#absolutely furious but i finished the first draft today

[grinchwrapsupreme]

discovering that my favourite part of writing a novel is editing it like what the hell is my problem

#absolutely furious but i finished the first draft today #and just like the last one editing it is the only thing i can think about #i want to dig back in #like the pressure of figuring out the storyline is gone figuring out the characters is done the ideas are out of my head #you're telling me the hard part is done and all i have to do is make it good?? #rubbing my grubby little hands together don't mind if i do #like i never get this kind of motivation when i'm writing the first draft i have to convince myself to do other things rn

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

There have only been a handful of times in my 7-year teaching career that a student made me so instantaneously Furious that I honestly thought I was going to lose control and either say or do something I would regret. The first time was 4 years ago.

I told a fifth grade boy to sit down and he looked me right in the eye and with a snide voice said

"OK, BOOMER!"

The other two times were today. For the last two weeks we have been building up to what I'm hoping is going to be a giant mural over native americans. We first learned about the Native American tribes in Texas. Over the course of 2 days I showed them videos of murals in cities like New York and Philadelphia so they could see what really great murals look like. I explained that whatever they had to draw had to be large. This week we introduced the research component. We gave them a brochure to fill out about their tribe where they had to answer all kinds of questions and draw pictures. Today was the second day of that and as I was giving them more pointers about Google I pulled up art from each of the tribes.

I reminded them that when they were done researching they could start planning a rough draft of their mural on a page of blank white paper and then transfer that over into a giant piece of paper.

The first thing I heard when I told themm this today was

"What's a mural?"

As they researched today I pulled up some recent pow wows on YouTube and played them. I heard several kids be extremely surprised because they thought Indians were make believe or something. They kept saying "oh wow I didn't realize they were real!" " those are real people there ?" "I didn't know they still existed!" "where are they at?"

So then a few kids finished up so I told them to starr a rough draft of what they wanted to put on their part of the mural. Three kids brought me the most absolute random drawings in the world. Trying not to be disparaging I asked them "Can you tell me what this picture has to do with your tribe?"

They pouted and exclaimed "You didn't tell us the pictures had to be about INDIANS!!"

#teaching #bad day #teacher rant #covid generation

[narastories]

meta ramble about intellectual compatibility

I had this compilation of quotes sitting in my drafts for a while, waiting for a good mini-meta rant. Actually, I was going back-and-forth whether it was worth posting or if my thoughts were too disjointed. But then after I posted that fic today I realized how much it totally shows in the way I write Harry’s and Nic’s dynamics, sometimes even without consciously aiming for it, so here are my thoughts anyway.

I am so obsessed with this tiny little thing that happens with them where despite all the hiss-bark-you’re-evil talk happening on Harry’s part they’re completely on the same wavelength.

What I mean is, and I have definitely experienced this in real life, when you can talk to someone and make logical leaps with the other person following perfectly. When you don’t have to go through each little step because the other person has the same thought pattern. It’s really nice when it happens and very annoying when it would be useful and it’s just not there.

I’m sure it happens with other characters too and also part of it is that in a book you don’t want a conversation to be boring so you have to have nice and flowy dialogue. But this sort of intellectual compatibility is still something I very much enjoy with these two characters.

Especially because Nicodemus is such a liar. I would say that’s one of his defining habits, actually, and he’s good at it. So good, in fact, that even Harry doesn’t always catch him, immediately, or at all. Which is saying something. Harry is generally a smart guy. Not necessarily smart as in aware of the consequences of his actions, but pretty intelligent. He’s also the protagonist of a book written in first person so if he doesn’t figure something out the audience has an even harder time. (Which reminds me actually how much I adore when Butcher does these plot twists at the end of some of the books where Harry knows what’s going to happen, but you don’t so you still enjoy it as a nice twist. Anyway, I’m trying not to go completely off-topic here.)

And the last reason why it’s such a telling sign that sometimes even Harry only catches Nic’s ‘plot twists’ last second is that despite the antagonistic nature of their relationship, when they put their heads together, they can literally finish each other’s sentences. For example:

““Interesting. Then the only question is if the contamination is among standing members of our Order or…” He let the thought trail off and glanced at me, lifting an eyebrow. I followed the logic to the only other people in possession of any of the coins. “Someone in the Church,” I whispered, with a sick feeling in my stomach.“

Or here is one of my favorites, a little earlier from the same chapter:

“If I am to call you Dresden, it is only fair that you should call me Archleone.” “Archleone?” I asked. “As in ‘seeking whom he may devour’? Kinda pretentious, isn’t it?” For half of a second, the smile turned into something almost genuine. “For a godless heathen, you are entirely too familiar with scripture. You know that I can kill you, do you not?”

Now, I did some furious googling on this and I still can’t pinpoint the exact linguistics of why did Harry (apparently correctly) associate the name “Archleone” with the Bible verse “the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour“. I mean, I see the Latin leo-Archleone connection, but this is not the only mention of lions in the Bible, is it? (Not that I’m super familiar with it so anyone please feel free to chime in on this. Actually, I just now found a few old Reddit threads adjacent to this topic and an article about the etymology of angel names in the Dresden Files, which I haven’t read but going to dive into later because apparently this is how I like to spend my free time.)

The point I’m trying to make is that it’s still a pretty obscure association.

And then we have this absolute beauty where half the important information is just Harry’s inner commentary yet Nic doesn’t even bat an eye:

“Ah. The strangulation was the distraction. He picked your pocket with one of the other wires before he was incapacitated. He did that to Saint…someone-or-other, in Glasgow in the thirteenth century.” There’s nothing like getting taken with an old trick, I guess. But that meant that Namshiel had been working together with someone else— someone else who had to have been hanging around to collect the coins after he’d taken them from my pocket and tossed them off to the side in the confusion. Someone who hadn’t been pulling a fade after all. “Tessa and Rosanna,” I said quietly. “They got their collection of thugs back. They bailed at just the right moment to ruin your plan, too.” “Deceitful bitches,” Nicodemus murmured. “One of them is our own Judas; I was sure of it.”

Again, I’m not trying to argue this is special or anything, just that this is a dynamic I really-really enjoy. And I noticed today how I do add this a little whenever I write them. Maybe this is part of why I enjoy writing them so much because they can be super quick-witted and have ping-pong-style banter with each other :P

Anyway, this post has gotten a bit out of hand already lol We all have those niche topics we like to do meta-rants about, and could talk about for hours, don’t we? Obviously, this is mine.

#I'm still casually making my way through Ghost Story btw #so this is me basing everything on 2 out of 3 books the Denarians are in #you all are going to hate me so much when I get to Skin Game #and unlock my full potential lmao #dresden files #harry dresden #nicodemus archleone #harry dresden/nicodemus archleone #harry/nic #denarian brainrot #nara's dresden phase #nara rambles about dresden files #that was already a tag lol

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

abandoned concept #1

Hello, lovelies~ I’ve received a lot of positive feedback, so I will be posting a few snippets I’ve drafted through the years that, tragically, I will likely never expand upon. 

If anyone is inspired by these, feels they have an idea to continue them, you have my blessing/consent to reblog with your additions, and I’d be delighted to read through them!

This first piece was meant to be a bit on the darker end of things, one to explore some of the layers each of the Nations have donned over the years, adapting, changing, and growing into the characters we know today. I threw it together a couple of nights ago, and while I’m still really interested in the concept, I know that I’ll likely never finish it.

I hope you enjoy!

It happened to all of them, sometimes.

Moments where the contemporary would disappear, tattered patchwork layers ripped away from shaking shoulders, shedding away layer upon layer until only the raw, furious, ugly truth remained.

The bloody, ferocious, audacious truth.

There were always signs of course- a certain twist of the lips, a strange glint in the eyes, a sharper, harsher stance.

For each of them, the primary warning signs were different.

Gupta would catch a scent of the sea, a bittersweet taste of salt and sand and papyrus pasted heavily on his tongue.

Ludvig could smell cannon fire, the unwieldy scratch of gunpowder and the suffocating presence of lead as clear as day.

Yao would feel a certain itch, deep, deep in his bones, modern clothes suddenly far too heavy, far too constricting, far too rough.

And Maria- Maria could feel the walls closing in, trapped once more in the cave where Nantzin had desperately tried to hide her, the distant screams a distorted lullaby that still plagued her dreams.

In most cases, they were able to reach someone before it completely overcame them, always someone who had known them during those rarely spoken beginnings. Ancients-willing, it was someone who had been a friend through the ages, someone who's own bloodstained, twisted, corrupted path was carefully woven into a shared history, a bond strengthened in mutual understanding and time, rather than retribution and absolution.

But tragically it was not always in the presence of another Nation when these slips would come, not always the safest environments where the masked visage so carefully, patiently, expertly crafted over centuries of toil and furor would shatter, ceramic shards scattering uselessly before the oncoming gale.

Sometimes-

Sometimes...

Sometimes those most precious, those humans each Nation would destroy entire worlds for, those very souls who shined a bright light into their lives and gave them something to keep living for-

Sometimes, it was those loved ones who were swept away in the storm's surge.

It was a very rare occasion in which someone would see the very worst of them- the horrid, twisted thing that lay underneath the surface, the monsters that had only prospered through darkness and things too unspeakable to name- and choose to stay.

Thanks for reading!

#i was onto /something/ i know but alas #unfinished fanfiction #aph egypt #aph germany #aph china #aph mexico #hetalia egypt #hetalia germany #hetalia china #hetalia mexico #hws egypt #hws germany #hws china #hws mexico #seriously i offer full permission to any other writers or artists who want to run with this at all #hetalia fanfic #aph fanfic #hws fanfic #unfinished drafts #hello lovelies~! #i hope y'all're doing well! #thanks for reading~

[whumpinggrounds]

Febuwhump Day 2: “I Can’t Take This Anymore”

these prompts really did work out sort of rather well for exposition purposes. anyway, Mara will be v important later on so forgive me for writing this more angsty than whumpy

CW: referenced violence, discussion of pet whump, discussion of trafficking, discussion of a lot of things but nothing explicit

“I can’t take this anymore.” Mara says it, with perfectly calmness, to the empty room. “I can’t. I won’t. I quit.” There’s no one around to hear her, but the words still have a final feeling to them, an ominous ring. If only there were someone around to hear them.

She’d been doing well for so long – she really thought she was making progress with Hank, and maybe even Travis. The former seemed to be wrestling with the ethics of pet ownership as a whole, while Travis hinted nervously that maybe WRU’s recruitment wasn’t as aboveboard as it seemed. This was why she’d applied for the job at WRU, why she’d gone through the intensive interview process and left all her friends and family to move to a new city. If she could flip just one handler, get some hard evidence of the kinds of abuse going on within these concrete walls…that could be more effective than a hundred individual rescues. It was the kind of thing lib workers dreamed about. And Mara could do it. If she got these handlers to trust her, she really thinks that she could do it.

But how long would something like that take? How long before Hank turns against the company he’s worked for a decade or longer? How long before Travis works up the nerve to take some covert cell phone footage? And how does Mara guide them in that direction without blowing her cover when she’s supposed to be the goddamn company therapist?

It’s not the timeline that’s really bothering her, either. Mara’s more than happy to wait these people out months or even a year while she and their consciences work to turn them. But the other handlers, the way she has to listen and empathize and help these people…

For some it’s pedestrian workplace drama, or the miserable stuff of everyday life. Half the facility can’t stand Jackson, and Jackson insists they all hate him because he works miracles with stubborn pets. Tracy’s father died this year, and she’s been having a rough go of it, now that both parents are gone. Dwayne can’t understand that it’s his own constant posturing that’s getting in the way of a long-awaited promotion. Stuff like that, Mara is more than equipped to handle.

But sometimes Jackson walks in her office bitching about how the other handlers must be fucking with his new trainee just to make him look bad, because the boy has started wetting his pants every time someone yells at him. Or Tracy complains that her new Romantic is supposed to act all virginal and the male handlers keep teaching him shit regardless. Days like those, Mara hates even Travis, who comes and sits on her couch and whines about how guilty he sometimes feels, leaving bruises on a teenager’s face. Mara wants to slap him.

Worst of all is always Arthur Collins, with his swagger and his sadism, throwing himself down on Mara’s couch to talk about his overactive aggressive streak. He was insufferable enough back before he respected her, with all his long sighs and rolled eyes, but one day he’d been complaining about a trainee and Mara had made one single offhand comment about a study done in the 60s, how depersonalization affected prisoners…

Collins had come into her office the next day singing her praises. “It worked! It worked! Doc, you’re a genius, it totally worked!”

“Sorry?”

“What you said yesterday! It worked!” Mara shook her head, still confused, and Collins lets out a fond kind of huff. “You said in session yesterday that in that old experiment, they stripped these people of everything that made them unique, yeah?”

Nodding slowly, Mara wondered with kindling dread where this was going. “Yes, I think I said something like that.”

“Well, it got me thinking. What does this brat kid still have that we haven’t taken from him, you know?”

“Okay…”

“His hair! It was long, doc, like, all the way down past his shoulders, and it was pretty, but I just had this feeling I could use it to break him, you know?”

There was a queasy feeling in Mara’s stomach. “You cut his hair.”

“I shaved his head! And when he saw himself, man, did he cry. He hasn’t cried like that a single time since he got here. I thought, you know, maybe it’s a fluke, because I worked him over pretty good that day, but in training today he was just…he’s been perfect. An absolute doll. All the fight gone right out of him.” Handler Collins shook his head, still grinning at the memory. “Something as small as hair. Good for you, doc! Didn’t even leave a mark.”

Mara’s smile looks more like a grimace. “Yes, well, I’m glad I could help.”

“You helped, all right. You helped me a lot.”

Since then, Handler Collins had sung Mara’s praises. Since then, handlers had started to come to her with questions about just how to break a stubborn trainee.

And Mara never answered right away. She always told them she needed to do some research, or maybe think about it for a while. Often, she told them that what she knew wouldn’t work on pets, because she was trained to work with people, and that flimsy excuse got them to leave her alone. But some of the handlers, especially Collins, just kept coming back. And eventually, Mara has to tell them something.

Management is thrilled with her work. Workplace satisfaction has gone up, now that employees have a dedicated professional to talk to, and it’s a selling point on Facility 7’s website. A brightly colored little blurb featured on the “About Our Staff” page now informs prospective buyers that their Box Boys and Babes are being trained by only the most competent and stable professionals. Not only that, but handlers can come to a professional therapist with questions about any unusual behavior from trainees! It isn’t what Mara was hired for, or something she’s studied in the slightest, but the Director is all too happy to advertise this new perk. Apparently, there’s been a little corresponding upswing in sales.

It’s making Mara furious. Counseling handlers is disgusting enough. She doesn’t want to make any of these monsters feel better about their job, far less make them any more effective at it. Mara came here to flip handlers to the lib cause, not to make them into better torturers. Her friends back home would be horrified, even more so than when she announced this stupid plan. Five times in her first month, Mara drafts an email announcing her resignation. Five times she deletes the thing, unsent.

It’s Hank and Travis she’s still stuck on. A strong therapeutic relationship, necessarily confidential, could be the thing that makes the difference. Mara knows she can do it, can use her training to make them see that what they’re doing is wrong. The only question is if she can stand the job long enough to finish it.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday2 #referenced violence #pet whump #lost cause jude

[maandags]

Blood trail (Keith x reader)

hey so this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i finished it today. it’s 10K of pure angst and I’m sorry

~Water

Word count: 10.2 K

Genre: angst

Notes: injuries TW - blood TW - masterlist - look the title for this. sucks but if y’all have any suggestions i’ll gladly take them because i will change it probably

-----

You gasped as you broke the water’s surface, violent coughs racking your body. The switch from using your gills to using your nose and mouth to breathe was never comfortable, and even less when it was so abrupt. You thrashed and hissed, scared and confused; only a couple of minutes ago you had been collecting seaweed and pieces of dead coral littering the ocean floor. Next thing you knew, a big black… thing descended onto you and started pulling you up.

You kept thrashing, flailing your arms around, trying to slice the ropes of the net with your fingernails and teeth. Panic rose up like bile in your throat and high-pitched hisses made their way past your teeth. You squirmed but only managed to tangle your tail further in your trap, and a yelp of pain rang out of your mouth when you cut your tailfin on a sharp piece of glass that got tangled in the net along with you.

But then your tail didn’t touch the water anymore and you hung in the air, arms pressed against your body and ropes tangling around your throat, arms, torso.

“Well, well, well, what have we here,” an almost mocking voice rang out across the water. You quit your struggling, breathing heavily as you stared at the owner of the voice.

Pirate, was the first word you thought. Pirate, pirate, pirate. Your heartbeat picked up, fear and survival instincts coursing through your veins and screaming at you to flee! Get away!

The middle-aged man wore a long leather overcoat on top of a white shirt, loose brown trousers and black leather boots. Creases and wrinkles hung low over his bead-like eyes, showing nothing bar a flash of a sharp gaze, hardened by years of fighting and struggling to survive the dangers of open sea. A sword hung at his side and you noticed multiple gun holsters crossing his chest and hips. Behind him stood a crew of maybe twenty men and a couple of women, shifting on their feet and fingers anxiously twitching next to their sword hilts. You swept your glare over each of them. When they met your gaze, they looked down in fear. Then their captain shook his head. Gold flashed in his ears.

The pirate leant forward and grinned when you tried to scuttle back as far as possible. “Mermaid,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he caught one. You mentally scolded yourself for letting yourself get captured this easily. For letting yourself get captured at all. You thought of what Shiro would do if he realized that you had been captured. Your brother would not think twice about sinking the ship, and you knew that the rest of your shoal would follow him without any hesitation. The thought brought you some comfort.

“Let me go.” You spat the words, trying to fill your voice with as much venom as you possibly could. A few of the crewmembers actually recoiled and flinched in fear. You felt some sort of contempt in your belly as you registered the pure terror on some of the men’s faces.

“Yeah, no. Not gonna happen,” the captain said. He cocked his head in amusement at your furious growl.

“You are walking a fine line between bravery and absolute stupidity,” you hissed. The pirate threw his head back and laughed, a spooky sound cutting through the complete silence cloaking them.

“Is that so?” he mocked, a hand on the hilt of his sword. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“Me? Not much,” you admitted, subtly untangling your hip pouch from the net. You slipped your hand inside, fingers brushing over the vial of blood you always kept in there. “My brother, on the other hand, will have no trouble sinking your ship and killing the lot of you.” You trickled some blood along your tail and breathed a barely noticeable sigh of relief when you heard the drops hit the water.

The blood was a system your shoal used ever since it had been discovered, years and years ago. The scent would alert mermaids and animals alike that something wasn’t right and they would come to check it out. A simple trick, but very effective. You did the math in your head: it would take Shiro around two hours, maybe a little longer, to find you. You just had to make sure to stay on the sea. If you somehow had to go on land, things would get a lot more complicated.

“Really?” The captain’s voice was soft, but somehow a lot more threatening than it had been before. He lifted a finger to his chin, tapping it as if considering your words, then he grinned again. “I’ll take my chances. Haul the fish in, lads,” he added over his shoulder before turning his back to you and walking away.

Frozen in shock, you could only stare at his back for a few seconds. Then five crewmembers started pulling at the rope connected to your net and snapped you out of your trance. You started thrashing like crazy again, but the men only pulled harder and not three seconds later you landed on the deck of the ship with a dull bonk. You hissed and bared your teeth at every hand that came even relatively close to you and they flinched away, but you knew in the back of your head that fighting back was in vain.

But by the Lions, if you were going down, you would take as many of them with you as you possibly could.

As hands started to fiddle with the net you shifted, grabbing the small knife you kept in your pouch. You slashed at the fingers coming just a little too close, the sharp bone blade coming into contact with flesh more than once and pulling a string of curses from their mouths. A particularly muscled and rough-looking man hissed when your knife cut a deep gash in his palm.

“You filthy fish!”

He kicked your stomach. Hard. With a grunt, you doubled over and you saw white spots clouding your vision. Was it anger, or pain? Both, possibly.

“Sendak! Cut it out,” a different voice called out. You craned your neck to look at the new arrival: it was a thin young man, a little shorter than most of the crew, but walking towards you at a pace that screamed authority. He pushed past the big man he’d called Sendak without sparing him more than a glance, crouching next to you and resting his forearms on his knees.

The thing was, you wanted to hate him the moment you saw him. It would have been a lot easier to hate him if he had looked cruel, or ugly, or like a bad person. But he didn’t. Violet eyes pierced yours and his eyebrows were furrowed in genuine concern. The ocean breeze blew black tufts of hair in his face, hiding the sharp yet gentle features of his face. And again, you cursed his good looks; it made it a lot more difficult to hate him. After all, he was one of the men that captured you.

“My name is Keith Kogane,” he said.

“Go to hell,” you spat in answer.

“First Mate,” Sendak interrupted with a cough. “We are to take the fish to its cabin.”

Keith Kogane, the First Mate, sighed. “Yes. Alive, and unharmed.” He stood up and turned to the bigger man; even though Sendak was at least a foot taller than him, Keith stood his ground with an air of nonchalance, close to boredom, but keeping his aura of authority and strength. “Unharmed. Is that understood?”

The two men had a silent stare-down, Sendak wearing a scowl and with balled fists, Keith’s features stony. Then Sendak lowered his gaze and grunted out a yes, Kogane. Keith smiled a cold smile and walked away, shooting you one more glance over his shoulder. Your eyes were glued to his retreating form, the movement of his long overcoat billowing in the wind mesmerising. The illusion was broken when a hard object came down onto your wrist and you cried out in pain. You looked up, tears of pain pooling in your eyes, right into Sendak’s face.

“Let go of the knife, fish,” he said calmly, slowly applying more pressure onto your wrist with his foot. A whimper of pain rolled past your lips. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth against the pain, tightening your grip on the hilt of your dagger in defiance. That was a mistake, as Sendak’s foot pressed down even more harshly and this time you couldn’t bite back a scream.

