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You turned a page in your book. Your mother had been at this for the past ten minutes. Why she needed your attention this badly, you didn’t know. She was already constantly texting you on the new cellphone Katsuro had got you through his work. Now she had to bother you in person at home, too?


Without looking up, you sighed and shook your head. Best to go ahead and acknowledge her. Otherwise who knew how long she could keep this up? “What, Mom?”

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

‘That’ was your phone. Your mother wasn’t the only one who was always trying to talk to you. It had gone off roughly every twenty minutes since you’d left Ryohei’s birthday party three days before. Despite your obvious withdrawal into yet another book, your mother just wouldn’t let it go. Apparently Ryohei was taking his lead from her.

“It’s not ringing,” you pointed out. This was very true. In fact, your phone had stopped ringing roughly five minutes ago.

“Well…no.” She sat down on the chair next to yours. “But that nice Sasagawa boy has been leaving you messages, hasn’t he? Don’t you think it would be polite to call him back?”

“I’m not going to call him back.” You turned to another page in your book as loudly as you could. “Besides, if he needs to talk to me that badly, he can talk to me at school.” If he could find you, that was. Hibari gave you permission to take a break from tutoring, you left school as soon as class was over, and were even eating lunch in an entirely different place—anything you could do to avoid speaking to Ryohei about how he should have kissed you. Apparently all this and ignoring his voice mails about this wasn’t enough to get the point across.

“But when you have a crush on someone, you aren’t supposed to ignore them. At least, not all the time. And I really don’t think he’s the kind of boy that wants someone to play hard to get.”

“Mom, I am not playing hard to get, okay? And I don’t have a crush on him.”

“I thought you said he gives you butterflies and you can’t quit blushing around him.”

Ugh. This was what you got for opening up to your mother. All you had wanted was for her to take you to the doctor, maybe let you stay home from school for a few days, but no. All you got instead was the constant refrain of my baby girl has her first crush! “Maybe I came down with something,” you said for about the fifth time. “Like the flu.”

Of course, your mother had to get to her feet and press the back of her hand to your forehead. She frowned. “You don’t feel warm to me.”

“Maybe I’m getting over it.”

“Then you can call the boy. [Name], he’s your best friend!”

“I know.” You couldn’t help the miserable note that crept into your voice. It wasn’t like you enjoyed eating lunch all by yourself. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay to have a crush on him, [Name]. Really.” You opened your mouth to protest, but she stopped you with a look. “All those things you feel? I feel them when I look at Katsuro. And I’m normal, aren’t I?”

That was debatable at best. “That really doesn’t make me feel any better, Mom.”

“What? He’s my best friend, too!”

“Mom, you’re only making this worse! I don’t want to like Ryohei. Even if he is my best friend.”

“Why not?” Your mother looked genuinely concerned. Chewing on your lip to give yourself some time, you noted that this was the first time since she got re-married that she’d really shown much of an interest in you. Maybe it was time to take one for the team. “Before all this started, you two were inseparable. I hardly saw you here without him attached to your hip.”

“I don’t want that to change. I mean, at school he’s practically the only person that talks to me except Hibari.”

“And you’re returning that…by refusing to talk to him?”

“I…” You trailed off. “I was hoping it would go away.”

“Your crush?”

“Well…” You took a deep breath, stuck your book on the coffee table, and curled up into the couch. There was no getting around it anymore. “Yeah.”

“It might, sweetheart.” Now that you weren’t stretched across the object, your mom settled herself next to you and started to play with your hair. “But do you really want him to have found another friend in the time it took to wait it out?”

“No,” you moaned.

“Then I really think you should call him. Or at least pick up next time he calls. I’m willing to bet he misses you. All of this over a silly, messed up game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Yeah, but—” Wait. You stopped staring at your chest to look up at your mother, eyes narrowed. “How did you know about that?”

“The game? I…” She looked around. “It was a hunch!”

“Mother! Did you listen to my messages?”

“Just—Just a few of them!”


“I swear, I won’t do it again. I was just worried about you.”

You exhaled as you sat back up. “Well…thanks.”

“You aren’t mad?”

You wanted to be, you really did. But since you had your mother back for the time being, being magnanimous seemed the better option. You only had one mom, after all. “I guess not.”

“Promise?” she asked.

“Promise.” You shook your head once and then smiled at her. “Really, thanks for the advice, Mom.”

“Anytime, honey.” She got up and wandered toward the stairs. “I’m going to go make dinner. If you need anything else, you know where to find me. Don’t spend all day reading, okay? At least try to talk to your friend.”

“I will.” She looked skeptical. You sighed again. “I promise, okay?”


And then you were alone again. You glanced at the phone. The blinking icon at the top told you that you had yet another voice mail that needed listening to. Your mother’s advice was still fresh in your mind, but you weren’t sure if you were quite ready to discuss the whole closet thing quite yet, especially not with Ryohei. You wanted to plan what you were going to say and exactly how you were going to weasel out of it being hurt feelings that caused you to leave so quickly. That really wasn’t it at all, but you couldn’t tell Ryohei the real reason, so…

“Ten more minutes,” you told yourself firmly. Chapter five in this book was nearly over anyway. You always focused best when there wasn’t reading to be done, and though you would rather finish the entire book, one chapter was the best you could do. You only began to curl back into your seat when your phone buzzed yet again. You looked at it immediately and used the next several rings to chew your lips. After a brief argument with yourself, you launched yourself forward and snatched the phone up just before the call went to voicemail.


“[Name]!” The voice on the other end roared. You winced as you wrenched your ear away from the phone. “Finally!”

“Hi, Ryohei. Listen, I—”

“Can you open the door? It’s extremely cold out here!”

“Can I—Ryohei, where are you?” You pushed back the curtain hanging across the window.

“Outside your house of course!” he answered just as you spotted a head covered in short, silver hair. “Where else would I be?”

“What?” You threw yourself out the door and downstairs with the phone still clenched in your hand. “No!”

“Well you wouldn’t talk to me at school so I—”

You yanked the door open. Ryohei fell silent, and for several seconds the pair of you just stared at each other. Finally, you brought your phone away from your face and hit the end button.

“Um. Hi.”

“…Hey!” Ryohei rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you forever!”

“Yeah…sorry about that.”

