#also i have to repost this because i think the colors might have gotten fucked up. i don't know if its fixed though

[remyrotte]

farkas

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Returning from the Dead is Easier Said than Done...

Request: Welcome, Shiny! May I request an x Reader (can be fem or gender neutral) where Echo (post-citadel) comes up to their s/o's doorstep to give them flowers and ask them on a date? A plus if the Bad Batch teases him for dressing up nicely and buying flowers. Thank you! (@handmaidenthesimp)

Author’s Note: Enjoy! If anybody wants me to repost with a gender-neutral reader, just let me know. 

Story Notes: Some swearing, not much else to warn you about. Take place in-between Season 7 of CW and The Bad Batch. No Omega this time, sorry! 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Being declared dead was uncomplicated. Your Republic file was branded with a "KIA" stamp, everyone stoically mourned, and someone just a bit shinier would step in to fill your shoes. 

Being declared undead, however, was decidedly more complicated. Oh, Echo was reassigned to Clone Force 99 easily enough. But it was the little things that seemed to get mired in red tape. Getting his few personal effects back. Re-opening his modest credit account.

Approving a rental application.

Admittedly, it wasn't that Echo really needed his own place; clones were conditioned to be accustomed to share minimalist, often-cramped quarters. And they were always on the move, so it hardly made any financial or practical sense, in the long run. 

But right now, oh, did Echo dearly wish that he was dressing up in the privacy of his own space...and not the shared cabin area of the Havoc Marauder. 

He kept his face stoic, as though readying for battle, refusing to acknowledge his teammates goggling in the background. They had returned early from their supply run. Echo had meant to be out of here an hour ago, but (somehow) hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to get dressed into multiple clothing pieces with a scomp link for a hand. 

So that’s how his comrades found him: trying to wrangle a neck accessory into submission by sheer will. 

Oh, if Fives could see him now. 

“You look funny,” Wrecker had declared decisively after an unbearably long silence. “What’s that thing you’ve got on?” 

“It’s a suit,” he grumbled, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I’m going to see Y/N.”

Wrecker gasped like a fishwife. He leaned forward, and pitched his voice low. As though the others couldn’t still hear him in the tinny space.  “Your girlfriend? You mean you’re going to see her for the first time....since…” Wrecker made a muted cartoonish sound with his mouth, clenching then expanding his fingers in a gesture for ‘explosion’.

Echo stared at him for a moment disbelievingly, before nodding slowly, forcing the sarcastic response he really wanted to say back down. He couldn’t fault Wrecker for being...well, Wrecker. He had all the tact of a rampaging bantha. 

“An’ what’s that? Around your neck?” 

Echo opened his mouth, but someone cut across his response. “A bowtie,” Crosshair drolled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. Echo tensed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. 

“Fifty credits says he chokes, and he ends up strangling himself with it in shame." 

“No way!” Wrecker exclaimed, always the optimist. He clapped Echo on the back, who was unprepared so his knees buckled. He felt his metal joints strain. “Don’t worry, Echo,” his brother rasped in the loudest whisper known to man. “I bet she’s gonna love it!” 

“You know,” Tech piped up unhelpfully, “Your strategy may backfire. The current deviation from your usual appearance may be so jarring for your beloved that she refuses your offer out of simple self-preservation instincts.” 

Echo gritted his teeth. “Right. You have stats to back that up, I suppose?” 

Tech blinked at him owlishly. “Of course I don’t. This is an obvious possible outcome.”

“I’m trying to look nice,” he snapped, scowling. 

There was a loaded pause. “...’trying’ being the objective word here,” Crosshair smirked.  

Before Echo could wipe the look off his comrade’s face with a well-placed ARC trooper punch that would’ve made Hardcase proud, Hunter wedged his way in between them, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. 

“All right, laugh it up, fellas. Personally, I think you’re all jealous because you don’t have a girl waiting for you like Echo does.” Hunter turned to face their newest member, took the bowtie that was clenched in Echo’s fist, and smoothed it out before proceeding to tie it around his neck with surprisingly deft hands. 

Crosshair ‘hmphed’ while Wrecker verbally agreed, looking slightly put out by the undeniable truth. Tech simply nodded in neutral confirmation. The group lapsed into a somewhat awkward (but not unwelcome) silence as Hunter finished tugging at the folded ends of the bow, then double-checking to ensure it was straight. He stepped back to assess his work.

“You look good,” he said sincerely.

Echo thought he was in the clear. 

Hunter frowned. “But...it looks like you’re missing something.” 

Or not. 

“Like dignity?” Crosshair drawled from a dark corner of the ship that Echo frustratingly couldn’t glare at. 

“A sense of self-confidence,” Tech suggested. He wasn’t joking. 

“FLOWERS!” Wrecker boomed confidently. “All girls like flowers. You gotta get her some before you see her!”   

“I...fine.” Echo relented, anything to get his teammates to shut up. He shoved his way through them towards the bridge. “I’ll get her some flowers. You all stay here until I get back. I mean it, Fives!” he warned.

An uneasy silence followed him, which he didn’t register until he reached the landing ramp. 

He shot an exasperated look back at them. “What?’ 

“...Your former comrade is not here, Echo.” Tech finally spoke. His words were clinical, as always, but there was a touch of understanding underlying his tone. 

Echo froze, just for a moment, then shook off the shock of his faux pas as best as he could. 

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, after all. 

Echo descended the landing ramp, squared his shoulders, and marched into town. 

Y/N lived in a run-down but culturally distinct district of Coruscant, characterized by food stalls from species and ethnicities all over the galaxy. Children often ran through the streets, sellers in colorful robes and attire shouting their wares and art for all to peruse. It was one of the nicer markets, he thought, having come here once. He had been accompanying Y/N on her usual run for specialized ingredients that made the diner she worked at the talk of the galaxy. 

Echo elbowed his way through the crowded street, content to simply blend in with the crowd, to forget about being a soldier for a moment. 

He paused at a flower stand and was mindful not to draw too much attention to his scomp-link hand as he ordered a dozen sunflowers, which he remembered were Y/N’s favorite. When his credit chip was declined, however, he sighed and reached into his pocket to see what spare change he could muster up. Being that he was wearing a never-worn suit, however, meant that there was no change to be found, and the unimpressed florist snatched the bouquet away. 

That’s okay, Echo. Y/N doesn't need flowers. She just wants to see you.

At least, he hoped that was the case. He hadn’t exactly written to her yet, unsure that he could sufficiently explain his sudden non-death in typed words...

Surprise! I’m not dead! Hey, you know that explosion on the citadel? Well, I survived! And out of it, I got an all-expenses paid trip to  the Techno Union research facility! Why didn’t I write? Well, I was in stasis most of the time and that part’s a bit fuzzy. I also was responsible for killing my brothers by using their own battle plans against them. Oh, and you might notice that I’m missing most of my fleshy bits these days… 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were more rapid these days thanks to his enhancements. He was good at compartmentalizing, though. He had to be. He was still a soldier, through and through, and no one wanted a soldier who was about two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

Yeah, a letter to Y/N wouldn’t have cut it. But he still felt like maybe he could have sent ahead some sort of...heads up? A warning? A ‘Please don’t scream when you see me because I don’t think my heart could take it?’ 

His feet finally guided him to the front entrance of the building where he knew she lived on the 14th floor. Glancing around, he spotted some blue flowers sprouting in a planter near the entrance. He yanked a fairly healthy-looking handful from the soil, shaking the roots to get most of the dirt off. He tucked the strangled roots into his fist so that they would be less obvious. 

It was time. He nodded to himself, squared his shoulders, and entered the building. 

A short elevator ride later, Echo could feed the sweat beading at his forehead and neck. At least his fight or flight response seemed to be healthy and alive, and Echo tuned out everything but the door in front of him, adorned with a purple wreath of lavender flowers. 

He stood in front of the door, and raised his hand to knock. 

He stood…

In front of the door…

...and raised his hand…

...to knock, you coward. Just fucking knock. 

His raised knuckles, however, refused to move. Echo caught a glimpse of himself in the curtained window panes on the sides of the door, and at the sight of his bloodless face, suddenly felt a whole lot less sure of himself. 

He looked ridiculous. 

He and Y/N had barely gotten to know each other before his untimely death. 

What if she was with someone new? 

This was a terrible idea. Echo should leave now, before he caused himself any more embarrassment. Crosshair might get his fifty credits, after all. 

Echo had just convinced himself to turn around and admit defeat, when the door suddenly swung open. 

Two Y/C/E eyes met his. 

There were points during Echo’s battle career where time slowed to a crawl. When an explosive grenade was thrown just a bit too close, or the comrade you had just exchanged banter with received blaster fire to the face. 

Echo was experiencing the same sensation now, but he would voluntarily stay in this moment forever, if he could. He fervently hoped his nightmares would be replaced with the sight that was etched before him. 

She was wearing her yellow work uniform, white apron pressed crisply with starch...and was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was up in a messy ‘late-for-work’ up-do, a smudge of blushed color not quite within the lines of her lips smearing her cupids’ bow where she had applied it in a rush.

He couldn’t determine whether her reaction to his sudden appearance was positive or not, and so didn’t dare speak first, breathlessly afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter. 

He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him from head to toe, gaze landing on his right hand. 

He guarded his heart. 

“Ech? Echo, is that you?” she whispered. Her eyes tore away from the scomp link hand, and began searching his face as though just as afraid he would disappear. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The silence stretched out, and the fight or flight response was creeping back. 

“I know I look a bit different.” He tried for a light-hearted joke, but couldn’t quite get his tone to match. “Had some work done. What do you think?” He winced slightly.

She stepped forward and he froze as Y/N lifted her fingers, hesitating briefly before gently touching one of the metal bolts by his left temple. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“...do they hurt?” 

He gasped a little as he remembered to breathe again.

“No,” he reassured her, raising his undamaged hand to steady hers. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” 

“...good.” 

The wind was knocked out of him as Y/N flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, tardiness to her job completely forgotten. 

She began sobbing. It wasn’t neat little sobs, like in the scripted holovids, but heaving sobs that wracked her whole body, and he worried slightly that she was going to faint on him. He forgot about his scomp link for the first time as he rubbed it in circles against her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort in her ear. 

After several minutes, she sniffled, stepping back. She rubbed her nose ungracefully where snot was leaking out, but Echo could have cared less about any of that. He only kept his arms out to steady her, in case she needed support again.

Y/N glanced down suddenly, and flushed.

“Oh. I’ve crushed them.”

Echo followed her gaze and saw that he was still holding the blue flowers from the planter in his good hand, the bouquet having been caught in between their bodies when she had thrown herself at him. They did look a little worse for wear. 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “They were free,” he said, not wanting her to feel guilty. 

She stared at him for a moment before a bubble of laughter burst from her lips. She still looked like she was about to sob at any moment, but she smiled tremulously at him through shining eyes. 

Desperate to make her feel better, he began rambling. 

“I can get you better ones! N-not right now, though,” he stuttered. “Actually, it turns out that I don’t have any credits on me at the moment. Everything’s still kind of backed up at the bank regarding my accounts. Also, this suit is new. Well. Not new. It used to belong to this woman’s father who we rescued during a mission on Bith. Long story.” His brain, which worked faster than usual these days anyways, still couldn’t seem to catch up to his mouth.

He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. “I was actually here to ask you for a date. I mean, assuming there’s no one else at the moment…oh, but you have your job to go do…bantha spit, I forgot about that...” He would have to ask Tech if it was possible for his brain to actually short-circuit.

Echo finally trailed off. Now he was the one blushing. 

The whole of Domino Squad was probably having a good laugh at his expense right about now, wherever they were. 

But Y/N was still smiling at him. And her chin had stopped wobbling. She gently took the flowers from Echo’s hand and placed them on one of the side tables in the hallway before intertwining her fingers with his and grasping his right hand without hesitation. 

“Forget about my job. Let’s go on that date. My treat. Though, if I know Dexter, he’ll give us a free meal, on the house. And the rest of the day off."

For the first time since he had joined Clone Force 99, since he had been rescued on Skako Minor, and even before the Citadel...Echo allowed a true grin of happiness to spread on his face. 

“A free meal,” he echoed. “Sounds like a plan.” 

[krappykawa]

i mildly like you more than like (pt. 6)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

word count. 7.9k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. ahhh final part!! this story has been a thrill to write and it really does hold a special place in my heart so i’m so so happy with the positive feedback it’s gotten from all of you! for those that have stuck around every week for an update, here’s the final part! i hope you all like it :D

author’s note 2. so sorry for the repost! something went wrong with the tags but i hope it’s fine now!

previously ...

It almost hits him like a truck then because huh, he’s in love with you. And yet, he doesn’t feel so different, he just feels lighter.

“Huh.”

“You finally figured it out then?”

Oikawa smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I did.” He’s almost glad that you had to spend your lunch tutoring one of the first-years because he’s not too sure what he would do with himself if you were here.

A smile finds its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips. “Happy to see it, asshole. Just don’t keep her waiting on you for another three years.”

“I won’t. I don’t plan on wasting any more time now that I finally figured it out.”

“How do you plan on telling her then?”

“That I love her?”

“You love her?” A voice that’s not Iwaizumi’s nearly jolts him from his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He turns to find you standing not far from where he and Iwaizumi are seated and feels the color drain from his face.

“You love her?”

The question echoes over the soft whipping of the night wind, poorly masking the sound of heartbreak that seems to reverberate within every uttered syllable in the three words that had just left your lips on their own accord. Three measly words, and yet - you can feel the way that your heart slowly tears itself apart.

Your love for him was kept silent for so long, a love that you only ever communicated through glances that lasted longer than they should have, arms that wrapped just a centimeter too tight to be friendly, and smiles that tipped upwards in a way that it only did for him. It was the fear of this - that despite everything you had to offer, the object of your affections would never see you in the light that you saw him.

And you hate it. You hate how fast he stands from the bench, hate how the wind whips softly over his hair and forces chestnut strands over his eyes, hate how under the pale moonlight and with someone else standing next to him, he’s still all that you see.

Maybe if you’d just let go of that fear and just told him, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here feeling this way. Or maybe he’d have broken your heart back then and he wouldn’t be in your garden in the first place. You decide that you’d rather be standing here, eyes locked with Oikawa in an awkward standstill than have that scenario come to fruition.

“How long have you been standing there?” is all he says.

You turn your gaze down to the wide slabs of rock under your feet, unable to look at him in the eye any longer. There’s no inclination to cry, which surprises you. Maybe it’s because you already wasted all your tears earlier on in the day and have now run empty. Or maybe it’s because the possibility that he had already fallen for Hishoko had already been echoing over and over in your head throughout the night.

“Not long. I only just came out,” you say as you tilt your head back up to look at him.

Oikawa seems to let out a breath of relief, which sends pinpricks further into your heart. You wonder what could’ve been so personal about his love for Hishoko that he wouldn’t want you knowing.

“Oh, okay,” Oikawa pauses. “Iwa-chan and I were just out here for a breath of air. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.” A small smile makes its way onto his lips, almost sheepish in shape. There are lies on his tongue, that much you can tell.

“So? You love Hishoko? That’s a pretty big deal for you.”

Oikawa’s mouth comes open, but no words fall out. An answer instead comes from beside him.

“No,” is all Iwaizumi says. He’s looking at you with a hard stare, as if you should be able to read the unspoken words in his sentence. For the first time, you can’t.

Oikawa’s head whips to Iwaizumi. From where you’re standing, you can just barely make out the minuscule movement of his lips and the glare he directs in Iwaizumi’s direction.

Your eyes follow both their expressions as Oikawa’s goes from panicked, to angry, to firm, and Iwaizumi’s goes from angry, to stubborn, to a firmness that matches Oikawa’s. You don’t know what to think of the staring match that seems to have started between the two, each both unblinking and equally as stubborn in their resolves.

The tense air between the two of them stretches on for far longer than it should, and for the first time, you think that Oikawa might be the first one to throw a punch this time. It’s not that these two haven’t physically fought before, but it’s never Oikawa that throws the first punch or kick. You wonder what could’ve happened to make Oikawa so firm in his glare. It’s almost off-putting to see it directed at Iwaizumi.

“Am I missing something here?” Neither of them immediately turn at the sound of your voice, but there’s a tick to both their jaws that inclines that they did indeed hear you.

Iwaizumi breaks eye contact first, but not without a snide click of his tongue. He crosses his arms as Oikawa’s face finally returns to a state that doesn’t resemble the devil.

“No. Iwa-chan and I just got into a little spat before you came out. Not a big deal. We’re alright now,” Oikawa says pleasantly. Lies. Lies. Lies.

You raise a brow at him. “So you managed to fix whatever shit went down between you two with a staring contest?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of Iwa-Oikawa, Y/N-chan,” he says again with that same irritating fraud smile.

The smile doesn’t relent. You feel whatever patience you have drain out. You wouldn’t have minded if he was just honest about lying to you, but there’s something about being treated like someone who hasn’t been by his side for 11 years that makes your blood boil. You don’t care if he has secrets (you’d be the biggest hypocrite if you got angry for that), but what you won’t tolerate is being met with this fake version of Oikawa that you’ve never known because you were there before he even had the thought to hide his real self around you.

“Cut the shit, ‘Kawa. Stop fucking lying to me,” you grind out.

The smile drops.

“I’m not lying to you.”

The lies on his lips stay firmly glued on.

You fix one hard stare on Oikawa before switching your gaze to Iwaizumi. His position hasn’t moved from when he crossed his arms, but his jaw is hardened even farther that you almost find yourself worrying for the well-being of his teeth. “Iwa? You see that he’s lying too right?”

“He is.”

Oikawa’s head snaps to Iwaizumi’s for the second time. “Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi just holds a hand up to him and sighs.

“But,” Iwaizumi pauses, his gaze fixing on you with what might be sympathy. “For once in his goddamn life, he’s lying with good cause.”

Your gaze switches wildly between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. If it was anyone else that had said that, you would’ve engaged in a potential screaming match with Oikawa by now. But there’s something about Iwaizumi saying it that only makes you lose a bit of that bubbling anger. You know that Iwaizumi might have the most unbiased opinions for anyone that you know, so if he’s saying that whatever’s going with Oikawa isn’t something you’re meant to know, it almost feels like a defeat.

“Okay,” you finally say. You know that you’re not getting anything out of either of them if Iwaizumi is covering for Oikawa. The breath in Oikawa’s lungs seems to return and you wonder again what he so badly wanted to keep from you. Instead of asking, you just sigh. “I’m gonna head in then. Don’t stay out too late. You might get sick.”

Before you turn and head for the door, you swear that you see a flicker of regret in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Shoko-chan, can I speak with you?”

Oikawa walks up to Hishoko’s figure in the middle of a hallway. She’s standing next to the best friend he’s always hearing about, fingers wrapped around her best friend’s arm in a delicate manner. As Hishoko looks up at him and nods, he attempts to send the girl a friendly smile while he takes Hishoko away, hoping that he won’t get hunted alive for breaking Hishoko’s heart. He already knows from what Hishoko’s told him that this girl might love her more than anyone on earth, and he can only hope that her wrath isn’t as harsh as he deserves.

As he holds loosely onto Hishoko’s hand and pulls her beside a pillar that’s clear of people, he recites the speech he made in his head.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t regret how the night at your house had ended, but he knew that it was for the best. He wouldn’t be able to confess his love to you with a clear conscience if he was still with someone else, and from how close you and Hishoko seemed to be, he takes that you wouldn’t be able to accept his confession (He hopes, he hopes. Iwaizumi’s reassured him that you feel the same, but he doesn’t want to assume) with a clear conscience either.

He recites his plan over and over again. Break up with Hishoko with as minimal heartbreak on her end as possible, wait a few weeks so that he doesn’t seem insensitive, then confess his love to you with something special that you’ll forget that you were mad at him for keeping it a secret in the first place. (He also feels like he owes you something special, especially after Iwaizumi told him about how long you’ve potentially been in love with him. Though Iwaizumi never really specified that you were actually in love with him for what he can only guess is respect for your secrets, Oikawa could feel the weight of the unsaid words just from Iwaizumi’s gruff words).

In getting caught up with his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice that he’s been standing in front of Hishoko in silence for who knows how long. He’s surprised that she’s not confused. Instead, she’s grinning.

“Shoko-chan, I’m-”

“Breaking up with me?” she interrupts before he can even get the rest of his prepared explanation out.

Oikawa blinks at her, unsure of how to react. He was expecting her to maybe push him away or maybe cry, but instead, she’s looking up at him with a knowing sparkle in her eyes. He takes a breath. “How did you … how did you know?”

Her smile only widens. “I would be a fool if I didn’t notice. I think I knew even back then, from the way you looked at her when you introduced her to me. No best friend looks at their best friend unless they’re in love with them.”

“Then why did you stay with me for so long?”

“I didn’t know at first. I … I thought all best friends looked at each other like that,” she says. Oikawa doesn’t miss the way that her eyes dart to where her best friend is standing against a pole in the adjacent hallway.

Oikawa stares at the two of them, and suddenly he understands. It really doesn’t surprise him. Hishoko’s relationship with her best friend was similar to his relationship with you now that he’s truly thinking about it. “Why didn’t you … break up with me sooner? You know … if you ..” he asks while cocking his head towards the girl that was still discreetly watching them.

Hishoko just shrugs. “I was in denial for a long time. I think I finally realized it when I kissed you after your game. You’re like the most wanted guy at school, and yet I just …”

“I get it.” Oikawa nods in understanding and Hishoko flashes him a grateful smile. “I think she might love you too by the way, if the way she’s looking over here is any indication.”

