i did not read forsaken and i have no intention to

In One Piece: part three

She swore she left her body momentarily. She stood frozen in her spot by the bed and clutched her diary like a life line. She swore she could see herself doing this, hovering above her physical form while all other sense of reality slipped away. She could see the trickle of the single, individual tear run jagged down her face. She could see herself fight the urge to tremble, to fall to the floor and just lose it. She swore she could see herself doing all these things until Alex’s hand wrapped around her shoulder, and the tension of the subconscious rubber band holding her wits together snapped, and she gasped when she felt all of these things overwhelming at once.


in which there’s a happy accident.

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Casanova (Steve x reader)

A/N: This was inspired by In The Waking Hour -Watsky. You absolutely have to listen to it before you read. Wasn’t planning to have it done for Steve’s Birthday, but since it is happy 4th. 😉 

Warnings: mature content but nothing particularly graphic decided to leave a little to the imagination

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

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(Peter Pan) In the Name of Love

A/N: The events take place before OUAT.

Word count: 12 076 (got a bit carried away)

Summary: In an attempt to flee from the Enchanted Forest, you sneak on a ship, but when two days into the journey you get found, you’re thrown overboard and end up being a castaway on Neverland. But who is this boy who claims to be the king? And why does your stick transform into a knife by your sole will?

“Who are you?” A voice asked behind you, causing your eyes to snap open with a start.
The cold had paralyzed your bones. You didn’t know how much time had passed since you set foot on this chore but it was freezing and there was no food or people for what you could see. That didn’t prevent you from sleeping with a knife hidden in your clothes. Well, clothes was a big word, for you were only wearing small chunks of ripped material, revealing almost as much as if you weren’t wearing anything, but at least your skin wasn’t in direct contact with the cold stone on which you decided to take a nap before investigating the jungle to see if there was a living soul here.
Seems like there was after all, and they found you first. The manly voice came from behind you and in a split second you jumped on your feet, ignoring the pain in your articulations and pulling the knife out, holding it right against the stranger’s throat, the tip digging in his skin.
“I see,” he said evasively, way too calm for someone you had a knife at his throat.
Suddenly he disappeared. You blinked a couple times, thinking you had imagined it. You hadn’t eaten in three days.
“What are you doing here?” The voice asked again, this time from some other rock, a few meters away from were you stood, the hand holding your knife not knowing what to do with it anymore.
“How…? Who are you? What is ‘here’, what kingdom is this?” You fired questions at him, waiting answers before even considering answering his questions.
“A kingdom?” He chuckled before taking a few steps in your direction, but staying at a safe distance. “There is no king here, darling. Just me.”
“Oh please don’t choke on your modesty,” you spat at him. “Now answer! Where am I?”
“This is Neverland. And I’m Peter. Peter Pan,” the boy said as if you should have known who he was, though it didn’t ring a bell. “And you are…?” He continued.
“Lost,” you replied. “How do I leave this place? ”
An enigmatic smile spread his lips, “You don’t.”
Once again he disappeared and you felt him reappear behind you. Spinning on your heels you were ready to stab him right in the neck but he stopped your arm. Without even touching you.
“How do you do that?” You groaned, frustrated with your lack of hold over the situation. The only answer you got was a smirk. “If you plan to stab me in the back you better be quicker than me because there will be no hesitation on my part,” you warned him, tightening your grip on your knife.
Without saying anything, Peter grabbed your forearm, making you almost drop your weapon out of surprise. He turned your palm up to see the inside of your arm and there was a rough scar, still fresh and probably burning from the salty sea water. A white iron mark. Obviously from pirates.
“Who did this?” He asked. His voice was free of concern, he simply wanted to know what ship got close enough to Neverland for him to find a castaway.
“Pirates,” you said. “I wanted to cross the sea and sneaked on a ship. They found me two days into the trip.” You had no idea why you told him this, but you figured that it wasn’t dangerous to tell him this. Maybe he’d leave you alone if he thought you were cooperating.
“I want a name,” the boy snapped at you. “The captain? The ship?”
“Jollyroger. The paint was almost scrubbed off but all the barrels said 'jollyroger’,” you informed him. He cursed under his breath but you didn’t bother asking why. He must have known the ship if her name made him swear like that.
“So I’m guessing they threw you overboard?” You nodded. “And they gave you a knife? They didn’t even tie your hands behind your back?” You snickered. Apparently it wasn’t the first time he had an encounter with a bloody pirate.
“Oh but they did,” you confirmed, smirking. “I’m pretty light fingered, the rope didn’t resist me long.” To illustrate your point you slipped your arm out of his grip and stuck your knife out, pressing the tip under his chin before he had the time to process what was happening. The boy had a mysterious smile, as if please by your answer. You thought that something was definitely wrong about him, because the more you threatened him the happier he seemed.
“And what about the knife?” He insisted. You hesitated, biting the inside of your cheeks while trying to decide if you could tell him. He was obviously familiar with magic, so why hiding him? Maybe he could give you an explanation.
“I grabbed a stick to defend myself, wishing I had something better, like a knife, and-” you stopped mid sentence. “It just… transformed into one.”
Peter Pan was hardly ever surprised by anything anymore, but the expression on his face was unmistakably choc. There was a silence for a couple minutes, the boy being deep in thoughts. Suddenly he started speaking again.
“I see that you can use magic here. It seems that Neverland has accepted you already. Perhaps you coming here wasn’t so much as an accident,” he wondered out loud.
“I’m sorry, is that how you intend to make me drop my guard? Speaking about destiny? Because it’s a rather idiotic strategy.”
“You don’t believe in fate, darling?” The boy raised an eyebrow as if this information was highly interesting.
“Should I?” You answered his question with another one, much to his displeasure.
“In a land of magic everything remains possible, especially here. Everything you believe in becomes true,” he explained, making you wonder why he was giving you this information.
If it was true, it meant you could wish for a bigger weapon. Or a ship. A way to leave this strange place and this magic boy. Experience taught you that when potentially dangerous strangers told you too much it meant that they either planned to kill you afterward or keep you prisoner. You had a bad feeling about this Peter Pan.
“So the knife…?” You asked just to make sure. You cared little about looking like an idiot, it was better to be underestimated than overestimated.
He nodded, “you must have really wanted it.” There was something quite soft in his voice, almost as if he was in admiration of your will power. Indeed, you had never wanted anything more than that.
“Well, I guess you’ll have to stay here now,” he said, although you had multiple arguments going against this. He snapped his fingers and you felt a sense of warmness. You were now wearing a female version of his own clothes. Too grateful to complain, you simply gave him a thankful nod, but didn’t lower your weapon. “Oh you can keep your little knife, you’ll need it later,” he informed you. “Welcome to Neverland, darling.”


The first time you entered the camp, you had knocked out three and a half boys before nightfall. Stunned as to how you arrived here and stung by curiosity because they hadn’t seen a girl in a while, the group of boys - who you knew now were called the Lost Boys - gathered around you like you were some strange spices of animal and whispered things and poked you and wanted to take a closer look. Thinking that it was definitely a bad way to greet somebody, you decided to show them your displeasure and shoved off a rather short bulldog-looking boy by slamming your hand right in his face and pushing him to the side. Some laughed at your gesture and others shouted at you, but you ignored them, just like Peter did as he continued to lead you across the camp, dragging you by the arm. For a second you were overwhelmed by the need to scream bloody murder in hope that it would make them leave you alone or at least step back to let you breathe. When Peter stopped in his track you almost bumped in him but you managed not to after tripping a couple times on your own feet, not even seeing where you were going with this crowed around you.
Peter grabbed a boy that looked a bit older than the majority and told him, “Jean, where is Felix?”
“He’s out in the woods with Marco and Conor, they are hunting,” he quickly made his report to Pan - who you decided, was the leader of this gang of midgets.
He grumbled something about leaving the camp without surveillance and resumed dragging you away from the boys, barking them orders on his way. Soon the crowed scattered around but before you had the chance to enjoy it you were thrown in a small wooden cabin.
“Hey!” You shouted at Pan, glaring him daggers. The boy disregarded your protests and closed the door behind him, his face neutral and his intentions unclear. For a minute or so, he said nothing. “So, how’s it going? You talk? I talk? Who goes first?” You asked in an attempt to calm your nerves.
This whole situation was decades away from what you expected to happen when you sneaked on that god forsaken ship two days ago.
“Sarcasm is not going to help,” he answered. “If you want to survive here, you better not push the boys’ buttons. They are not all as well-mannered as me,” Peter snickered like it was some sort of inside joke.
The taste of blood in your mouth when you bit your tongue was awful but you were grateful that you did it. You were about to snarl back at him that if someone should be afraid it was them, because as soon as you’d be out of Pan’s radar, you’d run away from here - regardless of how many victims you’d have to make to achieve that.
“Are you hiding something from me?"He suddenly asked you, noticing your hostile look. "We have very efficient methods to make intruders speak,” he felt the need to inform you.
“Try me.”
After saying that, the events followed through rather quickly but when time slowed back down you were once again in the middle of the camp, surrounded by Peter’s crew of minions, with a crossbow in your hands, wondering what was happening. Lack of sleep and food got you a bit confused and it turned out real difficult to focus on what Peter was telling you.
“It’s a game. You win, I leave you alone,” he told you, pointing his finger to your left.
A very young little boy stood there, looking almost as confused as you, with a big red apple resting on his blond head. You guessed the rules of the game, but Pan still took it upon himself to explain you, although you had stopped paying attention to what he said. His explaining was cut short by the arrow you shot towards the little boy, who started and it hit the apple and began to cry before running away.
“Here. Done,” you declared, throwing the crossbow at Peter’s feet. If it was a bow you would have kept it and made arrows out of branches later but a crossbow without the appropriate arrows was useless. They all stood there in complete silence for so long that you were beginning to think that you could attempt an escape.
“Can I go now?” You asked eventually, growing tired of the odd looks they were giving
giving you.
What you had just done was not particularly extraordinary. It didn’t require much skill besides good aim. No it was more of a psychological test. That’s why they chose to put the apple on the head of the youngest boy, the most innocent one. But you weren’t a sentimental person, never will be, and if your survival - or freedom - was hanging on the line, you cared little for the collateral damages - even if they were presented under the form of a little blond boy.
“Do you have no heart?” A nameless boy asked among the thick crowd.
“I wonder sometimes,” you laughed bitterly. “Now can I leave?” You asked again, looking at Pan.
He didn’t look so surprised by your gesture, his expression was a pleased one and that scared you a tiny bit. What did he have on his mind?
“You really are a unique lass,” Peter commented as if studying you. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”
That’s when you realized that he never intended to let you go. The test wasn’t what you first supposed. You didn’t fail because you shot the arrow. It was meant to show that you would do it, no second thought. And you succeeded brilliantly. He was never going to let you leave this place now. Angry at yourself for being tricked like an amateur, you pulled out by the blade the knife he had allowed you to keep before leading you to the camp and you flipped it around, firmly holding the grip, and threw yourself at Pan.
A few hours later you woke up tied against a tree, feeling the bark scratching your back and your wrists sore from how tight the ropes were.
“What the hell…?”
“The boys don’t appreciate when a stranger tries to kill their leader right after shooting at one of them,” an already all too familiar voice told you from behind the tree. Peter Pan walked around it and when he was finally in your view field you glared him daggers. “Easy tiger. We don’t have to be enemies.”
“And you don’t have to be a cocky egomaniac but you still are,” you spat at him, earning a pensive smirk.
“You’re not making this easy for anyone. I’m feeling lenient today and if you promise you won’t attempt anything stupid anymore - like trying to kill me with a blunt knife - I might forgive you.” The way he said that implied that you should have felt honored.
“Just let me go and you’ll never see me again!” You shouted, wriggling on your little spot, struggling to free yourself from the strings. The boy sighed and knelt down beside you, his face suddenly really close to yours making you suck up your stomach and stop breathing as if you were face to dace with a venomous snake.
“That’s not how it works around here, darling. I make the rules, there’s no negotiating with me. I’m not letting you leave Neverland, get this idea into your pretty little head,” his voice was sweet but his eyes dark. He titled his head to the left. “You don’t seem like a fool. Make the good decision.”
And with that he stood up and started walking away.
“Wait! Don’t leave me tied here!” You screamed at him before he was out of earshot. “Why do you even refuse to let me go??!”
Pan stilled and you saw his shoulders tense up and then he said, without turning around to face you, “maybe I just want to keep you with me.”


