#also these brushes are so fucking fun to use. god bless that one person who ported all the flipnote brushes to firealpaca

[scummrevisited]

wanted my own take on a "catgirl" character

[livelaughlovesubs]

Make me your god, I can give you everything~

Wuwa boys + hierophilia!! Plot: they worship dom!gn!reader as their god

Warning: hierophilia, blowjob (implied), hair pulling, clothes sniffing (implied), dacryphilia

Nini!rant: I hope I included all of them? Also I’ll not write for yuanwu cuz I have absolutely no clue what his character is like, and lingyang bc he looks and acts childish. Anyway, I’m not up to date with the game, so the character’s personalities might be a bit off :(

Aalto

- He’d be the puppy kind, a very smart himbo (?)

- a loyal follower of yours, believes you are a being above since you are so graceful and divine

- you could do no wrong, and he’d believe your every word, he’s bound to your voice

- obeys everything like a good servant, even though he’d be a bit cheeky just for the sake of it

- he likes doing stuff that involves personal stuff of yours, like doing the laundry, cleaning your chambers

- should you trust him with your stuff? Well he definitely won’t steal it but maybe sometime else?

- “want me to do this? Oh, lord…! Well, anything for my deity~”

- could be a little demanding at times, begging and asking for a reward if he did something well (or thinks he did)

- “god, please give me some of your blessings?”

- overall a fun good boy

Chalcharo

- he is loyal, like really loyal, and faithful

- so loyal that it gets annoying at times, always wanting the best for you

- would have a hunch of overprotectiveness too, thinking he did well taking care of the dirty work for you

- in other words instead of waiting for a command, doing things by his own initiative

- he likes staying by your side and protecting you, if there’s not much to do he’d stare at you, thinking he’s sneaky when he isn’t

- wouldn’t voice it but wants you to praise him and show him your full attention afterwards

- tell him he’s a good boy and your most trusted follower and he’d be seeing the gates of paradise

- if he didn’t actually help he wouldn’t know and still expect that, so it’s up to you whether to punish him or not

- if you allowed him to, he’d love to lay his head on your lap or straddle you (he’d never admit)

- “I worship you, my lord, the dearest, please let me be useful to you.”

Jiyan

- pretty similar to chalcharo? BUT more shy, he blushes so sweetly whenever you compliment him, or touch him

- he’d flinch all surprised and embarrassed too

- a veeeery good boy, sometimes does things by himself but mostly waits for your order

- since he’s so cute, he’s very fun to tease, leading to him being red faced all the time

- but he doesn’t mind, he liked the feeling to being loved by you, a divine presence, to shower in your attention (who doesn’t?)

- headcanon that he’d enjoy taking care of the flowers around the house/ church/ wherever this is taking place

- you think he looks very cute a tad messy and sweaty after tending to the garden

- you once stroked his hair while whispering something about wanting a drink, so he suddenly got up to get you one

- but bc you were still holding his hair you accidentally yanked on it

- it felt so good he moaned, “ah-ahhnnggg~” now he has dirty fantasies about it almost every night

Mortefi

- take jiyans embarrassment and multiply it by three, that’s how he feels when he’s showing his devotion to you

- not because he thinks the act itself is humiliating, but that he’s not doing enough

- nevertheless doesn’t want to trouble you, since that’d be beyond him, so he always brushes it off

- he’s content with reading the holy books and scrolls in your presence, and knowing you gift him with the occasional glances

- sometimes he gets so engulfed in reading you really just want to tease fuck him from behind

- if you did do it… he’s so honoured..! And so, so lucky! But he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes for a while

- wants to do so much more but again, wouldn’t tell, you’ll need to reach out to him

- it’s your judgement whether or not he deserved your care, he will try to gain it, but not expect it

- would deny wanting anything physical at first, but melt the moment you touch him, even if it’s through gloves

- “f-forgive me lord, for being greedy.”

Rover

- sweetest and most diligent follower ever

- way more bold and direct than the others, would seek you out when he wants your attention

- and that’s like, always, so expect him to be clingy

- mostly quiet, just gently appreciating you caressing him in any way

- he liked putting his head on your lap the most, second only to more intimate stuff

- a little like a lap dog? His duty is to entertain you, if they are all members of some church for example he’d be a rookie

- anyone would be jealous that a newcomer gets to spend so much time with you…! And he’s so smug about it too

- smiles a lot! Really warms you up! Makes you want to make him cry as well-

- seeing that soft and tender face of his twisted into a writhing one as he cries out, “m-more!! Don’t s-stop.. my lord” must be pretty great

Scar

- so bold it’s unreal, he’d barge into your room whenever which would be seen as disrespectful but he’d also get on his knees immediately and pray to you

- beg you for your affection, he’s soooo needy with his god

- also definitely tries to seduce you, and if he was doing that with anyone else he would have been kicked out

- you seemed to find it fun so that’s why he kept his position

- many think you are too lenient with him, and too benevolent considering how cheeky he is

- demanding attention, skipping chores to wag his tail around you, touching you all comfortably as if you allowed him so

- it’s like he’s trying to get laid by his deity

- the only one who’d be daring enough to be sarcastic with you, and bratty

- just fuck him stupid maybe then he’d learn how to behave

- “ah, hnNghh~ l-lord, so rough..! GentleEEeeeKKK!!”

Geshu lin

- actually the only one who’s somewhat on equal standing with you? Or rather, he acts normal with you in comparison to the others

- converses with you, plays traditional games, many would agree that he seems a bit like your right hand man

- but to you? You see him as just as desperate as the others

- there’s no way to hide those eyes full of worship and yearning, and admiration

- gets so jealous when you spend too much time with the others, he’s the worst one, and it shows in his actions

- cuz then he’d be more demanding, louder too

- wouldn’t expect you to touch him or anything, and thinks it’s too disrespectful to touch you without asking, so he’d be shameless enough to straight up ask

- even if it’s some lewd places, places that are otherwise forbidden to these loyal pups of yours

- he still has his needs after all, whenever he first sees you he’d get on his knees and give you his greetings

- “good morning my lord, may I use my mouth to express my love and adoration?”

[spacedikut]

the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

[cdyssey]

Need

Summary: After Nick arrives at the beach house, Frankie escapes to her studio to process her emotions. Post 7x04.

A/N: I've had such Grace and Frankie brain rot these past few days that I figured I should put it to good use and write another fic. It was really fascinating to try Frankie's POV. Lily Tomlin imbues her with a lot of subtle pathos that I totally wish the show would explicitly explore more.

AO3 Link

—

Frankie excuses herself to the studio for dinner, so she can process her very big, astonishingly inappropriate, and entirely overwhelming emotions without resorting to calling Nick a “wavy-haired, Pierce Brosnan wannabe douche canoe.” 

As delightful (and totally true) of a turn a phrase that it is, even she knows that saying it aloud would be trespassing a boundary that she’s sworn herself never to cross: Grace is married.

Unhappily married, maybe. 

Complicatedly married at the very least.

But until the day that they mutually say “I do” to divorce papers, there isn’t enough room for three people in the Skolka marriage, however much that Grace—bless her increasingly unthawing heart—tries to ensure otherwise. 

So Frankie lets the newly reunited couple have their dinner alone under the guise of a generosity that she doesn’t exactly feel, and she takes leftover pasta into her studio to moodily pick around the bowl until her fettuccine looks less like fettuccine and more like unevenly perforated confetti.

(Woo fucking hoo.)

After a few minutes of this aggressively unconstructive practice, she places her nearly full bowl on a nearby work table and stretches out across her paint-stained couch, staring at the ceiling and resisting the reactionary urge to light a joint. Mary J might help her feel better for the present moment, but tomorrow morning, she’d still wake up and feel invaded in her own home.

Paradoxically, she’d also feel alone, goddammit.

She pulls her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against an invisible and piercing chill.

Frankie hates feeling lonely.

She spiraled when Grace lived in the penthouse. She nearly self-destructed to fill the gaping void that her roommate, her friend, her practical and beloved soulmate left behind. There was a period where she didn’t wash her clothes and ate a lot of admittedly non-vegan takeout. There were nights when she’d lay awake in her awfully huge bed, staring at the empty space where Sol used to sleep, and have the familiar waking nightmare of spending her final years in forced solitude. She was happy with Jack, and then Jacob—sweet Jacob—came around too, and she did something she still feels fucking ashamed about: she hurt both of them, and she lied when she said that she had just wanted to have some fun.

She knows herself.

Intimately.

She‘d been scared of being alone again, so she tried to hold on to two people who were helping her to stave the awful feeling away. Those men wanted her, and Frankie used them. They wanted her, and she pathologically loves to feel wanted because she sometimes and irrationally fears that she might not be needed.

To be fair to her irrational fears, all the people she’s ever needed and felt needed by have hurt her before.

Sol cheated on her for twenty years.

Her own sons stuck her in a nursing home.

Grace just fucking left her.

She eloped in Vegas like a blushing twenty-one year old bride and just disappeared.

She says it was a mistake; she sat across Frankie in a sunlit restaurant and candidly told her that she didn’t like the person she had become when she married Nick.

And to be completely fair to her, Grace has been adamant about not wanting to leave again—so perhaps she never will—but if her husband is here to stay, it's also a distinct possibility that she’ll never have to make the choice to physically leave to… well… leave.

She can perpetually honeymoon with Nick and still call Frankie home. 

It could be a happy ending for Grace… and a fresh new hell for Frankie, who'd just started to feel secure again.

God knows she wants her best friend to be happy, but the big man in the sky must also surely understand that she had hoped that she alone could be enough for Grace, that this unconventional life spent together in the beach house—so crazy, so weird, and so inextricably entangled—would be their shared happily ever after.

But even as she thinks it, the vestiges of her clearly misplaced optimism begin to evade her, dregs now at the bottom of an already drained cup.

She and Grace aren't married.

It’s always been an objective fact.

Tonight, it feels more like an unpleasant reality.

When the door leading into her studio suddenly flies open, Frankie barely has enough time to swipe the back of her hand across her eyes before she sits up to find none other than the lady of the hour.

Her collared shirt popped up stiffly around her neck, a martini glass surgically glued to her right hand, Grace looks quintessentially herself as she walks in, even down to the minutiae of her trademark I'm-angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it expression—brow furrowed and eyes Medusa cold. After all but slamming the door, she stalks over within a few clicks of her practical but unmistakably high heels.

“Well, hello to you, too, Sunshine,” Frankie greets wryly, hoping to hell and back that her face isn’t as red as it feels. 

It’s a tall order, though.

Alas, she was gifted (or equally cursed) with an exceptionally expressive face.

“Frankie, this is nonsense,” Grace says bluntly, using her martini glass like a pointer and leveling it straight at her head. “Come back to the house—your house—and have dinner with us.”

It’s the authoritarian nature of the demand that rifles Frankie.

Frankly, it pisses her off.

She’s always been a rebel contrarian.

“And by us, you mean you and your house arrested husband, right?” She returns evenly. She betrays herself by raising a single and devastatingly skeptical brow. “The man with whom you should be having a very emotionally honest conversation with right now about the parameters of your jacked up relationship?”

Grace shifts her weight from heel to heel and glances away a little too quickly for the gesture to be entirely natural. Frankie had blatantly stricken a pulsing nerve, and the guilt of doing so immediately swallows her. 

She shouldn’t be so hard on her friend.

(She doesn’t know why it’s permissible to be equally hard on herself.)

“Well, I tried to have that conversation, thank you very much, but then I ended up wanting to claw Nick’s eyes out.” The obvious follow up question must shine in Frankie’s face because sighing infinitesimally through her nostrils, Grace adds, “His attorney argued that my advanced age and apparent capability to croak at any moment were reasons enough to grant Nick leniency. They let him out so he could take care of me—whatever the hell that means.”

Her no-nonsense voice never falters as she delivers the brutal words, but her eyes undermine her, seething with emotion, simply roiling. They tell a story of horror and disgust and searing, absolute betrayal; they’re heavy all over with sadness and the indelicate trappings of all her raw and mercilessly exposed fears. 

Frankie understands immediately.

Nick used one of Grace’s deepest insecurities as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Being eighty-two years old.

But perhaps more accurately, feeling like it.

“Oh, honey,” Frankie melts. She can do nothing else but melt, to be suddenly overcome with fierce, protective, and terrifying love for the woman in front of her. “That fucking bastard.”

Grace immediately laughs, the sound hoarse and watery and a little unhinged all at the exact same time.

“Tell me about it,” she half-smiles and takes the swearing as a rightful invitation to join Frankie on the couch. With a gentle clink, she sets her half-emptied martini glass on the table next to Frankie’s completely full pasta bowl. “I said the exact same thing.”

When she chooses to sit close enough that their shoulders are brushing, Frankie intuitively knows that this is petty defiance against Nick for daring to intrude upon them and the world they've so carefully created together.

She temples Grace’s nearest hand with her own in an attempt to silently communicate that this right here—whatever this is between them—is love.

“So, please”—Grace squeezes her hand back—“please don’t be angry with me… I… I didn’t want this. You know I didn’t want this. I don’t want him to even be here.”

Frankie stares openly at her best friend.

Wide-eyed and hopeful against her self-loathing, self-centered will, she searches her broken face like it's revelatory.

It's stunningly rare that Grace Hanson ever articulates her wants so clearly. Forty years of an emotionally repressive marriage did their number and toll on her. She pedestalized rigid decorum over every conscious desire. 

She played by the rules even if they hurt her.

And drank herself to oblivion on many a night to forget the very fact that she was hurt.

To deny herself the honesty she’d somehow convinced herself that she didn’t deserve.

“… you know this is your husband we’re talking about here, right?” It’s a rhetorical question. Frankie's pretty sure that they both fucking know that it’s insane that this conversation—that this entire situation as a whole—is happening. 

“I know,” Grace replies firmly. “Believe me, I'm well aware. But you’re… you’re my partner, Frankie, and if I can’t be upfront with you, then I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

The very word partner sends shivers down her spine, and the shivers collect like butterflies in her already churning belly.

It’s just a word, she tells herself. 

She scolds.

Grace doesn’t mean anything by it.

It's a label, and Grace doesn't do labels anymore.

“I... I wasn’t mad at you, Grace,” she finally admits. It's easier to do than questioning the extent to which her roommate would give up the world for her, but all the same, her voice is frighteningly weak, a pale imitation of everything Frankie usually projects herself to be: confident, cheerful, unshakeable, unshaken. Suddenly, it hits her that it’s been a very long time since she’s been so openly vulnerable, too. “I'm not even really all that mad at your jailbird husband either. I was just scared, and when I get scared, I skitter like a nervous little bug."

She shuts down.

She spirals.

She tries to put a smile on her face for the people who love her all the same.

And then she lies awake at night, drowning in the sheets of an empty bed.

Thinking about how she should probably tell someone that everything hurts.

But she’s Frankie, and she doesn’t do that.

Grace perpetually convinces herself that she doesn’t deserve honesty; Frankie has come to fear that no one wants her own.

“Were you scared of me?” Grace asks quietly, her grip so tight now that it almost stings.

“Frankie…” She presses when a few heartbeats of silence stagger by, limping painfully on all fours, pronouncing so many unspoken and profound hurts. 

“Of losing you, Grace,” she confesses, the words defeated and scraped raw. She forcefully tugs her hand away from Grace's just to temple her own hands together on her lap, to lick her sundry and shining wounds in a private corner. “I was scared of losing you, of being alone again in this big, empty house… and I don’t like being alone.”

She can’t bear to look at Grace as she says it, staring at the paint-flecked floor without ever really seeing it, her eyes burning.

She wishes they’d stop burning but feels the precise moment when they begin to leak anyway.

It’s all so embarrassing.

And childish.

Frankie is an eighty-year old woman, and she shouldn’t be upset over her best friend having a goddamn life.

She should be happy for her, fucking ecstatic.

And yet, she's—

But before she can complete the miserable thought, her body becomes aware of another sensation entirely—warm arms enveloping her from the side and inexorably pulling her in, turning the space that once existed between two bodies—between them—intangible, negligible.

Grace.

Shock turns into realization, and realization transforms into aching, sweeping relief.

It can only be Grace.

Grace’s soft lips pressed to her cheek.

Grace’s fingertips curling into the fabric of her dress.

Grace’s nose against her neck as she slides her sharp chin across her shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you, Frances Bergstein,” she declares. “Whatever happens between me and Nick, in the end, it’s going to be just you and me in this house that is our damn home. I swear that to you. I’d tell you every day just to prove it to you.”

Oh, these words.

These beautiful, tender, and long-needed-to-hear words.

They’re just words, she could tell herself again.

She could lie.

She could convince herself if she had to.

She could conveniently forget that Grace Hanson uses language carefully, that she employs every sentence with scalpel-like precision.

Or... more complicatedly still... Frankie could believe her.

Frankie could blindly accept these words for what they are, as manifest confirmation that she is loved by another—prioritized and cared for and needed.

She could be Grace’s partner and let that incredible word be electrically charged with so many complex and ridiculous and extraordinary ideas, none of which are traditional, and all of which feel true.

She could believe in her even if belief is not simple, even if belief is a product, first and foremost, of trust.

And Grace has certainly lost her trust before, but goddammit, she's earned it so many times, too.

“Oh, God,” Frankie laughs in such a way that it’s stupidly clear that she’s crying as Grace rubs slow circles into her back with her thumb. “This is all messed up. You’re the one with a house arrested, tax evading husband. I should be the one comforting you.”

“The house arrested, tax evading husband doesn’t particularly faze me,” Grace chuckles, her voice low. “Seeing you hurting and upset does. My priorities are remarkably straight.”

“I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word,” she smiles weakly as they slowly and clumsily begin to extricate themselves from their tangled embrace. 

It’s hard to find themselves again.

To be apart.

“But I do,” Grace protests, emphatic and indignant and maybe even a few shades righteously pissed. “You’re the person I wanna share this crazy life with at the end of the day and every day. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because every day is an incredibly long time to be with me,” Frankie offers meekly, giving her one more perfect and easily acceptable copout, a neatly packaged excuse. 

She can be too much.

She knows this.

“It’s just the right amount of time to be with you,” Grace murmurs, reaching up to brush an errant tear away from Frankie’s cheek, her thumb lingering, her quivering palm. “You’re kind enough to love me, and I’m lucky enough to be loved by you... so let me return the favor, Frankie. Let me be here for you."

And to Grace’s credit in this fleeting moment, she continues to hold Frankie.

It's a promise to never let her go.

[khaleesiofalicante]

I really said fuck classes who needs notes anyway (i do I have 5 tests in the next two weeks)

before I post my live blog here, I feel like people really underestimate how bad rumors are and how much they fuck with your mental health. they don't lose sleep over them, they don't think twice. but these things are harmful as fuck. they leave wounds that take so long to recover from because you keep on thinking about these lies who to others are "just words"

I've been there. it's not fun. I wish I had the courage back then to stand up to those rumors which I have now. these things never leave you. others might move on but the healing process is a journey that is long and hard. I wish more people understood just what effect their words can have.

Yeah, he knew a thing or two about family members going overboard with glitter.

IT'S RAFAEL CENTRIC GHSYGUJDUYDFUIKFDUIDFIUDF

TAVVY

TAVVY

TAVVY

DCSUIHDCSUIDUYUDICUIVSDUIHFVSUILFBUHKIFSV

I feel like I keyboard smash A LOT

“You will never drink even if you are not riding the bike,” Dad had pointed out – all Consul Voice and threatening glares. “The legal age for drinking in New York is 21.”

“But it’s 15 in Idris!”

“Well unfortunately for you, we are in Exile,” dad had grinned.

DAD ALEC UHIKSFDUIHKSGUIKSDVUIHKDVUHIKSVD

Max had a habit of ‘borrowing’ things and selling them on eBay. In his brother’s defense, Bapak had so many clothes that he never noticed when things disappeared. But Rafael did since he had a habit of wearing his father’s clothes.

The warlock – not the shadowhunter.

He wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those sweaters.

Now that Rafael was 18, he was almost as tall as his father.

The shadowhunter – not the warlock.

I AM SCREAMING

I love how he's clarifying which one he's talking about

“Do you know I used to have a crush on Lily Chen?” Tavvy blushed. “But then I found out she made out with Helen once and it kinda got weird.”

Ah yes. I remember. Does Rafael know that Alec also walked in on them?

ARCHITECT TAVVY

SDHDVUHDFSV,YDSFVUYVSFFUSVFUVFS

SHADOWUNTERS ATTENDING MUNDANE COLLEGES

“Dude, college kids don’t give a shit,” Tavvy laughed. “You could walk into a lecture covered in runes, holding a seraph blade and they wouldn’t give you a second look.”

“Cause they are chill?”

“Yes. But mostly cause they are dead inside,” Tavvy chuckled.

Surprisingly that's exactly what my grade 6 prefect told me (DAMN WHY AM I ALWAYS REMEMBERING GRADE 6 IT'S BEEN YEARS. that was a horrible year *shudders*)

ANJALI IS A CENTURION

LMAO THIS IS WHAT RAFAEL MEANT WHEN HE SAID HE WOULDNT WANT TO GO TO THE SCHOLOMANCE FOR PERSONAL REASONS

I still ship them.

“The meeting is going to go perfe-What is SHE doing here?”

Well, that was a quick change-

Unlike Aunt Maia, Lily did not like to be called Aunt Lily. So, Rafael respected her wishes. Max of course continued to call her Aunt Lily and sometimes Abeula Lily since his brother had a pathological condition of pissing people off.

THAT'S SO MAX OMG JHSXUHSCUHISDHUHUKIDVS

great now I miss Raphael

I HAVE A CLASS IN 7 MINUTES STOP MAKING ME CRY

that is so thoughtful of him though...

tears.

“There are no photos of Raphael,” Lily sighed.

“Because he is a vampire?” Tavvy asked sympathetically.

“Because he is Raphael,” she grinned. “Vampires can most certainly take photos. You should follow me on Instagram. My handle is simp_for_carstairs.”

Of course, it is. No one is surprised.

Tavvy picked one up, took a large bite and it threw it back immediately. “Holy shit, that’s spicy!”

“White,” Lily and Anjali snorted at the same time.

white people and their bland foods smh

“She is not wrong,” Lily nodded seriously. “I’m a Jem Carstairs fan first and a vampire second.”

As she should be

UHDSUHDFSUHFDH ANJALI AND RAFAEL COMPETING ABOUT WHO'S LILY'S FAVORITE

He observed Anjali’s long dark hair spilled over her shoulders as her eyes stayed on Lily – sharp, protective and beautiful.