Her gazes flicks back over to the girl in question and Oikawa can’t help but recognize the look on Hishoko’s face. Not that he’s actually ever seen what he looks like when he looks at you, but there’s an odd sense of familiarity at the look. After a few seconds, Hishoko turns back to him, her smile even wider than before. “Thanks, Oikawa-kun. Treat Y/N well, she’s an angel.”

“I know. I know she is.”

Hishoko grins cheekily up at him. “And tell her to text me, just because you and I are broken up doesn’t mean that I’m losing her friendship.”

“Will do, Shoko-chan.”

“Hishoko broke up with you? Tooru, what the hell?”

Though there was still a certain air of terseness that surrounded you and Oikawa, you knew that you had to talk to him the minute you heard from some gossiping group of girls that he’d been broken up with by his month-long girlfriend. Despite how much it had hurt you to learn that he was nursing such strong feelings for Hishoko, you still cared enough about his happiness that you would never have wanted him to be heartbroken over someone he really did love.

But the sight you’re met with when you finally find him is not a sight you would expect from someone who’d just gotten broken up with by a girl he potentially had strong feelings for.

When you find him standing with Iwaizumi under one of the cherry blossom trees, his face doesn’t hold an ounce of distress. You wonder what the hell might have changed between Saturday night and right now that could make Oikawa so relaxed about getting his heartbroken by the second girl he’s ever loved.

Oikawa’s gaze immediately finds yours as you walk up to them and whatever conversation he and Iwaizumi seem to be having is paused. You don’t miss the way that they exchange glances.

“Actually, I was the one who broke up with her. It was mutual, but she jokingly asked that nobody find out that I was the one who broke up with her. I figured I would do her that little kindness,” he says simply. “I meant to tell you earlier, but you seemed adamant on avoiding me. I was going to tell you later tonight by barging into your house and forcing you to speak to me but-”

That’s news to you.

“You broke up with Hishoko?”

Oikawa’s brow furrows. “Yes …?”

“But, I thought you said you loved her? Why would you break up with her if you loved her?”

Iwaizumi answers before Oikawa can. “He doesn’t. He never did.” This time, Oikawa seems to be prepared for Iwaizumi’s words and looks eerily calm rather than panicked.

The truth behind Iwaizumi’s words is evident, but if Hishoko wasn’t the person they were talking about before you stepped out into the garden, then who was? A tiny voice in your head supplies you with an answer, but it’s an answer that you’re sure your brain is just supplying in order to make you feel better. You pay the tiny voice no mind.

“Then … what was Saturday night about?” You look between the both of them. “What was I missing there?”

Oikawa’s staring at you once more, but this time he doesn’t look as if he’s searching for an answer. Instead he’s looking at you with something that you can’t pinpoint. You’re not even sure if the way he’s looking at you is negative or positive.

When Oikawa doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to speak anytime soon, you switch your gaze to Iwaizumi. He’s staring at Oikawa knowingly.

You can’t help but feel like there’s something huge that you’re missing here. What irritates you most is that you don’t know what it might be.

One moment, you believe that Oikawa’s in love with his girlfriend and the next you’re being told that he never loved her like that in the first place? You’ve known Oikawa long enough that he doesn’t throw around the word “love” when it comes with a romantic connotation. Not when he expressed to you that all he knew about his future was that he wanted to keep chasing volleyball, and he wasn’t entirely sure how many people would be willing to put up with that.

“I can’t say,” Oikawa finally says. There it is again, that odd tone in his voice.

The conversation is much too reminiscent of the same conversation you had with Oikawa in your kitchen that Saturday night. You wonder if this is the world’s way of making you realize your own hypocrisy. You know that you put Oikawa in the exact same position then that he’s putting you in now.

But Oikawa’s always been more trained in masking his emotions with whatever facade he wants to use. You on the other hand, have always let curiosity and anger have too much rein on your emotions.

“Iwa? What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “It pains me to say this, but I think you should listen to him. He has a reason for not telling you right now, and it’s the only reason he’s ever come up with that’s made sense.”

That anger spikes again and you feel a stab of guilt at how hypocritical you’re being. “So you’re just going to keep me in the dark about why the hell you broke up on the girlfriend that you said you loved.”

“Iwa-chan wasn’t lying,” Oikawa says. “I don’t love her.”

“Then what …”

“Y/N,” Oikawa interrupts. This is the first time in 5 years that he’s ever said your name without the teasing ‘chan’ at the end. “I’ll let you know soon, okay? I promise.”

Your gazes stay locked on each other and there’s something about the depth of his look that you can’t seem to look away from.

You know that you could probably stand here and force him to tell you, but that’s not how the two of you worked. Your decade of friendship has gone through plenty of highs and lows, but it’s always been a relationship built on mutual trust and love.

There were times when he would promise you that he wouldn’t stay overtime to practice that you knew were lies, but you trusted him well enough to believe that he wouldn’t incessantly push himself to the brink like he might’ve used to.

There were times where he’d get in arguments with his sister that he’s never told you about, but he’d come to your house anyway and spend an hour just sitting in silence with you in the backyard because he knew that you trusted and respected his emotions enough to not push.

There were times when you sat in his bedroom and listened as he tried to pretend like his eyes didn’t light up at the idea of travelling the world to play volleyball, but you both trusted each other enough to know that when the time did come for him to admit it to himself, you would both figure it out.

So no, you won’t push, no matter how much you might want to. For the second time in two days, you say, “Okay.”

Oikawa knows he has to wait. He knows he can’t confess to you right away. He’s well accustomed to the ruthless rumor mill at Aoba Johsai, and he would hate for a repeat of second-year.

For his three years at Aoba Johsai, he’s seemed to become exempt from any nasty rumors (with the exception of the inevitable few that he just chooses to brush off), but he found that you were not. Late last year, Oikawa had gotten out of a short relationship, one that he’d ended because he was prioritizing volleyball a little too much, and he just couldn’t find it in him to compromise.

He of course expected the tears from the girl he was with, but what he wasn’t expecting were the tears from you. Somehow, a rumor had gone around that painted you in a terrible light with a few choice words that made Oikawa grip his locker with white knuckles. They’d dragged you into a situation that you weren’t even a part of because someone had gotten jealous of his close friendship with you.

So yes, he would wait. Even though he and Hishoko had ended on friendly and mutual terms, he wouldn’t give the nasty rumor mill anything to talk about.

He knows that you might be angry with him for keeping secrets so deliberately. But if there was something he never wanted to experience again, it would be watching your smile drop off your face as heard the rumors. He’d gladly let you be angry with him for whatever amount of time you wanted if it meant that he didn’t have to frantically search for you all over the school during lunch only to find you crying  in an abandoned restroom because you’d been called a demeaning word that had no place being used to describe you.

Besides, the time he’s using to wait until his relationship with Hishoko has gone its rounds in the rumor mill has been time that he’s been using to concoct a surprise for you.

So far, his plans haven’t been working.

He’s been coming home late everyday from practice and staying up well into the night due to unsuccessful attempts at baking a cake. He’s well aware that you’re a baker and that whatever mess of a cake he might be able to concoct won’t hold a candle to the cakes you can make. But he wants to let you know.

Oikawa’s well aware that his rocky past with his relationships hasn’t set a great track record and he’s noticed more than once that you seemed to be surprised anytime that he showed an inclination for trying with any of his romantic relationships. He doesn’t want you to still think that way when he confesses.

He wants you to know that for all his faults and shortcomings, he’s not going to mess up with you.

That’s why he’s sitting at lunch with yet another crumbly piece of half-scorched cake. It’s been two weeks since his first attempt at a cake, and it seems that he’s severely overestimated his own baking skills.

“That’s the fifth piece of burnt cake I’ve seen you miserably eating this week,” Iwaizumi says from beside him.

Oikawa just shrugs. “I’m trying to bake a cake for Y/N-chan. I think my oven just hates me.”

“It more than hates you if your cakes always look like that pile of shit.” A voice says from in front of Oikawa. Hanamaki is looking down at the miserable looking cake sitting in his bento box with an amused grin.

Oikawa lifts his nose arrogantly in the air. “Like you could do any better, Makki,” he crosses his arms. “You nearly burned down Y/N’s house only two weeks ago.”

Hanamaki lets out a small laugh before taking a seat across from Oikawa. Matsukawa slides in next to him.

“Yeah, but Mattsun can.”

Oikawa turns his head in Matsukawa’s direction. “Mattsun? You … know how to bake?”

Matsukawa lets out a snort. “Yeah, dipshit. Who do you think makes the brownies?”

In hindsight, Oikawa probably should have known that. Matsukawa often brings brownies for the third-years to eat after practice on their way home, but Oikawa never knew that Mattsun himself had been the one to make them. He always just assumed that his mother made them.

“Why are you making a cake for Y/N anyway? It’s not her birthday isn’t it?”

“He finally got his shit together and is planning to confess to her. I think he’s already failed,” Iwaizumi notes with a glance at the cake that looks like something Takeru would make.

“Fucking finally,” Hanamaki says a little too loud. A few heads turn to their table, but Oikawa just smiles politely at them until they have the decency to look away. Once the eyes have stopped looking in their direction, Hanamaki speaks again, this time considerably quieter than before. “Mattsun’s gonna help, isn’t that right Mattsun? Only because it’s for Y/N.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes before mumbling a reluctant, “Fine.”

“Why does Mattsun’s look like that? Mine don’t look anything close to that.”

Oikawa’s leaning against his kitchen counter, watching with a concentrated stare as Matsukawa skillfully coats the small, round cake in fluffy, white frosting. The cake this time came out perfectly cooked and came out of the pan without falling apart. Oikawa finds himself cursing all of the half-burnt cake sitting in his fridge for not cooking properly.

Iwa snorts. “Because you’re a shit baker Oikawa.”

“Shut up Iwa-chan! My oven just hates me!”

All he gets from Iwaizumi is a chuckle and an eyeroll. Makki laughs lightly.

“Hey, ‘Kawa. You said you wanted to write something on this?” Mattsun asks as he finishes frosting the cake.

Oikawa stares at the small cake and around at the three standing in his kitchen. Suddenly the phrase he wanted to write on there sounds far more embarrassing than it did when it was only him making the cake.

“No, I didn’t,” he says.

Iwaizumi looks at him. “You’re lying.”

Oikawa’s hands come up to cross against his chest. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Hanamaki leans against the counter and sports a grin that Oikawa thinks looks far too close to a hyena. “Come on, as long you weren’t planning to write a dick joke, it can’t be that bad.”

“Makki!”

Hanamaki holds his arms up. “Hey, no need to yell, captain.”

Before Oikawa can whine out another reply, Iwaizumi reaches an arm behind him and snatches the paper that Oikawa had used to first sketch out the cake he was attempting to make. Oikawa tries to snatch it back before Iwaizumi can read it, but Iwa pulls far away from him before he can get the chance to do so.

Iwaizumi’s eyes scan the paper with a mildly amused smile on his face. When he lifts his eyes back up to meet Oikawa’s, his eyebrows are raised. “Really, Oikawa? You were going with this line?”

“Iwa-chan, be nice to me!”

Hanamaki comes up behind Iwaizumi and snatches the paper from the shorter wing-spiker.

His mouth drops open as he stares between the paper and Oikawa. “You’re a sap! You’re a fucking sap!”

Oikawa groans, already wanting to shrivel up on the floor and just sit there. Matsukawa attempts to take a peek over Hanamaki’s shoulder. “What’s it say?” His eyes skim the paper. “Ew, gross. You’re even worse when you’re aware of your feelings. You’re like a walking romance manga.”

“Mattsun shut up! It’s special to me!”

Matsukawa waves a hand at him, but there’s a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s a little cute. It’ll be hard to pipe it on though. I’ll just make one of those little toothpick banners.”

The hands that Oikawa was previously hiding his face in fall to his side. “Wait, you’re actually gonna put it on there?”

“Only because I think Y/N will like it. Knowing you, you’ll mess up the actual confession part. At least, if that happens then you can just show her the cake and maybe save your ass,” Mattsun teases.

“Do any of you have any faith in me?”

“No.”

“Iwa-chan!”

You’re wiping down a dirty table when the bakery bell chimes to indicate a new customer. Rather than a new customer however, you’re instead met with the sight of Oikawa Tooru with his hair looking more coiffed than usual and wearing an outfit that you’re sure he’d taken straight from a Pinterest aesthetic board. Coupled with the soft smile that graces his face, he looks as beautiful as ever.

“How many loaves do you want?” You ask, already mid-stride on the way to your place behind the cashier with the expectation that he’s come for another purchase of the milk bread that seems to be his holy grail.

“Actually, I’m not buying anything. I came here to pick you up,” Oikawa says.

You furrow your brow at him. “My shift doesn’t end until nine.”

Oikawa makes a flicking motion with his hand. “I already had a conversation with your boss. He said he’ll let you off early.”

That makes you pause. You vaguely remember a conversation between you and your boss nearly two months ago when you left early to pick Oikawa up from practice.

With that memory also comes the memory of what happened after you picked Oikawa up, but you will the thought out of your head.

However, since then, your boss Hada-san told you that every time you left early, you would have to be make up with overtime hours. Since then, you hadn’t left early for any of your shifts.

“How did you manage to do that?”

Oikawa flashes that grin that seems to be second-nature to him at this point, his teeth flashing brightly. “Don’t question my charm Y/N-chan.”

You raise a brow at him across the counter.

Before Oikawa can say anything else, your boss pops his head out from the kitchen with flour littering his cheeks. He looks rather cheerful for a man whose bakery is empty on what is usually one of the busier days of the week.  “Oikawa, hey! Don’t forget about tomorrow. My grandson’s practically dying to learn.”

It isn’t hard to figure out then just what Oikawa bribed your boss with. Oikawa greets the older man with a friendly smile and a promise that he’s more than excited to teach his grandson. Before Hada-san retreats behind the door, his statement of “Your boyfriend is a very lovely young man, Y/N!” makes you nearly choke on air.

You try to cover up your little malfunction by coughing into your sleeve.

“So, only your charm then?”

You swear that there’s a light redness to Oikawa’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe I promised to teach his grandson volleyball so that he can let you off early today. With pay.”

“With pay?” you gape as you look between him and the door your boss just disappeared behind. “Have I ever told you about how much I love you?”

“No, but you really should say it more often,” he says cockily at first. With a softer voice he says,”It sounds nice coming from you.”

You try to keep your face neutral. Even after everything, Oikawa’s breakup with Hishoko has only intensified your feelings for him. Especially since Hishoko herself has been bugging you about confessing to him ever since their breakup happened (though she won’t give you any other reason to do so other than just do it, trust me).

You start to strip the gloves off your hands as you say, “Alright, shut the ego up.”

“Get out of that apron then. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

Oikawa grins. “Well, you’re just gonna have to hurry up and find out aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes at the smug smile on his face before disappearing into the kitchen. At the counter, Hada-san is busy with creating a batch of cookies that will have to freeze overnight. You smile sheepishly at him when he looks up from chopping blocks of chocolate.

“That boy cares a lot about you, you know.” He lets out a chuckle. “He practically begged me to let you off early.”

You remember how he mistook Oikawa as your boyfriend earlier and shake your head at him. “We’re only friends, Hada-san. He’s just like that.”

“Friends?” He pauses his chopping once more to give you an almost incredulous look. “Really?”

You offer your boss a small smile. “Yeah. That’s all we ever are.”

He just shrugs. “You should tell him how you feel, you never know.”

“He doesn’t feel the same, it’s practically a lost cause at this point.” You try to hide the bitterness in your voice as you hang your apron up near the small rack at the far end of the kitchen.

Hada-san clicks his tongue. “Hmm, my head baker giving up? I don’t like to see that. But hey, it’s your life. Just make sure you don’t have any regrets.”

You wonder what could be so interesting about your miserable love life that even your boss is attempting to give you advice. “Of course, Hada-san.” You stop right before the door. “I should get going. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He lets out a small hum of agreement. You turn to push the door open.

“Y/N, one last thing.” You pause. Hada-san flashes you a small grin. “I think you need to look a little closer.”

“So. What’s the surprise?”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at you. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it Y/N-chan?”

“We’ve been walking for 20 minutes and you still jump at any mention of ‘surprise’.”

“Because it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You groan and place you head in your hands. “I hate you,” you mumble.

“You love me.” Even though you can’t see him, you know for sure that Oikawa’s currently sporting a teasing grin on his lips.

You let your hands drop back down to your sides and your left hand brushes against Oikawa’s right hand lightly. You merely shake your head at him, already over the irony of those words. The two of you continue walking in a relatively comfortable silence.

“Okay now close your eyes,” Oikawa instructs. The two of you are standing at the edge of the park near Seijoh. Oikawa peers at you with an almost pleading look. You raise a brow at him. “Just do it,” he pleads again.

You have half a mind to pretend to refuse in closing your eyes, but Oikawa’s pleading eyes are ten times harder to resist when they turn golden under the setting sun.

“Fine,” you mumble before reluctantly letting your eyes flutter closed. You feel a larger, more calloused hand being slipped into yours and fight the urge to smile.

You let yourself be guided by the pull of Oikawa’s hand in yours and only hope that you don’t fall straight onto your face. The two of you only walk for a maximum of two minutes before you feel Oikawa’s hand starts jostling wildly as if he’s making exuberant hand motions with his other hand.

“Tooru? Can I open my eyes now?”

“No!” comes his almost panicked reply.

“Are you in any immediate danger? What’s going on?”

Instead of a reply, you feel the hand that’s intertwined with yours only move more jerkily. “I’m opening my eyes.”

Before Oikawa can even let out another high-pitched squeak, you let your eyes open.

Your mouth nearly drops open at the sight. In front of you is what looks to be a picnic blanket, a basket off to the corner, three guilty-looking Seijoh third-years, and one cake collapsed into two pieces on the picnic blanket.

“Makki? Mattsun? Iwa? ‘Kawa, what’s all this?”

“Y/N-chan, please avert your eyes. I’m about to commit three murders.” Oikawa briefly turns his head to you and sends you an exaggerated grin before directing a glare in the direction of Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa. “Please tell Coach that he will have to find a few new players for the team.”

You blink between him and the three figures staring sheepishly at the both of you.

Makki’s eyes switch between the ruined cake and you. “Surprise?”

Oikawa’s hand slips from yours as he places his head in his hands and groans. You’re left to stare at the three on the picnic blanket and at the cake laying in pieces on the ground. From it you can see vanilla cake, white frosting, and strawberries. Your baker’s instinct cringes at the fact that a perfectly good cake went to waste.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. You’re surprised that even he looks a little guilty. “Uh, I’m just gonna … take these two dumbasses away. You two … figure shit out.” His eyes flick to Oikawa. “Good luck.”

You watch as Iwaizumi drags Makki and Mattsun away from the picnic blanket. From where you’re standing, you can already see that an argument has started between them.

A sigh from besides you catches your attention. You turn to look at Oikawa to find him staring at the picnic blanket with hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“Tooru? What’s going on?”

Oikawa’s frown only deepens. “This was meant to be the way that I confess to you.”

You swear that your heart stops beating. For a second, you almost panic at the very real possibility that your heart actually stopped.

“Confess … confess what?”

“I think you’re plenty smart enough to figure it out, Y/N-chan.”

If a brain could actually sputter and malfunction like a broken car, you’d say that your brain came pretty close to doing so. He’s right. You’re plenty smart and have been in enough relationships to understand what he’s implying.

But that doesn’t mean that it feels real.

You pause. “But … you don’t like me like that.” The statement is more for your own head to get a grip rather than an actual response to Oikawa. It’s hard to erase the constant nagging insecurity you have when it comes to him ever reciprocating your feelings.

“You don’t actually believe that do you?” Oikawa’s voice is mildly panicked.

“But Hishoko-”

“We broke up because I realized my feelings for you.”

You stare at him. “But. You like me? That doesn’t-”

Oikawa turns so that his body is completely angled toward you. Whatever ending you had for your sentence dies on your lips when that smile that’s only slightly upturned makes its way onto his lips and he says, “I’m in love with you, Y/N-chan.”

Your breathing stops for just a moment. Your lips part in surprise.

“You’re … in love with me?”

Oikawa looks at you like you’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world. “I called you at 3 A.M every night without fail even when I had a girlfriend that I could be talking to.”

“We always did that.” You shake your head. “Maybe not every night, but you still called sometimes.”

The tips of Oikawa’s small smile perk upwards the slightest bit. “I did it because your voice was the only thing that calmed me down enough that I could finally sleep.”

“Really?” You feel your mouth go dry.

Oikawa shakes his head and lets out a little chuckle. “I spent two weeks trying and failing to bake a cake while potentially almost burning my oven because I wanted this to be special. I even had this whole paper mapped out with how I would decorate it.” He pauses. “I think I was a little over my head with that.”

His gaze falls on the ruined cake that’s laying on the checkered picnic blanket. “We were supposed to have this cute little picnic that I read about on the internet and you’d forget that you were slightly mad at me for keeping secrets from you and then I’d slice a piece of cake for you. There’s even a little banner on the cake that Mattsun helped me make. I hoped that somewhere along the way, I’d figure out how to do the actual confessing stuff. But then we got here and apparently some kid ran into Makki while he was holding the cake and really Mattsun made most of the cake, but we were all really proud of it and now the cake’s a mess.”

A pout finds its way onto Oikawa’s lips and you get the urge to kiss it off his mouth. You shake your head and focus instead on what he just said.

“All of that … for me?”