More staring. You could feel the blush creeping up the back of your neck and your lips twitching. This was so awkward. What had happened? Ryohei never used to make you feel like you needed to run and hide under your bed, and at this point you would have given just about anything to have that sort of relationship back.

“Um…Do you want to come in?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I didn’t kiss you!”

Your mouth fell open. Sure, you’d heard Gokudera tell him, got the voice mails, listened to Kyoko’s quiet pleas that you actually talk to her brother, but never in a million years did you think that Ryohei actually thought the problem was that he didn’t kiss you.


“Octopus Head said the point of Seven Minutes in Heaven is to kiss whoever you’re in there with! I’m extremely sorry I didn’t, but I didn’t know!”

Your brain seemed to have blown a gasket. It was sending messages to your tongue but nothing was connecting. You continued to stare, dumbstruck, as Ryohei frowned at you.

“…[Name]? Are you extremely mad at me?”

“…I…” Success! Now you just needed to form a complete sentence. “No! That’s not it at all!”

“It’s not?” Ryohei looked skeptical as he crossed his massive arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

“P-Positive!” You flailed your own arms awkwardly in front of yourself. How this would get your point across, you had no idea, but at least you were trying.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded.

You took a deep breath and prepared to tell him that you just didn’t feel well and could he please go home and maybe you’d talk to him this weekend. But he looked so hurt you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you just squinted at your sock-clad feet as you answered:

“I was just embarrassed about the game. I’m really glad you didn’t kiss me, okay?”

“You are?”

You nodded, still without looking Ryohei in the face. “I’m just not use to games like that.”

“So you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You shook your head and looked up. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a head case lately.”

“It’s no problem to the extreme! Kyoko says sometimes people get stressed out when their family changes extremely!”

You smiled in response. Even if being around Ryohei was awkward lately, you were immensely glad that he was still your best friend. School would be lonely without him. At least he had other friends to spend time with when you were pulling this sort of thing on him.

“Thanks, Ryohei. And next time you have a party, maybe we can play something else?”
For some reason, Ryohei looked slightly disappointed at this. You frowned at him questioningly, but as soon as you did, he grinned.

“Right! If it makes [Name] feel extremely uncomfortable, we won’t do it anymore!”

“Good.” Maybe you’d just imagined his disappointment. Because why would Ryohei be disappointed about not getting to play a kissing game? With you? Last time an underclassman tried to give him lunch, he said he didn’t want to take away their lunch and insisted he would remember to bring his own from then on. “You want to come inside? We can have hot chocolate.”


You took that as a yes and stood aside to let him in. While he stopped in the entryway to take off his shoes, you moseyed into the kitchen and dug around inside one of the disaster area cabinets until you found a couple of coffee mugs.

“Two mugs?” Your mother had wandered into the kitchen. “Drinking for two, honey?”

“Ryohei’s over.” You decided to not even answer the pregnancy jab. Just because it was on her mind so much lately. At your words, your mother’s face turned rapturous.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Did you two make up?”

“Sort of.” You filled the mugs with water and placed them in the microwave. “We weren’t really fighting.”

“Oh I get it.” Your mother winked at you. “Don’t worry. Mum’s the word!”

“Mum’s the what?”

“Hello, Ryohei!”

“Hello, Mrs. [Last Name]!” Ryohei had entered the kitchen while your back was turned. Hopefully he didn’t think you’d been complaining about him to your mother. “How are you extremely doing?”

“Fine, fine. Just lonely, what with [Name] at school so much and Katsuro at work…”

The microwave beeped. You took the mugs out and began to stir in the powder. As you did, you waved a disproving finger at your mom. “Quit making him feel bad. Grandma comes over nearly every day. And he isn’t the one keeping me. I told you, it’s Hibari Kyoya.”

Your mom ignored this. For several blissful seconds, you thought perhaps she might have left the kitchen, but then she spoke again and your heart stopped:

“So, Ryohei. Are you and [Name] dating yet? After all, she—”

“Oh my gosh! Ryohei!” you shouted over her last words as you grabbed Ryohei’s wrist. “I just remembered!”


“I left my umbrella at school! We have to go get it!”



Without waiting for your mother to protest, you started to drag the boy out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

“But what about our hot chocolate?!”

Ryohei SasagawaxReader: Cootie Catcher [Ch. 4]
Chapter 4: Should Have Made Him Stay Outside

This was the last thing I ever posted when I first wrote this series all those years ago. Looking through my documents, though, I found another whole chapter...well, at least 1500 words. Which isn't anything to sniff at since these chapters are pretty short. So I guess I'll probably finish that one (should only take a couple of paragraphs) and post that next week. Not sure what I'll do after. There's five more prompts and I apparently had plans for what to do with them. Is this interesting enough to continue, though?

I don't own KHR. If I did, I would have ended it with the Future Arc. :\

The night was warm and quiet as inside the huge farmhouse, the Barton family bid their goodbyes. A cluster of five—mother, father, daughter, son, and your girlfriend—exchanged hugs and soft promises while the crickets outside the open door chirped their evening song. Cooper already clung to Natasha’s hand, gesturing for his mother to bend down and kiss him on the cheek. Beside her, Lila remained firmly wrapped in her father’s arms. It was all vaguely sickening, even from where you stood some distance away by the stairs, arms crossed.

Finally, Clint got his daughter to let him go. He crouched to place a hand on her shoulder. “You be good for Aunt Natasha, alright? And [Name],” he added, with an amused smile in your direction. "It's their Big Day, too."

Lila nodded. “We will.”

“Good. You two hold down the fort while we’re gone.”

He kissed her once on the forehead, and then Clint and Laura were gone. Natasha, Lila, and Cooper stood there, waving out the doorway, until the last rumblings of the car engine faded away. Along with it, any hope that Clint and Laura would change their minds and stay home for the evening disappeared. Great. One long night of babysitting it was.

As if she could read your mind, Natasha shot you a smirk. “Come on, sourpuss. We’ve got work to do.”

There was no arguing that you were sour. You rolled your eyes as you peeled away from the wall to follow after them into the kitchen. The youngest kid, Nathaniel, was thankfully still asleep in his bouncer. He was probably your favorite of the three for this very reason—but being your favorite didn’t mean much at this point. Released at last to wreak havoc, Cooper and Lila tumbled out of your sight and into the living room, raised voices still audible over the sound of Natasha filling a large pot with water.