"Beautiful"

I AM NOT LETTING THIS GO

I'm THE DAMN CAPTAIN OF THIS SHIP

FUCKING RUMORS

I'm GONNA KILL SOMEONE

“Shadowhunters are awful gossips,” Anjali said. “Let’s not waste our time with this nonsense.”

There was something in her voice. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

No, wait I want to know what was in her voice.

But no. It couldn’t be. They weren’t dating.

YET

Rafael was sure there was something more than friendship between them. But David was polite to a fault and Max was an oblivious little shit. So, obviously nothing had happened yet.

OH MY GOD THESE TWO

But this was different. He would tolerate rumours about himself. But he would not tolerate rumours about his family.

I and Rafael will beat up the people who spread these rumors together :D

“She once told me she likes sipping tea more than drinking blood.

I-

same.

NOT THAT I DRINK BLOOD-

RAFAEL LMAO NO

"I hate her she's so annoying"

continues to daydream about her and how tall she'd be without those boots, lies to tavvy about her dating someone

Why did he do that? What was the purpose? Did he not want other people to date just because he wasn’t dating anyone?

And he calls Max oblivious.

oh class started

shit

IDC IDC I'LL STILL BE READING

LEXI AND SELENA ARE AT THE ACADEMY

JACE HYPER FIXATING ON THINGS BECAUSE HE'S BORED IS SUCH A MOOD

“David and I added rosemary to this one,” Uncle Jace wiped his hands on his apron. “It has definitely improved the taste, hasn’t it?”

“Save me,” David mouthed from behind the man.

LMAO POOR DAVID

“Empty nest syndrome,” Rafael chuckled. “I’m glad neither Max nor I had to leave home. My fathers are much worse.”

He remembered his first sleepover at the institute. His parents had waited for “an excruciating hour” before crashing the institute and joining the sleepover themselves.

yup, that's them.

“David,” Rafael grinned. “Are you afraid of my father?”

“What? No! He is the just a regular person…who can throw me in the silent city any time he wants,” David rambled and then shook his head. “Where is Max?”

He tried to sound nonchalant. But Rafael noted the way the other boy’s eyes fluttered every time he said Max’s name.

Just the way a crooked smile appeared on his brother’s lips every time someone said David’s name.

Idiots

ok, there is so much to unpack here.

DAVID HAS A VALID REASON OK??

These two are such IDIOTS HUSDUHISCUIDSVCUIHVSDUHI

“Max said Bapak is biased, and that he needs an unbiased tutor. Uncle Ragnor volunteered,” Rafael chuckled. “God bless the poor man.”

“Max isn’t that bad,” David replied.

“Looks like you’re biased too, David,” Rafael winked and picked up a spare bow from the training room.

of course, he is.

G-FORCE KJHSDCUISDYUKDFSUYKDSVYUSFD

oh shit

oh shit

WHO DID WHAT THIS TIME

what's the rumor and who do I need to kill

He didn’t know her well. But she knew a lot about him. Just as she knew a lot about the twins. She was one of those people who was oddly invested in his life just because Rafael happened to the Consul’s son.

what is her problem?

what the fuck

I need a minute

I need a minute to digest that

I'm so glad I closed my camera in class

what the actual fuck did she just say

tell me I'm hallucinating

times like these I wish I was Jared 19

no, because I'm actually speechless right now

Paige and Irene need therapy

OH SHE WENT THERE

“Paige, that’s enough!” the Dean snapped at her. “How dare you talk to him that way? You talk about warlock corruption but where all of you when Valentine exploited Jace and Clary? Where was this moral obligation when Valentine lied to his children and played with their feelings as if they were nothing but toys to be controlled and manipulated? I’m sick of shadowhunters victim blaming children instead of holding people like Valentine accountable.”

THANK YOU

SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK SIMON

I feel like we all focus so much on the "incest" and hate on clace we forget that this part of the story was literally an abuser seeing that the victim was recovering and took the only thing which made him happy from him

I can't believe this

“Children have been suffering for a long time now, Paige,” Uncle Jace said now, his fists balled at his sides. “Where were you when Alec proposed the child protection bill? We didn’t see any of you supporting it.”

“We had other priorities,” the older woman replied. “People were dying! It was not the right time for a new law. We could have always signed that bill later. There was no rush!”

OTHER PRIORITIES MY ASS BITCH FUCK YOU

hey just realizing Rafael is the token straight

I'M SORRY IM TRYING TO DISTRACT ME

“The Cohort who made children kill themselves to prove a point?” Uncle Simon asked dryly. “That Cohort?”

I am so close to either crying or killing someone or both.

This was Max’s spot since it had the best Wi-Fi coverage.

yeah trust me I spend all the time in the guest room because it has the best wifi coverage or the study.

MAX IS SMOKING TOO

YOU FUCKING IDIOTS

oh wait

oh they might be alec's

yeah

For the next thirty minutes, Max paced around the room, threatening to portal all the shadowhunters to hell.

Then he went on about a plan to attack the cohort and portal them all to hell too.

He kept talking about portalling people to hell.

MAX YES LET'S DO IT!!!!

But here is the thing about people, they don’t get to you. You get to them.

They simply say something and leave. They probably don’t even mean the things they say or lose sleep over it. But it wasn’t the same for you. You obsess over it. You stay awake at night and let it consume your dreams.

YES! To others, it's just words. meaningless. to you, the effect can be so so deep. it's not easy to always brush them off.

NO MAGNUS

THAT'S IT

MAX AND I ARE PORTALLING PEOPLE TO HELL

WE'RE DOING IT

why do we hurt others?

my teacher: ill take a test on this chapter. all 20 units

me: softly crying because people are little shits and they hurt others.

“Fuck everyone else,” dad hissed. “They’ve hurt our family enough.”

EXACTLY. LEAVE THEM ALONE.

“I am simply being honest with you,” Dad interrupted. “I could never be okay when you are away from me. But I will manage. Max is going to raise hell though. So, that’s going to be fun.”

AS HE SHOULD

Neither Rafael nor Max would never admit it out loud, but on the day of that sleepover, on the day their parents had crashed the institute bcause they had missed the kids too much…Rafael and Max had been only a moment away from calling their parents to come pick them up.

He's right though.

it'll take time. lots of it maybe.

BUT THE ACTUAL AUDACITY.

It fucked with his mind so much.

Rafael...ALRIGHT WHERE ARE MY FLAMETHROWERS

“DAD! BAPA! WAKE UP! RAFE IS TRYING TO RUN AWAY!”

MAX REMINDS ME SO MUCH OF MY LITTLE BROTHER

He had forgotten about the bloody paperwork. Shadowhunters on their travel year had to notify the Clave and get their paperwork in order.

Well, it shouldn’t be a problem since the Clave was standing across the hall.

EXACTLY

Because it was killing him. It was killing him not to be lying on the couch, his head resting on his Bapak’s lap just like every other Saturday morning.

It was killing him not to touch, not to love, not to care.

GET MY FLAMETHROWERS AND CANNIBAL GOLDFISHES WE HAVE SOME WORK TO DO

(goddamn every class I have taken so far the teacher has told us there is a test coming up it's 9 am in the morning.)

His brother growled at that like the little feral animal that he was.

that's adorable actually.

“Fine,” Max rolled his eyes. “Does this mean I can also travel? There is a Twenty One Pilots concert in Sydney and-”

“Nice try,” Dad said. “But no. You are staying here.”

“Excuse me, but what about my healing?” Max demanded. “I’ve been traumatised by this thing.”

“You can go to therapy,” Rafael winked at this brother.

Therapy is boring but useful so-

He needed to survive this. So, he decided to go back to the place he had learned how to survive in the first place.

He needed to go back home.

UGLY CRYING WHILE TAYLOR SWIFT PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND AND MY HISTORY CLASS IN 2 MINUTES

I'm so proud of him for this...

I still say we kill these people.

JOAQUIN AND JULIETTE

UHISDCUIHFSDUGUIDFVDSDVFJHGDFVHUKDVHUKVF

Camilla Alvarez.

well well.

OH THEY KISSED

“Right,” Rafael had said. “Gap year. Besides, I do talk them. My brother threatened to paint my room in hot pink if I don’t text him every day.”

hands max a pint of paint HAVE AT IT

Max: Also – New Rumour. Dalliance between Lily and Tavvy.

Rafe: OMFG WHAT

Max: They are running with it and freaking old n*philim out.

AS THEY SHOULD UFUHIFUIHFUIHKFU

THE CENSORED N*PHILIM I'M SCREAMING

“He is hot.”

He laughed out loud. “Yeah. I hear that a lot.”

“Your dad looks kinda scary,” she pointed out.

Rafael laughed again. “Yeah. I kinda hear that a lot too.”

I'm liking this ship...

I'M STILL LOYAL TO THE RAFAEL AND ANJALI SHIP

but I'm happy for him. I'm glad he's getting the space he needs

Dad: Jst found legal age fr drnkng in Buenos Aires is 18.

Rafe: ????

Dad: I hv friends thr.

Rafe: ???

Dad: Thy r watchn u.

Rafe: Creepy but okay.

HJSDCGUIHJGSDCYUICVXUHVUHKDV

THE BOY'S DRINKING Y'ALL

Do it

MILA IS GOING TO NY!!

I like her. she's nice.

He was leaving soon. He didn’t see the point in lying to her. “I ran away from home. Kind of.”

“Why?”

“I hurt someone I love,” Rafael confessed. “The person I love most in the world.”

honey, it wasn't your fault... hugs

Shit. Why wasn’t Bapak going to the accords signing? He had been there for every single one since the very first time.

no no no no is something wrong?? I'm worried.

“You look taller,” Rafael told his brother who hadn’t grown an inch.

LMAO

Max and I are vertically challenged.

“Rafe, go to talk to him. Or I will tell everyone you’ve been smoking in the balcony!”

So, he was going to pin this on him, huh? This little shit.

well-

“You’ve progressed from freaking to fucking,” he pointed out.

“That’s not the fucking point, Rafael!” Max said in exasperation.

“You did it again,” Rafe pinched Max’s cheek. “My little brother is all grown up now. Linguistically I mean.”

“Dick."

I CAN'T WITH THESE TWO

When he had gone back to Buenos Aires, the place was completely different - even the shadow market.

There were no abandoned children in the streets. There were no racist and ignorant leaders exploiting innocent downworlders.

There was only growth.

His father had done that. Alec Lightwood had helped Joaquin and his people create a new world in Buenos Aires.

This shows how much people can flourish under good leadership if they really try.

YOU KNOW I'M SUPPOSED TO BE TAKING THESE NOTES DOWN, NOT CRYING OVER THIS.

“I will protect our family. I will protect our friends. I will protect those who ask for my protection. But I will not tolerate their hate. I will not turn my head and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Because it does hurt and that’s not okay.”

Rafael smiled at that. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s not okay.”

“The accords is important. But so am I. There is no point in signing a treaty that is meant to value equality if I have to sign it while being surrounded by those who refuse to respect me or my identity. I simply cannot do it, Rafael. I hope you understand.”

I'm sobbing like YES YOU DONT OWE THEM SHIT. THESE UNGRATEFUL BITCHES.

“It’s taken me a while to realize this. But I don’t owe the nephilim anything,” Bapak said firmly. “It’s about time they realize that too.”

YES EXACTLY

“I’ve known shadowhunters for a long time, Rafael. Good ones. Bad ones. All kinds of them – and shadowhunters have always defined themselves by their love. Not by your weapons. Not by your runes. Not by your last names. Not by your laws. Shadowhunters have always defined themselves by love. So, don’t ever let them take that away from you.”

I want this on a T-shirt. These damn shadowhunters and their love.

“Like the Accords Hall kiss?” Rafael grinned.

“It’s the stupidest thing your father had ever done – which is really saying something,” his father laughed. “But it’s also the bravest thing I’ve ever seen him do. And that’s how I knew.”

affectionate sigh that's alec.

“Good. Max is sitting in the porch and singing All by Myself,” Tessa chuckled and closed the door. “Just thought you should know!!”

Rafael giggled at that. “He must have given you hell.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Bapak shrugged, and Rafael raised an eyebrow. “Fine. I might have promised to buy him a car when he turns 18.”

“You’re hoping he would stop aging by then, aren’t you?” Rafael chuckled.

Max is so dramatic I aspire to be like him.

Blue banners when the lost return, the shadowhunter rhythm said.

Rafael had returned home – and he was no longer lost.

I'm ok I say as I cry during my history class

I'm so proud of him.

“Well, that needs to be rectified immediately,” Dad said in the Consul Voice and literally yelled. “I am about to kiss my son – on both cheeks! You better gossip about this too!”

“Oh my god, stop!” Rafael giggled and tried to escape.

“YAS!” he heard Uncle Jace yelled from somewhere. “GIVE US A FOREHEAD KISS TOO!”

THEY ARE SO DRAMATIC I LOVE THESE IDIOTS SO MUCH.

THEM ADDING TO THE ACCORDS AS THEY SHOULD OMG

“The hell is hate speech?” someone asked.

Do you not have a dictionary you uncultured swine

“There is a very clear difference between free speech and hate speech,” Cristina Rosales pointed out. “The fact that you don’t seem to know that is all the more reason for us to include this provision.”

YES CRISTINA

“By the angel,” an old man gasped. “There is no need to be so emotional. The younger generation can be such snowflakes.”

What if I just strangles him

“Discriminatory language?” a woman demanded. “What does that even mean?”

“Calling vampires bloodsuckers,” Lily Chen answered.

“Calling warlocks demon spawns,” Ragnor Fell pointed out.

“Calling werewolves fleabags,” Maia Roberts declared.

“Calling faeries half-breeds,” Kieran Kingson all but yelled.

The fact that they have had to deal with this shit for YEARS. (also why Kingson? isn't Kieran the king?)

THE QUEEN HERSELF IS HERE Y'ALL

“Which one of you shitheads said hate speech is harmless?” Anjali demanded, her voice booming over everyone and everything else.

YES ANJALI

Anjali had a grin of her own. “While that might true, Paige, there is most certainly a law on child protection. You didn’t just hurt Magnus Bane. You also hurt his son. Section 7 of the Child Protection Bill states that any person who physically or emotionally injures a child through ill-treatment, neglect, abandonment or abuse is guilty of breaking the covenant.”

“Damn straight!” someone yelled from the crowd – it sounded suspiciously like Kit.

CALL THESE BITCHES OUT YES

“Rafael is not a child!” someone yelled again. A lot of them this time. “It’s still not illegal. The law doesn’t say so!”

“By the angel, for someone who is obsessed with the law you people seem to know nothing about it,” Anjali said in exasperation. “The child protection law defines a child as a person under 18 years OR younger. The incident happened when he was still 18. It’s illegal.”

YES ANJALI FUCK THESE PEOPLE

“I’m the Inquisitor’s daughter,” she said. “Next time, think twice before you quote the law at me.”

SHOW THEM, QUEEN

How did she know his birthday????

ahem

“So, if you do hurt him emotionally, you can still be implicated. You will face charges and you can possibly be stripped of your runes,” Anjali pointed out seriously. “Now I ask you again. Does anyone else have to say anything about him?”

There was absolute silence then.

“Didn’t fucking think so,” Anjali spat. “I literally had to mention the stripping of your marks for you to respect another person’s basic rights. If you give half the value you place on your precious runes to other people, we wouldn’t be in exile right now.”

The Cohort looked terrified – of Anjali or their future in the Clave, Rafael didn’t know.

“People are dying,” Anjali said, her voice heavy now. “Our people are fucking dying, and you seem to be more bothered with who is sleeping with whom. Shame on you. Shame on all of you!”

She turned to the Council. The Inquisitor looked like he was going to cry from pride. Rafael’s dad looked half terrified but mostly impressed. Lily was blowing kisses at Anjali. The other downworld leaders looked quite pleased.

Shadowhunters are so fucking bigoted and narrow-minded. I'm seething right now.

also, alec looking scared-

“THAT’S THE BEST SHIT I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!” Emma Carstairs yelled.

“Goddamn, I wish Magnus was here to see this,” Uncle Jace grinned. “That was satisfying as hell.”

“No worries, I recorded the whole thing!” Kit put up his hand.

YES YES AND YES

“Fuck the Cohort,” Rafael giggled.

“Actually, I would prefer you use the word screw,” his father pointed out. “Screw the Cohort!”

“Oh my god, Dad!” Rafael rolled his eyes. “I am allowed to swear once in a while.”

“No, you are not,” Dad said firmly – this man was so not ready to meet Max’s new persona. “As your friend pointed out, you are still a child.”

Alec seeing Max curse left and right: 👁️👄👁️

"She hates me!"

“Rafael, she stood up for you in front of the entire Clave. She fought the Cohort. It was incredibly brave. I wish she had spoken to me before without causing all the chaos. So, it was a little stupid of course. But still brave.”

Stupid but brave.

YESYESYESYES IT'S HAPPENING!!!

ANJALI WHO HURT YOU

WHO DARED TO

Names. Give me names NOW

Jaime no...please no not Jaime.

please please, please

ok, I searched it up. And he can get treatment. He can live. It doesn't have to be serious. please, Jaime...

“If you ever tell anyone you saw me crying, I will drag you to Idris and drown you in Lake Lyn.”

This is such an Anjali thing to say.

OOO MILLA (Mila?) MESSAGED!!! Is there gonna be some sort of love triangle here??

me who despises love triangles (aside from TID of course): ...

BUT SINCE IT'S YOU I'M SURE IT'LL BE AMAZING. I'm still nervous about this though...

UHCUHDVUKDVHUKVHUVHM I LOVED THIS CHAPTER SO SO SO SO MUCH IT WAS A LITERAL ROLLERCOASTER AND ANJALI QUEEN I LOVE

see ya on Friday!!

OKAY I AM LOVING THIS ENERGY BUT PLEASE FOCUS ON YOUR CLASSES FJKSDFHJKSJFHKD I PROMISE THE STORY IS GOING TO BE HERE WHEN YOU GET BACK LOL.

But I am so glad you like it. Amidst all your screaming and chaos, I always find very perceptive and profound observations. It's fantastic! I love it so much!

Thank you for enjoying LBAF - and good luck with your tests!!!

[manikas-whims]

Holi

[Read on AO3]

Ship: Kaz Brekker X Inej Ghafa

Summary:

Modern AU

Gang Lieutenant of the Dregs, Kaz Brekker lives by himself in his apartment.

One morning his Indian neighbours' daughter Inej Ghafa shows up to share the customs of a festival they celebrate.

Note:

Since I'm an Indian, between the recent celebrations of the festival Holi, this fic idea popped up!

Also, I don't know whether Inej is North Indian or South Indian, etc. So I've simply used a few Hindi language terms as her language. Ofcourse the terms are explained in the fic.

Hope you'll like it ♥

Kaz lets out an exasperated sigh when he hears the doorbell of his apartment ringing. He’s had a rough week and frankly isn’t in the mood for any company right now. One of those lowly skivs from the Razorgulls had managed to land a punch to his face. But he’d paid back fervently, battering the guy’s face enough to leave him nearly dead. Nearly being the keyword because Jesper makes sure he doesn't kill more people than necessary.

He takes a chug of his brandy, slams the bottle on the table and gets up to answer whoever the fuck has decided to bother him on his day off.

The sight that greets him dazzles his tired eyes— a short woman dressed in traditional Indian silks with a plate of powdered colors, sweed foods and a lit earthen lamp. The blouse and the long flowing skirt in shades of purple and turquoise contrast elegantly with her burnt caramel skin. And for a moment, Kaz feels embarrassed in his black trousers and white button up which is undone down to three buttons, giving a good view of the deep cut running along his chest and the slowly drying blood there. He passes his fingers through his hair, ruffling it a bit to appear decent.

“Um..Kaazz Brek..ker?” she tries her best to pronounce his name in her accent.

“It’s Kaz Brekker.” He corrects her and asks, “How do you know my name?”

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head, gold earrings jangling with the motion. “Nothing weird. I just asked the building management. I'm Inej Ghafa.”

He already knows her name but she doesn't need to know that. “What business?”

She breaks out into her best imitation of a formal smile and brushes a few strands of her lengthy hair behind her ear, “Uh..You must’ve seen me before. I live next door.”

Ofcourse he’d seen her. His skills as a hacker and gang lieutenant help him stay updated on the details of every resident in this area. He’s well-aware of the Ghafas, an Indian family who'd shifted next door two months ago. And he knows that this young woman close to his age, is their esteemed daughter who is a full time gymnastics instructor. At first he had expected them to be like the conventional loud and over-dramatic people he and Jesper have seen in some of those Bollywood movies. But he's glad that the Ghafas have been nothing short of peaceful in their living. Not once did they interact with him before so why the hell are they trying now?

“What do you want?” he grumbles out, hoping his tone will let her know he isn't an amiable person.

“Well..its Holi today. Uhmm..it's a festival we celebrate–”

“Get to the point.”

“We had done aarti earlier and my mother asked to go to put tika on you–”

“I don't know any of those words.” He waves a hand dismissively and moves to shut the door but she wedges her foot in the doorway.

“I can help you.”

The statement makes him tense. “What?”

“That,” She points at the slash wound peeking out from underneath his shirt, “looks painful. Should I call a doctor?”

His muscles relax slowly and he supplies, “No need..I already got a doctor friend. She'll drop by soon.” Well Nina Zenik isn't exactly a doctor but knows a good deal about patching up wounds. So he'll just call her up if required.

Inej's brief frown proves that she isn't entirely convinced by his words or his dishevelled demeanor but she chooses to concede.

“Well then..” she lifts up her plate and begins revolving it around his face in circular motions. He is utterly confused but stands and watches quietly. After approximately five turns, she lowers the plate and picks up a pinch of some red, pasty mixture from it. She reaches forward and before he can even question her motives, her thumb smeers the red thing in an upward stroke on his forehead.

“This vermilion is tika. We put it on the forehead between the eyebrows because its believed to be the centre of concentration in our body. Tika brings good luck and wisdom.” She explains, then picks up a piece of those sweet Indian delicacies and shoves it in his mouth.

The element of surprise leaves him with no other option but to gulp it down. His face blenches at the sweetness and she giggles, placing a palm over her mouth. Kaz feels a tug in his chest at that sound.

“Inej!”

They both turn at the intruding voice and find her mother peering at them from the door to their apartment. The older woman offers a smile to Kaz but gestures wildly with her eyes at Inej.

“Bas abhi aayi. I'm coming!” She tells her mother half in their native tongue, half in English and resumes her custom.

