived there before the Númenóreans came, which itself could be interesting, esp combined with the importance placed on rescuing the coast.

- We’d get some establishing moments for Minas Tirith itself as a sort of character: it’s before the evacuation, so while there’s guarded tension with Mordor looming beyond it and vacant and/or decaying buildings, there’s also a considerable amount of city bustle in marketplaces and the like, and a glamour of size and ancientry. And we get to see how fertile and prosperous the general location is.

- Re: size—Tolkien said that the Dúnedain of Gondor were notable for their love of constructing enormous things, so I’d like a sense of just ... bigness, with the bonus contrast between the actual living people and the looming shadows of these absolutely gigantic statues, mosaics, buildings, etc of the past. The contrast with the young Rohan is stark.

- Re: the city bustle—we see glimpses of people with different occupations, different classes, different backgrounds, different languages, living their daily lives. Despite the weight of legacy and the pressures of war, it should be clear that Gondor’s culture is diverse and vibrant. There might be a contrast with the Northern Dúnedain here as well, as they’re a much smaller and more homogeneous population.

- The Northern Dúnedain would need ... like, a plot or something to bring them in before they’re summoned to help Aragorn. We need a sense of what their deal is, both where it’s connected to Gondor’s on the Dúnadan level and where it’s separate. Maybe this doubles as our introduction to hobbits—we first see them from the perspective of the Dúnedain protecting them. 

- I mentioned this in a reply, but I would (regretfully) lower the register of the Dúnedain characters’ dialogue to a somewhat more accessible level for central characters—not modern casual by any means, but not quite so high-diction as the book.

- It’s dreamland, so I’d get linguists who could not only handle neo-Sindarin, but neo-Sindarin with dialectical differences. Even in “English,” there’d be different accents between, say, the Northern and Southern Dúnedain, even if it’s not very pronounced (and definitely between e.g. Rivendell Elves and Boromir).

- (I am very set on Boromir using Sindarin at least once. I’m pretty sure that I lose a year off my life every time I see people assuming he can’t.)

- I’m really looking forward to the ‘the Sword that was Broken’ dream. I mean. I would be, if this was actually, you know, a thing.

- I have a headcanon that Ivriniel accompanied Finduilas to Minas Tirith way back in the day, studied with the healers, and just ... never left again, until Denethor evacuated her before the battle. My more tentative headcanon is that Lothíriel has been with her for some time, mostly due to escalating Corsair raids, so if I went with that, we could get three whole canon female characters in MT and have some sense of Lothíriel beyond her familial/marital connections.

(Bonus: the expanded headcanon is that Denethor and Ivriniel got on super well, but she was enraged when he sent her off in the evacuation, and they had a bitter fight about it before she left. Of course, she never sees him again.)

- Tolkien remarks in UT that Denethor was not only driven by personal pride but by his love for Gondor and the burden of being selected to lead his people through a desperate time. This should be really clear, esp when it comes to his use of the palantír. (I don’t think that would be a secret to the audience. Probably. If anything, we might even experience some episodes of his use of it with him, culminating in his sanity finally snapping.)

- Gandalf is a major recurring character in both ‘halves’ of the story. Maybe we get his line to Faramir about who he truly is and are eventually given enough information to understand what it means? Not sure how deep into Middle-earth cosmology we want to get, but it’s ... kind of important. At any rate, we would see his affinity with both Aragorn and Faramir, and Denethor’s resentment of Faramir’s affection for Gandalf would have some context.

- In my most perfect world, Gandalf and Denethor would actually be framed in similar ways at points, obviously enough to see them as related, parallel figures per Pippin’s observation. 

- We’d get some glimpses of the Elves, if not more, via the Northern Dúnedain, though the “northern” focus would probably narrow in on Aragorn as the plot closes in on FOTR. At the very least we’d meet Elladan and Elrohir and get an idea of their quasi-eternal bromance with the Northern Dúnedain and undying hatred of orcs.

- It’s a lot, but I’m imagining some of these things as quite brief in terms of actual screen time spent on them (not all, of course). Definitely TV rather than film material, though.

#anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #gondor the series #team dúnedain #ondonórë blogging #arnor #/ #// #/// #//// #///// #denethor #gandalf #lebennin #boromir #ivriniel #lothíriel #aragorn #elladan #elrohir

[stillunpainted]

Postmortem

cw for implied suicide.  1.8k fic under the cut baby.  Pretty much Neku dealing with the aftermath of the game and then having a conversation with Joshua.

    Neku couldn’t take sudden noises anymore.  It’d always been somewhat of a bother, and his music had helped him block out the little surprises that’d make him jump, the startle like a lightning bolt, but now it was agonizing.  It was as if at any time, he could be seized by the hand of death, freezing his blood like a blizzard.  Though he’d made a promise to himself to wear his headphones less, especially in public, it wasn’t easy.

    Shibuya was vibrant and busy, but it was also overwhelming.  There were times where after simply going to Mr. H’s cafe with Shiki or Beat and Rhyme would result in him having to go lay in bed for hours afterward, staring at the ceiling until he was able to think again.  His parents were worried.  They’d noticed that he was going out more, and generally seemed to be happier than before, but the exhaustion, the anxiety, those weren’t things he could hide.  He enjoyed spending time with his friends, but he wasn’t used to them.  He felt out of place, worried that he’d somehow mess up and they wouldn’t want to be with him anymore.

    He’d picked up an old acoustic guitar, and spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out how to tune it.  That was all he could bring himself to do for the day.  He checked his messages, and it was much of the same.  Shiki had sent an update on her most recent project with Eri, and was still trying to convince him to try it on.  He wasn’t adamantly against the idea, he just wasn’t sure if it was his thing.  He’d had to expand his fashion sense during the Game, and he wasn’t sure where to go with that now.  Was it something he wanted to pursue on his own, or did he want to be influenced by the people around him?

    Though Neku had avoided Udagawa like the plague, he still could see CAT’s art when he closed his eyes, peering over him as he stared up at the painted walls.  He wanted to see it again, as his mind could only replicate everything with a certain degree of accuracy, but the thought of going back made him feel sick, sick enough to rush to the bathroom and wait for it all to come up, but nothing was there.

    The Composer often lingered in his mind, interrupting his normal thought processes.  In this moment Neku was staring at the ceiling again, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song, when he suddenly remembered Joshua off-handedly mentioning that he liked it.  Neku took his headphones off.  He still hadn’t forgiven Joshua yet.  There was so much pain, so intense that even though those bullets left no scars now, he could still feel them.  He sat up, deciding that today he would face it.  He wasn’t sure why, but felt if he didn’t go to Udagawa now, these thoughts would never stop, haunting him like old ghosts over and over.

    On his way through Shibuya, he kept his headphones on around his neck, ready to put them on if necessary.  He walked past stores he’d come to know well, absentmindedly trying to spot the faces of the shopkeepers he’d spoken with over and over.  There were so many people.  Even though he couldn’t hear their thoughts anymore, it floored him how they all were living their own lives, their own narratives that he would never be privy to.  Their secret gardens.

    It was a conversation he thought back to at times.  He’d wondered if not being able to cross into someone’s garden was even a bad thing.  Was trying to understand someone enough, even if it wasn’t actually possible?  He felt he knew Shiki and Beat pretty well, and Rhyme and Eri to an extent.  His memories of Joshua though… Joshua at times felt completely alien yet familiar, almost like a trick mirror.

    Neku arrived at Udagawa, and saw that the art had changed significantly in his absence.  CAT’s work was still there, some of it new itself, but there were other artists who had added to the wall.  Nothing unusual, but the change made Neku’s chest feel heavy.  He was used to seeing everything shift gradually, not only see the end result.

    It was still beautiful, he decided, just different.  Still the same wall, marked by the same kinds of people.  He wondered if one day he would get some spray paint himself, though he had no idea what he could create.  It wasn’t a part of himself that he’d explored in a long time, not since… 

    Even now, he felt the empty space within his heart.  He still had the last message his friend had sent him on his phone. “See you there,” it’d read.  An interaction that had never been complete, a day that never happened.

    “Well, you’ve brought yourself back here, haven’t you?” A recognizably smug voice rose above the background noise of everyone else passing through.