“You could at least pretend to be friendly,” she said after she had caught your eye. It was a gentle rebuke, and that gentleness embarrassed you. Unfortunately, you weren’t embarrassed enough to try to make amends.

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Believe me. Everyone around here knows that.”

The color in your face deepened as you looked away. Natasha didn’t press the subject further. Somehow, this sort of homey place didn’t unbalance her at all. The Black Widow had family. Extended though it might have been, she clearly belonged here: making macaroni and cheese for a couple of kids now wrestling on the floor, if the noises coming from the room next door were any indication. Nothing you could give her. That was for sure.

“Hey.” Her voice broke into your musings. Maybe Natasha couldn’t read your mind after all, because there was no way she would respond to what you were thinking with, “Set the table for me?”

Sighing, you took the stack of plates and started to get the table ready for dinner. “Can’t believe I’m babysitting on our anniversary,” you muttered.

“It’s Clint and Laura’s anniversary, too. Who else are they going to get to look after the kids?”

“Tony?” you suggested.

Natasha shot you a look that very plainly told you what she thought of that idea. The look did not last long; her attention shifted quickly to the jeering now issuing from the living room. “Lila! Cooper! Settle down, please. Why don’t you come in here and color?”

A few groans were the only protests given. Natasha watched from over the steaming pot of noodles as the two trooped back inside the kitchen. Only after she had seen them settled at the nearby card table did she turn her attention back to you. She looked particularly beautiful in the glow cast by the Bartons’ old fashioned lanterns. Given that Natasha had already ruined the romance of the evening, however, you weren’t about to inform her of this. She raised a pointed eyebrow.

"You color, too.”

Though you glared at her, you did as told, sitting down with the kids and reaching for a piece of paper. Cooper glanced at you as you picked up a red crayon, but said nothing. For a few minutes, there was wonderful silence. Just bubbling water, crayons scraping, and the tiny noises indicating that Nathaniel was about to wake up.

“See?” Natasha said. “Isn’t this nice? It’s like we’re playing house.”

You gaped at her. That was what this was about? It was true that since the Ultron attack, Natasha had been acting a little strange, but you’d never have guessed she had been overcome by the idea of motherhood. Something, you realized, you couldn’t give her. What was more, it was something you didn’t want. Kids and a house and a farm and a family-sized SUV…You didn’t belong here. Suddenly Natasha did.

Something of what you felt must have shown on your face, because Natasha suddenly looked concerned. Luckily, this was right when Nathaniel opened his eyes, remembered that he was a baby, and burst into furious tears. For once, you could sympathize.

“I’ve got it,” you said quickly, already on your feet. You didn’t look at Natasha, not when you unlatched the kid from his bouncer, not when you hoisted him into your arms, and not when you left the room. She did not need to see the furious tears sparkling in your own eyes. With Nathaniel still squalling into your shoulder, you slipped through the closed front door and out onto the porch. Just before the door slammed shut behind you, you heard Lila ask:

“Aunt Natasha, what’s wrong with [Name]?”

You were thankful that you didn’t have to hear Natasha’s answer. It was probably something along the lines of she’s a spoilsport, or she’s having her time of the month. Not that the latter wasn’t true, but, God. You’d been looking forward to this for ages, your anniversary with Natasha. It was a big deal. You’d been all set to take her out somewhere nice, but then you’d brought it up and she’d assured you she already had other plans. Too bad they just turned out to be babysitting her best friend’s kids. Even that wouldn’t have been so bad, but the way Natasha smiled at these children was a way she hadn’t smiled at you in months, not since the whole Ultron thing.

It was true that if you hadn’t been PMSing you probably wouldn’t have been crying over it, though. Trying to stem the flow of your hot, angry tears, you gently rocked Nathaniel back and forth, bouncing slightly as you turned from side to side. You’d had plenty of cousins growing up; it wasn’t like you had no idea of how to take care of babies. You just didn’t want any. You had always thought Natasha felt the same. Even if she hadn’t been with you, she still couldn’t have had kids. Sure, she’d confessed to you how awful the whole sterilization process was, but never that she regretted not being able to get pregnant. Her past had hurt, but it made her who she was. It made her the woman you loved. Now it looked like she wanted what Clint had, and what Clint had wasn't anything you had to offer.

The door behind you opened, and you hastily ducked your head away from the light. Nathaniel might have stopped crying by then, but you hadn’t. You weren’t sobbing or anything like that. Your tears were just pretty obvious. Whoever it was coming outside to check on the baby, you didn’t want them seeing you like that. You already looked pathetic enough.

“Hey.” Natasha stepped up to place her hands on rail around the porch, her eyes fixed on some dark point on the horizon. You glanced at her just long enough to feel your heart squeeze, then went back to trying to rock Nathaniel back to sleep.

“Where are the kids?” you asked quietly, relieved to hear that your voice didn’t sound too scratchy. She turned her head and smiled at you.

“Inside. Cooper can keep an eye on Lila for a little while. I don’t think anyone’s going to try to blow up the house while I’m out here talking to you.”

You wouldn’t be too sure. Then again, this place was pretty well hidden, and you didn’t doubt that Tony had something going that could alert someone to trouble as soon as it happened. He might have pretended to hate most everyone he came into contact with, but the Avengers were people he cared about. Great. Now if something did happen while Natasha was out here and Tony didn’t have a way to send help, you were going to feel bad about that, too.

“Want me to take the kid?” Natasha said, holding out her arms. You took a step back and shook your head. The slowly quieting baby was the only thing keeping you together right now. She sighed and slid her hands back into position on the rail. Things went quiet again, save for Nathaniel’s occasional whimpering. “I’m sorry, [Name].”

You swallowed, finally getting rid of the last of your tears. Although getting broken up with at Clint Barton’s house on your anniversary wasn’t what you had planned, you weren’t going to give Natasha the satisfaction of seeing how crushed you were when it happened. “Sorry about what?” you asked. Your voice did not have the right amount of venom.

“About dragging you here,” she answered. Her eyes were now on your face. You had to look away again. “I thought you’d like it. We never have the chance to do this.”