“Now for the final touch,” She says, her deep, brown eyes alight with something akin to mischief and picks a handful of the purple powdered color from her plate. Kaz stares in anticipation of any more weird ritual that is to come but she surprises him again. With a single sweep, she softly strokes the powdered color on his cheek. He keeps himself from flinching because thats where that asshole Razorgull had punched and tries to focus on the sensation of her palm. Sadly, she's already rretracted it and is smiling again. A genuine, kind smile.

“Happy Holi, Mr. Brekker.” She wishes and then elaborates to him, “Just like ‘Merry Christmas’, we say this as a well-wish or a greeting to our friends, family and ofcourse neighbours when we celebrate the festival.”

Kaz can barely form coherent words right now. And by the time he motions his lips, Inej is gone in a flurry, leaving behind no more than a hint of her touch on his cheek and the warmth of her smile.

Holi : Hindu festival of Colors, celebrated for the victory of good over evil and to spread love and happiness.

People put color (liquid/powdered) on each other to celebrate and have fun. Thats why Inej puts that powdered color on Kaz's cheek.

Aarti : a Hindu prayer ritual where light is offered to God in the form of lighting earthen lamps.

After Aarti, you can offer the blessings from the same earthen lamp by revolving it around a person's face several times.

Tika : As Inej says in the fic, its vermilion that we Hindus put on the forehead for good luck and wisdom.

Bas abhi aayi : its a Hindi language phrase which literally translates to "just coming"

Hope this helps..:3

And hope you all enjoyed this short fic.

.

Read more Soc Fanfics, Headcanons & AUs here

(divider by @firefly-graphics)

[kuroosdumbslut]

Relationship HCs for more BNHA Bois

Sero:

yall hve late night talks where you lay in bed and just quietly talk about your day or anything really

usually you both end up falling asleep facing each other and by morning, sero’s on his back while youre snuggled into his side, an arm thrown over his stomach with one of his arms thrown over your waist

its a game of rock paper scissors to see who will make breakfast (funfact, sero intentionally loses so he can be sweet and bring you breakfast🥺)

GAMING NIGHTS where you got the console all set up with snacks and drinks and maybe a pizza on the kitchen counter

for the single player games or when you dont really wanna play and just watch, you get to sit in his lap while he games

OH MY GOD IF HES ON CALL WITH THE BAKUSQUAD: seros chatting with the squad while youre watching him play, silently munching on some snacks, when sero says “hold on guys i gotta pause real quick” and then he asks you, whichout putting himself on mute, if he could get up to go to the bathroom. you say “of course” and move off his lap, only to heal Kaminari scream into his mic about how he wants a cute partner to game with while bakugous cussing his out telling him to shut up lmao

late night trips to the store when you both cant sleep

youre walking up and down the aisles with sero, stopping to look through the snacks and drinks section. while youve semi zoned out, he comes up behind you and holds you. you stay like that a moment before you both pick your snacks and maybe some other small things that you need to get anyways and go home

hes a very cuddly boy and he isnt afraid to lightly tease you a bit

i know this isnt original, but hes a dork and 1000% will want to recreate the spiderman kiss: hes taped upside down from the ceiling, dangling in front of you and you smile, coming up closer to him and pressing your lips to his. when you both pull back, hes red in the face, both from being upside down and from the kiss, and youre cheeks are a little pink, but you both have huge smiles on your faces.

bakusquad meets you pretty early on id say and immediately, they all were like: “sero i swear if you hurt them-” so needless to say you are now apart of the Squad™️ and they would all kill for you

when yall invite a couple or all of the squad over, the nights always end in hysterics: kaminari probably short circuited at one point, baku is being baku, kirishimas calming him down while having a laughing fit

its chaos but its so much fun

some days when sero comes home from work as a pro hero, hes exhausted and kind of down: when the door to your shared home shut, you were up and going to greet your man, but stopped short seeing him look so...frustrated and upset. you offered a silent invitation for a hug, to which he accepted, and while hugging, you pressed dozens of little kisses all over his face and once you finally settled your lips to his, he had a small smile on his lips

he probably proposes to you in a really sweet location, like at one of your very first date spots or at a date where you both still talk about how amazing that date was.

Kirishima:

will introduce you to the squad immediately lmao

hes super sweet, he will get up early (hes used to it from baku dragging him out of bed to train) and make you breakfast, meal preps a lunch for the both of you, and starts to plan dinner when you get up from the lack of warmth he provides

hypes you tf up any time you try on new outfits, are trying to get some tedious project done, or if youre just feeling down

takes you on super fun and cute dates like: one of your first dates was going to the roller rink, and oh my god it was so fun! yall would win little tickets when they had games and if you needed a break from skating, you roll off with him to the snack bar area. you both got a thing of nachos and icees. you sat at one of the many tables and proceeded to eat, chatting and laughing over anything and everything. its still one of your favorite date memories

he games as well with the squad and he also lets you sit on his lap, but the difference is, he announces that youve made his lap your seat and for the squad to be “on their best behavior” to which bakugou immediately told him to stfu lmao

youve fallen asleep on him while he was gaming and when he notices that, he will quietly say that he has to get off and says good night to the squad. he will carry you into your shared bedroom and get you comfy in bed before going off to get dressed for bed himself. hes probably brushing his teeth when he feels you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head in his back

hes so fucking weak for you 🥺

early morning yall have these little talks (if you arent too exhausted): the sun shines through the curtains and onto your faces, waking you both. “morning baby” kirishima says. you smile and give him a little peck. for a loment, you both stay silent, just gently caressing and cuddling each other before one of you starts the sleepy conversation of whats on the agenda for the day. as you both chat, the sleep slowly ebbing away, you lean in and give him a proper good morning kiss, laughing when he returned the affection by pressing hilariously sloppy kisses to your face and neck

there are times where his job really has him down. one of the sadder times he cane home was when he had lost a member of his team. he demanded his whole agency to take at least a week off to grieve and do what they have to. that day, he came in quiet as a mouse and the moment you saw him, you knew it wasnt a good day. as soon as you hugged him close, he started sobbing. yeah, hes a pro hero and yeah he has to deal with death a lot, but that doesnt make it easier to deal with. youre glad he took a week off and you all spent that week relaxing and, for him especially, just letting whatever emotion come over you happen.

after one of those tough days at work, he had come home both incredibly stressed out and grateful. on a mission, he had to call in backup from Bakugous agency and nearly escaped from, maybe not death, but a blow that could have landed him in the hospital for a pretty long time. he came home, minor cuts and brusies all over him, and while you were fretting over him and cleaning all the wounds, he proposed in near hysterics. he had genuinely feared for his life and if he was going to keep this job up, he wanted you as his forever partner

Shinsou:

at any given time when you both have freetime, youre cuddling

one of you is making dinner? the other is behind them hugging and holding each other

bedtime? you fall asleep entangled

i feel like he would work for Aizawa for a while before he gets the urge to start his own agency, and when he does make his own agency, you help him celebrate it by getting his a kitten. he came home and one of the first things that greets him is this little tabby puffball waddling towards him. he’d look up at you and you smile. “congratulations on the new agency baby, and on the newest member of our little family”

he looked like he was gonna cry 🥺 hes so soft for you, he loves you so much

will invite both friends and mr.aizawa (and his fam) over for the mini celebration you put together. youre just so proud of him yknow?

date nights every saturday. if one if you gets called in to work, you push the time for your date back, only rescheduling if one of you got injured and had to go to the hospital or if it was a longer call

he proposes to you in a very relaxed and sweet manner: so yall are home and its one of those rare times where you both have the next week off together. he wakes up first and just looks at you while you snooze a little longer, and all he can think about is how absolutely adorable you are. the kitten is curled up at the foot of the bed, the sun is just atarting to come in, and when the sun illuminates you, he swears you are a real angel thats blessed him. when you wake up, the first thing you see if him looking at you like you’re the most beautiful person in the world. when you gave him a soft morning kiss, he finally snapped out of his trance and pulled you closer to him, pressing small kisses to your head before breathing out, in his sleep ridden voice, asking you to marry him.

the rest of that week was spent telling friends and family that you got engaged. he tells aizawa he got engaged and not 10 minutes later, a knock from your front door is heard. aizawa congratulates the both of you and hands the both of you a basket with wine and expensive looking chocolates. while aizawa didnt stay long, you could tell he was both happy and proud of and for the both of you 😭❤️

[thoushallnotfall]

God Bless the Children of the Beast - Part 13

Previous // Masterlist

Pairing: The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Notes: Sorry this took a minute to get out guys; it’s been a busy week! 

God so much happens in this update. We literally jump through like 3 years. 👀

Okay, so I'm changing some history here. (I'm mean I've already done that because, well, the movie did and that's what I'm following; but we're doing it again) I know Thaler took over after Doc, but since they cut him from the movie and made it kind of look like Nikki just sort of ran things, that's the angle I'm going with. 👍 Like I've literally been planning this from the get-go so I'm not changing it now.

Warnings: None

1990

A lot had happened in the last year.

Rehab had been a success for you and the boys, and you all had managed to stay sober through the recording of Dr. Feelgood–Motley Crue’s first number one album. Nikki had surprised you all and gotten married; and while Brandi seems like a genuinely nice girl, you were just glad to finally see your brother happy and committed to someone for a change. 

Still, not everything was going so well. 

You were back out on the road touring for the new album, and the band was feeling the strain. They had never toured without booze and drugs before, and it was clearly getting to them. Not only that, there was trouble at home for Vince and Tommy, and neither of the were handling it well.

Normally, they'd party their frustrations away–get drunk, do some drugs, then find some chicks to forget their wives with for a little while–but without that outlet to fall back on, they had to find other ways to cope. Vince took it out on his bandmates–usually choosing to argue with Nikki or Tommy–while Tommy chose to either argue with Vince, or bottle up his feelings entirely. Of course, they both still cheated, but without the drinks and drugs it apparently wasn’t enough of a release for them. You tried to talk to them about it, but they both brushed you off for one reason or another. 

Vince’s growing animosity with Nikki, and on occasion Tommy, made him start to keep you at arm’s length. He didn’t have a problem with you personally, but your closeness with the other two made it difficult for him to open up to you despite your efforts to talk to him. As time went on, he just kept pushing you further away, becoming more distant, and you worried just how far he would drift from you and the others before he would just disappear all together.

You and Tommy were just as close as always–closer even, since rehab helped you get past some of your old bullshit–he just didn’t want to talk about his problems with Heather. Part of the problem was that he didn’t totally understand what was wrong; what little he would say about it was that she was being ‘weird and distant’ and that she wasn’t answering his calls, so he didn’t really know enough to talk about. 

But you also thought part of him was just too scared to talk about it. Tommy had dreamed about true love his whole life, and he found it–it had probably never occurred to him that he could lose it. Things had always gone so well with Heather; for there to suddenly be signs of trouble brewing probably terrified him. You wanted to talk to him about it–comfort him, if you could–but if he didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t want to force the issue.

Aside from the personal problems, there was also the issue of Nikki running the show. 

When Doc was fired, Nikki had taken over trying to manage the band alone. He wasn't doing an awful job, and you helped him out as much as he would let you given his control freak personality. Still, it was the cause of a lot of the fights between him and Vince.

—

You and the boys were sitting at a table in the middle of a strip club, drinking waters and looking miserable. A waitress walks by with a tray of lemon drops, offering you the shots. They look amazing, and you can just imagine the sweet and sour shot burning down your throat, but none of the boys had drank this tour and you weren’t about to be the first to fall off the wagon. Nikki sends her away with an order for another round of waters–Vince looking less than pleased. Trying to escape the tense atmosphere, you glance over your shoulder to look at Tommy. 

He was standing at the payphone, looking upset as he talks into the handpiece; Heather must still be dodging his calls. You stare at him a little longer–watch the frustration and confusion on his handsome face–and even though you should be happy that things weren’t going well, you couldn’t help but hurt for him. You didn’t want Tommy to be unhappy, no matter what the reason behind it.

“They’re keeping us on the road–15 new days in Canada.” Nikki says, bringing your attention back to the table.

“I haven’t seen anything about any new days.” Vince says, looking annoyed. Uh oh. This would end in another fight if Nikki wasn’t careful. 

“Check your itinerary man.” Nikki replies.

“I would, but apparently someone doesn’t think it’s important to let the lead fucking singer know what the fuck is going on here.” Vince snaps.

“I’ll get you a copy of the new itinerary Vince.” You reply, trying to deescalate the situation. Just then, Tommy plops down in the seat next to you.

“Guys I fucked up. Heather’s being all weird and distant and–I drank.” He says, looking ashamed. “Well, a little–I had one shot and I’m sorry.”

“I’m gonna have a fucking cocktail too man.” Vince says before you have a chance to respond. “What are you gonna do about it Nikki?”

“Okay look everyone falls off the wagon once and awhile–” Nikki replies.

“Oh fuck you man, fuck off! Fuck the rest of this tour! It is the no fucking fun tour, and I am sick and tired of not having any fun.” Vince shouts, standing up.

“Vince!” You call out to him as he walks off, but he ignores you.

“Just let him go y/n.” Tommy says as Nikki chases after him.

You watch as Nikki confronts Vince, who physically pushes Nikki away before taking a shot. Just like that, sobriety was out the window. Nikki comes back up and sits down.

“Shit.” He says, slumping in his seat.

“I’ll get him the itinerary when we get back Nikki, and we’ll sort this out, okay?” You say, trying to be supportive. “It was just one drink; he was just angry because he’s stressed out.”

“I can’t believe I forgot to send him the new fucking itinerary.” Nikki says.

“It’s fine, you’ve got a lot on your plate. Don’t stress about it; I’ll take care of it.” You reply. He looks over at you.

“You probably wouldn’t have forgotten.” Nikki muses, before sighing, hanging his head. “You’re right y/n, I do have a lot on my plate–too much, probably. I’ve been thinking for awhile now that I’m not really cut out for this manager shit–that I should probably hand over the reigns to someone whose better suited to the work so I can get back to just focusing on the music.” He lifts his head to look at you. “So what do you say? You wanna be our manager?” You stare at him like a deer in headlights.

“Excuse me?” You ask, stunned.

“You guys are cool with that, right?” Nikki asks, looking over at Tommy and Mick.

“Fuck yeah dude! That’s awesome.” Tommy says, smiling over at you. Even after everything, his smile made your heart race.

“About time if you ask me; she’s the obvious choice.” Mick says, taking a drink of his water, a smile playing on his lips.

“You really want me to be your manager?” You ask, looking back at Nikki.

“Yeah. You already have experience helping me and Doc, and I mean who’s better qualified to take care of us than you?” Nikki asks, smirking.

“You are uniquely qualified for the position–you’ve got nearly 10 years experience cleaning up our messes.” Mick jokes.

“I don’t know, I made a lot of those messes too.” You reply, smiling.

“Hell yeah you did!” Tommy says, raising his hand expectantly. You laugh, giving him a high-five.

“I’m just saying; yeah, maybe we could hire someone with more experience in management–but we could never find someone we trust more.” Nikki says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been with Motley Crue from the very beginning–you deserve this–and we know you’ll always do what’s best for this band.” You had to stop yourself from tearing up.

“Okay, if everyone’s cool with this–I’ll do it.” You say, smiling from ear to ear. “But you have to talk to Vince about it too.”

“Yeah, yeah–I don’t see why he’d have a problem with it, but I’ll tell him tomorrow when I bring him that fucking itinerary.” He says, leaning back and smirking at you.

—

February 1992

The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. You knew there wouldn’t be–Vince had become so flaky since Sharise had left. You look at the others, all looking pissed as you slowly hang up the phone.

“I’m telling you guys everything is fucking all upside down and flipped flopped and while we’re waiting for our lead singer to get his head out of his ass we’re getting left in the dust man!” Tommy says, standing behind his drumset. You sigh. “I’m just saying bands replace their frontmen and it still works okay? Van Halen–”

“I know Van Halen fucking did it cause you say that every single time Vince misses a fucking rehearsal.” Nikki snaps.

“Come on Tommy, he’s just going through a lot right now.” You try to reason with him. “Wouldn’t you be a little off your game if Heather left you?”

“Don’t even fucking say that man.” Tommy says.

“I mean, can’t you all just try and be a little empathetic for once? Please?” You ask.

“Whatever; just call the prick again.” Mick says. You sigh, making your way over to the phone, while Nikki moves over to the fax machine. You have a feeling you’re not going to be happy about the message he's about to send.

—

You’re working on some paperwork while the boys continue with rehearsal without Vince, when the blonde comes marching into the studio. 

“Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Vince asks, clearly pissed.

“Let’s save us all some time, especially yours Vince as it’s clearly more valuable than ours!” Nikki snaps back. You stand up and move towards them.

“You’d better tell me what the fuck’s going on man.” Vince says again.

“What’s going on is we’re down here, and we’re working, and we wanna be here, but we are tired of forcing you to be here with us.” Nikki says.

“Maybe I’d come in more if I liked the material.” Vince jeers.

“Maybe you’d like the material if you were in the studio making it with us instead of staring at your fucking watch!” Tommy jumps up and shouts.

“Woah, let’s all calm down.” You say, getting between them.

“Yeah, I’m staring at my watch because this album is fucking stupid!” Vince yells back. There’s a silence as the boys all look at each other. “You know what fuck all y’all. You know, I’m done. Fuck this, I quit.”

“Vince!” You call after him as he makes his way to the door.

“Good, ‘cause you’re fucking fired!” Nikki yells back.

“Nikki!” You shout at your brother, looking between him and Vince.

“I quit already, dick.” Vince says, walking out. Nikki slams the door behind him. You look up at him, as the room fills with a heavy silence, the weight of what just happened hitting them. Before anyone has the chance to say anything, you quickly run out after Vince.

“Vince!” You called his name through the rain, but he was already getting into his car. You quickly make your way through the downpour and jump into the passenger’s seat before he can drive off.

“What the fuck?” He looks over at you in surprise.

“I couldn’t just let you leave before we talked.” You say, your wet hair dripping water on the leather of the seat as you look over at him.

“I’m not going back in there y/n–I’m done.” He says, looking out the windshield.

“So what, that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna walk away?” You ask, not even trying to hide the tears pooling in your eyes.

“It had to happen sometime y/n–we all knew this was coming.” He said, still not looking at you.

“It didn’t have to Vince–it still doesn’t. I can talk to them, I can–” He puts his hand on yours.

“It’s over y/n. Let it go.” Vince says, looking into your eyes. You feel a tear slide down your cheek.

“So now what?” You ask. “What are you gonna do?” He moves his hand away and looks back out the windshield.

“I don’t know. I’ve still got my racing–and hey, I could always try making it as a solo artist.” He smiles over at you. “You wouldn’t happen to know any good managers, would you?” You laugh.

“Oh the boys would hate that.” You reply.

“Fuck’m–it’s your life, do what you want.” Vince replies. “Just think it over and let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.” You reply, reaching for the door handle. You stop, looking back at him. “And Vince, I just want you to know; no matter what happens–any of the drama or the bullshit that may come from this–you’re still my friend, okay? You’re important to me, and I love you.” Vince blushes, looking away.

“Yeah yeah, I love you too–now shut up and get out of my car.”

—

1993

You somehow convince the boys it would be fine if you manage them and Vince, and things for him were going fairly well. His first solo album, Exposed, was doing moderately well on the charts. Meanwhile, you were trying your best to deal with a Motley Crue without Vince Neil. John Corabi was brought in to be the new lead singer for the band, and while he was a good singer and a nice enough guy–he just wasn't Vince.

The fans knew it too. As much as Nikki and the others tried to promote John, everyone just wanted Vince back. Of course you did too, but what could you do? The band had succeeded because they were a group of stubborn fools who didn’t know when to give up, but that also meant they didn’t know how to back down from a fight–even when they knew they'd fucked up. No one wanted to admit they were wrong and come ‘crawling back’ to the other, so they were stuck in a stalemate.

—

You were sitting at home in your office, going over some paperwork for Vince, when you phone rings.

“Hello, y/n Sixx speaking.” You say absently as you continue reading over the paper in your hand.

“Y/N?” It was Tommy. He sounded upset. You set the paper down on the desk.

“Tommy? What’s wrong?”

“Y/N, I-I fucked up man, I fucked up so bad.” He stammers. “Fuck y/n, I, I–”

“Whoa, Tommy! Calm down.” You say, clutching the phone tightly. “Just tell me what happened.” 

“There was this fucking article–someone got pictures. Damn I’m so fucking stupid!” He shouts.

“Tommy, you’re not making any sense.” After a long stretch of silence, you hear a sob come through the line.

“Heather knows I cheated. She left me y/n–she’s kicking me out.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

A rush of emotions hits you like a freight train–too many to sort through at once. Anger, sadness, pity, illation, hope, guilt; each coming one after another. Anger at Tommy for cheating again. Sadness and pity at the pain he must be going through. Illation and hope because finally, finally, you might have a chance with him. And lastly guilt, that you would even consider your own feelings now, when he was in so much pain.

“Y/N?” Tommy calls out to you, snapping you out of your trance.

“Oh, oh god Tommy I’m so sorry.” You say, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Um, if, if you need somewhere to stay for awhile, you’re more than welcome to crash with me.” You offer.

“Really? You’re sure that’s cool?” He asks.

“Yeah of course.” You say. “It’ll be just like old times.” He laughs through a sob.

“Yeah, old times.” He repeats.

“You want me to come by? I can help you bring some stuff over.” You ask.

“Thanks y/n. God, what would I do without you?” He replies, and you smile to yourself.

You didn’t want to be this happy about Tommy’s marriage failing, but it had been seven years–seven long years, and you had given up hope of ever getting your chance with Tommy. 

Now, you might finally have one–a chance–and that thought alone nearly made your heart leap out of your chest. 

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

I Pity the Grave That Tries to Keep Me From You

Bull Randleman x Reader One-shot

Summary: it’s just fluffy angst about Bull coming back from Market Garden bc I’m a soft squishy sad little tall person who is dealing with some major feels

Warnings: shitty writing (mostly cuz I don’t feel like editing WHOOPSIE), angst, fluff, rushed ending, bleh, idk man it is what it is....

Ya’ll know I listened to Hozier’s Work Song for part of this, I didn’t even try to be subtle about it.

~

~

~

You don’t react when Hoobler tells you about Bull.  

Martin can’t look at you, but you hug him just the same.

I’m sorry he’d blurted after he returned your embrace, voice breaking painfully. I’m so fucking sorry.

But you’d just shook your head from side to side and given him the closest thing to a reassuring smile you could muster.

Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here.

