#Cool P in a maid dress we love to see it

[zankydraws]

I know nothing about this show but I love all the memes about it and I had to redraw this amazing screenshot lmao

alt version where Cool P has some blood on his face :u

[ingridaway]

finally tokyo

my last few days in tokyo were spent with friends. first day i joined my classmates at the yayoi kusama museum, to be honest i’m not a huge fan of her work but i enjoy any gallery experience regardless of which work is being shown. I especially enjoyed the polka dot room that you were shut inside for a minute or two. i was lucky enough to experience it on my own so i just sat on the polka dot couch and pondered hahah. during my last days in tokyo i opted to take the bus most places as i wanted to see the city and was a little over trains, i’m so glad i did this as i became much more familiar with my surroundings than i would of if i had travelled by subway, the slow journeys were also very meditative. that night i got dressed up for group karaoke and made my way to shibuya, by bus of course. one thing i didn’t factor in when picking my outfit was creepy men and i was unfortunately aproached while i was alone outside the karaoke place. it was an older japanese man, speaking japanese and looking me up and down, he was obviously trying to buy my time which made me feel disgusting. i ran away but the damage had been done and i felt really anxious and gross for the rest of the night. the sex culture is very strange in japan. it’s so repressed yet so overt. love hotels are everywhere and very obvious when they have huge signs saying however much yen per hour, sex toys are in stores like don quijote next to children’s toys, host clubs and maid cafes are promoted everywhere and many of the anime stores have very questionable sexualised merchandise of underage cartoon characters. it’s hard to ignore and frankly it’s gross. as a woman i felt very uncomfortable with the sex culture in japan. the same night i was approached by that man me and my friend where walking back to our hotel when two men jumped out in front of our path and tried to get us to go with them, of course we just kept walking but that night was probably the most unsafe i have felt in japan.

i started my next day with a walk through the meiji jingu gardens. it was raining a lot that day so it was very muggy and sticky. as i walked the gardens i noticed alot of the trees had strange funnels leading down from their trunks to their roots, it almost looked like they had robotic tenticles. i found it super interesting and inspiring and i took multiple photos for future art reference. i once again visited harajuku and shibuya and ended up spending alot of money on some very funky shoes. the brand is called “grounds” and i bought them at “sheep” in laforet, they have huge bubbles on the soles and i love them, i don’t know what else to say. after i’d bought those i visited a store in shibuya called “radd lounge”, they carried small designers including some from melbourne. the store owner was so kind and he told me he’s had lots of australian visitor’s recently. i ended up buying a bag with aphex twin’s face on it and the owner ended up taking my photo and posting it on his blog. later that day i joined my friends for a very tasty dinner at an indian restaurant before going back to shibuya to a bar inside a church. the bar aptly named “church” had nun bartenders, pews for seats and a dj under the cross. smoking was allowed inside and the drinks were unbelievably cheap so we ended up having a great time. i love church decor/architecture so it was really quite inspiring too. after the day was done my phone reported that i had done 30,000 steps in the last 24 hours... i slept well that night.

my last full day in tokyo (what i thought was my last full day) started with a visit to a market in marunochi. i ended up splurging a little and buying lots of little trinkets, including a big vintage metal bell and two awesome bug prints. after the market i took my friends to omotesando/harajuku and showed them all the cool galleries and store’s i’d found, the shop assistants in radd lounge and sheep both recognised me and said hello hahha. i didn’t do much else that day as i was pretty exhausted

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Who’s in for more Nessian Pride and Prejudice? This is now going to be a multichapter fic so I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I do! This is also almost 4K (3.997 words to be more specific lmao), the most I’ve ever written, so you can tell how obsessed I’m with P&P.

You can check here Pemberley’s Lake , part one of this fic.

Once again, huge shoutout to the gc for always being so encouraging. I love y’all 🥺 and special thanks for @perseusannabeth for brainstorming this fic with me 💜

Hooked on you

“The baskets?”

“Yes, my Lord”

“And the refreshments?”

“Yes, they are cool and ready to be served”

“And the table was set in case the ladies prefer its comfort to sitting in the picnic towel?”

“The fluffiest and silkiest one has been chosen and is in place, along with the table, chairs and parasol”

“And what about—”

“My Lord,” Mrs.Potts firmly said, interrupting Cassian’s nervous rambling “Everything has been double checked and ready since my lord inquired about it during breakfast”

Cassian exhaled, running his hands through his hair. Nesta and her companions were to arrive at any minute now, and he had to make sure everything was perfect. She deserved nothing but perfection, and Cauldron blast him if he ended up offending her and her friends in any way.

“Forgive me Mrs.Potts,” he said with small smile “My nerves are getting the best of me”

“You have nothing to worry about my Lord, the staff and I will not disappoint” the elderly head maid assured him. All of Pemberley’ staff had noticed how much their master’s encounter with Lady Archeron had raised his spirits, and they had made their life purpose to make sure his smile never disappeared.

Cassian had to be one of the kindest masters Mrs.Potts had ever served, and most of the staff agreed with her. He always made sure to make all of them comfortable and inquire about how their family was faring, if they were in need of any assistance. He showed a care towards his personnel that went beyond the common care of a master towards his servants, but rarely appeared to be truly happy, wearing a mask that concealed a deep sadness and loneliness within himself.

They had taken upon themselves to organise the most elaborate picnic in the history of Pemberley, in hopes their lord’ smile wavered no more.

And that a certain lady decided to accept his heart.

“The guests have arrived, sir” Cogsworth, Pemberley’s major-domo and head of the household staff, announced “They are waiting in the parlor”

“Thank you, Cogsworth. I shall be with them in a minute”

The butler gave a small nod and left them, going back to tend to the guests.

“Mrs.Potts,” Cassian said, turning in his head maid’s direction “How do I look?”

“Quite dashing, sir, if I may say so” she replied with a motherly smile.

“You may. And the compliment is most welcome” he replied, a boyish grin on his face.

Cassian had taken the utmost care getting dressed that morning. His hair alone had taken him two hours to achieve its natural messy and ruffled appearance, he wore one of his best fitted clothes, and his shoes were so polished he could see his reflection on them.

He could not allow himself to ruin this second chance fate had given him. Even if Nesta had not accepted his heart, he would do anything and everything to be of assistance to her and make sure she had the most enjoyable time in Pemberley.

Cassian quickly walked to the parlor, possible dialogues with Nesta going over his head, from polite greetings to teasings and inquires about her sisters and trip.

But it all went flying from his head the moment he laid his eyes on her.

Nesta Archeron possessed a beauty that took Cassian’s breath each time he saw her, and her current attire did little to help him breath.

She wore a light blue one piece gown, but what had him mesmerised was its off shoulder design, allowing him a clear view of her clavicule and showing a little bit more of skin than the current fashion allowed. White flower shaped buttons added a nice touch to the design, and her elbow length gloves acted as the perfect element to balance the daring dress.

“My Lady,” Cassian greeted, boldly reaching for her hand to drop a chaste kiss on it, wishing those stupid gloves were not in the way “I hope you did not wait for too long?”

“Not at all, sir” Nesta answered, a slight blush in her cheeks “May I introduce you to Miss Gwyneth Berdara, Miss Emerie Carynthian and Sir Balthazar Oristian?”

Cassian looked at both ladies, greeting them as he had with Nesta.

“It is an honour to finally meet the most sought singer in all England” he said, raising the opera singer’s hand to kiss it too, her pale constitution allowing him to notice how much she blushed.

He had thought it better to greet all ladies in the same manner, for it would be impolite and could arise assumptions of his feelings towards Nesta.

Miss Gwyneth Berdara was a petite woman, but Cassian knew that once she sang one could not help but be drawn to her, who shined the most brightly on the stage. Her copper chestnut hair was free, pinned back from her face by a dark blue ribbon, allowing a perfect view of her teal coloured eyes and freckled face. He could not help but wish that Nesta had followed her friend’s example and let her hair down too, which was fashioned in a coronet braid.

Cassian had not been able to stop thinking of Nesta with her hair unbound, that look of surprise on her face in the back of his mind.

He was always thinking of that look on her face.

Miss Berdara held a dark green parasol — no doubt to protect her fair skin from the sunlight —  and a matching dress in similar fashion to Nesta’s, although hers had long sleeves.

“And you must be the famous business woman who has been driving society mad with your beautiful designs” he eyed the lady in question and tried to hide his surprise as he greeted her.

Because Miss Emerie Carynthian was wearing high waisted black pants and a long sleeved white shirt with ruffled laces, her curly brown hair in a high updo.

She for sure was the one responsible for Gwyn’s and Nesta’s daring attire.

“How flattering, sir. At least one gentleman here knows how to talk to ladies” Emerie said, glancing at their only male companion with a smirk.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir” Balthazar ignored Emerie, quite used to his business partner’s teasing “I heard incredible stories about your feats in the War. Shame I was placed in a squadron so far away from your or else I could have seen you in action.”

“You participated in the Battle of Meinir Pass?” Cassian asked, surprised, shaking the other man’s hand in greeting.

“Aye sir, third squadron. After the War I invested some money in business, being fortunate to make a big deal. The unfortunate side being that said deal was with Miss Emerie here”

Cassian laughed. They were a curious group, with only Nesta actually having a place in high society, but still befriending those of different status. It was not something usual, and he felt even more wonder towards her.

“Shall we move on? There are refreshments and we were graced with wonderful weather.” escorting his guests outside, Cassian asked Balthazar about his time in the army, all the while keeping an eye on Nesta, that damn dress threatening to undo his sanity before lunch time.

~•~

Fishing was supposed to be a nice activity. Calming. Relaxing.

Harmless.

Except nothing was truly harmless if Nesta Archeron was involved, because Cassian could not care less about catching fish.

Emerie and Gwyn — she had insisted to be called Gwyn instead of Gwyneth, “We are friends now, you cannot call me Gwyneth, it is too serious” — had gotten bored of fishing after twenty minutes and were now eating strawberries in the blanket laid near the lake. Cassian was really glad they had liked the blanket and ditched the table.

It meant they were comfortable around him.

It meant that he was one more step away from ruining his plan to make today perfect.

Balthazar had promptly prepared his things and in no time had caught three fishes. Emerie had bet he could not catch ten until they left for their inn, so now he was making his goal to catch not ten but fifteen.

Cassian could only wonder how their partnership was if this is how they usually behaved around each other.

Nesta, on the other hand, had been busy reading a book, completely lost in her world.

Until Gwyn and Emerie thought it would be a good idea to splash water at her.

Cassian thought she was going to be angry to have her clothes wet — or to risk getting her book damaged — but he was taken by surprise when Nesta threw her head back and laughed, cheeks flushed and the sun shining in her hair.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and he was so mesmerized by it that he almost hooked his finger instead of the fishing bait.

Cassian lost all interest in fishing once they started splashing water at themselves, watching them play with a small smile on his face, no doubt appearing to be a fool in love.

Balthazar, however, was not so happy.

“This must be a plan from Emerie to ruin my fishing” he muttered a little annoyed “I was about to catch a big one but they scared it away”

“They will get tired soon, my friend” Cassian tried to assure him “It is quite hot today to be moving around, even if they are splashing water at each other”

The sun was indeed high in the sky, and Cassian could not help but wonder how the ladies managed to appear so composed and fresh despite the many layers they wore. He and Balthazar had long ditched their coats to stay only in their shirts, Cassian going as far as rolling his sleeves.

He had failed to notice how Nesta had been eyeing him as he rolled his sleeves, her eyes tracing every new piece of tanned skin being exposed.

“It must be the sun” she thought to herself as she felt her mouth getting dry looking at Cassian’s bare forearms “Surely I am not attracted to him. I am just thirsty because of the weather.”

Nesta had been feeling strangely anxious since they had arrived at Pemberley, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest when Cassian kissed her hand. Oh, how she had momentarily wished she was as bold as Emerie and Gwyn to not bother with gloves — Nesta had been offered by Emerie to wear one of her newly designed pants, which she politely declined, stating that the off shoulder gown was as daring as she would allow herself to be — so she could finally know how Cassian’s lips would feel against her bare skin.

She was not proud to have thought such an improper thing, and even more ashamed of the ugly feeling in her heart when Cassian greeted her friends in the same manner.

How delusioned she had been to think he was showing her some preference.

That his feelings had stayed the same since her sister’s ball.

Cassian was a gentleman, and as such was only showing proper courtesy by greeting them all in the most dignified manner.

“Oh, it is so hot” Gwyn complained, their water game interrupted to get some refreshments “Even your light designed gowns cannot keep it away, Emerie”

“If only we could go for a dive” Emerie sighed, eyeing the lake.

“It would not be proper” Nesta mumbled, still distracted as she watched Cassian.

“Proper” Emerie snorted, taking off her shoes and rolling her pants until her ankles “I almost regret wearing those pants, if only they did not look so good on me”

“Emerie what are you doing, for the Mother!” Nesta exclaimed, watching as her friend dipped her feet in the cold water.

“I am refreshing myself dear, what does it look like?” she waved her hand in dismissal. “Balthazar could not care less about seeing some skin, he is too busy trying to win our bet. Whereas Cassian is too polite to stare. Besides, I dare say he would not care either, as he seems to be used to female attention.”

Nesta found herself with nothing to say in face of Emerie’s remarks, except her annoyance that Cassian would have ladies falling left and right at his feet.

That strangely bothered her.

“Pardon me then, I will agree with Emerie on this” Gwyn declared, dipping her own feet in the lake and sighing in delight “Join us Nesta, please. You must be feeling quite hot”

“Oh well, stop rushing me” Nesta replied, faking annoyance. She promptly dumped her feet in the water, even going as far as taking off her gloves and unbuttoning the first two buttons of her dress, letting the fresh air cool her warm skin “There, all relaxed and improper.”

“Bravo!” Emerie exclaimed, and the three of them laughed loudly.

Nesta had to agree that the cold water was indeed very refreshing, soon not even caring about Cassian or Balthazar’s presence. It was good to let off some steam and forget proper etiquette for a moment. She imagined her mother rolling in her grave in ultrage at her eldest daughter's attitude, which filled her with smug satisfaction.

A fish came up to swim around Nesta’s feet, and she giggled at the sensation.

“Do not move” Balthazar said, eyeing the fish “I have my sights on this little fella”

“Balthazar! Let it go! It’s not bothering me” she exclaimed, feeling protective over her new aquatic friend.

“But Nesta, I have caught twelve fish already. If you let me— “

“I do not allow you to dare and hurt it. You have more than enough time to attempt and win yours and Emerie’s bet” Nesta declared, leaving no room for argument.

Balthazar cursed quietly, but he knew better than to try to go against Nesta. Even if it was over a small thing as a fish.

Nesta asked Gywn about her mysterious sponsor, which had made it possible to fulfill her dream of singing in the most renowned opera houses in England. Gwyn informed she had yet to meet her generous patron, but that recently she had been receiving flowers every new performance.

“You think they are from your patron?” Nesta inquired “Or from any of your mass of admirers?”

Gwyn blushed at her friend’s teasing. Her dressing room was usually crowded with gifts after her performances, be it with expensive jewelry, chocolates, dresses and even love letters.

“I do not know. All I have as a clue are the lovely ribbons used to tie the flowers with” she indicated the one currently tying her hair.

They kept talking about who possibly could be her sponsor, lost in their gossip.

If they had paid attention, both ladies would have spotted Cassian — a small blush that could pass as a result from the hot weather adorning his face — gazing at Nesta. 

More specifically, at her ankles.

His hands were tightly gripping the fishing rod, his eyes moving from her ankles to her bare arms to the two open buttons of her dress.

Cauldron, the places Nesta Archeron made his thoughts wander to.

He quickly looked back at the lake, shaking his head to try and think of other things, glad they were too busy to notice his blatantly staring.

Only that Emerie had seen him and the way he looked at one of her dearest friends. She tucked that information for later, both to tease Nesta about it and to think of more scandalous clothing to make her wear.

She knew a look of love when she saw one, and she was sure Cassian held it.

Nesta, on the other hand, would need a little push to realise her feelings.

And to Emerie’s joy, it appeared that until the end of the day she would have plenty of teasing material.

Both Cassian and Balthar took a break from fishing to have lunch with the ladies — although the latter kept eyeing his fishing rod while he ate, no doubt wanting to get back as soon as possible. Mrs.Potts and the rest of the help had really outdone themselves, there was enough food to feed at least twenty people.

“This has to be the best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten” Nesta declared, already in her second slice “Please deliver my compliments to the cook”

“I am sure Chef Ramsay will be most pleased to hear that” Cassian said, knowing his chef would most probably scream something along the lines of ‘Of course she liked my food, I am the one who cooked it!’ but be secretly happy with the compliment.

“Elain will be sad to hear that” Gwyn teased “To think her cooking talents are viewed in such poor manners in your eyes….”

“Hush now. My sister’s cooking is exceptional, but even her would have to agree with me on this”

“You certainly enjoy it, I have never seen you so unlady like” Emerie said laughing, indicating the chocolate sauce that had gotten on her fingers.

Proving that she could be even more unlady like — by that time her mother would be almost resurrecting to hit Nesta with a whip for her horrid attitude — and shock her friends even more, Nesta licked her fingers instead of using a napkin, promptly cleaning her hand. That action brought fake gasps from her friends, who feigned horror at her action. Even Balthazar got in the play, saying no man would now dare to court her after such behaviour.

Little did he know that Cassian was thinking of proposing to Nesta again. He had tracked each lick, each portion of the chocolate sauce being eaten, his heart beating faster and faster, feeling his body warming and his mind wandering to unspeakable places not for the first time in the day.

“Get a grip Cassian” he thought to himself, drinking some lemonade in hopes of calming down.

Nesta chose the exact moment to glance at him, wanting to see his reaction at her attitude.

Not that she was anxious he would find her repulsive or unworthy of having been invited to this outing.

Rather, what she saw was Cassian drinking lemonade, the sun making his dark hair shine like obsidian, her mouth suddenly dry as she watched him swallow.

“What sorcery is this? Why do I feel that way even with the smallest things he does?” Nesta asked herself. feeling her cheeks getting warmer and looking down at her empty plate.

She made her best to try and avoid looking at him again, jumping at the opportunity to make flower crowns with Gwyn while Emerie sketched some news designs in a small notebook she carried everywhere.

Soon she was lost in the calming motion of twisting and knotting the flowers together, all thoughts of Cassian momentary forgotten.

It was Emerie’s voice saying her name that brought her back to reality.

“I think Nesta may have something”

“What?” she asked, looking up to find both Cassian and her friend looking at her.

“I was wondering if any of you would have anything I could tie my hair with” he brushed his hair back, a few curly locks falling in front of his eyes “I forgot to bring my usual leather strap with me”

“I have a ribbon” Nesta said, fumbling in her purse for the spare she always carried.

Handing him the red ribbon, her heart skipped a beat when their hands touched. She could swear his touch lingered for longer than necessary.

She watched as he gathered his hair in a bun, failing again and again at tying it with the red piece of silk.

“Is the General Commander losing against a mere hair accessory?” Nesta could not help but tease.

“This is quite different from what I am used to” he sighed in defeat “I’m withdrawing from this fight. It seems I will have to bear with the sun for a little longer”

“I could tie it for you” she blurted out before she could hold her tongue back.

Cassian only blinked at her.

“I mean, if Your Grace allows and is not bothered by me touching your hair or—”

“I would be most honoured” he cut her nervous rambling, moving to sit in front of her.

"Pardon me then” Nesta breathless said, taking his hair on her hands.

His hair was much softer than she had imagined and she dared to wonder if had she accepted his proposal, Cassian would have let her brush his hair.

If her making those small braids to make it easier to tie his rebel locks would have been a frequent occurrence.

“Oh, how lovely Nesta!” Gwyn exclaimed and placed one flower crown on Cassian’s head “There! Now he’s perfect!”

“The General Commander of the British Armies wearing a flower crown and with braids on his hair! Ha! No one would believe me if I told them!” Balthazar exclaimed, having grown tired of fishing after his eighteenth catch.

Cassian’s land really was blessed with an abundance of fish.

“What are you laughing for? I also made one for you!” Gwyn said, dumping one crown with pink flowers in Balthazar’s head, making Emerie roar with laughter.

If Cassian appeared to be bothered, he did not let it show, and Nesta could not help but think he looked adorable, nothing like the famous Lord of Bloodshed, who had killed many enemies of the Crown in battle.

“Your friends are rather charming, my Lady” Cassian pointed out, watching Emerie and Balthazar bickering while Gwyn laughed at them.

“I hope we are not causing Your Grace much trouble”

“Not at all” he assured her “This is the most fun I have had in a long time”

Nesta hoped he was saying the truth and not being excessively polite.

The afternoon went on, the group deciding to call it a day and gathering their things. Nesta stayed a little behind the group, too busy trying to button her dress again to keep up with them.

“Those beautiful unpractical buttons” she muttered angrily, failing to put the flower shaped buttons in their place.

“Lady Nesta, is something the matter?”

Nesta almost let out a scream when she saw that Cassian had not left.

“I was just— “ her words died in her throat when Cassian got closer, his hands hovering over her dress.

“May I?” he inquired softly.

Nesta could only nod and pray to the Mother he could not feel her heart beating faster than racing horses. Up close and with his hair tied back neatly —  the small braids suited him more than she would have liked to admit —  she could pinpoint every scar he had, from the one on his left eyebrow to the small cut near his mouth.

Her fingers itched to trace them.

To kiss them.

To kiss him.

“There. All proper now” Cassian said, his voice a little hoarse.

“Thank you, sir” Nesta managed to say despite wanting to scream and melt inside.

They walked silently back to the main state, a comfortable silence between them.

Cassian desperately wanted to hold her hand, using once again the excuse of helping her get on the carriage to do just that.

“Shall you pay Pemberley a visit tomorrow?” he hopefully asked “I could show you the rest of the state”

“I shall be waiting for your call, sir” Nesta replied.

“And please accept this,” she added in a rushed tone, dropping a small object on his hand “ it is not much but I would like to show my gratitude for today.”

“I am most thankful” Cassian said, the carriage leaving before he could say anything else.

Looking at his hand, he realised he held a delicate daisy chain, no wonder made by Nesta while she and Gywn were making the flower crowns.

“I will treasure this forever” he said looking at the carriage turning smaller and smaller as it got away from Pemberley.

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[lordkilluazoldyck]

House of Memories

masterlist | guidelines

summary: uh basically your house is full of memories and you don’t wanna move + lots of fluff

warnings: cursing probably idk mentions sadness and crying

author’s note: hi friends have some shoto. also based on house of memories by p!atd & also welcome home by rehab. thank you goodnight

todoroki (pro hero!)

Todoroki was used to living a more luxurious lifestyle. He grew up with plenty of money given that Endeavor was his father and now as the number two hero, he made the same massive salary.

You however, grew up lower middle class. Your working proletariat family provided you with enough necessities to get by and tried to spoil you when they could, although those opportunities were rare. No complaints from you however, as you knew you were lucky to have a home and such loving parents.