“Play normal.”

“Play—” Your laugh turned slightly hysterical toward the end, before you choked it out into a splutter. “Natasha, this isn’t normal for us. There’s no happy ever after at the end for us. No wedding, no first house, no family. I can’t give you that. If that’s what you want—”

“Who said that’s what I want?” Natasha asked, her brow creased. Then a look of comprehension dawned on her face, and she smiled, coming closer. Much too close, in fact. She could probably see the tell-tale trail of tears on your cheeks and the redness in your eyes. “I have a family, [Name]. I have Clint and I have Laura. I have Lila and Cooper and Nathaniel. And I have you.”

“Yeah, fat lot of good that—”

The door banging open again interrupted you. You looked wildly around, half-expecting the house to have blown up, only to see Lila and Cooper standing there, beaming up at you and Natasha.

“Cooper, I thought I told you and Lila to stay inside,” Natasha said. “It’s late. I need you to start getting ready for bed.”

“We will,” Cooper said. “We just—”

“For you,” Lila said, holding out a piece of paper. She was looking straight at you. Your eyes darted to Natasha, but she had no suggestions for you. After adjusting Nathaniel in your arm, you reached for it and pulled the paper up for you and Natasha to see.

Aunt Natasha read the scrawled handwriting above a stick figure with red hair. Next to her stood a second figure, one with tiny [color] dots for eyes. It had a caption, too: Aunt [Name]. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“Mommy and Daddy said it was their Big Day today,” Lila explained. “Thank you for coming on your Big Day, too.”

Your mouth felt too dry to work. “I, uh…” you began, but Cooper had already taken Lila’s hand and was leading her back inside.

“Brush your teeth!” Natasha called after them. Then the door swung shut, leaving you, Nathaniel, and Natasha outside with the crickets. Aunt [Name]. What were you even supposed to do with that? Had Natasha told them to do that? But she was looking down at the picture with a look of fond amazement. After a moment of gazing, she turned her eyes up to your face, a smile curling up the corners of her lips.

“I still don’t want kids,” you said defensively. Natasha’s smile turned into a full-fledged grin, and she straightened to kiss you on the cheek.

“We don’t need kids,” she said. “We’ve got a family. Aunt [Name]. Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t…know.”

“You don’t have to decide right away.” Natasha’s voice was a murmur. Her grin was gone, but there was nothing inherently unhappy in her expression when she kissed you again. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

“Love you, too, Nat,” you said, albeit grudgingly. Really, though, this wasn’t so bad. A bit of quiet, a bit of time with Natasha—these really were things you didn’t have a lot of those days. She’d been busy with Steve lately, after all, and Wanda and Sam and Rhodey and Vision. Everyone but you. Maybe this wasn’t ideal, but you had everything you needed. Slowly, you reached for her hand. Natasha didn’t look back at you, but she wrapped hers warmly around yours in response. Maybe, just for her, you could play normal every once and awhile. On your anniversaries, at least. In a few years, it might even involve less baby drool.

Natasha RomanoffxReader: Gifts

Too bad dA doesn't have a tag to block spoilers, because you probably already saw them scrolling down here. ):

I'm playing the "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, but at least I'm writing and hopefully these will get better as I go" game.

Didn't tag as ideologically sensitive because nothing particularly inappropriate happens in this.

If you're wondering why Natasha is turning up so much in my "One Small Step" Collection lately, it's because I have now added characters to the roster twice, and I couldn't figure out where the next round ended, so I just started putting them in from prompt #33 Fading. You'll be seeing one shots for all the newbies from AoU now, as well as Rhodey/War Machine, Bucky Barnes, Matt Murdock/Daredevil, and of course more Sam because he is the best character in the whole series. And if you think Vision is hot, boy are you in luck.

Prompts come from the "120 Prompts of Randomness" challenge by SugarLandBabyGirl on Lunaescence Archives.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: strong language)

“Shit!” he swore just as he tried to rise from his seat. This was a bad idea. His damn legs nearly gave out on him. Before he fell, he managed to scrabble at the nearest hard surface, catching himself right before hitting the floor. He tasted blood; his lips had split open with the violence of his swearing, and he could see his breath crystalizing in the air in front of him. Shivers wracked his body, and he was cold, so cold.

A hard blink dispelled this vision. The tear in his lip disappeared, though his mouth now felt like cotton, like the frost had got stuck in there, unwilling to enter the warm, stuffy kitchen. But the trembling had not stopped. He shivered and shuddered, fingers slipping against the slick wood of the table as he attempted to keep himself upright.

So they could pull him back that easily.

He let out a long, uneven breath. Shit. No. No. He was a person. Bled just like the rest of them. Froze just like the rest of them. God, why was he so cold? His breath was stuck in his chest. They couldn’t have him back. He would not go back.

Thin arms snaked around his torso. He felt his chest seize underneath them. Unthinkingly, he released his slipshod grip on the table. For one glorious moment, the results were exactly as he’d planned: The arms did not have the strength to hold him up on their own. Heave as they might, they simply couldn’t keep him there. Then he went crashing onto the tile floor, right on top of his flesh arm.


“Are you okay?” He looked up, slightly startled to hear a familiar voice. Of course. Of course he wasn't on the side of some mountain. He was still stuck in the crappy apartment. Where else was he supposed to go? They were everywhere looking for him, waiting for him. But when she knelt next to him, worry plain in her eyes, he wondered if it might have been worth it to be on his own if he just didn’t have to see that expression on that face ever again.

Not quite.

Her fingers fluttered so close as to nearly brush his shoulder. If this was on purpose, she realized the folly of such action just in time, stopping herself a mere millimeter short. “I’m so—I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Do I look alright to you?” he snarled. God, she’d almost touched him, or rather the hunk of metal grafted to his shoulder. Surely it felt as cold to the touch as the rest of him ought to have been. She’d feel it; she’d know. He’d already screwed up enough to make her suspicious. Maybe she was stupid, but no one was that stupid. Then again, if she did manage to piece everything together, he could just snap her neck before she had the chance to call anyone. It would probably take a few days for her little friends to come hunting for her. He could be out of the country and well hidden by then.


“Leave me alone! Can’t you see I want to be alone?”

