#taking the numbers away from the appearance options seems like such a pointless thing to do
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There are actual bugs they could be fixing. Why are they fucking with the UI in the character creation menu at this point?
#taking the numbers away from the appearance options seems like such a pointless thing to do#like I’m really gonna remember the names of the hair styles I really like?#baldurs gate 3#also changing the way you select multiple items from your inventory?#I’m not saying its a /bad/ change necessarily#just not one that would be at the top of my priority list because the old way worked fine
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Loneliness {Levi Ackerman x Reader}
TW: a bit of gore? a LOT of angst, more of me venting lol
Levi ran his hands through his hair as he flopped down onto the old, crusty sofa.
It'd been a tough day for him and his squad, the group of them only just surviving as they frantically dodged a mass of titans and tried their best to weave through the pounding rain that was so heavy it almost left marks on the scarred bodies of the soldiers. Thank god the group had found a small, secluded cabin, or they might've frozen to death - if they hadn't been eaten first.
The number of people Levi had seen get mutilated in front of him in the past few hours alone was enough for the average person to see in a lifetime. For him, it should be normal. He should be used to it by now, maybe even desensitised, but every time he watched a person get split in half by the gaping jaws of a titan, it felt like a fresh, stinging wound on his skin. It was painful, yet all he could do was watch with his stern expression to hide the way he truly felt. To keep the confidence of his squad high.
Now, he and his crew were safe. Physically, maybe, but certainly not mentally.
Levi missed his wife. His head pounded in pain as the blood-stained bandages began to unravel and his headache increased, but all he wanted to do was think about her. He held her letters close, and he held the small oil-painting of the two of them close to his heart, something that'd been made by one of the higher-ups as a gift for Humanity's Strongest. The letter was one of the first things Y/n had written to him and the pretty yet smudged handwriting along with the cute curls of her Gs and Ys made his heart feel warm.
It'd been about a month since they'd both left Wall Sina to go on this extremely long, drawn-out expedition, and how much he cared about her was beginning to dwell on him. His heart and body ached, and he wished she was there with him to comfort his pains, even if he acted like he wasn't listening.
That was what Levi liked about her; she knew how much he cared about her without him needing to express himself. Something he wasn't... the best at.
Levi didn't realise his eyes were welling up with tears until he felt a small, fresh droplet appear on his upper cheek, and his eyelashes felt sticky. Quickly, he wiped it away with his sleeves, but it was unlikely anyone would see. Everyone was supposedly asleep, while he stayed up due to his unfortunate insomnia. Y/n was always there with him in their bed at home, someone he could hold onto while he tried his best to sleep. Her fingers running through his hair, leaving small little pats on his scalp, and tiny kisses on his forehead were all things he missed dreadfully, and he gulped a little as his heart pounded slightly.
Love was never really a thing Levi had believed in. He just went about his life, trying to survive and find a better life for humanity. But when he met Y/n, everything changed. Of course, he disliked her at first, just as he did with most people. Her bubbly, caring personality with too much sympathy and love for other people were things he, unfortunately, despised, mainly because they were things he seemed to lack. Yet... he couldn't help but be drawn to her, giving her extra chores such as cleaning his office and bringing him tea just so he could see her. Often he'd ask Y/n to help him with his paperwork so he had some sort of company, once even choosing her over Hanji to fetch him food.
He slowly began to realise over the months that it wasn't hatred he felt for Y/n. It was... fear. He was scared of loving someone, especially someone like her. Someone who was part of the Survey Corps, and someone who could die within a week and not have the chance to say goodbye. It hurt him way too much to love someone, yet he couldn't keep his feelings to himself.
When he found out she felt the same way, the two discussed their options. One being totally ridiculous and one being... more reasonable and sensible.
The first? Choosing to leave the Survey Corps and get married, far away from the life they'd been leading.
The second? Staying in the Survey Corps and going separate ways, never to speak of this again and to drop the feelings if they could.
But of course Y/n managed to merge the two together. Staying in the Survey Corps and getting married.
But... they were in different squads. While he led his own, Y/n was under Hanji, and he currently had no idea where her squad was or IF they'd even survived. They'd been seperated for three weeks now, and the questions that filled his mind felt like psychological torture. Levi tried his best to block that thought out of his head, not wanting to be plagued with the thoughts of his wife's death instead of focussing on the mission at hand. At that moment, he needed to prioritise his own Squad's safety, but he couldn't keep those thoughts at bay.
A sniffle escaped his nose as he felt his eyes well up again, and Levi had never felt so lonely. His free arm reached upwards as if he could magically touch fingers with Y/n and know she was okay, but it was pointless. His arm flopped back down as he tried to find a comfortable position on the absolutely awful-excuse of a sofa, but struggled. Crying was not a very-Levi thing to do, but at that moment? He just couldn't help himself.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he felt almost like a baby. He was not only upset about not having his wife near, but extremely embarrassed too. He was hyperaware that someone could see him, even though nobody was there, and he knew that as a captain, it was highly irresponsible to be sobbing like this. He'd only cried twice in front of Y/n; the first was when he thought she'd died, and the second was the aftermath of his original squad dying. If only she could see him now, looking pathetic and weak.
But he should've known she didn't think of him like that. Y/n knew him as the strongest person she'd ever met in her life and believed that crying was not a sign of weakness, but a sign of holding it in for too long. Holding in those negative emotions and putting on a strong facade only she could see through. Only a fool would think Levi was brave all the time, because even the strongest get scared.
"Fuck," Levi muttered shakily, noticing that one of his tears had merged two words together on one of the letters, creating an inky black blob. He placed the pieces of parchment onto the table beside him, making sure not to ruin them anymore, and balled his fists into his eyes to stop himself from crying anymore. He didn't want to feel this; he wanted to go home and spend the rest of his days with you, blissfully unaware that the titans even existed. Maybe he'd be a dad.
But no. The world just liked to cruelly torture him and watch him suffer. The world wanted him to watch everyone he ever knew die in front of him in ways he didn't want to experience. The world just wanted the worst for him, and he wondered what he'd ever done to deserve it.
When he heard a knock at the door of the cabin, he completely ignored it, not wanting to get up and answer. His eyes were red and puffy, while teardrops hung in his eyelashes. It was clear as day he'd been crying, and for some reason, it didn't exactly register in his mind that there was someone at the door until he heard footsteps.
"Captain Hanji!" a voice from downstairs exclaimed, one Levi recognised as Armin Arlert's. Levi almost shot up in his seat at that name, and his heart almost dropped to the pit of his stomach. He held his breath, the pain of not knowing whether his wife was alive or not becoming too much to bear. And now, he'd be told what'd happened to her. "It's so late, where have you been?"
"We took a detour," Hanji chuckled, and Levi groaned quietly at her poor taste in jokes. It was somewhere around 2am and everyone was filled with so much anxiety that it really wasn't the right time for her 'comedic expertise'. "No, we got ambushed by a ton of titans and we had to hideout in this abandoned castle until it was safe. We used the night to kill the ones that were resting before coming here."
"But we got lost," a male's voice said, and Levi heard Armin physically face-palm. The captain kicked his legs over the sofa and his ears pricked up, his heart racing against his chest for any sign of his wife. He was completely frozen in place, unable to leave the room and confront the group, never mind help them. Thank goodness Armin was there. "Hanji went way too far East instead of West."
"Hey! I was listening to your directions, Heinrich," Hanji sighed, and he heard the door close behind them as the whole group wandered inside. A few members of his own squad seemed to be leaving their temporary bedroom, greeting Hanji and the others with a fake display of delight. Not that they weren't happy to see Hanji's squad; they were delighted to know the group was alive and well. They were just... tired, and too mentally traumatised from that day alone to give a proper smile.
Footsteps echoed around the house to the point that Levi had no idea if people were coming up or going down the stairs, and he finally stood up when the door to his room opened...
And his heart skipped a beat.
Standing in the doorway was Y/n, her eyes swollen from tears and her wrist in a temporary bandage. Cuts and bruises littered her visible skin, and she dropped her cloak to the floor as she rushed over, flinging herself into her husband's arms. Levi fell backward onto the sofa, his eyes wide with surprise as the woman nuzzled her face into his neck and chest, unable to get enough of him. A strangled breath left her as she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, and he returned it. His hands roamed her back, gently taking off her brown jacket and examining her broken wrist.
"Y/n," he said quietly, looking up at her as she straddled his legs, hugging him with her free arm. "What happened?"
"I went to rescue Lorena Engel and fractured my wrist in the process," she said softly, sitting up and wiping her eyes as she attempted to look him in the face. "She was grabbed by a titan and I went to slice at the wrong angle... it was purely an accident."
"I'm glad to see that other than that, you're okay," he said, a small, strained smile on his lips. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see her. In fact, he was completely overjoyed to see his wife again. It was just... really difficult to smile at that point in time, and thankfully, she understood. Then, he wrapped his arms around her waist once more and held her tightly, his face against her chest as he listened to her racing heartbeat. Tears began to escape again, and when she noticed, she planted soft kisses across his head, her hands running through his hair just as he liked. "God, I missed you so fucking much."
"I missed you too," she answered, the goosebumps that'd prickled on her body due to the cold eventually disappearing. The dim candlelight in the room was barely exuding any heat, but the warmth from her husband was enough. Just Levi being there, safe and sound, was enough.
After a while, Levi's voice entered the silent room.
"Did everyone in your squad make it?" he asked, and it took a few moments for Y/n to reply.
"Everyone except Marcus Karsten" she whispered, choking slightly. "He... lost his life a week ago. What about... you?"
"Everyone made it," Levi answered, gently rubbing her back comfortingly. He wasn't best with words, so he made sure to make up for it with actions. She seemed to like that, anyway. "I'm... thankful for that."
"Yeah, that's good," Y/n said, a genuine smile on her lips. She was grateful his squad had no fatalities. They were a good bunch of kids, and she got along with most of them. "Levi, why is there a bandage on your head?
"Little accident," he answered, amused that she was worried about the little things. His injuries didn't matter to him, but to her they were incredibly important. "I misjudged where I was going and banged my head, but it's okay."
"It better be," she chuckled quietly, even the tiniest bit of laughter meaning the world to him. He hadn't heard it in so long that he hadn't realised how desperate he was for it. "Now, I can see those little eyebags creeping onto your face. You've barely slept."
"So?" he muttered, burying his face further into her chest. "What about it?"
"God, your stubborn," she sighed, ruffling his hair. "Now that I'm here, will you try your best to fall asleep?"
"But you've only just arrived-"
"So?" Y/n answered, teasing him and brushing his forehead with her thumb. She then planted another yet smaller kiss onto his lips, one Levi tried to push further into but was denied. "You'll be seeing me all day tomorrow. Just a couple hours rest won't do any harm."
Levi knew there was no winning against his wife. She was incredibly persistent when she wanted to be, so he sighed in annoyance before falling onto his back, lying on the sofa. She lay on top of him, his arms tight around her body as she snuggled into his shoulder. A tiny sigh of relief left his lungs and he took a deep breath in, filling his nose with her scent (and the unfortunate smell of dirt and blood, but he didn't care).
As happy as he could get, Levi eventually fell asleep, holding his dearly beloved in his arms.
#levi ackerman#attack on titan#levi#shingeki no kyojin#snk#aot#anime#levi fanfiction#one-shot#angst#hurt/comfort#fluff and angst
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The House of the Rising Sun (Number 5 x reader)
A/N: This is an unfinished fic ive had in my drafts for well over a year,, enjoy? based of s1
Crime rates had never been higher, gangs ravaging the city any opportunity they got dealing class A narcotics and carrying out random acts of violence. No one leaves their houses at night, as soon as the sun sets the streets would empty and complete anomie would take place. One ‘gang’ were set above the rest, they were practically the equivalent of the mafia, all dressed in a smartly pressed uniform and operating throughout the entire city, the Umbrella Academy. Rumour has it they all had ‘powers’ of some sort, making them the most powerful gang, even if they didn’t have their ‘powers’ they would still be in the lead having very high levels of violence between them.
The Umbrella Academy all had nicknames, a mere murmur of the said names would send people running like scared dogs, tails between their legs. The most feared of the Umbrella Academy was The Boy, just as him name suggested he was the one no one knew anything about, yes there was rumours but never any solid facts. The Boy had apparently travelled to the future, has a kill count of hundreds and can appear in a flash of blue from thin air, but these are just mad rumours that drift round town.
Dusk set upon the city but you didn’t notice, too busy finishing bouquets in your shop. You ran a small florists on the outskirts of the town, you never caused any trouble and had never stayed late until today. You glanced out the window and gasped, looking at the pitch black sky, feeling your heart rate increase at the thought of walking four blocks in the gang ridden town. As quickly as you could you close the shop, making sure the doors were locked and the solid metal shutters were firmly shut. You leave by the back door, locking it and closing the shutter yet again, not leaving your small life source of a shop to the vengeance of raging gangs who carry out pointless crimes.
Shadows hid your small frame as you quickly walked home, defenceless, hoping to miss anyone out at the late hours of the night. Unfortunately, luck was not playing on your side, from the shadows you could make out a group of lads making their way threateningly down the street. All you could do is pray that you wouldn’t get spotted in the dark shadows.
“Well what do we have here?” You quickened your pace somehow thinking that you could move away from them but you were wrong. You were surrounded like you were feeding bread to a flock of seagulls, if the seagulls were feral and had rabies it would mirror how afraid you were at that moment.
“Sorry!” Is all you were able to squeak out as you were roughly pulled out from the safeness of the dark into the centre of the group, your bag getting ripped off your back. Your frozen, watching them go through the contents of your bad, dumping out all your papers and pens that you had in your bag until finally finding your purse. “Please don’t it’s all I have.”
As soon as the words left your mouth you were on the ground, a numbing pain shooting through the side of your head, you could see heavy droplets of blood hit the floor as your nose bled from the impact. Another sharp impact landed against your ribs as a sob wracked through your shaking body, unable to comprehend how quickly the events had escalated, all you could do now is wait for the next impact but it never came.
“Hey, assholes!” The voice was crisp and sharp, dripping with confidence and authority. “Pick on someone your own size.”
Coins fell to the floor as the gang dropped your bag and your purse and ran, you couldn’t even look up, the thought of someone more threatening than an entire group sent shivers down your hurt body. You didn’t hear footsteps, all you saw from your peripheral vision a blue light and a dark figure. The rustling sound of papers cut through the silent street and the harsh zip of your bag startled you.
“You need to see someone about that.” You look up and were met with none other than The Boy, the most questioned of the Umbrella Academy, dressed in a smart uniform, domino mask securely covering his identity. His fingertips lightly brushed the side of your head, causing you to flinch away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said unconvincingly, emotions hidden by the mask.
He held your now packed bag out to you, you lifted yourself off the floor, wincing as you did so. You cautiously took your bag from The Boys hand, holding it loosely in your hand. Taking a step, you stumble, your side collapsing in on it’s self, The Boy caught you, putting his arm around your waist to steady you.
“Here, let me help you home, where do you live?” In your shattered state you told him, and in a blink of blue you were at your door. You messily fumble with your keys as your shaking hands roughly push your door open, dropping your bag into your small apartment.
“Thank you.” The mask clad boy stood before you, hands in his shorts pockets.
“It’s okay,” You couldn’t see his eyes but you knew they were scanning over your body. “Make sure to get your injuries checked over, they got you pretty hard y/n.” Then he was gone.
You lock your door and double check your windows, securing them before limping over to your bathroom, looking at your beaten form in the mirror. Red marks spread over your face and the side of your body, bruising already starting to form, blood stained your white patterned shirt with a now ruined name tag, the thought of work taking over your thoughts, well not all of your thoughts. The Boy was also on your thoughts, his cold emotionless face, half covered by a domino mask, contrasted with the softness of his words, the caring nature of his touch. He’s a crime lord, a dangerous man, yet he showed kindness to you.
Five was angry, he was angry with himself that he didn’t get there quick enough to stop them hurting y/n. She was the only pure thing left in the city and they went for her, defenceless. Five would’ve killed them on the spot if he didn’t want to hurt y/n any more than she already was. He wasn’t actively going out of his way to find y/n, she was sunshine in a grey and broken world.
“Five,” He hadn’t even finished teleporting into his room before Luther started speaking. “We’re not meant to be out on the streets. What were you doing?” Luther’s big frame towered over Five, attempting to threaten him.
“I was out doing what were meant to be doing, keeping our authority through the streets. Haven’t you heard that they’ve been saying we’re weak.” Five snarled at his brother prompting Luther to sigh then walk out. It wasn’t always like this, they could’ve been heroes but Mr Hargreeves only saw the darkness and the powers within them, he made them the best at being the worst and for some it was the end of the line.
An aching agony wracked through your fragile body as your head pounded like a thousand drummers sounding the beating retreat. You hoped a shower would ease any of the pain, warm water running over all of your bruises, the side of your body looking like a black and blue watercolour along your ribs. Your work clothes were just casual, simple, it was one of the upsides of owning your own business. However, you did have an apron, it had different flowers embroidered on it and a simple name tag. A name tag now covered in blood.
Quiet music softly played in the background of your flower shop, you swept the floor in time to the music, swaying your hips as you did so. Heading back to the storage room, you heard the bell to the shop chime, a welcoming noise.
“Hey, how can I help?” The man seemed startled, looking up at the arrangement of bouquets and flashing a quick smile.
“I’d like some flowers for my mom,” He almost hesitated with his words, a soft peach colour present on his cheeks. “I saw your shop yesterday and couldn’t remember the last time anyone had got her any.”
“Awe, that’s super sweet, have any of the bouquets caught your fancy or does she have a flower preference?” The boy in front of you was about the same age as you, maybe older, he had sharp features but they were even out by the softness of his eyes.
He thought for a moment, searching the deepest parts of his brain. “Lilies, she likes lilies.” You smile at his words before looking round your small, compacted shop for any pre-made bouquets.
“We don’t have any made up right now but if you come back,” You look at the clock, thinking about a convenient time for him to come back. “In about 2 hours I’ll have one made up for you?” You give him a sweet smile as he nods. “Great! If you want you can leave your name and number so I can text you when its done.”
You watch him messily write his details on a post it note. Peeling it off the block, you stick it to your notice board, looking at his name as you did so. Five. “I’ll send you a text once your bouquets done!”
“Ok, thank you,” He hesitated as he strained to read your name tag. “Y/n.”
“No problem, Five.” You see a small smile break out on his face as he left the shop. The rest of your day dragged as a slow drip of customers drifted in and out of the shop. You made a large bouquet of different types of lilies for Five, taking extra care to arrange them in the prettiest way you could, making it extra special for his mom.
You admire your handy work, loving when you get special orders being able to be as creative as you want. You send a text to Five saying that he can drop in any time from now until closing to pick them up, you get an almost instant response sending his thanks.
Shouting echoed down the street, sharp crashing of glass cutting through the air. Smoke drifted like ghosts down the street as screams echoed down the road of people coughing, spluttering grasping for breath. Peering out your shop window you saw them again, the lads from the night before, petrol bombs in hand ready to throw. You had to consider you options, quick, close the shutters quickly and run out the back or just run out and risk that they recognise you.
Quickly, you pulled the shutters down as you hear the unruly lads shouting get louder, you think your safe but then you remember the window upstairs, wide open, vulnerable. Taking two steps at a time but you were halfway to the window and heard a ‘get the flower shop’.
A flame like a rabid hare shot past you, shattering on the ground followed by another, hitting the window dead on surrounding you in flame, no escape in a smoke filling room. Smoke licked the walls as smoke danced in your lungs, making you feel lightheaded, blurring you vision. The floor burnt as you dropped to your knees, trying to take in any remaining oxygen, begging for your eyes not to close.
As Five walked back to the flower shop only to be met with shouting, screaming and sirens, noticing the smoke in the air he quickened his pace, only to break out into a sprint at the sight of the small flower shop in flames. He couldn’t see y/n out in the street in front of the shop, in a blind panic he blipped into the shop, looking round and seeing smoke pouring down the stairs, dread filling his body. In a blink of an eye he was in the burning room, finding y/n unconscious on the floor, he grabbed her body and as quickly as he could in the haze of the smoke.
He flashed to the academy, roughly shaking y/n shoulder. “Y/n,” He checked she was still breathing. “y/n please. Wake up. Mom!” Grace came round the corner, watching her son frantically shake an unconscious body.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Grace’s calming voice did nothing to sooth the panicking boy, she looked at the girls flame licked skin. “Take her to the medical room, Five.” Without another word Five had flashed upstairs, Grace beginning jogging up the stairs wrapping her medical apron around her as she did.
You gasp awake, proceeding to cough up whatever smoke settled in your lungs. You didn’t recognise the room around you, it didn’t look like any normal hospital, or even a hospital at all. Panicking at the foreign surroundings you drag yourself out of the bed, body screaming out at the heat in your arms and palms from the fire, the fire, your shop. Before even having time to comprehend the series of unfortunate events that led you up to this point, a woman walked in, sending heaving 1950/60′s vibe.
“Hello dear, I’m Grace.” Grace had a soft voice but it didn’t sound quite right, it sounded almost robotic, not human.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” You pushed past her and hope to find a way out of the large eerie house you were in. Panic mode overtook your whole body as you tried to find any way out, footsteps echoing behind you as Grace tried to catch up with you but you saw the front door and ran for it.
“My dear, you can’t go yet!” But you had already ran out the door, it being left wide open behind you, sprinting down the street probably looking like a madman but in that moment it didn’t matter to you, you had to get out.
#The Umbrella Academy#Umbrella Academy#number 5#number five#five hargreeves x reader#number 5 x reader#number five x reader#number five imagine#number five oneshot#number 5 imagine#five hargreeves imagine#this is so old and unfinished but al post it anyways
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More than you bargained for.
The supermarket was quiet at this time of night which was a welcome sound after a day of the constant drone of people talking in the office, and you were hovering by the alcohol trying to figure out which bottle would be a good choice to start your weekend off with. This was the beauty of living alone; no sharing. The stuffed crust pizza in your basket almost fills it up with how big the box is but if you couldn’t manage all of it tonight at least you had breakfast sorted for the morning. It’s funny when you think about it really because you wouldn’t have thought that the pinnacle of adulthood would be having pizza for two meals instead of just one, yet here you were with not much else to look forward to this weekend. A father and son whizz behind you in a blur of giggles and you smile at how cute the little scene going on around you is through your slightly depressing thoughts.
“Jack! Jack come back!” the dad suddenly calls out with an exasperated sigh as you hear his basket drop to the floor, “Jack!”
A small toddler suddenly comes hurtling around the corner with his reins trailing behind him as he laughs so much he can barely see out of his eyes, then you watch as he makes a beeline for the stock cage that was sat at the other end of the aisle, and you have to intervene before he knocks himself out on the metal frame.
“Woah little man!” you chuckle as you quickly move to stand in front of him, “I think your daddy’s looking for you!”
The small child looks up at you with a cheeky smile then quickly darts behind your legs as his dad comes rushing around the corner with half of his jacket hanging off of one shoulder, a pack of loo roll under one arm, and a basket that was only secured to his hand by one handle so that the contents were threatening to spill out onto the floor. As soon as he spots the child standing behind your legs his whole body relaxes and he quickly shrugs his jacket back up before sorting his basket out and running a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair.
“Well, I wonder where Jack is?” he asks out loud, “excuse me Miss, have you by any chance seen a small boy run through this aisle?”
“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, “no, no I haven’t I’m afraid.”
A giggle erupts from behind your legs as the boy sticks his head out, then his dad gasps at the sudden revelation that he’s there.
“There you are!” he laughs as the child then runs into his dad’s arms when he squats down.