“Let it go!” he barked.

And you let it go.

“That’s a good fish,” Sendak crooned, pressing down hard one more time before letting go of your wrist. You immediately pulled your arm to your chest, inspecting the bruises that were already starting to form. So much for unharmed, you thought wryly. When you looked up again, you saw that Sendak had picked up your dagger, studying it closely, examining the patterns carefully carved into the hilt.

“What’s this even made of?” he wondered aloud.

You should have kept your mouth shut. You know you should have, but anger clouded your vision and you suddenly lost all verbal filter.

“Your father’s bones,” you grit out. With those words, you successfully turned everyone’s attention to you. Sendak’s knuckles turned white around your blade. His huge hand almost covered the entire dagger. It suddenly looked a lot less like an actual weapon, and a lot more like an insignificant toothpick. You silently cursed your inability to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Sendak took a deep breath before crouching back down again and grabbing a piece of the net, yanking it up to his face. Your nose was inches from his. You could see every scar on the man’s cruel face, every ugly wound etched into his skin. His eyes bore into yours, nothing but pure hate radiating from them. His other hand, the one holding your knife, crept up and the cold blade came brushing along your collarbones.

“If you don’t shut your whore mouth, fish, you will be skewered on your own blade,” he growled. You smiled coldly, feeling the tip of your knife pierce your flesh. It stung a little.

“Those are bold words you speak. You could have killed me at any time; I am as helpless here as you are beneath the waves of the sea. Yet you threaten me, without fulfilling your promises.” You don’t break eye contact with him, hissing each word in a low, cool voice. “Coward.”

Sendak’s grip on the net tightened and he curled his upper lip. Then he let go, pushing you on the ground once more for good measure. “Take the fish to its tank,” he told three men standing behind him. And then he turned his back to you.

----

You ran your fingers through the water the pirates provided you with. It was ocean water, that much was true, but it had definitely been in the shallow tank you were sitting in for far too long. Most of the oxygen had evaporated, making it impossible for you to use your gills properly. You had resigned to sitting upright on the bottom of the tank, where the water came to your collarbones. It wasn’t deep enough to swim in, but it was just deep enough for you to be able to move around somewhat freely.

You had been sitting here for what felt like ages and your back was starting to hurt. You hadn’t screamed. You knew there would be no point, that you would most likely get gagged, and you wanted to keep your voice. You were going to need it.

You wondered whether Shiro had picked up on your blood trail yet. Soon after you were brought here, the ship had started moving and you had a feeling that it was headed straight for land. You prayed to every celestial being that Shiro would find you before it was too late.

And so you sat in old water, helplessly moving along with the rocking of the ship. You had never felt this hopeless before, never felt this powerless and weak. You wrapped your arms around your torso and sat back against the side of the tank, closing your eyes. You tried to picture yourself back into the reassuring setting of your home town, the soothing sway of seaweed in the current of the water, your collection of polished sea-glass glittering in the few rays of sunlight they managed to catch. It didn’t help. Only made you sadder.

The creaking of wooden planks, announcing someone’s entrance to your bland and small room, had you cringing away. Your mind blanked, and you forgot for a second that the water you were sitting in was absolutely filthy and that breathing it in would most likely make you incredibly ill. The creaking got louder and louder, and so did the screaming of your instincts to hide! Just hide!

Your eyes clouded with panic. Before you could reconsider you had slid your head underwater.

You were careful not to breathe in any of the murky water, neither through your gills nor your nose or mouth. Instead you held your breath, slowing down your heartbeat as much as you could. You had never been more grateful for Shiro’s lessons on how to hold your breath for longer periods of time. You recalled your reluctance to actually listen to what he had to say, grudgingly giving in after Shiro had followed you around the ocean floor, yelling that you would be grateful one day.

You were. You kept your eyes wide open, trying to capture even the smallest flickering in the beams of light filtering through the murkiness of the water, the tiniest indicator of movement outside of your tank. Your actual eyes were very sensitive to light; they were merely covered by a protective layer of skin, like an alligator’s were. They covered your eyes whenever the concentration of light in your immediate surroundings was too high. Underwater, the first layer retracted, giving you back some of the knife-sharp eyesight you were used to.

The form slowly approaching your tank was not Sendak. That much you were sure of. The black silhouette was too small, too thin to be him. You wondered what anyone but Sendak would want with you: the quartermaster had made it crystal clear that all he wanted from you was your head on a stick, and preferably the honour of doing so himself. So if it wasn’t him, then who was it?

The figure said something, though you couldn’t make out any words. A glurble. You pushed yourself further into your corner, cursing the limited sight the murky water gave you. The figure tapped on the side of your tank and you flinched, biting back a screech. The sound of his knuckles rapping on the glass resonated in your ears and you clawed at the sides of your head, wanting to disappear into the void more than ever.

Your lungs started to ache slightly from lack of oxygen. You’d have to come up for breath soon. Your heart started beating faster, your survival instincts coming in stronger than ever. The tapping continued. The noise echoed loudly inside your skull, rattling your brain. A haze of fear and anger settled over your being once more, and the urge to fight, to hurt, swelled stronger with every passing second. A sickeningly sweet taste filled your mouth and when you looked into the glass you were pressed into, your eyes seemed to glow. The sweet taste grew more insistent.

You knew what it was. Shiro had told you about it, the automatic defense response rooted deep in every mermaid’s core. You started for the surface, partly because you needed to breathe, partly because you couldn’t wait to see who was the unfortunate soul that had deemed it a good idea to disturb a furious mermaid. You held your breath as you breached the surface, carefully giving your lungs time to adjust with small breaths through the nose. The figure inhaled sharply, and when you opened your eyes the stared right into a pair of violet ones.

First Mate Keith Kogane held a salty-smelling bucket, raised to his face as if to protect himself. You sniffed the air, making out seaweed and sardine, a couple of mackerels. He’d brought you food. How sweet of him.

Keith cleared his throat, visibly unnerved by your silent staring at him. You figured your glowing eyes didn’t do anything to help him calm down. Good, you thought.

“I–uh–I brought you-some fish? If that’s–what you eat, you know. I just figured–since, you know–you live in the ocean and all–”

“Lived,” you corrected him finely, batting your eyelashes at him and approaching the edge of the tank slowly. “Not anymore.” A disapproving glance at the wooden cabin and the bucket Keith clutched in his hands.

“Right,” he said, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to another as you casually draped your arms over the edge of the tank. Come here, come here, little pirate. You wondered if your eyes were still glowing. As if pulled to you by an imaginary force, Keith slowly took a step forward. Then another step. And another. His violet eyes were fixed on yours, a small frown knotting his dark eyebrows.

Someone could have shot a cannon right next to you. You doubted either of you would have noticed. It truly was like a bubble slowly encased you, nothing existing in the world but Keith and you. You’d never used your sirenic abilities before. They only worked on one animal, or person, at a time, you knew. You had never paid much attention to Shiro when he explained your abilities to you, the abilities all mermaids had: hypnotizing prey. Your shoal’s hunters often used it. They said it was useful for bigger prey, on which sometimes the nets and knives had no effect. You’d never used it before: you were no hunter, and you had always preferred to rely on your speed.

But now, your prey was Keith. And you were not in the open ocean, you couldn’t outswim him. So you had to turn to the darker part of yourself, the part you would prefer remain hidden. You had no choice, you told yourself as you looked into his eyes. Those beautiful, gorgeous violet eyes. There was an ache in your chest. He looked so peaceful under your spell, so inncocent. His eyes wide with wonder, your own glowing irises reflected in his. You didn’t want to kill him. So this was what a prey looked like before it was speared by a hunter. You didn’t want to kill him. Keith kneeled in front of the tank, his eyes never leaving yours. His eyelids slid closed and he leaned forward. Asleep. So fragile. You didn’t want to kill him.

You didn’t want to kill him. You couldn’t kill him. His life was in your hands. He wouldn’t fight back, even if he could. Helpless. Hopeless. You wondered what it felt like. A small sigh escaped his lips. Tears of frustration left your eyes. You had to do this. Why was it so hard? If you didn’t, you would never leave this ship alive. Who were you, to prioritize some human’s life over your own?

But why did it have to be Keith? He was the first mate, a little voice chided. He was perfect. It had to be him. No. Yes. You didn’t know. A deep breath. A glowing tear splashed into the water, its fluorescent colour quickly diluted. There, and then gone. The rage that had been churning in your belly only a few minutes prior had dissipated, not unlike your tear. But you had to do this.

You didn’t want to do it.

But you did it anyway.

Stroking aside Keith’s hair, exposing his pale neck. He swayed slightly with the current. You leaned over, squeezing your eyes shut and parting your lips. Your second set of teeth zipped out, already coated with venom.

You hovered over Keith’s artery for a few agonising seconds, knowing that it would be over right then and there if you cut his throat. The feeling of his pulse, calm as ever, made your eyes water. Your venom wouldn’t even be needed. But you couldn’t do it. So you shifted your mouth and sank your teeth into his shoulder, only a few centimetres away from his artery. 

The second you pierced his flesh, Keith gasped. The spell was broken. Scrambling away from you, he stifled a scream, pressing a hand to the wound in his shoulder. Blood gushed past his fingers and he frantically tried to get as far away from you as possible. His eyes, his beautiful violet eyes, were still trained on you, but where they once had been so calm and serene they were now filled with pure fear and hatred.

Your breathing turned ragged. The bubble shattered. In the water, you caught your own reflection: your eyes didn’t glow anymore, instead stormy with the same fear that filled Keith’s own. You turned back to him, your head a flurry of thoughts refusing to make sense.

“Keith–”

“Don’t,” he gasped, wiping at the blood staining his pale skin. “Just don’t.” He tried to stand up, weakly grasping at the walls for support, and then stumbled up the stairs. Your chest ached as you watched, helpless, not able to do anything but clutch the edges of the glass tank keeping you confined. The swishing of your tail in the water was soon the only sound to be heard in the cabin. Keith was gone. You let yourself slide back into the water.

What had you been thinking? Now that he was gone, and you could finally think straight again, the muddiness clouding your thoughts having dissipated, you saw how stupid you truly had been. You dipped your head into your hands. The one person who hadn’t wanted you dead, who had brought you food, who had seemed to at least slightly care for you now probably wanted your head on a stick as well.

You had bitten him. The one man on this ship that could have helped you live to see the next day, and you had bitten him. The look in his eyes when the spell broke–you would never forget the look of utter betrayal lacing the violet of his irises. You slowly shifted back into your far corner, casting regretful looks to the mackerels scattered on the cabin floor. Sardines, too. You didn’t know how long you could survive without eating, and you doubted someone would be so kind as to feed you anytime soon.

You let your eyes slide closed, curling up into a ball and using your fingers to pick at your tailfins. The grime from the dirty water already started dulling your scales and the edges of your fins had gotten slightly ragged. You were tired, but anytime you closed your eyes, Keith’s violet ones stared right back at you.

---

The door to your cabin was thrown open with a force that startled you to the point of you flapping your tail and emptying half of your tank’s contents on the cabin floor. You watched with wide eyes as Keith stalked down the stairs and right up to you, his dark eyebrows knotted into a scowl and his mouth twisted into a snarl. Out of instinct, you backed up until you couldn’t anymore. You resisted the urge to bare your teeth at him, keeping your lips sealed tightly shut.

“What is this?” Keith hissed, yanking away his shirt and exposing the wound on his shoulder. The cuts had been cleaned up: you could very clearly see each of the eight puncture marks left by your fangs. You could also see the black lines filtering through his pale skin, webbing outwards and emanating from those very puncture marks. Your heart skipped a beat.

Clearing your throat, you avoided the First Mate’s piercing gaze as you said, “Mermaids are venomous, Keith.” You fiddled with your nails. “It’s a self-defence mechanism. Involuntary.”

Keith dropped his head, gripping the edge of your tank and squeezing it until his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself down. Black tufts of hair fell into his eyes.

“Is the venom lethal?” His voice was barely above a whisper. It trembled.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. Keith shot you an incredulous look. “I really don’t, okay? I’ve never done this before. I’m not a hunter, I don’t know anything about mermaid venom.” You kept your gaze on Keith’s, not flinching back under his murderous stare. “It could take weeks to kill you, if it even will. I don’t know.”

Keith heaved a sigh, releasing his hold on the edge of the glass panel and sliding down against it so that his back was to you, not seeming to care about the wetness of the floor. After a few minutes of silent internal debating, your curiosity got the best of you. “Keith, why are you here?” He turned, raising an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. What do you want?”

He bit his lip, a hand coming up to brush his wounded shoulder. “I–I don’t know. I…”

“Aren’t you angry at me?” Approaching the side of the tank Keith sat against, you pressed a palm to the glass. “I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” The corner of Keith’s mouth curled up at your baffled expression. He shifted. “You’re right: you could have killed me. I was completely out of it. Completely under your control.” His gaze turned serious. “So why didn’t you?”

You thought back to the clenching in your stomach when Keith had knelt right in front of you, looking up at you with those eyes. The restriction of your chest as you had realised that there was no actual way that you would be able to kill him. The pull and push, not unlike the waves lapping against the shore, that had you wanting to be close to him while simultaneously repulsing you. The confusion that had plagued you for hours afterwards. “I don’t know.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking that for an answer.” He paused, one eyebrow raised. You said nothing, because what was there to say? You merely looked into each other’s eyes. Somehow, all feeling of threat that you had before had completely disappeared. You didn’t feel completely at ease with Keith yet, but you certainly didn’t feel like you were in danger anymore. “Well?” he prompted.

“Look,” you started, avoiding his eyes. “At first, I wanted to. I did. I felt so angry and helpless… I didn’t know what to do. I thought–I don’t even know what I thought.” You hollowed out your cheeks in frustration, waving your arms around to emphasise your point. “I’ve never used my hypnotic abilities before. I don’t know what triggered them, I don’t know how I used them, I don’t know what snapped me out of it.”

Keith frowned, pushing himself to his knees. “What do you mean, snapped you out of it?”

You cast him a small smile. “In a way, I was just as much in a trance as you were, Keith. Just as out of control.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?” Keith’s eyes grew more confused by the second.  

A lump formed in your throat and you looked away. “I don’t know, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I have no bloody clue.” You ran a hand through your damp hair. You’d stayed above the water for so long that your hair had started to dry. Wincing, you splashed some water on your gills to keep them from aching too much. “You just looked so–I don’t know. But the only thought in my mind was that I couldn’t kill you. There was no way I could have killed you.”

Pursing his lips, Keith stared into the air in front of him, fiddling absent-mindedly with his fingers. You could almost hear the gears in his head turning. For a while, the two of you just sat next to each other, separated by nothing but a sheet of glass. One Landwalker, one Merfolk. Two species that were famous for their eternal mutual hatred, and yet here you sat next to Keith and for the first time since you had gotten captured you felt somewhat at peace.

---

The thundering of footsteps on the wooden stairs woke you with a jolt. Your mind immediately jumped to Keith, but when you listened closely you noticed that it was not one but two pairs of footsteps that resonated inside your cabin, and you recoiled into your corner, mind panicking. In a reflex against the loud noises, you bared your teeth and hissed, your eyes clouded with fear.

“Wait, wait–Sendak, stop!” That was Keith’s voice crying out. He tried to hold Sendak back, grabbing his arm, but ended up getting thrown into the wall like a ragdoll. You winced at the crash and squeezed your eyes shut when Keith’s grunt of pain resonated in your ears, louder than ever. Something unfurled in your chest, a burst of pain that had your breathing turn ragged and a lump form in your throat. You had never felt anything like that before, but the one thing you were sure of was that you had to get to Keith. You needed to make sure he was safe.

Unfortunately, you were stuck in a small tank, with no way to get anywhere bar a metre to the side. You frantically searched for him, but your view was blocked by Sendak–big, tall, scary Sendak–stalking over to you, eyes shining with malice and fury and his mouth twisted into a snarl. Your instincts were screaming at you to hide, but there was nowhere you could hide. The water was too filthy to even see properly in anymore, and Sendak didn’t look like he would be scared off by a little bit of water.

Now would be a really good time to use those sirenic abilities, you thought. But of course, nothing happened. Your breathing got faster by the second and you were paralysed in fear.

“So, filthy fish, you thought you could bite the first mate and get away with it?” Sendak hissed. You could do nothing but stare at him, could do nothing but blink sheepishly at the man who had threatened to kill you before and didn’t look like he would hesitate to do it now. “You thought you could poison him? Kill him, maybe? I bet you’d like that, huh. Well–”

He was cut off by Keith hurling himself in front of you, his back almost pressed against the glass of your tank. His arms were spread in a protective gesture, and for a second you thought that he was going to turn around and attack you too, but when he didn’t move and instead started yelling at Sendak you understood that he was protecting you. Keith was protecting you.

“Sendak, stop!”

The quartermaster made to shove him aside again, but Keith drew the sword hanging at his hip, forcing Sendak’s attention on him. “They did nothing wrong. I was careless, I was stupid. It’s my fault that I got bitten.”

Your heart was beating in your throat. Why was Keith saying these things? Surely he didn’t actually believe the words he spoke. You listened, your brain not quite processing what was happening.

“I swear, Sendak. Don’t hurt them, they didn’t do anything wrong. It was my fault,” Keith repeated, lowering his voice. He’d dropped his sword to his side, but his knuckles had turned white, and the fingers of his other hand trembled, even though he’d balled them into a fist. You couldn’t see his face, but his leg muscles were tense, and his shoulders drawn up as if he was preparing himself for a fight.

“Kogane,” started Sendak, trying to keep his voice as low as Keith’s, “the fish’s venom could kill you. It could kill you. Are you just gonna let it walk?” A glance at your tail. “Swim, whatever.”

“I told you, it was my fault.”

Sendak cocked his head, his eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t believe you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I think you’re trying to protect the fish, for whatever reason.” He took a threatening step forward, forcing Keith to back into your tank even more. The latter raised his sword, shifting his stance. He truly looked like he was ready to fight for your life. But then he said something that must have impressed Sendak, as the bigger man’s eyes widened.

“Haggar needs them alive and in good state, remember?”

The comment stung more than it should have. You had known that you weren’t on the ship to stay; you had known that you had been captured to eventually serve a higher purpose, but you guessed that hearing it coming from Keith just made it sound even more real, somehow. It stung. You weren’t afraid to admit that, and you felt your eyes water as you looked away.

Sendak grunted, taking a small step back. He cocked his head, glancing over Keith’s shoulder your way. A corner of his mouth pulled up. “All right, then. If you say so.”

“I do,” said Keith sharply. Sendak’s smirk widened, if just a fraction.

“Okay.” Sendak stood in front of Keith for a moment longer before slowly backing away. You kept as silent as you could, barely daring to breathe at all, afraid that if you made your presence clear Sendak would come back and this time Keith wouldn’t be able to hold him back. For what felt like hours Keith stood in front of your tank, his back to you and his sword still in his hand. His shoulders were still tense and rose and fell with heavy breaths. Then he seemed to realise why he was down in your room in the first place and whirled around.

“Hey. Are you–are you okay?” he asked, lowering his sword. Taking a shaky breath, you looked away. Were you okay? No, you weren’t. You were, in fact, far from okay. But you nodded vaguely anyway, smoothing down the fins at your hips with trembling fingers.

“Keith, who’s Haggar?” The name left a foul taste in your mouth and you scrunched up your nose, but you were truly curious as to who this Haggar was. You figured you had a right to know, since she was apparently the one you would be sold to.

Heaving a pained sigh, Keith pulled a wooden stool next to your tank and slumped down on it, resting his forearms on his knees. He looked oddly interested in a dirty spot on the wooden floor, rubbing the tip of his boot over it listlessly. “Haggar,” he started, his voice strained, “is a scientist. She likes to experiment on all kinds of species.”

You listened with an open mouth and a growing feeling of disgust settling in your stomach. You were going to be experimented on. Like a lab rat. Slowly, you backed away until you couldn’t anymore. Tears mounted to the surface as you recalled the feeling of fresh salt water on your skin, or the tickle of sunrays drying the droplets. You wouldn’t ever feel that again.

You’d never see your family again. Shiro, Lance, Hunk, your parents. Your friends. The coral reefs and the thousands of fish and other marine animals you crossed every day back home. That was the moment that you thought, I really am trapped here. You would never see your home again.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Keith’s voice, closer than you expected. You couldn’t help the hiss that made its way past your teeth, because how could he say that to you? Especially now? He could talk easily: he wasn’t the one who was going to be held captive at a laboratory and tested. Images of all sorts of torture devices that you had only heard stories about filled your mind.

“How can you say that?” you asked, your voice barely a wheeze. There was a desperate undertone to your voice. Tears streamed down your cheeks.

Carefully, hesitantly, Keith leaned forward and reached out until his fingers brushed your cheeks. Forcing you to look at him by cupping your cheeks, he said, “I’m not going to let that happen to you. You’re gonna get out of here, and alive and unharmed.”

His touch was like fire and ice, burning the skin his fingers brushed against. You were scared of what that fire would do to you but wanted to feel it more, wanted to explore the things you felt whenever Keith was near you. They scared you, but at the moment you didn’t care. You wanted more of it. You wanted to drown in it. It was strange. You hadn’t ever heard of mermaid drowning.

“How do you plan on doing that?” you said, sucking in a breath when Keith started brushing strands of hair away from your face. Don’t do that! you wanted to shout, but at the same time you wanted him to do anything but stop. You really needed to sort out your feelings. Keith frowned.

“I’m–I’m working on it,” he mumbled, drawing a giggle from your lips. A smile curled his own. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“You do that,” you told him, raking your eyes across his face, drinking in every detail. A warmth spread in your chest, seeping into your very bones and making the tips of your fins and fingers tingle with a type of electricity you had never felt before. Keith sighed, letting his hands fall to his side and slumped in his chair. He flinched when the movement sent a bolt of pain through his shoulder. Guilt settled in your stomach as you saw the black lines slithering up his neck and down his arm. The venom was spreading.