You weren’t sure how many times you’d said those three sentences since D-Day, but it was the only thing you could think of to say to your broken friends telling you through tearful apologies the names of the soldiers you all had loved and lost. As if it was their fault... as if they’d failed in keeping them safe for you.

Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here.

Martin had let out one quiet sob against your neck before stepping back and turning and leaving. Everyone let him go. 

You understood- everyone grieved differently. Your grief had to wait a bit longer- you still had things to do.

No one made to stop you when you excused yourself, Webster having the presence of mind to give you a nod when you mumbled something about checking in with Nixon.

You and Bull had always known the risk of one or both of you dying- hell, you’d even discussed the likelihood of one of you dying in front of the other. You’d mentally prepared yourself as much as you could for that inevitability.

Missing, though? Missing wasn’t sitting well with you.

Becoming an intelligence officer hadn’t been a career path you’d stumbled across by mistake- you liked information, found comfort in details and strategy. 

You hated being blindsided, and since you’d been small you’d gone to great lengths to ensure you never entered a situation without being fully aware of any and all potential outcomes that could occur. 

Surprises aren’t always good, my darling. Remember that. 

Your mother’s words had echoed in your head the first time you’d met Bull, when he’d caught you off guard by introducing himself to you in the same manner he had introduced himself to all of the other men in Easy- with solid eye contact, a firm handshake, and a gentle drawl of “Randleman, nice to meet you.” 

The idea that you wouldn’t hear his voice again, in either friendly introduction or intimate devotion, made you feel achingly hollow.

“If you think something as silly as a grave can keep me from coming home to you, you got another thing coming, Little Lady”. 

“That sounds like you’re saying you’re going to haunt me, Den—”

“You should be so lucky….plus, I’d make it fun, so don’t even worry about it.”

You start to walk in earnest towards the officer’s area now, biting the insides of your cheeks in an effort not to cry. 

You had to keep going. 

You’d promised him you would, just as you’d made him promise in kind.

When you finally found Nixon, you instantly frowned at the bruise blossoming on his forehead.

“What happened to you?” you ask, ignoring the man’s glare and walking over to get a closer look. “Looks like you tangoed with Joe Toye’s brass knuckles and lost.”

“Got shot in the helmet.” Nix grumbles at the same time Richard perks up and squints at you while asking “Toye’s got brass knuckles?”.

You wince, both in response to Nix’s injury and your accidental snitching on Joe. “Whoops.”

Lewis’s eyes catch yours and his brow softens. 

You instantly know what he’s about to bring up, and shake your head preemptively.

“Lew,” you begin with a heavy sigh, only to be shushed like a child before he spoke over you.

“They don’t know anything for sure yet.” he insisted, and you knew that he knew you saw through his bullshit. 

He sometimes tried to be less pessimistic when he knew you were already way ahead of him in that department, but the two of you knew each other well enough by now for you to see it for what it was- him trying to make you feel better, coddling you to make you feel better.

Lying to make you feel better.

Information is truth, everything else is probably a lie.

Your mother was a bitter cynic, but you’d also never once known her to have her heart broken.

Maybe she’d been on to something.

“Yeah,” you’d offered, quickly brushing past him to look at the map on the table. “Maybe. Anyway, when exactly did Market Garden start going to shit? Do you think we were undermanned? Were our maps wrong? Did they have unexpected weaponry….?”

Distract the sad voice in your head offered as you threw yourself into work, using the churning pain in your belly to fuel your motivation to reclaim the town. 

No one gets to hurt you and get away with it. No one gets to take Bull from you and remain unpunished.

You decided then and there that you were going to make the SS bleed for what they’d done, and you knew that if Bull were there he’d tell you to rein it in.

Got murder in your eyes, darling. What’s got you so cross?

But Bull wasn’t here. And you? You had to get over it.

It’s what he would want.

~

~

You had barely slept that night, throwing yourself into rereading all of the intelligence reports until Dick finally ordered you out of the CP tent.

At first you’d fought him on it, still too afraid of being let alone with your own thoughts. But he’d been firm, literally snatching the paperwork from your trembling hands and hovering over you until you relented.

“I don’t want to see you until morning, is that understood?”

With more patience than you deserved he’d held your coat up and helped you slip into it, making a point to pull your knit hat down over your ears before turning you in the direction of where all the soldiers were sleeping.

Even though Bull had promised to be the one to haunt you, it was you who felt like the ghost.

But, like the obedient soldier you were, you walked to the spot where you and Bull had set up camp with Perconte and Luz. Neither man happened to be there at that moment, which was a small blessing because when you saw Bull’s unattended duffel bag in the same spot he’d left it that morning you’d been unable to stop the sob that slipped past your lips.

Like a child, you’d curled around his rucksack and held it close, your fingers tracing over the airborne patches that denoted it as his. 

Had it truly been this morning that you’d woken up in his embrace, groaning in sleepy protest when he refused to let you out of his arms?

“Jus’ a bit longer,” he’d mumbled, bringing a leg up and over your hip to pin you beside him. “Let the boys start fightin’ without us, we’ll catch up later…”

You wish that had been possible. You wished it could have been that simple.

 ~

~

Tears had leaked out of your eyes as you squeezed them shut and the next time you opened them it was morning. At some point in the night either George or Frank had tossed a wool blanket over you.

For a few glorious moments, you had thought Bull’s furnace-like chest had been what was keeping you warm. The blanket was a kindness, but an unintentionally cruel one.

After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you’d gotten yourself ready and packed up to head out.

Bull’s duffle bag seemed to be filled with bricks as you hefted it over your shoulder with your own, and with each stride you took it only became heavier. You knew the protocol- take the deceased’s belongings to CP for redistribution and personal effects collection. 

It felt like defeat, as if you were giving up on him.

Defeat and reality were seeming to become one and the same, these days.

Your throat was so tight by the time you made it to CP you were barely able to explain what you were doing to Lewis, your arm trembling as you held out the pack to him.

The moment Nix had taken it from your hands, tears began to spill from your eyes and for once you did nothing to stop them.

Nixon had been about to say something to you when Perconte rushed in breathlessly with a call of your name, almost forgetting to salute Lewis when he saw him.

“Oh! Sir. Uh, Y/N- there’s, um,  something you should see—”

You glared at him, trying and failing to hide the fact that you’d been crying from your friend.

“I’m in the middle of something, Perco. Can it wait?”

In the distance you could hear the sound of truck engines, and a new anxiety began to blossom in your chest at the idea of leaving Bull behind.

“But, Y/N…” he protested, clearly tongue-tied and overexcited.

“Oh my God, what?!”

“It’s Bull!”

Your blood froze in your veins, sucking in a breath that felt too big for your body.

You could feel your heartbeat behind your eyes as your lungs screamed for more air, but your body was refusing to blink or breathe or move…..

“That’s….no. W-what’re you—?”

The sight of a truck driving toward a group of Easy and Dog soldiers came to a halt, and you swore you say a familiar glimmer of sandy curls standing at least a foot above the group.

 No. There’s no fucking way….

With wide eyes you turn back to Lewis, seeing an equally confused look on his face. 

You barely wait for his nod of dismissal before looking to Frank again.

“C’mon, I’ll—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, sprinting away from them with a single-minded focus on reaching the horribly familiar silhouette of the man you[d begun to mourn.

Bull Bull Bull BULL DENVER BULL!?!?

With no care for decorum or professionalism, you shove people aside and rush through the throng until you violently skid to a halt before Johnny and Hoob.

And Dever fucking Randleman.

A silent sob twists your face, vision doubling as more tears well in your eyes.

It was him. It was him.

When your eyes find his, you force yourself to take a breath.

He’s dirty and scraped and a little bloody but he’s alive and he’s here and—

You throw yourself at him, arms latching around his neck and legs locking around his hips as he catches you easily in his arms.

“Oh my God,” you whisper shakily, shaking like a leaf and clutching at him as if he were the last lifeboat in a storming sea. “Oh my GOD, Den—!”

Bull’s got one arm across your backside and the other is pressing your torso to his as if he means to fuse the two of you together, his heartbeat loud and strong and powerful against your chest as he twists his cold face into your neck and just breathes you in.

You know that Martin is trying to talk to you, that someone else is telling you to take it easy but you can barely hear them through the roaring sound of life returning to your body.

When he sighs your name you swear that you’ve never heard a sound so sweet.

As you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple, you open your eyes and blink your tears away.

Of course, once you clear your eyes, you see the mess of blood staining his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, untangling yourself from him in an instant and trying to get out of his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt, you idiot?!”

Bull allows you to unwrap your legs from his waist but refuses to let you go, the arm that had been under your bottom coming up to hold the back of your head lovingly.

A pained yet playful grin breaks across his lips as he eyes you. “Oh, am I?”

You smile stupidly, sniffling at his ridiculous attempt at nonchalance. 

Using his hold on the back of your neck he ducks down and presses a long, meaningful kiss to your lips. You sigh into it, and just as you cup his face in your hands someone clears their throat and you’re reminded that the two of you have an audience.

When you break apart he makes sure to wrap his good arm around your shoulders, and you wince when you catch the looks of surprise being sent your way by the replacements.

Whoops, that was certainly unprofessional….

Bill Guarnere barks a laugh as you shift uncomfortably, slinging his own bag back over his shoulder.

“Shit, if that’s the hello you give to someone who’s been MIA- I’m definitely getting lost more often!”

Martin rolls his eyes, and enough people laugh that some of the tension is broken. 

You turn back to Bull and try to get him to let him show you his shoulder. But Bull has never been an easy man to physically move, especially when moving is something he doesn’t want to do.

This time is no exception.

“Let me see it,” you huff, only to have him smirk and shake his head. “Denver, I could’ve made it worse, I need to make sure—”

“Nah,” he says with a shrug he immediately regrets doing. “How about you kiss it better after Roe gets a look at it, hmm?”

As you open your mouth to reply there is a cry from above that it’s time to get moving, the reminder that there are more pressing matters to attend to shaking you from your anxious worrying.

Because it’s Bull, he hollers for his men to get on the truck as if he had been with them the whole time. 

“I need to go get your stuff, our stuff from CP….”

Bull shakes his head before you’ve finished talking.

“Perco’s got it,” he says with a nod in the man’s direction. “Don’tcha buddy.”

Without waiting for a reply, Bull pulls you along with him towards the trucks, refusing to let you leave his side despite your insistence that Roe needed to take care of him.

Getting into the truck, you help unbutton his shirt so Doc can start cleaning the ragged wound on his shoulder.

Bull brings your knuckles to his lips as the truck begins to move, eyes never leaving your face as he answers Gene’s rapid-fire questions about what had happened in the time Bull had been separated from the group.

“...you lost some blood, how’d you manage not to pass out?”

With a wink in your direction Bull chuckles.

“Considered it, Doc. But then I remembered my missus here was waitn’ and thought better of it.”

You shake your head admonishingly at his explanation.

“You’re really something else, you know that Bull?”

In a move that surprised both you and the Doc, Bull used his grip on your hand to pull you so you were straddling his lap.

“Course I do, Little Lady. I’m yours.”

Well, goddamn.

“Damn right, now shut up and stop flirting.”

The smile he gave you only widened at the command.

“We’ll see, darlin’. We’ll see.”

~ ~ ~ (is it trash? Yes. But is it garbage? Also yes. Love you all and thanks for reading the feels)

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​

[writing-fool]

mlqc | sunday morning

I recently (well~like three months ago) got into this game called Mr Love: Queen’s Choice, and after doing some ‘research’ aka gaming, I felt confident enough to write something. So, here’s a little headcanon about a blissful Sunday morning with the boys~

Warning(s): ever so slightly NSFW (insinuations of a dirty-minded author), profanity/swearwords

Victor

Victor’s quite the workaholic, as we all know

like this man will be working 60-70 hours a week, often bringing work home with him 

you’ll be on the couch in pajamas and acting like a total bum while he’s literally next to you wearing glasses and breezing through 50 reports and documents

you steal his laptop and glasses when he starts criticising your report 

“Victor noooooooo~work mode OFF!” as you zoom past him with his prescription glasses (he got them fancy glasses with the blue light filter because he’s A WORKAHOLIC and he’s always staring at a computer)

needless to say, this man doesn’t usually have time to spare

sunday mornings are yours though

Victor doesn’t necessarily take the entire day off, but after a certain dummy’s whining, he has agreed to try and have a lie-in on sundays

he *usually* still wakes up before you, because he functions on like 5 hours of sleep (lemme tell y’all, it’s a curse and a blessing in one) 

Vic’s a total tsundere, but these moments definitely show off his #SoftCEO side

his little lovebug is sleeping peacefully, wearing one of his pyjama shirts (I bless you with the headcanon that Victor sleeps in silk pyjama pants sans shirt because he runs HOT)

actually, you’re drooling a little bit but even though Victor’s going to pretend he’s annoyed, he never is

oOOhh, also canon that this man is the big spoon in sleeping positions. he naturally gravitates towards you and holds you tight because he’s NEEDY

sometimes you’ll sleep facing each other. Victor holds you against his chest and just cradles your body in his like his life depends on it

100% will entangle his long ass legs with yours

strokes your hair and presses kisses on the crown of your head to wake you up in a gentle way (despite his demeanour, he’s actually remarkably gentle y’all see why i call him #SoftCEO?)

as you wake up, he’ll mock your bedhead with this incredibly fond look in his eyes baby boy these words don’t match your actions

you guys actually get up rather soon after, cos you are both busy people...

fun times in the bathroom not like tHAT well actually kinda~ but for legal reasons everything you do is PG, please spare author-nim who’s still ~barely~ underage

you take a shower and belt your favourite song that’s playing from the built-in speaker (did Victor get a built-in speaker because you thought it was cool? yep. did you ask? nope. did he do it anyways? yehep.) while he goes through his simple morning routine

you probably have more steps in your skincare routine, but he uses a serum, cleanser, moisturizer and some eye cream on the daily

has given you permission to do his skincare at night whenever you both have time

to reciprocate, he dries your hair after your shower you guys HAVE listened to the Right Beside You ASMR, right? ...it’s on YT for free because we’re poor, i know

also canon, blowing raspberries on Victor’s bare back while he’s brushing his teeth will make him choke on toothpaste. tested and approved by MC

“Dummy. What on earth are you doing?”

he hangs around and waits for you to get ready if he’s already done, you do the same. time is something Victor knows all too well, so the precious time he has, he wants to spend with you.

you guys DON’T shower together in the morning because really you’re not getting cleaner ahhh author-nim should really stop

afterwards, you get dressed in some relatively casual clothes (i’m talking a dress shirt without a tie or a polo shirt because no way that this man owns actual t-shirts) and have a simple breakfast

he cooks, obviously. 

always makes a balanced, Chinese breakfast (congee or wonton, noodles, tofu pudding, etc.) because he wants you two to start the day well, even on a slow sunday

also, he travels a lot, so he likes eating Chinese food whenever he’s home

ahh...waking up with Victor just sounds like a dream

Lucien

i’m a bit biased on this bitch because he was my first favourite in the game so this might get long. might not. just,,,we’ll see

Lucien is a bit like Victor, where he doesn’t sleep much and works a lot

On the other hand, his work is...ehem...shadier, so he usually works in his office when he’s at home

you’ll both have your own space to do whatever you need to do

days off for Lucien are rare. he usually powers through until he drops

for someone who constantly reminds you to take care of yourself, he’s mediocre at doing exactly that

after getting to know him better, which wasn’t an easy feat because damn this man has more layers than an onion he’ll also make you cry more bUUT we’re not ready to unpack that suitcase, you start noticing when he needs a day off. often even before he notices

you lock his office door and force him to take the FULL day off at least

he could technically open his office again, but he loves you and he’ll humour your attempts

Lucien wakes up before you. always. you’ve seen him asleep like 3 times in your entire relationship. 

Luci sleeps like 8 hours,,,a week.

he watches you sleep i feel like that makes too much sense for his character. we love a creepy boy. and wholeheartedly feels at rest with your sleeping figure by his side

in his sleep, Lucien lies on his back, holding you by the waist as you sleep on top of him. your leg is often slung around his middle, so you’re enveloping him. he likes the weight of you on top of him; it keeps him grounded and he likes feeling like he’s yours as much as you are his.

on another note, Lucifer—ah whoops—sleeps butt naked. i honestly can’t imagine him wearing clothes in bed. he’s not shy about his body and feels absolutely no need to cover up for his significant other. 

you, however, don’t usually sleep naked. well...nowadays you end up sleeping naked more often than not because alright author-nim’s horrible. can’t help it, he’s a fucking scorpio?

because you guys take a day off, Lucien’s content with waiting and watching until you wake up

he feels you stir on his chest and honestly your drowsy eyes make him swoon

“Already awake, my beautiful butterfly?”

his slightly husky morning voice *really* does things to a person tbh

you guys stay in bed for a good half hour after you wake up, just cuddling and talking, also sneaking in a kiss here and there

you have the same habit of tracing each other’s bodies with your fingertips

his fingers flutter over your waist, you trace his chest or hands with your index again, it’s a very grounding experience to Lucien

when you do get up and head to the bathroom, first thing you do is shower together

he likes washing your hair

bathroom bits might happen, but surprisingly, it’s not a thing that happens a lot so don’t come at me. we’re being wholesome

Lucien’s incredibly intimate and his love language is touch. Yes, he has a way with words but he’s also a really good manipulator

he’s used his words for evil too often and therefore can’t trust words anymore. so he uses physical intimacy as a way to show love.

Lucien has a skincare routine of dermatologically approved products. a double cleanse, serum, essence and moisturizer. he uses anti-age sometimes to prevent later wrinkles.

they’re also one of the reasons why he smells clean and fresh

will tickle you when you’re rinsing your mouth. you’ve sprayed water all over the bathroom mirror before. he loves the reaction. 

if you’re having a day off, you’ll probably just wear sweatpants and a t-shirt or a sweater. Lucien’s closet is relatively plain but clean. he has the best cable-knit sweaters/cardigans though.

your breakfast consists of western things like yogurt or oatmeal. Lucien likes having fruit at the start of the day

the rest of the day is spent relaxing and lounging, walking in the park, biking, reading, drawing, whatever you’d like

maaan...i wish i had more days off

Gavin

Gavin’s actually a decently laid-back person on weekends

like, sure he has to work a lot, but his job doesn’t necessarily force him to work from home, so you pretty much have his full attention at home but also he can’t bear to not give you his full attention so what are we expecting

the nasty thing about Gavin being a police officer is that sometimes, he gets called up and needs to work at unconventional hours

also, he gets injured. most of his injuries are minor, but that doesn’t stop you from worrying.

but anyways, he’s not a total busy bee when he’s at home, and relaxing isn’t exceptional

sunday mornings are...well...active. Birdcop goes on a run/hits the gym every morning, so he’s awake by 6am. what did y’all think i was going to write

afterwards, he takes a quick shower and joins you in bed again. 

Gavin sleeps in a pair of basketball shorts and a singlet. he’s somewhat shy about sleeping shirtless, and god forbid he sleep naked. but it’s all good and he respects your boundaries. besides, he’s comfortable in his sleep and that’s all that matters.

you spoon in your sleep. sometimes, he’s the big spoon because he likes being able to ‘protect’ you in his sleep. other times, he relishes in the comfort of being the little spoon and feeling you pressed up against his back. 

very important headcanon! you’ve learnt to sleep with the bedroom window open. on workdays, Gavin gets home late and jumps right into the bedroom. it’s become a typical habit for you two, although you used to be grumpy about not being able to sleep with the noises of traffic. 

you’re usually awoken by the sound of the shower and Gavin’s humming it’s canon that he hums now, bitches. also I bet his singing voice is amazing

so it’s less ‘sleeping in’ and more ‘lounging in bed like the lazy bastards you are’ i’m kiDDING

if he’s able to, Gavin might convince you to go on a run with him....but let’s be honest, you rarely agree

Gavin’s a total cuddlebug though, so be prepared to spend the next forty-five minutes in the tightest hug ever (to be fair, you’re not complaining)

he’s completely soft for you and you’ll have to wrestle out of his grip to get to the bathroom

you don’t shower in the morning, so everything’s pretty quick

Gavin doesn’t actually have a good skincare regiment tbh...he’ll slap on some cream and that’s it. probably washes his face in the shower with body wash...AND HIS SKIN STILL LOOKS AMAZING

you like making funny faces in the mirror while brushing your teeth and making Gavin laugh while he’s watching you in the doorway. he loves how you just make his day with the smallest things.

you guys both dress in really casual clothing, like hoodies and shorts/sweatpants/pj pants unless you’re going somewhere

Gavin has them grey sweatpants, if you know what I mean okay I’ll chill, sorry~

you wear his shirts a lot because they’re super big on you and Gavin secretly not-so-secretly thinks you’re adorable in them (a good thing about Gavin is that he’s easy to read; he blushes rather quickly)

“Ahh...it’s just—you look so tiny and cute.” guess he’s not the only one blushing now

i see Gavin as a ‘bun for breakfast’ kind of person. he picks them up at the stall a couple of miles away when he heads home. sometimes he does so running, other times...well he’s not called Birdcop for nothing

you guys have 2 buns each for breakfast because they’re delicious 

lounge time is often spent gaming or cleaning the house (you’re both busy people and Gavin tends to get messy because he just chucks clothes on the floor after a hard workday)

you make the most out of your sunday, hoping Gavin doesn’t get called in

who wouldn’t like being domestic with Gavin?

Kiro

Kiro, unsurprisingly, has an incredibly busy schedule

one that, similar to Gavin, isn’t really decided by himself

i suppose his situation is a tad bit worse than Birdcop’s, since his workdays don’t even actually end when he gets home. he constantly practices choreos, singing, etc. at home

so, full days off are few and very, very far between

this makes them extra precious

it helps to have a lazy morning once in a while though (in Kiro’s case, lazy sundays are most likely a bi-weekly thing)

you wake up first! Kiro needs his beauty sleep, and damn this boy can knock in 16 hours of sleep if need be

you’ll probably lay in bed for a while and then attempt to get up and ready for the day

until...you feel Kiro’s arm tugging you back

for a skinny, lithe boy, he’s remarkably strong. he pulls you back to bed with the groggiest, cutest sleep-laced voice EVER 

“Mmm, Miss Chips, it’s not time to wake up yet, is it?” 

he snuggles into you and refuses to wake up unless you give him kisses

during the night, Kiro sleeps in actual pyjamas with cute characters on them. when he feels lazy, he’ll probably just slip on a t-shirt and some boxer shorts, but he likes putting in the effort to wear matching couple pyjamas

Kiro cuddles with you 24/7, and sleep makes little difference here. he’s often the little spoon because he does like feeling your presence and your grip on him. he moves around when sleeping, so you might end up out of each other’s embrace, but Kiro subconsciously always touches you in some way or form, like holding hands or intertwining legs. he’s a man with many identities and needs your presence as a reassurance that he’s still the man that you love

he loves to pepper your face with kisses after getting home from rehearsals/concerts, claiming that it gives him energy

you do the same in the morning, anything to hear that sweet giggle of his

he’s deceptively cute though, and innocent morning kisses tend to spiral into...something more let’s just be honest, his stamina is something else entirely i’M SORRY 

morning exercise? check. Hotel? Trivago. non-sponsored~

you guys don’t shower in the morning. Kiro’s used to showering after practice, which is late at night, and you shower in the evenings to help you relax

however, on a rare occasion, you’ll draw a nice bath together and play around with bubbles and scented bath bombs so fun and relaxing

Kiro totally has a 14-step skincare regiment. you don’t get that beautiful baby-smooth skin without some effort.

he has the best ‘mid-range to high-end’ products on the market, and loves sweet and floral scents for his skincare and makeup. you guys try to line up each other’s routines to be able to do them together every morning.