Months later…
Carefully, you took another step, avoiding the leaves on the ground. You had to remain quiet or you’d get noticed. Pan had sent on a recognition mission because you were by far the most discrete person in the camp. Not as reckless as the boys, you knew exactly when to stop because one more step would betray you. About a week ago, a ship sailed in the Mermaid lagoon, and Pan usually leaves pirates alone if they don’t stay too long but they seemed determined not to leave. They started wandering in the jungle, getting too close to the camp for comfort. Last night, three of them had an encounter with a lost boy and he was now severely wounded. He only escaped thanks to Peter’s shadow. Silently, you pushed the branches of a nearby tree out of your way and headed back to the camp to make your report. Suddenly you felt a hand grab you by the arm and pull you behind a bush, and before you had the time to scream bloody murder, another hand was placed over your mouth to shut you up.
“Shhh, (Y/N),” the voice hushed you, not removing the hand from your mouth. Another noise made you still. It was the sound of rustling leaves, and it was far too close in your opinion. Unconsciously, your own hand covered the one still on your mouth and you both waited until your heard whoever was walking by walk away and even then you waited a couple minutes to move again, just to be sure.
When the hand released you, you jumped to your feet and whispered angrily, “You took me by surprise Pan!”
The fact that he had followed you upset you far more than what he just did, but you learned not to patronize him the harsh way during the last few months. Ever since you set foot on Neverland, he had made sure you would never get bored, giving you endless tasks to do, the worse one, to keep you busy and under his supervision. But it soon proved that you were too skilled to be doing stuff like cooking for the boys or sewing their clothes all day long. Peter watched you slowly integrate, get into fights with the boys, who started to consider you one of them. To this day, Felix and Peter were the only ones not convinced of your loyalty. Especially Felix; but he was second in command and if he wasn’t a bit suspicious of you, he would be a very bad one.
“Well Love, next time I’ll just stand by and watch that filthy pirate take you by surprise. You should be happy it was me, because that’s what Felix would have done,” he replied, obviously furious against you. “Be more careful. I can’t watch you all the time.”
“Then don’t. I can handle a drunk pirate.”
“Who said he was drunk?”
“When isn’t a pirate drunk?” You deadpanned. “If not, I would have kicked his ass nonetheless.”
It was true. During your friendly sword fighting with the Lost Boys, your skills didn’t go unnoticed, you were fierce and sly in battle. You weren’t afraid to back stab your enemy if it brought you victory, and Peter admired that trait. Although his admiration didn’t go as far as blinding him to your will to leave this place. He knew that for now you were on his side, a good little soldier fighting his battles, but as soon as you’d sense an opportunity to flee, you’d take it. That’s why he tried not to let you out of his sight. Now he let you hunt, guard the camp and capture intruders when they came to Neverland.
“I know,” he admitted, to your astonishment. He left it there, but you knew there was more to it. He didn’t just follow you around the entire island to stare at your backside.
“You thought… that I would side with them and ask them to let me travel in their ship?” You guessed, and according to Peter’s sudden flinching you were right. “You’re unbelievable!”
“And you’re a devious opportunist,” he told you, raising an eyebrow at you. “Which is a trait I consider a quality as long as it benefits me, but it’s not in this case.”
“Careful with such big words Peter, I could get offended,” you rolled your eyes. “Let’s get back to your shack before our friend comes back. I have news,” you told him, shrugging off his remarks against you and switching on your professional mode.
In a snap of his fingers, Peter transported you both inside his wooden shack, the only just about comfortable one. It took him several months to finally allow you in here, and the first time you discovered the place – about five months after you arrival – Felix walked in and became completely red and started yelling because you were just an untrustworthy spy sent by Hook.
Hook, the name of the pirate who threw you overboard and caused you to lend here in the first place. You had asked Pan about him numerous times but he persists to remain silent about what he did to him. Now was just about time to ask again.
“Pan, tell me about Hook,” you said, smirking. It wasn’t a question. Peter despised being ordered around, which is why you always made sure to formulate your questions or demands as plain orders. He seemed about to burst as you said that but you didn’t give him the time. “Don’t even try to tell me to shove off. The Jollyroger is in the Mermaid Lagoon as we speak, and there is a reason to this. A reason I intend to find out.”
Not once in all the time you’ve been on Neverland – at least not since the first day – had you seen Peter Pan look surprised, but he was right now. He glared at you before sighing I defeat, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs as if it was a very long story he was tired to tell before even starting. To encourage him, you decided to be more precise, “I want to know why he keeps coming here. You have a history, obviously.”
“That we do,” Pan said, pacing around in his small cabin. “It was centuries ago.”
“Centuries?” You asked, shaking your head. Peter looked up and offered you his infamous half smile.
“I’m older than I appear,” he chuckled. You had no doubt about that.
“So am I,” you told him, which made his smog smile disappear. He knew better than to ask any question though, for you didn’t drop any information about you or your land since you were here. You almost saw him mentally noting that bit of information you just gave him and it made you laugh.
“What are you laughing for?” He asked.
“I’m laughing at you,” you said, not bothering lying to him. Besides, he seemed to sense it when you lied to him. “Tell me… How is it possible that Hook is so old?”
“As long as you stay on Neverland, you don’t age,” he explained. You knew that. “And… let’s just say he spent a lot of time here…. before you came.”
“Sounds to me that you kept him prisoner,” you translated his understatement. “You know, undermining the truth doesn’t make it less true, right? Just say things as they are, don’t make me guess, I’m not in the mood.”
Peter’s face darkened at your daring words and his hand slammed on your shoulder, grabbing you there and pulling you so close to him that you could feel his breath tickle your nose. “Don’t push your luck, (Y/N),” he murmured in a threatening tone. Then he let you go, making you stumble back. “You’re lucky I like you. You amuse me.” Hearing him refer to you as if you were an object of entertainment took all you will power not to throw yourself at him, teeth and nails out.
“I’m the lucky one?” You asked, ignoring the part of your brain tagged 'common sense’. “From my point of view you’re the only one you benefits from my presence on this god forsaken slice of earth. I’m your best man, none of those kids you bring here can do as much as I do, and as good – not even Felix.”
Turning around to face you, Peter shrugged and looked away. You felt your entire face heat up and you knew it was red and steam was probably coming out of your ears. As if it had its own will, your hand dived into your pocket and took out a small knife which you threw to Peter, and it landed in the board next to his head, inches away from his neck.
“Don’t play with me darling, you’ll lose,” he said, more amused than angry – which only infuriated you more. But by now you were used to his mind games and you knew that he was acting so carelessly just to make you burst, so you breathed calmly and settled down.
“You seem to forget that I’m not as easy to beat. Without your magic, we’d be at the same level… more or less,” you liked to see how his eyes betrayed him when you implied that you could physically overcome him – if he ever decided to fight without soliciting his powers, which was nowhere near to happen.
“I fail to see why you point this out. I would be a fool not to use magic, especially if it’s in response to one of your poor strategies to make me fight fair and escape.” You hated that he saw right through you but at the same time, you would have been disappointed if he was that easy to trick. He was supposed to be the master of all tricksters after all.
Deciding that you had had enough fun, you came back to your initial topic, “So, why did you keep Hook on the island? And if you kept him here so long, why do you want to make him leave now?”
Although your questions were intrusive, Peter thought it was better to answer them than to have you on his back because he kept things from you. You never delegated a mission to a Lost Boy, but you always insisted on knowing in what kind of trouble you were putting yourself into.
“I didn’t keep him – not in the beginning – he was here because he wanted to kill me. But when he understood that he was far from succeeding he tried to escape to gather men and weapons, he intended to find a crew so he could come back when ready, and defeat me. That’s why I kept him here for such a long time.” Peter paused in his telling. You raised your chin, showing that it wasn’t enough and he sighed again. “He was never my prisoner, I didn’t keep him captive, I just-”
“Didn’t allow him to leave,” you finished for him. “Like me.”
The boy swallowed down, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, but he nodded briefly, agreeing with you.
“I’m not keeping you here because you’re a threat, (Y/N),” Peter informed you. You were about to ask why then, but he quickly resumed his story before you could place a word. “But he was. I don’t doubt that I will vanquish his herd of old drunk excuses of pirates but you have to understand that after decades and decades I grew tired of this endless war.”
“What grievance does he hold against you?” You asked, crossing you arms over your chest. The fact that he purposely avoided your question didn’t please you but you reasonably couldn’t  complain now that he was finally telling you what you’ve been asking him to tell you for so long.
“I killed his wife.”
You waited for more details, or at least a bit of context, but nothing came.
“That’s it?” You questioned, frowning you brows. “I have no doubt that you had excellent reasons to do that,” you added ironically.
Peter walked up to you, standing straight in front of you, his eyes closely studied you, from head to toe, taking his sweet time to let his gaze linger over the most feminine parts of your body, before eventually speaking up.
“She was a rare beauty. In that, you are very much like her. She was kind-hearted too, but she was unfortunate enough to be loved by the wrong man. I killed her to serve my purposes – at the time, I needed Hook to do something, and that’s how I made him obey.”
“By killing his wife?” You asked, stunned. It was a rather weak strategy, as stupid as it sounded, you expected more of Peter.
“No, of course not!” Peter groaned, as if offended that you thought he could come up with such a n idiotic plan. “I threatened to kill her.”
“And after he had done what you wanted, you killed her anyway,” you guessed, looking Peter right in the eyes. It was the easiest way to know what he was feeling since he never showed anything apart from mild-boredom and pride.
“My mistake was to think that he would try to pursue me to get revenge after I forced him to… whatever. So I killed her to destroy him – in many ways I succeeded – but instead of mourning and eventually ending his life too, as I expected him to do, I gave him a new-found reason to avenge him and his lost wife.”
It was only when you saw a hand on Peter’s chest that you realized it was yours. You hadn’t realized you were doing that, and you had no idea why. He was looking at your hand, not angrily, not mockingly, so you decided to leave it there. At best he’d think it’s a mechanical gesture in response to the terrible story of his meeting with Hook, at worse, he’d think it was an affectionate gesture.
“It was a smart move on your part. But there are always some exceptions to the rules,” you simply said before removing your hand and walked a few steps away so you didn’t have to meet his eyes.  You felt Peter’s hand on your shoulder, not to make you turn around or to abruptly pull you closer like earlier, it was simply there, the contact so light you barely noticed it through your thick clothes. He opened his mouth to say something, but you suddenly felt unease, and before he could form the words, you stormed out of his shack, leaving him there.


A whole week passed before you saw Peter again. You were especially eager to avoid him since the moment you shared in his shack after your mission, only doing the usual boring stuff and never asking to be sent out of the camp again, even though you were bored to death. You favorite activity was hunting, because it took you all day and allowed you to leave Pan’s presence.
Although it gave you a dangerous amount of time to re-think about that night. You were never one to have l'esprit de l'escalier (1), but the scene just kept playing over and over again in your head, like a litany. Peter’s honeyed voice saying She was a beauty. In that, you are very much like her, was plaguing her thoughts and she wanted to smash her head against a tree for having  futile concerns such as that. And then there was your hand on his chest, which you didn’t remember placing there. Disregarding the pointlessness of the while thing, you kept looking down at your hand with a sullen expression as if it had betrayed you and you suspected it to do it again. Mentally scolding you for being flustered like a schoolgirl because Pan sort of complimented you indirectly was beyond you, you couldn’t be that silly.
After your inner conflict, you were angry at yourself and at Pan and at Hook and also everyone one, just because. A good fight was what you needed to calm down, and who could offer you a fight on a equal footing. But since he despised you he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted unless you forced him, and you knew just how to push his buttons, not even ten minutes into the conversation, he picked up the saber he always carried around. He liked to tell everybody that he took it from the pirate who gave him his scar after killing him. You refused to believe him, it was just a story he told himself because it was probably his father who did this to him – before the shadow brought him to Neverland.
The rage you sowed during that fight took him aback, and even Felix had trouble keeping you at distance and not getting his head accidentally chopped off. You were better at using knifes than a sword but since he never fought without his saber, you had to adapt, and sometimes, if you weren’t careful enough, you’d cut off a few things here and there – mostly branches and tents, but once it was a finger. But you weren’t spared from getting some wounds every so often, as prove by the long bloody cut on your right arm. After so long a duel, you grew tired, but you couldn’t afflict your pride with a defeat out of tiredness and in one final sneaky move, you surged forward and knocked him off his feet, causing him to loosen his grip on his saber, which you quickly grabbed from his hand. You places the tip of the saber in your left hand on the right of his head, and did the opposite with your sword so that the two blades formed an 'x’ over his throat, preventing him from getting up without slitting it.
Breathing heavily, you let go of the weapons, leaving them planted in the ground, and walked away. All the boys had gathered around, at the safe distance, to watch the quarrel between the two best swords – apart from Pan, who taught Felix – and none of them uttered a word as you walked away, slowly stepping into the darkness of the forest at night, oblivious of the gaze that followed you from up in the tree, where the shack was.