    “Look at what the cat dragged outta the sewers,” Neku retorted dryly.  Joshua crossed his arms, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.  Neku was tense, but this relaxed him somewhat.  He figured Joshua hadn’t merely returned after what, months, simply to antagonize him.  Though he didn’t rule it out of the realm of possibility, “what brings you out here, anyway?” Joshua put a hand on his chin.

    “I was intrigued as to why you returned here.  It seems like a morbid place to go by yourself.  I thought that maybe you’d need supervision,” Joshua said.  Neku pulled at his hair, trying not to visibly give Joshua the satisfaction of annoying him.  Though he supposed that Joshua could read his mind, which agitated him further.

    “I don’t need- whatever, it’s just that I kept thinking about everything that happened.  I dunno if closure is exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s something like that, I think,” Neku shuffled his feet.  He was never especially good at reading people, but Joshua was always a special kind of enigma.

    “There’s nothing I can add to that.  You already know why I did what I did,” Joshua said, “neither of us can take that back.”

    “You can’t take that back.  All I did was survive,” Neku said.  He didn’t expect an apology, nor was he surprised by Joshua’s nonchalant attitude towards it all, but it still stung a little.

    “Oh come on Neku, we’ve both made mistakes,” Joshua said, wrapping a hand around his neck.  A flash of guilt washed over Neku, but he let it pass.  He’d talked about it a lot with Shiki after the game, though it was still something he’d never fully forgive himself over.  He’d found that he had a pattern of hurting people.  He’d finally stopped at his duel with Joshua, but still.  He wondered if that old self was buried within, ready to rise at any time.  I killed him- “Neku?  Locked up in that head of yours again?”

    “What would’ve happened if I’d shot you?” Joshua didn’t even flinch at the question.  But he wavered a little.

    “I would’ve been erased.  I would’ve lost that game, yknow.  That’s how the rules are,” he says.

    “I know, but-”

    “The UG would’ve been destroyed, but I can’t say I’d know what would happen after that,” Joshua says, “I can’t give you a real answer, even if I wanted to please you that way.”

    “So even you don’t know,” Neku said.

    “Yes Neku, you’re a fantastic listener,” Joshua replied.  His normal grin is back, though something about it seems off.

    “So why would you do that?  If you’d actually gone through with destroying Shibuya or whatever, it wouldn’t have mattered at all if I’d pulled the trigger or not.  Not much of a crossroad, really,” Neku put his hands on his headphones, contemplating putting them on.

    “It was all a game.  My bet with Megumi.  You were my proxy,” Joshua said, crossing his arms again.

    “What were you even trying to prove with me?  That I’m terrible and representative of Shibuya’s evils, or something?  I was just trying to live and help Beat get Rhyme back at that point.”

    “That’s spot on.”

    “Then did your proof involve me shooting you at the end?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then your plan would’ve killed you no matter what,” Neku said.

    “What do you mean?”

    “No UG means no Composer, right?”

    “Correct indeed.”

    “So you were planning on dying.” A silence settled over the two of them.

    “Well, I didn’t,” Joshua says.  Neku thought of how he initially saw the game as a dream that he dreaded the end of.  There was nothing he had to worry about other than missions, nobody to talk to but Shiki, nobody to nag him.  It was the closest he’d ever been to whatever his own ‘world view’ had been.

    “I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Neku paused, wondering if it was even worth saying.  Joshua had killed him twice over, but still, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” Joshua narrowed his eyes.  The Composer wasn’t alive per se, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly what Neku had meant.

    “And that’s that,” Joshua said, turning away.

    “Don’t think I’m going to take that as an excuse.  You didn’t have to turn it into some big game with my life,” Neku said.

    “Well aren’t I alive because I did, based on your logic?” At this point, Neku wanted to tear out his hair.  Joshua was the same as always, so he didn’t know why he was expecting anything different.  But surely something had changed within the Composer, as he had preserved Shibuya and brought everyone back to life.

    “Dammit, do you even realize what all of that was like?  You killed me twice, and- and…” Neku trails off, shuddering.  Joshua’s hands ball up into fists and he stares at the ground for a moment, frowning.  He almost seems small, completely losing the aura of being something beyond the fifteen year old standing in the streets of Udagawa, the mural hanging over his head.  He straightens his posture and he’s the Composer again.

    “I do realize.  I’m not incapable of understanding pain,” Joshua says, “hmmm.  Maybe that worsens my case.” He turns to face Neku once again, who wants to back away, but doesn’t.

    “I guess it’s hard to keep going.  I’m not on my own anymore, at least.  Shibuya’s felt bigger than it ever has for me, and that’s exciting on one hand, but overwhelming.  There’s so many places I could go, but I also feel like something terrible is always on the horizon again,” Neku says.  He doesn’t know why he’s telling this to Joshua of all people.

    “Could I be the cause of that terrible something?  Is that what you fear?”

    “No.  I still don’t… I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive you really, but I trust that you won’t use me again.  I’d be lying if I said being around you doesn’t make me nervous, but I still trust you.  We were partners, right?” Neku says.  Joshua tilts his head.

    “Right, we were.”

#twewy #the world ends with you #neku sakuraba #joshua kiryu #writing #my writing #if i should add more cw let me know. it has literally been years since ive written fanfiction so im not super familiar with what should be #tagged

[pagesandmagic]

Roots of Growth || JJ Maybank x reader

hellooooo OBX world. I’ve decided to dip my toes into the world of obx because JJ is everything and more. So here we go. 

about: she’s new to the group, and brings a new idea, which should have been done months ago. based on the song, “north” by sleeping at last

tw: none // just lots of fluff and love and friendship.

if you have a request, send ‘em on over - i loveeeee requests. 

We will call this place our home The dirt in which our roots may grow Though the storms will push and pull We will call this place our home

Chateau was home. Each of the pouges felt it that way. Each of them had a different story, each one a painful road that led them to the Chateau. Maybe it was their parents, maybe it was their lifestyle, maybe it was the pressure they felt from their entire world. In the Chateau they didn’t have to worry about what the world outside looked like, they didn’t need to pretend to be anything. It was a safe haven, a place for them to bring their brokenness and feel whole. Yes, it was home.

And just like a work of art We'll tell our stories on these walls

She was new to the pouges. She had just moved onto the island town when she met JJ. He took her for a touron, she thought he was an arrogant asshole. She “spilled” her drink on him. He kissed her. The rest was history. It had been two months since she met the rest of the pouges and fit in like a missing puzzle piece. Her home life wasn’t great and over the last few weeks she had opened up to each of them about it. Most of the time it happened after a long day spent on the water, everyone sitting in a circle on the pull out couch. JJ would always be next to her, holding her hand or rubbing circles on her back. He was always there. The walls of the Chateau knew more of her story than any other past relationship or friendship. 

They were sitting cross legged on the living floor, surrounding the coffee table playing a card game. Their skin was tinted red from the sun and hair wet from a day spent on the HMS Pouge.

“JJ, remember the last time we played this you cheated?” John B chuckled under his breath, which elicited a groan from Kie and Pope. Clearly it was still a sore spot with the group.

“Ahh, well you see John B,” JJ sighed, pulling the cards closer to his face, pretending to analyze the cards in order to make a decision like his life depended on it. “I don’t really understand how you can cheat at ‘Uno’” he smirked, “you’re either good or bad. I’m just really good.”

“You’re not good, JJ. You just cheat.” John B shook his head.

“Wait, what is he taking about.” She chuckled. Clearly this had happened before she ever came along, but she was curious to how John B thought her boyfriend was a cheater. JJ placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed, sending shivers through her body and butterflies in her stomach.

“Believe me, it’s nothing important,” JJ smiled, and placed his card on the deck. The last one.

“You’re not serious,” John B hit the table with his hand, causing the rickety wood to collapse in front of each of them. Their groans echoed through the living room.

“JB, why?” Pope rubbed his temples.

“Honestly was that worth it?” Kie huffed.

JJ pressed his lips together, suppressing a chuckle. The newest member of the pouges looked around at the Chateau. It was pretty broken. Most of it was just barely holding on. She wondered why this was the first time she was seeing it all. Probably because she had taken on a pretty strong smoking habit that JJ had helped her form, not that she was complaining.