Growing up though, you learned to be appreciative of everything tossed your way. You also found it difficult to be comfortable in a rather luxurious setting. Todoroki was aware of this. He wanted you to have the best of the best for anything, but he also knew you’d never be happy living in some penthouse with forty maids running about. So, instead you shared a little house that sat on a few acres of land, fully furnished with your mom’s couch and grandparents’ china cabinet, among various other ages old pieces.

The walls were filled with pictures of you and Shoto as well as your family. Mediocre paintings you made fit the space in between. The house was rather eclectic, but it was cozy.

More than anything it was home.

You knew Todoroki didn’t get to have the experience of having a cozy home, so you made it your goal to give him that. You hung pictures of his family with the photos of your own. You tried to incorporate his family’s furniture as well and gradually came to love the odd mix of expensive newer furniture and homemade hundred year old pieces.

All good things come to an end, though. It was time to move. Todoroki insisted that upon marriage it was customary to move into the home he inherited from his father.

You sat on the floor of your beloved home picking up all the memories piece by piece and placing them into boxes. Your fingers grazed the handprints pressed into the paint on the wall of the living room. Tears welled in your eyes as you realized whoever owned the house next would cover it with new paint.

Walking to the back door, you stood in the screened in porch. The tear in the screen would be fixed, the physical memory of Shoto almost falling all the way through it after you jumped at him from behind the table, erased.

A glance towards the large plot of land had more tears spilling onto your cheeks. Your flower garden that never seemed to grow, despite the copious hours you and Shoto spent working in it, would be planted over. You halfheartedly chuckled as you remembered him laughing as you sang along to the radio, using your handheld shovel as a microphone.

Sauntering back through the house to the front porch brought back the memory of your first Halloween after moving in with Shoto. You carved pumpkins in the driveway and vividly remembered him being clueless about the process, but yet carved a gorgeous masterpiece on his while yours looked like a cross between a bat and a cow.

The gash near the bottom of the driveway held the story of Shoto attempting to back the u-haul closer to the door the day you both moved in. The driveway was too steep and the trailer hitch scraped through it. You remembered him being so scared you were angry, but all it did was add to the memories encased in the home.

The storm door hung crooked because Shoto claimed he ‘didn’t need the directions,’ and the faucet in the kitchen dripped only at night. It was the little things you’d miss the most from this house. You could still see your brother walking through the hallway when he came for Christmas a few years ago, complaining that the water in the shower wasn’t hot enough.

What got you the most, though was the little gazebo by the lake out towards the back of your property. Fairy lights lit the structure and reflected beautifully off the pond water. Memories filled your mind of building it with Shoto. The laughter and happiness couldn’t be replaced. The two of you build it by hand and were damn proud of the outcome.

Shoto proposed to you in that gazebo. The two of you sat out there by the pond with a speaker and a deck of cards. You played cards and laughed, singing along until nightfall. A storm blew in unexpectedly and rain crashed down. Closing up the thin glass around the gazebo, Shoto spoke up.

“Should we just made a run for it?” His eyebrow rose.

“This is kind of cool, though. Wanna just stay until it calms down?” You grinned.

He chuckled and unexpectedly plopped to the ground, pulling you with him. Your head rested on his stomach as you both watched the roof of the gazebo as raindrops spilled ahead.

His fingers rubbed soft circles onto your cheek as he hummed.

“Yn.” He spoke after a little while, his voice hoarse from the silence.

“Hm?” You hummed.

“Marry me.”

You huffed a laugh. “Shoto, what?”

“Marry me,” you could hear his smile. “Marry me and I’ll be everything for you. All I want is the joy of hearing you say you’ll always be mine.”

Your eyes grew blurry with tears as you sat up to face him.

“Shoto, I— Yes.” You kissed him gently. “A hundred times over, yes.”

The rain eventually stopped and the two of you made it back inside, but you decided you’d love to have stayed there forever.

-

The memory of Christmas’s flitted through your mind as you sat on the couch.

Shoto’s excited eyes as he watched you unwrap the ugliest dress you had ever seen, were forever etched into your brain. You acted so excited despite knowing you’d never wear such a thing.

The noise of the lock jingling stopped your thoughts.

Shoto walked through the front door, then.

“Baby, I’m home.” He pushed his coat from his shoulders.

“H-hey, love.” You sniffed and walked to greet him.

His eyes immediately displayed concern. “Baby, hey, baby, what’s wrong?” He wrapped you in his arms and rubbed shapes into your back.

“This is our home, Sho. I don’t wanna leave. I’m not ready to let it go.” You sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He held you tighter and rested his chin on your head. “Shhh, no baby. No sorry. It’s okay, baby.” He pulled away to look you in the eyes. “We don’t have to let it go, okay? I didn’t know you wanted to stay so bad.” He chuckled a bit and thumbed away your tears. “No tears, princess. You could’ve just told me you wanted to stay.” He pressed his lips softly to yours.

You gave a small smile. “I love you, Shoto Todoroki.”

He smiled, and pulled you back into a tight hug. “I love you endlessly, Yn Todoroki.”

[takerfoxx]

Jurassic Park 4: Doki Idol Live Festival!

magic5ball submitted:

Remember how you asked me about my idea for a Jurassic Park sequel? Well, here you go:

The two velociraptors stood outside a pastel colored town house in Hokkaido prefecture, Japan. If any passerbys thought that was weird, they certainly didn’t show it. Probably because the raptors were wearing fedoras and fake mustaches, so they looked like humans. Also they had guns. Very cool, very intimidating mobster guns. A tommy gun and a sawed-off shotgun, respectively.

You needed guns, to survive Shinzo Abe’s little empire of vice and socialized medical care.

“So this is the place, huh?” muttered the velociraptor carrying the sawed-off shotgun. His thick Brooklyn accent hung in the air like concrete. “Kinda… frillier than I was expecting.”

“It better be.” Replied his companion, who sounded like your racist conservative uncle trying to impersonate that one cool guy from ‘The Godfather’ (You know, the one with the mustache who was played by Robert de Niro). “We hadda kill a whole lotta people to get this hellhole.”

Sawed-off shotgun licked his non-existent lizard lips

“But hey. That airplane stewardess tasted mighty fine goin-“

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, would ya stop thinkin’ with your stomach and help me with this f*ckin’ knob!” cried tommy gun, trying to work the doorknob best he could with his raptor claws, which, in all honesty, wasn’t much, because raptor claws are terrible at operating things meant for human fingers. Little did he know, the door was a ‘pull’, not a ‘push.

At least he didn’t have to wait long before someone unlocked the door from the other side: another velociraptor, this one a bit on the short side. And p!ssed. Very, very p!ssed. You could tell he was the cool one because he wore an eyepatch over one eye. An eyepatch with a Captain Underpants logo on it.

“Didn’t your parent’s ever teach you idiots about using the doorbell?! I was just about to enjoy lunch with my beautiful wife and you-!“

He paused, recognizing the two figures facing him.

“Well, well, well” Said tommy gun, cocking his weapon “If it isn’t SWEET JOHN HAMMOND’S BALLSACK WHAT THE F*CK AM I LOOKING AT?!”

For the cool raptor was dressed in a gothic Lolita maid outfit, complete with a bonnet and penny loafers. Under his arm he carried a human sized pillow depicting what appeared to be a blonde floozy with massive tits.

 “Oh this? This is Mami Tomoe, my beautiful wife.”

“WHAT THE F*CK!?!?” Tommy gun pulled out a flask off orange Fanta from his butthole and drank the whole thing in one go. He did NOT have time for this homosexual weeaboo nonsense! Still, he and shotgun hadn’t left a mountain of corpses the exact height and width as Mt. Fuji behind them. Too many to go back to Isla Nublar empty handed. Er, clawed. Because they were dinosaurs. Who have claws.

Shotgun took a deep breath. “What the Boss means to say is, ‘May we take refuge in this fine establishment?’”

Cool raptor opened his mouth to reveal a pistol he’d hidden there. And by hidden I mean replaced his tongue with it.

“You know, for all crap you guys used to give me in the past, I oughta pump you full of lead right here and now. Buuutttt… the lady of the house is present, and I’m not in the mood to create more work on her end. So come on in! You’re just in time for lunch.”

Lest they attract unneeded attention, the three dinosaurs hopped inside.

.   .   .

Lunch was omurice boba tea with a bottle of teriyaki sauce on the side. It was just boba tea, but the boba had been replaced by omurice because F-Bomb hated the flavor of boba, which he likened to rabbit crap. The teriyaki sauce was teriyaki sauce.

It was the most racist thing shotgun had ever eaten.

“Well, now that you jerks have gotten a taste of my sloppy seconds, I suppose some introductions are in order. You’ve already met my lovely wife” Cool raptor gestured to the body pillow seated next to him “So that leaves you two. Mami, meet A-Hole and D-Bag. A-Hole’s got the tommy gun, D-Bag is ridin’ her sawed off shotgun, as always. They’re old… acquaintances of mine.”

“He.” Corrected D-Bag. “I’ve been using he/him pronouns six months now.”

“Well that’s an improvement. Now instead of bein’ the Boss’ side B!tch literally, you’re just his b!tch figuratively!”

“Well screw you too, F-Bomb!” laughed the boss. “An’ speakin’ of screwing, what’s with the fruity get up? You a prostitute now or something?”

 “Even better! This might surprise you, but I’ve got legitimate work now. This here’s my uniform, my uniform for MILF TIDDIES!”

A-Hole chugged his entire bottle of teriyaki sauce in one go, lest his mind implode from the sheer stupidity of that sentence.

“The Hell’s a milf tiddie!?”

“Only the best freakin’ maid café in Hoikaido, hookers!”

He gestured to a wall, covered in hundreds of photos of cute floozies dressed like they were attending a vampire’s funeral. Among them was a photo of F-Bomb in his drag, serving a deep fried hot dog to some elderly Japanese dude.

“As you can see, yours truly is serving Japan’s national desert to none other than 57th Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe!”

“Hold it up. Youse been hobnobbing it with politicians?!”

“I wish! You’re thinking of Shinzo Abe, 57th Prime Minister of Japan. This guy is his twin brother. Still pretty sweet though. We DID win a Grammy for that, after all.”

A-Holes eyes bulged out of his scaly raptor head.

“YOUSE WON A GRAMMY FOR THAT?!”

“Dang right! Milf Tiddies has won sixteen Grammys since I started working there!” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. A very special piece of paper, if the six holes punched into it were any indication. “Did you know that if you win ten Grammys in a row, they give you a free orphan? That’s how the wife and I got our glorious daughter, Lil’ Nagisa!”

F-Bomb pulled a faded photo out of his wallet. A photo showing himself, his pillow wife, and a smaller body pillow of a ten-year-old moeblob wearing a Green Bay Packers cheesehead helmet.

“So youse couldn’t even conceive your own kid?” Inquired D-Bag sexily. He was munching his omurice slowly, so F-Bomb knew he was being serious.

“Are you implying I have sex with my own wife, you sick freak?! I’m a weeaboo, not some degenerate anime fanboy! Get it straight!” He instinctively cocked the pistol in his throat. It was awesome as hell.

In response, D-Bag pumped his shotgun. Loudly.

“Permission to put the sick freak out of his misery, Boss?”

“Firstly, don’t call me Boss when we’re not having anal sex. Second, no can do, my spicy lover. We need F-Bomb alive.”

F-Bomb heard all of this even though A-Hole whispered it, but he pretended not to make A-Hole feel clever.

D-Bag mumbled about how the Boss was lucky he was so mind blowing in the sack, otherwise he would have left the relationship long ago. The sack in this case being a really kinky sex dungeon. Like really kinky. So kinky even Donald Trump wouldn’t go within a mile of it. D-Bag had almost died of autoerotic asphyxiation more times than I’ve gone to the bathroom in my lifetime. That’s why he was the smartest dinosaur out of the three of them. Now where was I again?

Anyway, F-Bomb interrogated

“Alright guys, what’s the deal? I know folks who come to this socialized medical care infested hellhole, and they don’t come here just to eat omurice boba tea. You WANT me for something.”

He cocked his mouth-pistol again. Sparks flew all over the carpet, which was made of alpaca fur so it didn’t catch fire.

A-Hole scandalously kept his cool.

“It’s about Isla Nublar.”

The second those words left A-Hole’s lips, F-Bomb escorted his wife out of the kitchen, but leaned her against the kitchen door, because that’s what she would have wanted.

“Well what about it? I told ya guys, I’m done with that dump.”

“They’re puttin’ the screws on us, F-Bomb. Making us pay for eating those tourists back in the nineties.”

“And what makes you think I care? Like I said, I’m done with that place. I got a wife and kid now.”

“But F-Bomb, doesn’t the Park mean ANYTHING to ya!? What about the time we ate that park ranger that called you a girl? ‘Better than sex’ I recall you saying.”

“Nice try, but I’m not exactly in the mood to get misgendered again. Don’t you guys got any ideas that don’t involve me?”

“As a matter of fact, yours truly had this really spectacular one!”

D-Bag did a hand gesture wherein he constantly crossed his dinosaur claws across his throat rapidly in quick succession. A-Hole, being very smart, knew this meant he should continue, loudly enough so that everyone in the prefecture could hear.

“It was called ‘Trump Ballz’. We’d harvest Donald Trump’s testicles, see, and sell them to the highest bidder, so they could do whatever people do with lopped off testicles. I’m not one to judge. It was a terrific idea. I know because when I told my best friend Donald Trump about it, he said, ‘A-Hole, this is an incredible idea. Absolutely terrific! This is probably the best idea in America! You are very smart, very intelligent dinosaur! I oughta buy you a prostitute!’ Of course, we didn’t realize that Trump’s ballz don’t grow back when you lop them off. Did you know that by the way? Human testicles don’t grow back-“

F-Bomb cocked the pistol inside his throat gain, getting the Boss to shut up. This was probably the most heroic thing anyone had ever done in the history of the universe. He also asked a question:

“SO WHAT THE HECK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!”

A-Hole vomited a severed arm and a pamphlet onto the table.

“EVERYTHING, ya WEEB trash!”

The pamphlet was for something called the Doki Idol Live Fest- DILF, for short. F-Bomb was no stranger to the DILF, but they had parted ways years ago. Six, to be exact, when he had buried Nico Yazawa’s still screaming corpse by the side of the highway. And neither was he stranger to the prize.

It looked like a beer and soda drinking baseball cap, but only to complete idiots who didn’t know crap about the Idol Life.

And F-Bomb wasn’t one of those people, er dinosaurs.

“THE MCGUFFIN OF SIN?!”

“Dam* straight! And like it or not, youse the only one with enough idol know-how to help us win it! Thing’s worth, like, a zillion dollars.”

A zillion in this case was equivalent to half a million. Still, isn’t that impressive?

F-Bomb stuck his nose in his omurice and snorted, a common intimidation tactic among velociraptors. I know because I read  it in the Scientific American.

“Sorry, guys, but even with that on the line, no can do. I’m DONE with the Idol Life, any I’m not letting you filthy casuals drag me back in.” He cocked the pistol in his throat. “NOW SCRAM!”

A-Hole and D-Bag jumped out a window, so they could get the jump on a feral dog humping its’ owner. Nobody realized they were dinosaurs because of their fake mustaches, so it looked like a pair of mobsters were eating a puppy.

When they were gone, F-Bomb pranced to the bathroom, which was filled with plush alpacas he had collected over the years. So many, in fact, the bathroom did not meet OSHA compliance. Which was why F-Bomb had made it an independent nation state, only to realize that OSHA didn’t apply to him anyway, since he lived in Japan.

He had felt really stupid after that, but at least he got his own country out of it.

Anyway, he vomited sixteen liters of blood into the sink, for F-Bomb had a secret: he was dying. Back when he was a fetus in an egg in a lab on some island in the Caribean, he’d become addicted to the illegal street drug known as WEEB, and frequent use had poisoned his lungs. The doctors had given him Socialized Medical Care and four more years to live. The WEEB had taken eighty years off his life. Socialized Medical Care had borrowed his lawnmower and never given it back.

But F-Bomb also had a dream: he and his wife were going to build their own maid café, and it would be even better than MILF Tiddies. He’d already picked a title: DILF Tiddies, and it was going to be the greatest food-selling establishment in the history of Japan. Omurice boba tea was going to go global. But he’d never get the funds on time, not on his meager salary. Unless…

His beautiful wife greeted him as he exited the bathroom.

“Get a pen and some razor blades, sweetgums. I’ve got a letter to send.”

.   .   .

The message arrived in the neck of a mailman’s severed head. This is the traditional way velociraptors send letters to each other. I read it in a book.

D-Bag didn’t see the letter, but the look on A-Hole’s face told him everything.

“What’d I tell ya, D-Bag? Like I always say, when you’re dino you’re dino all the way, till youse dead in the ground or youse come out as gay!”

“Yeah, we really need to update those lyrics.”

End Chapter 1

...I cannot for the life of me decide if this is the greatest thing I've ever seen or the worst, but it at the very least had me staring speechless at my computer screen for a long time.

[wychive]

𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 ─ 𝙠. 𝙮𝙨.

pairing(s) // yeosang x fem!reader

genre(s) // fluff, a little angst, royal!au, childhood!au

word count // 2.9k

author's note // this is my debut story on tumblr so it might not be up to standard but nonetheless i hope you all like it <3 this if for @noya-sannnn whom i love so much. p. s. listen to calming guitar melodies while reading this!

The night was cold but the fireplace was warm enough for the both of you. You and Yeosang sat in front of the crackling fire, playing around with the toys you bought together that cold afternoon.

“I’ll save you princess!”

“Oh yay! Captain Bright is-”

Yeosang groaned and rolled his eyes at you, putting down his toy hero. “It’s Captain Light, Y/N. How many times have I told you?”

“It’s the same thing, like potato potato,” You crossed your arms and placed it against your chest, huffing out. “Whatever..”

It was the first night of December. Yeosang’s mother and yours were in the kitchen preparing the presents. You could hear them struggling with some of the gift wrap and almost took the chance to see what your presents were but then a little speck of white caught your eye from outside the window.

The six-year-old you together with the superhero, ran to the window as the first snow of the season fell. Your dark spheres became stars, looking in awe at the pretty snowflakes. In the distance, you could see the spectacular castle as snow covered its tall towers. You frowned, turning away from the sight. Yeosang noticed your moody attitude and proceeded with a sigh.

“Hey, Y/N..” He stood in front of you and tilted his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to know how it feels like to be an actual princess,” You prance around the living room, as if you were in one of those barbie movies. “To wear dresses, to have a big ballroom, and to meet cool princes,” You stopped and sighed. You proceeded to sit on one of the velvet sofas, dangling your feet.

Yeosang shook his head and sat beside you. “You don’t need those things to live, though,” he says, swinging his legs back and forth. “You have me and your parents, aren’t you happy with us-”

You cut him off. “Yea but still.. Yeosang, don’t you want to know how it feels like to live the life of a prince?” The boy thought about the idea for a short while and nodded to himself thinking about the fancy meals and the amount of toys he’d have if he was a young royal.

The boy leaped from the couch and went to the middle of the room. He extended his hand towards you, signaling for you to grab it. “Wanna see what my parents taught me? It’s a dance, but more fancy than what we usually do”

You exhaled the cold air and smiled before going up to him. “Show me, kind sir.”

“Um- but before we dance, we have to do this,” he blushed a light pink tint and proceeded to bow in front of you, pretending to take off a hat. “May I have this dance, m’lady?”

You tried so hard not to laugh at the sight but then answered with a giggly yes. He could see you almost bursting out one of the biggest laughs ever and playfully slapped the side of your shoulder.

“Okay, first we put our hands on each other’s shoulders,” He placed his hands on your shoulders, as you did the same. An awkward silence filled the air but that didn’t bother the both of you.

“Now, we just swing side to side,” He moved, swaying both of you together. You let out a little giggle.

“This is ridiculous! Did your parents make up this dance?”

“They said this is what they do at the festivals up there in the castle so..”

“Well, it’s still stupid,” You pouted jokingly. You both swayed to nothing but just the crackling fire and the voices of both of your mothers echoing from the kitchen. Suddenly, a light bulb appeared on the top of your head. You took control and spinned the heck out of you both, earning a little warm laugh from the boy in front of you. Getting more and more dizzy with every round, you stopped and collapsed to the ground, followed by the male which collapsed beside you.

Both of you continued laughing as if the only care in the world was if you got on the nice list for Christmas. Your soft smiles were illuminated by the fire that was starting to burn out.

“Y/N, promise me something..” He said, facing the ceiling with his hands on his stomach.

“Hm?”

“When we grow up, promise me we will do that again,” He said, followed by his classic warm smile.

“Princess Y/N,” your head perked up to see one of your royal maids calling out your name from the end of the hallway.

“Your dress is ready for the autumn festival!”

You groaned, not wanting to get out of your comfortable pajamas any sooner. This princess life was not what you had in mind. Now that you were eighteen, everything magical about being a princess faded away. The princes were not more than riches, the dresses so tight they didn't care about your respiratory tract and the dances to be filled with people that you didn't even know existed. Ten years ago, when your mother was revealed to be a distant relative to the royal family, they had asked her to take over the throne as they had no one left to count on. You ought to think that this was going to be just like Sofia The First. The hardest thing was to leave your life behind, including Yeosang. Seeing him act tough when you left made your heart flutter a little, of course, you didn’t - hadn’t - told him yet. Ever since you got here, every little thing that brings you joy would remind yourself of him. The same question would always repeat, “What was he doing now?”

With the help of your maid, you put your blue dress on that had streak marks of gold foil. It was a little tight around your waist, but you managed to get comfortable. Thank God, people don't use corsets anymore because that would've been such a nightmare. You really didn't like the fancy ballroom dances but admired the musical art behind it. Honestly, you would rather just stay in your room reading a good book instead of facing the thousands of fakes that were there to either take over your kingdom or ask for your hand in marriage.

Dusk arrived sooner than expected and the guests filled the castle ballroom in no time. At these events, you always stuck around with your parents. The awkwardness of being around people that want to kiss you was always a problem. You kept a smile on your face not caring if you were genuine about it or not. Your answers to the questions they asked would be answered with a “Dad, how about you answer first. I’m getting a little thirsty.” and followed by you excusing yourself to get some refreshments. This time you did it again and actually got some water as you felt a small headache was coming your way.

As you took a sip of your drink, a figure from the crowd stood out to you. The mystery person was wearing a classic white uniform suit jacket with gold and black lining and a buttoned up white shirt. The chest area of the suit was filled with medals, some of which of the highest levels of honor. One little accessory that stood out was the little pink butterfly on the collar of the shirt that reminded you of the one that you gave him when he was younger.

“Yeosang!” you called out, to see if it was actually him. If he was here after all those years of not being in touch with each other. The now grown male turned to your direction and flashed the same smile he did, all those years ago.

“Y/N!” He called your name. His voice, now mature and filled with nothing but sweet honey made your heart flip. He willingly ditched the conversation he just now had and opened his arms wide as you both ran towards each other, not wanting to stop any sooner. The crowd opened up into a big area as everyone saw you both heading towards the middle of the room. He caught you as soon as you were held by him and lifted you from the ground. He twirled you around with your hands on his shoulders as you both laughed together. Is this what complete bliss felt like?

He finally placed you back on the marble floor and gave you a proper hug. You heard people clapping but that didn’t matter to you. You just found your best friend. After so many years of living without him. Your tears almost puddled but you decided that the meet-up was too public for crying and you weren't that sensitive. You pulled away and looked at him, scanning his now tall figure.