This was not strictly true. It wasn’t like he’d had to follow her home. No memories and no company made for lonely living, it had found. He had found. Shit.

The chill was in his very bones. He curled ludicrously in on himself, as though that would somehow crack the ice in his veins. A high whine filled his ears. Now that he was conscious, it was becoming more painfully obvious by the second what effect the past three days had had on him. His chest and side felt a little better, somehow, but the rest of him felt fit to explode. No sleeping, no moving, no bathroom breaks. Really? She didn’t have enough brain cells to rub together to suggest he take a piss? Not that he wanted to spend the short remainder of his life following “suggestions,” but in this case…

“What are you doing?” Her panicked voice cracked above the whine. “Is this a seizure? Should I call Kat? Stop? Please stop. Oh—just—where’s my phone?”

Her frantic step didn’t get her very far. His metal hand clamped around her ankle. “Don’t. Call. Anyone,” he growled, and as he did, the droning stopped. Oh. That had been coming out of him? No time to consider that. He tightened his grip and yanked, causing her to stumble in his direction. “Don’t call.”

She tried to get her foot back. When that failed, she shot him her fiercest look, the kind she seemed to normally save for insults to her scrambled eggs. “You’re sick!” she said.

“I’m not!” he insisted. He kept his voice down, though. No reason to get the neighbors riled up. She'd said it herself.

“You’re shaking on my floor and whimpering like a kicked dog,” she shot back, still trying to squirm out of his grasp. “I saw your injuries. It’s a miracle you’re even alive.”

Maybe not so much a miracle. Not when compared to everything else he’d been through. When your insides and outsides were twisted as badly as his were, an aircraft carrier crashing on top of you was nothing. He’d take that over going back in the damn chair any day. No, he would not be distracted. She was still twisting around. Kick. Kick. Kick.

She was free. Panting, but free. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

He was too out of breath to protest. Every inch of him was trembling with the effort of keeping himself together. The pain in his bladder and head was tremendous, and his sudden terror wasn’t helping. No. Dammit, no. He had not come this far only to be retrieved by whichever one of them was playing EMT today. If he set one foot inside a hospital, he knew that would be the end of it. No more playing hooky. And as nice as this woman was—sometimes, maybe, if unintentionally—he was not going to give up his freedom in exchange for hers. It had come down to it: She would have to die.

But he did not want to kill her. Every second took her further away from him and closer to the phone, wherever she had put that. He could barely hear his own thoughts above his speeding breath. It did not seem possible that he could have both. How could she live and he not die? How could he survive and let her continue existing?

“N-No. Stop. P-please. Please.” God, he hated to hear the words coming out of his mouth, almost as much as that mortifying cry from earlier. He didn’t beg. He had begged enough. How many years of his existence had been spent on his knees by now? There was nothing that he owed this lady that should have required him to beg. If they got him back, though, he’d be doing a lot worse than begging. That was for sure.

“What was that?” Her head popped back into his sight. Relief flooded through him so swiftly than he tried to scramble to his feet. This, unfortunately, did not work particularly well, and at her frown, he thought he had lost everything just then. She hadn’t moved yet, though. There was still time.

“P-please,” he said again. Still on his knees. This was enough for them, sometimes, so surely it would enough for her. She wasn’t like them. She’d fed him and let him sleep on her couch. She’d even worried about him after he had threatened to hurt her. He knew more about her than she expected, too. The journal underneath the stack of book underneath the coffee table. He knew what she wanted. He could be that something. “I need help.”

“I know you need help. That’s why I’m calling the hospital.” Her back turned to him again. He tried to follow after her, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate. Even crawling was too difficult. He got maybe three paces before collapsing once more.

“I—can’t—please.” Tears rolled down his face, again. He couldn’t let this happen, though. Whatever it took. “I can’t leave yet. Not right now. Please.”

Her fear had become replaced with suspicion. He hated that, hated even more that her fear had been for him, not of him. “What do you mean you can’t leave right now?” Some of the color left her face, leaving her paler than before. “Are you in trouble?”

“Yes!” She understood, thank god. “Yes, but—but I don’t want to be. I promise. They’re after me. I just want to leave. I—” This clearly wasn’t convincing her. Her eyes were only getting bigger and bigger as he went on. She thought, he recalled, that he was on drugs. “I’ll go,” he said, trying to sound less crazy, knowing all the while that he wasn't going to manage. “I’ll go myself. Just give me time.”

There was a very, very long pause. He could feel each excruciating beat of his heart. Could she see right through him? She wasn’t going to say yes, was she? She was going to wipe her hands clean of him. Maybe they’d even come by, give her a nice reward for the return of their favorite plaything. Only one thing left, then.

“Look in my bag,” he whispered urgently. She hesitated. The next please on his lips didn’t have to come out. Seeing it, she sighed and walked over to where said bag still sat on the carpet next to the couch. She threw him a look, which he answered only with, “the big pocket on the right. Unzip it.” Another pause, but then she did as told. He held his breath until he saw her eyes nearly bug out of her face. Safe, then. He had to be. If that didn’t convince her, nothing probably would.

Bucky BarnesxReader: Tastes a Little [Ch. 13]
Tastes a Little Like Freedom, a Little Like Fear

 [Name] has finally got her life on track. She's been clean a year, has a full time job, and recently moved into an apartment that is actually fit to live in. Against the wishes of her friends, she decides to visit her father's memorial exhibit at the Smithsonian, only to run into someone who looks a bit familiar. Adopting a fellow addict is one thing. Accidentally adopting a recovering brainwashed Nazi super soldier is another. [Name]'s life is about to run off track worse than ever before, but there could be a reward at the end if she can just hang on for the bumpy ride.

Bucky Barnes/Reader

In response to the "100 Drabbles Adventure" challenge by SubtleQuirk on Lunaescence Archives.

Previous Chapter: 12. Lost and Found
Current Chapter: 13. Pride
Next Chapter: TBA
Rule #40: Any decent man will ask a girl out to her face. If you aren’t man enough to ask us out to our face, how do we know you’ll be man enough to be our boyfriend at all?

Q had yet to figure out the appeal of spending Friday nights out in public, surrounded by crowds and noise during a time that was—as far as he could tell—supposed to be romantic. There was nothing romantic about having one’s feet stepped on incessantly, nor being unable to hear your partner’s conversation, Q felt. Not that this had stopped date night this particular week from being set at a very loud, very long jazz dance event. He could practically feel his brain cells dying.