“Guys, this place is kind of a disaster.” She started, “Look, I know I’m new here, but this place has become more of my home than my own house. Being here has given me something that I haven’t had in years.” She paused, looking at each of them, ending with JJ. “A family.”

The tears had welled in her eyes, an idea coming to her head. “Can we fix it up?”

The room stood quiet. Each person preparing their own thoughts, organizing the ideas in their head and wondering how to proceed forward.

“That’s a great idea,” John B spoke. He knew the place had become run down, but chose to ignore it, hoping it would all fix itself someday.

JJ gave her hand a squeeze, “I love that idea,”

A little broken, a little new. We are the impact and the glue Capable more than we know To call this fixer upper home

It didn’t take long for the group to get to work. The next morning each of them set off to fix up the Chateau. Sarah and Kie started painting and repairing the walls which took a considerable amount of time since most arguments ended in a punch to the wall. JJ worked on the landscaping of the house and said that it “soothed” him. John B and Pope worked on painting the exterior of the house and repairing what they could from years of storm damage. She decided to deep clean the entire house. Before she came around, it was the three boys who spent most of their time in the Chateau, and it showed.

It was a beautiful July day in North Carolina, she opened up each of the windows letting the warm air inside. Jack Johnson played through the TV in the living room, the easy listening filling the rooms of their home. The smell of the laundry detergent wafted through the house, creating a “homey” smell, as Sarah called it. She washed the dishes which had been piled up since before she arrived, as they had been using paper plates instead.

This was a home she wanted to stay in for a long time. A safe place for her friends to gather. A home that people would gather in and a place where the door would always be open. 

She was changing the sheets in her and JJ’s bedroom when she felt a pair of sweaty arms wrap around her waist. “I’m pretty sure this is the hottest I’ve ever seen you,” he said into her neck. JJ. This boy had become her everything. They hadn’t spent a day apart since meeting. Theirs was a love that happened quickly and without warning.

This blonde haired boy had been the person she fell asleep next to each night and woke up to every morning. He was the one who taught her to fish through fits of laughter and trying not to gag after each catch. He was the one she smoked with for the first time. He was her first. She remembered her life before him, but she didn’t want to. Everything was brighter with him, more vibrant and joyful. 

He smelt of fresh grass and sweat, “I’m pretty sure this is the sweatiest you’ve ever been.” she chuckled, turning back to kiss him on the chin. He hummed at the feeling of her lips. 

“Just the way, you like it, amiright?” he kissed the back of her neck, before letting go. He placed his hands on his hips looking at the room and at the way she swayed through the room. 

She was his rock. He always had John B and Pope to reply on, but she was different. She made him want to be better, to do better. She made his world softer, less harsh than before she came along. She was the first girl who made him feel a pit at the bottom of his stomach thinking about losing her. She was it. He knew it. 

She could feel his eyes on her. He was never shy when it came to his admiration of her. “Thank you,” she said through the smile across her lips. She turned to see him leaning against the wall, arms crossed and his brow furrowed, unsure of why she was thanking him. 

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His hands found their way to the back of her neck, running his fingers through her hair. “Thank you for finding me.” she whispered, “Thank you for giving me a family.” she stepped back to look at him in the eyes, but never letting go of his waist. His hands brushed the hair out of her face and pushed it behind her ears. His touch was so gentle, his calloused hands told the story of his life, filled with hard grueling work just to stay afloat. He cupped her face, meeting her eyes. “Thank you for bringing me home.” 

Smaller than dust on this map Lies the greatest thing we have The dirt in which our roots may grow And the right to call it home

And that’s all folks! I hope you enjoyed it! I’m pretty rusty when it comes to writing these, so hopefully my editing went well. haha. 

#jj maybank #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank writing #outer banks imagine #outer banks writing #outer banks fanfiction

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [Finale]

Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 [Finale]

➜ Words: 6.9k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

You and Jimin exchange grins and laughter.   There’s no one on this planet happier to see the two of you together than Taehyung.   “Thank god.” He’s relieved to see Jimin beside you to the point where he looks like he's about to cry. “Does this mean you’re on board with me here, Park? Or are you going to make me beg you.”   “I’m on board, Director Kim.” Jimin grins and Taehyung laughs.   “I’m liking the sound of that.” He claps his hands together. “Then let’s get started, shall we? We’ve wasted too much time already.”

It’s a dive straight into the deep end without warning.   Taehyung gets you both involved in the whole production process, practically becoming his assistants. He always asks for your input, from costume design to stage props, wanting everything to be perfect and needing opinions. You’ve never been so involved in a show before, but you love every second of it.   Taehyung also assembles together a dream team — the choreographer, casting director, and creative team.   “What’s the story about?”   But tonight it’s just you three seated on Taehyung’s living room floor, fried chicken set up in the middle and scripts in your lap, flipping the pages with greasy fingers.    “What do you think it’s about?”   He throws the question back around, and Jimin hums a low note. “It focuses a lot on the female Broadway actress. She seems to be really...cynical.”   “And burnt out,” you add while flipping to a portion you highlighted after reading it through once. “She finds performing boring.”   “Exactly.” Taehyung bites into a drumstick, chewing it in his cheek. “After years of doing the same thing, she’s lost all inspiration. Until…”   “He comes along,” you say and he nods.    The male lead is hopeful, overly optimistic and even overbearing at times. But the two of them fall in love slowly, going through trials, inspiring one another, and adding more vibrant colours to their voices.   You consider the story and characters carefully, brooding over days to come. You’re still deliberating how you want to interpret and embody this character — you’ve never played a character like this before and she seems quite different from who you actually are.    “Hey, Jimin,” you interrupt him in the dressing room one day. His eyes lift off his paper at the sound of your voice and he smiles. “Do you think I have it in me to be mean?”   Jimin laughs boyishly. “Is that why you’ve been so stressed?”   “I’m not stressed.” You sigh, putting down your script. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about how I want to do this, and I don’t know if I have it in me.”   “Don’t worry, you have it in you.”   You scoff. “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”   “What?” Jimin giggles, ducking his head.   “You sound so certain like you didn’t need to think about it.” You pout at him, quirking your head to one side. “I’m not mean.”   The brunette merely shrugs, continuing to tease, “You can be inside. Everyone thinks you’re all timid and shy, but I know you. You’re like dynamite. You just...blow up sometimes, if you get upset enough. Hey, don’t give me that look — it’s not a bad thing. It’s kind of endearing. And everyone has a limit, so it’s natural.”   “Don’t call my anger endearing,” you snap at him, sounding more like Yeonjeon than intended. The actress was rubbing off on you in the worst ways — and you’re sure she’d be proud of it if she knew.   But it makes Jimin laugh and he pounds his chest with a fist. “Try.”   “Try what?”   “Being mean. Try being the experience Broadway madame.”   “Okay. Don’t make fun of me,” you warn him with narrowed eyes, and he promises he won’t.   You clear your throat, deciding to walk away from him. He frowns momentarily, confused but eyes glimmering in amusement as he watches you. And you enter the dressing room again, pushing the curtains aside haphazardly.    You’re no longer Y/N — you’ve become a cynical, veteran Broadway star.   “What do you think you’re doing?!” you bark at him, and immediately, Jimin cracks a smile. You forcefully furrow your brows, hissing, “Are you laughing, Park?”   You approach in three wide strides with your arms crossed, pretending you have those three inch heels on that are infamous for your character.   “No,” Jimin mutters in an attempt to be timid, but you see the twitch of his facial muscles.   You grab the collar of his shirt in a fistful, crinkling the fabric underneath your force. And you pull him forward roughly. “How dare you. Do you know who I am?”   You connect his eyes with yours, feigned anger wafting off of you. You don’t realize that your mouths are mere inches apart, that he can feel your warm breath skim against his skin, that his heart stutters in his chest.   “Wake up, Park.” Your other hand lifts, lightly hitting on his cheek as if you’re helping him become alert again. “Not everything is beautiful and great in life.”   Then suddenly, his arm raises. Jimin’s palm cups the back of your hand that’s pressed against his cheek. He searches your expression affectionately as silence comes across the room.   Your eyes soften — while his flickers down to your mouth. He stares at your lips if he were hungry to taste them. You swallow hard. In one second, it’s become too intimate, the air heavy.   “J-Jimin…”   You’ve broken character with your whimper, and with the call of his name, Jimin snaps back to focus. He lets go, stepping back to put that comfortable distance between the two of you again.    Just like that, the warmth of his body is gone.   “S-Sorry. Yeah, that was good. Not too bad.”   “Thanks.”   It’s not clear what you and Jimin are. He’s more than a neighbour and colleague. Less than a boyfriend. Perhaps he could be compared as a friend that you have unspoken affections for.   The pair of you agreed to keep things friendly for the time being, to ease your way into things, and not to rush and make another mistake. But at the moment, it’s hard to decipher what’s right and what’s wrong. It’s difficult to know where the exact line is, where the boundary shouldn’t be crossed.   Although, you both mutually understand that there are still lots of feelings attached to both your gestures. Your relationship with Jimin isn’t exactly platonic and you don’t think it could ever revert that way.   You’re mulling over it so deeply, you don’t notice the crosswalk turned red….    Until you’re pulled back.   “Hey!”   You spin around, eyes wide. It’s as if you summoned him to appear in front of you, that thinking about him so much made him materialize. “Jimin?”   “Watch we’re you’re going,” he scolds with that knot formed between his brows.   “S-sorry.” The cars rush past the street. You’re at a loss for words. “What are you doing here?”   “Did you forget we live in the same building?” His chin motions to the brownstone at the end of the other block. You don’t realize his hand is still encircling your wrist. For Jimin, it’s too natural to hold onto you and for you, it’s too natural to be held by him. “We must’ve gotten on the same subway train but on different carts.”   “Oh.”    The evening sun is peeking its last rays from above the high rise buildings, and it casts yellow glow onto his skin. You’re mesmerized at how he looks in the golden hour.   “What were you thinking about?”   “Nothing.”   “Well, you should be more careful. Taehyung wouldn’t be happy if you got run over. Neither would I.”   The both of you end up walking together up across the street, down the block, up the stairway, and down the same hallway. Your footsteps sync together.    “What are your plans for tonight?” he asks with no real implication behind his voice, simply making conversation.    “Nothing much. You?”   “Probably just dinner and then maybe a movie or something.” Jimin halts in front of his door, and you stop in front of yours. The boy hesitates as he glances at you. “Do you...want to come in and join me? Promise my pasta recipe’s improved.”   You wonder what it’ll mean to follow after him, to accept his invitation, if that’s crossing the boundary of what’s appropriate.   But you don’t think about it twice to consider what you really want.    “I hope it’s delicious.”   Jimin grins as you follow after him.