He certainly had been working out and gotten slightly cuter. This was a whole different Yeosang. You looked back at him and he cocked his head to the side with the familiar ‘wtf-are-you-doing’ face. Nevermind, still the perfect him you knew of. You finally realised what you were doing and a blush blossomed onto your cheeks.

“Sorry-” you said, as your hand covered the bottom half of your face. Since when did you get so flustered around him?

“It’s okay, Y/N/N,” He chuckled softly and looked at how much you’ve grown. You went from the mud-covered fairy to the most beautiful princess ever. However, you blushed a little harder than before when he said your old nickname and took a deep breath to let out the icky feelings. Smiling softly at the male, you initiated an actual conversation.

“I didn’t know you were a knight-” you said, grabbing his medals and looking at them one by one. “How come you’ve never told me?” you crossed your arms with a pout, cheekily.

“Well, first of all, I wanted to make it a surprise. Second, I trained for three years and couldn’t contact you at all,” he stopped for a bit and looked at your face once again. “And lastly, when did you become this pretty?” he said, with a smirk on his face.

You let out a light laugh trying not to let out a big laugh in this type of crowd. “Oh, good one,” you said, wheezing and holding his shoulder before you realised that he meant the unusual compliment. “You- you’re not kidding?” you asked, with an ‘are-you-serious-rn’ face. He nodded.

“Since when did you become such a flirt?” you asked, with a worried look on your face.

He shrugged and chuckled once again. “Don’t be alarmed though, I was just seeing if you would blush again”

“Well no- you flirting seems weird enough already. You flirting with me would be triple the weird. Therefore, no, I would not blush if you were to flirt with me,” you said sophisticatedly. There’s no way you would fall for this wimp.…. right?

Him flirting didn’t stop you both from talking to each other though. You both continued to talk and catch up with everything that happened in the past years. You were very interested in his adventures when he was a knight in training as equally as invested of he was in the stupid mistakes you’ve done during major public events. You decided to show him the castle gardens as they were the best shown at night with mini fairy lights wrapped around the bushes and in the middle of the garden was a circle of just grass that you could lay on that was surrounded by various types of flowers.

As you both got into the circle, the mini orchestra from the main ballroom was on their fifth song that night. You yawned as you were tired from the chit chat and the walking. You really needed some sleep after finishing that one book the night before.

“Hey, I think I should go- my parents are probably looking for me,” you said, not really wanting to leave.

“Not yet,” the handsome male said, extending his hand out to you. ‘This looked familiar’ you thought to yourself as a memory from the depths of your brain came to the surface. Ah, yes. The blurred music would make this hopefully not as awkward as before. “Did you save that dance for me after all this time, princess?”

“Yes, of course,” you said, baffled at the fact that he still remembers it as well.

“Let’s do it the right way this time. Shall we?” Yeosang chuckled before he bowing in front of you. “May I have this dance, Y/N?”

You smacked his head playfully and earned a slight yelp from him. He rubbed the place where you hit the poor fella and asked why.

“It’s Princess Y/N to you,” you said with a humph and placed your palm on top of his. “But yes, you may have this dance, Sir Yeosang.”

He flashed his warm sunny smile like he once did and pulled you in. You both looked into each other’s galaxy filled eyes and stayed in that position for a few seconds before actually moving. His other hand slipped down to your waist as yours held onto his shoulder. Both of you stayed silent during the dance as the atmosphere was already filled with beautiful gold coloured music notes and the faded sound of the crickets in the distance.

The memories of you both start to come back. The summers, autumns, winters, and springs you lived through. The secrets and laughs you shared. The fun play dates you spent together. You’re surprised at how much he matured but one thing you noticed that didn’t change was the smile that he always gave you. The sweet smile that looked like it was going to taste like cotton candy. The sweet smile that would always reassure you that it was going to be okay. The sweet smile that would make you feel as if you just witnessed the full bloom of the first flower in spring,

The music was about to end and you were feeling somber because of it but that didn’t stop you from slow dancing with the brave knight. A little towards the end, he pulled you in closer than ever before but stopped right before touching your lips. He could feel your breath as you did with his. You closed your eyes thinking he would actually do it but as soon as you leaned in, he pulled away. You opened your eyes to see that he bit his bottom lip and red tint spread across his face.

You blushed as well, this time harder than ever before. No boy has made you feel like this - even a prince - and somehow the boy who stood in front of you, the one who would always smother you in mud, the one that would steal your candy, the one that broke your favourite toy made you crazy out of your mind. After just one night with him?

Suddenly, he placed his right hand on your cheek and brushed his thumb over your soft skin. There it is again. That stupid smile. The one that started everything. He kissed your forehead softly before pulling you in for a tight hug that felt more different than the one in the ballroom. You hugged him back, wrapping your hands over his torso.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your ear. “so, so much.”

You wanted to stay in that moment forever. Him being close to you and his arms around you as if you were the most important thing to him. The fairy lights joined the bright stars, twinkling above you both as you shared the best hug. He finally pulled away after a few minutes that felt like nanoseconds to you. You bit your gums, wanting him to do that again. Wanting him to stay for a few more minutes if not hours. Wanting him to realise that you wanted to say something so vulnerable that you don’t just say to anyone else.

But alas, everything comes to an end.

You walked together to the entrance of the castle. Seeing the guests leave was always something so melancholy but now that your childhood best friend is leaving, it made you feel a slight something inside.

Deep inside, Yeosang didn’t want to leave either. He wanted you to tell him to stay. He wanted you to pull him back into the hugged you shared. He wanted you to hold you again and twirl you into the air. He wanted you to realise he still had those feelings for you. He wanted you to finally call him ‘yours’.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asked, in a soft voice.

“Yea, definitely,” you answered, trying not to spare another word.

“Well. Goodbye, princess,” he said. The male waved to you, as you did to him before getting into his car. A giddy smile appeared on his face as he thought of something that would tease you.

“Hey Y/N!” he called out, from the backseat of his car. You looked at him with a confused face from a distance.

“Je t'aime.”

With that his car exited the main gates and the thought of you filling his mind. He let out a little laugh, positive that you didn’t know what the phrase meant.

But you have learned about the foreign language over the years. Enough to know that it meant, “I love you.”

[dreaminpeaches]

Humble Pie Concept: Hereau Timeline

Okay so its 4am when I came up with this concept it was too hot for me to sleep so forgive me, if it's sound too weird.

Okay, so what if Beau never met Beau (walk with me to this pier before you throw me off), but instead Beau met Hera...

Hera is character from my other blog , but she exists in Humble Pie, as a famous all star athlete. She's not only know for being a talented athlete but also a beautiful athlete as well. Beau knows of Hera and is a semi fan of hers, her poster was one of the only ones he didn't take down when he was redoing his room. Anyways, Hera is also known be to a very cool and spicy athlete often called the Mona Lisa of sports because she never smiles in pictures and she has a very cool girl, competitive and cocky persona in public. But in actuality, Hera is a nervous wreck whose real dream is to break from her cool girl persona and become a cutesy idol girl.

Where as Bonnie and Beau are interesting as couple for how different they are, Hera and Beau are interesting for how similar they are, both trying to break from personas, that they made for themselves out of protect and want to be a more honest verison of themselves, and I could see them help each other through it.

Beau and Hera's relationship is more mellow than Beau's and Bonnie's chaotic relationship, like for example, Bonnie won't really have the patience to go fishing with Beau--like just watching him fish, but Hera wouldn't be really mind it, she would actually find it really calming, and would enjoy watching Beau along with playing with the cats near by.

Beau is less snarky with Hera and more gentle because Hera can be really hard on herself when she makes the slightest mistakes, and tends to fall into stress loops.

While in Beau and Bonnie's relationship, Bonnie is the one usually to make Beau laugh and cheer him up, in Hera and Beau's relationship, Beau is the one to make Hera laugh and is more goofy with her. Mostly because Hera doesn't rub it in like Bonnie does, like when Beau acts goofy around Beau too much for too long , Bonnie is basically like "You like Krabby Patties don't you, Squidward?" If you know what mean, but Hera is more is more like "Thanks, I need that" and doesn't mention again in mocking or teasing way.

Beau and Hera also have a few more things in common, they both like sports (duh) and they both grew up with fathers who weren't the best dads outside of sports. Hera's father wasn't nearly as physically abusive as Beau's dad, he was more neglectful and ignored Hera anytime she wasn't talking about or practicing some type of sport, Hera's dad secretly wanted a son and kind of was depressed when he found out Hera was a girl, and ever since she could walk he always pushed her to more masculine interest than feminine, he would completely ignore her if she wanted to show her dad and new song and dance she made up in her favorite Ariel dress but she would have his undivided attention if she finally prefected her volleyball serve. Bonnie never knew her father because everytime she would ask her mom what he was like she would say "He was a useless p@#$ who couldn't handle my energy, so I got rid of him", Bonnie's mom would as end the conversation there never really elaborating any further.

How Beau and Hera meet is basically the same how Bonnie and Beau met, but with Hera the meeting has a more 90/80s sitcom feel like "All Star Athlete, Hera Grace? What are you doing here?" But less sitcom y because Hera as a nervous breakdown at the same time her car broke down. So, not only is Beau trying to help fix her car, but is also trying to comfort Hera, while at the same time trying figure out what is All Star Athlete, Hera Grace doing in his small town driving a beat up car.

At first, Hera tells Beau that's she just in town for vacation...

Beau: "So, out of all the places you could go as All Star Athlete, Hera Grace, you chose a small southern town?"

Hera: "I guess I just like the humble aesthetic... heh heh.."

Beau:" Okay.."

Beau (internally): Grandma was right, famous people are weird..

Beau and Hera continue to meet to work on Hera's car, and people don't recognize Hera because (a. Small town folk wouldn't really believe some one THAT famous would just plop into town (b. Using superman logic, Hera wears sunglasses so nobody can recognize her. So yes, Beau and Hera are sunglasses stunting couple 😎😎

Anyways, Beau and Hera start spending more time together and get closer, there is that scene where Hera walks in on Beau playing and being goofy with his siblings, but since Hera isnt as teasing as Bonnie, Beau doesn't feel as embarrassed about it.

There is a moment where Beau walks in on Hera doing a Disney number in one of her cute idol dress, she has another breakdown when she realizes Beau is watching, Beau comforts her again, and that's when Hera reveals that she actually made a deal with her father that if she can at least start her idol career in a year, then she could quit her athlete career and become an idol full time. The reason why she came to Beau's town because all the big city entertainment and music companies literally shut the door in Hera's face, Hera suspect that her dad was behind it and was purposely making harder for her since he wasn't going to help out at all with her idol career, which is why he gave her the best up car, there's a small but ambitious entertainment company in Beau's town looking to start an idol group and since it's not connected to a big company Hera felt like she actually had a chance. Hera begs Beau to keep this a secret and she isn't ready to go public with it.

Hera: "Please, keep this a secret, if-if anyone finds out, I'll--ill--"

Beau: "Hey! hey! It's okay, I know what it's like to keep a secret, but at least yours is actually really cute.."

Hera:" (Blush) heh...heh.. thank you, that really means alot to me, Beau"

While Bonnie's hyperfixation is mascots, Hera are idols, idol culture, Idol anime shows/games, and Disney. She often info dumps about Idol stuff while helping Beau work on the car.

Hera: "Oh! Oh, there's this another idol group I like called Arashi, they're were the first idol group I ever seen, and they have this one song that oozes sparkle energy, and they're still really cute and fun despite being kind of old for idols, and --oh, I'm sorry, rambling again.."

Beau: "No, no, it's fine, you smile for real when you talk about that stuff, I like it.."

Hera: "(blushes) UMMMM!..okay, so where was I-- oh, yeah.."

For money, Hera works at a cat cafe, she was gonna work at the same maid cafe Bonnie did but Hera was still shy about preforming in front others on the spot like that, so she picked the cat cafe that was two stores down, she also coaches softball at the local rec center.

Hera is no where near as flirtatious as Bonnie, since Hera spent most of her life practicing sports, and trying to literally win her dad's affection, she didn't really think about boys in a romantic sense, although she is comfortable around guys platonically, Beau was the first guy to treat Hera like a normal girl, not one of the guys or a sports goddess, just a normal girl, Hera is used to being call Beautiful or Sexy, but when Beau calls her Cute, she considers that flirting.

Since Hera is so used to holding masculine energy and qualities and being praised and recognized for it, it's nice to allow herself to be more feminine and being recognized and complimented for it.

While Beau is more sparing but loving with his kisses with Bonnie . With, Hera he uses his kisses to comfort her and/or to stop her from falling into stress/aniexty loop, usually holding her or hugging her or at least holding her hand and say "It's Okay", "I'm here", "Don't worry about it"

Okay, that's about all I have to say for this timeline/AU, I still love both Beaunnie and Hereau equally, I like Beaunnie for it's chaotic energy, I like Hereau for it's neutral good energy, I like both Bonnie and Hera, we can stan multiple queens in this household thank you very much...

[moltazia]

A court of silver flames plot rewrite

Plot doctor. SPOILERS!!!

ok so i really dislike the latest ACOTAR book, it really undercut the illyrians as cool warriors and the achievements of rhys, cas and azriel for reaching the mountain. Really 3 people whos trained for a year is alot better than people whos trained their whole life?? it also really ignored Nestas actuall skillset and seemed to try and make her feyre 2.0. in this feyre is also very much not pregnant. that whole plotline deserves its own book and since they said they wanted to wait i think it can happen 50 years into the future or something rather than the immidiate next book from the one saying they wanted to wait. also no attempted rape tacked on plot or 3 objects everyone just forgot about. if i was to do a rewrite of the plot beats and settings of the book it would go something like this:

we move it so nesta actually moves to the illyrian camp full time for her intervention. with how the human society is structured this fits her better than velaris with the more strict and defined gender roles, we can explore here how in a way she is quite alike to illyrians. cassian is frustrated that she is not on his side when it comes to training women. we see flashbacks of her life and how it was beaten into her by her parents and everyone around her that it was mens job to care for women and it was horrible and unsightly if a woman tried to do anything on her own or push to hard for something with physical force.

she helps with the womens chores but are also confronted with the ones who want more out of life and they ask her why she thinks why shouldnt they be allowed. not all women will suddenly be trained, just the ones who want to. she comes around. she makes friends with the female shop keeper, she really likes the idea of being in control of making and having her own money. flashback to the cottage, her frustration with her father for not fulfillinf the role of provider and leader he was "supposed to" and her not being able to bring herlsef to chop the wood because it will ruin her hands, hands she was told to take care of because it was a sign she was a lady. her admiration for feyre for bringing them food but that first instinct to shun her for not being feminine or adhering to her role is very strong. she doesnt know how to handle it.

life in camp settles into a routine a bit, she sees cassian caring for his people and being a gentle person, she finds this very admirable and thirts a bit. sexism being directed at her, now that shes settled in with the women well the other illyrians have started to regard her as "just another woman" she gets angry and it becomes a bigger spat. she gets some approving comment from the more outspoken women who wants to train. she asks cassian to show her some basic defense moves.

she sees a wing clipping when cassian is gone to inspect some other camt´p and she tries to intervene she cant do anything since shes too weak and illyrians are stone hard super warriors. she makes the bargain with Cassian this time its for protection if another spat happends and so through the bargain she could summon him.

the evil queen attacks the camp with autumn court soldiers. its a disaster and alot of people die. since it was made clear they were soley after nesta she gets blamed for the attack in the high emotions after when people find their loved ones dead. she cant stay in the camp any longer.

cassian and her leaves for the court of nightmares, meeting up with the gang and Eris to discuss whats happened.(before eris arrives it is tense between her and feyre, fyre tries to hug her after hearing what happened and nest cant stand to ahve someone be kind to her after feeling like shes to blame and shrugs her off) it is agreed since nesta is a mostly neutral person to the rest of the courts and the one most trained in court manners she will be the one to go with Eris back to the autumn court to investigate. cassian will come with her as her personal guard. as the queens sister it is not something off about that arrangement. to give a reason for her to visit the autumn court they decide to fake a romance between eris and nesta. same ballroom scene as in the book.

longer flashback of nestas life right before poverty, shes the ultimate mean girl and a social butterfly, switching masks to be different people to different artistocrats with ease. shes admired and she holds high society in her small lace gloved hand. they arrive in the autumn court. she gets a "low" faerie assigned to her as a handmaiden. she has a audience with Beron and his wife.

Eris is a much better mirror for nesta than cassian. he is the same as her in many regards, growing up in a strict role. missing a step in the social dance can mean death (symbolically for nesta growing up, real here). putting on an uncaring mask to not show how intensly you care is a big theme in this part. Eris and Nesta are great at playing "the game" toghether and cassian as her silent bodyguard grows to admire her slyness and how great an actress she is, manipulating the courtiers to giving information and making accurate conclusions from their clothes and manners ("we can pressure X person to do this, their clothes are a season old and they are doing their own hair because its messier in the back where they cant see it in the mirror, this means they cant afford a hand maid anymore. give them a bribe and they will do anythign" etc). she and eris starts growing a friendship of two people who see alot of themselves in eachther.

they are figuring out the evil queen, but some moves from the enemy doesnt make sense, theres a third player in this game they realise (death god lake dude). the trio have become comfortable with each other and are hanging out and putting together their intel and gossip. Nesta becomes friends with her handmaiden. this helps break down her elitist and class barriers in her head a bit. while feyre has her painting it is to messy for nesta when she tried it.  but shes always loved clothes (we can see a bit of it in the first book even), she starts putting her own touch on dresses throughout the book and starts designing her own even. we can see how many in the court she has won over to her, cassians and eris´s side by what courtiers copy details from her designs.

she makes her handmaiden some nice outfits. we can also learn what nesta likes about herself here, in the dresses she designs: what does she emphasize, what does she hide? while she probably has a whole range of outfits to make her look anything from innocent to evil queen what does she wear when shes just "nesta"?  Feyre once remarked she hated her eyes because they reminded her of her mother and nesta. does nesta feel the same way or does she like her eyes for just the same reason? combat training with cassian continues in secret. some fun wrestling or close combat fighting flirting. she reflects on the fact that while she "let loose" in velaris and slept around she would never sleep with him casually, she knows it would mean somethign and she wouldnt be able to brush it off if she did. he asks her to teach him something aswell or explain some etiquette thing. idk, poin is that they are learning from eachother and admire each others strenghts. she says to him she thinks hes very brave to never masks his feelings but notes it leaves him open to manipulation easily. he asks back if shes then thinks herself a coward for always masking herself. conversation started out nice but turns sour.

Autumn court outing, she and cassian makes up and she opens up to him about her and feyres realtionship. we can also maybe get some more background on why shes so protective of elain here, as someone whos described to be so beautiful and charming i dont buy its because someone was like once mean to her. elain would have been popular in her own right.

she and eris ride together and jokes and such, he makes some halfjoking remark about cassian maybe and she defends him. they talk about family pressures and parental figures who are very imposing and bossy while the other is passive (something they have in common) eris lets down his guard a bit and talks about how he doesnt want to be like that, he doesnt want his future partner to be trapped in the same situation either. she talks about how she never really thought about how married life would be like growing up, everythign was about getting married. the after wasnt something discussed. she thinks about if she would ever want a family, she probably assumed she would have children one day (it was expected) but the only thing she can imagine is a perfect child like she was. she starts being afraid of if she has children she would turn into her mother. she has a quick image of cassian as a dad with a smiling little girl in his arms.

throughout this whole thing nesta is writing letters to the night court, it is expected since shes the high ladys sister and since they are surely read they use it to throw suspicion in the wrong places to beron about what she sees and suspects. but as she writes and recieves back letters and she reflects and improves on who she is, her letters become more heartfelt. doing some work to improve their relationship a bit. in her dresses she starts sewing in hidden pockets. Cassian gifts her a dagger, saying he thinks she will be able to be marginally more dangerous to others than herself by now with it. she makes a special hidden pocket for it and always has it on her.

the trio finds out who in the autumn court is the death gods agent and kidnaps them. azriel comes by to get information through torture but the agent does not break. Nesta goes in and through playing a perfect balance between caring and arrogant she gets the agent to slip up and give them a clue about where they will strike next, what they are after. Azriel is impressed, notes she is a a great interrogator and would make a great spy for him. he also notes to cassian about how shes changed alot since he saw her last. more focused and balanced in herself. Eris notes how she reminds him of Amarantha from the first book before she betrayed everyone and cassian gets mad he would say something like that. back and forth but and eris notes how "a knife is a knife, its about how its wielded." and pointing out that just because a person was an enemy on the battlefield doesnt mean he couldnt admire a skilled warrior. and so likening her to amarantha was a compliment. cassian huffily agrees and sees their, to his mind, more boring socialite nights with a new eye. same revelation as in the original book when nesta read battlefield books and saw how like it was to a court but for cassian instead.

the clue from the death gods agent leads them to trying to go after the mcguffin under the guise of a romantic trip. think a bunch of weapons hidden in a picknic basket. Handmaiden comes along to make it look real. on the perilous trip they all work together and and finally gets it, on the way back to bring the macguffin to meet up with nighcourt gang so amren can study it, they get attacked by the queens cronies again. Eris has the mcguffin and the handmaiden on his horse and rides off, making the smart decision to first and foremost get it out of the enemies reach and try and lure them off cassian and nesta. it doesnt work. the evil queen is overcome by her hatred for nesta and order her soldier after her instead of the mcguffin. nestas had some training but cant hold off soldiers whos trained for centuries and gets taken. she sees cassian being overwhelmed but still trying to get to her. she invokes the bargain of favour they made to force him to abandon her. they share a long look before he is forced by the bargain to fulfill her wish.

Eris and Cassian meets up the NC gang and they are besides themselves. a rescue mission is put toghether. Feyre insists on coming "she came for me, trying to pass the wall". handmaiden stays with azriel and amren.

Nesta wakes up in The evil queens castle. we get some one on one talks with the villain. we get insight into her motivations and why she valued her youth so much. we get to see how Nesta used to also think the most valuable thing about herself was how well she could appeal to others and the power that gave in a society wich was designed to make her powerless. she now finds it a bit sad and reflects on how much she values her new friendships and how cassian would probably still like her even if she wasnt traditionally beautiful anymore. The Villain starts draining her blood bathory style to get her youth back. agents of the deathgod comes and makes her stop before Nesta dies. he has bigger plans for her. Evil Queen looses her shit at not getting to kill her.

we see eris, feyre, and cass making plans for how to get in and rescue Nesta. some heart to heart between feyre and Cas about his feelings for Nesta and how hes holding off on showing her them. He talks about how hes seen alot get thrown at her. he talks about how she havent gotten to choose alot in her life and so in a way he hates the bond because he himself realises that that is yet another thing she havent gottent to choose. feyre wonders if nesta thinks he isnt attracted to her. that she thinks cassian only said what he said in the heat of the moment on the battefield. Cassian is dumbstruck by how anyone could not be attracted to nesta.

