#[ there is nothing to consider maybe I’m just getting my money’s worth ]

[tscng]

(:

[gilverrwrites]

You want my groupie love

Ft. Dick, Jason, Roy, and Wally 400-500 words each Request: Anon requested any of the above finding out you have a crush on their hero alter-ego. I did all of em cause I've been looking for an excuse to sink my teeth into some fluffy rambling! Warnings: Swearing | Alcohol | Secrets | Non-graphic mentions of violence  

Dick: Hey Neighbour

Dick could easily see how the new mailman switching up your post so often could get annoying, especially considering his busy schedule. However, he just couldn't bring himself to be upset over anything that gives him an excuse to see you. Admittedly, he's pushing it today, ringing your buzzer so early in the morning but the moment you open the door, revealing the most adorable bedhead and an oversized Nightwing shirt, he can't bring himself to care.

“Nice shirt.” He offers, but he's not certain you understand as you stare at him with squinted eyes and pouty lips.

“You want something?” Your voice is low and slow, thick with sleep but still hot as hell.

He wants you. “Yeah, um, my parcel says delivered but it's not! I just wondered if maybe they left it with you again?”

You continue to stare at him blankly for a moment longer before recognition seems to click in those pretty eyes.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you murmur as you grab his mail from somewhere behind the door and hand it to him. Together you go through the polite thanks and no problem motions, but when you're done, he can't bring himself to leave. Maybe this is the day he finally asks you out.

“Do you- “

“Are you- “

You talk over each other, and then you dance around it until you finally win out the no you go argument.

“Do…” He’s about to ask when a thought pops into his head. That oversized tee is very oversized. “Is that your boyfriend's top?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.” You confirm, nervously playing with the hem and accidentally revealing a hint of your Nightwing sleep shorts.

“Just a big Nightwing fan, huh?” He's not sure why he's pushing it, something about the notion makes him feel good.

“You could say that.” You reply hesitantly. Your eyes flicker from him, back into your apartment a few times before you open your door. Nothing could have prepared Dick for the sight before him. Your living room was chockful of Nightwing merch; pillowcases, replica wing-dings, figurines, Blüd postcards with his likeness on them to name a few. Some are licensed, but most are not. There's a very real moment in which the blood drains from him, and he's concerned that he should be worried about you and your intention before you explain. “I kind of went on a big dumb rant about how Nightwing was snubbed for The Sexiest Hero Alive award a few years ago, and my friends have never let me forget about it. Now everyone and their dog buys me his merch for my Birthday and whatnot. I just can't bring myself to throw any of it out.”

“Ohhh.” That's a relief. His unease is replaced with twice as much giddiness. Sexiest Hero Alive, huh? He hadn’t cared that much about the award, but he cares that you care. “I’d love to hear more if by any chance you wanna grab breakfast together?

Jason: On the news

Jason is already sat in your usual spot when you arrive at the café, he even went ahead and got your usual order. The $12 was worth it for the look of gratitude and reprieve on your face as you collapse into the chair across from him.

“Thank you for ordering for me! I’ll send you the money.” Once you catch your breath you dive into your drink, moaning aloud at the flavour in a way that has him averting his gaze and shifting in his seat. He prays you don’t notice the heat in his face as he tells you not to worry about it, Bruce can afford it anyway.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” You continue. “Apparently Red Hood and some of Two-Face’s guys got into some kind of turf war near the bank last night, and police have shut the whole block down.”

“Oh, that sucks.” He grunts, pretending like he doesn’t already know.

“Right! So annoying. Red Hood gets a pass though, 'cause he’s hot.”

Jason actually chokes on his coffee, narrowly missing you with his spray as you lean away from him. Before you can even ask if he’s okay, he’s grilling you.

“He’s hot? How do you know he’s hot? You’ve never met the guy!” It’s an instinctive response, maybe a little paranoid, and though he doesn’t mean to, he’s definitely selling some kind of jealousy angle right now.

“No, but I’ve seen him on the news, and in the papers.” You explain. “He’s got that kind of, cool, mysterious, badass thing going on, you know? With the helmet, and leather, oh and the motorbike! And the voice!”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. If he wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now. Some badass. “B-but you don’t know what he looks like.”

“I know he’s good-looking. ‘An I bet he’s a nice person, under all that tough guy exterior.” You state decidedly. “I feel it in my bones, and my… I’m not gonna finish that sentence.”

You both laugh, yours is more light-hearted. Like music to his heated ears. Jason feels like you reached into his chest and started tweaking at his heartstrings. He might not seem it externally, but he’s thrilled. This is a step in the right direction for your more-than-friends-not-quite-lovers-relationship, he thinks.

“I’m just saying, if the opportunity ever arose; Red Hood could get it.”

He just has to figure out what the next move is.

Roy: Prince Charming

When he’d gotten done saving your life from some back-alley thief a few nights prior, you’d thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Roy had seriously considered never washing that cheek again. But, he’d figured you wouldn’t want to kiss him ever again, hero or no if he stank. So, he’d scrubbed up and trimmed before picking up the pizza and heading to your place for your bi-weekly movie night.

When you open the door there’s a far-off look in your eye and a dreamy smile on your lips that he could certainly get used to.

“You okay?” He asks, making no attempt to hide his amusement as he stands in your kitchen, smothering his fries with ketchup and watching you stare off into space, swaying your hips like a puppy dog who can't control their tail.

“Yeah.” You answer, only half snapping back into the present moment, a sheepish, excited look on your face as you grab your share of the food and head for the couch. “I got mugged.” You call back, like it’s nothing. Playfully baiting a reaction from him that he’ll have to fake because he already knows.

“No- oh shit! Are you okay?” He leans in close as he sits beside you on the couch, pretending to examine you for injuries, but actually using it as an excuse to savour your scent.

“Yeah.” You turn to him so that your noses brush together, and he has to will himself not to blush at the proximity. You’d always had a bit of a flirtationship going, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still get under his skin when you had that tenacious look on your face. “I met the love of my life.”

“The love of your life mugged you?” He teases and you shake your head all cute and determined before leaning away to bite into your dinner.

“C’mon, who’s the lucky guy?” He goads, he has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he's trying not to get his hopes up.

You look at him like you’re thinking it over before confessing around a mouthful of food; “Arsenal.”

That’s fucking hilarious. He bites his lip to keep from laughing in your face.

“Arsenal.” He repeats. Is it hot in here? He feels exceedingly flush. “Huh, crazy.”

“Arsenal.” You say it again, this time like some Disney character swooning over their Prince Charming as you lean into his chest. It makes eating significantly harder, but he doesn’t care, lifting his arm and draping it over your shoulder, urging you closer. He’d starve it meant getting to hold you till he died. “He saved me.”

“No kidding.” You ghost a hand up and down his arm, and he enjoys the sensation too much to notice how your fingertips trace his exposed tattoos. This conversation might be the best thing that’s happened to him in ages. Second best. No, third best. Behind Lian being born and you kissing him. “But, ah, I thought I was the love of your life?”

You chew on his comeback for a minute, and he enjoys immensely how you try not to grin as your eyes dart around while you think up a response. “Guess you’ll have to share me.”

Roy Harper, share you with Arsenal? He could definitely live with that.

Wally: Fuck, marry, kill

“Okayokayokay. Fuck, marry, kill.” His words all string together in an excited jumble. He’s totally buzzing, and not from the booze. It’s never the booze, he metabolises it too fast. No, his excitement is entirely caused by you. You and your proximity, your smiling face, and your hypnotic laugh. “Nightwing, Tempest, and The Flash? Go!”

“Oh, well that entirely depends.” You reply matter-of-factly, and Wally watches admiringly as you take a sip of your drink, licking the rim when a drop spills over. Damn, he wishes you’d put your lips on him like that.

“Depends on what?” He finally asks when he remembers it’s his turn to speak, and you bite your lip for a second as if considering whether you should say what you’re about to say.

Eventually, you commit. “Are we talking Central City Flash, or Keystone?”

You watch him expectantly while he sips his own drink, waiting for his clarification. He’s glad that the difference matters to you but he can’t help challenging you, partly to keep up the clueless civilian shtick, but mostly because he wants to prolong the conversation. He wants to hear you say ‘The Flash’ a million more times. “You’re so sure they’re not the same guy? Could be running back and forth really fast. That’s his whole thing, right?”

“Nah.” You shake your head, a self-assured smile on your face. You don’t even entertain the idea, and he wonders what has you so confident but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. “Central Flash is cool and all, but I’m in loooooove with Keystone Flash.” You giggle as you declare it.

This is brand new information to Wally, and it takes him a moment to process it. His cheeks must be as red as his suit as he watches you melt into your seat, thinking about him The Flash.

“Have you ever met the guy?” He’s pretty certain he knows the answer already.

“No.” You confess shyly, but it doesn’t stop your next, very bold statement. “He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re gonna get married one day.”

“Really?” He’s grinning from ear to ear, like the cat whose canary landed right in his bowl and started chirping ‘EAT ME! EAT ME!’

The feet of his chair scrape on the floor as he shuffles closer, and even though he’s not ‘your future husband’, you let him close the distance, happily voicing your answer to his original question and his most recent. “Yep. If it’s Keystone, can I say fuck and marry The Flash?”

“Yeah, totally, I’ll accept that answer.” Wally blurts, making no effort to hide his elation as he places his hand atop yours. “You know, I’ve been told that I’m a lot like The Flash.”

Please remember, do things that make you happy!

[icyg4l]

PAC: How Do I Choose the Right School for Me?

Decision Day is coming up for a lot of you and I’m sure that many are still deciding about what school they will go to. Whether you’re a first-time college student, a transfer student, or nontraditional, I hope to act as a guide for this period of time. Hopefully, you are inspired by this reading to choose the right school for you. I will use the True Heart Tarot Deck and the Moonology Oracle Deck for this reading and pull some oracle cards. So, without further ado, please pick your pile. 

Left-to-Right (1-3):

Pile 1: I feel like you already know what school to choose, Pile One. It seems to me that you’re pretty content with the decision that you would have to make. You will get into your top choice or you’ve already gotten into your top choice so there’s no pending status. I feel like you are pretty confident. But I think what’s holding you back is the inability to stop thinking about others. I feel like this requires long distance travel or maybe it’s not your mom’s alma mater so you are about to make a decision to commit there to appease other people. But this is your life, Pile One. Don’t make a choice that you will regret. Go with the choice that will make you happy, love. Take the risk because it will all be worth it in the end. I pulled some oracle cards from the Moonology deck and got the following cards:

“Nothing will come out of this situation” (Void-of-course-Moon)

“A new start is coming!” (New Moon)

“Emotions are running high!” (Supermoon)

Cards Used: Justice, The Star (RX), Four of Discs, Princess of Swords, King of Wands, 9 of Cups, The Magician. 

Pile Two: Pile Two, I get the feeling that you feel confused because you don’t know what to do. I think this is for my first generation college students who are the children of immigrants, children of single parent households, people who did not graduate high school/college or low-income parents. You may feel alone and scared of what could happen if you don’t decide by the specific deadline. I need you to take a deep breath because you are not the only one going through this. You need to talk to someone who will help you get through this time. Talk to a school counselor. Visit the campus. Ask current students/alumni about their personal experiences. Get in contact with the school’s admissions office. There’s so many ways to get connected. I also feel like you also have been stressing about the cost of school. But honestly, you just need to have a talk with your family about the game plan. If you feel like you will be paying too much, then you can always negotiate with the school to get more money to pay for school. There’s many ways to get to where you want to be. Think big, Pile Two. I pulled some cards from the Moonology deck and got the following cards: 

“Believe in the impossible” (Blue Moon)

“Meditate and contemplate” (New Moon in Pisces)

“Bring love into the situation” (New Moon in Aquarius)

Cards Used: Prince of Wands, Three of Cups (RX), Three of Pentacles (RX), King of Discs, The Tower, Queen of Discs, Five of Discs.

Pile Three: Pile Three, you’re so cute. I channeled the plot of High School Musical 3: Senior Year. I feel like you have a significant other and y’all have been getting cozy together. You don’t want to leave by this person’s side because that would mean not seeing them everyday. That’s understandable but you’re going to need to maintain your individuality, Pile Three. There is nothing wrong with long distance, love. But I feel like you’re also waiting on an acceptance from a school that you applied to. You will get in but you have to trust the process. I feel like it’s coming very soon. You definitely have to talk to your significant other about your choice to see how they can support you and vice versa. Talk about the what ifs and concerns about the future. I feel that you guys want to consider them so much in the process and it makes sense but the evil eye that you’re sending yourself is crazy. Have some faith that things will work out for yourself. The less you do, the better. I pulled some cards from the Moonology deck and got the following cards:

“It’s time to take action” (New Moon in Aries)

“Balance spirituality and practicality” (Full Moon in Pisces)

“What do you need to release?” (Waning Moon)

“Have faith in your dreams” (Waxing Crescent Moon)

“Hold your vision” (Fixed Moon)

“Surrender to the Divine” (Full Moon)

Cards Used: Ace of Wands, Justice, 8 of Wands, 7 of Wands, 2 of Cups, Temperance, 3 of Discs, The Tower.

[strarri]

here is me just rambling about kimetsu gakuen obamitsu :33 1.6k word vomit i did not reread this whatsoever and i might just continue!!

obamitsu in the kimetsu gakuen needs more appreciation… i find obanai and mitsuri’s relationship in the kimetsu gakuen just so cute and its tearing me apart GRHAHHHHH

it’s an alternate universe, so just imagine the two in a relationship without demons without trauma. i still don’t get why obanai still wears a mask even though we’ve seen the snake demon in the diner and he doesn’t seem to know her at all so i’m assuming they kept it for his signature designs sake. i understand it since there are alot of writing holes on all of the characters in the gakuen, since you do take away the demons that make them, well them?? small headcanon that obanai is just allergic to everything that it’s embarrassing

he still has issues with eating food in public and still eats small portions or nothing at all, and the writers just stuck with him being aftaid of women?? (shown in chapter 10 and the extra scene in chapter 30) so they really just kept him as obanai iguro with no trauma. it’s kind of sad that the gakuen author never mentioned a reason why he’s still the same but it is just a highschool au and there’s nothing we can do about it either way. i find it rather unfortunate that iguro barely appears in the gakuen at all

i really do love obanai and mitsuri’s wardrobe in this au though, their outfits look really comfy and even matching their personalities. a part of me doesn’t imagine mitsuri to be the type to wear revealing clothing, not that it’s a problem or anything!!!! but her vibes just remind me of a gal who lives in the fifth floor apartment taking care of 23 cats, i think she’s a cat lady. her outfits in the gakuen consists of pieces like turtlenecks, long skirts, jackets, and maybe hats and i LOVE ITT!!! considering she’s an artist as well so her outfit colors are so cute and sandwich well together

and i just love obanai’s wardrobe is like a basic middle aged teacher and it’s so funny he really is just some basic guy with or without demons…. the kind of guy who has “I 🩷 my GF”(mitsuri bought them matching mugs) or “No. #1 Snake Guy” (mitsuri gave him that as a christmas present) imprinted on his coffee mug. or OR his favorite mug is just a cute cat mug.. that mitsuri gave him….

it’s really obvious but i noticed that obanai and mitsuri are actually dating/ and their relationship is so healthy that it’s like “oh my gosh i saw a kite today” and sends a picture to the other person thinking they’d like how it looked, like they talk to eachother about EVERYTHINGG that goes on in their life, because they wish they were together in that moment!!! i think they just communicate alot and it’s adorable.. but i just noticed this cute detail in the chapter where gyomei was trying to get the cat plushy and mitsuri wanted to take a pic of tengen and him and send it to iguro because it was funnyy and the one where she was talking about her lil sushi manga.