“Hey, Taehyung.” He stops the busy man mid-step who’s startled from suddenly being called. “You know when you were asking me about the marketing stuff for the production and the posters?”   “Yeah?”   “I think….you should make the posters purple and orange. Kind of like a split diagonal thing of both colours.” Jimin’s not sure what he’s saying, mumbling away as he scratches the back of his neck. “Like it would morph together. It would look cool, and it’s kind of meaningful to Y/N and I.”   “Okay.” Taehyung softens and takes the suggestion to heart. “I’ll make a note of it.”

It’s two months into the production when casting calls happen.   It’s surreal to sit at a table and discuss who you’d like in the show, what kind of person you’re looking for. You used to be on the other side, hoping and praying you’d get a call back — but now you’re the one deciding who to contact. You could potentially change any of these people’s lives.   “What about her?” Shihyuk, one of the producers, passes a girl’s headshot and application around as the rest of you are narrowing down the people who applied. “She’s pretty.”   “She is,” Taehyung agrees, “But she struggled to sing the mezzo part. What do we think?”   “No.” Jimin shakes his head.   Taehyung looks at you for your opinion and you agree with Jimin. “If she can’t sing then it’s a no for me too.”   Shihyuk offers the next application in the thick pile. “What about this person? I saw the video she sent in. She seemed really nervous. Hit some notes well, but her voice cracked at other parts. I really can’t tell if she can actually perform or not.”   “Well, it doesn’t look like she’s had much experience,” Taehyung notes at a glance. “What do you think, Y/N?” After all, the character you’re casting for is the female lead’s best friend. Taehyung’s relying heavily on your input for this one considering she’d be performing with you the most.   You hum. “I think we should give her a call and see for ourselves.”   In the middle of discussions of how the vision of the show could be executed, listening to demos, adjusting parts of the script, costume design, meeting with the creative team and producers, there’s two full days set aside purely for auditions.    “Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye.” The girl gestures wildly and inhales a deep breath before she sings, “Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you’ll try. Then you’ll find—”   Once finished, she does a dramatic bow. “Thank you.”   Taehyung gets her to read a few lines, and after she leaves, there’s a brief discussion.   “I think she’s great.” Shihyuk makes his opinion known at once.   “She was alright.” Jimin shrugs. “A bit overwhelming.”   Taehyung jots the notes down and looks up at you.    You nod slowly. “I think she was okay.”   The next person is called in and you recognize the girl that enters from her headshot — except, her shoulders are seemingly slugging compared to her picture and she’s dragging her feet.   “H-Hi. My name is Boyoung. P-Park Boyoung.” She stumbles over with copies of her application in hand. She begins to distribute them out, but Taehyung lifts his hand to stop her.   “It’s alright. We already have copies.”   “O-oh, okay.” Boyoung takes them back, muttering apologies like she just killed someone on accident. Once she collects them again, she clumsily trips on her feet and the white papers spill across the carpet, coating it in white. Shihyuk audibly sighs. “I’m so, so sorry.”   “It’s okay.” You smile at her, and the girl swallows hard with a firm nod. She composes herself, gets her papers again, and stands in the center of the room.   “What will you be performing today?” Jimin asks.   “‘There’s Music In You’ from Cinderella.” Her eyes light up as she says it. As if recalling something, Boyoung staggers towards the piano accompanist in the corner. She shuffles her belongings and gives him the appropriate sheet music.   “Alright, you can start whenever you want.”   Boyoung bobs her head furiously and grips the hem of her sweater. “Beyond the voice—” Her voice cracks. She visibly winces. Shihyuk raises his hand to stop the pianist.   “You’re off key.”   “I’m so sorry! Please give me another chance—”   “Hey,” you interrupt, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Take your time, okay? I promise none of us are going to kill you.”   Taehyung looks over at you with a grin. “You can’t promise that. I might just lunge over the table and kill someone one day.”   You give Taehyung an unamused expression while Jimin laughs. “If he kills you, we’ll make sure we kill him.”   The girl is eased from banter and relaxes with a small smile. She starts again. “Beyond the voice that keeps insisting “no”. There is something more than doubting. Breaking through the darkness. Something that sets your heart a glow. Someone wants you. You know who. Now you’re living—there’s music in you…”   Eventually, she finishes her song and releases a shaky breath. Some notes were sung uncertainly, but she has a good voice and tone overall. “Thank you,” she says and practically runs out of the room right away.   There’s silence and you lean back.    “Well, I like her.”   Shihyuk looks at you live you’ve gone insane, but Taehyung grins. “Good.”   //   You get off the elevator to the main lobby, glancing at your phone before pocketing it. You’re about to push open the front door, but you hear a quiet voice from the girl lingering right by. “Miss. Y/N?”   You recognize the short, dark-haired female. “Boyoung, right?”   “Yes. That’s me.” She gives a reserved smile.   “You don’t need to call me miss. Just Y/N is fine,” you tell with a smile and she nods timidly. “Is there something you wanted...?”   “I-I just...wanted to thank you for giving me a chance. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve messed up my audition completely.”   “Oh, it’s not a problem.” You casually bat your hand in the air. “ Trust me, it’s a lot more scary to be up there singing when a bunch of strangers are watching you. I just wanted to let you know that we weren’t mean or going to judge you negatively right off the bat.”   Boyoung bobs her head and your stare softens. “Keep practicing, alright? You’re really good, so don’t give up.”   The girl bows her head, eyes teary. “Thank you. It means a lot coming from you.”    You smile, feeling a sense of nostalgia. You remember when you were just like her — when you couldn’t sing a single note in front of anyone who wasn’t Jimin. You remember the way your hands used to shake in the spotlight, how your palms became clammy, sweat built at your forehead. You can recall the way your heart would pick up its speed, that fear that overwhelmed you and kept your voice from coming out. It feels so long ago but you remember it well.