“What part of ‘I’m in love with you’ did you not understand Y/N-chan?” Oikawa chuckles lightly. “Oh, this might be a good time to show you what the cake was supposed to tell you. I think you’ll like it. It might just be my favorite quote of all time. The author was a genius.”

He walks to the fallen cake and bends down to sift through the remains. He calls you over when he seems to have found it. When you bend down next to him, you see that he’s pointing to one of those little banner things that you’ve stuck into cupcakes denoting ‘it’s a girl!’ multiple times. But what’s written on this banner isn’t “it’s a girl”. Instead, it reads “I mildly like you more than like.”

“You remembered me saying that?”

Oikawa turns his head to look at you. The combination of the look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips nearly knocks the wind out of you. It does so because it’s not any different from how he’s always looked at you. You always believed that you would never get to be privy to Oikawa ever looking at you with love in his eyes and yet, he’s done it all this time.

“Take a look around you Y/N-chan,” Oikawa whispers. He shifts his gaze upwards. “Look at the tree we’re at.”

You stand. In front of you is the tree you pulled Oikawa against when you kissed him.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.”

Oikawa stares at the tree fondly. It’s almost as if he’s reliving the memory. “That kiss quite literally turned my entire life upside down. I would never forget the moment I first started to realize that I was in love with you.”

“So something did change because of that kiss? I didn’t imagine it?”

A chuckle escapes Oikawa’s lips. “If you mean that you sent my thoughts spiralling into overdrive, then yeah, I guess you could say something changed.”

You stay silent, your thoughts buzzing. You’re not questioning it anymore - he’s in love with you.

“Y/N-chan?”

You turn to gaze at him. He’s here and he’s proclaiming to you what you’ve wanted for so long.

“Kiss me.”

Oikawa’s reaction is almost synonymous to the reaction you had when he first asked you to kiss him to get rid of those girls. “What?”

For the first time since he began confessing, you smile up at him. “You know, cause if you do, you’d know that I might be a little bit in love with you too.”

Oikawa looks as if he might be frozen in place. His eyes are wide as he blinks at you.

“So? Are you going to do it or not?”

He shakes his head and seems to be moving with reality again. With a step towards you, he gently cups your jaw and tips his mouth down to yours.

His other hand comes down to hold your waist with light fingers, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands come up to rest against his chest. Oikawa smiles against your lips when he notices the reaction he elicited from you.

This kiss is softer that the kiss you two shared before, but you can feel every single word that came from Oikawa’s mouth about his love for you being reinforced with the way his lips move gently against yours. The action is still dizzying to you, as if his lips are lined with something addicting. You’re more than willing to get lost in it.

Oikawa’s the first to pull away. When you open your eyes, his gaze still hovers lightly over your features warmly. His thumb stays situated at your jaw, moving in circular movements. You can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. “So, how was it? Any plans to get a girlfriend in approximately two weeks time without telling me?”

A laugh escapes his lips at that - a melodic sound that you want to bottle up. “No, but I do have plans on getting a girlfriend in approximately two seconds. I think she might say yes.”

“I feel incredibly sorry for said girl.”

Oikawa gasps in a playful manner. “Y/N-chan!”

You roll your eyes, but the widening grin on your face ruins the act. “Yes, I will take on the burden of being the person that’s liable to be annoyed by you 24 hours a day.”

Oikawa pouts, looking much like a child and a dog all in one.

“Don’t make that face.”

“You’re mean,” Oikawa huffs. You let out a laugh. “Tell me that you love me and maybe I’ll reconsider crying in the middle of this park.”

Oikawa turns his head upwards pettily, eliciting another chuckle from you. “I’ll do you one better.” You bend down and pick up the banner from the cake and hold it up to Oikawa with a grin.

Oikawa still doesn’t budge. In fact, he only tightens his crossed arms and holds his head so high that you start to wonder if his neck is doing okay.

An idea pops into your head as you stare down at the small banner written in Oikawa’s handwriting. The banner is still attached to a chunk of cake.

With a grin, you take the bit of cake stuck to the bottom of the banner insert and smear it onto Oikawa’s lips. His reaction is instantaneous.

“Y/N-chan!” His mouth falls open in shock. You laugh heartily at the way his mouth is now covered in frosting and cake crumbles. Oikawa flashes a competitive smile in your direction. “Oh no. You don’t get to get away with that.” Your laughter stops.

You see him pick up a bit of cake and set his eyes on you before you get the mind to start running. You know that this game of tag is gonna be a game that you lose because his legs are much longer than yours, but you run anyway. You’re only able to run a few feet when Oikawa’s hands come to snatch you at the waist.

You wriggle in his grasp as he smears the cake onto your mouth. The sweet taste of buttercram frosting enters your tastebuds and you get the random thought that this cake is delicious pops into your head.

The two of you laugh as your hands wrap around his neck and your head comes to rest on his chest, the fabric of his clothing muffling your laughter. His arms are wrapped around the small of your back. You wonder what you two must look like to onlookers at the moment.

With a final laugh, you look up at Oikawa. He’s still laughing, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that he’s yours now. This Oikawa - the one that can’t bake for shit, that one that calls you at ungodly hours in the night, the one that gently strokes your jaw as his lips move against your own - is now yours.

His face is gorgeous as it contorts into a laugh that makes him tip his head backwards. And as the sun perfectly encapsulates his features in a golden light, you’re reminded that you’re sickeningly in love with this boy standing in front of you.

When his laughing stops and his gaze turns back to you, you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to yours.

This time, he tastes like frosting and vanilla cake.

taglist: @bumbledunce @angelkogane @waitforitillwritemywayout​ @mrsbakug0u @salty4tsukki​ @ppangiiroo @pharvhs​ @haksblade @whosmorales​ @yoitsseulgi​ @seijohreign​ @intheawks​ @smellssharpies​ @my-neighbor-todoro​ @fightcalum @yatoatyourservice​ @woo-youngs  @fandomlover-universe​ @cowward​ @iwaizoom​ @keitsukki11​ @airheadpillar​ @hockeycoaching​ @catchmeb-r-awling​ @gudetamalifestyle​ @starryhyun​ @babbykawa​ @chickentendo315 @bettys-other-shoe​ @darkshadowsofmetbh @anseoo​ @daydr3am3s @saucyleftovers​ @cleopatera​ @introvertatitsfinest​ @ughxghoul​ @smellssharpies​

AHH that’s a wrap! i hope the ending was satisfactory and i would love to hear what you guys thought about the last chapter!

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Christmas Writing Event

Author's Note: Hi guys! Just for some background, as an all round lover of Christmas, and because its the third one I'll spend with this wee little blog, it seemed like a fun idea to run a special something to celebrate those two things. This has nothing to to with the traditional Twelve Days of Christmas song/rhyme, it's just a fun little thing being run on the twelve days leading up to Christmas.

Below the cut, you'll find a prompt list with twelve (12) prompts. All prompts will get a drabble (or maybe a longer fic depending on the flow and how much time I have) and you, the reader, will have the opportunity request a prompt with a specific person/character.

Guidelines and prompts below

Guidelines

-Because of how few prompts there are, and because this is the first time around for this event, there will only be one (1) prompt per request and one (1) request per person. I.e- one person, via ask or private message, can request only one prompt with a figure from the specified list.

-Any particular prompt can only be requested/written once.

-Prompt requests must be submitted before December 14th, when posting begins to facilitate writing.

-Drabbles/short fics will be posted solely in the order they're written in, not in the order that the prompts are listed in.

-One dabble/short fic will be posted daily, from the 14th of December until the 25th December.

-Red and green color coded prompts indicate 2 person dialogue (but they are still one prompt)

-Prompts can be requested for the following actors/characters Keanu Reeves John Wick Alexander Skarsgard Cillian Murphy Thomas Shelby Bruce Wayne (film versions)

-Finally, all prompts will be written, a request simply allows a reader to chose who the prompt is written on. Fluff/ansgt/smut can also be specified by the requester.

-While it is not the main focus of this writing event, other writers are welcome to use these prompts, just please tag me using @fortheloveoffanfic.

-All prompts were written by me, therefore reblogs are appreciated but please do not repost

Prompts (all are original)

1. "Doesn't matter where I go, I'll always come home to you for Christmas."

2. "I love Christmas!" "I can tell."

3. "You might be the hottest elf I've ever met." "You've met other elves?" requested by penweildingdreamer with Alexander Skarsgard

4. "I don't think I've ever had a better Christmas, and none of this would've be possible if it weren't for you."

5. "Mistletoe, means you have to kiss me." "That's parsley." "Close enough." requested by green-day-fangirl with Thomas Shelby

6. "Spend Christmas with me? And then every other day for the rest of our lives?"

7. "Is it weird for you that we're not spending Christmas together?" "It's weird…..and it hurts."

8. "Can we just pretend that everything's okay? Just for the holidays. We can go back to the way things were afterwards." "What if I don't wanna go back to that? To the way things were, I mean."

9. "This isn't a movie, you can't just come here and expect everything to be okay just because its the holidays." "I'm not here because I'm expecting everything to be okay. I'm here because I miss you, and I love you, and I'm sorry."

10. "It's a beautiful day!" "It's fucking freezing." "That's why it's beautiful."

11. "I've never made sugar cookies. This is a disaster!" "Well, at least you look cute in that apron."

12. "This might be the best Christmas present I've ever gotten."

[daaziscoolbesties]

[REPOST] MY 2K WORD COMMENTARY/ANALYSIS OF RANBOO’S LORE STREAM

‼️‼️This post contains lore spoilers from Ranboo’s 4/23 stream, “The Enderwalk Saga. Chapter 1: The Lessons”. If you haven’t seen that stream don’t read ahead unless you want spoilers‼️‼️

disclaimer: this isnt really an analysis as much as a bunch of commentary and half-baked theories.

-on the way to the mansion he was sort of talking to himself saying stuff like "i'm good i'm good" which m a y be a normal thing but also maybe it's not and it flew over our heads cause he talks to chats and donos like that so often

-again, this one may just be a normal thing but when he was climbing up the stairs in the mansion looking for foolish, he repeats some of his words like down to the exact same tone of voice and everything. 12:42,  "this mansion is way too big actually. this mansion is way too big actually." (why the repeated actually? seems odd to me but again it might just be a normal thing that i haven't picked up on). (right after) "okay okay lemme find him lemme find him" again repeated words in the e x a c t same tone.

-does everyone know about ranboo's silk touch hands ability thing? or was that just a techno and ranboo main character moment. bc if it was, how would foolish know that ranboo could pick up the full cake after it'd been partially eaten. unless everyone on the sever knows about that in which case this means nothing. but if they d o n t know... how would foolish know? ranboo wrote about it in the do not read book so maybe if it's not a publicly known thing maybe foolish got his hands on the book and read it??

-14:53-ish, they're talking about the war room and how it was for tubbo or whatever and ranboo says, and i quote "he prepares for lore but he's never gonna do it." now funny thing is at first i couldn't tell if he said "war" like in reference to the war room or "lore". but after playing the clip over and over i can say with ALMOST 100% certainty that he said lore. there is a definite L sound at the beginning of the word. which either means a) this was a slip up (doubtful bc he said later that there were no mistakes), b) he broke the fourth wall because they were supposed to be rping at that point, or c) i'm completely wrong and he said "war" which leads down an entire other road of possibilities

-15:17 "are you a book reader?" "*checks inventory for do not read book* uh yeah i'd say i'm a book reader-" dunno how i didn't catch this the first time I HATE THAT DAMN BOOK

-15:18 there's blue in his hotbar. where did he get the blue.

-16:40 "it's like a metaphor- i have two minds: i have my normal self, my normal little shift-dancing self, and then the builder one. the builder one is demanding. it's a very demanding mind." ranboo then lets out a weird sigh after this. i feel like what foolish was talking about was an indirect(?) parallel to ranboo in and out of enderwalk, there's how he normally is, trying to do best for others, and then there's enderwalk, meeting up with bad guys and "demanding" things (its very late as i write this i really don't know what i'm talking about)

-17:11 "you have your panic closet" i'm sorry his what now 😀 no but seriously how the hell did i miss some of these

-18:04 "you're asking me if i remember?" very funny ranboo thank you for making jokes in these trying times

-18:25 WHY DID HE GET OUT THE AXE WHEN STARING AT THE BEE

-19:38 why did foolish hold the grass block- most of these observations probably mean nothing but- h u h - is that- i'm too tired for this

-19:54 "i never properly thanked you for the deal you made with me" so foolish got something out of this deal, we're not sure if ranboo did. "the green cardboard box" again do you mean dream's house- but seriously the only people i can think of on the server that are associated with green are dream and sam. and i have no idea what cardboard box could be referring to.  foolish got a lime colored shulker from drista

-20:30 "we're supposed to only talk about it at a certain location" hmm now where would that be? panic room maybe? cause like usually after doing a big thing in the enderwalk state ranboo wakes up in the panic room so maybe?  the deal was that they only talk about it in his house

-21:52 how does ranboo receive(?) the lessons? like are they whispered to him in his mind or is he seeing them as words in front of him like we see? hmm

-"Lesson 14: If you have the opportunity to gain a favor, take it." "gain a favor" don't you usually ask people for favors though? how does one "gain a favor"? anyways i'm pretty sure lesson 14 has to do with the deal foolish was talking about. (the deal explained because i now have info: at some point a bit ago foolish met up with ranboo and asked to make a deal, he'd gotten a shulker box from drista. the deal was that ranboo would have ownership of the box, it would be under his name but foolish rents/borrows it indefinitely. ranboo negotiated that if he took ownership of the box he would get a "war favor"  from foolish where if something happens that creates sides, ranboo can ask him a favor that could change his side. but why would foolish want ranboo to have ownership of the shulker you may ask? well i have an answer for you. a theory actually but still. basically since drista technically isn't supposed to give out shit on the server if someone where to have that stuff then they may get in trouble. foolish wants to be able to use the shulker but if it gets found he doesn't want to get in trouble, so he can blame it on ranboo seeing as it's under his name.)

-22:16-ish "i still have this from when you *can't understand whats said here*" well i guess that sort of explains why he had the grass block? idk man (info update: he had the grass block from when ranboo threw it at him telling him to calm down like what ghostbur does with blue)

-31:35 "i figured out how to cause it" how to cause the enderwalk state

-38:30 "ninety three lessons" I STILL DONT KNOW WHY HE KEPT SAYING NINETY THREE AND NOT NINETY FOUR AND ITS DRIVING ME CRAZY LMAO

-39:01 "it's all for the greater good" okay well when are you gonna start thinking about yourself and not everyone else for once huh. self care bitch.

-40:31 he started holding the axe when he was looking at sam- gonna say it i really don't like that axe ahahah- WAIT A DAMN MINUTE THE AXE IS NAMED "axe of ender" I DONT LIKE THAT I DONT LIKE THAT AT ALL

-41:53 is there something?? physically keeping him from telling sam??? or maybe it's sort of like his enderwalk state taking control to make him shut the fuck up??? so many questions and approximately zero answers

-43:18 ranboo raising his voice legitimately scares me 😀👍

-"Lesson 27: Do not reminisce on what you have lost for it will weigh you down." showed up when he was thinking about and REMINISCING about the community house 👀👀

-"Lesson 53: Never fully trust anyone." showed up literally after he said that he thinks he can trust the other people on the server enough to tell them about what he did

-"Lesson 67: Leave no evidence of what you have helped with." this is different from the others because there doesn't seem to be at least a semi-direct connection to it? unless maybe at the time ranboo was near something he may have "helped with"? not sure about this one

-"Lesson 94: DO NOT LET THEM KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE" yeah yeah i get it i get it he's fucked up some shit in enderwalk i don't feel like analyzing this thanks

-OH OH NOTICE HOW HE SAYS "REMEMBERING" WHEN THE LESSONS SHOW UP. IMPLYING THAT THIS ISNT A NEW THING, ITS HAPPENED BEFORE AND NOW HES REMEMBERING IT. MAYBE HE WROTE DOWN THE LESSONS WHEN HE WAS IN ENDERWALK AND NOW THAT HES BEEN EXPERIMENTING ITS BEEN EASIER FOR HIM TO REMEMBER THOSE ENDERWALK MEMORIES

-okokok the experiments are that he's been e x p e r i m e n t i n g on how to purposefully induce the enderwalk state. and we know now that it wasn't from the pain of the water because on the stream afterwords he said that it's caused by the intense fear of something happening. and so the "side effects" of the experiments is that since he's in enderwalk more often(?) he starts remembering more things from it

-OH MY GOD WAIT "there is a reason sam, there's so many reasons, theres ninety three of them" (44:47) WHAT IF EVERY LESSON IS TIED TO A QUOTE UNQUOTE "reason" THAT RANBOO THINKS HES A BAD PERSON/NEEDS TO BE LOCKED UP BUT HE SAYS NINETY THREE INSTEAD OF NINETY FOUR BECAUSE THE NINETY FOURTH LESSON DOESNT HAVE A REASON YET/HE DOESNT REMEMBER IT HAVING A REASON

-dude honestly the whole sam part hurts so much this man is scarily good at acting

-46:46 "i cant put you in the prison you wouldn't be able to see michael anymore" bestie that's the point he doesn't want to accidentally hurt michael or tubbo in the enderwalk state—

-okay but there's no way that sam couldn't tell that ranboo was at least TRYING to confess to something- i feel like he definitely knows more than he's letting on because usually like when people do bad shit or admit to doing bad shit he's like in Prison Guard Mode™️ (he literally cut off ponk's arm because he stole some keycards or something) and whatever and idk what he knows but he definitely knows something and is trying to protect ranboo. or he's trying to manipulate him or smth either one works—

-50:38 "you are a good person" "i am?" you can hear my heart shatter. "yes you are" "i don't think so sam" "i do, even if you don't" "i really don't think so" and there it goes again

-51:25 hello badboyhalo i see you to the left of ranboo

-52:44 "but then my curiosity got the best of me" curiosity killed the cat, bitch

-52:54 "there's ninety three, ninety four, ninety- theres so many reasons!" SEE!! NOT ONLY ARE THERE THAT MANY LESSONS THERE ARE REASONS THAT CORRESPOND IM S O SMART—

-52:56 "i don't want to remember anymore!" *quietly brings forth my theory that when ranboo loses a canon life his memory gets wiped*

-53:13 "ive opened pandora's box" isn't the prison?? literally called pandora's VAULT??? so this m a y be a stretch but i'm thinking that maybe this could be taken in the literal sense that he "opened" the prison and let dream out (the sirens at the end of quackity's stream confirm that dream is indeed out)

-53:42 mans just straight up walked through a ghost i—

-55:37 so are we just gonna ignore the eleventh page of the book? "he's alive, but hopefully soon dream won't be"??? alright nevermind it's most likely bc when tommy came back he recruited ranboo in his plan to kill dream

-55:47 notice how he writes "what am i?" as opposed to "who am i?" no elaboration here idk what it could be

-56:08 just so it's clear for anyone who doesn't know- he's wearing armor at this point, and i'm like 90% sure that when he wears his armor water can't hurt him. and i saw someone say somewhere that like with splash potions when thrown it turns into a gas-like thing? so again, it didn't hurt him, he didn't get hurt. he said in the chill stream that he wasn't comfortable making it where his character had to hurt himself to do that. the thing that causes the enderwalk isn't pain, it's intense and sudden emotions like fear and stress. thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[songtoyou]

Chapter Seven: August

Would You Call That Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC)

Rating: PG to PG-13 (Might be 18+ for some chapters)

Description: There was always that one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to openly communicate with one another, but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation. However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either are willing to pursue something more?

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,889

Author’s Note: Okay, I think I am back to paying more attention to this fic. I already know how I want to approach the next chapter. 

Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans or anyone in his family, and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.  

Tag List: @patzammit​

On the whole, George’s birthday celebration went well. Raina turned out to be right that her dad did not make the trip alone. She and Chris met up with her dad for a birthday lunch, where they got introduced to Diane. The woman was in her early fifties and was a widow. It turns out, George and Diane had met a few years ago at a group therapy session for people still grieving the loss of a family member. The two recently got back in touch through Facebook and have continued to talk. It was only recently that George and Diane began dating. 

It was all new for Raina to see her dad with another woman. She was aware that he had been out on dates before but never actually seen the man in the company of other women. Raina was glad to have Chris around for support. He definitely helped ease any tension or uncomfortableness during brunch by telling stories and keep the atmosphere light.

However, Raina could not deny that Diane was a nice woman and liked how attentive she was to George and vice versa. Raina noticed the older couple had a nice camaraderie with one another. Best of all was that Diane made her dad laugh and smile. That is what Raina wanted for her dad, to be happy. Who was she to hold any grudges or contempt because her dad was living his life? It is what Marie would have wanted. She would be happy that her husband and daughter were living their life to the fullest.

That night after the show, George and Diane came backstage to see Raina. Her dad gave her flowers, which she cherished. 

“Amazing, sweetheart. Absolutely brilliant,” George gushed, hugging his daughter. 

“Thank you, Dad.”

“I cried so many times, I lost count,” Diane revealed. “You have such a beautiful voice.”

“Oh my God, stop. You both are going to make me cry,” said Raina. Their compliments touched her. “I’m so glad you both got the see the show. Especially you,” she added, pointing to her dad. “I know it is late, but thanks for sticking it out.” 

“Anything for you, kiddo,” replied George. “So, lunch again, tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely. You two going to sightsee tomorrow?” asked Raina

“We got some stops we want to make. Like George, I never make it over to the City. We’re going to stop by the Metropolitan.”

“She begged me to take her,” teased George and wrapped his arm around Diane. 