i think their occupations in the gakuen are just really silly in general, i can visualize mitsuri stressing about her college terms and part time job and asks obanai to help her😭being a teacher is arduous work as well though so at times their schedules definitely aren’t well fitting so… i’d like to think that they visited each others places to study??work?? or just be in each others presence to lighten the stress <33

mitsuri is the cliche broke college student, working her ass off to pass her class and to pay for her month’s worth of rent soo, buying things for her own accord is probably a rare occasion for her, and obanai probably funds alot of it😭😭mitsuri isn’t the type to ask for things, so obanai probably volunteers to treat her to things like restaurants, get her nails done, buy some materials for her drawings whenever her money is in the slums, though i know mitsuri can handle herself of course!!

in one of the extra panels in chapter 30, though iguro is afraid of women, and especially eating food infront of others, he still tries his best to not upset the students who don’t deserve of it. he still thought of a solution to help the butterfly triplets with their medicine stall even if he himself couldn’t taste test their medicine and it shows that he still cares for his students, though definitely has a bad side with the lousy ones

mitsuris hobbies are like the silliest thing ever and it’s so fitting for her?? she just draws cute little characters just for the sake of making people smile and giggle and i love her for it. i think she’d go to iguro whenever she was facing writers block trying to make an outline for her manga considering he is a teacher and all??? if it were anyone else, iguro would probably think the idea of food manga was silly, maybe childish(?) but it’s mitsuri he has grown to her silliness!! if mitsuri were to ask iguro for critique or advice he’d probably have to broaden his own imagination because obanai seems like the type who can’t even comprehend the idea of walking food.. he is REALLY closed minded

mitsuri has an image of iguro where he’s like the sweetest, nicest, well adored teacher ever(maybe an overstatement?? im totally convinced) and it’s actually so funny.. like what if she found out iguro tied his students up on a daily basis and throws bottle rockets at them just for being noisy?? and even better what if this image of him still remained in her head after knowing that nevertheless??? she’s so hopelessly inlove its pathetic and it’s KILLING MEEE

i’d like to imagine that mitsuri would just text him while he was in the middle of the class and then he’d just run to get his phone the moment his gf texts him, and then someone like zenitsu goes like “mr. igurooo, how d-“ “shut up!” ???? he needs to cut zenitsu some slack but its way too funny

and and!!! even though they have phones since this au takes place in the modern era, they still send love letters to eachother crow style??? and mitsuri’s letters are designed so cutely it actually hurtsss… they’re genuinely so romantic and no shame in that at all!!!! like fuck texts look at them doing traditional romantic gestures:33

this applies to literally any other universe but i still think it’s cute, i don’t think iguro is written to have any trauma in the gakuen but he deals with ed and probably some stress from being a highschool teacher, yet mitsuri is the one person that melts those cold walls of his and he’s able to show vulnerability towards her :(( he really does his best to show how much he loves her by putting so much thought into his gifts and actions, like hell he needed help from two highschool students just to decide a gift for mitsuri but knowing her she would have love him to be with her all the same.

there is clear sign that mitsuri doesn’t doubt that he loves her at all!! there are still steps and layers in their relationship that are yet to be but mitsuri willingly waits for him nevertheless, and of course iguro waits for her as well.

i’m just so happy that there was nothing like demons and trauma to stop them from expressing their love for eachother, in the second fanbook it is mentioned that mitsuri never confessed to iguro due to the trauma from her previous marriage interview (fuck that guy) and that she has always thought he was just nice to others. which probably proves my statement from before? iguro could shoot her ex and mitsuri would still be head over heels for him?? OR MAYBE MORE????

but yeah again their relationship being official in the gakuen brings me pure bliss😭and the two wouldn’t have to embarrassingly pine for eachother until they reached their death bed. i just find their relationship so cute and intriguing, i’m dead glad it’s canon but i really wish there was more content of them shown in the anime in some way. especially mitsuri, she was barely given two minutes of screentime in the hashira training arc and it hurts me, it’s sad because her breathing style is such an awesome concept but it’ll barely be given screen time going forward. i personally love kimetsu no yaiba and its story, and i appreciate that it actually focuses on the fighting elements, but i really wish that they gave a bit more credit to one of their most significant romantic elements.. (includes hakuji and koyuki & amane and kagaya i love them) some more official art would’ve been nice i’d continue talking about this but it’s derailing from the gakuen topic😭

most of my source is just chapter 10 and some mentions from other chapters but… if you need pictures of my points i can provide. mostly?? i really just need more gakuen chapters specifically obamitsu centric it’s not funny anymore. i’d love to know how they got together and as i’m writing this im beginning to scramble my brain for ideas so i could make a fanfic outline that i’d probably just draft again… if someone were reading this post i encourage you to write an obamitsu gakuen au PLEASE.. maybe a long fic haha… but anything is enough for me really, there are barely any fics i find on ao3 considering most of the ones i find are really just obamitsu as a side ship which kinda makes me sad, i do personally aspire to become better at writing so i could start making stuff for others to enjoy as well but my time is diminishing as i have alot to do.

i think this is enough rambling<33 i’d hope to spread the obamitsu brainrot because i dont want to be the only one stuck here

anyways dropping screenshots but just read the kimetsu gakuen😭💗

Chapter 10 is obamitsu centric but there are bits on other chapters! :3

https://ww7.demonslayermanga.com/chapter/kimetsu-gakuen-chapter-1/

[storm-angel989]

OH MY GOSH! My req is a part 2 of https://www.tumblr.com/storm-angel989/761370788298424320/could-you-do-a-valentinos-daughter-where-shes?source=share ! I LOVE ALL OF YOUR WORK BTW!

Hi friend,

I actually got this request twice! Consider this in response to this anon request as well:

“can we see a part two of Valentino’s daughter being addicted to drugs? Maybe he confronts her, has Angel dust tell her his about his own addiction to them from his time as human?”

Like I said the first time around, I lost my best friend to addiction and this subject can be a little tough. That being said I do hope y’all find comfort in this story- it was sort of cathartic to write. 

<3 Mandy 

Valentino had watched thousands of sinners and hellborn suffer through withdrawal. The shakes. The sweating. The sickness. The agonizing pain as every molecule of their body screamed for the very thing that threatened to kill it. He knew it well. Hell, addiction is what sent him down here, what sealed his role as eternal provider of highs and releases. The difference now was power- power that he gained as desperate souls offered anything worth having just for the promise of relief. Despite his sordid past, he took pride in providing his family with a lavish lifestyle while watching others wither away to nothing. 

As Valentino knelt next to his daughter, his hands carefully weaving her damp hair into a braid, the pang of guilt flooded through him for the first time. The thought that his career had led his daughter to suffer such pain was unbearable. For the first time in his afterlife, Valentino felt his control slipping. Despite his initial demand and Vox and Velvette’s agreement that she go to a treatment center, he instead decided to keep her home and allow her to detox under his watchful eye. It wasn’t like they were not equipped. His studio boosted a better medical office than most hospitals, and a doctor on staff twenty four seven. At least under his eye, he could be sure she was controlled. That she was safe. 

“Daddy, make it stop,” she begged. “Please.”

“I’m sorry baby, it has to work its way out of your system,” he replied softly. 

She groaned and laid down on the towel that covered the bathroom tile. He sat down next to her and gently stroked her hair. He hated seeing her like this, seeing her suffer through pain that previously didn’t phase him. With each passing second, he had to bite back flashes of his own former life. Of his own death, wrapped in the endless cycle of poverty and addiction. 

During her intake meeting, the doctor had suggested sharing with her his own battles. The story of his death. He refused on principle, despite Vox and Velvette’s encouragement. He needed to protect his daughter from that knowledge, from that former reality.  As he helped his daughter back to her bed, he wondered if there were others in his grasp willing to share their story. As he considered those who knew of her existence, his thoughts fell to one being. 

Angel Dust. 

“You sure you want me to share? It’s kinda gritty, Val,” Angel said as he lounged on the couch in Valentino’s office. 

“None of us gets a second chance down here,” Valentino replied coolly. “And I’m hopeful your story will scare her straight.”

“Val, I’m willin to try. But she’s gonna need more than a story to get her straightened out,” Angel replied. “I mean like, doctors and stuff.”

“She’s already down the hall, enrolled in every therapy the doctor suggested. Right now she’s going through detox,” Valentino responded sharply. “Angel, she’ll have every tool money can buy. But she needs to know what would happen…” he hesitated. “What would happen if those resources weren’t available. If they were taken away.”

“I mean, alright Val, if you think it's best. It’s your kid,” Angel answered with a shrug. “You wanna do this now?”

“Yeah. Follow me.”

Standing next to her bed, listening to Angel recount his past wasn’t a place Valentino ever expected to be. The grittiness of the conversation should have turned his stomach, but instead he focused on her. On her reactions.

“Roaches. Imagine, Reader, wakin up in some town you don’t know covered in a thousand little legs…”

“Okay! That’s enough, Angel, please. I get it,” she pleaded. “Daddy!”

Every inch of him wanted to pull Angel from where he sat and escort him from the room. To wrap his daughter in his arms and assure her that he would do everything in his power to make sure she never had that experience. But the bigger part of him knew she needed to be afraid. Knew she needed to think that Angel’s reality could be hers if she didn’t fight this battle. 

“Angel, continue,” Valentino said after a momentary pause. “She needs to hear this. Whether she likes it or not.”

[nyoomfruits]

PLEASE ELLIE

du bist mein schultenbrau

Tell me!! 🤍😂

ITS SO DUMB ITS JUST THE WORKING TITLE for everyone super confused by the context, the title is from this banger of a dutch après ski hit the title has mostly nothing to do with the fic except lando and oscar go on a ski trip in the winter break because oscar was supposed to go with his gf but she broke up with him and lando's like 'i'll go with you' and they spend a whole week on a super romantic couples ski trip As Bros (who fall in love. obviously) anyway thats a terrible explanation here's the first two opening scenes that actually set up the plot perfectly lmao:

Max texts Lando on one of this last days in the MTC, right before winter break is supposed to start. Lando doesn’t even notice at first, spending most of his time in and out of meetings, filming a few last minute promo vids. When he does notice, he sighs, annoyed, a little disappointed.

“Hm?” Oscar says, from across the table, where he’s slouched down in one of the office chairs, scrolling through his own phone.

“Max cancelled our trip,” Lando says, dropping his phone down on his thigh and staring up at the ceiling as he contemplates his options. He could go visit his parents, maybe. Maybe other Max and Martijn wanted to hang out for a bit.

“Verstappen?” Oscar asks, without glancing up from his phone. He’s been quiet all day, more quiet than usual. There’s a downward pitch to his mouth, bags under his eyes. Lando gets it, maybe. It’s been a long season, and even though they ended on a high note, he can understand the exhaustion. He’s feeling it himself, the aftereffects of months of giving it his all. It’s why he’d been looking forward to this trip so much.

“Fewtrell. We were going to the Maldives. But now his girlfriend wants to go visit her family, so.” He tries not to sound bitter about it. He gets it. She hardly gets to see him as it is, and it’s not like Max owes him anything.

He’d just really been looking forward to it.

“Can you cancel?” Oscar asks. He’s put his phone down, and he’s looking at Lando now, the way he always does. Like there’s nothing else in the world more worth looking at than Lando. It had unnerved Lando a little, in the beginning, until he’d realized that’s just how Oscar looks at people. Or, well, he assumes that’s just how Oscar looks at people. He’s never really been able to test this theory, but it makes sense, so. It’s probably true.

“Yeah,” Lando says. “Full deposit back and everything. Still. Rather be on a beach.”

Oscar snorts. “Luckier than me, then.”

“Why?” Lando asks, frowning, wondering if he’s forgetting something.

“I was supposed to go to this ski resort with Lily. But now. Well.” He looks pained, and when Lando sends him a confused look, he adds. “We, uh. We broke up. So.”

“Ah,” Lando says. So maybe it hadn’t all been exhaustion, then. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar shrugs, but his mouth is still pitched down and he’s not looking at Lando, instead focusing on his hands, where he’s fiddling with his phone. “It’s okay. It just wasn’t working out anymore. For either of us. But uh. Yeah. Still sucks. Plus I can’t get my deposit back, so now I either go on this stupid ski trip alone, which is just sad, or I just lose the money.”

Technically, Oscar could probably afford to lose the money. He’s rich enough. But it’s the principal of the thing. Also, Oscar still has that sad puppy look on his face and it’s pulling at Lando’s heart a little bit. It’s the only excuse he has for blurting out. “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, looking up, surprised.

“Yeah,” Lando says, thinking about it a little more seriously. “Yeah, why not? Teammate bonding outside of the season. It’ll be good for us. Plus, it solves both of our problems. You don’t lose the money and you don’t look like a sad sack of shit in front of all those fancy ski people, and I get to go on a vacation after all. Win win.”

“I mean,” Oscar says, and he seems to actually consider it now. “It’s no beach.”

Lando shrugs. “Bet the gin and tonics still taste roughly the same,” he says, and Oscar laughs, one of those full body things where he folds in half with the force of it. The joke’s not that funny, but it’s the happiest he’s seen Oscar all day, so he’ll take it.

“Sure,” Oscar says. “Why not. Let’s go.”

--

It isn’t until Lando’s standing in the door opening of their little cabin for the weekend, backpack hanging off one shoulder and suitcase at his feet, that he realizes how intimate this is. He should’ve guessed, maybe. Oscar had said it was a trip he’d booked for him and his girlfriend, so. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, perse. But this is. It’s small. It’s cozy. There’s a fireplace.

“Lando, I don’t want to rush you, mate, but it’s like minus ten out here and I’m not wearing my ski jacket yet,” Oscar says, from somewhere behind him, a noticeable shiver in his voice.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Lando says, moving further into the cabin, dragging his luggage with him. Lando had flown in from Monaco, fresh off celebrating New Year’s with his friends. Oscar had flown in from London, and Lando’s pretty sure he spend both Christmas and New Year’s alone. It shouldn’t tug at his heart strings as much as it does, probably.

Oscar makes his way inside, dumping his suitcase by the couch and looking around. “Quaint,” he settles on.

“All right, big fancy words man,” Lando says, rolling his eyes. “Please tell me you know how to make a fire, it’s fucking freezing in here.”

“I do, actually,” Oscar says, beelining for the fireplace while Lando wanders further into the cabin, darkly muttering ‘of course you do’.

The living room is massive, with a giant L shaped couch in front of the fireplace, and big open windows looking out over the beautiful snowy landscape outside. To the left, there’s an open archway to a kitchen and dining room, and to the right are two doors. One, upon opening it, turns out to lead to a pretty decently sized bathroom. The other-

“Oscar,” Lando says, frowning a little. “Are you aware there’s only one bed?”

“What?” Oscar says, looking up from where he’s fidgeting with something in the fireplace. Lando doesn’t say anything, just holds open the bedroom door and gestures at the frankly giant bed. “Oh, yeah,” he says, looking a little forlorn. “I mean. Yeah. When I booked it- Well. They didn’t have any cabins with single beds, so.” He shrugs a little bashfully. “I’ll uh, take the couch. It’s big enough.”

And he looks so small, and so sad, crouched in front of the fire, shoulders slightly hunched over, that tired, sad expression back on his face, and goddamnit. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lando says, closing the door resolutely and going to grab his luggage. “We’ll share.”