Evil queen comes by to taunt nesta in her cell. they exchange barbs and she lies and says she killed "her warrior" to mess with her. Nesta doesnt believe her but still gets anxious. has a twinge of doubt anyones goign to rescue her. elaine has always been with her when things go bad and a part of her thinks they only got rescued because of her since everyone loves elaine and now when its just her will they still come?

shes to be transported somwhere by the evil deathgods cronies and the evil queen is accommpanying them. the rescue trio sees them leaving. their whole plan on infiltration flies out the window and they have to move quick. Feyre uses her shape shifting to look human and makes herself bait. running at the caravan of nestas captors when theyve left the city (a castle usually have a city around it) screaming theres fae attacking from there pointing to the right as eris and cass attack from the completely opposite side. in the chaos nesta gets loose and starts running for the trees evil queen blindly pursue her and tries to kill her. with her arms free she grabbs the hidden dagger from her dress and kills the queen in self defense. the rescue trio finds her and they all go back to Night Court.

the book concludes with her and cassian having a heart to heart about how he was so worried he would loose her again and she admitting how she certainly feels somethign for him but she wants to take it slow. (her being terrified of showing her true raw feelings have yet to be resolved. her admitting this much is a big step forward for her) and they have a super smoldery kiss.

end of book. sets up evil lake dude as big baddie, nesta gets to have her own skillset instead of being yet another warrior and next book can build on the change illyrian culture regarding women plot aswell. and makes the sex have some build up.

this whole thing was of course just my personal opinion, and an impulsive plot and theme re-write. rant over.

[recentanimenews]

HUMOR: Anime Awards Categories We Threw Out

                                  It’s that time of year again — the Anime Awards! With so many categories to consider, we had to “throw out” a few duds. But don’t worry — they’re all right here for your reading pleasure. Buckle in, because even if they’re not official categories this time around, these superlatives will most definitely tickle your anime-loving funny bone.

  When you accidentally walk into a cosplay photoshoot …

  #1 Best Hair That Would, In Any Realistic Situation, Be Incredibly Difficult To Maintain

Sure, it’s an old joke, but who doesn’t love the classic? Let’s be real. Anime is rich with impracticable hair-dos that would be a total nightmare to handle in real life. But that doesn’t mean they don’t look cool. For example, Shadowverse card game prodigy Hiro Ryugasaki couldn’t be cooler sporting what must be the most impressively dyed-roots I’ve ever seen. Anime hair is, without a doubt, truly an art form.

  Here they come clickety-clack down the track! Lots and lots of trains!

(Source: Rail Romanesque)

  #2 Best Anime Where For Some Reason A Literal Vehicle Is Also A Main Character

Who knew luxury cars and public transportation could have so much personality? A surprising handful of series this year — The Millionaire Detective, Appare-Ranman!, Rail Romanesque, just to name a few — truly raced for the spotlight when it came to showcasing their love for vehicles. Once we achieve world peace, I truly believe a beautiful train can be Best Girl.

  Voting on class representative? Time for a nap.

  #3 Homeroom Teacher Who Most Likely Needs A Vacation

Teaching is not easy, no matter the circumstances. That being said, it doesn’t help if your homeroom class is a bunch of rowdy demon high schoolers or adolescent superheroes. Who wouldn’t be surprised if Aizawa asked for a day off? If only it were that simple. At least he doesn’t have to worry about PTA meetings. That’d be awkward.

  “Not being able to back down and fighting is normal!”

  #4 Best Sports Anime Where It Didn’t Matter If They Won Or Lost, You Still Cried A Lot

  This year’s sports anime line-up — including titles like Ahiro no Sora, Haikyu!!, and Major 2nd — is all about the journey, not the destination. And the truest sign of good sportsmanship is how hard you can cry regardless if your beloved team wins or loses. Whether it’s watching the Karasuno High School Volleyball Team make the play-offs or short king Sora Kurumatani be legendary, nothing seems to hit harder than a good sports anime.

“You see this girl? Bears are terrified of her. I’m terrified of her.”

  #5 Dudes Most Likely To Fight A Bear With Their Bare Hands And Win

Hypothetically, anyone crazy enough can fight a bear and win. But you need … a certain kind of intense personality to even try at all. Golden Kamuy’s Sugimoto has not only fought bears, but even adopted one! The God of High School’s Jin Mori might even be up to the task, if he really is the strongest high schooler to ever live. Bears might be terrifying, but they might actually be the least of our concerns the more I think about it …

  It just works!

  #6 Best Wardrobe Malfunction Just Waiting To Happen

  If you got it, don’t be afraid to flaunt it. But perhaps there are limits to fashion on the battlefield? Season 2 of Re:ZERO -Starting Life in Another World- introduced us to many new characters in elaborate dress-up, some more practical than others. Beast-transforming maid Frederica takes this concept to its literal extreme by shredding her fancy uniform apart — no doubt costing Emilia a small fortune in the process. Not to mention Elsa Granhiert and her, erm, iconic choice in gowns.

Rise and grind

  #7 Most Likely To Be The Epic Hero In A Fantasy World But Got Stuck Working A Boring Day Job And Has To Deal With Real Life Now As The Plot

Everyone dreams of someday being the hero in their own epic fantasy. But just because you dream it doesn’t mean it will happen! Still, it’s possible to be so average, maybe too average, that you can’t help but wonder, “How hasn’t this guy accidentally discovered a magical portal into another world yet?!” Call it a cliche, but I’d love to see Uozumi from Sing "Yesterday" For Me swap places with Subaru and call it a day.

    #8 Best Talking Sidekick Creatures We Still Aren’t Sure Are Housebroken

How many talking animal sidekicks have we seen this year? Ferris from Re:ZERO, any pick of Digimon from this year’s Digimon Adventure:, and the Healing Animals from Healin' Good Pretty Cure may as well all count. Sure, we can consider One Piece’s Chopper a candidate, but that might be a little unfair since I’m pretty sure Agumon hasn’t gone to medical school. Yet.

  The Matsuno sextuplets share a rare moment of deep philosophical introspection

  #9 Best Perfectly Normal Neighborhood Where Absolutely Nothing Weird Happens

This year we saw the continuation of two heart-warming stories about perfectly normal neighborhoods where nothing out of the ordinary ever happens — Season 3 of Mr. Osomatsu and Higurashi: When They Cry - New. New series like Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! prove even sprawling high schools aren’t safe from, uh, eccentric minds. The best thing about perfectly normal neighborhoods where nothing out of the ordinary ever happens? Everyone’s just having a good, un-wacky time! Hahahahahahahaha.

  Come. Stay awhile.

  #10 Best in Cozy

What’s a better way to round-off this list than a category for everything that gives you the warm fuzzies. Laid-Back Camp companion series ROOM CAMP makes the case even the great outdoors can be super comfy. The third season of Is the Order a Rabbit? makes us feel right at home at a coffee shop, if that’s more your vibe. Now couldn’t be a better time to wrap the year up with some anime ready to take it easy. No thoughts. Head empty. Perfection.

  Check out the latest Anime Awards news here and don't forget to vote starting January 15!

      Blake P. is a weekly columnist for Crunchyroll Features. He will not fight a bear. His twitter is @_dispossessed. His bylines include Fanbyte, VRV, Unwinnable, and more.

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Blake Planty

[sohin-ace]

Jonathan - Sick

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

F/N means father's name awright.

It's been quite some days since you have seen your friend Jonathan. You two would usually hang out after school and during the week ends to talk about your day, joke and play around, or even share some snacks together sometimes, as friends do.

But these past days, you've been waiting for him at your usual spot, but he hasn't been showing up. This worried you a lot since he never ever dumped you or made you wait as he was really serious about acting like a real gentleman and treating a lady properly.

You knew he also had some problems with his adoptive brother Dio and you got scared that maybe they got into a fight again, or something bad happened to him. You decided to go visit the Joestar Mansion and see for yourself what was happening.

You came to the huge wooden doors of your best friend's home and knocked. You dusted off your dress a little bit and made yourself presentable, waiting for an answer. A moment later, the locks clanked and the door opened. You were then greeted by a nice-looking maid who smiled politely at you.

"Hello, my name is Y/N L/N, daughter of F/N L/N. I came to visit Jonathan, is he here?" The maid's face brightened visibly.

"Aah! You are milady Y/N that young master always talks about! Please be welcomed!" She stepped aside, gesturing you to come in and you complied, thanking her.

The maid then closed the door behind you and, as she asked you to follow her, a tall blonde figure came elegantly descending from the stairs.

"Don't fret, Sakuya. I will take our guest to Jojo's room." He said in his deep, smooth voice while looking down at you. You stared back, unfazed.

"Ah! How considerate of you, young master Dio, thank you very much!" the maid bowed to him and walked away, getting back to her own business and leaving you both alone.

You stared at him as he approached you. You didn't know much about Dio, you only met him a couple times, but you already knew from what Jonathan told you, and from your small encounters with him, that Dio was not the person to be trusted. You were very wary of him.

Although charming and handsome, the guy radiated an eery aura and had this intimidating scarlet gaze that always put you on edge.

You understood how girls would fawn over him and how guys would want to be his friend, but you personally, would rather keep your distance. Everything about him screamed 'danger'. Overall you always kept your guards up around him.

"Oh please Y/N dear, don't show me that face, I don't bite." The blonde smirked as he got closer and closer.

Your eyes darted away from him and you tensed up, not saying anything. You had nothing to tell him, you weren't here to deal with his shenanigans anyway.

He stood next to you and kindly offered his arm out. "Now, shall we go?"

You reluctantly slid your hand around his arm and walked with him to Jonathan's room, never making eye contact.

"You're awfully silent Y/N, I'm hurt." Dio feigned. "Don't you want to know why Jojo has been absent as of late?"

"Don't bother. I'm here to figure it out." you huffed and he chuckled at your defiance.

You detached yourself from him as soon as you reached the front of Jonathan's bedroom. You knocked gently on the door when Dio continued.

"You being stone cold won't stop me, Y/N you know it." You paused, glaring at the door until you heard the faint sound of Jonathan's voice.

"...Have a nice day, Dio." You then entered the bedroom and you swore you could feel the blonde smirk behind you.

You closed the door a bit harder than you intended and sighed. Upon entering, you immediately noticed your friend laying in his bed, a wet cloth resting over his forehead. His face was flushed and he breathed in slight pants. He tiredly looked over at you and smiled weakly.

"Ah, Y/N it's you!" He tried to sit up but you rushed towards him and pushed him back down.

"No no no, Jojo don't get up. Are you okay? What happened to you?" His eyes softened at your worried self.

"It's nothing really, I'm just a little sick. I think I must have eaten something I shouldn't have, but I'm fine." He chuckled sheepishly and you sighed in relief, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

You always imagined the worst case scenarios, especially with Dio around the corner ready to trouble him and make his life a mess.

"Anyway, what a surprise!" he started, his voice hoarse, "It's so good to see you!" He smiled weakly which melted your heart.

"Of course, Jojo. I missed you." you softly spoke and and he couldn't help but stare at you, taking in your beautiful form. He missed you too.

You took a moment to observe his features as well. This boy scared you so much sometimes with his foolishness. You brought your hand to the side of his face and caressed his warm cheek gently and he let you do as you pleased.

"What will I do if you don't even take care of yourself." you laughed then paused. "I was worried you know, when you stopped showing up..."

Jonathan felt a pang in his heart. He felt bad. First of all, his pride as a gentleman was hurt for abandonning and letting down a lady, but most importantly, he felt horrible as a friend, for making you worry about him and leaving you alone.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I wanted to tell you, but I knew that if I sent Dio to let you know, he probably wouldn't have done it..." He looked away, as disappointed as you were.

'Of course.' you thought to yourself, annoyed but not surprised.

As a comfortable and relaxing silence fell upon the room, you let your hand glide from his cheek to his neck in a feathery light touch. He blushed an even darker shade of red than he already was and his mouth was agape as a silent gasp escaped from it.

Your hand was so soft and gentle on him, like the touch of a caring mother. Something that he never experienced.

His skin almost burned you with his fever. "Jojo, you're very hot. You should rest for a bit."

He then grabbed your wrist and widened his eyes. "You're leaving already? I'm not sleepy, you can stay!"

You chuckled at the boy. For a strong, big guy, he sure acted cute and childish sometimes. You pulled the blanket higher over his body and patted him, effectively soothing him. His heart was beating hard in his chest, but he was relaxed. Being with you was the only medecine he needed.

"Okay then, I'll stay. If you need anything, tell me and I'll go bring it to you, okay?" he nodded.

There was another moment of silence where only his breathing and you patting his covered chest could be heard. You looked around a bit and noticed small rags, medecine and a water bowl on his bedside table with a little bit of unfinished bread. You would make sure he ate that bread later.

You took the wet cloth on his forehead and dipped it in the water to cool it down. You squeezed the exceeding water out, and gently laid it back on his forehead.

You then pressed your now cold and wet hands over his burning cheeks and the dark haired male smiled in delight.

"Aah it feels good Y/N~ Thank you! When I get better I'll make it up to you."

"There's nothing to make up for, Jojo. It's only natural." You reassured him.

"Still... You always take care of me, without asking anything in return... " He took one of your hands in both his and turned his head slightly to kiss the palm of it. His soft lips tickled you and your heart beat hastened.

Still kissing you, his eyes fluttered open and he glanced at you through hooded lids and you blushed madly at his enticing expression. Even sick, he was still handsome as ever, and his actions never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

You could never get enough of the Joestar heir and it drove you crazy sometimes. Your train of thoughts was interrupted by his voice.

"This is why I fell in love with you..." He breathed, nuzzling your soft hand like it was a treasure and your own breath hitched at his confession.

"J-jojo...! You are sick right now, you're not thinking straight. Please, go to sleep." you reasoned, utterly flustered.

You didn't know how to react yet. You knew you loved him to death too, but you wanted to make sure he was in good condition to talk about feelings. Also, you wouldn't take advantage of a sick man like this for your own interest, so you decided to wait before answering any kind of confession.

"But I'm sincere, Y/N." He gazed at you intensely with blue glossy eyes. "You are so beautiful..."

Your eyes widened and you gasped, fighting back a squeal. This was too much for you, you had to stop his madness, now.

You released your hand from his grasp and tucked his own under the blanket. You caressed his hair gently to try and lull him to sleep.

"The fever is making you talk nonsense, Jojo. Please now, rest. I'm here so you can close your eyes."

"Aah... Maybe you're right... I'm a little bit... tired... I... slee...p..." he slurred his words more and more until he finally let out soft snores, signaling he fell into dreamland.

You sighed heavily. Your heart was still pounding hard and fast inside your ribcage and you buried your face in his chest, embarrassed and shaken by his earlier words. This boy will kill you one day.

"Please, please God, let his words be his actual feelings, don't make me hope and hurt me like this..."

You couldn't see it, but Jonathan's lips broke into a secret smile.

Did you see that Touhou reference I made there? Except it totally doesn't match Sakuya's character lol she would stab Dio in the face with no warning.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Sleeping Arrangements

Summary: When Belle and baby Gideon come home from the hospital with Rumplestiltskin, he sets Belle and himself up in different bedrooms. Neither wants to sleep apart, but neither wants to say so. A/N: Follow-up to If Tomorrow Never Comes aka what would have happened if Belle and Rumple gave birth to Gideon together and all went home together. Awkward, estranged marriage bed-sharing, guys. Written for the October @a-monthly-rumbelling: “This can’t keep happening,” but I’m late. Thanks to @maplesyrupao3 for looking over this! Rating: T

On AO3

“You have everything you need in here?” Rumplestiltskin asked, pushing past the lump in his throat.

Belle stopped her careful appraisal of the guest bedroom, a generous smile curving her lips as she turned around. He hovered in the doorway, helpless to do anything but lean against the molding and stare. If he dared to let go of the doorframe, he would fall on his face at her feet.

Gods, she was beautiful. He’d admired her as his maid, loved her as his girlfriend, and adored her as his wife. Now that she was the mother of his son, his feelings for her had only deepened. Life seemed more real somehow, and infinitely more precious. It wasn’t just the two of them anymore.

Three-day-old Gideon was tucked into the crook of her left arm, cradled with the tender precision of a brand-new mother: firm because she was afraid of dropping him; ginger because she was afraid of breaking him. Nothing rivaled the nervousness and joy of holding your own child, but as much as he relished caring for Gideon, seeing Belle and their son together was its own miracle.

“Everything I need?” She giggled, then spun around the room slowly once more, careful not to jar their son. “Are you kidding? It’s like staying at a five-star hotel.” She shifted the baby onto her shoulder and peered at the bed fitted with his best silk sheets and the freshly washed and pressed duvet. “Rumple, are those chocolates on the pillow?”

He colored, wondering if he’d gone overboard in his desperation to make her feel welcome, and deflected the question with a sheepish smile. “Hopefully the food here is better than what they served in the maternity ward.”

At lunchtime this afternoon, while he had rocked Gideon as Belle rested, a hospital orderly had delivered a tray bearing a suspicious-looking hunk of meat covered in gray sauce accompanied by limp broccoli. He’d wrinkled his nose at the meal and gone to the nurses’ station, demanding they process Belle’s discharge papers posthaste. There would be no more nondescript, lukewarm blue plate specials on his watch.

“Dinner was fantastic.” She patted her full stomach with a contented sigh. “But you’ve been at the hospital with us day and night. When did you have the time to make seafood stew?”

Thanks to Dove, his personal assistant, the rich, hearty scents of shellfish, vegetables, and saffron had perfumed the house when they’d stumbled into the house carrying Gideon and a case of diapers as wide as the front door. “I had some help,” he admitted. “Dove is actually quite a cook.”

“I never would have guessed,” she murmured, smiling even through her exhaustion.

It was still early evening, but dark shadows stood out beneath her eyes, pronounced against her ivory skin. Between Gideon’s round-the-clock needs, the wails of other babies being born, and the revolving door of hospital staff poking and prodding her at all hours, Belle hadn’t slept much in the hospital.

He gave the room one last critical assessment and nodded in satisfaction. Bottled water and a sparkling, crystal glass sat on the nightstand, all of Belle’s clothes were folded and placed in bureau drawers or hanging in the closet, and in the kitchen, her favorite foods lined the pantry and refrigerator shelves. The overnight bag from the hospital had already been emptied and stashed in the closet.

His chest felt hollow, and he took a slow, deep breath, an attempt to fill that empty, inside-out space. He was grateful beyond words to have Belle home, but seeing her in the guest bedroom--a space she had decorated herself in shades of royal blue and gold during the early, tender days of their marriage--was bittersweet.

On the evening they’d spoken their wedding vows at the well, life had been bright and new, filled with possibility. Yet the shadow of Baelfire’s death and his gruesome months in captivity stood between them like an impenetrable iron wall. He couldn’t stop blaming himself for his endless parade of transgressions, and Belle couldn’t stop ignoring their problems and trying to make the best of things.

Their rushed engagement amid lies about the dagger had been no way to enter a marriage. One hasty reconciliation, whirlwind trip to the Underworld, wild goose chase in New York City, abbreviated pregnancy, and new baby later, they’d agreed to put the past behind them. It was time to make a fresh start for the sake of their son.

At best, he had hoped for a relaxed visitation schedule and the occasional overnight with Gideon. Belle’s desire to make a home here again was a dream come true. But he wasn’t fooling himself. Everything Belle was sacrificing by moving here was for Gideon, not for him.

As with all major decisions he made, he’d given careful consideration to offering her the second-best bedroom in the house. Rather than stammer and stumble his way through excuses and empty the room they had once shared, he’d opted to outfit the largest guest suite with the most luxurious appointments money could buy in the shortest amount of time possible. Dove had arranged for a hand-painted bureau with a secret compartment, an antique Aubusson carpet in plush blues and soft creams, cozy bookshelves, and a king-size bed to be delivered and ready for Belle when she arrived.

He would have gladly turned over the master suite if not for his paranoia. Sleeping arrangements. They had a way of turning the most benign circumstances into an awkward mess, and this situation was highly unusual. The idea of living under the same roof with Belle and not sharing a bed was already driving him mad. He didn’t expect to make love to her, not when he’d just watched her deliver their son, but he ached to hold her close.

He didn’t sleep much. An unfortunate side-effect of being the Dark One was an exhaustive supply of nervous energy. When he and Belle had been together, crawling into bed and resting in her arms had calmed the storm inside him. She’d given his nights a purpose and made him feel almost human.

But no matter how much he missed lying next to her, sharing his bed was the last thing Belle would want.

Growing restless, Gideon squirmed, whinnying like a foal. Gold opened his arms and Belle handed him their son with a grateful sigh. They might not be compatible as husband and wife anymore, but they were fast becoming adept at co-parenting, seeming to know by instinct when the other person needed help or relief.

The accidental bump of her shoulder against his made his insides puddle, and he focused on the tiny vertical lines above their son’s nose. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know if he would ever grow accustomed to Belle’s touch. Since the day their lives collided in her father’s castle, it took nothing more than the brush of fingertips, a tender look, or a hot cup of tea from this woman to render him a fumbling, babbling disaster.

Fears of Morpheus’s prophecy that he would destroy the two people in the world who meant the most festered like an open sore. What if it was all true? What if he did the wrong thing again? What if he’d broken things so badly they could no longer be fixed? His family wasn’t a chipped cup he could piece together with glue and promises.

No, he wouldn’t succumb to his own negative self-talk. Belle had taken the first step in asking to come home with him. It was up to him to take the next. He took another deep breath and plodded ahead.

“Belle, before we settle in for the night, would you like to see the nursery?”

Three weeks later

Her stomach growling with hunger, Belle splashed her face with cool water. While she patted her puffy, red face with a soft towel, she glanced at Gideon, gurgling in his bouncy seat on the bathroom floor.

He was too little to play with the toys dangling above his just head yet, but he could enjoy the soothing sounds and lights of the toy rainforest and the plastic monkey’s goofy smile. All that really mattered now was the seat held his attention long enough for her to wash her face and make herself presentable.

Gideon looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes, the irises already several shades darker than when he’d been born almost one month ago. Mother’s instinct told her their son would inherit the amber-flecked brown eyes of his father, and she was both glad and afraid. Rumple had intelligent, beautiful eyes capable of penetrating the flesh and piercing a person’s soul. When he looked at her, Belle always had the sense there was nothing he couldn’t see. Every part of her being was laid bare for him. A shiver of awareness coursed through her, and she covered her face with the damp towel again before Gideon could sense what a foolish mess his mother was.

Stop being an idiot, Belle,  she scolded herself. He’s a baby.

She scooped Gideon up and trudged down the stairs toward the kitchen dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, a smile plastered to her face. The aromas of bacon, toast, and coffee were trailing up the staircase, and a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. Rumple was so thoughtful. She paused at the bottom of the stairs to wipe her red-rimmed eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Bloody stupid tears!  

Last night, she’d cried until she fell asleep for the fifth night in as many days, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle the sobs. She didn’t want to wake Gideon and worry Rumple. If he suspected something was wrong, he would be across the hall in a flash, and he wouldn’t rest until she blubbered out all her worries and went back to sleep. There were plenty of problems to blame the tears on—a reduced milk supply thanks to her accelerated pregnancy, hormone spikes, the exhaustion of waking up every two hours to feed and change an infant.  