Kiro also has a huge bedhead in the morning! it’s your job to get this sleepyhead styled for a fun day

even Kiro’s casual loungewear is top-notch hip and trendy. he has fun sweatpants with chains, belts, patches, you name it. he likes holding a little fashion show with you, no matter what you two are wearing

old jeans? strut it. thrifted shirt? vogue, honey.

Kiro’s on a strict diet, so usually he has a smoothie and some tofu pudding for breakfast. on occasion, you’ll indulge him in something decadent, like French toast or pancakes. on moments like these, you swear he loves you juuuuuust a little more but don’t tell Savin!

you guys are a relatively active couple, so unless you’re inside gaming or busy working, you’ll spend some time in thrift stores or karaoke bars, arcades, fun fairs,...

just thinking about Kiro brightens my day...

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this! I’ll try to bring out more content for K-Pop idols, otome characters and anime characters during the holidays. Requests are still open, so don’t be afraid to send a little message in my ask-box!

Love,

R.

[xmyshya]

Bumpy road

summary: What if two of your favourite boys were pining after you? genre: angst, fluff, crack warnings: stupidity special thanks: the whole HQ Headquarters DS, for giving me ideas, for hyping up, for everything, I love you all. a/n: Colour coded! Red for Kuroo, Yellow for Atsumu, black for neutral/both! There's an Easter Egg! wc: 3.9k words

[April]

“Please take a seat in the last row”, your eyes followed an extended arm of your new homeroom teacher until they landed on a boy with the messiest bedhead you’d ever seen. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to you though, instead resting his eyes on a faraway point on the other side of the window. Until he heard the noise you made while shuffling your chair, that is. “Hiiiiii, I’m L/N Y/N, nice to meet you neighbour!”, a wide smile formed on your face. “Kuroo Tetsurou, nice to meet you too”.

One week later, you were standing on the gym's threshold, filling your lungs with a deep breath before taking the first step in as a new manager. Volleyball had never been a sport close to your heart, but you had had some experience with it, as well as basic knowledge, so you were up for a challenge. All the more reason to after being asked by an unexpectedly fun friend. And being able to spend more time with said friend. But more time spent on talking came with another consequence. You started hearing rumours and whispers. Things like wow, she’s really talking to him or oh, another victim to his charm reached your ears from everywhere. “Kuroo, am I not supposed to talk to you or something?”, slipped your lips one day. You might as well continue, since he already heard you and was now looking at you with a confusion clear in his eyes. “I just heard people being… surprised about this”. “Oh, apparently I’m either intimidating or hot enough to be a fuckboy”, you choked on your own saliva. “You’re what?” “Intimidating or hot, or both”, did he really say that with a straight face, not once but twice? You just burst out laughing, eyeing him up and down. “Sorry, where?”, laughter bending your body in half, you bumped your head against the desk. “Ouch”

[July]

School premises were swarmed with sweaty boys. Some of them were familiar, like Bokuto or Akaashi, who had been friends with Kuroo for quite a long time. You recognised Karasuno, also known as Country Bumpkins, due to a practice match 2 months prior. The rest? Well, you only knew they were parts of the Fukurodani group. There was a mock game going on, and you, being a diligent manager, observed every move of your teammates to give them performance feedback. Further into the game though, your eyes shifted more and more onto your best friend’s lifting shirt, every time he went for a block. Or spiked. Or served. And wow, his thigh muscles were really… “Okay people, time for a break!”, a shout somewhere near you brought you back to reality. You stood up and made your way to the door, to catch some fresh air, while you bumped into quite a firm body. Looking up revealed it was Kuroo. His smirk made you wonder if he noticed your stares. His wink convinced you he, in fact, did. “Y/N, your name should be Neon, cause daaaaaamn you’re a perfect 10” “So you must be Helium, cause I sure as hell want you on top of me on a table”, few people whistled. Oh shit. His reaction gave you an extra boost of confidence, because now it was painfully obvious that all the rumours about the man in front of you were pretty much it, rumours, since his ears could as well be beacons. You winked at him on your way back to the door, and he still stood there dumbfounded when you looked back after reaching it.

[October]

Something had changed. You couldn’t quite put a finger on what exactly, but it was different. Like a tiny heat wave whenever your hands brushed, and they brushed more often. Like an extra beat of your heart whenever you felt his touch on the small of your back. Like your eyes lingering on for a second longer, before dropping to each other’s lips. Like a blush tinting his ears when you smile at him. Or like the way his heart clenched, when your thick tears threatened to burn their way through his chest, because the world had been unfair to you once too many, while the only thing he could do was to hold you so tight and kiss the top of your head so gently.

[November]

Having to stay late at school really was a blessing, when it was just the two of you in an empty train compartment on your way home. Otherwise, you surely would be scolded or at least stared at, because the decibels of your laughters while fooling around were beyond socially acceptable limits. He was now chasing you, fingers threatening to tickle you once you’re caught… You started to turn just in time for your back to hit the wall, and you definitely didn’t expect him to be so close, with the way he hovered over you and his hand making a loud thud. Or maybe it was your heart. “Oh sorry, the train bumped”, there was something in his eyes that compelled you to look into them, even when he leaned on his forearm above your head. He was so close, you could almost feel his breath on your skin. “Are you sure it’s not you falling for me?”, a chuckle in your throat died instantly as you saw his eyes open wide in fear for a fraction of a second, before his usual cocky smirk curled his lips again. He booped your nose before leaning against the wall next to you. The rest of the way home was silent.

[January]

It was time for you to run to your own team’s match. There was no way to miss a game for a manager, even if it was just your presence serving as a support on court. Your eyes slipped down to your watch only for a moment, but it was enough for a disaster to occur. You felt your body clash with another. “I’m so-” “Watch where yer running, ya fucking idiot”, you really wanted to apologise, you really did. But obviously not anymore, not when the other person was shouting at you like that. “Excuse me?! And where the fuck did your eyes go, huh? And don’t you dare speak to me like that”, your finger digging relentlessly into this stranger’s chest, despite his posture being so much bigger than yours, rage boiling in your veins blocking successfully any feeling of intimidation. “Do ya have any idea who ya talkin’ to? Miya Atsumu of Inarizaki, ya pig”, he straightened up and lifted his chin, looking down at you with a half smirk. You, however, only raised a brow. “Ooohhhhh…”, you squint your eyes for a moment, tapping a finger on your slightly pouty lips. “Never heard of ya”, you gave him a wide smile as you continued your rushed steps towards another gym. “W-wait a sec!”, shit, you really didn’t have time for this, “I uhh, sorry? I thought ya were one of dem stalking fangals and uhh...”, it was clear he wasn’t used to apologising. “The way ya talked back at me was so freaking cool! Can I have yer number?” You were shocked that he dared asking you that after the insults he spouted. Even more so, when you found yourself tapping your digits into his phone.

Nekoma won the match. Not that it was surprising, you always believed in the boys, and you had believed in their plan. But now that the game was over, you were heading to have a sneak peek at your Crow friends. You didn’t expect the situation to be so dire. From the scoreboard, your eyes moved to their opponents and… oh shit. Preparing to serve was HIM, none other than self-proclaimed “THE” Miya Atsumu. He noticed you too, surely, because he was grinning your way and oh my god was it a wink? Because it definitely looked like a wink. The whole match was a pain to watch. It had you hyped, it had you devastated, it had you crying and laughing uncontrollably. But when Oranges finally won, indescribable joy overwhelmed you, while you screamed and jumped around. Sudden hand on the small of your back startled you, emotion quickly replaced with surprise and confusion when you saw Kuroo attached to it. He hadn’t touched you in 2 months. “C’mon, time for us to go”, he pushed you gently towards the door while staring down the blonde setter behind your back. His gaze said he was taking up the challenge.

In the evening, the whole team was gathered in front of the tv to watch repetitions, over and over again, and figure out a strategy. Honestly your focus only could last that long, mind already looking for distractions, when you heard a ding from your phone. [unknown]: Ya know, could’ve been less happy about our loss. ‘M heartbroken now. [Y/N]: That’s what you get for playing against my friends ;) who’s this, btw? [Miya]: Whaddya mean ‘who’?! It’s Miya Atsumu here! [Y/N]: Aaahhhhh… Never heard of him :D [Miya]: We gotta change it then “Maaaaan, I wish we could play against Miyas”, Yamamoto’s voice dragged you back into the room. “Yeah, me too”, Kuroo hissed through clenched teeth.

[February]

Recent weeks were crazy. Preparation for college entrance exams was consuming most of your time, along with your sanity. If only Kuroo was with you, he would surely tell you to take a short break, instead, your mind was spiraling into educational anxiety. Am I doing enough? What if I fail? What if I forget something? What if… the soft sound of a notification brought you down to Earth. Miya Atsumu sent you a friend request. Ah, right. You were overworking yourself so much lately, that you almost stopped replying to his texts, still you were sure to receive at least one every 2-3 days. Request accepted. Just when you were about to re-focus on the textbook in front of you, another notification came. Miya Atsumu liked your photo. Amused, you click on it only to discover the picture was from… 4 years ago. Reaction disappeared, however, almost as quickly as it appeared. On the other side of the line Atsumu’s hands were shaking and sweating, his face red, as his brain was sent into an overdrive. Oh no, oh no, ohnonono, what have I done, has she noticed, do I look desperate, what do I do now, whatdoIdo. But you never said anything about it.

[Miya]: Ya need ta relax once in a while, ya know? [Miya]: Stress ain’t bringing in results [Y/N]: Wow, so you can say something wise :0 [Miya]: HA. HA. HA. [Miya]: Now please wouldya get me? I dunno Tokyo too much. 10 minutes later you were scanning the crowd on the train station in search of a familiar blonde. It wasn’t too hard to find him, but unexpectedly… he had company. Of 2 other guys, including one looking exactly like him, except for a different hair colour. They were introduced to you as ‘Samu (apparently Atsumu was too nervous to go alone) and Suna (he would never miss a spectacle like this). “So where do you need to get to?”, Suna looked at his friend with amusement, and you could swear you heard his twin whisper “she doesn’t know?”. Suddenly you had a phone screen right in front of your eyes, pictures of your favourite cafe on display. How did he.... “I wanna take a certain gal here”, Atsumu tapped on the screen, his eyes focused intensely on yours. As soon as you shifted your gaze from his mobile to his face though, he looked away. “Let’s go then, I guess”

Having your favourite hot chocolate in your hands would have been relaxing, if not for the deafening silence and weird smirks between two extras. “Soooooo, care to explain what you’re doing here?” “Sightseeing?”, blonde sitting opposite of you looks quite adorable with the pink tint, hand on the nape of his neck. Wait, adorable? “Yeah, y/n here being the sight, OUCH”, Suna jumped in his seat, definitely kicked by Atsumu. Maybe he was right, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a breather from books and notes. On the other side of the window, Kuroo was clenching his fists, as he watched you laugh, not really sure of the reason behind his anger.

[April]

Being late on the very first day is a bad omen, you cursed as you ran through the campus. It was NOT your fault that it was so needlessly big. It also wasn’t your fault that you spent way too much time searching for motivation to attend this class, which was clearly added to the program to harass students. It was bound to be the most boring subject, you just felt it in your bones. You opened the door to the lecture hall as quietly as you could, and then tiptoed to the nearest free seat, eyes trained on the lecturer (you thanked gods she was turned back to the room). Luck was on your side, she hasn’t noticed. “Whatcha doin’ here, babe?”, a sudden whisper and lips barely brushing your ears made you jump in your chair. You almost screamed, but the man’s reflexes were almost inhuman, as he covered your mouth with his hand. Truthfully speaking, it might have been better to prevent your knee from bumping against the desk, because now you had all the unwanted attention. And a hurting knee. “K-Kuroo?!”, you whisper-shout back at him. “I knew we enrolled in the same university, but same class?” “I think this might be the only one, since it’s mandatory for everyone” You thought this course might actually be your favourite.

Obviously he noticed it. It was impossible not to, since the pisshead was a new follower on almost ALL of your social media. Not just a follower, no. He was commenting on nearly each photo, and reacting to every. Single. One. At first Kuroo was just mildly annoyed. Then angry. And then he could feel his blood boil whenever he saw his name under your post. He wasn’t going to tell you though how he checked every hour or so if you had replied. That day, when you both sat in your room, working on some early assignment (two heads are better than one), your phone was blowing up. Tetsurou knew who it was, he saw the bubbles popping up on your screen. You didn’t pay attention to them, much to his relief. On the other hand, Atsumu was going crazy. “Samuuuuuu, she ain’t replying!” “Samuuuuuu, ya think she’s on a date?” “Samuuuuuu, did I annoy her too much?” “Samuuuu….” “Shut up, Tsumu” “Y/N? Smile for the photo”, he laughed when your head snapped towards his raised hand, and your eyes opened wide. Kuroo pushed the shutter button exactly when you smacked his arm. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”, notes and the search engine slowly reclaimed your main focus, partly because you wanted to hide a blush blooming on your cheeks. “Just wanted to commemorate our first study session in our university life!”, he mused as he entered First assignment with the best girl <3 - @y/n in caption and pressed <upload>. Let’s see if you react to this one, asshole. He didn’t.

[May]

[Y/N]: Are you okay? You’ve been awfully silent lately. [Miya]: ‘M ok! Didn’t want to bother ya. [Y/N]: Huh? [Y/N]: Why the sudden change? [Miya]: Idk, maybe I shouldn’t text “best girl <3” [Y/N]: Atsumu… You’re an idiot [Miya]: Am not! He was. He realised this few days later, right before hopping on a train to Tokyo. Or rather… his brother made him realise this. “Huuuuuuuh?! Whaddya mean I like her?! I mean, I do, she’s cool, but whaaaat?!” “Tsumu… Yer about’a get on a train ta see her!” “So?” “Yer an idiot” “Hey! That’s what she said too!” Looking back at it, that might have been true. Maybe. After all, he was on his way to a city 500 km away, just to see… a friend. Would he do that for just a friend?

He found you outside, and he swore it was the prettiest scene he had ever seen. Gentle breeze blew your hair, as you basked in the sunshine. With your floral dress you reminded him of a flower praising the sun. In that very moment he regretted he hadn’t bought you anything, not even some flowers. Not that they would compare to you. He watched you turn to him in slow motion, as if he was in a movie, and you were about to jump into his arms. You just smiled instead, but its brightness could rival the orb up in the sky. At that moment, he knew he was gone.

“So ya say… there’s anime about volleyball?” “Yes! And it’s so good! Seems pretty accurate too!” “Ya hafta show me! That’s so cool!”, he reminded you of a kid, with his eyes shining like glitter, and a smile covering at least half of his face.

He had exactly the same expression, when he suddenly stopped walking and you bumped into him, ice cream spreading nicely on your nose as he was taking a selfie of both of you. And then again at the train station, when he was worried his arms might have lingered a tad too long around your waist, but you didn’t pull back. Later, a screech could be heard in your room as that photo appeared on your timeline. With your name attached to it. In yer face, rooster bastard, Atsumu thought as he had clicked the <upload> button. Kuroo only scoffed, original much. But if that’s how he wants to play…

[July]

Lunch break was your favourite part of the day not just because it was, well, a break, and not only because of lunch. It was the time spent on talking, goofing around and stealing each other’s food, together with Tetsurou. That day, however, exhaustion took over and you couldn’t do much more than just lay your head on the cantine table, your hair a messy veil. “I can’t wait for summer break to come, I want it to come already! My brain is so tired” “Hang in there! It’s just 2 weeks of exams, and then we’re free!” “Why are you doing this to me, Kuroooooo” “I’ve always been a nice person” His hand was soft as he gently uncovered your face, strand by strand. “Wanna go somewhere and relax a little before all hell breaks loose?” Soft hum was the only thing leaving your lips as you melted into his touch.

The sun was merciless, as if its sole purpose was to burn the Earth to ashes. The fact that you were ankles deep in a stream and shielded by dense leaves didn’t help at all. Undeniably though it was soothing for the soul. “Okay, let’s move on”, Kuroo said, despite wanting to watch you forever. There was something about this relaxed expression that strung the cords of his heart. Yes, you looked happy. It took you too short a while to have shoes on and be ready to walk again. Summer breeze felt wonderful as you climbed up a rocky hill, scorching heat finally letting up a little. Temptation to just stand there with eyes closed and arms open wide almost too strong. Still, you let yourself submerge in it enough, not to notice a slippery boulder. You were preparing yourself for the impact, but instead, you felt a pull on your wrist and then a firm chest in front and a strong arm around your waist. “Please be more careful”, a whisper rather felt than heard, barely louder than a breath. This and his scent intoxicated you. “Let’s go?”

The view was magnificent. Just behind the hill, there was a lake, as clear as glass. Its naturally azure colour was tinted with golden afternoon light and rosy flowers covering the trees growing around the coastline. Some of the petals were floating on the surface, between the sun kissed shimmers. It was truly breathtaking, both of you wished you could stay in that moment. Neither of you noticed, none of you had let go of each other’s hand.

[Y/N]: Random thought. [Y/N]: What if I were a werewolf? [Miya]: … [Miya]: Are ya? oO [Y/N]: Hmm? Would it be a problem if I was? [Miya]: I… ‘m allergic to dogs… :( [Miya]: I swear I’ll get meds! [Y/N]: Wow, such a sacrifice! You would do that for me? [Miya]: I would even hunt squirrels for ya! [Y/N]: Squirrels? [Miya]: Or whatever werewolves eat [Y/N]: Wow, I’m speechless “Samuuuuuuuuu, she sent me a heart! A HEART!”, the fluttering in his chest was almost unbearable. “Shut yet mouth, ya simp! It’s 1 am!” He wasn’t a simp, of course not. Sure, he did watch whatever you recommended to him, and listened to whatever song you said you loved. He did research on things you had said were interesting, and rushed to his phone whenever it announced a new message. But being a simp? Him? Never.

[August]

If this wasn’t heaven, you didn’t know what would be. Warm sand under your back, cool water coming in waves to wash the heat off of your skin, and the sun watching you from the clearest sky. You heard a click somewhere behind your head, and opened your eyes to see your relative, showing proudly their creation. “You just looked so blissful, Y/N. Couldn’t help it”. You couldn’t blame them. You didn’t remember feeling this much at peace either. “Send it to me, please!”

Tucked gently in your covers, you were swiping through your gallery, admiring the pictures you and your relative had taken. After another round you finally decided which ones you wanted to share with the world, a mixture of landscapes, sunsets and portraits. As soon as you were informed about the post being up, you silenced your phone and closed your eyes ready to sleep… This might have been one of the best decisions you had made recently. You had never seen that many alerts on any of your content. Majority of these were from Atsumu, who obviously made sure none of your uploadings went unnoticed, which spread a warmth in your chest. What really caught your attention though, was how many times one particular picture was mentioned. Yes, the one on the beach. It was almost scary. {Kuroo}: Babe, you shouldn’t expose yourself like that, there are thirsty bois around. {Atsumu}: Who tf are ya callin’ thirsty?! {Kuroo}: Never said I was talking about you, but I guess I found one {Atsumu}: Listen here ya smug ass’ole, ya think yer funny? Suna only sent a gif of popcorn eating {Osamu}: Okay Y/N, as much as I find this exhilarating…just choose already, spare those two poor souls! Suna sent another gif, this time a very disappointed one.

Choose? Wtf does that mean? And then it hit you. Kuroo suddenly getting touchy again after distancing himself from you. His sudden clinginess whenever Atsumu interacted, phone in plain sight. Miya’s constant attention. His willingness to travel and never asking for anything in return. His eagerness to learn about anything you liked. Had you really been so oblivious for this whole time? Well, it could wait until you were back home.

Memories flooded your mind as you were typing the message, your heartbeat rate over the roof, your hands shaky, but you knew you needed to do this. For your sake. For his sake. One last glance over the text “I think it’s time for us to talk…” before you press <send>

Epilogue 1 - Kuroo Epilogue 2 - Tsumu Epilogue 3 - both

[schrijverr]

Translation Error

Bakugo’s mom is Dutch and at home, he speaks Dutch. He hadn’t realized the class hadn’t caught on yet, until he’s calling with his mom. After that, they notice more Dutch things.

(AKA, I’m Dutch and I’m having fun with making Bakugo Dutch as well)

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything!

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

Bakugo Mitsuki had not always been a Bakugo, she’d not even always been Mitsuki. Before she was a Bakugo, she had been a Jansen, Marjolein Jansen, and her parents had moved from the Netherlands to Japan for her fathers job.

But that had been when she was eleven and she was fluent in Dutch, teaching it to her son when he was young.

They were a multi-lingual household with Mitsuki swearing in Dutch as she stubbed her toe while Masaru told Bakugo to put on his shoes in Japanese.

Katsuki took great pride in the fact that he spoke two languages, often teaching swearwords in Dutch to the other kids on the playground.

However, after a few years the novelty had worn of for most and it became just another fact of life that Kastuki would sometimes swear under his breath in a different language or forget an easy word only to grumble a weird word until he had found the translation.

Being in a Japanese school and watching Japanese media, however, ensured that Katsuki was much more comfortable in Japanese than Dutch. Even if Dutch was the language he spoke at home, so by the time he entered UA, he hardly ever spoke Dutch outside of his mom and grandparents.

Since he hardly ever spoke Dutch, it took a long while for everyone in his class to even notice that he could speak another language.

Of course, when you were running for your life it was hard to notice that your friend was chanting “kut, kut, kut, kut,” under his breath instead of a more familiar swear and you didn’t see them talking to their mom at school.