“But-“ Oscar shares, and behind him, there seems to have appeared an actual fire in the fireplace. Lando raises an impressed eyebrow.

“No. We’ll share. It’s fine, the bed is giant. I think we’d be sleeping closer together if they had given us separate beds, that’s how big it is,” Lando says, grabbing his bags and making his way back to the bedroom.

“Okay,” Oscar says, but he doesn’t look so sad anymore, smiling a little at Lando’s dumb little joke, and that’s. Lando will take that, if anything.

“So,” Lando says, flopping down on the giant couch after he’s managed to ditch all of their luggage. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

[tricks-tickles]

Birthday Gift

happy birthday to my favorite boy who i want all the best for <3

word count: 1163

pairing: Lee!Todoroki & Ler!Midoriya

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 11th was a completely normal day.

This is why Shoto woke up at his usual 6:30, had breakfast, went for a run, then got ready for class in peace.

It’s why he sat through English and Art quite happily without anyone talking to him, spare Yaoyorozu asking for a sharpener.

It’s why lunch was an uneventful affair, with Midoriya chatting to Uruaka about a new hero who'd just debuted, a conversation that Shoto listened to but did not contribute.

It’s why he was paired with Ojiro for close-range training and spent an hour dodging his tail and trying not to set his classmate on fire. 

And it’s why, finally, once they got back to the dorms he planned to retreat to his room to do his homework in peace. 

And of course, since this is a normal day, his plans got disrupted. This came in the form of Midoriya, who knocked at his door.

“Uh, Aizawa-sensei said this came for you.” He said, holding out a white envelope, with Shoto’s name written on it in familiar handwriting.

 Shit. 

See today was a normal day, or at least he wanted it to be, but it also happened to be the day he was born, 16 years ago. Nothing worth celebrating, in his eyes, but his sister disagreed. And so, a card. From Fuyumi. For his birthday.

Midoriya peered at the letter, clearly curious but unwilling to ask. Shoto considered shutting the door on him, but they were friends after all. Besides, the day was nearly done, what harm could telling him do?

So Shoto opened the envelope, took out the money, and skimmed the card inside.

Dear Shoto, it read, I hope you have an amazing birthday! I’m sorry I can’t celebrate with you, so I’m sending this card instead. Use the money to buy yourself something cool because I have no idea what you’re into.

Lots of Love, Fuyumi

Shoto smiled, a little, and then set the card on his bedside table. When his eyes came back to Midoriya, he was frowning.

“Wait, when’s your birthday?” He asked. Shoto glanced to the side, then responded,

“Today.”

At this, Midoriya gaped at him, outraged.

“And you never said? I didn’t get you anything!” He cried.

Shoto sighed. “Well, clearly I didn’t expect anything.”

Midoriya pouted, jutting out his lower lip in exaggerated dismay.

“What if I wanted to get you something?” He asked, “We could have had a little party.”

Shoto made a face. “I’m fine just… not doing anything, I don’t need a party.”

Clearly, Midoriya was running out of patience, as he punctuated his next sentence with several pokes to his chest.

“Yes, you do. Even if you don’t think so.” At each poke, Shoto twitched a little, a detail that did not go unmissed by Midoriya. 

“In fact, I’m quite upset that you didn’t tell me, your trusted friend.” Upset, but there was a sly grin spreading across his face, yeah right. “Maybe I should show you how upset I am.”

Shoto knew where this was going, and took an anticipatory step back, then another, until he was tripping over his futon and landing lightly on the mattress. Midoriya followed, his sly grin turning predatory as crouched next to him, his hands coming up to rest on Shoto’s sides.

“Midoriya.” He said, warningly. Midoriya just giggled, beginning to wiggle his fingers into Shoto’s sides.

“Todoroki.” Midoriya responded, mimicking Shoto’s tone. Shoto gasped, his hands flying up to cover his face as he fell backward onto the futon.

“Nooo,” Midoriya whined, moving to squeeze his sides, “Show me your cute smile!” 

Shoto just shook his head, pressing his hands against his mouth where he could feel giggles building up. Midoriya went back to scribbling, then, made a fatal move.

As his fingers gently teased Shoto’s sides, he moved to shift himself into a different position, putting pressure on Shoto’s right side, which caused a surprised yelp of laughter to come from him, slipping out from his fingers. Midoriya stilled. Shoto stilled. The whole room froze. Then, 

“What was that!” Midoriya said, laughing.

“I dohon’t kn- WAIT Midohorihihiyaha!” Midoriya’s fingers were now pressing down against his right side, scratching harshly. It tickled so bad. He’d always felt like his left side was more ticklish, but this was easily matching it. He tried to squirm, but his body felt limp, weakened by the laughter now pouring from his lips.

Curious, Midoryia shifted his hand to the other side, still tickling. Almost immediately, the sensations died down, leaving him giggling weakly. 

“Huh.” Midoriya said, then began tickling his right side the same way as before. He yelped again, flushing in embarrassment as he weakly kicked his legs, trying in vain to fight off the sensations. Experimentally, Midoriya stopped tickling him, then fluttered his fingers over his left side. Shoto squealed, wiggling away a little.

“Huh.” Midoriya said, again.

“Whahahat?” Shoto asked, still laughing. 

“It looks like you’re ticklish in different ways, on different sides. So if I do this,” He pinched roughly along Shoto’s right side, making his back arch a little as he laughed, “Or this,” He spidered his fingers along his left, giggling as Shoto’s knee jerked up to defend the spot, “Then you must have different sensitivity levels, it must be due to your quirk, maybe your ice side is worse for rougher tickling because the cold has made the skin thicker, or tougher? And the fire because the heat makes you more sensitive? That would mean maybe your body experiences pain differently too, which could have an impact on thewaythatyoufightthatyoumaynotevenreali-”

“Midoriya! Pleheahase!” He begged, still caught under Midoriya’s tickling hand, which had been crawling toward his stomach as he mumbled to himself.

“Oh! Sorry, Todoroki.” He said, sheepishly, removing his hand and letting Shoto breathe. 

“That would mean, though, that the most effective way to tickle you is- Where are you going?” He said teasingly, as Shoto had been making to roll onto his side. 

“Uh.” He said, intelligently. 

“I’m still upset, you know! Consider this your birthday gift.”

Shoto flushed, then cackled as Midoriya’s fingers descended on him again. One hand clawed at his ribs, the other scribbled gently. His long-forgotten hands sprung up to hold Midoriya’s wrists, his legs kicked weakly at the floor, and he laughed, high-pitched and desperate, at the sensations that were crawling along his body. 

“Maybe since you’re sixteen I should tickle you for sixteen minutes.” Midoriya mused.

“Nohoho, pleheahase dohohon’t!” He cried.

“Aw, but you love it, don’t you Todoroki-kun?” Just when Shoto thought his face couldn’t get any redder, he felt heat crawling to his ears and down his neck. Still, he didn’t deny Midoriya’s claims.

When his hands started pulling at Midoriya’s wrists, he took the hint and stopped, leaving Shoto to gasp for breath.

“Happy Birthday?” He tried, and Shoto huffed a laugh in response. 

“Sure, thank you.”

Maybe January 11th didn’t have to be a normal day after all.

[poppyandzena]

This is a comment I intended to post on Z/P’s most recent video, but they’re locking down their comments now to manual approval, and my comment would’ve been censored anyway. Consider this my refutation of the points in their video:

Four points.

Spawn is a 24 year old adult. What they choose to do with the money their biological mother left them is THEIR business. Maybe you think they were blowing it on frivolous things, but it’s not your place to dictate how they should spend their money. Nevermind the fact that you charged them rent already.

When Spawn left your household, they were  5’1” and 80lbs. This piece of info was somehow missing from your video (unless it’ll be in part 2, which I’m skeptical of). At best you were negligent of your child’s health. At worst, you were actively starving them.

The way you point out how Spawn’s roommate has a “prestigious job” and how it would be a real shame if KiwiFarms went after them is absolutely disgusting. How is that specific detail relevant at all? The roommate has nothing to do with this fiasco. You’re all but prompting the KF mob with personally identifiable info to go after Spawn and their roommate. I don’t know how the hell you thought this made y’all look good.

You say that you consulted 3 lawyers, and that they say you have a credible case of defamation against Spawn, one which you will bring to them if they don’t stop talking about you. I call bullshit on this for two reasons. This feels like an attempt to intimidate Spawn into silence more than anything (Spawn deleting their blog speaks to that). First off, if you’re going to sue for damages related to losing your job, remember that you’re the one who made the decision to pick your social media presence over your job. That was on you, you could’ve kept your job (unless there’s something you’re not telling us). Second, I sincerely doubt you have the funds to keep a lawyer on retainer and to bring this lawsuit to fruition. Not to be mean, but let’s keep it real, by your own admission y’all weren’t exactly big ballers before, and now your household doesn’t have an income (unless Zena has a well paying job I’m not aware of). Looking online reveals that the average defamation lawsuit costs $20,000 - $50,000. Considering the sprinklings of info you’ve dispensed about your finances over the years I’ve been watching your channel, I doubt you have that kind of cheese to throw around. And even if you do manage to find enough standing to successfully sue your child (which just *screams* loving parent), what exactly do you hope to win? Spawn is probably financially destitute. What, you want the last $13k of that trust fund money? Come on, be real. See, this is why I don’t think y’all actually reached out to a lawyer, because any lawyer worth their salt would tell you this isn’t a case worth pursuing. Any damages you can extract from a disabled 24-year old wouldn’t even come close to covering the legal fees. It won’t get you your job back either; you willingly chose to leave, and if you felt coerced, you’d go after your employer for wrongful termination. This is an unserious legal threat in my opinion; you’re afraid that Spawn will keep singing like a canary so you want them to keep quiet.

👏

[blinkaftermidnight]

post island

Man, I'm so bad at naming works in progress lol. I remember where I was when I wrote this, all in one sitting, and it's weird how that happen sometimes. I really like what I have here, but I just didn't know what to do with it, which unfortunately happens quite a bit. I like the idea of it and the mess it could've been. I think this is one of my favorite unfinished pieces I've shared so far. I still think about this one periodically.

Read on AO3.

“Was it worth it?”

Fatin’s hand tightens around the phone, her direct line to Gretchen Klein, separated from her by a pane of plexiglass. No more fancy suits for the woman; she’s in orange, same as all the other prisoners. Her expression is weary but not defeated, the way Fatin hoped.

“You tell me,” Gretchen says. Her voice comes across with a strange tinny quality to it; Gretchen’s lips twist into a faint smile.

Fatin ignores her. “Did you at least get what you were looking for?”

Gretchen seems to seriously consider this question, humming absently and staring up toward the ceiling as she thinks. If Fatin could physically reach the woman, maybe she’d attempt to strangle her.

“Yes and no,” Gretchen says firmly, setting her eyes back on Fatin. It takes all of Fatin’s willpower not to flinch.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fatin snarls.

“Miss Jadmani, I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’ve sought me out if you’re looking for answers,” Gretchen says. She leans forward, eyes dropping to the death grip Fatin has on the phone. “Only you and the other subjects can answer your questions.”

Subjects. That’s all they are to Gretchen. Subjects. Fatin’s lucky Gretchen even bothers to call her by her name rather than by her designated number. Then again, how much money had Fatin’s parents poured into Gretchen’s research?

“You look well,” Gretchen comments at the same moment that Fatin realizes Gretchen’s been observing her. “Are you going to school or something?”

Fatin bares her teeth but quickly reins in her temper. “If you won’t answer my questions, what makes you think I’ll answer yours?” Fatin retorts. Her voice sounds strained to her own ears. She sounds like a desperate teenager trapped in a situation she can’t control, with people she doesn’t know, but that’s all years behind her now.

Gretchen merely shrugs and nudges her glasses farther up her nose. Her glasses are black, made of cheap-looking plastic. “You’ll recall I never had the opportunity to finish my research.”

“Bullshit. You saw it through to the end. You’ve had plenty of time to think it over.”

Gretchen huffs, rolls her eyes, looks all too relaxed as she leans back in her chair, holding the phone against her ear in a way that makes it hard for Fatin to hear her clearly. “Please. What good does that to do me here?”

“I’m supposed to believe you’ve given up on your life’s work just because you’re trapped behind bars?”

Gretchen’s smile is a little more malicious this time, and Fatin swallows hard, suddenly glad Gretchen leaned away from the glass. “Humor me,” Gretchen requests, “and tell me: if you could push a button that would erase your participation in my experiment from your life…would you push it?”

Fatin splutters, hand curling into a fist at her side, where Gretchen can’t see it. “That has nothing to do with –”

“See, I’ve given you and all of the subjects something invaluable, something you wouldn’t give up in spite of the difficult experience you endured.”

“And what would that be?” Fatin sneers.

“Bonds that will last a lifetime,” Gretchen answers, sincerely. “Perhaps that was an unexpected side effect resulting from the experiment’s main objective, but nevertheless. Those girls are your family. Maybe more than just family.”

“And what of the boys?”

Gretchen smiles again, and Fatin’s blood runs cold. “What was your question? Did I get what I was looking for? In some aspects, yes. Yes I did. And was it worth it? Well…if you happen to find your way back here within the next few years, I’ll have to let you know when I know.” As Fatin’s brain struggles to process Gretchen’s words, Gretchen inhales sharply and says, “I have a feeling you’re not here for yourself, Miss Jadmani. You don’t really care about what I might have to say. You’re here on behalf of someone else.”

Fatin doesn’t hang up the phone so much as she slams it back into place, and Gretchen laughs silently on the other side of the plexiglass, watching Fatin as the guards lead her out. Visitation will be over soon, anyway.

Fatin walks briskly across the parking lot, eyes seeking an unfamiliar vehicle. It’s a brand new Nissan Altima, blindingly white exterior, spotless interior. Fatin has ridden in it exactly once, on the way to the prison. She finally spots it and lays eyes on the woman behind the wheel, still wearing her seatbelt in spite of the fact that she’s been sitting in a parked car for the better part of an hour. She has her face hidden in her hands, and panic floods Fatin’s body before she jogs the rest of the way to the passenger’s side and tugs on the door handle. Doesn’t open immediately, of course. The door unlocks moments later, though, and Fatin drops inside, exhaling heavily.

“So?”

“Nothing,” Fatin sighs. “Well, she said only the subjects have answers to any questions we could ask.”

“Typical.”

“We got more out of her in court,” Fatin says. She stomps her frustration and anger and, unexpectedly, the urge to cry down, clearing her throat and fixing her gaze out the windshield as Leah inhales deeply and sets blue eyes on the side of Fatin’s face. “Maybe she’d talk to you,” Fatin suggests quietly.

“Maybe,” Leah concedes. “Do you think it’d be worth it?”

Fatin’s jaw sets, and she clamps her hands over her knees to prevent them from becoming fists. It’d be easy to lie. Shit, maybe it’s in the group’s best interest for Fatin to lie. Maybe it’s even in Fatin’s best interest to lie. But after everything –

“No,” Fatin says. “I think she’s done enough damage.”

Leah nods curtly and starts the engine. Fatin doesn’t put her seatbelt on until the car chimes a warning. Fatin’s muscles instinctively tense as Leah reaches out into the space between them for the gear shift, and if Leah notices, she doesn’t say anything. Fatin glances over at Leah once they’re moving, once Leah’s attention is occupied. Fatin wouldn’t be here with Leah if she wasn’t the only other member of the Unsinkable Eight living in California.