“Remind me again why we’re here?” he murmured during a lull from the band. It was still difficult to hear himself over the laughter and clapping, but likely Q wouldn’t have another chance to inquire for another ten minutes. He would like to be prepared with something to be annoyed about for the duration of the next number.

He only asked anyway because you didn’t appear to be enjoying yourself any more than he was. It was one thing for Q to be miserable at such functions and quite another for you. That was what was bothering him most of all: You didn’t seem to be in any vindictive mood that would lead you to torture yourself all night to torture him. So why did you remain staunchly in your seat, watching things play out with one of your most bored expressions on your face?

“[Name],” Q said, leaning toward your ear when the band started up again with no response from you. “Why are we here?”

You gave a theatrical sort of jump in your seat, proving once and for all that your mind was anywhere but on this dance party you’d been planning to attend all week. After having made sure that it really was just Q speaking, you gave him a weak smile. One hand went up to check the status of the elaborate 1940s curls you’d clearly been working on all day while Q was at the office. Still in place—though he had noticed that you had not gone the extra mile with your dress. It was the very same one you’d worn on your mission with Bond. Q wasn’t sure whether or not to be flattered or annoyed at the choice.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out. You blinked a few times, then returned your gaze to the dancefloor. Q really thought he had been summarily dismissed until you casually leaned back toward him.

“Vick isn’t sure about her date,” you whispered, so quietly that Q had to strain further than ever to hear over the presently blaring saxophone solo. Once his brain had finally comprehended the soft noise as words, he settled back again in his uncomfortable metal folding chair with nothing more than an:

“Ah. I see.” He didn’t, though, and soon he was moving his entire chair closer to yours. No one could hear the banging or scrapping over the din inside anyhow. “Why does that mean that we have to be here?”

You shook your head, your eyes glued to the dancing couple closest to you. Anxious, perhaps, that one of them was about to jive straight into your lap. “He’s some guy from work. She doesn’t know him very well. He’s a little…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Well, Vicky’s not sure but she sees him loitering around places she goes, so she thinks he might follow her. Then he had a friend of hers ask her out on this. I suppose she just wanted backup in case things went south.”

This did, after all, make some sense. However, what either you or Q was supposed to do to help in the case of things “going south,” he had no idea. Neither of you were particularly adept in the ways of self-defense. Ronald would seem the go-to cousin for bodyguard work, not you. “So we’re babysitting,” he clarified. It figured you hadn’t invited him to a dance for any actual dancing. Not after the last fiasco, at any rate.

You cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I don’t see much of a point anymore, though. I think she did a fine job terrifying him off herself.”

Q scanned the crowded room until he spotted Victoria’s dark head of hair among the dancing throng. She was smiling for once, and her dance partner most certainly was not the burly young gentleman she had arrived with two hours prior. Another quick scan, and that man was found sitting sulkily at a table in a distant corner. Q cleared his throat.

“Quite. Do you suppose she needs our continued assistance in keeping track of this one? Or perhaps the date she scorned?”

A chuckle burst from her lips. “That’s her boyfriend, Al. I think he can take care of her now.” His dumbstruck look only caused your laugh to lengthen. “I don’t know, Alton. They’re in an open relationship. He probably had work and couldn’t get here on time.”

“But still! Why agree to go out with the creepy guy from work in the first place? Why ask us of all people to check up on her?”

“Dunno,” you sighed, looking back toward the jazz band and tapping your toes. “Vicky’s kinda weird like that.”

“I’m starting to think you’re the normal one in your family,” he groused. “Can we go now?”

The look on your face was enough to give him the answer. You answered anyway. “I sorta…promised we’d stay for the whole thing.”

“[Name]! What is it that you plan to do for the rest of the evening?”

Your eyebrows slowly lifted. “Dance?” you suggested.

“Do you want me to break your toe again?” Q asked lifting his eyebrows right back. You opened your mouth to protest, but Q did not let you. “I have a suggestion.”

Clearly you were as desperate for release as he was, because for once you didn’t look too suspicious. “What kind of plan?”

“The kind of plan that will only make me look bad. I am the one known for throwing tantrums at these functions, am I not? Maybe you’re not, but I’m about ready to call it an evening.”

A look of dawning comprehension and disbelief crossed your face. But you were as desperate as Q believed you to be, obviously, since you snatched his hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. That was all the encouragement Q needed. Thankfully, this number was quickly coming to an end. Q stood, straightened his tie, and made a beeline in Victoria’s direction. The sacrifices he made for you. At least this one benefited him just as much as it did you.

QxReader: Logical Fallacy [Ch. 40]
I'm really trying to get my groove back. Can you tell? It's all short stuff right now (and nothing anyone really cares about but me), but it's still more than I've done in ages. Feels good, man.

Q's got one hundred and two problems.
His girlfriend is, technically speaking, every single one.


In response to the "102 Things A Guy Should Know About Girls" challenge by Miss Chocobo on Lunaescence Archives.

Previous Chapter:39. Social Experiments
Current Chapter: 40. Greater Than the Needs of the Many
Next Chapter: TBA

How long had it been out?

Almost as soon as the question occurred to it, the Soldier squashed it down. What was it doing, asking questions? Questions were not allowed. Questions were only a request to be beaten or wiped. Those it could endure, but why induce them? So far its new handler had not seemed inclined to hurt it. Perhaps because it was already hurt and she was waiting for it to heal. Not that it mattered. Pain would come eventually, as it always did.

She had asked it to stand, so stand it did. Its legs hurt. Its legs hurt worse than they had in years—back when they were first testing it—back when they were showing it who it really was. They would leave it for days without food, without water, without company, without rest, and when it finally learned that it could, must do without, without question, without notice, without complaint, then the Soldier was complete. It was ready. It could begin the job it was created to do.

A cold sweat flashed across the Soldier’s skin, so fast that it was probably just a glitch. But the thought was still there: Was she starting it from the beginning? Had the Soldier botched an assignment so badly that they had sent it to her for reprogramming? Was that what it had forgotten when it woke up here in this apartment?