So, it wasn’t until they moved into the dorms together that people started to notice it.

The first instance was mostly brushed off. Bakugo and Midoriya had been talking about hero training classes when Bakugo said: “We never really did more- more- more,” he snapped his fingers, obviously annoyed, and grumbled, “godverdomme, reddingswerk, wat is dat ook alweer?” he looked at Midoriya and repeated, “Reddingswerk?”

Midoriya shrugged, he didn’t know what the Dutch word meant. Bakugo groaned, before explaining: “What we did with Thirteen.”

“Rescue?” Midoriya offered.

“Yeah, that’s the bitch,” Bakugo said, “We never really did more rescue work after that, now did we.”

“Hmm, yeah, we should ask Iida about that, as class rep, he might be able to do something about it,” Midoriya agreed and the conversation continued normally.

He already knew of the Dutch and hadn’t been phased by it, while most the class had only heard the tone Bakugo used, which was as usual annoyed and angry, not really registering the language as different.

The next time someone could have noticed, but didn’t was when he was helping Kaminari with his English homework. Kaminari groaned: “How can you keep track of all these letters? It’s so confusing.”

“I already knew the alphabet,” Bakugo shrugged, remembering how his mother had showed him how to write down his name differently and the fairytales she used to read to him.

“That’s nice, wish that were me,” Kaminari said miserably, looking at his homework.

“It’s still fucking confusing,” Bakugo huffed, thinking of the English pronouncing ‘a’ as ‘e,’ while pronouncing ‘e’ as ‘i,’ or why they couldn’t say the ‘w’ like a normal person. He blinked out of his thoughts and said: “Oi, focus again, Battery-boy.”

Kaminari startled and whined, but turned back to his homework with much displeasure.

A few days later, Bakugo stubbed his toe on the table near the couches when he got up to grab himself something to drink. He grabbed his foot and swore: “Godver de tering zooi. Kut, kut, kut. Holy shit, godver. Wat een tyfus tafel. Fuck that hurt. Klere ding.”

Everyone blinked at the outburst, before Mina asked: “What the fuck was that?”

“That’s called swearing, Raccoon,” Bakugo glared at her, “Who even put this table here?”

“The school, idiot,” Jiro shrugged, not really looking further into the weird noises that had come out of Bakugo’s mouth, because she didn’t think it above him to know obscure swears, just to add to his repertoire.

Bakugo glared at her as well, but the throbbing in his toe had subsided and he wasn’t really looking to pick a fight when they were about to watch a movie. So he dropped it and just went to grab himself a drink.

It was not until his mother called him that people truly caught on to the fact that it was an entirely different language, instead of some weird swears here and there. His phone rang while on the couch and he groaned when he saw who was calling.

Kirishima asked: “Who’s mama?”

“It’s my mom, dumbass,” he said, before swiping to pick up and saying: “Hallo met is Katsuki, waarom bel je me, heks?”

The person on the other side of the line said something, while Kirishima and Mina stared in confusion at the incomprehensible babble coming out of Bakugo’s mouth.

“Kon dat niet wachten?” Bakugo replied after a moment, getting up to get a bit of privacy as he spoke, “Ik zit hier beneden nu met mensen, we zijn ons huiswerk aan het doen. En dat is pas over een week, ook nog, by the way. Waarom val je me daar nu mee lastig?”

Midoriya came in and Mina whispered to him: “What’s he doing?” with a nod to Bakugo.

The other boy looked at Bakugo just as he said: “Nee, ik heb het al met Aizawa besproken, ik kan gewoon dat weekend naar huis komen. Hij snapte ‘t toen ik uitlegde dat opa en oma van ver komen.”

So, Midoriya shrugged: “Talking with his mom, I suppose. I don’t speak Dutch, sorry.”

“Why is he even speaking Dutch?” Kirishima asked, completely confused.

“Because his mom is Dutch.” Midoriya was confused by Kirishima’s confusion, surely they knew this already?

A few more people walked in and looked between the three confused teens and Bakugo, who was oblivious to the stares Mina and Kirishima were giving him.

He nodded even though his mom couldn’t see and said: “Ja, dat weet ik. Ik heb het opgeschreven. Ik ben niet achterlijk hoor, heks. Natuurlijk vergeet ik ‘t niet.”

A silence fell, in which the newcomers also had a chance to be confused. Then Bakugo hung up with a: “Ja, ja, doei, spreek je later. Doe de groeten aan papa enzo.”

Bakugo turned back to see half the class looking at him and he snapped: “What are you all looking at, eh?”

Midoriya, god bless his heart, spoke up for everyone and explained: “I think they only just realized you’re half-Dutch.”

“Why? Are they dumb?” Bakugo frowned, he hadn’t made the conscious effort to hide it.

“Oi, we’re not dumb,” Mina got out of her stupor.

“Yeah, Bakubro, you could have told us,” cried Kirishima.

“What is that thought?” Bakugo said, “Should I have made an announcement out of it? Do the klompendans while hanging out the Dutch flag? Like what do you want from me? I didn’t even try to hide it.”

It was quiet for a moment as most had to concede that was a pretty solid point. In the end Tsu asked him: “Can you say something in Dutch?”

“Am I a circus monkey or something?” Bakugo growled.

Hagakure jumped in as well: “Please, Bakugo, I missed most of the phone call, I wanna hear what it sounds like.”

More people rallied behind her and Bakugo gave in, saying: “Jullie zijn allemaal stom en ik haat het hier.”

“What did you say?” Mina asked.

“I said that you’re all stupid and I hate it here,” Bakugo said, before turning to walk away.

During dinner that evening more people nagged him. Mina and Kirishima wanted to know what the phone call was about (it was his mom asking if he had gotten permission to come home to see his grandparents next weekend) and the people who hadn’t been there to see wanted to hear what Dutch sounded like (Bakugo hit the closest of said people and told them nothing).

After a while, Momo mused: “I thought your mother’s name was Mitsuki. That’s a pretty Japanese name.”

“Her actual name is Marjolein, but no one ever pronounced or wrote it right, so she just says it’s Mitsuki,” Bakugo shrugged.

“How do you even spell that?” Kaminari wondered.

“You’re not good enough at the Roman alphabet for me to spell it out to you,” Bakugo told him, before adding: “And I’m not sure if it’s the long ij or the short ei.”

Kaminari frowned at the insult, then said: “You just made the same noise twice.”

“Yeah, but one is i j and the other is e i,” Bakugo explained, “It’s the same sound, okay. You just write it differently. I think it’s the short ei, but I never use that name for her. I’ve only heard opa en oma call her that.”

“Who?” Kirishima asked.

“My grandparents, like grandpa is opa and oma is grandma,” Baugo said, hoping they would stop asking him questions, because he was tired of explaining and he just wanted to eat his dinner in peace.

Luckily most had caught on to his annoyed tone and left him alone, but Bakugo could feel that this was something new and interesting that would hold their attention for a while.

He was right, because that week he was often asked what the Dutch word for something was or what the thing he just said was (it was usually swears), but he managed to survive ‘till Friday when he got to leave campus for the weekend.

They were walking back to the dorms, so that Bakugo could grab his stuff, before leaving to go see his grandparents, when he got a notification. He looked and said: “Fuck yeah, m’n opa en oma brought me hagelslag.”

“What is that?” Kirishima asked.

“It’s- uhm, beleg- stuff you put on bread,” Bakugo explained, knowing this was very a Dutch thing and was already pretty weird in countries that ate bread regularly, “I’ll probably bring it with me Monday.”

The others nodded and Bakugo said goodbye, before leaving, excited to see his grandparents again after so long. They had moved back to the Netherlands when he was five, saying they missed their country. He didn’t understand, because it always rained in the Netherlands when he’d been there and he got nearly hit by a bike multiple times.

He had a blast that weekend by excluding his dad from as many conversations as possible while catching up with his grandparents.

Returning on Monday, he had to do a double take when Kirishima greeted him in Japanese and asked how his weekend had been, before he remembered that it wasn’t all Dutch anymore. He said it was good, before sliding into his seat.

That lunch break he got out some sweets from his bag, reluctantly sharing them with his friends: “They gave these to me, something about their youth and shit. Whatever.”

Mina held up a little brown stick like candy and asked: “What’s this?”

“A kaneelstokje,” Bakugo answered, seeing her helpless look, he expanded: “It’s - what that fucking word again - kaneel, uhm… ah, yeah, cinnamon. It’s a cinnamon stick. When you bite it feels weird, but they’re nice. I also have the cherry version.”

With a curious hum Mina stuck it in her mouth, then she bit and grimaced, before mumbling: “That was harder than I expected.”

“Your mistake,” Bakugo shrugged, shoving a stroopwafel in his mouth.

A few tables over Midoriya spotted them and skipped over, asking Bakugo: “Did they give you those pig head candies?”

“Biggetjes?” Bakugo asked, “Yeah, here. I don’t like these, but they keep giving me them. I would much rather have the monkey ones.”

“Those have licorice on them, Kacchan,” Midoriya made a face.

“They’re nice, now fuck off, nerd,” Bakugo grumbled.

“Pig heads?” Hagakure asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the shape of a pig head and it’s a fruit gummy,” Bakugo shrugged, “The ears are slightly different and the monkey version is part licorice.”

“That’s weird,” Mina told him.

“Then you’re not getting more candy,” Bakugo shot back.

“No, I wanna try the cookies. I’m sorry,” Mina quickly said.

With an eyeroll Bakugo handed her a stroopwafel, explaining that it was a hard waffle with hardened syrup between it. He had eaten them hot and soft once and he didn’t get the rave about them fresh of the hotplate, he much preferred them cold.

They ate the foreign candy with interest asking about them and laughed about the guttural pronunciation that it had to them, marveling how Bakugo could make the hard ‘g’ sound, while they struggled.

And the next morning the whole class came together to stare in horror at Bakugo’s breakfast. He had put butter on a slice of bread, then put chocolate sprinkles on it. When Jiro had asked what the fuck he was eating, he scowled and said: “It’s hagelslag, okay, Earbuds.”

“That’s hagelslag?” Kirishima asked, stumbling over the word.

“Yeah,” Bakugo, “Almost everyone eats it. You also have vlokken, but that’s just hagelslag except flat and a bit bigger, though they also have hagelslag XL. There’s also a fruit version, but that’s just flavored hardened sugar.”

Uraraka looked at Bakugo’s plate and said: “This just feels off.”

“Well, then don’t look at, ey, Round-face,” Bakugo growled as he hunched protectively over his plate.

“Can I try?” Kirishima asked.

Bakugo eyed him suspiciously, before handing him a bit of his bread. He watched as Kirishima tried it, face morphing into a grin as he said: “Dutch kids are lucky. They get to eat chocolate for breakfast. Are you sure parents condone this?”

“My grandfather has never eating anything different for breakfast in his life,” Bakugo said.

“Nice.”

And with that they decided that this wasn’t really something to get on the blond’s nerves about, since it wasn’t really a big deal, and the conversation moved on to different topics.

But the knowledge that Bakugo was multilingual settled as normal in the group over time and explained how here and there he would say something incredibly weird, seemingly thinking it’s normal.

No one had commented on it before, but now it was easier to understand why.

For example, when they were having a collaborative training with class 1-B, Kirishima punched Bakugo’s arm and said: “You should give a pep-talk. Come on, Bakubro, inspire us.”

“Nah, Midoriya is better at sticking a heart under someone’s belt than I am, he should do it,” he replied.

“What?” Kirishima asked, confused

“You know, encouraging people and shit?” Bakugo asked, only getting more confusion back, “No, not Japanese?”

“No, bro,” Kirishima grinned.

“Well, it still makes sense,” Bakugo grouched.

“I would say no,” Mina commented.

“Shut up, Raccoon,” Bakugo huffed, “It makes sense. You give someone your heart for courage and the best place to store it is on your belt. Like in Medieval times.”

“Still weird.”

“And you still have to shut up,” Bakugo shot back, “Just focus on beating those pompous motherfuckers.”

Because in the end, it didn’t matter which language he spoke, he stayed Bakugo. Swearing and competitive Bakugo.

~~

A/N:

Fun fact: a lot of foreigners have trouble with our ‘g’ which somehow can also be written as ‘ch’ as well as our double vowels, like ‘aa’ and ‘ee’

As for all the translations:

Kut means cunt, literally, but it is used like you would use shit (and yes, learning the verb cut in English class was very fun and completely misused)

“Godver de tering zooi. Kut, kut, kut. Holy shit, godver. Wat een tyfus tafel. Fuck that hurt. Klere ding.”

Goddamn the [swear] mess. Cunt, cunt, cunt. Holy shit, goddamn. What a [swear] table. Fuck that hurt. [Swear] thing.

When I put [swear] it’s bc I cannot explain why we swear with it and I do not want to put in the mental effort of explaining it and just saying it will make it sound worse than it actually is

The phone convo isn’t really interesting, but if anyone wants to know what Bakugo said:

“Hi, het is Katsuki, waarom bel je me, heks?”

Hi, it’s Katsuki, why are you calling me, witch?

“Kon dat niet wachten?”

Couldn’t that wait?

“Ik zit hier beneden nu met mensen, we zijn ons huiswerk aan het doen. En dat is pas over een week, ook nog, by the way. Waarom val je me daar nu mee lastig?”

I’m sitting downstairs with people right now, we’re doing our homework. And that’s in a week, as well, by the way. Why are you bothering me with that now?

“Nee, ik heb het al met Aizawa besproken, ik kan gewoon dat weekend naar huis komen. Hij snapte ‘t toen ik uitlegde dat opa en oma van ver komen.”

No, I already talked about it with Aizawa, I can just go home that weekend. He understood when I explained that grandpa and grandma came from far.

“Ja, dat weet ik. Ik heb het opgeschreven. Ik ben niet achtelijk hoor, heks. Natuurlijk vergeet ik ‘t niet.”

Yes, I know. I wrote it down. I’m not an idiot, witch. Of course I wouldn’t forget it.

“Ja, ja, doei, spreek je later. Doe de groeten aan papa enzo.”

Yes, yes, bye, talk to you later. Say hi to dad etc.

Only when translating this phone call did I realize how many filler words we have that don’t make sense in translation, so I just left them.

[the-fixation-zone]

a drink from hell

okay so i haven’t written fanfic in literal years (and even then, it was only one, unpublished) and my writing in general is rusty, but i saw this  answer by @hurricanezukka and i just. i had to write something. so here it is! it doesn’t follow the prompt exactly, the plot got a little away from me, and if i didn’t just write something i was going to take a billion years on it/not finish it at all so! anyway! the Work!

~5k words

“Your change is three dollars.” Zuko hands over the bills, trying not to wrinkle his nose as yet another person purchases his Uncle’s…concoction. The customer smiles and walks down to the end of the counter, awaiting what Zuko believes can only loosely be considered a drink. He sighs through his nose, turns, and begins crafting. A Thai tea with…boba. He tries not to gag as he finishes it and hands it over with its obnoxiously large straw. The customer’s eyes light up when she sees it, her “thank you!” almost lost in the loud popping of the drink’s seal. Zuko does not say you’re welcome. Instead, he tries to keep his eyes from rolling and goes back to the register. Another day, another delusional person. When Uncle Iroh had said he wanted to try something new in his tea shop, Zuko hadn’t questioned it. It was his shop, after all, and Zuko was only there because of his Uncle’s love. Uncle obviously knew how to run a business without outside influence. But when Uncle had shown him the little…black…balls he intended to put into the most finely brewed tea in the city, Zuko had nearly put his foot down.

“Uncle. What…what are those.”

“They are tapioca balls, nephew! Don’t they look delicious? It will add a bit of fun to drinking tea, if I say so myself!”

Right. Fun. As if drinking hot (or, in this case, cold) leaf juice needed to be a diverting activity. Zuko had said nothing and had dutifully tried one. And then he had just as dutifully spit it out when Uncle wasn’t looking. Honestly, what the fuck was he thinking?

So now Zuko stands behind the counter of the Jasmine Dragon and waits for people to come in and order the monstrosity, forcing him to relive his waking nightmare. Cold tea. And tapioca balls. It isn’t enough to make him rethink working here, but it’s damn close.

“Gooooood afternoon! I hear you guys have something called boba tea?”

Zuko’s eyes clench close reflexively before he remembers the customer service etiquette Iroh tried to drill in him. He opens his eyes and says, through clenched teeth, “Yes. We do. Only place in the city.”

“Wooooow.” The customer is flashing him a bright smile, one that takes Zuko off-guard for a moment. Sure, sometimes customer’s smile at him. It’s usually because they want something. A bit knocked off the price of their drink; to be able to use an expired coupon. But this customer doesn’t seem to want anything. Just the boba. “Is it good?”

Zuko raises his eyes from the smile to the man’s eyes, intending on telling him the honest truth, but he’s arrested by how bright blue they are. Zuko forgets how to form sentences. The customer’s tanned skin makes his eyes look even bluer, the little blue beads in the single braid that comes down into his face tying the whole package together. He has laugh lines.

“Uh—what?”

The customer’s smile falters, just a bit. “The boba? Is it good? I mean, my sister says it’s great, but who can trust a little sister’s taste?” He winks, bringing Zuko into the joke. Zuko thinks about Azula’s taste in, well, anything, and finds himself nodding along.

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Uh, a lot of people say it’s good. Like, uh, it’s ordered a lot? Instead of regular tea?” Zuko does not know why he’s asking his customer these statements, but Zuko also doesn’t know why he isn’t just telling him that the boba fucking sucks and to try something else. Maybe it’s because the customer is still smiling, even though by now he’s sure to have gotten a proper look at Zuko’s marred face. Maybe it’s because his hair, the rest of it that’s not in the little braid but is instead in a wolftail, looks so soft…

Maybe Zuko is a bit preoccupied.

“Well, that’s good enough for me! How about I get a small black milk boba tea and let you know what I think?”

Zuko nods numbly, tells him how much it is, and exchanges currency. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t look at the till to do it, but the customer doesn’t say anything about incorrect change so maybe he’s done it right. Zuko makes the tea with shaking fingers. When he finishes, he turns and sees the customer leaning against the counter, looking down at his phone. He looks up, as if he knew Zuko was looking at him, and flashes that smile again. Zuko passes over the tea and their fingers brush.

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

Zuko watches as the customer walks to a table near the windows, pulls out a laptop (how long had he been wearing a messenger bag?) and gets to work. Zuko, unfortunately, finds it hard to get back to work for the rest of his shift.

 ***

Zuko’s off the next few days and he spends his free time reading. Mostly Wikipedia articles, but if pressed Zuko would defend his habits as educational to the last breath. Besides, it isn’t as if he is just reading them for fun, not that anyone asked. He’s editing. The nature of Wikipedia is such that anyone, even idiots, can create a page. It is a beautiful idea in theory, but in practice it gives Zuko a headache. He doesn’t edit every inaccurate page that he comes across (he’d get nothing else done) but he does look through pages he considers himself an expert on. Species of turtle, types of candle wax, the furnace manufacturing industry—well. There are plenty of things to keep him occupied until his next shift. He very pointedly does not think about the blue-eyed bombshell from the other day who stayed in the shop for several hours, long after he had finished his tea. He also doesn’t think about how, after finishing the tea, the blue-eyed customer had looked up and unerringly found Zuko’s eyes to give him a big, hammy thumbs up with another grin. He doesn’t think about how he’d fumbled the teacup that had been in his hand and blushed furiously, thanking the gods the cup had been empty. He doesn’t think about how, though he didn’t look back at the customer’s table ever again, he could feel the man’s eyes on him. He really doesn’t think about that.

Instead, he thinks about how someone has changed all the mentions of “tortoises” to “turtles” as he viciously changes them back. Honestly, if there weren’t a difference why would there be two separate words?

His next shift is an early one. 7am. Zuko doesn’t mind; he tends to rise early anyway. He comes in a few minutes before his shift starts, unlocking the door and bringing down chairs from their upside-down position on tables. He can hear Uncle in the back, counting change.

“Zuko, is that you?”

Zuko sighs. “Yes Uncle. Were you expecting someone else?”

Uncle Iroh’s chuckle can be heard clearly in the front room. “No, no, just glad you are here. Today is going to be a great day!” Uncle comes through the door to the back, tying his apron around his generous belly. Zuko still doesn’t understand why Uncle, the owner of this shop, insists on working when he could easily just hire someone to take his place. He’s asked a few times, wondering why his uncle doesn’t take an early (or, honestly, past due) retirement, but Uncle always gives him the same answer. He grins, slaps Zuko on the back, and says, “Can’t leave all the fun to the young!” before busying himself with some part of the tea process. Zuko doesn’t understand it, but he’s long learned not to question it. He grabs his own apron and gets behind the counter, taking the glass jars of tea out from the cabinets to display them next to the till. Uncle is insistent that people see the tea before it’s brewed, so they know exactly what they are getting. Zuko doesn’t get it. He looks in the jars and sees different shades of dried leaf, which doesn’t help him choose which one he’ll hate least. But Uncle is the boss, so.

The morning goes quickly, a rush hitting a half hour after they open and holding steady until around nine. Perks of being located near the college campus, the best of which being that students in the early morning are dead-eyed and silent. They take their caffeine and go, without much small talk. Zuko decides to take his break after the rush, knowing another one will start up again in an hour or so. Uncle had decided pretty early on that tea was much better with a snack, and so had added café food to the menu. Oatmeal, avocado toast, and smoothie bowls are part of the Jasmine Dragon’s repertoire, among other tasty things, which brings more people in for lunch than they’d get just serving tea. A blessing and a curse, Zuko thinks. A blessing, because more customers mean more tips. A curse because…well, customers. Zuko throws together a sandwich and starts to head to the back. Uncle always says he’s welcome to eat in the dining room, where the seats are more comfortable, but Zuko prefers not to be seen while he eats. Usually, Uncle leaves it just at that. Today, however, he pushes Zuko a little more.

“Are you sure, nephew? I chose these couches myself for their comfort! I think you will enjoy your lunch a bit better if you sit out here today.” Uncle has an odd twinkle in his eye as he says this, one Zuko doesn’t have the energy to parse through. He looks at the clock, then back at Uncle, and realizes if he wants to have any food at all it’s better to just give in now. Zuko shrugs and heads to the dining room instead, taking an armchair close to the back. The room is, thankfully, empty for now. Not knowing how long that will last, Zuko starts to take a bite of his sandwich when the bell over the door rings. He sighs, moving to get up, but Uncle waves him off and heads towards the till to take care of the customer. Grateful, Zuko sinks back into the armchair, eyes drifting to the newcomer in case they try to give Uncle any trouble. As his eyes find him, Zuko freezes. It’s. The blue-eyed man.