Lately, you seem to be reminiscent of the past.    You always thought someday you'd look back in disdain. But instead, it's a bitter-sweetness that you feel most often when your mind takes a trip down memory lane. Sure, that time period was when you struggled to make ends-meet, to make yourself known, and you allowed yourself to be stepped on as a result. But those days were arguably free and ignorant. They were days when you would commute with Jimin to work and the two of you would be involved in each other's antics, making mischief in between sweeps and coffee runs. It was back when you were just best friends keeping each other company.   There were plenty of good days in between the bad.   “Director Kang?”   You squint, and the person ahead of the line turns around.    The stout man's gotten older since you've last seen him, hair no longer black but marked with streaks of gray. His eyes are wide and he still has a loud, booming voice. “Y/N.”   Once upon a time, you hated the man so much you often dreamed about smashing his head with a brick — you’re so glad that you didn't. You’re no longer filled with hatred. All your resentments have faded away with time.   He looks at you from the corner of his eye and you smile at him, sipping on your coffee as he waits for his at the station. The director clears his throat and grunts. “I heard you're in an original production.”   “Yes, Jimin and I are working together with Director Kim.”   He makes a noise at the back of his throat. “And how is it going? Do you know what you're doing?”   “Kind of. It's a bit hectic, but fun. A lot of work.”   “As expected,” he mutters passive aggressively. “Shows require a lot of work.”   You nod. “I heard the Phantom production is retiring.”   The older man sighs and finally gets his coffee from the barista. But he doesn’t try to escape your presence at the chance. He lingers with you in the shop, sipping on his hot drink with his eyes faraway. “It was bound to be over anyways.”   Looks like he knew it too. You guess he wasn’t completely aloof to his own production or ignorant from hubris. “Do you know what the others are doing?”   “Taeyeon's taking up modeling. She signed with some fancy company here in New York. And Seokjin — he got accepted into Hollywood.”   “Wow.” There're not better places they could be, especially for Seokjin. With a godly face like his — he shouldn't fade into obscurity. “What about you? Do you have any plans, sir?”   “I'm going on an unpaid sabbatical.” Director Kang smiles after sipping his drink again. “I have enough money to go see the world. Never got a chance to before, y'know? Now's the time.”   There’s a bit of small talk made on his travel plans before you get a text on your phone from Jimin asking where you are. You hitch a thumb over your shoulder. “I should probably head out now.”   “Oh, okay.” The older man waves you away, dismissing you — a force of habit after many years.   “It was nice seeing you, Director Kang.”   He grunts, and you walk away. But then he calls out—   “Intern!” You turn around. The director gives a nod of acknowledgment. “Good work.”   You grin at him, laughter bubbling out of your parted lips. The older man smiles.   //   “Give me a chance. Let me show you the world.” Jimin sings, vigorous and determined.   You scoff, spinning around with your arms crossed to glare. “I've already seen the world.”   “Not the way I have.”   The music begins on the stereo, violin strings pulling together in a slow romantic crescendo.    You both continue the duet, gazing at one another. But halfway through, it becomes too much so you divert your eyes, focusing on the lyrics. Eventually the song dies out and there’s a round of applause around the room that surprises you. On the other hand, while Taehyung gives a thumbs up, you know from the look of his face he's not completely satisfied.   Like the perfectionist he’s become, Taehyung pulls you two into his office when there's a moment to spare.   “Was there something wrong?” your brunette partner beside you asks.   “I only started working on it last night,” you add, not wanting Jimin to be blamed for you slacking.   But the boy becomes alarmed and steps forward. “It's not Y/N's fault. I didn't start practicing this until the beginning of this week — I was working on my solo…”   Taehyung’s jaw drops. “You guys only started this recently?!”   “Well…”   “Uh.”   You exchange looks. Taehyung shakes his head. “Look, frankly, the duet wasn't an issue. It was good, really good, your voices were super beautiful blended together. Especially if this is one of the first few rehearsals for it. The problem is there's not enough....” Taehyung makes wild gestures, struggling to find the words. “...chemistry. At least not like in the original production of When Summer Meets Winter. There's just this 'pow' that's missing. Do you guys get what I'm saying? Am I making any sense or am I going crazy here?”   You look at one another before nodding at Taehyung. “No, we get it.”   The pair of you are not as close as you were back then — that much is clear. “Okay, good. Then I want you both to figure it out and work on it. Somehow. Someway. If that requires bonding activity or more practice or more talking. I have so many things to do, can I trust you two will work on it and keep me updated?”   “Yeah, sure.” Jimin smiles and when he glances at you for reassurance, your own lips lift. “We can do it.”   But you’re not exactly sure what that entails or what he has in mind. You don’t know how to close the distance that’s been set between you and Jimin, how to cross that boundary. But you both did it once before — you can do it again.   “So…” You swallow hard. “How do you want to approach this homework assignment?”   Jimin grins, teasing, “You’re calling our bonding time homework?”   The sly bastard relishes in your flustered expression. “Well if it isn’t homework then what is it?”   He doesn’t answer your question and just gives you a knowing look. “How about dinner tonight?”   “O-okay.”   He’s bold, surprisingly so. Though you don’t mind in the least bit and Jimin’s grin widens.   “Sounds like a plan.”   //   The warm restaurant is dim with candlelights, intimate conversations and laughter — especially at your own table where the food’s long gotten cold. You both forget to eat and only remember where you are when the waitress stops by to fill up your glass of water.   “—back to town.”   “Oh, I haven’t seen Namjoon in so long. Ever since he…”   “Took your headshots.”   “God, that must’ve been over a year ago. I thought he was only supposed to go for a few months.”   You shrug, not sure yourself. “Namjoon tends to get side-tracked. He probably went to neighbouring countries to take pictures.”   “That’s so cool.” Jimin’s eyes glimmer in genuine admiration. “Did he say how traveling was?”   “No.” You shake your head. “I’m planning to go see him soon. He always gets me snacks when he goes abroad, plus I need to update my own headshots.” Your eyes sparkle as you smile and Jimin laughs.   “Does he mind taking headshots?”   “Nah. We’re long time friends, plus I’m sure he’s really curious about a bunch of things that have happened recently, he’s been emailing me for months now asking about yo— never mind.”   “What?” Jimin gives a shit eating grin, egging you on, “He’s been asking about me?”   You glare before it melts into a sad pout. “Namjoon’s just a fan of you.”   “Who isn’t?” he chimes mischievously.   You lightly scoff. “Guess you’re not wrong there.”   “So you agree with me?” Jimin’s irises glisten in the yellow flame, outright shameless as he fishes for more compliments. He wants you to say it out loud properly.   You loll your head. “Yes, Park Jimin. You’re amazing. Happy?”   “Very. Do you have any other praise you’ve been dying to give me?”   “A ton.” You give him a look that rouses more laughter and your voice continues to be loaded with sarcasm, “You’re the best. There’s so much I’ve been meaning to tell you — I missed you and this so much.”   It goes quiet. Jimin’s smile softens into something more sincere. “I missed you too.”   He gazes at you. It quickly becomes too much, too intense, and you look elsewhere.   Even if you don’t say it, he knows you missed him equally as much.   After dinner, you walk together and spontaneously decide to go to an improv show like the old days. This time, you have no reservations about sitting in the front rows and you’re no longer fearful of being called upon.    You enjoy the performance wholeheartedly, especially when the improv actor Hoseok pulls Jimin up for a brief segment and you watch him make a fool of himself.    You’re still giggling even when it’s all over.   “You should’ve seen the look on your face!”   Jimin points at you. “Hey, I tried my best!”   You wipe the tears that have formed at the corner of your eyes. “God, I should’ve taken a picture.”   The two of you are stumbling on the streets together, underneath the darkened night sky, and the dim post lamps that cast a warm glow on his skin. The night is calm. You listen to the sound of cars rushing past in the far-off roads. It’s not so noisy as it is soft background noise.   “You can take a picture now.”   “Yeah, but it’s not the same.”   “Cause I’m missing my horrified expression?”   “Yes,” you giggle.   Your footsteps sync together, and Jimin steals a glance at you before looking ahead again. And when the back of your hand accidentally brushes against his, you don’t flinch or move away.   “Can I...hold your hand?” he asks quietly. Timidly.   You faintly smile to yourself. “Yeah.”   Almost instantaneously, your palms clasp one another’s. You knit your fingers between his and Jimin gives a tender squeeze. His body is warm and it helps to heat your cheeks.    “Sorry.” You steal a glimpse of him before diverting your vision away. “My hands are cold.”   “No, it’s okay.” There’s a moment of silence as you walk hand in hand as if it always should’ve been that way. Jimin’s steps gradually slows and you stop with him. On the corner of some unfamiliar boulevard, underneath a lamp post, he stares. Hesitance comes off of him in waves. He swallows hard. “Y/N, can I kiss you?”   There’s a beat of quiet.   You answer him with a nod. One more enthusiastic than necessary.   Jimin grins, leaning in slowly. He lets go of your hand to find purchase on your waist, and the other cradles your cheek. His half-lidded eyes flicker down to your lips, the tip of his tongue peeking to lick at the seam of his own mouth.   Your breath hitches, foreheads graze, noses bumping slightly. But you tilt your head and draw in towards him to gingerly kiss his lips. Your lashes flutter against his before you close your eyes to indulge in him. It’s slow and soft, full of hesitance like it’s the first time he’s touching you. Your brain melts and all you can think about is how nice his velvet lips feel against yours.   You exhale a breath, and Jimin’s about to pull away, but you deepen it. You tug him in closer by his coat, desperately, anxiously. Trying to feel more of him. Trying to keep him here. Jimin moans against your mouth and angles his head, tongue intruding to taste your lips. The force he presses against your mouth makes you stumble back, whimper, but he holds you as your back hits against the brick wall.   Jimin’s arms lift to cage you in and you’re surrounded in his scent. Surrounded in everything that is undeniably Jimin. Soft smacking fills the chilly air, but you don’t feel cold with his hot breath on you.   Quickly, the soft kiss turns hungry and earnest, as if he’s trying to prove something. His kiss means more — words turned into actions, like he’s trying to show you reasons why you should stay with him, as if it’s a plea to keep you by his side.    You missed this.   And when the pair of you part away, the thin string of saliva breaks apart from between you both. You swallow hard, mouths swollen, chests heaving and catching your breaths.   Jimin stares at you like you’re the only one that matters. “I’m still in love with you,” he tells. “Very much so and I know I will be for the rest of my life.”   Tears prick at your eyes. “I love you too.”   “The best thing that I’ve ever done in this life was becoming your neighbour and knocking on your door that day.” Jimin’s body presses against yours and he smiles. “I’d do it again.”   You laugh, giggling, searching his eyes as your own soften. “I’m glad I opened that door for you, Park Jimin.”