You can’t help but grin at the sight of the two of them then make your way into the next aisle to hide the fact you were now yearning for a baby… and a husband to go with it would be nice. You clutch your stomach as you let out a quiet ‘aww’ then try and concentrate on the cereal you now found yourself standing in front of. The sound of little feet then causes you to turn to the source and there stands the small boy again.
“Can I hide?” he asks rather sweetly.
“Of course,” you smile.
He ducks behind your legs again and his appears seconds after.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologises breathlessly, “he’s going through his ‘running away from daddy’ stage, which I definitely wasn’t warned about by anyone.”
“It’s no bother, honestly. Guess those reins are pretty useless then?”
“Yes. So very pointless. Don’t bother getting any for yours because you’ll just watch them get dragged along the floor as they disappear around a corner.”
“Noted,” you nod.
“Come on now Jack, stop distracting the nice lady from her shopping. We do need to get home at some point tonight, and so does she.”
You feel a small hand on your thigh as he peeks around your leg at his father then his dad’s face drops and you soon hear a cry emanate from beside you which instantly makes your body tense up as the poor little guy pads slowly towards his father who is now crouched down on the floor with an equally apologetic and exhausted look on his face. There’s a split second where you wonder whether to make a run for it or try to help the guy, and you thankfully decide on the latter as you step around the two of them and move out of sight at the end of the aisle so you can then slowly peek your head out from around the corner to grab the little one’s attention.
“Psst,” you whisper, making his scrunched up face lift to face you.
You disappear as soon as he’s seen you, then repeat your slow reveal much to his amusement and quickly disappear again. This is repeated a handful of times until the child is laughing so hard the tears have now turned to happy ones, and even his dad cracks a smile when he shuffles around to see what you’re doing. The two of them then applaud and chuckle as you kick your basket across the end of the aisle and pretend to chase after it, and you’re even laughing at yourself when you reach it to pick it up. You take centre stage one last time to take a bow, and the father gives you a woop which then encourages the little boy to cheer as well before you step away and continue with your shopping.
The lights in the supermarket suddenly seem a little warmer than before and you smile to yourself at the thought of helping distract the boy from his upset moment as you step into the soft drink aisle instead of the alcohol one; maybe a diet coke would be a better option than drinking a bottle of wine alone tonight. You continue your shop without any more interactions with the father and son and once you’ve bagged everything and paid you head out into the increasingly chilly air with a shiver, clutching your bags tightly as you walk to your car as quickly as your feet will take you.
“Excuse me!” a man calls out, making you jump a little, “sorry, excuse me Miss.”
You turn slowly to find the man from inside with his little boy tucked up in his arms in a puffy coat.
“Oh! Hello,” you exhale, relieved it’s a familiar face.
“We would like to thank you for making our shopping trip much more exciting than it usually is,” he pauses then lowers his voice a little, “and also I would like to thank you for helping cut the tears short… it was a really big help, and I very much appreciate you taking the time to put a smile on his face.”
“You’re both very welcome, I’m glad I could help,” you smile.
“Jack has a little something for you… go on,” he encourages.
The little boy pulls a packet of milk chocolate buttons out from his coat and holds his small arm out towards you for you to take them.
“Oh, you really didn’t have to!” you chuckle as you transfer one of your bags to the other hand and gently take the packet of buttons, “that’s extremely kind of you, thank you so much.”
“That’s okay,” Jack grins, “are they your favourite?”
“They are! How did you know?”
Jack shrugs and goes a bit shy as he leans on his dad’s shoulder, then his dad grins at his sudden change of demeanour before turning to you, “I’m Gwilym, by the way…” he says, offering his hand to you.
The buttons are hurriedly put away in your pocket so you can shake his hand, “I’m (Y/N).”
“Could I… uh… would you like to maybe exchange numbers? Just in case this little monster needs cheering up again of course.”
Your eyes grow wide in shock as you look between the two of them then you swallow thickly before answering, “umm… sure…”
“Oh!” Gwilym gasps, “it’s just us two… his mum… she isn’t around.”
“Right! Yes, no, I thought that, of course. Yeah…”
“I’m so sorry,” he chuckles as he gets his phone out, “have I made this awkward?”
“No! No, not at all, I just… well… this is the last thing I thought would happen to me this evening,” you laugh as you take his phone and type out your number.
“That’s how it gets you… when you least expect it,” he winks, calling your number so you had his as well.
“It certainly does!”
“So we’ll be seeing you soon then?”
“Yeah, I guess you will,” you chuckle in slight shock.
“It was a real pleasure meeting you (Y/N), and I’m sure I speak for this little man as well when I say that.”
“Same goes for you two as well,” you nod, “have a lovely weekend. I’m sure I will with my chocolate buttons!”
“And you too,” Gwilym smiles, “say bye bye.”
“Byyyeeee!” Jack waves.
The two of them walk away and you look down at your shopping bags, wondering where the handsome dad and cute toddler were on your receipt.
@winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @drivenbybri
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Honesty
Hi, again. Here is more content for all you lovely people because you deserve it and also because I need my distractions. Unless, of course, my downward spiral into mental unhealthiness is making my writing and quality complete strangers. Let me know if that’s the case and I’ll stop.
Anyways, here’s a one-shot that’s kind of long. Pre-calamity fluff is always fluffy until I remember that Link loses his memories and then it’s sad. I make everything sad, don’t I?
Zelda’s fingers were interlaced where she sat at her vanity, watching as her thumb brushed up and down the opposite finger. She tried to focus on the small tickle it produced, not the unsettling feeling in her chest, her flighty and unrestrained heart, her thoughts and feelings she couldn’t get a hold of.
“Your Highness,” Urbosa said with a few casual knocks on the open door. Zelda looked up as she came in. “You requested me.”
“Yes, yes,” Zelda said, turning in her chair. “I...need some advice.”
Urbosa’s eyebrows twinged upwards in surprise.
“It must be important,” Urbosa said. “Your father’s banquet starts soon.”
“This won’t take long,” Zelda insisted. “I…”
She exhaled a shaky sigh.
“I have a friend,” Zelda said. “She likes someone, but...she doesn’t know what to do. He’s below her station by quite the amount and although she doesn’t care...she knows everyone else will.”
Urbosa smiled warmly and knowingly.
“Sounds like your friend is in quite the situation,” Urbosa said.
Zelda forced a small smile.
Urbosa sat down in a nearby chair.
“Do you know how courting works in Gerudo culture?” Urbosa asked.
Zelda nodded.
“Once a Gerudo comes of age, she leaves the town in hopes of finding love,” Zelda started. “She explores Hyrule, gets to know herself, and finds someone who matches her.”
“When she finds that person,” Urbosa added, “someone she likes. She doesn’t delay anything. We as Gerudo are accustomed to be very outright with our feelings. A Gerudo interested in someone, whether they are male or female, comes right out and tells them.”
“Seems rather direct,” Zelda said.
“Gets the job done,” Urbosa said. “And it’s what I recommend to your...friend.”
Zelda peered at Urbosa’s expression. She knew. She absolutely and completely knew.
“Is it that easy to tell?” Zelda asked.
“You are blushing profusely, Your Highness,” Urbosa said with that hearty Gerudo laugh. “Come on, who is it?”
Zelda hesitated before her head bowed.
“The knight,” she said quietly, “the one with the sword that seals the darkness...Link.”
She wished she could dampen the way her heart swelled at the utterance of his name, the heat in her cheeks.
Zelda looked up to Urbosa to see her reaction, and she was smiling from ear to ear.
“You have a crush on your knight attendant?” She asked rhetorically. “That’s adorable.”
“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Zelda explained. “And I don’t want to stop, but I must have to. He is far from acceptable as a member of the court. My father would never approve.”
“You don’t know that,” Urbosa said.
“And with this whole calamity thing...I already can’t access my sealing power. He calls my studies frivolous, but an affair with my knight attendant really would be frivolous. Link has his own duties as well, not to mention the public already has marked me as a failure. I can’t add anything to their arguments.”
Urbosa nodded along.
“But…” Zelda continued. “Sometimes...sometimes when I see him...his blue eyes, his smile...sometimes all I want to do is forget everything and just sink my lips into his.”
“You and half of Hyrule,” Urbosa jived, a small mumble.
“Urbosa…” Zelda said despite the joke. “I don’t know what to do.”
Urbosa took a pause with pursed lips.
“You already know what I suggest,” she said. “Be upfront. Maybe after Calamity Ganon appears and is defeated, Link’s commendation will be enough to officially court you.”
Zelda looked down at her hands. Her hands that lacked the sealing power of the goddesses, her hands that were necessary to defeat Calamity Ganon. Until then, the prudent option would be for her to bury her feelings and focus solely on the power.
“Good call, though, little bird,” Urbosa said, Zelda tilting her head back up. “You two would make an adorable couple.”
Zelda inhaled to tell her to stop, knowing her heart could only take so much, but she was interrupted.
“Reporting for duty, Your Highness,” they heard outside. Urbosa stifled a laugh at how much Zelda blushed, the panic in her expression like a doe that had spotted its hunter.
“She’s decent,” Urbosa replied, completely amused by the way Zelda composed herself, standing up, smoothing out her dress, brushing away strands of hair that escaped from her updo.
Link, in contrast, was the complete opposite as he entered the room, the very picture of a royal guard. Not only was he in the uniform, but he was standing straight as a log, expressionless and waiting to be an escort to the banquet and nothing more.
At first it really was nothing more, the King worried of Yiga assassination so much that Zelda walking from her quarters to the dining hall was a worrisome affair. It was only after Zelda reminded the King that Link was a champion along with Mipha, Daruk, Revali, and Urbosa that Link was invited to the banquet. It also helped that Zelda acted like she was worried about assissination at the banquet as well, telling her father that it couldn’t hurt to have Link around and reminding him of the incident with the pot lid. Her father praised her wisdom but behind all the farce, she just wanted to spend time with Link.
“Hi,” she said with a nervous chuckle.
“Hello, Your Highness, Lady Urbosa”
His greeting was much more formal.
“Don’t worry, Link,” Urbosa said as she stood up. “You won’t have to escort me tonight. The Yiga know to stay away by now or else their numbers would decrease exponentially.”
She stopped before the exit.
“I do have a question for you though,” she said, Link turning his head.
“If someone had a crush on you,” Urbosa asked, Zelda’s eyes widening. “What would you want them to do?”
Link scratched the back of his head.
“Uhm.”
“Thank you, Urbosa,” Zelda said as she pushed her out the door. “I’ll see you at the banquet.”
Zelda returned to Link, averting her glance as she walked to meet him.
“What was that about?” He asked.
“Nothing,” Zelda replied.
She imagined telling him, him smiling or laughing with that chuckle, or hugging her, or kissing her. But he may very well show no reaction, his lips straight and unmoving, his expression warping to express confusion or, worse, disdain or disgust.
But for now he offered his arm with a small smile, something she wagered was the only thing that could pull her out of her flustered state. She remembered them talking at length at how he no longer shows his emotions outwardly. Zelda questioned why that was starting to change when it was just them alone before she realized she was staring into his eyes.
She latched her arm into his, them taking a stroll along the hallway as she looked anywhere else but at him. It proved pointless though, a blush adorning her cheeks at the mere thought of whose arm was linked with hers, his eyes, his smile, the way his blonde hair was messy under the cap, the thought of running her fingers through it…
Goddesses have mercy on her heart. Someday it may swell right out of her chest.
“It is customary for me to offer my compliments on your appearance,” Link said. “Escorting royalty to formal gatherings is an honor paid with those compliments. They told me so yesterday, briefing me on all sorts of things to say like ‘I hold envy towards the man who steals your heart’ or ‘No creature but you could take my breath in such a manner’.”
“Those sound familiar,” Zelda stated.
“And a bit outdated, don’t you think?”
Zelda laughed.
“You’re telling me,” she said. “Did they tell you about ‘In just one glance I know the meaning of lust’?”
“Yikes,” Link said with a similar laugh. “They must have left that one out.”
“The entire practice is outdated,” she said. “The whole thing is a precursor to courting. Most of my escorts are esteemed knights that are later suitors. It doesn’t seem so bad but when I have men twice my age doting upon me...it unsettles me to the core.”
“Also, like,” Link started. “Why is it only your appearance that matters? Why not your character or your intelligence?”
“Exactly!” She said excitedly. “Goddesses, I’m so glad you agree.”
“I’m just glad you finally got someone who isn’t going to say that stuff,” Link said. “And I’ll beat up anyone who has in the past. I’m serious, give me names and provinces.”
Zelda laughed again. It was so easy with him.
“That’s not necessary, Link,” she said. “But I appreciate the offer.”
The conversation lagged as they continued along the hallway.
“I hope you don’t mind that I give my own version,” Link said. “That you are gorgeous, inside and out.”
Zelda smiled. It wasn’t rehearsed. They were his words. He didn’t have to say them.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said.
They stopped, facing the large doors that would lead to the dining hall.
Zelda could already hear the bustle of straggling conversations, the clatter of plates and silverware, the shuffle of maids and kitchen staff as they prepared for the banquet to follow. Just one push, one crack of the towering doors and their time would become everyone else’s.
“When we go through these doors,” Zelda said quietly. “You’re going to go silent and stoic again, aren’t you?”
“I told you it’s my default,” Link replied.
Zelda shook her head, looking to him.
“Not always,” she argued. “With me it...it’s like you come alive.”
“You understand the pressure I’m under,” Link said, turning his head as well and Zelda praying to any goddess that her impulsiveness remains curbed. “It’s easy to just talk to you. When I’m with you...I feel like maybe everything is going to be okay. I feel my stoicism fading quickly when I’m around you, even though I know it should increase, you being royalty. Perhaps I should apologize.”
“No, no,” she implored. “Please don’t apologize. Your candidacy makes me so happy. I like you a lot when you become yourself.”
Link tipped his head with a smile.
“Really?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “All those emotions and thoughts you hide, of course you’re not yourself when you hide them. After all, haven’t we established that it’s what is on the inside that really counts?”
Link looked to the doors, Zelda tracking the movement with her eyes.
“Not to them,” Link stated. “You know the stories better than I, of all the heroes before...their unflinching bravery and how because of that, they overcame so much. I must be that image, for the public, for the King, for the champions, for me. Hyrule can’t afford for me to be anything else, especially now.”
“How do you do it?” Zelda asked. “Restrain your actions that act on empathy? Hide the deepest parts of you and show nothing? I used to think you were void of emotions, thoughts and feelings you had to have but simply didn’t. You convinced me so well that my frustration overcame me. How...how did you do it so well?”
“You wish to emulate it,” he stated. His voice was sharp and dark.
Before Zelda could voice her affirmation Link voiced a,
“Don’t.”
Zelda didn’t know what to say before they heard her father’s voice shout something from the inside. Authoritative, the muffled exclamation surely signaled the start of the banquet.
In silence, the Princess and her escort pushed upon the doors, pulling the eyes of all in attendance. Murmured conversations ensued as the guests took their chairs. Link tried not to listen and so did Zelda, the knight guiding her to a pair of empty chairs close to the head of the table.
Zelda was closest to her father, who was the head, with Link next to his charge. Link knew the champions were on his other side, but paid them no mind. The only thought that occurred to him was that he was glad to see smooth red skin closest to him instead of prickly blue feathers.
“You shine too bright,” Link said, whispering in Zelda’s ear. The volume and closeness made her blush. She listened intently, but watched her father, ensuring he didn’t see the overwhelming evidence of her infatuation. “To dim yourself would be a sin. Silence is a lonely and dangerous road to take. As your knight attendant, I must protect you from it.”
“So you value honesty, then?”
“I’m unaccustomed to the practice myself,” he said. “But I appreciate yours, how you go on about this or that. It’s an enthusiasm that fascinates me. If this burden stopped you from the happiness you find in that, I would be very sad for you.”
Zelda smirked, anticipating words in her head of teasing her knight attendant for that comment.
“Greetings, all!” the King boomed, Zelda’s focus going from Link’s stoic profile to her standing father. “We celebrate another year of prosperity in our kingdom. We are stronger than ever and with my daughter on the cusp of a great breakthrough, the goddess Hylia will strengthen us further.”
His words were laced with a commanding tone, a subtle reprimand and demand of Zelda that only Link seemed to catch. The King shot Zelda a distinct glare of discipline, to which Zelda bowed her head and Link furrowed his brow.
If it weren’t against his sworn duty, Link would have protected Zelda from her father.
“Tonight,” the King continued as Link took Zelda’s hand under the table. From the point of view of any of the other guests, Link and Zelda showed no change, even as their grip tightened. “We welcome you all to celebrate Hyrule together. Enjoy!”
“I’m sorry I can’t protect you from him,” Link said as the food was served. “His words.”
“No one can,” Zelda said. She didn’t look at Link, but her voice was hushed and her focus was on the food. Link similarly reacted, or rather, lacked reaction, his hands going through the same motions of handing to the next person a plate of food. Any more obvious conversation and hushed whispers into each other’s ears and they knew onlookers and gossip-mongers would cry affair.
“I want to,” explained Link. “But it’s hard for me to be honest about some things, given the situation. Not honesty in the strictest sense of the word, but...it’s more a problem with speaking openly and frankly than actually flat-out lying. As much as I want to, I can’t defy the King. Hylia knows what will happen to my commission and I doubt he’ll let me protect you anymore. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do,” Zelda said. “You have a duty, like me. Speaking where it isn’t our place is something else we can’t afford. We must focus on defeating the calamity first. Nothing else matters.”
Link took her hand again, the connection hidden under the wood of the table, away from the eyes of those who look to scorn.
They spoke no more words to each other that night. Their hands stayed connected until the sweat made Link withdraw, not wanting to disgust his charge when in reality Zelda missed his touch.
Link exchanged a conversation with Mipha and one with the King where his voice wavered a bit, but otherwise he was a man of few words. He was praised for his heroism and resisted speaking once again at the King’s comment that Link specifically has done everything he can to fulfill his destiny. King Rhoam went on to hope with a fervent heart that the calamity will be defeated. Link always knew he intended well with his words but that didn’t mean they stung Zelda any less.
But as far as formal gatherings went, there was only really one good thing about them. The attire was thick and scratchy, always a size too big. The eyes were numerous and weighed heavily on them. The way he felt closed off, the silence he was accustomed to made him feel trapped. Every time he opened his mouth, he felt as if he would be better off closing it, that the wrong words would escape it.
So Link was glad when the one good thing about these kinds of gatherings fell asleep on his shoulder.
He looked down and smiled at the way she breathed, cooed with a peaceful sleep. It was more than an excuse to get him out of there. It was something that warmed his heart.
The King acknowledged that it was getting late and told him to take her to her chambers. Link nodded and gently picked her up so that her bent knees drooped over one of his arms, the other supporting her back.
With a soft concern he handed her over to her waiting handmaidens and the door to her chamber was closed before him.
Something rose within him, something hot and cold and good and bad. He stood, staring at the intricately carved doors as he realized, for better or worse.
He was in love with her.
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Just some theories and critcisms that I have the the recent two volumes.
Probably to start off from the beginning, Volume 7 was... interesting the say the least. Not that I hated it, because I didn't, I enjoyed many of the characters that they introduced to us, as well as I kinda enjoyed Penny making a come back, however I do have gripes about that, but I'll get into it a little further down the road. There was always one issue that I had with 7, and admitedly, it ruined one of the characters for me. Clover. A little bit of back story, when I first started watching 7, and Clover was properly introduced in the Dust Minds with Qrow, and the phrase "My semblance is good fortune." came out of his mouth, I instantly hated him, and for 2 main reasons. I knew the shippers were going to go crazy about it, and I just hated the potential connotations that came with it. I don't know about everyone else, but I love good and propper character growth. I was gonna be kinda pissy if they spent a whole volume trying to build Qrow's character up, only to solve his whole character arc by making his depression magically go poof with friendship, and that friend having a semblance to combat his own. Not matter what people want to believe, that's not good character growth. Genuinely sit down and think of the message behind that. It might as well be implying that if you can find that one person who builds you up, all of your problems will go away, and speaking from real life experience, it is not a good idea to have your happiness revolve around a singular person, because you never know when that person can back stab you, or just kick rocks.
What really broke my heart is that it took RT killing him off for me to actually take a deep look at Clover as a character for me to realize that I actually like him as a character, I just hated how they used him for plot device towards Qrow's developement. As much as I now like Clover, I'm glad that RT killed him off, because in the long run, it was better off that way for Qrow's sake, and again, the implications of their friend ship aren't entirely healthy, and is kind of ignorant to how much of an issue things like depression is. That shit doesn't just go away just because a person is introduced into the mix. In part it's also why I don't like Fair Game as a ship, because while cute in concept, it gets boring with a lot of the content that get's produced as it's mostly happy, cute, good times. It lacks in any real complexity because it's all honestly just cookie cutter romance, and it's not really all that fun to take in. In addition to that, the main issues I had mentioned before come into play. The idea that one person is so perfect while the other is fucked up in the head, that the fucked up one is heavily emotionally reliant on the other which is in fact not a healthy relationship for either member, and it would be terrifying to see how Qrow would pull himself together if he's even able to, in a scenario where they were long time romantic partners, and suddenly Clover just up and kicked rocks, or the relationship fell a part. In all honesty, it would potentially just destroy him. In general, I just think the lucky semblance thing was a dumb idea all together. I see why they did it in the grand scheme of things, but it annoyed me.
Then of course there's Robin. Let's be real, her semblance is story wrecking levels of broken. Like come on RT. Lie Detector semblance??? Really??? That is a power no mortal should ever have, and there's so many times that Robin could have broken the whole ass story just with the touch of another person's hand. (And no, just because Harriet didn't take her hand in Vol. 8 doesn't make the semblance concept any less stupid. If anything, it just makes it worse, because it shows that Harriet can't be trusted to act rationally in a situation she should realistically be able to act diplomatically towards. Grief is not an excuse when you're on the job.) I have the same issues with her that I had with Clover, it's that her semblance is damn near unneccessary.
Now to go into Volume 8, but not before giving a genuine criticism towards the whole series of RWBY. Why is it that the majority of the antagonistic characters have tragic back stories. Roman Torchwick was the only one who didn't have that sort of back story, and he wasn't even the main set of antags. Then of course there's Neo, but what good does that actually do when that's exactly what her future drives end up being is the tragic tale of her losing a close friend and associate. With Cinder, they pulled no punches, and oh my god, the song that goes with it. Like my god RT, could you slap the veiwers any harder with your dick obviousness? I hate that they gave easily the 2nd most fucked up character a sob story. It wasn't neccessary. The only good thing about it was when Wattz used her tragic past against her to put her in her place. There's no need to humanize someone who is so driven by hatred like that, as she's done so much fucked up shit to the main cast of characters that most if not all people wouldn't bat an eyelash at her, because it doesn't change her decision to intentionally be sadistic. And while on the topic of a Maiden, let's move to another. Penny. Volume 8 did her dirty. I'm all for bringing a character back, and I'm all for killing off a character for plot purpose, but the two don't fucking mix. Penny's death was redundant and unneccessary. What was the point of giving her a human body if she was just going to die within that same day? What was the point of bringing her back again if she was just going to die? Again? There's two routs RT should have taken. Either they should have killed her vol. 3 and had her stay dead, or she shouldn't have died in vol. 3, continued on as normal, and only then should she have died in vol. 8. Option number 2 is the ladder. I get what RT was trying to do with Penny's death, and I think it was a good concept, but god damn, this is Dragon Ball, we don't need redundant, pointless deaths. At least in vol. 8, there was a purpose behind Penny's death, but in vol. 3, Penny's death was more so unneccessary, and was only used to be a maryr for Ruby's cause. In fairness to them, you can't really expect them to fix what they had done years ago, but with full knowledge that this is what their plot meant they would have to do, they should have reconsidered the handing of their events for either Vol. 8, or both Vol 8 and 7 by removing Penny from it entirely.
