#I decided to go back and give a second chance to the scrapped outfits - and then since I still had more I'd made for funsies I did those too

[sysig]

Hey, those look familiar! (Patreon)

[farfromharry]

Who would’ve thought | Frat!Tom

Summary: Who would’ve thought that the frat boy with the concerning reputation would actually be a big softie with a thing for romance? All it took was the right girl.

Word count - 3,705

Warnings - drinking, mentions of throwing up, language

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Tom Holland, the ultimate frat boy of the campus.

You first heard about him through people in your classes, the classes you were meant to share with him if he were to ever show up. He was considered cocky, a little bit of a whore, and didn’t have a care for anyone who he wasn’t A, trying to sleep with or B, wasn’t a part of his frat.

You didn’t expect good things at all when meeting him for the first time, so that dreaded day when you got your new seating arrangements for the rest of the term and you just so happened to be sitting next to the frat boy himself, was unfortunately also the first day he showed up to your criminology class.

He showed up in a rather casual outfit, nothing too out of the ordinary. A dark blue hoodie with a matching cap sitting backwards on his head. When he turned his head to the side you could see the accent of small brunette curls sticking out of the back of his hat, accentuated by his sharp jawline.

He took one look at the seating chart and you saw, even from your spot near the back, the way his eyebrows drew together in confusion. He had no idea who you are.

You left him to work it out on his own, not wanting to be that girl who made a fool of herself in front of the infamous frat boy.

It didn’t take long until you felt his presence beside you, forcing yourself not to look. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention to him and missing the way you cursed yourself for giving in so easily.

“Are you Y/N?” You nodded your head and you could almost see the breath of relief he let out.

Tom took a seat next to you with a small smile. You assumed he was just trying to get on your good side to ask you for answers or borrow your notes, something he’d need for missing so much of the class work. “I’m Tom,” he said, deep voice unwillingly making your stomach fill with butterflies.

He held out his hand for you to shake, a crooked smile on his lips as he waited for you to respond. “Y/N.” The second your hand touched his, the boy was convinced he had to get to know you better, something about your shy persona intriguing him. “But, you already knew that,” you laughed nervously.

He thought your nerves were cute, the corners of his eyes creasing from how hard he was smiling. He slid into the seat next to you, the boy mentally debating how he was going to go about this. Tom wasn’t going to lie and say he didn’t think you were gorgeous because he was definitely slightly taken aback by you when you first looked at him with those doe eyes, so he didn’t want to ruin things before they’d even started.

“So, you probably know I haven’t been to a single one of these classes,” he said. You laughed, nodding your head. He felt his own lips twitching into a smile when he heard the angelic sound. “Are they really as bad as everyone says?”

You hummed as you thought about it, taking a few seconds. In that time Tom was fully taking advantage, his eyes raking over your face admirably, taking a mental note of all your different features. You tried not to let your nerves get to you when you noticed. “They’re definitely as bad as people say.”

He groaned, catching the eyes of a few different people around you both that made you sink into your seat awkwardly. He laughed it off, finding it amusing how easy it was to get you all flustered, deciding he would be using that with his flirting tactics from then on.

“Let’s hope you make them better then,” he mumbled, biting his lip to contain the smirk threatening to overtake his face. You didn’t respond but he could see from his peripheral vision that you shifted nervously in your seat.

Tom wasn’t sure if he was also getting flustered while talking to you or if he was subconsciously thinking showing off his physique would somehow catch your interest like it had done countless times before with the other girls on campus. But either way, he pulled the cap off of his head, lazily running his fingers through his curls for a second.

You glanced over when you saw his hands go to the hem of his hoodie, watching with the tip of your pen between your teeth as he began to peel the material off of his body.

You almost choked when you saw the grey, cotton shirt slip up and expose the bottom of his abdomen, hard muscles and a sliver of his underwear peeking through.

He placed the hoodie on the back off his chair once it was completely off, exposing the tight, plain grey shirt that clung to every ridge and muscle.

He heard your shaky inhale and couldn’t stop the smirk that crept onto his face, shooting you a single glance before he turned his head back to the front of the class.

You’d expected Tom to be a lot more distracting, seeing as he was quick to start up conversation with you earlier, but to your surprise he actually seemed to be paying attention.

This class flew by much quicker than the all the other ones, and you weren’t sure whether that was due to your thoughts being cloudy by the pretty boy next to you.

“Do you maybe want to come to a party next week?” he asked. You were taken off guard, your eyebrows raising as you packed away your stuff.

“I, um-“ He could see your internal conflict, interrupting before you had the chance to reject his offer.

“You don’t have to, of course, but if you do-“ He tore the corner off of a sheet of paper in his notebook, scribbling down the address of the frat house that you were sure you’d be able to find without his help. “Here’s the address, and there’s my number.”

His lips curved into a smirk as he handed you the scrap of paper, your fingertips brushing and creating another wave of butterflies for you.

“Uh, thank you. I’ll be sure to consider it.” You didn’t want to give him a final answer right now because you weren’t much of a party girl. You’d much rather stay in but as soon as your roommate got word she’d definitely be making it her mission to get you to that party.

“I look forward to maybe seeing you there.” He gave you a fake salute and turned to walk away, one hand holding the strap of his bag and the other carrying his discarded hoodie. When he reached the door of the classroom he gave you one last look over his shoulder, throwing you a wink before he was gone.

»»——⍟——««

The week had passed and you still hadn’t used Tom’s number at all, and he didn’t have yours to text you first, so he just has to wait. The man had no idea if you really were coming or not. It was unusual for him but he was nervous and his friends were starting to notice. Harrison had seen how Tom took a little extra time to get ready for tonight, pointing it out to Tom’s younger brother who brushed it off as him trying to pull another girl, and he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Who are you waiting for, mate?” the blonde asked, placing his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. Tom sighed, checking the watch on his wrist one more time, assuming that you weren’t showing up.

“A girl from my criminology class, but doesn’t look like she’s gonna show.” The younger of the two just shrugged his shoulder, encouraging his friend to finish his drink and go get another one with him. “Just enjoy your night mate, with or without her,” he said, lightly punching his shoulder in a friendly way before disappearing into the crowd. Tom nodded even as he walked away, quietly mumbling to himself, with or without her.

That mindset was gone as soon as he saw you. His entire face practically lit up as he spotted you coming through the front door of the house, politely pushing your way through a group of people who were blocking the entrance.

He was by your side in seconds, people moving out of his way as if he was a God, and you had to admit you were a little grateful because it definitely made it easier to move.

“You came,” he cheered, boldly linking his fingers with yours and dragging you straight to the kitchen. He could tell just from the way your hand subconsciously tightened around his every time someone so much as cast their eyes your way that you were nervous, if you were being honest you didn’t really want to be here.

“Yeah, um, my roommate,” you poorly explained, pursing your lips together. He nodded in understanding, giving you a quick run down on the drinks the frat house had on offer.

He was only slightly surprised when you turned them all down, shyly asking if you could have water instead.

“Thank you,” you muttered, your eyes roaming around the kitchen. This was one of the more less crowded areas of the house, and even then you could barely breathe from the wave of people filtering in and out every few minutes to get more drinks.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out you weren’t enjoying the party. Even with his efforts of getting you to loosen up, Tom could still see the traces of a frown on your lips and your stiff posture. He took a step closer to you, placing his hand lightly on your lower back, your eyes flickering to him to see what he was up to. He leaned down to your ear so you could hear him better, more or less having to shout for you to hear his words over the booming music.

“D’you want to get out of here?” he asked, gulping down the remainder of his beverage from the solo cup. Your eyes widened at the suggestive comment and you would’ve been disgusted if he hadn’t jumped in so quickly after the words left his mouth to correct his meaning. “Not like that, no, I meant um-“

This was the first time you’d seen him nervous, and you found it quite adorable the way his cheeks turned a light shade of pink; although that could’ve easily just been from the alcohol or the heat of the room.

“I meant, you don’t look like you’re having fun, and as my guest it’s my job to make sure you are.” His words didn’t sound any better in your head, but he clearly thought they did in his drunk one.

“What are you saying, Tom?”

“Do you want to go on a walk with me or something?” You smiled softly, thinking over your options quickly. Either stay in this dreadful party with the couples making out and drunk idiots running about the place, or go get some fresh air with a very cute and surprisingly polite frat boy.

It was safe to say your mind was quickly made up. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He linked your fingers together so it’d be easier to lead you through the crowd, throwing out his cup on the way.

Stepping outside the front door of the house you were hit with a wave of very cooling fresh air. You felt your body heat immediately cool down, a nice and very different sensation from the heat inside the party.

You still didn’t seem to be away from drunken idiots, Tom letting out a groan when he noticed some kids throwing up on the grass outside the house. Your face screamed disgust but you couldn’t help but laugh at him anyway.

He led you away from the house, muttering something about how he was going to leave that to someone else to clean up.

You didn’t even realise that you were still holding hands until Tom subconsciously squeezed yours when he felt you shiver from the sudden breeze.

You cleared your throat, nervously pulling your hand away and shooting him a tight lipped smile. You could see him frown slightly and with a small accepting nod he slipped his hand back in his pocket.

“So, why did you suddenly decide to show up to class?” you asked, a little out of the blue as you strolled side by side down the path in the empty park. Tom didn’t really have a good answer, it was either show up or completely fail the class and he wasn’t prepared to get yelled at by his mother for failing yet another class; but that didn’t sound like a cool thing to tell the girl he was trying to impress.

“Maybe I heard there was a really pretty girl in there who could use my attention,” he flirted, bumping his shoulder against yours. You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath for him to stop being so cheesy.

You didn’t understand why he’d taken such a sudden interest in you. It’d only been a week since you’d met but even in such a short time Tom had found himself infatuated with you, but not in a creepy way.

“Why did you invite me, Tom?” The question had been lingering in the front of your mind for days, and unfortunately you just had to ask now.

You both came to a stop, turning to face each other as you peered at him curiously. You saw Tom’s cheeks flush, the close proximity of your faces allowing you to see every small detail of the way his blush overtook his cheeks and nose.

“Just full of questions aren’t you?” he nervously laughed. The question was rhetorical of course, buying him time to come up with an answer. He took a deep breath, pursing his lips together awkwardly. “I like you. I know we only met last week but I-“

You could feel your heart stop for a moment, needing time to comprehend what he’d just said to you. “There’s something about you Y/N, and I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Your silence didn’t seem like good news to Tom. He let himself get ahead of the situation completely, his heart sank into his stomach and he was bracing himself for your rejection.

“Tom, is this some kind of joke?” you asked, convinced this couldn’t have been real. The big frat boy with the bad reputation wanting to go out with you?

“No, no of course not. Y/N, just give me a chance,” he begged, taking your hands in his gently. His thumbs stroked circles over the skin on the back of each of your hands, his eyes watching you full of hope.

“Come on, one date. If you hate it you don’t even have to talk to me ever again,” he offered. You cocked your head, your eyebrows drawing together in a way Tom thought was cute.

“Really?”

He tried to backtrack. “Well, no. That’d suck for me if you did. But you get the point.”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at the pair of soft brown eyes that were waiting for hopefully a good answer.

“Fine. One date can’t hurt.” He cheered silently, leaning down to place a cheeky kiss on your cheek that left you stuttering nervously.

“You won’t regret it.”

»»——⍟——««

It was many weeks before you actually gave into Tom for a second date. At first it was just dates, which from what you’d heard were out of the ordinary for him in general, but then somehow it progressed into a beautifully blossoming relationship, if you do say so yourself.

You were scared at first that he was going to fall back into that fuckboy role, or like in the movies he was going to be embarrassed about being seen with you, but it was the complete opposite.

He couldn’t tell enough people that you were dating. When dragging you along to parties it was always, have you met my girlfriend Y/N?, or an arm thrown around your shoulder with lots of kisses placed all over your face and neck to let people know you were taken.

Cute little picnic dates became surprisingly very common when you and Tom finally made things official. All your friends told you that they’d never known Tom to be this involved with a girl, because he didn’t normally waste his time taking his pursuits on dates.

The first time showed up at your door with a picnic basket and flowers in hand you were honestly shocked. He’d told you he was taking you somewhere because of the nice weather but it didn’t even cross your mind.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, watching you set the flowers down on your counter. You turned around with a playful eye roll at the way he was rushing you.

“Go where?” you giggled, slipping your hand in his outstretched one. He placed his lips on yours softly, drawing an unintentional grin from you. “‘m taking you on a picnic, want to enjoy the weather with my girl.”

From that day on it was almost a weekly thing, but it was also the thing that let you know Tom was serious about your relationship and wasn’t just planning on breaking your heart.

You and Tom had been in a comfortable silence for a while now. He believed you were reading the book you brought with you, so he didn’t want to interrupt. He chose instead to just look around at your surroundings, watching other people laugh and have fun in the field that sat in front of the university.

Little did he know you’d actually been admiring him for the last ten or so minutes. You stared at the way his jaw clenched every few seconds, making his jawline look even more prominent than it was. The way his curls so effortlessly fell into a perfect position on his head, and the way his biceps would bulge in the tight black shirt every time he would fix his hair after a slight gust of wind blew it into his face.

You snapped out of your daze when you noticed he was talking to someone, wondering if it was you. That was when you noticed a group of lads that were in the same frat as Tom, teasing him about how whipped he was for you.

“Fuck off,” Tom groaned, flipping them all off as they chuckled. They eventually gave up, running away snickering at the rise they’d managed to get from their clearly irritated friend.

“‘M sorry about them,” he said, gently running the back of his hand over your cheek. You nuzzled closer to it for a moment, providing him with a split second of affection before you were back to your book.

All the teasing left you thinking, Tom noticing the way you were chewing on your bottom lip, something he’d noticed you did often when you were deep in your head.

“‘s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked, brushing some hair out of your face. You sighed softly, locking eyes with your boyfriend.

“Who would’ve thought?” you mumbled, barely catching his ears from how quiet it was. He hummed in confusion, having no idea what you were referring to until you’d decide to finish your sentence.

You rolled over onto your stomach, inevitably rolling off of Tom’s lap. You pushed yourself up to your knees, hands on either side of Tom’s legs as you got close to his face with your own.

His hand shifted from his lap to cup your cheek, a small grin forming on his face as the man admired how beautiful you were up close. He was almost too distracted by your features, and those sparkling eyes looking at him to even comprehend the words coming out of your mouth, but luckily he caught them anyway.

“Who would’ve thought that the king of the frat, the biggest playboy on campus, whore if you will,” you exaggerated, lips curling into a grin. “Was secretly a big softie.”

His heart fluttered slightly but he scoffed at your beginning words, feigning offence at the names you’d labelled him with. “I can be romantic,” he whined, trying his best to defend himself.

You hummed, pretending to think about it to tease him even further. He huffed, happily forgetting his pouty mood with a few soft, short kisses from you.

“I’m kidding,” you whispered, slotting your lips together again in a sweet kiss. “Better be,” he grumbled, rubbing his thumb across your temple lovingly.

“Even if you are a whore, you’re still my favourite whore,” you teased, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to hold back your giggle. You saw him roll his eyes, his hand playfully pushing your head away from him until you were once again laying back in his lap.

“You’re so mean to me,” he complained, nudging you with the knee that you were laying on. You chuckled quietly, nuzzling your head against his stomach, your arms snaking around his waist.

“I love you though,” you whispered, feeling as though a massive weight had been lifted off of you. That was the first time either of you had said those words. You hadn’t been dating long, and part of you was still scared he wasn’t serious about this, but god did it feel good to say out loud.

Tom was shocked, staring down at you with his mouth agape. He felt butterflies exploding in his stomach and he realised he should probably say something before you start to overthink, something you were very good at.

“Yeah?” he asked, just making sure. You nodded your head, tightening your grip around your boyfriend’s torso, almost like you were afraid he’d run away.

“I-I love you too,” he announced, feeling your entire body relax against his. “Even if you do think I’m a whore.”

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tom holland taglist → @seutarose​ @lmaotshollandd​ @photoshopart15​ @hopelessly-harry​ @call-me-baby-gir1​ @icyhollands​ @sinisterspidey​ @siriuslyslyslytherin​ @musicalkeys-blog​ @itstaskeen​ @tpwk-grande​ @zspideyy​ @spideyssunshine​ @givebuckyhisplumsnow​ @lowkey-holland​ @hollandcrush​ @wizkiddx​ @sannie-san-shine​ @sonnydoesrandomshit​ @hopeless-romantic-baby​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @dummiesshort​ @itsbieberxholland​ @lillucyandthejets​ @piscesparker​ @bvttercupbby​ @mymilliefrommarketing​ @spideyspeaches​ @kujokura @l0velyevans​ @jess-holland23​ @felicityparkers​ @quxxnxfhxll​ @captainamirica​ @tomsirishgirlx​ @lou-la-lou​ @slutforsr​ @tayyx​ @bora-world​ @annathesillyfriend​ @lovableparker​ @whoeveniskendall​ @hollandswife​ @sunwardsss​ @dhtomholland​ @messedupmyfuckinglife​ @bi-lmg​ @londonspidey​ @multixfandomwriter​ @mrsholland96​ @tomhollandismyhusband1996​ @just-lost-inbetween-worlds​ @magicalxdaydream​ @hallecarey1​ @aayaissaa​

[katyasrussianaccent]

you're so golden (corpse x reader)

Summary: You're a faceless youtuber that sings cover songs. What happens when a certain faceless streamer slides into your DMs after you cover one of his songs?

Author's Note: Don't hate me! This was gonna be a cute chapter but then I decided against that. Credit to @moontwinkles for the spilling scene idea. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

The sound of your alarm wakes you from your slumber with a suddenness. Bleary-eyed, you roll over to turn it off, letting out a small sigh as your body and brain start to awaken. You’re going to meet Corpse. You’re going to meet Corpse. It bares repeating in your mind; the prospect still not quite registering.

You haven’t had the greatest sleep, your mind racing most of the night; skittish little thoughts that had you tapping your toes on the mattress in agitation as you struggled to turn them off. Sunlight streams through the cracks in your blinds, a warm glow painted in stripes on your wall. It was going to be a good day, tiredness be damned.

You get up, stretching your arms out as wide as possible and relishing in the relief as your muscles unclench themselves. There’s a little spring in your step as you walk to the bathroom, to wash your face and brush your teeth. You aren’t nervous as you pick out your favourite outfit, instead you feel excited. It’s funny how little scraps of fabric and thread can impact your mood so much, but you smile at your reflection, the feeling of confidence is nice, albeit rare.

The rumbling in your stomach signals that you need to eat something before you leave. Nothing too fancy, just some toast and a glass of juice. You can feel the nerves start to grow a little, the food sits heavy on your tongue, forcing you to swallow it. You grab your phone, scrolling as you chew. You go onto Corpse’s twitter, smiling at the picture he’s posted.

Out of curiosity, you go onto his likes. You always find his likes interesting; the random things he’s added gives you more of an insight to his thoughts and feelings. You chew the inside of your cheek as you scroll down past girls with perfect skin and bodies; your previous confidence now feels a little misplaced.

Deciding against letting it ruin your mood, you close the tab and go to grab your bag before locking your door and heading to your car. You text Rae to let her know you’re leaving and she replies almost immediately to wish you luck. Sitting in front of the steering wheel, you exhale as you start the engine and begin to drive. This was really happening. When Corpse had asked to meet, you were shocked. While you had discussed it, you had been under the assumption it would be a while before it happened. You just hope you don’t make an idiot of yourself; a tendency you had when you were nervous.

While you love the city, there’s something about driving on the open road. No noise, just the sound of tires on concrete. The scenery remains the same; nothing but trees and the occasional house far in the horizon. You’re meeting him in Santa Barbara; a place you’ve been to once in your life, so it might as well be brand new. It’s halfway between both of you, and while it’s still a few hours drive, you’ve got good music and some sunshine to keep you happy.

The drive flies in and before you know it, you’ve arrived. You’re meeting at a cafe that sells bubble tea; it was Corpse’s recommendation. It’s a charming little place, with white table and chairs on a cobbled patio area. The building itself is white brick, plant pots decorate the window sills and there’s a small crowd of people waiting in line. You turn off the engine, and grab the perfume out your bag, the smell of peaches invading your nostrils. With one last look at yourself, you exit your car and make your way to the cafe.