After nearly four months of being extensively involved in the production process, two months filled with casting and rehearsals, the day has arrived after one hectic dress rehearsal.    And Taehyung could not look any happier.   While things might not be absolutely flawless, what matters is he’s happy with the effort put forth no matter the outcome.   “So this was all you?”   Yeonjeon’s shown up in one of the front row seats she paid for herself. She threw out the ticket you got her when she decided it was too far back for her liking. And she’s excessively done up, dressed in a glamorous form-fitting dress. The actress is a sight for sore eyes.    “Well, I had lots of help, but it was all my idea.”   “Not bad, Kim.” Yeonjeon hums. “You’ve made it far from being a little assistant.”   “Should’ve been nice to me when you had the chance,” Taehyung teases, bumping into her shoulder playfully and making her scowl.   “I’m not late, am I?” A taller, awkward man comes bumbling over. He pushes his glasses up the slope of his nose.    Immediately, Yeonjeon checks him out from top to bottom and her eyes become rounded.   “Who is this?” The Broadway actress bats her lashes, voice pitching up.   Taehyung grins. “This is Namjoon. He’s Y/N and Jimin’s friend.”   “Nice to meet you.” Yeonjeon extends her hand, but Namjoon hesitates to take it.   “N-Nice to meet you too. Sorry, I’m really sweaty, I ran—”   “Nonsense.” She shakes his hand, grip firm, and she tilts her head while her eyes glimmer in the lights. “You look great and trust me, I was running late too, so no worries.”   Taehyung holds back a laugh — he knows for a fact that Yeonjeon was an hour earlier than she needed to be. But whatever she’s trying to do, it’s working. Namjoon is seemingly flustered, eyes wide. His breath stutters and he manages a wordless nod.    Taehyung swears he sees a spark.   Another friend of Jimin soon shows up — Jeon Jungkook — that Taehyung recognizes from brief encounters in the past. Yeonjeon, on the other hand, is thoroughly less excited to meet him. Especially when he doesn’t recognize who she is.   “We worked together.” Yeonjeon’s smile becomes stiffer.   “We did?”   “In a commercial”   “Huh.” Jungkook’s doe eyes blink. “I don’t recall.”   Taehyung would expect a cat fight, mostly one-sided, but Yeonjeon paints on a pretty smile with Namjoon here and is civil for the time being. “Guess I just don’t make strong enough impressions.”   Yeonjeon continues making Namjoon nervous with her excessive flirting. The man is whipped for her already and playing right into the palm of her hand much to her liking, but he’s a sweetheart that Yeonjeon appears to find endearing.    Jungkook, on the other hand, is seemingly not impressed with being the third wheel and relies on Taehyung to make it less awkward. The actor talks to him about how excited he is to see his friend and how he hasn’t been to many Broadway shows — though eventually Taehyung has to excuse himself from the conversation to go backstage one last time.   “Alright folks, are we ready?”   “Ready!”   And eventually when the curtains draw and the music begins, your eyes meet Jimin’s. You gaze at one another, hands interlaced, giving a comforting squeeze, and you step out together.   The spotlight shines on both of you.