Later that same night, you were still in the forest, for you hadn’t dimmed that you were calm enough yet. At least, not in the boys’ company. Sitting on one of the highest branch of the highest tree, you watched the horizon. You saw the sun set and the moon rise, but still, you felt that anger boil inside you.
You felt it since the day you arrived and learned that you may never leave and see the world again. It was right there, ready to explode, and it had. Now how would you face them, face Pan? Knowing that you had so much violence in you was eerie yet exhilarating. From your spot, you could see the mast of the Jollyroger, and the light of the pirates’ bonfire on the beach. It itched you to jump off that tree and head towards the group of most definitely passed out pirates to end them all. Slitting their throat in their sleep one by one felt like a good idea at the moment.
But one of the reasons you were still alive today was because you never let your heart dictate your decisions. It was generally best to listen to your head.  
“Why do you never use magic?” Someone asked out of the blue, not signaling his presence. It almost caused you to fall and your hands flew to the nearest branch to steady you. Right next to you appeared Pan, not particularly concerned about your start.
“Use it for what?” You managed to ask after a few seconds. Keeping a straight face had never been as difficult.
“Beating Felix without losing an arm?” He suggested, passing his hand over the flesh wound and healing it. The stinging feeling disappeared as the cut faded away.
“I beat him and my arm is still there,” you simply said in a flat tone, slightly waving your hand to show him you were still in one piece. “If you can heal me, why don’t you heal his scar?” You asked out of pure curiosity.
Peter simply shrugged, “I don’t see what for. I don’t think he was more appealing before getting it.”
A smile curved your lips but you didn’t answer. The faded sound of the pirate slurring and singing came from a distance and the fire lit the trees all around, making seem as though part of the forest was on fire.
“All that fuss because of one, out-dated, grievance,” you stated, earning a nod from Peter, who looked towards the source of the light, following your gaze.
“We have to at least recognize that he’s tenacious,” he pointed out. “No many would dedicate their whole life to avenging their dead wife.”
“Most would take it as an opportunity to find a new one. Younger? Maybe prettier too?” You scoffed in disgust of men’s attitude. “What does he think he’s doing? It’s a hopeless cause.”
“It gives a meaning to his life. If he really did love her that much, what else could he do? They didn’t have children, just each other. I took it from him.”
“What?” You raised your eyebrows, turning to Peter.
“His love,” Pan answered, staring right back at you. First you laughed because you thought he was being sarcastic, but then he flinched and you stopped. Something in the way Peter looked at you made it clear that he was serious. “You don’t believe in love?”
Once again you scoffed, “Why, you do?”
“Some say it’s the most powerful kind of magic,” he said, this time ironically.
“Love,” you said the word for the first time, almost expecting it to have a taste and you were disappointed. “What is it good for?”
Peter didn’t answer. Nobody had the answer.
“What is it even?” You asked suddenly. “Not thinking straight? Forgetting your priorities? Having sleepless nights and restless days? Never moving on? It’s ridiculous,” you rambled, talking to yourself like a mad woman. “Things shouldn’t be like that.”
“You sound like you’re in love (Y/N),” Peter stated flatly, looking past you. “Is that why you want to go home? Is there someone waiting for you?”
“Well, if there is, he’s probably wasting his time, right?” You attempted to joke, but Peter only looked away, no trace of a smile on his face. You were a thief and a girl. You weren’t fit for a happy marriage and where you’re from boys don’t like it when a girl can kick their ass, it wounds their ego. How could you believe in love? Parental love? You barely knew them when they abandoned you. Friends? Lovers? Who had time for this?
Me, you thought. Now you had all the time in the world, but you were stuck here. A sudden need to go away struck you. As if the island was a box and you were feeling claustrophobic. You wanted to leave, right now. By swimming if you had to.
Peter was still awaiting your response, and for some reason, you chose to lie, hoping that he was too distracted to see you were telling a lie.
“But if he’s waiting for me, I hope he’ll give up and move on before ending up like Hook,” you tried to sound as sad as you could. It seemed to pass as the truth and Peter frowned.
“You want him to give up? Why?” He questioned you, genuinely confused.
“Because… Nobody should wait for someone who will never return, it’s just a waste of time. They should move on, find someone else to make them happy,” you shrugged, not knowing what else to say without blowing up your lie. “Love is a waste of time. One shouldn’t care for another to the point of forgetting to live their life.”
“I disagree,” he replied straight away. Once again you almost fell off the branch and Peter quickly grabbed your arm to steady you. The touch made you shiver, but you made it look like you were simply cold, and luckily for you, he withdrew his hand as quickly as he placed it there, as if you were a hot device and he got burned.
“Really?” You huffed. “How can you say that? That man,” you pointed towards the general direction of the beach but it was clear that you talked about Hook, “just spent the last centuries trying to kill you because you killed his wife. Not only is that self-destructive, but it’s also pointless because killing you won’t bring her back, and if she had her word to say she probably wouldn’t want him to waste the rest of his life chasing after you, in an attempt to get rid of all the anger he bottled up all those years.”
“Seems to me that you know what you’re talking about,” Pan stated. “But I still disagree. Love isn’t a waste of time. It’s not a selfless feeling resulting in you living for someone else at the expense of your own yearnings. It’s selfish and cruel.”
A debate over love wasn’t exactly what you planned for the night and slowly but surely, the aftermath of your duel with Felix got the best of you. All you wanted to do was to sleep, and you had to get off this tree before falling asleep on the spot.
“Let’s agree to disagree.”
“No,” Pan argued. “Stand up for your ideas.”
“I’m tired Peter,” you told him. “And this conversation is sterile. Who cares about love?”
He smiled faintly, nodding. Of course this wasn’t totally about love, he was just trying to get information from you, taking advantage of your advanced stated of exhaustion. You mentally scolded yourself for not realizing sooner. You started climbing down, and when you reached the bottom of the tree, Peter was already there, waiting for you, offering you a hand to help you down the last branch which was quite high. You didn’t even think about slapping it away and gladly took the helpful hand.
You both walked back to camp, choosing to enjoy the silence provided by the night instead of using magic like Peter taught you when you first came here and he noticed that you were particularly receptive to magic.
“Hey, Peter,” you said, minutes before reaching the camp. “What is love to you?”
The boy smirked as if he had waited for you to ask the question this whole time.


The following weeks were a nightmare oscillating between random pirate attacks and sleepless hours of intense brain-racking on your part. He never answered your question, leaving you to wonder what the hell he was thinking. The thing that bothered you the most wasn’t the lack of answer for you didn’t really care about his opinion on love, but it was the way he looked at you with an odd intensity, as if expecting you to guess, or to already know the answer. And that made you think that maybe, you had missed something.
You didn’t miss things. You were proud to say that you had a sharp eye and a good ear, important things couldn’t go unnoticed by you, so what on earth could’ve escaped you? In the last three weeks, you took the habit of asking Pan the question again and again, everyday, in hope that he would get annoyed with you and give you the answer just to make you shut up. But the more you asked the more he seemed pleased – and beyond the obvious frustration it inspired you, it was also pretty unsettling.
Besides the occasional fights with the pirates, Pan didn’t give you much to do and you had to improvise to find distractions because ever since his stinging defeat, Felix avoided you like the plague. To pass the time, you decided to carve a bow and some arrows – even though you could have just magically made appear. That’s what you were doing when Pan burst out of his shack at the crack of dawn, ordering the Lost Boys to wake up at once and get ready.
The chaos that ensuing his exclamation was unbelievable. The boys jumped out of their tents and improvised cabins and started running around, gathering weapons, yelling rallying cries and even painting their faces with mud. You didn’t understand, there was no attack planned today. Or was there?
“Peter!” You shouted over the loud crowd of yelling boys. But he didn’t hear you and turned on his heels to go back inside his shack, with Felix on his heels. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You were enraged that those two made battle plans purposely not including you. They didn’t share those with the Lost Boys, but at some point they started doing it with you because you were the best in hand to hand combat and recognition missions. This felt like a huge demotion to you.
Pushing all the cheering bodies out of your way, you waked through the gathering, straight to Peter’s cabin. By the way some boys stepped out of your way you concluded that you looked just as infuriated as you were deep inside, and if looks could kill, Pan and Felix would have been dead when you kicked the wooden door open.
“(Y/N)!” Felix growled through his teeth, indignant that you dared intruding Pan’s room like that. “How dare yo-”
“Oh sorry, I seem to have forgotten my good manners, should I have knocked before entering?” You squinted your eyes at them, challenging the two boys to answer to your rhetorical question. They had sufficient common sense to remain silent and at least look a bit guilty. “What is going on? Why don’t I know about this?”
“Mind you own b-” Felix started but you cut him off.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” you glared him daggers, wishing you hadn’t left your real ones in your tent. “Pan?”
“Felix,” Peter simply said, as a way of dismissing him. The blond boy was about to protest but his leader shot him a glance so sharp and cold it could have frozen a lake. “Off you go,” Peter told him and Felix begrudgingly left.
As soon as he stepped out, Peter rushed to you and slammed his hands on your shoulders, making you look right in his eyes – not that you intended to look anywhere else, your gaze was fixed on him, returning the sharpness of his stare.
“Who do you think you are to come here and demand explanations? I don’t owe you anything!” He shouted, making sure that everyone outside the shack could hear him as well. Irritated by his patronizing tone, you shove him off of you and hit him in the chest to show your discontent.
“And who are you to treat me like I’m nobody?!” You replied. “If you think I’m just another one of your little paws you can move at your will, you’re delusional!” Pan was taller than you but with your chin up and your eyes throwing flames at him, you still managed to look down on him.
“This is none of your concern (Y/N),” he said, not replying to your remark. “You’re not coming with us, you stay here and keep sharpening your knifes – that’s what you do best.”
Forgetting your no magic rule, you made a dagger appear and held it against Peter’s neck.
“One more insult and I stab you in the neck. We’ll see if you still feel like being impertinent after that,” you murmured menacingly, so close to him that your breaths mingled. “If I just killed you and joined Hook on his ship, I would be better off than here. But you’re still alive, remember that next time you consider doing plans without informing me.”
Pan scoffed disdainfully, and mocked you, “You think I’m that easy to kill? You wouldn’t be the first one to try, but I’m still fresh and alive. There’s a reason why people say 'Peter Pan never fails’,” he cockily smirked as he said that, but right as he pronounced that last word, you raised your hand and cut his cheek, leaving a superficial wound but still earning a puzzle glance and a few drop of red liquid before seeing it heal.
“But he can bleed,” you spat. “You might not die but I can make your life a lot worse than death.”
“I have no doubt about that,” he continued to smirk, not fazed one bit. With a flick of his hand, you were thrown across the room and ropes appeared out of nowhere to tie you against the wall of the cabin, so tight you thought it was cutting your blood circulation.
Peter stepped closer to you and knelt down to be at eye-level now that you were on the floor.
“You’re not coming with us, Dearie,” he repeated, shaking his head, looking almost sorry that he had to tie you down. “This ends today. I have to put an end to Hook’s revengeful impulses, and I don’t want you to be there.”
A strange sensation of anguish and dejection filled your chest at his words. After all those months, he still thought you were sent here by Hook to spy on him. In your entire life you had never felt untrustworthy, and having to face such leeriness. You swallowed down your harsh reply and bit your cheeks before saying something you’d regret later.
“If you think this amuses me, you’re wrong,” Peter informed you before standing up. “I find no pleasure in mishandling you, but you give me no other choice.”
“Tie me up if you want, but don’t make it pass as a compassionate gesture,” you hissed. The spark of hurt in his eyes took you aback and you closed your mouth, forgetting what you were about to say next. Peter shook his head, giving up on trying to reason you and started walking away. When his hand touched the doorknob, he froze.
“Love is a theft.” And with that, he walked away, leaving you prisoner of his room, wondering what the hell he meant by that.