You’re not sure how you’ll find him, being faceless and all. A quick scan of the people around you, your eyes zero in on a figure dressed all in black, leaning against a wall that’s slightly in the shade. There’s butterflies in your stomach as you look at him from afar, your feet apparently unable to move on their own accord. He stands out amongst the brightly coloured outfits of everyone else, and you can see the sun glint against the chains on his jeans.

“Hi,” you greet, your hand going up to half-wave at him. He’s handsome; pale skin and cheekbones that disappear under the fabric of his mask. A mop of black curls are atop his head, falling out in different directions, and he brushes one off his forehead as he looks at you.

“Hey,” he replies and you smile a little. There’s a thick fog of awkwardness between you as you both take each other in, though trying not to look so obvious about it. You feel under scrutiny as his eyes move over you, and you meet his gaze before you both look down at the ground, a faint blush on your cheeks.

“How was the drive?,” you ask at the same time he does, causing you both to laugh. “Oh. Uh yeah it was good, thanks, how was yours?”

“Yeah it was good,” he replies, his eyes still on the ground.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

You scream internally as your eyes dart around, looking for something, anything to break this awkwardness. It shouldn’t be like this, you have such great chemistry on the phone and online, but there’s nothing right now. Is it you? There’s a niggling in your brain that says he was fine until now; until he saw you.

“We could go, uh, into the cafe? Get some food?” he suggests, breaking you from your self deprecating thoughts. You nod and you follow him to the door. He opens it and you dodge out the way as it narrowly escapes hitting you in the face. Corpse mutters an apology as he walks in, his eyes glued to the ground.

You order together; you get yourself a boba tea and a burger and Corpse does the same. He pays without saying anything to you, and while the day’s isn’t going quite as you pictured, the gesture makes your cheeks warm. You desperately hope it gets better. Maybe you’ve misread the situation and the chemistry you felt you had was just friendship on his part. Friends flirt all the time, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Your food arrives and you sit in relative silence as you eat. The times you do speak is stilted, full of one word answers and obvious observations. You go to reach for your boba as Corpse goes to grab salt, and the movement of his hand plus the crampedness of the table pushes your own hand back towards you, knocking the cup all over your neck and chest. Corpse shoots up in a speed that shouldn’t be human, his hand full of napkins as he comes towards you. The liquid is cold against your skin, and you look down to see your outfit now ruined, the fabric sticking to you in wet patches.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” Corpse says, his tone panicky as he dabs at your neck. He continues to dab, his hands pressing at the neckline of your top and if this was another time, you’d feel all fluttery at his hands on your skin. But it’s not, you’re uncomfortable and the day has sucked so far and all you want to do is go home. He discards the napkin onto the table and grabs another, his fingers warm against your collarbone as he presses the tissue. He doesn’t realise that he’s travelling downwards to your chest before he presses once, twice, before retracting his hand back like he’s been burned, the napkin falling to the floor. “Uh fuck, sorry, I didn’t realise I - “

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “I’ve always wanted apple scented boobs, guess I can check that off my bucket list.” It’s a failed joke but humour is a defence mechanism for you, even if it’s not very funny. Corpse widens his eyes a little, his gaze fixed on the napkin that’s on the floor.

He hands you some more napkins and you clean up a little more. Your skin feels sticky, and you smell of artificial apple; but the apple isn’t sweet, it’s bitter and slightly unpleasant.

“Uh, I should probably go home and get a shower, I feel like I fell into a vat of sugar,” you say, standing up and grabbing your bag.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so clumsy,” Corpse replies. You can tell he feels awful, and while you sympathise, he’s not the one that’s just had almost a full cup of boba spilled on him.

You shake your head, “It’s fine, really. I just feel really gross. Don’t worry about it.” You smile in what you hope comes across as reassurance.

“Let me walk you back to your car,” he says. You nod and walk out together in silence; something you had gotten used to throughout the day.

“Have a safe drive back,” you say as you get to your car.

“I will. Let me know when you get home?” he asks, and you nod.

“Shall do. Goodbye Corpse,” you say, opening the door and waving at him through the window. He waves back and you watch him through the rearview mirror as he disappears out of sight. You feel like an idiot for believing this was going to be good, like you ever had a chance with him. You’d been saying it since the start; that it wouldn’t work, you had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. And you were right. Sometimes you hated being right.

You turn the engine on and sit there for a second, your head pressing against the steering wheel. What a waste of time this was. Grabbing your phone, you tweet quickly.

“Oh well, let’s go wallow in self pity,” you whisper before driving off.

Taglist: @genshinglitter @fanworrior @cherry-piee @mirahg @clara-bee @clubfairy @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @more-like-reyna @boiled-onionrings @moneybagmgk @brendalopez99 @delicateavenuenacho @dreamsofficialwife @hydrate-tion @oi-itsemily @letsloveimagines @softforqiankun @evilunicorns4minions @captain-willowwitch @afuckingunicornn @theroyalbrownbarbie @buttersnitzle @officiallyunofficialperson @aha-red @frostbitelokii @butterfly-skinnylegend @sofianunes10 @ghostfacefricker6969 @alienvarmint @helena-way07 @woah2pointo @jasmine2042003 @youhyakuya @adore-holland @hyunjinhugs @finahja @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker @only-corpse-hands @remugoodgirl @gowhiteboygo-poggers @open-minded-chip-101 @daveedfanfics @justakpopstans @majasophieanna @mxjetlagcity @strawberrydonkey @meowtella @lizzylynch1 @chesca-791 @anescapefromtheworld @unded-bride @majasophieanna @adorkably @lost--in--the--moon @euphoricseokjin

[deathprocession]

HHN Icons and Pets

Noir belongs to @oughtabeinpxctures! I typed up a thing about her because I felt it would be odd to leave the director out, but I think Noir is already a perfect fit for him.

Jack has a big, really energetic mutt named Menace who's a very good boy (to ever the irksome of his father) and the perfect size for tug of war and fetch. He's an Otterhound with shaggy grey hair and is about half the size of Chance. He's a big scaredycat, though. Chance likes giving him belly rubs and trys to dress him up sometimes but he usually either wiggles out of his outfits or tears them apart. Jack likes playing with him, especially tug of war. Chance was the one who wanted a pet and convinced Jack to go to the pound with her, but Jack was the one who chose Menace and named him. When Paulo comes to visit he's often met with Menace barreling towards him and attempting to tackle him in an attempt to play with him, much to the director's dismay. Chance just wants them to get along. Jack thinks it's hilarious and will actively encourage Menace.

Dr. Albert Caine does not have a dog no matter how much his daughter begs for one, but what he does have is a little goldfish named Spleen (after Cindy's second favorite organ, of course) who does what most goldfish do, which is vacantly swim around his tank and eat whenever someone remembers his existence. Once he dies he'll probably be replaced without much fanfare, but he seems to be enjoying himself.

The Duchess was a stray that started living in the Universal Palace Theatre and just kinda never left. She used to sleep in the rafter area behind one of the movie screens, but now she hangs out in the ticket booth for the most part. Julian was planning on kicking her out, but decided that since she's become a part of the theatre that he would take care of her too. She rarely ever makes a mess, and besides, it's always nice having some company on the night shifts that isn't undead. She's a total couch potato and kind of unaware of new people, but she only trusts Julian and the other icons who visit him often like Paulo and Chance. Give her belly rubs and you are immediately one of her favorite people. She's very much a big, spoiled ball of fluff on four legs.

Paulo has a little, solid black kitten named Noir that he found after coming home from a shoot to find her in his camera bag, curled up and half frozen to death. He never really thought of himself wanting a pet, but oddly enough he's gotten very attached to her and nursed her back to health. He's very much what you'd consider a "cat person", being pretty much the human equivalent of one. Noir is as much of a bastard as her father, getting up to trouble and being incredibly fesity with everyone but Paulo. She and The Duchess often play together, being a testament to opposites attract. She climbs on top of Duchess and will bury her head in the bigger cat's fur.

Elsa Strict sometimes feeds the strays that wander into her yard or front porch. She may be a murderer but she is an old woman at heart, and that extends to having her own personal colony of cats. She gives them nicknames sometimes, mainly names like Jeremiah, William, and Darcy. They're all very old names and she mixes them up a lot. She would probably rather die than admit that she cares about them even a little bit. She does though, in her own way. She used to have a bird, a parrot to be exact, but it died a while back and she still has its empty birdcage. It only knew how to say hello and various threats of violence or insults.

Eddie has thought of getting a dog, a good, big sized one to maybe act as a guard dog, but he wouldn't have the time or patience to train it. Doesn't mean he never has to dogsit on extremely short notice for his brother, though. Menace has the time of his life playing with all the spare parts and scrap metal around Eddie's warehouse. He doesn't feel too annoyed having the dog around, though, even if he slobbers all over his stuff. It beats having his brother around. Not that you'd ever catch him saying that out loud.

Dr. Agana was very busy when she was alive, but she did have a little pigeon who hung out a lot in his little cage in her office. They're a pretty low maintenance bird and could just hang out on her desk while she worked! She named him something nerdy, probably after a gothic poet like Poe or Rossetti. After she went missing and was declared dead he was taken to a shelter where he was adopted by your average domestic family and renamed Rice after his pale feathers. Their lives are nothing special, but sometimes if you look into the little mirror in his bird cage you might catch sight of something not so pleasant.

[mrsgiovanna]

Unhinged - Don Giorno x Fem! Reader

A misunderstanding causes the reader a whole lot of distress. Blame it on the stress of planning your wedding to the Golden dreamboat or his shifty behavioral cues. Needless to say this occurs many years after the events of Vento Aureo. Some mild angst, some fluff, some mild nsfw- a mixed bag that nobody asked for really, unashamedly self indulgent 🥺💭💖

You always judged those unhinged girls. You know the type, the ones who would steal their partners phones and “run into them” at very convenient times. Pathetic, you’d always think, so you could not understand how, in heaven’s name, you found yourself sitting in your car across from your favorite Café, spying on your fiancé. You were thankful for the oversized sunglasses that hid most of your face as you stole a glance at yourself in the rear view mirror. You can’t imagine what your eyes might look like at this point.

It all started a week ago… Giorno was an extremely busy man, you of all people knew that best. He always made time for you though, however, the closer it got to your wedding, the less you saw of him. You were busy yourself, so you didn’t really have much time to yearn for his company, but the coldness of your bed was always a reminder that someone very important was supposed to be occupying that space. It wasn’t just the scarcity of your lover that had set off alarms in your mind, it was more his odd behavior. He was so secretive these days, keeping conversations shorter than they needed to be, hiding his devices from you when he received texts, discarding every scrap of paper from his pockets before properly greeting you when he did manage to come home in the daylight. Each time you questioned his behavior he just sweetly smiled and replied that everything was alright.

And so continued this mistimed waltz on eggshells until that fateful morning. A swirl of emotions bubbled up in your chest suffocating you when you found some kind of broken jewel clinging to Giorno’s suit. You couldn’t really make out what it might have been part of, or what lewd activities managed to dislodge it from its original owner and onto him, but for the first time in the years you have been together, you were suddenly unsure of whether you could spend your life with this man. Did you even know him at all?

The walls of the villa never felt so restrictive before, you needed to get out, clear your mind, perhaps even get another perspective. You could just be overreacting as you know you are inclined to do sometimes. Giorno was still in the shower, you contemplated letting him know that you were going out, but decided to just go. He can stew a little, get a taste of your personal hell for just a few hours. Hurriedly throwing on the outfit you laid out, you grab your keys and headed off to your favorite coffee shop, calling Trish while you were on your way there, asking her to meet you. The two of you had grown closer over the years and right now you needed a friend who would give you sound advice without sugarcoating the facts.

Giorno had sauntered out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his upper body still glistening from the shower with his wet hair cascading down his back. He expected to find you there just doing your hair or putting on your mascara, he loved watching you get ready. It gave him a chance to fully admire you, making him feel proud, bordering on arrogant, that you were his and only he got to see all the different sides there were to your beauty. He knew he was being distant with you but he had his reasons for being so preoccupied. Walking towards the nightstand to check his phone, he sees the jacket he wore yesterday on the floor with the little jewel still hooked onto the fibers of the expensive fabric. Throwing his head back in resignation, he called Trish, already aware of what you might be thinking, and knowing that she’s usually the first person you’d turn to when you needed to chat.

“Hi Trish, do you have a second to chat? I’ll make it quick,” he starts off, putting the call on speaker so he can get dressed for the day.

“Giorno, what did you do? She already called me in a state, I’m on my way to meet her for coffee as we speak,”

“Okay look, I can explain everything, just know that I’m not being unfaithful,”

“How did this escalate so fast? Why are you giving her reasons to jump to these conclusions so close to the wedding? You better not be messing around,”

Giorno could hear the suspicion that edged Trish’s voice, so he explained everything and begged her to calm you down while he tended to a few issues.

You felt your shoulders relax as the tension melted away after pouring your heart out to Trish. After speaking to her it dawned on you that coming out and asking Giorno would be better than letting this outlandish scenario fester in your mind. After giving you the pep talk you needed Trish left to get on with her day while you stayed to organize yours. Sipping the last bit of your mocha Frappe, you darted towards your car when suddenly your attention was caught by a flash of gold and a flourish of a deep cerulean blue coat entering the Café. Certain that your eyes were playing tricks on you, you blinked a few times, but it was as clear as the blue sky above you, Giorno had arrived there with another woman. Hastily getting into your car, you sank into the soft leather seat and fished out your oversized Chanel sunglasses to conceal your presence as much as possible in the off chance he looked in your direction, although chances of that seemed very slim given how engrossed he was in their conversation.

Oh you hated every painful second of this, all the tension and anger that you’d let go of, found you all at once, marring your otherwise beautiful features.

You watched as he pulled out her chair and sat across from her, smiling that charming smile that could disarm a terrorist. He barely looked away from her, you wished he would see you, wondering what kind of explanation he’d conjure up. You contemplated going back inside to confront them, but you didn’t trust your emotions, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You wouldn’t dare give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry… and so you watched, preparing yourself for what you may or may not see, however your resolve shattered when you saw Giorno pull out a little black box and slide it across the table towards her. She beamed as she opened it examining the contents without taking it out… was it a replacement for that trinket that you found? He always did have impeccable taste, you had always thought it was reserved for you though. Unable to watch any longer, you started the car and sped off, not wanting to go home, but having no motivation to go anywhere else, you just drove aimlessly for a while.

“Oh Mr Giovanna, these are perfect, they’re exactly what I needed to complete her bracelet, I’m sure your fiancé is going to love it!” exclaimed the lady sitting opposite your lover.

“Please, call me Giorno. I would hope so, it’s more sentimental than anything else, I’m just astounded that you were able to recreate the intricacies of the original design. Your talent knows no bounds,”

“Ah, like any artist, I’m always intrigued by beauty and mystery. How were you able to get a this many dainty gems at this short notice?”

“I have my network, I’m just glad you can complete it now, I can’t wait to give it to her,”

“Well you won’t have to wait too long, I should have this ready by the close of business today,”

“I won’t keep you any longer then, thanks once again for handling my request,” said Giorno with an extended hand as he stood up to leave.

It was a mission to try and recreate your mother’s heirloom bracelet from a faded, wrinkled picture, but he was determined to give you something special, that would make you feel closer to her as well. Your lineage was a mystery, your father unknown, so when your mother arrived in Italy it was one of the few valuables she had had on her person. She did everything she could to provide for you when you were little, but she unfortunately had succumbed to her circumstances leaving you to fend for yourself in an unforgiving world. His heart clenched when you recounted stories of your childhood, which somewhat mirrored his own. You never complained though, he could see your heart ached when you thought of her, and all the things she would have helped you with especially now. Still, the way you concealed your heartache with a trained smile, would always make him wonder how such strength could be contained by something so angelically beautiful. Drawn out of his reverie of you, Giorno had arrived at his destination and continued with his day until it was time to collect your present and head home.

By the time you had finally found yourself at your driveway, you were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to bury yourself in a cave and hibernate until everything was over. How arrogant of you to assume this would last when every good thing in your life came to an end. Dragging your wary body up the stairs, you buried yourself under the soft comforter, shutting your eyes with the hope that it would all have been a dream by the time you resurface.

When Giorno finally made it home, the first thing he did was seek you out. Usually you’d be quietly nestled on the couch reading or working on something, or you’d be tinkering in the kitchen making some sort of delicious treat, both as a means to relax and indulge your shared sweet tooth. But you couldn’t be found in either of those places. He found you huddled on the bed you both shared, looking so fragile as you slept in a fetal position. He didn’t want to disturb you but he couldn’t help gently brushing your hair off your face, which unfortunately resulted in you waking up.

“Gio, I didn’t expect you back this early…” you murmured, still waiting for your eyes to adjust to the light. The events of today came flooding back to you and you resolved to just come straight out and confront him. Noticing the change in your demeanor, Giorno sat next to you on the edge of the bed, while he loosened his top shirt button and took off his tie.

“Giogio, I don’t know how to put this delicately, so I’m just going to say it… you’ve been acting so different lately, always so secretive, hiding things from me, and this morning I found remnants of some jewelry that didn’t belong to me on your clothes… and probably the worst thing of all is that I saw you with someone while I was out this morning. You both looked very comfortable with each other, and… I… who is she?” you rambled on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. This wasn’t playing out how you had imagined it, with most of the fight being forced out of your body by melancholy. Seeing the evidence of your anguish in your eyes, Giorno reached out to cup your cheek, you mentally chastised yourself for automatically melting into his touch.

“Ah my sweet principessa, I love you, only you, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or break that trust. The lady you saw me with is a jewelry designer, I commissioned something very special for you, so we just met so I could give her the materials to complete it… I wanted to give it to later at dinner tonight, but you’re in no condition to go out, so let’s stay in, okay?” he explained as he pulled out a box from his breast pocket and settled down next to you. “Go on, open it,”

You gingerly take the box, opening it slowly, curiosity and embarrassment fighting against each other in your mind.

“Gio, how did you manage to find it after all these years? I thought it would have been melted down and broken up completely.”

You simply couldn’t believe your eyes, it broke your heart when you sold off the bracelet to pay off her debts after she passed, it killed your spirit entirely when you were told it wasn’t enough to cover what she’d owed. That’s how you found yourself in Passione, working as one of Bucciarati’s underlings.

“Well, unfortunately I couldn’t find the exact piece bella, trust me, I tried. You’re probably correct in saying that it was taken apart, so I had this recreated to its exact specifications. I hope you like it,”

Giorno’s voice was so tender, as was his expression. Tears clouded your vision, it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you, you were at a complete loss for words.

“Gio… Tesoro, I don’t know what to say, thank you doesn’t seem like nearly enough. And I’m so sorry I ever doubted you, I feel like such an idiot, that’s probably because I am one. How can I make it up to you? I totally understand if you’re too upset to talk to…” your rambling was cut off by Giorno’s lips gently pressing against your own. His hand softly grasped the back of your head, slightly tilting your face upwards to deepen the kiss.

“That was thanks enough amore mio, I love you,”

“Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore,” you reply, while trying to hide your embarrassment by nestling your face in the crook of Giorno’s neck.

“Molto bene, your Italian is improving bella, I’m proud of you.”

Giorno snaps the sparkly trinket onto your wrist and admires how your eyes light up when you look at it. The glimmer of his eyes in the soft lighting of the room awakened a yearning within you. Giving in to the feeling, you kiss Giorno’s collarbone, earning a hum of approval from him, as you softly trailed kisses up his neck and onto his jaw, finally settling on his lips. You felt him smiling into the kiss, he ran his tongue across your bottom lip asking for entry, to which you willingly obliged as your hands toyed with his braid, undoing it completely. His hands ran up and down your body, worshipping the dips and curves he adored so much. Breaking away from the kiss for a moment, he looked down at you, eyes darkened with lust, hands hovering over the buttons of your shirt asking for permission to disrobe you, which you granted with a small nod. He was so gorgeous, so strong and he exuded such charisma that you found yourself submitting to his every request, spoken or otherwise, lapping up every bit of praise he afforded you as you took him in his entirety. Once, twice, you had lost count of how many times you both peaked.

At some point in the night you had woken up ensconced in the warm embrace of your sleeping lover, finally being able to form a coherent thought, you promised yourself to never baselessly doubt his love for you ever again. With that you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to fall asleep again, feeling completely safe, content and loved.

[justme92297]

HC: Brother's Kissing Under a mistletoe

Hi, first HC here, so please tell me if something is off. I was reading Diavolosthots' HC and was inspired, so if your 18+ please check her blog out.