It did not want reprogrammed. Want? Where did want come into this? Where did the Soldier pick up the idea that it could want or not want anything? If they decided that it needed retaught, then what right did it have to say “no”? It could say yes ma’am, or nothing at all. The Soldier even considering its own wants was proof enough that reprogramming was necessary. Did it want to fail again? That was the question the Soldier ought to have been asking itself. Glitches had been coming more and more often as of late. The man on the—


It would not go back to that. It would not go back to the way it had been. It would not. It would not. It would not. It would—

She was still watching it, with those disconcerting eyes of hers. They held no hint of the brutality of past handlers, though it understood that a cover could not change one’s core. The Soldier would admit that she fed it, but wasn’t that a kind of punishment, too? Tasteless lump after tasteless lump when an IV would be more efficient. Then she left it in the same position for days and days only to ask it to stand and walk to her on legs that wanted to give out. But it would show her. A weapon had no need to feel. It would walk to her.

Easier commanded than done. It felt stiff, so stiff. Recollection came to it of being commanded to put one foot in front of the other, one at a time, only when told, but that was not what this new woman wanted. She wanted it there, and no amount of hovering by the table looking nervous could convince it otherwise. The Soldier knew there was no nervousness here, only impatience. They were always all impatient. One leg moved. Then the other. Again. Again. Again. Slow though the Soldier’s progress might have been, it would make it. And it did.

"Come into the kitchen," she had said. Here it was. The Soldier stood there, watching her watching it with those horrible eyes. Alexander Pierce did not pretend to be what he was not, not to the Soldier. Its eyes narrowed. Perhaps this handler had something to hide.

The sound of her clearing her throat snapped the Soldier away from such insubordinate thoughts. This was why weapons did not have thoughts. Any it might have were foolish, inane, not to be considered. Again, it waited. She made the habitual movement of pushing her hair away from her forehead, then opened her hands toward the chair. “Please,” she said, “sit.”

A please did not keep this from being an order. It sat. A stack of tattered telephone books was place beside its arm. These it ignored. Information was not its to receive without being instructed to. Instead, it continued to observe her. She continued to observe it. Two minutes passed in such a manner before she turned around, facing the counter so that it could no longer read her expression.

“What am I doing?” she muttered.

“You are giving me my assignment,” it answered automatically.

She turned back around with a speed that might have impressed it. The small space between them disappeared quickly with her working limbs. “You can…talk?” she asked. The Soldier inclined its head. Was that not obvious? It had spoken to her before, when prompted. Only when prompted. Otherwise, it might talk more than it ought to. “Assignment?”

“You said we had work to do. What work? I require only orders.”

Orders?” her voice rose quickly. What was it about the Soldier that upset her so? She only had to tell it to change for it to do so. Perhaps they had not told her everything about it, or the way it worked. They seemed to have decided to teach it a lesson. There must be something here, something about this woman, that it was supposed to learn from. She slid into the chair beside it, letting out a quiet sigh. “I just thought maybe you’d help me look through the phonebooks. That's all.”

Help? In all its long years of existing, the Soldier could never recall being commanded to help. It had tasks and parameters, and it did them without fail. Help indicated that it could function in beneficial way toward things others were assigned to do—or that, worse still, she was not superior to the Soldier in any way at all.

When she added nothing more, the Soldier had no choice. It took the first book in its hands, dropped it on the table, and flipped over to the front page. “Look through the phonebooks.” Its eyes found the first word and it began to read. Swiftly, the Soldier’s eyes scanned the pages, word after word, line after line, advertisement after advertisement. Read, memorize, condense. Read, memorize, condense.

It stopped when a hand covered what it was reading. She was looking at it again, a small frown on her face. Had the Soldier displeased her? “How do you know if you know them if you’re going that fast?” she asked. The Soldier frowned this time. Was it wrong to be doing what it was? She had said to look through the book. The Soldier was looking. She was not, it had noticed. Perhaps help was just a turn of phrase, but how could it know for sure? It was completely unbalanced by this woman. She did not act as the others acted.

“What are the parameters?” it asked.

“Parameters?” she echoed, a deeper frown wrinkling the soft skin between her brows.

“What do you wish me to look for?” it asked in clipped tones. It had never had to hold its handler's hand before. That got her attention. The frown on her face wiped away entirely to be replaced by a look of shock.

“Your friend,” she said. “The one you told me about this weekend.”

“I do not have a friend.”

“You do!” she insisted. All it could do was cock its head to the left. Who was this new assignment? Who was it to call friend if asked? The new handler was acting as if she had already given the Soldier this information, and it had forgotten. Was it before it had woke up on the floor? Was it truly malfunctioning that badly?

“Repeat parameters,” it requested, bracing itself to be hit. The strike never came. Instead, her face just crumpled all over again. It had to admit that it was curious. No, curiosity was a sin. Curiosity was not to be allowed. Curiosity killed the cat. Killed the handler. Killed the Soldier. Where had that come from?

The man. On the bridge. He was ruining everything. The Soldier had to kill him. Rend him limb from limb. Prove that it could. The man was its—no his mission. No, not a mission, a—No. Not that path. Not again. Too much pain. Too much. But the pain was worth it. It wasn’t. It must—He must—It—He—It—He

Bucky BarnesxReader: Tastes a Little [Ch. 12]
Tastes a Little Like Freedom, a Little Like Fear

 [Name] has finally got her life on track. She's been clean a year, has a full time job, and recently moved into an apartment that is actually fit to live in. Against the wishes of her friends, she decides to visit her father's memorial exhibit at the Smithsonian, only to run into someone who looks a bit familiar. Adopting a fellow addict is one thing. Accidentally adopting a recovering brainwashed Nazi super soldier is another. [Name]'s life is about to run off track worse than ever before, but there could be a reward at the end if she can just hang on for the bumpy ride.

Bucky Barnes/Reader

In response to the "100 Drabbles Adventure" challenge by SubtleQuirk on Lunaescence Archives.

Previous Chapter: 11. Problems
Current Chapter: 12. Lost And Found
Next Chapter: 13. Pride

  • Mood: Tired
  • Reading: The Clockwork Prince
  • Watching: Agents of SHIELD
If you follow my Tumblr and have perused my personal posts at any recent point, you probably already know this. If not, though, I thought people here might want to know about why things are so slow in coming anyway.