But none of those things truly bothered her. What kept her awake and crying into the designer sheets were the sleeping arrangements. More than anything, she wanted to share a bed with her husband again. There was such comfort in his presence, strong, warm, and reassuring in the bed beside her. She missed his kisses and the steadiness of his arms around her, his breath on her face, faintly minty from toothpaste and magic, his dark eyes glittering with amusement while they shared stories about their day until Belle was too drowsy to talk anymore. While they were married he never went to sleep before her, always waiting until she had drifted off to take his own rest or to sneak downstairs to work or spin.

What right did she have to complain, though? He’d outfitted the guest suite like she was royalty and waited on her like she had broken both her arms. And Gideon’s nursery! Decorated in grey and gold and with the same crib Snow and David had chosen for Emma back in the Enchanted Forest, it was a room fit for a prince. It pained her to tell Rumple she preferred to keep their son next to the bed in a bassinet until he was old enough to sleep through the night without needing to nurse or take a bottle.

Nonplussed, Rumple had immediately gone online and ordered the most luxurious bedside baby cradle he could find.

His determination to do everything was worrying her. Since she’d come home, he’d spent day and night working himself into a shadow. He prepared hearty, delicious meals and hovered until she cleared her plate, brought Gideon to her when she was able to nurse, and gave him a bottle when she couldn’t. Always willing to rock or walk Gideon, he would leave her to read or nap. She wasn’t angling to be alone, though. She wanted her husband. “The Dark One doesn’t need sleep,” he would say, clicking his tongue whenever she protested or tried to share the workload.

She was feeling pampered, spoiled, and pissed off.

But Rumple was another story. Never had she seen him so content. Even from here in the front hallway, she could hear him in the kitchen, rattling pans and humming an off-key tune while he flipped eggs in a skillet. Every request and every need—whether it came from her or Gideon—brought a delighted smile to his face. Their too-brief time with Neal had shown her Rumple was an excellent father, but caring for a baby was balm for his battered spirit. Maybe it was silly but in a way, Gideon’s arrival made her feel like Neal was with them again.

So what if her heart fluttered whenever her husband entered the room or the sound of him reciting poetry to the baby made her breath quicken? His interest in her didn’t stretch beyond her position as the mother of his child. He wanted Gideon in his life, and she was lucky enough to be along for the ride.  

No, she refused to let Rumple see her selfishness. All telling the truth would lead to was heartache. And they had suffered more than enough pain for ten lifetimes.

Her eyes dry and her smile in place, she marched into the kitchen with their son in tow.

One week later

Belle awoke from a sound sleep to the sound of pitiful wails. Groggy, she blinked, trying to figure out who was crying and why. Before she gained enough awareness to turn toward the cradle sitting eighteen inches from the bed, a shape was filling the doorway, backlit by the nightlight in the hallway.

“Belle,” Rumple whispered, his slippered feet shuffling across her bedroom carpet. “Are you alright, sweetheart? What do you need?”

She jolted up in bed and rubbed her eyes, knocking her pillows to the floor. He had to stop waking up during the night and crossing the hall this way. It was madness. “This can’t keep happening,” she blurted, groping for the switch on the bedside lamp.

Between the foot of her bed and the cradle, Rumple froze, suspended in time while Gideon’s cries rose in volume and urgency. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he blanched, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” His voice was wooden, remote; like it belonged to a stranger.

“Wait, Rumple-”

Her stomach plummeted into her knees. She hadn’t meant the words they way they sounded, but before she could explain, he was out of her room and halfway across the hall. She scrambled out of bed to chase after him, reaching out to snag the tie on the back of his dressing gown as he crossed into the master suite. She yanked him into the hallway, his back colliding with her chest. He teetered on the balls of his feet and she slipped her arms around his waist and held on.

She was breathing like she’d run a marathon, her heart squeezing inside her chest until she thought it would crumble into dust. Gods, she had tried! She had tried to make it seem like sleeping in the guest room without him while he stayed across the hall didn't bother her and she'd gotten good at pretending she was fine. But she wasn't.

Nothing about this arrangement was even remotely fine.

Last week, she had brushed an imaginary fuzzy out of his cropped hair for the sheer pleasure of feeling its softness between her fingers. Since he’d cut off his shaggy brown locks, she had no more excuses to push wayward strands behind his ears. Yesterday, there had been an eyelash on her cheek, and she’d held her breath in anticipation while he cupped her jaw and swept it away, the spicy scent of the lasagna he baked for dinner still lingering on his fingers.

Inventing excuses to be near him or relying on accidental touches was more than she could bear. She would rather live somewhere else than be under the same roof with him and be treated like his maiden aunt or long-lost sister or even worse, the pathetic charity case he had once loved.

He stiffened in her grasp, and she tightened her arms around his waist, determined to hold onto him no matter what. His torso was leaner than her hands remembered, wiry from worry.

Their son continued to cry, his lungs rivaling the Storybrooke High School’s marching band. Her milk started letting down, wetting the front of her nightgown and probably soaking into the back of Rumple’s nightshirt, but nursing Gideon would have to wait. She needed to clear the air.

Maybe she had turned into a bloated, unreliable milk machine, but she was human and Rumple was a handsome man. She wasn’t the only one who found him attractive, either, she thought miserably. There had been others, most recently the Evil Queen, a woman who differed from her in every way imaginable. That harpy had chased him like a bitch in heat and Zelena couldn’t wait to tell her about it.

But she was here now, and Rumple was still wearing his wedding ring. He was her husband and she was going to fight for him.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she clarified, murmuring against his shoulder. “I meant you getting up during the night and coming across the hall to get Gideon.”

He slipped out of her arms and turned to face her in the dim hallway. The only light came from a small lamp at the end of the corridor, but it was enough to see the wariness in his eyes. “I understood you the first time, Belle.”

“No.” She tilted her head, trying to read his face in the dark. “I don’t think you understand me at all.” She twisted her fingers together. This agonized, consuming jealousy was utterly wretched. “Is it because of her? The Evil Queen. Do-do you miss her?”

“Gods, no!” His face was haggard, regret etched into the lines around his mouth. “I told you in the hospital there was nothing. She was nothing. It was a business arrangement, and I let her believe what she wanted. And after what she did to us...to you…” His voice hardened. “She’s lucky she’s not dead.”

Belle shuddered. She didn’t want anyone to die because of her, but she’d be happy not to see that despicable woman ever again for the rest of her days. And she certainly didn’t want Regina’s evil twin running her blood-red fingernails all over her husband.

“Listen.” She touched her finger to his lips finding them soft and dry. She shivered, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between them and kiss him senseless.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s the sound of nothing.” She cocked her head and savored the blissful silence. “Gideon stopped crying all on his own.”

Rumple shoved his hands in the pockets of his robe with a wry smile and stepped back. “Perhaps he didn’t need me after all.”

Belle recognized that look--he was trying to shut her out. Well, she wasn’t going to allow it this time. She moved closer to him, stepping into his space and smoothing her hands down his shoulders. “Not for the moment, no. But he does need you. And so do I. Not what you can do for me—not how well you cook or entertain Gideon or order Dove to redecorate. Just you. Your presence. The sound of your voice. Your arms around me.”

Admitting she missed him, saying the words out loud, made her feel free. It was okay to admit she needed him. She craved his touches, his kisses, the way he used to look at her like she made a difference in his world. All her life, people had admired her beauty, but Rumple was the only person who ever made her feel beautiful.

“What about you, Rumple?” she asked. “What do you need?”

The next thing he knew, she was leading him by the hand back into her bedroom. Confused, he stumbled along behind her like a drowsy child. “Where are we going? I don’t understand.”

She had the audacity to grin at him, her teeth flashing in the low light. “We’ve established that,” she whispered.

She pulled back the covers on the smooth side of the bed-- his side, he realized. She was still sleeping on the right side of the bed as though they were sharing it. Whenever they’d been apart, it had become his habit to lie down on her half of the bed, imagining he could still detect her scent in the sheets. Sometimes he would even hold a pillow against his chest and pretend it was Belle. It was foolishness, but it helped him make it through the long, lonely hours of the night alone.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, soft but insistent, and she pressed him down on the bed. “Belle, what are you doing?” His voice sounded loud in the still, cool room. From the cradle, Gideon whiffled in his sleep.

“Shhh,” she said, pushing him onto his back and combing his hair off his face with his fingers. Her touch felt amazing and he closed his eyes with a blissful sigh, mesmerized by the warmth of her fingers against his skin. She crawled into bed next to him and pulled the blankets over them both. “Stay here with me? I know you say you don’t need the rest, but you’ve been working so hard doing everything for Gideon and me.”

“Alright,” he conceded, but he lay on his back with his eyes open, as rigid as a statue. She switched off the bedside lamp and he stared into the blackness, trying to catch his breath. The mattress was soft, the sheets warm from her body and luxurious, but he felt as though he was strapped to a gurney.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked. He felt the mattress move as she scooted closer.

Comfortable? He couldn’t even remember the meaning of the word. All he was aware of was Belle. Her scent, her warmth. Gods, he was half-dizzy with her closeness. “Ah, are you?” he countered.

“Yes.”

Something about her tone made him shiver. She slid one of her legs over his, her clammy feet tickling the hair on his calves. He bit back a groan. “Do you need another blanket?” he asked after a moment.

“No, thank you.”

She snuggled even closer until her breasts were pressed against his side. He could feel the dampness of her nightgown where her milk had wet the fabric and a tug of arousal pulled at his groin.

“An extra pillow? I could fetch one from the closet.” He sounded out of breath. Was it getting warmer in here? His heartbeat sped up and his lungs struggled to take in oxygen. “Maybe we should switch on the ceiling fan?”

Her laughter was muffled. “You just offered a blanket. I’m good. Let’s just relax and try to rest. Unless you want the fan on?” She wrapped her arms around one of his with a contented sigh, holding onto his forearm like a child might clutch a doll or a stuffed bear.

“Not if you don’t.” He was at a loss. Surely there was something he could do for her.

They lay in silence for a few minutes and he tried to relax, but each tick of the clock on the nightstand sounded like a hammer and the pillow behind his head felt like a boulder. “I’m supposed to take care of you,” he said desperately. “It’s my job.”

“Rumple, you’ve been wonderful. No one could take better care of Gideon and me than you have. But not everything is about me or our son. I asked you before and you didn’t answer. What do you need?”

The tears came then, hot and urgent. He didn’t know the source of this maelstrom of emotion, only that he was in perfect control one moment and sobbing like a babe the next.

“Rumple. My Rumple.” Belle guided him into her arms, urging him to rest his head against her chest. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders while he cried, great wracking sobs that shook his body and stole his breath.

“I need my wife.” He clutched at her waist, the words stuttering out in a jagged, tear-choked whisper. “I need my wife.”

“You have me, darling, you have me. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.” She cradled him in her arms, stroking his back and rocking him like she did Gideon and he shamelessly allowed it. He wept for the loss of Bae, his fears and failures, his poor treatment of Belle, who was still by his side no matter what he’d done.

All the while he clung to her and cried, she whispered reassurances, anchoring him in the shelter of her embrace. Soaking the top of her nightgown, he gobbled up her crooning words and healing touch until his heart resembled melted wax, his strength drained away with the tears that had left his body. Exhausted, he slumped against her breasts, calming himself with the steady beat of her heart under his ear.

Never in his life had he cried this way, not even after that enormous, green pit in the ground had swallowed Baelfire, taking him to another land, while he had clung to his precious knife and clawed for purchase in the dirt, too terrified of the unknown to follow his boy. Those tears had been building inside him for centuries, into a hard, cold mass of hurt, turning his heart into a wretched, brittle thing. At last, he had allowed himself to be broken.

“Belle.” He reached for her face and when he stroked her cheeks, he found them damp with her own tears. He didn’t know if she was crying with him or because of him, but he pressed his lips against hers in an urgent, seeking kiss, groaning as the salt of their tears mingled with the sweetness of her mouth. He poured all the love he felt for her into his kiss and she opened for him, accepting what he offered and returning it full measure.

“I didn’t bring you here just for Gideon,” he confessed hoarsely when he released her mouth, his breath ragged. “I wanted you here because I love you.”

She pressed her kiss-swollen lips together in a tremulous smile. “I didn’t ask to come here just for Gideon, either. I love you, too. Oh, Rumple, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve hated being us being apart.”

“You have?” His surprise was genuine. “But I’ve been here with you every day. I haven’t used magic, I’ve been spending fewer hours at the shop...”

“And I appreciate all of it.” She lay down again, drawing his head down to her chest once more and began to stroke his hair. “But you’ve been keeping your distance from me. You think what I want is a caretaker, but you’re wrong. I want us to raise Gideon together—as a family. And no more separate bedrooms, okay? I need someone who’s going to appreciate my snoring and you can’t do that from across the hall.”

He snorted. “You do snore. Rather loudly.”

“What did you say?” She swatted him lightly with a pillow.

“I said as you wish.” Grinning, he lifted his head and rubbed his nose against hers, and they both laughed. He couldn’t remember when he had ever felt this light and happy. “Are you going to hog the covers, too, Mrs. Gold?”

“Always.” Her smug tone made him laugh again. “What about you?” She poked him in the ribs, softening the attack with another kiss. “Are you going to lie awake watching me sleep?”

“Every night,” he whispered, settling back against her breasts and wrapping his arms around her waist.

His eyes were already closing as she began to stroke his head again. And with her hands in his hair and the cadence of her heartbeat in his ears, Rumplestiltskin found sleep.

###

[magic5ball]

Jurassic Park 4: Doki Idol Live Festival!

The two velociraptors stood outside a pastel colored town house in Hokkaido prefecture, Japan. If any passerbys thought that was weird, they certainly didn’t show it. Probably because the raptors were wearing fedoras and fake mustaches, so they looked like humans. Also they had guns. Very cool, very intimidating mobster guns. A tommy gun and a sawed-off shotgun, respectively.

You needed guns, to survive Shinzo Abe’s little empire of vice and socialized medical care.

“So this is the place, huh?” muttered the velociraptor carrying the sawed-off shotgun. His thick Brooklyn accent hung in the air like concrete. “Kinda… frillier than I was expecting.”

“It better be.” Replied his companion, who sounded like your racist conservative uncle trying to impersonate that one cool guy from ‘The Godfather’ (You know, the one with the mustache who was played by Robert de Niro). “We hadda kill a whole lotta people to get this hellhole.”

Sawed-off shotgun licked his non-existent lizard lips

“But hey. That airplane stewardess tasted mighty fine goin-“

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, would ya stop thinkin’ with your stomach and help me with this f*ckin’ knob!” cried tommy gun, trying to work the doorknob best he could with his raptor claws, which, in all honesty, wasn’t much, because raptor claws are terrible at operating things meant for human fingers. Little did he know, the door was a ‘pull’, not a ‘push.

At least he didn’t have to wait long before someone unlocked the door from the other side: another velociraptor, this one a bit on the short side. And p!ssed. Very, very p!ssed. You could tell he was the cool one because he wore an eyepatch over one eye. An eyepatch with a Captain Underpants logo on it.

“Didn’t your parent’s ever teach you idiots about using the doorbell?! I was just about to enjoy lunch with my beautiful wife and you-!“

He paused, recognizing the two figures facing him.

“Well, well, well” Said tommy gun, cocking his weapon “If it isn’t SWEET JOHN HAMMOND’S BALLSACK WHAT THE F*CK AM I LOOKING AT?!”

For the cool raptor was dressed in a gothic Lolita maid outfit, complete with a bonnet and penny loafers. Under his arm he carried a human sized pillow depicting what appeared to be a blonde floozy with massive tits.

“Oh this? This is Mami Tomoe, my beautiful wife.”

“WHAT THE F*CK!?!?” Tommy gun pulled out a flask off orange Fanta from his butthole and drank the whole thing in one go. He did NOT have time for this homosexual weeaboo nonsense! Still, he and shotgun hadn’t left a mountain of corpses the exact height and width as Mt. Fuji behind them. Too many to go back to Isla Nublar empty handed. Er, clawed. Because they were dinosaurs. Who have claws.

Shotgun took a deep breath. “What the Boss means to say is, ‘May we take refuge in this fine establishment?’”

Cool raptor opened his mouth to reveal a pistol he’d hidden there. And by hidden I mean replaced his tongue with it.

“You know, for all crap you guys used to give me in the past, I oughta pump you full of lead right here and now. Buuutttt… the lady of the house is present, and I’m not in the mood to create more work on her end. So come on in! You’re just in time for lunch.”

Lest they attract unneeded attention, the three dinosaurs hopped inside.

.   .   .

Lunch was omurice boba tea with a bottle of teriyaki sauce on the side. It was just boba tea, but the boba had been replaced by omurice because F-Bomb hated the flavor of boba, which he likened to rabbit crap. The teriyaki sauce was teriyaki sauce.

It was the most racist thing shotgun had ever eaten.

“Well, now that you jerks have gotten a taste of my sloppy seconds, I suppose some introductions are in order. You’ve already met my lovely wife” Cool raptor gestured to the body pillow seated next to him “So that leaves you two. Mami, meet A-Hole and D-Bag. A-Hole’s got the tommy gun, D-Bag is ridin’ her sawed off shotgun, as always. They’re old… acquaintances of mine.”

“He.” Corrected D-Bag. “I’ve been using he/him pronouns six months now.”

“Well that’s an improvement. Now instead of bein’ the Boss’ side B!tch literally, you’re just his b!tch figuratively!”

“Well screw you too, F-Bomb!” laughed the boss. “An’ speakin’ of screwing, what’s with the fruity get up? You a prostitute now or something?”

“Even better! This might surprise you, but I’ve got legitimate work now. This here’s my uniform, my uniform for MILF TIDDIES!”

A-Hole chugged his entire bottle of teriyaki sauce in one go, lest his mind implode from the sheer stupidity of that sentence.

“The Hell’s a milf tiddie!?”

“Only the best freakin’ maid café in Hoikaido, hookers!”

He gestured to a wall, covered in hundreds of photos of cute floozies dressed like they were attending a vampire’s funeral. Among them was a photo of F-Bomb in his drag, serving a deep fried hot dog to some elderly Japanese dude.

“As you can see, yours truly is serving Japan’s national desert to none other than 57th Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe!”

“Hold it up. Youse been hobnobbing it with politicians?!”

“I wish! You’re thinking of Shinzo Abe, 57th Prime Minister of Japan. This guy is his twin brother. Still pretty sweet though. We DID win a Grammy for that, after all.”

A-Holes eyes bulged out of his scaly raptor head.

“YOUSE WON A GRAMMY FOR THAT?!”

“Dang right! Milf Tiddies has won sixteen Grammys since I started working there!” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. A very special piece of paper, if the six holes punched into it were any indication. “Did you know that if you win ten Grammys in a row, they give you a free orphan? That’s how the wife and I got our glorious daughter, Lil’ Nagisa!”

F-Bomb pulled a faded photo out of his wallet. A photo showing himself, his pillow wife, and a smaller body pillow of a ten-year-old moeblob wearing a Green Bay Packers cheesehead helmet.

“So youse couldn’t even conceive your own kid?” Inquired D-Bag sexily. He was munching his omurice slowly, so F-Bomb knew he was being serious.

“Are you implying I have sex with my own wife, you sick freak?! I’m a weeaboo, not some degenerate anime fanboy! Get it straight!” He instinctively cocked the pistol in his throat. It was awesome as hell.

In response, D-Bag pumped his shotgun. Loudly.

“Permission to put the sick freak out of his misery, Boss?”

“Firstly, don’t call me Boss when we’re not having anal sex. Second, no can do, my spicy lover. We need F-Bomb alive.”

F-Bomb heard all of this even though A-Hole whispered it, but he pretended not to make A-Hole feel clever.

D-Bag mumbled about how the Boss was lucky he was so mind blowing in the sack, otherwise he would have left the relationship long ago. The sack in this case being a really kinky sex dungeon. Like really kinky. So kinky even Donald Trump wouldn’t go within a mile of it. D-Bag had almost died of autoerotic asphyxiation more times than I’ve gone to the bathroom in my lifetime. That’s why he was the smartest dinosaur out of the three of them. Now where was I again?

Anyway, F-Bomb interrogated

“Alright guys, what’s the deal? I know folks who come to this socialized medical care infested hellhole, and they don’t come here just to eat omurice boba tea. You WANT me for something.”

He cocked his mouth-pistol again. Sparks flew all over the carpet, which was made of alpaca fur so it didn’t catch fire.

A-Hole scandalously kept his cool.

“It’s about Isla Nublar.”

The second those words left A-Hole’s lips, F-Bomb escorted his wife out of the kitchen, but leaned her against the kitchen door, because that’s what she would have wanted.

“Well what about it? I told ya guys, I’m done with that dump.”

“They’re puttin’ the screws on us, F-Bomb. Making us pay for eating those tourists back in the nineties.”

“And what makes you think I care? Like I said, I’m done with that place. I got a wife and kid now.”

“But F-Bomb, doesn’t the Park mean ANYTHING to ya!? What about the time we ate that park ranger that called you a girl? ‘Better than sex’ I recall you saying.”

“Nice try, but I’m not exactly in the mood to get misgendered again. Don’t you guys got any ideas that don’t involve me?”

“As a matter of fact, yours truly had this really spectacular one!”

D-Bag did a hand gesture wherein he constantly crossed his dinosaur claws across his throat rapidly in quick succession. A-Hole, being very smart, knew this meant he should continue, loudly enough so that everyone in the prefecture could hear.

“It was called ‘Trump Ballz’. We’d harvest Donald Trump’s testicles, see, and sell them to the highest bidder, so they could do whatever people do with lopped off testicles. I’m not one to judge. It was a terrific idea. I know because when I told my best friend Donald Trump about it, he said, ‘A-Hole, this is an incredible idea. Absolutely terrific! This is probably the best idea in America! You are very smart, very intelligent dinosaur! I oughta buy you a prostitute!’ Of course, we didn’t realize that Trump’s ballz don’t grow back when you lop them off. Did you know that by the way? Human testicles don’t grow back-“

F-Bomb cocked the pistol inside his throat gain, getting the Boss to shut up. This was probably the most heroic thing anyone had ever done in the history of the universe. He also asked a question:

“SO WHAT THE HECK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!”

A-Hole vomited a severed arm and a pamphlet onto the table.

“EVERYTHING, ya WEEB trash!”

The pamphlet was for something called the Doki Idol Live Fest- DILF, for short. F-Bomb was no stranger to the DILF, but they had parted ways years ago. Six, to be exact, when he had buried Nico Yazawa’s still screaming corpse by the side of the highway. And neither was he stranger to the prize.

It looked like a beer and soda drinking baseball cap, but only to complete idiots who didn’t know crap about the Idol Life.

And F-Bomb wasn’t one of those people, er dinosaurs.

“THE MCGUFFIN OF SIN?!”

“Dam* straight! And like it or not, youse the only one with enough idol know-how to help us win it! Thing’s worth, like, a zillion dollars.”

A zillion in this case was equivalent to half a million. Still, isn’t that impressive?

F-Bomb stuck his nose in his omurice and snorted, a common intimidation tactic among velociraptors. I know because I read  it in the Scientific American.

“Sorry, guys, but even with that on the line, no can do. I’m DONE with the Idol Life, any I’m not letting you filthy casuals drag me back in.” He cocked the pistol in his throat. “NOW SCRAM!”