TW: none? kissing? Reader: GN

With almost the exchange program coming to a close, you were able to convince the brothers with some persuading from Diavolo to hold a Holiday party. While the brothers were reluctant to participate, their moods suddenly changed with the idea of the kissing MC under the mistletoe. Who will kiss MC under the mistletoe first?

Lucifer:

Lucifer secretly loves this holiday. While his pride (and maybe duty as the right hand man to the demon lord) would never allow for him to actually admit this, he enjoys the peace in the HoL with his brother’s being busy, the more classical spin on music, and being able to relax in front of the fire place, which is exactly where he came up with his idea to get MC under a mistletoe.

Lucifer started to ask you to dance during the “small” get together when one of his prized records started playing. Waltzing with Lucifer engulfed you into your own small world, you didn’t realize Lucifer was dancing with a purpose. During the last chords of the song, Lucifer spins you around and dips you slowly, leaning in you hear him whisper “I think it’s tradition that we are supposed to kiss.”

His lips are tender and gentle when kissing you, going deeper than a standard kiss, however there is still a small restraint in his kiss, he still wants to hold onto some of his pride, and not out right make out with you in front of an audience. He’ll slowly bring you back up and with a silent point of his finger he shows that you two were under a mistletoe this whole time.

~Satan and Belphie tried to guess his plan and get his record to skip during the dance, but because of Beel’s love of food and Diavolo’s excitement to be involved, they were unable to sabotage.

Mammon:

Mammon wasn’t going to leave this to chance, not to his human. Mammon volunteered to help Asmo with decorating, and strategically placed a mistle toe right at the entrance of your bedroom door.

Mammon’s original plan involved quietly opening your room, and gently waking you up, where you two would cuddle until you were ready to get the day started. He would wait patiently to bring you outside of your room, and kiss you saying “Ya know we can be crazy, but ya day would not be the same without me”. However this is Mammon we are talking about, and between his nerves, the fear that his brothers would walk in at any moment, and his sheer brand of idiocy his plan actually went like this.

The door is slammed open with sheer force that you wake up by jumping out of bed. Mammon quickly walks up to you “Hurry up out of bed, you can’t have the Great Mammon waiting on ya” Grabbing your arm he drags you out of bed walking past the mistletoe that he placed. “Shoot” Mammon pushes you back into your room farther then he expected. In a weird type of tug of war where Mammon is only fighting with himself, he finally gives up and bends down to meet your lips.

Mammon already turns red after the second time bringing you out of your room, he almost decides to back out and give you a kiss on the cheek, but his pure stubbornness that only Mammon can posses makes him peck your lips. His kiss was forceful with your lips crashing together. With the equal amount of force was swiftness and when standing back up, you see a red face. “Now ya’ll know that mistletoe is outside your door.” He quickly starts to drag you to breakfast.

~Reality, Mammon didn’t actually have to strategically place a mistle toe because Asmo already was going to make sure that every photo opportune spot was going to have a mistletoe, and you better be darn sure that with Asmo decorating every inch of HoL was a photo opportunity.

Levi:

Listen, Levi knows his weaknesses. He knows that if he isn’t going to back out of this, he is going to need to get a way to get you alone. While reading a manga he came up with the idea that is just fool proof, he’ll make you initiate it!

Levi was in charge of decorating the Christmas tree with you with the Asmo approved ornaments. The house was in utter chaos, and he knew that no one was paying attention to either of you. While walking to Asmo’s room, Levi was able to set up his perfect plan. He started hanging up his Ruri-chan mistletoe that he got of Akuzon. Coming back with a box of crystal ornaments that will shine in just the right way for Asmo, Levi started bring up human world traditions and what he has seen on anime, and Devilbur. “What about mistletoe’s? Are you supposed to kiss under them?” before giving you a chance to respond, Levi continues “Because why haven’t you kissed me yet? Is it because I am a yucky otaku?” Looking up to see the Ruri-chan mistletoe you decide to

Give him a kiss, Levi goes absolutely frozen. Without any response, you peel away from Levi to see a face that would put shame to a tomato. When Levi.exl finally reboots, he asks if he can try again, and to give him more of a warning.

Look at Levi. Levi bends down and pecks you on the check so hard that you think that you may get a bruise from it. Levi runs away out of embarrassment, and the need to tell Henry how brave he was.

~What Levi didn’t know was the Belphie was asleep on the couch and woke up when he was hyping himself up to give you a kiss. So technically it wasn’t completely alone, and Belphie has not decided if he is going to take this secret and use it when he needs something or start teasing Levi right away.

Satan:

If Satan’s room weren’t a typhoon of books, papers, and candles than anyone could see the stress of trying to figure out a plan to get you alone to kiss you was causing him. Scraps of paper showed his bullet point list of wanting to kiss you in private or if kissing you in public was a better choice. If planning something and making it not seem spontaneous was better or trying to show an air of carefree was better. He wouldn’t admit to his brothers how much he has been stressing over this, but he thinks he figured out a perfectly balanced plan.

Satan’s approach he landed on is classic. He waited for everyone to say their goodbye’s near the door, and waited for people to start disappearing to their respective rooms, when Satan grabbed your waist, pulling you in closer, he lifts your chin up to greet your lips. His kiss was slow, not from the lack of yearning, but knew that if he went slow it would feel more ingrained in your memory. Pulling himself away, he never released your chin. “Merry Christmas, MC. I hope that this day has been everything you hoped f-.” Before Satan can finish his sentence your D.D.D rings, with Belphie’s invite to take a nap together.

~Satan couldn’t believe that his perfectly laid plans was ruined by his partner in crime. Their goal was to stop Lucifer’s not his. Knowing that the moment has passed, Satan walks to his room, already smiling at the memory he just made with you.

Asmo:

Asmo is literally wearing a mistletoe. While he incorporated it into his outfit in a non tacky way, he knows about the tradition and he knows what to do. Asmo also knew if he didn’t want his brothers to mess with his backdrops of his photos he was going to have to help them by placing different mistletoes around the house, and yes, he did spot the Ruri-chan one that Levi bought and it is currently hanging in Levi’s room after being rescued from the trash by Mammon.

Asmo knew you were popular, and he knew that almost everyone at this party wanted to kiss you, but he didn’t expect everyone to try to pull so many moves on you. Honestly, he is loving it, but at the end of the day, the one that would have kissed you the most was him. If you expected to walk 10 feet without being kissed, Asmo had other plans, and his kisses weren’t always on the lips. At the beginning of the night, whenever Asmo came up to you putting a mistletoe between you two the kisses were innocent. It would start with the hand, and be a show of taking your hand like a princess to kiss it. Slowly escalating it to up your arms, your cheeks, forehead, nose, he even went to your neck before Asmo went for the lips.

When people where exchanging gifts Asmo was “banned” from being anywhere near you by Mammon, but that didn’t stop him, he knew to wait for Mammon to be distracted, and that would be the kiss that sealed the deal. When Asmo got his chance, he didn’t rush the experience, it would be a disservice to both of you if he did.

Asmo’s kiss was a mixture of soft, slow, but incorporated movement. He might have tried deepening the kiss into a passionate french kiss, but that would only be if you responded well to kissing him, and if you did their would be nothing stopping him from giving you exactly what you want.

~To say that he wasn’t irked by Mammon’s little ban from kissing you wouldn’t be entirely true, but he wasn’t going to let that idiot stop him.

Beel:

When the brothers were talking about trying to get you under the mistletoe, Beel didn’t completely understand. It took talking to Belphie that night to figure out just why everyone was so excited, and he would be lying if he hoped to get you under the mistletoe. While rummaging in the fridge he was thinking of plans on how to get you along, when he decided that it didn’t matter if he wanted to kiss you if you don’t want to kiss him, so he isn’t going to come up with any secret plan, but to see what happens.

Beel was going to the kitchen to get more appetizers to munch on when opening presents. While you were coming back from grabbing a drink, Asmo squealed that both of you are under the mistletoe. Without thinking Beel lifts you up so your faces were on the same level.

Beel’s kiss was soft like him, but much longer then anticipated from anyone. When you two finally broke apart, he didn’t let you down, but gently sat you at your sit, and grabbed your now empty cup to refill it for you.

~While grabbing your drink, Beel couldn’t help but need that moment to calm down, but what he didn’t know was that Lucifer walked into the kitchen to see what was taking so long. He has plans he needs to make sure execute after seeing his display.

Belphie:

When the brothers talked about how they didn’t want to participate in this event, he didn’t share the same feelings. Belphie knew what was at stake before many people realized it themselves. He knew that kissing you was an acceptable option when mistletoe was around. To say that he was disappointed when others figured it out is an understatement, but his plan didn’t change one bit.

Belphie was tired at the end of the day. Socializing was draining, staying awake was draining, hanging the mistletoe on the roof of the attic was draining. It’s safe to say that his whole body needed sleep, but knowing what was going to happen when Belphie texted you to take a nap up in the attic was the sole reason he didn’t fall asleep during any of the activities.

Belphie was getting ready to take the best nap with you when he got your attention by pointing up at the ceiling. Cupping your face into his hands, he poured his feelings into a passionate kiss. That was the finale straw though, and before your lips could respond, Belphie fell into your lap, lightly snoring, trapping you into a cuddle session in the attic. (Don’t hate me, he legit stayed awake in anticipation to kiss you and when he finally completed his goal his body gave up fighting the sleep)

~Everyone at the party was amazed that Belphie didn’t fall asleep once during the activities. Diavolo started assuming that Barbatos was spiking the hot chocolate with caffeine, or that Lucifer put a spell on him. Beel kept expecting that he was going to need to pick Belphie up but didn’t mind that he got to experience this with this family.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

[elliewritessometimes]

IT’S @mattieswheelers BIRTHDAY!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVELY WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH

beCAUSE of this, myself and @notsomightymightytiger decided to steal tea leaf’s time travelling mattie au and create a whole entire fic with their ideas and also a design that @ari-is-anxious did a while back!! hope you enjoy aaaaaaa <3333 aLSO stabbies try and spot as many starboard references as you can heheheh 

this can be read on ao3 here if you prefer the format :)

tw: swearing, murder (it’s minor and resolved tho jsgh), religion (nicco my love read with care), blood, i really hope i haven’t missed anything please do let me know if i missed anything

-

Mattie had always been able to time travel. For as long as she could remember, her walk-in wardrobe had been lined with silver metal and held no clothes at all. As a child, this made it all the more exciting, though as she grew older and actually started to want to own clothes, it became a little inconvenient. She supposed all great inventions came with some kind of sacrifice.

Her uncle had made the time machine as a gift when Mattie was born. Her parents, like any basic adults, assumed the wardrobe-sized box was simply a toy and had taken no interest in it. Mattie, from the age of about three when her curiosity had really set in, was the one who discovered that the machine was in fact a working portal and not just a children’s toy. Since then, she had been happily travelling time and space during the darkest hours of night.

(You may have entirely valid concerns about a three year old having full access to time travel - luckily, not just for Mattie’s safety but also that of the entire human race, her uncle had set what were effectively child locks on a lot of the controls. These were diminished the day that Mattie turned thirteen. Uncle Calvin had always been a little weird, but he certainly wasn’t heartless.)

-

Usually, Mattie’s time travel didn’t affect her life. Sure, it made for some pretty awkward conversations as Mattie spurted some knowledge which could never have been explained through a textbook, but those could often be blamed on watching too much Horrible Histories as a child (“Mattie, I swear to God, you’re so bageling British, and yet you’ve never been there, I don’t understand.” “Horrible Histories is a masterpiece! You’re just jealous that you’re too American to have seen it.” “Actual asshole of a child.” “Farrah-!”).

It was going well until Mattie’s freshman year at Giles Corey. And then three of her fellow highschoolers were murdered. And suddenly Mattie had a way to prevent that from happening.

In some stroke of luck, she passed out at the sleepover and didn’t find out about the murders until she was sitting in the back of a cop car, driving to her house to pick up her things. She remembered thinking how weird it was that she wasn’t being taken straight to the station, but brushed that away in favour of ‘going into her wardrobe to change out of her bloody clothes’.

The time machine was cold like it always was and that forced her out of her muddled state quickly enough. She thought back to the victims. Chess. Farrah. Clark. Snapping on her goggles, she pressed a button, whirled backwards through time and space, and appeared at the gate to Riley’s neighbour’s house.

She really wished that she had actually changed her outfit - the damp blood turned cold with the breeze and sent shivers up her spine. The smell perhaps or just her sudden appearance startled the neighbour’s dogs into a frenzy. A figure, Chess, unharmed and merely confused instead of terrified, stood up from Riley’s bench, calling into the darkness. Mattie’s breath caught in her throat. The second figure, knife glinting in the dim streetlight, slipped out of the back door. Their red hair shone in the reflection of the knife with a sick kind of beauty.

Mattie could have stopped them there, taken the knife from the assailant’s grasp, prevented the tragedy of the evening. But she didn’t. She just watched.

Three minutes later, after arriving back in her present time and pressing yet another button on the wall of her closet, she watched the same scene unfold in the bathroom with a much younger victim. Twenty minutes after that, the third attack. This one was different though, an accident.

Still a little desperate and overly conscious of the police officer standing guard outside of her bedroom, she reappeared in her wardrobe, putting on a jumper before turning back time a little further. She appeared in a gymnastics centre as a girl around Mattie’s age did wolf turns on a beam. A coach entered the scene from the sidelines as the girl stopped spinning, her distinctive plait falling still against her back. Something in Mattie ached at the sight of Chess so lively and innocent, willing to give up her life for her dream of succeeding in her sport. As the two wandered into a side room, picking up water with a smile, Mattie edged forwards, collecting soft gym mats as she went. Within minutes, the area surrounding the beam had been double layered with cushioning, and Mattie could only pray that her plan would work. She’d seen enough YouTube videos to know what happened next.

Chess emerged again with her coach, hopping back up onto the beam with practiced ease. Again, Mattie was forced to just watch as she went down into her wolf turn, then rose up, did a split leap across at least half of the beam, and jumped into a twist to land on the floor. It was a messy landing, the gymnast’s ankle caving in on itself, knee twisting unnaturally in the air, before coming down hard onto her side. But, unlike in the previous videos, there wasn’t a resounding crack, only a weak cry of pain as Chess stumbled back to her feet.

Mattie grinned despite herself as snippets of conversation drifted her way.

“-not broken, don’t worry-”

“The Olympics seem out of the picture…”

“Get her a drink to numb the pain! Yes, limeade’s perfect-!”

Mattie arrived in her room again with a whole plethora of new information just inserted into her mind like it had been there all along. There was no longer and never had been a police officer outside her door. Her shirt was clean, her head undamaged. Chess didn’t go to the Olympics, but still did gymnastics in her spare time as her knee made a full and quick recovery. Farrah wasn’t dropped. Riley, in some weird twist of fate, went to the same therapist as Mattie. Life was… good for the Giles Corey Tigers.

Across town, the sleepover was still going ahead as normal. From what weird memories she just gained, Mattie knew that the team was at a rocky patch, their personalities still clashing in any iteration of the evening. But, with some relief, she knew that it would never in this timeline be bad enough for murder to even be considered as an answer. Her phone buzzed. The lies came easily as she covered up her mysterious disappearance from the sleepover she should currently be at.

Reese (school): Where are you???

Mattieeeee: I went home :( not feeling good

Reese (school): :((( that sucks

Mattieeeee: Ikr. I think it was the ice cream.

Reese (school): I told the others

Reese (school): They all say get well soon apart from Kate and Cairo who actually agreed on something for once haha

Mattieeeee: What did they say skjghdjh

Reese (school): “Tolerate the lactose, Wheeler.”

-

In her short-but-actually-quite-long-given-all-the-time-travel life, Mattie had witnessed a number of key historic events (and had caused about 85% by some small accident, but that’s a story for another time). The one which ended up unveiling her secret to someone in her actual life occurred overnight one February. Or maybe July. Depends. Time is weird.

She stepped into a small room, luckily through the doorway and not awkwardly through the window, as done many times before. A man sat hunched over a desk by the window, dressed in brown and using a pen-but-not-really-a-pen to craft a page of writing. From Mattie’s extensive historical knowledge, it could have been anywhere from 1000 BC to the 16th century.

“Hello, excuse me,” she began, “But I’m a little lost.”

The man startled, his not-really-pen skidding across the page and leaving a trail of thick ink in its wake as he blinked at her in the doorway. “Who are you?” He seemed perplexed as to how a young girl was standing there, in the opening to his room, in clothing not of any time now or before.

Something that Mattie had realised after travelling not only to different times, but also to a vast number of different settings around the world, was that somehow, she was never stumped by a language barrier. Instead she was always able to fluently converse with those she met in what appeared to her as American English. It was really weird; she tried not to think about it too much or it made her head hurt. She’d also learnt that it was best not to explain her full situation to her companions, becoming accustomed to pulling the classic ‘I’m not here, you’re just dreaming’ excuse. So that was exactly the tactic she applied here. “A dream figure. You don’t need to be afraid.”

The man narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the paper and then back up to Mattie’s face. “That’s a good line.” He scribbled her words down onto a scrap piece of papyrus. “Maybe I can use that later.”

Mattie grinned, sensing her chance to fuck up history just a little bit. “What are you writing?”

“How the world came to be,” the man explained. “God.”

“Ah, of course. The Bible, huh?”

“Pardon?” The scribe locked eyes with Mattie for the first time, confusion etched clearly on his face. She shook her head in response, having learnt that it was hopeless trying to explain events of the future to people who could never even begin to imagine the future that she came from. Seemingly satisfied, the man continued. “As the vision you are, I wonder if you’ve been sent to answer my queries.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“I’m struggling for a name. Not for the book itself, but just for this chapter.”

Mattie smiled as wisely as she could. “What do you have so far?”

“‘Generational Crisis’. The chapter describes how our world came to be - the creation of natural elements, the first humans, the beginnings of emotion. ‘Generational’ as it shall be carried on for generations, and ‘crisis’ as it’s a huge event, a crisis for the higher powers.”

Mattie choked. Her mind imagined a world where the entry chapter to the Bible was named as so, and it was a world of chaos and highly differing language choices. “That is very wise, sir. I have one suggestion: how about shortening it? Make it snappier, more catchy. I’m thinking…” She paused, feigning deep thought, “‘Genesis.’”

The man gasped, scrawling her word down at the top of the papyrus. “Genius! Thank you, child. I should write your name in my finished book, to show my gratitude for your kindness.”

“Mattie, sir, Mattie Wheeler. It’s been lovely to meet you and see your studies.” Over the centuries, Mattie had learnt to leave those she met with some kind of reassurance as the humane aspect of her hobby. “Before I go, I may be a dream spirit, but I can assure you that the work you have done right now shall be greatly appreciated for thousands of years to come.”

“You really are a wonder, perhaps a child sent from the power above.”

Unthinking, she snorted, replying, “Oh, boy, you are not ready to hear about Jesus.”

“Jesus? You mean my sister’s husband? I do hear some curious rumours about the man…”

Mattie hid her laugh behind a hand. Of course, this was hundreds of years before Jesus Christ came to be thought of. “I know, right? Jesus? More like JeSUS.” The scribe didn’t reply, mind clearly tired of its confusion and instead turning back to something it knew well. He picked up his writing patterns again. Mattie turned away, back to the doorway. “I will leave you to your writing again. Sleep well.” Leaving a small vial of dissolved sleeping pills on the desk, she stepped out of the door.

-

The only class that Mattie knew she would see Eva in was Religion. They didn’t actually share the class, but Mattie’s Religion teacher was Eva’s form tutor and the older girl often used the classroom as a quieter study area for her free period. Not that Mattie would call a class of thirty sophomores particularly peaceful, but apparently she hadn’t heard the noise of the senior study area, you genuinely don’t understand, last week Jacob Thomas tried to make toast using the sun on a desk and then, bam, the entire of senior year are creating chants about sun bread, it was so weird, Mattie, I transferred to a school of crackheads.

After her travel to the 7th century AD, Mattie sparked a sudden interest in her Religion classes. Eva, being the older sister that she was, watched closely as the sophomore stayed behind after class to search the Bible for something in particular.

“What’re you looking for?”

“Nothing!” Mattie didn’t look up from fervently turning the pages.

“Well, that’s a fucking lie.” Eva perched on the side of a desk, sliding across to snatch the book out of the younger girl’s hands. “Why the hell are you looking at what is essentially the movie credits for the Bible???”