Some additional criticisms that don't hold a lot of weight in the over all quality of the show, and more just some missed opportunities. Okay, so remember that whole speil Nora went on about having to find herself before she could be with Ren? Yeeeeeah, so why was it again that Jean had to be the one to fall into the abyss and not Nora or Ren??? Just putting that out there. If Nora and Ren needed to be seperate long enough for Nora to figure herself out, there's no real reason that they couldn't act on this. Because now instead, they're going to have to lean on each other even more so when news comes to them that the majority of their friends just got fucking dusted, and so they'll most likely be grieving together under the pretences that their friends are dead. Speaking of the abyss, fan theory time.
From what we've seen of this abyss that everyone has fallen into, it seems to be a fairly habitable pocket demention. With enough work, a civilization could possibly grow there. Where am I going with this? Well what do we know about Salem? She's a force to be reckoned with who could very potentially kill off the whole world with or without the help of the gods. We also know that she's immortal and cannot be killed. That doesn't however mean she can't be stopped. That's where the pocket demension comes into play. How do you fight off an immortal, blood thirsty, angry ex wife? By taking away everything she has to destroy in her path. You can't cause a mass genocide if there's no one to kill. And so that's where the pocket demension comes into play. What if that's how they stop Salem? By just leaving Remnant behind completely? They could take the staff back, and move all of Remnant's population into this dimension, and start new. In addition to that, they would need to take the staff of creation with them, meaning so much for collecting all four relics to blow up the planet. Now of course, there are some flaws with this theory, mainly in regards to carrying capacity of the area around them, rather or not the area is truly as inhabitable as it appears, and how safe the it actually is to live there. It's just more fodder for thought. What is RT planning with this pocket demension? Why are they so excited about Vol. 9 in regards to this? I'm really interested in how they're going about this, and hopefully the do a good job with it.
Anyways, those are just my thoughts on RWBY so far. Hopefully Vol. 9 does make up for the haphazard ending that was Vol. 8
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Control Z (Platonic)
Requested Imagine: “Agents of shield x reader where the reader went with Bobbi and the rest of the agents to the safe house to try and take Skye back to HQ and when Skye quakes the bullet away they all fly back; maybe the reader’s leg gets impaled by part of a tree?”
You felt the pain, but you also felt hazy. To you, the world was like a blur, with dark spots dotting around your vision as the sound seemed to be muffled. The main thing you registered was strong arms pulling you back.
You were then placed down on the harsh and cold floor of the Quinjet, as you were you saw something come into your vision; blinking, you saw it was none other than Bobbi Morse.
You had seen the woman worried before, hell you all were going in when you went to get Skye; but now that concern had been paled to you as you were sure you didn’t look the best.
“Y/N? I need you to focus, keep your eyes on me and keep them open.” Was all she asked.
You did your best to oblige and give her into her demand.
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Grant Ward was someone you had once called a best friend. However, when you met Skye, he had competition about the best friend name. You knew you could have more than one, but this was the position of top best friend.
After Grant Ward betrayed you all, that spot went to Skye in a heartbeat. Despite that, his betrayal had hurt you both more than anyone else.
If anything, it had made you look out for the girl more. Now, you had no ill will towards her old partner, Miles. But…Ward was another thing.
“What is it with you and your choice in men?” You asked, not in a hurting manner; but you still had to ask.
“I’ll get back to you on that,” She said with a small chuckle, “But, if it helps, I’ve changed that…or am trying to,” She thought about her next words; but ultimately decided to say them, “I appreciate this Y/N, really I do. I love you for it….but, my choices are my choices. I just need you to do something for me,” You nodded, “Let me make them, just have my back if they backfire, ok?”
You got the want, “You’d do the same for me,” but you still made that argument, “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
Skye looked like she wanted to say something, but ultimately just nodded; knowing that the oncoming fight would be a pointless one.
She knew you would, with how you offered to go instead of Simmons to the HYDRA base, pretty much begging Coulson to let you go.
He, however, denied you; reasoning it as pointless revenge for what had happened to your father. Skye knew he had hit a spot with those words; she had seen the hurt in your eyes and the way his one softened to your figure.
Your father had been killed by HYDRA during the takeover. He knew it wouldn’t heal over night; but he also saw how it made you around the team; even more protective and willing to do anything to help them with their own issues.
Simmons was outed, and Skye wanted to save her friend. You wanted too as well; however, you kept your eye on your best friend to assess what her next move was going to be. She looked to you in a pleading fashion.
May would not let her go, but she knew you would back her up with her choice, “Skye.” You said, trying to make her reassess her options.
“Look, Y/N, Simmons has been outed...I know May said there’s a plan; but I need one of my own. I could meet my father, Y/N….I need to check.” She argued to you. You sighed, but softened a little and nodded, knowing it would be wrong to try and keep her from at least trying.
“Ok.” Was all you said.
You both held up flashlights as Skye led you down the alleyway, your lights showed you a number, “450”; then you moved your lights to another door, “451” you both drew your weapons as you slowly approached it.
Skye went on one side, you on the other; she looked at you and you both silently counted to three before opening the door and sweeping the area together.
It was empty, at least for now anyway. There was nothing but your own tense breathing and blue lights that lit up the area. It was run down, very run down by the looks of things.
“Hello?” Skye called out.
“Oh yeah, let’s just announce herself.” You whispered to your friend.
“Shh!” She reprimanded you as you both continued towards a slightly opened door, “Anyone here? You wanted to meet. Well, here I am.” She said you both got closer and closer to the door.
You were there, you were at the door. You and Skye both shared a look, but you took a step back as you let her count herself down before kicking the door in. She went in first, then you followed her. You both checked for anything; only to find nothing instead.
“Where did you go?” Skye asked out loud. You both holstered your weapons as you continued looking around. Instead of being in action mode, now it was sleuthing mode.
However, it didn’t take long for Skye’s flashlight to go over something that made her call out your name. You turned to your friend, before following where her flashlight was pointing; it was pointing to a picture on the floor of a man holding a child.
She picked it up and looked at it, with you looking at it too over her shoulder. The man looked so innocent, as did the child in the picture.
A hand on your shoulder spun you around, with Skye turning with you in case it was a threat. It wasn’t, it was only Coulson.
He looked from the picture to you both, “So he was here?” He asked.
Unshed tears appeared in Skye’s eyes, “Yeah,” She said softly, her voice slightly cracking as she said the words, “I just wanted a glimpse.” She knew that she wasn’t in any real trouble; neither of you were, but she still felt that she needed to try and justify why you had come along with her.
“You’re having one hell of a day, huh?” He asked in a sympathetic tone. The tone made some tears fall as the two shared a hug. Coulson looked to you over Skye’s shoulder, he held out an arm for you as well. You quickly filled that with your own body.
Skye was in the middle of a hug that told her that she wasn’t alone on this, “We’ll find him.” He told her.
“We’ve got you.” You added as you tightened your hold on the two, “We’ll find him, Skye. We’ve got your back all the way.”
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Jemma was home, you had ran and hugged your friend instantly and tightly; she returned the hug, having missed these a lot.
“Bobbi?” You asked, pulling back from Jemma; you old friend chuckled a bit as she was ready for your hug. You jumped and tackled her into said hug.
“Hey, Y/nn.” She greeted as she pulled away first.
“You saved Jemma?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer.
“She was sent in to be a lookout for me, I wouldn’t have made it without her.” Jemma told you; you, however, just looked between them both happily. Now you had your new friends and your old ones.
“Still running around fixing other people’s problems I see.” Bobbi noted, you looked between the two; as if accusing Jemma of having talked. Bobbi quickly continued, “I’d like to say I knew you, but I know you, Y/nn….I’m just glad you’re alive.”
You knew that there was something in her words; not malice….but something. You, however, looked past it in your elation at seeing both of your friends safe and sound, “You too, Bobbi.”
Ward was going to be moved, his brother was gong to pick him up. Coulson, knowing it before you would ask, let you go with Skye to talk to Ward.
“Y/N, long time no see.” Ward greeted, smile more disturbing than you’d let on.
“You only speak to them if spoken to; you speak to them out of line or break that rule, and I will walk, just like last time.” She threatened him with a mostly apathetic voice, but you heard the anger that boiled under the surface.
“Which one?” He asked.
“Your older brother, the Senator.” Skye clarified for him.
“Christian. Why? What happened?” He asked as he ran a hand down his face as if he’d been through this before.
“We just need basic information: Habits, places he frequently visits, stuff like that.” She listed off for him.
“He’s not what he seems. He always has an angle. And if he thinks that you can lead him to me…” He said in slight fear of his brother.
“Says the man that had another angle the whole time I knew him for.” You said, letting your own hurt of his betrayal being known.
“This isn’t about you.” Skye said, wanting to get Ward back on track.
“Isn’t it? Don’t you remember what happened at the well, what he made me do? He gets joy from one thing. Hurting people.” For a moment, it looked like Skye as going along with it; so, you kept an extra eye on him, “So tell me, please, does he know I’m here?” He asked one more time.
“Not how it works, Ward. You answer our questions, remember?” She said that moment being forgotten.
“And I always do. I always tell you the truth. But if Christian knows that I’m here –” Skye cut him off.
“You always tell me the truth?”
“Yes.” Skye scoffed at his answer, “I promised you I’d never lie to you. And I haven’t.” He said; the next moment however, he seemed to change tactics, “What’s this really about?”
“I need information about your brother: People, connections –”
“Is this about your father? Because I wasn’t lying about him. He’s alive, and he’s –”
“A monster.” You spoke up, not allowing him to talk in a manipulative way to your friend, again.
“You forgot to mention that detail.” Skye said, in a quieter voice.
“You found him.” Ward said, as if proud of himself.
The next moment, the screen appeared over his cell, you both turning back to see Coulson looking at you both with an unreadable expression.
Coulson told you both that Ward had, in fact, given you something; before berating you both for slipping off track.
As he walked away, Skye looked to you, “I’m sorry that I –”
“No, no. Not your fault. If my old man was still here, I’d probably do the same in your shoes.”
The next time you saw Grant Ward, he was being led by the guards; yourself and Jemma stood in front of Skye in a protective manner. As he passed you, he looked to Skye, “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” Jemma threatened.
Grant then looked to you, softening slightly at your years of friendship, “See you in hell, asshole.” Was all you said.
Bobbi had returned later, finding you saw in the main lounge, drinking a drink late at night. She looked at the sight a little fondly, remembering to when you would do that with your father.
Then she remembered what had happened to him.
She entered, taking a seat next to you and just watching you for a few moments before she spoke, “Heard you and Skye spoke to Ward today.” She said, testing the waters.
“Yeah, went great.” You drank a large gulp as you responded.
Bobbi took a moment, thinking about whether or not she should say her next words; however, she eventually went with them, “You know his death wasn’t your fault, right?” the words were blunt; the words were harsh; the words were the last thing you wanted to hear.
You slammed your bottle onto the table as you stood up, pushing yourself up and moving to the other side of the table, putting your hands on your hip as you paced a little before looking at your friend with misty eyes.
“Then whose was it?” You asked, “If not mine, then whose? I wasn’t there, Bobbi! I should’ve been, but I wasn’t. I – I can’t let the others down like that.” You said, voice quivering slightly as you said your words. You quickly wiped at your eyes, as if your friend wasn’t watching you like a hawk during this moment.
“They don’t need you to play overwatch.” Bobbi said, sitting against the table now, closer to you.
“Who else is gonna?”
“Look, what happened to your dad –” You moved to her as she started to talk, pointing a finger at her in anger.
“What happened to him should’ve of! Skye has the chance to see her father, to find some fucking family! I’m gonna get her to them, she deserves that.” You softened your voice as you continued to talk, seeing that you had lost control.
“Agent Y/N,” You both and saw Coulson looking between you both, “I need you.”
Turned out, he needed you for a lot things, as things spiralled from there; with Ward getting out and Skye’s father making plays. To say you had your hands full would be an understatement.
For yourself, Bobbi and Hunter, it led to you all tailing HYDRA agents while the others tried to find your find, “HYDRA’s here in a bag way. Some abandoned theatre the, “Ponce de Leon.”” Bobbi said as she called Coulson to let him know, “No. And there’s no easy way in. There are at least a dozen HYDRA soldiers inside.” Bobbi said, after a bit more on Coulson’s end, she hung up.
“Ok, they’re on their way to back us up,” She informed you both as she saw your still tense posture, “Y/N,” You looked at her, “We’ll get her back. Skye’s a smart one, she’ll make it.” She assured you.
The others arrived and you came up with a plan; to stop HYDRA’s drill and then to find Skye. You followed them, taking down any and all HYDRA members in the area. As you continued, you had the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you should be helping in the search for Skye; but here you were instead.
It was right at the end, at the seeming victory that you got the call, “Skye’s still down there.”
You didn’t talk on the way home; you only ran to find your best friend asleep in a glass cage; basically quarantine.
“Y/N.” Bobbi called out as you stood, staring at Skye; she looked broken in the cell, “Y/N, look at me,” You complied, “Look, this was out of your control –”
“So was my father, Bobbi.” You snapped.
“It was,” You didn’t expect such a blunt statement, “But that, like this, is not your fault. You are not responsible for this.” For once, you listened to her words; you seemed to have some understanding of them.
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You were all in new territory, now just flying in the dark; Jemma was terrified of what had killed Trip and feared that Skye had been infected with some sort of parasite. So, in a way, she was patient zero.
You, however, did all you could to try and visit Skye as much as you could as Coulson would keep sending you on missions to get you away and try and help you not worry about her and this new situation. He knew you would, they all were worried; he just thought that this would be the best way to help you deal with it.
That led to a confrontation with Skye’s father; the guy wasn’t exactly what you wanted him to be for your friend. Right at the current moment, you were with the others and going to confront him and his goons, while using Skye as (sadly) bait to draw him out.
He took it, meeting you all on an abandoned football field; part of it made sense with the different sides and all.
However, this game would be anything but clean. As, while you only had one powered person on your team, they had a few.
You were with Bobbi, fighting against your opponent a woman who had sharp claws as fingers. You had tried to talk her down, however the woman didn’t want to come with you. She swung at you, you ducked as Bobbi used her batons against your assailant. You managed to get a punch in, before you leaned back to dodge another attack.
As you fell back, Bobbi covered for you, sliding over the table and grabbing a towel that she then wrapped around Karla’s hands and threw her into a wall.
“Get back!” Bobbi warned you as she used her batons to hit the table and raise it up, the other end sending Karla back and making her finally fall unconscious.
It was after that when you had felt the vibrations on the floor. Bobbi looked to you and opened her mouth to advice against your next actions, but you were already running out before she could.
“SKYE!” you yelled as the vibrations stopped and your friend started to collapse, you didn’t make it in time, however. Instead, she hit the cold grass with a thud.
Simmons had made gloves to help suppress her power, to try and help mitigate any further damage to herself.
Bobbi, meanwhile, had vanished for a small time. However, before she had left, she had seemed to ask Andrew to give you a therapy session. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to get out of this one, so you knew you had to go.
So, now you sat with Andrew opposite you, with one of his arms swung over the sofa his on to try and get himself comfortable; you, meanwhile, were tense.
“Y/N, I know you don’t want to be here. But I do appreciate it.” Andrew said, his words sounded honest; but he could tell you were still thinking about other things other than this moment.
“Yeah, well, you get more money for this and Bobbi gets to do whatever she wants to do without my constant badgering so, you know.” You said.
Andrew laughed a little, “I know you’re worried about Skye, but you have no need to be –” He tried to assure you of that; but you spoke over him.
“Of course, I am, I’m her friend and she’s going through something right now and no one is there to help her.” You said in a defensive manner.
“Everyone is doing their best for her –” Again, you stopped him; but he didn’t seem to mind.
“They’re shit terrified of her.” He caught onto your wording.
“And you aren’t?”
“For her, sure; but not of her.” You clarified.
“I see, so your own issues don’t really matter?” He asked, seeming to fin something to bring it full circle, back to you.
“I know what you’re trying to do. And I’m onto you.” You said, narrowing your eyes at him.
“And what is that?” He asked in a slightly playful voice; maybe he did enjoy his job after all.
“Trying to get me to open up about my issues rather than think about my friends’. It’s cute. But, out of them, Bobbi and I are the oldest, so I’ll do what I need to for them.”
“Ah, so it’s a big sibling motivation driving you.” He said. Now he was getting somewhere.
“I guess, even if I didn’t have one.” You said, having never really looked at it that way before; you had to give him that.
“Maybe it’s more a of an almost parental thing. After what happened with your dad –”
“….He was always involved in my life for as long as I could remember,” You said, deciding to just come out with it, “I mean, I guess I got lucky there,” You let out a humourless laugh, thoughts going back to your friend who was locked up, “And he….he never let me in on his – So – So when HYDRA….” You trailed off, feeling yourself feel the guilt and pain.
However, for once, you felt the comforting presence that your friend had ordered to be by your side; seemed Bobbi knew you better than you gave her credit for, “I just….One minute he was there, then he was gone. I just want Skye to have a moment with her father.” You admitted, more tears appearing in your eyes as you pretty much laid yourself bare.
“I know Coulson’s trying to fill that void, and I appreciate it. But I can’t control my own shit. But, maybe by doing this for Skye, I can.” Although, part of you knew how flimsy the justification was. How flimsy and how many holes that answer actually had.
You still stuck with it, however.
“Did you ever get to say goodbye to him?” He asked. As he did, you finally let out a sob. As that happened, however, your best friend just happened to be walking past the room, she looked in and saw you breaking down.
She wanted nothing more than to go and comfort you, but she then remembered what Coulson had told her; about how she needed to be moved.
“Goodbye Y/N, see you in a little while, hopefully.” She said under her breath as she continued to watch you talk to Andrew about your father.
She was happy for you, she was, that you were starting to try and heal. But, then again, she also knew that she’d miss you and knew how you’d most likely react.
After your talk with Andrew, you had felt a little better. But now you were being attacked by someone else.
“Y/N,” May called out your name as they both approached you, “Come one.” Was all she said simply.
You, her and Fitz met up with Coulson as May revealed what was going on, “It’s Bobbi. She’s set off some kind of EMP. She’s gone.” You looked between the older pair with wide eyes.
“What?” You asked.
Now you had two people you called friends stabbing you in the back; and just to add to that, Skye was gone. You tried to find a place to hide, but you then came face to face with the woman herself.
“You fucking bitch!” You cried out as you swung for her, she dodged and then grabbed both of your arms to restrain you; as other agent’s pulled out their weapons.
“Y/N, Y/N calm down! Calm down!” She ordered you as you still struggled against her.
“We’ve found where Skye is, she’s in trouble.” Those words made you stop; but you still glared at your friend.
“Oh god, now we’re bringing them with us?” The bald one said. You already didn’t like him.
“Where is she?”
She was being hounded by SHIELD like she was a threat, you all ran as quickly as your legs could take you to find her. You had, heart racing as you saw her holding a gun to a downed agent.
However, a gun click then made you look at the bold one, “SKYE!” You cried out, she turned to you as the bullet went off. However, the next moment, a pulse knocked you all back and onto the ground.
You were hazy, but you felt a slight pain in your leg.
Skye looked at the destruction she caused, but then she saw the piece of bark that was impaled in your leg. You had only tried to help her, and she had hurt you in the process.
So, she did the only thing she could to keep you safe; she called Gordan and ran.
Bobbi had pulled you onto the Quinjet, the thing immediately took off as she made damn sure to keep you breathing and alive. You were her friend, but you were also Skye’s; and she knew that her other friend would feel mountains of guilt if you bled out because of her own actions.
As soon as it landed, Bobbi called out for Simmons; not a medic, but Simmons. She knew that your friend would be the only one you’d trust in the state you were in.
“Oh my god, Y/N.” Jemma said in one breath as she ran to you and helped get you into a bed, “Clear the room!” She ordered everyone else; when they didn’t move, she turned to them, “I said out!”
“Come on you guys.” Bobbi said, helping clear the area. Then it was just you and Jemma.
“Oh, Y/N.” Jemma said in a quivering voice; she never liked to see anyone hurt, but especially not any of her friends.
“Just….just pull the damn bark out.” You told her; she took your hand for a moment before she nodded.
“Alright, you’ll need something to –”
“I can be here; I can hold their hand.” Bobbi offered, knowing she was on uneven ground with Jemma as a friend; but right now, you were a common goal they both shared, to save you.
“Fine.” The British woman conceded; Bobbi moved and grabbed your hand, squeezing it to try and prepare you.
Finally, the bark was removed, and you let out your own scream. Your own bark of pain.
You finally laid back down in your bed as Jemma tied a bandage around said wound. As she did so, Bobbi only kept your eyes on you.
“Did you speak to Andrew?” She asked, trying to keep you distracted; you nodded before grimacing in discomfort for a moment.
“Yeah, guy’s good.” You admitted as Jemma finished and moved to stand next to Bobbi so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself.
“Knew it.” Bobbi said with a smile, one that shook as she was worried about damaging your friendship.
“So, REAL SHIELD, huh?” You asked, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, long story.” She said.
“Well, I’m sure you can catch me up for as long as I’ll be in here for.” She now looked at you a bit confused, “What you did was shitty; but I’m not going to be going anywhere until this is done healing and until doctor Simmons lets me out,” Simmons gave you a caring smile, despite the tense situation SHIELD was currently in, “Besides, what’s Skye is going through is something I can’t help her with. At least, not on my own. So, we’ve got time until we find her.”
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Your leg had healed just as they were about to go on a mission to try and find Mike Peterson and another Inhuman that had been with Skye. You, of course, volunteered to go, both to save Mike/Inhuman, but also for Skye.
However, the catch as that you needed to work with Ward, so an old friend was coming back into your life one more time.
As you did, one person on your list show up to look at you all from above, “Hey guys.” She said, leaving you all elated.
You hugged your friend, but not tightly; it was still a comforting hug to you both. She hugged you back, taking this as a moment of forgiveness for her. She had better control of your power, but she still worried about whether or not you made it out.
This showed her that you had made it, and that you harboured no ill will towards her for what had happened.
“So, new guy….?” You said in a suggestive voice; Skye rolled her eyes but knew that you could always read her easily.
“There’s nothing thee….not yet anyway.” She said, you chuckled at her words.
Ward was then in the room, seemingly confused as to why you had all stopped talking and only looked at him with death glares. So, he tried to address the elephant in the room; his betrayal.
“Y/N….I’m sorry about what I did to your father.” He said, you only kept a firm look at him; but Skye moved her hand into yours.
“You don’t talk to her about that.” She said, defending you; she squeezed your hand in a sisterly, loving fashion.
“Ok, ok.” Ward said, raising his hands up in the air, getting the message.
He led you to the HYDRA facility to find the guy (Lincoln) and Mike. You followed Skye, making sure to keep him apart from Skye as you all walked and followed Ward. The door opened, and you all instantly got hit by gunfire.
Getting behind cover, you fired a few shots, before ducking back down again on your bad leg. While it had healed, the pain was still there.
Skye noticed your shift on you leg, she knew she had to take care of them quickly. She ran out of cover and held her hand out, the next moment, the HYDRA agents flew backwards.
“Thanks.” You said as she helped you up.
“What are friends for?” She responded with as she helped you up and you all continued on your way.
As you went with Skye, you both came across a few agents; together, you both made your way through them, both working in sync as all the HYDRA guards went to none. Finally, you both shared a nod as you made your way into the room that held Lincoln.
However, the flatline was the only thing you heard, “Hey, hey, hey.” You said, Skye looked up at you, “You can rumble shit, right?” She nodded, “You can save him. You got this.” You told her. She held her hands over his chest and pushed down.
After she did, the machine beeped.
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Skye….Daisy’s mother was gone, as was her father via amnesia. She had gone to her room when she got back, but you heard the crying on the other side.