“Well, it is a great place. The Museum of Modern Art is really cool. I took Chris there not too long ago. He enjoyed it as well. Museums, great places to have dates,” stated Raina happily.

When Raina bid George and Diane a goodnight, she got out of her costume and took off her makeup. She put on a pair of comfortable jeans, a long sleeve shirt, running shoes and headed off home to Chris. He opted not to attend the show that night as he had other prior commitments. 

Chris had been staying at Raina’s place for a couple of weeks, ever since they revealed their true feelings for one another. He did make a trip back up to Concord, but it was to bring some of his things and Dodger back to New York. Raina was surprised that Chris brought Dodger with him but was more than happy to have the four-legged creature around. Raina loved that dog immensely, and it warmed her heart to see the two lounging on the couch when she got home. 

Normally, she wouldn’t allow dogs on the furniture, but it was hard to deny such cute faces.

“Hey, you two,” Raina spoke, getting both of their attention. “What have you been up to?”

“Not much,” Chris spoke, turning towards Raina. “Move Bubba,” he nudged Dodger away to get up off the couch. He greeted Raina with a kiss and got out a wine glass from the cupboard.

“Red or white?” he asked her.

“White,” she replied and sat down next to Dodger. “Hey, kid. How are you doing?”

Dodger also proceeded to greet Raina with kisses and laid himself across her lap. She began scratching behind his ears. 

“Here you go, my dear,” said Chris handing Raina the glass of wine.

“Thank you, darling. Dad and Diane enjoyed the show. They had a good time. They’re cute together,” Raina confessed to Chris.

He nestled down next to Raina and Dodger, who was now laid across both of their laps. “Your dad looks happy, and Diane is great. You’re right; they are cute. It is nice that they found each other. Looks like they are the real deal. You can handle that, right? If your dad and Diane were to take their relationship to the next level?”

Raina knew Chris was referring to marriage. “I want my dad happy and not alone. He has taken his time when it comes to dating. He wasn’t in a rush to move on, which, honestly, I appreciate. Dad has supported me all these years, so I will return the favor,” she answered. 

The two sat in comfortable silence while watching the news. Of course, Chris had it on CNN. “How can you stand watching this stuff? At least watch MSNBC. They have Rachel Maddow,” Raina complained.

“I’m trying to stay informed, that is all. You used to watch this stuff too when Trump got elected to office,” Chris noted with a smirk.

“Oh God, do not remind me. I was obsessed with CNN and MSNBC. The only reason I watched the news 24/7 because I was waiting for the bomb to finally go off, and they’d find something to implicate Trump, and he would get kicked out of office, but nothing ever happened. It was exhausting.”

Nudging Dodger off of her, Raina got up and downed her glass of wine. “I’m going to take a shower and head to bed. Tomorrow, I’m going to have lunch with dad and Diane. Did you want to come?”

“Uh, I can’t. I have an appointment with Josh tomorrow. His still has some additional shading to do on the eagle,” said Chris, indicating to his covered chest of the unfished eagle tattoo. “Hey, before you head for a shower and bed, you got another vase of flowers. I put them over there on the table,” he motioned, pointing to the flowers, which were a lovely medley of lavender and white blooms. The clear cylinder vase offsets the colors of the flowers nicely.

Raina noticed a small envelope within the flowers and opened it. 

Dearest Raina,

Congratulations on the success of Moulin Rouge. I am so happy for you. It is a great joy to see someone you know accomplished what they’ve been hoping for and working toward. You are proof that good things come to those who are willing to sacrifice to reach a worthwhile goal. Words can’t express how proud I am. You have the creativity and determination to do whatever you can dream. It really warms my heart to see you achieving your goal of being on Broadway. 

Warmest regards,

T.H.

“Aw, how sweet,” Raina gushed at the note.

“What?” Chris asked. “Who sent the flowers?”

“Tom sent them,” she answered, taking a whiff of the flowers. They smelt heavenly. 

Chris was confused. “Tom? Tom who?”

“Hiddleston,” was all Raina said and placed the card in the flower arrangement. “He’s in New York as well doing that play, ‘Betrayal.’ We should stop by and see it. You know, to show support and all.”

Chris watched as Raina headed into the bedroom, but he still sat there a little stunned. He looked to make sure Raina was indeed out of earshot; he got up to look at the card. 

“What the fuck,” Chris said, stunned at the card. ‘Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Sending my girlfriend flowers and writing all that in the card!’ he thought to himself.

“Let’s go for a walk, Bubba. Come on,” Chris said to Dodger and got the dog’s leash. He figured some fresh would help clear his mind.

Walking the usual route for Dodger, Chris looked around to see if there were anyone around. Thankfully, the street was quiet, and no sign of fans or paparazzi. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Chris always felt bad when he lit one but couldn’t deny how the nicotine helped relax his anxieties. And right now, he was in desperate need of something to take his mind off the card.

Chris knew he was acting ridiculous. That Raina had no lingering feelings for Tom, she told him that to his face. However, he could not get the small feeling of jealousy bubbling under his skin. Plus, Tom was his friend. They respected one another. It wasn’t like Tom wouldn’t have found out with the rest of the world that Chris and Raina were in a relationship. Everyone knew! 

Looking down at Dodger, Chris saw that the pup was ready to head back inside. “Okay, we’re going to head back home.” The dog picked up the pace at the mention.

These past few weeks with Raina had been nice. Chris liked the domestic routine he had gotten into with Raina. It was definitely something he would like to continue, maybe say in Massachusetts. Unfortunately, Chris knew he would not be able to get Raina to live in Massachusetts full-time. She set on staying in New York. That was her home. It was the place where she grew up and most likely wanted to stay.

‘Don’t start overthinking things, Christopher,’ he more rational side began to say, which oddly sounded like his mother. 

Finally making it back home, Chris made his way into the master bedroom with Dodger following along. He saw that Raina had finished her shower and was already in bed. Dodger got up on the bed to nestle in the middle. Chris tried to get him off the bed, but Raina wrapped her arm around the furball.

“No, he is fine. He’s like a stuffed animal,” she pleaded and snuggled closer to Dodger.

Chris sighed but couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was precious, his girl and his dog. He quickly took out his phone and snapped a picture. Chris stored it in his ‘Raina’ file on his phone. A keepsake of pictures of his girl that were just for him and not for public consumption. That is what his entire friendship and now relationship with Raina had been, something that was just for him. It was never for the public to scrutinize or even fawn over. He wasn’t with her for PR or added media hype. Chris always felt that what he had with Raina was honest and true. A real friendship that developed organically between two people that had progressed towards real love and devotion.

Sadly, both Chris and Raina knew there would be naysayers and critics watching their every move to see if any cracks were forming. With the positive press, it will ultimately bring out the negatives. It was the way of the game. A game Chris and Raina knew they had to be up for the challenge if they wanted their relationship to flourish and not burn out in flames in front of the whole world.

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. IV

Pairing: reader x ceo!tom holland

Summary: you’re finishing your last year of university in london, and what better way do to that than with an internship at holland and osterfield’s?

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, partying. also tom being a cheeky bastard

a/n: i received a message about this chapter not working because of inappropriate content and it turns out that it was flagged. i have no idea why and i want you guys to be able to read it, so i’m reposting it. this is not the re-written part, but those will be up soon!

You groggily sit up in your bed at the sound of the front door slamming shut. The light shines through your blinds, and you realize it’s more than likely later than you had first assumed. Throwing the covers off your body, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and make your way out to the living room of the small apartment.

Cecelia is in the kitchen, her heels and purse scattered on the floor, as she pushes the button on the coffee machine. You yawn, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floors as you walk closer to her. Grabbing a hair tie from the counter, you quickly wrap your hair into a messy bun, sitting down on the bar stool.

“How did your night go?”

She turns around to look at you, a wide grin plastered on her face. You chuckle, picking at the flaking nail polish on your thumb. You watch as she adjusts her dress before leaning on the counter, getting ready to recap her entire night for you whether you want to hear it or not.

“Despite my head killing me, it went very well,” she starts, her eyes meeting yours. “But I wanna hear about yours. How did you get home if you didn’t have your wallet on you?”

You groan, looking at her pleadingly. She just shakes her head, determined to get the story out of you. As soon as you had texted her last night to let her know you had gotten home safe, you knew she was going to ask the moment she saw you. You had hoped she would be too drunk to remember, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Tom.”

Her eyes widen at the same time the machine beeps, signaling that the coffee is ready. “Tom? Your ‘one-night stand turned internship boss’ Tom? Ooh, do tell.” She pours herself a cup of coffee, a gleeful expression on her face, which makes you want to punch it away.

“I called him. He picked me up and took me home. There’s nothing more to the story,” you shrug innocently, hoping your lie is solid enough because there had been way more to the story.

“Hello?” Tom’s voice is hoarse it crackles through the receiver on your new phone. He’s silent for a second before continuing, sounding more awake now. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

You sigh softly, hating how comforting his voice sounds. “Um, hi, Tom. Did I wake you? I’m really sorry- I just, uh,” you stutter, trying desperately to stop your teeth from chattering.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

You tell him the cross streets and he promises he will be there as soon as possible. You wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to keep the little body warmth you had left. You consider going back inside to wait, but the loud music and drunk teens seem less tempting than the sobering cold. Several young adults join you, but they quickly jump in taxis or friend’s cars. Next time I’m bringing a jacket, you think to yourself, watching as a car pulls up to the curb next to you.

The passenger window rolls down, and Tom’s face appears, looking at you with concerned eyes. You ignore him, jumping into the car, welcoming the warmth with open arms. You kick your heels off, curling your legs in your seat to warm them. The window rolls back up as you buckle in, still not looking at Tom, scared of what might await if you do.

“Are you fucking crazy? What are you doing out here, in the cold, dressed like- dressed like that?”

“Forgot my wallet,” you mumble weakly, leaning your head against the door and closing your eyes. “Can you just drive me home, please? It’s freezing.”

You can hear him rummage around briefly, but you don’t have to open your eyes to investigate because two seconds later, soft indie rock fills the car. He doesn’t say anything, just putting the car in drive and as the car moves, you feel the exhaustion of the long day take over. You can’t bring yourself to stop it, the quiet music and steady heat lulling you to sleep.

The sound of a car door being shut wakes you up. You moan quietly, not wanting to open your eyes. The car beeps as it gets locked, and you sigh contently, nuzzling further into the comfort surrounding you. Your head hurts already, and you know you’re going to have a long day tomorrow.

“Darlin’, I need you to tell me what floor you’re on,” Tom’s gentle voice makes your eyes shoot open, suddenly realizing what is going on.

“Second. 2B,” you mumble, lying undeniable still as Tom carries you effortlessly up the stairs, your bare legs slung over his arm. “I, um, I can walk.”

Tom doesn’t say anything, placing you down gently when you reach the door of your apartment. You don’t dare look at him as you search through your purse, a small aha escaping you as you grasp the keys and pull them out. You unlock the door, the click of the lock turning echoing through the empty hallway. Reluctantly, you turn to look at your savior.

“Thank you,” your voice is raspy, so you clear your throat. “I’m really sorry I woke you up.”

Tom hands you your heels back, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweats. Another look you hadn’t seen on him, but one you knew you could grow to love. You take them, shooting him a small smile, but he just nods.

“’s alright. Just don’t go outside by yourself like that again. I’ll see you on Monday. Night.”

You watch quietly as he walks back down the stairs, the hood of his sweater bouncing. You mumble a response, fully knowing he can’t hear you. Sighing, you step into the dark apartment. Two minutes later, you’re wrapped in the covers on your bed, willing yourself not to think about how Tom had immediately responded to your call of help, or how he had carried you upstairs, letting you sleep for as long as possible. Eventually, you’re able to fall back asleep, the smell of Tom still lingering in your nose.

“So he just picked you up and dropped you off? Nothing else happened? Bollocks!”

“I swear, nothing happened. He drove me home, carried me upstairs and then he left.”

“He carried you upstairs?”

You groan, realizing your mistake too late. Cecelia raises her eyebrows multiple times, teasing you. You shake your head, picking up your phone from the counter. Turning it around, the screen lights up at the motion, and you notice you have an unopened text message. Your pulse immediately quickens when you see his name.

“Shut up,” you mutter, a small chuckle escaping you as well, knowing she means well.

Let me know if you ever forget your wallet again. I’ll add chauffeur to my resume

Cecelia notices your sudden silence, grabbing the phone from your hands before you can stop her. You watch her as her eyes trace the words of the simple text. She whistles, handing you the phone back before taking another sip of coffee. You pull your leg up on the chair, resting your head on your knee.

Fuck you, Tom Holland.

“He just loves teasing you, doesn’t he? Cheeky bastard that one.”

XXX

You had left the text unanswered the rest of the weekend, having no clue what to say to him. He hadn’t followed up on it either, so you figured the whole situation would remain a secret between the two of you - well, three if you count Cecelia.

You desperately hope so as you enter the building of Holland and Osterfield’s on Monday morning. As you walk up the stairs, you re-read the email you had received from Harrison late the previous night. You double check the information and the time, nodding pleasingly when you realize you’re on time. You stop on the third floor this time, taking in the unfamiliar environment. You stop in front of the meeting room Harrison had told you to go to, knocking quietly.

A woman you have never met before opens the door, and you realize you’re the last one. You smile sheepishly, stepping into the room, trying to ignore the questioning stares of some of the workers in the room. Your eyes involuntarily find Tom immediately, sitting next to Harrison who is standing at the head of the table opposite from where you’re standing. Harrison glances up as the door is closed behind you and smiles.

“There you are! Everyone, this is our new intern Y/N. She’s helping us out with marketing for the next six months.”

The small crowd murmurs a few greetings, and Harrison tells you to sit down and comply. You aren’t sure exactly why he had invited you to the meeting in the first place, but you tell yourself it’s a great way to learn something new. Placing the laptop bag in your lap, you give Harrison your attention. When he starts talking, you briefly let your gaze flicker to the left to look at Tom. He doesn’t seem to notice it, staring down at the notes displayed in front of him.

You notice he isn’t wearing a blazer today, only a faded charcoal-colored button-up shirt. A black tie dangles from his neck and you wonder momentarily if he hated dressing up for work as much as you do. He shuffles the papers a little, the shirt tightening around his bicep as he does so. You instantly look away, not wanting the sight to stay in your head longer than it had to. Returning your attention back to Harrison, you listen as he talks about the charity gala they are hosting in a few weeks.

“Um,” you speak up quietly, instantly regretting interrupting him. “I think it would be more beneficial to personally invite the honor guests and then advertise through newsletters and e-mails.”

Harrison purses his lips, considering your suggestion. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, I assume the honor guests are well-established business owners, politicians, you know, the usual. I also assume most these people are older than all of us in this room. I think they would appreciate the gesture of a personal letter in the mail. With all due respect, Mr. Osterfield, most people didn’t make it as young as you and Mr. Holland. I just know that my grandparents would respond better to a letter than an impersonal e-mail.”

You hear a few other people mumbling agreements. You meet Harrison’s eyes for a moment before looking back down at your hands, reminding yourself to apply a new coat of nail polish when you get home. There is a brief silence, and you wonder if maybe it had been a bad idea to speak up like you did.

“I think she’s right. Let’s send the honor guests invitations and we’ll notify the other businesses through e-mail like planned,” Tom speaks up and you immediately look at him. He just nods at you, and you give him a small smile.

“Okay, that’s settled then. Y/N, would you help me with those invitations later?” he asks, looking at you expectantly and you nod hurriedly. “Now, let’s talk about the next marketing campaign.”

Harrison’s words drown out, and you glance down at the papers in front of you. You stifle a yawn, suddenly wishing you could cuddle up in bed with Tom. You shake your head, needing to get rid of the thoughts. That doesn’t work as well as you hoped it would when Tom takes over his portion of the meeting. His words are impossible to comprehend, the thoughts in your head taking over. You quickly excuse yourself, opening and closing the door before anyone can say anything.

Hurriedly, you make your way upstairs and toward your desk, scolding yourself the entire way. You had never crushed on anybody this way before. Does it count as a crush? Your thoughts are messy and most of them unwelcome as you plop into your chair with a loud sigh. Pulling out your computer and earbuds, you welcome the loud noise of the song as you press play. You try your best to focus on the lyrics, pulling up the chat window and clicking Cecelia’s name.

you: dude i just interrupted harrison in a meeting and tom stood up for me and i wanna kms

A few minutes pass by and you pray that your best friend is on her computer, needing someone to vent to, or rather, someone to help you make sense of your jumbled thoughts. A small icon pops up, notifying you that she’s writing and a relieved sigh escapes you.

cecelia: bollocks! tell me what happened

you: tom isn’t wearing a blazer today and he looks really good and i just. ugh. f*ck me

ceceilia: i bet that’s what you were thinking when looking at him

you: shut up. i gotta go. i ran out of the meeting because i couldn’t stand it and i have to do my work

You exit out of the chat window, pulling up the document you started on Friday. Harrison had asked you to compile a list of potential businesses to contact in regards to the gala. You finish it faster than you would have liked, but you attach it to an e-mail and send it to Harrison anyway. He responds not even five minutes later, asking you to meet him in his office.

You unwillingly get up from your chair, making your way down the hall. You attempt to ignore your increasing heartbeat as you get closer, not knowing what to expect. You had interrupted him and caused quite the scene as you ran out of the conference room. You definitely didn’t earn any more respect points by doing that. Your knock on the door is timid but he appears to hear it anyway.

He tells you to come in, so you open the door cautiously, a nervous smile dancing on your lips. Harrison is sitting at the chair behind his desk when you close the door behind you, but your eyes are more focused on Tom leaning up against the desk. He looks at you quizzically and just for a moment you think you see a form of concern in his eyes. Harrison clears his throat and startles you out of your moment with Tom.

“Are you alright, Y/N? You seemed to leave us in a hurry? I know meetings can be boring but...”

You quickly shake your head, meeting Harrison’s eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I, uh, stomach bug. I wasn’t feeling too hot.”

Your excuse is so weak that you don’t even buy it yourself but Harrison just nods. “Okay, well, I hope you feel better. Why don’t you, uh, take the rest of the day off? You can work on those personal invitations at home and send me a few different versions, and then we’ll pick the best one. I saw that you’ve done a fair share of graphic design.”

You nod slowly, wondering if your face betrays how confused you feel. “I can stay-”

“I’ll take you home,” Tom speaks up for the first time since you entered the room, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

“O-Okay. Um, I’ll get right on those invitations, Mr. Osterfield.”

Tom walks you to the elevator, neither of you saying anything, the only sound is the elevator jostling as it moves. The ride back to your apartment is just as quiet, the radio making the tension a little less awkward. You hadn’t talked to him since he had dropped you off at your apartment, and you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“Thank you,” you state suddenly, deciding to elaborate after receiving a look laced with confusion from him. “For taking me home on Friday. I never really thanked you. I don’t wanna think about what could’ve happened if-”

“Yeah, I don’t want to think about that either. Don’t understand why you’d be walking around in a dress like that anyway,” he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road once.

“Oh, shut up, like you were complaining last week. That dress wasn’t any better.”

You pause momentarily as the words leave your mouth. That was the first time either of you had mentioned your night together after the interview. You glance over at him, noticing the way his knuckles are turning slightly white from gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t smirk like you had expected him too.

“Well, I was there to take you home that night. To make sure you were okay and no one touched you. I watched you from the moment you walked in,” his words are stern, almost slightly possessive, but then a smirk finds its way to his lips. “Besides, I don’t recall you complaining either. Unless you count complaining about me taking too long to-”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. He chuckles just as he pulls up in front of your complex.

You unbuckle slowly, grabbing your bag in one hand. There is a slight pause in the music, which makes the sound of you opening the door appear even louder. You slide out of the car, your heels clicking against the cobblestone of the street. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you dip your head back in to take one last look at him. He has a confident grin on his face now, the seriousness of his voice totally gone.

“You didn’t run out of the meeting because of a stomach bug, did you?” He raises an eyebrow mockingly, almost knowingly, as you shut the door. You watch in slight horror as he takes off, the sound of his car accelerating bringing you back to reality. Ignoring your flushed cheeks, you trudge toward the entrance of your complex. There was no way he knew why you had run out. He couldn’t know. Could he?

[sunlightdances]

You’re an Ocean (Dean Winchester x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Rating/genre: PG; a little bit of angst with some fluff. Romance. Summary: The never ending push and pull between you and Dean finally comes to an end. Author’s Note: This morning I listened to “Ocean” by Lady Antebellum and cried, so here we are. This one is short, but I hope you like it anyway! I don’t own the song or the lyrics. I also don’t own Dean Winchester or Supernatural. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission! I’d love for you to reblog this to help my work be seen, if you’re so inclined :)

All I want is to fall in deeper than I've ever been, why won't you let me? I can handle your heart, so help me

It starts with stolen glances and small touches, his hand brushing your waist as he walks behind you, meeting your eyes over a beer in the small kitchen at the bunker.

At first you convince yourself that you’re imagining it, because he never says anything. He never makes it clear that the tension you’re feeling isn’t one-sided, and you are not willing to put yourself out there like that if you’re not positive.

Besides, you’ve heard the rumors. Stories amongst your hunter friends - Dean Winchester doesn’t do relationships. He’s a one night stand kind of guy.

Which, it’s true -- but now after getting to know him, you know it’s more out of necessity than what he might actually want. The life of a hunter doesn’t lend itself to long term relationships. You’ve experienced that yourself, too.

It’s easier for everyone involved to be up front and call it what it is: a one time thing.