“It’s fine,” Keith assured you when he saw you look. “Only stings a bit.” The sweat beading on his forehead told you otherwise and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip, frantically racking your brain for something–anything–that could save Keith’s life. There were accidents all the time when merfolk got into a fight and one bit the other, so there had to be an antidote. There had to be. Shiro would know. Oh, why hadn’t you listened closer when he gave his boring lectures? Why had you thought that it was unimportant, because surely you weren’t stupid enough to let yourself get bitten? Seeing Keith like this, close to dying because of you, made you want to punch yourself even more.

He left all too quickly, promising you that he’d be back soon, that he needed some air to clear his head and figure out how he was going to get you off the ship. You waved him off with a strained smile, following the jagged lines up his neck with your eyes and silently swearing that you would do whatever it took to find the antidote.

---

“Tonight, Y/N,” Keith said before he’d even taken his place next to your tank. You splashed over to the edge and gripped it with both hands, your knuckles turning white, not caring about the litres of water that you sent cascading over the side of the glass. Keith had managed to convince the captain to have your water refreshed, and you could breathe a little more easily: the old water had gone completely stale and had been unbearable to live in.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m getting you out tonight. When everyone’s asleep,” Keith said softly, leaning forward as if afraid that someone would hear his words. “I got watch duty. If everything goes according to plan, nobody will even find out that you’re gone until morning.”

There were so many holes in this plan, so many things that could go wrong. “Keith, how would you even get me out of this tank?”

“I’ll carry you. I’ll be fine.” He flexed his shoulder absent-mindedly, and you didn’t miss the flinch crossing his features. But you knew Keith hated it when you fussed over him, so you kept your mouth shut.

“But they’ll know it was you who helped me,” you said, voice rising with worry.

“That’s a problem for tomorrow,” Keith waved your protests away. “Look, if we don’t do this tonight, I don’t think there’s gonna be another chance for you to escape at all. Two days before we go ashore and sell you to Haggar. We’re out of time.”

Even though you saw the logic in Keith’s reasoning and had to begrudgingly agree with him, images of worst-case scenarios flashed in front of your eyes. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t,” said Keith firmly. He rolled his shoulder again.

But what if we do? Gritting your teeth, you banned the thought from your mind. Deep breaths, Y/N. You focused on the black lines that now started to cover Keith’s jaw and his hand, and probably started to creep along his chest too. As much as you hated it, you had no doubt in your mind that once the venom got to Keith’s heart and lungs that he would die. Why it took so long, you had no idea. But the jagged pattern reminded you vaguely of the blobs of shallow water seaweed floating in the current–

Seaweed. Algae. You clapped your hands over your mouth, stifling your gasp. Grabbing the edge of his stool, Keith leaned forward and hissed, “What?” But you could do nothing but stare. Why, oh why, hadn’t you thought of this before?

“The antidote,” you breathed. “I just remembered. It’s a type of black algae, I know where to find it. You–you have to grind it to powder and then mix it with salt water and it’ll draw the venom out.”

Slowly, Keith sat back on his stool, looking baffled by your words. His fingers crept up to where your teeth marks had swollen and grown infected, lightly tracing the black veins sprouting from them. “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive,” you said, already thinking of ways to get the algae to him when you’d have found them. If you even got off the ship. You would just have to be extremely cautious while swimming back to the ship, making sure to not get caught again. Yes, you could do that. You would have to, if you wanted Keith to live at all.

As you looked into each other’s eyes, you could feel the weight of the promises you made to each other at that moment. Keith’s promise to get you off the ship unharmed, and your promise to come back with the antidote that would save Keith’s life. You supposed there was a certain irony in the whole situation: after wishing for days to get away from the ship, now you were already counting the hours until you could get back.

“Careful, careful,” you hissed, tightening your hold around Keith’s neck when he started up the stairs. The strain in his muscles was easy to feel, and the trembling of his arms gave away that you were heavier than he let on. But he gritted his teeth and adjusted his grip on you, climbing up the steps one by one, slowly, never losing his footing. You poked your nose up in the air, catching the salty smell of the ocean.

Excitement curled in your stomach, and you gripped Keith’s shoulders even tighter, but letting go at the audible wince of pain that slipped past his lips. “Sorry,” you whispered.

From the ship, the stars were brighter than you had ever seen them before. They shone like little glowfish, trapped in the black sky and you craned your neck, marvelling at their beauty. They reflected in the water, their light distorted by the ripples of coming waves. The moon glowed even brighter than the stars, illuminating the deck with its soft silver glow. You flicked your fins, suddenly resisting the urge to squirm from Keith’s hold and just book it for the waves. They seemed to call out to you. They beckoned you home.

“Keith,” you whined, digging your nails into the skin on his neck, your eyes trained on the water surrounding the ship. You needed to get out there. Now. Right now.

“I know,” he said. “I know.” He stepped out towards the railing and you heaved a sob, already starting to wriggle like an impatient child.

“Kogane. What a surprise seeing you here,” a voice rang out over the deck, not sounding surprised at all.

Keith tensed up, at the same time that your heart seemed to skip a beat in your chest, a “No!” slipping from your lips. Keith didn’t even turn as he said, “Sendak.”

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to turn your back on your crew this easily,” Sendak drawled, snickering at his own joke. “But I’m not even going to pretend that I won’t enjoy killing you.”

“Get ready,” Keith muttered to you, his voice low enough that you had to concentrate to hear it. “I’m going to throw you over the railing.” You felt him slowly adjust his stance. Your breathing instantly quickened.

“You’ll get killed,” you replied just as softly, not being able to ban the worry from your voice. “I don’t want to leave you.” And it was true. Because even though you wanted to join the sea again, you wanted Keith to be safe more. And to be honest, you didn’t really want to get off the ship if it meant leaving Keith at the mercy of Sendak. But you knew that Keith would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him.

“Turn around and face me, Kogane. Hand over the fish, and maybe I’ll let you live.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Keith, and you wondered quietly, How can he lie so easily?

Before you could change your mind, you grabbed Keith’s face and pressed a kiss to his lips. When you pulled away, you curled your hands to fists on his chest and touched your nose to his. “For good luck.” For a split second, you looked into each other’s eyes, wondering why fate had to be so cruel.

And then he took two steps forward and launched you over the railing, and the last thing you saw before hitting the water’s surface was Keith whirling around and drawing his sword just in time to block Sendak’s attack. Then you broke the sea’s smooth surface, and you were swimming again, acting on instinct and getting as far away from the ship as possible, going deeper and deeper, ignoring the pull in your chest towards the man you loved.

You swam into Shiro about four hours after you had taken off from the ship. You had been calling out desperately, straining your muscles and forcing your tail to propel you forward as fast as possible, when he had finally answered. As he crashed into you, sending both of you spiralling, he wrapped his arms around you in a crushing hug, and you couldn’t keep the tears at bay anymore. You completely broke down in sobs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Shiro shushed, stroking your hair and lovingly rubbing his fins against yours. His aura of safety only made you cry harder, because Keith should have been here with you. It wasn’t fair that you were safe while he was fighting for his life–because he had saved yours. “Y/N, what happened? I heard that you were captured–a couple of nurse sharks picked up your blood trail and warned us. I’ve been worrying my tail off.”

So you told him everything, from the moment the net had first started pulling you up to the second Keith had thrown you overboard, thus saving your life. Shiro had frowned when you first started talking about Keith, but he must have noticed how much you cared about him, because his eyes softened and his scowl disappeared. “But I bit him, Shiro. I need some black algae, I need to get back to him. I have to–”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Shiro said, grabbing your wrists to prevent you from swimming away.

You grunted, trying to break free from his hold. “Let me go. He saved my life, Shiro!”

“I know, and I will forever be thankful for it. But you can’t just go and swim back and put your life in danger for this–this Landwalker.”

“He put his life in danger for me countless times! He’s doing it right now! I don’t even know if he’s alive,” you shouted, voice cracking on the last word. “Please, Shiro.”

He cast you a pained look, anxiously flicking his tail. “Okay. Fine. But there’s no way you’re going back out there alone.”

You flung your arms around his neck, blubbering a string of thanks, but before you could take off towards the ship again, Shiro grabbed your arm once more. “Wait. Let me call the others. If we’re really gonna do this, we’re gonna need backup.”

It took you just under a day to reach the ship. You only allowed yourselves to take a couple of breaks, gorging yourselves on various fish for energy. Allura and Shiro swam at your sides, Lance, Hunk and Coran behind you. Shiro had filled them all in quickly, explaining the big picture of what had happened. As expected, your fellow Merfolk weren’t too happy about your insistence to launch yourself back into danger for the sake of one human.

“A Merfolk and a Landwalker,” Allura muttered beside you when the ship came into view, a vague dark blob floating on the current. “Unbelievable.”

“All right, guys,” Shiro shouted from in front of you. He gestured for everyone to huddle around him. He glanced at you and handed you his pouch. You knotted it around your waist. “In there are the black algae. you know how to apply it.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around the group. “You all know your role: buy Y/N the time to grab Keith and then book it. Don’t engage in a fight, only defend yourselves and the rest. Got it?”

You cleared your throat. “I just–I really appreciate that you guys are doing this for me.”

A nod from Shiro. Tension rippled through the group. None of you needed to say anything; you knew what was at stake and what needed to be done. So after a moment of silence, you scattered.

From the moment you gave the first beat of your tail, there was nothing on your mind but Keith. Save Keith. You made sure to approach the ship from underneath, staying out of view, and grabbed hold of an iron bolt, collecting your thoughts before you started to climb up the side of the ship, pressing your body flush to the wood. Around you, your friends breached the surface and started screaming at the sailors, hopefully taking them by surprise: you saw nets descend into the clear water, but now the mermaids were ready. It was time to show these pirates just how deadly a group of angry Merfolk could be.

You sank your nails into the wood of the ship. The surface of the water was just a couple of centimetres above your head, and you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. A line floated in the water next to you, and you grabbed hold of it and started pulling yourself up. When you were completely above water, you stopped and held still, listening for any sign that you had been spotted and ready to let go of the line and drop if that was the case, but the screaming you heard was directed at the back of the ship, not the front, where you were. The distraction was working.

So you continued on, pulling yourself up, centimetre by centimetre. By the time you reached the height of the figurehead, your arms were trembling and your breathing had gotten ragged. You paused, glaring at the wooden mermaid staring helplessly into the void, tied to the boat by a sculpted wooden rope. “Anatomy’s off,” you hissed through clenched teeth before hoisting yourself up with a grunt.

The railing was right above you. One more pull and you would be in full view. You sucked in a deep breath, curled your fingers around the wood and pulled.

Your eyes frantically searched the almost deserted deck. The majority of the crew was running around the other side of the deck, screaming at each other and at your friends. None of them paid attention to you. Then your eyes landed on Keith and your grip on the railing tightened.

He was tied to the big mast and he looked bad. Only barely conscious, he had been stripped of his shirt, so that you could see every jagged line that your venom left on his skin. They had expanded to his cheek and down his chest, and your throat closed up with the thought that you could be too late, but then you banned the idea. You weren’t too late. It was impossible. What truly made your chest clench were the deep cuts on his back, covering his pale skin in dried blood. His upper arms sported deep gashes too, no doubt to prevent him from fighting back. His head hung forward, his chin touching his chest and red with blood. His black hair was a tousled mess, sticking to his forehead and neck, the skin there slick with sweat. He looked like the ropes tying him to the mast were the only things keeping him upright.

“No, no,” you whispered, focusing on his chest, checking if he was still breathing. He was, if only barely. “Keith!” you cried out, a sob tearing itself from your chest.

He lifted his head slightly at the sound of your voice. His eyebrows furrowed. You called out his name again, and this time he managed to open his eyes and look at you. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but broke into a coughing fit and doubled over. Fresh, bright red blood dripped down his chin.

A hand grabbed Keith’s hair and forced his head up, drawing a whimper of pain from his lips, and you screamed.

“Well, hello there, fish,” Sendak said, his breathing heavy and his grip on Keith’s hair tightening. The first thing you noticed was a gash over his right eye: it looked fresh, and you were sure it hadn’t been there when you left. He drew his sword, and you lurched forward, reaching out with an arm but grabbing only air: the railing was the only thing holding you up, and Sendak and Keith were way out of your reach. Sendak knew this, too, and didn’t even flinch when you bared your teeth at him in a furious snarl. “That little trick doesn’t work on me any more, fish! You’re going to have to do better than that!”

But you didn’t have better than that, and both you and Sendak knew it. You were trapped, and so was Keith, and Sendak’s eyes sported a manic glint that sent cold shivers down your spine.

“He fought like a beast, you know,” Sendak said. “Actually incapacitated a good twenty men before finally being overpowered. Got a nick at my eye, too,” he snarled and pointed at the cut. “It was impressive.” He cast you a sideways look, giving Keith’s head a shake, and the cry of pain he let out made your heart clench. “But not good enough.”  

“Sendak, he did nothing wrong,” you said, knowing that it would do nothing to change the man’s mind, but you were out of ideas. You were willing to try anything. “Just let him go–he’s suffered enough–”

Sendak barked a laugh. “Suffered enough?” His manic grin turned into a snarl. “But, you see, fish, I don’t do enough.” He lifted his sword up to Keith’s neck and pressed the blade into his skin, drawing droplets of blood to the surface. “You know what, I think I’m going to kill him right now. His blood will stain this deck for the next decade.”

You didn’t know what exactly triggered it. It was probably everything together that made you snap, but the next thing you knew your eyes were glowing and you started screaming.

Sendak let his arms drop to his side and froze, just like Keith had done when he had been trapped underneath your spell. Only this time, you were dead set on keeping control. “Free him,” you growled, pointing at Keith. Picking up his sword, Sendak turned to Keith and sliced through the ropes. Keith crumbled to the floor like a ragdoll.

“Pick him up,” you commanded. Sendak did, his eyes dull and free of the anger and cruelty that had filled them only moments before. Strange, you thought, how a predator could turn another into a prey. You were just higher on the food chain.

“Bring him to me.”

When Sendak set Keith down in front of you and stepped away, waiting for further orders, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your head into the crook of his neck and let your tears fall freely. He let out a groan, trying to lift his arms, but you pulled away and cupped his face, brushing strands of matted black hair from his face. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Keith opened his eyes, albeit with trouble, but when he did and met your eyes, they lit up and the soft smile that stretched his lips made a bubble of heat burst in your chest and you laughed.

“Y/N! WATCH OUT!” Shiro’s voice roared out over the deck and yanked you back to reality, and you looked up just in time for you to duck away and narrowly avoid Sendak’s sword’s blade and stifling a scream. As you looked up, scrambling to protect Keith with your own body, Sendak hovered over you and raised his sword again with a roar, and you squeezed your eyes shut and tightened your hold on Keith, burying your head into his chest, waiting for the final blow.

But it never came.

Instead, the unmistakable crash of a sword falling on the deck resonated in the wood, followed by Sendak bellowing in pain. You yanked your head upright again, and saw the big man grasping at his arm, where you spotted a knife–similar to the one you had carried before getting captured–buried in the flesh up to the hilt. Your gaze trailed to the other side of the deck, where a figure was leaning over the railing–Shiro. The belt he wore across his chest and where his dagger should have been sheathed was empty. He was frantically waving at you, one arm supporting him on the ship’s railing, and shouting something lost to the wind but that you could make out by reading his lips: “Let’s go!”

You nodded at him, turning to Keith and tapping the boy’s cheeks until he groggily opened one eye. “Hold your breath,” you said, wrapping your arms around his chest and letting yourself slide off the side of the ship.

---

“Hello, handsome,” you called to the man picking his way along the beach, resting your chin on your hand. Keith answered in the form of a wave and a blown kiss, keeping a careful eye on where he placed his feet so that he didn’t tumble into the sea. When he finally got to you, you hoisted yourself up on your arms and beamed a smile at him, squinting because of the sun rays. Keith flopped down next to you and pulled you in for a kiss, cupping your cheek with one hand and letting the other play with the hair at the back of your neck.

You pulled away and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then his other cheek, and then the tip of his nose, feeling the butterflies in your stomach act up in response to Keith’s giggles. Then you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling it aside and running your fingers over the teeth marks on his shoulder.

The black algae had done their work and drawn the venom out, but the scars from your bite would stay forever. Even though Keith had said that he didn’t mind the scars at all, you frowned at the wound. The fact that Keith had almost died because of you still didn’t sit quite right with you.

He had been living in a small fishermen’s village for the past few weeks, resting up. He had told you that he didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon: the people in the village were nice, and–he’d added with a wink–the two of you could meet up anytime you wanted.

“Find anything new?” Keith joked, gently taking your hands and kissing your knuckles.

You smiled. “You know I haven’t,” you said, flicking your tail and scratching at a scale.

With a sigh, Keith shifted closer to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “We’re okay. I’m okay.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes and said, “I know.”

#vld fanfic #vld keith #voltron keith #vld keith x reader #voltron keith x reader #vld keith kogane #voltron keith kogane #vld keith kogane x reader #voltron keith kogane x reader #keith vld #keith voltron #keith x reader #keith kogane x reader

[iwatchanimeoccasionally]

My Beetlejuice Academia

It’s finally done. Sort of. The first draft is done. I am actually fairly happy with it, though I am super exhausted and can’t make myself stay up long enough to read it, so this is unedited, I will come back tomorrow to edit, and then the revision process will start for transfer to AO3. Therefore, I’m not expecting a single soul to read this, but I want it out there in the real world so it doesn’t can’t keep taking up all the space I have in my brain. 

If you do want to read it, ABSOLUTELY read this warning first. This is based off Beetlejuice, meaning there are themes of death throughout, major character deaths, and themes of suicide and suicidal thoughts/actions. I think that’s all the triggers this needs. Oh yeah, and heavy themes of child abuse. Not BJ’s fault this time Endeavor can burn in hell. 

(Also, I took some liberties with characters to fit better with the plot)

A trunk slams shut on the outskirts of a small town no one has ever cared about before, signaling what should be the beginning of a perfectly normal vacation. A boy and his mom piling into the car without a care in the world, having no clue that this will be the last car ride they ever have together. No one ever told them that just down the street, before they even leave town, the brakes will give out in the car and they will both die in a crash, avoiding hitting a small dog who’s owner always leaves off leash because no one could ever get hurt because of a small dog roaming free in a small town.

Hours later, the duo stumbles into their house, cold and confused but seemingly ok.

“I’m sorry we had to miss your convention, Izuku,” Inko apologizes for the first, but probably not the last, time, breaking the silence.

Izuku turns a blinding smile on his mom and, without any hesitation replies, “Don’t worry about it! I’m just glad we’re ok, that was scary. I thought we were going to die for a second there.” A shiver racks his body then and Inko is quick to the fireplace, wanting to warm her son before he catches something.

Within moments, a fire is going and the two huddle next to it, Inko stating, “Please don’t say things like that. I don’t like thinking about you being hurt, let alone anything worse.”

Humming his recognition, Izuku leans closer to the fire. His brow furrows when he doesn’t feel any warmer, but that’s when he realizes he doesn’t feel particularly cold anyway. Even though he knows he should be, they got soaked from crashing into the river earlier. Even though it’s summer, the sun has gone down and it’s chilly outside so he has to be cold. “Hey Mom,” Izuku starts, unsure of what to even think anymore, “why isn’t the fire hot?”

It takes a second for her to answer, as if she’s just realizing that herself. “I… I don’t know, honey. But I’m not very cold,” she replies, voicing his thoughts. “Do you remember coming home?”

Her question stirs something in Izuku’s brain, but he’s not sure what it is quite yet. What he does know is that he can’t come up with those memories, either. “Did we…” he trails off, not sure how to continue, but one look at his mom makes him think she’s having the same thought.

“You sure did,” a new voice drawls, making both mother and son jump. They whip around to look at the intruder, Inko pushing Izuku behind her instinctively as they do. When they find is a boy, about Izuku’s age if looks are anything to go by, sprawled across their couch. His spiky red hair is hanging off the front and his orange and black boots are kicked up on the back. “Took you a long time to realize you were dead.”

Despite the obvious annoyance in the boy’s voice, Inko steps forward and demands an explanation. “Who are you and what are you doing in our house?”

Red eyes narrow at the pair before he pastes on a fake smile on his blue tinged lips and flips over so he’s sitting up and facing them properly. “The name’s Katsuki. I’m here to teach you guys to be ghosts, or whatever.” By the time he’s finished speaking, the friendly act is already over and Katsuki is already back to scowling at them. “You’re Inko, the kid’s Izuku, and it’s only a matter of time before this house sells. No one will know you’re still here, the living tend to ignore the strange and unusual and all that garbage. And you’re not going to be happy then, seeing as you’re trapped here for the next hundred years. So stop acting like I’m this big bad guy and let me help you keep people out of here.”

“No thank you, Katsuki,” Inko dismisses, “I think we’ll be fine. We don’t need to chase people out, anyway. I’m sure whoever buys the house will be lovely people and we can coexist if need be.” Izuku keeps a careful eye on Katsuki as his mom talks, not liking how the boy’s eyes narrow and his fists clench like he’s already prepared to get in a fight. If he’s being completely honest, he’s glad his mom said no, he’s nervous about this angry looking boy.

Katsuki takes a step forward and, just for a moment, Izuku swears he sees blood on the boy’s temples before it disappears when Katsuki heaves a deep sigh. “Whatever you say, losers. Just say my name three times when you change your minds and I’ll see if I still want to help you.” Turning to leave, Katsuki casts one glance over his shoulder and, with a smirk, points out, “By the way, your son’s on fire.”

Izuku jumps and looks down at himself, panicking when he realizes that to be the truth and both Midoriya’s frantically pat his body to put the fires out. By the time they finish, Katsuki is long gone.