“Daisy?” You asked, knocking on the door. You waited a moment before the door opened, with a tear-stricken Daisy Johnson on the other side, “Oh, honey.” You said sympathetically as you hugged her and closed the door behind you as she broke down in your arms.
“They’re gone Y/N! They’re gone! It’s not fair!” She cried into your shirt as you ran a hand up and down her back as you pressed your lips onto her head.
“I know it’s not, Daisy. Death never is,” You pulled away and waited until she met your eyes, “But you know what helps?” You asked.
“What?” She asked as she sniffled.
You smiled softly at her, “Talking about it, as it turns out.” You said, sitting on the bed with her.
You knew you couldn’t solve it for her, and that was just a truth you had to live with. But there was something you did know; and that was that you could do the one thing you should’ve been doing in the first place; supporting her.
So, here you were, doing just that
#agents of shield imagine#agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine#agents of shield x reader#daisy johnson x reader#daisy johnson imagine
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Chapters: 24/38
Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana
Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better
Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit
Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?
Loriel had not expected to miss Avernus quite so much.
Months went by without word from him. First few enough for her not to notice, and then too many for her to ignore. A dozen times over the past months she had thought to write him, and then decided that no, she didn’t need to after all, but she couldn’t pretend that forever.
It was her own petty, childish pride, then and now. She had fought him just to prove that she’d win, and writing him now would be admitting that she needed his counsel. Which she did
She still wasn’t going to do it.
More than the man himself she missed his knowledge and experience. And if not that, then at least someone to report her findings to. Someone who would care if she didn’t get anything done, and who would care about what she had to say about it. And yes, perhaps that amounted to missing the man himself, too.
The worst of it was that her work had stalled without him. Her rigor and meticulous care wasn’t enough anymore, and she was no closer to cracking open the crystal and finding the Architect than she’d been any time before. She began to lose whole days to restless pacing, to picking up books and putting them down again, to feeling her eyes move across pages and absorbing absolutely nothing. She had not thought that the loss of a sporadic correspondence partner would undo her so badly.
The work had to continue.
Had she been a spirit mage, she would have had options—spirits of knowledge weren’t that uncommon. The Chantry did not teach its prisoners to speak to them, but a powerful spirit mage could have managed it. The Dalish did so, and so did the Alemarri. Spirit lore was something that might have been available to her, when she was eighteen or twenty and still fresh.
But she had bathed too long in her own blood, and her connection to the Fade had rotted. So it would have to be a demon, and she would have to bind it.
For all her transgressions, Loriel did not make binding demons a habit. Less out of any unwillingness to transgress—what sacred rule had she not already broken?—than a sense of calculated risk. Any imperfection in the binding, and the demon was out, ready to turn its wroth on the first target it could get its hands on—generally, the mage who had bound it.
It was a bad idea, she knew that going in. She would do it anyway.
That did not mean she would be stupid. She did her due diligence. She read up, poring over every scrap of demon lore in her library. Abelard’s Index of Foulest Daymons was particularly helpful. She had borrowed the tome from Avernus and only vaguely intended to return it, and now it seemed like she wouldn’t have to. It was a murderously heavy text, listing every type and subtype and sub-sub-and-so-on-type of demon known to exist, their names and habits, their foibles and tricks, how best to bind one, and what one might ply it with. Better yet, Abelard had lived in Tevinter during the Steel age, and his text was unsullied with Chantry prejudices.
She practiced first. When finally it came time to summon something, she spent hours carefully inscribing the binding circle—with far more care than what she intended to summon really warranted. She started with wisps and wraiths, half-formed blobs of Fade-stuff still waiting to become, lashing them to her will and releasing them again. When she could do this as easy as breathing, she moved on to demons of hunger. Hunger was something she no longer felt, and could not be tempted by, though hunger demons were more likely to try and eat her than to tempt her.
Next she tried Rage and Desire, creatures of things she had felt once, but hadn’t for months and years. If Rage might still bring heat to her blood, if only in the form of intense irritation, Desire offered nothing she’d ever take. Loriel had no fear of Desire. She’d already had the thing she most greatly desired, had it, and thrown it away—on purpose. Nothing else in this world existed that Loriel could be said to desire.
Sloth she avoided. Sloth—Torpor—was the only one demon who had ever gotten the better of her, who she hadn’t defeated herself. It was too great a risk, that she’d lie down and sleep until the end of the world, given half a demon-shaped excuse.
These lesser demons, though, would be of no use to her. What she needed was knowledge, and what that meant something like Pride.
Abelard’s Index was not very reliable for lesser demons who had since returned to the Fade-sea and reformed. It listed appearances they no longer wore, personalities they had long shed, even if their basic natures would reform. But for powerful demons who had amassed centuries of memory—just the one she would need—Abelard was perfect. She read and reread the relevant heading, squinting at the antiquated Tevene. Vainglory, Audacity, Superbia, Narcissus—no, not quite, no, and no. Demons that dealt with forbidden things—Censorus, Proscripta, Obscurus, Taboo—no, not that one, not this one neither. Then she saw the subheading—Daymons of Knoweledge.
Demons of knowledge came in all manner of forms—she paused for a time on Secerne, who collected secrets. It dealt only with knowledge that no-one else knew. Tempting—but such a creature would hardly be likely to give its secrets up and render them useless to itself. A blood mage could bind a demon and constraint it, but to compel it was pointless—you’d probably just end up destroying it, and if you were after knowledge, what good was that? No, once bound, the demon would have to be dealt with the old fashioned way.
Revelatus traded desired knowledge for undesired knowledge. It would tell you anything you wanted to know, and then something you didn’t want to know—the worst thing your lover had ever thought of you, how happy you might have been if you had just chosen differently, what was really in your sausage. Countless men had been driven mad by this one, Abelard warned. Loriel decided not to test her luck.
Finally she settled on a demon called Veritas, who spoke only truths. It was an ancient creature of malice and cunning, but it would tell her the truth, and for that Loriel would give anything.
tck
There came a point where even she could not justify dithering any longer. Weeks had passed since she had decided she would bind a demon. On the chosen day, she made all her preparations, triple-checked her summoning circle, cast spell after protective spell. Finally she could find no more excuses to delay—she spilled her blood and spoke the words.
The air itself seemed to part, and a greenish miasma spilled forth from the crack. A shape was being pulled through, too big for such a modest aperture, yet somehow, terribly, emerging. Reality bulged and bent, and finally, a demon climbed out.
It was smaller than other Pride demons, shaped something like a bear and something like a lion, though in place of claws or talons, it had clever human fingers. Its face was covered with a golden mask, shaped into the form of a human face. Its hide was pitch black, and every inch of it covered with blinking, roving eyes. It raised its head, as though to sniff the air, and bent to examine its new situation, noting the summoning circle, the runes of binding and restraint.
“Hello,” said Loriel. “Might you confirm your name?”
The thousand eyes blinked all at once. “I am Veritas, he who knows ten thousand truths.” Its voice came through as though from far away, echoing around the chamber.
“Ten thousand only?”
“No, far more! Many, many more! I know more truths than there are stars in your sky, more truths than there are grains of sand in your deserts, more truths than the number of breaths you will take—”
“That is more than ten thousand.”
“That I know ten thousand truths was not a lie.”
“Oh, I see. You’re one of those demons of knowledge.”
She had succeeded in offending it. “What do you mean by that?”
“You speak only in riddles and technical truths. You say things that are true by letter only, and lies by implication. Disappointing,” said Loriel, pouring unimpressed into her voice.
It scowled around the room—or seemed to. She could not see its face behind the golden mask. “Why can I not see you, little mageling? Where are you?”
Invisibly, Loriel produced a faint crescent of a smile. “I am here in this room with you, Veritas.” Her voice echoed through the chamber as she spoke, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The demon’s ears twitched, and only then did Loriel realize that even telling it that she was there in the room with it was more than she meant to say.
“So you are, mageling, so you are. Why have you summoned me?”
“Why do mages ever summon you? I seek knowledge you might have.”
“Why should I tell you anything I know, when you have dragged me so rudely from my home?”
“I will make it worth your while, Veritas. I offer knowledge in exchange for knowledge.”
Veritas laughed. It was a horrible sound, like broken glass. Loriel didn’t dare speak. “Little mageling, you know nothing I do not. I have sought out truths for centuries, bent only upon knowing, and you, little girl, whose lifetime is as a mayfly’s breath to a being like myself—you presume to offer me knowledge? You presume to know something I do not?”
Loriel let the echo of the last word fade, then said calmly, “What is my name?”
No answer.
“So you do not know it,” Loriel said. “And I am forced to conclude, Veritas, that I do know some things that you do not.”
The demon paced inside its narrow circle on all fours. “Aren’t you a darling little pedant! Very well, I’ll take your deal, but I will take it on my terms. You may ask me one question, but first, you must tell me something I do not know. Do not lie! If you answer falsely, I shall know, and I shall devour your heart.”
An empty threat. Veritas was bound. It was subject to her will. It couldn’t get out if it wanted to—or else what was the point of blood magic binding? She was perfectly safe. It was bluffing—
...No, it wasn’t. Of course not. The demon of truth could not bluff. If Veritas bluffed it would no longer be Veritas. I shall devour your heart. Not a promise or a threat, but a statement of fact.
“Very well,” Loriel said steadily. “I shall speak truly.”
“What,” grinned the demon, “is the full, entire, and complete name by which you are called?”
She should have seen that coming. “My name is Loriel Surana.”
Loriel was common enough for elves. And Surana was not even her family name; it was just what all elves were called in the Circle. Elves had no family names.
“Loriel Surana,” said Veritas, tasting it, savoring it. “Loriel Surana, Loriel Surana...yes, I know of you.”
She was so startled that the question came out unbidden: “What do you mean?”
“Your name floats upon the Fade like a dying leaf upon the breeze! One who often walks free along its emerald waters has called and called it, lacquered it with misery and love, twisted it with hatred and longing. Your name forms an island of despair and desire; tempests that will not calm; storms that will not pass. Yes, what a name!”
“I see,” Loriel said neutrally. Whatever bloomed in her to hear that, she stoppered it at once. “I answered your question, demon, so here is mine—”
“Ah, ah, ah!” The demon waggled a finger not-quite-at her. “You already asked your question. You asked me what I meant. Now it is my turn again. Where in this room are you right now?”
“I am standing in the northeastern corner of this chamber,” Loriel answered, and slowly, on magically silenced feet, moved to the southeastern corner instead.
“No fair,” the demon complained. “I did not know which way was northeast.”
“Oh? Then my mistake. But I answered your question, so here is mine. Where is the ancient darkspawn being known to many as the Architect?”
“The Architect is underground,” the demon said sulkily.
Loriel felt a vein throb in her forehead. “I could have told you that.”
“Then you should have asked a better question,” sniffed the demon. “Now it is my turn—”
“No,” Loriel interrupted. “No, it isn’t. I didn’t say I would answer any question you asked. I agreed that I would tell you something you did not know. You have just told me you do not know which way is northeast, so I will tell you—it is the direction of the corner where the empty pouch of lyrium powder lies. Here is my second question: what is the cure for the Blight?”
“Why—blood, of course.” The demon smiled with hidden teeth. “It is always in the blood. That was a dirty trick you played, Loriel Surana, but no dirtier than mine, so I will forgive you, this time. Here is the next thing that I do not know and that I would have you tell me.” The demon smiled wider, showing teeth. “What do you love most in all the world?”
“Well?” said the demon, when she had been silent too long. “Will you answer, Loriel Surana? Or will you let me go?”
“I will answer.” And she answered, truly: “Nothing. What I love most in all the world is nothing.”
“How interesting. Yes, very interesting...you are a pleasing little mageling. I think I like you after all. Well, Loriel Surana? It is your turn. Speak!”
“I’m thinking,” said Loriel, and finally settled on: “What concrete set of actions should I take next—immediately after ending this conversation—that, of all possible actions, would take me the further along my goal of discovering the cure for the Calling?”
Veritas grinned wider still, its face little more than teeth. “Take a man infected with the Blight, and find a way to take it out of him. A man, and not a rat. But why waste your time with me asking me that which you already know?”
Loriel exhaled through her nose. “Thank you, Veritas. You may go now.”
The demon’s grin was all that remained of it as it disappeared back into the Fade, making no attempt at all to remain within the waking world. Loriel was alone, the floor littered with truths both new and old.
“Shit,” she muttered finally.
tck
It had been a mistake to summon the demon. She was no good at dealing with creatures of the Fade. When Loriel had been small and scared and helpless she’d had a silver tongue, been so adept and turning minds to her advantage using nothing but her words. Not it seemed she had forgotten entirely how to deal with a mind she could not break and twist and bend.
All she had succeeded in doing was in giving an ancient, powerful demon tools to hurt her with, and what had she learned? Nothing she didn’t already know. Stupid. Careless. Idiot.
“Warden Pollard has begun to hear the Call.”
Loriel had been half-listening to Brigit’s report; now she startled to full attention, rattling her morning tea in its cup. “What?” Brigit repeated herself. “Warden Pollard...who is he?”
Warden Pollard was Orlesian. He had transferred from under Warden-Commander Clarel some years ago. He had served well, saved three of his comrades in a raid, and fought with a pike. He had been a Warden for only thirteen years. This was early, but not unheard-of.
“Where is he?”
“The chapel. He prays for his soul. He intends to visit his mother in Velun before heading to the Deep Roads.”
“I would like to speak with him in private.” She said it so quickly as to be unseemly. But Brigit only nodded and moved to acquiesce.
When her office door opened and Brigit admitted him, Loriel couldn’t help but think he didn’t look much like a dying man. Perhaps he was pale, perhaps a sheen of sweat stood out on his skin, but she didn’t know him. For all she knew, he always looked like that.
Only when traces of discomfort began to appear on his face did Loriel realize she had been staring at him silently for far too long.
“Commander,” he said awkwardly, still with the traces of an Orlesian accent. He’d never met her before. Was he one of the ones not quite aware that she still lived, and still ruled? “I’m honored.”
“Do not be,” she said flatly. “How is it?”
How are you feeling might have been more appropriate. But it would have rung false.
“Not so bad, yet. I knew it was coming. I accept it.” He paused. “Is there some manner of ceremony?”
Loriel had no idea. There probably was. She had never cared to find out, never cared to make sure that her wardens had a good sendoff. “If you wish it. But that is not why I wanted to speak with you. Can you get more specific?”
A flash of confusion.
“About how it is.”
Pollard looked even less comfortable. “I’ve had nightmares, ser.”
“Different from the usual?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me more?”
“With respect, ser, I’d rather not.”
Her mouth set. “Please,” she said, and there was the power of blood in her voice, and not a trace of a request. “Tell me more.”
Pollard’s eyes went foggy and distant. When he spoke, he sounded oddly flat. “The nightmares were only the beginning. Now when I sleep, I hear the most beautiful voice. Like my mother calling me home. And when I awake, I want nothing more than to hear that voice again. I can hear it now, just barely. And a strange music in my ears.”
“What kind of music?”
“Bells. Like chantry bells, calling me to prayer. Ugly and beautiful at once.”
“Is it anything like lyrium song?”
His brow knit. “Yes. Not unlike lyrium song. But different. Richer and darker. I can almost pick out voices in it, but never what they say.”
She took out a notebook, her shorthand flying across the page. “What do you see? In the dreams?”
“Darkspawn. All gathered together in the biggest chamber I have ever seen. It’s dark, but I can see perfectly. They’re darkspawn, but they do not seem ugly. At the center sits a beautiful figure, bathed in gold, smiling. They welcome me home. I’m glad to be there.”
“When did this start?”
“Three weeks ago I first heard the voice in my dreams.
“Any physical effects?”
“My skin is hot. The sun hurts my eyes, even on cloudy days. I feel stronger now than I have ever been, even stronger than I was as a young man.”
“Anything else?”
“I hope not to be alive by the time there is anything else.”
Loriel finished transcribing. “One last thing. Come here. Roll up your sleeve; give me your arm.”
Pollard obeyed. He did not protest, did not react at all, when she took some of his blood. It glinted darkly in the glass vials she had fetched for this purpose, easily a few shades too dark. She stared at it for a few seconds. There was the Blight itself.
She took a few vials. Enough so he wouldn’t notice, later, and closed the wound she’d made with a clumsy burst of creation magic. The vials went into a wooden box inscribed with a rune of entropic suspension—blood spoiled so soon after it left the body.
Frustration overwhelmed her, that all she had was a few vials of blood and a brief coercive interview. Imagine all she might have learned if she could watch as he succumbed to the Taint, hear in his own words what was happening to him. He was going to die anyway—this way he might help save the lives of countless other Wardens, who could object to that? She could just—
No. Velanna had been wrong. She cared about the Wardens, of course she did, why else do all this? She would not subject an innocent man to such a fate. She was better than Avernus.
Pollard blinked as she released his mind, but if he was aware of the lost time he did not show it. She thanked him for his service and assured him that his family would be taken care of. He thanked her in turn, and departed as quickly as was seemly. She watched him go with only the smallest burst of dark regret.
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On Comments, feedback anxiety on both the writer and the reader’s side
If one could look into my WIP draw, or take a glance at the fics I’ve actually posted, it becomes clear misunderstandings based on miscommunication is something I seem have a thing for. In all honesty is more of a lifelong study and recurring theme I keep stumbling on or consciously walking into.
Preface: I am only human and mistakes can happen, but usually I try to handle the detailed label (also referred as Read the Tin or as written on the tin) of major warning with my writings that is usually missing in any other aspect of life, sort of a lovely user manual/preview so one could know to walk away before getting invested or worse triggered.
Or at least know exactly what they signed up for.
Is it perfect? No but at least it’s there, as a writer I did all I could to avoid unpleasantness, the rest it’s up to the reader’s discretion.
Which leads me to the heart of this post: comments, feedbacks, criticism, politically correctness, manners and the anxiety they produce in both the writer and the reader.
The picture is big so I’ll divide in sides, but remember that people are made of multiple sides, and sometimes those sides are at odds or outwardly warring against each other. That’s pretty average for any irrational human being with emotions.
From the POV of an overthinking anxious writer:
1) Ao3′s Kudos are sort of like a watered down thumbs up, after about 4-5 fic posted (or ~15K words of stories out there to be consumed), they became the kind of anxiety triggers feeding thoughts of why so many people/guests left a kudo but the story wasn’t good enough to warrant the time of a comment/review
2) Comments are lovely reminder someone found something in your words that made them react so strongly they felt like sharing that reaction with you was worth their time.
2.1) Comments are also the cause of anxiety about their content before you have the courage to read what they says...
3) Criticisms and feedbacks can be a wonderful tool to improve your writing for the next story. But not if they are laced with insult, personal attacks in that case they are the kind of black hole that pushes people to stop writing all together, or at least stop sharing what they write.
4) single emoji (♥), 2 char long (<3) comments takes years of effort and a lot of conditioning to remember to slip in reader mode and appreciate the effort it took to stop and do even that, instead of allowing doubts to gnaw at the back of your head with waaaiiiiit that’s all? was it good? was it bad? arrrghhh what does it even mean???
5) Statistics and numbers, those are the evilest of the most buggering things and the most vile tempters that will push you to compare your stories against others (a futile exercise in frustration and pointless reason to shred one’s own self confidence to the tiniest of pieces for literally nothing)
5.1) Especially when you have two writing mind frames:
writing the stories you want to read (and usually it is either a niche where you’ve already consumed all you could find so you write it because duh, more content might ignite back the fire please, or you haven’t found yet someone to say it how you want to read it) vs what I simply call
exorcism writing (the kind of free therapy exercise when something is bugging the heck out you and not leaving your mind so you put it down to words and then let them fly free, instead of trapping them on a diary you’d just return to read and start the vicious cycle all over again)
5.1.1) and your exorcism stories become more popular than the stories you want to read, because at the end of your raw ranting exorcism you managed to write something that would end up falling within mainstream tropes. Which just makes you sad because those were not the result of love and planning and endless hours of writing and editing that you put in your other stories.
6) I’m not writing fan fiction to be an educator, it is possible that my day job is being an educator, but unless I’m there writing textbooks, as a writer it is not my responsibility to teach the reader something that has to be authentic, realistic and a good practice. I’m just here to tell a story.
Or are you really telling me that you watch superheros movies and series and expect them to appear outside your window?
If you just laughed then why are you looking at fanfic smut with the expectation of finding a more interesting and alternative way to have a sex ed lesson? If you subscribe to the school that a story has has to make sense... Let me ask have you ever read some of the greatest literature works like Frankenstain, Moby Dick, The Hobbit, Journey to the center of the Earth, Alice through the looking glass, Aeneas, if you did and subscribe to “fiction as to make sense” then please please enlighten me I’m rady to sit back and hear all the points you can make how any of those are realistic representations of how things go. If you says that those are just stories told oh so long ago... Lets pick more recent ones, the Harry Potters books, Goosebumps, Twilight, The Shadowhunters Chronicles, 50 shades of , all those are listed as fiction which yes sadly too many used as a portrait of theme touched in there as realistic because the story was not set in a fantastical world and made the mistake of treating a work of fiction as a documentary... Sorry people I’m a writer, choosing the right words matters, words meanings and definitions matter please learn to think critically, and learn your words, there is a difference between fiction and documentary
6.1) At the same time it might be that I am the kind of writer who loves to add factually authentic things in my writings, someone who actually had spent hours and hours on research to make sure that what they have been writing is not utter and complete made up rubbish, and that’s ok too. I do not expect readers to assume it is correct or that it is purely made up, and if someone is curious they could use the comment to ask a question, I’ve never turned out a curious question, even when it was difficult to answer it
7) Just because I am writing about something, it doesn’t mean I support it... Again those are stories, not a scientific report on a lab experiment, I can write about abusive relationships, doesn’t mean I support them, I could write about self harm or depression, doesn’t mean I am encouraging those behaviors, in fact those usually come with a Trigger Warning, why? because a reader should have the option to walk away from what should be just a moment of pleasure and relax, not finding themselves triggered because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise of what was going to come in a story posted on the internet...
8) This far I’ve personally chosen to not push for comment, no beg necessary, I decided years ago to be the kind of self centered bad ass who writes for themselves, who’s not going to dangle the promises of more chapters in exchange for comments, I dislike the practice, and I find too exhausting shouting left and right hey hey I’ve written this read it read it... So I do get why my stories do not have such a large audience, it doesn’t help I’ve actually posted way less than what I’ve written over the years. I do welcome comments, though I have no clue on how to respond to short ones, or a single emoji/<3 to all chapters to those I end up answering only to the most recent one of that person and thank for their support.
Longer comments are easier to answer because it gives me something to say back or comment/thanks for, though it becomes weird for me when someone speculate on future developments in what they wish to see, and since I’ve recently adopted the policy of posting only completed stories (even for the chaptered ones that will not be posted at the same time, the number of total chapter is not an estimation it is exactly the number of files I’ve divided the story into for reasons) because I do know whether something of that sort will happen or not, and I don’t want to put someone out of my story if they are too invested in see what they imagined happen... Though as I do write stories I’d like to read I’m quick to encourage aspiring writers to feel free to take that what if and work with it, just to please mention that my story inspired theirs and that I’d love to see what they come up with.
Constructive criticisms, I do not have a beta for most of my works, I do not work too well depending on other people’s time, I confess even in the past I received criticisms that were not constructive if we push the boundaries and call those criticisms rather than just plain old complains, which is sort of the reason why I stopped explicitly encouraging communication. Because I do expect respect, you don’t know anything about me or what I believe in, you might make some guesses from my profile because I haven’t been shy and pretty open on them, but I won’t accept being personally attacked or talked to in a disrespectful manner just because you didn’t like what I wrote. I have no problem accepting criticisms, as long as they are criticisms and not just whining. You cannot come to me with “I hate your story” and leave it at that, you already took the time to express your opinion instead of simply walking away, the least you can do is explaining why... Otherwise I seriously don’t get why you wasted both of yours and more importantly my time and energies...