Eva watched as Mattie bit her lip, eyes darting around the empty classroom. She thought for a long moment, visibly debating points in her head, before leaning over the top of the book to run her finger down a list of names. About a third of the way down the page, she stopped. Eva’s eyes followed her finger as it drew a circle around a certain name. Matte Wheyler  

“See. I was looking for that.”

Eva didn’t say anything for a while. Mattie waited with baited breath as Eva’s brain tried to make sense of what they saw. “Mattie Wheeler, what the bagel.” It didn’t bother to even be a question.

“It’s a really long story.” Mattie slumped onto the desk as well. “Hey, did you know that ‘Genesis’ would have originally been called ‘Generational Crisis’ if it wasn’t for me?”

After a glance at both of their timetables, they decided that their next lessons (biology and latin respectively) were worth missing. Instead, they stayed seated on a desk in the Religion classroom, as Mattie explained in detail how her name came to be in the Bible. It was refreshing to finally spill her secret after fifteen years of complete silence, and Mattie wondered vaguely in the back of her mind if one day Eva might be able to share in her time travelling adventures. That might take a little more explaining though, because Eva sure did have a lot of questions.

“So, you don’t change anything?”

“Not anything major. Like, I can’t stop Hitler or anything, that would change too big an event. Little things, however, like names and stuff, it’s fun to mess around with. Ever wondered why the Italian city, Pisa, has its name? I delivered pizza to the guys who were kind of like the government at the time of its naming. Hence, the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

Eva cackled. “Wait, what?! God, dude, that’s nuts. What the fuck.”

“What can I say, all I really want in life is a little bit of chaos and also mozzarella sticks.”

-

Mattieeeee sent a photo.

evanescence: is that??? abraham lincoln????

Mattieeeee: Abraham Lincoln was an otter.

evanescence: how so?

Mattieeeee: Point one: look at him.

Mattieeeee: Point two: no seriously. Look at him.

evanescence: oh my god

evanescence: i cannot believe you have a literal selfie with abraham lincoln that’s fucking wild

Mattieeeee: Perks of the job :D

evanescence: literally hire me i want a selfie with cleopatra

-

farrah o’satanic ritual: yall i got out of the shower like an hour ago and i still haven’t changed

Imposter: What can I say, bath robes are in fashion rn

farrah o’satanic ritual: ive told you before clark stop pretending you know how to dress

Mattieeeee: Farrah did you not die in the shower?

katherine: ????mattie???????

farrah o’satanic ritual: no?? i didn’t

SmileyRiley: dang it

katherine: riLEY-

caicrow: riley i thought we’d moved on from murder

Imposter: Plot twist: Mattie was the murderer all along

katherine: CLARK-

Mattieeeee: oops-

-

It wasn't meant to happen, she swore up and down it was a mistake. A true and honest accident. And it kinda was? I mean Mattie hadn’t intended for the scaffolding on the new tower being constructed in Pisa to wobble, she’d already fucked up Pisa once in her career, but… Well, that's what she got for letting loose Giles and Corey (her occasional time travelling companions, who also happened to be cats) in the middle of a Italian city in 1252. She could have sworn the catnip was safely concealed in one of the pockets inside her jacket (which was filled with all sorts of trinkets from her travels in the space-time continuum), yet somehow the two had still gotten into it. She guessed that's what she got for not hydrating-feel-greating and eating-to-defeating.

An old citizen eyed her suspiciously, taking in her struggle with the two cats. Or maybe she was just more focused on Mattie’s goggles - she doubted anyone in 13th century Pisa had seen such a bold fashion statement before. The tower continued to lean in the background.

Finally, Giles and Corey settled down, each in a pocket of her trench coat. Mattie breathed a sigh of relief, which only got halfway out of her before she was sucking it back in as the old lady from across the street began to approach her.

“Young lady.”

Mattie smiled sheepishly. “Hello, ma’am. Is everything alright?”

The lady looked mildly amused. “I couldn’t help but notice your two cats going mysteriously close to the tower before it started collapsing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. My cats are very well behaved.” Giles gave a resounding yelp at exactly the wrong time. A hiss from Corey echoed from the opposite pocket.

“Well,” the lady grinned, “If that’s the case, why don’t you leave the animals with me? You seem fairly preoccupied with the tower - perhaps you can try and assist its reconstruction?” She held out a hand.

Mattie thought for a moment and then handed across the two cats. “Thank you ever so much, ma’am. I’ll try and be quick.” The woman nodded and Mattie sped across the square to the drastically swaying tower.

When she arrived back at the woman’s table, there was a second lady in animated conversation with her. As Mattie approached, she stood up to take her leave, pressing a kiss to the first lady’s hair as she left. Something was definitely fruity there.

“All fixed!”

“I’m glad.” The woman nudged the cats back to their owner, looking intensely over Mattie’s shoulder to the stabilised tower. “It certainly looks sturdier.”

“I should hope so.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, staring pointedly at an area on the structure, “I think about crabs.”

“Oh?” Mattie tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Yes. And often when I think about crabs, I think that they shouldn’t be in Pisa, and they most definitely should not be crawling over the tower.”

Mattie gasped and followed her gaze, muttering curses under her breath. “I didn’t realise I’d brought a whole crab with me! I thought I’d taken the sea life off the rocks!”

The woman chuckled. “You seem to be a strange character. Child, where on Earth did you find not only rocks large enough to support a tower, but also a live crab in Pisa?”

Accepting her fate, Mattie decided to tell the truth. “They’re from Egypt.” At the woman’s questioning look, she expanded, “I’m a traveller of sorts.”

“Oh. Well, child, you’re a gift of a traveller. Brightened my day. Italy these days is far too serious. Maybe we should put more crabs on the leaning tower, huh?”

Tucking her cats back into their respective pockets, Mattie allowed herself to laugh. “Maybe we should.” With a nod and a smile, she wandered off, eagerly awaiting her portal.

-

“Why were you in Egypt anyway?” Eva asked as Mattie recounted yet another of her time-travel-gone-wrong experiences.

“Library of Alexandria.”

“Oh, yeah, because that explains so much.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes. “It was 48 BC, Caesar was burning shit, this random Roman dude set fire to the library.” She pulled a book out of her backpack. “I saved this and stashed away a few of the slabs of rock. And apparently a crab.”

Eva took the book in awe. “Jesus Christ… This thing is, like, thousands of years old…”

“I know, right? Weird.” She watched as Eva flicked through the pages, tracing her finger over certain words or illustrations. “But it was such a beautiful library, I couldn’t let it just burn. So, I retaliated. Burnt the house of the soldier who set the original flame.”

“Mattie!”

She shrugged. “Setting someone’s house on fire is a survival skill.”

“Oh my God.”

“I would have done something more dramatic, but I had to get home. I had a cake which would need to come out of the oven.”

Eva laughed, the sound echoing around the empty classroom. They were skiving class again, this time PE, the one class they had which coincidentally fell at the same time for both year groups. “How are you so normal in school, but so badass when you time travel?”

“I dunno. All I can say is that cake and spite are my only motivators.”

“You’re like a superhero. ‘Time Travelling Mattie: The Only One Who Can Lead A Dual Life Successfully’!!!”

Mattie blushed, shrugging. She definitely needed to take Eva with her one day. A superhero duo. “Okay, that name needs some work. How about: ‘Sanchez And Wheeler, The Ultimate Time Travelling Duo’?”

“I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?”

Eva nodded, shaking her hand like they were signing a business contract. “Yeah.”

[tokimihyachi]

Sky

BC Christmas One Shots (#1)

Pairing: William Vangeance X Reader

Warnings: None

To say that I was tired was an understatement. Our squad, the Golden Dawn, has been receiving much work since Christmas is near which I don’t understand. Don’t these burglars have any plans this holiday other than stealing and giving us extra work?

“Y/N!” turning the heel of my shoes, to the voice that called me as our eyes met.

Mimosa came running towards me with a smile planted on her face. “Klaus-san, Yuno and I were talking about going on a little shopping trup before we get back to the base. And we were wondering if you’d like to come with us?” she asked, her voice a little too hopeful that I would tag along.

I smiled and nodded at the young Vermillion and she dragged me back to the group happily. 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

When Mimosa said that we had to go shopping, of course I knew they would buy presents for others, but even I never expected the amount of things in front of my very  eyes.

As my eyes squinted at the sight, I looked over at the black-haired boy who looks as if he was smirking, “Uhm, Yuno?” I called out as he looked at me questioningly.

“Why did you buy everything in the toy shop?” he blinks at least four times before smiling softly, the kind of smile the three of us did not fathom to have existed in his vocabulary, “I’m sending them back home. Let’s go.” After realizing that he was smiling, he dismisses this and walks ahead of us with the pile being tied to a rope following him.

“Did he just smile?” Mimosa asked no one in particular. “Oh my God, he just smiled!” she cheered.

“Yuno come back here!!!” Klaus yelled and ran after Yuno and the two kept demanding to see the boy smile again like complete idiots. 

Painting my own face with a grin, I started walking towards their direction before hearing a few boxes move to my right down an alleyway. Once my eyes landed on the stack of the said item, they moved again. Not another thief hiding incredulously in garbage.

Mimosa looked back, “Y/N-chan? Are you alright?” she asked. “Uhhh, you guys go ahead. I have something I need to take care of!” I yelled back as they nodded and left.

I begrudgingly went near it, and prepared my grimoire, but when the culprit went out, I was surprised to see a ginger cat with blue eyes purring softly as it laid down its make-believe-house out of the carton.

Though I was not a fan of cats, seeing this one abandones at this time of the year, out in the cold with no one to help him or her somewhat made feel sorry for it. 

So, in the end, I fixed his little house made out of the scrap materials present in the area, as well as bought it food and even a scarf that served as its warm comforter while placing a blanket above its abode for extra warmth.

“I’ll be back, little one.” I whispered and left.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Ever since that fateful encounter with the cat, I constantly came back to check-up on her. After reading a few books about cats, which I had to look for in a local library since books about them in our own base went missing, I found out that the cat is a girl and so, I named it Cielo. Well, the captain did.

“Captain Vangeance!” I yelled before he exited the room where the meeting was held earlier. “Yes?” he asked as I gulped down.

Well, it’s now or never I guess… “Do you happen to know any language besides our own?” he looked confused for a moment before answering, “As a matter of fact, I do. Why do you ask?” sighing as I did not embarass myself I placed a hand on my chin and snapped my finger after remembering what I wanted to ask,

“Can you give me different translations of the word ‘Sky’?”

“Sky?”

“Yes, Captain. Sky.”

“I can, but why so?”

“I-I,… can’t say it.”

“…”

“Shall I write it down on paper for you?”

“Yes please! Thank you, Captain Vangeance!” I sang happily as he amiably smiled at me before turning around and signalling me to follow him his office.

And so this little girl is named Cielol Latin for sky as her eyes reminded me of the ever radiant horizons during the summer.

I thanked the vendor near the alleyway where I always bought Cielo’s food. Due to the amount of missions I had, I was only given the chance to visit her early in the morning. 

Prancing my way towards Cielo’s place, an unfamiliar scent welcomed me. When I took a closer look, I found the little kitten with a pair of mittens on her hands and a nicely knitted outfit just the right size for her with a bowl of milk beside it.

Huh? I don’t remember giving her any of this…

Despite the coldness of tyhe ground, I sat on the floor and patted Cielo before taking out her food to which she purrs at me with a look that if one were to know her, she would be saying: Thank you.

20 minutes came by and after venting all my frustrations to her, I stood up and bid her goodbye. The sweater she wore looked nice.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Quietly eating breakfast to myself, Mimosa, Klaus, and Yuno were talking to themselves about, my nose picked up a familiar scent. Chamomile…

Cielo has been smelling like Chamomile for the past few days so my eyes immediately wandered around as my nose tried to pinpoint the exact location of the smell. 

Could it be David? Maybe. I heard from the others that he had a well-groomed cat at hime.

Letoile? Oh, I think she’s allergic to them.

Alecd— No. Definitely not. His attention and eyes are all for the Captain after all…

“Y/N!” shaking my head, I looked at Klaus who seemed frustrated and gave him a peace sign. 

“Hmp. I was asking whether you had plans on Saturday night. The Golden Dawn is having their annual Christmas Party. Oh,… I forgot about that. “Ofcourse! I’ll just probably be a few minutes late.” seeing that I was awkward about it, Klaus thankfully pressed on the issue any more.

Still, whose scent does that belong to?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

On the night of our Christmas Party, I went to Cielo’s place first as I failed to give her, her treats in the morning since Mimosa asked help in decorating the Tree in the base.

Today’s food was special since it was Christmas Eve. Cielo respectfully listened to all my rants about Vice- Captain Langris’ snoring— he ignored the claim several times when I brought it up— so this was the least I could do.

Unfortunately, Cielo wasn’t in the box or anywhere else for that matter. I panicked and ran to different places and she was nowhere to be found. Crestfallen, I decided to at least place the trinkets on her house to honor her loving memory only to find a silhouette present there while my kitten was backing to the corner.

I opened my grimoire and only a split second before attacking the person, a feather was seen in the light. Wait, feathers!? “Y/N? What are you doing here?” Captain Vangeance asked me, walking towards my place where I could view his outfit. Cute.

Shaking my head I answered him, “Giving Cielo these.” I began, showing him the bag of things, “How about you, Sir?” he looked at me, the bag, then back to the ginger cat, who was happily cheering for a reason I cannot understand, before chuckling to himself.

“Uhh, Captain Vangeance?”

“Pardon me. I was simply delighted that I was correct.” he replied, eyes locking with my own.

“H-Huh?” the slow minded woman that I am couldn’t comprehend what he just uttered.

“You see, I’ve always wondered why on Clover Kingdom must you always sneak out an hour early before breakfast. I tried following you to see of your whereabouts but I lost you on your third turn. Then I found her.” he told me, pointing at Cielo.

“You know she’s a girl too?” I asked. The Captain seemed amused with my first question at him after finding out about who the other person taking care of Cielo is before he hummed in reply.

“The books about cats going missing in the library, the scent of Chamomile during breakfast back in the base, the pretty outfit, and of course, you! The animal lover! That was all you?” He nodded at me before I scratched my head.

I’m such an idiot.

“Oh, but I have to ask, Sir.” he looked at me, awaiting my question.

“Why were you following me?” Did he… just blush!? Though it was barely visible because of his mask, you can see a little of it just slightly above his nose!!! 

The Captain coughs before answering, “Well, I’ve been trying to find the right time to confess something to you, but we’ve been far too busy the past few weeks.” he said. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

“And that is?” I asked, biting my inner lip and preventing myself from squealing.

“Would you… like to be my p-partner this Winter Ball?” he asked, looking away to conceal his embarassment.

“L-Like a da-date?” I stuttered.

“You can reject the idea of it being a date if you’re uncomfortable. And If you wish to decline then you have all the reasons—”

“Are you kidding me? I’d love to go on a date with you! Plus it’s a ball! That’d make it hella romantic.” I cheered, not realizing the words I’ve spilled.

A shiver went up my spine due to the coldness of the weather as the Captain placed his cloak around me, “We should get going. The party is about to start.” I nodded at him before taking his hand and gently squeezing it.

“Thank you, Captain Vangeance.” I said, making him stop in his tracks, looking over at me then to our hands clasped together before he brought my hands closer to his lips and kissing the back of my palm gently, caressing it with much caution afterwards.

“William. Just William.” smiling in reply, the two of us looked back at Cielo, who was happy just as much as were that her parents finally met, while looking up the sky as dozens of snowflakes continued to fall, inviting people to spend their days inside their homes and enjoy the festive evening with their family and loved ones.

[babyspiderling]

Under the Lights  Daveed Diggs x reader

Before I even paste this into Tumblr, I want you all to know that this took me two days of constant writing, and FOUR pages on google docs. I know that the second I hit paste, it’s going to be like one page. Anyways, here’s Daveed x reader.

2010

“Hey, Y/N, I brought you muffins!” A woman with a mouth full of pins, her hair up in a messy bun, measuring tape sloppily tied around her neck, and a pincushion on her wrist, exited a space separated from the rest of the apartment by a thin curtain. Seeing her best friend and roommate enter with goodies, a bright grin fluttered onto her face. “Wanna see what I did while you were gone?” He nodded and followed her to her half of the work room. On a mannequin, a beautiful dress was fleshed out much more than it had been when Lin had left this morning. It had been nothing more than a sketch on paper for the Newsies show. As a major in history with a minor in design, Y/N was accepted by Disney to create the costumes. It didn’t hurt that The Lin Manuel Miranda of In the Heights fame was on her list of references. She had decided to start with Medda’s dress first. Medda was a personal favorite of hers and was excited to do her own spin on it. A deep purple sash had been half pinned under the bodice and sadly hung from its haphazard placement. “The sash would look better if you hadn’t distracted me with food dork.” He smiled and pressed the folded paper bag into her hand. “Alright. I’m going to finish this for Alan. It’s a miracle I have this job. I’m not screwing it up. I also meant to tell you that one of my guys are going to be here tomorrow for a measure and design session. Sweet kid. Amazing dancer.” Lin grinned teasingly as he set his laptop down on his desk. “Am I getting replaced? Is he going to be your new roommate and best friend?” Y/N stuck out her tongue at her best friend and continued her work. The sounds of humming and a machine whirring mixed in with the excited clacking of keys to make a strangely beautiful symphony. 

2013

“Y/N! I need your help!” In the tiny apartment in the upper east side, an over-caffeinated Wesleyan Alumni burst through the front door, a paper bag of bagels clutched tightly. At the yells, another Alumni ran from her section of the apartment.  “Lin! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He thrusts the bag into her searching hands, and lets out another shriek. “Y/N! I’m fine! They want to put The Hamilton Mixtape through a workshop! And if we get this right, they’ll move us to a real show!” Shoving his shoulders, she muffled her screams behind pinched lips. “Lin, you can not go scaring me like that! I’m going to get gray hairs before we even get to the off Broadway! What do you need my help with?” He pulled her onto the ratty couch they had in the little space. “I need a costumer. You’re the best in the business. Not to mention I’ll be with you all the time, so there’s no chance of miscommunications!” Standing from her forced seat, she cradled Lin’s head in her hands. She saw the excitement glimmer in his eyes and softened. “Lin, of course I’ll help you, I am a history major after all. Who else could make it historically accurate while still being functional? Thank you for even considering me, and for the bagels.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Giving a crooked smile, she pointed a finger in his face. “If you ever scare me like that, I swear I will never cook or bake for you again.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged in apology. “Sorry, but hey, you’re my costumer now!” She smiled and bumped her hip with his. She dug through her pads of paper and snatched her laptop off the charger. “Alright. Give me your tracks and I’ll get started.” 

July 27th, 2013

“Alright, I’m here. Sorry I’m late, I got halfway down the block before I figured out I left my notes on the desk. Who do we have here?” Three men held my attention, understandable since they were the main cast. I recognized Brian D’arcy James from other productions, there was another man with big hair and bright eyes, and finally my eyes fell on Christopher. I smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. “Oh my God! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in so long! How’ve you been.” He chuckled and pulled me in again. “I’m good. I was missing our Vanessa for a while, but you’re working with us now so I won’t have to miss you anymore! Lin told me about the project and I couldn’t turn it down.” He turned me to the stranger at the clearing of a throat. “Oh, this is Daveed. He’s playing Thomas Jefferson and Lafayette. He raps.” I looked at him up and down, remembering the songs Lin had written for him. I cocked my head, and he looked at me with nervous eyes. “This will work. This is going to work great actually.” I saw his shoulders relax and sag with relief as I walked back to the table set up for the behind the scenes people. I gripped my pen in my hand, ready to jot down every little thought that passed through my mind for the time of the workshop. 

After hours and hours of rehearsals and run throughs, I’d filled up a notebook and a half for costumes for the characters. This time around Lin wanted his cast flexible. Those whose characters were not in the second act were recast as another role, so I had to figure out how to do quick changes not only for the nine main cast members, but for the entire ensemble. As Lin and I packed up our things to head home, the man with the beautiful eyes stopped me. “Hey, Vanessa, right?” I heard Lin and Christopher snicker somewhere behind me and I shot them a look. “Actually, it’s Y/N.” His eyes widened in embarrassment and his hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just thought it was Vanessa since that’s what Christopher called you.” I shook my head and smiled. “Oh, no. That’s just a little joke between us. I was the demo Vanessa when Lin was trying to sell In the Heights. I’m the reason why Vanessa never speaks Spanish. I took French all through high school and college.” He nodded and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’ve got some questions about costumes and everything you do. Could I have your number to keep in contact?” I nodded and pulled out my phone, switching it with his and I plugged in my contact information. “Alright. I’m headed home, but I’ll make a schedule for measuring and design sessions. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded enthusiastically, making his hair bob with his movements. I waved goodnight and followed Lin out of the building. 