“Please never call him back,” Izuku requests once they are a little more settled. “He’s kinda creepy.”

Inko smiles and nods, “Of course. He could be dangerous and you’ve already been hurt enough.” Izuku doesn’t like the hurt that flashes across his mother’s face before she excuses herself and goes upstairs.

“Mom?” he calls after her, wanting to make sure everything’s ok.

She pauses halfway up the stairs but doesn’t turn back toward Izuku, “It’s ok, Izuku. As long as we’re trapped here, we might as well just act like we’re still alive.”

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

It’s all slamming doors and raised voices when the Todorokis move in. Shouto wouldn’t normally react so violently, scared of how his father might react, but he was just ripped away from the only family he’s ever known and he’s furious.

At least when he yells, “I hate you for bringing me here! I’ll find a way to get back to Mom!” before running upstairs and slamming his door with all his might when they first move in, the movers are still there so he knows there won’t be repercussions for a few hours. By then maybe he’ll have slipped out and be on his way back home.

One glance out the window tells him otherwise. Enji is back outside, pretending to supervise the workers when, in reality, Shouto knows he’s just watching the window of the room he assigned Shouto to make sure there are no escape attempts. Feeling bold, Shouto almost wants to try anyway, but all his fight is slowly leaving his system. As hopelessness sets in, Shouto collapses onto the floor, at least taking this opportunity to sleep before punishment arrives.

He’s awoken what must be hours later, judging by the low light from the moon coming in his window. When he does wake up, he’s up in an instant, even though he’s not sure what woke him. But then he hears it. The steps stomping toward him. Threatening pain behind each one.

Fear floods his system. He knows what Enji is capable of, but he’s never had the full force directed at only him before. He clearly wasn’t thinking earlier, not considering the fact that he has no form of protection or even distraction anymore.

Shouto refuses to make himself small, though, standing with his back straight and his arms at his side by the time his door is flung open. It doesn’t take much for him to realize how furious his father is. He definitely doesn’t need the quiet but menacing, “Downstairs. Now,” thrown at him as if words can be used as deadly weapons.

Smarter now than when they first arrived, Shouto ducks his head, averting eye contact, and follows Enji. He doesn’t bother looking around as the walk, knowing that this house isn’t for living in. It’s just a place to sleep and train, that’s all Shouto’s life is. And he uses the word “train” lightly. It’s not like his life is leading up to a black belt championship in anything. No, he’s supposed to take Enji’s place as a realtor, buying entire towns to ruin by selling them to the rich like Enji plans to do with this town. He stops himself from thinking what the training really is, though, not wanting to dwell on it when it’s so close to happening.

He’s not sure why, but Shouto’s surprised when Enji leads him into a fully prepared training room. Though it makes sense, of course Enji would make sure it was set up first thing, he needs to make sure Shouto knows what he did wrong today.

That surprise is his downfall, though. He doesn’t even see the first hit coming until Enji’s fist is in his stomach and he’s doubled over, already unable to breath and needing to puke. “You should’ve avoided that, Shouto,” Enji scolds, nearly spitting on his son in shame. “I’ve trained you better, you can’t be taken down by the first hit.”

Even as he’s scolding him, Enji keeps hitting Shouto, never giving him a chance to recover. First it’s an elbow to the spine, knocking Shouto to the floor when he’s already having trouble staying on his feet. Then it’s a kick to the ribs when he slowly pushes himself up onto all fours, knocking him back down. Shouto almost wants to just stay down, but he knows that would just infuriate Enji even more. So he keeps trying to get up and Enji just keeps knocking him down, scolding all the while that Shouto should be better than that.

It’s only when Shouto can’t keep pushing himself back up that Enji gets to the real heart of the matter. He puts his foot on Shouto’s wrist, putting enough pressure down to hurt, to threaten, but not enough to do any real lasting damage. “Never embarrass me like that again, do you hear me, boy?” Enji growls and Shouto wants to cry out from the pain in his hand, but he knows how dangerous it is to show weakness to his father. He forgets to reply, though, which is another big problem. Enji steps down harder and Shouto’s sure somethings got to give soon. “I said. Do. You. Hear. Me.”

Shouto drags in a deep breath and then says in his most convincing voice, “Yes sir!”

The pressure is finally relieved and Shouto sees Enji walk away out of the corner of his eye. “Good,” the man grunts as he leaves, “you have more training tomorrow. Go to bed.”

It takes an hour for him to drag himself upstairs back to his room, and he’s so exhausted by that point that he doesn’t even process the voices trying to talk to him before they remember that he can’t hear them.

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

“We have to do something to help him!” Izuku cries, desperate for this boy that he doesn’t even know.

Inko nods and paces the attic, the only space safe from the new family in their home. “I know. But they can’t see us, so I don’t know what to do,” Inko agrees, just as lost as her son on what to do with these frantic emotions.

Izuku’s mind instantly flashes to the blonde boy from before, wondering if Katsuki could help them. But he shakes that thought away, sure that anything Katsuki would do would only make things worse for Shouto. “We could try haunting them. Maybe we could distract his dad enough that he won’t hurt Shouto anymore?” Izuku suggests even though he doesn’t have the slightest clue how he’s supposed to go about haunting people.

The night is spent trying to figure out haunting techniques, even occasionally going downstairs to Enji’s room, only to return minutes later when there is absolutely no reaction from the sleeping man. Maybe being able to wake someone up comes later, they’ll just have to wait and see.

The next morning, Izuku starts relatively small. He just waits around until Enji has his breakfast prepared and is sitting down to eat, Shouto trying to silently gather breakfast in the kitchen and not draw his father’s attention. Seeing the boy trying to eat, Izuku deliberately waits a minute to give him a chance to get something gathered, and then. He just knocks Enji’s cup of orange juice on the older man’s lap.

“What the hell!” Enji yells as soon as it happens, jumping up and tossing the newspaper he was previously perusing onto the table. Enji looks around furiously, but Shouto fled the area as soon as he heard his father yell, escaping unseen and free of suspicion of somehow being behind the prank. Enji kicks the table in rage, muttering something about it being crooked, and stomps out of the dining room to go shower.

Pride wells in Izuku’s chest when he goes to tell his mother of his success.

His trek is stopped on the second floor when a hand stops just shy of landing on his forearm. Izuku nearly jumps, even more shocked and confused when he follows the arm upward, eventually seeing Shouto looking directly at him. “I don’t know what you are, but that was probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Shouto says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Yo- You can see me?” Izuku questions, even though the answer is already clear. Shouto simply raises an eyebrow and nods in response. “But. How? The living aren’t supposed to be able to see the dead. Something about not seeing the strange and unusual?” Izuku racks his brain for Katsuki’s exact words, but Shouto shrugs and glances away before Izuku can explain further.

“Perhaps it’s because I, myself, am strange and unusual,” Shouto mutters, a furrow deep in his brow and his hand finally pulling back to himself.

Down the hall, a door slams and both boys flinch away from the noise. One glance at Shouto tells Izuku he doesn’t just want to leave him alone so, without thinking, he invites him to continue their discussion in the attic.

The moment they step into the attic, Inko greets Izuku, “How did it go? Oh, you brought a friend?” Inko’s eyes widen a little when she looks at Shouto and Izuku blushes at being called his friend.

“It went well. He’s furious. Turns out though, Shouto can see us. Or me?” Izuku looks back at Shouto and sees him waving politely at his mom so he amends again, “Us. He sees dead people.”

Izuku thinks his joke is pretty funny, but Inko doesn’t even acknowledge it and Shouto simply nods along. “I suppose I do see dead people,” Shouto agrees and Izuku wonders if he even understands the joke Izuku tried to make.

“Well, honey,” Inko starts, clearly not wanting to dwell on the fact that she and her son are dead, “we’re not planning to haunt you. We just wanted to teach your dad a lesson for hurting you. No child is going to be abused on my watch.”

Shouto snorts then, glancing over his shoulder as if he’s expecting his father to come stomping up the stairs at any moment. “Good luck with that. Nothing can stop Father from training me to be the ‘perfect son’. Even the fact that my face will always look like… this,” he gestures helplessly at his scarred eye, “He thinks I can still be what he bred me to be.”

Inko doesn’t know whether to be furious or so sad for Shouto, then, and Izuku knows that because he feels exactly the same. “You’re a human being, Shouto. You weren’t ‘bred’ to be anything other than yourself,” Inko argues, though her tone is soft like she’s just reminding Shouto of something he should have known all along.

“Shouto! Get down here now!” Enji commands, his voice seeming to carry all the way from the first floor. Jumping Shouto waves at the two ghosts and runs out of the room and down the stairs, not even saying any parting words.

The two share a look after he leaves and the seem to reach the same resigned decision at the same time. “We need that troubled boy, don’t we?” Inko asks with a sigh and Izuku can only nod.

“Katsuki,” he starts before Inko cuts him off.

“If anything bad comes of this, I don’t want it to be your responsibility,” she explains. “Katsuki. Katsuki. Katsuki.”

A poof of smoke fills the attic, dissipating quickly and leaving the boy with spiky hair, now blonde, leaning against the wall next to the window. His arms are crossed over his chest, but he seems generally less pissed off than his did the last they saw him. “I told you you’d need my help,” he says with a smirk.

Izuku cringes at the idea and shares a look with his mother, unsure if he’s ok to explain what they need help with. “It’s not what you said, though. We don’t mind sharing the house,” he argues, locking eyes with the demon. Katsuki raises a brow in disbelief before kicking off the wall with a scoff.

Stalking over to them, Katsuki gets right up in Izuku’s space before asking, “So what is the problem?” He circles around, coming to a stop behind Izuku and resting his chin on the shorter boy’s shoulder. Izuku winces at the smell of burning and iron, but is kept in place by the demon pressed against him. “You just that desperate for someone to show you what a real ghost is capable of?”

Cutting in, Inko pulls Izuku toward herself and leaves Katsuki watching them with a self-satisfied smirk. “We just want to stop an abusive situation. Whether that means driving the father away or making him stop what he’s doing,” Inko fills him in easily.

That puts a grin on Katsuki’s face and he twirls around, already starting for the stairs. “Answers simple. Let’s kill that fucker,” Katsuki says all to gleefully.

Izuku runs, putting himself between Katsuki and the door. “No. We don’t want to kill anybody!” Izuku cries, holding his arms out and grabbing the door frame so Katsuki can’t just push him out of the way. Katsuki does come to an abrupt stop, but his smile drops and his hair starts to bleed red from the tips, dripping down toward his scalp.

Whirling around, Katsuki paces toward Inko, stopping inches in front of her with his face entirely too close to her for comfort. “Is that so? What is the point then?” he demands, practically yelling in her face.

Taking a step back, Inko raises her hand placating. “You said you’d teach us to haunt, is that not still an option?” she questions and Izuku doesn’t need to see Katsuki’s face to know he’s not calming. The vibrancy of his now fully red hair says all Izuku needs to know.

Luckily, Katsuki is apparently above hurting other ghosts and he just turns and kicks the nearest object, sending a chair flying against the wall for one leg to fly off. “No! Of course not! Why would you waste everyone’s time doing that when the answer is so simple?” he shouts, not even looking at either of the other ghosts as he rages. “If you’d just let me kill the guy and get his son to say my name, we could be done here. That simple.”

Izuku’s brows furrow and he momentarily forgets about the danger and clarifies, “Say your name? We’ve already done that, why do we need to get Shouto to say it?”

He doesn’t even see Katsuki coming, he just knows that the next second, all he can smell is smoke and he can practically hear a gunshot in the distance. “It doesn’t matter if you say it, Deku. I need someone living!” Katsuki growls against Izuku’s throat before he rips away and stomps off. Izuku nearly loses his balance when the demon is no longer pressing against him, but he barely manages to right himself before Katsuki turns around to stare at him again.

Chest heaving on a deep, yet unnecessary, breath, Katsuki’s hair slowly drains color and he forces himself calm. “Whatever. You ever watch a ghost movie?” Katsuki asks, his voice still stiff with barely contained anger. When both Izuku and Inko nod, Katsuki waves a hand dismissively. “Just do that shit. The only thing you can’t do is make the breathers see you. It takes a lot of concentration for newbies like you guys to make them hear you, but it’s possible. I’ll be back in a few days to see if you’re ready for me to kill him yet.”

With that Katsuki grabs Izuku by the shoulders and moves him away from the doorway. As he’s walking out, Izuku calls after him, “Wait, Mr. Katsuki, sir. Don’t you have any more advice for us?”

Katsuki pauses on the top stair to throw a disdainful look over his shoulder. “I’d want to die all over again if I watch you practice. You can figure it out.”

Then, he’s gone.

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

Over the next several days, Shouto grows closer to Izuku until they’re practically inseparable. Shouto has never had as much fun as watching the ghosts haunt his father in his life and he has to hold back laughter every time they knock something out of Enji’s hands or hide something immediately after he sets it down. One time, Izuku took Father’s phone hid it under a cupboard, only taking it off silent mode hours later when Father had lost his mind throwing things around and yelling about his stuff continually going missing. Then, there was the day when Father didn’t bother Shouto at all, exhausted from a night of getting woken by strange noises every time he started drifting off. The best part, though, were the times Izuku simply kept Shouto company when Father left the house.

The were joined at the hip. Except when Izuku goes to whatever ghost places Shouto can’t follow him to, that is, and Shouto is left home alone.

This was one of those times.

“Pack your things, I’m selling this house.”

The words still buzz around Shouto’s brain, said so nonchalantly as Father passed him on the stairs that morning. Of course, Shouto had simply uttered a “Yes sir,” and continued on to his room. There was nothing else to be done at the time. There’s no going against Father’s will. Shouto wishes more than anything that Izuku were here to talk about it, but the ghost boy is missing and Shouto wouldn’t know the first thing about finding him.

But that sure is an idea, isn’t it?

Father can’t rip Shouto away from his happiness and only friend if Shouto is left to haunt this place, too. All it takes is one second of consideration for Shouto to decide that’s the best option. The only option.

So he scribbles out a note quickly, before Father returns home from his trip into town and stop him, leaving it on his desk as to be found later.

I don’t know how you discovered that this place makes me happy, but you can never make me leave it. Tell Mother I’m sorry. If she ever speaks to you again, that is.

And with that, he’s off running for the attic. He glances around on his way through and, for the first time ever, he’s happy to see the Midoriyas are missing. They would try to stop him and the sad look on Inko’s face when she realizes there is a suicidal child in her home might just be enough to change his mind.

Clambering out to the room, Shouto rushes to the edge. First, he checks to make sure Father’s car was still missing before moving on to find the best place to jump. He doesn’t know enough about physics to know if the height alone would be enough to get the job done. Which is why he finds the bird bath. If nothing else, impaling himself on it would probably do the trick.

He’s just about to jump, the note tucked safely in the breast pocket of his flannel, when someone calls out. “What’s happening here?”

Whirling around, Shouto sees a boy with purple tinged hair eying him curiously. Which doesn’t make sense for a number of reasons. The first one coming to mind being that the boy is only wearing a black tank top, ripped jeans, and orange and black combat boots even though it’s going to be winter soon and Shouto is chilly in his flannel and sweatpants. The second being, “Who the hell are you?”

The other boy smiles then, walking forward carefully, clearly conscious of how close Shouto still is to the edge. “I’m who you apparently want to be. I think I can help you, though. How ‘bout you let me kill your dad and you stick around a little longer?” the boy bargains and Shouto wonders how he even knows that Father is the problem.

Shouto stands his ground, watching the other boy with his eyes only, not willing to move his body at all for fear of giving the other boy and opening to pull him further onto the roof. “No thank you. I’m fine with my current arrangement,” Shouto comments, edging backwards ever so slightly.

Purple hair shrugs, though Shouto can see in his eyes that the indifference is feigned. “Alright, kill yourself. That won’t stop him, though. You realize that? He made you for a reason, what’s stopping him from doing to some other woman and child exactly what he did to you and your mom?” the boy asks and Shouto hates that logic.

If ever a time to be selfish, though, now would be it. “I guess that’s something I’ll just have to live with. Oh wait. I won’t, will I?”

Purple hair gets darker, and Shouto finally realizes that he must be another ghost with the way his hair changes color like a mood ring. “Don’t you want your dad to suffer? I can bring him so much pain. Make him pay for what he’s done. All you need to do is say my name three times.”

Shouto shrugs and turns around, leaning forward dangerously. “I don’t even know your name,” he points out and a small smile crosses his lips at the idea of finally just being done with it.

All at once, Shouto hears the ghost shout, “NO!” and then arms burning like hot coals wrap around his waste, tugging him back.

Thrashing around Shouto starts yelling, “Let go of me you ghost jack-ass!”

Then he hears the one thing he didn’t think to expect, “Please don’t kill yourself. I don’t want to do this whole being dead thing without you,” is murmured against his neck in Izuku’s voice. Twisting his head around to look over his shoulder, Shouto’s nose buries in familiar green curls and he’s met with the scent of wet, caught between stale water and a rushing river right after rain. His entire body burns where he’s pressed against the heat of ghost who’s probably never been so earnest before.

Inko’s voice cuts in just ask Shouto shuts his eyes and relaxes against the warmth that would probably be painful if the source were anyone or anything else. “Katsuki! We agreed no murder!” Shouto’s suddenly glad that Inko’s never had a reason to seriously scold him before, dreading the idea of having the tone turned on him when she finds out that ‘Katsuki’ wasn’t the one attempting to kill him.

Izuku’s grip lightens and he pushes Shouto up until he’s sitting. Turning, Shouto makes eye contact with Izuku for half a second before he sees his truth reflected in the ghost’s eyes and he has to stand and walk away, toward the window this time.

The new ghost ignores the scolding he just received, though, looking only at Shouto. “Now you know my name. How ‘bout it?” he offers yet again.

Shaking his head, Shouto refuses to look at anyone else on the roof. “These two clearly know you. If they thought that asking you for help would be a good idea, I would have done it by now. I trust Izuku’s judgment far more than I do yours,” Shouto mutters, just wanting to go back inside at this point and hopefully get away with pretending this didn’t happen.

“Who cares what a worthless Deku has to say? I can help you and that’s all that you need,” Katsuki argues. He doesn’t even see the stormy look blow into Shouto’s eyes before he’s being kicked off the roof, falling to what would be his death if he weren’t already deceased.

“Shouto!” Inko scolds, rushing over to see if Katsuki’s ok, even though the boy has already vanished. “That’s dangerous! Someone could’ve been hurt!”

Shouto shrugs and looks at Izuku, who’s trying to hide his giggles behind his hand. “He was already dead. I don’t see the problem,” he points out before slipping through the window and down the stairs to his own room.

Izuku stops long enough to tell his mom not to follow before he’s trailing after Shouto. The door’s barely shut before Izuku’s asking, “Were you really trying to kill yourself?”

Flopping face first onto his bed, Shouto simply fishes his note out of his pocket and holds it out to Izuku. There’s a moment of silence before the paper is slid from his fingers and then even more silence as Izuku reads what Shouto wrote.

The silence drags on for too long, making Shouto uncomfortable. Eventually, he just has to flip over and face Izuku, who he’s sure must be crying. Shock settles in when Shouto’s met with silent fury rather than the tears he was expecting. “I’m sorry, Izuku,” he apologizes, his voice quiet but no less sincere.

With a shake of his head, Izuku makes the note vanish is a quick burst of flame before he drops onto Shouto’s bed and holds him tight. “Don’t apologize, but never do this again. That was really scary and I don’t want you to die. I promise I won’t let your dad take you if you just promise to talk to me in the future instead of jumping to… jumping,” Izuku says, his voice steel even as it comforts Shouto’s shaken nerves.

“I can do that,” Shouto offers and he’s never felt so relieved as when Izuku’s temperature drops to something more reasonable and he relaxes to a more comfortable embrace. “Can I sleep for a while, it’s been a draining day.”

Izuku nods but doesn’t let go, letting Shouto fall asleep in his arms just like Shouto was hoping for.

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

It’s now or never, Shouto needs to find a way to stay in this house, with out without his father, and if he doesn’t have it sorted out by the end of the day, Father’s going to make him move. They have a plan, Shouto thinks. Izuku has been working on possession, but he’s not willing to practice on Shouto so he’s not really sure what kind of progress the ghost has been making.

He trusts Izuku, though, so he’s sure it’ll work out.

When it comes time for dinner, Shouto is excited to go downstairs for the first time. Father notices this, commenting, “I see you’ve come around to the idea of moving.”

“Yes, Father,” Shouto responds quietly, looking at his plate and decidedly not at Izuku hovering in the corner.

“It’s truly too bad you couldn’t attend the school here, even for a day. There will be an even better school at the new house. Maybe I an even pay Aizawa to transfer so he can still teach you,” Father continues, ignoring Shouto continuing to get more tense the longer he’s able to form his own sentences. Of course, Father wouldn’t know that’s going to stop soon.

Over time, Shouto begins to tune Father out as he goes on and on about where they’re supposed to be moving to. He simply hums in all the correct places while he eats, thanks to years of practice listening for the intonations in Father’s voice requesting a response. All the while, Shouto only occasionally glances at Izuku, where the boy F

Finally, about halfway through the dinner, Izuku pulls it off. Father cuts off in the middle of a sentence, his body seizing up and just freezing, as if he’s suddenly unsure of how to control it. Eyes immediately flying to Izuku, Shouto sees him pumping a fist in the air with a massive smile splitting his face.

Looking back to Father, Shouto speaks quickly but clearly, refusing to lose this chance. “I’m going to be very clear with you, Father. You are going to leave, but I’m not going with you. There are people here I refuse to lose and they refuse to tolerate your abuse any more.”

Shouto watches Izuku’s face tighten as he focuses on loosening the reigns just enough for Father to answer on his own. When he’s able, Father growls, “You don’t make the rules, boy.”