Of course, the flip side of knowing this about Dean’s rationale is that you’ve also gotten to know who Dean is, and against your better judgment, you can feel yourself falling for him more and more each day.

It won’t end well for you.

But sometimes -- he gives you this look, and you fool yourself into thinking maybe, maybe he’s feeling it too. Maybe he notices things like the exact color of your eyes, or your nervous ticks, or the subtle nuances of your facial expressions that tell him what you’re really thinking.

Because you notice all those things about him.

It’s been one year since you got in a sticky situation on a hunt and almost bled out before suddenly Sam and Dean Winchester were there in your vision, their figures blurry and voices soothing.

They offered for you to stay with them until you recovered and you’ve never left.

And over this year, you’ve gotten to know them both pretty well. You take a lot of pride in saying that you know and love the Winchester brothers, and they truly are the best people you know.

But it comes with the baggage, too. Everyone’s got some. Hell, you’re chock full of enough emotional instability that you start to sweat a little bit if someone tries to get personal with you. You understand that more than anyone, but it still frustrates you when it happens with Dean.

It’s also why you’re so hurt when one day, you can feel him pulling away from you.

He barely looks at you when the three of you are getting coffee and breakfast, and only grunts out an acknowledgement to you and Sam before retreating back to his bedroom.

It happens sometimes, everyone has bad days, but this feels different.

Your suspicions are confirmed when later, Sam and Dean are debating the merits of some case they’re deciding to take on, and Dean clams up the minute you walk into the room.

He makes some excuse about dinner, and when you look at Sam, a little helplessly, who just shrugs.

“He’s just in a mood.”

“Yeah, but not with you,” you point out.

You try to give him what he wants. You don’t go out of your way to seek him out or start a conversation. You try to give him a wide berth.

It comes to a head when he seems distracted enough to not have your back during a salt and burn, and even though it ends up fine, you’re capable without him, you’re still pissed.

Sam takes a hint and makes himself scarce, while you stand there almost vibrating with anger. Dean’s brows are pulled low, like he has something to say but doesn’t know how.

“What, you’re not going to go hide out immediately?” You ask, tone sharp. “I think this is the longest we’ve been in a room together all day.”

He says your name quietly, trying to stop the fight before it starts. There’s a kind of hurt on his face, an expression you’ve never seen before, and that’s what stops you from snapping at him more like you want to.

“Just talk to me,” you plead.

No, I'm not afraid to drown Take me out, take me down I'm so tired of the shore Let me in, baby You're an ocean, beautiful and blue I wanna swim in you

“I am trying so hard--” He says, rough, and then stops. “I’m trying so hard to keep both of us from getting hurt, and somehow I’m fucking that up too.”

“What are you talking about?”

He sighs. “Come on, let’s not-- let’s not do this standing in the doorway.” The first sign that things are not normal: Dean takes your hand gently and tugs you behind him towards your bedroom, pushing open the door.

You sit on the edge of your bed when it becomes clear that Dean is going to pace himself to death and wait for him to talk.

“I’m not good at this.” He glanced at you, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so…”

“Asshole-ish?” He interrupts you, and you can’t help it, you smile a little. He does too, and you feel more at ease instantly. “I’m getting attached.” He admits quietly, and you can see it all over his face how hard it is for him to admit this to you. “You’ve been part of our lives for awhile now, and I--” He stops himself, hands on his hips. “I have feelings for you.”

When you think back on all those little moments over the last few months, his admission shouldn’t surprise you, but it still does. Maybe it’s the way he says it - reverence and adoration coloring his tone. Maybe it’s the way his eyes darken a little with emotion-- but you can’t stop yourself from getting to your feet and crossing the room to stand in front of him, hands framing his face gently.

He opens his mouth after a shuddering breath, probably to protest at what you’re about to do, but you don’t let him.

Your first kiss with Dean Winchester is nothing like you thought it would be. It’s gentle and passionate and he snaps into action almost immediately, his strong arms winding around your waist and pulling you close.

He sighs, and so do you, and when you break apart, his eyes are-- you’ve never seen him look at you like he is right now. Like you’re everything he’s ever wanted, but that he can’t believe that he’s that for you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I never meant to-- to push you away. I just… you scare the shit out of me sometimes.”

“Just let me in.” You tell him, just as quietly.

“I’m going to try.” His arms tighten around you. “I have so much baggage--”

“We all do, Dean.” You smirk, “You’re not that special.”

Surprise lights up his entire face as he sputters, “Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” He smiles down at you, his voice a little deeper than usual, and you feel it all the way down to your toes.

“That’s how it’s going to be.”

“I think I can deal with that.” He says before leaning in again, his lips pressing to yours and filling a void you never even knew existed.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 6

since a lot of people thought it would be a great idea, i guess we really are gonna roll out that social media AU after this monstrosity is done (because apparently everything i write these days is a monstrosity). 

also, in case i never made it clear before: this story is a slight canon divergence. more on that later. enjoy, and thanks in advance for reblogs 🥰

[Read Chronicles on AO3] [Follow me on Twitter!]

maybe i’m coming by too much.

Marinette’s been looking at him funny lately. And he doesn’t think it’s because he keeps ordering all those napoleons. Or because he keeps peeking inside each box to see if she’s left him any more macarons. (He’s even figured out the flavor now. Blueberry. Is that what she thinks of when she thinks of him?)

For a couple of blood-chilling days, he’s afraid that maybe she stumbled across his online accounts—that she’s put two and two together, and that her expression is questioning why he’s even bothering to come back. And that she listened to the clip of the song he posted. Which, he might add, is doing fairly well—something like fifty likes, half the number of reposts, and a few comments to boot.

From the looks of it, people would do anything to be privy to what he’s come to call “wholesome pining.” They’d also dare to say a lot of things they’d probably never do themselves. Honestly, who do they think they are, telling him to give her his number? Not to mention, they’ve got to think of better pickup lines.

But those moments pass when, as she’s slipping out of her apron one afternoon, she snaps her fingers like she’s remembered something. It’s difficult to tell whether she actually wants to remember it; her face is near-unreadable when she turns to him and says his last name out loud: “Couffaine.”

God, he’s ridiculous. He has to quell the butterflies in his stomach. “Yeah?” He tries to make it come out smoothly; he hopes it sounds that way, anyway. The only people who ever called him by his last name were harsh high school teachers who wouldn’t know creativity if it slapped them across the face and introduced itself. Them, and friends of a few years who eventually settled on weirdly endearing nicknames like “Loops” or “Fishbone.” Coming from her, it sounds like… like if she only ever called him that from now on, he’d melt on the spot.

Marinette is tapping her lips in thought, looking through the counter instead of at it. If Luka knows things like lowkey anxiety and self-preservation to the point of suffocation—and by now he’s pretty fucking sure he does—then it almost looks like she knows exactly what she wants to say, again. Has known for a while, again. “I thought I recognized your last name from somewhere, I just couldn’t place it till now.”

Well. That’s not what he expected her to say. His eyes widen just slightly. “What, you saw that blog post or something?” It was a while ago, a cheeky little thing written by some American traveler whose goal was to document buskers all around the world. He’d call it admirable. He’d even call himself flattered. But the post, which was admittedly an exaggeration of the few words they'd exchanged about his original music made it sound like heart songs were something supernatural. Like he was some spectacle or an act at a circus, or like those street corner dollar poets he’d heard so much about. The ones that, apparently, Marinette had come upon on more than one occasion. He wasn’t a gimmick; he just read people differently. And he wasn't about to start capitalizing on it now.

“No, no, it…” Her brow furrows, as though she’s afraid she might be making a mistake. Or maybe just wondering why anyone would bother to write a blog post about him. Even he doesn't understand it sometimes. “Look, I’m sorry if this is a weird thing to ask, but… you don’t happen to have a little sister, do you?”

“Yeah,” Luka says, slightly taken aback. “Juleka. She’s a couple years younger than me. You know her?”

Marinette’s fingers curl against the countertop, and she looks away. Like she’s the one ashamed. Or… or hurt. “Sort of. I think we went to school together for… a while. I think.”

It seems like the sort of thing Luka shouldn’t pry about—at least not with her, because seeing her frown like that twists his gut in the most unpleasant way—so he keeps all his questions to himself. Still, there’s a part of him mentally flipping through all of Juleka’s friends and classmates like recipe cards, trying to place the dark hair, the blue eyes, the Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“How is she?” she asks after a moment, breaking his thoughts. “Is she… doing okay these days?”

“Oh, yeah.” He thinks of his sister, probably sprawled out on the deck or even at Rose’s place, and he smiles to himself. “Just finished her first year of university. She’s staying local, though. I don’t think she wanted to go too far from home, anyway. And besides, it’s just… easier on the three of us.”

“Three?”

“The two of us, and my ma. It’s not too bad. We’re pretty tight. Like a sailor’s knot, she’d probably say.” He pauses after a nervous laugh, mentally kicks himself for rambling. “D’you want me to see if she’ll swing by sometime? Or give her your number or something? Hers is still the same, if you ever had it.”

For the first time, at least to his knowledge, Marinette freezes. Deer in headlights, color briefly draining from her face, the whole nine yards.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately and on instinct.

“No—” She holds up a hand to stop him. “No, you don’t have to be sorry, I just—I don’t know. It’s been a long time, I guess. And we've probably… changed a lot since then. That’s all.”

Something about the way she says it, the way she curls her fingers against the countertop, makes it sound like it isn’t all. But honestly, what right does he have prying? Maybe it’s a sign to start keeping his distance. To stop coming by as often. He must have overstayed his welcome by now.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally says, twisting her fingers. If he knew her a little better, if he’d gotten a little closer to her, he’d want to reach over and smooth them out, because it’d be the closest he could get to smoothing out her thoughts.

Luka hesitates, watches the counter with her, absently drums his fingers to the rhythm of the song he’s been working on. Just the first few bars, over and over. He can hear them in her somewhere, coming out of hiding in her heart. They’re a tinny little thing, bells in the background, but they’re there, and they quietly demand his attention. He thinks he’d give it even if he had nothing left to give.

“I can dial it back,” he says—blurts out, more like. “If… seeing me reminds you of her. Or of things you maybe don’t want to remember.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Call it a hidden talent.” He smiles weakly. “One of those rockstar secrets.”

Marinette graces him with a laugh, though it sounds more like a push of air through her nose. “Yeah, well. I dunno how I’d make it through my shifts without my favorite regular.”

The music comes to a halt in Luka’s head, and he hopes to God his eyes aren’t as wide as dinner plates when he looks up. Not that it matters; Marinette’s got her back to him, hanging her apron up on a nearby peg and dusting the flour off the flowers and the monogram. She tries out his name again, whole this time. Luka Couffaine. She’s probably read it countless times off the bottom of his receipt, and he’s too much of a fool to forget the first time he ever heard her call to him. But when she says it this time, it feels… It makes him wonder if anyone else could ever treat it with such care. If she’d let him lock it away somewhere inside her because he trusted her to let it out in all the right ways.

Does that sound like something out of some cheesy YA novel he might find hiding in Rose’s backpack? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Whether he actually cares is debatable.

Marinette hums to herself with a little smile of her own and comes around the counter. “Just tell her I say hi,” she says, almost as though she’s trying to convince herself that these are the right words to say. “Hi, and I hope she found her peace.”

“That’s all she wrote, huh.” Luka has no idea what that means, and he’s pretty sure he won’t unless he gets home and asks. He scuffs the mat beneath him with the heel of his sneaker, jams his hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he says. “You can trust your favorite regular with that.”

One day, he’ll learn how to say something that’s actually witty. Today is definitely not looking to be that day.

At least, as he’s booking it out of the café, he can count on the softness of Marinette’s expression and her words to carry him away with some semblance of grace. That, and the first thought that every anxious little thing he ever felt about going anywhere too much, about that mortal fear of being known, might only be that. A thought. Something that’s allowed to float away.

Something he’s allowed to start to let go of, if it means someone like Marinette could know him in return.

so maybe i take back everything i ever said about going somewhere too much

in completely unrelated news, CBG said i’m her favorite regular

and i hope she finds twenty-FIVE euros on the ground today.

[negans-wifeyy]

Shake Hands with the Devil pt.1

Summary: Laila was hungry for revenge ever since the death of her sister. The only way to fight the monster who killed her is to confront him in his natural habitat: the Sanctuary. As she infiltrates the kingdom of the leader of the Saviors in the hopes to kill him, things will not go the way she thoroughly planned. What will she do now that Negan has gotten her in the palm of his hand?

Pairing: Negan X OFC

Warning: None for now but eventual smut

Tags: revenge, hate, possession

Word count: 2361

A/N: Hi everyone! This is the first fiction that I ever post anywhere, and I chose Negan as the male protagonist because I’m literally obsessed with his character. I also chose a black protagonist because I couldn’t find ANY good fics pairing Negan with even a person of color on Tumblr, fanfiction.net or even Ao3. Since there wasn’t anything I could identify myself with, I decided to write my own thing. Hope y’all enjoy. PS: English is neither my first or second language so please be patient and correct me if there are mistakes or it’s not coherent. Also, the text in italics is in the past and time-lapse are separated by asterisks.

A/N 2: This is a repost from the @thoughtsandthotsss​ blog. I wanted this fiction and other content to be on a blog focused solely on TWD. So there you have it again and make sure to like and follow again :) 

———–

For the past weeks, I’ve been doing everything possible that was asked of me to do in the Sanctuary. Attending to my duties, keeping my head down, staying away from trouble and most importantly, avoiding the leading man of the Saviors. But here I was now, sitting face to face with him in his “office” and waiting for my faith.

“Well, well, well” Negan started as he stood up from his seat. “Here we are again, Laila. Just you and me. Last time we were here together, you infiltrated my kingdom, killed a dozen of my best soldiers and then, came to this very room with a gun pointed at the back of my head to avenge your sister’s death.”

I avoided his gaze and stayed silenced. Just being in his presence made me sick to my stomach. Unlike everyone around here, I didn’t fear the man with the barbed-wire bat. Whatever reason he called me in here for, good or bad, he could just get to the point, so I didn’t have to converse with him any longer than I wanted to.

“So, you’re just gonna stay quiet? I remember you being pretty chatty the first time we spoke.” He snickered. “Don’t you wanna know why I called you in here?”

“Not really. Whatever sick, twisted mind game you feel like playing today, I don’t think it’s going to require me to respond back to you.” I finally broke my silence.

“Still quick-witted huh? With your track record, I wouldn’t be so mouthy with me. I mean, I did spare your life and let you become one of my hit women. My most reliable one too.” He responded as he got to the seat closer to me.

“I don’t know how grateful I can be after everything that you’ve done” I caught my breath remembering the terror he caused this past year to me and my entourage. “You kept Sasha captive, you used her life to blackmail the Alexandrians and you led her to kill herself. Oh, and let’s not forget you terrorizing and murdering the members of my community. “

“I thought that we buried the hatchet on your sister’s passing sweetheart. And also, on the deaths of your Alexandria buddies.”

“You mean like Glenn and Abraham? They are not my ‘Alexandrian buddies’ they were my family. And no, I still haven’t let that go since I can’t give anyone of them proper justice.” I said angrily to Negan who just stared at me grinning.

“Don’t really remember the two others but I do miss that strong-headed Sasha from time to time” He said which made my blood boil even more. “Could have used her warrior skills here. Good thing you’re here the replace her memory.”

“Leave her name out of her mouth.” I fired at him. His words were really getting to me.

Talking about my big sister again was making me so emotional but I didn’t want Negan to see me vulnerable, so I held back my tears and stare right back into his sneering eyes. I needed to be as fearless and strong as the day I was going to kill him. Even if it was weeks ago and I clearly failed my mission, I still remember that day like it was yesterday.

**

Negan was wandering by himself in his office where he holds up his meeting with some of the Saviors and probably torture some others. I peaked through the crack of the door and as soon as his back was turned, I sneaked in with my AK-47 directing at his head and locked the door shut.

“Don’t you move now motherfucker” I spat at him as he raised both his hands up to surrender. Even in that position, I could still sense the smirk from that bastard.

“Can I at least turn around to see the face of my perpetrator?” Negan eventually said. “I wanna match the face to the sweet voice I’m hearing”

“Empty your pocket first ” I ordered.

“Bossy. Just how I like em” He said as he threw on the floor all his weapons.

“Don’t be smart with me. I’m gonna search you now and I better find nothing” I patted him down to his ankles in all the usual hiding spots and found a pocket knife that I threw with the rest of his armoury.

"I usually don’t need to use this one. Forgot I had it on me. Sorry sweetheart”

“Don’t give a shit. Turn around and stop calling me sweetheart.”

As soon as he saw me, he immediately recognized who I was. And that infamous grin of his slowly faded away.

“Remember me?” I asked, my voice getting angrier from seeing his face so up-close. “The name’s Laila. Not sweetheart or whatever pet name you tryna call me”

“Ok. Laila, it is then. I do remember you; you’re Sasha’s sister. I think it’s pretty obvious now why you’re here.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going to fucking kill you. For Sasha and every single person that I cherished that you killed over your ego power trip. You fucking psychopath. “ I snapped at him. His smirky little face might have gone away but he still was unfazed about whatever I was saying to him.

"Darling, if you want to end me for some sort of revenge, you’re gonna have to take a number” He said back mischievously.

“Don’t call me darling either!” I barked at him as I charged my rifle at him.

“Wooah woah Laila!” Negan shouted finally shaking in his boots "Even though I know you’re very much capable of doing it, you don’t really wanna kill me”

“What makes you think that? I want your head on a stick more than anything”

“Well, with the massacre that you already caused downstairs, adding me to the list would make you an even more disgusting person that I am”

“You and I are not the fucking same. You knew about the damage I literally just did to your people inside the Sanctuary and chose to stay in your own little space, turning a blind eye. How can call yourself a leader after that?” I said to him even more furious than ever.

“Maybe it was all part of my plan” Negan confidently said with a malicious smile.

“What pla—” I didn’t have time to finish when a sharp object hit the back of my head.

As I fell on the floor, the two last things I saw in between two blinks were Dwight behind me with a gun in his hand and a walkie under the table that was open during this entire encounter. After that, everything was blank.

I woke up possibly hours later tied up to a chair in a small dark room. The daylight coming from the small window brightened the room which meant that I was unconscious all night. In the corner to my right, Simon was standing there waiting for me to wake up. I immediately started squirming and moaning in pain when I saw him calling Negan with a radio. I tried to scream for help but the clothe wrapped around my mouth prevented me from it. It wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway since Negan’s tall figure entered the room as I was struggling to loosen my restraints.

“Morning sunshine!” Negan exclaimed as he approached me doing his signature “leaning back” jig with Lucille tightly gripped in his hand. “As much as I love the sound of your voice with your mouth gagged right now, I’m really curious to know what you’ve got to say for yourself after the shitstorm you caused yesterday.”

He gestured to Simon to leave us alone and took off the cloth to let me speak.

“Fuck you, you prick.” I said to him without even a flinch. He could bound me all he wants but he wasn’t going to take my dignity, and I could see that it was getting him mad. Negan took his precious bat to lift it up underneath my chin.

“It’s not a habit of mine to put my hands on a woman but if you keep disrespecting me like that, I’ll make an exception. Got it? “He threatened me with the most dominating expression I’ve ever seen. Knowing what he could do, I just nodded.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen. I’ve seen some of your work on the guards that you executed on your way to kill me and I gotta say, I’m very impressed. I don’t usually do this type of thing with perpetrators who try to gun me down but for you sweetie, I’ll bend the rules. From now on, I want you to be a part of this community as one of my hitmen or should I say hit-woman.”

“So, you want me to kill other people for you, even though I tried to kill you? Thanks, but no thanks ”

“Well, I don’t think you really have a choice sweetheart. It’s either you work for me or I feed you to the walkers that we keep in a cage at the back of the Sanctuary”

As he said that, he pushed Lucille harder into my chin. I definitely felt more threatened and trapped. With my hands tied, both physically and figuratively, I had to accept his offer. 

“Fine. I’ll do it”. I finally said feeling like I fell right into the trap of the big bad wolf.

“Good. Here are the conditions: You’re going to work solely into protecting the Saviours which means no going behind my back to help the Alexandrians or to try to kill me again. If you don’t respect this, I won’t be afraid to use my Lucille here. Are we clear?”

“Yes..“ I surrounded. As soon as I did, he let go of Lucille off my chin.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Negan said a leaned closer to me and put his hands on the handles of my chair. “Whatever pet name I feel like calling you, you’re gonna have to accept it. It’s my kingdom after all and if you’re gonna be part of it, you’ll live by my own rules. Got it, sweetheart?”

I just nodded back and at that point, I didn’t know if I was more disgusted by his cruel behaviour or by myself for being a sellout.

**

And just like that, I became one of Negan’s executioner. Although, from my perspective, I became one of the killing monsters who did Negan’s dirty job for him. Any enemy, walker or human, who is a menace to the Sanctuary gets a bullet right in the skull from me whether I like it or not.

The first week was the hardest. I was so miserable being stuck in this place. It wasn’t because I failed my initial mission or even because I was away from my group with no news from them. It was just the daily apprehension of possibly having to gun down Alexandrians who could try to sneak into the Sanctuary like I did. With me going missing and Rick’s thirst for vengeance as strong as mine, it was very likely to happen. Fortunately, another Saviour told me that the day after my infiltration, Negan paid a visit to Rick and the members of Alexandria to tell them that I was now part of the Sanctuary. He also warned them that if any of them tried to come to my rescue, they would risk their life and mine.