It took you two hours, but you managed to free yourself of your ties, cutting the ropes with a small blade you made appear. Peter hadn’t botched the ropes, they were thick and hard to cut, but nothing could hold you down very long. Before the ropes eve hit the floor, you were on your feet and rushed out of the shack, climbing down the tree and quickly gathering your bow and arrows as well as your set of knifes, before running to the beach. All your hunting sessions proved being useful because you knew exactly were to put your feet not to fall or trip over some fallen branch and in less than ten minutes you were there, in the middle of an unprecedented chaos.
To join the battle, you had to step over the dead body of a Lost Boy who obviously had a encounter with a sword according to the slash across his chest. A couple pirates had fallen too, but most of them were still fighting and swords and cursed were flying all around. From the corner of your eye you spotted Felix who was on the ground, holding his saber up over his chest, and a pirate hovering over him, ready to finish the boy. Quickly, you pulled your bow from your back and took an arrow, aiming and shooting at the man. When it hit him in the stomach, he froze and looked down, as if not believing what happened. Felix had just the time to crawl away before the fat man fell on the ground like a dead mass – which he was. The shocked blond boy looked around to see where the arrow was coming from and when he spotted you, you saw him nod in gratitude, although he was probably not that grateful to owe you his life.
You directed another arrow to a pirate running after the small blond boy on whose head was the apple you shot the first day you came here, but you missed. You might be a good aim, but you weren’t the best craftswoman, and the arrows weren’t perfect. The second shot was the one though,  and yet another pirate face planted.
Screams came from each side and you hardly knew where to go or who to aim because of the huge gathering of Lost Boys and pirates crossing swords and running around in an attempt to kill their enemy. Your arrows were too hazardous too shoot in the middle of such a crowd, you might accidentally hit a Lost Boy – not that you were attached to any of them, but it could turn against you.
You dropped your bow and the two arrows you had left – you hadn’t had time to make more of them and you didn’t want to burden you with them if you had to fight hand to hand.
“Oh, what a nice su'prise!” Some gruesome one-eyes old pirate snickered at the sight of you. “What’s a 'ady like ya doin’ here?” He asked in this terrible slur pirates had developed after years of never drinking anything besides rum and entering a state of perpetual drunkenness. Going against all your basic instincts, you gave him a smile and fluttered your eyelashes at him. It gave him enough confidence to approach and suddenly, you slammed your fist right where his neck met his shoulder, and it didn’t occur to him right away that you were holding a knife, until you took it out and he started bleeding out, falling to his knees and letting out an inarticulate gurgle as final words.
“(Y/N)?” You heard Peter’s puzzled voice ask from behind you. When you turned around he was standing there, his face splashed with blood that apparently didn’t belong to him and his knuckles scratch and bloody as if he had punched a tree. “What are you doing here?”
Strangely enough, worry topped anger in his tone and when one of the pirate threw himself at you, taking you from the back, Peter’s hand flew up, causing the poor man to fly across the beach and knock his head at a branch so hard you doubted he’d ever wake up from that blow.
“Why is love a theft?” You simply asked, as if you weren’t standing among the dead bodies of your comrades in the middle of a battlefield.
“I don’t think that’s the right time (Y/N),” Peter rolled his eyes, though a smirk floated on his lips. He started when you disappeared from your spot but when he heard the familiar sound of a broken neck, he spun on his heels, only to see you drop the lifeless body a pirate with his neck twisted in an odd manner.
“Later then,” you said, and he nodded. You intended to make him keep his word. “I’ll hold you to that.” In a brisk movement, you joined him and put your hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get killed.”
With that, you let go of him and joined the battle, a knife in each hand, you left a trail of bloody limbs and screaming pirates in your trail, barely paying attention to whose arm or eye you were cutting, all you wanted to do was to put an end to this massacre. When a tall black man with two gold teeth slammed his huge hand on your arm and gripped so tight you almost cried out in pain, you flipped your dagger around and took him in the rear. His crooked golden smile faded when your dagger penetrated his ear as smooth as a knife in butter. His limp body almost crushed you but you stepped out of the way, not noticing the little blond boy standing behind you.
“No!” You screamed but it was too late. It was over for him. You barely saw his little hand coming from under the giant pirate you just killed. You killed the pirate but also the boy, inadvertently.
“Watch it!” Someone yelled and you ducked, laying flat on the ground, feeling something fly over your head. An ax planted in the tree in front of you and when you looked over your shoulder, you saw Felix smirking. He had warned you.
The number of pirates had severely decreased since you arrived and the only real fight going on was Peter and Hook dueling on the Jollyroger, a few meters away from where you were. It seemed like Peter had things under control. Hook uselessly tired himself, making dramatic gestures, exhilarated to finally have Pan in front of him, at sword length. He was so close to his goal that he grew over-confident, and forgot to spare his energy. Peter on the other side looked like he was dancing a ballet, just ducking and avoiding Hook’s sword and hook, letting him grow too tired to fight. The humiliation of getting beaten by a boy without even being wounded in his flesh would kill him if Pan didn’t do it himself. After a couple minutes of this masquerade of a duel, Peter got bored and he managed to make hook trip on his feet and fall back, hitting the helm. Pan grabbed the saber from him and held it to his neck, putting a final point to this fight.
But something else caught your attention. The familiar spark of a blade reflecting the sun came from the rear of the ship and there you saw yet another of Hook’s pirates. One that was strategically placed there to ensure that Pan wouldn’t make it off the ship alive, in case Hook failed.
“Peter!” You screamed, already running to the ship, wishing you could go faster, or yell louder. Peter didn’t hear you and the pirate aimed and just as he threw the knife towards Pan’s back, you wished you could just appear there, stop him, stop this.
The next thing you knew was that you weren’t on the beach anymore and a flashing pain coming from your chest. When you looked down, you saw the grip on a knife, the only part that wasn’t dived into your flesh, and a growing stain of blood coloring your blouse in red. Without recalling sitting down, you sudden felt yourself on the wooden floor, your cheek pressed against the filthy material. The throbbing pain was unbearable and you closed you eyes to ease it. They shot open when you heard Pan’s scream though.
“NO!” The scream echoed and you felt a wave of magic come through you, as if emanating from Pan, and crash through Neverland, making everything silent on its way.
You welcomed the quietness and your eyes fluttered a bit. You had trouble staying awake, but you knew that you had to. If you let go, it was over. You spotted Peter’s blurry face in front of you and felt yourself being rolled around. The blue sky momentarily blinded you and all you could see was light. You turned you head around to see the beach – bad idea, the flashing pain was back, making you cry out. But you saw it. The beach. Everybody was frozen on the spot, in the middle of fights, in the middle of dying.
Pan had immobilized the whole island in just one time.
“Now is not the time to play noble (Y/N),” he groaned. “I have to remove the knife,” he said, obviously not pleased with this perspective. “It’s going to hurt.”
“I know,” you articulated. “Just do it.”
With one hand he pushed you shoulder down against the floor to make sure you weren’t going to move. When his other hand grabbed the grip of the weapon, you screamed again, the pressure increasing the ache. Not giving you any warning, he pulled it out and threw it away, immediately covering your bloody open wound with both his hands and applying pressure to prevent the blood from flowing out. You felt a warm sense of tranquility fill you and you didn’t know if it was death or Pan using magic to heal you. All you knew was that it was too good and you decided to close your eyes, just for a second… just a second…


Slowly applying some herbal ointment to sooth your wound, you winced a bit but it was far less sure than last week. The boys told you you stay unconscious for two days, they were worried you were never going to wake up. But at last, you opened your eyes, only to fall back asleep minutes after having been fed by one of the boys. It was a rather confusing two weeks, but now you felt better. Thanks to Peter your wound healed quickly. He didn’t allow you to leave his shack – which became your room for as long as you needed it – and you hadn’t seen him since the fateful day, but the boys who visited you told you he came at night and tended to your injury.
Just when you were about to open the door to leave your 'room’, you bumped into a flat chest. You looked up and saw Felix.
“I wanna go out,” you told him. He blinked a few times but eventually turned around and climbed back down the tree, even offering you a helpful hand to climb down without mishandling your hurt shoulder. You were lucky the pirate aimed at Pan and not you. He was a good shot, but since Peter is slightly taller than you, it hit you just above your heart, and didn’t make any permanent damages.
“Pan’s at the beach,” Felix said, not waiting for an answer before leaving.
You suspected he was purposely avoiding the camp because he felt guilty for what happened – although you never saw him make himself sick worried for someone who wasn’t him. Slowly this time, you walked to the beach, and unlike the ten minutes it took you to run there last time, you made your way there in half an hour, stopping here and there to take your breath and calm your spinning head. It was tiring but being assigned to camp for two weeks made you miss nature.
When finally you reached your destination, expecting a pile of bodies, and blood tainted sand, you were faced with a spotless beach. The only thing that betrayed the presence of pirates was the ship, with Peter sitting at the head. You closed your eyes and when you opened them again, you were standing right behind him on the boat.
“Are you avoiding me, Peter?” You asked in a rather playful tone. He turned around – he didn’t look surprised to see you there so he must have sensed you come.
“Why? Don’t I deserve a little thank you?” You teased him, pushing his buttons. You walked up to him and sat on the head beside him, making sure not to fall. He chuckled lightly.
“Would a thank you be enough?” He wondered out loud. “I’m not sure.”
“It would be a good start,” you shrugged, winced at the gesture. “Okay note to self: do not shrug anymore.” Peter laughed at you and turned around to face you, tearing his eyes away from the sea. “Now if you feel like building me my very own cabin because you feel really thankful, I wouldn’t say no.”
The wind made your hair fly around your face and you had to push it aside, trying to gather your wild brown locks in a ponytail.
“Deal. But it can’t be bigger than mine, the leader needs to have the biggest shack,” he said, smiling and passing his hand before your eyes, making the wind fall.
“That’s a very masculine thing to say,” you mocked him. He looked strangely melancholic. “What happened to Hook?”
“I killed him.” Peter paused. “He’s at the bottom of the ocean now, where he belongs.”
“It’s sad end for a sad man,” you simply said, feeling very sad yourself suddenly.
“Thank you (Y/N). I owe you my life, without you I’d be dead,” Peter said his mouth dry and his eyes distant.
“So you can die?” You asked just to make him crack a smile. It worked and he nodded. “Well, I wouldn’t be here without you either. It would have been a fatal wound if it wasn’t for your magic.”
“You’re welcome,” Peter said. “Hey!” He exclaimed as you punched him in the shoulder. “What was that for?”
“Shut up, I’m the hero of the day,” you just said, narrowing your eyes at him. He laughed, throwing his head back and holding his stomach. You let him have his moment.
“Hey Peter,” you called his name when he calmed down. “Why is love a theft?”
“You never give up do you? You know, this is also one of your qualities that you manage to turn into an annoying trait of personality,” he smirked. His hand flew up to your face and push a lock a rebel hair behind your ear, his fingers tickling your cheek and neck as he did so. All of a sudden, he dived in and placed a quick kiss on your lips, leaving you speechless.
“See? I just stole a kiss from you. Love is the same – it feels good but it’s quick and sudden and you don’t see it coming it just crashes down,” he explained. His hand fell down, and you missed the touch, feeling the cold wind were Peter’s warm palm formerly was.
“Love is a theft because you steel someone’s heart? That’s it?” You asked, a bit thwarted with this answer. “But they can give it freely,” you pointed out, trying to find a crack in Peter’s logic.
“In my case, it is a theft, because the heart I covet already belongs to someone else,” Pan stated, not meeting her eyes. “It’s cruel.”
“Life is? Why would love be any different?” Your question was answered by a shrug. “What’s bothering you Peter?”
“Nothing,” he replied, a bit too fast to sound honest. “I’m just enjoying this.”
“This what?”
“Our conversation. I’ll miss it.” If he kept being so vague about everything you’d smash his head against the foremast.
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere,” you said, but when you saw his expression, you swallowed down. “Am I?”
“Take this as my way of thanking you,” he said. “You have my permission to leave Neverland, I won’t hold you back. The Shadow will take you anywhere you like, just go to him when you’re ready,” Peter informed you. “Go back to your 'someone else’, (Y/N). Don’t make him wait any longer.”
And just like that, he disappeared, and you felt your heart crumble.


Peter Pan had disappeared. The Lost Boys, Felix, even the Shadow, nobody had seen him. Worry was eating away at you, but a small voice in your head whispered you that he would remain hidden until you left. If he really was talking about when he said that love was a theft, he was probably hiding from you. He waited 'til you left, because that’s how he dealt with your departure.
Pretty ironic when you considered the fact that back in the Enchanted Forest you were a theft and a pariah, who made everyone a big favor by fleeing on that ship. Nobody was waiting for you back there, and nothing good would happen to you if you ever decided to go back. You’d get arrested, thrown into a cell for the rest of your life at best, and executed the very next day at worst.
Fed up with waiting for him, you decided to take matters into yours own hands. Going back to the ship, you climbed up there, cursing under your breath every time a flash of pain emanated from your healing shoulder, but still making it to the deck. Once there you sat back on the very spot where you last saw him, and called Peter.
“Peter! Come here! Stop hiding!” You yelled to the void, only hearing the sound of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship and the wind blowing in the sails. “Peter Pan come at once! I’m not leaving this boat until you reappear, I can stay here all night, all day! I’ll starve myself if I have to, but I won’t step off this deck.”
You began to feel a little silly for shouted at the empty air but you ran out of ideas, you had already looked for him everywhere on this island, expect for the Jollyroger.
“Fine! I’ll wait,” you crossed your arms over your chest and waited. You waited. And waited. And fours hours later you were still waiting, and occasionally calling Peter’s name. You shivered from the cold as the sun set and the night fell, but you stayed as you told him. If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that he heard you. Whatever happened on Neverland, Peter was aware of. There was literally not a chance in the world that he missed your hysteric screams.
“You’ll catch your death, Darling,” a voice suddenly made you wake up. You hadn’t realized you fell asleep, but when you looked up you saw the moon high and the night dark. It was around midnight. You stayed here for the last ten hours. “Go away. I gave you want you wanted, you’re free to leave. What are you still doing here?”
Taking your sweet time to answer – he made you wait here the whole evening, he could wait a few minutes – and stretched yourself after getting up, shaking your sleeping limbs.
“There are a few things you should know Peter,” you said, walking to him, your eyes dived in his cold gaze. You knew that stare, it was the one you used to give people when you thought they were once again leaving you alone. “And the first one is this.”
Your hand flew up to grab him by the neck and Peter was too surprised to react when you leaned forward and captured his lips for a kiss. Miles away from the chaste peck he gave you a few days ago, it was everything you’d expect from a kiss. Deep but soft and setting you ablaze. When he kissed you back you smiled and brought your other hand to his face, while he encircled your waist, pressing you against him. When you broke away, breathless but content, you stepped back just a bit.
“That’s how you steal a kiss from someone,” you smiled, your cheeks pink and your breath short. “Secondly, I’m not leaving, and that’s nonnegotiable.” The look a relief in his eyes was worth all the waiting he put you through.
“And finally,” you started, “you’re wrong. Love is not a theft.”
“But-” He argued, his eyebrows shooting together, confusion wrinkling his forehead.
“There is no one else, Peter,” you cut him off. “I’m not awaited in the Enchanted Forest. There is no one for me but you.”
A smile so wide you thought his face would crack in two adorned his lips, and he grabbed your wrists and pulled you to his chest, wrapping his arms around your small frame.
“And here I thought you were so sick of living here that you literally threw yourself between me and a knife,” he admitted, chuckling lightly.
“Ridiculous, I know! Seems like Hook’s not the only one to do reckless things in the name of love,” you smiled brushing the tip of your nose against his before feeling him lean down to kiss you yet again. Peter’s hold on you was firm and he had no intention on letting go, because finally he had his treasure, and it was far more precious than jewels and gold.
It was something nobody could take from him, because love wasn’t something one could steal.

(1) L'esprit de l'escalier: (French) Sometimes called “escalator wit”. Thinking about a past conversation over  and over again and finding the perfect answer/thing to say, but too late.