[Epilogue]   The moving truck wakes you.   It’s deafening. You can hear the slow ‘beep, beep, beep’ of the vehicle backing up. It snaps you out of your trance, bringing back your attention and you look away from the apartment complex. It was never terribly luxurious — nothing that you had envisioned when you were moving to iconic New York. But it’s cozy, a good five floors, classic brick on the side of a quiet street. And for so many years of your life, it was home.   There are messy boxes littering the hall, the door wide open, and the living space suddenly empty. You feel sad somehow, but you continue to pack the last of your belongings and the small knick-knacks you almost forgot. All while trying your best not to cry.   “Alright, do you want me to take this too, boss?” the moving truck guy asks, pointing to one of the last cardboard boxes on the floor.   “Yes, please.”   He’s about to take it, but hesitates. “Umm, excuse me, boss. You’re L/N Y/N, right?” You slowly nod, wondering why he’s asking, and then he smiles. “I thought I recognized you! Can I please get your autograph?”   The corners of your mouth quirk. “Sure.”   The man grabs his clipboard off the kitchen counter and flips the paper to the blank side. “My sister’s a huge fan.”   “Tell her I said thank you.” You sign the paper with your name, all loops and lines, leaving a small message as well.   “No, thank you. Honestly, it’s an honour.” The man beams at you, starstruck. The reaction is still hard to get used to, but he quickly takes your autograph and grabs the box. “I-I’ll just take this downstairs, Miss Y/N.”   He shuffles out, but steals a glance over his shoulder. You should probably offer to take a picture with him, but you’ll do that later.    For now, you want to linger a bit more in the place you spent so much time in.   You step out onto the cold balcony to lean on the railing. And you savour the view.   You can still remember how you felt when you arrived in New York — to say you were excited to be here was a severe understatement. It was your dream. You couldn’t believe you were standing here in the city. It was absolutely surreal.   It still is your dream, but you’ve largely achieved what you wanted and you love every moment of it.   Your thoughts interrupted by a sweet, purple tone. “Thought I’d find you out here.”   The timing is perfect.   You turn to find Jimin and you smile. He embraces you, arms looped around your midsection, holding you from behind. You lean into him as the two of you stare out at the city. “Why do I feel so sad?”   “It’s the nostalgia,” he hums, feeling it too. He has been for the last whole week. “I’m gonna miss this place.”   It’s the place where you met him.   “H-hello?”    “H-Hi. I...I just….” He tapped his ear, trying to explain himself. “I thought I heard…heard....never mind.” Jimin hitched his thumb over his shoulder and awkwardly tilted his body. “I just moved in.”   “Y-Yeah. I saw this morning.”   “So…it’s-uh-nice to meet you, I guess. I mean I don’t guess because it is great to meet you. I swear I’m not usually like this. What I mean is usually I’m not so direct. And, um, bad at speaking. We’ll be neighbors from now on. So I wanted to say hello, since usually, that’s the polite thing to do. Or at least what my mom tells me. She’s great. My mom. But right, I didn’t even tell you my name. My bad. I’m Park Jimin.”    It’s the place where you spent countless nights together and apart.   “Instant noodles aren't that great for your throat,” you said as you blew on the noodles out on the balcony. “Or for your health for that matter. You need to keep your voice healthy which means you need to drink water, warm up, and know your limits.”   He nodded, cheekful of ramen as he scribbled down the notes that were placed on his lap.   “You can ruin your voice if you strain it long term. It happens to a lot of singers if you compare to how they sang when they were young and when they got older. Smoking of course is out of the question. An orchestra player has to take care of their instruments. Broadway performers have to take care of their voices.”   “Yes, ma’am.”   It’s the place where you fell in love with each other.   “Don’t worry too much. I think you’ll manage, even if it’s hard. You’re a triple threat, Jimin. Singing, dancing, acting, that’s all the basic requirements.”   He smiled, peeking at you through his lashes. “You think I’m good enough at singing?”   “Getting there.”   “What about you? You said you don’t dance well.”   “Well, I don’t really sing or act either.”   He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I don’t know if you’re being humble or you’re such an idiot that you’re unaware of your own talents—”   “Did you just call me an idi—”   “—because your voice is probably one of the best I’ve heard in real life. Like, you’re just naturally good at singing. I’d pay any amount to watch you perform.”   It’s meaningful. The four walls of your apartment and his — they’ve heard you talk, fight, yell, sing, your whispers of your affections. A part of you thought you’d be here forever. But you’re also glad that you’re not — it’s never too good to remain stagnant. To remain in one single place without ever walking forward.   “But you know,” Jimin continues, “Our new place is gonna be bigger and have a better view of the city. We can finally host properly and invite Taehyung, Yeonjeon, Namjoon and Jungkook to come over.”    You hum, already knowing all the possibilities and the memories that will be made in the new place. Memories that you look forward to creating with Jimin by your side.   “We’ll be right over there.” He points to the distance where it’s closer to the heart of it all. You can see the vague outline of the high rise that’ll give you a new angle on the metropolis, a new view that’s perhaps even more beautiful.   You look up at him. “Are you excited about being my roommate instead of my neighbour?”   Jimin giggles. “So that’s what we are now? Roommates?”   “Roommates that happen to share the same bed,” you sing-song.   He bursts out laughing and the boyish sound is melodic to your ears. “Just to let you know, my parents didn’t want to just give us a vase and a lamp. They wanted me to put in baby furniture, but I told them it was way too soon.”   “Really?”   Jimin giggles with you. “I think they already bought a crib and they’re going to return it.”   “Hmm, I wonder how we’ll break the news to them that we’re only roommates.”   He tickles your side, having enough of your jokes and your teasing. It makes you sing numerous apologies between giggles that you’re only joking before he finally lets up.    “It’s about time to leave this old place behind,” Jimin coaxes in case you’re still sad, “We’re practically living together already and we gotta upgrade to bigger and better things. What else am I going to do with the money in the bank that’s collecting dust?”   You turn around in his arms, pouting at him sympathetically. “Aww, poor you, your wallet’s too fat, Minnie? I know a way to solve that.”   Jimin swats your hand away when it tries to reach into his pocket, his gaze darkening. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think so, miss.”   “Psh, fine. I don’t need your fat bank account. Like I don’t have my own,” you tease. “You know, I’m pretty sure the moving guy has a crush on me. He recognized me and got my autograph. Did he get yours?”   You quirk your head to the side, taunting him, and laughter bubbles out of Jimin’s lips. “Excuse me? A crush? If he doesn’t know who I am then he’s about to.”   You step off the balcony together, back inside your now empty home that’s next door to his equally empty apartment room. “What are you going to do? Punch him?”   “More like I’ll kiss you in front of him.”   “How threatening.”   “Or what if I recite a Shakespeare sonnet to you in front of him?”   “Sounds more like it.”   “How about I just declare how much I love you?”   “Not creative enough — you already do that on a daily basis, Jimin.”   The door shuts and the quietness of your apartment settles. Beams of sunlight come through the glass windows, catching the dust floating in the air, and painting the room in warm hues.   You walk together with Jimin and the colour of your voices fade away from the wall’s ears.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfiction #jimin broadway au #jimin broadway!au #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #jimin fanfic #ALL Y'ALL IT'S FINALLY OVER #oh my god this has been one wild ride #a bittersweet one with an emphasis on sweet imo #I hope you all enjoyed #for those who read every single word I'm absolutely honoured and thankful #thank you for spending your time and reading this series #it means a lot #all the feedback and love means more than you'll know :')

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part fifteen of this fic. Slow it down, what is going on here? Hopper needs to know.

Word Count: 2,300 +

Warning(s): Mild cussing

A/N: I’m not entirely fond of how I ended this chapter but I need to decide what direction I want the story to go in... Anyway, I hope you can forgive me and enjoy reading! 

Stacked neatly, Mike’s VHS tapes sat on Steve’s coffee table centered in front of the living room couch. Next to them were Steve’s socked feet, also stacked on top of one another as his legs stretched out before him. The credits for Indiana Jones rolled down the TV screen, and Nine’s eyes trailed across the words. Steve stood from his spot next to her on the couch, and gave her a puzzled look when she shot him one first. “You’re not-” she started, but her eyes traveled back to the screen. “Are you actually reading the credits?” Steve said, amusement in his voice. She looked back to him, giving up on the fast-scrolling text. “I didn’t know what they were,” she told him.

A smile dragged slowly across Steve’s face as he progressed into light laughter. “You don’t have to read those, they aren’t part of the story,” he explained. Nine cracked a smile as well, a breath of air leaving her mouth between her curled lips as if she were relieved. “Oh”. 

Steve crouched by the TV now, removing the tape from the player and finding its respective cover to put it away in. “So, what did you think?” he asked, turning his head to Nine as the tape snapped into place in the plastic case. 

“I liked it, it was nice to focus on other people’s problems for a while,” she said, and he laughed again. “Agreed”. 

About to engage in further discussion of the plot, Nine sat up and parted her lips to speak. Beating her to action, a chime rang through the house as someone outside pressed the doorbell. A recurring situation that had grown less scary and more irritating. Steve sighed as he stood up and looked to Nine with an apologetic expression, as if it were him outside ringing to be let in. 

It was Hopper. Chief of police returned to the Harrington residence as he said he would. The site of an authority at his door was inherently startling to Steve, but he let him inside as he thought over how long ago it was Hopper had been in his home, eyeing the empty space and scolding him to put an ice pack on his face. He realized now that he never did. 

-

Nine sat in the same seat she had occupied before, but this time her posture was stiff. She had first crossed her legs, one on top of the other, but moved to undo this after a minute. Her fingertips squeezed at folds in the fabric of her borrowed sweatpants, and she wished her injured arm hadn’t left her unable to borrow a shirt with long sleeves as well. So she substituted one jittery act for another. Beside Nine to her right, Steve was close; turned towards her slightly and hunched over just a little as if he were going to whisper to her a secret. Maybe he’d give her all the answers to the questions she would be asked. 

Hopper sat across from the two like a marriage counselor for a young couple. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees as if to get down to Nine’s level, to seem less dominating. She still wanted to back up, despite the intention.

“I don’t want to unsettle you, I just have to understand”. He started off with a half-apology after reading her body language, but continued on even when his sentence didn’t seem to make a dent in her demeanor. “I need to know more about where you came from — the lab”. He said the last two words as if he were reading them from a list, although looked straight ahead, trying to steal a moment of eye contact, even if it were accidental on Nine’s part. She only looked down, counting how long she could stand to hold her fingernail sharply against the pad of her thumb before ceasing the pain and taking the pressure away to watch the indent she had made in her skin fade. 