Fatin almost snorts as she thinks of the name. The Unsinkable Eight. Started as a joke, ended up as the quickest way for the media to refer to the group of girls deliberately placed on an island in a twisted experiment that no one seems to truly understand. Even now, and it’s been, what? Three years? Dot’s twenty first birthday just passed, and Fatin’s isn’t far off. Gretchen has been surprisingly tight-lipped for a woman who obviously thinks so highly of herself and her work. Fatin always told the girls, while the trial was gearing up, that Gretchen wouldn’t be able to help herself, that Gretchen would spill her guts in court.

In reality, Gretchen kept her mouth shut as much as possible. Her lawyers did the talking. She never took the stand to defend herself. The jury convicted her of numerous charges, enough to lock her behind bars for the next twenty years, unless Gretchen manages to win on appeal. Her lawyers are working on it. The spotlight has already been turned back onto the fourteen survivors. Someone asked for Fatin’s autograph in the grocery store a few days back.

Ridiculous. It’s all so ridiculous. They shouldn’t be pseudo-celebrities. No one should know their names, and yet, Fatin gets recognized at least once a week.

“Well, you sort of stand out, Fatin,” Dot said, when it happened with much more frequency during the trial.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Leah says, tearing Fatin out of her thoughts. Fatin realizes the radio’s off. It’s totally silent in the car, except for the quiet rumble of its engine. Leah sounds casual, but she sits too stiffly, grips onto the wheel with both hands too tightly. The smile on Leah’s face is forced, and she doesn’t look at Fatin directly. Though, to be fair, Leah is driving.

Fatin looks at Leah for real this time, rather than just stealing a quick glance. Fatin unabashedly stares at the side of Leah’s face, at the faded jagged lines raking down Leah’s cheek. It’s just a flash in Fatin’s mind, just a flash, but it’s as clear as day, as if a picture has been placed in front of Fatin’s eyes before being ripped away. A flash of Leah, standing in the darkness, surrounded by endless trees and a cliff overlooking the ocean. A flash of Leah with wide eyes, her face oozing blood, blood dripping from her hands. And the body, somewhere out of the image, but if Fatin turns her head –

She’s looking out the window at the cars they’re rushing past on the highway, in California. The image is gone. Leah’s hands, planted on the steering wheel, are pale. They’re warm, soft, but Fatin pushes that thought from her mind even quicker than she pushes Leah’s voice, hushed, horrified.

“He’d said – he needed to – he tried to –”

Fatin returns her eyes to Leah, suddenly unconcerned with the idea of Leah catching her staring. Leah’s hair falls past her shoulders in waves. There are small gold hoops in her ears, lined along her cartilage. Her shirt’s a navy blue, unbuttoned over a white tank top, sleeves rolled to Leah’s elbows. In another life – or maybe just two years ago – Fatin would reach over and brush Leah’s hair behind her ear, or curl her fingers around Leah’s forearm or wrist, or pull Leah’s hand from the steering wheel altogether and hold it in her own lap, lock their fingers together.

Now, Fatin looks away and swallows down whatever emotion it is that threatens to rise in her chest. She lets her eyes close briefly, takes a few breaths, then turns the radio on, just to have something else to pay attention to. She avoids any talking stations like the plague, knowing some will surely be discussing the Klein Experiment and her ongoing appeal process and the missing fugitive Daniel Faber. She doesn’t know if she avoids it for her sake or Leah’s – maybe both – but there’s only so much Fatin can take.

“You ever think about –” Leah cuts herself off sharply, drawing Fatin’s eyes back to her face, but Fatin averts her gaze when Leah glances her way.

“Hmm?”

“How we were there, like, on this day three years ago?” Leah finishes, softly. “Like we were fighting to survive right now, and now we’re on summer break from college.”

“Crazy, huh?” Fatin mutters.

There’s a pause, then Leah says, “I meant to ask, you know, how your mom’s been.”

“She’s fine.”

Fatin doesn’t want to do this. The weird catching up thing. She knows what she’ll be expected to ask in return, and she doesn’t care to hear the answers. She stares down at her hands in her lap, perfectly manicured, as they’ve been since she returned home roughly three years ago. She stares at the rings splattered across her fingers, chest panging as she recognizes the absence of one in particular. She hasn’t worn it in two years, but she still notices.

“And your brothers?”

“Doing well,” Fatin answers. She knows Leah won’t accept that answer. “Kemar quit soccer to play baseball instead, and Ahmad spends most of his time playing Xbox, so…they’re fine.”

“And what about you?”

Fatin barely suppresses an undignified noise made in disbelief, and she snaps, “Now you want to know?”

In her peripheral vision, she sees Leah bite down on her lower lip, wincing but clearly trying not to. “I’m sorry,” Leah offers.

“You should know by now that apologizing means –”

“Nothing to you, yeah. I know,” Leah says softly. “But I am, you know. Sorry.”

“If you were actually sorry, you wouldn’t have –” Abandoned me. Shut me out. Lied to me about literally everything. Instead of finishing her sentence, Fatin exhales in frustration and stares pointedly out the side window, crossing her arms over her chest. This will go nowhere. It never has.

She shouldn’t have agreed to do this. Especially because there’s only one reason she agreed to. She did it for Leah, and Fatin hates that the most. Hates that she couldn’t say no.

“We all handled things in our own way,” Leah replies. “I made mistakes, yeah, but –”

“At least I told you my plan,” Fatin cuts in. “At least you knew what I was doing and how I felt. And you just – you fucked off to UCLA and never looked back. Until now, since you’ve decided you need answers from the bitch who fucked us all up in the first place, and you enlisted me to do your dirty work.”

“So you’ve been holding some of that in for a while,” Leah comments, her tone too light. Almost joking.

“Fuck you.”

“I didn’t think we’d get to this point so quickly,” Leah admits. It’s a long drive. If Fatin had better control of herself, she would’ve waited until they were closer to home before letting Leah have it.

“Well, what exactly did you expect, Leah?” Fatin demands. “Hmm? Did you expect Gretchen to lay her entire plan and its meaning out for me? Did you expect everything to be fine between us?”

“I thought you’d hear me out, at least.”

“What’s there to hear?” Fatin questions. “Were you waiting for me to ask how you’ve been? Or how your girlfriend’s doing?” Leah’s awkward silence confirms that she did, in fact, expect Fatin to make some sort of basic inquiry into her life. “So you really have no idea what you did to me.”

“It’s not like you’ve told me.”

“You were there!” Fatin doesn’t realize she shouted until Leah jumps and struggles to regain her composure.

“If you’d needed me, you knew I’d be there –”

“I’m not pathetic,” Fatin scoffs. “I took the hint, okay?”

“I had a lot to sort out,” Leah says defensively. “I would’ve thought you of all people would understand that, but instead you were…” Leah hesitates, but the damage is done. Instead you were too busy pretending like none of it ever happened is what Leah’s dying to fling at Fatin’s face. Instead you were too busy being the face of the Unsinkable Eight and soaking up all the attention that the media offered. And it worked out for you, didn’t it? You’re finishing college for no reason, because your career opportunities are endless. You’re already living in LA, and you’re planning to move Dot out in the near future, and you’re trying to move forward, too.

Leah says none of it, but Fatin hears it all anyway. “Yeah, well, I didn’t spend fifty days on an island losing my mind, and I didn’t spend another fifty days on another island –”

“Fatin.”

It’s a warning, one Fatin should heed, but Leah started this by not keeping her mouth shut, by expecting Fatin to act fake. At least on the drive out, Leah had been silent, allowing Fatin to do her best to ignore Leah’s presence. Now Fatin curls her hands into fists to stop them from trembling.

All things considered, Fatin walked away from both islands pretty unscathed. She saw some shit, sure, they all did. But she didn’t really do anything that nags at her at night –

Fatin can’t convince herself of that obvious lie, but it wasn’t anything that could compare to what Leah did, or Kirin, and at least Fatin is alive. And Fatin would like to just leave the island behind her, but Fatin should’ve known that there’s no universe in which Leah would allow her to forget. Just looking at Leah brings it all back, and why wouldn’t it? Fatin only ever noticed Leah because they were planted on that first island together, and even then, it took until two weeks into their second island before Fatin did anything about it.

And look how well that went.

Leah rubs at the scar on her cheek absently, maybe self-consciously, and gnaws on her lower lip as she drives.

“The hard part was supposed to be over,” Fatin spits, startling Leah. “When we got back, the island – that was supposed to be the worst of it. And it would’ve been, if we’d –”

Fatin isn’t sure how she wants to finish that sentence, isn’t sure what she could say that would be fair to both herself and Leah, but Leah swiftly cuts her off.

“It would’ve been for you,” Leah says. “Because you didn’t do anything –”

“But I sure as hell saw a lot of shit that I can’t just delete from my memory, Leah.”

Leah goes silent at that, and Fatin wonders which incident Leah recalls. Fatin figures there’s plenty to choose from.

“Well, I’m glad you can just choose to forget about it, Fatin,” Leah replies quietly. She rubs at her eyebrow with her fingertip then returns her hand to the steering wheel. “I’m glad you can just get right back on track with your life and –”

“That’s hardly fair,” Fatin interrupts. “This whole mess took a toll on all of us.”

“Yeah? You’ve never shown it.”

That can’t be true. Fatin searches her brain for an example and comes up empty. Maybe she has always been the one to hold everything together. Maybe she makes it seem effortless. They used to talk about it, though. The island and everything that happened.

“Was any of it – any of what we had, was any of it real?” Leah whispers.

“All of it,” Fatin hisses without hesitation. “Too real, I guess.” Leah flinches, and before she can say anything else, Fatin says, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

And Leah obliges.

*

Fatin feels bad by the time they pull up to her mother’s house. She’d agreed to spend the summer at home mostly for her brothers’ benefit, and she still doesn’t know how Leah found out about it. Social media, maybe. The rest of the ride occurred in tense silence, and Fatin tried not to let it get to her. Fatin curses herself as the car comes to a stop, though, and she heaves a sigh and turns toward Leah.

“How’s Amanda?” Fatin asks. It hurts, how quickly Leah’s expression – Leah’s eyes – brighten, as if Fatin’s extending an olive branch. Maybe, in a way, she is, with two simple words that Fatin has to force herself to say.

“Good,” Leah answers. Even Leah knows not to push her luck, not to offer up too much. Even Leah knows Fatin isn’t asking because she really wants to know. Fatin’s honestly probably just dragging out her own suffering, but she manages a thin smile, manages to nod, and shoves the door of the Altima open, preparing to step out when Leah says, “Fatin, wait.”

Fatin looks back, unsure of what to expect and unsure of what she wants to hear from Leah. Not another fucking apology, please, or else Fatin might say something she’ll regret.

“Thank you,” Leah says. “For going with me. For – for talking to her, even though it didn’t really do much.”

“Yeah,” Fatin says. “Okay.”

“And if you need anything –”

“I don’t need anything that you’ll give me,” Fatin says, and it’s the truth.

xx

Notes

Leah and Fatin had a thing their first year off the island but it fell apart

Leah killed Raf in self-defense on the second island after Raf claims he was told by Seth that he needed to kill Leah to bring a real end to the experiment – and it ended after Leah killed Raf

Kirin killed Seth after Seth threatened Fatin

Fatin not wearing a ring Leah gave to her - circle back

[velvetvexations]

So this is going to be kind of an insane ask to get but I don’t have anybody I can tell in my real life and you’re like the only person I follow who seems to genuinely give a shit about Ukraine still so. You can just delete it if you want to, I don’t mind. Just actually writing it out to another person will help.

I’ve been considering for the better part of 2024 joining the Ukraine volunteer army. Like, seriously considering, not just some throwaway thought. I even got my passport specifically because I was thinking about it. I know someone who did. Haven’t heard from him in a while but that’s the nature of this sort of thing, as far as I know he’s still out there. I want to also. I’ve got extended family in both Ukraine and Russia (which is more common than you’d think) but my parents are immigrants (it was long before I was born) and I’ve always been close to my extended family and people I’ve talked to from both places in my family are unhappy and everybody hates that this is happening. There’s this like chasm between both halves of my extended family now bc people can’t see each other anymore. Multiple of my extended family from Ukraine had to either run away to other countries or join the military, and I had one of my Russian cousins almost get caught immigrating to avoid being conscripted (he made it, he’s fine, he lives out of country now) and I hate being here in America watching it all happen and not able to do a damn thing about it, I donate as much as I can to a variety of Ukrainian funds and send money to family too, but I work at a fast food place and rent a shithole apartment I can barely afford, I can’t really donate much. But I’m a guy (well, not really, but I’m 0% transitioned and I’m fine with staying like this for something more important), I’m decently fit, I speak a little Ukrainian, I know how to use a gun, and from what I heard from the person I knew who went and what I’ve heard looking on forums and stuff that’s basically all they want at this point. Hell two of those things, language and experience with guns, seem to be slipping out of the requirements too because they need more people so bad. I feel like if I don’t I’m going to be crawling with regret for the rest of my life especially, ESPECIALLY, if Russia gets the upper hand and Ukraine falls. At least if I do this I could try to make a fucking minuscule sliver of a difference. But I know my parents will be really upset, especially if I just take off. My friends too but I don’t have a lot of those anyways. And obviously I know I might die, or be disabled or whatever but I just don’t care, even though I feel like I should. But I just don’t, because I feel like doing my part would be worth either of those things. Maybe I’m just crazy and blinded by how upset this entire fucking “conflict” makes me, but like your other anon said it really feels like the entire world forgot, or at least America forgot, unless you have personal connection to the region. I don’t even know how to end this ask. That’s my confession. You and maybe your followers if you do post this are the only ones who know now and that’s that

I love you, anon. I won't tell you not to but I want you to know - you can still help without volunteering. Donating helps. Spreading awareness helps. You will have nothing to be ashamed for if trying your best does not extend to sacrificing your life. You are still strong and providing desperately needed value.

I just want you to please consider that, okay? You said you don't have many friends - but even though I don't know who you are, you and your life matters to me. If you'd ever like to talk to me you can DM me for my Discord. I'd be happy to be your friend.

If not, that's okay as well. I just want you to know that your life has value, too, even if you help in other ways.

[vodika-vibes]

First Meeting

Summary: One day, when you are bored from practicing your pickpocketing skills, you meet a man that you think you might be able to believe in.

Pairing: Captain Keeli x Reader

Word Count: 1059

Warnings: Reader is a thief

Tagging: @trixie2023 @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: I wasn't going to write this. I have 11 requests that I should be working on and the next installment of my Magic and Knights AU, but nooo. My brain went "you wanna write for Keeli and his thief cyare" so here you go.

Divider by Saradika

You love the open air market.

The scent of dozens of different food items, the sound of merchants selling their wares, and the sight of people zipping this way and that from stall to stall.

It’s beautiful.

It’s organized chaos.

It’s the best place for someone like you to practice their pickpocketing skills. Besides, the crew is between jobs at the moment, while the boss finds the next rich asshole who needs to be conned out of all of his money. 

You carefully finish unwrapping your gyro and pop the last bit of seasoned bread and meat into your mouth, and then you wipe your fingers on the napkin sitting on your lap.

You look just like every other person here today. A thin jacket to ward off the wind, casual shoes, a hat to keep the sun off your head…since you’ve arrived, no one’s taken a second look at you.

Which is how you like it. You do your best work when no one pays attention to you after all.

You hop off the barrel that you’re using as your seat, and weave through the crowd to toss your trash in a nearby can, and then you quickly finish your drink, something fizzy and sweet, and then you cast your gaze around the market.