Attitude Problem- Part 6

Link to part 5: https://wwefinnbalorimagines.tumblr.com/post/161239489810/attitude-problem-part-5

The initial plan was to meet up for coffee and talk things out like adults. However, Finn was running late on an already tight schedule and so he asked y/n to meet him at his place later in the evening.

It used to be our place. Y/n thought to herself.

She felt a strange remorse for shunning Finn away in spite of his desperate pleas to forgive him. If she thought of it objectively, Finn had been religiously faithful to her ever since they had started dating. Yes, he screwed up but it was only because he kept denying the reality of his own feelings. He had the gall to admit the bitter truth to her and the act in itself spoke volumes about his integrity as a lover and friend.

Over the span of two weeks y/n had had plenty of time to think things through. She also had some texts from Karl, Luke, Bayley & Sami to let her know that Finn’s misery was obvious to them. Although Finn never explicitly informed any of them about the situation, they could ascertain from his changed demeanour that y/n and Finn had not been on speaking terms.

Y/n brushed her hair and took one last look at herself in the mirror before leaving. She had decided that she’d repudiated Finn enough and should now work on atoning their relationship. He didn’t deserve to be forsaken for his honesty.

She rang the doorbell and quickly placed her clammy hands into the pockets of her jeans. Truth be told, she was nervous because her ego wouldn’t let her mind rest from all sorts of ominous possibilities. What if Finn refused to reconcile their relationship?

The door unlocked and Finn met y/n in the eyes briefly before averting his gaze and walking back inside leaving the door open for her to close it herself.

Talk about an attitude.

Sometimes Finn would outdo y/n’s impudence when he was upset and then she would make jokes about him being a “natural heel” to ease the tension. Of course, this wasn’t the time to make jokes.

Y/n walked inside and closed the door behind her. She watched Finn pour a glass of wine and guessed it was for himself since she never drank. He wore an all black ensemble; black pants with a black shirt that neatly wrapped around his muscles- reminding her of all that she had been missing these past couple of weeks.

Wordlessly, Finn turned around and gestured for her to take a seat. The formality bothered y/n until she took a good look at his tired eyes.

He was drunk.

Her gaze traced his features. She clearly remembered how his face always held a childlike glow to it and she couldn’t find it anywhere now. She was utterly disappointed. What good is it to speak to a drunken man about the present?

She felt a sudden fire ignite within her, wondering if he purposely intoxicated to evade the acridity of their meeting. But the sound of Finn’s voice distracted her from her thread of mental questions.

“I thought you wanted to talk.” He said almost mockingly.

Y/n just blinked at him, tongue tied in her mouth.

“Why won’t you say anything? S’ the matter with you?!” He raised his voice at her, almost scolding her.

“What the hell Finn?” Y/n struggled to get the words to an audible range. She was completely baffled at his belligerence.

He smirked at her then took a long sip from the glass he held in his right hand. His left hand gripped the table behind him for support. He leaned on it for seconds before setting the goblet glass down and walking towards her.

Y/n watched him take a seat next to her with sad eyes. She was clearly overwhelmed by the unexpected hostility. Finn was acting like a complete stranger and it didn’t help that she couldn’t find him in his warm blue eyes. All she saw was her own bland reflection in them.

She deliberated that it was best to call it a night. There was no point speaking with Finn right now. Hence, she cut to the chase and apologised to him while searching for the strap of her bag, ready to leave.

“I just came here because I wanted to apologise for my standoffish behaviour. I overreacted and accused you of infidelity without taking into account the context-”

“Why do you talk so much?” Finn cut her off and grimaced.

Y/n found herself unguarded at that comment and stood up from her seat.

“But you just asked me to say something, you…you literally just yelled at me?” She argued.

Finn looked over his shoulder to stifle a devilish grin.

Offended, y/n chided his moronic behaviour. “Why are you smiling? Why are you even acting like a fucking weirdo? I thought we were going to talk things through but you’re just sitting here and-”

Just then, Finn stood up, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into him for a passionate kiss.

Y/n went limp in his arms momentarily, absolutely dumbfounded by everything that was happening right now. She then ran her hands across his arms and found his shoulders to push herself away from his grip.

Finn held onto y/n’s sides but halted the kiss at her resistance.

Y/n looked at him and she knew exactly what was about to go down.

“I am not having drunk sex with you Finn Balor.” She told him firmly.

He let out a chuckle at that and locked his arms around her back.

“You’re not drunk, lass.” He smiled at her cheekily.

“You are.” Y/n clarified.

“Why you gotta be so uptight y/n? You have issues with everything I do.” Finn spoke waspishly, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side as if trying to read her mind.

“I am not uptight!” Y/n viciously defended herself.

“Then let go.” Finn whispered, the snark still evident in his voice.

Y/n realised she was gripping fists full of his shirt and quickly released it out of embarrassment, earning a wide grin from Finn.

Still holding on to y/n’s waist, he leaned in to peck her on the lips before leaning back to check on her facial expressions. She watched him back intently but this time she did not defy him.

“Jump.” Finn commanded and y/n obeyed. She was hell bent on proving herself as not-uptight to him.

Finn caught her as she wrapped her legs around his torso and took a few steps forward.

“Where do you want it?” He asked her carelessly.

Y/n wasn’t sure where Finn was going with this, nonetheless she blurted:


“Actually, you don’t get to decide that.” Finn quipped at her.

Just then, it all made sense to y/n.

This was simple, crude, revenge sex.

He knew y/n was a complete nerd when it came to intimacy. She always preferred gentle love making over angry sex. She considered it a sort of abomination of intimate behaviour.

Her thoughts were disrupted by Finn slightly slamming her back against the hardwood floor.

“You like floors, don’t you?” Finn let out a cold laugh, humoured by his own wit.

Tags: @vsturgeon5489 @@ambrosegirlforever@bucky-iss-bae @bitchesgonnabemad @thebadchic @rocketqueen28 @alexahood21 @caramara3

Hi. Sorry this is so short. I’m thinking of making part 7 longer, which shall most probably be the last instalment of this series. Let me know how you’d want the story to pan out in the final part!

Originally posted by baellinswithstyles

Leave Me to Dream

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 1250

A/N: Fic request by @captainblurryface21​ – “Could I please request an angst-y and fluffy one-shot based from the song Dream by Imagine Dragons??” I’ll let the song lyrics serve as summary – “We all are living in a dream, /But life ain’t what it seems /Oh everything’s a mess /And all these sorrows I have seen /They lead me to believe /That everything’s a mess /But I wanna dream /I wanna dream /Leave me to dream.” Fluff, and angst.

A deceptively warm autumn breeze caressed your cheeks, rustling the limbs of the ruddy-mantled maple you reclined against. A cascade of bright red and orange speckled leaves noisily shook free, fluttering from their quivering branches to tumble exuberantly across the yellowing grasses, amassing together in scattered heaps here and there on the unnaturally flat park grounds as though by some predetermined agreed-upon plan to rejoin ranks after escaping their stemmed restraints upon the tree. Perhaps they were simply lonely in their freedom. You scented in the swirling air drifting from a meadow beyond the manicured fields a mixture of fragrant sun-warmed late-blooming aster and the sickly sweet odor of newly fallen apples, bruised and rusting flesh half-consumed in the dawn by deer and other furtive wandering night creatures. Twisting a single dark lock of curly hair around your finger over and over again, you contemplated, between turns of the page as you read, the peaceful countenance of the angel with his head resting upon your lap. Smiling to yourself, it occurred to you that very rarely was the real world this idyllic.

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Criminal ~ smut

Author: completedylantrash

Characters: reader x Stiles Stilinski


Word Count: 3418

Synopsis: AU Deputy Stiles Stilinski and reader have had a few run ins, most of which end with him arresting her. 

A/N: This is all thanks to @httpslouisoh who requested this. I usually don’t do requests but this was just brilliant and I HAD to write it! So I hope I did it justice my luv! My god, Stiles in a cop uniform, with handcuffs…this was brutal!

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Stilinski!” I try to wiggle out of Stiles’ grasp. Great this is just what I needed. To be harassed by Deputy Dipshit. Again.

“Stop, or I will handcuff you,” Stiles murmurs in my ear as he holds my hands behind my back.

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Found You- JakeXMC

OK, so this is something that’s been rolling around in my brain since forever and I just found the inspiration to finally sit down an write it.  (Thank you Spotify for your Spanish music playlist)  For clarity, my MC’s Name is Jess.  (Jake and Jess, I know, it’s so sweet it’s giving me cavities)  Much shameless inspiration taken from @hollyashton and @hartfeld.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.  Any needless flames will be used to make s’mores.


Lips pressed roughly against his own, bruising and almost angry, desperate for one last taste of each other.  He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, even as the choppers drew closer. So it was probably a good thing she did it for him.

“I will find you.” She whispered, her voice rough and harsh from the ash and smoke that still lingered in the air, her hand still fisted in his hair as she stared into his eyes.  “Now go. Run.  Get away from here and stay safe.  But don’t you dare forget, I will find you again.”  And suddenly those eyes seemed to harden into shards of ice and before he could say anything, before he could reach out to stop her, the woman spun on her heel and raced off towards the noise.

“JESS!” Jake heard himself scream, almost launching himself out of bed.  It took him a moment, the dream always had a way of screwing with him, disorienting him.  Thankfully this wasn’t the kind of place where shouts in the night garnered much notice. Feeling the cold sweat drip slowly down his back, Jake swung his legs over the side of his pitiful excuse for a bed, hunching over to rest his head in his hands, trying to focus on slowing his breaths.  “You’re in Costa Rica.  Not back on that damn island.  She’s back in the states, she’s safe.”  Jake released a slow breath as memories of that smart, gorgeous, god-damned amazing woman began to flood his mind.  Roughly shoving a hand through his hair, Jake pushed himself to lay back on the threadbare mattress, his mind elsewhere.

Sarcasm was her first language, that’s what she used to always say about herself, and damn if she didn’t give him a run for his money in that department.  It had been their banter that had first attracted him to her.  It came easy to them, she’d clearly been wily enough to keep up with him, and so the quips flowed like water between the two. Even gave him his own nickname, much to his surprise.  “Top Gun.” He muttered, chuckling under his breath.  But then he had started it with the ‘Princess’ crack so he supposed he had been asking for it.  It hadn’t hurt that she had been drop-dead sexy, with legs that went on for days and those gorgeous blue eyes that he would still swear reflected a galaxy’s worth of stars back at him.  And even as that gods-forsaken island had kept getting more dangerous, she’d still found a way to keep up with him, to survive.

That wasn’t to way there hadn’t been some close scrapes.  A shudder ripped through him as Jake remembered their first encounter with that sabretooth.  Jess had put herself between the pixie and Tony-the-Roid-Rage-Tiger and taken his claws to her side for her trouble.  Grimacing, he stood, reaching for a clean shirt.  If he was going to be taking this trip down memory lane, he needed a drink.

The memories wouldn’t leave him alone as he threw himself together.  The feeling of his heart all but stopping as the tiger’s claws gouged her side, her cry of pain and surprise.  They’d only just managed to get out of there and back to the hotel.  As his hand hit the doorknob, Jake paused, remembering the feel of her small hand in his as they had made their way through the pitch black of the cavern beneath the shelter they had found.  After that weirdness with the orb they’d found, the group had finally managed to make it back to the resort, back to relative safety.

Jake snorted and wrenched open his door, intent now on getting that drink.  Nothing on that island had been safe, everything had been out to kill them. The only good thing, the only truly good moment he could remember had been that night.  The night before everything went to hell.

A gentle breeze ruffled his shaggy hair as Jake slipped out of his building and wound his way down the street.  The air was warm and humid, clinging to his exposed skin just as it had that night. She had been so unsure when she’d asked him up to her room, though you would never have known it from looking at her. It was only because he had known her so well that he could tell.  The slight tremor in her hands, the almost imperceptible hesitation in her voice. Jake couldn’t help but smirk.  “You really had no idea did you Princess?” he wondered to the empty sky.  He’d been crazy about her, long before that night.  That night was just the icing on a very attractive cake and cemented, at least to him, where they had stood with each other.  He hadn’t been lying when he told her that he’d never wanted anything like he wanted her.  And to hear her tell him to take her…  An altogether different shiver raced down his spine and curled in his belly as he remembered that night.  Even three years later, she could still make his breath catch… among other things.  “God, I really do need that drink.” He muttered, trying desperately to shove those distracting thoughts from his mind.

Ever since he had come to Costa Rica, Ricardo’s had been his second home. A little dive right off the water, it reminded him of all the places back in Shreveport he and his brothers had gone to on the nights they wanted to stir up some trouble.  The owner, Ernesto, had apparently bought the place for his retirement so that he would have something to keep him out of the house so his wife didn’t kill him.  Ernesto was the kind of man that didn’t ask many questions, only caring if your money was real and you were there to drink, not cause trouble.  Jake only ever ended the trouble that found him in this place, so Ernesto was happy to take his money.

The old man smirked as Jake strode through the door, quickly prepping a finger of whiskey before Jake had even sat down.  Jake in return tossed a few colones on the bar.  “How’s the night been ‘Nesto?” he asked, sipping his drink. The slow burn of the alcohol did wonders to distract his scattered mind.

 “Not too bad.  Pretty quiet now.” Ernesto said as he put away the whiskey.  “Had an interesting visitor this afternoon apparently though.”