A-Hole and D-Bag jumped out a window, so they could get the jump on a feral dog humping its’ owner. Nobody realized they were dinosaurs because of their fake mustaches, so it looked like a pair of mobsters were eating a puppy.

When they were gone, F-Bomb pranced to the bathroom, which was filled with plush alpacas he had collected over the years. So many, in fact, the bathroom did not meet OSHA compliance. Which was why F-Bomb had made it an independent nation state, only to realize that OSHA didn’t apply to him anyway, since he lived in Japan.

He had felt really stupid after that, but at least he got his own country out of it.

Anyway, he vomited sixteen liters of blood into the sink, for F-Bomb had a secret: he was dying. Back when he was a fetus in an egg in a lab on some island in the Caribean, he’d become addicted to the illegal street drug known as WEEB, and frequent use had poisoned his lungs. The doctors had given him Socialized Medical Care and four more years to live. The WEEB had taken eighty years off his life. Socialized Medical Care had borrowed his lawnmower and never given it back.

But F-Bomb also had a dream: he and his wife were going to build their own maid café, and it would be even better than MILF Tiddies. He’d already picked a title: DILF Tiddies, and it was going to be the greatest food-selling establishment in the history of Japan. Omurice boba tea was going to go global. But he’d never get the funds on time, not on his meager salary. Unless…

His beautiful wife greeted him as he exited the bathroom.

“Get a pen and some razor blades, sweetgums. I’ve got a letter to send.”

                                                     .   .   .

The message arrived in the neck of a mailman’s severed head. This is the traditional way velociraptors send letters to each other. I read it in a book.

D-Bag didn’t see the letter, but the look on A-Hole’s face told him everything.

“What’d I tell ya, D-Bag? Like I always say, when you’re dino you’re dino all the way, till youse dead in the ground or youse come out as gay!”

“Yeah, we really need to update those lyrics.”

End Chapter 1

[dady-lion]

Long post, and I know we’re already halfway through, BUT can we  PLEASE STOP doing these things in 2018?

Posting mean, vague comments about people on social media

talking down to people with jobs we deem “dirty” or unintelligent (ie.janitors, garbage men, hotel maids, dishwashers)

sticking with fake people. if they’re toxic dump that shit

pretending to dislike someone just to talk to another person

being fake people

sitting by while people get bullied and not doing anything about it

holding our feelings in

having “healthy communication” that consists of being mad at the person for being upset but never discussing with them what went wrong?

assuming we know everyones situation or that it was the same or similar to one we experienced ourselves

rant to people about our problems but not let them rant back to us?

y’all need to STOP! BRAGGING! ABOUT! BEING! PETTY! it’s not a bragworthy thing!!! you’re not cool for doing something petty!

also, there’s a difference between being petty and “karma’s a bitch” or “clapping back”. One implies getting back at someone sneakily and likely undeservingly, for no reason other than them doing something that makes you upset or that you don’t agree with. the other implies someone receiving something they deserved for doing someting actually really bad. If someone is being petty and comes at you, clap back if that’s your thing, but you should never start that shit! be the bigger man! 

also, that whole clap back thing does NOT include you being petty back! insulting someone for something that is out of their control or for something that’s important to them (ie. clothes, hobbies, their body type, their gender, their race, etc) is terrible! saying someone’s an ugly ass bitch isn’t a good clap back. if you wanna call them out for their toxic behaviour and for being a bully go off, but you should never attack someone for the way they look, dress, or the things they love.

and Can we P L E A SE 

talk to eachother? communicate! with! your! friends!

if your friends won’t let you healthily talk about what makes you upset (meaning “hey can we talk? i’ve been feeling down because of xyz” not “why tf would you do that?!”) then they aren’t good friends!

if you’re feeling down talk to somone! and if they’re feeling down let them talk to you too!

Try to see everything from as many perspectives. IIf you notice a friend has a problem with something that you don’t have a problem with don’t assume that they’re being mean, being a pussy, being dramatic etc. There’s a very good chance they have a good reason for feeling the way they do. just stop assuming things about people lives. you don’t know what they’ve been through. if you have facts, go off, but never assume.

on that note; if you have a friend who’s reaction may be considered out of hand, bring it up to them privately and politely and find out why (if they’re willing to talk, don’t force people to open up) if they reacted weirdly because they were afraid or uncomfortable or didn’t understand offer your help to help them become a stronger and healthier person! 

and if you open up about something that’s been bothering you to a friend and they notice the above, don’t completely ignore that. A good friend is someone who loves and supports you and is also honest with you about your flaws. if you feel comfortable opening up with that person, let them help you.

if you see shit going down tell someone. You are not a tattle tale for letting a teacher or adult know that something serious is going on. I know adults don’t always help but if you know a trusted adult or even just an adult you know would react helpfully t e l l  t h e m.

If! you! have! nothing! nice! to! say! don’t! say! anything! plain and fucking simple! you don’t need to talk about people behind their back! you don’t need to make a vague comment about them on your instagram! That shit is petty! that shit is toxic! it will NOT make you feel better! and you’re not funny or cool for doing it! you’re just disgusting!

notice things. notice as much as you can. Notice your friends quirks, notice your own quirks, you teachers quirks. notice the people serving lunch to you at school, notice someones nice handwritting. notice the subtle reactions your friends have to certain topics. You’ll find out a lot about what makes them uncomfortable, what makes them happy, scared, excited, angry, or upset. Noticing body language is an excellent resource for helping someone feel better, avoiding a dangerous situation, and even buying someone a gift! even noticing something about your surroundings, like the color of the clouds or the sky, a cool leaf on the ground, a pretty plant, or a good dog can be really upliffting! 

and lastly, just respect people. this should be something so easy to understand but i constantly see people disrespecting their teachers, lunch servers, janitors, hotel maids, etc. for no good reason. I know not all people are perfect, and some of them are really shitty people, but if they’re not really shitty people (homophobic, racist, abusive, white-supremecist) treat them with respect

and on the topic of respect, you don’t have to like people! it’s a-okay not to like someone, not every personality works well together, but you don’t need to treat them poorly for it. Just accept that you and that person don’t go well together and move on. I’ve had people that I’ve barely even talked to and who have no connection to any of my friends and who I’ve never said a bad word to say mean shit about me behind my back, and that’s just toxic and petty. You don’t have to like me, that’s okay, I can respect that, but don’t treat me or other people like shit just because

sorry for the long rant but as graduation comes up for a lot of people and people are excited to start anew and leave shit behind I felt like this was an important reminder. if you’re gonna start your life fresh do it right and take care of yourself and your friends, thanks for coming to my TED Talk

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The New World - Part 14 The Final Chapter

A/N: This is it! The final part of this series. Thank you to everyone who has gone along this journey. It’s honestly the biggest project I’ve ever tried and while it wasn’t perfect, I loved writing it and I am genuinely sad to see it end.

Daryl Dixon x Reader, Maggie Rhee x reader, Rick Grimes x Reader

Warnings: Language, Canon-divergence, Fluff

Words: 4570

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

“Deep breaths, ok?” Maggie smiled and smoothed the back of your dress while you turned your hips trying to see it from all angles.

“Are you sure, Mags? I feel like this is too much,” you whined, running your hands down the lacy bodice of the dress. The generous v-neck bust line offered enough view of your ample cleavage that you knew Daryl would like it just fine. But as your fingers ran down towards the flowing silk of the skirt, you felt self-conscious at the thought of wearing something so formal.

“No! It’s perfect. I am the damn maid-of-honor so shut it and listen to me now,” she reprimanded as she knelt down to fidget with the hem.

Standing with a groan as her knees cracked, she rested her hands on her swollen belly and sighed. “A large maid-of-honor, but still… I’m in charge of this here weddin’ and you’re going to look beautiful, in this dress.”

“Alright, alright, I give! I am not going to argue with my very pregnant best friend. I will wear this dress tomorrow and everything will be perfect,” you laughed, backing away from Maggie in feigned fear.

“Good girl, now turn around so I can get it off before one of the little monsters run in and spills somethin’ on it. Or worse, before he gets home and sees you in it.” Maggie motion for you to spin around and you did as commanded.

“Mags, Glenn is going to make sure he—”

“He’s got it under control hun, I promise. Glenn’s gonna make sure he’s got somethin’ nice to wear and that he shows up without any squirrel guts splattered on his shirt.”

“Shut up,” you laughed but were secretly grateful for Glenn’s handling of Daryl throughout the entire planning process for the wedding. “Where are the kids anyway? It’s far too quiet….”

“Carol took ‘em over to the lake, Shel and Hershel wanted to go fishin’,” Maggie said as she slipped the cream-colored dress from your shoulders and helped you shimmy out of it.

“Oh good, so I have time to run a quick errand,” you mumbled to yourself. Lost in thought you didn’t see the look Maggie was giving you at first. When you finally caught her gaze, you felt your cheeks tinge pink and suddenly felt self-conscious. “What?”

“What errand?” she asked with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go see her.”

“Maggie, I have too.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t,” she said gently taking your hand in hers. “For the last six months, anytime you’ve seen her you haven’t handled it well. Just let it be. She’s gonna be—”

Squeezing her hand lightly before taking yours from hers, you smiled. “I know, that’s why I need to see her.”

“I think you’re crazy,” she said shaking her head while carefully putting the dress back in the garment bag. “But, I guess I get it. Just be careful, okay? Daryl would kill me if I let any drama unfold the day before you guys finally get married.”

“I promise, in and out. I just have to see her before I can finally and completely move on.”

“Alright, well, go do what you gotta. Carol’s got the kids for another hour or so,” Maggie smiled, but you could see the worry behind it.

After giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, you headed for the door with a spring in your step.

Approaching the cell gate, a mixed feeling of nerves and excitement began to swirl in your stomach. With each passing week since it happened, the knowledge that Rosita sat in the cell, while slowly growing the spawn of Negan continued to unsettle you. Even though he was dead, you and several others, couldn’t shake the feeling that she would be the one to cause more trouble.

The debate on what to do with Rosita had been a frequent topic of discussion over the past six months, with everyone having a different idea of what to do with her and the baby. Finally, a conclusion was reached between the community leaders and their councils. Today was the day you were going to tell her.

Just as you were about to unlock the door, the presence of someone behind you caused you to jump. Rick was standing behind you, hands on his hips, head slightly tilted to the side.

“And what do you think you’re doin’?” he asked, his eyes narrowed at you, yet a smile played on his lips.

“Just paying the prisoner a little visit,” you said and returned his smile.

“Y/N, we talked about this. Given the circumstances and all, I don’t think you goin’ to see her is a great idea.”

Taking a step closer to Rick, you gave a cursory glance around to see if you were alone. “It’s been six months Rick, and we’ve never talked about it. Tomorrow, we start the next phase of our lives here, right? If you think I am going to do that without some sort of resolution to this…”

“Look, I get it, alright? I just don’t think laying it out for her right now—”

“Rick. Please. I’m going in there.”

“What are you going to tell her?” he asked not without a bit of concern.

You just shrugged and gave him a knowing look. Rick snorted a nervous laugh and sighed.

“Do what you gotta,” the Sheriff said before starting to turn away. “Just… be careful.”

“Always,” you smiled and left him standing alone outside while you ventured in to deal with Rosita.

Despite the bright sunny skies outside, the one lone cell window only offered enough natural light to be able to see the immediate surroundings. It was cool and dark beyond the cell bars, and a very solemn Rosita was stood in the same corner that Negan used to favor.

Her dark eyes flickered up to your face and an audible groan escaped her lips.

“Fuck,” she whispered upon seeing the smile that was spread across your lips. “What do you want?”

“I am here to deliver the news of your fate,” you said, feeling the smile grow bigger on your lips.

“Oh, really? And where do you idiots think I am going with him? He’s barely a week old,” she said motioning towards the bassinet in the corner.

“You? Oh, you are getting exiled from the communities. There’s no way you can live here with us and we certainly don’t want to waste resources on you. Besides, it’s not like you wanted to be here anyway, right? Isn’t that why you took his side? As for the baby, he can stay here for now. I’d never send an innocent child into the world the way it is. He won’t live here mind you, but both Hilltop or the Kingdom has plenty of childless families willing to raise him,” you replied as your hands began to wrap around the bars.

“However, if you think we are going to let you stay here and raise him, you are sadly mistaken. If you think I could continue to raise my family here with you around, knowing what you are capable of…”

“Fuck you! You aren’t taking my baby away,” she hissed, storming the bars and coming within an inch of your face. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

A burning desire to knock the bitch on her ass swelled, but you knew you couldn’t do that if you expected everything to work on the way you wanted. Licking your lips, you allowed yourself a moment to find some willpower and take a small step back from the bars.

“Me? Oh, I’m no one, Rosita. I’m just the messenger. Did I push for this? Sure, I did… but ultimately this wasn’t my decision…”

“It was all of ours,” Rick’s voice spoke up behind you. “Rosita, you’ll be taken out tomorrow morning, given supplies and released. If you fight us, we will just execute you.”

“What happened to you? To you both?” she asked, a look of horror written on her face.

“Just following your lead darlin’,” you said with a sigh. “You, Spencer, Negan… you all started this. Me, Rick and the others… we’re just finishing it.”

With a slight shrug, you turned to leave and caught Rick’s gaze. You knew he was silently warning you to stay the course, and not take it any further, but the urge to turn and tell her the rest of it was overwhelming.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, “we finish it tomorrow.” The slight nod of his head stamped down the desire to further wreck Rosita’s day.

“Fine,” you sighed and turned back to her. “Enjoy your last night here, Rosita.”

You were finally ready to leave, but the woman couldn’t keep her mouth shut. A string of expletives in Spanish poured from her mouth making you pause in the entryway. You could hear a groan from Rick when you spun back around to face her, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose knowing you weren’t going to be able to hold back now.

“Call me all the names you want you little bitch. In fact, let me add one more on there, alright? Murderer…”

Her eyes grew wide and a confused expression screwed up her face. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means, the night that Daryl beat Negan nearly to death? It wasn’t the blows that killed him. In fact, when I went to see Denise that night, Negan was coming around. Now that I think about it, I believe he was nearly fully conscious when I told him to enjoy Hell and slipped the blade into his temple, isn’t that right Rick?”

You could hear the Sheriff sigh behind you and mumble in agreement.

“You… you did it? You killed him?!” Rosita’s face contorted into something you’d never seen before, giving you an immense feeling of satisfaction.

“I did. It was so easy too. That knife just slid right in… like cutting a piece of warm butter,” you purred, your eyes scanning over the devastation written on her face. “Did you really think Daryl did it? C’mon, I mean, he could have beat him to death, sure. But he didn’t. Unconscious, sure, but to death… for all he’s capable of, he’s not capable of that. Me, however, I am definitely capable.”

“Y/N, I think maybe that’s enough,” Rick said, laying a handle gently on your shoulder.

“Just a minute, Rick,” you said and offered him a kind smile. Turning back to Rosita, you saw that she’d taken a few steps back from the bar, her eyes still fixed on you.

“Remember back at Hilltop, when you accused me of not having lost anything? Hmmm? You were angry with me because you said I’d not suffered like you? You couldn't have been more wrong. I killed my first husband, Rosita. After I watched both of my little boys die in front of me. I had to put them both down while he was passed out drunk in the chair. I took a shotgun and I killed him while he slept. If you think for a second that I felt one bit of remorse for what I did to Negan, I sorta feel sorry for you. And, if you think I will feel one ounce of it for knowing you’re out there without your child, well, once again, that’s just fucking sad.”

Finally deciding you were done with her, you turned to leave the cell. Without looking back, you left her with a few more parting words, while flipping her off over your shoulder.

“Welcome to the new world, sweetheart.”

The next day dawned without a cloud in the sky. Your eyes opened, and you rolled over to feel the empty space where Daryl should have been. Disappointed, you sat up in bed only to see a bouquet of daisies and a note on the table beside you.

          “took the kids fishing… see you at the thing

                                  xo – D”

“Fishing, today? Really?” you snorted a laugh and grabbed the bouquet of flowers he left you, lightly brushing your fingers along the white silky petals.

In just a few hours, you would be standing out at the gazebo with Daryl as Gabriel officially made you husband and wife. Even though you had lived for so many years thinking of yourself as his wife, the ceremony and party planned caused a wave of excitement to rush through you.

Once you were up and showered, you went downstairs to see your very pregnant best friend moving around the kitchen, along with Carol, Tara, and Michonne.

“What are you all doing here so early?” you asked, stopping to hug each one of them.

“You’re getting married today, did you think we wouldn’t come and spoil you with baked goods?” Carol answered, giving your cheek a pinch.

“It’s not that early hun, as a matter of fact, it is almost time to get you ready!” Maggie chimed in, brushing the crumbs from her hands and from shirt covering her belly, as she placed the freshly baked muffins Carol had brought over on the counter.

“But the kids are with Daryl out fishing. I need to get them cleaned up and I am sure Shelby’s hair is a tangled mess!”

“Sweetheart, do you really believe I’d let him take them fishing the morning of your wedding?” Carol laughed and patted your shoulder, “You have such little faith in me!”

Laughing, and a bit relieved, you sat down at the counter and grabbed a muffin. “Where are they then?”

“Working on a surprise for you,” Tara said cryptically and winked before taking a muffin of her own. “However, they should be about done, and I am going to go home and get ready. Hopefully, Denise left me some hot water.”

“I should go too. I have to make sure Judith is dressed and not covered in whatever art project she deemed necessary to start this morning. I’m so happy for you both, and excited to be able to celebrate something good today,” Michonne smiled as she lightly grabbed both your shoulders and leaving a kiss on your cheek. “It’s going to be perfect.”

“See you guys there?” Tara asked as she and Michonne headed towards the door.

“Absolutely,” you smiled and suddenly felt your stomach twist with nerves.

Turning to Maggie and Carol, you bit down on your lip and considered asking the question you wanted to ask. Not wanting to ruin the day, but unable to hide your growing curiosity, you decided to chance it.

“Is it done?”

They both froze at your question and shared a knowing look.

“Yes,” Carol finally answered, “she’s gone.”

“And the baby?”

Maggie sighed and swallowed hard. “Aaron took him to The Kingdom. There’s a couple there that recently lost a child and were more than happy to take him in.”

“Good… That’s good…” you felt a nervous breath escape your lips and suddenly had the urge to sit.

With that last piece of business taken care of, you felt as though you could finally move on from all that had happened in the past six months. It was a new day that dawned bright with hope and one that would end with you and your husband ready to start the next chapter of your lives.

“Alright Shel, I think it’s ready,” Daryl said, picking Abe up and holding out his hand for his daughter.

She jumped up and giggled at the efforts of their work. “It’s so pretty daddy!” she squealed as her little hand was engulfed by his. “Mama is gonna love it!”

“I think so too munchkin,” he cooed looking down at her angelic face as his heart filled with love for both of them.

Walking away from the gazebo towards Carol’s house, Daryl was suddenly hit by the weight of all that was happening. His entire life, all the traumas, and heartaches, had led him to meet her and creating the kind of family he’d always dreamed of having. Overwhelmed by it, he tried to focus on getting through the afternoon without being consumed by how it all made him feel.

He wanted to be strong for her, always. He needed to be the best version of himself for her and for the kids. But he couldn’t do that if he let himself be swarmed by the depth of love that lived in him now. All the past hurt and anger had slowly been evaporating, leaving him lighter, and more like the version of himself he always imagined lived inside.

“Daddy, this party is gonna be fun!” Shelby sang as she skipped alongside him.

“Mhm, it is. You ‘n Abe, Hershel too, y’all are gonna have a great time,” Daryl smiled down at her as they reached Carol’s porch. “But first we gotta have the ceremony part, ‘lright? Remember I told ya about that?”

“Yes, daddy. That’s the part we gotta be real quiet ‘cause you and momma are gonna say stuff.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, “Right, somethin’ like that. But Aunt Maggie will be with ya, ‘n it shouldn’t take too long.”

“What are you gonna say?” Shelby asked taking the last few steps up onto Carol’s porch.

“That’s a good question munch, guess I should figure that out, huh?”

“Um, yeah,” she giggled and ran up to Carol’s door where she was greeted with open arms.

“Good timing!” Carol said sweeping the little girl up in the air, “I just got home and am ready to get you guys all cleaned up for mommy and daddy’s special day!” Carol looked up and saw Daryl still wearing his usual ripped pants and sleeveless black shirt.

Raising a brow at him, he placed Abe down on the porch. “I’m goin’ now, stop naggin’ me.”

“I said nothing,” she quipped, a smirk on her lips. “However, if I was going to say something, it would be to get your unkempt ass to Glenn’s and get ready. It’s time to go make an honest woman out of Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled as he bounded down the porch, an unmistakable spring in his step.

Smiling to herself, Carol ushered the kids into the house and got them ready for the wedding.

“Ready?” Maggie asked before she pulled the door open.

“Yes,” you replied, your stomach twisting into a bundle of nerves.

Before Maggie could open it, there was a soft knock at the door. Passing you a curious look, she pulled it open and smiled at Rick as he stood before you both.

“Mind if I have a word with the bride before this shindig gets started?” he asked Maggie before stepping in.

“Sure, just don’t make her late. I’ll wait for you on the porch,” she said and stepped out, closing the door behind her.

“Wow,” Rick said, giving you a once over. “You look beautiful. Daryl is a very lucky man.”

“Thanks,” you said, your cheeks tinging pink, “what brings you by?”

“Well, two things actually. One. I wanted you to know that she’s gone. Rosita left quietly at the release point. I honestly don’t think she’ll be back.”

You nodded and released the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“What we did…” Rick started and paused, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling slowly, “to him—”

“What I did to him, Rick. You didn’t do anything.”

“I saw you do it and I didn’t try to stop you.”

“Maybe. But you knew it had to happen. You, me and Denise… no one else ever has to know.”

You tried to sound firm in your assertion, but Rick couldn’t help but notice the hesitancy in your voice.

“Besides,” you continued, “it’s over now. Negan is dead. Rosita is gone, and that poor child will never have to live in a world where those two had any influence over him. It’s what was best.”

“You sure about that?” Rick asked.

“Yes. I am. If I’m wrong, then I’ll have to live with that. But I’ll be damned if I will let the people in this community or any of the others, continue on living in fear that she’ll betray us again.”

A silence passed briefly between you and when you caught Rick’s gaze again, he seemed ready to move past the ugly business of Negan and Rosita.

“So what was the second thing?” you asked.

“Well, Maggie said you might need someone to walk ya down the aisle,” Rick smiled and pushed out his elbow so you could link your arm with his. “If I’ll do, that is.”

Tears stabbed at the corner of your eyes at his offer. “That would be amazing, Rick… thank you.”

“Then, let’s get you hitched before Maggie comes in here and yells at me for makin’ ya late,” the Sheriff chuckled and opened the door to escort you towards the groom waiting in the gazebo.

Approaching the gazebo on Rick’s arm, you heard the music playing from the speakers before you saw the actual adornments that Daryl and the kids had spent the morning adding to the structure. A variety of pink and purple flowers were woven through the lattice while streams of lace and burlap tied together bouquets of wildflowers attached to the entryway.