And then you adjust your hat, so it’s not in danger of flying off your head and you start weaving through the crowd. Nimble fingers dip into pockets and purses taking credits as though they’ve never been there. A second pass through the crowd, and you deftly remove watches and bracelets from unsuspecting wrists.

Within an hour, your bag is loaded down with a small fortune of things that used to belong to other people, and you’re bored out of your mind. It’s never any fun when the marks don’t realize that they’re being targeted.

A huff of air slips from you, and you grouchily stalk over to a nearby cookie stand, and buy a fresh chocolate cookie, “Bad day, dear?” The older woman asks sweetly.

You pay with someone else’s credit chit, “Just bored is all,” You reply, “Not much happening here today.”

“Oh, I’m glad for the easy day. These old bones aren’t made for excitement.” She smiles kindly, “Hopefully your day will get better.”

“Oh, I hope so.” You say easily, “Thanks for the cookie.” You add as you walk away and take a bite of the cookie. It’s warm, gooey, and delicious.

And it does nothing to ease your boredom.

You purse your lips, maybe it’s time you go home. Maybe Nat will have finished coming up with a plan for the next job and you can start doing something challenging and actually worth your time.

But, just as you’re about to leave, something catches your eye.

Well. Someone, really.

A pair of men, clones, one with buzzed blonde hair and the other with dark hair with intricate designs styled into it. They’re both clad in casual clothes, jeans and tee-shirts, and they’re both incredibly attractive.

You abandon your plan to leave immediately.

For a moment you consider the blonde. He is cute, but you’ve never gone for blondes in your life, but the brunet…well…

A small smile crosses your lips as you start to plan the best way to get his attention. You don’t believe in love at first sight…you do however believe in infatuation at first sight, and you definitely wouldn’t kick him out of bed in the morning.

You slip through the crowd and brush against the man in question, effortlessly slipping his comm out of his pocket and into your jacket pocket.

90 seconds.

In 90 seconds you’ll half run up to him and tell him you think he dropped his comm, and, with luck, the conversation will blossom from there.

You count down the seconds in the back of your mind, and at 90 seconds exactly, you half jog over to him, “Excuse me!” You call, intentionally sounding a little breathless, “Sorry, but I think you dropped this!” The change in your breathing pattern will make it harder for him to detect any lie in your voice.

A handy trick you learned from your grifter friend/co-worker.

“Ah, I think you have the wrong person, my comm is right her-...” He pats his pocket and then pauses, “Oh. I guess you’re right.”

You grin up at him, “No worries, I drop things all the time.” You hold the comm out to him and offer up your name.

“Thank you. My brothers would never let me hear the end of it if I lost this,” He says with an easy smile as he takes the comm from your hand, “I’m Keeli.”

Keeli. You like it. It suits him.

“Is this your first time at the market?” you ask, unwilling to drop the conversation now that you have his attention.

“It is, actually. I take it you’re a regular here?” Keeli asks.

“It gives me something to do when my family is getting annoying,” You joke easily, “I can show you around if you like?”

He pauses and his smile becomes slightly sly, “Getting to spend the day with someone as gorgeous as you would be a dream come true.”

Your grin grows and you step closer to him so you’re able to wrap your arms around one of his, “Well then, it’s your lucky day! Because you have my undivided attention.”

“Is that right?” Keeli asks as he turns his body towards you and angles his head down as though he’s telling a secret. 

“It is right!” You pause, “Do you want to bring your brother on your exclusive tour?”

“Rex is fine.” Keeli replies, his gaze locked on your face. 

You release a bubbly laugh and Keeli seems to melt a little, “Well then, if you’re fine with ditching him, then come with me! There’s so much for you to see!”

Assuming that this goes well, you think as you tug Keeli towards the craft stalls while chattering his ear off, and answering the few questions he poses you, you’ll have to get him to ask you on a proper date.

You don’t believe in love at first sight. You’ve seen far too much of the cruelties of the galaxy to believe in something so innocent, but you feel like you can believe in him.

[vanoincidence]

Z for Zinnia! || Van & Thea

TIMING: april 18. LOCATION: the common. PARTIES: @notstinky & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van runs into thea after buying zinnias (and leaving her message on read), which most definitely are not for her! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

It was easier to pretend that her whole life hadn’t exploded upon impact rather than to let the feelings and thoughts about it fester. She wasn’t sure if going out was a great idea considering the cabin had acted as a safe haven, but she was beginning to grow stir crazy, and she wasn’t sure how many more card games she could play with Snickers (and lose) before she’d totally go off the rails. So against her better judgment, Van left the cabin and made her way into town. A couple of days after the situation, she had gone to pick up her car from Regan’s apartment, but not before inspecting it carefully for any tracking devices. It didn’t seem like the banshees were technologically advanced enough for something like that, luckily enough. 

Work was still off the table, and surprisingly enough, Rocky was kind about it in regards to both herself and Jade. Van still felt guilty, and her money was burning a hole through her pocket, but what she went on to do today was worth it, wasn’t it? 

She stared down at the carriage of flowers, a myriad of colors to create a rainbow. The greens and yellows stared up at her with the promise that these were the right ones. After purchasing a small bouquet, Van weighed it out in her hand suddenly feeling silly. Thea had left because she needed to, and Van was going to apologize (for nothing– okay, maybe the ghosting) with flowers? To a friend? The idea that Thea was just a friend was fleeting, and the heat that rose to her cheeks as she noticed that Thea was there across from her in the common now with somebody… else? 

Oh god, this wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening, actually! Because this only happened in stupid movies where the girl always got the guy, but Van didn’t care about getting the guy, and there was no guy in this equation, there was just the star seeker Thea with her smile and round head, and– 

“Thea! Um, hi– I– my house blew up. I’m sorry I’ve been like, MIA.” That was smooth, totally smooth. 

She didn’t smell like marinara; it was more like wood, sweat, and something tangential to Dr. Kavanagh though less dead-body overall. Thea could pick Van out of an ocean of people—her scent had a way of pricking her. She’d lived with her long enough—just a few months, but it was enough—to know Van like her own asterism (she’d liken her to The Summer Triangle but maybe that was just her fondness for those stars). Van was more like a galaxy, anyway; too far away and too great and there was no way Thea would ever get the chance to look at all of it. Van had left her on read, which in this climate, meant that she totally hated her. So, she smelled her first, down the length of the common. Her body reacted by sweating and her legs felt numb and her throat dry and her friend (it was one of those one-sided friendships) did not want to turn around. They kept walking and the scent drew closer and closer until the Van-shape (not like the car) on the horizon was right in front of her. With flowers! 

“Are those zinnias?” Thea asked first, completely glossing over the thing with the house. Gardening was more her dad’s hobby, but she still recognized a few things. “Oh, sorry, this is…” Thea gestured to her side, to her friend. The woman with waves of fire-red hair and grass-green eyes was older than them both by several years. Pollenina, Polly to her friends and Thea, was exactly Van’s height and when she looked at her, she was unimpressed. Then her gaze fell to the bouquet and she scoffed. “Sorry,” Thea apologized for her, “Polly thinks cutting flowers is murdering them. Which it is! Technically.” Polly scoffed again and moved on, but Thea stood there, nervously picking at the threads on her sleeve. 

She should move on; that was the sort of thing a person did when their friend kept walking and the friend who didn’t like them much was there and she had flowers but they couldn’t have been for Thea, because Van didn’t like her enough to read her messages so she couldn’t have liked her enough to get flowers. The sweet floral notes of the green and yellow zinnias lifted into the air; Thea’s nose twitched. Did Van have some other friend? Some other friend that she called cute? Some other friend that she would be buying flowers for? Some other friend that watched her gamble on her phone for anime girls? Some other friend that she was playing Halo with even though she said she would play it with Thea but no, of course that was a lie. “Sorry, your house? That’s…” Terrible, obviously. Something similar happened to hers and that was terrible too, but Thea couldn’t stop herself from smiling. God, the blown up house was probably code for ‘and I was hanging out with my cool other friends who aren’t sad and don’t make weird metaphors’. Or maybe: ‘I was playing Halo with my new best friend who isn’t you and never would be you’. 

Thea sniffled, she didn’t feel good; it must have been allergies. “…great,” she said, “it’s great about your house. I mean, terrible. I mean, what are the flowers for?” 

It didn’t seem like Thea’s company was keen on sticking around, because after her gaze bore into the bouquet that she held, she was walking off, leaving behind the real reason that Van had left the cabin to begin with. “I guess.. I mean, it is, yeah.” She suddenly felt bad for buying the bouquet to begin with. Maybe she should’ve gotten Thea an actual plant. Then again, she wasn’t trying to impress Polly, and Polly didn’t matter. At all. Thea mattered here, and she thought that Thea liked flowers. Did she? Van hoped she did. 

Specifically, Van hoped that Thea liked the flowers she got her. Did Polly get her other things? Things that weren’t dead, or reminded her of the way that people just took and took? Van didn’t want to take things from the world for Thea, but she’d capture the stars for her in an instant if asked. It wasn’t possible, she knew, and so she would need to get the glow in the dark stars, maybe the pink ones, or green. 

“Um.. yeah, it was…” Now was probably not the time to tell Thea that there were banshees after them, or maybe it was. Maybe secrets weren’t good anymore, and maybe she was cruel for wanting to keep this one from Thea considering the banshee in Regan’s apartment had mentioned Thea, too. But Thea was safe now that she was no longer staying with Van, right? There was a disconnect there, and Van hoped that it would keep Thea safe. “Out of nowhere, I guess.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. Van hadn’t anticipated that her house would be blown up, either thanks to the monster she dragged from the depths of the earth, or the banshees’ screams. 

Van’s brows furrowed as Thea seemingly stumbled over her words. “Great…?” Maybe it was great. Maybe Thea knew that deep down, Van had wanted to get rid of that house for as long as her grandmother had left back to New York. Maybe Thea could tell that every time Van spoke about her house, there was a thick layer of contempt in her voice. Maybe Thea could see things that Van couldn’t. Then again, maybe Thea had just said the wrong thing. 

“The… flowers?” She looked down at the green and yellow bouquet, realizing it suddenly felt heavier than before. Like it might exhaust every muscle in her hand to keep it upright. Would Thea even want them now that she was out with somebody else? Van shrugged, “I… just thought they were nice, you know? Um, got myself flowers because my house got blown up and stuff. A consolation… or whatever.” That would make sense, right? She could skate by on that lie, because obviously Thea didn’t want her stupid flowers. She was here with the pretty redhead and Van was here alone buying flowers for… well, the girl with stars in her eyes. “Do you um… want to smell them?” 

Relief sparked through Thea; the flowers were just for Van. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Clearly, a lot of things were wrong with her, but in this particular instance, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Van was a friend, Van should be allowed to have other friends. Shouldn’t she have been happy that Van had other friends? Instead, she was happy in some strange, giggly way, like she’d just had one glass of wine, but emotion felt distinctly artificial. It had to be; Thea was rarely happy at all. But she had been—the place her mind went now when it chased the emotion were the innocuous moments with Van: the anime girls, the half-asleep conversations, the ease she felt in following Van’s wild trains of thought just as Van followed hers. “Right. The house. I heard a house got…” Thea choked on her words; the flowers were oddly pungent. She cleared her throat. “I heard about something like that. I was worried but I didn’t think…I thought if it was something like that…” Van would have told her. Was it her fault for not checking in first? Thea made it all the way to Sly Slice before the marinara overwhelmed her and the only thing she could really do was try to accept the fact that Van wasn’t all that interested in her. 

“Smell them?” Thea pushed up on her toes, trying to look over Van. Polly was gone, so far down The Common that Thea knew she’d never catch up. She frowned; Polly was her ride. Was she just going to walk back to Winter’s? Thea sighed. “Sorry, the flowers?” She finally turned her attention back on to them. “They are really pretty.” But she didn’t need to lean in to smell them. Her gaze darted between Van and the flowers and a fist curled in her stomach, punching up her throat; she swallowed uselessly over the lump. She pulled her hat from her head and held it tightly. Her hair was growing in nicely though she thought she looked like a fuzzy peach. Habitually, she tucked away a strand of hair that didn’t exist and leaned in. The flowers were awfully close to Van’s face, she thought—soft, pink features, full moon eyes and ocean wave lips. She was awfully close to Van’s face. Thea closed her eyes and took in a nose-full of green and yellow zinnias. 

Up close, Thea realized the zinnias themselves smelt like nothing much, instead, the smell was overwhelmingly of cut grass; the floral notes she’d picked up seemed to come from around the flowers: the paper they were wrapped in and clinging to Van’s clothes. How long had Van spent looking at flowers? If they were just for her, would she have cared so much? Those flowers had smelled so strong just a moment ago when her attention was on Van. Did it matter? She was so happy Van was here! And that Van was okay! Even if she was a liar who totally had a new, cute friend that she was going to see. Thea pulled her head out of the flowers, opening her eyes slowly. “These aren’t actually for you, are they?” she asked, her voice hard as the lump crushed into her throat. Then, as though she hadn’t been so serious seconds ago, she broke into a wide smile. “You were staying with someone else while your house was blown up, right? Are these for them? That’s so…” Thea swallowed, perking up. “…great! Who were you with when your house blew up? It’s so wonderful that you’re getting them flowers! The sun’s so nice today. It would be such a beautiful day to walk with someone cute! Like, oh, I don’t know…a new friend.” Was Van going to meet them? Van was totally going to meet them. Who was it? Did Thea know them? Why didn’t Van tell her that she’d been replaced? 

Was Thea disappointed that she hadn’t told her what happened? Van had a lot going on, between the almost getting murdered and the fact that her childhood home had blown up while she and Jade rode the motorcycle away like some kind of low budget spy flick. However, was that any excuse to leave her (totally cute) friend on read? She wasn’t sure. Van had read Thea’s last message over and over again, committing the fact that Thea never wanted to be called anything but Thea to memory— though, the reasoning made Van’s stomach churn. She wanted Thea to be Cynthia again if she wanted, but knew it was harder to accept the fact that things had changed if she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Van wanted Thea to love Maine because Van loved Maine, and Van wanted Thea to love the things she loved, in her own way. It was selfish, for sure, and maybe love was too strong a word, but as she looked at Thea standing in front of her, all Van could feel was relief that she hadn’t been in the apartment that night; that Thea hadn’t been in any kind of danger, as it didn’t seem like the twins had tried to seek her out after the fact. 

“I was going to tell you, but then… the news article released.” In Van’s defense, she hadn’t told anyone before the article released. Well, besides those in Ireland. She felt like they needed to know, because obviously this was all connected, especially if the twins had named Regan specifically. But Thea didn’t need to know all of that— she could be kept out of harm’s way if Van didn’t breathe a word of it, right? Still, it felt wrong to keep it from her. Thea deserved to know the truth just as Nora or Wynne did. Cass was an outlier here, too focused on keeping her at arm’s length; something that Van still hadn’t forgiven her for. Maybe that was selfish, too. Maybe Van was just incredibly selfish, but as she looked at Thea, she wanted to grow out of that. She wanted to share these things with her. 

“Smell them,” Van echoed, pushing the flowers forward. They could’ve been prettier, Van thought. She could’ve gotten something better, but now that Thea had caught her in the act (while on somebody’s arm who, in Van’s opinion seemed totally jealous in the way she sauntered away), it felt like these were the right kinds of flowers to get. Van waited for Thea to move in, and when she did, she realized that it was like, really close. She could see the light dusting of freckles that ran themselves over Thea’s nose— could see the depth to her irises. Had her eyes always been so pretty? Van was pretty sure they always had looked like that, but this close it felt different. She nearly said something about them— nearly told Thea that she had beautiful eyes, but she was closing them and Van was left to stare at her (totally cute) friend as she smelled the flowers that were totally not for her. Van wanted them to be, though. She wanted to find the courage to tell Thea that these had been purchased because she felt bad, and because she wanted to give Thea something nice because it’d been fairly obvious she was stressed about things, right? That was what was going on? 