 “Oh?”  The glass stilled halfway to Jake’s mouth.  Ernesto wouldn’t have mentioned this visitor unless something was gnawing at him about them.

 “She was looking for you apparently.  Left this behind for you.”  A slim white envelope appeared on the bar before him and Jake could feel his hackles rising at the sight of it.

 “She?  A woman was looking for me?”

“Hector assumed she was one of your conquests.  She was quite the looker apparently.”  Jake raised his eyes to meet Ernesto’s.  Here was the one man Jake could never read.  ‘Nesto had a poker face to beat any he had ever seen. “Should I be worried Mac?”

 “Was about to ask you the same thing.” Jake replied, finally tossing back the last of his drink.  Setting the glass down on the worn bar top, Jake grimaced slightly.  “Did Hector say what this woman looked like?”

 “Blonde hair just past her shoulders, slim.  A little shorter than my Paula.”  Ernesto tossed a rag over his shoulder and quickly fixed him another drink. “Hector seemed to think she was quite pretty.  He said that if you weren’t interested he wouldn’t mind taking a shot.”

 Jake’s mouth felt dry.  It couldn’t be… “Did Hector happen to say what color her eyes were?” he asked, wrapping his hands around his drink in a vain attempt to hide the growing tremor in them that had nothing to do with whiskey.

 “Blue.”  Ernesto was eyeing him now as he wiped down the bar top.  “Said they reminded him of the ocean.  Bright and blue and so deep you swear you could drown in them.  His words, not mine.”

 He felt like he couldn’t breath.  It wasn’t possible.  It had been three damn years, she should have forgotten about him by now.  She was supposed to be graduating from college, starting a life of her own.  What in the hell was she doing asking after him in a dive bar in Costa Rica?  He stared at the envelope before him, so unremarkable, and yet Jake couldn’t bring himself to touch it, but he couldn’t just leave it there either.  After what felt like an eternity, Jake tossed back his second whiskey, not even tasting the alcohol and reached for the envelope.

 It was light in his hands as Jake ripped open the seal.  Turning it over, a small USB key slipped out on the bar, followed closely by a folded piece of purple paper.  “Her favorite color.”  The words came unbidden from his lips, hushed and almost reverent.  He still didn’t think it was possible.  The world seemed to fade away as he opened the little note to reveal that achingly familiar cursive.

              Told you I’d find you Top Gun. Now it’s your turn.  Catch me if you               can.

              Ever Yours,



Ok here we go guys. Back on the requests. This is for the two Anons who requested Ardyn x Gentiana.

- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -

She was soft. Her skin tasted like human, shivered under his touch like human, her breath even warm like a human, the ice goddess inside a human vessel. It was always bittersweet, when she gave herself to him, almost as an act of mercy. A demon rejected by the gods, allowed the occasional alms from the benignant deity.

Yet he always accepted the charity. In some twisted way, he counted it as a minor personal victory. As long as the tainted one was allowed to lay his hands on the goddess, he couldn’t be completely forsaken. It didn’t matter if the Draconian was aware of the encounters – the Glacian, in her fondness for mankind, bestowed the mortals her tender pity, and by sharing her own mortal reincarnation, extended it to him. He was somewhere in between: not a mortal, not quite a god.

“To Niflheim…”

She spoke softly, hiding her gentle gaze from him.

He thought back on the first time he saw those eyes, how his heart had stood still, how the stars had paled in comparison with that ethereal glimmer.

“Outside the walls of the very Empire whose technology you seek to resurrect.”

A solemn smile spread across his lips. She remembered.

He didn’t need to explain his intentions to her anymore; she knew the prophesy, she was familiar with the past, the present and the future. She could read him like an open book. But to him, she remained forever a mystery.

“Does this mean you must withdraw your patronage?”

Still enjoying the occasional stab at the gods, he wouldn’t pass a chance to test their cavalier nature. Her lids parted slowly, revealing the soft olive green, staring straight into his tainted soul. Behind that youthful glow, an ancient divinity calmly sleeping.

“The Messenger shall stay by the Oracle, the devotion is unwavering. The forsaken King is no longer favoured.”

Those words still hurt, after all this unending time, particularly coming from her. A silent rage boiled under his stoic exterior, merely manifesting as a slight tightening of his lips.

“You wound me.”

The images wouldn’t clear from his mind. The way she seduced him with her soft smile, the way she offered a momentary sanctuary in her arms, wrapping her slender body around him, taking in all his frustration, his anger, his sorrow as he penetrated her with his passion and fury…

“I still cherish the time you walked beside me in broad daylight.”

She smiled, but her lips stayed sealed. Was she mocking him? Was she enjoying his torment? Perhaps this was the entertainment for the gods, to amuse herself by revelling in this one immortal’s misery.

“So cold… but what else could I expect from you,” he smirked, his gaze traveling down her frame before falling to the ground. He sighed deep as she approached him, floating across the room without a sound.

“To expect your blessing would be naïve. It was never mine to keep, only to borrow.”

Her hand touched upon his cheek, sending a little chill down his spine. She never chose to show her full power to him, it was always intentionally kept at bay, like a lioness gently playing with her cub. Did she feel a similar magnetism when her skin touched his? Could she feel at all, or was it only an act… he wondered, now.

Her eyes adorned with a hint of the otherworldly red glow, she looked at him with a calm expression, bringing her lips close to his.

“The Astral may forgive and show mercy, but may not condone the creation of more lost souls. Walk steady, on the path ahead. The destiny of many may yet be changed.”

With her lips merely brushing on his, he closed his eyes only for a moment, but she was already gone when his arms reached for her waist, to pull her closer.

The room was more silent than it had ever been, the walls feeling miles apart. A sharp, cool breeze passed through from east to west, and he knew she had departed his realm. A delicate flower could not bloom in the snow.

He remained still for a good while, before picking up his hat and pressing it on his dark mauve mane. Letting go of her should not have felt so caustic…  After all, it was not alien to him, the solitude. The desolation of forever.

I didn’t feel like drawing yesterday, so I finally sat down and wrote the first chapter of the MadaKaka fic that I’ve had outlined. It’s not super long, but I haven’t written much in the past year.


Summary: An alternate universe in which Madara survives the war and spends his days flirting with irritating the Hokage.

The Price of Atonement

Ch. 1: Limbo

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Ringleaders - Prologue.

Here is the original ask for this prompt.
Here is the announcement for this project!

Chapter One. Chapter Two.


It’s quite a long catchphrase, but Kuroo knows that the very point is that they’re not trying to sell anything. Anyone who doesn’t take the time to read through the whole thing on the obscenely large billboard probably wouldn’t be what they were looking for, and all in all, he thinks it’s an effective message to those who’re searching for something new in their lives. Something different; something just like what’s past the figurative rabbit hole.

Of course, there isn’t a rabbit hole. There’s only the box that people like to wear about their heads, cover their ears and peer through the little cut-out slits in the cardboard and pretend that just because there’s built in elevator music in that helmet of theirs that everything’s fine.

He kicks a pebble to the side and watches it fall into the water beside him with an unceremonious plop. No skips, no fancy ripples, just a rock sinking to the bottom of the harbor because someone kicked it halfheartedly with their foot. It’s an almost philosophically stupid wonder how some people can expect to soar through the skies with just a simple nudge, too complacent to even throw their arm back to toss the stone.

“Oi, you there,” Kuroo swivels his head around at the voice, fingers still rubbing against each other in the warmth of his coat pockets. It’s a chilly day today, and it’s about to get a little warmer. “You that fucker who took out Franker last week?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. What do you want?”

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anonymous asked:

Hey IR idiot! Remember how Orihime brought ichigo to life? How ichigo needs to protect orihime before anybody else? Ya know ichigos poem is for zangetsu? Remember how you pretend to like Orihime? Remember how IR is a pretend ship created by idiots?

Look, IchiHime fans are never, ever going to be open-minded or thoughtful when they read and interpret anything in Bleach. I get that. The mind-numbingly ignorant comments, attempts-to-piss-me-off reblogs, and the obsessive endeavors of enlightening me with 10+ hateful inbox messages prove that to be fact.

Oh and self-promotion here, but I got an IR post in the works that’s just gonna blow that “pretend ship”  and “Zangetsu over Rukia” bull crap out of the water. I know how committed IH fans are to IR so I thought you’d be interested.

I know you guys are in your own deluded community concentrated in blind support and hate on others, but how the hell are you going to go on and on and on about how instances like “Can I keep up with it? The speed of the world with no you?” are completely falsified by the IchiRuki fandom and then cling so desperately to your mistranslated “Orihime bringing Ichigo back to life” argument?

Again and again and many an again more, that was perhaps the most common knowledge incorrect, egregious translation of the entire God-forsaken manga. Orihime didn’t call “Help me, Ichigo,” she called “Help” or “Help me” Followed by “Kurosaki-kun,” “Kurosaki-kun,” “Kurosaki-kun,” “Kurosaki-kun.”

Instead of the usual kanji, Kubo wrote it in hiragana, a Japanese syllabary. I couldn’t find the raw Japanese scans, but I did find this.

‘Kurosaki-kun’ is not a name anymore, it is syllables because Orihime lost her ability of elocution, of any sensible thought. She snapped, she broke, she lost it. For good reason? Yes. Does it change the fact? No.

Ichigo didn’t need “to protect her,” he needed to “protect (general).” The pronoun ‘her’, as explained by the Japanese fan-base and those proficient in Japanese speech and linguistics, is just not there. No inner intention of Ichigo focuses his will or motive of protection on Orihime.

And what else? Ichigo fucking failed.

He ruined two of his friends, he butchered an arrancar worse than the espada of nihility could have ever done, and Ichigo hated every last piece of himself for it.

But rest assured anon, I do not think you or your fandom total hypocrites for preaching the same shit you are guilty of in twenty fold of what you pretend a fandom at least three times the size of you does. I just think it makes you insecure.

Spare me your hypocritical humility and attempts at promoting the ‘IchiHime brand’ and their misguided, quite frankly fucked up mantras of wisdom and morality.

“God gave you one face, and you make yourself another” (William Shakespeare). Act 3 of Hamlet I’m pretty sure.

Even past sentence structure and linguistics…how could any spin on this, how could any point of view, how could any translation, or any interpretation lead any human being with half an iota of common sense and half an idea about the concept of human decency, to believe Ichigo becoming a hollow was an intense, gut-wrenching, God-tier-esque leading shipping moment?

Ichigo became a hollow. One without thought or true cognitive function. Please explain to me how something the fandom dubbed IchiThing somehow becomes a positive, otherworldly creature who decimated death with the carnal need and the pure intention to protect Orihime?

Orihime’s most scarring moment, her most traumatizing experience, the utter rotting of her emotional and mental stability, her feelings of Ichigo being a safe and kind and funny guy dissolving with a cero to Ulquiorra’s skull is considered an IH moment?

The utter dishevelment of the self-appointed values Ichigo sets for himself, his moral code of conduct being acid-washed away, the stigmatic behavior/approach Uryu and Ulquiorra treated him with, Ichigo wanting to mutilate himself in a hopeless attempt to reestablish a sense of honor, Ichigo loathing and hating and thinking of himself as worse than the bottom-feeding, dregs of societal scum he fights against, Ichigo hurting his friends and killing someone (something Rukia, back in their beginnings, had to comfort him with the knowledge that ‘no Shinigami don’t kill, we cleanse’)…Ichigo had his humanity dying.

“Up until now, I’ve been fighting you hollowfied and unaware..That’s not me!”  …Is Ichigo like this a okay to you?

You also cling like needy little leeches to Orihime’s verbal (because the actions of others don’t mean anything right?) oath and commitment to protecting Ichigo. Guess who besides Ichigo failed? If you are so ignorant and so facile with your imbecilic belief that Orihime is the only character in Bleach who doesn’t ‘use’ Ichigo for something (usually protection) or that Hime is the only character who shows desire to protect Ichigo thus making her the only one who really, truly gives a damn about him, why do you cling to this so desperately?

Why do you use your precious mistranslated manga pages when they butcher the goals, morals, genetic-makeup, and fucking sanity/well-being of the ‘two most important characters’ to you? You don’t understand Ichigo, you sure as hell don’t understand Orihime, and any criticism or aspect of these characters that isn’t presented as altruistic good or universally perfect is rejected before being marked as hate and delusion? Do you realize how rare it is for manga characters to be presented like this? Don’t erase it. Learn from it.

How can you tell me Ichigo was awakened by his carnal, core deep instinct or by his unabated gall or by his utter need to protect Orihime when the hollow you claim he became for her protection and for her benefit scared, terrified, hurt, and robbed her of her stability.

Don’t pretend Orihime wasn’t mortified of Ichigo. ‘She’s only sixteen, give her a break.The love of her life is a monster now. Of course she’ll be scared. Her brother got turned into a monster before!”

I think this is a pretty complacent ‘defense’ of Orihime’s character because once again she’s being protected in the name of a ship, not in the name of Orihime. Not for herself. She’s shown to have some of the highest caliber of emotional and mental strength in the series. She deals with things, she can handle herself. She can pull herself together and get her job done.