Instinct makes Shouto flinch in his seat, that tone typically meaning pain is coming for him. All that happens this time, though, is Father is jerked back in his seat so hard his chair rocks and his mouth snaps shut.

“Change of plans, then,” Shouto mutters, pulling out his phone and opening the camera. He nods to Izuku as soon as he has a recording started.

Izuku and Enji start speaking simultaneously, though Shouto knows only one voice will be heard in the recording. “My name is Todoroki Enji. I am coming forward to admit to some crimes that I know most of you will never forgive me for. For as long as I have been married, I have abused my family. My wife did not choose to marry me, nor did she choose to be committed to a mental institution after I drove her to hurting our youngest child. Said child, Shouto, did not choose to move away from his family with me. I tore him away because they were in the way of my abusing him into being the child I wanted to create. I am a coward of a man, but I would like to change that. I’m starting the process now by admitting my crimes to you, the public, and letting my family go to live their lives as they please without me in it.”

As soon as Izuku stops speaking, Shouto stops the recording and levels Father with a look. “I am holding all the aces here. This is your last chance to leave me in peace, or I will release this video to the public. It would go viral in minutes and you know it,” Shouto reasons.

Father lunges forward then, his hands on Shouto’s throat before Shouto can even realize what’s happening. “You hold all the aces? Yeah, that’s how this looks,” Father mocks, his grip tightening to the point that Shouto can’t breath.

The next second, Father is ripped away and pinned to the opposite wall. He slams against it so hard that plaster cracks and Shouto’s sure he has a concussion.

Izuku’s on him then, hands fluttering around and tears in his voice, “I’m so sorry, Shouto! I meant to just release his voice again, but I accidentally dropped to much. I’m so sorry!” Father must fight against him because Izuku’s hand flips back and Shouto hears the wall creak under Father’s weight.

Shouto shakes his head, hope leaving him quickly, and he waves Izuku off. “It’s not going to work. Nothing we do will be enough,” he admits, hanging his head. “I can’t keep living like this, though. Forgive me, Izuku.”

It takes Izuku a moment to figure out what Shouto means, and by then he’s already started. Ignoring Izuku’s pleas that they can figure it out, Shouto chants, “Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki.”

There’s another puff of smoke and then, there Katsuki is, his hair bright violet in his excitement. “Hey, old man,” he greets, grabbing Father with a single hand and holding him back from rushing Shouto again, Izuku apparently having released him. “Time for you to go.”

“Don’t kill him,” Shouto requests, not really caring what else happens so long as he doesn’t have his father’s death on his conscience.

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki shoves Father away from himself and looks over his shoulder at Shouto. Father tries to move past him, but Katsuki freezes him in an instant, turning him around to run full force into a cabinet. “I can at least rough him up a little, right?” he requests, as if he hadn’t already started that process.

Shouto shrugs, beyond caring too much. “No worse than he’s done to me,” he limits, though it’s honestly not much of a limit.

It’s with a grin that Katsuki turns back to his prey. It becomes apparent very quickly, though, that Katsuki either can’t or won’t outright harm Father, he only turns his own force against him whenever the man tries to get to Shouto instead of just giving up. Which Shouto is honestly fine with. He doesn’t necessarily want Father harmed, he just wants him to leave him alone. Whatever it takes.

Luckily, it doesn’t take too many redirects for Father to lose his temper and leave. He storms out of the house with Katsuki hot on his tail, throwing taunts as they go, just for Katsuki to stop short at the door the second Father is through it.

“Thanks, kid. That was fun,” Katsuki turns with a grin, his hair magenta with glee. “There’s no way he’s coming back here after that.”

Shouto shrugs, turning to go back to his room. “I wouldn’t count on that. He’s a stubborn man. Thank you for getting rid of him, though. Do whatever you want down here, I’m going upstairs.”

Izuku follows him silently, holding his tongue until they reach Shouto’s room. The second the door shuts, though, the dam breaks. “Is that what you wanted? Your father beaten in front of you? You never mentioned wanting revenge before. Though I guess Mom and I wouldn’t have understood it, so it makes sense to keep it to yourself,” Izuku rambles, and Shouto can’t even tell if his tone is accusing or not.

Rounding on him, Shouto feels frustration bubble in his throat. Finally free after years of abuse followed by an absolute numbness as he watched Father try to hurt him again and again without being able to reach him. “That not what I wanted!” he bites out, wincing when Izuku flinches away from his harsh tone. “I’m sorry,” he utters, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath to let out some frustration. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I truly wanted our attempts at a peaceful separation to work. But you saw him, that wasn’t working. And there’s nothing on this planet I want more than to be free from him. So I’m not sorry that I did whatever it took to get him out. I’m only sorry that you seem to be scared of me now. I guess I’m no better than him after all.”

“That’s not even close to true!” Izuku argues, hesitating for the barest of moments with his hands hovering nears Shouto’s shoulders for the living boy to lean into his touch. Shouto shuts his eyes and relishes in the warmth there, letting the words sink in at the same rate as the temperature indicating that Izuku believes them to be true. “You’re nothing like him and I’m not scared of you. I just wish it didn’t come to that. Plus, I’m concerned about what Katsuki plans to do from here. Something tells me he won’t be satisfied just living here with us.”

A glance at the door doesn’t provide any answers, not that Shouto truly believed it would. Thinking back to the encounter with Father, Shouto wonders aloud, “He seems to be bound by some kind of rules. Partially whatever I command, I think. I don’t know where the other part comes from, but there seemed to be something holding him back from harming Father unless Father initiated it. So I don’t think he’s as dangerous as he led you to believe.”

Izuku ponders his words for a minute before nodding. “I think you’re right,” he agrees. “I was more focused on making sure you were okay, so I didn’t watch them that closely, but that makes sense with what I did see…” He starts mumbling to himself then. Shouto would love to hear his thoughts, but he’s too quiet and talking too quickly for Shouto to understand so he chooses to just go relax until Izuku comes to a conclusion he wants to share.

That never happens, though, and Shouto drifts off to the sound of Izuku muttering to himself.

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

The next two days pass far quieter and more peacefully than anyone could have anticipated. Katsuki entertains himself with scaring anyone who comes to the house, but he never actually hurts anyone so Shouto isn’t too concerned with it. For the most part, as long as the residents of the house leave him alone, Katsuki is content to just do his own thing. On the rare occasion that they do cross paths, Katsuki is his annoying self toward Izuku but he gets along well with Shouto. He listens to whatever the breathing boy tells him to do and even tries to joke around with him or, if Shouto happens to be downstairs when someone comes to the door, Katsuki even tries to get him in on the pranks.

On the third day, Shouto decides that Katsuki is just another kid in a situation he didn’t ask for and is mostly harmless. Once he reaches that conclusion, his family passes through his mind and he wonders if they’d want to join him here.

So, on day three of living with an actual demon, Shouto starts preparing to save his family from his Father for good.

“I’m going to be gone for a couple days but I’ll make Katsuki promise to be nice to you,” Shouto says, already packing a bag and barely looking up when Izuku comes into the room. “And I don’t know how quickly he’ll come back for me, but I’m sure Katsuki will keep Father out as well, so you shouldn’t have to be worried about that.”

“Where are you going?” Izuku asks, unsure about being left with Katsuki. But Shouto seems excited about whatever he’s doing, so Izuku can deal. Surely it won’t be that bad. Katsuki will probably keep himself busy terrorizing the neighborhood and Izuku’s sure he can keep it to a minimum.

When Shouto looks up and Izuku sees his smile, he’s sure that he’d do whatever it takes to keep it there. “I’m going to get Mother and my siblings. They’ll love it here and Katsuki will protect us from Father. Mother has always wanted to live in a small town and I just know she’d love you and Inko.”

Izuku nods along, happy to see Shouto so happy but then he realizes, “Are you sure Katsuki will allow them in here? What if he just chases them away like he did your father?”

Zipping up his back and hoisting it onto his shoulder, Shouto’s easy response is, “And lose a new audience to tell him how great he is? I doubt it. But even if he does, I’m the one who made him visible. I can undo it just as easily.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Izuku jumps at the new addition, flying away from the door and turning to see Katsuki sauntering in.

“It’s almost cute that you think you’re in charge,” Katsuki smirks, strolling forward and getting right in Shouto’s personal space. “You act like I’m your new ghostly pet or something but it’s the other way around, kid. I make the calls and you can’t do any more than jump when I say jump.” Right on cue, Katsuki possesses Shouto and makes him jump. The look on Shouto’s face is a mix of fury and sad betrayal and leaves Izuku wondering if he should feel bad for him or be scared of him. “Now why don’t you just relax and wait for your next command?”

Shouto’s muscles strain as he fights against Katsuki making him sit on his bed, and he jumps up the second the possession is lifted. Unfortunately, by then Katsuki is out of the room. “I thought I summoned him to chase Father away, not replace him as my tormentor,” Shouto grumbles, clenching his fists like he wants to chase Katsuki and fight him.

“There must be some way we can get rid of him,” Izuku says, though he doesn’t have the slightest clue where to start looking for that. “He must have some kind of weakness.”

Izuku’s heart falls when Shouto barely glances at him, shaking his head. “There’s no way. I thought he’d be different but he’s just like Father. He has no weakness and all he cares about is himself. I’m sorry I trapped you with him,” Shouto apologizes, shaking his head mournfully before dropping face first onto his bed.

Excusing himself quietly, Izuku starts to leave the room, not wanting to invade Shouto’s face when he’s sad. He just knows that soon enough he’ll be pacing and muttering to himself in an attempt to find some way to thwart Katsuki, and Izuku’s sure Shouto doesn’t want to listen to that.

Crossing the room, though, Izuku kicks something on the floor. Which is weird, Shouto is the least messy person he knows, there’s no way he’d just leave a book on his floor. Picking it up, Izuku inquisitively reads the title aloud. “Handbook for the Recently Deceased? Where did this come from? I don’t know that I’d count Mom and I as ‘recent’ anymore.”

Perking up, Shouto swings around to look at Izuku like he just found gold. “That must have an answer!” Shouto rushes over and Izuku hands the book over easily. As much as Izuku’s going to help, Shouto will feel better if Izuku lets him be in control. However, Shouto’s brow just furrows and his almost hopeful expression turns to annoyance as the book doesn’t open. “Is this even a real book?”

“It looks like a real book,” Izuku replies, confused and Shouto’s troubles. The other boy hands it over then, and the ghost has no problem cracking the cover. “Maybe it’s because you’re not deceased.”

Glancing at the title of chapter one, The Netherworld, Izuku decides maybe he doesn’t want to read the book right now. After all, he’d rather just stay hanging out with Shouto than go somewhere with a name like that. So, he hands the book over and watches to make sure Shouto can turn a page before handing over the reigns officially. “I’ll read it when we’re done with the Katsuki problem. Until then, it’s all yours,” Izuku offers and Shouto just looks between him and the book.

“Are you sure? This probably has some helpful information for you. Have you and Inko even gone to the Netherworld before?” Shouto asks, reading out what must be the first line in the book when Izuku shakes his head, “All ghosts must proceed directly to the Netherworld.”

Izuku shrugs and waves him off, “It’s fine. This is more important. Mom and I can do that once we’ve fixed all this.” Izuku doesn’t mention that he just doesn’t want to leave his best friend. Shouto seems to accept that answer for now and he moves over to his desk to hunker down with the book. Izuku’s not really sure what he should be doing, though. He doesn’t really want to go to the attic and tell his mom that he found information that could help them but he’s keeping it to himself for selfish reasons. So he just flops on the bed and plays with the little plush rabbit Shouto’s been keeping by his pillow ever since he and Izuku found out that it was still hiding behind the bookcase in the living room.

A few hours later, when the sun starts fading in the window, Izuku asks, “Have you found the chapter on exorcism or anything like that?”

Shouto’s silent for a few seconds before he hums. “I think so. I’m just trying to figure out if it’ll work with a demon.”

Popping up onto his elbows, Izuku’s about to stand up when Shouto brings the book to him. Izuku skims it quickly before shrugging, “I don’t see how it wouldn’t work.”

They meet eyes briefly and Izuku doesn’t need him to speak to know that it’s go time.

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

The two have a brief meeting before they go downstairs, Shouto deciding that maybe Izuku and Inko should be out of the room just in case. Izuku doesn’t love the idea, but he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make Shouto happy. After all, he’s the one who couldn’t scare Enji away before Shouto felt like he needed to turn to Katsuki.

It feels lonely, though, when Shouto walks down the down the stairs by himself. He has to shake away the feeling of going downstairs to “train” with Father. Unlike Father, though, Katsuki barely looks up at Shouto’s descent.

Not wasting any time with negotiation attempts, Shouto jumps straight into reading the exorcism. “Hands vermillion, start of five.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work the way you want it to,” Katsuki cuts in, not even looking at Shouto.

Ignoring him, Shouto continues, “Bright cotillion, raven’s dive.”

Katsuki actually reacts then, standing up and taking a couple steps toward the stairs. “Seriously, stop it you idiotic breather.”

“Nightshade’s promise, spirits strive. To let the living let now the dead come alive.”

Finally, a reaction Shouto expects come, but from the wrong place. That screaming definitely isn’t coming from Katsuki.

Looking up, Shouto follows the sound toward the kitchen. “Inko?” he asks, voice breaking as he stumbles down the stairs. Inko floats in the doorway, her head thrown back and a green glow surrounding her. She hasn’t screamed a second time, but her limbs are stiff and her face, what little Shouto can see of it from his current angle, is twisted in pain. “What happened?”

When Shouto reaches Inko, he hestitates to try to hold her, unsure if it will cause her more pain. Instead, he rounds on Katsuki. “What happened!? This was supposed to be you!”

Katsuki smirks and comes forward, flicking the book out of Shouto’s hands. “You shouldn’t mess with things you don’t understand, kid. I even tried to warn you,” Katsuki says smugly.

Looking back at Inko, Shouto grows desperate. He hears a gasp from the stairs and in an instant, he’s being replaced at Inko’s side by Izuku. “Please,” Shouto pleads, not even caring about his pride or the fact that it’s been years since he’s let himself beg, “save her. I know you can do something. I’ll do whatever you say, just please fix this.”

Another scream cuts through the air and Shouto flinches. He can’t look at his best friend, he knows only hatred will be looking back at him. So he just stares at Katsuki, the other boy rubbing his chin as if he’s thinking about the offer even though Shouto knows the demon already has his mind made up.

After what feels like an eternity, Katsuki grins and nods. “Alright, I’ll help her. But there will be a cost,” he offers, a dark look on his face that would make Shouto backtrack if this were literally any other situation.

“Anything,” Shouto breathes at the same time Izuku lunges forward, crying, “No!”

It’s too late, though, Katsuki sweeps Shouto into his arms and whisks him out of Izuku’s reach with a smirk. “Marry me,” Katsuki commands and Shouto’s not sure what he thought the price would be, but it certainly wasn’t that. All things considered, it could be worse.

Izuku clearly thinks otherwise though, pounding on an invisible wall that Katsuki must have thrown up to prevent any interruption. “Katsuki, that’s too far! You’re making him marry you just to spite me? I’ll leave. Save my mom and we’ll go to the Netherworld. You never have to see us again. Just don’t do that to Shouto!” Izuku yells, fury in his tone even as his words sound like pleas.

Katsuki laughs then, dropping Shouto onto the couch before perching on the back of it himself. “This isn’t even about you, Deku. It’s more of a greencard thing. I want to be alive again and marrying a breather is the only way I can do that. You losers can have this house for all I care just as soon as I’m allowed to leave it.”

Shouto holds up a hand toward Izuku when the ghost looks like he wants to argue further. “You heard him, Izuku. What’s the problem if it’s just a greencard thing. Let him save her. Please.” All of the fight leaves Izuku when Shouto tacks on the last word.

Looking around with satisfaction, Katsuki asks, “So we’re all in agreement, then?” When he gets no further resistance, he waves a hand toward Inko, the woman falling to her knees and gasping in breathes that they all know she doesn’t need. Izuku rushes to her side, checking that she’s actually ok, and Shouto’s busy watching them so he doesn’t even see Katsuki’s next move.

All attention is drawn back to the blonde when he knocks three times on a wall. “Alright. I know Shouto won’t follow through with his end of the bargain if that useless Deku is here to talk him out of it, so I think it’s about time you two head to the Netherworld.” Slowly, a door appears behind him and creaks open, bright green light flooding out of it. Shouto watches Izuku and Inko get dragged toward it, gears turning and anger bubbling under his skin.

“You said they could stay,” Shouto argues, his voice quiet under the sounds of wind unfelt by the living dragging the two ghost to the other dimension.

Katsuki hears him, though, and he shrugs with a smirk. “I lie. Get used to it,” he says by way of explanation.

Invisible bonds hold Shouto to the couch so he can’t even try to get up and save the ghosts from the fate he made for them.

An idea hits him when they’re almost at the door.

“Can I at least say goodbye? Don’t I deserve at least that much?” Shouto questions, locking eyes with Katsuki. Izuku and Inko’s progress halts for a second while Katsuki thinks, and then Shouto’s bonds are gone.

“Fine, but make it snappy,” Katsuki relents, walking away from the door, surely not wanting to hear whatever sappy things Shouto’s going to say.

The ghosts wrap Shouto in a tight hug as soon as he gets close enough. “I promise, I’ll fix this,” he murmurs in their hair as he hugs them back. Adrenaline buzzes in his ears so he doesn’t even hear what they have to say, but the hug is over too soon, the ghosts being dragged away from him again.

Izuku goes first and Shouto doesn’t know if it’s fear or Katsuki keeping him still, but there’s a split second where he can’t move.

But then he is. He doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster in his life than when he surges forward, shoving Inko back into the living room and throwing himself through the door in her place.

The door slams shut behind him and Shouto is left in absolute darkness.

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

It’s cold in the Netherworld. The chill bites down into Shouto’s bones and he hates that his first thought is wondering if Izuku feels it. He shouldn’t be concerned with whether or not Izuku could use a sweater, the gaping emptiness before him is bound to be more uncomfortable for Izuku than any temperature change could be.

Shouto shakes the thought off, or maybe that’s a shiver, and starts walking. He has no clue where he’s going, there’s only darkness surrounding him, but it’s not like there’s still a doorway for him to turn around and go back. Not that he would if that were an option. He came to save Izuku and he’ll be damned if he’s not successful.

He will admit, he wasn’t expecting to somehow be deposited in an entire other part of the Netherworld, but that’s not the point either. He doesn’t let himself think that maybe he’ll never see Izuku again. Instead, he skips that part of the journey entirely and starts wondering about what to do when he does find Izuku and they go home. He ponders over what to do with Katsuki the entire time he walks, never quite settling on a stellar plan.

Eventually, when his fingers are just starting to go numb despite being jammed into his armpits due to a lack of pockets, he sees light. He wonders briefly if this is the light they talk about seeing when you die, but then he hears a voice that makes all thought lose his head. He’s too far still to hear words, but that’s definitely Izuku’s voice talking to someone, or possibly arguing, and Shouto is sprinting toward it as fast as he can.

The light seemed so far away at first, but now it’s so sudden. Almost as if it was rushing toward him even as Shouto ran toward it. The idea makes no sense, but then again, neither does anything else in the Netherworld.

When Shouto comes crashing in, he nearly trips over his own feet trying to stop so suddenly. But he doesn’t even care, he’s just so relieved to see Izuku.

“Shouto!” Izuku gasps, and it’s as if everything else just disappears in that moment for the ghost. “How did you even get here? And do you know where Mom is?”

Izuku rushes to Shouto’s side and wraps him in a hug immediately. “I followed you in,” Shouto breathes out, then pausing to catch his breath. Izuku holds Shouto at arm’s length away then and Shouto sees the million questions on his lips so he simply holds up a finger, needing a second to catch up before he can handle that. He must be smiling, though, because Izuku slowly starts grinning back at him. “I couldn’t just let Katsuki send you away like that so I stole your mom’s place. She’s still at your house,” he finally explains when he gets his breath back.

He can’t help himself then, Izuku starts laughing and he has to pull Shouto in for another hug before it turns to crying. Shouto is so hot everywhere they make contact, and that just makes Izuku cry even harder. “Why would you do something like that? We would have come back for you,” Izuku questions even though he’s so happy that Shouto came for him. Thrilled that the boy cares enough to save them both.

Shouto shrugs, and the minute drop in temperature tells Izuku that he does know exactly why he did it, but Izuku will save pressing it for later.

“This is touching and all,” a woman cuts in and when Shouto glances over, he sees a girl with long black hair, green skin, and a sash reading ‘Miss Argentina’ watching them in confusion, “but what, exactly, is happening right now?” Shouto doesn’t even have a chance to answer, too distracted by the fact that somehow, he’s now in an office of some sort. Or a reception area at the very least, judging by the chairs opposite the counter that the woman’s standing in front of. Only one chair is occupied, a boy in glasses ignoring all the ruckus to read a book tucked away in the corner.

Izuku pulls away and blushes before bowing toward the woman. “I’m sorry, Miss Argentina, this is Shouto. He moved into the house Mom and I were haunting and I guess he’s the reason Mom’s not here. I apologize for trying to argue with you that she was earlier.”

The woman seems to stop listening to Izuku halfway through, her brows raising as she takes in Shouto. “This is a breather, you said?” she questions, coming closer to inspect him better. When Izuku nods, she almost seems to jerk away. “You need to get out of here right now. If Mitsuki sees you, you won’t be breathing for much longer. And you’re far to cute to die so young.”

“There’s a breather here?” another voice asks and Shouto looks over at the boy, now noticing glass and metal protruding from his body like he was just in a car accident, jump up and run over to see the two. “That’s trouble. Listen to her. You’re in serious danger here. Why would you come in the first place? Did either of you even read the Handbook for the Recently Deceased?” The boy holds up his now closed book and Shouto almost wonders how he was supposed to read a book he’s never even seen before.

