#the fact that the new name is shorter and easier to write had no part in this change
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KOTLC Graphic Novel: B&N Virtual Event Summary
There are no spoilers
Shannon Messenger was accompanied by Stuart Gibbs, author of Spy School and other series, who asked the questions
Enjoy!
Event's theme was Iggy Celebration--Shannon chose to wear dark blue, as it's secretly her favorite Iggy
It's officially called Dark Blue Iggy in the books, but the actual color nomination from fans was "tardis blue". She couldn't use that for potential legal issues, but she knows it's actually Tardis blue, making it her favorite
Shannon can't take credit for Iggy's changing color
She'd made him pink in book 2, and so a fan at an event asked her what color he'd be in the next book
Shannon asked her what color she wanted him to be. This fan, dressed in head to toe purple, leaned in and very seriously said "Orange." So Iggy was orange
Opened it to fans after that--but sadly never got the name of that one fan to thank her properly ("Whoever you are girl in purple, thank you!")
Book 10 doesn't have an official release date because Shannon's still writing it (as fast as she can!)
Iggy's color options for Book 10 are still undecided as well
Shannon thanks everyone immensely for their patience; "it's my focus! I want to get to them as fast as possible," but she also wants the book to be good and worth the wait
"Naive Shannon thought the later I got into the series the easier the books would be to write. WRONG!"
she has so many planted seeds to keep track of and constantly feels the pressure to one up her previous books
"I kinda wish I'd set the bar a little lower from the beginning"
She can't make a perfect book; there's always going to be someone who doesn't like something
She's reached the point of realizing her plans, and it's a delicate balance. You don't want reveals to feel like they came completely out of left field, but also don't want them to be like "I guessed that six books ago"
Finding the balance between feeling earned and still surprising is a daunting task ahead of her; it's more labor intensive than she thought it'd be
Stuart Gibbs points out that even if it takes a while, Shannon gives us a lot of book per book, so it's worth it
Shannon never intended to write such long books; she used to say every time that the next one she'd get the hang of being concise and it would be shorter, but everyone stopped believing her by book four
Was a graphic novel adaptation ever part of her plans? Secretly yes--she started as an art major and loves seeing illustrated versions of her characters. The highlight of her year is the cover art, and graphic novels are entire books!
It was on her author bucket-list, but she wasn't sure it'd would be possible; some books just don't work as graphic novels and they're expensive for publishers
When she found out she got the adaptation she "did a happy dance I was very grateful no one could see"
How involved were you in this process? Very involved, since her publishers know she has an art background
They let her pick from writers who auditioned--she wasn't sure that was a great idea because she didn't know if she could be objective; "no, I wrote it this way because it needs to be this way!"
Celina "knocked it out of the park" with her audition
For Gabriella, the artist, she was exactly what Shannon was looking for; she wanted a new style--Jason Chan (the cover artist) is incredible, but she wanted the GN to be distinct and more illustrated
She describes the GN as "like Disney meets manga," cartoonish but not
Shannon gave notes on rough drafts, inked pages, and colored versions--she's sure they got sick of her notes by the end of it
She remembers thinking "certain Keefe jokes MUST make it in," but then seeing them in the visual format they realized "huh, this joke isn't funny anymore"
Anything that surprised you about the process? Definitely some of those Keefe jokes not working, but also the fact they had to split it. At first she thought they could work it all into one, but emotion takes longer to convey visually, and they were "robbing the heart out of the book" by trying to fit it in one
Shannon jokes everything she writes ends up longer than they expect
Do you have any idea about part two? It's in the works, but it's a herculean task for the artists, so it all depends on them; "do not blame them at all! this is a daunting, daunting, massive work load"
Shannon owes Gabriella "all the cookies ever"
it's a very tight timeline, so they'll share the release date when they have it, but for now just let the artist do their thing
Was it weird to spend so much time with book 1 again? Forget anything? Want to change anything? There were some sentences she wanted to rewrite--"a book is never done, it's just due"
Thought about adding Gisela in book one, since she wishes she'd introduced her then; she always knew she'd play a huge role, but thought it'd be more clever to not introduce her until she was ready to bring her into play.
Now she disagrees with that decision and wishes she'd been there from book one, but decided that "it's not bad the way she did it, but it would've been more elegant" so she didn't change it
Does Gibbs have anything he would change about his book? He says you don't always know which characters will catch on, some some that become important he wishes he spent more time with in the beginning--"if I'd done this in book one, I couldn't done this in book 7!"
Any movie news? Hollywood is so much hurry up and wait, a ladder with thousands of rungs; they got caught at the script stage when the writer's strike happened, and even though the strike ended that doesn't mean the gears start turning again immediately.
the script is the most important thing, especially since KOTLC would be a very expensive movie, so the more solid the foundation the better the chance they have of getting greenlit
Her fingers are crossed; she wants a movie/show, but she wants it to be a good movie/show
Fans often don't realize how much work it is and how out of the author's hands it is
Reader questions! (name spellings are to the best of my ability)
Celiana: what advice do you have for young authors? Focus on writing and enjoying that part of the process before publishing! Publishing is stressful and complicated
Shannon throws the question to Gibbs. He says a lot of the times fans tell them they don't like their writing, it's their first draft. "Well that would be the problem."
Very few people hit it out of the park on their first try. Editing is a super important part of the process!
Shannon writers her books weird (editing intensely as she goes because she's always behind on deadlines, and hopes to go back to normal one day), but before that she'd have 2 or 3 drafts each. Book 1 was draft 20, Exile was draft 3, Everblaze was 2.
Gibbs does about 10 drafts each (though admits his outlines process isn't nearly as rigorous as Shannon's)
Shannon reached a point where she said "I don't think I'm smart enough to do this alone anymore!" Her books are like houses of cards, and she simply doesn't have time for the drafts to fall apart
She and her team frequently painstakingly plan things out--and even then sometimes have to scrap things. Remember that scene we rigorously went through last week? "it's not working! Now what?"
Mary Claire: Was it hard for you to find a publisher? Yes. First she got an agent, as that's important when traditionally publishing. She got her at draft 13--said that while she loved the book and its idea, you could tell this was Shannon's first book.
They went through a few edits and thought draft 15 was the one, but she got LOTS of rejections
her confidence was shaken, and draft 16 turned into a mess
At draft 18 it was sold, and then they went through 2 more versions with an actual editor; "so so much rewriting..."
Gibbs tried to get published as a kid, but was rejected throughout all of his schooling, so "to heck with this! I'm going to Hollywood to write movies"...which was actually pretty similar
he came back to writing 15.5 years ago during the last writers strike--"hey maybe I should try this book thing again"
They don't share their experiences to scare you; it's worth it, but you have to love writing to be an author given how much work and rejection it is
That's why Shannon says to enjoy the writing stage as long as you can; you need to fall in love with writing and with your story and truly believe in it
Were you always reading as a kid? Writing stories? When did you decide to write a book? Shannon was very focused on art as a kid and wanted to be a Disney animator, but her art doesn't work for that; she can't draw what's in her head, she can only copy, which "makes me about as useful as a camera"
She thought she could learn the skill, but couldn't in art classes; she realized she was always going to be frustrated if she kept at it
She'd started college at 16 and now her life plan was falling to pieces, so her mom advised her to take a class for fun
it was a film class, since she thought she'd be able to watch TV for school
she was, but her teacher also encouraged her to go to film school since she could finally bring things out properly on the page how they were in her head
"You have a lot to learn, but I see something in you." "Cool, I'm a film major now. Answered!"
Turns out film is too collaborative for her and she wanted more control; "there's those book things, I guess I could try those."
She doesn't regret the journey
Addie: How do you et the ideas to write? Shannon wishes she had a tree that sprouted money and great ideas, but really ideas are everywhere and it's a matter of paying attention.
You don't need your whole idea all at once--can be small like "I wonder if that hat...wasn't a hat at all!"
She knew she wanted to work with elves, and she knew she wanted to strip the magic from the story in favor of sci-fi/superhero logistics. The rest came bit by bit
Some days she couldn't write fast enough, others it was "oo, what if they wore capes?"
Elizabeth: what do you do when you have writers' block? Shannon doesn't like to call it that because that makes it seem scarier than it is; to her it's just being stuck, and she plays the "what if?" game
What if I got rid of the previous scene? What if they went here instead? What if, what if, what if? Open yourself to new possibilities
Gibbs is a big going for a walk person for when you're stuck. We all get stuck, not just young writers. he also likes hiking--walking but not coming back for a while.
At this point a poll was sent to the audience asking them to choose between 5 pairs. Bolded won with percentage included afterwards
Teleporting or light leaping? (63%). Eternalia or Mysterium? (63%). Bathe a T-Rex or Pet a Verminion? (55%). Telepath or Empath? (62%). Cape or No Cape? (60%)
Shannon's surprised the Keefe fans didn't pull through with the Empath vote
No matter what Shannon writes, someone's going to be unhappy, so she started pulling back on appealing to fans and prioritizes what fits the story
Marissa: Will Iggy ever go back to grey? That's up to the readers! Shannon leaves it completely in our hands, so if we ever nominate and vote for grey, she'll write it.
Shannon thanks everyone for reading and being patient, as she's writing as fast as she can
When a book is released she usually celebrates with a dessert; she ordered a bunch of fall flavor donuts from Krispy Kreme today, so she's not sure if she'll save one for tomorrow or get something new
It's dangerous that she can just push a button and donuts will show up at her house (doordash)
Gibbs and Shannon hope everyone love the graphic novel as much as they do--and stay tuned for part 2!
#kotlc#kotlc graphic novel#i feel like there's less new knowledge than usual in an event but that makes sense#since a graphic novel adaptation is very different from a new book#anyway. hope you enjoyed and find some of this interesting or useful!#i've pared my notes down a little so there's a few things that didn't make the cut#but i think it's still pretty thorough :)
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Hi! I'm Em. I write fanfiction for fun over on AO3!
♡ Nonbinary lesbian (they/them pronouns)
♡ 20s
♡ Hobby writer
♡ Currently writing stranger things fic (mostly steddie)
My inbox will always be open for any comments, questions, and requests.
Thanks for stopping by! ♡
Masterlist of fanfictions below the cut, sorted chronologically from most recent update:
AO3: mourningshowers
convalescence (M | 23.3k | 2/3)
Eddie met Steve the year he turned twenty, in a kitchen with peeling yellow wallpaper.
Further down the line, he'll remember thinking that the wallpaper was dull in comparison to the glowingly beautiful boy stood at the stove. Even if the boy had the saddest eyes Eddie had ever seen, a deep brown and frosted over like the earth in January.
You can be sad and beautiful, Eddie reasoned: wilted roses do not stop being lovely just because they’re looking down instead of up.
Or, it’s winter and Steve is stolen.
baby love (G | 2k | 1/1)
Eddie looks better than he has in a long while. His hair is a little shorter and curlier than it was back in March and he’s wearing a short-sleeve Night of the Living Dead t-shirt, proudly displaying the healed, jagged scars that crawl up his arms and neck. His eyes are bright, his mouth fast, his posture relaxed, and he’s—
He’s holding a baby.
It’s shocking how quickly Steve’s mind goes hysterically loud one moment and then carefully blank the next.
stay safe (T | 4.3k | 1/1 | part 3 of first meetings)
“My name isn’t Junior,” Junior cuts in, like that’s the thing he should be concerned about, not the fact that Steve was calling out his perceived shitty relationship with his father.
“Yeah, no shit,” Steve says. “But I don’t know your real name and Hopper calls you Junior, so.”
“I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson. I’ve been in your pre-calc class all semester. And gym, but I never go.”
“Oh,” Steve says. He recognizes the name, has heard it before, murmured in the halls of Hawkins High or on the back patio during a house party. He’d never been able to put a face to it. Never really cared to.
It’s funny how quickly things like that can change.
brighter in the dark (T | 13.9k | 1/1)
Eddie thinks that he’s probably judged Steve too quickly. He thinks Steve’s probably full of surprises, if the past two years are anything to go by.
And then, of course, Steve just has to prove him right by stepping out of his BMW in a full sailor suit fantasy that not even the most depraved recesses of Eddie’s mind could have cooked up. Jesus. He’s got the little hat and everything. Cute tiny shorts, too, that are regrettably not as short as the ones included in the Hawkins High gym uniform, but still short enough for Eddie to be able to appreciate Steve’s legs. He has nice legs. Good knees. White socks pulled halfway up his calves, for some reason, stark against his golden tan skin. Wispy little hairs that probably go up his thighs. Eddie needs to stop looking at his legs.
“Eddie Munson,” Steve calls as he approaches, his voice all easy and light like they’re actually friends. “Hi.”
Eddie blinks at him.
Because Eddie's life can never be normal, the summer of '85 finds him working a firework stand just outside of Starcourt Mall, catching up on school work, and tutoring Steve Harrington in all things D&D.
any way the wind blows (M | 26.7k | 4/12)
Steve's mind is carefully blank. It has been from the moment his father walked him to one of the castle’s balconies, the one that oversaw his home kingdom in its entirety, and said the word betrothal.
He had suppressed every single thing, every emotion and feeling and conviction that had risen inside of him that very moment, and has continued to suppress them, and he will continue well after he is officially wed tonight—most likely until he takes his final breath.
He had known for a while now that this would be his fate. He wishes knowing had made it any easier.
From childhood, Prince Stephen of the Northlands has been a disappointment. When his parents forged a new alliance with the Southlands, he did not expect his own hand to factor into the treaty. Yet on the dawn of his twentieth birthday he finds himself being carted off to the capital of the Southlands to marry their infamous bloody-handed warrior, Prince Kas.
Prince Kas’ reputation precedes him. But upon his arrival Steve quickly realizes that the Southlands aren’t all that they seem to be, and neither is his betrothed.
let the light in (M | 19.4k | 1/1)
Eddie’s blood sings out for him in a way that is distinctly not-human, and that’s really the final nail in the coffin. The proverbial one, at least.
He’s not so sure what happened to the real one.
“What did you do?” Eddie asks, when the horror fully sets in and takes over and the dread crawls up from his chest to claw at his throat and choke. He asks, desperately, “Steve, what did you do?”
“What I had to,” Steve answers, and Eddie breathes out with decayed lungs, coughs up some more soil, and weeps.
Eddie wakes up.
moonbeam (T | 6.1k | 1/1 | part 2 of first meetings)
Eddie hums. “We’ll figure something out,” he tells Steve, like they’re friends or something. Like they’ll see each other somewhere after this and won’t just let their eyes skip over one another’s faces—like they’ll actually call out to one another, sit down, catch up.
Steve knows better. Knows their tentative alliance doesn’t exist outside of this mediocre 24-hour diner, at nearly midnight a few days after the Fourth of July. They both know it, Eddie’s just pretending not to.
Strangely enough, it doesn’t stop Steve from saying, “Sure.”
in my life (T | 9.5k | 1/1)
Eddie will say goodbye to Dustin and Mike at the same time then move on to the rest. Two birds, one stone. And then he’ll be off. Easy peasy.
Except it isn’t, because when has Eddie’s life ever been easy? He drives over to the Wheeler’s place down Maple Street, parks at the curb in front of the house. Stumbles up the front steps and raps on the door a bit. Is so lost in preparing his last-minute improvised goodbye speech that he doesn’t register the fact that Mike Wheeler isn’t the one answering the door until, well—
“Eddie?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing.
Eddie gapes at him stupidly.
Eddie is leaving. Steve is doing his damnedest to get him to stay. Also, Holly Wheeler is a fairy princess.
you win some, you lose some (G | 2.3k | 1/1 | part 1 of first meetings)
Eddie hums. His eyes are blazing with something Steve can't really put a name to. “What were you and Hargrove fighting over?”