From the POV of a spoonie reader who barely has the energy to read:
1) Ao3′s Kudos are a life saver that allows you to show your appreciation (even if you are allowed only one as registered user) with only a click (and some times even that click takes so much out of you) instead of relegating you to invisible reader, barely visible number (*coughs*ff.net*coughs*) or forcing you to make a story a favorite/followed
2) Comments are the source of anxiety, because you might want to show support but would they get that or would it sound strange? will the author understand that a a ghsafdgsakdjfh (read: key smash) happened with excitement and love and you’ve no other words to express it?
2.1) also trying to put your support in words when you are in your pj cozily being a blanket burrito and reading from your phone in bed because there’re no more spoon left for the day it’s hard
3) The author asked for R&R, or welcomes comments and constructive criticism. You loved the story enough to spend energies to
point out things that were plain plot hole or downright inconsistency or lose ends, pointing out botched translations from your own mother tongue and offering correction that were not google translated, in ao3 case pointing out lack of some appropriate tags, which would have 1 improved your story’s visibility and 2 allowed the reader to choose whether they wanted to read it or not both points that would have benefit you as author...
Only for the author to react:
- badly with a why are you such a nitpick hadn’t anyone told you that you should just stay silent if you have nothing nice to tell me? - Excuse me you’re the one asking for my opinion not my adoration, I gave you exactly what you asked for, if you cannot handle your work being nitpicked or the holes in your plot being publicly poked then there’re fabulous people called Beta reader who will give you the needed dose of though love in private get one..
- badly with a don’t like don’t read - legit reader’s counter point is I wouldn’t have read it if you had given me a way to know then what I discovered now [personal addendum, on a not that well low energy day it takes me less about 3 mins and half to read 1.5K words don’t came at me on your 1k long story and tell me I could have stopped reading when I noticed it wasn’t that good for me...I was done with it before I could get any warning]
- dismissively because a meet cute clearly is an AU - Bless your heart if you need me to point out to you that there is a difference between an Alternative Universe (AU) and a Canon Divergence and the fact that
meet cute is a trope which in fandoms usually implies different circumstances within the fandom’s canon world of the first meeting between the characters in the main relationship but doesn’t automatically include different premises for the character example:
in canon:
characters from a magical supernatural fandom one a wizard with magic, one a fighter with superhuman speed and holy weapons, in their first meeting the fighter saved the wizard’s life.
in a meet cute:
a wizard and a fighter with superhuman speed and holy weapons meet in the middle of the forest where the fighter was hunting for food failing miserably and the wizard took pity on the fighter and offered to share their dinner, if the fighter dared to step inside the wizard’s home
in a No Power/Human AU meet cute:
where there is no magic, one of the two is a barista who uses flirty coffee jokes lines to call the other’s person order, and finally discover they are an accountant so instead they start using math puns to get the accountant’s attention.
Those are all valid stories but as an author don’t came at me believing that just because you mention a trope that is enough to distinguish between the 2° and 3° examples, or that having mentioned the trope gives you the standing to look down at me if I do have my own reasons that you do not know about for wanting to read only stories like the second pitch and get upset but still tell you in a polite way that there are missing tags in your story, especially when you’ve falsely advertise your 3° like pitch as if it was a 2° one and I get upset and let you know about it and do so with the curtesy of signing it with my name rather than leave an guest/anonymous comment
- shrugging off issues with the tags with a Oh but I’m bad at tagging -
then I have 3 things to say to you buddy one) that’s not an excuse if you haven’t learnt how to do it yourself get a beta, get a friend, read more and compare what your story tells with a similar one and how that one is tagged, there’re ways Ignorance is not an excuse;
two) you can’t claim you’re bad at tagging but then refuse to listen when someone is pointing out to you more tags for your story, dud learn how search engines work, searching by tag is basically having a filtered search, the more tags your fit your story the more venues your story can appear in reader’s search for something to read... which means visibility for your work, are you really telling me that you dislike to have that and would prefer less people reading what you post? then sorry but I think you’re doing it wrong and should get a diary instead, not post them on the internet.
addendum: still claiming to be bad at it after having posted over 40 stories and all posted in recent times in the span of a couple of months, just suggest you lack the intelligence to learn how to do things. Which only encourages me to never ever get close to your works, certainly to never promote or share them if not actively discouraging my friends from spending their time on them.
three) and guess what? there is a frikking I'm Bad At Taggingtag for that too!!!
As a reader I might be ranting in this post, but the long effect of those is a growing apathy and increased unwillingness to spend my energies for commenting unless I’d really really really really liked or loved a story, or I have something more than a one liner to share, which while I intellectually know it might be unfair to let the whole pay for the disrespect of few, my own survival instinct is glad I’m not spreading myself even thinner...
truthful disclaimer: in all fairness it has been my experience, that those reactions usually come from authors with already quite few stories or a decent word count out there.
New authors are still very much enthusiastic and happy about even the smallest crumbs of recognition or encouragement, which in return is lovely because it recognise that my own time and energy as reader are worthy, that it does take effort to share an opinion or encouragement or suggestion.
4) The author might never know how that day I posted that single emoji, or two character <3, it was one of those bad days when even opening a small water bottle to swallow down the painkillers was too much, when using a finger to scroll down the page to reach the end of the story had wiped out more energies than I could really afford and yet I still pushed myself to leave a sign that I was there and appreciated their story
5) readers should be allowed to have the “if you thought writing was hard, try commenting other people words” tag... because sometimes especially on older platforms (yes ff.net I’m looking at you) as a reader I can’t find the energies to wipe up something to say so I become a silent invisible reader. And sometimes it’s really that I am able to stand only stories with certain characteristics, personally for example I do not have the emotional fortitude to read more a certain amount of Work In Progress at the same time across multiple fandoms because my brain can’t recall all the details and I might not feel to rereading the story from the beginning every single time there is a new chapter...
6) Maybe it’s because I’m way out of my teens, maybe it’s because even in my teens and before stories were my safe place, my escape, I do not expect things to be factually correct in stories, but I am a logic driven person, I will see those plot holes and I might even poke through 'em if I find your story good enough that I feel it would be a pity not pointing those things out. You cannot tell a classic vampire story (not the twilight kind of sun sparkling vampires but the sun burn me to ashes kind) and have your group of vampires prancing about at noon of a clear summer day without some sort of reason for that to work.
I promise you, I’m not picky, I will accept ridiculous reasons like they were standing under and umbrella covered from head to toes and none of their skin was exposed to the sunlight, but do put the effort to give me a reason why I should believe it was intentional, or do not cry and complain if I do decide to point out dude you’ve normal vampires that are sunbathing and did not become piles of ashes that’s not plausible...
7) Stories are just that, something to listen to, they don’t have to have a moral for them to be worthy of being shared, they don’t have to be a mirror of your thoughts, or they could be a mirror of your beliefs, and if I am commenting on them I’m commenting on the story itself not your connection to it. And I do need you to advertise in advance if there’re things that might be triggerish, because what might be just a mental exercise of stepping outside your shoes, if not done might result in me walking into a panic attack while maybe I was just recuperating for one and trying to find comfort or a distraction.
While I as a reader cannot know you author and where you come from, unless you want to make an ass of u and me do not assume you know where I am or what path I’m walking in my life as a reader.
8) I despise people telling me what to do, especially if I didn’t ask for an opinion... If someone (who doesn’t have an economical or authorative position over me) demands me to do something the chances I’ll be do it, especially if I was going to do it before, become nil instantaneously.
I’ve been running and lurking in writing circles and fanfictions for closer to three decades at the time this is being written, and from the very beginning I found disgusting and deplorable the practice some authors adopted of bargaining reaching certain numbers of comments/kudos in exchange for the next chapter. I can respect an author saying I don’t want to get this or that, but the final result is that most likely I would walk away without commenting even if it would have been a story I would have otherwise supported. There’re few authors I do know personally, at least superficially through other channels, that have this kind of disclaimers and I still comment. But that’s because I have an appreciation and will to support the person themselves who also happened to be authors.
#long post#LLF inspired#LLF Comment Project related#comments and feedbacks#personal rant#listing differences#between what I write and what I believe#between what is fic and what is reality#between writer and reader mentality#between writing the stories you want to read and exorcism writing#talked about with a pinch of humour#ok maybe dark humour#have I spent hours and probably more spoon on this than it was healthy?#probably so#but it was worth it#or so i hope
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20 Seconds
Meet Cute Moment
So like I haven’t written anything new in like a thousand years but I’ve been feeling the itch so I randomly chose a prompt from a meet cute list aaaand here goes nothing!
Bucky x Reader (+bffs Wanda & Steve on the side lol)
You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought
Dressing rooms are the absolute worst. You’d lost count of how many you’d broken down and cried in over the years. Heck, you wouldn’t even be in this one if Wanda wasn’t having an engagement party in a couple weeks and you were stuck with nothing decent to wear. “The things I do for my best friend,” you muttered under your breath as you shimmied into what had to be the tenth dress of the day only to realize you couldn’t even bring the fabric together far enough to pull the zipper up.
Your quiet scream of frustration as you flung the dress onto the growing pile of discarded clothing was met with laughter and a knock at the door. “It can’t be that bad sweetie.” You cracked the door to see Wanda’s cheeky grin and another armful of options.
“Wanna bet?” you sighed as you grabbed the next round out of her hands.
“I’ve got a good feeling about these!” She called out as you let the door swing shut. “And I actually wanna see some of them this time!”
Reluctantly you did as you were told and made an appearance with a few of the least offensive options. At least she didn’t try to talk you into any of them, one of the things you loved about your best friend was that she was honest (but not brutally so) and that she truly wanted the best for you. You shook your head at the latest fail, “This is pointless Wan, maybe we should just call it a day...”
“Absolutely NOT! We are getting closer I swear, just a few more? For me...?” You couldn’t help but smile at her ridiculous eye batting and over exaggerated pout.
“Alright, alright... you’re lucky I love you, you know that?”
“Yup! Now get in there and get naked, we haven’t got all day!” She turned you around and swatted your butt, ignoring your faux glare as you shut the dressing room door and resumed your seemingly endless battle.
Grabbing the next contender off its hanger you paused, instantly noticing a difference. The fabric was silky soft, practically caressing your hips as you pulled it up and slipped your arms through the straps effortlessly. Turning to look in the mirror your jaw literally dropped. Somehow this miracle dress accentuated the curves you loved while disguising the ones you loved less, the length was absolutely perfect, and the fabric draped over your chest just so as to make you feel sexy but also demure and not at all in danger of a wardrobe malfunction.
“Hey Wan? I think we might have a winner here,” you called out as you opened the dressing room door, distractedly tucking the tag out of sight to get a better idea of the full effect.
“I’d be inclined to agree with you, doll.” Said a voice that was definitely not your best friend. Nope, this voice was deep and smooth and the absolute opposite of how your perky redheaded bff sounded. Not to mention that this particular voice was coming out of the most gorgeous male specimen you had ever laid eyes on. “If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, the guy who gets to take you out in that is gonna be one lucky s.o.b.”
Your brain was screaming at you to be cool but in reality the best you could do was an undignified squeak as his smirk just seemed to get wider causing the heat from your cheeks to quickly spread down your neck and onto your chest.
“If only there was a lucky s.o.b. In her life, but there isn’t,” Wanda stage whispered conspiratorially in the mystery man’s direction as she appeared out of nowhere, taking your hand and giving you a twirl so she could examine you from all sides. Your chronic muteness persisted as Wanda let out a low whistle of approval, “Stop the presses, this is definitely THE one! See? I knew we shouldn’t give up.” She cupped your face affectionately and you couldn’t help but smile back at her. “Now, you might have the dress but Cinderella can’t go to the ball without shoes! I think I saw some that would be perfect with this. Be right back!” And before you could blink she was gone, leaving you alone again with bachelor number one.
Just as the awkward silence was on the verge of uncomfortable he spoke up. “So, ah.. if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the occasion?”
“Oh!” you squeaked, suddenly finding your voice. “I, um my friend just then, Wanda, best friend actually she-- well it’s her thing really. Engagement party, weekend after next. Wouldn’t miss it for the world but I-I couldn’t exactly show up dressed like the hermit I am on the regular so...” Your voice trailed off as you realized your awkward silence had just morphed into a rambling overshare. Clearing your throat your eyes darted around desperate to look at anything but him.
He stood slowly, stepping up behind you and catching your eye in the mirror. “I bet you could wear a potato sack and still be the loveliest gal in the joint.” His sweet smile and sincere words were sending a flurry of butterflies loose in your stomach. “Hard to believe someone pretty as you would be going out looking like such a dish all alone...”
“You know, she doesn’t have to since you just happen to be free that weekend,” a tall muscular blonde interjects as he steps out of the dressing room next to yours and slaps your mystery man on the back before turning to introduce himself. “Hi there, I’m Steve.”
“Seriously man?” the brunet muttered through clenched teeth as he shoved Steve’s arm away.
“What? Like you were going to be doing anything that weekend other than watching Netflix on the couch covered in Cheeto dust?” Steve winked at you with a telling grin then headed toward the front to pay for his purchases. “Don’t screw this up pal!” he called over his shoulder as he went.
“Ignore my idiot best friend. Sticks his nose into my business too often for his own good...” He was the one looking at the ground now, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze.
“No worries, Wanda’s exactly the same way.” You quietly replied, nervously smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles in your skirt as that awkward silence from earlier returned. As it became more obvious that he wasn’t going to say anything else you reluctantly eased towards your dressing room. “Well I’m um.. I should probably go change...”
At the door you paused, you could almost hear Wanda’s voice in your head screaming at you to not let this one get away. Twenty seconds of insane courage, right? Taking a deep breath you turned, stopping just in front of where he sat with his head in his hands.
“You know, I really do hate going to these things alone...” His head snapped up, his brow adorably furrowed. “Better with two, yeah?” You smile shyly and twist your hands together nervously. He stands up slowly, carefully reaching out, taking your hands in his. You open your mouth with the intent to ask him to officially be your plus one when you suddenly realize what’s missing and you can’t help but erupt into a fit of giggles. “Here I am about to ask you out and I don’t even know your name!”
He chuckles right along with you. “Maybe we should get introductions out of the way then, yeah? I’m James, but my friends call me Bucky.” He raises your knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss.
“Nice to meet you Bucky, my friends call me Y/N.” Aaaand my blush is back. Dammit.
“Y/N... a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Now he’s smirking again. I am in so much trouble.
“You are quite the charmer, Bucky.”
“Oh you haven’t seen the half of it, doll.”
Laughing you take a step back, “Okay.. so, I definitely have to change now. Be right back, don’t you go disappearing on me.”
He shakes his head, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You manage to wait until the dress is back on the hanger before you break out into an impromptu victory dance in the dressing room. Practically vibrating with excitement, for the first time in ages you consider a future full of happy possibilities.
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8, 4, 21 minicar (holy SHIT there’s so many good dialogue options I wanted to pick like eight)
And yes I realize I mistyped minicat SHUSH I just woke up and autocorrect hates me
Okay, so just so everyone knows, I don’t know shit about airdropping or w/e so I just did what I wanted. >.> Im not gonna apologize.
Also slight warning; a little risky, but like nothing more than some mentioned drunk sexting. No actual sexual stuff.
AU: CollegeTrope: Meet messyPrompt: “for the last time, please stop trying to airdrop me.”Pairing: Minicat
Tyler was going to kill someone.
He wanted to say who, specifically, but he had no fucking idea who ‘Miniladd’ was, or why he continued to try and send him things. His tablet hadn’t stopped going off for two hours. If Tyler hadn’t needed his tablet for his art project (due the next day), he probably wouldn’t have been as annoyed as he currently was. But since he did need his tablet and he kept getting notifications about if he wanted to ‘accept’ whatever this idiot was trying to send him, Tyler was close to ripping his hair out.
“Oh my god.” Tyler’s fingers slammed into the screen hard enough that he was sure he was going to shatter the glass, even with the protector on. “For the last time, please stop trying to airdrop me.”
A second of silence passed before the familiar ‘ping’ of an airdrop notification made Tyler scream.
“Fuck!”
“What’s up, buddy?” Nogla popped his head into the apartment they shared, waddling through the living room with bags of groceries.
“Some prick named Miniladd won’t stop trying to send me shit to my tablet. I don’t even know how he got my ipad’s information,” Tyler snarked out, rejecting another message. How much stuff did this weirdo have to send?
“Oh, Craig?” Nogla’s casual reply made Tyler’s attention snap away from the screen, hands nearly dropping the ipad from shock.
“You know this kid?”
“Uh, he’s our new neighbor? He lives right across the hall. You met him last weekend at Marcel’s party. You know, the one you and Panda took all them shots during beer- hey, where are ye going?” Tyler ignored Nogla’s shout when he pushed off the couch, storming out of the apartment. His hand was heavy when he slammed it three times against his neighbor’s door, the other still holding the ipad that pinged with another notification. So distracted by the frustrating noise, Tyler’s mouth snapped into motion the second he’d heard the door open.
“What the hell-” The words quickly died in his throat when taking in the appearance of the neighbor. He was shorter, but not by much, and his dyed hair almost distracted from the attractiveness of the face below. An eyebrow peeked up over stylish glasses, which framed a cute nose and bright eyes. Sweatpants weren’t normally Tyler’s first choice to wear when trying to emphasize his better physical traits. But the smooth way the cotton clung to the thighs and hips of the neighbor was working for him in a way that made Tyler’s blood warm. He glanced back up to the man’s face, scowling at the smirk curling his lips.
“Hey, Tyler. What brings you around? You ready to make good on your promise?” The causal way he said Tyler’s name brought him back to his senses. Though he wanted to ask what the hell the guy was implying, Tyler glared and waved his ipad next to his head.
“You ready to stop being a pain in my ass and spamming my tablet?”
“What?” The cockiness from before vanished quickly, though Tyler rolled his eyes at the feigned innocence.
“You’re Miniladd, right? Cause you’ve been airdropping me pointless shit for two hours.”
“I haven’t even been on my ipad. I let my nephew use it for-” Then Craig stopped, his cheeks turning pink when something clicked in his head. Tyler tried not to notice how the flushed coloring looked good on the other’s face when Craig turned his head back into the apartment. “LUI! Are you fucking with my files again?!”
“He won’t accept my memes!” The squeaky voice that came from somewhere in the apartment sounded young, far too young to be in a college dorm. Maybe Tyler’s face showed his thought process, as Craig gave a sheepish smile and a shrug.
“I watch him once a week for my brother. He probably got your info from our conversation thread last week and just thought we were friends.”
“Wait, we talked?” Tyler scowled when Craig nodded, scratching the back of his neck.
“Yeah, we did. Alot. But you were drunk, so I didn’t really expect you to remember-and now you’re looking at the messages in front of me. Fantastic.” Tyler ignored Craig’s nervous laughter when he yanked his phone out of his pocket. He didn’t remember said night, because most people wouldn’t be able to retain information after downing six shots in an hour (he was proving a point damnit, and it was worth it to see Brian eat his words the next morning). He’d given Craig his number? And what kind of conversation did they-
Oh. Oh.
“Fuck.” Letting out a slow groan, Tyler tried to ignore his own hot cheeks and jammed the phone back into his pocket. He refused to avoid eye contact when looking back up at Craig, who looked like he was the one that’d texted that he was going to to ‘fuck him against every wall’ in Craig’s apartment. There were other comments sent, too, but they all revolved around the same concept. Craig never seemed against the ideas Tyler had offered, but he also made it clear he wouldn’t engage in said acts until Tyler spoke to him sober. Which Tyler hadn’t, because he’d been drunk and forgot all about the convo.
Until right now, that is.
Tyler searched for something to say over his embarrassment, but his brain was blank. “Fuck me.”
“You know, you keep teasing me with a good time and I’m going to change your name in my phone to ‘Blue balls’.” Craig’s casual reply while he leaned against the doorway and grinned made Tyler scoff.
“Tell your brat to stop messaging me so I can finish my project,” Tyler snarked out and turned around, making it into his own doorway before he huffed and looked back to Craig. “And text me when he’s gone. I probably should buy you a beer or something for…that.”
“You owe me a lot more than a beer. Good thing my apartment has lots of walls.” The wink was stupid, and Tyler wanted to ram Craig’s face into the door to get rid of his stupid grin.
But when he was reminded how good sweatpants fit Craig while he turned back into his apartment, Tyler realized he wasn’t opposed to the offer either.
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The Funny Thing About Life
Idol: Heejin (Loona)
Prompt: loona’s heejin and reader both have a crush on the same person (A) and they constantly compete for A’s attention. throughout the weird rivalry, heejin realised that they’re much more interested in the reader than A. (sorry if that made no sense)
Writer: Admin Kiwi
A/N: This was kind of a hard one, but I hope you enjoy what I came up with!
♡ Tip Jar♡
“I like them.” Reality came crashing down around Heejin as she uttered those three words, staring wide-eyed at the ground. Three years of her life shattered and became meaningless. Her mind and heart raced. Her voice broke as she dizzily repeated the words. “I like them. Oh my god, I like (Y/N).”
“Uh, maybe you should sit down,” said Hyunjin, her best friend, slowly bringing her hands up to grab Heejin’s shoulders. Heejin allowed herself to be guided to one of the chairs in the kitchen.
“I like them.” She was in a daze. Her eyes seemed to fog over. “I was just talking about how much I hate them. I was complaining about them always getting in my way and being annoying. But.... I like them!” She let out a half-laugh and half-sob and put her head into her hands. “When did I start paying more attention to them than I did to Ryujin?”
“I’m going to get you some water.” Hyunjin slowly walked away, leaving Heejin in her shocked position on the chair.
For three years, she’d fought with you over Ryujin. Ryujin was the love of her life, the only person she’d ever been attracted to, the girl she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. At least, that’s what she’d thought for her last two years of high school and her first year of college. Ryujin had (unknowingly) been her dream girl, and you’d been her enemy ever since you swooped in and tried to grab Ryujin for yourself. She’d hated you.
And yet she liked you. Her eyes were more drawn to you than Ryujin. She wanted to be around you despite arguing every time. You were the only one who appeared in her dreams. You had more in common with her than Ryujin did, although she would have never admitted it.
“When did this happen?” She muttered again, weakly accepting the water Hyunjin handed to her. She looked up at her best friend with desperate eyes, searching for guidance, but Hyunjin just shrugged her shoulders, face blank. Heejin’s world finished crumbling to the ground as her friend sat beside her and sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“I don’t know. That’s the funny thing about life. You never know what’s going to happen.”
-
For a while, Heejin tried avoiding you. In fact, she avoided everything having to do with you, including Ryujin. It made her feel a bit bad: Ryujin, unaware of her feelings and the fight, was probably confused as to why she suddenly lost a friend. But Heejin couldn’t deal with being around you. Her heart and head still hurt from her realization, and she needed time to come to terms with herself.
She had a lot of soul searching to do before she could even be ready to see you in the halls again.
-
“Okay, so I’ve realized that I like her. What now?” Heejin was feeling better now. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and she was no longer reeling over her realization that she’d spent three years fighting over a person she didn’t even love, with someone that she actually liked. Now she was able to move on to the next step: figuring out what to do.
Across the kitchen table from her sat Haseul, her resident mom friend and also technically the RA, since her parents owned that particular dorm. Beside her was Vivi, her girlfriend, Jiwoo, a self-proclaimed love expert, and Hyunjin, there for support.
“That depends on what you want to do going forward,” Haseul said carefully, folding her hands together. She looked like a therapist, Heejin thought. “You have plenty of options.”
“Like bottling it up and never telling anyone,” Hyunjin said, then winced as Jiwoo elbowed her.