Izuku nods quickly and steps in before Shouto can challenge the boy and ask that. “We’ll gladly be on our way back home now. There’s no need for trouble.” He fumbles then to pull a piece of chalk from his pocket and Shouto will need to ask him later where he even got that.

“Thank you for keeping him safe until I got here,” Shouto says to the woman while Izuku hastily starts drawing on a wall.

Before Miss Argentina can even respond, let alone Izuku being able to finish drawing the doorway, a woman yells, ���Has anyone seen my useless son? What is he up to now?”

Shouto has no idea what’s happening, but the two Netherworldly beings freeze. Then they look at each other in fear. Then they’re hastily trying to hide Shouto from whatever woman just yelled and is clearly on her way to the room they’re in now. Shouto doesn’t know where she’s coming from, but he guesses he should stop trying to make sense of this place.

When he’s roughly grabbed and shoved toward Izuku, Shouto finally looks toward where he was standing and he sees a door right behind where he just was swing open. Striding through is a woman with spiky yellow hair, red eyes, and a gash that’s hard to ignore going across her neck. Shouto can’t help but think of Katsuki when he looks at her and he wonders if Katsuki is the ‘useless son’ she just yelled about.

He can’t get any answers, though, as suddenly he’s being yanked through the door and then he and Izuku are standing in the attic of their home. They share one look before they’re hugging again, and Shouto revels in the feel of the cold boy in his arms, even as the rest of him is tingling from warming up too quickly.

“I’m happy we’re home,” Izuku utters after a moment’s peace, “but what are we going to do about Katsuki? He won’t let you live if you don’t marry him, but I won’t let him kill you, either.”

Shouto pulls away just enough for Izuku to see him smirk and he says, “I have a plan.”

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

“Oh, Katsuki!” Shouto calls, making his voice soft and inviting. He first focuses on making sure Katsuki is looking at him, then he looks at the demented carnival game he has Inko trapped in. She seems suspending in some sort of dunk tank, but Shouto is sure that whatever she’d fall into when Katsuki gets bored of playing and hits the mark will hurt a lot more than water.

Descending the stairs, Shouto walks straight up to Katsuki and throws an arm around his shoulder, leaning against the slightly shorter boy. “What do you want, Half ‘n Half?” Katsuki scowls, shoving Shouto off of him immediately. Shouto makes sure to hold his attention, though, refusing to look over Katsuki’s shoulder to where Izuku helps his mom escape the dunk tank.

Shouto frowns, feigning a pout and holds his hand up, palms out, to try and placate Katsuki. “I got a chance to think when I was in the Netherworld. And during that time, I realized that you are actually pretty attractive. So I would like to marry you.”

Katsuki scoffs and stomps toward Shouto, stopping inches away from his face. “Stop the bullshit,” he growls, giving Shouto a hard shove in the shoulders and making him stumble back, falling on his butt.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto stands back up and dusts himself off. This clearly angers Katsuki, but that will just make it easier. “Fine. I realized that Izuku actually is useless. But marrying you could give me the power I need. It’s a win/win.”

“And why should I believe you?” Katsuki sneers, but he doesn’t make a move against Shouto, so they must be getting somewhere.

Shouto shrugs and takes a step toward Katsuki again, testing him. When there’s no reaction, he says, “My dad will be back again. I need a way to keep him out. You know I don’t need any motive other than that and you’re the only one who can help me do that.”

Katsuki seems like he’s almost swayed but then Shouto throws in, “Plus, wouldn’t you just love to prove that you’re better than Deku? He could never convince a living person to marry him, yet you’ve got me here practically begging for it.”

That’s all it takes. Katsuki nods and snaps his fingers and just like that, they’re in bright red tuxedos that could not be more uncomfortable and a small gargoyle looking creature is emerging from the woodwork. Katsuki doesn’t even give the creature time to speak, simply snapping out, “I do,” and looking expectantly for Shouto to do the same. Shouto says it back and, with another poof, the creature is gone again, along with all the contraptions Katsuki created when he was waiting for Shouto and Izuku to return.

“Did it work?” Shouto asks, looking expectantly at Katsuki. He looks more alive, his face actually pink instead of blue tinged white, but that could mean nothing.

But then Katsuki laughs and it’s not the sarcastic sound Shouto is used to from him. No. This sound actually joyful. “Oh yeah, here we go!” Katsuki cheers and he’s so excited, Shouto almost wants to call off the rest of his plan. Would it really hurt anything to just let Katsuki be alive? “I forgot how it felt to… feel,” Katsuki says then, the grin still on his face.

Izuku steps forward then, a smile on his own face, and Shouto can tell just by looking at him that he’s having the same doubts as Shouto. “I’m glad it worked, Katsuki,” he congratulates but the second Katsuki looks at him, the smile drops and he practically snarls at Izuku.

“No one asked you, Deku. Why don’t you just go to the Netherworld?” Katsuki snaps and, oh yeah, that’s why Shouto doesn’t want to keep him around. “I know how to send you there, you know. The fact that I’m alive now changes nothing.”

All it takes is Katsuki prowling a single step toward Izuku. In and instant, Shouto is reaching for the fireplace poker and surging forward all in one motion. Katsuki either doesn’t hear him coming or doesn’t have time to respond, but either way, the poker is soon sticking out of his back as he falls forward.

Shouto barely hears Inko’s gasp, clearly not completely up to speed with the plan, and he pulls the poker out of Katsuki’s back even as his attention is already turning toward Izuku. “You almost wanted to just go with it too, didn’t you?” Izuku asks, his eyes still on the blond boy on the floor.

Shrugging, Shouto tosses the poker to the side and takes a few steps away. He knows this is his own plan, but now that he’s done and he sees that Izuku clearly feels some sort of remorse, he can’t help but feel guilty. “How am I different from my father?” he asks, his voice low and he’s not sure if he even means for other people to hear him.

“Shouto!” Izuku gasps, rushing forward and stopping just short of putting his hands on Shouto’s shoulders. Shouto doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s ok to touch him, but he also doesn’t move away. Izuku closes the gap then, still giving Shouto a chance to pull away, and when he moves forward into the touch he just reenforces Izuku’s suspicion that Shouto doesn’t know how to ask for physical affection, but he will be clear when doesn’t want it. “Your father hurt people for no reason. Katsuki is a literal demon. If you didn’t do what you did, it would only be a matter of time until he did much worse to a lot of innocent people. I’m so-”

Supportive words are cut off by a bang and fog pouring into the room. Izuku and Shouto both jump at the sound, immediately looking to Katsuki, who’s still laying on the floor. Though, they don’t really know if his body will stay there or not. No one really warned them what would happen after they killed a demon that they brought back to life. Will they have to dispose of a dead body somehow?

“Excuse me,” Inko starts, dragging the boys’ attention back to the origin of the fog, where blond woman from the Netherworld is walking through. “Who are you and why are you in my home?”

Red eyes narrow and the woman completely ignores Inko, instead sweeping the room until they settle on Shouto. “You,” she snarls, finger pointing as she stomps over to him, “You’re the breather who came to the Netherworld. That’s not how things work, kid. If you want in the Netherworld, you’ve gotta be dead.”

The woman doesn’t even notice Inko stepping forward then, and she crashes directly into her when Inko plants herself between the woman and Shouto. She turns her glare on Inko and she’s opened her mouth to turn her rage on her as well when Inko cuts in. “I still don’t know who you are but you can leave now. There is no way you are going to be harming a single hair on either of those boys heads.”

At Inko’s harsh tone, the woman blinks in confusion before smirking. Shouto doesn’t understand how she’s still so confident, he’s terrified of Inko in this moment and her rage isn’t even directed at him. He’s also happy that he can’t see her face, but her hair is writhing around her head like a mass of snakes and she’s a feint green color is emanating from her body.

“I see you learned how to haunt. How cute,” the Netherworlder taunts before reaching out to push Inko to the side. That is, she tries to before she gets distracted by the body on their floor. “You killed my son? He got some sucker to bring him back to life just to get himself killed again?”

Finally, a groan sounds from Katsuki’s direction and Shouto spares a glance to see that he’s pushing himself up, as if summoned by his mother noticing him. “You stabbed me in the back?” he asks, exasperation dripping from his tone. He turns to look at his killer only to get distracted by the newest addition to the group. “What are you doing here, you old hag?”

“Katsuki, you brat! Get yourself to the Netherworld right now!” his mother snaps, Shouto apparently forgotten in her rage at her own son.

Katsuki just scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “These guys are pretty entertaining, even if they did kill me. I think I’m gonna hang out here,” he challenges and Shouto can’t not notice the way he flinches back when his mother easily side steps Inko to stalk toward him. It reminds him a little too much of himself and Father.

There’s no thought process, Shouto’s just moving the next second, trying to get between a boy and his abusive parent like he wishes anyone would have done for him.

Inko beats him there. She’s floating now so she’s the same height as Katsuki’s mother and the glow around her body is a lot brighter now. Not to mention the light shining out of her eyes that would surely blind someone if they looked straight at it. “Get. Out. Of. My. House!” Inko commands and just like that, the woman is shot back like she’s being pushed by a strong gust of wind. She just barely manages to catch herself in the doorway to the Netherworld, but the door slams shut before she can get a single other word out.

Just like that, the glowing is gone, and Inko drops to the floor and rounds on Katsuki. He balks when she puts her hands on each of his cheeks, stopping him from moving away while she inspects him. “You will have to shape up a little and be nicer to my boys. But if you would like to, you can stay here and I will make sure that woman never hurts you again,” she promises, her eyes locked with Katsuki’s. “If you’d rather move on, you’re welcome to do that, too. There’s no pressure, but my offer will always be open. As long as you promise not to kill any more people.”

Katsuki rips his face out of her hands and looks anywhere other than at any of the people in the room. “One of your boys literally just killed me,” he mutters, but he clearly realizes the fault in pointing that out when Inko’s gaze hardens and they all flash back to moments before that when Katsuki threatened Izuku’s existence. “Fine. I promise.”

With a smile and a nod, Inko stands up and looks at Izuku and Shouto. “Quite an exciting day we’ve had, huh? Why don’t we all just get cleaned up and reconvene for dinner?”

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

“Hey, Izuku, can I talk to you for a second?” Shouto asks after he cleans up in his room, seeing Izuku going downstairs to meet his mom in the kitchen.

Smiling up at him, Izuku pauses on the landing. “Of course, what’s up?”

Shouto hurries down the stairs to stand with Izuku, suddenly more scared of this conversation than anything else that’s happened since he moved into a haunted house. “I’m going to ask you a question. It might be crazy or dumb or something that’ll make you hate me, but I need to know the answer,” he starts, trying to steel his nerves.

Izuku laughs then, grabbing Shouto’s hands, making Shouto look at him. “Nothing could ever make me hate you. Now, what’s got you so worked up that you’re practically on fire?”

“If getting married brought Katsuki back to life, do you think it could bring you back?” Shouto asks, his nerves showing through in a cracked voice even though his eyes never leave Izuku’s and his hands are steady where they’re connected to the ghost’s.

Izuku jerks back in surprise, his hands nearly losing form for a second, only staying real from the heat emanating from Shouto. The surety in that heat shocks Izuku and he starts shaking his head before he can even think of words to say. Shouto’s eyes stay firm, though, and he patiently waits for Izuku’s explanation before pushing the matter. “You can’t marry me!” Izuku finally cries. He can’t believe this is even happening, especially since Shouto still seems so sure of his choice, his hands squeezing briefly like he’s reminding Izuku that he’s gonna need more than that if he’s going to be dissuaded. “You’re alive, Shouto! And you’re 15 years old. Don’t throw that away on a ghost. I can be here for you just like this, I don’t need life.” The words hurt Izuku to say and if he could cry, surely he would be by now. He has to look away, the intensity in Shouto’s gaze is making it hard for him to stand firm here.

“You said it yourself the other night,” Shouto says, “if we had met when we were alive, you’d have a crush on me. I know I like you, Izuku. And you don’t have to stay with me forever, but can’t you at least take another chance at being alive?”

Izuku’s heart breaks because he knows Shouto’s being serious, he always is. But still, “What happens when you get bored with me?” The words come out in a whisper, but they feel so much louder when Izuku never meant to say them at all.

The warmth leaves Izuku’s hands and he almost wishes he could cry now that he is alone. Utterly alone. But then it appears on his cheeks and he’s being forced to look at Shouto.

“I will never be bored of you, Izuku. But you deserve the chance to get bored of me.” The truth of that statement burns and Izuku wonders if that would be painful if he could still feel things like physical pain. “Besides, you heard what Katsuki said, it’s a green card thing. If you don’t want to be with me romantically, the marriage isn’t even legal for the living world anyway.”

Finally, Izuku hiccups a laugh and he begins to think this might actually be an okay idea. He’s just about to nod, about to give his consent to a lifetime of being tied to Shouto, when he hears a creak behind him and both himself and Shouto jerk their gazes to the creaky floorboard in the living room. Looking up at them is Inko, and much like Izuku, she looks like she would be crying if they should.

Shouto looks back to Izuku and he sees the conflict raging in him. He’s not stupid, he knows that Izuku feels guilty for his mom’s death. He wouldn’t be surprised if Izuku chose to stay dead just for his mother’s sake, even though Shouto knows Inko would never approve of that choice. He resigns himself to the rejection even before Izuku looks back to him with heartbreak in his eyes but a shaky smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, Shouto, but I can’t.” And with that, he’s gone. When Shouto looks back down the stairs, Inko is gone too.

Slowly, Shouto trudges his way to his room. He knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t help being upset. All he wants to do is repay Izuku for all the help he’s given him in the last week of living together. Plus, it wouldn’t be terrible to have an actual friend for the first time in his life when he starts school in a few weeks. Shouto crashes into his bed, not even bothering to change out of his wedding tux, and soon enough he decides he deserves the discomfort of the outfit. After all, it’s got nothing on how he must have made Izuku feel, trying to shove his feelings onto the boy. After all, Izuku already has so much of his own troubles, not to mention how much he’s already taken on for Shouto, he shouldn’t have to take that on too.

That thought process can only go on for so long before Shouto has to drag himself out of bed and toward the stairs. There is a single moment when he reaches them and Shouto almost goes down. In that moment, he wonders if it’d be for the best to just leave the Midoriyas and not burden them anymore, even with something as seemingly simple as a goodbye. But then he thinks about how sad he would be if he never saw Izuku again and he knows he has to at least tell them why he’s leaving. So up he goes.

When Shouto reaches the attic, the Midoriyas aren’t even there. Not that he should have expected them to be. He’d probably hide from himself if he were in their position. Looking around, Shouto wonders if he should just wait for them to come back or if he should write them a note to find when they return. Time works differently for them, so leaving a note is probably the smart thing to do, but he really wants to see them one more time.

Voices drift into the room, ripping Shouto from his thoughts. He can’t tell what they’re saying but he knows them. He follows the sound to the window, which he finds to be slightly open, and there he sees Inko and Izuku on the roof. If he didn’t know them better, Shouto would even say they were arguing.

“-eason to turn him down. I love you, Izuku, and I will always love you. You don’t need to be stuck here with me for that,” Inko says, tears in her voice even though Shouto knows she can’t produce them anymore.

“Why should I get another chance at life, Mom?” Izuku asks, his voice so broken that it brings tears to Shouto’s eyes for the first time since he got his scar. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled and Shouto looks back up from scrubbing away the tears to see that it’s because Izuku’s face is buried in Inko’s shoulder. “I’m the reason we died, Mom. If anyone should live again, it should be you.”

Inko pushes Izuku away and holds him at arm’s length by his shoulders. “Now, Izuku, I never want to hear you say that again,” Inko scolds, her voice almost as firm as it was when she was telling Mitsuki to leave Shouto and Katsuki alone. “You are not the reason we died. Just as much as I didn’t kill my baby by choosing to leave the house that day. I know it’s hard to accept, but this is just what the universe had in store for us and nothing we do can change the universe’s plan. But now it’s offering you another chance and if you turn it down because of me, I could never forgive myself.”

It’s obviously difficult for him, but Izuku slowly nods at her before collapsing into her arms for a hug. “But what if Shouto was just caught up in the moment and doesn’t mean it? I really like him, Mom, what will I do if he was just being nice?”

Shouto has no doubt that Inko knows the right words to fix it for Izuku, but he has to step in before she needs to. Climbing onto the roof, Shouto says, “I wasn’t just being nice, Izuku. I’m sure this is strange or unusual, but I would really like a chance to date you.”

Izuku jumps when he hears Shouto, but Inko just smiles at him and Shouto wonders if she knew he was there all along. “Are… Are you sure?” Izuku asks, wringing his hands and looking back and Inko like he’s asking both of them for permission one final time; asking Inko if he can really be happy and Shouto if it can really be with him.

Shouto smiles and steps forward, reaching for Izuku’s hands with both of his. Izuku knows if he reaches out for them there will be fire waiting for him, but he reaches anyway and relishes in the burn. “I went to hell and back for you, Izuku. I’ve never been more sure.”

Izuku laughs at that even though he knows Shouto’s not joking and finally. Finally he says with a certainty he doesn’t think he’s ever had before, “Ok. I’ll marry you.” Just like that, the fire is gone from his hands. With the intensity leaving so suddenly, Izuku misses the more gentle warmth and bursts into tears, thinking it was all just some massive joke the universe was playing on him.

But then, he feels the wetness on his cheeks and oh yeah, that’s what it feels like to be able to cry, and what’s that roughness on his cheeks. Opening his eyes, Izuku sees Shouto looking at him with concern flooding his eyes and a frown tugging his lips down. “I didn’t know you had so many callouses, too,” he says, reaching up to cup Shouto’s hands where they work at wiping away his tears. Just as suddenly as he came to life, a smile bursts through his tears and he beams up at Shouto.

The frown is wiped from Shouto’s face in an instant, a small smile of his own replacing it, and he leans closer to knock his forehead against Izuku’s. Izuku tries to keep looking at Shouto, but he’s forced to close his eyes when he can’t focus at such a close proximity. “Your voice sounds different now. More solid.”

“I was scared it didn’t work,” Izuku admits quietly, now that he can’t see whatever expression Shouto is making and he’s sure everything is real.

Shouto huffs out a laugh and nods, “Me too.” It takes real effort to pick his head up, and Izuku whines when he does, but he needs to see Izuku for real. Know that he’s really there. Dragging his eyes over him, he thinks he looks more real than before, but he also doesn’t really know how he expects him to look. It’s not like Shouto thought he looked dead before.

But then Izuku opens his eyes and they are so vibrant that Shouto can’t believe he ever thought that dull green from before was how they were supposed to look.

“So,” Shouto asks, and he can feel the dopey smile on his face that matches the one beaming right back at him, “what do you want to do now that you’re alive?”

#my beetlejuice academia #i'm thinking of changing the title to 'my hero beetlejuice' #because that's funnier #i'm so tired dude #this took so much from me

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

Our last winter, 25/31

► Our last winter - Human!Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler. ► Written for @doctorroseprompts 31 days of ficmas. Day 25: Carolling. ► AU Verse, Teen. ► 1,563 words. ► A/N: This is a prequelle to Ghost of you.

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is time for home.” - Edith Sitwell.

The days following the eclipse were complete madness. No one had ever seen that. Not in this century. Shortly after, the hospitals from all Europe were flocked with people presenting the same symptoms: black eyes, pale face, exposed venules, intolerance to every kind of light. The cause was clear for everyone: all those people had been exposed to the eclipse and the lack of light had disturbed their system. They just had to wait a couple days for them to disappear. The analysis that were done on them were showing nothing really serious about those symptoms but it was scary to see those perfectly normal people wandering in the streets at night because they couldn’t do it on day. A joke had been made about them acting like vampires but it had been funny only for a small moment. Christmas was coming and those people were losing themselves.

As scientists, Maxence and Rose were very curious about the consequences of this eclipse. Harvey wasn’t making them work on it yet. Apart from the astronomy section who was still studying the events of the 21th, every other section was back to their current works. It was hard to focus when Christmas was coming. The streets were full of those improvised singers with Christmas jumpers and ants on their heads pretending to spread the Christmas spirit with carols. Maxence hated this, the carols singers and their ways to bother people by knocking on their doors. If you opened, you had to stay there and listen to them and pretend that you’re amazed by this all. He wasn’t. He really wasn’t. That was why he never opened the door and pretended to be absent if he saw them through the peephole.

Today, he had finished work sooner than Rose and had come home to make plans for his engineering project and gather the necessary tools to start working. He was so focused on this that when the doorbell rang, he jumped and cut his finger on the model he was building. He swore and sucked on the blood. He left his home office and walked to the door. He totally forgot to look through the spyhole and opened the door, frustrating. He groaned and rolled his eyes when he saw a group of carols singers before him. Someone had let them inside the building. He closed the door when they started singing. He had been interrupted for this? This was making him angry, really angry. It didn’t get any better as one of the neighbours kept letting those groups come in. Furious to always be bothered, he grabbed a permanent red marker pen and made a sign.

When Rose came home that evening and the sign, she decided that she was going to mock him. She took the sign off and came in the flat. She hung her coat and hat and got rid of her shoes. The place was quiet. Maxence probably was in his office as usual. She threw the sign on the kitchen table and headed to the hidden spot of her husband. She observed him while he was working. This model he was building looked good so far but there had been some damages to his fingers according to the band-aids he had around the tips of his fingers. She stood there without a word. He was being so focused on his work that he hadn’t seen or heard her yet. It meant she could prank him more easily. She silently rushed to their room and pulled on her Christmas jumper before coming back to his office. She leant close to his ear and started singing.

  “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way.”

  Maxence jumped and let go of his screwdriver that rolled under the desk. He groaned again and turned around absolutely furious about being bothered again. Was the sign not good enough? Had they not any respect for someone’s privacy?