“None of your business.”
“Title of Best Car in the Hawkins High senior parking lot? Captaincy for the game in which you throw balls into laundry baskets?” He pauses, leans forward and grins wickedly. “A girl?”
chimera (T | 5.5k | 1/1 | part 1 of transmutation)
“Friend,” the demogorgon repeats. It reaches a hand up. Long and thin and veiny. Distinctly not human. Black beneath the clawed nail. The tip of its finger comes closer and Steve stops breathing right up until it gently brushes the denim of Steve’s vest.
Not Steve’s vest.
Eddie’s vest.
Steve looks down. Jammed onto the finger is a chunky silver ring in the shape of a tombstone.
fixer-upper (T | 20.5k | 3/3 | part 2 of love letters verse)
Steve wakes up the morning of their two-month We-Finally-Got-Our-Shit-Together anniversary to find Eddie staring at him, crouched over at the foot of the bed with his round unblinking eyes like a fucking gargoyle. It should be creepy. Steve is used to this, though, so now it’s just kind of a thing that Eddie does.
“What,” Steve says groggily, wiping the drool from his mouth.
“Nothing, angel, go back to sleep,” Eddie trills.
Or, two months after Steve and Eddie officially get together, Steve finds himself thinking about home, his heart, and how to let go.
you all the way down (T | 6.7k | 1/1)
Steve steels himself, grips his bat tight, and whips open the door.
Instead of the kids, or Wayne, or any of the remaining basketball meatheads that have made Eddie’s life a living hell since the spring, a girl is standing on the stoop.
She looks about Steve’s age, maybe a couple of years older. She’s short. Petite. She has freckles all over her round face, kind of like Robin does, with the same hair length, although hers is dark and straight with a chic cut to it. She’s wearing all black, ripped jeans and big heeled boots and an oversized denim jacket. Her dark eyes are ringed with smudged eyeliner and look wide, almost frantic; her hand is poised just above the door, and the dozens of thin silver rings on her fingers glint in the early morning sunlight.
“Oh,” she says, her voice all airy like she’d run out of breath. “Oh, sorry. I… I must have the wrong place.”
in the meantime (T | 13.3k | 1/1)
Now that Eddie’s officially retired, him and Steve are engaged and they live in a huge house together in a state where apparently, it is currently at least a little bit legal for two people of the same gender to adopt or foster children together. They have a family; not some ragtag mishmash of people bonded by the trauma of surviving multiple apocalypses together, but an actual family. Two parents, a slew of children, and a home. The mismatched decor of the house suddenly makes a lot more sense, the pastel yellow color of the walls in the family room clashing horribly with the stuffed crow and plastic skull on the mantelpiece.
It’s so them it hurts.
Mike and El went off the grid for a number of years following the death of Henry Creel. Except it seems as though nothing is truly dead and gone, because the Upside-Down reawakens more than ten years later for reasons unknown. They soon find themselves calling everyone to come back to Hawkins and stop the end of the world from happening yet again.
Some people have moved on, though.
two-headed calf; twice as many stars (T | 3.6k | 1/1)
The music has stopped. Eddie mutters something about a quick smoke break and slips out the front door, wood planks creaking and settling in his wake. The old guitar is abandoned against the wall.
And who would Steve be, if he didn’t follow?
follow the sun (T | 11.1k | 1/1)
Eddie walks into a Michaels Arts and Crafts Store at 4PM on a Sunday stoned out of his goddamn mind and is immediately accosted by the image of Steve Harrington crouched over in the yarn aisle, wearing glasses and an apron over what can only be described as a grandpa sweater.
love letters in your lunch (T | 20.2k | 4/4 | part 1 of love letters verse)
Rumor has it that whenever any one of the seven or so gremlins that Steve has magnanimously decided to adopt sleep over at his ridiculously large and empty house, he’ll get up extra early in the morning and pack them all lunches in brown paper bags. He’ll make them breakfast, too, and drop them off at school with a ruffle of their hair, a slap on their shoulder, or a pep-talk, depending on the kid.
Not that Eddie Munson, of all people, would know anything about it.
It's October and Steve starts packing Eddie lunches for work. Eddie doesn't know what to do about it.
wake up the dawn (T | 7.6k | 1/1)
The worst part about the secrets is that Steve will eventually find someone else to share them with, someone else to show his big dorky glasses and play a subdued game of Two Truths and a Lie with, and Eddie will fade into the periphery, into the background, into nothing until he dissipates completely. It’s inevitable.
That doesn’t make the dull ache right smack dab into the middle of his chest any less painful.
Or, Eddie considers grief, hair, secrets, lullabies, and the unattainability of dreams.
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Title: Ang Mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan (Mama Susan's Friends)
Author: Bob Ong
Genre/s: horror
Content/Trigger Warnings: abortion (off-page), parental separation, parental death, parental abandonment
Summary (from publisher's website): Isang mag-aaral. Isang talaarawan.
Isang matanda. Maraming kaibigan.
Ikaw ay pinili.
My translation:
A student. A diary.
An elder. Many friends.
You have been chosen.
Buy Here: https://www.myavenida.com/products/ang-mga-kaibigan-ni-mama-susan
Spoiler-Free Review: I'll admit I'm really, REALLY late getting onto this particular boat. This book was originally published in 2010, when Visprint was still going strong, but thankfully Avenida Books has picked up Visprint's banner so it's still in circulation (publishing in the Philippines is ROUGH y'all). I picked this up is because I found out on Twitter that there's going to be a movie adaptation out on Amazon Prime, and I got curious.
Now, full disclosure: as a result of my upbringing, I'm AWFUL at reading Tagalog. I was raised in an English-engaged household and struggled with Tagalog all throughout my years in school, including while at uni (during which I improved the most, but not nearly as much as I'd like). Matter of fact I STILL struggle with it, especially if it's the literary Tagalog most often used by the literary luminaries who write in the language. Fortunately, Ong writes in a more colloquial Tagalog, which is a bit easier for me to grasp - especially now that I'm working and use the language a lot more.
This novel is the diary of a college student named Gilberto "Galo" Manansala, who started writing it as part of his requirements at school, but keeps writing in it as a way to record the events of his life and the way he feels about them. The first half of the book focuses primarily on that, and depicts not just the typical college drama involving teachers, friends, and romantic partners, but also what it means to be someone from the province who's come to Manila for a college education, and is relying on other members of his family to support them. When that support falls through, though, Galo takes certain extreme actions, and winds up having to go back home to the province to avoid the consequences.
The second half of the novel takes place in Galo's home province, where he goes back to see his ailing grandmother and (ostensibly) take care of her. While there, he finds out that something ain't quite right with Grandma, and with the town as a whole. This is where the horror actually comes in, as Galo learns about what his grandmother's been up to, what's happened since he left the town to go to Manila for his education - and what that knowledge does to him by the end.
Now, while the first half of the novel is pretty interesting because of the way it depicts life for the average college student, I did kind of wish it had been shorter? I understand that the author was trying to paint out Galo's life to give the reader a full picture of who he is as a person, and the events depicted and hinted at in the first half do come into play in the second half, but I did move through that first half wondering when the horror would finally come in.
Fortunately, once that second half begins the book really does live up to the horror genre, and it is horror in a specifically Filipino way that ensured I'd read this only in broad daylight. The tropes will be familiar to Filipinos who grew up watching the Shake Rattle 'n Roll movies, the old Magandang Gabi Bayan Undas specials, and inhaled Psicom's True Philippine Ghost Stories collections: the old provincial mansion, the isolated town, the unique religious practices-- All of those things will resonate with a creepy familiarity with Filipino readers. The themes, too, will have a familiar resonance for that same set of readers who engaged with the aforementioned media before; I don't think Ong is treading much new ground in that regard, since the theme of "Your sins come back to haunt you eventually" is a common one. But the execution is pretty enjoyable, and that ending is sure to send a tingle up the reader's spine.
So overall, Ang Mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan was a pretty fun, fast, and undoubtedly spooky read - but largely in the second half. The first half is a bit of a slog, and I can imagine some readers just skimming their way through it to get to the creepy bits - something which I think they'd be justified in doing, as it does run a bit overlong for my tastes. But what happens in that first half has implications for what happens in the second half, so it helps to pay attention in order to see the full scope of the horror that finally descends on Galo by the end.
Rating: three diaries
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KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )
NAME: Rae
PRONOUNS: She/Her. I try not to mind this too much but I really prefer she/her.
PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: Discord first and foremost if I’m chatting with mutuals I’m threading with or will be threading with soon. Tumblr IMs are fine otherwise.
NAME OF MUSE(S): Sonia Nev.ermind
EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): I’ve been writing since a year that begins with 19. I’ve come to accept I’ve been writing longer than some muns have been alive. Do not get me started on ‘back in my day’ stories about fandom and roleplaying communities.
PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: In somewhat chronological order? AOL, Yahoo, AIM, YIM, Yahoo!Groups, Livejournal, Deadjournal/Greatestjournal, forums and emails, and tumblr. I missed the Myspace/Facebook/Twitter era of RP, mostly due to university monopolizing most of my time.
BEST EXPERIENCE: Meeting some RP friends in real life! We aren’t as close as we used to be, but I have acquaintances that I began writing with over 20 years ago, and I last saw one of them about 10 years or so. Real life jobs and new fandoms/interests/hobbies make it hard, but we stay in touch via Facebook.
RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: I have a lot of these, to be honest. Most of them I tend to just ignore the best I can, or I choose not to write with someone because of it. But the top three that annoy me (beyond formatting issues) are:
1. Not writing rules or bios and not reading rules or bios. For the most part, content and style differences can be accounted for and addressed early as long as muns both write and read rules and bios. Where bios are concerned, description definitely helps, even with ‘popular’ canon muses. It gives me an idea of how you see and describe your muse, as opposed to bullet point facts (age/race/sexual orientation/etc).
2. Muns who continuously ask for memes and new threads while not replying to any of the interactions they currently have. Mostly as this often leads to no real character growth or development and an overwhelmed mun restarting all of their interactions or the blog itself. To be fair, I understand if someone is new or has unexpected life issues that result in this: this is more for the chronic meme/thread hoarders who delete and restart constantly. I feel like those muns don’t really care for writing at all, just notifications and asks. Which is off-putting.
3. Muns who continuously ask for romantic ships while not replying to threads/interacting with blogs. This is mostly because I don’t write an insta-ship muse, I write a slow-burn muse, and generally approach romantic relationships based on threads and IC interactions: let her meet your muse first and get to know them, and see if the chemistry is there. I don’t go into writing with a mun with a romantic ship in mind, right off the bat: mostly because it’s hard to deliver with threads if my muse just isn’t feeling it.
However, I recognize it can help break the ice, and plot, for some mutuals to establish a romantic ship immediately. It just doesn’t work for my muse, and so I tend to be uninterested in writing romantic ships with blogs who continuously keep asking for them. Can’t our muses meet as friends, to start at least? ☹️
FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Yes. I write all of these, as long as they make sense for the thread and interaction, and my writing partner is comfortable with these topics.
PLOTS OR MEMES: Also yes! I just don’t like one-liners or starter calls, mostly: I like having the guideline of a meme or a plot idea for someone before I write a starter.
LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Long. It’s always been that way for this blog. I use shorter replies as crack threads with mutuals, usually ones I have other established threads/interactions with.
BEST TIME TO WRITE: mid-afternoon to evening, after work and after I’ve had some caffeine in me. I’m most grouchy and tired in the morning, the entire morning.
ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Sonia and I have some common interests and, since my own style veers on the side of classic, vintage, and feminine, I do style her in clothing pieces I own or would like to. We also both come from well-off families, and sometimes I throw in details or situations I’ve either seen or have heard about from others. But she’s very chipper, optimistic, and friendly, and I’m far more blunt, cynical, and sarcastic.
Sonia loves Shi.rou Emi.ya. I love Lord El-Me.lloi II. If that doesn’t show our differences, I’m not sure what does (I don’t often have anime husbandos but the grumpy professor does it for me!).
tagged by: Stolen!
tagging: You!
#more-than-a-princess musings#(I haven't filled out one of these in awhile! And I needed a break from work)#(For mutuals who want to write/plot and don't have my discord? Please reach out and ask if you'd like to chat there!)#(Now back to catching up on work and threads. And then discord convos.)
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Starie-Art
Heads up, I changed my username from helianthus-bellis to starie-art. This decision took way to long to make and I’ll probably change it again later because I’m an indecisive piece of trash
#username change#the fact that the new name is shorter and easier to write had no part in this change#Nope not at all
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Pairing: eventual Minotaur!Agent Whiskey x Reader (no y/n)
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,265
Warnings: cursing, descriptions of transformation
Notes: I figured a prologue would suit this one quite well. Not sure how long it’s going to be in the end, but I’m excited for this little project! This part is pure backstory, something to set up the actual timeline the story will be taking place in. All future chapters are going to be shorter (around 1-1.5K) just because that’s easier for me to write, but I don’t have a set number of chapters as of yet.
Every company has its secrets. Every organization has their closely-guarded facts that only a select few are allowed to know.
Statesman was no different.
In fact, one might even say that Statesman specialized in keeping secrets, considering its entire distillery facade was merely a front for the real work it was doing.
One such member who knew of these secrets better than most was one Jack Daniels, code name Agent Whiskey. As one of the most high-ranking agents, his position offered him access to troves of information that most would never imagine. He alone held more power than most government officials.
But the job had its drawbacks too.
As a senior agent, Whiskey tended to be funneled into the more dangerous, high-stakes jobs that came to the company. And this one was no different. It was something he’d done a thousand times, and while he was sure he wouldn’t escape unscathed, he was reasonably certain that he’d make it out with his life.
It was a good thing Agent Whiskey was no longer a gambling man, because he lost that wager in a spectacular way.
One minute he was in the thick of another firefight, and the next he was on the ground, a small bullet hole through his temple. The partner assigned to him for this particular mission called in an immediate medical evacuation, and in the meantime, there was a tool the younger agent attempted to use to save Whiskey’s life.
AlphaGel, a new development in the Statesman medical arsenal, was touted as being able to raise the dead. It would stabilize the subject, allowing them to be brought back to the medical bay where nanites would be used to repair the damage and heal the fallen agent.
At least, that’s what the developers had hoped.
The new technology hadn’t been thoroughly tested yet, though it was still deemed safe enough to send with agents into the field as a precaution. As Agent Whiskey was transported back to headquarters, it appeared that the solution within the gel may have failed. His vitals were nonexistent; there were no sign of internal activity or life. But the Statesman team continued their efforts anyway.
When he was wheeled back to the lab, head medic Ginger Ale and Whiskey’s superior, Agent Champagne, began the process of activating the specialized nanite solution. As it was placed and began doing as it was intended, the room stood silent and all attendees held their breath.
A sharp tone rang out into the stilled room - a single beep from the heart rate monitor attached to Agent Whiskey’s arm.
Then another tone. And another.
Ginger and Champagne looked at one another in shocked elation as Whiskey’s vitals began to return to his body once more.
They’d done it. They’d brought a man back from death itself. They were gods of a new age.
But just as Whiskey’s brain activity signaled an imminent awakening, something changed.
And then everything went terribly, horribly wrong.
Agent Whiskey began to... shift. His skin began to grow coarse, brown, short fur all over his body, with a strip of short black hair running in a vertical stripe from his head down. His head and face contorted into a grotesque approximation of a human face, then into that of a bull. Horns sprouted from his temples, where the previous bullet wound had been.
The roar of pain that started out as recognizable morphed into something decidedly inhuman.