“No!” Said the older girl, shaking her head. “That’s not the way to go! Listen, the heart is a powerful thing. If you bottle it up inside, you’ll never get over it.”
“But it could save me the shame of having to admit to liking (Y/N) to their face,” Heejin pointed out, making Jiwoo sigh.
“Heejin, you don’t have to admit your feelings right away. But I do think you should tell (Y/N) that you aren’t interested in Ryujin anymore, and that you don’t see them as a rival.”
“That’s good!” Haseul pointed at Jiwoo, then smiled at Heejin. “You could tell them that you’d like to become friends instead. You don’t have to jump right into the ‘I like you’ talk.”
“But what if they just get with Ryujin?”
“Oh,” Vivi said suddenly. “About that. Ryujin just started dating this girl in one of my classes named Yeji. I saw them out in the hallway when I was walking in.”
Heejin’s jaw dropped open. “What? Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
“It’s a new thing,” Hyunjin said, shrugging. “It happened when you were avoiding her and I didn’t think it would be the right thing to tell you.”
“I wish I would have known, still.” Heejin sighed and crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair. “It would have helped with the whole crisis thing.”
“You don’t still like her, do you?”
“Nope.” Heejin shook her head, and knew she was telling the truth. The only thing she felt after hearing the news was slight annoyance that she wasn’t told. There was no pang in her heart, no sadness, and no disappointment. Her crush on Ryujin had worn away long ago. “That’s long gone. Although I don’t exactly know when it stopped.”
The girls paused, then Haseul reached over and touched Heejin’s arm. “I think you know what you have to do.”
“Do I?” Heejin winced at the thought of having to talk to you again. It still scared her, just a bit.
“Just go talk to them. Even if things don’t work out, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”
“I guess you’re right.” She took a deep breath and smiled at the girls around the table. “Thanks, I really couldn’t have gotten through this without you guys.”
Jiwoo beamed. “That’s what friends are for!”
As everyone stood up to leave, Heejin looked back down at the table and swallowed. Figuring out what to do was the easy part. Now she had to actually talk to you. And she wasn’t sure that she could.
-
It took her a couple days after the talk, and then a couple minutes after that for her to psych herself up to talk to you. You were in the library cafe when she spotted you and, thankfully, you were alone. She would never have been able to approach you with your friends around.
After lots of deep breaths and wiping her hands on her pants, she approached you, her heart pounding.
“Hey, (Y/N)?”
You looked up from your phone, and your eyebrows raised when you saw it was her. “Oh, Heejin. What’s up?” You didn’t look annoyed, just surprised, if still a little guarded. That was fine.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, pulling out a chair across from you and sitting down before she could chicken out.
“Yeah?”
“I know we didn’t really get off on the best start.” Heejin felt a little dizzy, but she continued after a short pause, gripping the backpack now in her lap tight for support. “But I’ve been thinking a lot recently, and I decided that I needed to talk to you. I wanted to let you know that, well, I’m no longer pursuing Ryujin. I realized that my crush on her went away a while ago. I’ve only thought of her as a friend for a while now.”
“Really?” Your eyebrows went up further and she nodded her head.
“Really. Once I realized that, I also realized that our fighting was pointless. I don’t know why we kept going back in forth when my crush was gone and there was no reason to fight. I genuinely think you’re a cool person and I don’t hate you, so I don’t want to keep fighting. I want to make things right with you and apologize for everything that happened.”
“I mean....” You looked shocked, and she understood why. You probably hadn’t seen this coming. “It wasn’t all your fault. Actually, I was angry with you during the first year of college because Ryujin had rejected me and I blamed it on you. She’d told me that she had this girl in mind. Once I knew I didn’t have a chance, I got upset. But just recently, I heard that she started dating a girl named Yeji. And now hearing this, I’m realizing how wrong I was.” You picked at the lid of your coffee. “This is so weird. I never expected any of this to happen.”
“Neither did I,” Heejin said truthfully. “I was so shocked when I realized everything that I had to consult my friends for advice.”
“Really?” You smiled at this. “That’s pretty intense.”
“It was intense.” She smiled back. “But things change. That’s the funny thing about life. It never ends up where you expect it to.”
“That’s true.” You were silent for a moment, then you slowly slid your phone over. “I think it’ll probably take me some time to get used to being friends with you instead of enemies. Or fremenies, I guess, since we both hung out with Ryujin and she didn’t know. But I’m willing to give us another chance. Go ahead and put your phone number in there.”
She perked up and beamed, happily taking your phone and typing in her number. “Great! I really wanted to fix things between us. I’m glad you feel that way too!”
“We might as well try, right?” You took back your phone and gave her a smile as you stood from your chair. “I have class, but I’ll see you around?”
“See you around,” she said with a wave, and then watched you go, her heart pounding in her chest. When you walked out the door, she let out a sigh of relief and smiled to herself. The conversation had gone well. It hadn’t been a confession, but it wasn’t time for that yet. Right now, she was happy enough with fixing things and seeing what the future might bring.
After all, life was always changing in funny ways. Anything could happen.
#femifics#loona#heejin#loona scenarios#heejin scenarios#girl group scenarios#kpop scenario#girl groups#kpop girl groups#t:collegeau
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Spirit Tracks Translation Comparison: The Engineer Ceremony
This will be a comparison of the original Japanese version and the US English localized version.
Specifically, this will cover the cutscene of Link’s engineer ceremony, as well as the brief scene of meeting Chancellor Cole before it.
You can also watch these scenes for yourself in English and Japanese. If you want, you can check out the EU English version, too.
For the comparison, the usual points apply:
Bolded is the original Japanese text, for the reference.
Bolded and italicized is my translation.
Italicized is the official NOA translation.
A (number) indicates that I have a specific comment to make on that part in the translation notes.
As you read this, please keep in mind that with translations like these, it’s important not to focus on the exact literal wordings, since there is no single “correct answer” when it comes to translations.
Rather than that, consider the actual information that is being conveyed, in which way, and why.
--
Characters in this part who had their name changed between versions:
"Geezer” = “Teacher”, “the minister” = Chancellor Cole (He’s not actually named until later in Japanese.)
--
Meeting the Chancellor:
Guard:
この先は ゼルダ姫さまの
謁見の間である
Princess Zelda's audience hall
is up ahead.
The princess's throne room
is up these stairs.
Guard:
おまえのような一般の
ものは この上に行くことさえ
許されんぞ！
Commoners like you
aren't even allowed to go up here!
Only invited guests are
allowed in.
Guard:
あっちいけ シッシ
Shoo shoo! Get lost!
What that means for you
is...GET LOST!
Cole:
なんです！
さわがしいですね〜
What is going on here?
You are being quite noisy.
What's all the commotion
here?
Guard:
これは 大臣！
Oh, Minister!
Oh, good day, Chancellor
Cole! Apologies for the
disturbance.
Guard:
は！ こやつが ゼルダ姫に
用があると申しておりまして！
Sir! This one here claims that
he has business with Princess Zelda!
This boy says he's come to
see the princess!
Cole:
ほぉ！ 今日の任命式の
機関士 見習いですか…
まだ子供じゃないですか…
Oho! So, you are the engineer apprentice
for the appointment ceremony today...?
But you are still a child, no...? (1)
Is that so? You're here for
the graduation ceremony?
But you're so young.
Cole:
しかし 各地で線路が消えて
大変だというのに 姫様もこんな
式を行うとは 何を考えてるのか
Honestly though, just what is Her Highness thinking?
The disappearing of the tracks everywhere is a serious issue,
and yet she holds ceremonies such as this.
What a waste of resources.
The Spirit Tracks are
vanishing,
yet the princess insists on
performing these ridiculous
ceremonies.
Cole:
こぞう！
任命式はこの上で行います！
ついてきなさい！
Boy!
The appointment ceremony will be held upstairs!
Follow me!
Well, come along, boy. We
must get you to your
ceremony! Follow me!
Cole:
ぼ〜っ としてないで
そこを おどきなさい！
Stop daydreaming
and move aside! (2)
Don't just stand there
drooling, Private! Move
aside!
Guard:
は！
Yes, sir!
Yes, sir!
--
Optional dialogue if you speak to the guard again:
Guard:
なんだよ まったく…
いばりくさって
Seriously, what the heck...
He's so full of himself.
He's so full of himself!
Guard:
いや あの大臣だよ！
ゼルダ姫がやさしいから
調子に乗っちゃって
That minister, I tell you!
Because Princess Zelda is so nice,
he's getting cocky.
Princess Zelda is so nice,
she lets the chancellor get
away with anything!
Guard:
この国の王にでもなった
つもりでいるんじゃないのか！！
I mean who does he think he is?!
He’s acting like he’s the king here or something!!
Now he struts around the
castle as if he were king!
--
Link’s Ceremony:
Cole:
許しもなく顔を上げるとは…
無礼ですよ 小僧！
Raising your head without permission...
That is disrespectful, boy!
Raising your head without
permission?
You ill-mannered urchin!
Zelda:
そんなに
かしこまらないで下さい…
あなたが 新たに
機関士になる方ですね？
お名前を聞かせて
下さいますか？
Please,
there is no need to be so formal...
So, you are the one
who will become the new engineer?
Would you please tell me your name?
Don't pay any attention to
Chancellor Cole.
You must be the new
engineer.
What's your name?
Zelda:
…リンク
素敵な お名前ですね
リンク
あなたは…
...Link.
What a wonderful name.
Link,
you are...
Oh, Link is a
wonderful name!
Well, Link, by
the power vested in me,
I hereby proclaim you...
Cole:
姫さま ムダな言葉は
必要ありません！
お早く任命式を
おすませ下さい
Your Highness, there is no need
for these pointless words!
Please do hurry up
and finish the ceremony.
We're wasting our time
here, Your Highness!
Please just hurry up and
finish this foolish ceremony.
Zelda:
…わかりました
大臣
...Very well, Minister.
Very well, Chancellor.
Zelda:
ありがとう ジイ
Thank you, Geezer. (3)
Thank you, Teacher.
Zelda:
リンク あなたを
我が国の機関士に任命します
この国と民のために 精励される
ことを期待しています…
Link, I hereby appoint you
as an engineer of our kingdom.
I expect you to work hard
for the sake of this kingdom and its people...
I hereby recognize our
newest royal engineer...
Link!
Work hard, for we all rely
on you, Link.
Text Box:
王家から機関士の
任命書を頂いた！
これで一人前の機関士だ！
You got your engineer's certificate
from the royal family!
Now you're a full-fledged
engineer!
You got your royal
engineer's certificate!
Now you're a full-fledged
engineer!
Zelda:
お願いです
今は何も言わないで…
Please,
do not say anything right now...
Shh--take this. No! Don't
say a word right now.
Zelda:
後で これを読んで下さい
大臣に気づかれないで…
Read this later, and do not
let the minister notice...
Read this later...and
beware of the chancellor!
Cole:
小僧 いつまで
そこにいるつもりですか？
用は すんだのです 早く帰って
大事な汽車でも みがいてなさい
How long do you intend to stand there, boy?
You are done here, so please hurry up and go home,
polish your precious train or something.
The ceremony's over, so I
suggest you move along.
Why don't you go...polish
your train or something.
Cole:
…もっとも…
...Although...
Not that it matters much.
Cole:
すぐ役に たたなく
なるんだがな
It's going to be useless
soon enough, of course.
The thing will be useless
before long...
Translation Notes:
Because of how the Japanese language works, those lines technically could also read as Cole talking about Link rather than to him. Either would probably make sense for him, but I went with the latter.
What I adapted as “daydreaming” here, is ぼ〜っ として/bōttoshite in Japanese, which can refer to “daydreaming”, “spacing out”, and so forth, so the English version’s “drooling” is likely going for something like that, too.
In Japanese, this character is literally called ジイ/Jī, which can be translated as “old man” or “geezer”.
--
Comparisons & Thoughts:
These scenes introduce us to some major characters, so there is a bit more to talk about here.
-
Let’s get a minor thing out of the way first.
In Japanese, the ceremony is called an “appointment ceremony“, while in English it’s called a “graduation ceremony”.
The former does make more sense, as it doesn’t seem like Link had to officially “graduate” in order to be appointed, since Alfonzo just does the final exam with him on the fly while they make their way to Castle Town.
But “graduation ceremony” probably just sounded more natural, plus it saves some text space.
-
Since he appears first, I will go over Chancellor Cole next.
One detail that stands out about him is that he’s a minister in Japanese, not a chancellor. In fact, all other language versions seem to have him as a minister.
If I had to guess, I think this was probably changed so his name would be an alliteration?
He is not the first Zelda character to have the title of minister though, as there was also Minister Potho from The Minish Cap.
So, the English version is technically inconsistent here.
Also interesting is the fact that in Japanese, the minister is not given a name yet at this point.
But I will talk about this more once we are actually told what his name is.
In Japanese, Cole speaks in a manner that is technically formal and “polite”, but of course he also gives off a vibe of looking down on others, given what he actually says.
For my translation, I chose to adapt Cole’s formal way of speaking by having him not use contractions all that often. But keep in mind that this is only one way to adapt this.
Plus, not using contractions is probably not something the English version could’ve pulled off in-game, given how much more text space that would eat up.
The English version’s portrayal of Cole is ever so slightly more openly insulting, slightly less underhanded, but not in a way that deviates too far from the original at this point.
There is a more notable difference with how Cole is characterized between the versions, but it’s one that won’t come across well until later.
We only get an early hint of it during the moment where Cole flashes his smirk at Link, where he briefly talks in a slightly more informal manner.
If the English version was trying to reflect that, it doesn’t really stand out. But it doesn’t stand out much in my translation either, as a lot of these differences are just harder to portray in English.
-
And finally, we have the introduction of Princess Zelda.
In this scene in particular, Zelda comes across as slightly more soft-spoken in Japanese, possibly discouraged by the minister’s presence.
This is something we see from time to time with her, having her be a bit more lively in English, but it’s not always the case.
Similar to Cole, Zelda has a mostly formal, polite speaking style in Japanese, so I decided to adapt it in a similar manner.
But note again that this is just my personal choice, and that there are many ways one may choose to adapt this.
Given Zelda’s very sheltered background, I felt it would make sense to not have her talk like most children her age. And I feel her speaking style in Japanese usually is more formal than other children her age.
Now, some of you may know of a developer quote that mentions how this Zelda was actually specifically designed to be less princess-like and more like a normal girl.
So my writing style for her might seem contradictory to that idea, but I personally don’t think so.
For me, Zelda’s child-like nature is not reflected in the way she speaks, but in what she actually says and how she acts.
She attempts to have a friendly chat with Link during this formal ceremony, she is often quite outspoken about things she doesn’t like, she can even be blunt to the point of being rude, all while being somewhat ignorant about this herself.
Additionally, she will often voice her fears and be self-deprecating in a more direct way, which you don’t often see from the Zelda archetype, who’s supposed to be more of an authority figure.
But on top of that, she can also be quite playful and goofy, of course.
It’s these traits of her that, to me, reflect her nature as just being a normal kid, despite her upbringing.
That explanation was a bit long, but I wanted to make sure no one mistakes my writing of Zelda as an indication that she’s actually a super serious, no-nonsense character, or anything like that.
-
As a whole, I feel like these scenes were “spiced up” a bit more in English than say, the scene at Niko’s house, but they never digress too far from the source material.
To me, the Japanese version does offer a slightly different perspective on the characters, but with a lot of these things it’s more smaller details that add up over the course of the whole game, rather than specific singular examples.
With that said, this is it for this part. Feel free to check out the next one!
--
< Previous Part | Start | Next Part >
--
#legend of zelda#the legend of zelda#spirit tracks#tloz#legend of zelda spirit tracks#legend of zelda translations#spirit tracks translations#my translations#spirit tracks comparisons
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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the boy you meet in detention, felix, doesn’t see colours. you want to gift his eyes with the kaleidoscopes and the rainbows of your world. the palette of your love story is supposed to bring together a work of art, but calamity lies beneath the canvas.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. felix x reader
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. n/a
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 3.6k
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. do i actually ever proofread anything that i write
RED. | PART I - “DETENTION & FRIENDSHIP”
“stop doing that. i said, stop doing that!”
up until the point when your feet actually entered the classrooms doors, you were oddly okay with the sudden sentence slapped on your forehead for your truancy. it was approaching the end of the school year and you were slowly losing motivation to force yourself out of bed in the mornings. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t as if this was an occurrence ever so often, but transformed into a routine set into place five days straight. it started off as being five minutes late to class after the bell and showing a genuine apologetic attitude for your actions. by the friday, you’d walk in with an iced coffee at hand and not even sparing a second glance at your exasperated teacher. clearly, you had—for a lack of better words—no more fucks to give for the home stretch of your final year in high school.
then, you walked into detention and saw that the only other person was felix lee.
he was the blond haired boy who sat at the very back of every class you shared with him, constantly ignoring the lesson in favour of reading books or doodling in a notebook. he never really talked to anybody, but you could hear him making crude jokes or snappy remarks to a teacher without being caught. in fact, just like your fellow peers, your teachers didn’t seem to care at all for felix. he clearly didn’t want to be in school and didn’t care for being successful, so you assumed that they just gave up on him.
as the bell rang to signal the end of the last period of the day, that meant that it was time to make your way to the detention room. seungmin had been teasing you about it since the morning, talking all about the new hoodlum friends you were going to make. but, this guy?. you couldn’t think of a reason why he would be in detention. however, that didn’t mean that he seemed like the friendliest of people. he didn’t even spare you a second glance at your appearance in the detention room.
a sound resembling creaky doors and the overall feeling of why you hated school, called you back into reality. streaked with grey hair and chapped lips, mrs. young taught literature and gave one hell of a death glare when you did something that she didn’t like. that was basically everything. it was no surprise when you were on the receiving end of one upon your arrival.
the scowl on her face would have been stronger if it weren’t for the fact that it was already four o’clock, which means that she was already half asleep. “you...are two minutes late.”
“i was coming in from the third floor and the halls were crowded,” you said, trying not to roll your eyes.
“yeah, yeah, just take a seat,” the older lady grumbled, adjusting herself on her chair and making a loud squeeeak. you were about to do just that, but then she stopped you before you passed her. “ah, ah. no cellphones. put it in the basket.”
she lazily pointed to a woven basket by the window sill and proceeded to lean back into her chair. you saw how her eyelids began to grow heavy and the faint humming of her snoring emerging, realizing quickly how pointless the next hour was going to be. you tentatively placed your phone into the basket. there were a few scrawled out rules on the chalkboard, starting from the basic “DO NOT TALK” as number one.
picking a random desk out of the many seats, you set your backpack down and by the time you looked back up, mrs. young was fast asleep. noise peeking through from the corridors began to quiet down as students made their way home or to other locations in the school for extracurriculars. that should’ve been you, heading home to plop down face first into your bed for a nap, but no. you were stuck here.
maybe you could take a nap here. however, upon closing your eyes to test the atmosphere, you quickly became bothered by the ticking clock, the breeze screwing around with the open window, and the sound of ripping paper. you turned around and saw felix ripping apart red construction paper. you scrunched your eyebrows, watching his fixated look on whatever activity he was attempting to do.
felix put his feet up onto the seat next to his desk, looking as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. his maroon tie was loosened and hung over each side of his shoulders, sleeves rolled up, and bopping to the music coming from old school over-the-ear headphones covering each side of his head.
“hey. hey!” you tried to hiss. “you have to put your phone away.” there was no way that you were going to be the only one abiding by the old fart’s rules, but felix seemed to either not hear you or pretended that he couldn’t.
you let out an exasperated breath of air and glanced over at mrs. young, who was still sleeping. deciding to take the risk, you attempted to get up from your seat, but the slightest bit of creaking caused the woman to flinch. she twitched several times, before a disgusting snore left her lips. how could she be so sensitive to sound, but not wake up?
4:09. it had only been exactly seven minutes since you arrived, but the session already felt like an hour. you groaned and your head fell down to the wooden desk—mrs. young flinched again. slumped over, you needed to find something to pass the time. homework was probably a good option, but there was no way you were going to actually do it. doodle? no, there was nothing in your backpack that was remotely entertaining.
then, you felt it.
at first, you thought it was just a figment of your imagination, something of the breeze from outside. the second time, it flew by your head and landed on a spot in front of you. the third time, you felt it flick up against your right ear.
bending down, you weren’t sure exactly was the paper was until upon further inspection. it was a paper football. you scoffed and crumpled up the piece of red paper into a ball, throwing behind your head.
“are you kidding me? paper football, what are you, nine?” you said.
you didn’t care enough to make eye contact with felix as you spoke, instead finding picking at your nails more entertaining. what an annoying kid, you thought. as this happened, mrs. young stirred slightly at the sounds, but your voice wasn’t loud enough to wake her up.
the ripping and crumpling of papers behind you didn’t halt at all. a few minutes later, another red paper football flew just over your head. you pressed your nails into your palm, wondering what on earth was up with this guy.
“can you stop?” you demanded once again, only for a fifth red paper football to hit the back of your neck, then a sixth at your left shoulder. “stop doing that. i said, stop doing that!”
this time, you whipped your head around to meet felix. he stopped immediately, frozen in place. his eyes were big and wide, while his mouth formed a large ‘O’ shape. somehow, your anger dissolved and you wanted to giggle at his facial expression. as soon as you raised the volume of your words, mrs. young jerked aggressively and her eyes were as wide as his.
she slammed the nearest object down onto her desk for emphasis, which happened to be a stapler. “what. did. i. say. no talking!”
you and felix shut your mouths quickly with you turning around and folding your arms across your chest. then, as quickly as she woke up, she fell back asleep. a faint chuckle could be heard from behind you and you slowly turned around once again.
“why are you laughing?” you hissed quietly.
felix shrugged. “because she’s a funny lady.” it seemed like he was out of red construction paper, having just stuffed everything from his desk back into his backpack.
you asked, “were you deaf or something earlier? what’s with the paper footballs?” you held up the one that you plucked off the ground.
"i'm really sorry." he paused, taking his time with his answer. “i mean, i’dunno. i didn’t realize you were talking to me.” by the look on his face, it seemed as though he was genuinely confused by the situation.
“um, you’re the only other person here.”
silence enveloped the surroundings from that moment on. the two of you exchanged strange looks, holding the gaze without saying anything. you weren’t sure if you should’ve said something first and rummaged through your mind for anything to talk about. thankfully, as you were about to open your mouth to spew out something awkward, he interrupted you.
felix pointed at the coffee stain on your uniform skirt with a pencil. “were you apart of that fight in the cafeteria earlier?”
“what?’ you asked. then, you remembered hearing about yoon naeun and her posse causing a ruckus with some of your fellow seniors over a boy in the middle of lunch time. you happened to be in the library at the time, printing out a history paper last minute, and missed the spat.
“the fight, is that why you got detention?” the boy then proceeded to make punching gestures with his hands and you had to stifle a giggle.
you shook your head. “no. i think they all got off with warnings, otherwise there’d be more people here, no?” the more you thought about it, the detention given to you seemed more than unfair compared to the little slap on the wrist the other girls received.
“it wasn’t a little cat fight either, people were saying it was like a prison riot—” it was as though felix was reading your mind and saying whatever came to his. the further he began to describe the incident in detail, the larger your regret for witnessing it grew.
you’d never seen anything like it. the way felix explained things was in the same vein as a magician trying to sell a trick or a primary school teacher reading out a picture book. he had magnificence in his voice and energy in every action he made. he was loud without raising his voice (waking up mrs. young) and it made you wonder how people didn’t pay attention to him.
“—they did what with the vice principal’s coffee?!” somehow, despite felix relaying the story to you for at least five minutes, mrs. young didn’t budge from her slumber until you spoke up. her eyes remained close, but she sputtered out something that sounded like ‘be quiet.’
felix chuckled. “yeah. it was interesting.”