“So, Daveed.” I looked up from my buzzing phone to Lin out of the corner of my eye, giving him an eyebrow. “What about Daveed?” He shrugged and wore a small smile. “You texting him?” I put my phone down to look at him headlong. “And if I am?” Once again he shrugged and got up to grab a snack. “Nothing, just remember your worth.” I shake my head good naturally. “Alright Dad. Now, I’ve got to sketch out what my brain was screaming during the workshop. And how to create every outfit as a quick change. Thanks loser.” 

July 15th, 2015

“Alright everyone! We’ve practiced these changes for weeks! Remember your number, remember your cue. You all have been a wonder to work with and to create for. I love you all and break a leg!” Everyone is dressed in white for the opening number, and I am proud of my work. “Oh, and Daveed;” Daveed looks up at me, a strange look in his eyes. “Yes, Y/N?” I looked him in the eyes, stoic and serious. “If you rip your pants during Guns and Ships again, you will repay me by organizing the scrap bin.” He swallowed visibly and nodded his head. I smiled once again and put my hand out for a group theatre circle. “Break a leg!” Everyone scurried to their cue spot in their costumes and Lin hugged me from behind. “Thank you for doing this for me. I never would be able to have costumes this good if it weren’t for you.” I turned in his arms and smiled. “I’m glad I did too Lin. Now go, they’re calling your name.” I listened from my side of the stage, getting everything in order for the main cast. I pulled Daveeds coat off quickly and held out his blue one for him to slide on. “Hey, Y/N, maybe after the show we can-“ “Diggs! Get to your cue!” I smiled and nudged him. “Go. Talk to me after the show.” He gave a quick kiss to my cheek and went to do his thing on stage. As I pinned the rose to Renée’s dress, her sweet voice teased at me. “You do know that he loves you too, right?” I know what she’s talking about, but I pretend to play dumb. “Who loves me? Nevermind, neither of us have the time for this. Go kick ass out there.” She scrunched her eyebrows at me and pointed her finger to say “This isn’t over.” 

The first act went by in a flash, costume changes and character changes took up all of my time. After I had hung up every dress, every coat, every pair of trousers and corset, Daveed had changed and packed up all of his things. I had just finished mending the lace cuff on his magenta sleeve when he had walked in. He wore a sleeveless Oakland jersey with a matching hat pressed onto his freed hair. “Oh! Daveed! Perfect timing! I was just finishing up here. What was it that you were wanting to tell me?” At my question, it was like a switch had been flipped in him. He went from the cool and collected suave man who the fans fantasized over to a shy and awkward man who had run out of words. Self-doubt and insecurity filled my inner dialogue as I watched him shut down and clam up. I was filled with the fear and anxiety that he had come to ask me to stop staring, to stop caring. I let the silence carry on for a while longer until Anthony called for us to leave. “I, I should probably go, then. You were amazing tonight, not a single trip or stutter. I am so proud of you.” I swallowed down the tears making their way up my throat and gave him a watery smile. I grabbed my bag, and started to make a hurried exit until my wrist was caught by a large and calloused hand. “Wait, no. Y/N, I wanted to know if you wanted to grab something to eat, go do something when we don’t have a show. You know, like maybe a date? Unless you don’t want to, then it’ll just be us as friends. I’d actually really appreciate it if you just forgot this whole ordeal and-” I smiled and blushed at his sweet ramblings. I stepped up onto my workbench and gripped his face in my hands. Taking a deep breath I leaned in and connected our lips, praying to every spiritual being in the heavens that they would allow him to kiss me back. I guess praying did me good because after getting over the shock of being interrupted, he kissed me back with the same fervour. Once more, we are called to leave the theater and we break apart, panting lightly with swollen lips and pink cheeks. He helped me down from my step and I lifted myself onto my toes to give a peck to his cheek. “Alright big guy, let’s go home. Lin’s either knowing of what we were doing, or he’s pacing in our living room, police on speed dial. And I would love to go on a date with you.”

[hetyra]

ok so obviously ATLUS would never do it, but they actually set it up perfectly for Akechi to be made into the protagonist of a new game

For starters, he’s a trickster just like Joker and the other protagonists. He isn’t regularly referred to as one, but there is dialogue in the game where both Yaldabitch and Futaba confirm that he is.

Second, they scrapped any mention of it from Royal, but he supposedly winds up in rehab. Between learning about Akechi’s mother, the fact Shido is his father, Shido confessing that he manipulated him, the fact Akechi is still a minor (legal adult age in Japan is 20) and all of the hits happening in the metaverse, the authorities could rule him as not being mentally or emotionally sound in his decisions. This would put him in a similar position to Joker’s at the start of P5. He would have his second chance to live a normal life, but with the looming threat of losing it should he slip up.

Going through rehab also would allow them to make his personality more flexible and thus still give players varying dialogue options. Is he still an ass or is he genuinely trying to be a kinder person? You decide.

Then there’s his name. Akechi Goro is 100% NOT his real name. You’d have to be insane to think he would have walked up to Shido using his mother’s surname. We have no idea what his real name is which, again, makes him MC material. Leaving rehab, shedding the mask that was Akechi Goro for good, and truly being himself again by going by his real name - the one his mother gave him. Players would get to pick the MC’s name just like always. 

You could keep him in Tokyo or take him somewhere else. You could bring back all the PTs, or introduce a bunch of new characters and have him make his own team. 

Seriously, you could straight up make another game with Crow as the protagonist.

-

Personally, I’d really like Joker to be a party member at the very least, even if none of the other thieves were involved. Like he and Crow just happen to end up going to the same university or something.

It just wouldn’t seem right for him to be getting his second chance and not include him finally getting to be friends with Joker, you know? Also Joker as a party member just sounds great. 

I could also see Crow having to reawaken his persona and it being Hereward (the combo of Loki and Robin Hood from Royal), as well as his outfit being different (like my NG+ one where it’s a mix of the detective prince, black mask, and Jokers).

Also Joker making Crow the leader because he thinks Crow would be good at it, he himself doesn’t really want to atm, and he thinks Queen’s job sounds fun.

[mcheang]

2 sperate fics: 1 with after Lila got exposed Alya is bitter and resentful at Mari for cutting ties with her former classmates and Mari's thriving career and Mari and new friends confront her on this angry grudge she's holding. the 2nd is similar but Marinette asking Lila why she did what she did and why she tried so hard to ruin Marinette for just trying to expose her

Part 1: Grow Up

I am so excited. This is my first request! Normally I post one fic per day, but I actually have a (spoiler!) double feature tmr, so what the heck. I hope this satisfies you. I will warn you that I will only answer half of your request in Part 2 because I already wrote a fic for why Lila lies, which I will post tmr. 🙂

It all came to a head at the next class president election.

The previous semester, the majority of the class had decided to vote for Lila to be class president after she expressed interest in it.

Alya ignored Marinette’s warnings and agreed to be that liar’s deputy.

Chloe and Sabrina played dirty of course. But a surprise came when Adrien supported Marinette as her deputy. Alya had been surprised then because she didn’t think he could spare the time. She didn’t know he knew Lila was a liar and that her reign would be intolerable at best.

Lila won, of course. Despite Sabrina providing evidence that Lila was a liar. The class believed it was all fabricated.

It wasn’t until later that Mrs Rossi forced Lila to tell the truth. Apparently Chloe managed to get the last laugh after all.

After that, the class pleaded for Marinette to take up her old post but she declined because she already made commitments to her new commissions on her website.

Apparently with Lila as class president and Alya as her deputy, Marinette had more free time, which she chose to spend with Adrien since he had also avoided Lila like the plague.

Life became worse. Lila would not be graduating at the end of the year and had detention for the rest of it besides. And all her promises about fabulous class trips and easy fundraising was false.

Without Marinette, the class field trips became commonplace museum tours. Fundraising was hard without her families’ free pastries.

To rub salt in the wound, Aurore had started her own blog. She interviewed Ladybug who finally expressed relief that someone questioned Lila’s interview.

After that, Rena Rouge and Carapace were replaced.

As Alya’s blog support dropped, MDC.com flew up the charts. Celebrities kept name dropping Marinette.

Audrey even gave her a raving review.

Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale hires Marinette to design their outfits for their joint tour.

Whenever Alya tried to talk to Marinette or get some time with her, her own deputy duties got in the way, or Marinette was busy with something else.

Alya wasn’t blind. She knew Chloe and Aurore had replaced her as Marinette’s BFF.

While the rest of the class had supported Lila, Marinette had her own clique: Adrien, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, Nathaniel, Marc, and Aurore.

When the elections came up again, Alya wondered if Marinette would let her be her deputy again. But to her surprise, Chloe was the only candidate.

That was the last straw. Alya’s bitterness finally overflowed.

All she had wanted was her Best Friend back. To go back to the way things were. She wanted her blog to be popular again, she wanted to be a hero again, and she wanted Marinette to be her bestie again.

She didn’t know who this popular designer girl was.

Alya protested Chloe’s victory. Why should the class bully be nominated. It should be Marinette. They had done such an awesome job last time.

To Alya’s surprise, it wasn’t Chloe who shut her down. It was Ms Bustier.

She gently admonished Alya for not giving Chloe a chance.

Marinette even piped up that she was too busy. Besides, she believes Chloe will make a good class rep.

Alya wanted to scream. Instead, she sat back down next to her embarrassed Boyfriend. Ugh, couldn’t he be more supportive?

At lunch, as Alya sat with Nino, Kim, Ivan and Mylene, Marinette and her posse came over.

“Alya, what’s gotten into you?” Marinette looked so disappointed. Ha. She’s got some nerve. “How could you say those stuff about Chloe?”

Alya snapped back, “How could I? How could you? How can you all stand there and forget all the mean things Chloe has done.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Adrien said gently, “people change, Alya. And Chloe has changed for the better.”

“But Marinette has changed for the worse!” Alya finally yelled, causing even her own table to stare at her.

While Marinette looked stunned by the accusation, her friends looked furious.

“Excuse me?” Alix demanded.

Alya finally let loose the tirade Caline had build a dam over. “Last time, Marinette was the kind of girl who made time for everyone, who helped everyone, who stood up to bullies. But you...” she shook her head at Marinette. “I don’t even recognise you anymore, girl.”

Sabrina made the first defense. “Marinette doesn’t have to help everyone. It is her decision. You do not get to pressure her like that.”

Marc added, “Yeah, besides she still helps us when she can. She helped us to come up with costume designs for our comics.”

Nathaniel nodded. “And she does spend time with us. Sabrina’s right, Alya. Marinette is free to choose how to spend her time and with which friends she chooses to hang out with. Just because she doesn’t hang out with you anymore doesn’t mean you aren’t friends.”

Chloe sniffed, “Though with how you’ve been treating her, it’s no wonder Marinette moved on. Honestly Alya, you’re a crow. The moment you see something shiny, you fly away. And that’s what you did. When Lila came along in all her glitter, you had a choice to support 2 candidates and you made your choice.”

Aurore stared Alya down. “We all know why you want Marinette back. You want the security of your first year here. You want your blog back. But have you even thought about Marinette’s own feelings? Did you ever apologize for doubting her once Lila was exposed, without asking for anything in return? Did you ever ask her what she wanted before speaking for her? Did you even congratulate her for her success?”

No. Alya swallowed. No, she had not.

Marinette looked at Alya pityingly. “I had hoped you would adapt Alya, that you could see the good in others and let go of the past. But it’s time to face the facts. We can never go back to what we used to be. It’s time to grow up, Alya.”

And with her final word said, Marinette led her clique away. They were going to eat lunch at her place.

And they left Alya behind to pick up the scraps of what had remained of her life.

Part 2: here we are again

Lila was in the toilets again. This was her new haunting ground. Not the star of her entourage, sitting as if she were on a throne. Not with a trail of admirers following her to class. Here, in this stinky cubicle, listening to all the gossip.

Ever since Chloe outed Lila, the class had treated her like a pariah. Alya only talked to her when necessary, mostly to discuss their duties as president and deputy.

Honestly, Lila wished that goody 2 shoes would have replaced her. Hell, even Chloe would have been acceptable. At least then she would be left alone to stew in peace.

But no. Marinette was too busy now with her flourishing business. And Chloe refused to accept the position as second choice.

When Lila had snapped at Alya to just manage without her, Alya had growled back, “No way in (swear word) hell. You ruined my blog, and I’d sooner carry bowling balls to school than do your work for you.”

Lila had rolled her eyes then. “Like it’s my fault you’re a tabloid writer.”

“What did you say?!”

Long story short, Alya had called Mrs Rossi who threatened Lila with military school and no allowance unless she did her duties.

Lila did them. Her class was unappreciative of her hard work. She didn’t blame them. She had been on one of Marinette’s organised trips. She knew her own were mediocre.

Class funding had reached an all new low, too. No one wanted to support the lying president’s fundraisers.

Lila bore her class’ hatred with grace. Sure she had her time with an akuma but Hawkmoth can only keep targeting her so much before he moved on to Alya or some other dupe.

Besides, it was only a matter of time before she moved anyway. Lila could hold on until then. She just needed to be patient.

“Lila?” A knock on her cubicle door.

Lila had patience.

“What do you want?” Lila called back bitterly. “Here to finally gloat?”

“No,” Marinette answered calmly. “Just to get answers, and closure.”

Lila barked out a laugh. Why not? She might as well put an end to their feud. Lose with dignity.

“Ask away.”

There was a pause. Then, “Why? Why did you try so hard to bury me? Even when I stopped trying to point out the holes in your story, you still targeted me.”

It was a fair question.

Lila answered. “You were always a target, Marinette. No matter what you did, you would always have been.”

The ensuing silence was a request for more information.

Lila continued, “At every class I’ve been to, there is a leader. Someone with influence over the school. Someone to knock off their throne. Chloe may be the queen, but her only entourage is Sabrina. You’re the president and the class practically sings you praise. You were real competition. I targeted you before I even met you.”

And she had temporarily succeeded. Before, the classmates that would have once listened to Marinette, had hovered around Lila to answer her every beck and call. The power she had felt back then had felt so good.

“And this doesn’t have anything to do with Adrien?” Marinette was skeptical.

“Oh, I saw how close you were. And yes, you were my main competitor then too. Kagami was the other one. But thanks to Ladybug, he saw through me. You know he was the one to get me to make up that lying disability.”

“Yes, I know. Your story was very moving,” Marinette recalled with annoyance. Even her own Mother had easily forgiven Lila. “Is that all there was to it? Crush me so you could rule my class and win Adrien?”

Lila leaned back. “No, there’s one last thing. I don’t like loose threads. Adrien had something to lose because he let me manipulate the class. But I knew that as long as the class had faith in you, eventually you would come up with some proof that would plant the seed of doubt in my stories. I had no hold over you, so there was no way you would have escaped my plans even if you weren’t class president or into Adrien.”

There was silence once more as Marinette absorbed this.

“Satisifed?” Lila called through the stall door.

“Not exactly,” Marinette admitted. “But i got what I came for.”

Lila nodded, even as she knew Marinette couldn’t see. “Then I’ll see you in class.”

More like Marinette will see her. When Lila became president, Alya suggested they switch seats so they could make plans more efficiently. Adrien had stubbornly followed Marinette to the back. When Lila was exposed, Alya sat in front with Nino, leaving Lila with her own table once again.

As the main door opened, Marinette paused. “One more thing. Do I have anything more to worry from you?”

Lila laughed, a genuine laugh that actually sounded pleasant to hear. “Even if I said no, would you believe me?”

They both knew the answer to that.

But it was the truth, Lila had no vendetta left for Marinette. It was Chloe who had earned her ire, but she was too powerful. Lila was through with Françoise Dupont College. It was no longer worth her effort.

[bittervitter]

ang0mang0′s “copycat” claims

I didn’t want to have to make another post about this, but since people on sonicfan799 / thatAnge / @ang0mang0′s Tumblr profile are getting riled up about this ridiculous drama that should have died ages ago, I figured I’d defend myself. Some people who are trying to support me have been saying incorrect things too, so I also wanted to clear that up. This crap has been going on for months, everyone is sick of it by now. Instead of being brief like I did for other social medias, I’ll be as detailed as possible this time.

[1] “she’s copying/imitating/heavily referencing from my art style!!!”

Like people have said a million times, no I’m not. And nor is anyone else. Just because someone draws the Sonic characters in a similar style to you does not automatically mean they took, copied or “stole” those ideas from you. You don’t own the concept of buff, fluffy bodies or chubby muzzles. COINCIDENCE, as much as you hopelessly deny it, is very much a possible thing- even in crazy situations such as this. There are several other artists who have similar art styles by mere coincidence. IT IS NOT IMPOSSIBLE. As examples, these Instagram artists have similar styles: @ azulytoons and @ indigonite0 / @ magenta_mel and @ zer0finix / @ himemikal and @ natirix. NONE of these artists are “stealing” or referencing from each other- they just have similar art styles, and that is perfectly okay! They draw completely different things with completely different mindsets. The world does not revolve around you, ang0. Not everyone knows who you are, so some people who use the same traits that we do don’t even know we exist.

Also, to anyone unaware, an art STYLE is not merely how one chooses to portray a character. An art STYLE is also what brushes you use, how you sketch, how you line, how you colour, how you shade, how you choose to portray certain objects or ideas- basically your entire fucking understanding of how something’s supposed to look and how you LIKE it to look. It’s not just “chubby faces, poofy curly hair, buff bodies”. It’s everything in a piece AND that.

[2] “she’s tracing my art/ redrawing my ideas!”

Literally no. People have constantly asked you to provide evidence and you refused to. All you did was scream “but it’s so obvious, just look at it!” or “are you dumb? use your eyes!” and several other insults. If you want to prove a point or make someone see something, GIVE. EVIDENCE. The only person who actually provided “proof” was pin_kpeach, your ever so loyal whiteknight, but her “proof” only backfired and proved that the both of you are extremely delusional. In the drawings of ours that she layered over each other, next to NONE of the lines lined up. It looked like a clustered mess of scrap, and the reason for that is because IT WASN’T TRACED. In the one or two drawings where ONE. SINGLE. PIECE. actually lined up was entirely zoomed in to make it seem as though the whole thing was traced. No, honey, that’s not how you provide proof. That’s how you pull a muscle by reaching so desperately to lie about me. The rest of the drawings in those pictures didn’t line up at all, and one- or I believe both- needed to be titled to line them up in the first place. You could say that some people trace things and resize or rotate them, but if I were as dumb as you persist to say, then I wouldn’t have done something like that. Either way, one aspect of a drawing lining up is a common thing for people who have similar styles because- well, I just said it. THEY HAVE SIMILAR STYLES. If they draw something the same way, well fucking duh, it’ll match someone else’s drawing almost exactly sometimes.

[3] “she’s too petty and too much of a liar to credit me! saying the art isn’t hers will hurt her oversized ego!”

Ahaha no. The only one here with an inflated ego is you, ang0. You call me the egotistical one yet you act as though your life is falling apart just because someone else draws like you on the internet. Stop acting like a special snowflake, you are not the only one on this planet with an art style of that nature. I don’t credit you because crediting you makes no damn sense. Why should I credit someone who’s had absolutely no impact on my work whatsoever? What in the hell did you do for my drawings that makes you deserve so much credit? Did you sketch it? No. Did you line it? Nope. Did you colour or shade it? Not a chance. Just because I came up with a design for the characters that happens to look like yours does not mean I owe you jack shit. You cannot. own. a style. Get over it.

[4] “she worsened my depression and is the reason I can’t draw anymore! I have no motivation when there’s some idiot copycat stealing all my art!”

I don’t want to sound like that kind of person, but you worsened your own depression. You painted this false picture in your head and continue to hang onto that belief like your life depends on it. I haven’t done ANYthing to you. You came to ME with these stupid claims back when my art looked LESS like yours, before I even knew who you were. You’re making yourself feel horrible because you, for some paranormal reason, refuse to believe that you’re not the only one with that kind of style. This is why people call you childish, you’re like a whiny baby that can’t accept another child having a toy similar to yours. I can’t even decide whether I should say “grow up” because you’re older than me- not to mention you’re an ADULT.