When she saw her big brother and the monster he was, she pulled herself together and she could help him. Orihime wasn’t scared of Sora. Orihime was scared of Ichigo. She couldn’t do anything that she swore of herself here. If she could hardly breathe in witnessing a hollow-masked Ichigo in full control of his power and in the middle of the act of saving her and Nel, how well do you think she could handle IchiThing? Realize how bad this is for them both and realize how good it was when Orihime managed to contain her fear the second time Ichigo had to go Vasto Lord.

Why was the protector who you claim came back to life for her pummeling her through stone and dirt? Why did he cut and hurt her? Why did Uryu have to catch and protect her?  Why didn’t IchiThing consider what it’s reiatsu could do to her? Why isn’t his ‘life work and sole function’ to protect her meaning anything? If he came for her protection, why did she still get bruised and thrown around because of him? Why is she forced to witness more damnation? Why was she disgusted of herself for calling for help? Why wasn’t anything IchiThing did protective?

He fought. He killed. He hurt. He did not protect.

Why was Orihime afraid of Ichigo (with his mask alone and as a certified hollow), but not afraid of Ulquiorra? Ulquiorra is the one that caused all of this, after all. He killed Ichigo, he mutilated Uryu, he was aiming to kill Uryu, he tortured Orihime, he threatened her friends…so why?? Why did she give him one of her most tender, most vulnerable, and most warm gazes?

Because, at least a little, she understands Ulqiorra in a way she doesn’t understand Ichigo. She got a perfect nihilist to become curious, to embrace, no matter how short a time it was, an imperfect human emotion. He reached out, and Ichigo killed him. What she did wasn’t a small or negligible or normal or throw away for the sake of our ship thing. It meant something. It meant a lot of things. It made Orihime more powerful. Don’t erase it because an ‘UlquiHime’ moment makes you insecure. Do you want to protect Orihime’s unique strength? Figure out who the hell she is.

And onward.

Ichigo’s hollow is not his inner protector. Ichigo’s inner hollow is his lifeline’s defense mechanism. It’s plan B for when Ichigo starts losing, when he starts dying. Remember:

When becoming a hollow, you lose the heart (even more reason Ulquiorra is a ‘perfect’ nihilist) and the hollow simply becomes a heap of instinct. Ichigo’s instinct is to protect. Not to protect Orihime, just to protect. His protection isn’t dedicated to Orihime. It’s dedicated to a mountain-load of people.

First it was his mom, then the need got added on to with the birth of his sisters, and it’s been multiplying since.

Ichigo protects all (yes some matter more than others). Ichigo’s hollow protects Ichigo. We were introduced to that damn fact back in his fight with Byakuya. But, I know, I understand. The Soul Society arc (the damn core and basis and roots of the manga) is so damn triggering, IH fans have shoved it into their repression boxes…along with every moment and arc they don’t perceive or pretend is IchiHime.

The only protector Orihime EVER had up there was Ishida Uryu. Ishida Uryu had one indisputable, concentrated, soul reason to go to Hueco Mundo.

Inoue Orihime.

(Ichigo went for…more than that. To dip the reason in sugar and not start a whole new post). But nobody in your fandom considers this perfect archer-boy worth a damn.

Ichigo and Orihime brought out the worst in each other here. Orihime’s mental and emotional strength snapped, Ichigo’s humanity snapped. They didn’t help each other, they hurt each other.

What’s worse…where’s their actual emotional connection? Ichigo woke up and asked her if she was okay before quickly turning his attention to an Uryu he stabbed and an Ulquiorra he destroyed. They didn’t talk, she didn’t understand the pain in his eyes, her focus wasn’t on him it was on Ulquiorra, his focus was on what he had done…then Ichigo left to continue battle. No precious reunion or comfort or anything to help each other heal. They healed on their own, they didn’t help or heal each other…compare to Rukia and Ichigo who helped each other get over years of depression, their feelings of loneliness, uselessness, powerlessness,and sadness, changed each other and each others worlds, brought real smiles and real emotion back to each other,etc.

And ‘before anyone else?’ Remember when Ichigo just about abandoned rescuing Orihime when he felt Ruka dying? If Orihime is always his priority why did the thought of leaving even enter his mind?

Ichigo and Orihime….just can’t do anything for each other.

Ichigo lost. He felt like a monster, not a victor, and sure as hell not a protector.

Orihime broke. She felt useless, she failed her promise to herself, and she got the worst experience of her entire life

Orihime didn’t heal or bring Ichigo back to life. Ichigo brought himself back to life, though he wasn’t healed.

Orihime stayed with Uryu and Ichigo went to Rukia.

And that’s how it goes. Romanticize emotional trauma, death, misery, and their new found moments of anxiety, panic, and self-loathing all you want. Just quit pretending this is good for either of them.

Do better by Ichigo and Orihime. There’s my problem. This didn’t help them and this didn’t help their relationship.

It sent all the characters involved into a bottomless hell and not one good thing  for any one of them came out of that arc.

But “Oh my God IR fans are so delusional.” You’re right.

Let me hear one more of you say that Orihime really doesn’t mean shit to me and see how well and informative and calm I’ll be next time. Orihime and Ichigo mean everything to me.

Wish they meant as much to you.

DAPS as the crazy things people do for the Aesthetic (tm)
  • lis: founding a super pretentious society of ethereal dandies and damned gods concealed under the facade of anonymous poets to light up the darkness of this forsaken world of ours through the sempiternal power of Art & Beauty - but also with the lowkey intention to gather an army large enough to conquer the entire universe and finally becoming The Pope (tm).
  • inciting riots: when drying the styx and making all the muses beg for more with your words doesn't feel pretentious enough anymore, the only way out is to create a whole new poetical genre, the shots poems (write a line and drink it) and be crowed their king.
  • e.: that awkward moment when.. "day 28 at the MOMA - they still think i'm an artwork. an old lady this afternoon called me a timeless masterpiece."
  • mirror: having already bought 35 editions of the same book and keep finding (and buying) prettiest ones. and btw, the previously mentioned books are deeply glad of the fact.
  • rabbitheart: finding the greatest pleasure in taking 20 minutes to artistically write ONE WORD with a ridiculously old quill and black/blue ink with the most pretentious calligraphy one is capable of. no time ever spent better.
  • Δλ: being firmly convinced to have been that albatross baudelaire wrote about in a previous life and having no desire to know everyone else's opinion upon the matter.
  • pgtips: "marry the beast, get the library" squad leader tbh.
  • effigy: drinking wine is overrated, drinking ink is the new aesthetic (tm)
  • luce: illegally taking selfies with the local museum's paintings. the one time the mona lisa unmistakably smiled.
  • a.s.p.: reading tsh for the third time and while at first it seamed such a sensational and philosophical, ethereal book, now not being able to stop laughing at everything.
  • j.a.: when the character you take inspiration for your aesthetic from starts to look less themselves than you actually do.
  • sushi: having rough sex in a graveyard and passionately and (perhaps) accidentally killing your partner in the heat of the moment.
  • xvii: "there's nothing to writing. all you have to do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed." - in this case, literally.
  • dorian: selling your soul to the devil to make the portrait made by the nerd who has a crush on you growing old on your behalf and stay young, beautiful, evil and pretentious forever and ever tbh you smartass
  • iris: when you consider michelangelo's david your BFF - but just because you hope the friendship would eventually turn into something *more*.
  • elb: never picking a perfume only because of the scent, but much more because of THEAESTHETICOFTHEAMPULE let's be honest.
  • orpheus: looking back at your sweetheart almost out the underworld on purpose so you can sing forever about how single, melancholic, beautiful and sad you actually are.
  • m.a.r: being asked to become the 10th muse by the gods and declining - the muses are not pretentious enough to have me.
  • i.n.: opera and chill tbh
  • aa: putting makeup and perfume on before going to sleep so in case of apocalypse in the middle of the night everyone would still believe you're an actual ethereal being fallen off elysium.
  • nyx: "i'll stop wearing black when they invent a darker color" club founder.
  • atlas: sometimes it seems almost like you carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders. except you actually do, and for the drama of it all.
  • rot: "i'm sorry, i prefer ghosts' company over yours."
  • gwen: who needs water, when you've got champagne? actually, who needs to drink at all? stop drinking and eating, become an ethereal being made of pure energy of fabulousness.
  • seaxfire: being mistaken for a goddess by some jungle tribe and not being able in all candour to deny to be one. she lived happily ever after with human sacrifices.
  • mors: pretending to be a wolf and howling at the moon. the moon howls back. you're now pals.
  • xcviii: sending an astonishingly beautiful poem to a random blog to make the owner die of amazement, but not considering the previously mentioned blog owner was in fact the platonic idea of pretentious asshole and would have started a whole society of beings of the same kind to take over the universe tbh good job sweetheart
  • tree: following daphne's example and FUCK EVERYTHING I'LL BECOME A BEAUTIFUL TREE AND PEOPLE WOULD WRITE SONNETS ABOUT ME. and if they don't, i will.
  • c.r.: purity is the new black. except sin is the new purity. therefore, sin is the new black.
  • h.m.: looking romantically at the stars is overrated. arguing with the stars shouting at them you are the one who shines harder is the new aesthetic. and if they don't agree, eat them and become The Last Star (tm) yourself.
  • mothfloss: never having an opinion on anything. that's the greatest and heaviest opinion of them all.
  • μ.υ.: knowing you would never say no to a nice murder in the name of the greek and the aesthetic.
  • icarus: flying too close to the sun. the sun drops down dead. you were too hot.
  • mcmxcviii: "excuse me, ART you.." - "YES."
  • h.s.v.: watching videos of fancy calligraphy or cakes artistically crafted and genuinely considering them PORN.
  • venusrises: venus always rises and you always fall. in love. with them. looser.
  • ari: too busy to fancily describing who writers are in elaborate and beautiful aphorisms to actually have time to write.
  • s.g.: "did her lips stain yours with her glory?" - "yes. definitely."
  • petra: sniffing every single attractive novel of the bookstore and being asked more than twice if you actually knew that wasn't in fact a perfumery.
  • mel: talking to fictional characters more than you talk and consider actual human beings.
  • mj: looking like the innocent flower, but being the dead poet under it tbh.
  • electra: having a badass name everyone is jealous of and knowing it probably?
  • azona: feeling the greatest of pleasure in saying too many "i told you so" even if you hadn't actually told anyone anything - you don't talk to people.
  • tempestia: rejoicing in watching thunderstorms with the same excitement people watch the academy awards with.
  • rynn: braiding your hair in complicated fashions, but not to look pretty. braiding your hair to look terrifying and ready to battle. don't be a model, be a valkyrie.
  • saturn: you are too beautiful to wrap yourself up in warm clothes during winter. you are going to freeze, but for the aesthetic. you are freezing but being hot af.
  • clementia: taking long baths, ages long baths, petals covered baths, bathbombs filled baths, without even needing a bath. you had one an hour ago. com'on.
  • verculum: "how much savage coarseness is concealed in refined, cultivated manners?" you ask, while murdering the listener with a supernatural grace.
  • briseis: putting flowers in your hair. everyone thinks you are cute. you're actually planning to become the queen of the underworld.
  • vulpe: unfollowing people because they type "your" instead of "you're". being right in doing so.
Journal Entry #12

Alright I’m really stepping into the lion’s den here. Time to get edgy with it.

So I found this blog.

She’s already blocked me so I can’t tag her in this post but
@chinon here has been like the side commentator through this whole ordeal so, hey buddy, if you find this, pass the fire on.

So it all begins with this post I read from her. I’ll leave it here.

I understand that going through a situation like this could put anyone on edge. Dealing with people under the influence could range from being a simple nuisance to lethal. I’ve been through that before.
I thought the way she handled her situation was a bit over the top (just based off what I know from the post) but it was handled appropriately nonetheless.

But here’s what got me thinking.

Maybe I’m reading this wrong, but what this sentence is telling me is that this woman was expecting another confrontation with this guy sooner or later, implying that whatever business these two had before, it wasn’t left as a shut and closed case. Although this part would contradict my claim.

So what else could’ve been “dragging out” between you two if you didn’t want to see him again?
But you know what, in the meantime, I’ll just chalk this up to poor choice of wording, happens to the best of us. But something else caught my attention.

From what I know from this post, this is all what the guy actually did.

This is the woman’s take on what he was doing.

This kind of thought process is not unfamiliar to me. This is someone who’s been through hell and back.
And it’s nearly impossible to have a life like that without developing deep rooted biases and preconceived notions of certain types of people.
I’m not saying what she thinks isn’t worth validation. As a matter of fact. some of what she has to say I actually agree with. But based on the actions this guy took (based off this post), this guy in no way was trying to abuse this woman. Harassing, yes. He was being a nuisance. But that seems to have been the extent of it.
Him being drunk is barely an excuse to justify his actions. But his actions mean something. Unless this man is truly unable to hear someone out that doesn’t align with his interests (unlike someone I know), he could be just confused. If I had sex with someone and they didn’t want to have a relationship with me, a couple of years ago, that would’ve confused the hell out of me. Like really fuck me up. But I know now that hoes are just gonna do what hoes do. I’m just giving the benefit of a doubt where I can.

Just pointing this segment out to clarify that I know I’m not getting the whole picture between this dynamic. This is a rather suspicious sidenote to add on though.

So this is where things get spicy.

I send her a piece of pretty crass, but straightforward advice.

First off:
I never said that it’s your fault that men don’t respect you.
I never implied that I was excusing shitty men behavior.