“how did you get all of this information when you said you weren’t even there?” you asked.
“i listen. people talk a lot.” he shrugged, playing with one of his red paper footballs between his fingers. "so, how'd you end up in here, then?"
you raised an eyebrow. "maybe it's not that you listen, but the fact that you seem to have a lot of damn questions." the two of you shared a chuckle at that. you decided to not ask him how he ended up in detention.
time ticked away, each movement on the clock feeling like a whirlwind. by towards the end of the hour, you’d moved to the desk beside felix. a rarity, his feet was not propped up on anything, for you took the seat that once occupied them. after moving close enough to hear to the music he was listening to, you discovered that he was a fan of the doors. a favourite of your uncle, you knew 'people are strange' from a mile away.
"their discography is all i have on here." felix took out the small rectangular piece of plastic from his pocket, which you recognized as the first generation ipod mini. it was pink, shiny as hell as if it was brand new and you couldn't help but laugh. "what?"
you said, "literally nobody carries those around anymore. it's 2019, felix."
in a way, it was cute. unlike other people who gallivanted around the school grounds with airpods and only listened to whatever mumble rap song was at the top of american music charts, he wasn't pretending to be anybody he wasn't. there wasn't a hint of effort on his end trying too hard to be just like the crowd.
felix stared at you. "wait. you know my name?"
"yeah?" you weren't sure why he was confused. "it's written on the sides of your sneakers."
the two of you simultaneously took a look at felix's battered up black and white air jordans. his name was scribbled on left side of both shoes, with one for his first name and the other for his surname. he nodded slowly in understanding and you could hear the force in the laugh he made.
"sorry, how do i put this . . ." he trailed off. "i'm just used to being invisible around here, i guess."
there was clear sadness hidden in his tone of voice and your chest swelled. it wasn't like felix was wrong, but you weren't even sure why this was the case. he was genuine, made you laugh, and was interesting.
“so. . .the stain?”
“huh?” you scrunched your eyebrows together. “oh, the coffee stain! yeah, i’m just clumsy.”
it wasn't the detention session that you expected. your eyes followed his tutorial on how to properly construct a decent paper football out of anything. you'd given him a paper you tore out of your biology notebook, possibly important notes, but you were too occupied with the amaze you had for felix's nimble fingers.
in return, you proceeded to rant about the stressful period of time you were experiencing. the last month of high school had nothing on the rest of your past years, feeling like an entire year in and of itself. for some reason, you couldn't find the same exasperation in his eyes and you were unsure if it was for his seemingly relaxed personality or otherwise.
"i don't know, i haven't really thought much of it." felix pressed his latest creation, an elegant paper crane in contrast to the footballs he'd been playing around with.
all of a sudden, a loud clap snarled from the front of the room and you unconsciously jumped. you glanced over and surprise took over. mrs. young was awake and before you even realized it, the clock's hands pointed to 5:00 PM.
she declared, "detention is over. you have one minute to get out of here and out of my sight."
you and felix scrambled to your feet. strolling over back to where you originally sat, you picked up your backpack off the ground where you left it and collected your phone from the basket. meanwhile, felix retrieved each and every one of the paper footballs that were created, including your failed attempts during his impromptu tutorial.
with your bag slung over one shoulder and the faint sound of 'roadhouse blues' just behind you, it took just around forty seconds for the detention classroom to be emptied. at two hours after the final bell of the day, the corridors of your school was the quietest, the most peaceful that you've ever witnessed it to be. sunlight pouring inside had yet to fade out from the outside and the day was not looking to end for at least a couple more hours.
"well, thanks. that was actually kind of fun."
"don't thank me," felix responded.
you tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. "so, i guess this is the part where we head home now."
"what, you aren't going to go and hang out with some friends? a boyfriend?" he asked, cocking his head to one side in curiosity.
the truth was, you'd recently fell out with most of, if not all, your friends. some of them were simply due to wear and time, which was going to be inevitable regardless with graduation coming up. you had intentions of studying on the other side of the world and there was little chance of you ever seeing your old high school pals afterwards. however, you'd for the most part grown sick and tired of the toxic circles that you found yourself in. people were catty, mean, and couldn't have any faker of personalities. it was high school. considering it was almost over, you decided that pulling the trigger early wasn't too bad of an idea.
"honestly, i was probably just going to lie down on my couch and watch reruns of the next shitty reality tv show." the admittance was less bitter tasting than you thought it was going to be, shrugging it off. "what about you?"
"huh? oh, me?" felix said, as the two of you began to make your way out of the building. "uh, yeah, probably the same."
"you don't really strike me as a crappy e! network fan—" you began to chuckle at his answer, then your phone's text ringtone interrupted you. you pulled it out and upon the screen lighting up, you learned that your mother was going to be working late that night.
you ignored the questioning look on his face. "where'd you get that paper?"
"what paper?" he replied.
elevating your hand to right in front of his eyes, you twirled the very first paper football that you plucked off the ground. "this red one. it's like a pretty cherry tomato, i've never seen something like this colour."
"eh, they're all the same to me."
"no, but this one is, like, really pretty. reminds me of the summer that i want to have," you attempted to explain. "the red graduation gown, bonfires, sunsets, i don't know. . .'
felix scratched the back of his nape, looking down at his shoes. "no, i mean, like, they're all the same to me." he drew in a deep breath. "i can't see colours."
at first, you weren't sure if you heard him correctly. you looked at his face and saw the expression on it, realizing that you indeed hear what you thought you did. once again, you weren't sure what to say in the amidst of silence, dumb silence. you'd never heard of such a condition and trying to see it from his perspective seems so strange to you.
"oh. sorry, i don't know what to say," you admitted, "you must get a lot of stupid questions and stuff, i don't want to add on to that."
"actually, not a lot of people know this about me. you can ask whatever you want," he said and a shy smile played on his lips, as you took note of that.
the front doors of the school were within sight line. felix stuffed his hands into his pocket and looked out onto the street, teeming with an empty onyx street and a bright blue skyline just beyond. it was still hard to process what he just told you and you realized that he couldn't admire this. the pink tips in your hair were just grey to him. his air jordans were black and white, but even if they were, felix wouldn't be able to tell otherwise.
you asked, "were you born like this?"
he shook his head. "no. i used to see colours, but that was a long time ago."
for whatever reason it was, you didn't want to leave. dragging your feet to the exit felt heavy. the past hour with him was nothing but fun and it seemed like everything came to an end so quickly.
he didn't seem to be budging for some reason, fiddling with something on his ipod screen. you got an idea right then and there. tapping your shoulders, he looked up.
"hey?" you said. "do you wanna maybe go get some ice cream or something?"
"like-like out there?" felix pointed outside the school and you couldn't help but chuckle.
you playfully slapped his arm. "yes, out there. you know 'paradise'?" paradise was one of the popular spots for ice cream in the area and many high school and middle school students flocked to grab a sweet treat there after class. you figured that most of them would have made their way home by that point in the day and it would be nice to have the place to yourselves.
he responded, "damn, it's still around?"
"mhmm. so, are you down?" there seemed to be some obvious hesitation on his end, as you watched him look around, as if looking for an escape. "no pressure or anything! just some ice cream."
it took a moment, but felix started to slowly nod. ". . .yeah. yeah, sure, why not?"
without a doubt, he was a strange kid and you knew this from the beginning. however, it turned out that he had a side to him that nobody knew or simply never bothered to get to know. you didn't know it then, but this was the start to a long journey for the two of you. felix, a kid used to blending into the background and having everyone not give a shit about him. then, there was you, a kid used to floating through life and having not everyone give a shit about you. walking home, you saw the most beautiful sunset. felix did, too, but he didn't need colour for it.
in fact, felix watched the sunset with even more wonder and appreciation that you did.
#— COLOUR THEORY.#stray kids#felix lee#lee felix imagines#skz#stray kids au#stray kids fanfic#stray kids imagine#stray kids x reader#stray kids scenarios#skz fanfic#skz x reader#skz au#lee felix x reader#lee felix scenarios#lee felix imagine#skz angst#skz fluff#skz blurbs#stray kids blurbs
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If the City was Mine Pt. 1
Chapter 1--Pink
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: minor swearing, fluff
The smell of cotton candy was overwhelming.
Truthfully, it felt cliche, to be sitting there in your British Lit class, next to a boy whose hair was baby pink and who smelled like the sweet that was commonly associated with pink. He was pretty too, with pale, sparkling skin and his lips were a shallow red. The clothes he wore were so nice, you could sell them and buy an upstate condo. And to top it all off, his notes were a curly, cursive pink.
The boy himself was odd—it was nearly the end of the semester, but in that time, you hadn’t seen him once. Now he sat here, a journal full of notes, impossible to miss, and he acted like he’d been here all along. You would’ve believed it if it wasn’t for the millions of confused stares being shot his direction.
Keeping your eyes off him was near impossible. He was something ethereal, with his white cashmere sweater and dark green pants. It was no help that his sleeve kept brushing against your bare arm. Apparently, your body had decided it didn’t have to be skin on skin contact in order to get you excited.
“Hey.”
You jumped as a soft voice broke your intense staring match with your paper.
“Do you have any extra paper?” Cotton Candy Boy whispered, leaning closer to you. His breath was minty and his teeth were as white as his sweater. You nodded, keeping your mouth shut as you handed him a piece of paper. Your fingers brushed as he took it from you and you practically jumped when they did.
He glanced at you, brown eyes hazy under the dim lights. The boy smiled, small and jittery and your heart skipped. Then he set down the paper, quickly scratching something onto it. You watched, entranced by how perfectly aligned his writing was.
Do people actually take this class seriously?
Your eyes wandered over the question, before you slowly brought your own pencil to the paper.
Depends on what their major is.
He took back the paper, peacefully reading it over before the same, tiny smile appeared. His eyes darted up to where the professor paced, ranting about some pointless metaphor in ‘Transcendental Magic’. A piece of hair fell over his eyes and he carelessly blew it out of his face.
Do YOU take this class seriously?
You almost didn’t read the actual writing as you just admired his penmanship. You bit your lip, shrugging as you wrote your answer back. Sparks were racing along your skin and there was a stampede in your nervous system. It felt like you were back in middle school, exchanging notes with the local cutie.
I’m an engineering major… I don’t really see a need to.
A flicker raced through his eyes.
Business major. What year are you?
Year 3, you?
4.
You twirled the pencil in your hand, unconsciously looking to the clock. Ten minutes left. The boy shifted beside you, his pen hovering about the page. Staring at that page, all you could see was two completely different worlds. His handwriting was clean and a pretty pink. Yours was messy all-caps,, something you’d developed during your drafting class in year 1. He was a business major and from the looks of him, he would be in the elite world. Engineering was your best option; an okay pay and numbers were your strong point.
As your professor bid you all goodbye, muttering something about homework, you slowly packed up. Any other day, you wouldn’t both with packing, but as Cotton Candy Boy precisely placed all his supplies and slung his messenger bag (some fancy white, leather bag no less), you had the urge to stay and stare at him a little bit. For all you knew, he wouldn’t be at anymore classes and you wanted to take the time to memorize his features.
You walked a step behind him, waving the teacher goodbye as she watched the pair of you behind her glasses. He had the paper of your conversation in his hands, the white gleaming in the spring sun. You cautiously stepped into stride with him, curious if he was going to tell you to leave or if he would question why you were acting all buddy-buddy.
He didn’t.
“Do you have a class after this?” He queried out of the blue, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into his back pocket. The action had your face heating.
“I only have one class on Tuesdays,” you replied, coming to a stop. He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver tube. It took you a second to realize why he smelled like cotton candy. He clicked a pod into the Juul, staring at the pen for a moment before bringing it to his mouth and slowly inhaling.
As the cloud rolled from his mouth, a wave of cotton candy hit you. The smell was strong and you unconsciously breathed in, letting in settle in your lungs. He glanced over at you, perplexing, the pen carefully balanced between his index and middle finger. His eyes didn’t leave yours as another puff swirled from his mouth.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he hummed, lowering his hand.
“I didn’t throw it,” you murmured, pulling your hands from your pockets, “but I’m Y/N.”
You reached your hand out and he grasped it, not shaking it, just holding it precariously, and leering at you. Then he tugged, hard and soft all at the same time, pulling you unnecessarily close to him. His lips quivered as he held back a smirk.
“Lee Taeyong,” he purred, his breath fanning along your face as he did. He smelled purely of sugar this close and you kept inhaling it, the scent imprinting on your brain. Your brain that was currently malfunctioning. He let go of your hand, pulling back.
“See you next Tuesday, Y/N,” he said and then walked away.
You stood there on the sidewalk, the sun beating down on you and a wind running through your hair. His back was straight, his walk confident, and the smell—you dubbed it his smell—still lingered in the spring air. You bit your lip, bringing your hand to your chest, thing about how soft his hands had felt against yours; how delicately he’d held them.
“Lee Taeyong,” you whispered, watching him disappear around the corner.
April 24th
A whole week passed without seeing the boy. You asked around, wondering if anyone knew the mysterious, pink-haired boy. It seemed that nobody knew him and most of the time you just got a blank stare in reply. As Tuesday rolled around, your heart was racing as you stepped into your British Lit class.
You sat down in the same spot as usual, trying to pretend like you were arranging your notes and pencils, while in all honesty, you were keeping your eye on the door. What if he didn’t show up today? What if as fast as he stepped into your life, he stepped out? Class was about to start any second and he was nowhere to be seen.
You exhaled.
“He’s not coming, is he?” You muttered under your breath, grabbing your pencil and setting up your notes. It didn’t matter of course, you just met him, you shouldn’t be infatuated.
But those lies were see-through. Class started and you tried to focus on first, but your mind wandered to Lee Taeyong. He said he’s see you next Tuesday, but maybe that was something he couldn’t commit to. Last week was the first time he ever showed up, who said he’d ever come again? It’s not like he owed it to you. The two of you were technically nobodies to one another.
Fifteen minutes into the lecture, the door screeched open. Silence swept through the class as your professor stopped her talk, looking unimpressed as the person slowly slid into the room. Pink hair stood out against a black hoodie, his skin glowing under the lights. He didn’t even apologize as he sauntered up the stairs, sliding into the seat next to you. A smirk played on your lips at the confused stares that burned into the pair of you.
The class resumed, people forcing themselves to lose interest in the mystery beside you. The two of you were hushed, the only side vibrating between you being your unsteady breathing and the sound of your pencil scratching notes onto the paper. You could feel his stare burning into you and every time you glanced at him, his cheek was rested in his palm, a knowing smile on his face.
“Is your favorite thing to stare?” You murmured, leaning closer to him and slowing down on your notes. He still smelled like cotton candy, but it wasn’t as strong as it was last week. Taeyong shrugged, a small, white smile showing.
“I need a friend,” he replied simply, dropping his elbow off the table. His fingers danced along the outside of your thigh.
Something about that statement should’ve struck you wrong, but it didn’t. Instead, it sent butterflies and fireflies racing through your nervous system. You smiled back at him, tucking your hair behind your ear and going back taking notes. Well, you tried to take notes. Your focus, which had already been small throughout class, dwindled even more with his fingers still there.
You stopped trying to take notes, instead you set your pencil down and rested your chin in your hand. Your gaze roved over the boy beside you, the black hoodie imprinted with an expensive brand. His jeans were a bright white and ripped, showing off the fishnet leggings he wore underneath.
“Hey,” Taeyong whispered, the drumming on your thigh becoming harder, “I’m thinking of going to Yuldong Park tonight, if you want to tag along.”
You bit your lip.
“Can you give me a ride?” You asked, turning to him. He nodded and then reached for your notes and pencil, writing something down. You peeked over, watching as a number was written down. “Text me your address.”
You took the paper back, trying to hold back the wide grin that begged to take over. Your heart was racing and something that went past joy was swirling in your stomach. Your professor started to announce the homework, but you weren’t interested as you already started to pack up.
“Don’t get all dressed up,” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun as you stepped outside. “We’ll be going down to the lake and I don’t want you to ruin your favorite pair of jeans or skirt or whatever.”
He winked at you.
You rolled your eyes.
“Yes sir,” you remarked, a bubble of giggles following afterwards. You didn’t notice the nervous shiver that ran through him as he waved goodbye. “See you!”
He smiled over his shoulder as he sashayed away.
“Remember to text me!”
You walked back to your apartment, a wide smile on your face the whole time. It was impossible for you to explain what this boy did to you. You didn’t even know yourself. He was already in your nervous system, he was already your secret toxication. You barely knew him, but you were so drawn and it was nearly impossible to pull away.
You spent most of the day doing homework for your drafting class and trying to find an internship. Taeyong didn’t give any hint to what time he was picking you up, which was exciting and nerve-wracking in its own way. You figured a safe time to start getting ready was after dinner. You listened to what Cotton Candy Boy said, throwing on some basic clothes, but you figured doing your makeup and hair wouldn’t hurt.
The night passed with no word from Taeyong. The butterflies in your stomach started to die and instead turned into a nervous turmoil. You sat on the couch, playing with the loose strings on your jeans, teeth working on your lips. What if he wasn’t coming? What if—
There was a short, curt knock at the door.
Your heart started pounding again as you skipped towards the door and slowly opened it. He stood on the other side, a smirk on his face. He was dressed in the same outfit as earlier, although the sleeves of the hoodie was now rolled up and he smelled of sweets for sure. Your eyes landed on what he held in his hands, mouth dropping open.
“You didn’t bring me flowers,” you said in disbelief, opening the door all the way. He shrugged, handing you the bouquet of pink roses.
“It’s a date, isn’t it? I oughta be a gentleman,” he disclosed, leaning against your doorway. You blushed, twirling them in your hands.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, moving into the kitchen to find a vase. Your roommate peeked out of her room, watching with a confused expression as you set them in a vase. Her gaze wandered to the door and then she grinned at you, sending you a thumbs up.
Warmth was racing through you as the two of you made your way downstairs and into the parking lot. You didn’t quite know what to expect, but you weren’t exactly surprised when the two of you stopped in front of a white with pink-lining Rolls-Royce. You glanced at him, crossing your arms.
“I thought you said to not dress up,” you teased, walking around the car to the passenger’s side. He shrugged as he slid into the car and you followed along, staring at the interior with wide eyes.
“This isn’t too flashy, is it?” He asked, looking around. “I could’ve driven my Valkyrie, but I didn’t.”
You went silent at that statement. Who exactly was this boy? He showed up to two classes near the end of the semester, obviously swimming in money, and working for a business degree. Who were his parents? Or was it even his parents? What if it was just him?
“Hey,” he said, his voice going soft, “let’s not worry about my money, okay? We’re out to have fun.”
You nodded, a smile pulling at your lips again. The ride was comfortably quiet as you coasted along. It had been a while since you’d been to Yuldong Park, but as you pulled into the parking lot, you remembered why you used to love it. White blossom trees swayed in the wind and birches were spread around a clear lake, their image wavering in the water.
You got out, following the boy down a path that led to the far side of the lake. You watched Taeyong’s hair blow in the wind and you looked away, ducking your head. The smell of cotton candy wasn’t as strong as usual and you found yourself missing the sweet smell. You slid down the trail behind him, stepping into the sand. He sat down, patting the spot beside him.
“I used to come here all the time as a kid,” he whispered, hands tucked into his pockets. You nodded, thinking of the many memories you made here when you were young.
“Some of my best memories were made here,” you murmured, glancing at him. He looked over at you, pink lips turning up. His eyes looked gorgeous as the few rays of sunshine touched them. Taeyong chuckled, pulling a hand out of his pocket and wrapping his arm around your waist. You blushed, pulling your knees to your chest as you leaned into him.
He looked out at the water, staring at the pink and orange that danced along the dark surface.
His other hand sifted through the sand.
“Me too…” he sighed, looking back at you.
“I hope to make more here.”
#kpop scenarios#kpop reactions#kpop imagines#kpop x reader#kpop fics#nct#nct 127#nct scenarios#nct reactions#nct imagines#nct x reader#nct fics#lee taeyong#taeyong x reader#lee taeyong x reader#taeyong smut#neowritingsnet
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threshold | Ethan Ramsey x MC
AN: A canon-divergent AU from chapter 15 and onward. Part three of the metaphor series, part 1 and part 2 are here.
Title taken from The National’s Oblivions.
WC: 5,970
Rating: Explicit
Warning(s): NSFW, some alcohol consumption
+
He isn’t even in the city when it happens.
Ethan is as far down and as far east as the Massachusetts state line will allow, holed up in a little seaside shack in Eastham, perched on an uncomfortable barstool, and drinking the finest liquor Josie’s Bar and Grill has to offer. Which isn’t really saying much, given the paltry choices and the unmistakable grime of seaspray that coats every glass.
Why Naveen came out here to die is a mystery to him.
His mentor sits to his left, facing the large windows that overlook Samoset Beach and, beyond that, Cape Cod Bay. Outside the minimal protection Josie’s split-shake walls offer, the waves are a noisy, angry mess. A late summer storm roils towards them from the west, turning that deep, coastal blue into an unsettling gray. Wind knocks at the tacky decorations nailed to the walls, the chipped fenders and plastic seahorses and rusted anchors clanking against the clapboard paneling.
There’s a television above the bar, where a looping clip of a home run plays next to a grinning news anchor.
Ethan chooses to watch the liquor in his glass as he swirls it, before picking it up and taking another sip. He’s lost count of how many he’s ordered, but the bartender hasn’t cut him off yet, so he must not be that drunk yet. Which is unfortunate, really -- because that would make this a hell of a lot easier.
“I still think--” he starts, but he’s quickly cut off.
“Oh, yes, I know. That is the root of all of your problems, I believe.” Naveen tilts his head to grin at him. “You think too much. Sometimes, it’s important to let your brain rest.”
“So, what -- you let yours rest and it somehow convinced you that giving up is the best option?” Ethan mutters. Tossing back the rest of his drink, he sets it down none-too-gently against the gritty bartop and motions for another.
Next to him, Naveen sighs, the line of his shoulders easing.
“This is where you and I part ways. I don’t see it as giving up. I see it as fate handing me the most ironic of cards to deal.”
Ethan shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the dreamy tone to Naveen’s voice.
“I think it’s time to settle your tab.”
“I’m not intoxicated. My two beers don’t hold a candle to your eight rounds, anyway.” Before Ethan can object to the number (though the numb feeling in his lips tells him it’s likely an accurate count), Naveen continues. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my short time drunk. I want to see the world with clear eyes, take in the beauty it has to offer me.”
Twisting to glance over his shoulder, Ethan takes in the stormy scape that he’s watching and snorts.
“Doesn’t seem like much to me.”
“That’s because you’re viewing it with your eyes closed, my boy. You expect the worst, so you see nothing. Your pessimism has put a knife on the things that held you together, and you have fallen apart. There is beauty in everything, though -- the white petals of the waves, the rolling current, the sound the rain makes atop the water. You see a nuisance; I see a force of nature.”
Across from them, three of the bar’s seven patrons toss back shots of cheap tequila, their University of Delaware T-shirts a searing shade of yellow. The other two patrons are seated at the end of the horseshoe-shaped bar, picking at a plate of mozzarella sticks, disappointment visible in the turn of their frowns.
That Doctor Naveen Banerji, esteemed diagnostician and saver of thousands of lives, would choose such a locale to spend his last days on earth is so depressing a thought that Ethan tosses the fresh glass of scotch back and signals immediately for another one. “Oh, now, that’s a poor response to my waxing poetic to… oh, goodness.”
He looks up just as Naveen’s hand comes to settle on his wrist, squeezing it tightly as he stares just over Ethan’s right shoulder. Turning his head sharply, he searches for what’s brought such concern into Naveen’s gaze. It doesn’t take long to find it.
On the television, a reporter stands at the intersection of Nashua Street and Route 28, her eyes wide and face pale under the camera crew’s bright lights.