Zuko does not drop his sandwich.

The man walks to the counter, familiar grin on his face, and greets Uncle like they’re old friends. Zuko watches, confused, as they immediately launch into a hushed conversation too quiet for him to make out. He does catch Uncle attempting to subtly point in his direction, though, and feels his ears go red. Better not to worry about it, Zuko thinks, and hunches deeper into his armchair to nibble on his sandwich. Not worrying about it, he keeps his eye on the customer.

Eventually, after it seems the man has finally ordered, the customer moves down the counter away from Uncle, and Iroh starts his tea. Instead of looking at his phone like he did last time, the man looks directly at Zuko and makes a beeline for his corner. Zuko eats a bit faster.

“Hey! You on break?”

Zuko wishes he hadn’t eaten so fast. “Mmph? Uhk, er—”

The other man’s eyes fill with concern and he puts his hands up, palms out. “Whoa, whoa sorry! I should’ve waited, take your time!” He watches Zuko swallow with a soft smile, getting comfortable in a nearby armchair. Zuko tries to tone down his impression of a human tomato.

“I—fuck—hi. Hello. Again.”

The customer’s smile stays soft, but a light comes into his eyes. “Hello. Again. Name’s Sokka,” and he reaches a hand out to shake, “what’s yours?”

Zuko definitely drops his sandwich now (onto the table, thank fuck) and quickly meets the man’s—Sokka’s—hand with his own. Sokka’s hand is pleasantly cool. “Uh, I’m Zuko.”

“Zuko. Cool.” Sokka keeps looking at him, and smiling at him, and should Zuko let go now? Or is it okay, since Sokka hasn’t let go either? Zuko wracks his brain for the last time he shook anyone’s hand and how long the shake lasted and comes up maddeningly blank. Has Zuko shaken anyone else’s hand before?

Sokka’s smile grows. He slowly removes his hand from Zuko’s grip, fingers lingering. Zuko has just enough presence of mind to bring his hand back to his lap, and not leave it dangling in midair like an idiot. It’s a near thing, though.

“Uh, so. What were you and Uncle talking about?” Zuko asks, the first thing that comes to mind.

“Oh! That’s your uncle?” Sokka looks over his shoulder for a second, then looks back. “Oh, uh, nothing? Would you believe nothing? We were just shooting the breeze, you know, real casual small talk.” Sokka does not sound very convincing, but he also doesn’t sound like he’s going to change his story so Zuko doesn’t push it.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s good at that. Small talk.” Unlike me oh gods strike me down now.

“He seems like a good guy!” The nervous look leaves Sokka’s eyes, which is just as well because that means they’re not shifting all over the place and are firmly planted on Zuko’s face. “Must be nice to have such a nice uncle to work for. All the free boba you want! What a dream.”

Zuko’s eyes widen and he coughs. “Uh yeah. All the…the free b-boba…I’d want. Because it’s so good. Who doesn’t like boba? You like it, right?”

Before Sokka can answer, Uncle comes to their little corner with Sokka’s order: same as the other day, black milk tea with boba. This time, though, it’s a much bigger serving. Sokka’s eyes light up when he sees it, and he thanks Uncle profusely as he stabs into the drink’s seal. Zuko tries to hide his grimace, his question thoroughly answered. He looks at Uncle, intending on asking if he should get back to work, but Uncle just gives him a wink and walks off without saying anything. Flustered, Zuko stays put. Between slurps of tea, Sokka begins to ask him about himself and, helpless, Zuko answers. He makes sure to keep his eyes on Sokka’s face, rather than the abomination he’s inhaling, but really that’s not much better. Looking at Sokka makes Zuko feel like he’s on fire. Every time Sokka asks him something his tongue trips over itself trying to provide the best, most accurate answer. He’s sure he looks like a buffoon but Sokka never comments, just keeps smiling at him and encouraging him to answer. He just wants to know and Zuko doesn’t get it.

“Uh, so. What about you? You were working on something the other day…what was it?” Immediately Zuko wants to take it back, sure he’s asked something too personal, maybe the guy doesn’t want to talk about his work, honestly Zuko just think sometimes—

“Oh! I’m glad you asked, I’ve been meaning to bounce some ideas off someone!” Sokka’s eyes light up like he’s been given another boba as he launches into an explanation of his work. He’s a PhD student apparently, trying to hammer out a decent thesis proposal for his dissertation on medieval war tactics. War isn’t really Zuko’s interest, but he does know a bit about medieval history so he offers advice when he can. He’s sure it’s not very helpful, but Sokka seems to take it all very seriously, even pausing for a moment to bring his laptop out and take some notes. Zuko doesn’t have the heart to tell him most of his information was collected from his Wikipedia hunts. Before Zuko knows it, the lunch rush has come and gone and evening is swiftly approaching. When he finally notices a clock he swears, standing up quickly.

“Oh shit, I should go back to work! Oh man, I left Uncle all alone, I—” He looks around frantically hoping to catch his uncle’s eye.

Sokka stands too, seemingly also unconscious of the time. “Oh wow, yeah it’s later than I thought. I’ve got to go, Katara’s gonna kill me…” He quickly packs up his things, having over time brought out papers and folders along with his laptop, haphazardly shoving things back into his messenger bag. “This was good, though! I really liked talking to you. Until next time?” Sokka shoots Zuko a hopeful look as he puts his items away. Zuko blinks a few times, still in Red Alert mode, but takes a second to look back at Sokka. And nods.

“Yeah. Next time.”

***

Next time is apparently the very next day. Zuko isn’t scheduled but Uncle calls him in last minute, as Jin, one of the other employees of the Jasmine Dragon, apparently called in sick. Zuko isn’t planning on doing anything but sweep through Wikipedia so he agrees, taking a quick shower before heading over and arriving with his hair still a bit damp. Uncle gives him a wide smile when he sees him arrive, which Zuko returns, albeit in a more subdued manner, before he spots Jin behind him. His eyes narrow.

“Uncle. I thought you said Jin called in sick.”

“Ah, nephew, you see….” His uncle has the good grace to blush. “She had called in sick, but it seems she felt a bit better and decided to come in anyway!”

“Uncle, you called me twenty minutes ago. Did she get sick and better within the span of half an hour?”

Uncle shrugs, unperturbed by being called out in an obvious lie. “Who is to say, nephew? Illnesses come and go, sometimes. Since you are here already, why don’t I make it up to you? You go sit in your corner and I’ll bring you some tea!” Uncle has that look in his eye, the one Zuko knows means he’s been caught in something he can’t see yet, which doesn’t make any sense….

It’s then that Zuko looks to “his” corner. And sees Sokka sitting in the same chair as yesterday, tapping away on his laptop.

“Uncle! Did you--?” Zuko doesn’t even know how to finish the sentence, but one look at the conniving old man tells him all he needs to know. Zuko groans. “I’m going home, Uncle.”

“No, no! Why go home if you are already here? You may as well relax your poor feet and have some good conversation while you are at it. Go, go sit and I will bring you and your…companion some tea and pastries.” Uncle makes a shooing motion and Zuko finds his feet have decided to make their own decisions, choosing to carry him over to Sokka. Sokka seems to know he’s there because when he gets close, Sokka turns to greet him.

“Zuko! I didn’t know you were working today! Good to see you.” He indicates the chair opposite him, snug in the corner. “Join me?”

Zuko nods numbly and goes to sit. “I wasn’t working today. Uncle called me in, said Jin called out sick…but she’s not sick. She’s right over there.” He points to where Jin is laughing with Uncle about something. He hopes to the gods it’s not him.

“Hmm. Sick but not sick huh? Well, I guess it’s my lucky day then,” Sokka says, beaming a smile at Zuko. Zuko feels warm down to his toes and musters a small smile back.

“Yeah, I guess.” Zuko scratches the back of his neck, feeling the weight of conversation-making drop onto his shoulders. How do people do this?

Thankfully, Sokka seems to feel no such weight and launches right into a story about his sister and their roommate, a blind girl named Toph who sounds like a handful. Sokka doesn’t look like Zuko’s one-word answers bother him, seemingly content to talk about whatever, switching topics on a whim. It’s…comforting. When Sokka wants something from Zuko, he asks. He doesn’t push and doesn’t stray into awkward territory. He doesn’t’ ask about the scar. At one point, Zuko looks down and sees there’s tea in front of both of them, the usual for Sokka and a smaller version of the same for him along with two croissants. He didn’t even notice Uncle coming by. He doesn’t say anything about the cup of boba in front of him, choosing to pretend he doesn’t see it.

“Oh! Can I get your opinion on something?” Sokka asks, his laptop now out. He looks a little nervous, typing at some keys.

“Yeah, sure, I guess. What is it?” Zuko doesn’t know what Sokka could possibly want his opinion on, but he can’t possibly say no.

“Well, it’s this paragraph. I think I’m describing the reign of this king right, but the way you said it yesterday made so much more sense…” Sokka lifts his laptop to hand it over to Zuko, and Zuko doesn’t understand because he could just slide it over and—oh. Sokka’s fingers brush against Zuko’s in the handoff, and Zuko has no more complaints. He takes the laptop, feeling his face heat up, and tries not to fumble it as he turns it around.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me read it.” He does, half his mind on the highlighted paragraph and the other half on how nice Sokka’s fingers had felt on his. “This seems right. If anything I’d just, well…” He turns on track changes and does a few minor edits, hands it back. Hopes Sokka’s fingers will touch his again and is not disappointed. Sokka’s ears seem a bit red but otherwise he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, great! Yeah, see that’s what I meant, you just are so good at that. The words, I mean.”

Zuko looks at him like there’s worms coming out of his eyes. Him? Good with words? What planet is Sokka from? He doesn’t say anything though, just shrugging.

The day passes the same as the one before, Sokka alternating between asking Zuko questions and working on his thesis proposal. Zuko tells him about his love of turtles, and his Wikipedia obsession, though he refrains from calling it an “obsession” and refers to it as “an academic obligation.” Sokka nods as if this makes sense. Zuko finds the courage to ask Sokka a bit too, about his sister (Katara, a bit of a pain but the way Sokka talks about her Zuko knows he loves her), his roommate Toph (exactly as much of a handful as that story made her sound like), his parents (dead mom, Zuko regrets asking, and great dad, Zuko really regrets asking) and his school program. Occasionally Zuko will catch Sokka looking at him in a way he can’t read, like Sokka is puzzling something out. When Zuko catches him, he raises his one eyebrow in question but Sokka shakes his head and goes back to his laptop. Zuko leaves it at that.

When it’s time for the Jasmine Dragon to close, neither are ready for it.

“Time sure flies, huh?” Sokka asks, looking genuinely bewildered at the position of the sun. “I should be getting back.”

“Yeah, me too.” Zuko stands, instinctively clearing the table. “This was. Nice. I’m…glad I came in today.”

Sokka gives him a soft smile, pausing in putting his laptop and papers away. “I’m glad too.”

***

For the next week, Zuko is working every day. When asked why he signed up for seven days in a row, Zuko shrugs.

“Rent is coming up.”

His Uncle, who is very familiar with his nephew’s finances, smiles and says nothing.

And if Zuko’s breaks are spent in the corner of the dining room with a certain blue-eyed regular, well. It’s nobody’s business but his.

He makes sure he doesn’t go over time, feeling guilty about the work he skipped last time, but when he goes back behind the till Sokka doesn’t leave. In fact, he just moves tables, sitting in a chair closer to the counter, angled towards Zuko. Zuko doesn’t know why, but he isn’t complaining. It’s much easier to watch Sokka this way.

The man really was beautiful. Zuko’s never been very good at describing people, wrinkling his nose at the labels people use for body parts. All he knew was that something about Sokka called to him, somewhere deep down, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Or if there was anything to do. Sokka was a customer, after all! He came for his (disgusting) tea and a quiet place to work. And, apparently, to talk to Zuko, sometimes. But that didn’t mean anything. Still. For seven days, Sokka came in and ordered his boba, they chatted during Zuko’s breaks, and Zuko watched him work when he had to go back behind the till. He might have dropped a mug or two. But who was counting? Apparently not Uncle, who only gives him mysterious looks whenever it happens and sweeps up the glass without comment. He also seems to be oddly occupied in the back of the shop, leaving Zuko at the front. Alone. On days when Uncle is not in the shop, but Jin or Piandao are working instead, they also seem to make themselves…scarce, unless there’s a rush. Zuko doesn’t question it, as it leaves him more chances to watch Sokka unobserved.

Somewhere in the middle of the week, Sokka starts coming up to the counter after the lunch rush to ask Zuko some more questions. Mostly about his proposal, but sometimes not. He always goes back to his chair when a customer comes in, ever courteous of Zuko’s job, but Zuko kind of wishes he wouldn’t. Zuko would much rather explain to Sokka his disinterest in organized sports than watch a customer stare at the menu above Zuko’s head for five minutes, just to give a fake laugh and ask what Zuko thinks they should get. Zuko really wishes they would stop asking his opinion on tea.

By the end of the week, Zuko desperately needs a break. All his clothes, even his non-work ones, reek of tea. He doesn’t know how, but they do, and he’s tired. His feet hurt. He thinks he’ll do something violent if he has to make small talk with another customer. But he looks over at Sokka and thinking about the prospect of not seeing him for a few days fills him with panic. Maybe he could come in anyway? But, surely that’d be obvious, right? Maybe he can ask Uncle to loudly call him on the phone…

It’s nearing closing time and Zuko is still thinking about what to do. Sokka’s still there, which isn’t unusual. He hasn’t left before closing time all week. He gets up, stretches, and starts packing his things away. Also not unusual. What is unusual is that, instead of giving Zuko a wave and heading out, he walks up to the counter.

“Hey.”

“…hey?” Zuko’s mind switches from thinking about how to see Sokka in the next few days to how to deal with the Sokka in front of him. “Want a tea for the road?”

“Well, actually…” Sokka brings a hand up to tug at his braid, biting his bottom lip. Zuko tries not to track this motion and utterly fails. “I was wondering. You, uh. You’ve been working a lot this week, haven’t you?”

Zuko blinks. Sokka had noticed? “Uh, yeah. I’m supposed to be off a couple days soon.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense, cool. Would…would tomorrow be one of those days?”

“Maybe? It, uh, could be? Why?”

Sokka tugs a final time at his braid before planting both hands on the counter. “Wellyousaidyoulikedturtlesright?”

Zuko frowns. “What?”

Sokka takes a deep breath. “Well. You said you liked. Turtles, right?”

Zuko nods slowly. “Yeah…?”

“Okay. Okay, so, I’m planning on going to the aquarium tomorrow. I have a free day from—” he gestures to the messenger bag on his shoulder, as if that explains anything at all, “—and was wondering if you wanted to join me?”

Zuko’s eyes widen. “Oh, like. You and me? At the aquarium?”

Sokka seems to gain his equilibrium in the face of Zuko’s awkwardness and grins. “Yeah, you and me. Like a date?” As confident as Sokka suddenly looks, Zuko can tell he’s a little nervous. Zuko rushes to reassure him.

“Yes! Yes. I would. I would like that. A date.”

“Great! Meet here at 2?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Sokka leaves and Zuko allows himself a solitary fist pump.

***

The next day, Zuko comes in to find Sokka already out front, holding two cups.

“I thought I’d get us some boba for the trip over! Here,” and he hands one to Zuko. Zuko looks at it like it’s going to bite him. Sokka doesn’t notice, having already popped the seal on his and taking a big slurp. Zuko watches the boba balls go up the straw with dread.

“Come on, man, no need to be shy. Don’t even think you have to pay me back, just go ahead and enjoy!”

Zuko’s eye twitches but, as if on autopilot, he stabs into his drink. Takes a few sips. He tries his best, but a ball of boba gets stuck in his straw and he has no choice but to bring it all the way up. The moment it touches his tongue he makes the loudest retching sound, dropping his drink onto the pavement and launching the ball from his mouth to land on Sokka’s shirt.

Sokka, for his part, is in hysterics.

He laughs at him the whole way to the aquarium, and a bit more while they’re there for good measure. In fact, he doesn’t stop laughing until Zuko kisses him, right next to the turtle tank.

 fin

[rudysrings]

Twin Pogues of the OBX - 8

A/N: i forgot to queue this up because i fell into the wormhole of minecraft LMFAO pls forgive me...also this part is a lil all over the place and i realize i need to hurtty it up with the plot bc i’m only on episode 3 but it’s hard when writing more interactions with the characters is so much fun

Warnings: Underage smoking, mature/sexual themes, cursing, angst and fluff at the same time 

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist

The pogues had successfully obtained the drone from the salvage yard, which had been no easy task (you had heard the entire story from Kiara that morning, who insisted that the boys were incapable of carrying out even the simplest of plans). 

You took out the HMS Pogue that morning, just outside the dock so that Pope could work out how to use the drone.

Pope had arrived very early in the morning, having snuck out before Papa Heyward could rise, and he immediately threw an arm over JJ, who was helping you and John B get the boat out on the water.  

You saw them whisper quietly, Pope gesturing towards his clothes and JJ brushing him off, clearly trying to just make a joke to get a laugh out of him. Eventually, JJ pulled Pope’s cap over his head and walked away, joining you and your brother.

Once Kiara found her way to the Chateau, she and your brother dove in, so that Pope could search for them using the drone.

“What’s this?” JJ asked, his fingers extending towards one of the many dizzying buttons on the flight monitor for the drone. 

 Pope slapped his hand away instantly. “Don’t touch that.” He noticed your fingers approaching the monitor, too, your restless and curious hands unable to help themselves. Sighing, he turned to you, his face puckered so irritably you worried for his digestion. “What did I just say?” He turned back to the screen as you dropped your hands to your sides, giving JJ a look that said Sheesh. “I’m trying to work out this thing.”

John B and Kiara treaded water in front of the monitor and you smiled. “Hey Kie, flash us why don’tcha?”

JJ giggled and Pope rolled his eyes. “She’s underwater, genius. She can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying.”

“God bless geeks Pope, truly man,” said JJ, looking impressed.

You nodded. “Yeah, what would we do without you to control the drones?”

Pope pursed his lips. “It’s not a drone; it’s an ROV—”

“Shut up. Shut UP,” grumbled JJ, overlooking the water as Kiara and your brother resurfaced. “It’s too early for that right now.”

“Hey, once we get footage of the Wreck, we’ll bring it to a lawyer in town and file a formal claim,” John B said as Pope explained maritime salvage law. 

The words were familiar to you—things your dad had always repeated, convinced the information would come in handy at some point. Guess he was right, after all.

Kiara looked at your brother, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion; he was spouting information that would usually go way over his head, given he only had a brain cell or two (max) to work with. “How do you know all of that?”

“‘Cause our dad said it like a million times,” you answered for him, JJ turning to look at you as you kept your eyes forward.

As Pope began discussing how the length of the tether required dead calm weather to pull this off, you tuned out, lost in thought. You didn’t like being obvious; you didn’t like everyone knowing that even the slight mention of your dad had you spiraling, but you could feel JJ’s gaze on you and you knew you weren’t subtle.

You felt warmth in your hand, felt it instantly travel up your arm and thaw at your chest. You looked down to see JJ’s ring-clad hand interlaced with your own, a gesture of silent comfort. The action was soft, out of character for him, but you couldn’t deny that it helped...a lot. You gulped, refusing to meet his eyes, but giving his hand a silent squeeze, conveying that you didn’t want him to let go. And he didn’t. He held on silently, out of sight from the rest of the pogues. 

One look at the darkening clouds and clearly growing storm had you guys deciding to go at slack tide on a day when the weather was quieter.

Kiara mentioned that she had to get back to the Wreck and Pope said he had to go back to Heyward’s. 

“If I don’t split now, my ass is grass.” He gave you and JJ a group hug, somehow sensing the weird emotional vulnerability in the air. You kissed him on the cheek, whispering a quick thanks before pulling away. 

John B went with Pope without another word, presumably to gather more of the practical stuff for what you all had planned for later.

JJ turned to you, visibly awkward as he shuffled his feet. Unused to this novel tension between the two of you, you blurted out. “Want a quick smoke?”

JJ shook his head disapprovingly, walking back over to the dock. 

You followed him, his back turned to you as he stared out at the water. “You think it’s really out there?”

“The gold?”

“No, the loch ness monster.”

“JJ you should know that the loch ness is just an old sailor—”

“Of course the gold, Y/N!”

You paused, before walking forward, sidling up next to him and leaning your arms on the railings.

You played with JJ's ring on your thumb, which he noticed, an unmistakable smile in his eyes. “I didn’t believe it until yesterday.”

“But you believe now?”

“I’m not really big on faith, JJ.”

“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled.

You whipped your head towards him. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Without another word, JJ’s hand pushed at your lower back, the other at the back of your neck to pull your face into his. He paused just centimeters away, clearly fighting for control. “Can I?”

You couldn’t help the word that blurted out of your mouth like a pathetic whimper. “Please.”

It didn’t seem to bother him. JJ closed the distance between your lips, and the now familiar sensation had you grasping at his hair, his shirt, his arm, anything, anything to try and ground yourself in this moment because the feeling of his mouth on yours had you worried you would float off into oblivion. 

It wasn’t like yesterday, because this time, JJ was prepared. He was aggressive, as if he was trying to get everything out of this right here, right now, because he feared there was no chance he would get to do it again.

He got you to open your mouth for him, deepening the kiss. When his hand slipped down to your ass, he pulled away, looking at you in question. “Do you wanna…?” He let the question hang in the air, his eyes not leaving yours.

You nodded immediately, pushing out any rational thought. How could you think rationally when he was touching you like that, kissing you like that?

Grabbing the backs of your thighs, JJ whispered, “Then jump, Trouble.”

You did, allowing him to secure your legs around his hips. You didn’t look at him, opting to brush your nose along his ear as he carried you into the Chateau. You felt him shiver and smiled against his neck, pressing a chaste kiss there.

JJ entered your room, closing the door and locking it with a flick of his wrist. He set you down, making sure to drag you down his front. 

You didn’t look at his face; you couldn’t. While you may have thrown rational thought out the window, you knew your hard limits. You let out a nervous laugh. “This, uh...this is a one time thing, Maybank.” You quickly flicked your eyes to his. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

JJ didn’t say anything, bringing a finger to lift your chin up to look at him head on. He was challenging you and you knew it. Even without you saying a word, he saw right through you. He could see you were scared. Fear was a look he thought he’d never see on the face of the most dauntless, intrepid person he’d ever met. But he was seeing it now, and he was taken aback by how much it affected him. JJ hated this look on you. It tugged at his severe and sometimes problematic protectiveness, but he didn’t know how to protect you from himself. He wanted nothing more than to give you the biggest hug, but instead he looked at you. Just looked. 