The former man thrashed in his restraints, easily snapping the leather used to hold him down. His hands came up to his head, grasping it as he fell from the medical bed and to the floor on his knees. Behind him, a bull’s tail rested against the floor.
As the chaos calmed and Agent Whiskey’s pain seemed to soothe, he pulled his hands from his head and stared down at his palms. Ginger Ale and Agent Champagne watched as they shook.
“What did you do!?” Whiskey cried. “What the fuck did you do to me!?”
Shaken out of her shock by his outburst, Ginger raced to a nearby medical cabinet and pulled from it a syringe and a bottle. As she filled the needle with a tranquilizer, she made it back to Whiskey just as he was beginning to rise to his feet again.
The agent stood, lowering his head as if pointing his newly formed horns directly at her and Champagne. Just as Whiskey let out a horrifying growl, she stuck the syringe into the meat of his neck, emptying it in one motion.
Whiskey yowled, clutching his neck and stumbling away from her. Within a few feet, he collapsed to the ground unconscious.
Ginger Ale and Agent Champagne stood still, breathing heavily from the adrenaline and shock as they stared down at the creature on the floor.
“Ginger?” Champagne finally asked, “What the fuck just happened?”
“I-I don’t know,” Ginger stuttered in response, “none of our tests ever indicated this was possible.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Not without knowing what caused it. And I doubt he’s going to let us experiment on him to find out.”
The room fell silent once more. And the pair looked down at their mistake; a man covered in fur with a bull’s head.
Statesman’s very own, all-American Minotaur.
They were fucked.
Hushed and rushed conversation permeated the room for several minutes between the two. It wasn’t as if they could just turn him loose and act like nothing was amiss. They could try to restrain him long enough for the human part of him to calm down so they could attempt to find a fix, but with his considerable growth spurt, this was decided to be a bad decision as well.
So they did what any self-respecting corporation would do: they buried their secret.
Down in the deepest basement of Statesman headquarters, as a matter of fact.
They carted him down, grateful for the lack of prying eyes in that late evening hour. Once they reached the deepest recesses of the building, the elevator opened up to an unused concrete room with a heavy metal door across from them. The door itself opened to an equally unused space composed entirely of concrete, with several doorways and hallways attached. A fitting labyrinth for their creature.
Ginger Ale and Agent Champagne left Agent Whiskey there on the floor, noting how the main door to the floor had an opening at the bottom. At least they’d be able to bring him meals. If anyone had the guts to, anyway.
The pair felt a twinge of guilt as they laid Whiskey onto the floor and made their way back to the elevator. But the guilt wasn’t enough to make them rethink their decision. Just enough to cause them pause right before they closed the door.
Agent Whiskey awoke later sprawled out on a cold, concrete floor, his head ablaze and his body heavy. The lights were dim and dingy, barely clinging to life against the darkness. As his head turned, the dull thump of his newly-formed horns against the floor reminded him of what he had become. Of what they had done to him.
He sat up slowly, willing the room to stop spinning around him. Not only had they turned him into a monster, they’d dumped him down in the dark and forgotten about him.
No amount of screaming and thrashing against the solid metal door helped him. No one heard. And if they did, no one cared.
He was alone. Down in the dark, just another forgotten creature in the Statesman’s arsenal of hundreds.
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The Forgotten One
First Previous
Chapter 11
She always knew she had a Father. When she was younger she used to ask her mother about him. She mostly told her half-truths. She knew his real name, and about his nightly activities. About his time with the League, and how he adopted some orphans along the way. She heard all about him. From Mother, Grandfather, and sometimes other members passing by. From a young age, she had him pictured in her mind.
But now, sitting in front of him, in his office, she felt silly for ever trying to imagine what he would be like. He didn’t compare to whatever her young mind had conjured at the time. He was tall, and he had a face that she could only explain as enigmatic. He wore a mask, that she knew. After years of perfection one of her own, she could only imagine what he had been thought to dissociate himself from the people around him.
The office was simple, but at the same time imposing. It had a desk, behind it was her father paying attention to every word that came out of her mouth, with a large bookcase by her left. All the wood was dark, giving the room a more serious look. To her right, the wall was entirely covered with windows, with its drapes open showing the beautiful big garden outside the Manor. Behind her father, there is a painting hanging. A family portrait. She recognizes everyone in the painting with ease. Bruce is seated, with Damian in his lap, while Jason, Richard, and Timothy are standing behind Father’s chair. It’s an exquisite piece and even though they all are wearing suits, it makes the whole room look homey.
“Why didn’t you come here, after you healed from the attack?” They had been talking for the past hour. Marianne spent most of that time telling him the circumstances of her upbringing.
“I couldn't. My Master thought it would be better to stay longer.” She explains while playing nervously with the hem of the shirt Damian had lent her this morning. He could feel the anxiety coming out of her but was impressed that she kept herself strong and didn’t avoid eye contact. “So we continued with my training, but after some time we discovered a destructive energy that could only come from someone misusing a Miraculous. So it was decided that we would stay and assess the situation.”
“And this person was the fashion designer you killed this week? Gabriel Agreste?” He had a disapproving face, typical of parents disciplining their children.
“Damian made me aware of your no-kill policy, but since this was an Order business I believe you do not have the power to dictate how I dealt with it. I respect that this is your city, but believe or not I was lenient in his punishment. If it was up to me, death wouldn’t have been enough to compensate for all the pain he caused to the citizens of Paris, but I must allow the Gods to decide his punishment, so death it was.” Her speech allows him time to think about the situation. By the end of it he agreed, it wasn’t his business.
“What happened is in the past. I need to know if I can trust you not to endanger the people of Gotham. Who are you loyal to?”
“I am loyal to myself. And Damian. Trust has to be earned so it is okay that I do not have yours. But trust this: I love Damian, and would rather die than hurt him” Bruce analises her for some time, trying to find any hint of dishonesty on her, but just like his youngest when cornered, her emotions were transparent in her face.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that you remind me so much of… well your mother” He confessed with a nostalgic expression. “When she first brought Damian to live with me I was so shocked. I must admit that my reaction wasn’t the best. He was so grown, that it was hard to get to know him. With the others it was easier, they-”
“They weren’t your blood” She supplies. He looks a little relieved that she understood what he was trying to explain. “But you loved them all the same.”
“I did this once, it was a terrible job. Just know that I’ll be trying my best to- well, accommodate you into this family.”
“That’s all I ask for.” She replies with a small smile.
Marianne looked so much like his mother at a young age. He remembers spending hours looking through family album photos when he was younger. Sure he could see traces of Talia in her, but the blue eyes and black hair were definitely a Wayne trait. It scared him. Did he have any other children out there that he knew nothing about? He lost so many years from his children's lives, it pained him to think about what type of childhood they received. Sure, both Damian and Marianne didn’t hide their upbringing, but anyone could see that there were things they weren’t comfortable sharing. He knew from his own time at the League that it wasn’t easy.
“When did you meet Jason?” He had heard from Dick just this morning that apparently there was something that Jason hadn’t told them about his time in the League.
“Mother ordered me to train him after he was resurrected, because of my powers I was the best candidate to help him control the madness inside of him.” She explains, but Bruce could see the faint blush on her cheeks.
“And you two…” He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase his question.
“Yes. And please let’s leave it at that.” She’s blushing more than she ever did before. The fact she’s talking about her love life in front of her newly acquired father makes the whole situation hilarious, and if she wasn't so mortified she would have laughed.
“There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you” Marianne begins, uncertain of how the man in front of her would react to her request. “If it was alright with you, could I please have a hug?”
Whatever Bruce thought she was going to ask, it definitely wasn't this. So he stays there in shock, totally still for more time than he realizes. Enough for doubt to appear in the girl in front of him. His daughter. His blood daughter. He had some experience with Cassandra, but he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t totally fucked up with her yet, so this whole new daughter scene was hard on him.
Before she can flee the room in shame of her request, Father rises from his chair with grace, hiding his anxiety behind his perfected mask. In two strikes he is at her side.
The hug feels nice. Not that she would ever confess but the physical touch was something she always missed. The only person that had no trouble with being smothered with her love was Damian, and then later Jason. So, this hug from her father was definitely something she needed.
When they are done Bruce takes one more lounging look at her before dismissing her. He truly needed some time to think of all that had happened in the last few days. It had been almost 4 days since the reveal of the parentage of the girls, so he still had a lot to process.
So now sitting with a glass of bourbon in one hand, and his cellphone in the other. He did the only thing he could think of. He called Seline.
“Hey… It’s me.”
Hello again everyone! A special thank you to everyone that has been supporting this story! I wasn't sure if I indeed wanted to write a PART 2 to this story, but after all your comments I decided to do so.
I hope you all like this chapter, it's shorter than usual, but I still need to figure some stuff about the story, so please bear with me!
Let me know what yall think of it!
Next
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#maribat#batman#bio dad bruce wayne#child assassin#damian wayne#mari al ghul#marianne al ghul#miraculous ladybug#older sibling#the forgotten one#assassin marinette#damian al ghul#league of assassins#mari wayne#marinette dupain cheng#miraculous au#mlb x dc#ra's al ghul#talia al ghul#bio-dad
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push and pull
part I | part II
read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist
summary: during a trial, a lawyer must be ready for anything. they should be able to navigate their way through any sudden obstacles or arguments. but through her time at law school, this is the first time her opponent has used kisses as an argument strategy.
or: joon hwi decides it's time to test how far kang sol's concentration can last. you know, to prepare her for the trial. no other reason.
a/n: aaa this was supposed to be peace is not known to man pt. 2 but i just had to write this today, i could not get the scene out of my head. after this will be peace is not known to man chapter 2 because ✨✨ and then a prompt request that was sent in ! this might be shorter than normal but i did leave room for a possible sequel? anyways, i hope you enjoy this <3
Throughout Kang Sol A's time in rigorous classes and with strict professors, there was one thing that was drilled through her head: be prepared for any argument. As she progressed through the ranks, it was clear that students, as well as prosecutors and lawyers, will use anything and everything at their disposal in order to win. Even if it is the lowest or morally dubious argument, if it wins them the case, they will not be afraid to use it.
Kang Sol was never the brightest student in class. She struggled to pick up the concepts as quickly as her peers; she racked her brain every time she needed to name a criminal code from memory. But if there was anything she was good at, it was preparation.
Her biggest mistake her first semester was not having a battle plan and through the minefield that was fighting against Assemblyman Ko, she felt like she was constantly rushed and underprepared. After her 1L, Kang sol took the time every day to make sure she was prepared for anything that would be an obstacle for her. She's always in class with the needed materials already printed out, her course materials pre-read and she takes extensive notes during her lectures, making sure to get even the smallest details. She wrote down anything that could make the exam easier for her. So, during study groups, she was the go-to person for notes and specifics, despite joon hwi, sol B and ji ho's innate abilities to memorize and grasp the concepts. Her contribution was her thoroughness as well as her tenacity. And maybe, that was what made her so essential to her mock trial team.
The annual justice mock trial was just around the corner, and Sol was not going to be underprepared like last time. Joon hwi, Sol B and she poured over their case files, writing their main argument, rebuttal and summary until they were near perfect. For weeks, they'd spent in the library, reading and researching everything they would possibly need during the trial so they could make their main argument as bulletproof as possible. The three of them were going to win this trial, no matter what they had to do.
That preparedness was what found Sol in her current situation, standing in the empty mock trial courtroom, standing at the defendant's side of the table while Joon Hwi had stood across from her, looking over the prosecutor's argument. Her sense of morality was her biggest blessing and her biggest obstacle in Law School. Her belief in right and wrong, and the proper use of the law, made it almost painful for her to argue the other side. But being the wonderful classmate he was, Joon hwi had offered to help her whenever he could, acting as the devil’s advocate.
Han Joon Hwi. Her beloved classmate and next to Ye-Seul, her best friend. He was there for it all: from defending Yangcrates to protecting her sister from Lee Man Ho to defeating Assemblyman Ko. As Kang sol was sinking from her past two semesters at Hanguk law school, he was the one who kept her afloat. Every night she spent at the library, on the verge of exhaustion, he would be there alongside her making sure she took breaks and took care of herself. Without him, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to pull her health up or make it through her first year.
Joon Hwi had always processed his feelings more inwardly, holding everything in and away from everyone as much as possible. During the worst of his grief last year, he would sneak out into the practice fields, running laps until he was exhausted and his breathing ragged. She picked up on what he was doing, when she saw him dip out of the library a little earlier than everyone else. She had snuck out to follow him and watched him as he would run across the fields, until he'd break into pieces on the field. For a boy who had seen her worst, who had helped everyone gain their strength to fight, it wasn't right that he suffered by himself.
So when she saw him declining into the familiar pain, when he was staring into the memorial of his uncle's donation, the man who had meant everything to him, who had died before he could repent for his sins against the law, she sat by him in silence, until he leaned onto her shoulder. If she could, if it was possible, she felt like absorbing all the pain, the regret and the anger he felt inside until he was alright.
She wasn't sure when the lines blurred between them, but her image of him shifted until she was sure he was so much more than a friend. It was as if he had a new tint of color over him, and suddenly, she found herself thinking of him all the time. Now, every time she'd laugh, she'd turn behind her to make sure he was laughing. For every little thing that happened in her life, he was the only one she craved to share it with. Every smile, every little happiness, she wanted to share it with him. Even if she wasn't feeling well, or doing anything exciting, she wanted his presence by her.
Kang Sol was always eloquent, her mind moving at 10 mph and her words even faster. She never ran out of things to say, not until she met him. With Joon Hwi, she had no way of expressing just how much she wanted him in her life, how much gratitude she had for him. He meant so much more than anything she could describe in words so she forced herself to be content with the bits and pieces she could keep in her life.
Kang Sol cleared her throat, gaining joon hwi's attention from the papers and across the room. "Let's get started?" she asked her, looking up from her papers, and up to him as he nodded.
“As the defendant…” he started, his voice echoing in the empty courtroom, voice firm and strong as he delivered the main argument. Watching joon hwi transform into his full prosecutor mode was startling to watch, his casual demeanor changing into confidence. He transformed into something else entirely, his demeanor intense and his voice sharp as a knife. Watching him concentrate and argue was magnetic and with every passing line, she felt pulled towards him. She could feel the nerves build as she watched him, his voice strong and powerful through the room.
He looked up at her, finishing his argument and it felt like the wind was knocked out of her. Sol wasn't sure if it was the fact that she had to present the argument next or if it was his darkened eyes staring into hers, the awareness spreading through her body, that made her forget how to breathe properly. For a moment, the silence enveloped them, the tension between them taut as a bowstring, despite being so far apart from each other.
"Sol?" His voice interrupted the moment as the pressure built in her chest and her throat stagnated. She cleared her throat again, shaking the gaze off her, before starting her argument. As her eyes and her voice followed the words on the paper, her body and mind were somewhere else entirely, every hair on her body aware of his growing presence, his eyes on her. For someone so hesitant to argue against the side she believed in, she was going strong until she made one grave mistake.
She looked up to him for a moment, and he was standing much closer to her now, his eyes molten as he looked up at her, standing in the middle of the courtroom, and her voice wavered to a stop. She didn’t know when Joon Hwi had moved closer, her body too obsessed with the fact that his eyes were on her to ever notice his movements.
He raised his eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Why are you stopping, Sol-ah?" he asked, his voice much deeper, heavy and sweet like honey. He stepped closer then, and she looked down to the papers in her hand, his gaze burning her with intensity.