I did say, “Just stop fucking with bitch niggas…”
I did imply that you don’t have to deal with people that purposefully treat you wrong for long periods of time. It can take less than a semester.

I know that sometimes there’s just no dodging an asshole. But you can be rid of them relatively quickly. You can even go as far as to never have sex with them in the first place, and you would be more better off than how you began. Crazy, right?

I could see that you were having a tough time understanding what I was saying. I don’t entirely blame you. You have deep rooted biases and preconceived notions. We all do, some more than others. So I tried explaining more in depth here (sorta).

I love how she sorta included everything else I said but in her twisted point of view. I’d show a screenshot of what I actually said, but I don’t have access to them anymore.

So here’s the part I’m assuming really triggered this woman.

And I still stick by this claim. It’s basic human interaction. She probably missed the part where I also said, “depending on the kind of person they are.” But I won’t fault her for that.

This is also what I went on to say though (if memory serves me well). I put out a quote that I remembered a while back.

“You deserve the sex you receive”.

I went on to talk about how the sex she had with this guy before, that meant something, whether she knew that or not. It definitely meant something to him, and she should’ve been more sensitive to that.
But even disregarding that, sex itself is not something that can be shallow or care free, despite people’s best efforts. How people have sex and who they have sex with speaks volumes about that person. Just the act itself, it’s an invasion of your own privacy and space that you are willingly letting someone else occupy. You put a level of faith and trust in that person, no matter how significant. This rings especially true for women, who most times are on the receiving end of sex, the most vulnerable position in sex. And to put yourself willingly in such a compromising state for another person is not something to just brush off. So whatever comes out of a decision like that, you’ll most likely deserve it, good or bad.

Funny how she never made a comment on this though.

I also went on to say that I practice what I preach and that I know living ain’t easy. And that’s about all I remember.

So @clearmind-healthybeing, this is my final reply to you.

Life can be shit. Utter, total shit. You know that more personally than I do. If what you say is true, if I had gone what you went through, I wouldn’t be here today. I’d either be dead, on the run, hospitalized or some other god forsaken situation. My intention was never to disrespect you or harass you (although at this point, I can understand if you consider this harassment, so I’m making sure this is final), and I was not victim blaming you for anything you did. I’m sure in plenty of ways you have great qualities. I saw your blog and found “Vegetarian” and I was sold.
Respect I see is a big factor for you, and I respect that. And I hope that you see through this post that I was trying to understand your point of view and give you the benefit of the doubt where I could. You were unable to give me that same respect, but I understand, I won’t hold that against you. I apologize for anything that I said that made you upset, I only meant to say those things for your best interests. I can’t begin to imagine the struggles you go through as a woman, which I know is worlds different than a man’s life, but I can relate to you as a PoC and someone who has been through their own version of hell. I know it feels like sometimes the whole world is against you, that in a way, everyone’s got a dick and they all want to fuck you with it and leave you to wallow in their remains. But we just gotta push through that shit and learn, adapt. But sometimes we gotta take a chance too. To be vulnerable and accepting and hope for the best. And if shit don’t work out, push it out of the way to minimize the damage. If we’re stuck living, might as well make the most of it.

And as for you @chinon, got something else clever to say?

(A table of contents is available. This series will remain open for additional posts and the table of contents up-to-date as new posts are added.)

Part Two: Key Formatting Points

Dialogue is generally constructed of words and sentences spoken by individuals. The way it gets formatted in literature varies according to what language you’re writing in and the country you intend to market the book in, so I don’t really want to go over it in too much detail. If you’re unsure if you’re formatting correctly in your language, take a look around the internet for resources–there are lots! For our purposes, I’d like to focus on more general formatting.

New speaker, new paragraph.
Dialogue tags can only get you so far when trying to identify who’s speaking. You definitely don’t want to give dialogue tags to every single piece of speech. It’s exhausting to constantly read them, so the clearer you can make things, the better. One of those ways is making sure you follow the basic format of creating a new paragraph each time someone speaks. It’s very tempting to want to leave it all in one chunk, especially when characters’ lines are only a few words, but remember that your readers don’t automatically hear the characters’ voices in their heads when they read the lines like you do. They didn’t write it, so seeing something like:

“Where are we going next?” they said. “I think she went into the store.”

reads as having been said by the same person. The tendency with dialogue tags is to put them at the end of a piece of speech, where there’s a pause, action, or description. Even if you did put a tag with the second line in the example, the audience doesn’t know that second piece of dialogue is spoken by someone else until they’ve already read it and assumed it to be the first identified speaker. Clarity is important, and so is making sure you give the respect due to each person who speaks by giving them their own paragraph, no matter how long or short their dialogue is.

New subject, new paragraph.
Just like with narration, you can choose to break up your dialogue with new paragraphs, even when it’s the same individual speaking. In English, it’s done by leaving off the “closing” quotation marks at the end of a paragraph, and starting the new paragraph with opening quotations:

“I searched and searched through the desert, over hills and within the shadows of the great cacti that dwell in that forsaken place, but I found nothing.

“Four days later, a ramshackle house loomed from the horizon, sun shining through its slats. When I peered inside, the dog glanced at me without bothering to lift her head. She knew I was there, but she didn’t care.”

What’s happening in terms of formatting above is one speaker describes their experience; we leave the first paragraph open (without its closing “) to indicate that the speaker hasn’t stopped. The second paragraph opens with quotation marks to indicate quickly to the reader that the following is still being spoken and isn’t description. The second paragraph closes with its finishing set of quotation marks, indicating the end of the speech.

Separating long sections of dialogue is just as important to keeping reader fatigue at bay as it is in narration, so don’t be afraid to break things apart if you think the change in subject warrants it. Just be sure that you format and indicate the continuation of dialogue correctly, or your audience might suffer mental whiplash trying to reorient themselves to what’s happening in the story.

Dialogue tags are important.
It’s up to your intuition and stylistic sense to decide whether “said” is good enough for you. Regardless of where you stand in the great Said Is/n’t Dead battle, it’s still important to utilize tags. Dialogue tags are specifically one part of a larger sentence. “He said” is not a sentence on its own, but gets added onto a sentence of dialogue (”Turn left,” he said.) or a descriptive sentence (He said they needed a lever to get the door from its hinges.) that makes it complete. Those tags can be any kind of word that describes how something is said, and are used to help identify speakers. Of course, remembering not to be redundant in your tags is important, but it’s just as important to know when you need a tag and when you don’t.

There are a couple of situations where you can get away with not having a tag. If a conversation occurs between only two people, you can set up at the beginning of the scene who’s participating, who starts it, and then by virtue of the new speaker, new paragraph formatting, your audience can easily pick up that a new paragraph will be whoever wasn’t speaking in the last paragraph. They’ll be able to flip back and forth between the two characters with ease. One caution: If a conversation continues for more than one page, consider sprinkling in a tag or two to help keep a reader on track. It’s easy to get lost when reading a lot of dialogue, and harder still to remember where you left off if you put a book down. Do your readers a favor and put in a tag if it’s been a while.

You can also get away with omitting tags if the conversation is fast-paced and who says what is unimportant. This can be particularly true with arguments between groups of people. The amount of tags you include changes the pace of your story. The more tags, the slower the pace because the more words your audience has to read. If you need a scene to speed up, consider ways to remove and slim down the use of dialogue tags. They’re padding words. Necessary sometimes, but padding all the same.

Emphasis formatting is a thing.
Emphasis formatting is when a writer italicizes or bolds words within dialogue to signal the stress someone might place on a word when speaking. I’m not going to tell you not to do it. Sometimes it’s important. But I do think it’s overused, even by myself in my posts. I get it. Just… just be conscious of it and think about whether it’s really important to specify that or not. Whatever your style is, being aware of things is half the fight to being intentional in your writing.

Next up: Story impacts of dialogue!

The Girl on the Stoop

Originally posted by spnfangirl53

Written for @totallysupernaturaloneshots 1400 Follower Celebration Challenge

Summary: In all the days of your life, you had never known anyone to care about you. Certainly not someone who would love you. At least until Dean Winchester came into your life and changed everything. 

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: TW: Abandonment, Loneliness 

Content: Angst and Fluff

Word Count: 1.7K

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An autistic awakening through LSD and reading the truth contest

Hello everyone I wanted to share my experience with awakening. I should start with a little background information about myself. When I was a kid I was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. looking back at it now I realize that there wasn’t anything really wrong with me I just had serious insecurity issues because of constant bullying and hate by my peers and even adults.

I was bullied a lot in Elementary school and it made me have a very negative outlook on life, it wasn’t until I started meeting people who had compassion in their hearts that my life started to change. So fast foward to when I’m 19 years old and just graduated High School, everything felt off to me for some reason I had just lost a lot of weight (over 90 pounds) I did this because I felt like being fat was holding me back and everyone was proud of me, some people were still negative to me of course but I got a lot more people who were actually rooting for me and were proud of me but at the same time I felt weird like something was missing. I still had constant anxiety, I spent a lot of time alone and I still do but whenever I went on I felt like I was constantly being judged by other people even if they weren’t or I wouldn’t know if they were judging me.

 I guess it was from being bullied for so many years of my life, I lost my trust in people and I felt like everyone was out to get me even the people who still loved me and were trying to help. I started reading a lot about spirituality on my free time, one of the first things I read was the truth contest which really struck me as interesting and I went back and read it over and over again. I started digging deeper and read even more stuff, from the teachings of Buddha, to Eckhart Tolles book the power of now, spirit science, the bible, I read everything I possibly could my intention was to find out the truth.

 I wanted to know there was more to this life then met the eye, because I was in a state of constant misery battling depression and anxiety I did everything I could, but it felt like nothing worked, one of the main things keeping me from suicide was the thought of hurting my loved ones especially my mother. Well at the time I had a small group of friends I did hang out with occasionally, we didn’t have a lot in common in fact I was quite different then them but I was still glad to have them as friends.

We smoked cannabis together, occasionally we would drink alcohol. One day my friend bought a strip of some high quality high dose acid and some sugar cubes. I have never been a hard druggy, I was happy with just cannabis, but I heard a lot about lsd and how it can open your perspective so I was willing to try it out.

 The first time I bought LSD I had just one strip and didn’t feel anything, this time I was taking a sugar cube which was infused with over 2 doses and I had just lost a lot of weight. So I eat the sugar cube, with a few of my friends it was a great time in fact possibly the most happiest I ever was my entire life just talking and hanging out with my friends we were laughing and joking about everything and I started to realize that life isn’t really all that serious as our mind makes it out to be.

So me and my friends are tripping for hours, it turns out that their lsd wore off early because they had a less strong dose compared to me and they fell asleep. So I was alone and the trip was still pretty intense for me, I decided to walk home and so I did I put some pink floyd on and put head phones in my ears and wow that was amazing like words can not describe. When I got home and took my headphones off I was still pretty euphoric but even through all that I felt some anxiety. I sat down and turned on my computer, I started reading the truth contest again, I already had it open in a tab before I left.

I couldn’t stop reading it and all these questions surged through my head, and my anxiety came back stronger then ever before, my mind worrying about this worrying about this, something inside me cried out IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER WE ALL DIE ANYWAY. Right then everything went silent. and it felt so strange it was like my mind was dead it was no longer thinking. I suddenly got very scared and started crying I thought I messed up, I started saying I sure done it this time I immediately apologized to God even though I didn’t believe in him prior to this experience, I said i’m sorry God I really messed up, I think my brain is dead I think my body is shot, why I said this I don’t know it was the most bizarre feeling ever it was like God had forsaken me it was like I had no soul and I was just empty.

For the next few weeks after that I was more depressed then I ever been before, I kept bursting out in tears for no reason even though I just wanted to surrender and move on, I realize now that it was just cleansing my body of old negative energies. Now I have made a lot of changes, I switched to a vegan diet, starting listening to bi-narul beats, meditate frequently and it’s much easier for me to stay present. Somewhere along my path I came to the conclusion that if i’m going to be in this body I might as well make it a body worth living in.

Nowadays my life is completely different, and I realize that my social awkwardness was just pointless and resistance to what is, I realize that anyone, even the most unintelligent person in the world can come off as likable with some confidence. After the dark night of the soul everything was much more clearer to me though it wasn’t a short walk I remember multiple times within the dark night (more like months) that I thought it was over and I would never be the same again. I realize now that out of darkness comes light, a light brighter than any other. Sending my love to all the truth seekers out there, keep searching within for yourself.

With Love, Austin

Thank you for your submission and story

Lessons on Love {Part 3} (Trixya) - Zula

A/N- yet again, thank you so much for all the feedback on the last chapter. Im sorry that this is again a sort of ‘filler chapter’ but I didn’t want to rush the story or the development of their relationship (and truth be told, I wanted to get this posted because I don’t have time to add to it to make it more interesting for a few days now). Things will get more interesting (and hopefully better written) in the next chapter, which should also be up very soon. Send me feedback and suggestions for the next chapter on my blog ‘toxiczamo’ and thank you so much for reading - Zula

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Mr. Goldman, please collect your embarrasing son Moffat and his friend GaHtiss

As you may have seen in this post, I was wondering what on earth would Mr. Goldman think about TFP. Because is such a piece of work, it needs to be closely observed.

Basically I will discuss each one of Goldman’s ten commandments on writing and try to figure out what Moffat and GaHtiss did to disgrace it. Long rant, so under a read more. 


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