It might not have come from the heart, but I still feel like that threat was a gesture from Negan to ease their minds and mine. So that I could accommodate myself better to the situation, I guess. And after that, I didn’t hear from Negan until today.

**

“Alright now, I won’t speak of her again, especially since she’s not the reason I wanted to meet you today.” Negan said after our back and forth about Sasha. I didn’t understand why he would talk about her knowing how it would make me feel. God, what an asshole he could be.

“What is it then?” I asked him indifferent about whatever he was going to respond.

“Usually, when I meet Saviours in this very room, it’s generally to punish them after they did something wrong, to betray me perhaps.” He said with a deadpan look in his face. At first, I didn’t care about the reason he wanted to meet me but, with those stern eyes staring right back at me, I couldn’t help but gulp. As soon as he saw me sweat a bit, Negan chuckled lightly to himself. “Don’t worry honey, it’s not your case, you can relax”

This motherfucker. He couldn’t help himself but to toy with me a little for his own sadistic pleasure I can only assume.

“You have nothing to worry about precious. Your situation is quite the opposite actually. All I’ve been hearing from everyone around here is how great you’ve been doing. And honestly, their opinions don’t really matter since I’ve been keeping an eye on you daily” Negan surprisingly said.

“Like spying on me?” I asked quite unsettled.

“Not spying on, just keeping an eye like I said.” He corrected. “It’s not like you’ve been doing anything shady babe. I observed you from afar and all I saw was a great warrior protecting her community.”

“You mean forced into protecting it? The Sanctuary is not my community.” I told him very truthfully.

“Whether it was intentional or not, I saw how well you fought and I wanted you to know how pleased I am to see that. Which brings me directly to the point of this meeting”

“I thought we were never gonna get there. Why did you call me here?”

"Hush sweetheart. I’ll tell you eventually, but I need you to keep an open mind”

“Ok..”

“I wanted to promote into a position that will give you the best accommodations you can get in the Sanctuary while still being my main hit-woman”

“What position is that?

“I want you to become one of my wives”

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & Reposted March 24, 2021

MASTER | Ch. 13 | CHAPTER 14 | Ch. 15

After that night, something changed between you and Bokuto. It was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless. He didn’t kiss you as often as you’d like, and while sometimes that drove you crazy enough to want to pull your hair out, it was enough to just have those moments together, those lingering touches and too-long stares that made your heartbeat a fraction faster. 

One change in particular came in the form of regular study dates. 

Bokuto was not the most serious student, he was planning on mostly relying on his athletic ability to get him into the school of his choice - or if he was lucky enough, go professional as soon as he graduated. You reminded him that getting into the school was only half the battle, in order to play he needed to actually keep up with his grades. Studying with him was like trying to wrestle a puppy into a travel carrier while also having a toddler balanced on your hip with your hands tied behind your back… oh, and the room is on fire.

“You have got to sit down.” You sighed as you eyed the boy pacing circles around the counter in your apartment kitchen. Baba had offered to have Yua and Eiji over for a few hours that day to allow you time to get studying in without having to worry about them. You’d pick them up for some dinner later if you were ever going to get in the work that was needed.

“But I’m bored.” Bokuto whined, finally collapsing dramatically at the table across from you. He had been banished to sitting across from you rather than next you when for the first fifteen minutes of studying he spent insisting that he would be more productive with you sitting in his lap. He propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his hand as he attempted to give you some of the best puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. “Can we take a break, (Y/n)-chan?”

“Don’t butter me up, we just took a break.” You laughed as you looked back to your notes in front of you, the ins and outs of biology were thrilling in their own right but Bokuto had a smile that could probably get you to do anything - so you looked away from him. “We don’t get to take another one for at least 45 minutes.”

Bokuto let out a loud huff and sadly looked back down at his own study materials. They weren’t as sloppy as you might expect them to be, but you were almost positive that was because Akaashi helped him when needed. His handwriting was small and scratchy, but the different colors he wrote in and highlighted with showed that he cared at least a little bit about what was going on in his classes. 

At the moment, he was working through some chemistry problems. When you first started studying you went and dug through your past school work and happily handed over your old notes since you’d taken that class a previous year. When he opened up your notebook, his eyes widened considerably and had repeatedly glanced between you and the pages before him. You had looked at him with a closed-eye smile and tried not to blush when he complimented your thorough notes.

“This is amazing,” He had breathed, amazed.

You laughed at his expression and responded confidently, “Yes, they are.”

He shot up then and reached over the table, his hands grasped either side of your head and dragged you clumsily over the table, messing up your neat organization. He smashed his lips against yours, smiling as you momentarily struggled through your surprise. “I owe you,” He grinned after pulling away and sitting down like he hadn’t just kissed you within an inch of your life.

Now though, the thrill was gone for him and every once in a while he would let out a small grunt, like he was clearing his throat. You glanced up at him only briefly while turning the page, keeping your attention where it needed to be. “You need a drink?”

“I need your attention,” He whined again. You would never admit to him that his neediness was almost endearing, the way he looked at you could’ve melted your heart in any other situation. 

“Give me twenty minutes on this chapter, then I will help you with your review?”

“Can we play a game?” He asked, eyes lighting up brighter than a firework.

You hesitated, “A game?”

“Yeah, like a study game!” He nodded, attention finally seeming to be productive. This newfound motivation intrigued you, so you humored him and encouraged him to continue to explain his idea. “Well, you ask me a question and if I answer it right you have to take off-”

“Do. Not.” You interrupted, laughing hysterically, while yelling above his voice. “Even think about finishing that sentence!”

“What!” He cried out, seeming defeated that you wouldn’t even consider his idea. “Hear me out!”

“This is not some kind of teenage rom-com, Bokkun!” You continued to laugh as he visibly deflated from your rejection. “I am not stripping my clothes to help you study.”

“What if I strip my clothes to help you study?” He countered flirtatiously, leaning forward on his hands across the table to get close to your face, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“We both know that’d be even more of a distraction,” You mumbled. The thought of Bokuto lifting his black volleyball t-shirt over his head, muscles rippling across his chest, stomach, and arms, had you just about drooling as your mind drifted. But before he could really take advantage of your momentary weakness, you pushed his face away and made him sit back down.

“Worth a shot,” He sighed, which made you laugh again.

*

“Not going to lie, that last one was a doozie.”

You looked up at Rumi and frowned, your brow creased in confusion at her comment. “You’re the one who said taking an advanced English literature class would be fun.”

“It is fun,” She shoved your shoulder. “The exam itself was just long as ~hello…”

You turned to face forward to see what your friend was looking at. Ahead of you, just at the entrance to your school’s campus, stood two lone male figures looking very out of place.

One was wearing a white shirt, red tie loosened around his neck, black sweater vest, and grey pants. The other wore a white collared shirt and grey blazer pushed half way up his arms, a loosened striped blue and white tie, and black pants. They both could not look more cool but also more out of place in the sea of students wearing the green, black, and pink uniform of your own school. 

You smiled at Bokuto and Kuroo both as you walked up to them with a hop in your step, wondering how they managed to get all the way to your school in time for the end of the day dismissal.

“Both Nekoma and Fukurodani dismiss third years as soon as exams are done in the morning,” Kuroo explained when you asked.

“Yeah, we test straight through the day then peace out as soon as we’re done.” Bokuto slung his arm around your shoulders and easily pulled you into him, not having a care in the world that there were plenty of people around.

“You guys are lucky,” You whined, stomping your foot and looking at Rumi who nodded in agreement and was standing close to Kuroo. “We could’ve gotten lunch!”

“Well, maybe one of these days I can convince you to sneak off on your free period and meet me,” Bokuto smiled down at you, pulling playfully at a lock of your hair and laughing when you swatted him away.

“Corrupting girls of others schools?” A voice behind you laughed loudly, making all four of you turn. “Seems beneath the two of you.”

Bokuto and Kuroo both smiled as Daiki led a few members of the boy’s volleyball team up to greet them, all doing some weird handshake thing that guys do. You didn’t miss the fact that one third year in particular made a point to be a little less enthused than the others, completely ignoring Bokuto altogether. 

You saw the slight twitch in Bokuto’s face when Shouta deliberately said hi to Kuroo but not him, the look of real confusion made you start to feel like the temperature around you was rising. You felt worry starting to grow in your stomach, Rumi also taking note of your sudden uneasiness. 

Being who he was, Bokuto was not going to ignore the fact that he was being ignored and made a point to greet the other third year. “Shouta, ‘sup man?” He held out the hand that was not currently wrapped around you for the other boy to shake but was left hanging.

Everyone stopped, whether they were in mid-conversation or just listening they paused and held their breath. At this point, the rest of the boy’s volleyball team knew that you had rejected Shouta but you weren’t sure if they knew everything that was said between the two of you. It had been a few weeks since the interaction and both your teams were too busy to talk, much less gossip about what was happening between players. You waited, along with everyone else, for what was coming next.

“Bokuto.” Shouta nodded curtly, even though he wasn’t nearly as tall as Bokuto, he gave off an air of looking down on the two of you. “Didn’t think you normally slummed around these parts.”

“Well, yeah,” He smiled, completely oblivious (or at least doing a damn good job acting) to the tension brewing. He looked down at you with an almost loving smile and nodded your way, “I told (y/n) we’d get some food after her exams were over. You guys sh-”

“Listen, man, nobody really gives a raging fuck about why you’re here.” Shouta interrupted, shocking the entire group with his crude choice of words. 

“Chill dude,” Kuroo stepped forward. “You brought it up, man.”

You noticed how Kuroo stepped up to stand next to Bokuto, neither of them flinching in the slightest. Even with calm expressions on their faces, you could tell from their eyes alone that they were not going to back down from anything that was about to happen. And they shouldn’t, they easily had the height and weight over Shouta and it didn’t look like the rest of the Shinzen team was gearing up to come to his aid. 

You felt a tug and looked over your shoulder to see Rumi pulling on your uniform jacket to get you to step away from the brewing confrontation in front of you.

“Why are you even here?” Shouta then asked, looking over at Kuroo with narrowed eyes, giving him a once-over. “Following around the super star like his little sidekick? Or just fishing around for the next girl to try and sweep up like your buddy here?”

“Shouta- '' You started to warn, noticing Bokuto’s and Kuroo’s jaws clenching but neither of them saying or doing anything.

“No offense, (y/n), but honestly fuck off.” You, along with everyone in the group, gasped in surprise at the hash comment as he enunciated each word. “It’s one thing to be hanging around the creep, but seriously having him come all the way out here to pick you up? I mean, how much attention do you n-”

CRACK-

Before Shouta had a chance to finish his terrible words, and before you even realized what was happening, your fist collided with his jaw. A satisfying crunch sound filled your ears as he fell to the dirt in surprise, looking up at you in shock as he held his jaw in pain, a few tears threatening to spill over his eyes. You were seeing red.

“Fuck you, you bitter bench-riding fuck.” You said in a rage, spitting each word. “Maybe if you were half the man he was you’d get more playing time and girls would actually be interested in you.” 

You were about to continue on your spree of insults when you felt a pair of hands grab onto your arms from behind and start to pull you away. “Alright bruiser,” Bokuto’s familiar voice was close to your ear. “I think he gets the idea.”

The four of you walked briskly down the sidewalk, away from the dramatic scene. Bokuto had his arm slung over your shoulders again, holding you close like he needed to keep hold of you out of fear that you’d go back and finish what you started. You could tell he was trying not to laugh, the situation being very serious considering you’d pretty much assaulted someone on school grounds. He continued to lead you away, never looking back to see if anyone was following or going to say something.

Once you’d rounded the corner a few blocks away, Kuroo burst out in a maniacal laugh while Rumi came up to you and grabbed you by the face. “You absolute badass.” She said, laying a dramatic kiss on your forehead. “Fuck that guy.”

You shyly looked away, coming to the realization of your horrific action. You looked down at the hand you had punched the boy with, clenching and unclenching it in a fist. “Damn,” You somewhat laughed, shaking out the lingering sting and looking up at Bokuto. “That felt really good.”

Bokuto smiled and squeezed your shoulders a little tighter, laying a kiss at the top of your head. “That’s my girl.”

[thesecondcircleofkel]

NSFW Alphabet, Dabi: A-Z

Reposting all of these together for convenience and to save space. Alphabet requests are still open, but remember, I don't accept requests to do the entire alphabet for someone all at once. You have to stick to the guidelines of 1 character per ask, and 5 letters per ask, and once I finish the alphabet for a character with requests like that, I will repost it all together.

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

It kind of depends on his mood. If he’s upset about something, then he’s going to be really distant afterwards, and he’ll probably end up leaving you for the night once he’s gotten dressed. If he’s in more of a neutral mood, then he’ll tease you a little bit before seeing to your post-sex needs, and he’ll fall asleep pretty quickly after making sure that you have everything you need. If he’s feeling affectionate, then he’ll hold you against his chest until he falls asleep.

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, he likes his hands. He thinks that they look pretty nice, plus he loves to feel your body underneath them, whether he’s running them along your skin or groping certain assets of yours.

On his partner, he is all about your hips and ass. He could hold you by your hips all day long if circumstances would permit it, and he’s going to leave all kinds of bites along your hipbones. He loves having a good view of your ass during sex, and whenever he’s not groping your ass, you’ll definitely be getting a few swats back there.

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

His cum is pretty watery and there’s a lot of it. He doesn’t mind that one bit, though, because he loves pulling out and making a mess all over your body as a way of marking you. It doesn’t have the best taste in the world, but it’s bearable, and the only time that he prefers to not cum on you is when you’re giving him oral; in that instance, he prefers for you to swallow, but he certainly won’t argue with you if you want him to cum on your face or chest.

D: Dirty Secret

His true identity as a Todoroki

It’s hard to embarrass a villain, especially one as laidback as Dabi, but he did try to burn his pubic hair off once, and it didn’t go too well. The smell made him gag, and he ended singeing his skin a little bit. He stuck with shaving after that, and he’d rather forget that the whole unfortunate experience happened.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s got a fair amount of experience, and he definitely knows what he’s doing by now. He hasn’t had any serious relationships, but he did indulge in a few flings before he delved too heavily into villainy.

F: Favorite Position

Captain- he likes being able to look down at you as he thoroughly fucks you, plus he feels like he has a lot of control in this position.

He absolutely loves taking you from behind, in equal parts because of the view of your ass and the control that these positions give him. Whenever he feels like being really dominate over you, he’ll take you in Downward Dog, but whenever he just wants to enjoy the view of you sprawled out under him, then he’ll take you in the Concubine position.

Basket- he actually does like to hold you on occasion during sex, and he can do that with this position. It also requires some flexibility on your part, and flexibility really gets Dabi going.

He also enjoys standing sex, particularly when it’s in the shower, so the Candle position is another one of his favorites.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

I mean, he has a good chuckle whenever he teases you, but other than that he's more serious during the act. He's more focused on making both of you cum than he is on trying to make you laugh, plus it's hard for him to be goofy when he's probably having sex to clear his head anyways.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Does the carpet match the drapes? The world may never know. It’s a mystery since he shaves all of his pubic hair off. He’s super consistent with that grooming, too, so you won’t even be able to catch it growing back to see what color it is.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s generally more focused on fucking you than he is on trying to be romantic during sex. He has his moments, though, and things are much more likely to be intimate when you’re riding him. Dabi generally prefers to have the most control during sex, so when he’s willing to give you some of that control, you know he’s more emotionally invested in you than he lets on. His eyes will burn into yours as you work yourself on his cock, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll have bruises the next day, all before he reaches up and drags your upper body down so he can attack your lips with searing passion.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

It generally happens once or twice a week, depending on how stressed he is. It’ll be a drawn-out session, too, where he edges himself nearly to the point of exhaustion before he finally lets himself cum.

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Quirk play, but it’s nothing too intense. He just likes to heat his hands up a little bit and then run them over your body. He likes the little sighs and moans that he can get from you by doing that.  

Bondage- he likes to feel in control during sex, and bondage really plays into that. He typically only binds your hands, and he’ll use whatever is close by to do that, whether that be rope, handcuffs, or a piece of clothing that one of you just took off.

Cock worship- tell him how much you love his cock while you’re giving him a blowjob or riding him. His eyes will nearly roll back because of how much he loves hearing it.

He also enjoys Face Fucking you from time to time. He’s surprisingly not too rough doing it, though. He likes for you to be kneeling in front of him with your hands tied behind your back as he slowly drives his cock in and out of your mouth, and he’ll occasionally hold his cock at the back of your throat for a few seconds, but beyond that he’s pretty gentle with it.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He’s really not picky over where the two of you have sex, but he is fond of shower sex. There’s a 70% chance that he’s having sex to clear his head anyways, and the feeling of the hot water cascading down his body really helps that along.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Dabi is a sucker for flexibility, so do something that showcases how limber you are and he’ll be on you in seconds, ready to bend you into some wild positions as he has his fill of you.

He does like to occasionally leave marks on you, and he really likes it when you send him pictures of those marks throughout the day.

For added effect, be totally in the buff for those pictures, because he’s also a huge fan of nudes. If you send him enough of these, he might just send you some naughty pictures in return.

N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s willing to give you some control during sex when he’s more emotionally attached to you and trusts you, but he’ll never let you straight up dominate him.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)  

He prefers to receive oral, but that certainly doesn’t mean he dislikes giving it. It’s his favorite time to tease you; he will edge you so many times that you’ll want to smack him, and he may or may not let you cum when he gives you oral. It kind of depends on his mood; if he’s feeling generous, he’ll let you cum from it and then he’ll go on to make you cum again as he fucks you, but otherwise, he won’t let you cum, and he will continue to deny you your orgasm as he finishes having his way with your body. He’s pretty lax when you give him oral, and he won’t buck into your mouth as you do your thing, unless you’re letting him face fuck (which was discussed back in his Kink section).

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s usually pretty fast and rough, but he’ll tone it down when he’s teasing you, slowly inching his cock into you until you’re begging for him to hurry up and fuck you.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He loves quickies, and there definitely won’t be any shortage of them in your relationship. He doesn’t have a preference over quickies or proper sex; so long as he gets to cum, he’s cool with either.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)  

There are quite a few things that he’s willing to experiment with, but there are several others that he isn’t. If he ever tells you that he’s not down to try something, don’t try to push it, because he’s probably got a good reason for not wanting to do it. When it comes to risks, the riskier the sex is, the better, at least when it comes to things like public sex.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He typically goes for one round, but that will be a very long round, especially if he’s in the mood to tease you.  

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Oh, he has no issue with using toys on you. Be prepared to be overstimulated, though, because he’s going to want you in tears from the overbearing pleasure before he lets up on you. He’s a little more iffy when it comes to using toys on him; if it’s something that you’ll exclusively be using on him, then he probably won’t go for it, but if it’s something that’s made to be used on the both of you, he’ll most likely allow it.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He won’t tease you every time you have sex, but when he does, you’ll want to punch him. He’ll tease you until you beg for him, all while wearing an unbearably cocky smirk.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’d probably be really loud if he didn’t hold himself back. As it is, he typically bites his lip to keep his sounds at bay, but you can occasionally hear a broken and choked groan coming from his throat. He’s naturally a moaner, but he’s a bit embarrassed by that, which is why he hides his sounds. If you’re really persistent, though, and you take him somewhere where he knows that nobody will hear him, he might let you hear them.

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

You’re going to discover pretty early on into your relationship with Dabi that he has a thing for ripping your underwear off. He won’t let you throw them away afterwards, either. He’ll keep them as a sort of trophy, and he’s going to end up with quite an extensive trophy collection. This is slightly unfortunate for you, since that means you’ll have to spend quite a bit of money replacing your lost underwear. Just bitch at him a little bit, though, and he’ll make it a point to go out and get you some more so you’ll quit nagging him (the underwear that he gets you will of course not be obtained legally, and it will probably be quite skimpy, as well).  

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)  

Average girth, but above average length at about 6-6 ¼ inches. I also firmly believe in the headcanon that he has dick piercings.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He’s got a pretty healthy sex drive, and he’s usually ready to have sex whenever you are. Whenever he’s going through a lot of mental and emotional turmoil, however, he’s going to want to have a whole lot of sex, since it really helps him to clear his head and destress, and these sessions will probably be a little rougher than usual.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Unless he's upset about something, he'll fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards. If he's feeling really affectionate, he'll cuddle with you as he falls asleep. If he's upset about something, then he won't fall asleep for a while.

[feroxcia]

RULES: REPOST, DON’T REBLOG. JUST PICK A MUSE OF YOURS AND FILL IT OUT.

MUSE: Gary Oak

BASICS

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL/SHORT/AVERAGE?   I mean he’s almost 6 feet. Tall but not super tall.

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT?   Yeah, Gary doesn’t give much thought to his height, mostly because he’s pretty average and fits in with the crowd.

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE?   Brown color. Shoulder length when down. Pretty thick and softer than you’d think. Though you wouldn’t really notice with all the gel he uses. It can get pretty gnarly if he doesn’t comb it. 

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR/WITH THEIR GROOMING?   He does, especially as he’s gotten older. He meets with a lot of important people, so he’s always gotta be in his best. Never know who your gonna meet. As stated before he takes very good care of his hair (he doesn’t want to start balding at 40). But he takes good care of his face too. Even plucking his eyebrows and wear a little cover up if he has a blemish. If he’s going on a date, a tiny dab of lip gloss is sure to stop some hearts. ▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE?   Absolutely. His looks are everything to him. If he doesn’t look good he doesn’t feel ready for the day. 