She continued on with her argument, as he stepped closer and closer, until he was right in front of her place behind the defendant's desk. She looked up then, confident in herself not to waver as the words on her paper blurred together into mush. But her mind and her mouth was on autopilot, her voice growing smaller and smaller as she parroted the argument from memory, his proximity throwing her off. He moved closer then, leaning in until his face was just a breath away from her. His hands reached up to her face, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She felt her mind stutter and her stomach bundle into knots from him being so close that she could see his eyelashes brush against his cheek as he blinded. Her eyes were glued to him, pulled closer and closer, as he laid his finger at her throat, and traced down to the base of her neck.
She shuddered out a breath then, the feel of just a finger on her skin making her face grow warm and red. she struggled to think, to remember what she was doing before his fingers traced up, up, up, towards her jaw. His hands cupped her face, bringing it closer towards him, as his thumb brushed against her cheek.
"I think-" she paused, trying to catch her breath, "I think my argument ends there."
"You think?" he tilted his head slightly, his eyes taunting and teasing.
"Yes," she breathed out, leaning closer and closer, until her lips met his. His lips were firm and reassuring for a short moment, before she pulled away. But their distance didn't last even a second as she surged forward again, kissing him with everything she had. The papers in her hand dropped to the desk, forgotten, as her hands searched for him, finding purchase in his shirt as she pulled him closer.
His hands shifted then, kissing her deeper, as his hands went to untangle her hair from her ponytail, until her hair was loose around her shoulders. His hands tangled in her hair, pushing her closer to him as his tongue brushed against her lip and she gasped, the feel only accelerating the want, the need for him.
Her mind was foggy as he drew away from her lips and down to her jaw, his frantic kisses addicting as he moved down to her neck. Joon hwi tilted her head with the hand tangled in her hair, as he left open-mouthed kisses down her throat, ones that left her panting and gasping, his mouth bruising the delicate skin of her neck.
"Joon hwi-ah," she shuddered out, as he sucked, her breath coming out in soft puffs, a moan growing at the back of her throat.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The loud noise against the door shocked the two out of the moment, as a voice inquired "Is anyone in there?" The two jumped back then, still holding on to each other as Sol looked at Joon hwi, alarm taking over her body.
Annoyance flooded his features, as he looked towards the door, his lips swollen and red from her ministrations. He was panting, as he looked back at her, his gaze was heavy on her, and for one charged moment, Kang Sol thought of throwing caution to the wind, to pull him back into her. But he stepped back then, away from her desk, and back to his to gather his files. Sol was glued to her feet then, her hands frozen and unable to process what just happened before her rational mind kicked in, and she rushed to gather her files. She ran her hand through her hair, noticing her disheveled state in the mirror, before gathering her hair into a bun and smoothening out her clothes, trying to put on a pretense that she was perfectly okay, it wasn’t like joon hwi had feverishly kissed her until her mind was completely blank or anything.
There was silence between the two as they exited the courtroom through the back entrance, making sure to leave the room as if nothing ever happened. But before they parted, Joon Hwi grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes for a moment as if to say this isn't over, before the parted ways, leaving Sol to process what went on between them, and how she could ask for more, more, more.
#law school#mine#my writing#fanfiction#law school jtbc#jtbc law school#jtbc drama#law school kdrama#law school netflix#solhwi#kim bum#kim beom#ryu hye young#kang sol a#han joon hwi#friends to lovers#idiots to lovers
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this was a commissioned peice of writing for @princemai . If you're interested in a commission, dm me!
Adjusting to life after the war was never going to be easy. How do you coexist with the people who've been trying to kill you for millions of years? It didn't take a nihilist to think that the peace wouldn't last.
Bumblebee counted himself pleasantly surprised that, well, something seemed to last. Peace wasn't the right word, but at least it was less "endlessely killing each other" and more "the entire universe hates us and we can't really blame them". But for the most part, these days, things were peaceful.
That didn't mean it was easy.
You wouldn't call it easy to wake up next to the closest thing you'd ever had to an arch-nemisis wrapped around you. You wouldn't quite know what to do with the fact that as much as he hates to admit it, he's afraid of the dark. And you wouldn't blame yourself for waking up sometimes afraid that you'll find a knife at your throat.
It wasn't easy. But it was peaceful, more or less. Because when Starscream kissed him in that way he did almost every morning, gentle and still half-asleep, Bumblebee could nearly forget he'd ever thought of the mech next to him as dangerous, and a part of him would wonder why it hadn't always been like this.
But then they get up, and the day would go on, and even though there's peace now, there's a lot of history, and Bumblebee can't help but feel like they're both just waiting for everything to turn sideways.
Bumblebee wants to trust Starscream. And he does, on some level at least. Immensely so. Enough to have trusted him with the fate of the universe. But every argument, every time the banter hits just a little bit too close to home, every time Starscream slips back into a crueler, more violent version of himself, Bumblebee wonders to himself if maybe this is it. After all, it wasn't really that long ago that they were shooting at each other.
Starscream has the same thoughts. Obviously, he won't admit it, but it's easy enough to see through his acts once you know him well enough - When did Bumblebee start to know him well enough? How the hell did that happen? It all feels so fast - But sometimes when there's a certain tension in his wings and his fingers curl up ever so slightly and his eyes shoot around, planning his escape, Bumblebee knows that Starscream is just as scared as he is.
It's not always like that. There are moments when they're alone where it feels like none of that matters. They sit together on their couch and they're quiet as they both do their own thing, and Bumblebee shifts to lean against Starscream's shoulder and Starscream wraps one arm around him, his hand idly tracing small circles on Bumblebee's plating, and it just feels right. Bumblebee feels more safe there than anywhere in the universe, curled into the side of one of the most dangerous people in the universe. In a moment like that, he'd tear his spark out and put it in Starscream's hands if he asked him to.
But... It wasn't that long ago that he watched people he loved die at those hands. Those same strong, clever hands that slotted perfectly into his like they were built that way, like everything in their lives had led them to this specific touch. Bumblebee wasn't a big believer in destiny but sometimes everything would line up just so, and if he'd been slightly more of a romantic he'd've called them soulmates.
It was this confusing blend of love and hate, of forgiveness and grudge and grief and adoration that didn't make sense at all and yet when Starscream knows exactly what to order him when they go out it makes perfect sense. And, somehow, it works out.
They've never really talked about... well, whatever this is. It's clearly a relationship, at this point. It's hard to argue for 'just friends' after that many rounds of... well, you know what. It's equally as hard after catching each other after god-knows-how-many nightmares, after thousands of late-late-night conversations, after the way that making each other laugh became the easiest thing in the world, after the way that they would whisper sweet complements between each other like a secret because it was far too embarrasing to say loudly.
So yeah, it was a relationship. But "open, honest communication" was not exactly in Starscream's skillset, and, well, Bee wasn't really sure he wanted to talk about it either. Putting a name on it felt. Dangerous. Like it'd ruin it. There'd be too much pressure, too much commitment, too much... truth. It felt like confessing something that he wasn't ready for.
It was one thing to sleep with Starscream. It was another to, say, kiss Starscream. It was a third thing to literally sleep with Starscream, to trust the second-least-trustworthy person on Cybertron to be with him at his most vulnerable. But to be dating Starscream? To introduce Starscream as his partner? As his conjunx? That was a world of different things that Bumblebee was absolutely not prepared to handle.
What was he supposed to say? Oh, by the way, this is my conjunx. He's killed more people than my brain can even comprehend, but he also saved the universe that one time so it's totally cool now, don't worry!
But he loved him, and that was the problem. He loved Starscream so much, and he wanted everyone in the universe to know about the funny, thoughtful, brilliant person that he loved with all his heart.
And didn't it mean something that Bumblebee had seen Starscream at his absolute worst, and still decided that loving him was worthwhile? It wasn't like Bee was just flailing at the whims of his emotions, he chose to be here. Well, not the first time, that had just kind of happened. But after that, he'd chosen to stay, because loving him seemed worth the trouble of hating him, right? And Starscream was getting better, and that was a good thing.
And who was he worried about knowing? The handful of people Bumblebee would've bothered to tell if they did get married already knew the situation, and it wasn't exactly like either of them were really public figures anymore. The government job Windblade had gotten to keep Starscream busy was mostly just paperwork, and aside from the odd job here or there Bumblebee didn't do much. He'd basically retired. So they weren't going to be the talk of the town or anything. Besides, it's kind of old news, there'd been rumors of them doing something together pretty much since the second the war ended. It wasn't true then, but by now the scandal had kinda worn off and it was more of a "yeah, no shit" kind of gossip.
Still. A decade or so of closeness didn't really feel like long enough for a lifetime commitment, especially after what, four million years of hating each other beforehand?
But... Life is shorter than you expect it to be, right? They'd both died once over the course of this whatever-it-was. And the second time, they really had thought it'd stick, and Starscream sorta-haunting him from another dimension or whatever seemed like it was a permanent commitment, and that didn't scare Bumblebee at all. It sounded nice, not having to be alone again. This was like that, except he could be alone, sometimes, because neither of them could walk through walls or locked doors anymore so all he had to do for some privacy was tell Starscream to politely fuck off for a bit, which was a plus, right? Way more pracitcal.
"Can't we talk about this in the morning?" Starscream complained, eyes half shut, snapping Bumblebee out of his train of thought.
"What?" Bumblebee asked, confused.
"I don't want you to propose while we're drunk and you're rambling, idiot," Starscream was laying in Bee's lap, nuzzling his face into Bee's stomach plating. They were holding hands. When did that happen? "We can talk about it later."
Oh, shit.
"How much of that did I say out loud?"
"I dunno, you talk a lot. You're keeping me up."
"Shit. Sorry."
"S'okay. Your voice is nice."
"Oh." It was quiet for a minute.
"It's okay if you hate me. I get it," Starscream said.
"I don't hate you," Bee responded, blinking a few times, trying to shake off the feeling of spinning. "I like it when you're here."
"But you kind of have to hate somebody a little to love them, right?" Starscream shifted, staring up at the ceiling, head still resting on Bee's stomach. "I mean, it's hard to be with someone all the time. Especially when you're stubborn and stupid, and you do stupid obnoxious things and I hate it. But if you weren't those things I hate, you wouldn't entirely be you. And I don't just like parts of you, I like you, and I can hate things you do while still knowing that it's you, and I love who you are. Even when we piss each other off. It's still you. Right?"
"Do you think i'm stupid? I'm not stupid."
"You're missing the point."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Stop apologizing so much. I hate it when you apologize." Starscream's hand squeezed his a little tighter.
"Oh... uh. sorry."
"You make me feel... like..." Starscream just kind of trailed off.
"Yeah, I know. you too... uh. I mean. you make me. uh. you know."
"Yeah, I know."
"This is good, right?"
"Mmm, it's gonna feel shitty in the morning, but right now it's good."
"What about after tommorow?"
"I don't know. Ask me then."
"Hm."
"I don't have a plan, Bee. That's not normal for me. But I don't need you to tell me it's going to be like this forever, because it probably won't be. Things don't work out like that for us. But right now, for the first time in my entire life, I'm genuinely satisfied. Can we just enjoy that? I don't know how to be happy, Bee. I don't know how to handle it. But I'm trying to make this work. We can go back to shooting each other tommorow if that's easier for you, but right now, I'm happy."
"Yeah? Yeah. Me too. God, I'm happy," Bumblebee pulled their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to Starscream's knuckles where they intersected. "I'm happy that you're happy. I want you to be happy."
"I know," Starscream said. He muttered something else, but it was quiet and slurred and Bee couldn't quite make it out. In his head, Bee imagined it was something along the lines of I love you.
#the prompt was 'so why arent bee and starscream conjunxed' and i got to go from there#it was interesting! this is pretty stream of conciousness so i hope its interesting to yall as well!#red.doc#starbee#maccadams
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Mini Garcia pt1/ Spencer Reid
Summery: Y/N is the new Tech Analyst intern under her mentor Penelope Garcia and has just started her first day at the BAU. During a case Y/N get a few calls from a not so familiar boy genius who seeks her help...or does he seek more?
Spencer Reid x Reader
Warning: Fluff/none
A/N: This is the first of many stories i will be writing and i look forwarding to writing more. I haven’t fully edited it but hope you enjoy it :)
Please Interact for more Spencer Reid/ MGG fics!!
“you will be fine trust me, you are already a natural and thats coming from yours truly” you were so nervous because today was your first day working at the BAU as a Tech Analyst Intern. Penelope was the one who got you the job working along side her. She was your teacher, mentor, and even your close friend and you knew working with her would be nothing less than entertaining. “P what if they don’t like me or I don’t fit into their group, you told me that they were like family” you followed the women wearing a floral dress with glittery high heel through the halls of the FBI coming to a stop next to two glass doors. “Y/N before we go in you are going to take three deep breathes and snap the hell out of it, cause you my little prized protege, will fit in just fine, so stop over thinking and pull yourself together”. I inhale three breathes before she pulled the glass door opened guiding me into a large room which from memory i think she had called it the “Bullpen”. As we walked in i noticed in the corner of my eyes a man and a women eyeing me up and down. The man was large and muscled, he was appealing to the eye, just not preferably my type “Babygirl who is this fine little thin-” Penelope put her hand out barricading me from the man “cool it hot cakes, she is pure” I chuckled under my breath at her immediate response “This Derek chocolate thunder Morgan is the new Intern, working beside me as i mentor her into become the next best Garcia, Y/n meet Derek Morgan” we both extend our hands to go in for a friendly handshake “Oh and this fine ass piece of women is Jennifer Jareau” I smile shaking the pretty blondes hand “JJ for short its lovely to meet you” she hesitated for a moment before continuing “You seem so young, if you don’t mind me asking how old you are” I nervously try not to stutter upon my words “Oh um-m yeah i’m 20, but I got into the early acceptance program for computer programming and coding at Georgetown and now i’m here” Derek and JJ both exchange stairs before Derek opens his mouth “you, princess should meet our resident genius, i’m sure you two would get along quite well” JJ chuckles before giving Derek a smirk “OH YES how could I have forgotten about boy genius, where is he by the way” A tall dark haired man and a slightly shorter Italian looking man appeared from behind us “Reid and Prentiss are at a conference they will be meeting us in San Francisco” He looked intently at the group surrounding me then turned to look at me “You must be Y/N L/N, i’m Aaron Hotchner but please call me Hotch, and this is David Rossi, we are happy to have you on board, Garcia has spoken very highly of you” both men shake my hand firmly “I’m glad to be on board sir and thank you for this amazing opportunity” Hotch goes to say something before he was cut off by a text message appearing on his phone. “Wheels us now, they need us down their asap, Garcia brief us on the plane” and with that they were all making their way to the elevator. “Come on little Einstein we have work to do”
--
Garcia had just finished briefing the team on the case they were assigned to. From what i could catch it was about a Zodiac killer who had been killing over a decade ago and has recently just started up again. I tried to listen in and take note on everything Garcia was doing because god knows this job is fast past and i don’t want to fall behind on my first day. I found myself continuously zoning out thinking back to what that Morgan guy said about a “resident genius”. Who was he and why was Morgan so sure we would get along. So many questions were crossing my mind, before i heard Garcia’s voice continuously saying “Earth to my little oracle, hello, Y/N come back down to earth little one” i snap back to reality seeing Garcia waving her hand in front of of me “oh sorry- P who was that resident genius Morgan spoke about earlier” she spun in her chair making eye contact with me smirking “Oh my god yes Reid, how could i forget again. So you didn’t meet Emily Prentiss she is a total kick ass babe who is super cool and Spencer Reid who is a total genius with an eidetic memory and a whopping I.Q of 187″ i began to open my mouth to say something when Garcia interrupted “you guys would totally be so cute together, i need to set you two up, it would be a match made in heaven” I blush, a little taken back by the abrupt comments made by Garcia who is now really cheery “P calm down i haven’t event met the guy and i think you are a little in over your head” she looks at me still smirking “you are already intrigued by him aren’t you” just as i was about to stop her, the computer phone began to ring and the caller I.D was most clearly someone i didn’t even know yet but for some reason already was under affect by “ANSWER IT” Garcia motioned to the headset on my head “no i don’t even know what to say” she pointed at me with her fluffy unicorn pen “answer the phone i trained you for this” I reluctantly answered and within seconds i was met with a masculine yet soft voice on the other line “Hey Garcia I need you to track the ISP of the user who entered the spam comment to an internet cafe” I immediately got butterflies in my stomach, no stop Y/N you have never met this person and Garcia is just getting in your head, you continue to remind yourself. “U-mm i’m sorry I-I’m not Garcia i’m Y/N L/N the new Tech Analyst intern” I began to fidget with my figures staring between the plasma computer screens and Garcia “Oh Hi, I’m Reid, I mean I’m Spencer, let me start over I’m Dr Spencer Reid but you can call me Spencer or Reid, nice to meet you” my nerves begin to calm at the sound of his voice and the fact that he sounded just as nervous as me. I look to Garcia as she was smiling and motioning her hands to continue the conversation “Oh um-m sorry, you needed me to track the ISP of the user who entered the spam comment to an internet cafe...right?”I patiently await his response, which seemed like forever “Yeah, if you can do that, that would be great, thanks” I look to Garcia once again as she gives me a reassuring smile of encouragement before i turn to the monitors and type away, I remember everything Garcia taught me about the bureau system and was surprising easier to manoeuvre once actually assigned to a task “Hey um Reid, you still there?” thinking maybe he hung up “still here buttercup...um i mean Y/N” Garcia nudged me overhearing what Reid had just said and was cheering in the air, I quickly regained focus “so yeah unfortunately the unsub used a prepaid credit card, so I don’t have an I.D, i’m sorry” i felt my nerves regain their position in my stomach as i thought i didn’t do a good job “Thats okay, thanks for your help L/N and am excited to meet you in person, hopefully soon” I blush quickly at his comment, this going unnoticed by Garcia who is in her own world of happiness at the moment. “Yeah same goes for you, take care and if you need anything else you know where to find us” I end the call not wanting to make anymore of a fool of myself than i already have “BUTTERCUP, HE CALLED YOU BUTTERCUP” I groan at Garcia’s response already embarrassed by the ordeal “Y/N i know Reid and i have know him for many years, never in my time of being in boy geniuses presence have i ever heard him call someone BUTTERCUP” a million things swoop through my mind in that moment, why did he call me that, was it a fluke, was he just trying to be friendly, what am i saying i have literally never met this guys before its for sure nothing. I turn my head to Garcia giving her a please stop looking at me face, before she puts her hands up in defence” Okay okay i’ll stop, but you guys would make cute babies” she whispered the last part just loud enough for me to catch it.