A growing horror paralyzes Ethan as he takes in the scene behind her, lit up by the emergency lights. Two subway cars lie on their sides, smashed into the pavement. A third car dangles over the side of the elevated track, clinging to a fourth car that’s crushed between a pillar and the station. Concrete slabs and metal sheeting litter the asphalt from where the cars broke through the station’s barrier. The taillights of two automobiles, their cabins crushed underneath the fallen train, reflect the incessant pulse of police lights. Blue tarpaulin sheets cover the windows of the subway cars, hiding the gruesome scenes inside from the public eye.
Dozens injured in Green Line train derailment, the white text in the lower third reads.
The bar’s music is too loud for him to hear, but the closed captions across the bottom of the screen do little to alleviate his worries, especially when death toll remains unknown tickers across.
“That’s the station most of the employees use, correct?” Naveen asks. But his voice sounds as if he’s speaking through a wall. Ethan can only hear the distinct noise of his heartbeat in his ears that blocks everything else out.
“It is,” he chokes out, his hands immediately scrambling for the phone in his pocket.
It’s the station Sloane uses religiously, despite another being closer to the hospital, because she gets to enjoy a scenic walk down Thoreau Path. The same path she followed him down when he quit, demanding he stop and talk to her. Which he ignored and kept on walking, leaving her behind (and then leaving her in every other sense of the word and god, what an idiot he was for thinking that was for the best). Every ounce of injured pride and disappointment in himself as a doctor pales to the hot twist of nausea he feels as he looks over the accident scene.
Tapping her name, he brings the phone to his ear and waits with bated breath as it rings. There’s no relief, though, when the call rolls to her voicemail. Her cheery tone promises that she’ll return his call just as soon as she can.
“It’s Ethan,” he says after the beep. “I’m out of town with -- I, please call me back and let me know you’re alright. I saw the news about the subway accident and I just… I need you to call me back. Please.”
Naveen’s grip tightens on his arm. Behind them, the storm rages closer; the windows rattle in their panes, the rain pelts at the glass.
“She’s okay, don’t worry.”
Ethan shakes his head, dragging in a strangled breath as panic sinks its claws into him. Dialing the hospital next, he realizes by the sixth try that he’s not going to get through to anyone there -- the lines are too clogged with loved ones, demanding to know if their spouse or sibling or best friend has been admitted. When he tries to access the day’s shift schedule, his work email throws up an error message, notifying him that his account has been deactivated and to contact his network administrator for help.
Text me back. I need to know you’re okay, he sends her, staring at the screen in hopes the three little dots will appear.
No reply comes.
Unable to sit there and wait patiently, Ethan moves down his contact list, worry outweighing the awkwardness of texting colleagues that he left high and dry with his sudden departure. He sends a text to Zaid and Ines and even one to Harper, requesting for them to let him know if all staff are safe and accounted for.
It’s a pointless move, though, given that such a situation would call for an all-hands-on-deck in the ER. And when ten more minutes go by with no responses, he signals for another round.
“If I know our Doctor McTavish, she’s certainly too busy helping out to bother with the likes of you,” Naveen points out, a small smirk lifting the corner of his lips.
Ethan ruminates on his recent track record: losing Dolores, failing Naveen and letting him walk away from a possible cure (that he’s yet to find). It wouldn’t be such a leap to follow the pattern that his life has taken recently and assume the worst with Sloane.
“I want to share your optimism, but I -- I seem to carry bad luck around with me lately,” he mutters. His gaze is set firmly on the television screen, not daring himself to look away in the event they reveal any sort of clue. They wouldn’t announce casualties, not this soon and not without notifying family first. It’s the only solace he can take right now.
“No,” Naveen corrects, patting him gently, “you carry a bad attitude. There is a difference.”
Before he can start up a speech on looking at the bright side and other empty phrases of comfort, the power flickers once, then twice, before succumbing to the storm and winking out entirely. Darkness soaks the bar. Shouts of alarm from the college kids soon grow to rough peals of laughter as the bartender cracks a joke. The only light comes from what little evening sun makes it through the thick clouds, mottling the gray sky with a tinge of bruised yellow.
There’s a flurry of movement as staff search and retrieve candles, setting them on the bartop. Someone hauls out a Coleman lantern and a crank radio and the disappointed couple even joins in, offering to buy everyone a round. Raucous shouts of praise come from the college kids over the snappy vocals of Eddie Rabbitt, professing his love for a rainy night.
It’s the kind of scene that Sloane would insist on joining, would demand he get off his barstool and dance with her, would croon along to the song in that terrible singing voice of hers. The one Ethan only knows about because of the many mornings he’s driven the both of them to work, when it’s gotten too late for her to bother heading home after a night of research (among other things) at his place, when he acquiesces to her demands to play something other than the local classical station.
The thought of never hearing her off-key singing, or never experiencing the comfort of her giving into sleep and leaning against him on his couch, or never waking with her next to him -- it’s a little too much for him and his eleven rounds to handle.
Dropping his phone onto the bar, Ethan covers his face with his hands and tries to shove away the emotions that threaten to make their way to the surface. He pushes them down, stuffing them into the dented suitcase that is his heart and he’s too drunk for this, for thinking in metaphors, for thinking of Sloane behind those blue tarps, bloodied and bruised, far too injured for help, being passed over by paramedics when they realize the same thing, leaving her alone to--
“Oh, Ethan,” Naveen is saying, his palm moving in soothing circles against his back. “It’s going to be alright.”
There’s movement to his left, a pained grunt as Naveen moves to stand, his hand never leaving his back. The bartender comes over and the two talk in low tones about the tab, and then a taxi. Some undetermined amount of time passes, which Ethan spends thinking more terrible thoughts while Naveen murmurs placating words. Then he’s being hauled out of the bar and under the front awning, where a tremendous downpour and a yellow cab arrive simultaneously for them.
He spends the short ride with his eyes firmly shut, listening to Naveen’s soft conversation with someone named Ninut, who promises to call him back if they can find out if Sloane is on shift. Then there’s a tastefully-decorated coastal bungalow and a cream couch with entirely too many throw pillows, the latter of which Naveen leads him to and demands for him to lie down on. Given how hazy everything looks in the lamplight, Ethan follows his orders.
Disappearing around the corner, Naveen bangs about in the kitchen -- opening and closing cabinets, running water, knocking a spoon against glass -- before he shuffles back into the living room. He pushes a glass of water into Ethan’s hands.
“What’s in this?”
“A physician-certified hangover cure.”
He takes a sip, then another, but can taste nothing around the lump in his throat.
“It’s just water, isn’t it?”
“A physician never reveals his secrets.”
“We’re not magicians,” Ethan scoffs.
“No?” Naveen settles onto the couch and tips his head to the side, his eyes softening as he looks over his protégé. “I thought you believed yourself to be one, seeing as you’ve been trying to treat something incurable for the past two months.”
In lieu of a response, Ethan takes another drink of water. Across the room, sliding glass doors frame an image of the bay, where storm clouds still circle overhead. “Go to sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”
“I’m… not sure I want to,” Ethan admits, damning the weak state of his voice. “Things might be different when I wake up and I don’t… I’m not sure...”
Right now, he’s stuck in the metaphorical waiting room, waiting to hear if Sloane is alive, and he suddenly doesn’t want those double doors to open. If they do, it could be the Bad News. If they stay shut, if he never hears back from her, then he could exist here in this limbo, where he’s free to hope for the best outcome.
He thinks of her on that rooftop earlier this year, of how she’d told that man about how important it was to say goodbye. And now he may never get that chance.
This is all a simple overreaction, brought on by the distance between them (the literal and figurative -- both of which are his fault) and his own insecurities. There’s no proof she was on that train or that she was even working today. But he can’t trust being positive -- it’s a viewpoint that’s let him down too many times this past year. So, he considers the Worst Possible Thing and picks at it like a scab.
“When are you going to tell her?”
Ethan can’t help the dry chuckle that escapes him as he shakes his head at the question.
“I almost did, months ago. And now, with everything else... never.”
“That doesn’t seem fair -- to you, or to her. She deserves to know, and you deserve to tell her.”
“It probably isn’t that serious,” he says (lies). “It’s simply a release of dopamine and serotonin, an attachment formed over a high-stress field of work. It’s a normal reaction--”
“Frailty, thy name is Ethan,” Naveen mutters with a sigh. “This isn’t an NBIO class. This is your life.”
He’s too far gone to withhold the wince at Naveen’s words.
“A life I walked away from,” Ethan points out. “I left her, didn’t bother to return her calls, knowing she would eventually stop.”
“And did she?”
“No,” he admits, dragging in a breath at the admission. Staring up at the ceiling, he listens to the rain as it pounds against the back deck. “So why now… this time -- why hasn’t she called me back?”
The cushion next to him rustles as the older man stands, casting a look over him. Ethan resists the childish urge to tug the blanket up over his face when Naveen reaches down to pat his cheek, a fond grin on his face, embodying an optimism that Ethan can’t trust himself to feel.
“You wouldn’t have fallen in love with her if she were the type of doctor to shirk her duties, now, would you?” Before he can come up with a retort for that, Naveen continues. “Now, listen to your teacher. Go to sleep.”
With that, he moves to switch off the nearby lamp and continues on down to the hall. Ethan can hear the muffled noise of him getting ready for bed, and then nothing but the rain. It never slows, instead continuing its steady beat against the house. Eventually, the warmth of the liquor in his stomach and the white noise of the rainfall pulls him into a reluctant sleep.
Forty minutes later, tucked between his fingers, his phone vibrates steadily against his chest once before the battery gives out and the screen goes black.
+
He wakes to coffee.
Not the smell of it, but a white container of it, the green mermaid coyly smiling up at him from the wicker coffee table. In black marker, Evan is scrawled across the negative space, the boxes all marked correctly.
Sitting up, he takes a sip and tries to will away the immediate throbbing in his head. Outside, the morning is bright. The only evidence of the night’s storm is the color of the deck, still damp and colored a deep burgundy. He makes his way over to the doors to pull the blinds across when a bright spot against the deck catches his attention. It’s a pair of sneakers, a teal-blue, save for the little pink check marks on the side.
Shoving the door across its track, Ethan stumbles out and looks right -- where Sloane looks up from the view she’s enjoying, her own coffee poised at her lips. She’s sprawled in one of the Adirondack chairs, a towel between her and the wet wood.
“Good morning,” she greets.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The words are out of his mouth before he can consider them.
For her part, Sloane simply raises an eyebrow at the rough tone.
“Wow, all right, Naveen was right. Hungover Ethan is not a morning person.” She pushes up from the chair and makes her way over to him as she talks. “I got your text -- and your twenty-eight missed calls -- once my shift ended. I tried calling you back, but it went straight to voicemail.”
He retrieves the phone from his pocket, palming the black screen that refuses to wake at his touch. The phone he forgot to put on charge, given how inebriated he was. “So,” she continues, “I called Naveen, who sent a car for me this morning. He’s gone, by the way -- he left shortly after I arrived, said he was heading for warmer waters in Fort Lauderdale. He instructed me, and by extension you, I presume, to enjoy the house for the remainder of the weekend.”
When he says nothing in return and continues to watch her with that same bewildered expression on his face, Sloane shifts her stance, then shifts again. “I’ve been suspended, for what happened with Mrs. Martinez, and I don’t know if I’ll have a job come Monday, and after yesterday -- or last night, or whatever,” she waves a hand in the air, still foggy after catching five hours of sleep, with one of those being in the car ride across the bay. “And even though I wasn’t sure where we stood exactly, you were the only person I wanted to see after… all of that.”
She stops talking, giving him an opening.
And still, nothing.
Down at the water’s edge, seagulls call out to one another, bobbing up and down on the waves. To the north, the shore curls back towards them, the shadowed land a deep blue. Boxes of white and gray and blue sit atop the sand. Strips of high grass create a frame for the beach homes, the green fronds rippling in the wind coming off the water. Puffy clouds loom to the southwest, a promise of more rain.
“I thought you died.”
The sudden admission from him brings her up short.
“I was working triage for eleven hours. You expect me to pull out my phone and keep up with snap streaks at a time like that?”
His brows furrow at the term he can’t place.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I know. It’s probably one of those weird things I like about you, but it still doesn’t--” she pauses when Ethan steps closer. He grasps her shoulder, his other hand tipping her chin up to meet her gaze.
“What I meant was that I thought I’d lost you before… anything could really begin.”
Sloane brings her hand up to cover his where he cradles her cheek, gently shaking her head.
“We already had something. And then you quit. You left.” She bites at her lip, silencing the rest of what she wants to say, but they both hear the addition she doesn’t voice: you left me. “And then when I hear from you again, it’s a slew of voicemails of you drunkenly demanding to assure you that I’m alive. Which I understand, but I was hoping you would want to talk to me about what happened. That you would want to talk with me because you wanted to, not to make sure I hadn’t been crushed to death in a subway accident.”
Her harsh phrasing causes him to wince, bringing forth smudged memories of last night’s dreams, of his hands covered in her blood, of her begging him to just hold her hand because there was nothing else that could be done for her.
Unable to stop himself, he leans down and drops a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her, trying to convey so much into such paltry words. “I am. I was selfish. I walked away from Edenbrook because I don’t deserve to call myself a physician, but I… I shouldn’t have walked away from the most important thing: us.”
Stretching up on her toes, Sloane presses her lips against his cheek. His eyes flutter closed at the familiar touch, cursing himself for what an idiot he was to walk away from this woman.
“I still don’t agree with your reason for quitting, but I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your position, given your history with Naveen.”
“He’s taught me everything I know.” Ethan sighs, tipping his head down to rest against hers. Her arms encircle him, pulling him into an embrace. “The most important of which is that not everything is under my control. Applying and understanding that notion, however, is the real problem.”
He feels her sigh against him, the sound of it a balm to his nerves. How he could’ve ever blamed the love he feels for her on nothing more than neurochemicals causes a bolt of shame to course through him.
“It’ll take time,” Sloane says. “I may understand the reason behind your sudden… departure, but it doesn’t excuse how you went about it. I get the need to burrow into yourself and have some time alone to figure things out, but you can’t shut me out completely in the process. I’ll be right here to help you, but only if you let me.”
Swallowing around the tight feeling in his throat, he murmurs another apology and kisses the crown of her head, ruffling her hair with his next question.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” she assures, humming contentedly as she tips her head up to meet him for a proper kiss.
It’s a catalyst, a spark to the overwhelming need in the both of them. Ethan moves; his fingers card through her hair, hanging onto her for dear life as he backs her up against the door, his lips only parting from hers when his lungs demand it. Taking the detour that the curve of her throat offers, he nips at the skin there, pleased when it flushes pink from his attention. That base, human need to have curls up in his belly and spreads outward, warming his limbs and singing in his blood.
Sloane whimpers under the warm swipe of his tongue as he soothes the rosy skin he’s bitten. Her hands aren’t idle, though; she moves up between them to unbutton his shirt, her deft fingers making quick work of it.
Inside his head, he’s telling her how much he needs her, how much he wants this, wants her, wants them for as long as the foreseeable future allows (and forever beyond that, if that’s something she wants, too). What he says instead is her name, rasping it out when she takes control and pivots them, forcing him up against the house. The shingles dig into his back but he can’t bring himself to care as Sloane makes her own path down his chest, shoving his shirt panels aside and rounding on his nipple. The sudden warm heat of her mouth against the chill morning air is enough to remind him of where exactly they’re trying to have each other.
“Wait,” he croaks out, reaching for her as she pulls away, “not here. Someone… the neighbors, they might see.”
A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes sparkling as she holds out a hand and wiggles her fingers.
“Come with me, then.”
He takes her hand and lets her lead him through the living room and down the hall, where he teases her that she doesn’t know where she’s going, which she proceeds to prove when she opens the closet door and then the guest bathroom.
They eventually make it to an actual bedroom, where he closes the door while she wanders over to the patio doors. Throwing open the white curtains, she lets natural light fill the space. Outside, the hazy blur of rain has moved closer, hovering just off shore. The clouds mute the harsh light of the sun, softening the lines of the room, lengthening the shadows that play across the hardwood.
Drawn to her, Ethan slides his arms around her waist and tugs her into his chest, enjoying the little hitch in her breath. Her fingers dig into his arm, keeping him there (as if he’d go anywhere else).
Dipping his head down, he trails lazy kisses down her neck. The flimsy cardigan she wears falls away easily, slipping off her shoulders. A ragged breath from her urges him on. His lips explore her newly-exposed skin, where clusters of freckles form constellations along the curve of her shoulder. His hands move underneath the blouse she wears, his fingers grazing the warm skin of her hips. She reaches up towards the ceiling, letting him pull the shirt up and off.
And, as always, she’s five steps ahead of him and already wiggling out of her jeans before he can work those off her.
“I’ve waited two weeks -- I’m not really interested in taking things slow this time,” she admits, glancing back at him with that smug look of hers.
He can’t help but mirror her grin as he unhooks her bra.
Frustrated with his slow teasing, Sloane tosses the garment to the floor and starts to turn around when he stops her with a firm grip on her hips, holding her in place. Keeping his movements slow, he gathers her hair and sweeps it over her shoulder. Planting a hand on the arch of her spine, he nudges her forward until she’s forced against the door. She hisses as her chest presses up against the cool glass. Her palms flatten across the smooth surface, her nails trying to dig in for purchase. Starting at the base of her neck, he moves down her vertebral column, his teeth skimming along her skin. More freckles rest along the stretch of her back, fading as they drift towards her spine. Ethan follows their path with his mouth, pleased when he feels her shiver, when he sees the goosebumps that appear in the wake of his wet kisses.
Leaning back, he takes a moment to admire the view she presents, flushed and arched and waiting. For him, he reminds himself as he presses the heel of his hand against his groin, desperate for friction.
Sloane grumbles his name, glaring at him over her shoulder, those pupils of hers blown wide. Her hips do an impatient little wiggle. He strikes, gripping them tight and holding her fast against him. Tracing the edge of her underwear, he slides his fingertips down the lacy fabric, pleased when he finds it damp. This time, his name comes as a groan as Sloane spreads her legs to give him better access.
The sight of her is almost too much. Attempting to expel the need to have her right then and there, he detours -- nipping at her shoulder before stroking her through the lace. A whine escapes her as she tips her head up and all that auburn hair falls like a wave down her back. It brushes his chest and the flowery scent of it combined with the salty taste of her skin is more potent than any tumbler of top shelf liquor.
He works his fingers against her, fast, and then faster, circling her clit. Her hips make aborted little thrusts; her breath fogs the glass in short, heady pants. She’s so wet against his hand, which he can’t help but whisper against her ear, grinning at the shiver that runs through her, knowing that she’s close.
Then he drops his hand and steps back. Before she can voice the words of protest he sees building in her eyes, he spins her around and crowds her up against the glass.
“You’re such an ass.” Her lips brush his as he kisses her once, then again, so he can feel the smile on her face as she says it. His nerves hum with anticipation as she runs both hands up his chest and across his shoulders, grabbing two handfuls of his shirt and stripping it from him.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. Before she can ask just how he plans on doing so, Ethan drops to his knees.
Sloane cards a hand through his hair, humming at the sight of him. Leaning forward, he mouths at the lacy edge of her underwear; it tickles his tongue as he presses a lazy, wet kiss against her through the fabric. Peeling her underwear off, Ethan drapes her left leg over his shoulder and rubs his stubble along her inner thigh. Like a Pavlovian response, she tilts her hips upwards, silently begging for his touch.
Having mercy on her, he caves, licking a long stripe across her folds. Arousal pools low in his belly at the taste of her, at the clench of her grip in his hair as she guides him to where she needs him most. His gentle grazes along her sex quickly give way to a full-on assault; his fingers part her wider and his tongue flattens against her clit, increasing the pressure as she voices her need for it.
Their gazes lock and he’s overcome with the image of her above him, backlit by the milky light of morning, her skin flushed, her lips parted; his Epione, a Greek goddess come to life.
“Oh, fuck,” Sloane groans, her breath stuttering as she ascends to her peak. The glass squeals under her sweaty palm as she tries her best to keep upright, her other hand holding him steady so he can continue fucking her with his tongue. “Ethan, please, I--”
Cresting, she breaks apart, shuddering as an orgasm floods through her. He guides her down from her high with gentle kisses across her thigh and then up, trailing along the curve of her hip bone. Following the lines of her body up with his hands, Ethan gets to his feet. Where he’s quickly pulled into a messy kiss, the low thrum of his arousal swelling when her tongue peeks out for a taste of herself on his lips.
“I want to fuck you here.” His cock strains against the confines of his clothing. Nipping at the flushed skin of her throat, he groans when she reaches down to cup him through his pants. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay,” she tells him, using that medically-trained efficiency of hers to strip him of his remaining garments. Dancing her fingers up his length, she circles a thumb across the head.
Against his neck, Ethan can feel the bloom of her grin as he bucks up into her touch. His hands wrap around her thighs and lift her until she’s pinned between him and the glass. Here, he considers as Sloane tightens her legs around his waist, as she swipes her tongue at his bottom lip, encouraging him to open up to her for a deeper kiss -- here is where he should say those three little words, stitch them all together into a coherent phrase. Not a half-assed admission after watching her nearly be pulled to her death, or a terrified mantra in a nightmare as her eyes dull and her hand loosens in his.
But now -- now she’s biting at his lip and writhing against him, her breath hot on his skin and it’s all too much to consider anything else but having her. Gripping his cock, he lines himself up at her entrance and drives into her. His hips roll up into hers, pleasure coursing through him as she meets his thrusts, her sweat-slicked thighs clenching around him.
In all his dreams, he’s forced to let go -- he holds on for dear life, now -- now that she’s here and real and begging him to fuck her.
Just beyond the door, they can hear the rain. It draws closer; that soft, gentle hiss drumming against the sand and then the deck and then the glass. The steady noise of it acts as a buffer between them and the rest of the world. The beach and the bay, their worries and their responsibilities -- all of it dulls to a distant blur, leaving only the two of them.
“Sloane,” he calls out her name with a groan.
“I’m here,” she tells him, without him ever realizing it was a question he needed answered until then. “Oh, god, Ethan -- I’m…”
“Come for me,” he hisses, meeting her for another bruising kiss.
Her breathing stutters for a moment, then -- fireworks, explosions, an entire galactic collapse plays out in her heavy-lidded eyes. The feeling of her is too much -- she’s a cocktail of pleasure and adrenaline straight to his heart, leaving him breathless and dizzy as he follows her over the edge.
Gathering her close, Ethan carries her over to the bed and crawls in to rest beside her. She rolls to lay against his chest, one leg draped over his. His breath hitches when Sloane drops a kiss to his chest, right over where his heart pounds.
He opens his mouth to tell her.
“Sloane, I--”
“Oh, shit,” she says suddenly, lifting off his chest to turn her concerned gaze to the patio door. “I left my coffee out there.”
It’s the unexpectedness of it (and the fact that she cut off his admission of love to her to bemoan the loss of her beverage) that draws a chuckle out of him that she joins in on.
“I’ll buy you another when we go into town later for lunch.” He seals the deal with a kiss. “Much, much later,” he amends as he cups her bare bottom. Sloane works herself closer to deepen their kiss.
“What were you going to say, before I interrupted?”
Ethan drags in a breath and swallows back every insecurity-laced deflection that his brain immediately concocts.
“That I love you.”
“Oh.” This time, he gets to see that smile of hers bloom across her face. “I love you, too.”
And outside, the rain beats steadily on.
#ethan ramsey x mc#dr ethan ramsey x mc#choices open heart#open heart#choices#f: the metaphor series#Kaila writes things#please enjoy this very extended sex scene that's probably entirely too long#also hoping this actually shows up in the tag this time#I will properly add the hyperlinks momentarily
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