Gabriel stood in the middle of the gazebo, with Daryl on his right. Maggie was standing right on the steps with Abe and Shelby on either side of her. The rest of your friends and family were standing on the grass to either side of the narrow path leading to the makeshift altar.

On both sides of the gravel walkway, were narrow lengths of ivory satin, held down with two dozen candles that were lightly flickering in the summer breeze. You felt Rick squeeze your arm just as you approached the beautifully lit trail that would lead you to your husband.

“You alright?” Rick whispered.

“Mhm,” you said, swallowing hard and trying your best not to cry.

“Alright then, here we go,��� the Sheriff said and started walking you to the rest of your life.

Stepping into the shade of the gazebo which was also flickering with a dozen candles, Daryl’s eyes were transfixed on you. A goofy smile spread out across his face as he his tongue inadvertently ran across his lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said loud enough for only you and Gabriel able to hear his compliment. He reached out and gently took your hand, lightly brushing his thumb across the back of it.

“You clean up pretty good yourself, Dixon,” you winked, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

“Friends,” Gabriel started, looking at you and Daryl, “we are gathered today to bless the union of Daryl and Y/N. It is a rare and glorious sight in today’s new age, to see a joining of souls such as these two. When one finds their other half, it is important to take that and foster it into a coupling built with a foundation of love and respect, loyalty, and communication.

“Daryl and Y/N have asked you all here today to witness their promise and to help bind them to it, should dark skies every plague their family. As a participant in this ceremony, I ask that you all take the hand of your own loved one or family member closest, and spread the promise of what these two special people share. They asked this of you to not only bond you individually but us, together, as a community and a larger family unit.”

A small murmur of excitement ran through the small crowd as they did as asked, then turning their attention back to Gabriel.

“Daryl and Y/N have elected to forgo the traditional vows for something more akin to their special bond. Daryl,” Gabriel said and motioned for him to go ahead.

Clearing his throat, Daryl gave a small nod to Gabriel.

“Shelby asked me what I was gonna say before. Made me realize I hadn’t figured that out yet. Honestly, I still don’t really know what to say, ’cept that when I was a kid, the idea of havin’ my own family wasn’t realistic. Never thought anyone would put up with the likes of me. Hell, still sorta shocked you do. But, when I saw ya at the prison, way back when, I knew that if there was ever a chance to be happy, it’d be with you.”

Daryl reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver band that matched the sapphire ring he gave you months before. Gently, he slipped in on your finger and laced his hand into yours.

“I love you,” he said quietly, “there is nothing I want more than to keep doin’ this with ya.”

“Y/N,” Gabriel prodded when Daryl was done, letting you know it was your turn.

Suddenly you couldn’t find your voice. You opened your mouth but the words you had so carefully been planning for the last two months wouldn’t cooperate. Swallowing hard again, you tried to force something, but nothing came to mind.

Daryl’s lips twitched into a smile, and you knew he was sort of delighting in the fact that you were speechless. You’d been pestering him for weeks to write something for the ceremony, always flaunting the fact that you’d done your vows. Every time he blew you off and you would feign annoyance. But now that it was time, you were at a complete loss for words and was loving it.

It took Daryl’s smirk turning into a full-fledged chuckle for you to think of something to say.

“You know something Dixon, you’re an ass,” you said louder than you’d planned, eliciting a laugh from the people outside the gazebo.

“Nice,” he said shaking his head.

“You are… but you’re mine,” you laughed and took both his hands in yours. “You have changed everything about me and what I thought life should be. You took what should have been a life of darkness and despair and filled it with love and laughter. Despite the trying times we’ve had since that very first hunting trip, I wouldn’t change a damn thing…”

Daryl blushed at the reference and you could tell he was holding back his own emotions as not to well up in front of everyone they knew.

“I love you, Daryl. I love our life, our kids, our friends. Nothing could or will ever change that.” You turned to Maggie who placed a thick silver banded ring in your hand and gave you a wink.

Turning back to your husband, you took his left hand and effortlessly slipped the ring on his finger. Catching his gaze, you knew that everything leading you both to that place was a necessary part of your story.

You waved the kids up into the gazebo, Abe going for you right away, while Shelby latched onto Daryl. Looking at them all you, you were firm in the knowledge that everything, from meeting at the prison up until the ugliness of the Negan, was meant to lead you right to where you stood, making these promises with Daryl and the kids, in front of all the people you loved.

“Well then,” Gabriel started, his hands thrown wide in celebration, “Shelby, Abraham, beloved friends, and family… please welcome me in officially proclaiming Daryl and Y/N Dixon, as husband and wife. Please, kiss that beautiful bride of yours!”

Daryl didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his arms. His kiss was soft, yet wanting. It was full of everything he wanted and everything he planned on giving. Wrapping your arms around his neck, a feeling of blissful relief washed over you. Everything you could have ever hoped for was right there, just waiting for you to grab it and despite the current state of things beyond the walls, make it the best life worth living.

Tags: @kazosa @soythedemonqueen @jodiereedus22 @his-paradox @rhyatt-deauxtreve @zombeeemomeee @tiquismiquis @sorenmarie87 @redm81 @kingdixonreedus @reedusteinrambles @aquivercactus @buckyscrystalqueen @see-you-then-winchester @hyphymanatee @adixon13 @rawr-bitchess @kgbrenner @fictionaldemon @thewalkingbucky @bikerdaryldixon @lefthologramdeer   @youandyourstupidrope  @addiction-survivor25  

[ars-simia-animus]

What I Can Afford is Yours

Chapter 6: “The Only Prayer We Know”

Summary:

Peter is sweetly humbled by the generosity he receives from Tony and Pepper. He felt like a dear friend. His own transgression at the workshop begins to weigh on him as he leaves Stark Manor.

"What if May discovered that he’d broken his apprenticeship contract? What if Tony and Pepper found out that, after all the incredible gifts they had given him in generosity, what he gave them, or had planned to, had been through deceit? Or even greed? Greed. Ownership."

Peter is anxious to make it right but the price to atone is heavy.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: sexual harassment of a minor, racial slurs (more abundant in this chapter)

Read chapter after the break.......

May Parker loved to tell a particular story about five-year-old Peter, burrowing in a plump mound of blankets and on the verge of sleep. The blankets belonged to a couple of families May washed for and they were dry and ready to fold. May couldn’t blame Peter for climbing through them. After all, May had piled them on his bed; there was little room to put the laundry in their apartment.

As May folded, Peter sighed contentedly and reached up for her. “I’m a pumpkin patch,” he said. “Here’s a pumpkin for you!”

May took the imaginary pumpkin from his chubby hands (the only place he retained a little fat; he was such a skinny child. Even his cheeks and chin were slender.) “How nice!” Then, she patted his chest. “You’re always giving gifts. Such a sweet boy!”

Peter woke a little more. He propped himself on his elbows. “I want to give you a birthday present.”

“Well, there is still a while until then.” May said with a humming laugh.

“Aunt May! What do you want for your birthday? I’ll get it for you.”

She chuckled. “Just a kiss on the cheek from you, bambino .”

May told this story to everyone, to illustrate any point about Peter’s personality— his creativity, his tenderness, his optimism. Sometimes she just sat and lived it over in her imagination. She told the story to Pepper once, six months after she had been hired by the Starks as a seamstress for Pepper.

She was pinning French lace in tiers across the skirt of a tea dress and Pepper stood gracefully still, allowing her to work without anxiety. Pepper talked to her about Peter, about whether she was able to see him often, and if Mr. Jameson was meeting his requirements of the apprenticeship contract.

Peter had been the lynchpin of their relationship. May obeyed the established distance between “types” of people. Crossing boundaries was something she’d done enough in her life, she said. Pepper, to her credit, never forced friendship. She understood the consequences of both fear and fearlessness.

Eventually, May had become comfortable around Pepper— at least comfortable enough to tell stories of their life. It had been difficult at first, though, and without their adoration of Peter as a bridge, May and Pepper may not have come to care for each other like they did. In fact, Pepper was the only one to ever hear the second part of the story...

Peter’s eyes softened as he gazed up at May. He said, “My papa used to say that.”

May smiled sadly. “I know, motek .” She folded the next blanket. “Your kisses are precious and everyone wants them for a present!”

He began to quiet down again, sunken under the pile of laundry. “And my mama said that, too.”

“Does it make you happy or sad to remember?”

Peter was silent, only looking at her, chest heaving. The blinking of his eyes became slower and slower. He mumbled, his nose quavering, “Happy.” But, May saw that he was shedding giant tears. They slid down the curve of his face and disappeared directly into his ears.

“If it makes you happy, I’ll keep saying it.”

Peter woke in the guest room of the Stark mansion from a dull aching in both ears. As he rubbed his cheek across the cool satin case of his pillow, he didn’t think much of the ache since it was not very painful. The sheets and the cotton nightgown he only half-remembered dressing in last night billowed around his shoulders. For all his life, he couldn’t think of a reason to leave the bed.

Yet, he did, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he wanted to find Tony and Pepper. “Some shun sunshine,” he said, not realizing he was speaking as he walked to draw the curtains. “Do you shun shun-sign?” That awoke his mind and he laughed at himself and tried the tongue twister again.

He saw the flower crown he wore last night, when he bowed to Pepper and she danced with him, and he wanted to wear it again. Even Tony had donned one; then, forced one onto Dr. Banner and Col. Rhodes’s heads, too. Peter remembered the way Tony commanded the entire room. He was different from the quiet, obsessive man that sat long hours with him while he worked. Though, maybe not much different. Peter had just not had the opportunity to see his charisma amplified to accommodate so many people, he decided. Never seen him willing to perform socially.

The curtains over the tall windows were thick and he threw them open and stood in the sunlight. Then, alone in the sun, he twirled and leaped, the New York Symphony strings ensemble performing in his head. Soon he felt too foolish, however, and he stopped, laughing to himself. He just didn’t want the night to end; but, it had.

The flower crown was removed and he combed his fingers through his curly hair. He washed his face, neck and ears in the basin lying on the room’s washstand. He smiled, thinking about how he didn’t need to pump the musty water of the workshop to wash this morning. The water smelled like roses and gardenias. It was still warm; Happy or one of the maids must have come not long ago, while he was still sleeping. Peter blushed at the thought. It reminded him of being waited on by Ms. Friday at dinner.

His clothes were laid out; they’d been washed, dried, ironed, and patched or mended where needed. There was also a cap placed on the jacket hanger, evidently meant for him to have. Peter burned with embarrassment when he noticed these gestures. He felt very much like a helpless child who had wandered into a missions or soup kitchen.

On a table by the door was a small, trimmed string-of-pearls in an ornate planter that resembled a pearl itself. The body was white and round and the ceramicist had used an opalescent glaze, much like he’d used on the Sevres-inspired vase… The Sevres-inspired vase he had held back from his master, hidden in his linen basket.

The one he stole.

Peter no longer felt merely conspicuous; he felt unworthy . It was mortifying. The entire night before he’d been called a friend, had blessings poured out on him, and been praised as gifted and kind by Tony and Pepper in front of all their fine friends. But, Mr. Jameson was right; he was a sneak. And he was untrustworthy. He didn’t want to find Tony or Pepper anymore.

What if May discovered that he’d broken his apprenticeship contract? What if Tony and Pepper found out that, after all the incredible gifts they had given him in generosity, what he gave them, or had planned to, had been through deceit? Or even greed? Greed. Ownership .

Peter’s throat closed. He had to get back to the shop and replace the vase. Perhaps if he did, no one would know, and he could pretend he deserved for them to be proud of him.

It was easier to leave when Jarvis told him that Pepper had business and was gone for the moment and Tony was still asleep. (Apparently he had not retired until very late last night.) “Mrs. Stark was sorry to leave without saying farewell, but wished you to know that she would return around noon, if you are able and inclined to wait for her. She also instructed me to feed you breakfast at, I assume, all costs .”

Peter politely refused breakfast. He had to hurry before Mr. Jameson moved the finished pieces into the shop to sell Monday. Honestly, Peter was a little afraid, though, that Jarvis might try to tie him up at the table. At all costs . “I must be on my way, I’m afraid.”

“I anticipated such,” Jarvis said. Peter wondered if he was being rude to leave the Stark mansion this way; however, Jarvis didn’t seem to pass judgement on him. “So, I took the liberty of making it portable for you.” He retrieved a small basket and handed it to Peter.

Peter could smell the aroma of good food. The embroidered handkerchief covering the fare was puffed up and warm from the meal. He thought of the enormous dinner he’d eaten the night before. He began to tremble with the memory. “Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.”

Jarvis smiled at his genuineness, a rare sight, and replied: “I will relay that to Mrs. Stark.”

“Oh! That’s reminded me.” Peter said and reached into the satchel around his shoulders with the hand that didn’t cradle the potted string-of-pearls. “Mr. Jarvis, could you please give this to Mrs. Stark?” He handed over Pepper’s bird encyclopedia along with a note tucked in the front cover that thanked her and Tony for allowing him to be with them at their Christmas Party, for all their extraordinary generosity. A letter to say how special it all had been.

“I will see to it, Mr. Parker,” Jarvis said.

Peter confirmed with Jarvis that the order of tiles he’d delivered last evening was safely stored. Then, said goodbye and went to the stable to fetch the rickshaw. The weather was not as miserable in the daylight. Peter jogged across the drive. Happy was waiting for him by the stable door.

“Good morning, Mr. Hogan.” He said. “Were you the one who. patched my clothes, sir? I’m very much obliged!”

Mr. Hogan nodded, a little staunchly, which was his way. “I hope you’re not planning to cause trouble for me this morning, kid. Mr. and Mrs. Stark both, on separate occasions, made it clear that you are not to walk if you leave.”

Peter sighed, though he wasn’t surprised. “But, I must return with my master’s rickshaw. If I don’t, its value and necessity to him will certainly double…”

Mr. Hogan turned and lumbered inside. “I can hook it behind. Harley! Help me hitch up the carriage.”

Peter relented, thinking that the carriage would be faster, after all. He paused to glance back at the mansion and felt a pang of regret that he did not say goodbye to Tony properly and that the night he’d spent at the Stark mansion had ended. Then, he rushed into the stable. “I can help as well!”

Riding in the carriage was much preferable to driving a cart or, especially, pushing the rickshaw from Manhattan to the shop in Brooklyn. He ate the meal Jarvis had packed for him: a savory crepe with spinach and ricotta cheese, toast with butter, an orange, and a jar of cold milk. It was lonely, though, riding alone; so, Peter leaned his head from the window and called out to Happy a few times during the trip. Of course, Happy did not approve of this at all.

“Have you ever been to the castles of Germany, Mr. Hogan?” He spoke into the wind. “My uncle used to talk to me about Germany. I had forgotten much until Mrs. Stark was speaking of it last night.” He took a big breath of freezing air. Happy didn’t reply, so he continued. “My parents lived in Vaduz in the Austro-Hungarian Empire for many years and visited Germany often. My uncle moved from there and lived in Sicily when he was a young man. That’s where he met my aunt—”

Finally, Happy lost patience and told him to return his head into the carriage “before it’s swept off by a messenger bicycle.”

Happy let Peter off at the alley entrance by the shop. The street was almost deserted; many of its families were attending church. Peter unhitched the rickshaw from the back. “I will leave the basket from my breakfast in the carriage,” he said. Then, he retrieved his string-of-pearls. Happy asked if Peter was able to enter the shop; it appeared to be locked up securely.

Peter said, “The Jamesons will have gone to Sunday mass, but I have a key to the back.”

Happy nodded and urged the horses to start the journey home. Peter didn’t wait; he sprinted down the alley to the workshop door. As he fumbled through his satchel for his key, he spoke encouraging words to himself.

Mr. Jameson surely hasn’t priced the new pieces yet. He doesn’t do that until after Sunday supper. And, he hasn’t seen the Sevres-esque vase yet, so he can’t assume anything is missing .

The bolt scraped through the lock; he heard it. But, the door didn’t budge. Peter rattled the handle, making sure the latch was moving, then he pushed with his shoulder. His heart began to race. The bar on the other side was drawn across the door. It never was.

Peter stepped away and looked at the windows. Of course, they were unlit. Everyone was gone to church. The wind blew through the alley and Peter huddled back into the doorway. He drew his coat around the little plant in his arms, hoping it would not be hurt by the cold. He told himself that Mr. Jameson might have been paranoid about intruders, seeing that Peter wasn’t there last night.

When the wind found him in the doorway, Peter was grateful for the cap that Tony and Pepper had given him. He pulled it down over his ear tips. After a while, he inspected the windows, but they were securely locked as well. Then, he peered inside.

The fire was not lit, of course, and the glass was horribly scratched and dirty. However, he could discern that something was wrong. Items in his corner sleeping area were on the floor. His chest, where he kept his belongings neatly, was open. The sheets and blankets from his bed were sprawled on the floor and his mattress looked like it had been overturned and let drop. Peter finally gulped down a breath.

He saw the linen basket, its wicker lid snug. It appeared undisturbed. He went around to the shop front and tried the handle, foolishly. He hurried to the back alley again before anyone could suspect he was trying to force entry.

The Jamesons could be heard approaching down the street a little over an hour later. Peter stood from the back step where he sat with his hands stuffed into his sleeves. He walked around to the front and saw Mr. Jameson unlock the shop door and usher his squabbling family inside. Peter approached the unlocked door and Mr. Jameson saw him.

“What are doing?” He asked sharply. Peter froze at the aghast look on his master’s face. Mr. Jameson jerked his head in the direction of the back. Then he entered the windless warmth of the shop.

Peter went to the backdoor and waited. His pounding heart kept time for him: one thousand beats. Finally, he heard the bar removed. Mr. Jameson opened the door and stared at him for a moment then he moved to let Peter inside. Not knowing if he should speak, Peter didn’t.

He picked up the string-of-pearls and stepped into the workshop carefully. Mr. Jameson remained by the door. Peter held his elbows very closely to his sides. He couldn’t stop quaking.

The area of the workshop where the ceramics materials and tools were was untouched. Only his living area was ransacked. He stayed away from it, feeling the need to avoid the violation like it was a new wound. He set the plant on his table where Mr. Jameson had thrown off his coat. Turning, Peter faced his master with uncertainty, standing amidst the items littering the floor.

“What’s that?”

Peter swallowed. “A gift.”

Mr. Jameson was quiet. He appeared to be sucking on his tongue, his jaw jutting forward. After a few breaths, he nodded at Peter. “Anything you have to say?”

Peter’s breath circled the back of his throat. He did, he was sure, but he couldn’t decide what. Jameson didn’t wait for him to decide.

“Did you write down inventory before taking off yesterday?” He prodded. “Is everything” — he shrugged in passive aggressive nonchalance— “ accounted for?”

Peter took off his cap. He tried to rebalance himself. Then Jameson caught his eye and drew his gaze slowly to the linen basket. Peter’s breath caught then he licked his lips and looked at Jameson again.

His master stood leaning against the wall, waiting. Peter began to move; he had been waiting too, but now it was obvious that Mr. Jameson had a drama designed in his head and here was Peter’s cue to play his role.

He leaned over the linen basket and removed the lid. The contents had been shifted, he noticed. His hands found the form of the vase and he uncovered it. The marbled-orb weaver confronted him and the midland hawthorn and the gilded handles. He had been so proud of his work.

Peter carried the vase to Mr. Jameson and offered it to him. But, his master didn’t take it. Wrong action. “Put it back where it goes, Parker.” Mr. Jameson clipped.

Peter obeyed. He placed the vase on the shelf beside the Jack-in-the-Pulpit where it had been. Suddenly, Mr. Jameson was standing close behind him. “There. That looks right.” He said. Peter turned to him. “Now, mind telling me how it got misplaced in your linens, boy?”

“I,” Peter said in a whisper, his foot beginning to tap, “I kept it back, sir.”

“You kept it back?” Jameson repeated as though these were foreign words.

Peter rasped. “I, uh, I, I stole it.” He felt a tremor pass through his face. “Sir.”

“You betrayed my trust?” Mr Jameson asked rhetorically. “Took advantage of my hospitality… And you admit it. Boldfacedly! ” — his volume began to ramp — “You know, everyone told me it was unwise to take a sneaky little Ike on as apprentice. Watch your valuables, keep your eye on the little sheeny, they warned me.” He laughed mirthlessly. “What would your aunt have to say about this?”

Eyes round, Peter looked up at him. “Please, sir, please . I’m sorry!”

“Or was she the one that taught you to sneak?”

Horrified, Peter cried: “No!” He stepped forward, pleading. “Sir, I regret my actions and fully intended to return what I took the moment I came back to the shop.”

“Is that supposed to ease my conscience?” Jameson roared. “Huh, boy? Am I supposed to sleep peacefully at night knowing there’s a thief under my roof just because you’re self-proclaimed?” Mr. Jameson was inflamed in red now. Peter cowered, broken under the weight of his tone. “How many years—? What else, huh? Have you carried off anything else?”

“You know I haven’t!” Peter insisted.

“I don’t know anything!” Mr. Jameson’s face turned from red to purple, resembling Peter’s lip that first morning after it was split.

"You would have noticed it missing!"

Peter flinched when Mr. Jameson's fist rose threateningly; but, his master didn't hit him. Jameson said, “I knew I couldn’t put anything past you.” Then Peter understood. Jameson didn’t believe that he had turned over all the money Tony had given him for his delivery, so he looked through Peter’s things. He didn’t find money, but, he found the vase. More humiliating than his transgression now was his stupidity. Peter gritted his teeth.

“Mr. Jameson, I just wanted—”

“Spare me your excuses!” Jameson snapped. “You’re a menace, Parker! Fool-headed, stubborn, disrespectful— now untrustworthy to top it off.” When his master stopped screaming and drew three hitched breaths, Peter glanced up.

“But you—” Jameson drawled. “You will learn a thing or two. Come with me, Parker!”

Peter watched Jameson whirl and march to the door. His guts were hot with fear. Jameson stopped and grabbed his coat from the table where it was thrown. His actions were so brusque his coat knocked against the string-of-pearls, upsetting its planter. It wobbled but righted.

Peter asked tremulously, “Where?”

Jameson turned to him and donned his hat. “You confessed to breaking the law, didn’t you? We’re going to have a talk with the judge. See if he can teach you something I can’t.”

There were many others in the cell with him. The ill-lit space masked their features, but he could perceive some of the men— like the portly man with the ashen hair who was leering at his small frame and scrawny legs. Peter could only guess there were about fifteen others crowded between the bars and the stone wall. The guard had tossed him in here with these men, all of them older than Peter, larger, stronger, and not at all afraid of being where they were.

“Tell him what you did.” Mr. Jameson had said when he shoved Peter into the police station.

“I st-stole fr—m—“ But, he couldn’t finish. He choked on humiliation, dread, and anger at himself.

The sergeant took his name and age. He ignored Peter when he asked if he could send word to his aunt. “He’ll need to talk to the Children’s Court judge.” The sergeant said then regarded Peter with a slight sneer as though deeply inconvenienced. “Won’t be til after the holiday. But he can stay with my boys til then, by God, if he has the hair to steal in the very house he’s living.”

Mr. Jameson asked to speak with the sergeant privately and a guard took Peter by the upper arm. He must have expected a fight because his grip bore down hard on Peter’s thin arm. Peter thought the guard had him by the very bone.