--
As time goes on I observe everything Garcia continues to do in order to find the details of the unsub. This job although seeming like fun is very high pressure and i made sure i noted down everything that Garcia done so i didn’t seem like the biggest failure in front of the team, or one team member in particular. The phone rang once again causing Garcia to answer it “He who seeks the queen of all knowledge, speak and be recognised” I chuckle under my breath at the witty response before i felt a tap on my shoulder “Pretty boy wants to speak with you” I give her a confused look “Boy genius, girly” I straighten up and answer my headset “Hello L/N speaking” i try to analyse why on earth he would want to speak with me and before he got a chance to answer a million conclusions were rushing through my mind “Hey L/N, long time no speak” there was a pause in the background before i heard a male chuckle and whisper “thats one way to get the girl Reid” he cleared his throat before continuing on “So i just thought i’d give you more training so can you run something for me” I physically prepare myself for what he is about to ask, ensuring i don’t screw this up “I need you to compile a list of people with I.Qs of 160 and above in the region” I type away trying to speed up so i don’t slow the team down “I’m checking with the bay area mensa society which is kind of slumming cause folks can get in with a measly I.Q of 130″ Reid chuckled at my statement making me feel more comfortable about what i was doing “try and check old school records, we’re looking for someone who is in his 20′s or 30′s” as I am intensely try my best to recover these names it appears in front of me “BINGO, Caleb Rossmore and Harvey Morell, they both have I.Qs over 160 and get this they both use to write about the Zodiac in their junior high school newspaper” I smile at myself, kinda proud at what i just accomplished on my own “thats amazing, thanks Y/N and tell Garcia she has the best intern” I smile to myself satisfied that i done something right and that Reid thought so too. “Yes that’s my little Einstein, ah you are moulding into a beautiful little Garcia, how proud i am right now
--
The team had just got back from catching both Caleb Rossmore and Harvey Morell and Garcia had gone to greet Morgan at the elevators. I had stayed behind packing my belonging as i was ready to head home to my fluffy dog Milo and sleep for hours. A knock on the door startled me. I abruptly turn around and was met with a tall figure who had beautiful brown eyes and shaggy hair. “Hi, I’m so sorry to have startled you, I’m Spencer Reid the one that kept annoying you on the phone” I feel my cheeks heat up from the sight of how pretty this boy was “um yes, i mean no you weren't annoying at all if anything you gave me the training i need, so i should be thanking you, and I’m Y/N L/N” Reid stuck out his hand which took me by surprise because according to Garcia he was not a handshaker and refused to shake hands with anyone, stating that even kissing was more sanitary “Well, in that case i’m glad to be of assistance and its nice to officially meet you Y/N” we stared in each others eyes for a few moments before we were met by Penelope and Morgan “Hey guys you have met, yay, okay now can we go this princess is getting bags under her eyes and those aren’t the kind of bags i want” we all laugh at Garcia’s remark as we start to head towards the elevator. “So I heard you went to Georgetown” i look up at the brunette boy who was gazing down at me “yeah, I actually graduated this year, which i’m kind of sad” “oh why’s that” I look straight into his eyes “I like educating myself, and expanding my field of study is something that i genuinely enjoy, so i’m kind of sad its over, but i’m looking at going for my PHD in Computer engineering” Reid looked me deeper in my eyes without saying anything, just then i heard a murmur “they will make such cute babies and i’m going to be the best godmother” and with that the elevator doors open and we all began to file in.
I may have just met Spencer Reid but i have a feeling we are definitely going to be getting along.
#matthewgraygubler#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer x you#spencer x reader#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds smut#mgg x y/n#mgg fanfiction#mgg pics#criminal minds x reader#mgg x reader#penelope garcia#derek morgan
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okay, so i'm still working through the fic trope mashups; i saved all of them as screenshots in a google doc so i could write them and then just paste them into tumblr, and the weirdest thing happened—one of the asks completely disappeared? so...
you can find the fic tropes mashup game here!
sorry, anon, i don't know why your ask disappeared; i'm so glad i got the screenshot though, because i was really looking forward to this one!
Zhenya’s just settled in with his coffee, tucked away in the corner of the bakery and out of the view of the general public, when the chair across from him slides out and someone sits down.
Zhenya sighs and puts his book back on the table, looking up with a fake smile already plastered on his face. He loves the fans here in Pittsburgh, really he does, and normally he’s happy to pose for pictures and sign things and even talk hockey strategy with a few of the more informed fans, but...when he’s sitting in the most isolated corner of a room, with a book and his hat pulled down low, that’s normally a signal for even the most go-getter Penguins diehard that he wants to be left alone.
And most fans don’t usually just sit down at his table, sheesh.
He opens his mouth, but the man—the handsome man, Zhenya notes abstractly—leans over the table and rests his hands on top of Zhenya’s. “I’m very sorry to do this,” he says softly, looking up at Zhenya through his lashes. “I don’t mean to take up your time, and I’ll be out of your hair shortly; I just need to use you as a distraction. In a minute, someone’s going to come in looking for me, but they won’t be looking for someone who’s out on a date.” He puts a coy smile on his face and tilts his head.
Zhenya pulls his hands free. “If you want...hide, you know, in public, sitting with me, big mistake,” he says curtly, looking around them warily. He can’t be seen holding hands with a man in public. He’s spent years keeping that part of his life hidden, and he’s not about to ruin it now because some random person with a super-sketchy story is in some sort of trouble.
The man frowns, staring at him. His lips are very, very pink. “What—” Zhenya can see when the penny drops. “Oh, Christ, I am so sorry, you’re—” He’s getting flustered, Zhenya notes, watching as the man’s cheeks flush. It’s a very pretty sight; if he’d met this man in one of the discreet bars he goes to when he can get away, there’s no doubt he’d have him in a corner already, maybe even spread out in his bed.
Zhenya leans back in his chair and picks up his latte, taking a sip. “Sorry for wreck plan, you know, but—”
The man’s back straightens, and the shop’s door opens. Three uniformed police officers spill in; one’s holding a walkie-talkie, and the other two are alert, hands on the guns at their hips. They scan the shop, and one of them does a double-take when he sees Zhenya, but when Zhenya makes eye contact and lifts an eyebrow, he looks away hastily. They leave soon after.
“Wow,” the man says. Zhenya glances at him; he’d been watching the police in the reflection on the window, but now he’s staring straight at Zhenya again. “That actually worked better than I thought. They didn’t even come over here, they were too embarrassed at getting caught ogling.”
Zhenya can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “That not ogle,” he says—Kris taught him that word, right after Zhenya took the C and started getting eyed up everywhere he went, even in places he’d been able to slip under the radar before. “Ogle is, you know—” He flounders, though, because ogling is what the man had been doing to him before, even though it had been for show.
The man smiles slowly. He’s got sharp canines, and his grin is lopsided and predatory. Something in his eyes...Zhenya feels pinned, all of a sudden, for all it’s clear this man is much shorter than him. “Oh, I know. You know, I’m a huge fan of yours, and I’d love to be able to repay you for helping me out just now—can I make you dinner?”
He doesn’t ask to take Zhenya out, which already makes him smarter than 70% of the men he’s hooked up with in America. And the way he’s looking—
Zhenya thinks briefly of the police officers, the tension they’d all carried, the way they kept their weapons close at hand, and shrugs to himself. He’s a professional hockey player. He gets in fights as part of his job. Whatever bullshit graffiti or whatever it was this man did, Zhenya can take care of himself. He extends his hand across the table. “Evgeni Malkin. Can call Geno, easier for mouth.” He lets his eyes drop to the man’s lips.
“Oh, I don’t need easy for that,” the man says, biting his lower lip in what can only be a purposeful provocation. “In fact, you could say I prefer it hard. You can call me Sidney.”
-----
Even on days off, Zhenya can’t really sleep in any longer. He leaves Sidney snoring in his bed and shuffles down to the kitchen to start the coffee and put together something for breakfast.
He puts the television on for some background noise, already thinking of how he can entice Sidney to stay longer—he’s sore in a deep, pleasant way that he hasn’t had in a long time, and Sidney had said he’d let Zhenya come on his face if Zhenya wanted.
The news is droning on about a spate of recent murders, five over the last three days, all prominent local politicians, all names that Zhenya’s seen in the papers before, for their donations to charity and their civic spirit, and then their money-skimming and fraud and extramarital affairs. The police, the broadcast is saying, had a lead they’d been chasing down the day before, but they’d lost it, and are warning Pittsburgh residents to exercise caution when they’re out alone.
Zhenya doctors both mugs with cream and sugar and heads back up the stairs.
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author’s note: this wasn’t a request, just something super self-indulgent that I wanted to do! ❤⃛(*ૂ❛ัᴗ❛ั*ૂ) also this ended up taking 2.5 hours to write aldkf;j so much for unwinding at the end of the day. overall, I’m super proud of how this came out — please enjoy!
❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang realizing that they’re in love!
bruno bucciarati.
Bucciarati realizes he’s in love when he sees you defending civilians.
he is a man made of love. for his people, for his community, for his goals — he firmly believes that everyone and everything can be built on yes, but more importantly, taken care of.
he sees you protecting an elderly couple during a stand battle. in a split second do you throw your stand at the couple, taking a hefty amount of damage in their place. you’re bloody and your arm is definitely broken, but you still turn to them. "you need to leave. now,” you say. although your words are harsh and hoarse, your smile reminds them that yes, everything will be fine, I just need you to trust me.
you didn’t have to protect them. any other gangster would have left them to die. they’re old, no one would miss them.
but you did. you put these two strangers, two no ones at the wrong place at the wrong time, before yourself. even if it meant you’d die.
Bucciarati would visit you shortly after the battle. Giorno had already tended to your wounds, evident by your lack of bandages. his hair is normally neatly placed, but it looks like he had been rustling it, with his clips out of place and the braid atop his head uneven. his concern is apparent; he’s wracked his brain waiting for your recovery. you knew that Bucciarati cared about his team, but when did he care this much?
↳ “I admit, your actions were certainly reckless,” he would say to you, taking a seat beside your bed. “you’re lucky that fight didn’t end worse than it did. nonetheless...” his voice is tired yet soft, comforting. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m... I’m incredibly glad.”
leone abbacchio.
Abbacchio realizes he’s in love when he sees you upholding true justice.
although he would never admit it, he is haunted by his inability to save his partner during his time as an officer. as such, Abbacchio envies those who back justice in spite of the system Italy lives under.
you’re patrolling one of La Passione’s turfs with him when you see it: two officers harassing a young girl. even though Abbacchio tells you not to get involved, you quickly storm over to the scene. their voices are loud and clear, despite them being several meters away. the girl looks scared.
it turns out she had stolen a handful of painkillers from the corner store. the cops noticed her scurrying out as they were buying a pack of smokes. and now, they were threatening to take her into the station. “I need them for my family!” she explains, but the cops don’t buy it. they huff something about her bringing them to school and selling them to her friends.
“here. I’ll pay for her. just leave her alone.” Abbacchio watches as you flash 30 euros to the cops, more than enough to pay for the medicine. playing them at their own game, he sees. thankfully, they relent, pocketing the money and leaving the scene. and after you talk to the girl, explaining that if she needs more help to come find you, you both leave the scene too.
it’s a brief affair. truthfully, he wouldn’t have gotten himself involved. he wishes you hadn’t either. it would’ve been less of a headache, and now that girl is going to pester you again in the future. but he can’t stop replaying the scene in this head. how you willingly stood up for her, reassured her that everything would be okay. how you smiled and looked so content after the fact.
↳ “ I envy you,” he would say as you walked away from the scene. “doing the right thing is...” he pauses. stupid? naive? “...it’s not easy. you didn’t have to do anything but I admire your valor. just don’t be surprised if that girl comes up at your doorstep begging for more money.” nonetheless, he wants to learn more from you. to be good again, he thinks. maybe then he can be someone that he himself is proud of. and maybe, eventually, he’ll make you proud too.
giorno giovanna.
Giorno realizes he’s in love when he sees your ambition.
he prides himself on his resolve. to him, resolve is committing to something regardless of the difficulties that a person faces. seeing you be so goal-oriented would make him believe that he’s found his match.
it doesn’t have to be a huge goal, like dedicating yourself to a field of practice or learning a new language. it can be as simple as trying to keep your houseplants alive. in fact, those little things come off as more charming to him. it shows that you’re passionate about everything you do, no matter what it is.
seeing you continuously try despite numerous failures would make Giorno’s heart pound. you refuse to give up. even with everything against you, you still roll up your sleeves, take a deep breath, and pick yourself up again. he adores this about you.
he realizes it when you’re rambling about your next move in your goals. your face is so excited, your eyes so wide and bright. your mouth is voicing your steps a million words a minute but all he can focus on is how beautiful you look. the smile on his lips is unmistakable.