Van waited a moment, mouth forming the words, but they were taken from her the moment Thea’s eyes snapped open and her accusations poured between them. “What?” Had Thea pinpointed that they’d been for her? Was Thea about to make fun of her for not being honest? 

No, that wasn’t what was happening. Thea thought they were for somebody else. For… Jade? Right, Thea didn’t know that it’d been Jade who she’d been with. “Um— at Regan’s apartment,  and then we went to my house.” 

Thea was acting weird, and Van wasn’t sure why. She’d never seen her like this. She seemed insistent that Van was spending her time elsewhere, when in reality, all Van wanted to do was spend her time with the girl ahead of her. “What? No! I was with Jade, and she’s like, pretty much my sister at this point, but I’m not sure if that’s true because I’m an only child so I don’t even know what having a sister feels like, but I think that’s what it feels like, being friends with Jade.” The words came out in a slur as she pulled the flowers back. She wanted so badly to close some distance, to take Thea’s hand and put the bouquet into them, to insist that these were for her, because they were. Van wanted to be honest— wanted to be true to herself and her feelings she wasn’t sure she was allowed to have. Because what if what happened to Diana happened to Thea? What if Van wasn’t strong enough to endure another heartbreak and it all fell apart because she couldn’t control the magic? 

“They were for you,” Van snapped, after a moment, overwhelmed by the feeling that she was being misinterpreted. “I got them for you. I felt bad for like, leaving you on read, but there were things happening, and I wanted to get you something nice, but you’re here with—“ She looked in the direction Polly had taken off in, but Van couldn’t even see her anymore. “They were for you.” She tightened her grip around the paper, the sound of it crinkling and snapping the delicate stems making her feel even more guilty about what was transpiring. “They are for you.” Heat rose to the back of her neck as she looked away from Thea. “My house blew up, and all I wanted to do was get you flowers. How stupid does that make me?” 

It all came back to Jade. Thea knew there was something fishy about her. Jade (the gem) was beautiful and Jade (the person) was also kinda pretty but deep inside there clearly lurked an ugliness. The kind of ugliness that would usurp Thea’s spot as Van’s…friend. Her very normal friend. Jade, the friend usurper, was close enough with Van to be a sister. And where did that leave Thea? As not a sister—which did fill her with peculiar relief, she didn’t want to be Van’s sister. Sisters couldn’t…hold hands! Which was exactly what Thea had been thinking about and absolutely nothing else, nevermind her rather intense gaze localized exclusively on Van’s lips; she was a mouth reader! But despite the assurance that she could still…hold Van’s hand…she couldn’t excuse Jade completely. Thea never considered herself to be a possessive person, she liked when things were hers as much as the next anxiety-ridden human being, but she had never felt a longing desire to be the only thing that mattered to someone. Not like she did now. If only she could be sure that Van’s eyes were for her only, in a normal platonic way. She wanted Van to see her, beyond her skin and bones and inside to her spinning black hole heart—but, like, in the normal way that regular friends would look into each other’s souls. Somehow, this was all Jade’s fault; maybe it was because Jade had hair and she was bald. 

Her thoughts were tangled like the overlapping braids of a cable. For as long as Thea had any awareness of herself, her mind had always been that way: one thing knotted into the next, tied to something else, bent at all the wrong angles, shot into space and gaining a mass big enough to have its own gravitational spin. If she’d been someone else, she might have asked herself what she was so jealous of. If she had ever learned how to untie one thread from the next, she would’ve realized that Van and her were talking around the same thing. Unfortunately, she was only Thea, the girl who had been a coward for much of her life and couldn’t change now. She’d told Van that she wanted to be done with pretending things were normal and okay and done with inventing new realities to soothe herself, but she wasn’t. Quietly, in the darkest place of her skull, she knew she’d never be done with that. It was always easier to run away. It was always easier to pull a new thread instead of detangling the one she had. This one said that all she was feeling were completely normal and rational platonic feelings for her cute friend Van and Thea held it tight and knew that anything else would terrify her. She was happy pretending like no other thoughts existed. 

And so, it was like that that Jade really did seem like some gargantuan threat to their friendship, as if Van couldn’t have more than one friend. Despite Thea’s smile, her eye twitched. She’d have to eat Jade for this. She needed the friendship competition to be as thin as possible because she didn’t offer much. And then Van said they were for her; Thea almost missed it. With the blood rushing to her face and her heart pounding in her ears, she almost missed it. “What?” Thea’s shoulders slackened; the fog that had settled over her yarn-ball thoughts cleared out like a blown out candle. “What?” Asking again didn’t clear anything up. She blinked rapidly. Her breath turned heavy. She was happy in that way that made her sick to her stomach, in that way she felt when she watched Van get excited when her gambling on anime girls paid off (paid off in the sense that she finally got the anime girl she wanted, not that Van was actually getting any value back). Or when she smelled marinara coming from under the door and knew Van would be walking through any minute now. It was the kind of happiness she didn’t know what to do with; the running in circles, rolling in the grass kind. 

“I..” Thea trailed off. “Not..” She swallowed. “Not stupid at all.” And she’d been the one being so weird that Van couldn’t even look at her. And she’d been the one so worried about Jade usurping her slot on Van’s friendship roster that she hadn’t bothered to comfort her friend at all after the loss of her house. Which she knew, more than anyone else, really fucking sucked. “Hey.” Thea slipped her hat back on her head and moved her hands over Van’s, trying to relax her tight grip. “Thank you. Really, thank you. You’re so…” Sweet? Nice? Kind? Cool? Amazing? Cute? Pretty? “So…much…a good friend.” She wasn’t even sure that made grammatical sense. Thea moved closer, closing her eyes and she leaned in and pressed her lips to Van’s temple, in what she was sure was a very platonic gesture, despite how she lingered. When she finally pulled back, she grinned brilliantly again. “I can’t believe you didn’t get purple flowers, for anime-girl-Grimace.”

It seemed like Thea’s mind was working against something, and suddenly Van wished she’d been born with mind reading abilities. Then again, she would then have to hear all of the terrible things people definitely thought of her, and how would that make living life? Not well, really. So after a moment about fantasizing about being able to figure out exactly what Thea was thinking, Van was glad that she couldn’t. What if Thea thought she was stupid for getting her the flowers? The mind panned to the redhead and her long, flowing hair. Van was almost positive that if Thea had hair, she’d want Polly’s and not hers. Van didn’t really want to give up her hair, but she’d definitely be offended if Thea took Polly’s hair over hers. 

But something shifted, and it was like everything fell into place. The stupidity that she felt melted away (the ground was stable beneath her for once, so this was just a feeling and not an action— wow!) 

Van watched from the corner of her eye as surprise dotted the edges of Thea’s features, watched as her earlier snarl had dissipated, replaced by something kinder. Something that stirred the butterflies in the pit of her own stomach. Her skin was vibrating as Thea seemingly heard what Van had said. It was all out in the open now, and there was no taking it back. If she pretended, if she acted like it was a joke, then what good would that do? It’d do nothing, and they’d be back where they were moments ago. She shouldn’t have been here, begging for Thea to take the flowers she had purchased. She should’ve been talking to the bank about her house, or calling her grandmother (who definitely wouldn’t pick up), or something that mattered in the moment, but all Van wanted to do was be with and near Thea. To give her something after so much had been taken from the both of them. 

She had thought about how being in public after being hunted by the banshees could’ve been considered dangerous, but Jade wasn’t confined to the cabin, so she refused to be. Van stood across from Thea, gaze moving slowly over the other girl’s hand as it came to close over top of hers. The tension she’d been holding in both her shoulders and jaw relaxed as soon as the pads of Thea’s fingers smoothed over the back of her hand. Van loosened the grip on the bouquet, not enough to let them fall to the ground, but to keep from crushing them any further. The embarrassment she felt morphed into something else— or maybe it was still embarrassment, just a different flavor. This one felt like kicking sand on a playground during the send off from a swing set and not making the landing on your feet. It was better than the embarrassment of the black hole sucking her to the depths of the earth, that was for sure. 

Thea moved closer before Van could process it. The feeling of the other girl’s lips at her temple sent static cascading over her skin. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end in anticipation for what might come next, but it was nothing— so much a good friend. It made perfect sense. Van could decipher it. That was Thea telling her she was a good friend, and that was what she was. Was Polly looking at them now? Would Polly yell at Thea after this? Tell her that she was giving Van too much hope? Hope for what, though? Van couldn’t rationalize what she wanted from Thea, just that she wanted the bald girl who talked about stars and constellations to take her stupid flowers and look at her like she was worth something. But that’s what was happening, right? 

Disappointment colored Van’s features as soon as Thea moved away, only to be replaced by minor annoyance. “You know why I didn’t. It’s because of that.” She pointed at Thea with her free hand, swallowing down the embarrassment as it rose in her again (black hole style). Her heart hadn’t quite calmed down, and Van was almost positive that she could still feel Thea’s lips at her temple; could commit it to memory. Wanted to, even. She desperately clung to the feeling and the thoughts it brought with it, warding off the black hole embarrassment and vying for the kind that would make her squeal into her pillow later. 

It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t said much else, and Van was left to clear her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears that burned bright red. “So do you um, do you— want them? Or…” She looked down at the flowers that had lost their weight— all of the weight from the situation had gone to her head, causing the right side of her face to grow numb. It was like her skin was trying to absorb what had happened. “If you don’t, I—“ Would Polly make her throw them out? “Who’s Polly? Is she…” Van looked past Thea to where Polly had disappeared to. “Is she waiting for you?” Couldn’t I be waiting for you instead, Van didn’t finish, holding the words like a capsizing boat at the back of her tongue. 

Something strange happened then: Thea didn’t want to stop touching Van. Though she should have moved her hands away, she kept them on Van’s. And though she’d just touched her lips to Van’s head—she wasn’t going to use the k-word, it was too heavy—she wanted to do it again. She felt like she’d just crawled out of a blanket on a cold night, every muscle told her to go back in. She couldn’t lip-touch her forehead again—don’t say it, don’t say it—so she lined up an array of other gestures that were almost it, almost the thing she was thinking about. Thea nudged Van’s bicep with her elbow—don’t let go of her hands, you won’t be able to take them again. “Teasing is my love-language, Van. You should know that by now,” Thea said, coating her words with the lightness she felt in her chest. Then that word—the L one—sunk down into her throat and tightened like a hungry snake. Love-languages were bullshit anyway, and whatever, so what? She didn’t mean anything by it. But it also wasn’t entirely true; teasing had been Cynthia’s love language. 

Cynthia was the one that teased her friends, because expressions of affection felt wrong on her tongue and she was always too awkward to make them work anyway. It was that bite no one expected from her; the thumbs thrust into an orange, juice spilling out. Peel back the skin and there’s the girl who liked a good joke when she wasn’t worried about being annoying, who could demonstrate how well she knew someone by their mundanities—pithy and fleshy. Thea didn’t have a love language; that would have implied she was deserving of the big L thing. Maybe Cynthia would’ve had something else to say, but Thea didn’t. And whatever, she really didn’t mean anything by it; it was another dumb thing in the galaxy of dumb things Thea said. Pay no attention to the dumb words behind the curtain, or something. Forget the tangled web of Cynthia that sat inside Thea’s writhing one. Though Van had already done it, Thea reached out and tucked phantom hair bachind Van’s burning red ears. Spring allergies were a real menace! They certainly made Van blush a lot. Her hands returned to their place on top of Van’s. 

“Polly?” The mention of the red-head jerked Thea; she glanced over Van’s head. No, Polly was well and truly gone. She knew it was generous to say she was Polly’s friend, and in the interest of being honest, she couldn’t tell Van that she was. “Polly’s a…” But it was kinda embarrassing to say that Polly definitely hated her, and tolerated her for some unknown reasons. She regularly said things like ‘I’m going to turn you into plant food’ and ‘humans are temporary, plants will be forever’ and ‘to be clear when I say I’m going to turn you into plant food I mean I’m going to kill you’ in that quirky, Polly way of hers; Thea didn’t exactly get her sense of humor. “Just someone I know.” She shrugged. “We, uh, hang out sometimes. Y’know, do…things.” But she also couldn’t tell Van that Polly mostly just drove her around, because then Van would offer her car and sweat trickled down her back at the idea of being in a tight space with Van. “A-adult things.” What she meant was that she did Polly’s taxes and laundry and helped her pay bills, as though these were all things that were completely new to her, but in the interest of honest dishonesty, Thea didn’t consider what it sounded like.  

“I do want the flowers,” Thea said. But if she took them, then she’d have no reason to keep holding Van’s hands—don’t let go. So despite saying she wanted them, she kept them in Van’s hands. “She’s not waiting for…” But if she said that, what would they do? Would Van stay with her? Could they take the day and turn it into something good? Or could she, for once in her stupid life, be actually responsible? She’d had a reason for thinking moving out of the apartment was a good idea and it wasn’t so she could be selfish now. She’d been given a very reasonable escape; yes, Polly was waiting for her—say it, say it. The tiny black hole inside of her, always spinning, was getting hungry. One year since the bite and she knew well enough what happened once it grew. All she had to do was say it and shouldn’t it have been so easy? A coward was her default classification. But she was happy, and it was hard to turn away from something so rare. 

Releasing one hand from its place on Van’s, Thea brought it to Van’s face again. This time, she rested her palm against Van’s warm cheek. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed down a different conversation. “She is,” she said, “and she’s not very patient.” That part, at least, was true. “So, I should probably…” Thea dropped her hand from Van’s face and scooped the flowers into her arms. “It was nice seeing you and I’m so glad that you’re okay and…” Her throat bobbed again. She lifted the zinnias up. “Thank you for these, and thank you for…” How many times was she going to shove different words away? “I think I like it more like this,” she said, “flowers and wood and honey and amber—when you come back from a shift, the marinara is overpowering. I think I like it more when it’s mostly Van. When it’s all Van.” She held the flowers tighter to her chest. “I think I like Van. I think I like Van a lot.” She swallowed. “The smell, I mean.”

What did that really mean, though? What did a love language mean when it came from Thea? Van stared at her, not quite sure what to say back. She wanted to say something. Knew she should say something, but no words came out of her mouth. Maybe she should have teased Thea back, should’ve told her it was hers, too, and this was all a big joke. The cherry on top would’ve been the flowers that both her’s and Thea’s hands were closed around. Why wasn’t Thea letting go? Maybe she felt guilty about being upset by the idea that they’d been for somebody else, and maybe Thea just felt bad that her house blew up. Van wasn’t sure why Thea wasn’t letting go, but she really didn’t want her to. She wanted to feel Thea’s hand on hers, didn’t want her to let go, but knew that she should– knew that she would, because Thea had finally understood her as a person and decided to leave. That was what happened, right? It had been her? It had to have been. “Okay,” Van stammered out, the words slipping like oil over her tongue. It wasn’t what she had wanted to say at all, but it was all that’d come out when in a reflection to Thea’s love language. Maybe it wasn’t that serious, and maybe Van was thinking too much into it. 