[5]”she constantly sends her whiteknights to attack me, harass me and send me threatening messages!”

I’ve said several times to my followers NOT to harass you or your followers or anyone against me in this mess at all. I do not send anyone after you. People say things to you out of their own free will and with their own words. I can’t magically know when this happens, why they decide to and I especially can’t control anyone. I’m sorry that my friend Koro sent you all those DMs and horrible messages wishing a lot of very bad things onto you and your family- I asked her several times before and after not to do that, but I didn’t have a clue she did it until after the fact. Either way, don’t go around assuming that I put people up to this or I intentionally ask people to do these things to you. Why in the hell would I do that? What good does that do? All I wanted to do was talk things out but at this point, you don’t even take me seriously, so I can’t even try anymore. The few times we did talk you refuse to see my point of view and just see me as a liar. What the hell am I supposed to do then?

[6]”all vio does is lie, she’s so fake all the time, lying for her petty ego”

I’m not even sure how to respond to this but I thought I might as well bring it up. No matter what I do or say, ang0 sees me as nothing but some retarded liar that can’t help but lie their way around everything, even though I’ve been nothing but genuine all this time. It’s why I can’t even communicate with her anymore, because “shut up, stop lying you copycat” is all I get in response basically.

[7] her insane hypocrisy

Ange and pin_kpeach have said numerous times that I’m rude or insult her, and there have been times where I’ve been mean out of anger, but I know for a fact I apologized for it in DMs. Ange apologized too. I don’t remember ever insulting her after that, but ang0 doesn’t ever stop ridiculing and insulting me with almost every comment she makes on the drama. If she really was sorry, she wouldn’t have done it again, but I guess she said “fuck it” and just continued anyway. Pin_kpeach likes to say I’M the hypocrite for saying Ange is harassing me yet being rude to her a couple times, yet they do they exact same thing, but even worse?? I try my best to be as civil as possible, but ang0 and pink don’t waste a second calling me and my supporters all sorts of colourful names just because they don’t agree with her claims. In fact, here’s a list of every single thing ang0’s ever called me:

retarded, retard, stupid, idiot, dumb, low IQ, mentally ill, crazy, talentless, skill-less, copycat, art thief, (dumb) cow, fuckhole, asshole, bitch, wanna-be artist, unreasonable, clown, fake, liar, hypocrite, delusional, dick, stalker, bittershitter, dumbass, immature

There’s probably more than that, but that’s as much as I can remember. Not hard to forget when she repeats them almost all the time.

[8] gatekeeping ideas

Ange and pink act as if two people drawing a character in the same outfit automatically equals “du bist kopying mein style!!”. I can’t even begin to imagine the mental gymnastics you need to do in order to believe a thought process like that is logical. She thinks that anyone who draws Amy in a dress with a white under-skirt or white ruffles underneath is nothing but a copied idea from her. She thinks that me drawing Amy in a green tank top, blue backwards cap and blue sports shorts is copying her drawing of Amy in a green unidentifiable top (you could only see her back, she didn’t seem to have straps) and blue sports shorts with a slightly different design is automatically copied from her. The poses, shading, angle and idea behind the drawing were COMPLETELY different- but nonono, “this is stolen because the outfit is the same!” They also use the excuse of the whole chubby faces, curly hair, blah blah blah- see point [1] as to why that’s BS.

[9] her perception of my followers/supporters

Aside from Koro, I don’t know if anyone has seriously threatened or harassed her. Her followers comment on my posts, my followers only comment when she brings up the drama or whines about it. She insults my supporters when they don’t agree with her and act like they’re a bunch of immature brats who are wrong while she’s the high and mighty mature one seeing through non-existent lies. I’m used to her making fun of me, but I’m sick and tired of her insulting people who have nothing to do with the drama just because they don’t agree with her. Like, seriously? You call everyone immature and stupid yet you’re the one insulting people non-stop just because they realize how ridiculous and childish you’re acting. That’s why “childish” has become a popular adjective for you, ang0. BECAUSE YOU’RE BEING CHILDISH. CONSTANTLY. You get pissy, insult others and put people down but whine and cry the next minute because you constantly like to play the victim. Speaking of which...

[10] the victim card

I have absolutely no idea what ang0 goes through in real life, but there is no excuse for how she’s behaved during this drama AT ALL. Ange constantly defames her own artwork, calling it shit, calling it every bad name in the book, but doesn’t hesitate for a minute to gatekeep her style as if it was the best thing in the world. She says it’s because she “worked her ass off” and doesn’t want people just stealing her hard work. Okay, but you do realize that other people put just as much work into their own art, no matter if it looks like yours or not, right? She demands that people change their style to stop looking like hers, acting as if that can be done in a matter of minutes, because people having similar styles makes her uncomfortable. Well, surprise motherfucker- welcome to the internet. No one is original and everyone is original at the same time. People are bound to come up with similar ideas and you’re just going to have to deal with it. But despite the similarities, people are still original in their own right. If you believe that people can change a style so easily, why not just change your OWN style? Because you worked your ass off? Well, THEY WORKED THEIR ASS OFF TOO. So don’t act like you’re the only one who’s put effort into their craft. Art is hard, and that applies to EVERYONE- even professionals.

You blame me and other “copycats” for all your problems, blaming us for worsening your depression, ruining your passion for art- when you’re the only one who does this to yourself. Yes, there have been genuine art thieves in your life, and people who have stolen your art- but what I’m talking about are the people like me who DON’T steal your art or are merely inspired by you. People who say “you should be happy they’re inspired!” aren’t saying “you should be happy they’re copying!”. They’re saying that you should be glad that your work is so inspiring that people create their own unique ideas based off your own. Inspiration doesn’t require credit unless they’re purposefully taking a massive part of the original. But being inspired by a hair style or even a pose isn’t stealing. It’s inspiration, that’s it. I’m not inspired by you at all, but I can at least appreciate your art- even if you think I’m just being fake.

[11] ang0mang0′s history and why this shit doesn’t even make sense

Ange has said publicly and to me in detail about how she’s been accused of the same “art style theft” in the past. From what I’ve gathered or heard, people used to accuse her of copying a popular artist called myly14 who’s Sonic art is pretty much everywhere. Whether it be in edits, MVs or whatever else.  Looking at her old art when she went under the name sonicfan799, her art does look similar to myly’s, but ang0 insisted that she didn’t copy myly and didn’t even know who she was. She legit said “it’s not my fault my art looks like someone else’s”, so basically- it was coincidence. She said she changed her art style because she “isn’t an asshole and didn’t want to make the other artist uncomfortable”, even though art style theft isn’t a thing and no one needs to be forced out of a style just because someone else already draws that way. I have no idea what myly’s stance on that situation was, but the fact that it happened just proves how stupid her current claims are.

Ange says that her style is “too complex” to be coincidentally similar to someone else’s, even though the fact that it’s happened 30 times (according to her) just proves that no, ang0, no it fucking isn’t. Your style isn’t complicated at all. Detailed sure, but no style is too complicated to be similar to another’s. Being complex doesn’t make something any less likely to be identical to another complex style.If you didn’t copy myly14 in the past, what right do you have to accuse me of the same damn thing? If I really am copying you, then you have to admit to copying myly, because you can’t just lie about your past and then shit on me for doing the same thing. So it’s either you stop this nonsense or you drag this drama down with you to your grave and admit you copied myly14.

Another thing, myly14 didn’t even have a “simple” style. The fact that her art was almost instantly recognizable and popular meant that she had a signature style that stood out. Yes, she used a lot of the original Sonic style’s anatomy, but her stylization of said anatomy, her shading and the way she composed her pieces gave her a signature style. The most stylized thing I could see was how she drew muzzles, and guess who drew muzzles in a similar way as well? You did. People saw how your way of drawing faces and some parts of the body and thought it looked liked myly’s. The similarities in your anatomy, and not your shading or colouring, was what made people think you copied her. That exact same thing is happening between me and you. My shading, colouring and composition is entirely different from yours, but some parts of the anatomy are similar.

If you really didn’t copy myly14, you have absolutely no. fucking. excuse. to accuse me of the EXACT. SAME. SHIT. that happened to you.

You never needed or deserved to be pressured out of your old style just because people thought it looked similar to someone else’s, and that’s why I refuse to change my style now. Because it isn’t. fucking. fair. To ANYONE.

[12] how I feel (this is copied over from my DeviantART)

At this point I've grown used to what she has to say, but it still hurts. She thinks that I'm some kind of cartoon villain maniacally laughing behind a computer screen every time I post something because she's so deep into her belief that I really copy everything she draws and that nothing I've never posted has any true effort put into it. She genuinely believes she owns all my art and that I devote my entire gallery into recreating her image or some crazy shit like that. It sounds really dumb, but from what I've read from her poorly constructed comments and rants, that's basically what she believes.

She thinks I don't care at all about how all this affects her or anyone at all, but I do. It doesn't just hurt me in the sense that she makes me feel awful with all her insults, but I just feel so bad for her. I feel guilty in the sense that I couldn't do anything at all to help her, not that "shes prolly feeling guilty and made that april fools joke to let out some guilt!!". (If you don’t know, on April Fools Day, I changed my Instagram bio to say “clown” and call myself “the ultimate copycat” as a joke.) That was a really stupid reaction from her by the way... who the hell comes up with that? Now that she's going away for a month, I feel even worse because all I wanted to do was try to make her come to her senses and end this mess. I thought I could talk some sense into her- that didn't work. Her delusions are so strong, she's like a brick wall. I thought I could ignore the drama- that didn't work. She "clowns" and talks about it so annoyingly often. Not to mention people do things on their own to stir shit up. I thought I could support her regardless and maybe try making her feel better about her art- that didn't work. She thinks I'm fake and that everything I say is a lie. Because of me, she probably doesn't believe other people too- and that makes me feel even more terrible.

No matter what I do, I'm automatically the villain and she's the tortured, helpless artist that everyone is against because "everyone is dumb, supporting a copycat" and she's just "used to it, because she's dealt with so much shit already!". It's so ridiculous. If she would just try to actually better herself or the situation, she wouldn't feel so horrible all the time. Like... for god's sake, she relied on a video game to make her happy- that's not healthy, and just like I suspected, it didn't fucking work.

more of how I feel

Because of ang0, I just feel like garbage. My self esteem and confidence in my art was already low. Thanks to her, I don’t feel original (or as original) anymore- and I’m afraid to show many of my new or old ideas because she or her whiteknight pin_kpeach may spring out and say “copycat! stolen! you’re not original!” and a plethora of other insults. I can barely sketch or draw Sonic content without panicking and feeling worthless because all I have is her words and her opinions stuck in my head. She blames me for her demotivation and shit like that when she’s done the same thing to me. She thinks I don’t care about her or her art, when I do, but when I say that, she calls me fake. In reality, ang0 couldn’t give a damn about me and I’m pretty sure she’d be happy if I were dead. She has said before that she doesn’t care if I killed myself soo... there’s that. Anyway lemme not drag my feelings out too long, I just thought I’d say it to anyone willing to listen since her immediate response would’ve been “fake, liar” etc, etc. I really don’t want anyone to feel bad for me or anything like that, I just want people to listen and understand. That’s all.

a final note

I’m really thankful- like, REALLY thankful- for everyone who’s been on my side throughout this. I don’t like picking sides, and I’d hate to make people do so, but there doesn’t seem to be any in between to this at all. It’s either you believe I’m copying her or you don’t.  Most people don’t- thank goodness for that- but some do. And there’s nothing I can do about it. At this point, whatever man.

Please please PLEASE do not harass ang0. Don’t threaten her, don’t insult her, don’t do anything rash or fucking illegal. It’s all fair game if you want to POLITELY SPEAK to her, or try to start a discussion, but please don’t do anything stupid. And especially don’t do things in my name. If you want to debate with me or her, do research first- don’t just jump to conclusions or make assumptions.If you want nothing to do with this drama, then simply don’t say anything- just be aware of what’s going on, that’s all I ask. So nobody gets the wrong idea on either side.

Sorry for this being so long, I think I’m done for now.

Thank you if you read the whole thing.

[9.4.2020]

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 3

[I finally finished this. I knew because it had combat in it, it would take me a bit longer, but surprisingly, that part wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. And was pretty fun to write. :3

Anyway, long one here but we’re makin’ progress!]

Nabooru

Only Nabooru’s innate sense of direction and memory from Zarbon’s tour helped her find her way back to her room once she came to after the procedure, and the numbers that once seemed foreign on the pad next to her door felt as innate as if she learned them alongside her basic arithmetic in her youth back home. A sign the chip worked, if nothing else. Small and windowless, her room was as inviting as a prison cell and only half a foot remained between her fingertips and each wall when she spread them out. The bed in the corner at least looked long enough, but was less than half as wide as that she slumbered in back home, and a press of her palm on the thin mattress made her miss the plush pillows and blankets that cradled her along with the feather-filled mattress all the more. A counter spanned along the wall across the foot of the bed adjacent to the door and she rested her bag there where she would unpack it at a later, more wakeful time. 

Had she not sat on the edge of her bed and considered whether she had the energy to strip down before falling asleep, she noted the set of mirrored double doors across from her. Curiosity defeated her drowsiness and, with the press of the button, she opened it up. Inside, she found spare changes of her uniform in the same colors and styles as well as a few sets of a drab gray fabric. Unfolding them revealed them to be sleepwear of sorts with shorts in the same style and fabric as her armor and a sleeveless top that, when she swapped her armor out for the new outfit, found the top to be looser and more comfortable for sleep than the skin-tight battle suit. The top was a little on the short side, a quarter of her toned midriff on display, but, even if she did care, she didn’t have the capacity to consider taking it up with Zarbon or anyone else.

The sleep Nabooru managed could only be attributed to the residual drugs left in her system as her nerves over not understanding how to tell time woke her several times. After the third, she fought the remnants of exhaustion and remained awake, changing back into her uniform and heading to the classroom where she would begin her lessons. Sunshine or something like it eventually glimmered through the window, but she could only guess how long she waited there in the empty space, fiddling with the device fitted to the side of her head in the meantime. 

A signal sounded what she guessed was the first meal and, after another half hour, perhaps, the whir of the door pulled her from a confusing rabbit hole of commands she had sifted through on the scouter. A short, squatty alien with yellow-splotched orange skin and at least a half dozen tentacled arms dangling around him like a frilled collar shuffled into the room, casting her little more than a haughty, disapproving glance through watery and bulging eyes. He introduced himself as Plumme and steamrolled straight into the first lesson. Despite his demeanor, Plumme proved more patient than she expected. Still, by the time the signal for the second meal sounded through the complex, her head was pounding from hours of cramming nonstop and new information about the technology she would become familiar with, how the business worked, the history of the Cold Empire and the PTO, and the limitless depths of space. 

Once dismissed until the same time the next morning, she trudged to the mess hall, using both her memory and the map function in her scouter for practice in using it outside of lessons. With a full afternoon of training--a far more exciting prospect than her morning regimen--she would need her strength. She ignored the expected stares and not-so-discrete comments about her looks or newbie status in favor of focusing on the array of strange foods and scents laid out along the line and piling them onto her tray as others in front of her did. She skirted around the tables and soldiers to commandeer an empty one. With limited time, she didn’t fuss with what she shoved into her mouth, only sliding something to the side if it threatened to lurch back up before it could make it to her belly. 

Out of both excitement for the prospect of training her combat skills over bombarding her mind and concern over the consequences of being late, she followed the example of other soldiers in disposing of her scraps and tray and hurried back to the classroom where she was instructed to meet her trainer. From there, they would take her to a training area of their choice. Plumme suggested it would be one of the multiple training rooms with infinite virtual simulations for any combat situation one could dream up. Convenient, artificial,  and efficient, as everything seemed to be there. 

When she turned the last corner, she couldn't help but snort at the irony of who she found leaned against the wall outside of the classroom. The fluorescent lights overhead reflected off his bald dome, and his folded arms over his broad chest and frown that followed the growth of his mustache denoted less than excitement for the task set to him. She supposed she would have a hard time heeding Zarbon's warning to stay away from him and his cohorts--Saiyans, he called them--if he was to instruct her for the next month.

Turning his head, his sour expression melted away, a smirk replacing it in a split second. "I was beginning to think you chickened out," he said as she halted by his side. "Would have been unfortunate considering we don't get many lookers like you around here."

Nabooru's eyelids lowered, and she considered putting him through the wall. Not five seconds into their first meeting and he already had the gall to flirt with her. "I noticed. I haven't seen one person around here that isn't a total eyesore." Recognition dawned slow over his features, and Nabooru adopted his smirk in light of it. Before he could retort, she cut him off. "So you're the one training me, huh? Where are the other two who were with you?"

"Sure am. I'd be more upset about another nanny gig if they had shoved anyone else on me. Looks aside, your power level is something else for a new recruit, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in seeing what you're made of. Frieza said your people are similar to Saiyans, too. Now I get a front row seat to see just how well that holds up." He turned and signaled for her to follow with a crook of two large fingers. "You mean Vegeta and Raditz? Off on some job or other s'far as I know. I'm sure they'll be missing me when they realize how much slack they have to pick up. And jealous when they find out I get to spend half a day with you instead of having to look at their ugly mugs."

Nabooru bit her tongue to stifle a sassy retort, deciding it best to stay on his good side for the time being. He seemed easy-going enough, but she wanted to get the most out of her training, not give him reason to sabotage it. "Guess you're getting a nice little vacation then until I get to beat the tar out of you in a spar," she said, grinning in the face of the sneer he shot her. So much for not poking the molduga. "What do you have planned for me, er...what should I call you?"

"Master Nappa has a nice ring to it." They halted in front of a pair of doors. Nappa and the guard on duty exchanged a nod. The guard opened up the doors to a ramp sloping down to a desolate, red-soiled surface. Craggy cliffs and spires of rock jutted into the teal skyline. "Or just master is great, too."

"I'm not calling you master," Nabooru quipped, following him down the ramp. Rust-colored dust stained her once pristine boots upon reaching the planet's surface, but she welcomed it along with the first hint of a proper breeze on her skin and passingly fresh air in her lungs. "Let's compromise the other way and go with Nappa. That or I'll think of something you won't like."

Nappa rubbed a hand along his square jaw. "You drive a hard bargain, lady. But fine. I'm still going to refer to myself as your master though, and you as my pupil." His feet left the ground to hover above it. "You can at least fly, right?"

She followed his lead in answer. "My name is Nabooru. Not lady."

“Not a bad name, I guess. A little weird...” 

He took to the sky and Nabooru followed suit, using the silence between them to observe the planet she now called home, even if only temporarily. It sounded like she would move around quite a bit. Outside of the complex, the further they flew, the more sure she became that it was completely barren and devoid of other life. The remnants of what could have been buildings and civilization suggested it may not have always been that way. Optimism had her wanting to believe Frieza and his men had found the planet already abandoned, but the bits of knowledge she had scraped together from Zarbon and her morning lessons suggested the planet was purposefully and violently cleared to harbor this base.

“Here’s a good spot.”

Nabooru nearly collided with his massive back in her sightseeing, narrowly avoiding the embarrassment by floating to his side instead. “Is there something I’m supposed to see here?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow, arms folded. It looked much the same as the rest of the planet. “Plumme mentioned a training room. Why aren’t we using that?”

“You ask too many questions,” he muttered gruffly, facing her and mirroring her cross-armed posture. “We’re training with ki, we need the room, and I’m not here to half-ass your training. How’s that for a reason?”

“Touchy.” 

The Saiyan grumbled more, and her lips twitched in another smile when she just made out a threat to make her suffer through this training. Though she wanted a good challenge, she decided to wait and see what he might throw at her without egging him on for more. She wanted to give him a fair chance to put her to the test of his own accord.

“From what I understand, you’ve got the basics of ki under your belt, right?” Nabooru nodded.  “Good then this will be fun.”

Nabooru raised an eyebrow as Nappa scanned their surroundings, searching for she  could only guess what in this barren wasteland. His roving eyes eventually halted, and she followed his gaze to a stalagmite twice her height jutting out of a field of smaller ones surrounding it. "Perfect.”

Her brows lowered, lips turned down in a baffled grimace, observing the stalagmite and the field of smaller ones surrounding it. Were they going to spar over it? She faced a bloody demise if he knocked her into it hard enough. She shuddered at the image of her mangled body pierced on the formations. "What does a bunch of rocks have to do with ki training?”