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT WHAT OTHERS THINK ABOUT THEM?   Kinda. He likes to think he doesn’t, but he does. Honestly he just likes the attention, positive or negative. He really doesn’t care if you love him or hate his guts, so long as you remember him, that’s all that matters.

PREFERENCES

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS?   Outdoors. I mean, he likes both in their own separate ways. But outside is more freeing. 

▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE?   Honestly he appreciates both. The sun is warm and bright. It warms his skin and gives him and he pokemon of the world energy. But the rain is calming. It provides the water for everything to grow and the sound helps him focus. There needs to be a balance though. Long hot stretches of days drain him, and many days of overcast rain can make him mopey. 

▸ FOREST OR BEACH?   He doesn’t mind a nice day on the beach, but the forest is where he thrives. Exploring, hunting, learning, observing. There’s so much to see and find in a forest. Even if you’ve been through it a hundred times you’ll still discover something new. 

▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS?   Both are cool? He’s an archaeologist at heart, so if he’s digging and comes across something shiny, well that’s a bonus find! Obviously gems are more sparkly and eye catching. But natural metals are fascinating and he owns a few chunks of raw ore he’s dug up.  

▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES?   Flowers. Strong perfumes make him stuffy and can give him headaches. You know those ladies. You walk past em and it’s like walking into a wall of artificial scents. Probably used to cover up some sort of insecurity, their nose blind, or the fact that they haven’t showered in a week. Yeah that’s gross. But flowers are nice. A good scent and something pretty to look at.

▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE?   Gary would be shallow and say appearance. And of course, appearance is important. He won’t boogie with someone he’s not physically attracted to. But that’s just a surface level. If you really wanna get to him you gotta have the right personality too.

▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD?   Honestly it depends on what he’s doing. Is he out for a night on the town? Then he’s going to be part of the crowd, living up the limelight. Is he working or studying? The he’d much rather be left alone, or maybe with one other person there to bounce ideas around. He’ll always prefer being the center of attention. But he’s learned to enjoy the quiet moments when he’s the only one there.

▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY?   You obviously need both to have any sort of functioning society, but Gary tends to lean more towards anarchy. Order is fine when the situation calls, but he thrives on going against the grain and challenging what people think. If there’s a cause he wants to fight for he’ll start a riot.

▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES?   Gary tends to be very blunt and to the point, so painful truths are his game. He’s not one to pussy foot around, and he’ll speak his mind when he feels it needed. Plus, he’d much rather hear a painful truth himself than to keep him going with a white lie. There are some white lies he’s okay with. Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, stuff like that. But if it’s important, you bet your bippy he’ll come out and say whatever needs to be said.

▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC?   Obviously being the grandson of a professor and an aspiring one himself, science comes first. Magic is only found in fiction. Though one could argue that pokemon themselves are magic, Gary likes t believe there’s always a scientific reason for something happening. 

▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT?   He’d rather there be peace, but if peace isn’t an option Gary’s probably one of the first people to jump to conflict to solve an issue.

▸ NIGHT OR DAY?   Both are beautiful in their own right, but night is where Gary really comes alive (it’s no wonder he owns an Umbreon). Dark city streets, neon lights, loud music and social drinking are all in his aesthetic wheelhouse. He loves the atmosphere. 

▸ DUSK OR DAWN?   Dawn. Contrary to the above dawn has some of the most beautiful vistas. Colors dancing in the sky, pokemon waking up from their nights slumber to prepare for the day. It’s wonderful. Too bad he doesn’t see it often. 

▸ WARMTH OR COLD?   Once again, both are nice. Warmth is obviously more comfortable, but the cold doesn’t bother him (I mean, he lived in Snowpoint City for a while).

▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS?   Many acquaintances are where Gary thrives. Having loads of people he knows on the street. Being able to walk past and have a short conversation and wave. The attention is great. But he does cherish his few close friends. 

▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME?   He’d much rather spend his time reading a book or researching something than playing a game. Honestly he’s not much for games to begin with. He’d rather watch a movie.

QUESTIONNAIRE

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS?   Being a jackass? Like, he just says shit sometimes that he probably shouldn’t say and it gets him into shit with a lot of people. He also tends to overwork himself. 

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM?  You could say his parents, but honestly he really didn’t know his parents before they were gone. 

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS?   Despite the outcome the Silver Conference is an oddly fond memory in hindsight. Remembering how much he’d grown to get to that point was invigorating.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL?   Absolutely not. He might be a jackass but he’s not a killer.

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN?   Quiet. Scarily quiet. He tends to lock himself up and is unable to function properly. Choosing to cave in on himself. He doesn’t like people seeing him like this and he’ll do whatever he can to get the fuck out. He doesn’t normally cry and usually channels his sadness into anger, but on the rare occasion he does it’s a pretty gross sob. 

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE?   It depends on the person? He can, but he usually won’t. If he trusts anyone with his life it’s his pokemon. People are fleeting, his partners are forever. 

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE?   Once again...oddly quiet. He gets soft. His eyes loose their sharp edge. He moves slower and more deliberate. Protective. He gets very protective. He’s the person to wake up in for morning spooning his partner, burring his face into the back of their neck and mumbling good mornings and I love yous. He likes hand holding and quiet hugs. Soft cheek smooches and passionate kisses. He just really wants to prove to you how much he cares about you. 

tagged by: @aquaffensive​

tagging: idk man take it from me? 

[sethnakht]

Rambling thoughts on Cass and on ending stories. 

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #32, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matthew Wilson, letters by Clayton Cowles

This panel sort of has it all.

Spoilers beneath the cut.

If there's only one way to end a story, and that way is to stop telling it, will it be enough for Laura to have rejected godhood? Or will the other surviving gods, including the heads, need to follow her example to ensure that Ananke cannot complete her ritual?

One can imagine Baph being convinced; he never wanted to die, never had a choice, and this would return some choice to him. Cass as well - the hospital footage on Dio's phone might even suggest that she survives past all this into old age. But what of Baal, who has always believed he was a god? Who has sacrificed in belief? Sunken cost fallacy there. Asking this of the heads - even of those who never wanted this - would be a tall order, moreover - for without godhood, what would they be other than victims of decapitation and thus dead? (Not that they would last long as heads under Minervananke.) Or was Ananke telling the truth when she said the children would develop powers on their own without her - where powers is not equal to the trappings of the god she chose for each, where the latter can be rejected as story and the former involves discovering identity of a sort?

In this context, I've been thinking a lot about Cass.

Cass interests me because of her fraught relationship to stories. She is constantly subjected to bigoted, racist, transphobic, objectifying stories imposed on her about gender and ethnic roles, not least by members of the Pantheon like Amaterasu and Woden. She is a critic who sees through that bullshit. She's defended her own story and gathered tools of defense. She's a journalist who wants to expose truths.

She's also someone who wants change in the form of progress and who seems to have once thought the gods would be the answer, if her academic degree in Pantheon Studies is any indication. But the gods of this Recurrence are themselves mouthpieces for the very same BS she has been subjected to all along. No change she would consider meaningful is taking place; instead we get the eternal recurrence of the same. When the gods speak in tongues, Cass is told she should feel something and yet does not. There is a story that her body and mind should be a certain way being imposed on her once again.

Cass rejects this narrative. The gods are not saviors, they're entitled teenage pricks. Their powers are meaningless. How she understands this exactly is a bit unclear to me. Does she think that the gods have never effected any meaningful change over the course of history, that their presence has had no effect? That would be a strange position for an academic historian. It seems more likely that she rejects the idea that the presence of the gods is inherently meaningful, that their appearance points to a deeper meaning in the structure of the world. The fact of Recurrence would itself be as meaningless as a meteor striking earth, for instance - the presence of the gods would mark no portent, no messianic coming, but simply be a fact of nature.

The stories about meaning imparted by gods - she says this with the portraits of 1831 Woden (Mary Shelley) and 1831 Lucifer (Lord Byron) in the background, possibly also referencing any sort of aestheticism as such, any sort of idea that art as such is a replacement for political action - were therefore lies.

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #2, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matthew Wilson, letters by Clayton Cowles

For Cass, “the personal is the political”. (I tend to think of her as the opposite of idk the long-nineteenth-century German notion of Kultur writ large, but that's another story.)

Cassandra wants to change the world. That makes her position is VERY different from that of David Blake, whose problem with the Recurrence seems to also be that the current Pantheon reflects a society he doesn't want. Where Cassandra seeks a progressive future - her choice of name for herself speaks volumes - Blake acknowledges that the patriarchy is bad because: war and because: not every man gets to be the father with all the benefits, but also doesn't seem to care to change the status quo. On the contrary, some of his remarks suggest that he thinks culture was superior in the Past and that the Present should be violently struck from the history books. Even after Cass ascends to become Urdr, and thus associated with the Past, her thoughts remain directed towards the future. "We're trying to give birth to the future using the language of our oppressors", she tells Dio:

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #27, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matthew Wilson, letters by Clayton Cowles

Ananke, Cass tells Laura, is "god of fate". Cass is the naysayer who doesn't believe in fate. In a perverse move, Ananke makes Cass into a goddess of fate. Cass is the sort who takes any thesis you give her and represents the anti-thesis with a "fuck you". Made goddess of fate, her response is to use those powers to persuade an audience of her view that there is no fate. The gods are a false hope and offer no meaning: "The void swallows us. Nothing means anything. Everything is nothing. Meaning is irrelevant. It's so cold. It lasts forever. It's all there is. So small so alone. We only have each other. It's never enough."

This is kind of a Birth of Tragedy moment: man gazes into the void, sees the horror of life, realizes nothing has meaning, and is paralyzed from action. Nietzsche thinks the paralysis can be overcome with art, particularly when the principles of individuation (the Apollonian drive) and inclusiveness (the Dionysian drive) are fused in a way that moves us to see past our own individual selves and figuratively unite with a collective. Cass is very Apollonian in a sense - she's tremendously restrained, a storyteller as opposed to a dancer and musician; that line about "small" and "alone" also stresses individuality. It's no wonder Dionysus is in this Pantheon and in love with Cass, and even briefly able to make her connect with his hive-mind. But Cass pulls out almost as soon as she starts to feel it, claiming there are more important things to do. There won't be the kind dialectic reconciliation of their respective art drives that Nietzsche would claim to be necessary in this story, unless Dio isn't really braindead.

My point with all this is that if you read Cass' message as something to live by, it seems rather one sided and incomplete. Is there a message she isn't sharing?If nothing means anything, why bother to perform? Cass doesn't go beyond the negation of meaning to think about what to do with that, how to live with that; there's a sense in which she does what she previously criticized about the tongues by not doing more than imposing a story, by not showing how to move beyond a story. She doesn’t ask her audience to think, but to download.

Cass tells a story of meaningless that is received as a story and nothing more. Much to her disappointment, it doesn't effect the kind of instant change in people's attitudes and mindset that she seems to think art should be capable of if it is to have meaning.

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #10, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matthew Wilson, letters by Clayton Cowles

Instead of being provoked into thinking, or paralyzed with realization, however, what happens is quite a bit worse: her audience treats her message as a product to be consumed. Cass is again subjected to this fate when she decides to forgo the use of tongues - of giving any sort of aestheticized pleasure to her audiences - and hold a normal press conference where she yells unvarnished truths. Not only are her words ignored - the press conference is turned into reaction gifs to be reposted and repurposed without any attention paid to the original context or meaning - she herself is reframed as dangerous for even attempting to displace Woden's reigning narrative that pleasure is meaning and meaning is meaningful no matter how it was gotten or who it happens to keep in power. Not only is Cass' meaning deliberately twisted in Beth's video / power grab, the Valkyries are openly praised for stunning and imprisoning her and the other Norns.

Is Cass herself nothing more in the story than a tool for thinking through what art has possibly become in the culture industry on a meta level? That would be disturbing. I want to believe the story will give her more, that the raft of friendship we see her building with Laura is not about to be dashed to pieces and writ as futile as Dio’s last act.

The comment to Dio about trying to give birth using the language of oppressors seems really important. One of the literal oppressors in the story is Ananke, the perverted mother, the one who kills children and the future to ensure her own continued survival. (Palpatine and Cylo arguably also play this role in Gillen’s Vader comic, the former by scheming to replace his apprentice/figurative child with younger children in order to extend his power, the latter by endlessly cloning himself.) Ananke lives by a story and she thinks the story will carry her on. She murders the children born of the gods both literally and figuratively, ensuring she remains the only child.

If Ananke's language is that of the oppressor - and if Ananke’s sister stands for desire, she herself apparently stands for necessity - Cass uses that language by negating it. Cass' negations are at times absurdly absolute. When Amaterasu - her anti-thesis in so many ways - tells her that everything happens for a reason, she counters with the absolute: nothing happens for a reason.

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #15, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Stephanie Hans, letters by Clayton Cowles

Cass is right about Amaterasu in a lot of ways. Amaterasu basically seems to be saying that Hiroshima had to happen so that she could happen. There’s a line in Marx about history repeating itself twice, once as tragedy, once as farce. Amaterasu recreating an artificial sun over Hiroshima was not in the least funny. Everything happens for a reason is a convenient philosophy if history has largely been on your side. 

It's also rather determinist in a way, attributing necessity to everything regardless of how it affects people. Which makes Amaterasu's claim that Cass is an idealist who doesn't care about what happens to people rather rich:

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #15, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Stephanie Hans, letters by Clayton Cowles

Amaterasu’s words are echoed later and more effectively by The Morrigan, who claims that her own choice to take away Baph’s choices was essentially the same as Cass’ choice to transform her girlfriends into Verdandi and Skuld. Cass protests that it was the logical, almost mathematically rational thing to do, which ... isn’t a great response ...

Speaking of idealism, Cass seems to impress Woden as well with the idea that she is a foolish idealist, whatever that means:

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #30, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matthew Wilson, letters by Clayton Cowles

To say that nothing happens for a reason is not an idealistic statement by itself, though. If there's an ideal attached to it, it might be freedom - rejection of determinism. At the same time, Cass is certainly not an advocate for anarchy, as the vote on the Great Darkness makes clear. Cass thinks there is a right way to do things and a wrong way. If she believes that nothing happens for a reason because the idea of an inherent purposiveness to the world is a lie or a story we tell ourselves, her ideals also suggest that stories are part of who we are, that we are storytellers, that our minds are configured to see cause and effect, and that there is purpose to reflecting on what we are so we can do something with that. “I’m seeing patterns, but they’re the patterns I see” is a problem of which she is aware. There may not be meaning "out there", and that creates doubt - but it doesn’t keep her from doing.

Which makes it kind of a head-scratcher for me that neither Amaterasu nor Cass seem willing to acknowledge is that both of them can be right. We know this because Jon Blake - Mimir, a god of wisdom - puts forward a middle position:

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #34, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matthew Wilson, letters by Clayton Cowles

It’s ironic that Cass, who claims nothing happens for a reason, is the one to fall for the idea that Ananke's machine must have a purpose, that it must do work. The machine does have a purpose - it misleads the gods, and above all, it has a purpose beyond its intended purpose, in that it keeps Cass inside, isolated, and distracted. Cass’ labor is sucked into the machine for the purpose of keeping the masses satiated and unthinking (Woden) and the perverse cycle of child murder uninterrupted (Minerva). The point being - someone had reason to hide the truth, just as she had reason to find it, and the recognition that stories are lies we tell ourselves for the purposes of survival doesn’t magically reveal truths or serve as an antidote or solution to the problems of society.

In this story about storytelling, this story about the meanings we choose to believe (“the personal is the political”, which full disclosure is also something I also believe), to act upon, to share or impose on the world and other people, the position that “nothing happens for a reason” is a difficult sell. Everything in this story was meticulously plotted, and any unintended effects on the reader can still be attributed to reasons. Given that the story is coming to an end in a very literal sense for both the reader and the characters, given that their story is to end a story, I’m really looking forward to seeing how Cass’ negations and ideals, how her approaches to art and stories are developed. 

[njamil21]

Burning (a sort of excerpt)

Characters: Fatin Qasmi, Asma Qasmi, Rahim Shadid, Heydar Shadid, Karam Bilel

Category: Original fiction, one shot

Warning for some cursing/mild language.

Hey, some actual writing! I wrote this piece to be an excerpt of sorts as I’m still working on Fatin’s story as a whole. This was submitted to my Creative Writing: Fiction class last semester, so it did go through some revisions but I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this!

The story kinda starts in the middle but I tried to write it in a way where you would still have enough information. But I guess if you’re still looking for a beginning, I think this should be helpful. This is also my first time writing a nonbinary character, and as I’m cis female, please let me know if I did anything wrong in describing Karam. Other than that, I do hope you enjoy this!

Please do not edit or repost without permission.

Fatin carefully packed up her duffle bag, mindful of the small embers that would occasionally flicker around her fingertips. She held back an annoyed sigh, not wanting to set fire to her own clothes. But it was hard to ignore her irritation, wishing that she could control the literal fire that she was radiating. As she coiled up her phone charger, briefly wondering if she’ll be able to use it at all, Fatin’s bedroom door slowly opened to reveal her younger sister - half sister, she mentally corrected - peeking inside.

“Hey,” Asma said quietly as she shut the door behind her. There was a beat of awkward silence as the two just stand there, wondering how to start the conversation. Fatin was about to open her mouth until Asma asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Fatin replied, a laugh coloring her words. She wasn’t sure if it made her look well-adjusted to the situation or slightly deranged and angry. Fatin tossed her phone charger in her bag and zipped it up, trying to reign her temper in. She could already feel her arms getting hot. “I just kinda wish mom had told me about all this djinn crap before I nearly burned down the mosque.”

Asma laughed at that. “You burned a trash can! Not the mosque!” She sat down on the bed and Fatin felt embarrassed for exaggerating. As she sat down next to her, Asma sighed and Fatin could see that she was a bit stressed too. “Though, it would have been nice to have gotten a heads up before it happened.”

“You’re not the one setting things on fire. At least you’re normal.” Her voice was was teasing but Fatin couldn’t help feel a note of bitterness. Asma was born to two human parents and could still go to school like nothing had happened. Fatin, however, had to be pulled out of her classes for fear of burning her school to the ground and had taken to sleeveless shirts and shorts in the Michigan autumn weather to avoid further damage. All because of her mother and a djinn who didn’t bother to stick around to see the mess he made.

She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go downstairs,” Fatin announced as she exited her room. “Mom’s djinn friend should be here right about now. I should, um,” she paused, sparing her younger sister a look. “I should get going.” Smoke began to waft off of her wrists and Fatin tried to wave it off, not wanting to set off the house’s fire alarm.

Asma didn’t say anything as she followed her out. As the two made their way downstairs, they could hear bits of a tense conversation from the living room. Fatin approached quietly as she surveyed the room to see her parents, Sabah and Tariq, sitting on the couch together across from who she assumed was a djinn.

He didn’t look like the monsters in what few illustrations she saw. The man, at least Fatin assumed he was a man, was portly and looked much too human. He had a jovial face as he chattered amiably, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands, his jeweled rings flashing in the lamplight. His skin was brown like Fatin’s, if a bit lighter, and his hair was pitch black. When he stopped mid sentence, his gaze met her’s, and Fatin noticed the spark of red in his seemingly brown eyes.

The man smiled and clapped as he stood up. “There you are! The newly awakened djinn!” He took a quick swig of tea, still piping hot, and walked towards her. There was a sort of unnerving presence to him but Fatin refrained from faltering. “You’ve definitely grown up since the last time I saw you.”

“Have we met?” Fatin looked to Sabah who only nodded in response. Fatin gritted her teeth, annoyed that her mother hid another detail. Embers popped over her wrists and the man smirked at the sight.

“Yes, you were very young,” he explained. He stuck out his free hand and said, “Rahim Shadid. Your mother wants me to try and teach you about your powers.” As Fatin gripped his hand, he took another look at the small sparks and chuckled. “It looks like you’ll need it.”

Fatin restrained herself from making a face but removed her hand as quickly as possible. Rahim didn’t seem bothered at all. He turned to look back at Sabah and said, “So we shall head out to my realm now, yes?”

Fatin nodded and looked to her mother. “You ready to go?” she asked.

Sabah suddenly looked uncomfortable, shaking her head ‘no’. “I’m sorry Fatin, but I won’t be able to come with you.”

“What? Why not?”

Sabah and Rahim shared a look before looking back at Fatin. Her mother walked over as Rahim stepped aside, and Fatin noticed a thick black iron ring with a diamond embedded in it on her mother’s hand. She had seen her mother wear it often but never had a reason to really look at it in detail. In the metal around a glowing diamond, she could see some sort of Arabic calligraphy etched in silver on the surface. The writing was too fancy and small to read even if Fatin understood the language. “This ring allows me to control and call djinns to me. With it, I was able to get the information I needed in order to protect you,” Sabah explained.

“It’s really the only reason I’m here,” Rahim added, turning to Fatin again. “However, Sabah has gained quite the reputation because of that ring. If she comes along, you might just be attacked on the spot.” He laughed and Fatin couldn’t help but feel unnerved by his behavior. “Us djinn aren’t typically fond of being bossed around and granting some human’s wish. I just happen to very magnanimous fellow.”

“I’m sure,” Fatin muttered sarcastically. “So am I just going alone with him?”

“No, we’re trying to figure out what to do,” said Sabah. “I don’t want you there by yourself.”

“Maybe I could go along?” Tariq offered. Her father - or should she call him her step-father? - stood up from the couch and approached them.