Thea touched her again in a way that mattered, and Van felt the blush deepen, could feel it scatter over the bridge of her nose. Her breath got stuck in her throat, and it wasn’t until she looked away from Thea’s eyes could she remember how to do so. Why was she acting like this? Thea was just a cute friend who paid attention to her and nothing more. There was nothing here, not in the way she wanted. However, Van wasn’t certain that she deserved to want to feel anything, especially within proximity of Thea. The last time she had cared for somebody like this (which she wasn’t even sure was real!), an argument had drawn that person to the depths of whatever hellish creature she had reimagined. Would the same happen to Thea? God, she was so toxic; pulling up demons to take care of her problems for her. She really needed to learn how to control it. Not just for Thea, but for everyone who might succumb to the power she held within. The last thing she wanted to do was open up another portal on people who didn’t deserve it. 

Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? 

Van took care to listen now, to pick apart the cadence of Thea’s voice as she spoke about the redhead who hadn’t cast a second glance back after leaving the two of them to argue over the (unjustly) murdered flowers. Van still felt bad about that— that she had killed something (again), even if she hadn’t pulled them from the ground herself. She’d be more mindful about flowers from now on, that was for sure. As soon as Thea began to explain who Polly was to her, the wires crossed themselves, tangling into an unrecognizable, festering snake. Y’know, do things. What did that mean? Did Polly play Honkai, too? Did Thea watch over Polly’s shoulder as she tried for her favorite characters that came back into rotation? Would Thea cheer her on, too? Adult things? Van’s mind could’ve gone to something slightly less safe for work, but it sprang over to the idea that they got meals together; cooked together— even cleaned the apartment while blasting Olivia Rodrigo together. Was this who Thea was staying with? Had she been so easily replaced? Of course she had been. Her grandmother probably found some new grandchild, too, that she hadn’t even known about. One who didn’t cry and didn’t have magic and didn’t talk back. Of course Thea would do the same. Of course. 

She hadn’t realized it, but she was holding her breath again. “Oh, she sounds… nice.” That was the opposite of what she wanted to say. Horrible, she sounds horrible. But Van didn’t want to be mean, didn’t want to be the jealous— jealous, what? They were just friends. Good friends! Cute friends! She definitely didn’t feel anything for Thea. No way! This was all just a weird friendly misunderstanding, interwoven with jealousy and… something else. Embarrassment, most definitely. “I’m glad you get to um, do adult things together.” She thought of Olivia Rodrigo blasting through Regan’s apartment as she knelt down with the dustpan as Thea navigated the broken bottle of vanilla into it. She bit the inside of her cheek, pushing the thoughts away. What did they clean up together? Polly looked like the kind of girl who liked kale shakes. It was probably that. Did Thea hate that? Or did she like it? Maybe Van should drink kale shakes. 

Her mind snapped from the make believe kitchen to Thea who was speaking again. She needed to talk more, too, didn’t she? God, Thea must’ve been so bored standing in front of her. She was probably thinking of all the conversations she could be having with Polly right now, and instead she was stuck here. 

Suddenly, the flowers held a  weight of their own and Van felt her hand sinking slightly, Thea’s still enclosed around it. She’d help support it, wouldn’t she? Even if the embarrassment engrained itself in her muscles and made her incapable of doing these kinds of things— like holding up a bouquet of flowers for the pretty girl with the pretty smile and the peach fuzz hair. Did Thea know she looked good bald? Van wanted to tell her. “You can take them, I already um— I already said that they are yours.” The words came out naturally, surprisingly enough. They didn’t slur together, mixed messages splintered across each single vowel. Instead, it was what she actually meant! She wanted Thea to have the flowers! God, she was so good at this talking thing. 

Thea’s hand came to plant itself against her cheek, and Van’s mind scrambled again. Could Thea feel the heat that was radiating off of the side of her face? Would Thea think that she was sick? Would Thea try and take care of her? Thea couldn’t come to the cabin, no way— it was full of weapons, and Snickers, and Jade was still hurt. I’m not sick, by the way. The words didn’t manage to slip from between her lips, because Thea was talking again, and the way she spoke made it seem like Thea was going to leave her. That was okay! Friends left each other all of the time, didn’t they? Cass had left her, too, standing outside of her cave with an arm full of comics. Well, she hadn’t left her, but it felt like it that day. 

Van was almost positive that even after Thea had dropped her hand, she’d still be able to memorize the way she pressed each pad of her finger into her skin. She’d try to recreate it with her own hand once she was home, but her hands were much smaller and stubbier than Thea’s and she knew it wouldn’t feel the same. But that’d be weird to do, anyway, because they were friends, and friends didn’t do that kind of stuff. But, at least Thea took the flowers. Thea took the flowers, and Van watched her do it— and in that moment, she realized she looked a lot more beautiful with them than she had imagined she would. Would Polly make her throw them out? Probably. But at least Thea had taken them! That was a win for her, wasn’t it? Her friend had taken her flowers, even after the misunderstanding. Only her flowers, and nothing else! Not her heart along with it! 

“Yeah, you should totally go and catch up with her.” Van’s throat felt scratchy and she tried to get the words out in a way that wouldn’t allude to the jealousy or embarrassment she felt. The flowers were gone from her hands, though, and the feeling was dimming down. Maybe because Thea had finally taken them, and that was a signal to something. “You’re totally welcome!” She was saying totally too much, but it was sort of her catchphrase at this point, wasn’t it? “I’m glad I’m— you’re okay, too.” She smiled, and this time it felt real— less like she was being pulled at by a fishing hook, but that the muscles in her own face had cooperated into giving her something real. Thea kept speaking even though she should’ve been leaving, and Van was left frozen with what the words could’ve actually meant. Surely she meant the smell! Yeah, that made more sense. Thea liked to smell things— always talked about it! Liked to talk about all of the soaps she had, and Van could always see the soaps she had in the bathroom at Regan’s.

(She was always careful not to use Thea’s soaps, because she wanted to smell Thea when Thea was using them, not—) 

“Yeah, I mean, they like, most definitely make um, car air fresheners in Van scent, I’m almost positive of it.” At that moment, she had referred to herself like the car, but it didn’t matter. Thea told her she smelled good, and she liked it better without the marinara, and Van was glad. Van was happy! She stood across from Thea, marionette strings pulling her to put a hand on Thea’s shoulders. “I hope you enjoy Polly, and the flowers!” That wasn’t what she meant. She only wanted Thea to enjoy the flowers. 

“But um, I’ve gotta— there are insurance people I gotta talk to. Gotta get my bag, you know? So I’ll uh, see you around, Thea!” With that, Van turned around, red in the face to saunter off to anywhere but the insurance people. 

[victorianasshole]

A whole mudcrab's worth of meat (Vivec x Masc!reader) Chapter 2/?

So this took very long, but it was either this or graduating, so I had to make some priorities lol. Be sure to give feedback if you like this fic, I'd love to read what you think :3

Includes: 1st person reader, OC character(s), Ohmes Raht reader, masc!reader, Vivec, other canon characters, canon environment

CW: Cursing, drinking, standard elderscrolls fantasy bigotry, Lmk if more needs to be added.

Word count: 2533 Part one

...

My head bounced off M’aiko’s chest plate when I whirled around from the palace doors. 

“What the fuck happened in there!?”

I let out a confused yelp in response, my fingers tingling with adrenaline and my forehead pounding from the metal it just collided with. He had to properly fix me to the ground with his hands on my shoulders before I thought to answer. “Uh, they- … You can’t keep secrets around mystics like them. And-”“Are you in trouble?”M’aiko asked, seeming just about ready to throw me over his shoulder and run. It was an endearing gesture if nothing else.

“No.”

“No?”

“This one actually thinks I’m the opposite of ‘in trouble’?”

The taller cat cocked his head, and I only shrugged in response. 

“He seemed well aware of my... Illusionary methods. And took great interest in that. I thought they’d have me arrested or something, but he only bid farewell with a promise of a ‘next meeting’. Maybe he just meant in case I picked up another job, like offered?...”

“Maybe…”

M’aiko hummed, looking at me for a moment as he seemingly tried to decipher something from my words. But then he shook his head, just as I thought he was about to ask further into it.

“We should find an inn to get some rest in until tomorrow. Then we can collect our money.”

I felt a small jab in my stomach, something I hadn’t thought to consider creeping into my mind. “...And then we’re probably on our separate ways, yes?”

M’aiko took a small step back and glided a palm over his locks. It seemed as if he wasn’t much for it either, separating as such… 

We didn’t talk much on the way back through the city. I took the liberty of holding his hand through the large noisy crowds of Saint Olms’ lower-class markets, mumbling something about not wanting to get lost. He most likely didn’t hear me through the crowd, but he didn’t let go of my hand either. The stone we walked on was hot and humid. The midday sun was warm on my nose and made my head boil. The thought of Vivec crept back on me. How their light kind of felt like this. Less harsh, but just as dizzying… I tried to go back over the whole encounter as I quietly followed M’aiko around the canton city, back to the Foreign Quarter. How they had smiled at me when I looked up at them. Or did I imagine that? I had, I probably had. Or how they had called me friend. That part definitely happened. 

I almost bumped into an ordinator in my haze, and I realised we were already over the bridge to the Foreign Quarter. I shook my head and let go of M’aiko’s hand.

M’aiko paid for a room and two bottles of flin. The little cornerclub was new, like the walls themselves, and so the prices were low in fear of bad first impressions. Even so, I did thank M’aiko with a furrowed brow as he came into the corner booth with the two Cyrodilic whiskeys.

“Isn’t it a bit early to lighten your pouch on commodities like booze?” 

He simply shook his head and sat down, handing me one of the metallic flasks. The liquid sloshed inside the container, and I braced myself for the burn it would bring to drink. 

“A proper toast needs a proper drink to do it with. We’ve earned it!”

I had yet to see him as pronounced as now. An extraverted tone never quite fit him, but it still made me laugh. He smiled back at me like he always would when he made me laugh. I was going to miss him, and I had only known this cat for some two weeks. But we had enjoyed ourselves on our little adventure, so it was only natural we got a bit hammered to celebrate.

“To fight and friendship. And also financial gain.”

“May we meet again and get drunk all the same!”

… 

The money waiting for me had been enough for a double-room flat in St. Delyn Plaza. I couldn’t believe it. And there was still enough weight in the pouch for food and decor, as well as some books and paints to pass the time. As I dropped my travel gear on the clay floor and looked around, I realised the contract had assured a bed and kitchenette in the purchase as well. I actually couldn’t believe it. Not because I was surprised, but because I KNEW that my deeds to the temple didn’t call for such a payment. This was too much, and something seemed off. It was as if someone had already paid half before I even looked at the apartment options. I didn’t like it. Of course, I had my theories. But all of them were a bit outlandish. 

The leading theory was that the Lord had something to do with it. I felt as if I was kept at an arm’s reach for a purpose. And their strange departing words certainly attested to that. A whole month had gone by, and they still rang in my head. In the end, I spent little time actually looking for any jobs to keep the housing, only sitting on the balcony with fruit and hobbies. Sketching out the architecture around me, painting over it with gouache, adding fantastical creatures in the corners of the paper. My head going in circles, trying to decide on how I came to be here. And what Vivec would need me for. What they couldn’t just do themself.

But that wasn’t to say I wasn’t thankful. So many nights out in the dangerous open had made me forget about the comfort of beds, or the calm of knowing a stocked cabinet of food was only a few feet away. The neighbours were... Well, they didn’t bother, at least. Which was honestly the best outcome. I couldn’t care less if they took it to complaining behind closed doors. About having an outlander live in the plaza closest to the Lord… If anything, I agreed with them on that being weird. 

But the days went by undisturbed. I had slowly started becoming comfortable walking in the streets of the Vivec. And more familiar with the traffic and smells for each errand I went on. The pawn shops and alchemists began to recognise my face as well. Even the marketplace seemed a little less guarded when spotting my tail. Less focused on where my clawed hands were hiding… One of the merchants had even taken to actually chatting with me. However, the chats often consisted of gossip bordering on interrogation. He probably had little else to fill his day with, so I often just complied and let him ask. There was one subject I had a hard time talking about though. Unfortunately, it was also the one he fished for the most.

“I hear rumours, you know…” 

His voice was always hoarse. One could always hear when he was the one coughing out advertisements for his meats. It stuck out like a sore thumb among the otherwise smooth calls of the other persuasive elven merchants. But I didn’t like those much. His hands wrapped a paper over the ribs I had bought with a practised motion.

“Rumours?” I let out a lighthearted laugh, however false it was. He dumped the pound of meat in my basket and nodded.

“A khajiit does not just show up here, go directly to the Lord’s temple, then gets approved for a home in the most sought-after living area of the city.”

I hummed. I knew he wanted more gossip to spread out of me. With a little shrug, I put some septims on his table. The side profile of Vivec glinted back up at me in the lantern light of his booth. A gem in their long stretched ear, nicely crooked nose… Even in gold pennies, they didn’t do his image justice.

“I’m in no high standing with the God, if that’s what you mean. Where did you hear this?”

“Just whispers from nosy denizens…”

We didn’t talk about much more than that. Rumours. And every time I deflected his curiosity, he hummed a small acknowledgement and let me leave when I wanted to. But I could still feel his red eyes following me out the waistworks. Every time… 

This particular time it was raining. Petrichor assaulted my nose as soon as I got out, and all I could do was stand there, under the awning of the Redoran canton door. Looking on as the rain stained the sandy floor of the canton. Some people rushed past me and through the door, while others shouldered the ashy rain with a grumble. I was in no high standing with the God… But at this point, he owed me some answers.

Arriving home, my mind was fixed and sharp like I had just stepped out into the wilderness again. I searched all the cabinets I had, looking for whatever ingredients there were. Then I could make a list of what was missing. There was an abundance of bittergreen, but no dell’arco spae. I had leftover ciciliani oil from the last meal, so that was covered as well. But where in the world would I find a diamond? I had my mortar and pestle, of course, and funnel and measuring tools. I was sure a lantern could easily be reworked into a burner too. It was just that damn diamond I needed. Dell’arco could probably be found in the market, and if I ended up needing more oils I could just make some.

I sat down on the floor, looking at the spread of tools I had put out. Pulling my hair back and away from my eyes. Was this over the top? I knew how to make a short invisibility spell already. In theory, I could just do that instead of making a longer-lasting potion. My mind wandered back to the nosy merchant then, and how he just so happened to know exactly where i had been, and when… If I was seen walking up those steps again, or even near the temple canton for that matter, the dunmer would be talking about it by the next meal. I had to make that potion. I couldn’t risk being seen.

Diamond could come later at least. I was sure I could make some connections in the Telvanni canton if I tried hard enough, and those wizards were probably drowning in gems they didn’t need. Maybe. I had never really spoken to proper esteemed mages like the Telvanni.

With my list tucked away in my pants and a kwama scone later, I rushed out the door again.

As I had suspected, the healer in the Foreign Quarter had dell’arco. I bought two, just in case of something going wrong in the brewing process. The healer herself, an older breton lady with a permanent scowl lodged into her wrinkles, had outright denied me a third. Either she wanted to use them herself, or she had just adopted the dunmers’ mistrust over the years of living here. I hardly blamed her, dell’arco spae was… Let’s say less than harmless in larger quantities. But never mind that. I had what I needed now, except for that stupid rock. 