"Are you questioning my teaching methods?" She started to reply with a snarky affirmative, but the Saiyan cut her off. "You’re going to use your ki to keep yourself levitated over that rock there." He tilted his head toward the largest of the formations. “And no, not by flying before you try that on me. You’re going to concentrate your energy into your finger and use it to keep yourself from being impaled and without destroying the rock. You’ll do that for an hour. You cheat, boost yourself too high, or fall, we start the hour over.”

She hoped for a challenge, and Nappa had delivered. Controlling her ki in such a way, keeping it at a low enough level while also strong enough to keep herself aloft would take skill and focus. Controlling her ki for a long period which would benefit her ability to maintain it in a fight. While it wouldn’t utilize the maximum reaches of her ki power wise, she could see the benefit of learning to use it in more concentrated ways. With this exercise likely serving as a warm up, she both dreaded and looked forward to what else he had in store for her. 

Boots lifted from the ground and she drifted up to the stalagmite. With at least an hour of this ahead of her, she wanted to waste no time. She doubted failing to measure up to whatever standards Frieza had in mind for her would bode well for her. She needed every minute she could glean to improve herself. Learn how to utilize her ki to the very finest uses and in the ways best for her new station.

Gripping the tip of the stalagmite, she hoisted herself up onto it, legs extended to the sky and one arm holding her up. The stone that made up her pedestal was sturdier than she imagined, her touch doing little to disturb its integrity. Bolstered, she shifted up onto her fingertip and adjusted her body's balance accordingly. She had to approach the next phase with the utmost care. Too little energy would fail to lift her, and too much would destroy the pillar entirely. Neither conducive outcomes toward her training as both would waste time. Thus, she fed the barest amount of ki into her fingertip, orange light flickering at the tip of her glove. Again and again she repeated this process, adding minimal increments of energy until it lifted her finger from the point. Not until an inch of orange-yellow light glowed between leather and rock did she pause, memorizing how it felt and what it would take to maintain the pose. Ensuring it was only that point that held her aloft. Keeping an eye on the stalagmite itself for signs of breakage.

"This high enough?" She asked Nappa at last, lifting her head to find the Saiyan lounging on a boulder, arms folded and observing her with the hint of a smirk. Sweat already beaded on her forehead, embarrassing after only a few minutes. If she made it through the hour, she would be drenched before they did anything active. 

"Sure is. You got that faster than I thought you would." He tapped his scouter. "I was pretty sure we'd have to find at least one more rock to use. Guess you're a whole lot more patient than Vegeta when he was a kid. Hell, probably now, too."

She dropped her head again, not wanting to waste any energy on holding it up. "So this is a regular exercise for your training camp, huh? Here I thought I was special."

"Heh, yep. Vegeta and Raditz went through this as brats. Vegeta obliterated the first three rocks we tried with, probably on purpose. Raditz got caught in the crossfire and would have to start over with him." He chuckled, the memory obviously a fond one. "Finally got 'em to do it right, but it only lasted a week. You'll get to start each session this way for a month."

"So you're saying I could throw a temper tantrum and get out of doing this?" 

"Not a chance."

She blew out a puff of air. "Worth a try." 

Silent minutes ticked by, the sound of the breeze between the canyon walls and Nappa shifting in his seat once in while all that interrupted them. She had begun to feel the strain the constant flow of energy took on her, and it began to overtake her attention to remaining aloft. She glanced to Nappa. "So are you their father?" she asked, hoping the conversation would take her mind off of the settling fatigue. 

He snorted. "Hell no. You really think either of them could be my kid?" She rolled her eyes and he continued. "Nah, I was just the only adult Saiyan left so I got stuck with caring for the two squirts."

"Wait." She lifted her head again and righted the flutter of her energy before her surprise got her impaled. "You three are the last of your race? What happened to the rest of them?"

Nappa grunted and frowned, eyes closing beneath a furrowed brow. "Planet was destroyed by a meteor years ago. S'far as we know, we were the only survivors. The prince, his retainer, and a bushy haired runt that just got lucky. Though, I guess we all did."

Her stomach churned. She knew what it was like for her people to be on the brink of potential destruction. These three lived through the worst case scenario of it. The actualization of the doomsday scenes her mind had conjured for her race in dream and waking alike for the last several years.

"How did you survive?" Though only two days into her career, she did understand that people couldn't breathe in space. Not to mention the survival of a planet's destruction would be slim so she thought.

"Like I said. Luck, really." Nabooru lifted her head enough to see the tinge of what she assumed was pain or regret flash over his otherwise neutral expression. "The three of us were off planet at the time. The king and Frieza had made some kind of agreement. For whatever reason, his power I'm guessing, Frieza wanted Vegeta close by. Maybe for grooming to be one of his generals one day, who really knows. That meant he got me, too, as the prince's caretaker. The king's request so I could keep an eye on him. He was just a brat back then, you know. Raditz was off on a mission. We found him floating where the planet used to be. His pod's autopilot took him back there."

Nabooru breathed out a sigh and watched a drop of sweat drip from the tip of her nose and into the stalagmite trap below. She bit her tongue on her sympathy, knowing had their roles been reversed, she wouldn't want to hear some stranger's apologies or endure their coddling. Once more, she felt an innate pull to Nappa and his cohorts with little information on them, the need to form bonds with someone in this new, daunting environment rearing its head as it had in their first, brief encounter. She couldn't afford those relationships, flimsy attachments that could disappear in the blink of an eye and be used against her.

Besides, they had each other. The last three of their kind. She was the one perfectly alone there.

"What are your people like, huh? Frieza said you guys reminded him of us."

The question felt like a twisted dagger in her heart. She hadn't realized she felt homesick until that moment, her new schedule keeping her busy and her mind occupied. She felt a hitch upward in her ki and she quelled it quickly before it could send her skyward or damage the stalagmite. She shook her head to erase the visions of the desert, the temple, her friends, mother, and lover. She had to stay strong. For them. A whiny baby begging to go home would be met with a cold shoulder at best.

"We're warriors. The greatest on the planet without contest. Even more so now that we can use ki. All women save for the one male born each century." She heard a curiously pleased rumble from the Saiyan and she snapped, "Don't get any stupid ideas. And don't think too much into the plausibility of that. The legends point to one of our goddess but no one really knows how it happens. Hyrule doesn't have much in the way of technology or all this scientific advancement. So if there's a more concrete reason, we wouldn't know of it."

"Heh, sounds like that male is pretty lucky, then." Nabooru shot him a glare, causing him to chuckle. "Alright, keep your shorts on. So what lucky happenstance put you guys and your planet on Frieza's radar? With no technology and warriors with no knowledge of ki, that leaves little left for him to take interest."

Had she not been afraid the motion would throw her off balance, she would have shrugged. “Resources are what the scouts concluded, I think. I guess with so much of the planet untouched, they found plenty they could use.” She bent her legs at the knees for a few seconds before straightening them out again. “They found out about our troubles with the other races on the planet, and Frieza made us a deal: his soldiers teach us how to use ki so we could overthrow the current monarchy in power and free ourselves, and in exchange, they rule the planet in his stead and he gets me to add to his ranks.”

Nappa pondered her explanation, tapping his fingers on his bicep. “There are worse deals, I guess. I don’t suppose you know how that turned out?”

“No. We had undergone about a month of training before Frieza showed up and said he wanted me.”

“Lucky you,” Nappa said with a snort, and Nabooru didn’t disagree with the evident sarcasm. Before either could continue, Nappa’s scouter beeped thrice, and he tapped the button on the side. “Well, congratulations. You completed your warm up.”

Nabooru sighed in relief and eased herself back down, grasping the top of the stalagmite again and righting her orientation. She floated back down to land in front of Nappa, a slight drain on her reserves of energy evident with just that simple task. A kink to work out if she wanted to last and become a true force to be reckoned with.

"Now what? Are you going to spar with me?"

The Saiyan snorted again and reached into this armor, bringing out a glass vial. Small, green spheres floated in a paler shaded liquid. "Maybe another day. For now, you'll be fighting these Saibamen. Should be around your power level. Unlike me, these are expendable."

"So you're scared?" Nabooru taunted with a grin as Nappa squatted down and pressed the spheres into the ground and sprinkled the liquid over them. Curiosity stifled the rest of her taunts. "Are those plants? You're making me fight plants?"

“Heh, something like that.” Not a moment later did the dampened ground crack where he placed the seeds. What resembled bulbous cabbages plowed through the ground. Three-clawed hands raked along the ground and pulled out short, gangly bodies. They let out a cacophony of ear-splitting shrieks, and Nabooru clapped her hands over her ears.

"What are those things?" she shouted. She let her hands fall back to her sides when the creatures closed their mouths, devious little grins on their faces.

Nappa dropped the vial back into his armor. "These are called Saibamen. They’ll be your opponents. I want to see how well and how much you already incorporate ki into your own brand of combat." He grinned at her. "And what better way than with multiple enemies."

Her initial impression was that they didn't look like much. Scrawny and fragile things easily disposed of. However, she remembered that he said they had a power level close to her own, and though she still didn't quite understand what sort of statistics composed a power level, she knew better than to take them too lightly. Nappa's warm up exercise hadn't been a walk through a field of flowers, after all.

With a nod, she drifted out into a wider space, creating distance between herself and her new opponents as well as her spectating instructor. She bent her knees and shifted into a comfortable fighting stance, her weight balanced and both arms raised. "Ready when you are."

"You heard her. Go have some fun, ya runts!"

They needed no convincing. The six Saibamen shot straight for with another chorus of those shrieks, their speed notable but nothing she couldn't handle. Instinct kicked in as she dodged and blocked their flurry of kicks and punches while bearing the brunt of those she couldn't contend with, the pain of them registering for no more than a moment as she focused on taking down her opponents. The first order of business being moving from defense to offense before they wore her down and overpowered her with their numbers. 

She caught one of them by the wrist and slammed it into the one nearest one, sending two skittering off several meters from her and the rest of the mob. The bite of claws dug into the meat of her thigh and another landed a kick to her opposite side before she could block the next punch aimed her her face with a raised forearm. Orange-yellow energy built in her free palm and she shot a sphere of it at the one who had drawn blood. She swung a powerful kick at the one in front of her, catching it and another up in the sweeping arc and sending them flying away from her. 

Though only one remained in her immediate vicinity, she knew she had very precious few seconds before the other piled back in. Orange energy enveloped her and she shot backward, eyes flitting to each enemy and noting their location, how quickly they would recuperate to continue their onslaught. The first two had recovered and fired toward her, one with its own yellow ki blasts forming in its hands. The others were already regaining their feet.

She thought back to the desert, to the first time she did some real damage with her newfound abilities. The feeling of the energy it took to blow the top half clean off one of the larger plateaus dotting the desert landscape flowing from the vat of it within her to the palm of her hands. A similar attack could deal with the two speeding toward her. If not completely, it would weaken them enough to give her an opening to finish them off.

Her orange-yellow ki built in her hands at her sides and pushed them both out in front of her, firing the blast toward the advancing Saibamen. The light swallowed the fired blasts from one and the plant creatures followed suit, their shrieks of pain short lived as they disintegrated into nothing. A third had hastily tried to hop into the fray and gotten caught in the blast, leaving only the right half of its body to fall to the dusty ground. A gruesome sight that made her insides squirm, but she didn't have time to stare or consider how many more she would mutilate in such a way in this new position. How many wouldn't be just training fodder like these creatures.

The remaining Saibamen reminded her of the miniscule window in punishing fashion. A fist caught her side and knocked her off balance and sideways, her armor only seeming to absorb some of the blow. A second waited to boot her straight into the air. Before she could right herself the third zipped upward to bash his joined hands into her abdomen, knocking the wind out of her and sending her careening to the ground. Her back slammed the surface, spittle and blood emitting from her lips on impact and a spiderweb of cracks cascading outward from her body. 

Another beep of her scouter told her what she already knew. Ignoring the pain in sore muscle and bone, Nabooru rolled to her feet as one of the monsters slammed a fist into the ground where her head had been, the indentation left deep. She threw her elbow back into another that tried to sucker punch her in the spine and used the moment of surprise in the first to fire another wave of ki at it. Another shriek and it was reduced to dust, leaving two alive and her patience running ever thinner.

She flipped around to face the one behind her, only just recovering from her elbow connecting hard with its face. He was chattering angrily in its nonsensical language and brushing the last bit of bluish ooze from its face. Nabooru fired forward again. Energy surged to her right fist as she aimed a heavy punch for its gut. She saw the confusion on its face when her punch landed and tore through green flesh, bone, muscles, and organs like paper and through to the other side. Once more she had to suppress her own surprise and the lunch she ate when she considered what she did and yanked her arm free of the creature to engage the final opponent. 

It was just a beast. Just like the monsters in Hyrule.

She flicked the cyan blood from her glove and faced the final Saibaman, the fear on its face palpable and it's desire to flee written in its eyes. To prevent the chance, she closed the gap between them, gathering energy as she did. Once at point blank range, she released it. Awful as it felt to some degree, she preferred this tactic. Complete obliteration that felt less personal. Less messy. Less to look at in the aftermath and feel guilt over.

When the dust settled, she heard the applause of large hands and Nappa's boisterous laughter. "You really give new meaning to the term bombshell! You did better than I expected, honestly." He folded his arms with a smirk. "There's still work to be done, but I'm glad I have a better base to work with than I was expecting. You handle yourself like a true warrior out there. Nappa's pupil, the next up and comer in the Frieza Force. Has a real nice ring to it."

"It's only what I trained my whole life for," she replied, though the proud smile was more than apparent on her lips. She hoped it made her look less worn out than she felt. "So what's next?"

"Heh, raring to go, are ya?" Nappa pulled the vial out of his armor again. "Alright. I like it. We're going to do the same thing, but this time, I want you to stay airborne as much as possible. Think you can handle that?"

In truth, the Gerudo wasn't certain. Her experience with fighting while flying were minimal. Not to mention the ever-growing exhaustion. But she refused to tell him that. She would rise to the challenge. 

“Plant another round, Nappa. I’m ready.”

[biohazard-inevitable]

Red Exit

A Roadrat fanfic + D.Va that was inspured by the two Junkers and a D.VA short as well as a rp I did with @emile-hides and @aripan12 !The comic link can be found on Emile’s site along with his fanfic with a similar concept that also ispired this fic! I kind of left the ending a bit ambiguous and mainly focused in on the relationship Junkrat and Roadhog had. Hope you enjoy!

“Roadie! Oi! Roadie!” Junkrat’s nasally voice broke out into Roadhog’s ear as he slept in. Roadhog gruffed out a huff as he sat up and glared down at his small companion.

“What?” He asked, standing up a little.

“Listen do ya know where tha’ bloody tape went? I need it for a project.” Junkrat said, then proceeded to follow Roadhog as he silently walked over to a stash of junk and pulled out a fat roll of duct tape from it, throwing it unceremoniously at Junkrat. Junkrat caught it with a little bit of a fumble as he giggled a bit. “Thanks mate!”

Roadhog watched as his companion scuttled back outside to his workshop like the rat he was. He shrugged and sighed a bit as he prepared lunch for Jamison, knowing the idiot probably hadn’t bothered to feed himself. Soon after making a sandwich for the bastard, Roadhog lumbered out to the workshop where he found Junkrat fully hyper focused on whatever the fuck he was building.

“Rat.” He growled out, snapping the rodent of a man out of his trance as he threw the sandwhich onto the table. “Eat.”

“Ah cheers mate.” Junkrat said, grabbing the sandwich and swiftly taking a bite out of it. “Nearly forgot!” A titteribg laugh followed this comment and Roadhog rolled his eyes underneath his mask. Of course he forgot.

“I’m goin into town.” Roadhog said as he turned and began walking out of the workshop.

“Oh ye are? Lemme come with!” Junkrat said, beginning to trail behind his bodyguard. “I need some things, scrap mostly.” Junkrat then let out a squeak as he was grabbed by his tire and promptly shoved into a sitting position on his couch.

“Stay.” Roadhog snarled from underneath his mask before finally making his leave. Junkrat crossed his arms and pouted.

“Big lug cant tell me what ta do.” He mumbled go himself. Junkrat wasn’t going to disobey his bodyguard however, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from the guy if he did so he continued to work on his project.

As Roadhog approached the gates to Junkertown, a rather interesting sight caught his eye. A girl was sat outside the city of waste, pounding as hard as she could on the rusty metal doors.

“Please! Please let me in! I need help!” The girl wailed out pathetically.

She was an interesting one that was for sure. Decked out in a pink and blue outfit and with shiny hair that must have been freshly washed, she looked out of place here in the wasteland. Not that Roadhog could give to shits anyways, she was in the way. Swiftly and with a strong wrist-flicking movement, Roadhog’s hook flug out and wrapped harshly against the girl’s waist, pulling her in closer.

“Get outta the way.” Roadhog snarled out as he walked past her and up to the gates.

“Sir please!” The girl said boldly. “Just hear me out, okay?”

Roadhog turned to her and huffed, crossing his arms impatiently as he decided to hear her out.

“My name is Hana Song! I was a MEKA pilot over in South Korea. I was kidnapped and abandoned here and I need help finding a way home!” She was determined, that was for sure, but she was also rather naive to think a Junker would help her.

“What makes you think I’d help you?” Roadhog questioned, looking the skinny girl up and down.

“You Junkers like money, right? W-well back home I’ve got lots of it!” Hana said, the confidence in her voice slipping. Roadhog sighed and figured supplies could wait. They needed a boat.

“Follow me.” Roadhog huffed out as he began the short trek back to the shack.

As they approached the shack, Roadhog knocked on the side of the hole that was one of three entrances to Junkrat’s workshop.

“Well yer back early.” Junkrat said, getting up and hobbling over to Roadhog. “Wait a minute, who’s the random sheila? Don’t tell me yer bringin brothel girls back ta our place!”

“Shut up.” Roadhog snarled. “This is Hana. We’re taking her back to Korea.”

“Kor ee ha?” Junkrat voiced out, saying it wrong several times. “Where’s that? Is it near Sydney or that near wherever Brisbane is?”

“Shut it.” Roadhog snarled out a second time. “I have a buddy that owes me a solid. He can get us a boat and then we can-“ Roadhog could barely say anything else as he was immediately cut off by Junkrat.

“Wait wait wait, a boat? Alright first off, since when do you have a buddy that owes ye a solid? Secondly, are we really jus up an leavin? What about our revenge on the queen? What about our agreement? We just gonna lug that with us?” Although Junkrat brought up some valid points, Roadhog could care less.

“Shut up or I’ll leave you here alone.” Roadhog hissed out. An empty threat, but definitely one that Junkrat wouldn’t try to test. At least, that’s what Roadhog hoped.

“Foine then.” Junkrat said, standing up straight to his full height. “You go getcher boat and I’ll just sit around then. Keep yer secrets an all that. Not like I get any say in the matter anyways!”

God he was such a child sometimes, but Junkrat’s tone felt different. There was a slight wobble to it, almost like the pathetic man was on the verge of tears. Roadhog tried to ignore it as he left.

“Watch the kid.” He huffed out briefly before he left back in the direction of Junkertown.

After Roadhog returned, they began formulating a proper plan and aranged their agreements with Hana regarding the money.

“This better be some good fuckin loot if we’re goin all this way outta our way fer ya.” Junkrat said sternly, eyeing Hana with suspicion as he leaned forward a bit. “And if you try ta juke us-“

“Rat that’s enough.” Roadhog growled, watching as the pyromaniac sank down into a slump on his seat. “The boat will be ready by early morning, before dawn. So let’s get some rest before we head out.”

The group nodded in agreement before setting to their spots to rest, Hana taking the upstairs couch and Junkrat going out to his workshop couch to rest as well. Roadhog did his best to try and sleep, but to no abail. Finally, he gave up in the middle of the night, opting to go outside to the cliff and gaze off of it and into the endless expanse of the wasteland.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh Roadie?” Junkrat’s voice caught Roadhog off guard as the scrawny man came over beside him. “Mind if I join ya for a tick?”

Roadhog merely huffed in a way that said, “do whatever you’d like” and Junkrat promptly sat down beside him. For once, the two Junkers sat together in silence before Roadhog finally broke the silence.

“It’s my fault.”

“Huh? Whatcha mean Roadie?” Junkrat’s amber eyes looked up at Roadhog gently.

“All of this.” Roadhog gestured out to the wilderness in front of him. Junkrat let out a breif scoff at the gesture.

“Don’t flatter yerself! All this can’tve possible been all one man’s fault.”