↳ “tell me more. I want to know everything. tell me about every detail, every step, what you’ll do when you’re finished... all of it.” he won’t say it — after all, he doesn’t want to come off as too desperate — but he wants to be there every step of the way with you. and when you’ve completed your goal, he wants to be the one next to you, the one to say, “I am so, so proud of you.”
guido mista.
Mista realizes he’s in love when you laugh at one of his jokes.
life should be simple. that’s the mantra he lives by. despite being a gangster, he just wants to have a simple life filled with simple pleasures. one of those ways is through telling stories.
it happens when the group is eating dinner at a local restaurant. Mista is telling some long-winded anecdote, something about how he heroically beat up a landlord for harassing his tenants over money. at the end, it turned out to be the set up for a really brief and really stupid punchline.
everyone is looking at him. “ah? ahhhh?” he muses, but no one responds. the silence in the air is unbearable. hm. wow. is it hot in here or what? finally, Narancia breaks the silence, muttering that he doesn’t get it. Fugo tells him that Mista could have made the joke so much shorter. Bucciarti exhales quickly from his nostrils, a half-assed attempt at laughing. Giorno and Abbacchio don’t say anything.
but then you. oh, you. it takes you a moment to get it, but when you do, your giggling disrupts the awkwardness. it sounds like bells, Mista thinks. sweet bells, ringing like how they used to at the church every Sunday morning in his hometown. it makes him feel warm, welcome, and he can’t help but feel his face flush when he hears your laughing.
Mista stays in place afterwards, pushing his white beans to and fro on his plate. he’s not hungry anymore. he keeps looking up at you, and while he had acknowledged you were attractive before, something about you was now beautiful. you were happy here, with your eyes bright and your smile wide. eventually, he would say:
↳ “hey, thanks for covering me back there. those guys never laugh at anything I say.” he rolls his eyes playfully, adding a slight shrug of his shoulders. “lemme make it up to you. what can I do for you?” he’s trying to be smooth, but he’s so giddy at the prospect at spending more time with you!
narancia ghirga.
Narancia realizes he’s in love when you don’t lose your patience with him.
he doesn’t have much of a formal education. hence, critical thinking skills don’t come easy to him. he tries his best, he really does, but it’s difficult when he’s hardly flexed his brain.
he’s writing a song. nothing fancy, but music has always been a part of Narancia’s life that he wants to give it a go himself. maybe one day he’ll be a famous hip hop artist, touring across Europe and maybe even the U.S. one day! the thought makes him excited. but for now, he needs to establish the lyrics.
rap is easier said than done, though. Fugo is teasing him about his inability to write poetry — what makes Narancia think that he could write a whole song? he grits his teeth and turns back to his paper.
that’s when you approach him. you sit down with him, asking him what he would like to write about. “oh, uh... growing up in the streets, I guess,” he mumbles. he’s taken aback by your help. plus, talking about it now makes him embarrassed. but you don’t judge him, no; you sit down with him and try to help him nail down the theme. and once you have that, you assist him in finding snappy lyrics and catchy rhymes.
you don’t criticize him for his ideas. you don’t yell at him for his suggestions. you just listen and add on. the encounter is foreign, to say the least... but not unwelcome. Narancia finds your help incredibly productive (much better than Fugo could ever offer him). and the time goes by so fast! within a few hours, his song is done. yet he’s not happy... no, he starts to feel lonely the moment you stand up, off to assist Bucciarati with whatever he needs.
↳ “wait, hold on, [Name]!” shit. his voice is way too desperate. he softens it as best he can muster: “can... can we write another song sometime? I have a lot more ideas and I can’t do it without you.” fuck. he did it again. but when smile at him and nod, promising that you’ll help him hit the Top 40, Narancia can’t help but smile back.
panacotta fugo.
Fugo realizes that he’s in love when you put him before yourself.
genius. prodigy. failure. Fugo is defined by how others see him. after his parents abandoned him for leaving an abusive establishment, he finds himself lost in the world. who is he? what is he worth?
he’s escorting you to your mission when his car is attacked by a rival gang. the assault is a blur. he can remember the car flipping over, tumbling off the road and into the Mediterranean Sea. it happens so fast. the salty water surrounding you both. the windshield cracking. the airbag goes off, suffocating him. he can’t see. he can’t breathe. and suddenly, it’s dark.
when he wakes up, he realizes that you’re both on the beach. “where are we?” he musters out. it hurts to talk. you hush him to take it easy, that he had most certainly broken a few ribs. and that’s when he sees it: when he looks down, his wounds are tended to. gashes have been tenderly wrapped in gauze and minor cuts treated with balm. a pain relief patch has been placed on his chest, no doubt where the air bag hit him. but when he looks at you, you’re bleeding through your bandages.
that’s right. there was a first aid kit in the car. based on his injuries, you spent the majority of supplies on him, even though you definitely had it just as bad. “why?” is all he can say.
why? you shake your head. “because you’re my friend,” you answer, adjusting the gauze on his wrist. “I’m taking care of you because you’re worth it.”
your words catch him by surprise. he doesn’t believe it, but... your face is honest enough. his thoughts are jumbled, as mixed as the sand and water at the shore just a few meters away. and when your hand touches his wrist... he shakes his own head.
↳ “you should’ve tended to yourself first.” his tongue tastes of nothing but blood and salt and his words show it. a beat, and gentler this time: “I appreciate your thinking of me. thank you.” that’s all he can say, at least for now. it hurts to much to talk, moreover think. so he places his hand over yours as a gesture of thanks. friends, huh? the idea before sounded laughable, but now... there was something warm about it. the answer to his question — who is he? — had come as quickly as the waves beneath him: a friend.
#bucci gang#jjba#jojo's bizarre adventure#giorno giovanna#golden wind#bruno bucciarati#leone abbacchio#guido mista#narancia ghirga#pannacotta fugo#headcanons#part 5#toya whisks u away
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Where to start with Sailor Moon?
From time to time I’ve seen people ask about how to get into Sailor Moon or how they might introduce it to someone else.
As such I’ve made this to (hopefully) help people out.
Introduction
So first of all you should know that the official name for the over all franchise is ‘Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon’. This can (and has) been translated a few ways, but the current official name is ‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon’. Basically everything connected with Sailor Moon carries this full official name, but for the purposes of this post I’m just going to shorten things to ‘Sailor Moon’.
Moving on, there are in fact different versions of the Sailor Moon story, even putting aside the various attempts at translating the story into different languages. Each version is best viewed as its own entity, sort of how there have been various versions of Sherlock Holmes that exist independently of one another.
For the sake of simplicity, I’m going to mostly keep this post to the original Japanese iterations of Sailor Moon, albeit from the point of view of an English speaking audience member.*
The main versions of the Sailor Moon story are as follows:
1) The Manga
The manga iteration of Sailor Moon began around late 1991/early 1992. It includes around 50 chapters, a handful of side stories and a prequel manga of sorts called Codename: Sailor-V. There have been several different English translations of this material over the years. However, my personal recommendation would be to experience the story through the ‘Eternal Editions’. These are easily available in print and digitally. As of this writing Codename: Sailor-V is scheduled to be collected in at some point in 2021, thus collecting all the manga stories.
2) The 1992 anime
This is the most famous iteration of Sailor Moon and loosely adapts the manga to the point where it is its own entity. It spans 200 episodes across five seasons, with each season being given its own subtitle. E.g. season 2 is referred to as ‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon R’. Additionally there were a handful of shorts and specials connected with the anime and three films. I have already compiled a watch list for the show that I hope will help you navigate everything.
Like the manga, there have been multiple efforts to subtitle the show into English, particular among fan subbing circles. However, the easiest way to watch the show with English subs is to do so via a streaming service (last I checked it was available on Hulu and Crunchyroll) or to purchase the DVDs and Blu-rays from Viz Media, although you can also purchase them digitally on Amazon.com too.
3) The musicals
On and off since 1993 there have been stage musicals produced for Sailor Moon. If you ever see the term ‘Sera Myu’ being used by fans (or even official sources) understand that it’s shorthand for these musicals.
The musicals are based chiefly upon the manga and the original anime, although with some original embellishments here and there. The degree to which a musical cuts closer to the manga, or the anime or does something all its own varies from one production to another. I’m not very well read up on the musicals I must admit, but it is to my understanding that each production exists independently from one another beyond at times carrying over cast and staff members. In essence there is no particular order you need to watch the musicals in. However, if you want more info on the musicals see the below EDIT, which is more well informed than I am.
To my knowledge, (which is limited in this particular case) all the musicals have been filmed but there has never been any kind of official English release for them. There have however been fan subbed efforts made for all of them.
4) The 2003 live action TV show
In fan circles this show is referred to as ‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon’ or ‘Pretty Guardian’ or ‘PGSM’. This is because it was the first piece of Sailor Moon media to bear that particular English translation of ‘Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon’. Basically if you see ‘Pretty Guardian’ or ‘PGSM’, understand it is referencing this show.
The show exclusively adapts the ‘Dark Kingdom’ storyline, the first storyline in every version of Sailor Moon. The show was made in a similar vein to shows like Kamen Rider or Super Sentai and the latter’s American adaptation, Power Rangers. However, it also incorporates elements of Japanese soap opera dramas too, original elements that were never in any version of Sailor Moon beforehand and many different spins on the plot points that had been covered before.
To my knowledge, like Sera Myu, no official English release for this show exists, but English fansubs are out there somewhere. If you manage to find the show then you should watch the various episodes and specials in their original broadcast order. For this Wikipedia is your friend.
5) Sailor Moon Crystal
Sporadically since 2014 a new Sailor Moon anime has been in production. This new anime cuts much closer to the original manga (although it still makes some changes ) than any other version of Sailor Moon. As of this writing, the show has yet to be completed and still has material from the manga left to adapt. The show is available to watch with English subtitles from the same sources as the original 1992 anime, including DVDs and Blu-Rays from Viz Media.
Like the original anime, Crystal’s story arcs and seasons have gone under different names. The first two seasons/arcs are officially just called ‘Sailor Moon Crystal’, whilst the third is explicitly titled ‘Sailor Moon Crystal Season III’. In place of a fourth season two films, Sailor Moon: Eternal Part 1 and Part 2, were produced. As of this writing, the Eternal films have yet to have any kind of English release. To make your life easier, watch this show in the order of the original air/release dates. Just remember the Eternal films are to be viewed after Season III.
Which version should you start with?
Whilst that is how the franchise breaks down, it is not the order a Sailor Moon newbie should try experiencing it in.
My personal recommendation would be to begin with the original 1992 anime and then move on to any of the other versions from there. This is because the original anime is aimed at a younger audience and was incredibly influential on basically every other version of the story.
However, if 200 episodes or more is too intimidating for you, then simply check out the manga. It’s far shorter, skewed a bit older and tells a concise and complete story.
And if you are still apprehensive then I’d highly recommend watching the first Sailor Moon film, Sailor Moon R The Movie. This is a very good film unto itself but it is a microcosm of the characters and themes that define the franchise as a whole. If you dislike this Sailor Moon just isn’t for you.
P.S. If you are simply dead set against subtitles then you should know the original 1992 anime and Crystal have in fact been dubbed into English by Viz Media. In fact, the first four seasons of the original anime, along with the first three films, have two English dubs, variously produced by DiC, Cloverway and Pioneer. These dubs were made in the 1990s and early 2000s and are currently not legally available anywhere.
*Things get more complicated when we consider that even in Japan there have been updated and altered versions of the Sailor Moon manga, anime, etc. We aren’t going to worry about that in this post though. They exist and maybe someday you might be inclined to check them out, but you know...baby steps...
EDIT #1: The following information comes from https://euribear.tumblr.com/
Just something I want to add on about the Sailor Moon Musicals.
If you see a musical with the word Kaiteiban (revision) at the end of the name, that means it’s a revised version of the previous musical. Things added or taken away, different cast members at times, etc.
Also, there are three musicals (technically four) that have a continuous storyline. Starring Miyuki Kanbe as Sailor Moon, Last Dracul, Transylvania no Mori (and its Kaiteiban), and Death Vulcan should be viewed in order.
The Bandai era of musicals were from 1993 to 2005.
The Nelke musicals started in 2014 and there was one each year for five years. One musical for each arc of the manga.
There are also the NogiMyu. These are musicals that solely focus on the Dark Kingdom arc and they star various members of the pop idol group Nogizazaka46.
There were two teams of cast members for the inner senshi for both years, 2018 and 2019. The same story overall, just different actresses.
There was also Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon The Super Live. My personal favorite, this was a musical performed only a few times. A couple of days in Japan in 2018 and then once in Paris in 2019 and then in Washington D.C. and later in NYC. I got to see this in person on one of the three showings in NYC. A dream come true. Unfortunately, this was never recorded, though they did release an instrumental musical album of the show.
#Sailor Moon#pretty soldier sailor moon#pretty guardian sailor moon#bishojo senshi sailor moon#bishoujo senshi sailor moon#Sailor Moon Crystal#PGSM#SeraMyu#Sera Myu#naoko takeuchi#Toei Animation
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Diary of the Writing Raven
Part 3 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of Raven lore (check out part 1 and part 2 for more context)!
Today, we will peak into the raven’s diary. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. The bulk of the entries are hidden under the cut--because a bird has to keep their secrets under lock and key!
***Warning: Spoilers for the main story campaign, particularly chapter 3 and chapter 4!***
Day 1
I am here. At Night Raven College.
There is a strange man. He calls himself my Uncle. He says that he is so very, very kind...and that he will give me a nest, a place to call home.
Uncle has given me this diary with which to record my thoughts. I will put it to good use.
I am thankful.
Day 32:
Uncle says I cannot stay in the attic writing.
He says I cannot stay in my cage forever.
Uncle says I must go out into the world.
He says it often.
I am scared.
Day 45
Uncle has given me robes.
He smeared things on my face.
There will be a ceremony of sorts, and I must attend.
...I am still scared.
Day 46
The ceremony is over.
I got lost on the way to the Mirror Chamber.
A weirdo chased me.
But...a nice person helped. Then he guided me to the ceremony.
He had very pretty eyes.
His name is Mon-sure Schemer? Mister Jade Leech. I hope I can see him again.
Day 49
I am so fortunate! I have stumbled upon Mister Jade again--this time in the hallway.
There was another Mister Jade with him. His name is actually Mister Floyd. They are brothers--twins, in fact! Eel mermen, too.
They look alike, but their personalities are quite different. It is a curious thing.
Mister Floyd is a little scary. He talks funny, and he is moody--but he promises he does not bite. He has taken to calling me “Black Pearly”.
They say they work at this “Mostro Lounge”, and that I should visit.
I am excited!
P.S. Mister Jade says I do not need to call them misters. I will be doing that!
Day 50
The Mostro Lounge is lovely! It has these glowing jellyfish lights, and seashell decorations. There is cool jazz, and a calming underwater ambiance.
Jade seats me and gives me recommendations. I don’t know what a lot of things on the menu are--Uncle has been feeding me mostly grain and small scraps of meat, trying to get me accustomed to human food.
Jade brings me a thing called Flounder’s Blue. He says it will be easier to hold down than solid food.
Flounder’s Blue comes in a short and stout glass. The liquid itself is actually yellow, with streaks of a blue drip swiped on the inside of the glass, and a blue...circle (?) stuck in, protruding out like a fin.
It tastes...sugary. I do not yet have the words in my vocabulary to properly describe it.
Jade tells me the circle is a “wafer”, the blue is a “syrup”, and the liquid is a “pineapple and cherry juice”.
I am learning many new things today.
Jade is so smart!
Day 54
I almost flopped at giving a presentation to Professor Trein’s class.
Floyd says it’s because I talk strangely, that I stutter and pause too much.