It was a moment or two before you got impatient and said. “What? You get it, right?” He nodded and you took that as affirmation, wrapping your arms around your neck and attempting to bring him towards you.

JJ stopped you, hands dropping from your body. You looked up at him while he looked at the ground. When his eyes met yours, they were rimmed with red and your heart sped up, both in confusion and concern. “Please don’t ask me for this.”

You grabbed his wrist. “JJ, what?”

“I know we’ve never really talk about it.” He swallowed hard and you watched his Adam's apple bob against his throat. “But I think you know.”

He was talking about his feelings for you. Yeah, you knew. But hearing him basically confirm it shocked you to your core. Still, you mustered up the ability to nod softly. 

 He continued. “I have given you everything I can, Trouble. Except…” he gestured at the space between you two. “Except this. If I give you that right now...and you get up and go, like I know you will. If it means nothing to you, then there will be nothing left in me.” You let go of JJ’s wrist. You could tell this was very difficult for him to admit, his hands shaking and his eyes restless as he kept looking around the room.

“J—” You started.

“—No, listen, Y/N. I’m begging you not to ask me for this. Because I think we both know that if you ask...I won’t say no.” 

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart cracked and fluttered at the same time, trying to keep any emotion off of your face. “Right, well,” you looked anywhere but at him, your eyes finally settling on the doorway behind him. “I..I should go..I think Kiara asked me to stop by the Wreck and help her with...something.” You had never been able to lie to JJ, and he had always called you out on it when you tried.

“Y/N—”

You shook your head. “I’ll see you later, JJ.”

You didn’t give him time to say anything else, running out of your room and out of the Chateau, only pausing briefly to grab the keys to the van, flinching at the sound of a fist hitting wood and JJ’s resounding. “FUCK!” 

~

You plastered a smile on your face as you entered the wreck, shooting the bartender your signature grin. That grin was always your bait. It usually got you anything you wanted.

The rather pretty bartender smiled shyly back, her cheeks flushing slightly under your blinding smile. “Is Kiara around?”

She stuttered. “Oh! Ah, y-yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll just go get h-her…”

Hook, line and sinker.

Kiara came out from the back, rolling her eyes once she saw it was you. Grabbing your hand, she brought you through a side exit, slapping your hand away when you tried to grab a fry from some touron customer.

“You gonna keep flirting with our employees, Y/N?”

You shrugged as she led you right outside the Wreck, leaning against the side of the building and facing you. “I mean if you keep hiring such attractive employees, then I can’t help it.” 

Kiara rolled her eyes...again. “If you keep doing that, they’re gonna get stuck like that and then we’re going to need an exorcist, which none of us can afford and Pope would scare away with some random forensics fact.”

Kiara shoved at your shoulder and then passed you a joint from her pocket.

You snatched it instantly and she smiled. “You looked like you needed that.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, pulling out your lighter from your bra. It instantly reminded you of JJ, the two of you having gotten matching ones engraved with your names. It reminded you of how you always felt bound by no law when you were with him and you were quick to light your joint and tuck the lighter away. 

Kiara raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms. “Are you kidding me? You haven’t looked straight at me for more than a second!”

You took a hit of the joint, letting the drug fill your lungs and hoping it would swiftly calm your running mind. “It’s a beautiful world, Kie. Just tryna take it all in.” you shrugged. “That’s not to say you’re not beautiful; I mean, you know how gorgeous I think you are, but you closed that door on me so this is on you.”

Kiara furrowed her brows at your nonsensical words, taking notice of your right foot, which was tapping incessantly. She plucked the joint from your hand and took an inhale herself, ignoring your protests and curses.

“Is it JJ?” She asked.

“What about JJ?”

Kiara groaned, dropping the joint to the ground and snuffing it out, hands on her hips. “Gosh, why do you have to be this difficult? You make girl talk feel like torture!”

Playing innocent, you said, “Girls? You wanna talk about girls? I can talk about them all day. Short girls, tall girls, girl’s with big eyes, girls with big—” 

Kiara slapped you over the head. “Shut your damn mouth.”

You opened your mouth to make a quip, but she put her hand over it, stopping you. You raised your eyebrows at her suggestively and she looked fearful. “No! Don’t you dare!”

Too late. Shrieking, Kiara took her hand back, yakking on air at the sensation of your tongue on her palm. 

Once she calmed down from her dramatics, she put a hand on your shoulder. “Look, if you’re reacting like this, it has to be JJ—”

“I—”

“—No, shut the fuck up and let me speak, god damn it!” Grumbling, you let her carry on. “Whatever happened, get it through that thick head of yours that it’s nothing that can’t be undone or at least, nothing the two of you can’t get over because y’all are stronger than some silly misunderstanding or argument or whatever. You’re family if I’ve ever seen it.”

You softened at her words, eyes finally settling on hers. You let yourself slip, giving in to her kind voice and maternal embrace. “I hope you’re right, Kie.”

Even Kiara looked surprised at your lack of a joke or brush off. “Oh, Y/N,” she cooed, pulling you into her arms. 

You stayed for a second, before shoving her off and making a joke about how she had rejected you only to string you along further and that she should stop with the mixed feelings. 

Kiara gave a soft smile at your behavior, which she could see right through, but didn’t comment, knowing you wouldn’t react well. She simply wrapped an arm around your waist and stayed with you. You began to think that’s all you needed—for someone to stay. 

Masterlist

Tag List (If there is a strike through your user it’s bc I couldn’t tag you bc tumblr is wack sometimes…)

@hurricane-abigail @omigodyall​ @timotaychalabae​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​@caswinchester2000​ @meghanisdeadinside​ @harrysbbby​ @official-maddibrown @xdelicates@maybebanks@yourwonderbelle @treestarrrrrrrr @loco-latte@sspidermanss@theradvibes @eviction-notice-no666@screamingnewsies @the-fandom-life-forever @dolanfivsosxox@vibin-n-thrivin @em-aesthe  @the-real-jort @riverdaleserpent04@free-pool-trash @mileven-reddie @drewswannabegirl@queen1054 @eternalharry@alwayshopelesss @superqalifragilistik@smileyxdolans@fangirling-all-day @dianaillusion@catonthesideoftheroad @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise​ @thelovelydreamer17 @http-cherries​ @pit-zuh​ @kisssmefree​ @starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies​ @outerbankstings​ @oliviadrake1​ @pancakefancake​ @haharudy​ @truthdaze​

I’m also kind of new to tagging and rlly bad at it so if something is wrong, I’m sorry and pls let me know and I’ll try my best to fix it!

I also lost my updated tag list i’m so dumb so let me know if I told you i would tag you and i didn’t oop

Stay safe and stay healthy!

[fics-for-my-heart]

Broken  (b.h)

Summary: After a bad breakup you go to the only person you know can help

Word count: 2332 

Warning: The ex is a dick, some cussing, mention of getting sick

Requested: I love your blog so much omg! I’m not sure if requests are open but if they are may I please request something with Ben? Could you maybe do something where reader has just come out of a long term relationship bc the partner said they didn’t love her anymore? And she goes to best friends Bens house crying wth makeup all down her face and runny nose and it’s just the sweetest comfort he could ever give her? Maybe a sweet lil kiss if you could? I’m not having a great day as you can probs tell 😭❤️

A/N: I hate writing people who are dicks. Ugh. But I hope this is good. Honestly i was thinking of maybe making another part? Let me know please!

Masterlist

“Russ will be here any minute. What if he doesn’t like my dress?” Your eyes widened as you met the green ones watching you through your phone screen. 

“Y/N, you look beautiful. Take a deep breath. He’s going to love your dress.” Ben said, his reassurance calmed you down, like it always did. He’d been your best friend for ages, and was always your rock when your mind started getting too jumpy. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, centering yourself. “Okay. I think I’m ready.” After looking over yourself you picked up your phone. “Thank you Benny. I hope you have a good night. I’ll text you when I get home.” 

“Have fun tonight, but not too much fun.” 

You laughed, shaking your head as you hung up. 

“Y/N! He’s here!” Cordelia, one of your roommates called. 

“Alright. Tonight is the night. It’s happening. Tonight.” You examined your left hand, the ring finger currently empty. But hopefully not for long if your suspensions are correct. All signs point to yes. He had lunch with his mother and grandmother a month back, and he’s been acting slightly nervous. After three years there’s really only one thing you can think of that could make him that way. 

With one more glance at the mirror you were out the door, nervous butterflies fluttering around your belly. 

Russ was leaning against the door with his phone in his hand as you came down. He looked handsome as always, his suit tailored to him, his white button down chrisp against the black of the jacket. His blond hair was quaffed just right while still looking slightly ragged. 

The butterflies intensified as you drank him in. Smiling about just how lucky you were. 

“Hi.” You whispered once you hit the bottom step. 

He hadn’t looked up until you spoke, his soft smile didn’t quite meet his eyes as he pecked your cheek. “Hello dear. Are you ready?” 

“Yes! I’m starving. I already checked online at their menu so it won’t take me long to make a decision.” 

He chuckled lightly as his hand met your back, leading you out to his car. 

Russ was quiet through most of the ride, which was weird because normally the two of you had a good flow. But he was probably nervous about what was about to happen. You sure were. And bless him he just let you talk and talk the entire way there, and part way through the meal. Reminiscing on some of your favorite memories together. 

“Do you remember that time we got snowed in at the cabin?” You sighed, remembering how nice it had been. Just the two of you for three days. “We should definitely do that again.” 

“I want to break up.” 

“We can go aft...wait.” Your heart stopped, but was also making your ears ring. You must have heard him wrong. “What?” The squeak was almost too soft to hear. 

Russ rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger, and gave a heavy sign. “I said I want to break up.” He wouldn’t look at you as your mouth gaped like a fish. 

The world got blurry as you silently started crying. “You. You’re not.” Your chest shuddered. “You’re not proposing?” Again, barely a whisper. 

A look that could only be described as disgust crossed his face, becoming stronger as he spoke. “Proposing? Why would you even think that?”

You started picking at a thread in the napkin on your lap. Still crying. Still hardly able to speak. “I told Cordelia you went to eat with your mom and grandmother and she said that you must be asking for your great grandmother's ring.” 

He sighed, again. “Oh my god.” You glanced up just as he was shaking his head. “No, Y/N. I’m not asking you to marry me. I,” again with the sighing, like he has better things he could be doing. “I met someone else, and I just don’t love you anymore.” 

You were going to puke. Yup, bile was definitely burning your throat just like the tears burning your eyes. “Som-someone e-else?” 

“Yes. That’s who I was with when I told you I was with mom and gran.” 

“That was.” You shook your head, a new emotion starting to build in your gut. “That was a month ag..how long?” You weren’t sure you even wanted to know. Dread. Sadness. Anger. To many emotions at once. Your hands were shaking as you looked at him. Waiting on his answer. 

Finally guilt flashed across his face. “Eight months ago.” 

Suddenly you were on your feet, chair knocked over and your voice the loudest it’s ever been. “EIGHT MONTHS? You’ve been cheating on me for eight months?” Your voice broke at the end with a full body sob. “Ei-eight fucking months? After almost four years!” Everyone was looking at you.

Again, Russ sighed, he really must have better things to be doing. Or a better someone. “Look Y/N. We had a great time together.” His voice was the low one now, trying to not be overheard. But everyone in the restaurant was quiet. Even the chef and line cooks had come out to watch. “I’m sorry. I just needed something new. We’ve got lots of good memories together, as you know since you talked about a lot of them tonight. But I just don’t want to be with you anymore.” 

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? Why fucking stay with me?” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone else. The embarrassment only added to your nausea. 

Russ shrugged one shoulder. “Since I’m being honest, you’re really good at a..few things. And I wasn’t quite ready to give them up.” 

“You fucking dick! You piece of sh..” Your own body cut you off with a wretched sob that had firm, but soft hands wrapping around your arm. 

“Shh.” A gentle breath hit your ear as the hand turned to an arm, wrapping around you. “Come on dear, let’s get you out of here.” Russ moved to get up as you finally looked at the women at your side. Her hard stare was enough to send him back on his butt. “You better sit your ass down and don’t move.” She turned you, grabbing your bag on the way to the door. 

“Here hun.” Another soft voice said, as a phone was placed gently in your hand. “Enter your address, I’m paying for your Lyft home.” It was the hostess who had taken you to your table. Her face saying she heard everything. 

There was only one place you could think of to go, and it wasn’t home. With shaky hands you typed in the address, thanking the hostess. Then waited, still in the arms of the nice women who had come to your rescue.

“Thank you.” You whispered, eyes finally drying enough. 

She tisked. “No need dear. I couldn’t let him talk to you like that. Howard, my husband, is making sure he doesn’t come out here while you’re still here. I’m Wanda by the way.” She reached in her pocket, pulling out a business card. “My husband and I are realtors. If you need anything. This number is my cell.”

You nodded, spilling the card in your purse as a car pulled up. 

“Lyft for Y/N?” The female called through the window. 

“That’s me.” You turned to Wanda, “thank you again, really. I. I don’t know what could have happened if you hadn’t stepped in.” 

“I’ve got girls of my own and a son too. I couldn’t sit back and watch it go on. You go home and get some rest.” She opened the door and you climbed in, thankful for the quiet of the car. 

The ride wasn’t long, but it felt like forever. Your mind was reliving the past 30 minutes over and over. Your jaw was hurting from trying not to cry in a strangers car. It was taking everything in you not to lose it, but the moment Ben opened the door you collapsed. 

“Fuck.” He gasped, reaching for you before you were all the way down. “Y/N? Y/N what happened?” He was pulling you inside as you shook with sobs, clinging to him as if he might disappear. 

“Shit.” You heard him whisper as he wrapped an arm around you, using the other to lift you. “Y/N. Talk to me what’s going on?” 

You still couldn’t speak, just sobbed more and pressed your face into his shoulder as he carried you to the living room, keeping you in his lap as he sat. 

And he let you cry. Gently rocking side to side, a hand softly rubbing your back as the other kept you against him. His breath was warm as he shushed you. His lips occasionally pressing against the crown of your head. 

“Russ broke up with me.” You finally whispered against his chest, hiccups causing your body to jump. His entire body froze as you kept talking. “He’d...he was cheating on me. Has been for..for a while. Then, said the only reason he stayed with me was for the sex.” Another hiccup had you gasping for a moment. “Everyone in the restaurant heard him….I think I’m going to be sick.” 

You jumped out of his lap, running to the bathroom under the stairs and dry heaved. The tears started again, as nothing came up, but Ben’s general fingers were pulling your hair back just in time. 

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.” His voice was general as he stood there. Then once you were flopped on the floor, he handed you a glass of water. 

“Why me, what did I do? Why wasn’t I good enough?” You sniffed. How many tears could someone cry? “I’m sorry.” 

“No. There’s no need to be sorry. Here.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.” 

The only sound in the house were your hiccups and both your feet walking up the steps. He led you to his bathroom, handing you a toothbrush. As you brushed your teeth he went back to his room, returning with one of his hoodies and shorts. 

Your face was a mess, and you almost started crying again looking at how different you looked now compared to just two or so hours earlier. Eyeliner and mascara streaked your face, eyeshadow was smeared everywhere, and your hair was all over the place. Not to mention how red and swollen your eyes were. 

“Up.” Ben said, patting the space beside the sink and pulling out some makeup wipes. “I want you to know something.” His voice was a whisper as he gently started removing your makeup. “You are so strong and amazing, Y/N. I know it hurts now, but I promise it’ll get better. And I’ll be here through it all with you.” He placed a soft kiss on your now clean forehead. “You are beautiful, and smart, and funny. Russ is a moron for what he did.” He finished with your eyes and pushed your chin up to look at him. “But that’s his fault. He’s the dumbass who fucked up. Not you. It’s not your fault. Okay?”

Tears were threatening to fall again as you pinched your lips and nodded. As you looked away you saw the mess on his shoulder from your makeup. “Oh. I’m s-“ 

He put a finger to your mouth. “It’s a shirt. It’ll wash out. Please, Y/N, stop apologizing.” 

The two of you were silent as he finished wiping your face. Then he gently brushed out your hair, braiding it behind you. 

He stepped away, letting you get off the sink. “Alright. You, bed. I’m going to go make you some tea.” 

You just nodded, exhaustion weighing every movement down as you buried yourself in his bed. 

Ben's bed was always one you preferred over your own. It was the perfect amount of softness and firmness. His duvet was light as a cloud but still warm. And his sheets always smelled like him. 

“Y/N?” 

You grunted in response, moving the blanket down. 

“Tea, love.” Carefully he joined you, passing you the tea once you were sitting up comfortably. “It’ll help with your stomach.” 

Ben turned the tv on to a movie you'd each seen a few times as you sipped the tea that was made just how you liked it.  

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” You whispered to your empty tea cup. There were so many thoughts swimming in your head, yet you felt empty. Drained physically and emotionally. 

Ben took the cup and sat it on the nightstand before gently placing both hands on your face. His green eyes unyielding at his seriousness. Yet his voice was just as gentle as it was all night. “Please stop apologizing. I’m serious. There is nothing you need to tell me sorry for.” His thumb swiped at a tear as you nodded. “Your feelings are valid. You have every right to be upset and to show how upset you are. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here through all the tears and for anything you need.” 

Your body relaxed, his hands the only thing holding you up. After another nod from you, he pressed his lips against your head, holding them there for a bit before pulling you to lay with him. 

The gentleness of his hand rubbing your back, and the rhythm of his heart beat relaxed you more. And you knew, even if it was just for tonight, that you were safe and that he was right, even if it’s not okay right now it will be. That was the last thought you had as you drifted off to sleep, thankful to forget the events of the day even if only for a few hours. Knowing Ben would be there when you woke up to keep you grounded. Just has he always had been. 

[lacertae-dreamscape]

I love u pls teach me how to write I want to start but idk how to put ideas into words

honestly the first thing is just... write, u know?

it seems trite and stupid logic suggestion, but. if you don't start, u never do anything with it.

put your idea down in whatever way you want -prose, poetry, etc- and then work on it. polish it with more words and details, colour it with gentle brushes and its ok if its not satisfying. that's what trying again is for. you take what you've written and rework it. (god. edit. edit 10 times. add things. remove things. look up things on the internet for inspo. do ALL the things. unapologetically.)

but also don't do it like me where i start with a basic idea and then build an entire novel on it bcs im too verbose

build on your words, experiment, abandon what doesn't work and try again. like neil gaiman said once, 'just write'

then, if it feels better for you, write for yourself. and i dont (just) mean 'haha ignore other people and just write what u want' that. can work a lot of the times but if you are like me and crave feedback, it doesn't *quite* help. part of u will always write for others too.

what i mean is: when i started writing, i didn't publish things. i did super self indulgent shit like every other teen writer out there by doing, wait for it, mary sue fics and self inserts. *FOR YEARS*

i wrote pokémon fanfics and animorphs fanfics without at the time knowing it was 'fanfic' (bless sheltered mini-me for being like 'i wanna write me inside the animorphs' and not realising it had a name bcs i was completely abstracted from the concept of a fandom)

it was easier because there was a constant script to follow (hi. my name is [name]. i cannot tell you my surname, because aliens will find me, and everything will end. [here's a description of what happens in the general plot, who are our enemies, who are our alllies, who i am, and then the story starts, and it goes from there) so i found it easy to get into it, bcs the rules were easier. now i abhor first person stories but back then it was normal and i liked them.

and i would probably die of shame and embarrassmnt if anyone were to find the actual *papers* i wrote it on, or after that, the pc files i wrote, but ive grown enough at least to be able to admit i did it.

nobody will ever ever ever EVER catch a single whiff of that. its done and gone. for my eyes only. cringe shit. i wrote my version of entire animorphs books of fanfics.

YET. that cringe shit motivated the fuck out of me, esp in a period where i was already sad and stressed and anxious. was it badly written? u BET. but i was RLY into writing it. it was fun. it was indulgent.

this allows you to write whatever the fuck you want without fear of people judging or nosing around in your business, and it lets u explore and try things out in a way that makes it fun.

i started posting in my first fandom (haha it was beyblade. no judgement, i missed all the big serious fandoms by 10 miles and 10 inches) and looking back it was pure shit. i was the specific 'god this person uses the thesaurus too much' bcs i wasn't native english speaker, so i did a lot of grammar mistakes

yet there were people who in that fandom looked out and reached out for me with nice comments and it helped me thrive, even if the fic was shit. it helped me feel like it was ok to continue.

i feel a lot of fandoms now miss that delicate feeling of 'helping this writer out even if they're not good' because nowadays most fandoms don't actively comment on fanfic in general, unless ur in one of the big fandoms, so its hard to feel motivated to continue, but writing takes time

so you have to start now in order to build urself a base to stand on.

another suggestion is, from a person who went through it over time, find people who enjoy your ideas with whom you can talk it out, and expand them. start putting down ur idea as it is, like 'so i had this idea that i wanna write and its like. just character A standing on top of a hill, reaching out for character B who is grappling at the edge and about to fall, and i want them to look at one another with despair and urgency and then A's hand slips and B lets go- and i want to write what happens next but im not sure' and have someone go 'do u want B to die so u explore that, or do u want B to go through some shit but with a happy ending' and u move from there.

you have no idea how many times ive been saved simply by talking plot out w others to fix some shit.

also something neil gaiman said is that if a friend tells u something needs fixing they're right, but if they detail to you exactly *what* needs fixing and how, they're wrong. people can help you, but the writing is yours. u feel it in ur heart, even if it takes a bit, ok?

there's no big, secret way to write, except take inspo from writers u enjoy reading from (both published or not) and find your own way. do you like writing dialogue more? do you like descriptions?

find something u RLY RLY like and write that thing, obsessively, and without shame, until you're satisfied.

if you really want to start writing, if it calls for you, nothing can stop you, except starting. so give the middle finger to that big hesitance and throw urself into it.

so what i meant is, tl;dr = if you want to write, start writing. close ur ears to everybody else and throw words down. the editing will come later, adding and polishing will come later. even if what you write is simple and barren, you work on it 10, 30 times and add to it. take inspiration from what writers you like wrote, their styles, the way they word things, experiment, find friends to talk it out, and go for it. i believe in you, and in the kind of person you want to become. if u truly *want* to write, u don't need to start strong or be awesome right away, u just need to want it enough to continue through.