  “Who the hell let you in?”

  He felt stupid when he realised that it was his wife who had come home finally. His wife who was particularly happy with the reaction he had had because of her prank. She was looking at him with that bright smile on her face. She was so proud of this. He glared at her.

  “You’ve seen the sign, right?”

“I’ve seen it. Quite clear.”

“Not for everyone obviously,” he mumbled.

  He hated when she was mocking him that way. They all had their OCD and pet peeves and carols singers were one of his. Why was she finding it strange that he didn’t like them? It was people coming to your home to sing songs you already knew by heart and bothering you whatever you were doing. It was rather rude.

  “Oh, come on. You love the Christmas spirit and you love playing Santa Claus but you don’t like Christmas songs, that’s pretty paradoxical to me.”

“It’s not that I don’t like Christmas songs, it’s just that I hate people coming to bother me in my home to sing me those songs. That might a source of marvelment for many but not for me. I like being in peace at home.”

“To work on your new engineering project?”

  She was often doing that, changing the subject that was infuriating him to change his mood. He always noticed it but never said anything about this habit of hers. He was doing it too sometimes. He was glad that Rose was doing this now though. He would love speaking about his new project.

  “Look at this. My now prototype.”

“What’s supposed to be?”

“A new type of remote-controlled car. I’ve had that idea when I was driving this sleigh.”

“How does it work?”

  She was looking at all the papers and drawings scattered around him. These were drafts for his projects and he was trying to find the best way to make this not so new invention look revolutionary. People were working on cars that could drive themselves with a good programming. The first one that would manage to do that would be a quite a genius. Maxence had gathered all those researches for this project.

  “After how many doctorates will you stop?”

“I like learning new things.”

“Molecular biology, cell biology, genetics and now, engineering?”

“You’ve forgotten my doctorate in foreign languages and civilisations.”

“You’ve got four doctorates and you want one more?”

“Why not?”

  Indeed. Why not? With the intelligence he had, he could study almost anything and have any doctorates. He wasn’t doing this for the certifications. He was doing this for all the knowledge. He loved learning new stuff. That was why he was still studying when everyone was stopping them when they had what they wanted.

  “You could be a teacher one day.”

“I don’t know. I like the ‘scientist on the field’ status. I’m not much of a teacher me. Don’t have that patience.”

“You had it with Clara.”

“It was different.”

“And Liv.”

“And you.”

“Yes. If you’ve been able to teach the three of us, you can teach anyone.”

“Are you considering yourself and your friends as stupid?”

“I never said that.”

“It didn’t sound like very positive though.”

“I was trying to point out your extraordinary teaching skills.”

“Do you think I should have a doctorate in teaching?”

“You could be a lecturer.”

  Maxence smiled. Him, a lecturer. It would be funny to watch. He was always making digressions and losing himself in them and in the end, your lesson didn’t look like one. He didn’t have the teaching streak, nor the patience. He was already giving some interviews when he was asked to and it was a real pain for him and for the journalists who were coming for him.

  “Have you seen me during an interview?”

“You’re a mess.”

“Yes.”

“You’re so clever because your brain is working faster than the normal people. They can’t follow you.”

  He was gonna answer but he was stopped before he could. There were more of these singers outside the building. He ran to the bathroom and filled a bucket. He opened the kitchen window that was giving on the street below and threw it on the new group singing out of tune down the building. Those ones weren’t gonna come in. He had had enough for the day.

  “Max!” screamed Rose, outraged.

  He slammed the window close and put the bucket away. The singers were protesting and insulting the ‘son of a bitch’ that was daring throwing them a bucket full of cold water. If they ever found out who it was, they were gonna beat him down until he begged for mercy. And then, they wouldn’t stop. They would make him go through the hell.

  “What? Those ones were drunk or high. You would want them in the building? Our security is more important than stupid Christmas songs.”

“You really don’t like them, don’t you?”

“The only version I like is the one where you sing.”

“That can be possible.”

  They smiled at each other. The deal was made. Maxence gave up on working for today and headed for a shower while Rose was checking the leftovers to cook a dinner. It was amazing how she could do a real meal with almost nothing. When he came back to her, she was singing the traditional Christmas tunes and he couldn’t help but sing along with her…

Our last winter © | 2018 | Tous droits réservés.

×××

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#doctor who #doctorroseprompts #ninth doctor #human!nine #rose tyler #doctor x rose #prompt fulfilment #31 days of ficmas #day 25: carolling #our last winter

[skgway]

1823 Aug., Wed. 27

6 1/4

12 10/60

An hour in the stable and about – Read a few pages of volume 1 Rousseau that I had read before, and at 8 1/2 sauntered along the new road and met Miss Pickford 1/2 way down the old bank – We walked along the new road almost to Hipperholme lane ends, and got back here to breakfast at 9 50/60 –

Dearden the joiner, from West parade H–x [Halifax], came to take measure for the entrance gates and Miss P– [Pickford] and we all went to order about them – Shewed her and bade her read over (which she did) a few of the most particular pages of volume 1 Rousseau – 

At 11 1/2 George rode Caradoc and led Hotspur, and Miss P– [Pickford] and I walked on before to H–x [Halifax] – Went thro’ the town to Lowe the Taylor’s about my pelisse-sleeves mending – Thence sent George an errand and to meet us at Savile-hill while I mounted, but soon dismounted finding I could not talk comfortably, and led Hotspur and walked with Miss P– [Pickford] the people staring at us –

Sauntered about a little in Bull-close lane, Miss P– [Pickford] shewing me a letter of Miss Catherine Renouard’s chiefly in good French – Relative to Miss Threlfall, who seems to have behaved very scurvily to her and by this means much annoyed Pic. I think Miss Threlfall is not worth much. She has just sent to Pic to pay money for her within five pounds of all the income she knows she has now to receive. 

Pic has advanced absolutely half her fortune for her. Once redeemed her small Lancashire property and Miss Threlfall went and mortgaged it against. Pic has security of the West India property but does not think it would be enough to pay her. Cannot persuade her to arrest the lady. She will pay this further sum. Has three houses to keep and has had long her brothers and Miss Threlfall and her own jointly with Miss Alexander. She used to be of extravagant habits but now her personal expenses are next to nothing. She is left so bare –

Had I not heard so much of Miss Catherine Renouard’s cleverness, I should not have certainly guessed it from the style and manner of her writing – But should have given her credit for a good deal of heart –

Mounted Hotspur at Savile hill at 12 40/60, and went on the moor – Rode round – Hotspur not quite so steady as before – But when I had got about 1/2 round made a furious start, took me by surprise, and threw me – I was on the ground and had got up again before I quite knew what I was about – He behaved very well did not attempt to run away and I instantly remounted –

Not hurt, but a little shaken and feeling the inside of my left knee and my right hip-bone on which I had fallen very sore –

Soon after, met Mr. Christopher Saltmarshe – Rode 1/2 round the moor with him – Laughed and told him of my fall – His groom was riding a pretty bay 4 year old mare for Mrs. Saltmarshe – Returned thro’ the town and got home at 1 55/60 – Had the horses put into the far stable for the 1st time since the alteration’s being finished – The plaster white washed it etc. yesterday –

At 3 1/4 set off to walk to H–x [Halifax], but returned after I had got a little way, and sent Cordingley – She took to the post (it was then 4 p.m.) my letter, forgotten this morning, to Marienne Dalton (Croft-Rectory Darlington) vide last night –

From 4 1/2 to six, writing to Miss Maclean. Only wrote one and a half page – Having determined to go to Manchester tomorrow in the gave the necessary orders as soon as soon as I returned from riding –

During dinner told my aunt about my complaint, that I thought it venereal. She guessed I had got it at the Duffins then at Croft. This I denied, but did [not] say how or where I got it, tho I said I knew very well. My aunt took it all quite well. Luckily thinks the complaint very easily taken by going to the necessary, drinking out of the same glass, etc. etc. and it is lucky enough she does think so.

I am just going to tell my uncle. I told Pic I was going to Manchester. She asked what for. I would not tell at first, but did afterwards, smiling about having sprained my back in such a way that Pic might have smoked it. She had been as knowing as I am. She has not read all Juvenal, perhaps only the sixth satyr, nor Ma[r]tial, nor Petronious. Said there were few classical works of this sort that I had not read –

In the evening my father and Marian called and staid till 8 – Afterwards (sitting with my uncle and aunt) wrote all the above of today, and had just done it at 8 55/60 – Hottish, dampish, muggy day – But quite fair –

Just before I set off to Halifax turned back my uncle gave me five sovereigns to go [to] Manchester with and seems satisfied at my going. My aunt had fancied there was some impostume forming on my back or that I was scrofulous or some such dire concern. Venereal had occurred to her from my manner, but she durst not name it for fear if she was wrong. I should laugh and never let her hear the last of it –

Wrote the rough draft of from 21 to 25 this month – Came upstairs at 9 50/60 – At which hour Barometer 2 degrees above changeable Fahrenheit 57 1/2º. E [three dots, treating venereal complaint] O [no dots, signifying no discharge] – No discharge today – Curling my hair, or rather having it curled. Getting my things ready and doing one thing or other –

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #shibden hall 1823 #frances pickford

[a-spell-a-rebel-yell]

realizations recaps

hello, it’s been a while. anyone missed my writings, eh? life happens and i didn’t really have much time to write something that is finished and ready to be published (i currently have seven drafts, work in progress, and some other stuffs), but worry not, today i came to serve.

anyway, this time i’m going into a slightly different route. a bit personal, some kind of evaluation on how things went and how i reacted to it. also a third person point of view on everything.

1)

long story short, something happened some time past and despite its trivial nature, for me it was something quite catastrophic. it almost, almost, had the faith i’ve been holding for so long to crumble into smithereens. it was as detrimental as it could to maim my heart. me being myself, i let some tears slip that i keep for myself. this is what i take pride in: i can cry silently, without ever showing any telltale signs. impressive? i know.

at first i was furious. why would i shed my precious tears for something so ridiculously trifling? why did it bother me so much even when at the same time i fully well acknowledged the fact of it having little to no importance?

i went to sleep with a heavy heart and clouded mind.

though only on the next day did i realize how that exact emotions i felt and that exact reaction i spontaneously erupted are normal—i was being truthful to myself. in between the streams of said tears, i kept on thinking of the thing that bugged me the most. and for me, for my case, after i let out those tears, i felt so much better (scientific journals indeed stated that crying actually does relieve stress by releasing stress hormones!)

but it’s not the crying that i want to emphasize the most. my point is, the best coping mechanism includes being honest to myself what do i really feel, confronting myself what is the problem really about, and dealing with myself on what am i going to do next to fix things, as a remedy.

pent up feelings is bad. bottling up what you really feel will wreck you in the long run. so just let it out before you explode, work it out from within first, it’s important for you to take care of yourself first.

2)

respect. not given but earned.

wisdom. it’s a long road to get it, and it’s a short one to fall off it.

i’ve seen way too many people that i previously looked up to obliviously do things without understanding well the repercussions behind every act and choice. it’s so easy, to fall from grace. so quick, a split second is all it needs. these people can be good looking, smart, rich… yet have their personality in a state of total disorder.

what is so hard from thinking twice before you speak? does it really require extra effort to be considerate of someone else’s feelings?

those are by far the most basic thing in being human, and these people… they even failed at that. how disappointing.

i can never see them in the same way ever again.

3)

i myself think that i’m quick in terms of losing my temper, though i still can manage to suppress it with a cool mind and logical thoughts.

yes, some people did dumb things and hurt your feelings. someone gaslighted me into thinking things were my fault and that i was crazy to seek justice and explanations, driving me into insanity. still that never justify any ill intention sent towards them. it’s the old classic saying: don’t treat someone the way you don’t want to be treated. simple.

that specific someone treated me so badly to the point my other friends practically begged me to stop being nice to them. give them a taste of their medicine, to feel what it’s like to be jeopardized.

but i can’t. it’s not what i believe in.

you can continue doing whatever horrible deed you want to do. i’ll always treat you well still.

4)

poor communication skills combined with skyrocket high ego?

acted nonchalantly about the pain they inflicted to you, shows absolutely no remorse/empathy/sympathy towards you even after every mess they made on you? 

and worst of all: claiming it’s the “all in me, it’s who i am” bullshit?

you’re wasting your time talking to a wall of brick. intelligence bounces off these immature people. leave.

_

above all, be kind. always

#it's a rant also #kinda #stuffs i wrote #i just want that forsaken dimwit to read this #:) #a day in my life

[jennsmuusings-blog]

The First Time I saw my Father Cry- ROUGH DRAFT

This is actually based on a true story- because it’s something I personally wen through when I was 14. It’s a difficult subject that we don’t want to face because it’s uncomfortable. Someone brought a gun go my school and shot someone, and I remember every detail. This is my best retelling of this difficult moment. 

                                The First Time I saw my Father Cry 

It happened when I was fourteen years old, and although some of the precise details are foggy, I remember the rest like it was yesterday. It was the first time our small little town had made national news. Most people dream of that, right? Their little town being on national news because of their school’s sports team going to state or some academic competition. No one ever dreams that their school would be on national news for this. It’s something we hear about all the time. The schools are burned into our brains—Columbine, Sandy Hook, Stoneman Douglas. It’s become quite a common occurrence in our country, but despite this all we’ve become desensitized to it, and there’s always that small little echo of a voice in the back of our heads that whispers, “it could never happen here.”

Let’s call the villain of our story, Johnny for privacy sake. I was a TA in the English class Johnny was in- and I never had a good feeling about him from the start. He didn’t like me, which is scary now… looking back. I was everything he hated. I dressed nice, I was a straight A student, and his English teacher loved me. He knew my brother, and they hated each other. Despite all of this, I never really thought much about Johnny. He kind of scared me, and I knew he was a bully- so I automatically disliked him. But he was just Johnny… White trash Johnny.

Johnny was expelled the week before the incident. It happened in English too. Johnny hadn’t turned his homework in for the third time that week and our teacher put him in lunchtime detention (the “tank” is what we middle schoolers lovingly called it). He usually shrugged and rolled his eyes but today was different.

“Fuck this school!” He yelled, and then he said the one thing I remember most vividly. “I swear one day I’ll bring a bomb and blow all of you up!”

           The silence was deafening. Everyone paused, and for lack of a better word you could hear a pen drop. I stopped in the middle of passing out papers and looked at my favorite teacher in concern. She let out a quiet but furious, “go...” And that was all he needed to know he was in serious trouble. I didn’t really think about it after that. I brushed it off and told myself he was just stupid and trying to be edgy. However, like the mouthy fourteen-year-old that I was, I didn’t hesitate to whisper it to my friends during lunch.

           “He’s scary.” One my friends whispered.

           “He’s a pussy.” I whispered back, rolling my eyes and continuing our discussion on which Twilight character we would probably be.

           The day of the incident started out rough for me. I fought with my mom that morning. I believe the argument was about how I wanted to skip softball practice. I wanted to hang out with my friends. I begged and I cried and threw a tantrum like I was a small child. Spring break was just a few days away, and I would be spending it camping with my “stupid” and “lame” family. I would much rather spend it with my goofy and lovable group of friends.

           I don’t remember the details of the argument, but I do remember the hurt look on my mom’s face when I told her that I didn’t want to go on our stupid annual camping trip. After all, I wasn’t a child- I was fourteen!

           “Get out of my face.” My mom hissed, but the hurt was evident on her face.

           “Oh yeah?” I yelled back. “What if I died on my way to school how bad would you feel then?”

           It was a jab that was meant to hurt her, and thankfully my brother pulled me out of the house before I could be even more stupid. I went to school early that day, which was something I rarely did. My brother drove me, and I realized that I hadn’t done my Algebra homework- which made me even more upset. It was raining on that day, and I remember watching the rain drops roll down the car window… I then made a wish. I told myself that I would do anything if I could just NOT have to turn my homework in today. A selfish wish. Now, I almost laugh at how ironic it was.

           I met my friends at breakfast, and they cheered me up. I got my Algebra homework out of my backpack and tried to finish before the first bell. I wasn’t listening to their conversations anymore, as I tried (and failed) not to get syrup on my pristine paper.

           Then gunshots.

           Pop. Pop.

           Do you know how they say that your blood turns cold? I used to think that was stupid and a little cliché, but it happened. I felt like someone had pushed me into a winter storm without a coat, and goosebumps are rising on my arms just writing this. The response was instant, everyone screamed. It was absolute chaos as 12 to 14-year-olds (and a few lunch aids) tried to run out into the hall. I can’t tell you which of my friends grabbed me—and I can’t tell you how I managed to remember my backpack. But I was suddenly in the halls, and there were teachers grabbing us and pushing us into rooms. I screamed as I was separated from my best friends and put into a room with a group of 6th graders and a girl I hadn’t talked to since we were seven.

           It was quiet, and the teacher (one I had never had for class), shushed us and told us to get down and be quiet as she flipped off the light. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and a 6th grader was trying to stifle his sobs with his hand. It was so quiet, and I had no choice but to face what I had said to my mom that morning. I hadn’t said “I love you”, I hadn’t let her kiss my cheek or give me a hug. My last words to her were about me dying, and they could very well be true now. It dawned on me that I could die, and the tightness I felt in my chest is a feeling I will never forget. The girl I used to be friends with, touched my arm. I looked up at her to see that she was crying too.

           “I need to call my mom.” I whispered, trying not to cry.

           She didn’t say anything, only nodded. I didn’t even know if my mom would know, or if she would find out from me. I pressed her contact with shaky hands and put the phone to my ear. The sound of her crying “baby” broke my heart.

           “Mommy, I’m sorry.” I whispered.

           “I know you are.” She replied.

           “I love you.” I continued.

           “I love you too.”

I don’t remember how the rest of the conversation went. But I do know that I had to hang up when my teacher started shushing everyone again. I was in that school for nine hours. I can remember the sound of the swat team running the halls, the sound of dogs. It wasn’t until 4 pm that they released us, one by one. My Algebra teacher walked me to my parents and for some reason I found it necessary to tearfully tell her I hadn’t done my Algebra homework; she pulled me into the tightest hug (I think I felt guilty, maybe if I had done it- everything would be okay). I ran into my parents’ arms and sobbed as they kissed my head and my face and held onto me.

I had never seen so many news vans at once. FOX, NBC, CBS… They were shoving the camera in every child’s face, asking how we felt. My dad put his jacket over me and pushed me towards the car. He mumbled about leeches terrorizing these poor children. The drive home was silent, and my mom sat in the back with me and held my hand- not letting me go. My father was stoic. It wasn’t until my mom left the car that he made a move. Until that day, I had never seen my father cry. He parked the car and started sobbing. I could tell that he hadn’t truly cried in a long time, and he seemed to not even know how. I sat in shocked as he gathered me in his arms and cried into my hair.

I wouldn’t find out until later that it was Johnny who caused so much chaos in my once peaceful middle school. He had shot one boy outside of our middle school but ran, and he apparently had an accomplice who had grown a sense of ethos at the last minute. He’d had a list with the names of the people he wanted dead- and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was one of those people. As much as I hate to admit it, school wasn’t the same after that. There were always police at our school, and I was constantly reminded that this place I once loved was no longer safe. We made national news, but in the worst possible way.

I once had a substitute teacher who said something that still stops me in my tracks. He was young, probably fresh out of high school. He told my biology class that this would follow us forever, and we would never escape it. Our small town would look at the graduating class of 2015 and know that one of our very own had taken a gun to school with a plan to cause as many causalities as he could. They would always look at us and wonder which one of us was on that list, and which one of us could have very well died that day. I remind myself he’s going to be in prison for a very long time, but I can’t help but wonder myself. I would be lying if I said it doesn’t sometimes keep me up at night.

[fairchildlingpo1]

7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

Content creators are typically interested in earning an edge on their competition. Call it sheer determination, strong work ethic, or a frantic stress from the mounting pressures of being a content marketer in today’s highly competitive market—whatever you call it, proactively learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world.

Learn from the following seven tips that I use every time I write content for a client or for a third-party publication. Over time, you should build these tips into a routine that will expedite your content creation processes, increase your content cadence, mandate a consistent level of content quality, and help you become one of the savviest content creators.

Learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world. Click To Tweet 1. Write an Outline

Whether a 400-word teaser article, a 65-page ebook, or concise landing page copy, you should always start by creating a strategic outline for your project. When you don’t fully understand the purpose of the content you’re creating (and trust me, I’m guilty of this from time to time), your writing can appear scattered or misaligned—and ultimately perform poorly. Start by picking a topic and organizing your key talking points before you commit to any significant writing time.

This rough outline will help you fine-tune your topic and stay on track as you fill in the details, but outlines are also important for team collaboration. It is much easier to change content direction and let the rest of the team know what you’re up to before you finish your project, which can save you from headaches and frustration down the road.

2. Do Your Research

Content is more competitive that it has ever been before, and it will only continue to become harder to create stand-out content as this competition grows. Fortunately, a lot of online content is rubbish—and it’s your job as a savvy content creator to sift through the junk, find valuable resources for your audience, and create more of the good stuff.

But good research goes beyond Google searches and competitive content analysis—it starts internally. When researching topics to write about, you should meet with leaders from other departments in your organization. Learn what the sales team cares about, learn what your customer success managers care about, and ultimately, learn more about what your audience, customers, or readers care about.

Rather than surveys and emails, meet with team members and customers over coffee, or schedule a phone call at the very least. These environments are more personable, thus enticing people to open up more about their challenges or opinions—all of which can inform your future content creation.

3. Concentrate on Actionable, Persuasive, and Empathetic Content

The purpose of most written content is to inspire your customers to take more favorable actions with your business. This means that you need to write content to persuade your readers to opt-in to email, sign up for a webinar, purchase your $50,000 software, etc.

To do this, you must first empathize with your readers’ struggles and offer real solutions to help them. If you continually give your readers valuable information, they are typically more inclined to do something for you, like sign up for your newsletter.