“Why can the Black Pearly write so much, but talk so little?” he asks. “You should tell Jade to tutor you, he’s pretty good with words!”
I have to agree with him. Jade taught me many new words in the Mostro Lounge before. I was embarrassed, but I asked him for help.
He was happy to oblige.
We will meet a few times each week to work on my speaking skills.
Day 59
I tripped and fell in P.E.--I am still no good at running.
Jade was sweet and helped patch me up.
I cried a little.
Okay, a lot.
He stayed with me until I stopped.
Day 71
I have gotten into the habit of visiting the Mostro Lounge every weekend.
The owner, Azul, is friends with the twins. He lets me sit at a table in the corner to do my work and practice speaking.
Jade sits with me and exchanges words.
He has me read stories I have penned aloud.
Sometimes he puts a plate of snacks or a drink in front of me and asks me to taste them, then describe the flavor to him. Other times, he points to people or things in the lounge and asks me to give my thoughts.
Once, he pointed at himself. I told him that he was very patient, that he was someone I trusted.
“Fufu. That is good to hear,” he says.
I also told him that his smile was beautiful.
Day 75
Today, I saw Jade’s true form.
We were swimming today in P.E., but I had to sit out. Ravens cannot swim.
Floyd and Jade were eager to get into the water. Their skin turns blue, and they sprout fins and long eel tails.
...I am not entirely certain why they lack clothing though? It must not be customary for merfolk.
They are having fun in the water.
I am glad.
Day 83
An angry Savanaclaw student came to me in the hallway after Alchemy.
He started to say something about the Leeches and deals, but Floyd told him to stop bothering me. In that moment...Floyd looked like a monster, all teeth and sharp edges.
Jade pulled me away and invited me to go hiking with him.
It sounds fun, but I am concerned about the Savanaclaw student.
Jade says to not fret.
So I listen.
Day 84
There is so much to see in the mountains!
Trees! Streams of water! Rocks! Dirt! Animals! Plants! The sky!
I want to experience everything at once. I am so excitable that I trip over my own two feet a few times--but it’s okay. Jade is always there to help me up.
His favorite thing about nature is mushrooms. He tells me all about them, and the places they like to hide.
I like listening to him talk. His voice is so deep and melodious--and his eyes sparkle when he is excited.
It’s very cute.
Day 86
Jade shows me the mushrooms he is cultivating, and his terrariums.
They are fascinating--each mushroom has its own personality, and each terrarium is like a miniature world.
A thought has wormed its way into my head as of late:
I wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world.
Day 90
It rained.
I shared an umbrella with Jade.
It was a little strange to be squished right next to him.
My heart would not stop pounding, and my cheeks were on fire.
Day 112
The days are growing colder, and shorter.
I wish that time did not fly so fast.
I want to spend more of it with Jade.
I need to return the jacket he lent me.
Day 120
Uncle is worried.
He says I spend too much time with “morally dubious” people.
He questions my ability to judge character.
He does not believe me when I tell him that Jade is a good person.
Uncle warns me to be careful.
I am being careful.
Day 132
Winter has set in.
Jade is kind enough to provide blankets and warm beverages for our study sessions.
At this point, I do not have many issues speaking, but...I do not want to stop. I want to learn more and more. I want to learn more about him.
I enjoy being by his side.
I hope he feels the same.
Day 139
We said our good-byes for the holiday break.
Uncle is taking me with him to a tropical island, and Jade is staying in Octavinelle.
I tell him I will miss him, even if it is just for a few weeks. He looks a bit sad, but he sends me off with a head pat and a smile.
Uncle offers to order me a tropical drink as we board the cruise ship. He tells me not to think of Leeches--those vile, blood-suckers, he calls them.
I say no thank you, but I dream of Flounder’s Blue.
Day 153
The new year has come.
It feels nice to be back on campus, to see Jade again.
We exchanged stories.
Not much happened on my end--I mostly sat indoors and wrote what I could to pass the time. Uncle was often up late into the night, partying and sipping on pina coladas.
Jade says that he helped a few friends and stopped a snake from tearing apart Scarabia. He even shows me a video.
How heroic of him!
I know that I can always count on Jade.
Day 166
I went shopping with Jade.
Floyd was in one of his infamous moods, and Azul is busy with school work--and Jade could not possibly restock ingredients for the Mostro Lounge all by himself.
It was quite busy in town--it made me nervous. I’ve never done well in big crowds of strangers.
Jade said I could hold his hand, if that made me feel any better.
It did.
And it reminded me of the day we first met.
Day 170
I’m still thinking about holding his hand.
Whenever I do, my heart quickens and my forehead begins to bead with sweat.
What is wrong with me?
Have I fallen ill?
Day 185
The students speak excitedly about this holiday known as “Valentime’s Day.” It is a time when you give gifts to the people you care for a lot. A common one is a sweet known as chocolate.
Jade laughed when I told him about it. He said it is actually “Valentine’s Day”, not “Valentime’s Day”. Silly me!
I asked him how many valentines he was expecting.
“None. Oh, woe is me. I appear to be rather unpopular among my peers, fufu.”
How could someone as amazing as him not get any valentines? It boggles my mind.
Day 186
I’ve decided.
I will give him a valentine.
Day 193
I’ve stopped writing stories and devoted most of my free time to researching recipes and designing chocolates.
I think he will like little mushroom-shaped ones. I’ll need to test the flavors out to see what works the best.
I hope the chocolates will bring a smile to his face.
I like his smiles.
Day 195
Oh no, diary.
I’ve realized.
I think I like him.
Day 197
The chocolates came out so well!
I’ve wrapped them up in a box and secured it with blue ribbon. There is an old nursery rhyme...
If you love me, love me true,
Send me a ribbon, a ribbon of blue.
Even if I cannot say those accursed three words...I hope that my feelings are able to come across. The curse cannot punish me for that, yes?
Day 198
I was a fool. I have been tricked. I was being used.
I heard them. I heard everything.
In the Mostro Lounge today...the octopus was speaking to them, the twins with the pretty eyes.
“This is not like you. You are working too slow,” the octopus said to the man I considered my friend.
“I apologize. She was...putting up much resistance. It can be rather difficult to form a connection with such a jittery bird.”
“That is your job,” the octopus sighed. “We need the raven on our side when we approach the headmaster about expanding the Mostro Lounge.”
I understand now--I understand it very well.
Those smiles, that kindness--they were smoke and mirrors.
To begin with, I was always destined to be a prop in someone else’s story. A convenience. Something to be used, then discarded once I am no longer useful.
I have overstepped my boundaries as a storyteller. I...should have remained on the sidelines, where I belong.
I...I know what I must do. I will not allow myself to be tricked a third time. Not by that old storyteller, and not by a slimy eel.
I will steel myself. I will build a wall—and none shall scale it. I will lock myself in a tower, or perhaps even a bird cage, and throw away the key.
To the man with the pretty eyes and the charming smile, farewell.
I’m glad that this raven was, at the very least, able to be a useful footnote in the pages of your story.
Day 201
He feeds me pretty lies and sweet nothings, day in and day out.
He tells me everything I want to hear--that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake. That things are different now. That he cares.
Uncle was right. Leeches are vile blood suckers.
Day 210
I reject his advances every chance I get.
I know they are all with ill intent to begin with.
Even so...no matter what I say or do, he always manages to get the upper hand in the conversation, the interaction.
I hate him.
I hate Jade Leech.
I hate how he is able to take my words away and render me speechless. Words are my only strength, my power as a storyteller. Without them, I am vulnerable.
I don’t want to be the same weak and naive little bird I once was.
Day 213
It is unfair.
Maybe I am too kind, or too weak, or too gullible, but...I want to believe him.
I must put such thoughts behind me and move on.
Day 226
Uncle tells me that someone has sent a letter and a small package.
Into the trash the package goes--right where it belongs.
But the letter--that, I cannot bring myself to throw away.
It bears his handwriting, the very same gentle curves and slopes that taught me new words and phrases many an evening.
It is silly of me to be this sentimental--and over an eel, of all creatures!
So I stow the letter, unopened, in a drawer. It will remain there as a permanent reminder of my follies.
It is better this way.
I cannot be hurt.
I will not be used.
The curse will not kill me.
I can write stories, forever and ever.
This is...for the best. Isn’t it?
#Jade Leech#Floyd Leech#Azul Ashengrotto#Dire Crowley#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#spoilers#angst#STOP READING MY DIARY#Tale of the Cursed Raven#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#Raven Crowley
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Lost and Found Ch. 2
A/N: Hey guys, just trying my hand out at this fanfic thing. I love reading everyone’s stuff and decided to write something myself. I’m fairly new to Tumblr so any tips or suggestions are highly appreciated. Let me know if y’all like it and would like me to continue. Feedback would be amazing. Thank you and happy reading.
Summary: Sam and Dean meet a young hunter who is a little rough around the edges and they reluctantly take her under their wing. But she might be a little more connected to them that any of them realise.
Word Count: 1.6k
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Dean’s first priority after going back to the motel was getting Sam patched up. Y/N went to her own room and got into the shower to get the dingy warehouse stink off of her. The water pressure was abysmal but it got the job done.
She went back to the boys’ room and knocked on the door. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed the door open to see Dean wrapping Sam’s ribs. The younger Winchester clearly thought it was unnecessary if his facial expression was anything to go by, but he let Dean do it anyway. Sam knew better to argue with Dean in his ‘mother-hen’ mode.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Sam could see the guilt in her eyes. If only she had followed orders, Sam wouldn’t have bruised ribs.
“Really, I’m good. I’ve had worse. It’s part of the job. We screw up and we learn. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Now you know better for next time.”
It surprised her that Sam could read her so well after just three days. She remembered their first interaction. She had stopped for a quick bite at a diner when they walked in and sat beside her on the breakfast bar. At first, she had ignored them, going back to studying the case she was in town for. That didn’t last long though, as pieces of their conversation caught her attention quite quickly.
“Do you guys always talk about cases this loudly in the middle of a diner where anyone could easily overhear you?” she had asked them, still looking through her notes, “cause that does not seem like a smart thing to do.”
She had finally looked up and saw them staring at her in disbelief.
“Excuse me?” The shorter one, which she would later learn was Dean, had said.
“You are hunters. Discussing a case as weird as this one out in public. Loudly. I wasn’t even trying to eavesdrop. Like I said – not smart.”
“You’re a hunter? You’re like 12!” Dean had exclaimed. He had obviously been exaggerating. For one, she was 15, not 12; and two, Dean was still under the impression that she was over 17 at least. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t look like an average 15-year-old and she had never bothered to correct him anyway.
They had gone on to argue over who would work on the case, and when neither party backed down, Sam had suggested they just all work together. The rest had been history.
She was jerked out of her thoughts when she registered what Sam had said.
“Wait, next time?”
Not happening. She liked the Winchesters and yes, they were not bad as far as hunting partners went. But there was a reason she hunted alone. She didn’t like people in her space. She knew that as soon as they figured out that she was a 15-year-old orphan, they would ship her off somewhere, ‘for her own good’. It had happened way too many times before for her to trust anyone, no matter how nice they seemed. She had been put into foster care three times on the behest of ‘concerned adults’ before. The homes were so bad that she preferred the streets and ran away the first chance she got. She had been on her own since she was 11 and had practically raised herself even before that. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what was best for her.
“Sorry boys, I prefer to hunt alone. Don’t get your hopes up for another team-up anytime soon,” she said before Sam could open his mouth again.
Dean’s jaw ticked but she could see him forcing the tension out, in hopes of reasoning with her. He knew that telling her what to do wouldn’t work, he had noticed that she had problems with authority.
“Look, we have this friend. She’s a sheriff and she’s got two other girls living with her who are either hunters or aware of the life. If you want –”
Dean knew that they had messed up. Y/N’s face grew hard as she listened to Sam talk about Jody and the girls. Yes, they had called her and asked her if she would be willing to take in another stray but Jody had warned them that Y/N didn’t sound like someone who wanted a normal life. Claire had wanted to hunt but she had also wanted a family. Alex had wanted to get out of the life. Both of them had wanted to be there.
He could see that they were losing her. He didn’t understand why he felt so strongly about helping her, but he panicked at the thought of her hunting alone out there. So, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind – “You could hunt with us!”
Sam paused mid-sentence, looking at his brother incredulously. That was not what they had agreed on. While his brother clearly felt more strongly about helping her, Sam himself had grown quite fond of Y/N and wanted her to be safe. But he also knew that they had too much on their plate to add her into the mix. She’s just be in more danger anyway. They were in the middle of dealing with the darkness – there was no way bringing Y/N into their life would end well. After the way they lost Charlie, Dean should have been the first one to realize that.
Y/N’s face dropped the hard stare it was featuring only to be replaced by a look of surprise. Hunting with the Winchesters was something aspiring hunters dreamed off. They were the big leagues, where the real action was. She’d heard rumors about their dalliances with angels and prophets and monsters from purgatory. So, of course she was surprised when they offered her a chance to play with the big boys. But she knew she couldn’t take them up on it. Specially since Sam didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it either. Which stung – but she understood.
“As tempting as that sounds, I’m good. You guys probably have a lot to deal with anyway if Sam’s face is any indication. I don’t want to be a problem. I’ll get out of your hair and maybe we can team up again if you happen to be on the same case as me.” Y/N didn’t want to get close to people. They just ended up abandoning you sooner or later.
Sam backtracked guiltily, assuring her that they wanted her with them. He didn’t want her in danger but he didn’t want her to feel unwanted either. There was just something about her that made both brothers want to protect her.
“You won’t be,” Dean said firmly. “You’re clearly a good hunter. You figured out the case before us and you were right. You could use some tactical training and work on your combat a little bit. From where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone to teach you either. We can help –”
“You’re telling me you have time to take in a rookie hunter in the middle of dealing with your apocalypse of the year?” she scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Dean.
Sam remained silent, a spectator to the back and forth between his brother and Y/N. He wanted her to come with them. He just didn’t want her to end up dead like every other person they cared about.
Dean switched tactics when enticing her with training didn’t work.
“What about living arrangements? We have a pretty sweet set up in Kansas. It’s like a bat cave. You’d like it there.”
“I manage just fine in motels,” she fibbed just a little bit. Even with fake IDs and fake credit cards, she sometimes had a hard time convincing motels to give her a room. She’d spent more nights in the cold streets than she cared to admit, but it was all just a part of being a hunter and she accepted that. Even the rooms she did get were dingy at best, but she didn’t want their charity.
“Look kid, I know how it works. You can’t lie to me.” She looked away at that.
“What about family? You have anyone we can at-least get you back to?” Dean had just about admitted defeat at this point. Even Sam looked dejected and he hadn’t even exactly wanted her with them in the first place.
At his statement, she jerked, her whole body flinching at the mention of family. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed by either brother.
“Y/N? You alright?” Sam asked when she didn’t say anything for a minute.
“No. No family,” she ignored Sam. “I never knew my father, all my mother said about him was that he was a hunter too. I always assumed he died on the job.”
She was fidgeting with her rings. She did that when she was nervous or uncomfortable, they’d learned.
“What about your mother?” Sam dared to ask softly.
“Dead.” Y/N’s voice was hard which surprised Sam. In the time they’d spent together, she had never seemed cold, but she did right now.
“Killed by a werewolf when I was 11,” she continued in that same emotionless voice, “I’ve been on my own ever since.”
She didn’t ever share anything about her life with other hunters and the fact that she told them this perplexed her, but she couldn’t ignore Sam’s puppy dog eyes.
“I’m sorry kiddo,” Sam said, empathy practically oozing from his voice, “We know what it’s like losing a mother young. It doesn’t get easier.”
“What was her name?” Sam said after a brief pause.