“Do we really have to do this?” Steve interrupted an interview that had hardly begun, opposing it with one question. 

“Yes, Steve, we do”. Hopper’s tone was more harsh when speaking to the boy. “Be grateful that I didn’t make her come into the station. I am going beyond off-road in terms of formalities,” he scolded. “I have a lot on my plate here, I just need to ask a few questions for now and the rest can be sorted out later”. 

Nine looked up, but only to catch a look at Steve’s face. He was sighing through his nose, biting into his lower lip and looking off to his right as he halfway rolled his eyes. His head swiveled back to face forward, then he peaked at Nine with large eyes. 

“How did you first end up there?” Hopper asked. Nine squinted, almost offended he hadn’t caught up on the basics of the story. She looked up to study the sheriff’s face for a moment, seeing only genuine curiosity on his features. She looked him straight in the eye as she responded. “I was born there”. Her tone was blunt, angry words leaving her mouth like weaponry. 

Hopper’s brows twitched, unexpectant of her harsh delivery or the answer itself. He sat back against his chair and opened his mouth to retaliate with another question. “Are there others, then?” he said simply, prettying his tone as if to ask nicely. 

“Other what? Kids?” Nine returned with another question, although she had understood his without the need for specification. He only nodded. “Yeah, there are others. I’m only number nine,” she said. 

Steve’s eyes were stuck on her as she spoke, a look of unease on his face. He appeared more concerned than Nine did at this point, but her twitching fingers reminded her of her anxiety. Another crescent-shaped impression faded slowly from her skin. 

Hopper’s next question was thick. “What did they do to you?”

Now Nine sighed, eyes traveling back to her lap for a moment as if recharging. “A lot. Ran tests — different things that evaluate and challenge our abilities.” She knew her response would set her up for a plethora of further questions, trying to keep it short in an attempt to fend off this inevitability. The look of confusion wasn’t wavering from Hopper’s expression, and she watched him gear up to ask another question. 

“Abilities? What does that mean?” 

Next to Nine, Steve shifted, his own two hands wringing together as if he had been asked the question himself. She glanced at him, then continued. “Specifically? Telekinesis, mostly.” She left out details of her other capabilities, leaving Hopper with a summary she’d hope would satisfy him. 

“Okay, come on… what?” He wasn’t satisfied. 

Nine’s voice was smaller this time, as if to make up for the increased tension in Hopper’s delivery. “I’d show you-” Steve cut her off, finally getting another word in. “No! You passed out at the lab because you over-exerted yourself. You’re still recovering, you can’t use your powers”. He didn’t even look at Hopper, acting as if he weren’t there at all. He searched Nine’s eyes, his own wavering back and forth in his attempt to read her expression. Hopper spoke again and the two broke their intense eye-contact. “Let’s just - calm down”. He sensed that he was losing both of those in front of him to the swelling unease of the room. Sitting up straight in his chair, he exhaled in demonstration. 

He dropped the subject, mentally scribbling the words telekinetic abilities with a question mark after them in his mind. “How did you escape? It’s a pretty secure building from my personal experience,” Hopper huffed, leaning back as cigarette-scented air left his mouth. 

Nine looked up this time, searching for an answer on the ceiling between cracks in the plaster. The sound of the Hawkins' Lab security alarm played in her head, uninvited and accompanied by vibrant visuals of running underneath it’s red light. “Something went wrong that night,” she started. “I-” she altered her speech, abandoning words that painted her responsible. “They reached the upside-down. Something from inside escaped, and I took advantage of the distraction.” 

She watched Hopper’s face as he processed her summary of events, then stole a glance at Steve like a child who was desperate for their parents to believe a poor excuse. Hopper moved along — the specifics of her getaway weren’t important to him right now anyway. What stood taller than Nine’s breakout was the something that escaped from somewhere he didn’t know of. “The upside down? What is that? That a place?” His tone was becoming more ragged, the unconventionality of this interview getting to him. He was used to routine, if anything boring work: a group of teenagers caught stealing candy from Mrs. Alexander’s corner store, a stale argument turned violent between two men at a local bar - things expected from a small town. This past week had introduced Hop to first-ever’s. First ever missing child case. First ever superhuman lab experiment escapee. 

Steve opened his mouth, shut it immediately. This felt invasive. This had been a secret between three, and this fourth member of the club brought doubtful glares and true consequence. He hadn’t known what he had expected, (Nine to spend the rest of her life hiding in his bedroom as his personal little secret?) but with the town’s sheriff sitting across from him in his own home, his reality felt menacing. Something about it seemed punishable. 

“There is a gate, like a passageway. It leads to the upside down, this place that- that’s like another dimension beyond our own,” Nine spoke. “A flip-side.” Hopper looked defeated, and felt his pants pocket to make sure his pack of cigarettes still laid underneath the fabric. It did, but he didn’t take them out. 

“There isn’t much else. We filled you in. Can we be done?” Steve phrased his question as if he were a kid wishing to be excused from dinner with his parents. A bit of expectancy in his voice; confidence he hoped would end the ‘check-in’ turned interview sooner. 

“No, no, no,” Hopper spoke aggressively again as he shifted back to conversation with Steve. “You did not fill me in on anything, she did.” Credit where credit was due. “There is still a lot I don’t know about Hawkins’ lab, and if I have more questions,” he spoke with passive-aggressive simplicity, like letters typed out in bold, “I will ask them”. 

Nine didn’t like his deserving attitude; it was flashy and ugly, although fitting of the uniform. “I’m done,” she spoke with Steve’s confidence. 

Hopper looked back to her, unhidden shock on his face as he had not considered his head-butting with Steve a true threat until now. He looked over the bruised girl in front of him, and sighed into his hands as he reevaluated the situation. Bringing his head back up, he spoke with a more controlled tone. “Okay, look. I am sorry.” His mustache twitched as he tried to find the words. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice, I'm just… confused.”

Silence draped over the room as Nine contemplated forgiveness. “I just have a few more questions, please.” Hopper added. As much as he wanted to butt in, Steve stayed quiet and let Nine decide if she would hear the sheriff’s finalizing questions. She looked at the man with an unchanging look on her face, one close to anger. She only nodded though, signaling him to continue despite her facial expression that had already convinced him the answer was ‘no’. He raised his eyebrows, almost in awe at her permission, then mentally stumbled over what it was he had intended to ask next. “Something escaped. What the hell was it?” 

Now it was Steve with violent visuals flashing in his mind. His ankle stung in remembrance. 

“I don’t know, some kind of creature. It’s big. It stands on two legs and towers over any human it encounters. It has no face, just a huge mouth with sharp teeth. Claws, too,” Nine said. Next to her, Steve wondered how she had such a clean mental picture of the ‘creature’. His own was scribbled and dark, an outcome of that night in the woods. 

“Okay…” Hopper was at a loss, flipping through an index of his personal experiences in his mind to try and find something to compare this to. “A creature with no face...” Hopper breathed out. Nine only nodded in response, and he looked to Steve as if he could verify the information. The teenager nodded his head slowly, his lips pressed together. An ‘I know, but it’s true,’ look. 

Hopper turned a page over in his mental notebook. “Uhm,” he started, his question lodging in his throat. He looked at the floor as he tried to loosen it. “One more thing,” he started. “I was told that you may have information on Will Byers. Is this true?” He regained his confidence, finding the natural groove of his speaking voice. Steve felt a surge of dread, air filling space deep in his chest as he inhaled. He wished that information hadn’t been used to barter for Hopper’s help. The visual of Nine sitting in a room painted a stark white — a setting his mind borrowed from Hawkins’ Lab, he realized — being pricked at and questioned, tested and retested under the idea that she would be useful to the investigation. Authorities from Hawkins’ own police station standing over her as she was returned to a place similar to the one she had escaped; a room filled with people who wanted to use her for her powers. 

Nine answered truthfully, and Steve chewed at his tongue. Hopper stayed silent for a moment, as if he weren’t expecting something he was already told to be true when he repeated it himself. “What do you know?” 

Her voice was softest when answering this question above all asked previously, words spoken slowly like they’d run off it delivered too eagerly. “I know where he is”.

---

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