4. Read Your Work Aloud

This one has admittedly been awkward for me, but my mentor Brian Honigman insisted that I read my content aloud before submitting it for editorial. Maybe he was tired of fixing all of my silly grammar mistakes or vague advice, but he couldn’t be more right.

After finishing a draft of your content, read all of your work aloud. If you’re in a coffee shop working remotely or your colleagues catch a glimpse, you may appear to be a lunatic, but heck, you’re the one tasked with all of the writing and mental anguish—they should give you a break! Reading aloud will help you identify awkward punctuation, odd sounding phrasings, or sections that simply don’t make any sense.

5. Use an Editor

Even when you spend 30 or 40 hours on a content project, mistakes can still surface, and they can be devastating. Admitting that you need an editor is the first step toward writing recovery and a successful career as a content creator.

Editors can often be a godsend, but they can also be incredibly frustrating to work with. It’s best to concentrate on making the editor’s job as easy as possible and always taking criticism constructively. This is particularly true when you first start writing or you start working with a new editor. Each editor will have a unique style, and it’s your job to respect them and their expertise, even when they seem to enjoy butchering your content. Ultimately, they make you look good, or at least a bit better than you were before.

6. Ask for Feedback

Not every content creator has the luxury of working with an editor. In fact, many don’t receive editing support at all. In these scenarios, it’s best to ask for feedback from your peers or develop a group of colleagues that don’t mind reading your work. Ask for the opinions of other department leaders. Undoubtedly, the sales leader will have a different opinion than the customer service manager, but their feedback can help you identify what’s missing from your content or the direction that you should be taking in the future.

7. Write Every Day

When I was learning how to write articles for clients, I read a grip of articles like this one—and “write every day” was a recurring tip. It always made me absolutely furious. I mean, obviously I need to write every day. It’s my job! What sort of advice is this?

Then I realized that “write every day” is meant to be more of a shift in your mentality about writing in general. You see, most people write every day: a Slack message here, an email there, 14 Facebook messages, etc. But most people do not concentrate heavily on what they are writing, particularly in casual settings.

By changing your mindset every time you write to become more purpose-driven, to really focus on the meaning of the words that you are typing, to become more intentional—this is the mental shift that all content creators need to make to improve their writing and communication at work and in day to day life.

How long have you been creating content? Did you find these seven tips helpful, or do you plan on using them in your next writing project? Have you already been using these tips? Put your thoughts or any feedback that you have in the comments below.

Get a weekly dose of the trends and insights you need to keep you ON top, from the strategy team at Convince & Convert. Sign up for the Convince & Convert ON email newsletter.

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#7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

[conniecogeie]

7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

Content creators are typically interested in earning an edge on their competition. Call it sheer determination, strong work ethic, or a frantic stress from the mounting pressures of being a content marketer in today’s highly competitive market—whatever you call it, proactively learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world.

Learn from the following seven tips that I use every time I write content for a client or for a third-party publication. Over time, you should build these tips into a routine that will expedite your content creation processes, increase your content cadence, mandate a consistent level of content quality, and help you become one of the savviest content creators.

Learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world. Click To Tweet 1. Write an Outline

Whether a 400-word teaser article, a 65-page ebook, or concise landing page copy, you should always start by creating a strategic outline for your project. When you don’t fully understand the purpose of the content you’re creating (and trust me, I’m guilty of this from time to time), your writing can appear scattered or misaligned—and ultimately perform poorly. Start by picking a topic and organizing your key talking points before you commit to any significant writing time.

This rough outline will help you fine-tune your topic and stay on track as you fill in the details, but outlines are also important for team collaboration. It is much easier to change content direction and let the rest of the team know what you’re up to before you finish your project, which can save you from headaches and frustration down the road.

2. Do Your Research

Content is more competitive that it has ever been before, and it will only continue to become harder to create stand-out content as this competition grows. Fortunately, a lot of online content is rubbish—and it’s your job as a savvy content creator to sift through the junk, find valuable resources for your audience, and create more of the good stuff.

But good research goes beyond Google searches and competitive content analysis—it starts internally. When researching topics to write about, you should meet with leaders from other departments in your organization. Learn what the sales team cares about, learn what your customer success managers care about, and ultimately, learn more about what your audience, customers, or readers care about.

Rather than surveys and emails, meet with team members and customers over coffee, or schedule a phone call at the very least. These environments are more personable, thus enticing people to open up more about their challenges or opinions—all of which can inform your future content creation.

3. Concentrate on Actionable, Persuasive, and Empathetic Content

The purpose of most written content is to inspire your customers to take more favorable actions with your business. This means that you need to write content to persuade your readers to opt-in to email, sign up for a webinar, purchase your $50,000 software, etc.

To do this, you must first empathize with your readers’ struggles and offer real solutions to help them. If you continually give your readers valuable information, they are typically more inclined to do something for you, like sign up for your newsletter.

4. Read Your Work Aloud

This one has admittedly been awkward for me, but my mentor Brian Honigman insisted that I read my content aloud before submitting it for editorial. Maybe he was tired of fixing all of my silly grammar mistakes or vague advice, but he couldn’t be more right.

After finishing a draft of your content, read all of your work aloud. If you’re in a coffee shop working remotely or your colleagues catch a glimpse, you may appear to be a lunatic, but heck, you’re the one tasked with all of the writing and mental anguish—they should give you a break! Reading aloud will help you identify awkward punctuation, odd sounding phrasings, or sections that simply don’t make any sense.

5. Use an Editor

Even when you spend 30 or 40 hours on a content project, mistakes can still surface, and they can be devastating. Admitting that you need an editor is the first step toward writing recovery and a successful career as a content creator.

Editors can often be a godsend, but they can also be incredibly frustrating to work with. It’s best to concentrate on making the editor’s job as easy as possible and always taking criticism constructively. This is particularly true when you first start writing or you start working with a new editor. Each editor will have a unique style, and it’s your job to respect them and their expertise, even when they seem to enjoy butchering your content. Ultimately, they make you look good, or at least a bit better than you were before.

6. Ask for Feedback

Not every content creator has the luxury of working with an editor. In fact, many don’t receive editing support at all. In these scenarios, it’s best to ask for feedback from your peers or develop a group of colleagues that don’t mind reading your work. Ask for the opinions of other department leaders. Undoubtedly, the sales leader will have a different opinion than the customer service manager, but their feedback can help you identify what’s missing from your content or the direction that you should be taking in the future.

7. Write Every Day

When I was learning how to write articles for clients, I read a grip of articles like this one—and “write every day” was a recurring tip. It always made me absolutely furious. I mean, obviously I need to write every day. It’s my job! What sort of advice is this?

Then I realized that “write every day” is meant to be more of a shift in your mentality about writing in general. You see, most people write every day: a Slack message here, an email there, 14 Facebook messages, etc. But most people do not concentrate heavily on what they are writing, particularly in casual settings.

By changing your mindset every time you write to become more purpose-driven, to really focus on the meaning of the words that you are typing, to become more intentional—this is the mental shift that all content creators need to make to improve their writing and communication at work and in day to day life.

How long have you been creating content? Did you find these seven tips helpful, or do you plan on using them in your next writing project? Have you already been using these tips? Put your thoughts or any feedback that you have in the comments below.

Get a weekly dose of the trends and insights you need to keep you ON top, from the strategy team at Convince & Convert. Sign up for the Convince & Convert ON email newsletter.

http://ift.tt/2qXOTNF

#7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

[christinesumpmg1]

7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

Content creators are typically interested in earning an edge on their competition. Call it sheer determination, strong work ethic, or a frantic stress from the mounting pressures of being a content marketer in today’s highly competitive market—whatever you call it, proactively learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world.

Learn from the following seven tips that I use every time I write content for a client or for a third-party publication. Over time, you should build these tips into a routine that will expedite your content creation processes, increase your content cadence, mandate a consistent level of content quality, and help you become one of the savviest content creators.

Learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world. Click To Tweet 1. Write an Outline

Whether a 400-word teaser article, a 65-page ebook, or concise landing page copy, you should always start by creating a strategic outline for your project. When you don’t fully understand the purpose of the content you’re creating (and trust me, I’m guilty of this from time to time), your writing can appear scattered or misaligned—and ultimately perform poorly. Start by picking a topic and organizing your key talking points before you commit to any significant writing time.

This rough outline will help you fine-tune your topic and stay on track as you fill in the details, but outlines are also important for team collaboration. It is much easier to change content direction and let the rest of the team know what you’re up to before you finish your project, which can save you from headaches and frustration down the road.

2. Do Your Research

Content is more competitive that it has ever been before, and it will only continue to become harder to create stand-out content as this competition grows. Fortunately, a lot of online content is rubbish—and it’s your job as a savvy content creator to sift through the junk, find valuable resources for your audience, and create more of the good stuff.

But good research goes beyond Google searches and competitive content analysis—it starts internally. When researching topics to write about, you should meet with leaders from other departments in your organization. Learn what the sales team cares about, learn what your customer success managers care about, and ultimately, learn more about what your audience, customers, or readers care about.

Rather than surveys and emails, meet with team members and customers over coffee, or schedule a phone call at the very least. These environments are more personable, thus enticing people to open up more about their challenges or opinions—all of which can inform your future content creation.

3. Concentrate on Actionable, Persuasive, and Empathetic Content

The purpose of most written content is to inspire your customers to take more favorable actions with your business. This means that you need to write content to persuade your readers to opt-in to email, sign up for a webinar, purchase your $50,000 software, etc.

To do this, you must first empathize with your readers’ struggles and offer real solutions to help them. If you continually give your readers valuable information, they are typically more inclined to do something for you, like sign up for your newsletter.

4. Read Your Work Aloud

This one has admittedly been awkward for me, but my mentor Brian Honigman insisted that I read my content aloud before submitting it for editorial. Maybe he was tired of fixing all of my silly grammar mistakes or vague advice, but he couldn’t be more right.

After finishing a draft of your content, read all of your work aloud. If you’re in a coffee shop working remotely or your colleagues catch a glimpse, you may appear to be a lunatic, but heck, you’re the one tasked with all of the writing and mental anguish—they should give you a break! Reading aloud will help you identify awkward punctuation, odd sounding phrasings, or sections that simply don’t make any sense.

5. Use an Editor

Even when you spend 30 or 40 hours on a content project, mistakes can still surface, and they can be devastating. Admitting that you need an editor is the first step toward writing recovery and a successful career as a content creator.

Editors can often be a godsend, but they can also be incredibly frustrating to work with. It’s best to concentrate on making the editor’s job as easy as possible and always taking criticism constructively. This is particularly true when you first start writing or you start working with a new editor. Each editor will have a unique style, and it’s your job to respect them and their expertise, even when they seem to enjoy butchering your content. Ultimately, they make you look good, or at least a bit better than you were before.

6. Ask for Feedback

Not every content creator has the luxury of working with an editor. In fact, many don’t receive editing support at all. In these scenarios, it’s best to ask for feedback from your peers or develop a group of colleagues that don’t mind reading your work. Ask for the opinions of other department leaders. Undoubtedly, the sales leader will have a different opinion than the customer service manager, but their feedback can help you identify what’s missing from your content or the direction that you should be taking in the future.

7. Write Every Day

When I was learning how to write articles for clients, I read a grip of articles like this one—and “write every day” was a recurring tip. It always made me absolutely furious. I mean, obviously I need to write every day. It’s my job! What sort of advice is this?

Then I realized that “write every day” is meant to be more of a shift in your mentality about writing in general. You see, most people write every day: a Slack message here, an email there, 14 Facebook messages, etc. But most people do not concentrate heavily on what they are writing, particularly in casual settings.

By changing your mindset every time you write to become more purpose-driven, to really focus on the meaning of the words that you are typing, to become more intentional—this is the mental shift that all content creators need to make to improve their writing and communication at work and in day to day life.

How long have you been creating content? Did you find these seven tips helpful, or do you plan on using them in your next writing project? Have you already been using these tips? Put your thoughts or any feedback that you have in the comments below.

Get a weekly dose of the trends and insights you need to keep you ON top, from the strategy team at Convince & Convert. Sign up for the Convince & Convert ON email newsletter.

http://ift.tt/2qXOTNF

#7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

[dainiaolivahm]

7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

Content creators are typically interested in earning an edge on their competition. Call it sheer determination, strong work ethic, or a frantic stress from the mounting pressures of being a content marketer in today’s highly competitive market—whatever you call it, proactively learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world.

Learn from the following seven tips that I use every time I write content for a client or for a third-party publication. Over time, you should build these tips into a routine that will expedite your content creation processes, increase your content cadence, mandate a consistent level of content quality, and help you become one of the savviest content creators.

Learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world. Click To Tweet 1. Write an Outline

Whether a 400-word teaser article, a 65-page ebook, or concise landing page copy, you should always start by creating a strategic outline for your project. When you don’t fully understand the purpose of the content you’re creating (and trust me, I’m guilty of this from time to time), your writing can appear scattered or misaligned—and ultimately perform poorly. Start by picking a topic and organizing your key talking points before you commit to any significant writing time.

This rough outline will help you fine-tune your topic and stay on track as you fill in the details, but outlines are also important for team collaboration. It is much easier to change content direction and let the rest of the team know what you’re up to before you finish your project, which can save you from headaches and frustration down the road.

2. Do Your Research

Content is more competitive that it has ever been before, and it will only continue to become harder to create stand-out content as this competition grows. Fortunately, a lot of online content is rubbish—and it’s your job as a savvy content creator to sift through the junk, find valuable resources for your audience, and create more of the good stuff.

But good research goes beyond Google searches and competitive content analysis—it starts internally. When researching topics to write about, you should meet with leaders from other departments in your organization. Learn what the sales team cares about, learn what your customer success managers care about, and ultimately, learn more about what your audience, customers, or readers care about.

Rather than surveys and emails, meet with team members and customers over coffee, or schedule a phone call at the very least. These environments are more personable, thus enticing people to open up more about their challenges or opinions—all of which can inform your future content creation.

3. Concentrate on Actionable, Persuasive, and Empathetic Content

The purpose of most written content is to inspire your customers to take more favorable actions with your business. This means that you need to write content to persuade your readers to opt-in to email, sign up for a webinar, purchase your $50,000 software, etc.

To do this, you must first empathize with your readers’ struggles and offer real solutions to help them. If you continually give your readers valuable information, they are typically more inclined to do something for you, like sign up for your newsletter.

4. Read Your Work Aloud

This one has admittedly been awkward for me, but my mentor Brian Honigman insisted that I read my content aloud before submitting it for editorial. Maybe he was tired of fixing all of my silly grammar mistakes or vague advice, but he couldn’t be more right.

After finishing a draft of your content, read all of your work aloud. If you’re in a coffee shop working remotely or your colleagues catch a glimpse, you may appear to be a lunatic, but heck, you’re the one tasked with all of the writing and mental anguish—they should give you a break! Reading aloud will help you identify awkward punctuation, odd sounding phrasings, or sections that simply don’t make any sense.

5. Use an Editor

Even when you spend 30 or 40 hours on a content project, mistakes can still surface, and they can be devastating. Admitting that you need an editor is the first step toward writing recovery and a successful career as a content creator.

Editors can often be a godsend, but they can also be incredibly frustrating to work with. It’s best to concentrate on making the editor’s job as easy as possible and always taking criticism constructively. This is particularly true when you first start writing or you start working with a new editor. Each editor will have a unique style, and it’s your job to respect them and their expertise, even when they seem to enjoy butchering your content. Ultimately, they make you look good, or at least a bit better than you were before.

6. Ask for Feedback

Not every content creator has the luxury of working with an editor. In fact, many don’t receive editing support at all. In these scenarios, it’s best to ask for feedback from your peers or develop a group of colleagues that don’t mind reading your work. Ask for the opinions of other department leaders. Undoubtedly, the sales leader will have a different opinion than the customer service manager, but their feedback can help you identify what’s missing from your content or the direction that you should be taking in the future.

7. Write Every Day

When I was learning how to write articles for clients, I read a grip of articles like this one—and “write every day” was a recurring tip. It always made me absolutely furious. I mean, obviously I need to write every day. It’s my job! What sort of advice is this?

Then I realized that “write every day” is meant to be more of a shift in your mentality about writing in general. You see, most people write every day: a Slack message here, an email there, 14 Facebook messages, etc. But most people do not concentrate heavily on what they are writing, particularly in casual settings.

By changing your mindset every time you write to become more purpose-driven, to really focus on the meaning of the words that you are typing, to become more intentional—this is the mental shift that all content creators need to make to improve their writing and communication at work and in day to day life.

How long have you been creating content? Did you find these seven tips helpful, or do you plan on using them in your next writing project? Have you already been using these tips? Put your thoughts or any feedback that you have in the comments below.

Get a weekly dose of the trends and insights you need to keep you ON top, from the strategy team at Convince & Convert. Sign up for the Convince & Convert ON email newsletter.

http://ift.tt/2qXOTNF

#7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

[christinesumpmg]

7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators

Content creators are typically interested in earning an edge on their competition. Call it sheer determination, strong work ethic, or a frantic stress from the mounting pressures of being a content marketer in today’s highly competitive market—whatever you call it, proactively learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world.

Learn from the following seven tips that I use every time I write content for a client or for a third-party publication. Over time, you should build these tips into a routine that will expedite your content creation processes, increase your content cadence, mandate a consistent level of content quality, and help you become one of the savviest content creators.

Learning how to improve one’s writing pays dividends in the content world. Click To Tweet 1. Write an Outline

Whether a 400-word teaser article, a 65-page ebook, or concise landing page copy, you should always start by creating a strategic outline for your project. When you don’t fully understand the purpose of the content you’re creating (and trust me, I’m guilty of this from time to time), your writing can appear scattered or misaligned—and ultimately perform poorly. Start by picking a topic and organizing your key talking points before you commit to any significant writing time.

This rough outline will help you fine-tune your topic and stay on track as you fill in the details, but outlines are also important for team collaboration. It is much easier to change content direction and let the rest of the team know what you’re up to before you finish your project, which can save you from headaches and frustration down the road.

2. Do Your Research

Content is more competitive that it has ever been before, and it will only continue to become harder to create stand-out content as this competition grows. Fortunately, a lot of online content is rubbish—and it’s your job as a savvy content creator to sift through the junk, find valuable resources for your audience, and create more of the good stuff.

But good research goes beyond Google searches and competitive content analysis—it starts internally. When researching topics to write about, you should meet with leaders from other departments in your organization. Learn what the sales team cares about, learn what your customer success managers care about, and ultimately, learn more about what your audience, customers, or readers care about.

Rather than surveys and emails, meet with team members and customers over coffee, or schedule a phone call at the very least. These environments are more personable, thus enticing people to open up more about their challenges or opinions—all of which can inform your future content creation.

3. Concentrate on Actionable, Persuasive, and Empathetic Content

The purpose of most written content is to inspire your customers to take more favorable actions with your business. This means that you need to write content to persuade your readers to opt-in to email, sign up for a webinar, purchase your $50,000 software, etc.

To do this, you must first empathize with your readers’ struggles and offer real solutions to help them. If you continually give your readers valuable information, they are typically more inclined to do something for you, like sign up for your newsletter.

4. Read Your Work Aloud

This one has admittedly been awkward for me, but my mentor Brian Honigman insisted that I read my content aloud before submitting it for editorial. Maybe he was tired of fixing all of my silly grammar mistakes or vague advice, but he couldn’t be more right.

After finishing a draft of your content, read all of your work aloud. If you’re in a coffee shop working remotely or your colleagues catch a glimpse, you may appear to be a lunatic, but heck, you’re the one tasked with all of the writing and mental anguish—they should give you a break! Reading aloud will help you identify awkward punctuation, odd sounding phrasings, or sections that simply don’t make any sense.

5. Use an Editor

Even when you spend 30 or 40 hours on a content project, mistakes can still surface, and they can be devastating. Admitting that you need an editor is the first step toward writing recovery and a successful career as a content creator.

Editors can often be a godsend, but they can also be incredibly frustrating to work with. It’s best to concentrate on making the editor’s job as easy as possible and always taking criticism constructively. This is particularly true when you first start writing or you start working with a new editor. Each editor will have a unique style, and it’s your job to respect them and their expertise, even when they seem to enjoy butchering your content. Ultimately, they make you look good, or at least a bit better than you were before.

6. Ask for Feedback

Not every content creator has the luxury of working with an editor. In fact, many don’t receive editing support at all. In these scenarios, it’s best to ask for feedback from your peers or develop a group of colleagues that don’t mind reading your work. Ask for the opinions of other department leaders. Undoubtedly, the sales leader will have a different opinion than the customer service manager, but their feedback can help you identify what’s missing from your content or the direction that you should be taking in the future.

7. Write Every Day

When I was learning how to write articles for clients, I read a grip of articles like this one—and “write every day” was a recurring tip. It always made me absolutely furious. I mean, obviously I need to write every day. It’s my job! What sort of advice is this?

Then I realized that “write every day” is meant to be more of a shift in your mentality about writing in general. You see, most people write every day: a Slack message here, an email there, 14 Facebook messages, etc. But most people do not concentrate heavily on what they are writing, particularly in casual settings.

By changing your mindset every time you write to become more purpose-driven, to really focus on the meaning of the words that you are typing, to become more intentional—this is the mental shift that all content creators need to make to improve their writing and communication at work and in day to day life.

How long have you been creating content? Did you find these seven tips helpful, or do you plan on using them in your next writing project? Have you already been using these tips? Put your thoughts or any feedback that you have in the comments below.

Get a weekly dose of the trends and insights you need to keep you ON top, from the strategy team at Convince & Convert. Sign up for the Convince & Convert ON email newsletter.

http://ift.tt/2qXOTNF

#7 Writing Tips for Savvy Content Creators