Rahim shook his head. “That won’t work at all,” he replied. “Only djinns can enter that realm so the only way that any outsider can enter is through a blood tie.” He poked a finger at Tariq’s chest and smugly smiled at him. “Considering Fatin isn’t really your daughter by any means, it would be impossible for you to come along.”

“Then what about me?”

They all turned to look at Asma, who had been quiet during this whole conversation. Smoke immediately began to float from Fatin’s fingertips as she felt her heart drop. Rahim simply smiled and nodded. “Oh yes. I do recall your mother mentioning she had an actual human daughter. You’ll do.”

“I’ll go pack up then,” Asma said quickly and ran back upstairs.

Fatin moved to grab her and hold her in place, but stopped midway as she noticed the embers sparking up again. “This isn’t a good idea! I can’t just take Asma with me to a fucking monster world!” She turned to face her parents, hoping they would see some sense and keep her little sister away from this mess.

There was a look of pain in Sabah’s eyes and Tariq could barely look at her. There was a tense pause before Sabah finally spoke. “I don’t know what else we can do,” she said, her voice tired and frustrated. Sabah seated herself in nearby chair and rubbed at her forehead. As Tariq comfortingly rubbed at his wife’s shoulder. “But…” she started and Fatin could hear the sob catch in the back of her throat. “But we can’t let you go alone. Asma has to go with you. End of discussion.”

———

The car was quiet as they drove south of Canton. Asma was staring out the window as Rahim sat in the backseat, flipping through a magazine. Fatin simply stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles and flames licking at her wrists. She wanted nothing more than to turn the car around and drop Asma off back home, but considering that her parents and Asma herself were adamant about this decision, Fatin couldn’t really do such a thing.

She eyed the black ring that their mother had given Asma and Fatin wondered if she would have been able to argue back at all.

“You’re mad at me,” Asma said, no hint of a question in her words. She chanced a worried look at her, and Fatin felt a stab of guilt for making her sister anxious around her. But there was no use in denying that she was upset with the situation.

“I’m not exactly thrilled,” Fatin muttered, keeping her eyes on the road. She merged onto the lane towards Ypsilanti as she heard the rustling of pages behind her. “You didn’t need to come at all and yet here you are, practically begging to go fuck-knows-where to where a bunch of fire monsters walk around—”

“And what does that say about you?” Asma huffed and crossed her arms, not even attempting to make eye contact with her. “Just because you have powers doesn’t mean you’re exactly invincible. If I have the ring, then I can at least—”

“Do you even know how to fucking use that thing?” The embers flared up and Fatin forced herself to take a deep breath. As the only one who owned a driver’s license, it wouldn’t do her any good to blow up the car. She sighed again, trying to regain what little composure she had before talking again. “Look, this is my search for my father so I can beat some sense into his sorry ass. You don’t need to be here.”

“But you’re my sister,” said Asma, her words laced with hurt. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Fatin was stunned, unsure of how to address her sister’s statement. An apology was at the tip of her tongue until Rahim leaned forward into the front seat, making the space awkwardly cramped. “Do you see that path up ahead?” he asked, pointing to an unmarked road in the distance. “Go there.”

She nodded and turned onto the road, speeding up only a touch as if to escape the tension from the conversation. The road seemed to have taken them far away from the highway, leading them to be surrounded by empty fields on both sides of the road. A dilapidated bridge was just up ahead and Fatin threw another glance at the older djinn in the backseat. Rahim only nodded and said, “If you really want to know about your father and your powers, all you have to do is just drive under that bridge.” He then smiled condescendingly and added, “Unless you’re scared of two seconds of darkness?”

Fatin really wished she could just kick him out her car but knew that she needed his help. She pressed on the gas harshly and she could feel Asma grip her shoulder in apprehension. Fatin muttered an apology but kept driving.

They approached the underside of the bridge and as soon as the shadow hit the hood of her car, Fatin could feel a sudden shift in focus and her blood getting hotter. She struggled not to flinch from the sensation but it was only until they were out in the light, did Fatin realize where she was.

The air being hotter than the Michigan autumn she was used to was the first thing that Fatin noticed. As her vision adjusted to bright sunlight, she could see that the black pavement had turned into dirt. There was a sudden mob of people with blue, red, green, black, and brown skin milling about in what looked like a market place, forcing Fatin to slam the brakes.

The car shrieked in protest and the people - djinn, she mentally corrected - stared at her in surprise. They shifted to make a sort of path for the old car only for Fatin to nearly bump into a rickety wooden cart dragged by an ink black camel. The crowd was buzzing with conversation, directing suspicious and hostile glares at both Fatin and Asma, but ignoring Rahim altogether.

“Welcome to Jinnistan, ladies,” he announced and Fatin barked out an incredulous laugh.

“That is not its fucking name, you liar!” she blurted out as she tried to drive past another cart with dried fruit. Another black camel was pulling it along and stared at her with emerald eyes. It screeched angrily at her only to keep moving forward. Jinnistan was both an underwhelming and ridiculous name for a place so bizarre.

“Once the cart passes, take a right and keep going straight,” Rahim instructed, barely caring about the commotion they were causing. “Stop worrying about them or your fire will flare up again. Just keep going.”

Fatin nodded, ignoring the anxiety that was stabbing at her heart and the embers that flickered over her wrists, and quickly took the turn. The road was just as crowded as the previous one and the djinn slowly parted for the strange vehicle that was attempting to drive past them. They drove like this for probably about twenty minutes only to have the throng of people finally dissipate at the base of a hill. She tossed another glance to the backseat, waiting for further instruction, only to jolt in her seat from the sight.

Rahim’s skin had turned pale green and the edge of his outline looked blurry, as if he was fading away. His eyes, which were definitely brown with a red tint at her house, were now a bright crimson color, giving him an even more unnerving presence. Rahim smiled again and asked, “What’s the matter, girl? You didn’t honestly think I would look like that forever.” He smoothed down his still black hair, which also had that blurry outline, making Fatin wonder if that passage screwed with her vision. Rahim pointed to the dirt path that ran up the hill and Fatin numbly drove on, leaving a dust cloud behind her in the process.

“Do all djinn look like you?” Asma asked, trying to fill up the silence.

Rahim only shrugged. “There are many types of djinn, like ifrits who actually have wings or ghuls who barely have a conscience. As for my kind, the marid, look like this when we reach maturity.” He paused and then added, “our children, like my son, tend to look more human so maybe Fatin will turn out like us.”

Fatin shivered at the idea, not exactly relishing the idea of her skin turning into some odd color.

The car finally stopped kicking up the dirt when Fatin finally parked it on the grass, near what looked to be a garden. Fatin cut the ignition and sat quietly while Rahim exited the vehicle. She looked to her younger sister, Asma, feeling the pang of guilt resurfacing. “Sorry about earlier,” Fatin finally said, not really sure how to go on. Smoke curled around her wrists but she ignored it this time.“I’m just worried that you’re going to get hurt because of me. I can’t exactly do much to protect you here.”

Asma sadly smiled but gave her sister’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” she said before exiting the car. Fatin followed suit and locked the car, wondering if anyone would even bother trying to steal it. Better safe than sorry. “I’m more worried about you. We don’t really know what to expect here.”

“Not like I have any other options,” Fatin muttered. The smoke around her wrists cleared up as her mind tried to focus on the task at hand. The magic that flowed through her felt overwhelming and Fatin won’t get anywhere if her hands kept bursting into flames or choking on the smoke that she produced. “C’mon. Let’s get going.”

Rahim walked ahead of them as the girls followed behind him. The garden that they were in was incredibly different from the marketplace. While the marketplace was teeming with djinn in all the colors of the rainbow, the immediate area only had a few young djinn that looked more human and were spread out, lounging in the sapphire blue grass. The air was perfumed with the scent of a foreign flower that Fatin couldn’t identify, but was clouded by the smell of spices and dung that clung to the market place at the bottom of the hill.

Asma gave an appreciative nod towards the flower beds filled with ash, sporting a multitude of exotic looking buds. “I guess even Jinnistan can be quite pretty.”

Fatin was about to comment on the world’s ridiculous name again until Rahim stopped at a large paved area, like a patio, only to see two young djinn sitting on a bench. One shared the same light skin color that Rahim sported in the human world and had a similar facial structure to the older djinn, albeit with softer features. She could tell by their build that the djinn at least looked male unlike the djinn sitting next to him.

The djinn’s face was androgynous and their build was rather slight, their tunic hiding any real clues to their gender. Their skin was a lot darker than Fatin’s, but still very human-like like the other young djinn and their hair was curly as opposed to their companion’s straight black locks. When she made eye contact with them, the second djinn glared back at her with annoyed red eyes. Her face twisted into confusion as they looked to Rahim.

“Why exactly did you bring humans here?” they demanded in a venomous tone and Fatin automatically took a challenging step forward.

The other djinn, noticing the spark of hostility, easily moved between the two and said, “They’re new here, Karam. Try and play nice.” His voice was calm and even, as if the two were not staring each other down. He turned the girls with a polite, yet shy, smile. “Um, hi. I’m Heydar Shadid. And you’re Fatin, correct? Your mother was the human who contacted—”

“A halfling?” the djinn, Karam, interrupted incredulously. “I didn’t think that such a thing was possible,” they paused and looked over Fatin and noticed the embers that were popping and hissing over her knuckles. “Let alone anyone even wanting one.”

Fatin could feel Asma grip her arm tightly but she easily broke away. She stalked passed Heydar and stood right in front of Karam, bitterly cursing her short stature. “Is there gonna be a fucking problem?” she challenged, her voice coming out in a growl. The embers grew in size and the flames engulfed her hands but Karam didn’t even flinch at the fire.

Someone clapped and they both turned to see Rahim, clearly amused at their spat. “While it is always nice to see you, Karam,” he greeted sweetly, making it hard for Fatin to believe if his words were sincere or sarcastic. “I did promise the girl’s mother that I would try and teach her a few things about our ways.”

Karam’s expression didn’t falter but there was an unamused look to their eyes. “Can she even learn in the first place?” they muttered.

Fatin practically lunged at them, but her arms were yanked from behind. She turned to see Asma holding onto her and giving a disapproving look. Likewise, Heydar harshly grabbed Karam’s shoulder and pulled his friend away from where the girls were standing.

“So let’s get started, hmm? You already have your fire out.” Rahim’s voice was laced with that condescending tone and Fatin could feel her blood boil in response. She wrenched her arm away from Asma and walked toward the older djinn. His green face smiled serenely back at her but she could see embers already flickering at his fingers.

It took only half a second for the embers to coat his entire body in fire as he hurled himself in her direction. Fatin barely had time to tackle Asma out of the way, the flames just barely grazing her shoulder. The two rolled in the grass, hearts beating frantically, as they turned to look at him in horror.

“Just what the fuck is that all about?” Fatin demanded, giving Asma a quick once over. Heydar rushed over and helped Asma to her feet and lead her to where he and Karam stood.

Rahim turned to face them, red eyes peering out from the flames, and Fatin swore he was enjoying himself. “You said you wanted to learn how to use your power, yes?” More flames materialized, creating a ring around his body. “I believe in more practical method.”

The fire immediately reached out for her and Fatin ran from the spot. She could feel the fire chasing at her heels, her mind scrambling for any coherent thought. Her own fire was quickly dying out, slowly being replaced by a smokey cloud, and her panic wasn’t doing her any favors. She felt the heat disappear from behind her and Fatin hoped that Rahim would take pity on her.

She turned around only to see that Rahim’s body burned away, revealing a jet black dog in the flame’s wake. With a growl, it wasted no time in rushing towards her and tackling her body to the ground.

Fatin managed to hold his upper body away from her face as his jaws snapped viciously above her head. Nails scratched at her arms and torso, trying to force her to loosen her grip. Someone was screaming and Fatin wasn’t sure if it was her sister’s voice or her own, her heartbeat and Rahim’s barking drowning out any other noise.

She felt the muscles in his body shift, and in moment of clarity, deduced he was going to change shape again. Fatin summoned her anger and channeled into her palms, burning Rahim’s shoulder’s in the process. He howled in response and she took the chance to shove him off of her.

Rahim stumbled away from her and Fatin stood up, her legs and arms shaking with adrenaline. Her flames still twisted around her fists rather than shrinking back into smoke, which Fatin took to be a good sign. Rahim glared back at her and shifted back to his original form, albeit with his shoulders singed.

Fatin felt her heart drop at the minor injury. The fact that Rahim only looked slightly annoyed didn’t bode well either. “Let’s hurry this up.” Before Fatin could even respond, a long thin flame appeared over his hands and transformed into a gleaming curved sword.

He lunged at her, closing the distance between them, and all Fatin could throw her hands in front of her face. She screwed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever pain might come, but felt nothing save for the dwindling fire dancing on her palms.

And then Fatin began to choke.

She pried her eyes open to see that she was surrounded by a dark cloud, obscuring the garden from her view. Fatin couldn’t see Rahim or the others as she scanned the area, trying to avoid breathing in the smoke. She attempted to take a step forward only to have the sword cut through the cloud and stab the ground near her feet.

The smoke cleared as Rahim came forward with a dull expression. “We’re done.” With that, the sword burst into flame and disappeared. Rahim turned and walked away from her and Fatin collapsed to the ground exhaustion.

Her heart pounded in her ears and for a solid minute, Fatin didn’t register anything that was happening until she felt arms wrapping around her tightly. She flinched and pushed them away only to see it was Asma who was trying to comfort her. Fatin gave her an apologetic look before looking to see Heydar hovering nervously by them and Karam just standing behind him with an unreadable expression. She lowered her face in frustration and glared at Rahim’s retreating back. “What was the point of that?” she demanded, hating that her voice was shaking terribly.

Rahim spared a glance over his shoulder and gave her almost pitying look. “You don’t get it, do you?” There was a brief silence and he sighed, the familiar patronizing expression on his face returning. “You said you wanted to find your father, yes? Do you think that any djinn would be as kind as me to help you?”

“That was kind?” Asma exclaimed, her expression melting into cold, furious expression.

“Exactly!” Rahim took a few steps closer to them, smiling tightly as if he was struggling to be patient. “Fatin’s powers are practically nonexistent and would do her very little good. She barely has any fire to back up her tough words and that smoke she produces will do her no good, especially if she gets suffocated herself. There are djinn who much more nastier than me, such as ifrits or ghuls. We have no clue where to even start looking for your father and you’ll be dead by sunset if they happen to have any information.”

Fatin’s response died on her tongue and her body felt very cold all of sudden. While it was hard to deny that Rahim dominated that fight, she couldn’t believe that the power that frightened her mother so was practically nothing compared to a full blooded djinn. She swallowed, willing her voice to come back, and asked, “So what do we do now?”

“Oh, I’m done here.”

“What?”

Rahim turned and strolled away from them again. “I said I told your mother I would try to help you,” he explained, not even looking at her. “I’m quite bored with the whole thing and I was never invested to begin with.”

“Wait, get back here!” Fatin stood up on shaking legs but didn’t dare run after him. “You said you would help me-!”

“Try,” he corrected in a more sing-song tone.

“Fuck you!” she snapped and she made a move to follow him, but Heydar ran after him instead.

“Father!” he pleaded as he moved in front of Rahim. “We can’t just leave her to do this by herself.” His voice was a lot softer than before but there was a frustration in his expression that led Fatin to believe this wasn’t the only time Heydar was disgusted by his father’s behavior.

“There’s no point in teaching her with that little power,” Rahim said simply and walked past his son.

“Father!”

“Then why help us in the first place?” Asma demanded harshly as her held to Fatin’s tightly.

“Your mother didn’t give me a choice, what with that magic ring and all.” He replied, pointing at the black ring, making Heydar and Karam take a step away from her. An ecstatic look came over Rahim as he said, “And considering you don’t even know how to use it, I’m now free from its control.”

“But then you-!”

“Will everyone just shut up!”

They all stopped their bickering and whipped around to see that Karam was running a hand through their curly hair. “You’re all just bleating like sheep and achieving nothing!” they snapped. Karam then faced Fatin and grabbed her by the wrist. “Come on. We’re getting this over with.”

“Then it is settled then,” Rahim quipped and rushed off leaving a exasperated Heydar behind him.

“Wait, what the hell are you talking about?” Fatin pulled her hand back and gave them a hard stare. She wanted to beat some sense into Rahim in the most violent way possible, but that didn’t suddenly make her and Karam best friends.

Karam huffed irritably and crossed their arms, not looking directly at her. “You said you wanted help. So I’m going to help you. ,” they said and turned to walk to the center of the patio area. “Unless you ready to call it quits here.”

Fatin paused and considered the djinn in front of her. On one hand, they were a condescending asshole who judged her for being part human. However, Rahim was already leaving the area and probably heading back to the car or going straight back to his home. Fatin didn’t have many options but this still felt off.

“Why?” she asked as she stalked over to where they stood. “Why help me at all? Or are you just waiting for a chance to have a crack at beating the shit out of me too?”

There was a beat of silence before Karam tried to stifle a laugh. “That did cross my mind, but no,” they said. Their expression softened a touch and they continued. “It wasn’t fair how Rahim treated you, even if he was right about your power level.”

“Oh gee, thanks!” Fatin replied with fake enthusiasm, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter. Heydar and Asma approached the two of them as Fatin asked, “So what do we do about it? I barely know how to use it when I want to.”

They sat down on the bench and motioned for her to do the same. “First, we should try and see how much fire you can produce. It should give us a good estimate as to what we’re dealing with,” Karam explained. They pointed to Fatin’s hands and added, “Try and pour your energy into your palms and keep it there.”

Fatin stared at her hands as she seated herself on the bench and tried to concentrate, thinking of the fire that she created when she first used it. Images of burning styrofoam and blind frustration flooded her mind as her palms heated up, summoning a flame that engulfed her hand.

“Can you do any more than that?” Asma prodded gently.

Fatin decided to concentrate on the image of Rahim’s fire and how it swallowed his body whole but her flame didn’t expand past her wrist. “What am I doing wrong?”

Heydar cleared his throat and quietly added, “You were under a lot of stress today. You need to calm down and try again.”

“Or,” Karam interjected. They placed a hand on Fatin’s shoulder and said, “It might be because you’re only part djinn. You might just not have the fire power that other djinn are capable of.”

Fatin sighed and felt her body deflate in response. The flames died down as she stared out at the lavender sky, the breeze blowing through her black and blonde hair. “Well, there’s gotta be something else I can do. Maybe fire just isn’t my thing.”

“Or you’ll need to work with what you have,” Asma said encouragingly. She sat down next to Fatin and leaned against her sister’s frame. “You’ll figure something out.”

Fatin smiled appreciatively and rested her head against Asma’s in gratitude. Heydar sat himself on the edge of the bench, giving the sisters enough room to themselves. He leaned forward so he catch Fatin’s eye and asked, “By the way, I was wondering how you made that smoke?”

“What?”

“That’s actually a good question,” Karam said and looked at Fatin with sudden interest. “Your fire shouldn’t be able to do that at all. So how could you?”

“Shouldn’t fire be able to do that in general?” Asma questioned, on obvious look of confusion on her face. “Fire produces carbon dioxide and water which comes in the form of smoke. It’s basic science.”

The was a blank look on Heydar’s and Karam’s faces until the former simply shook his head. “But djinns are made of a smokeless fire so Fatin shouldn’t be able to do that at all,” Heydar explained.

“Like plasma?”

“… Maybe?”

“Then is that something only I can do?” asked Fatin, staring back at her hands. Thin black wisps began to curl around her arms. “I seem to make a lot of it. Is that because I’m part human too?”

Karam gave a contemplative nod and summoned a small flame to their own hand. “The creator Allah made djinn out of the perfect fire, meant to only burn and never produce any smoke,” they explained, the light of the fire glowing in their eyes. “Allah then created Âdam and Hawa, the first humans, out of clay, a substance that could be burned.”

“So is Fatin burning her own flesh?” Asma asked, her eye’s widening in panic.

Karam shook their head. “I’m merely guessing at an explanation. If no djinn can create a fire that smokes, it might be because only a djinn that’s part human can do it.”

Fatin though it over, recalling the fight with Rahim and how he hadn’t thought much of the smoke. The smoke was very thick, making it hard to breathe and she could hardly see through it. An idea struck her and she stood up, facing the group with excited smile. “It’s a smokescreen!” Fatin exclaimed. “I could use it to hide and get past other people with it!”

Heydar pushed his long bangs to the side, smiling approvingly at Fatin. “It would definitely buy you a lot of time, if you needed,” he said.

Fatin couldn’t fight off her own smile and was about to say something in response until Karam cut her off. “It’s a good start,” they said and smiled kindly at her. “But we still need to work on your fire power and general fighting skills. Buying you more time won’t do you any good if you don’t know how to use it.”

Fatin sighed tiredly but still laughed in response. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She stretched her arms and asked, “So are we starting right now? Or should we save it for later?”

Karam looked up to to sky, to see that the it was darkening into a surreal dark blue-green color. Fatin doubted she’ll ever get used to how the sky works in Jinnistan. “It’s getting pretty late but that’s up to you.” They turned to face Fatin, eyes hardening as they stared at her. “I’m willing to help you learn more, but only if you’re willing to keep going.”

There was a pause as Fatin contemplated Karam’s words. She realized that she rushed into the world of djinn without any real plan. All that mattered was trying to figure out who her father was and why he suddenly left her mother and essentially ruining Fatin’s normal life. Figuring out how to use her powers was something that she had to do sooner rather than later, especially if her father doesn’t want to be found and when she’ll need to protect Asma.

“Yeah,” Fatin finally answered, fire already swallowing her hands. This time she relished in the warmth they brought her. “Let’s get started.”