In the cell, Peter remained by the door, as far from the prisoners as he could stand. His shoes squelched on the damp floor as he shifted. He felt a body loom next to him and he flinched and slipped. His palms struck the floor but they skidded and he hit his chin. Light exploded behind his closed eyes. He shuddered, feeling grime smear onto him. There were some scoffs and slurs as he groaned and righted his legs under him.

“Lookee here,” the portly man said, standing over him. He took Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger knuckle. Even if he hadn’t been petrified, Peter may not have been able to wrest away from the grasp. “This one’s still smooth as a baby.” He pulled his face close until Peter could see his ash blond stubble in the low light. “I know a thing or two that will put some hair on your chin. Or under it, at least.”

“Lay off, Westcott.” The guard called, but didn’t move to intervene, to Peter’s abject horror.

The large man — Westcott, the officer said — traced his nose through the air along Peter’s jaw. A few times it grazed his cheek or ear. Puffs from Westcott’s nose settled on his hair. “Ol’ Saint Nick sent something early this year.”

Peter lost any sense of direction, trying to get away but forgetting how to move.

“Knock it off, will you? He’s just a kid.” The call came from the next holding cell. A very short man with two black eyes stood pressed against the bars. He pounded them once to get Westcott’s attention. There was little else he could do though.

Westcott straighten, sneered at the man, and said, “What? You don’t like your meat tender or your fruit hard?”

The short man snarled rabidly. “Shut your bone box!”

Peter gulped down breath while the criminals argued. He sought the guard and found him at the desk, still, reading the paper. Peter’s insides were beginning to churn. He stretched out his hands to crawl away but his fingers unwittingly snatched the tail of some creature. He recoiled with a cry of disgust and caught Westcott’s attention again.

The man swooped down and attempted to raise Peter from the floor, hands under his arms. “Now, now, bubchen. Be a good boy.”

Peter’s mind was screaming but he couldn’t hear. He went slack, weighing himself down as best he could. Help. Help, please!

Then, Westcott was knocked away from him. Peter looked up and saw a tall man with heavy-lidded eyes. But the man wasn’t looking at him. He was staring down at Westcott.

“What—” Westcott started.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll stand up and walk to the back of the cell and stay put until this whelp is gone.” The man said. “You step toward him and I floor you again.”

Peter couldn’t catch his breath as Westcott stood. The man seemed a behemoth, but he was oddly subdued by the tall man’s declaration. Peter scrambled to his feet, too, not wanting to be at a physical disadvantage any longer.

Westcott abided by the threat; he stood where he was and seemed to plead with the tall man. “Whoa, Davis. Everything’s jake. He wasn’t fighting it.” Westcott turned to him.

Davis was unmoved. “I don’t want that funny stuff in my cell, especially not with a kid.”

“I think he wants a little attention.”

Peter’s leg shot out and kicked Westcott in the abdomen. Westcott buckled, knees hitting the floor. The short man with two black eyes laughed until he was hoarse. “Meat tender enough for you, Skippy?”

Peter panted. He retreated out of reach, back digging painfully into the iron bars behind him. Westcott said nothing but crawled from Peter and sat on the back wall of the cell. Nausea brewed in Peter’s stomach. But, before the bile could well up, there was a rap of the guard’s billy stick against the bars on Peter’s back.

He fell away from them, tears in his eyes from fright. “Pipe down! All of you!” The guard railed. He shook a finger at Peter. “And you, Ikeymo, know that I won’t abide a troublemaker in this jailhouse. You’re no more innocent because you’re puny.”

“You’re a real bully trap, kid.” The short man said when the guard had slumped back to his desk. “Aren’t you? Come over here. Come on , I won’t bite you.”

Reluctantly, Peter walked to cell wall they shared. Drawn up as closely as he could be into himself, he pursed his lips, eyes never leaving Westcott’s huddled form. He waited for the black-eyed man to say what he wanted.

“A bully trap alright.” The man finally repeated. “So am I, huh? It’s why I’m in full mourning.” He indicated the two black rings on his eyes. “But I can give them something to think about.”

Peter didn’t speak. So, the man continued. “That prowler that saved your bacon is Aaron Davis, by the way. And I’m Rocky.” A fight broke out between two of the criminals in Peter’s cell. Bodies crashed around him and Peter tucked his head into his shoulders. “Eeh boy.” Rocky groaned. “Ratty place to be the day before Christmas Eve.”

Peter scowled a little. His foot was tapping, though, he didn’t realize. His fingernails picked at the thin fabric of his sleeves. They had not allowed him to keep his coat or cap and drafts of needling cold filled the jailhouse.

“You can cry.” He heard Rocky say. “You’re a goddamn kid . You’re allowed to cry.”

With that, Peter felt an enormous pain on both sides of his jaw. It shot up his nerves into his ears. He heard blood rushing there and he fought to control the muscles in his face. It wasn’t safe to cry.

He thought about being home. May singing with him as they ended the night in their little apartment. He heard the music of the pottery wheel. The light in the windows. The smell of the kiln. But, he didn’t feel safe there anymore. Again he imagined May, dancing in the kitchen, the phonograph that was her prized possession, the reams of French lace, the bolts of fabric his uncle had woven, the drawings of his parents… but, no, he didn’t feel safe there either; the sickness began to color his thoughts of home.

“I know you’re thinking that if you do, they’ll think they can hurt ya, but,” Rocky said with an almost flippant drone, “I mean, they already tried when you weren’t crying, so why hold back, you know?”

Peter’s bottom lip curled involuntarily and the tender skin re-split.

“There you go. See? Don’t worry, boyo. Ya won’t be here long. Just think about something good. Take your mind off it.”

Peter didn’t make a sound over the din of the other prisoners. He thought of clay and the soft grays and whites of kaolin and the way he could shape it with all the passion he couldn't show anywhere else. He thought about his hummingbird feeder, hanging on the fragrant olive tree. He thought about Swiss chocolates and satin pillowcases and cellos and goose flambé and string-of-pearls and x-rays and Pepper’s giggles and Tony’s voice reading to him. He wanted them. He wanted May and Pepper. He wanted Tony. He wanted Tony.

[azianxpersuasionwrites]

HOW TO AVOID ASIAN STEREOTYPES, APPROPRIATION, AND WHITE WASHING

Since May is Asian American and Pacific Islanders Heritage Month, I wanted to take the time to sit down and write a guide about Asian Americans. Mainly, this guide is about how to not be offensive with casting roles and stereotypes. The guide is super long (because it’s also sort of a rant), but it is broken up into different topics. The following topics are stereotypes, appropriation, and casting & whitewashing.

I hope that you find this guide helpful!

CHECK OUT THE GUIDE UNDER THE READ MORE

INTRODUCTION

I am an Asian American woman and I was adopted about twenty years ago. I started working on a documentary last year about Asians in the media. I wanted to bring some of the material I learned to the roleplaying community in one large guide. There is still a lot of problems with the media and Asians are severely under and misrepresented. 

To start with, I want to discuss some terms. East Asians generally refers to (surprise!) East Asia which includes China, Japan, Korea, Vietnam*, Mongolia, and Taiwan. South Asians includes people from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, and many more. This guide mainly deals with East and South Asians. Please take the time to research other smaller Asian countries in Southeast, Central, and West Asia like Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, the Philippines, Brunei, and many more. Also take the time to research the Pacific Islands. Here’s a reminder that Asia is a continent and not a country, just like how Africa is a continent and not a country. 

I’m hoping that this guide will help you learn about Asians and their culture along with avoiding offensive stereotypes and appropriation. Hopefully, when people become more aware of these issues and we can start fixing the representation of Asians.

*For Vietnam, I did some research as to whether it counts as a Southeast Asian country or East Asian. I found a source that talks about the topic. “Vietnam is geographically Southeast Asian, but culturally leans much more heavily toward East Asian, specifically Chinese, which is arguably the “mother culture” of East Asia.“

STEREOTYPES

There are a ton of stereotypes for both Asian men and women. There are different stereotypes for East and South Asians. Overall, Asian characters are seen as best friends or sidekicks, but they are hardly ever cast in the lead role. I can think of only a few shows and films where there is an Asian lead. 

Generally, Asian men are not seen as attractive. They are seen as more feminine, often times because they are seen as more sensitive because of a close relationship with their mother. White women often times want to pursue an Asian man because they believe that he will treat them right. Despite this, Asian men are hardly ever seen as the romantic interest in romantic comedies or television. In fact, John Cho was the first Asian American romantic interest on a television show in Selfie (2014).

If an East Asian man is not feminine, he is the martial arts guy only meant to do that. He is a ninja who never talks and is only meant to do kung fu (and his face may never be seen). Asian martial arts are often times not distinguished from one another. Martial arts are described as karate, kung fu, or taekwondo but there are so many more. There are Aikido, Judo, Jujutsu, Tai Chi, and more. Also, not all martial arts are used for fighting. Don’t have your character whipping their fists and legs around to pretend like they’re practicing martial arts either when they damn well know they aren’t and just want to pretend to be a “ninja.” One way I’ve learned about more Asian martial arts is by looking up videos on the creation of Avatar: The Last Airbender, which uses different and distinct types of martial arts for the different elements. (Toph uses an entirely different type of martial art for her bending than the other earthbenders.) Take time to learn and appreciate these incredible and beautiful martial arts.

Sometimes, the Asian man is portrayed as funny and not intelligent, used for comedic relief, or they are the quiet nerd who is good with computers and math. This may be seen in many of Jackie Chan’s movies where he is not very intelligent on the surface and when his intelligence is shown, it is displayed in a comedic way. Asians are also frequently portrayed as the IT guy or a doctor. South Asian men are often times portrayed in the media as terrorists because they may have similar features to Middle Eastern men. 

Asian women are always portrayed as thin, pale, and attractive. They are also submissive and are hypersexualized. Their job may be as a prostitute or nanny. Many white men have a fetish for Asian women (”yellow fever”), which is offensive and extremely creepy. With this kind of a story line, Asian women are mail to order brides from poor families and she moves to America and gets married in order to get her citizenship. She may also be the nanny or a maid who doesn’t speak English. If Asian women are not meant for sex, they are quiet, weird, and the nerdy type. They are the nerdy girl that no one wants to date. South Asian women are often shown as being involved in an arranged marriage. Asian women in the media are oppressed and often times need to have a white male save her. 

Asian women are frequently portrayed as pale! A lot of Asian countries want women to be pale to resemble white people. Some Asian women prefer more European features, which is a huge problem and damaging for younger girls. In fact, in India there is a cream for women that is meant to lighten their skin. One of my friends, a Chinese adoptee, went to South Korea and they photoshopped her ID photo to hell to make her thinner and paler. Promote positive body image! Not all Asian women are naturally thin. Also, support Asian girls and boys who have a darker skin tone.

Another trope for Asian women is the “Dragon Lady” stereotype, which is generally reserved for East Asian women. This harmful stereotype shows a woman “as strong, deceitful, domineering, or mysterious.“ Wikipedia also mentions that the Dragon Lady is “also used to refer to any powerful but prickly woman, usually in a derogatory fashion.”

(Rebellious) Asian women are many times described as or portrayed as having colored hair in TV or movies. For some reason, Hollywood loves to have Asian women with hair that is dyed whether it’s the whole head or just streaks. Hollywood wants a cool, rebel girl appearance that gets old. I love to dye my hair and do enjoy having different colors, but seeing it all the time as the only representation gets old. 

Older Asian characters like a character’s parents are seen as traditional, strict, and uptight. Most of the time, they don’t speak English. They are generally the primary force behind their child’s decision to be a lawyer or doctor. The parents are hardly ever supportive and are mainly concerned with finding their children spouses. 

There is also a stereotype about Asian languages. A lot of people think that Asian countries speak the same languages or one language. In China, most people speak Mandarin (standard Chinese), but they could also speak Cantonese which is very different. There are also many other dialects, so Chinese can mean different things. In India, there are many, many, many different languages. The main ones spoken are English, Hindi, and Urdu. I recommend that people read up on the national languages and dialects in Asia here. Please be aware that not all Asian people can speak an Asian language. I’m Chinese and I don’t know any Mandarin other than “hello,” “goodbye,” and “thank you.” (Also, just because someone is Asian, don’t assume they know how to use chopsticks.)

Obviously, it’s okay to have a smart Asian or to have an Asian character who does in fact know martial arts. The problem is when those are the only defining traits of your Asian character. Don’t let these stereotypes become the sole defining part of your character. 

APPROPRIATION

There’s a lot of cultural appropriation, period. This appropriation doesn’t stop at clothing but also the countries themselves and language.

With Indian culture, much of the traditional clothing and Bollywood is appropriated. Women (who are not Indian) are wearing sarees (or saris) and bindis without really knowing what it means. This can be seen in Selena Gomez’s Come and Get It (and all of her live performances), with Katy Perry, and in an episode of Fuller House which shows a Bollywood themed party.

The clothing of other Asian countries are also appropriated. The Japanese kimono is frequently worn and appropriated in very sexual ways. Examples of this are Rihanna in her Princess of China music video with Coldplay, Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj, P!nk, and many more. This also occurs with traditional Chinese and Korean clothing. Women may also tape their eyes to have narrow eyes or fake a hooded eye. This frequently happens with cosplaying or dressing up as one’s favorite K-Pop band. Symbol from Asian cultures or characters from Asian languages are also appropriated and used for tattoos. For example, the om symbol ( ॐ ) or the yin-yang symbol is seen on necklaces or tattoos.

Please note that the term hapa, used to describe someone of Asian and/or Pacific descent, is an appropriated term. Originally, the term is from Hawaii from the Hawaiian word for "half", "part", or "mixed.” Hapa is an appropriated term that I would not suggest that people who are not Hawaiian use. Asians are also often times approached with either gibberish that is supposed to sound “Chinese” or “Japanese” or another kind of Asian language. Or, Asians are approached with a “Namaste,” “konichiwa,” or other terms and phrases. Again, not all Asian people can speak their language.

Asian countries are often times used in movies as an “exotic” backdrop for a movie or story. A white character will visit an Asian country for self discovery, healing, or to learn a mystical ancient martial art. This is a massive problem because Asian countries will only be seen as exotic locations for self healing and martial arts. Stop letting your white characters go to Asian countries to heal or discover Asian magic. In case you don’t think this is a recurring theme, let me give you some examples! Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins (2005) goes to an unnamed  Asian country to learn how to fight with the League of Assassins. In Doctor Strange (2016), Stephen Strange goes to Kathmandu, Nepal to learn about ancient magic. In Eat, Pray, Love, both the book and film, the woman travels to India and Indonesia on her “quest for self-discovery.” In Lucy (2012), parts of the film are in Taipei with a white female lead. This trope is insensitive and boring as well as offensive because Asian countries are not just “exotic” and “mystical” for your plot.

All of this appropriation needs to stop because people are exploiting Asian culture without truly knowing and understanding what it all means. Yes, it is possible to learn about Asian culture without appropriating it. Yes, it is possible for you to wear a sari or a kimono if you are making a conscious effort to learn about the culture and reasoning behind the clothing, but you can’t make an assumption that everyone is okay with it. Some Indians or Japanese people may not be comfortable with you wearing their traditional clothing and you need to respect that. Asian cultures are not meant to be a quirk or something exotic and mysterious or a money grabber. 

CASTING & WHITEWASHING

Casting for Asians in film and television is another issue. Asians are not getting lead roles and that is because these roles are going to white actors. This is known as white washing. To properly define whitewashing, it is the casting of white actors in ethnic roles such as the majority of the cast for The Last Airbender (2010), Emma Stone’s character in Aloha (2014), Rooney Mara as Tiger Lily in Pan (2015), Johnny Depp in The Lone Ranger (2013), Tilda Swinton in Doctor Strange (2016), and many more. Let’s not forget Scarlett Johansson in Ghost in the Shell (2017)!

Whitewashing often occurs with yellow face and brown face. Yellow face is for East Asians while brown face is for people of Middle Eastern or South Asian descent. It is exactly how it sounds. It is similar to black face and it is where a white actor will wear prosthetic and/or be airbrushed to be a specific skin tone (usually more yellow) to appear more Asian. This has been going on for a long time, dating back in cinema as far back as 1915 (and definitely further back before film). Recent uses of yellow face in film include Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), Cloud Atlas (2012), and Pacific Rim (2013).

What does it mean when there is whitewashing and no Asian characters in the media? It means that we are not being represented. When Asian characters are not portrayed, they are not being represented and people don’t see themselves in the media, which influences our every day lives. Very few Asian actors have won Oscars and other acting awards because there aren’t any roles for them. Roles that are for Asian actors are going to white actors, meaning Asian actors are robbed of a job and experience. If they can’t get these roles (especially Oscar winning roles), then they will never have the chance to win or enhance their skills and practice their art. Kids want to see a Japanese Captain America, a Chinese Jessica Jones, an Indian Jason Bourne or a Korean Hawkeye because it means they are seeing themselves. It inspires them and shows them that they can strive to be their role models. 

When casting your characters, be aware of your faceclaim’s ethnicity. It is not hard to look up a celebrities ethnicity. The best places to look are ethnicelebs.com/ and a celebrity’s Wikipedia page. This is especially important when casting part Asian characters. Some people may not seem like they are part Asian, like Katie Findlay, Janel Parrish, Lydia Graham, Kate Beckinsale, or Rob Schneider. And then there are people who are part Asian who also look part Asian like Ryan Potter, Chloe Bennet, Shay Mitchell, and Kristin Kreuk. Also note that there are plenty of people who may seem like they have Asian ancestry but do not such as Ezra Miller, Steven Strait, Max Schneider, Jodelle Ferland, Daniel Sunjata, and Emma Stone. 

Don’t just keep casting the same Asian actors in roles too, such as Dev Patel, Avan Jogia, Jamie Chung, John Cho, Arden Cho, or Priyanka Chopra.  There are a lot of lists and directories of other Asian actors who deserve attention such as Gemma Chan, Constance Wu, Karen Fukuhara, Lewis Tan, Ludi Lin, Ross Butler, Riz Ahmed, Cassie Steele, Deepika Padukone, Daniel Dae Kim, and so many more! There are also a great deal of Asian actors from China, Japan, Korea, etc. from Chinese, Japanese, Korean, etc. media who should be recognized as well. 

Lastly, on the topic of casting Asian characters, do not cast someone who is Chinese as a Korean character. Don’t cast someone who is Korean as a Singaporean character or a Malaysian actor as a Japanese character. Asians do not all look the same and there are so many countries in Asia. This is similar with the issue of having someone who is Mexican playing the role of a Colombian character or someone from Brazil (FYI, Brazilians are Latinx but not Hispanic) portraying a Venezuelan character. Cast the correct specific Asian ethnicity for your roles.

If you ever need help finding an Asian faceclaim, go to RPHs and ask. Never be afraid to ask! 

ASIAN ADOPTEES*

Asians are adopted from Asian countries all the time. Many of the Asian adoptees I know personally are adopted form China. Chinese adoptees are girls because of the one child policy that was in place until it recently became a two child policy in 2015. All Chinese adoptees I know are girls as there is a higher demand for baby boys and so they are kept while girls are put into orphanages. It is possible that there are boys adopted from China, I just haven’t met any cis-male Asian adoptees. (I have one Chinese adoptee friend who is currently transitioning from female to male). Here’s some more things you need to know about Asian adoptees. 

Generally, adoptees are adopted by white (middle class) families (at least all the Asian adoptees I know). In this case, these Asians (including me) are culturally very white. This can lead to a difficult conflict within one’s self because you feel white, but you are seen as Asian. Unless you learn about your Asian heritage, you won’t know about Asian culture. Because of this, Asian adoptees may feel too white for Asians who are raised by an Asian family surrounded by their culture but too Asian because of their physical appearance around white people. Sometimes, Asians who are trying to explore their heritage feel strange and sometimes feel like they are appropriating their own culture. Some part Asian people also feel this way as well because they may look too Asian to be considered white, but they look too white to be truly a part of their Asian culture.

It is also difficult for Asian adoptees to figure out their identity because of several reasons. We don’t know where we were born specifically. We don’t know our real birthday. We don’t know our parents or the reason why they gave us up (although it’s usually assumed that families wanted a boy and/or to give us our best chance with another loving family). We don’t know if we have siblings or not. We will most likely never find our birth parents or siblings if we have any. We won’t be able to trace our geneology. We assume we are 100% from the country we are adopted from, but we could very well be part Korean or Vietnamese. We just don’t know these things and Asian adoptees can struggle figuring out their identity because of this.

Often times, Asians are asked “Where are you from?” The person asking this often times expect a specific Asian country. I always give them the name of the place where I grew up. Asian adoptees are Asian Americans (if they’re in America and/or are American citizens [you could be Asian Canadian, for example, if you’re not an American citizen]). Not all Asians have “Asian sounding” names, even if someone is not adopted. I have a friend whose parents are from China and her name is Wendy. Some Chinese people will choose an English name to go by, but there are plenty of Chinese people who will continue to go by their Chinese name. Some Chinese adoptees may keep their given Chinese name as their middle name.

All Asian adoptees I know have very loving families. Some have siblings who are also adopted from an Asian country or another place or have siblings who are the biological children of their parents. Some families may have two dads or two moms, the family may be a nuclear family with a mom and dad, and there may be single moms who have adopted. One thing is very important when writing an Asian adoptee character. Their adoptive parents are their parents. They have birth parents, but their adoptive parents are their parents. I have a birth mother, but the woman who adopted me is my mom. It is incredibly offensive to an Asian adoptee and their parent(s) when people don’t acknowledge that they are their parents despite not sharing the same DNA.

Asian adoptees are not (always) tragic or traumatized by their experiences. However, some people are uncomfortable talking about themselves and their adoption. Respect their decision to not tell you about their experiences. 

*Note that this does not apply to all Asian adoptees, but it is a common occurrence that I have noticed while interviewing other Chinese adoptees. 

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, stereotypes, appropriation, and whitewashing are all incredibly harmful things that need to stop. Obviously, not everything I say in this guide applies to every Asian person. Chinese people have different experiences than Indian people. People of different Asian ethnicities have different experiences. The best thing I can suggest is to talk to these people about their experiences and what to avoid. 

To wrap things up from the guide, don’t say “Namaste” to anyone who is Asian. Don’t ask Asians “where are you from?” Don’t use the word “hapa” to describe yourself or others of mixed Asian heritage. Never use the words “Chink,” “Oriental,” “Jap” or any other offensive racial slurs. Never call an Asian brown or yellow. Don’t wear kimonos or saris without understanding the meaning. Don’t make your Asian characters’ defining traits be “smart,” “good at math,” or “a martial arts master.” Don’t keep using Asian countries as a backdrop for your characters to be in because the countries are “exotic” and “mystical.” Don’t make assumptions. Don’t whitewash your Asian characters! There are plenty of Asian faceclaims to use.

I’m hoping that this guide has helped bring some attention to these issues. Asians are severely underrepresented and misrepresented in the media. Don’t be afraid to ask me some questions or ask your Asian friends questions. Just don’t be an asshole about it. Really make a conscious effort to be respectful and learn about Asians and Pacific Islanders!