The Telvanni were… Kind of a scary option. I’d rather avoid them. So while I got pushed along with the crowd, out of the canton, I started brainstorming other options. Theft? Hey no, I just got here. That would be a horrible first impression if I ended up being caught. If, being the keyword… But no, bad idea. There was always an abundance of adventurers and mercenaries coming through the city, maybe I could sweet talk one of them to some of their spoils? However, that would likely take weeks. I had gotten quite rusty with flirting. Maybe if I just-

I got pushed. Someone in the crowd must have had more urgent places to be, and I was shoved harshly against the railing. Trying to suck my breath back, I avoided looking down at the deep water below me, reeling back to gain my footing. I checked my basket. I checked my necklaces. Nothing was knocked off of me, at least… There were some angry exclamations around me from the traffic of civilians, but I wasn’t focused on that anymore. Looking over the railing made me notice a caravan, terra firma. Better yet, a khajiiti caravan, with merchants. Wealthy ones, likely with jewels to sell. Whoever pushed me just saved me a lot of trouble. 

Stepping over the bridge again felt strange when it really shouldn’t. I hadn’t really acknowledged it, but I had spent a good couple of months by now in the city, without the faintest hint of restlessness under the unmoving structures around me. It almost shocked me to hear the crunch of gravel under my boots as I stepped off of the paved ground. But it hardly made me falter, a sudden urge to run shooting up my spine at the prospect of being on land and doing my own little mission. I practically skipped over to where I had seen the caravan, hardly minding my basket’s contents almost spilling. 

…That was until I almost ran into a massive pahmar-raht. 

I halted, just short of colliding with her belt. As I looked up to see what face was blocking out the sun, the hard intimidating features of the tigress bodyguard concurrently softened. 

She looked stunning. Despite her obvious job as hired muscle, it seemed that the merchant had decorated her attire to look just as eye-catching as the newly unfolded tent behind her. Armoured heavy in local chitin plate, but with Elsweyr silk glittering just beneath it. Oval golden beads dangled from a sash she had neatly tied beneath her belt, matching with her proudly visible bracelets and necklaces. She was, however, also very very intimidating. I gulped my heart back down my throat just in time for her to speak. Not to me, despite the eye contact. To someone behind her. The accent was thick and reminded me of motherly figures from back home.

“Jo’dul, this one found a cub of kin!”

Past her giant shoulders, a deeper voice could be heard. Though it took me a good while to decide where it came from. 

“Bring them here. In a land like this, kin should get discounts.” As she moved to the side for this Jo’dul to size me up as well, my eyes finally landed on him. An alfiq, lazily curled against lavish silks alike the ones on his bouncer. He himself wore as many jewels as his size would allow, both of his small ears pierced threefold. His well pleased yellow eyes settled on my face, looking me over with approval and encouragement. My eyes, however, fell to his jewels. There, behind a couple of golden chains, snug against his chestnut fur, the unmistakable glimmer of a diamond winked at me.

“What can this one get you, friend?”

It fell out of me eagerly before my decorum objected.

“Your necklace.”

[johannas-motivational-insults]

Jo’s down on their luck, again

I hate doing this, and yes, I know I’ve done it before. Similar circumstances, too. But I’m in a pinch and have to reach out for assistance.

So, a few days ago (at the start of my typical work week) my car’s starter motor gave out. Which is really inopportune, as I need my car for my delivery job that’s my primary source of income. Worse, the repair will cost 1400 CA$ all in, plus there was the $115 to tow it to the shop. Let’s not even get into the week’s worth of pay down the drain. I’d been saving money in hopes of finally buying a new computer so I can resume vidding (I have a new Catra vid I’ve been wanting to do for over a year, plus several MFS ones) and hopefully start freelance editing for money, and this wiped out that fund. I was recently granted the disability tax credit and got some back taxes from that, but even that won’t cover the cost. My fam are all strapped for cash at the moment and can’t help, and I’m trying to avoid dipping into the savings I have for when I inevitably have to leave my current affordable living situation in a very expensive market. I’ll survive if I don’t get help, but I’ll be facing a significant setback. I was really looking forward to expressing myself through visual arts again and maybe even starting to make actual money off of it.

Most of my recent work has been in the Motherland: Fort Salem fandom, which is mostly non-existent on Tumblr. So maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree here. Y’all might have thought I died or something, but I did not (despite some close calls). There’s still unfinished works and new ideas in my older fandoms that I hope to return to at some point, but I can’t guarantee anything, as my focus and energy levels are still affected by all the brain injuries (and that brain is ASD/ADHD to begin with). My health in general just isn’t great these days, and that takes a toll. So, I’m not in a place to be asking for help based on the promise of new content. But if you’ve enjoyed my work over the years (including metas and gifsets, along with the fics and vids) and found it enlightening or helpful, please consider throwing me a few bucks. Anything really does help at this point. If you have nothing to give (a total mood), please share this with friends and followers who may know me/my work.

If nothing else, thank you for taking the time to read this. I appreciate all the support (monetary and otherwise) I’ve gotten from my followers over the years, that people care about my content and find it worth engaging with. Even if I’ve been around less, I still think fondly of you all and the great conversations and friendships that began here. Feel free to reach out in DMs even if you can’t donate; I miss the people on this hellsite (affectionate).

Link to my Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/johannas_motivational_insults

[f0point5]

I actually think the season has seasoned but that’s because I’m a Lando supporter (pls no one come for me). But I swear this season people have gone to an all time extreme with taking things way too personally and are freakishly emotionally invested in the personal lives of those in and around f1. It’s literally not about f1 itself as a sport anymore, it’s all about someone’s fans having the moral high ground, or someone else’s fans being right blah blah blah. You’ve always touched on how it’s partially because of how accessible this sport has become which can be great because more fans and exposure to the general public is good, but oh my god everyone needs to chill and stop picking fights and giving their two cents when it’s clearly not needed. Just enjoy the sport

Haha no one’s coming for you.

I guess for me…it’s all felt a bit disjointed. Multiple off track scandals, silly season didn’t silly, because it happened in like March. The calendar is so disjointed that there hasn’t really been a momentum build. And there’s been what feels like an unusual amount of clownery.

But I just think the jig is almost up with this sport if I’m honest. The morality police coming out, and people treating the drivers like kpop members…it’s kinda ruining it. This “stan” and “anti” subculture has nothing to do with the sport, but it’s encouraged because it gets clicks and makes money.

You can hold Liberty Media to ransom over what you would like the sport to be, and they can hold teams and drivers to ransom over it. But what will you have left? 24 sprint races, 85 grill the grid episodes with miserable ass drivers, a bunch of stalkers ambushing drivers at airports and sending death threats to their girlfriends, drivers getting shat on on the internet for DRIVING THE CAR or swearing on the radio, afraid to say or do anything because it’s not worth the hate. And maybe that’s how it needs to be for the sport to be profitable, it certainly seems Liberty and the FIA think so. But that’s not something I would be that interested in watching.

People generally have taken the parasocial involvement too far (see: everyone mad at Taylor Swift for breathing the same air as Brittany Mahomes), but I think why it’s such an issue in F1 is that it is not an environment that attracts people that for the mould of what the internet people consider to be “good” behaviour. And if y’all don’t like that, what are you doing here? Go watch something else.

Also, there is SO much focus on the drivers now, because the parasocial relationship is what gets fans, that people have lost sight of the fact that F1 is an engineering competition. So yeah sure stan your drivers, but the “car merchant” conversation is like, not the conversation you think it is.

[carmenized-onions]

Just Dropped | Missing Invoice

Here we go sweets

HERE WE GO

I was so stunned with Carmy's "Respect him" Cause babe wtf we were vibing earlier????? But yea- the last chapter he can ruin it for himself go get it Carmy-

"You were expecting comradery. The guy is a dick, why won’t Carmen admit that? Why’s he suddenly got stock in his captor?"

Right???? COMRADRY I WAS PISSED

“N’ what the fuck are you?”

I wanted to punch CARMEN

"Oh. Stray bullet, for you. You wince— Not that you weren’t already, but that was definitely a personal hit. Richie’s still harboring resentment over that for Carmen, which means he still holds it somewhere for you, too. And at least Carmen came back after, to take care of The Beef. Where the fuck were you for the better half of a year? Vanished. You completely vanished, on him."

That hurt THANKS RICHIE (I know you didn't mean it towards me honey)

"You catch it from Carmen, too. Does Carmen see you as a leech? A parasite, tethering to his family? To his work? Is that why he’s mad, right now? You’ve inserted yourself without asking— You’re so pushy— No, no, he likes that your pushy, you’re good. He doesn’t think that about you, he doesn’t actually think Richie is a leech either, he’s just saying shit to start shit. It’s working. He’s really stirring up shit."

I love how Tony tries rationalizing it like no no he doesn't think it he's just starting shit

I love how Richie says I love you so unabashedly like yes he loves this guy he considers family and it's awfully upsetting that he is pretending he isn't family

"You're fucking nothing"

GOD THAT CARMEN

Like that obviously hurts cause Uncle Lee to Mikey and it's so rage worthy

And I hate that too personally been told I'm useless or that I essentially amount to nothing which even when true is exceedingly hurtful

But with Carmy, Mikey and Richie's personal history it's practically a time bomb

How dare he say that "fix him?" FIX HIM? BABE NO BODY CAN FIX ANY OF YOU AND TONY AINT TRYING

I love the way you write so much so that Carmy is a real person and I have beef with him

I actually did cry this chapter

Now that I am on a re read because I didn't give you my thoughts earlier so

junkie loser

asshole CARMEN ANTHONY BERZATTO

"“Don’t tell me I’m fucking confused. I’m not fucking confused— I— This is my fucking kitchen, alright?” Entirely nonsensical. Too many thoughts are stirring in his head."

MAYBE SHUT UP AND LISETN?????????????

“That’s me— That’s who the fuck I am. And I’m good like that, so—So if he’s a fuckin’ creep so am I. N’ I don’t need you comin’ in my fuckin’ kitchen, comin’ in my fuckin’ life, actin’ like you know better than me!”

WELL S3 PREDICTION HAHAHAHAHAHAH

(I haven't finished it yet but I read stuff in comments lol)

Failed Mickey hurt

I remember putting down my phone and taking in a deep breath

I was in public transport and did not want to cry-

Damn right Carmy

TONY IS NOT MICKEY

I love that his regret is so well written you know

I love the way you write

Cause like even I say stuff suddenly that I do not mean

But never this mean

"You get to be the first person he’s ever made cry, in his kitchen. When his brain comes back to his body, and he repeats back to himself the exchange that just happened. Yeah, he’d cry, too."

I did cry so thank you CARMEN I'M SO MAD

I absolutely love how Sydney and Richie rush behiind Tony

It's so fuckiign sweet

"“No.” You shoot Carmen down quickly. “Richie’s got it. You’ve gotta keep your kitchen in order.”"

GO TONY

The shock that Mickey gave her money and not vice-versa so well done almost surpassing the next chapters (sponser spoiler alert)

“I—” How can you word this in a way that isn’t just as cruel? “I didn’t think we were friends.”

NO BUT SO ME

Like honestly I really don't think people consider me a friend and I'm always so surprised because I just don't think that people think I'm their friend?

“I… I feel like… I’m just like… So insecure, about my place in relationships, that like— Like I’m not worth people’s time. Like we were only friends because we were friends with Mikey and we were handling him and I was like— Like I was helpful. So, like, when he died, it was like… We— There was no reason, for you to be friends with me, anymore. No us.”

EXACTLY THIS

YOU GET IT

I love the taylor swift conversation so much man

Me too

Like I don't hate her but concert would be a bit much haha

But for Richie and Eva I'm here hundred percent

Richie and Syd speak in unison, a rarity, for them to be on the same page. “No the fuck it’s not.”

My favourite bit from it all lol

“Fucks Inky mean anyways? Stupid ass nickname—” “Oh, like Chip is so original—” “Actually, a dead guy coined it, so betchu feel real dumb now—” “I’m not capable of feeling dumb—” You interrupt, “Girls, girls, you’re both beautiful.”

You explain to Rich, “I called Syd ‘Squid’ in high-school— Literally just ‘cause it sounds funny, and uh, she felt jealous that she didn’t have one for me—”

THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME I WAS SO CURIOUS

“I know you said I’d be a perfect match for your little brother, but at this point, I’m taking that as a read.”

omg no way

ARE YOU HAPPY? HERE YOU GO I VENTED

ALSO LIKE I TOTALLY LOVED YOU DM'ING ME BTW

felt so seen and loved

thank you

muah

Got an hour of answering asks until I return to banging my head against the wall trying to write the last two scenes of chapter 14 (it’s a fucking nightmare) (we’re at 8k right now) (we’re going to end up over 10k BUT NOT BY MUCH PLEASE GOD PLEASE) Anyways. LETS GO LET’S GET INTO YOUR THOUGHTS FROM JUST DROPPED CHAPTER 11!!!

Carmen’s vibe switch really was so fun to write for me, like he SUCKED the energy right out of the room— In what I feel was 100% the way he would do that. He gives such a fuck about titles, it’s ANNOYING!!!

Richie has been such a joy to dig into for the last few chapters— Two Steps Back specifically was so fun, but with Just Dropped it was fun because I do think somewhere Richie is mad at Chip— Like how could he not be, y’know? He thought he just lost one friend and then he lost TWO!!!?? He gets it, but I do think like Chip said, somewhere deep, it’s still kinda there.

Carmen however, was 100% being a shitstarter in this fight that was all a FUCK load of projecting. I mean c’mon, that nothing talk— This mffff…. No one’s useless!!! He’s just bullshit!! Writing fights is really one of my favourite types of dialogue to write, it kinda reminds me of this one fuckin’ quote somewhere about how the way you react to fearing for your life shows a lot about you. I think the way you fight shows SO much about a character. We could dig in for literally hours about each line from the freezer fight, I love that shit man. THANK YOU AND SORRY FOR MAKING YOU CRY ABOUT IT.

“That’s me— That’s who the fuck I am. And I’m good like that, so—So if he’s a fuckin’ creep so am I. N’ I don’t need you comin’ in my fuckin’ kitchen, comin’ in my fuckin’ life, actin’ like you know better than me!” WELL S3 PREDICTION HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Yeah, I did seem to have called that fuckin shot— I was not surprised to see David. I am an oracle,,, Or rather, the writers just set up a very clear through line— well, this one through line, at least— I’m being catty about s3 I need to relax.

NOT PUBLIC TRANSPORT— Man this chapter and two steps back were the chapters I was like, everyone needs to lock in to read these ones— Maybe I should put a lock in warning up top LMAO.

Rereading Carm’s regret after Two Steps Back is so interesting, in retrospect— Thank you for enjoying it— Regret is hand in hand with why fights are my favourite thing to write. I LOVE WHEN MOTHERFUCKERS FEEL GUILT YEEAGGHHHH YEAAH!!!!!!! Don’t know why it just does it for me but it DOES.

Red-Herring everyone with the joint bank account did put a smile on my face,,, hehehehe

Syd/Rich/Tony, I’ve said it ad nauseam but they’re really my fuckin, fuckin what’s the bridgerton thing? Rose of the season? Idk I capped out of shows I can give my brain to. The scene in the parking lot with Richie was one I’d really been waiting for, and I’m very happy it connected with all the other people pleasing readers in the way that it did. I am also not a big TSwift fan, but for Richie, ,,, I will fold. 

Omg YES way dude, but you’ve read Two Steps Back now so you know what that Phantom was yapping about. AND GOOD I’M GLAD— I’m very bad at DMing people both in life and on Tumblr so when I do it know it’s all my willpower and strength and love in one message <3

P.S I did get your replies from your notes on the last chapter!!! They were also lovely to read thank youuu love you on to the NEXT FUCK I HAVE HALF AN HOUR, alright we’re just gonna go for however long it takes.