She was silent for a long time. She hadn’t said her name out loud in almost 5 years.
“Sandra,” She finally said softly, the tiniest hint of emotion in her voice. “Sandra L/N.”
Dean froze.
He knew that name.
Chapter 3
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I’m uploading this Friday at 12:10 am. Or, at least, that’s when I finished writing this. Yes, we’re still on the angst thing. It won’t last forever, but still.
Chapter 9
“How is she?”
Donatello sits down next to his brother on the couch. “Same as yesterday,” he sighs. “Comatose.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Raphael smirks. “That stupid bitch decided to total the fuckin—"
“Raphael,” he promises coolly, “I will personally make it my life’s goal to make sure you can never open your mouth again if you don’t shut up.”
He puts his hands up. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Will you two be quiet for a minute? I’m trying to listen.” Leonardo kneels in front of the television.
There is a new news story.
“They can’t arrest her, can they?” The tallest brother glances at the others.
“Nah.” Michelangelo is sprawled out on his portion of the couch, eyes dully focused on the screen. “They’ll side with her before someone from a street gang, ‘specially with those…” He trails off. “’ Sides,” he clears his throat, “any good public defense lawyer would call it self-defense, and there’s no way the police would convict a teenage girl of any degree of murder with the injuries she has; bad press.”
“Mikey,” Leo asks, “how come you know that and not how to multiply numbers by seven?”
“Because seven is a stupid number that was created just to make us all feel stupid.”
“Leo—”
“He’s right,” Raph agrees. “They won’t put her away for something like that.” He chuckles darkly. “Besides, there’s no more evidence.”
“After what happened with the neurologist?”
“Donnie,” Leo turns to look at him. “She’s going to be fine.”
He opens his mouth to argue, closes it.
” The perpetrator,” the news anchor reads, ” was found this morning after a panicked nine-one-one caller had seen the hand of the assailant hanging over a ledge. The corpse had, presumably, been flung away from the scene of the incident as a consequence of the explosion, miraculously landing on the roof of a nearby restaurant. The body has been identified as Fong Zhao, who was arrested on multiple charges of armed battery earlier this year. The police have refrained from offering Channel Six detailed information, but we have an anonymous source who claims that he and the gang he is supposedly involved in, locally referred to as the Purple Dragons, was also involved in the hijacking of a truck carrying a substance believed to be tear gas. The driver of the truck testified in favor of this statement earlier this evening. An investigation is currently ongoing regarding the involvement of the men in question, and we at Channel Six implore our viewers to come forward with any information you may have on the case or the supposed ringleader, the recently escaped Xever Montes. More on that later tonight. Up next, a local—”
Leonardo shuts off the television. “Well, there you go.” He stands up. “See? Didn’t even mention her name.”
Donatello breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he nods after a moment. “That’s... good.” He cradles his head in his hand, his concerns hardly pacified by the report.
This, he cannot excuse. This is entirely a matter of his own negligence.
‘I should’ve noticed sooner, insisted to come with.’ He zones out, his brother starting a conversation about something he cannot bring himself to pay attention to. ‘How could she be that reckless? It’s Shredder for fuck’s sake; I should’ve at least noticed the body or something, anything.’ His fingers lace together as he stares a hole into the ground. ‘Even if I couldn’t have stopped her, I should’ve been there, if only after the fact.’ He runs his tongue along his teeth absentmindedly. ‘Some ninja I am. Some friend. Some—’
“So, I broke Y/N’s arms, right?”
His head snaps up. “You what?”
“There he is,” Raph chuckles. “Knew that’d get his attention.”
“Don’t make me go over there,” he glares. His face flushes in embarrassment.
Leonardo rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics. “As I was saying, it’s been pretty quiet, hasn’t it? Since the incident?”
“Now that you mention it,” Raph points out, “since the whole Leatherhead fiasco, I don’t think anything’s really happened. Ya know, besides the Kraang thing.” He crosses his arms behind his head, leaning back into the couch. “It’s been getting’ kinda boring If I’m bein’ honest.”
“It’s that desire to fight that’s going to get you killed,” Donatello informs him, staring at the television screen. “Saw what happened to her, right? Weren’t you just saying how stupid she was being?”
“Yeah, but that’s different.” He smiles sharply. “She’s got exactly no training. As much as you guys seem to have a thing for humility all of a sudden,” he waves his hand contemptuously, “the only reason she got hurt is that she was being stupid, so we’re pretty much undefeated, no thanks to Leo.”
He stands up, deciding against fighting him. “If you need me,” he says curtly, “I’ll be in my lab.”
“Watch it, Raph,” the eldest brother snaps.
“Why should I?” He throws his hands up. “Am I wrong?”
Mikey quietly grabs his comic off the floor, retreating to his room, presumably.
Donatello slides the door in between him and his brothers as he sits down at his desk.
You have been stuck in the hospital for about two weeks now.
‘Technically,’ he corrects himself as he pulls his laptop open, ‘it’s been three hundred fifty-seven hours, meaning it’s closer to fifteen days than two weeks. Why do I know that?’ He pulls up an image, uncapping a permanent marker and working on one of the more mindless parts of his latest project: reviving an incredibly battered map. He already has a frame for it once he is finished, but, knowing his brothers, the fading colors would likely be a point of contention if he did not at least make an effort to make it easier to read. Fortunately for him, it is not laminated. Unfortunately—depending on how you look at it— a lot of the finer details—the integral streets names in particular—are all irreparably smudged and, therefore, will have to be all rewritten by hand, turning a once twenty-minute job into at least a two-hour investment.
He tries to tune out the incessant arguing of his two older brothers as he focuses on making his minute handwriting legible despite the infuriatingly fat marker nib.
“You should have taken her offer for a pen when you had the chance,” he mumbles to himself.
His hand stops.
‘Would it be weird to go check on her again? Just to make sure she’s still alright? I mean,’ he goes back to work, ‘even if it were, how would she know?’
He shakes his head to clear it. ‘Stop that. You’re being a creep again.’
Over those two weeks, his distractedness has become more of a problem than it has in the past in reference to his work. He is hardly a stranger to having a thousand thoughts bouncing around his head at once, but where once a rapid stream of information was there is now an aggravatingly slow sludge. The origin of said mind sludge is not at all a mystery to him, which makes the whole thing infinitely more frustrating. ‘Frustrating? Depressing? Does it even matter?’
He rubs his eye absentmindedly with the heel of his palm as he strains to see what he is doing. The smell of the marker is corrosive in his nostrils. His hand shakes. He sets it down, wringing his hands as if to force them back into submission as he stares holes into the map. ‘This is not supposed to be challenging.’ He closes his eyes, the image of you lying on the ground, a bloody, skeletal figure shaking and begging for your life carved into the backs of his eyelids, a hideous scar.
He can not stop thinking about what you said the night before the incident. Something about being able to care for yourself.
What would you say to him now? He imagines that it would be something to remind him of how the accident is your fault, how he should not beat himself up over it, but all that does is convince him that he should have been faster to act or to respond or something. There had to have been something he, in his infinite wisdom, could have done. What else can he reason? That he is powerless? That he had no say in what happened that night of nights?
‘How come I can plan and build a combat vehicle out of alien technology and an old subway car and I can’t—’
He jumps at a loud banging at the door.
“Donnie!” He can hear Raphael’s wicked grin from behind the door. “Bank robbery! Let’s go!”
He sighs, capping the marker. His breakdown will have to wait.
“Comin’!”
--
The ringing in your ears is already annoying.
You have been awake for about five minutes. You have elected against moving for a plethora of reasons, but the ringing is a relatively large determining factor in your decision. You are, admittedly, not sure where you are until you hear the tell-tale incessant beeping you remember from your childhood. You do not open your eyes yet. You are incredibly drowsy for some reason.
‘Hospital?’
You sit up carefully, wincing as a numb pain permeates through your arms. You run your fingers over your face curiously, feeling for any perceived disfigurement as your eyes scan your surroundings. The small room you have been placed in seems standard; there are a couple of chairs under a window that makes up half of the wall, a television screen in a corner of the room, an inoffensive painting, and a small vase filled with some sort of white flowers.
You feel a protruding scar on the right side of your face. It traces from the bridge of your nose to about halfway across your cheekbone. As you bring your hands down to pull the hospital gown away from your body, you catch sight of your hands. Long, jagged cuts run vertically along the front of your hands, and as your eyes travel up your arms, you notice fewer, shorter scars along the insides of your forearms. You swallow, pulling the cloth away from your body to see long scratches running from your thighs to under your ribcage. You pull the blanket off to find that one of your legs is encased in a white cast.
You blink. ‘What stupid thing did I do?’
You lay back down, fingers absentmindedly tracing the scars. ‘I must have been out for a bit.’ You push the hair out of your face, noting how oddly shaky your hands are as you try to focus on what had happened. ‘Why wouldn’t my folks be here? They wouldn’t ditch me in a hospital, would they?’ You hold them out in front of you, palms to the ceiling. ‘I don’t look old or anything. My nails aren’t much longer than they were before, so I can’t have been out for that long.’
Your eyebrows furrow. ‘Parents…’ You swallow. ‘Oh, right. The fire.’ Your eyes go out of focus. ‘Dead. I was, too, until recently.’ You put your arms down. ‘I’m hungry. Where am I?’ You close your eyes. ‘New York. East coast. How far is the East Coast from the West Coast? I should call her so she knows I’m—no, she’s dead.’
“All dead and gone,” you mumble the tune to yourself.
You cover your face. ‘Focus. What happened?’ You recall what you think is a church. ‘Turtles. Turtle. Oh, TMNT. Where are people? Focus.’ You yank at a piece of your hair, mumbling to yourself as you try to run through the memory again.
The image of that man’s body takes your breath away.
You shut your eyes tighter. ‘Right. Car. Glass. Glass would be a good candy. Could you make glass out of sugar? Isn’t that what a lollipop is?’ You hug yourself tightly, careful of the IV as you roll onto your side towards it. ‘I killed someone. Someones. That’s not a word. Gasoline smells bad.’ You feel tears prick at your eyes. ‘I deserve to die for that. There has to have been an easier way to do that. I deserve to burn again. That explosion was so prettily animated in that episode. I can’t breathe.’
You curl your legs up towards you, using the arm not connected to the IV to hook behind your knees. You bury your head in your shoulder as you force your breathing to slow. ‘I miss her. Where is he? They’re dead and you killed them, you heartless bitch.’
You feel a sob rise in your throat. You swallow it back. ‘Stop being a pussy.’ You hear yourself start to count softly. ‘They’re all dead and gone. You’re on your own here, so get a grip.’ You grip the blanket. ‘After all, who are you going to turn to? The guys who already risk their lives every day? Or maybe Splinter, who will probably tell you some bullshit about letting your pain go?’
‘That’s not fair,’ you argue with yourself. ‘You can turn to Murakami. Casey might be willing to help.’
‘Because Casey’s known for his reliability and Murakami would want to deal with your stupid emotional problems.’
“Twenty-three,” you whisper, keeping your voice even. “Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…’
You pull yourself back up, bringing your knee to your chest as you wipe any tears that may have leaked out with the back of your hand.
You do not have to wait long until someone comes in to check on you, a taller gentleman with sharp features and sunken eyes behind curly black hair. He introduces himself as Nurse McGrath, gives you a run down of the dizzying number of injuries you had suffered in the accident, what they had done to fix the problem, and starts to discuss what would become of you now.
“The doctor predicts that you’ll be able to remove your cast in approximately six weeks, and that you will regain your fine-motor skills fully in eight.” He is obviously half asleep, but you can hardly blame him; the clock on the wall reads that it is about three in the morning. “The symptoms from the whiplash should completely fade in about three months. If you would be open, there are medications we can prescribe to help with the pain.”
You smile. “Thank you, sir, but I’d rather not.” You are sincerely concerned what might happen if you start taking any sort of medication right now, considering your mental health.
“I should probably warn you in advance that the police might ask you to come in to identify the guys who kidnapped you.”
You blink, confused. “How do they know I was kidnapped?”
“Anonymous tip, according to the news.” He scratches something into some form or another. “I dunno the specifics, but nobody thinks they’re gonna charge you with anything, ‘specially since the driver was from that street gang.”
You nod. “Gotcha.” You purse your lips. “What day is it?”
“Twenty-fourth, now.”
You sigh. “Well,” you shrug, ignoring the pain it causes, “at least I’m not dead.”
“At least.” He caps his pen. “Technically, you’re free to leave, but the doc thinks it’s a good idea to stay overnight. Your insurance provider has your medical bills covered, so you’re good for it.”
“Honestly? I’m surprised I don’t feel weaker.” You smile. “I’m more than happy to head home tonight, if that makes most sense.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t stay.” He starts heading out of your room. “Your cellphone is locked up. I’m guessing you want it?”
You nod eagerly, realizing quickly that makes the ringing worse.
“I’ll bring it right back, then.”
You refrain from touching it until he leaves.
It looks as if it was put in a blender, but you find it does still turn on. A problem quickly arises: your hands cannot hold the phone. You set it down on the mattress, each movement taking a ridiculous amount of time to coordinate as you type like someone who has never used a phone before. ‘Fine motor skills. Right.’ You type out a message after approximately too long that tells Donnie that you are out of the hospital and heading home.
You check out of the hospital at approximately four-thirteen. The trip home is a straight line of a walk that takes you approximately twenty minutes. Getting in through the door with a walker is a bit of a challenge, but it works out well enough.
You lock the door and windows when you get home, shutting your phone off as you crawl into bed.
You let out a low groan as your head punishes you for your heinous crime of moving. You had realized ten minutes into your walk that you were not at all physically strong enough to walk that long, and you already hate yourself for it, among other reasons. As you crawl into bed, ignoring your body’s protest, you still stand by your decision to not take any medication, especially now.
You feel as though you are being suffocated as you cling onto your pillow, pressing your face into it as you cry silently, the ringing in your ears only getting louder in the silence of your apartment.
‘I feel sick.’
You remember your first night here. You remember the feeling it had caused you, the numb ache of loss as you submitted to the situation you had found yourself in. It feels like an eternity ago, now. You know, logically, it cannot have been more than two months since you got here.
You had decided against taking a cab back home. You had the cash, and you still do, in your bloodstained pocket. You saw many as you walked home, and you had turned a blind eye to them all.
You feel yourself trembling again. You remember the first night you had slept on your own here, the nightmares you swore were the product of a mind much more sadistic than yours ever was. You remember, too, the nightmares you had after Bradford, the way that, for the first time in your life since you were five years old you woke up drenched in sweat and crying for your mother.
What possible dream could come from this?
You reach a hand to the nightstand, hovering over your cellphone as you consider your next action.
Slowly, you retract it, letting it rest next to you. ‘It’s four. He’s not awake.’ You do not have the energy to get up to grab the bottle of sleeping pills from your bathroom.
‘I don’t want to sleep. I can’t take another nightmare.’ You rest your cheek on the pillow, forcing your eyes shut. ‘Mare. Why is it called a nightmare? Are mares truly that terrifying?’
“One,” you whisper. “Two. Three.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 8
Chapter 10
#tmnt 2012#tmnt fanfiction#tmnt#tmnt donnie#tmnt 2k12#tmnt donatello#teenage#teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012#teenage mutant ninja turtles#donnie x reader#2012 donnie#donnie#donatello x reader#donatello#probably inaccurate depiction of whiplash and getting out of the hospital#grew up around hospitals#but I only ever saw people go in#not out. so IDK how accurate any of it is.#all the angst#angst#scars#regret#nyc#walker#just hurt no comfort#comfort will be later but not today#tmnt x reader#x reader#reader insert#self insert
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