“You don’t understand.” Roadhog sighed. “You weren’t there. If only I hadn’t been in the ALF. If only I hadn’t caused the omnium to explode-“ A metalic hand rested on his thigh and cut him off.

“Mako. Listen to me. It ain’t yer bloody fault.” Junkrat’s tone was deeper, more serious. “If the omnium hadn’t exploded, a lotta things wouldn’t’ve happened mate.”

“I know. You would probably have become a child soldier, or maybe even have a chance at a happy life, a normal life. Not this bullshit.”

“Oh would you shut the fuck up already?” Junkrat sighed out. “I like this life if you’d ask me. Wot I meant was, if the omnium hadn’t exploded, I wouldn’t have found my love for bombs. More importantly,” Junkrat moved his hands up to the sides of Roadhog’s mask and stood up on a rock to look into the eye holes of his mask. “I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Jamison.” Roadhog gently grasped onto Junkrat’s hands, pulling them down and away from his mask. “Trust me, you would have loved a happier, normal life. A life without me in it.”

“Bullshit.” Junkrat rested his forehead on Roadhog’s, tears welling up in his eyes. “I wouldn’t change this life for anything else in the world.” Junkrat gently unclasped the pig mask and left it up to Roadhog to remove it if he wanted to, which he did.

“Why?” Roadhog asked as he took his mask off slowly, revealing his mutilated face.

“Because you fucking dumbass,” Junkrat sniffled a little bit and smiled softly at the sight of Roadhog’s face. “Because I love you.”

[pixiegrl]

Chip on Your Shoulder

This is a very belated gift to @clumsyclifford This is truly some of the most self-indulgent stuff I’ve done (that’s probably a lie everything I do is self-indulgent). But this is basically the “Chip on Your Shoulder” scene from Legally Blonde the musical. Born out of my love for that musical and also Luke dressed as a playboy bunny. 

And my love for Bella! She’s a wonderful friend, a wonderful cheerleader, and a pleasure and a joy to listen to talk and to read her things. I’m very happy to have met you and please take this gift (also an apology for taking so long to do SITR). And as always thanks to @pushkinalexander for reading this for me to edit.

Luke has been crying on the bench outside of the apartment for what feels like forever. He’s so stupid to have listened to Harry telling him that the party was a costume party. He’s cold, rejected, and upset, sitting outside in the dark in this stupid Playboy bunny costume Michael lent him. How is Jack supposed to take him seriously when he’s shown up to this stupid fancy lawyer party dressed up like this. Now Jack thinks he’s even more of a joke for coming to Harvard, for following him all the way across the ocean just to prove that he loves him. Everyone has figured out he doesn’t belong here, right from when he got kicked out of class for not doing the readings and to now, showing up to a party dressed up in this ridiculous costume. It doesn’t matter to them that he’d gotten a 4.0 GPA at uni for his double major in business and music, that he’d aced the LSAT, that he’s come all the way out here to a new country for a second time to show Jack he can be taken seriously, because all anyone seems to think is that he’s some dumb blonde. And then he’d gone and called Harry a frigid bitch on top of it all. Maybe they were all right, maybe he should just go back to Australia, no matter what Michael says about him being smart and talented and funny. Michael has only known him for a few days. Jack has known him for years. Luke isn’t meant to do something like Harvard, especially if he’s only doing it to win Jack over.

Luke sniffles, wishing he’d thought to bring a jacket or tissues or something to wipe his nose on. He didn’t realize fall in America would be so cold. He just wants to go home, back to Australia and the sun. He’s even willing to forgo his friends back in London, his little “greek chorus” of friends from his music program, if it just means he can get a hug from his mum and cry about being dumped and kicked out of law school after a week.

Luke hears someone clear their throat next to him. He startles, trying to rub his eyes as quickly as possible to make sure no one can see he’s been crying. Ashton, the TA from Callahan’s class, is standing next to the bench, brows furrowed and hands shoved into the pockets of his dark wash jeans. Great, just what Luke needs. The hot, Australian lawyer guy from his class saw him sitting here with bunny ears, crying in the middle of the night. Now Luke can’t even go back to class.

“Luke? What’s up...doc?” Ashton asks, lips quirked up at the corners to let Luke know he’s teasing him. Luke vaguely knows it’s a joke related to some old American cartoon but he can’t place it. 

Luke sniffles again against his will. “Love.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I put my faith in love. And I came all the way out here, to another foreign country where I don’t know anyone besides my ex, to try and prove to him that I was serious and not just some dumb blonde with dreams of being a musician, to prove that I could do something of value, and look where it led me.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“Here! To this cold, miserable place! I wanted to be a singer or a producer or...or... something in music. But Jack wanted to marry someone serious. And I love him! So I studied and I took that stupid test and did all those applications to come here just to show him I was worth it. And now he’s engaged to someone else and I’m stuck in hell! I wish I was dead! I’m flunking out of school and everyone’s laughing at me and mocking me and I, I just want to go home!” Luke wails, burying his face into his hands and muffling another sob. The bunny ears flop down onto his forehead. Luke doesn’t even care about how ridiculous he looks anymore. It’s not like it matters. At the rate he’s going, he’ll probably be kicked out next week and Jack and Harry and all of their friends can laugh at him.

“Sorry, back up, you applied to Harvard Law School, which is a prestigious, exclusive, hard to get into university, to win back your ex? You didn’t even want to be a lawyer? You did all this for a guy? Fuck, what kind of rich, romantic planet are you from?”

“Sydney? Although I did go to uni in London.”

Ashton scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking away from Luke, crossing his arms, “That’s fucking mental is what that is. You wasted all this money, all this time, took someone else’s spot, just to get back your ex and then leave.”

Luke is suddenly filled with a burst of anger. Who’s Ashton to judge him? Ashton doesn’t know anything about him, doesn’t know anything about where he’s come from or how hard he worked to go to school in London, to get out of Sydney and do something with this life. Just because law wasn’t part of that plan doesn’t mean Luke isn’t as smart or determined or driven as Ashton.

“Well, why did you come here then? There’s plenty of decent law schools in Australia. What makes you so special that you get to come here?”

Ashton lets out a sigh, sitting down on the bench next to Luke. He shrugs his jacket off, wrapping it around Luke’s shivering shoulders. It’s sweet and touching. Luke isn’t sure when the last time it was that someone did something nice like that for him. God knows every time Luke was cold back at uni Jack used to tell him he should have brought a jacket.

“I grew up in a not so great part of Australia. My dad left when I was young so it was just me and my mom and my younger siblings. I had to take care of everyone growing up. I decided to be a lawyer so that I could help people. I did uni and law school having to work two jobs while going to class. Some of us have to scrap by to get any kind of recognition. So forgive me if your little problem about your boyfriend dumping you doesn’t move me to tears.”

“Hey! Just because you’ve got some kind of chip on your shoulder at the world doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.” 

“So what if I do? I can’t waste any of the chances I have, I have to push forward. I’m so close to being able to work in Callahan’s law firm. I’m so close to my dream. I can’t throw that all away from any trivial thing that comes by. Maybe you need to get a little perspective on the world. When you don’t have privilege you have to work twice as hard.”

Luke frowns at that. Just because he didn’t work two jobs in uni or didn’t decide to become a lawyer for the same reasons at Ashton doesn’t mean he isn’t a hard worker. He was a double major! And he used to organize all those charity events for their music group. Besides, from what little Luke has actually learned in class before getting kicked out, law seems pretty interesting. 

Ashton stands to go, smiling at Luke, “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat all night, but I have to get back to my place and start prepping the week for your class. Just bring my jacket with you tomorrow, yeah?” Ashton turns to leave.

“Hold on,” Luke calls out. Ashton stops. “You worked two jobs? And went to school?”

Ashton turns back to Luke, smiling. “I haven’t slept in about fifteen years.”

“How’d you do it? I’ve only been here a week and I’m already floundering.”

“Well, I don’t go out and party for one thing. I don’t date much and I don’t go to the mall or the movies. I certainly don’t spend all my time on my hair or my makeup or staying in shape,” He gives Luke a once over as he says the words.

Luke blushes, suddenly self-conscious about his outfit. “Well, you don’t seem to have any problem with the last one. And I certainly don’t spend hours on my hair and makeup,” He mumbles. 

Ashton’s grin widens, “I’m not saying you don’t look nice. I’m just saying maybe if you spent less time trying to decide what eyeshadow would match your top the best and start spending it reading the required chapters for the week instead. I’m working this hard so that I can get my mom a nice place to live in back home.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“No, I’m just driven to achieve my dreams. I’ve been given a once in a lifetime opportunity and I can’t waste that. Maybe you should think about that, Mr. Luke Hemmings, the next time you decide to not prepare for class. Maybe having your own chip on your shoulder would help.”

“No, I don’t need that, I just need to prove to everyone that I’m serious!” Luke insists, stopping himself at the last minute from stomping his foot. Ashton smirks.

“No, what you need is to get to work. Listen, have you done the readings at all?”

Luke shakes his head, embarrassed, looking down at his feet. Ashton sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I don’t usually do this, but I will help you. Just this once. I’ll read through tomorrow’s chapter with you and help you prepare for class.”

Luke shrieks in happiness, throwing his arms around Ashton in a hug, “Oh, thank you so much!”

“Alright, alright no need to get sappy on me. Come on, lead the way back to your dorm,” Ashton says, an exasperated smile on his face. Luke grins widely and leads them off in the direction of his room.

-----

“Ta da!” Luke exclaims when they make it back, throwing the door to his room open. It’s smaller than the one he had back in London, but he’s managed to make it look like home. He’s hung pictures of his family and friends up, covered the room in his favorite color (pink), and even managed to give Petunia her own special place in the corner. “Make yourself at home.”

Luke starts to rummage around in his closet, looking for something else to put on that’s not the corset he’s currently wearing. Ashton looks around the room, raising an eyebrow. “Where are all your books?”

“They’re somewhere in that mess,” Luke says, waving vaguely at his desk where he’s stacked up his things for class. Ashton starts to dig around on the desk as Luke disappears into the closet to change. He can hear Ashton mumbling to himself.

“You drink a lot of coffee?”

“It gives me energy!” 

“For all that late night studying I’m sure,” Ashton says with a snort. 

Ashton lets out an exasperated huff. Luke pops his head around the closet, half in the costume, half in the sweatpants he’s decided to put on.

“What?”

“How do you find anything in here?”

“I have an organizational system set up. Sort of.”

“You gotta clean this room up, mate. This is a desk. Do you really need all these things?” Ashton says, picking up Luke’s hair dryer and dangling it between his fingers.

Luke huffs, pulling his shirt over his head and darting out of the closet, making to grab it from Ashton. “It’s for my hair! Of course I need it!”

“Wear a hat.”

Luke gasps in outrage as Ashton starts to rummage around further into his room, “You don’t need half these things. Sell them, put them in storage, do something with them! You need to focus on your school and less on all of this,” he says, gesturing vaguely to Luke’s cluttered dresser filled with makeup and magazines. He grabs the nearest trash can and starts to swipe it all in.

“Hey! Stop touching my things!”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes!”

“Good! Maybe that’ll motivate you to actually work for the spot you’ve earned here, instead of using it to goof off and win your ex back.”

Luke growls lightly, turning back to his desk to find the textbook. Ashton is rude and pushy and Luke wishes he wasn’t his ticket to passing this class.

“Ah ha!” Luke cries, finding the book and holding it up triumphantly in Ashton’s direction. Ashton raises an eyebrow.

“It’s still sealed.”

“Well I just haven’t gotten around to them yet.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “Come on, we have to get through at least three chapters and it’s already close to 10pm. I’ll have to give you the abridged version, but I think we can make do. Now, do you at least have a notebook or a laptop or something for you to take notes with?” He sits down cross-legged on the floor, digging in his own bag to find a pen and some paper. Luke rolls his own eyes and grabs his laptop from where he’d left it on his bed, sitting down next to Ashton. It’s going to be a long night.

-----

“Mom, I already told you I’m not coming home until Christmas this year. I have too many things to do at school before the term is over and it’s such a waste of money to fly home for five days,” Luke says into the phone. He’s explained this to his mother at least once a week since October, that even though he gets time off from Thanksgiving he won’t be going back to Australia for the short break. He’d lose half the trip to the flights anyways, and it seems silly with winter break in only four weeks. Besides, Ashton has been helping him study steadily since their meeting after the failed costume party and he had convinced him that the extra few days off would give them plenty of time to work on catching him up on the concepts he’s been having trouble with in class. It’s gotten easier since he’s had Ashton to walk him through the things he’s struggling with.

“I just don’t understand why you can’t come home to see us. We miss you, you know. And why aren’t you going to spend the holiday with Jack’s family?

“I already told you Mom, we’re still broken up. And I have a couple friends who said I could spend the holiday with them instead.”

Ashton rolls his eyes from where he’s sitting at Luke’s desk. Luke sticks his tongue out at him, earning him a grin. Under Ashton’s guidance, his room has started to look less like a sample sale blew through it. He’s organized his desk and bought him a second chair, so they can both share the desk space. They’d finally organized the rest of his room too, so Luke can actually see the floor and the things in his closet. It’s been sweet of Ashton to take on Luke as his pet project, considering all the other work that Ashton already has.

Ashton makes a “wrap it up” motion with his hand. Luke huffs, flopping down on the bed next to Petunia. 

“Mom, I’ve got to go now. My friend is being annoying and telling me to get off the phone to study. I’ll call you later.” His mom chuckles, but wishes him well and ends the call. Luke puts his phone down, rubbing Petunia’s ears.

“Define malum prohibitum.”

“Malum prohibitum is, um…”

“An act prohib--”

“An act prohibited by law. Like jaywalking or chewing gum in Singapore,” Luke exclaims, grinning when Ashton nods at him.

“Good. So therefore malum in se would mean…”

“Is an action that’s evil in itself. Assault, murder, white shoes after labour day.”

Luke earns a chuckle from Ashton. He basks a little in the praise. He’s always pleased whenever he can prove to Ashton that he’s actually been listening to what he says. And he likes making him laugh. The sound is warm and inviting, reminding him of the beaches back home, of all the good times he used to spend with Niall, Louis, Zayn, and Liam back at uni, staying up late to play guitar and making terrible music that they’d all been so proud of in the dark of night. He misses them all, feels incredibly homesick for both Australia and London. Being with Ashton, though, makes him feel a little better, a little more like he’s found his place in the world.

“What are you staring at?”

“Just thinking. Are you sure you don’t want to spend the holiday with Michael and me? We’re only going to hang out in his flat, watching Marvel movies and eating terrible food. I know you have to study, but surely we can spend one night doing something fun,” Luke pleads. 

It’s been an ongoing argument between them since Michael offered them both to spend Thanksgiving with him. Granted, he only knows him from the music store, but they’d become fast friends after Luke managed to lawyer his way into getting both of Michael’s dogs back from his ex. Plus, they both play guitar, which had made their friendship a sure thing. Luke has been going to the music store for a chance to breathe and get away from Jack and Harry and law school. It’s been nice, made him feel the same way Ashton does, like he’s back at home in his own headspace and at peace. Michael hasn’t met Ashton yet, but Luke has talked about him enough that Michael said he felt comfortable enough having him over for the day. Ashton is still standing firm on his stance that he should be in his dorm studying since “I haven’t been able to do anything of my own since I’ve been helping you.” (Which is a lie. Luke’s pretty sure Ashton doesn’t sleep so he has plenty of time during the day to study.)

“I already told you I have to read over all of the paperwork for the internship next semester. You know, the one you’ve been working to try and get?”

“One night isn’t going to do anything. Besides, you can bring your stuff with you. Michael won’t mind.”

Ashton opens his mouth to argue again when Luke’s phone starts ringing. Frowning, Luke flips it over and sees Michael’s name displayed. He swipes to answer it.

“Hel-”

“I BROKE HIS NOSE!” Michael wails across the line loudly. Luke winces, pulling the phone back from his ear. Even Ashton cringes from his spot at the desk.

“Whose nose?”

“The hot UPS guy! Calum! He came in today to deliver a package and I thought I’d given that thing you taught me a go-” 

“The bend and snap?” Luke interrupts. Ashton raises his eyebrows, lips twisting up in a barely contained laugh. Luke gives him the finger.

“Yeah that! So I dropped the pen and leaned down to grab it, except he leaned down at the same and when I came up I broke his nose with my elbow,” Michael sniffles across the line. 

“Where are you now?” 

“The local ER. I felt so bad I had to take him. But it’s like, the day before Thanksgiving, so it’s packed and we didn’t have any ice for his nose, so he’s just bleeding everywhere and he’s never going to go out with me now that I’ve broken his nose!”

“Calm down, Mikey. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Listen, why don’t Ashton and I come over and see you two? Maybe having a buffer will make it easier,” Luke says, ignoring Ashton’s frantic gesturing. It’ll do Ashton some good to talk to other people. He’s too much of a hermit as it is.

“Would you?”

“Yeah, send us the location and we’ll be there soon.” 

Luke hangs up the phone while Ashton glowers at him. “You owe me big time.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Just bring the books with us and we can study there. I’ve seen the way Calum looks at Michael when he delivers. Trust me, they won’t need us there for very long.”

---

Luke is excited that it’s finally close to winter break. He can finally go home, see his parents and his brothers, and finally see some sun and go to the beach. He didn’t think it was possible, but Cambridge has been colder than London ever was at Christmas and Luke officially hates it. He’s finished all his exams (he’d been top in all his classes, thank you very much) and the only thing left to do is pack, say goodbye to Jack, and go to the little Christmas party Michael and Calum are hosting at Michael’s place. Despite Michael’s crying in the ER, Calum had forgiven him on the condition that Michael would go on a date with him. It’s only been a month, but they’re both sappy and in love. It warms Luke’s heart and makes him miss all the good times he’d had with Jack.

There’s a soft knock on his door and Ashton pokes his head around it. 

“Merry Christmas, Ash!”

“Not quite yet. But I have a gift for you and I wanted to give it to you before the party.” Ashton steps into the room, holding out a wrapped gift to Luke.

Luke takes it from him. “I don’t have anything for you.”

Ashton waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just something small. You mentioned you missed music, so I thought you might like this.”

Curious, Luke pulls the paper off the small box, opening it. Inside is a guitar pick on a necklace chord, with his initials on one side and the little Harvard chest on the other. Luke is unexpectedly warm looking at it, rubbing it between his fingers. Ashton must’ve gotten it made just for him. It’s sweet and thoughtful that Ashton has come to know Luke well enough in the last few months to know what he likes, what he enjoys doing.

“Oh, Ashton it’s wonderful. But I didn’t get you a gift.”

“Think of you passing as your gift to me. You put in all that hard work and look where you are. One more class with Callahan and then you’ll probably get that internship.”

“You think so?”

“I’m not the teacher’s assistant for nothing,” Ashton winks. Luke giggles. He hasn’t felt like this since the first time Jack smiled at him at uni. He feels soft and young, basking in Ashton’s smile and pride. Ashton opens his mouth to say something when there’s another knock on his door.

“Hey, Luke, have you seen Harry anywhere?” Jack says, poking his head into the room.

Luke is tongue tied. This is the first time Jack has talked to him since the failed party, outside of the few times they’ve interacted in class. He’d forgotten how intense it is being under Jack’s gaze. 

“Luke? Have you seen him?” Jack repeats. Luke shakes his head, unable to say the words. Jack sighs, exasperated. “Great, we’re gonna be late for our flight. Thanks anyways.” Jack turns and leaves. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ashton whispers, wrapping his arm around Luke’s shoulder and squeezing. Luke hadn’t even realized he’d been crying until then. He frantically wipes the tears away. 

“Look how far you’ve come,” Ashton continues, “You’re a proper law student now, with books you read and a planner you fill and you’re going to have an internship at a real law firm soon. You don’t need him, Luke. You’re so much more than what everyone thinks you are.”

Luke sniffles, returning Ashton’s hug, “You’re a really good friend, Ash. I would’ve never passed without you.”

“Hey, only for you Luke. Don’t go spreading around that I’m helpful. It’ll get me a reputation, you know.”  Ashton smiles, pressing a kiss to Luke’s forehead. Luke giggles, “Get Petunia and let's go. We’ve got a party to get to.”

Luke clips the leash to Petunia's collar, coaxing her off the bed and leading her out the door. Maybe law school hasn’t sucked as much as he thought it would. After all, he has his dog and three friends. What more could he ask for?