Most of it is because I flat out burnt myself out this past semester of graduate school, then I thought I had to take more graduate school, and then it turned out I didn't and I had to rush to drop my one course. Most of that, however, was done by the end of August. Since then, I have
  • Attended a weekend writing conference in Colorado
  • Caught a terrible round of bronchitis which I only just went to the doctor for this weekend for medicine
  • Started a full-time job.
The job is the big part, although the month long illness certainly hasn't helped. I don't get any breaks at work outside of thirty minutes for lunch, so managing my writing is hard. Hopefully once I'm totally over this bronchitis I won't feel like going to bed as soon as I get home and I'll get back to it. Right now, I am about 2000 words into the next chapter of "(Don't) Hold Your Breath."

If you're ever curious about where I am in writing something, please check out the Fic Update Schedule on my blog.

Lunaescence Archives
Ghosts of the Vanguard


TehStraw's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
(ID made on Doll Divine's Hipster Doll Maker)
(So was my icon, obviously)


Hello there. Nice to meet you. Please make yourself at home.

I'm Straw. I've been writing fan fiction for nearly eleven years now, which makes me almost twenty-four. I have a bachelor's degree in English and Creative Writing, and a master's degree in English--not that you can tell, due to my ludicrous inability to find typos. I'm better at improving the works of others than I am at writing my own, but I absolutely adore writing and am constantly reading books and attending conventions to improve my craft. I have a full time, Monday through Friday job in a call center at a local doctors' office; I also frequently fall ill, the combination of which results in my spending more time daydreaming about updating than actually doing it.

I'm vegetarian, Christian, feminist, and presently identify as aromantic and asexual. I keep goldfish (Ken, Chikusa, Loki, Clint, and Ronan) and a pleco (Groot), all of which occupy much of my time due to their collective attempts to die every few months. I also have a cat named Seymour, who thankfully does not frequently attempt to die, but does get urinary tract infections often.

I tend to find one fandom to hunker down in it for several years, writing and learning about it in my spare time until the story gets to the point of disappointing me. Presently my main fandom is the Marvel Cinematic Universe. My sub-fandoms are The Last of Us, Star Trek (Original Series and Reboot movies), and the Daniel Craig James Bond movies.

I'm terribly shy, which is why you don't see me interacting with any of the writing communities I'm on much. Please do not let that keep you from contacting me. You can e-mail me with the link above, or message me via Tumblr at my blog,

Presently Attempting To:
- Write more scenes instead of sequels
- Incorporate sex scenes
- Write middles that are cohesive and entertaining
- Make the characters less melodramatic unless the character is, in fact, melodramatic
- Actually write something

I also post my fan fictions to Quotev (as Straw/Strawchan), Ghosts of the Vanguard (as Straw), and Lunaescence Archives (as Straw). If you ever see my stuff on any other website, that's not me. Please report them for stealing, and let me know so that I may as well.

Current Projects:

(Don't) Hold Your Breath
Fandom: The Last of Us
Pairings: Joel/Reader; Maria/Tommy
Main Song: We Fall Apart by We As Human
Challenge: #32 in His Rulebook

Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court
Fandom: Thor; Avengers
Pairings: Thor/Jane; Thor/Reader; Clint/Darcy
Main Song: Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry
Challenge: A Twist on "I Do"

Fandom: Iron Man 2
Pairings: Justin Hammer/Reader; Tony Stark/Reader; Happy/Pepper
Main Song: Head on Collision by Hawk Nelson
Challenge: N/A

Just a Myth
Fandom: Avengers; Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Reader; implied Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse
Main Song: I Am Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds
Challenge: A Perfect Love...

Logical Fallacy
Fandom: James Bond; Skyfall
Pairings: Q/Reader; Bond/Moneypenny
Main Song: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri
Challenge: 102 Things a Guy Should Know About Girls

Natasha Romanoff's Matchmaking Service
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader; past Brock Rumlow/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Fic Trade Prompt: Late-night Bonfire

One Small Step
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairings: Various/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 120 Bits of Random

The Space Between Stars
Fandom: Request
Pairings: Request
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 160 Collective Drabbles

Tastes a Little like Freedom, a Little like Fear
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Winter Soldier/Reader
Main Song: Honey and the Bee by Owl City
Challenge: 100 Drabble Adventure

Where Gods Do Fear to Tread
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Currently Loki/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 9 Months

Coming Eventually
(If I can ever actually finish any of the above stories.)

Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: OC/Reader; Brock Rumlow/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: 20 Every Day Questions

To That Distant Future
Fandom: (Pre-)Captain America: The First Avenger
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader; Bucky Barnes/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Childhood Memories

A Stab in the Dark
Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy
Pairing: Nebula/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: NA/TBA

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Add a Comment:
amzimme Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the favorite, Straw! :D
myINQI Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
:iconbedanker: on Knoblauchsland by myINQI :iconcip33:
hypermagical Featured By Owner Jun 8, 2014
Thank you for the recent fave! :la: 
killstein Featured By Owner May 26, 2014
TehStraw Featured By Owner May 26, 2014  Student Writer
Aw, thanks.
killstein Featured By Owner May 26, 2014
Welcome~ < 333
sphinxgal1 Featured By Owner May 26, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!!
sphinxgal1 Featured By Owner May 25, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hey Straw, Since you're birthday is coming up I was going to write you a oneshot.
However, while looking through some of your old character Bios I can't seem to find the one i was looking for, your OC from KHR first gen. I still remember a great deal about her, she was a pickpoket who became a master their, ended up getting on well with the Vongolla and ended up stealing their rings only to get horribly burned when she tried to retreive them from a fire after realizing the error of her ways.
The only thing i can't remember is her name (an quite possibly her hair and eye colour).

Could you please email me a copy of her bio so I can make a start on it for you?
TehStraw Featured By Owner May 25, 2014  Student Writer
I don't think I actually have a bio for her. I was going to rework here before I lost interest in KHR!. But I do know who you're talking about: Carabella. She had green eyes, if that helps at all. It sounds like you have about everything else down. But if you need anything else, just let me know! I'll be on and off for most of the day.
sphinxgal1 Featured By Owner May 25, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Okay, did she have brown hair or was it another colour?
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