#and the amount of hate anons running around between myself and what I’m hearing from my mutuals is crazy

[hayatoseyepatch]

Some people need to go touch fucking grass.

[hermannsthumb]

Maria. *Grabs your face* MARIA. I would LOVE to see 15 bobbing for apples from the autumn fic meme written by you. Nothing would delight me more!

Anonymous asked: Halloween prompt #15 please!!... "Bobbing for apples but we meet accidentally underwater lady and the tramp style." OR "I thought we'd have fun bobbing for apples but you actually hate it and are really mad now"

15. Bobbing For Apples

from autumn fic prompts here

KATE ❤️__ ❤️for you id write anything... and anon the lady and the tramp scenario is so fucking funny/good

---------------------------

It’s a really good thing that Hermann has Newt, because if Newt’s being honest, he has no damn clue what the poor dude would do without him. Work himself to death, probably. Or spend every Saturday night alone in his bunk. So depressing. Newt considers it his big charitable act of—well, of all time—to force Hermann into social functions, whether it's fun nights out at the bar (with Newt!), or down the hall a few feet for awesome movie marathons in Newt’s quarters (with Newt!), or something like tonight, which is a super awesome and fun Halloween party that, like, everyone on the base was invited to (including Newt!).

Hermann was all set to spend another night alone (probably changing the batteries in all his calculators or rearranging the hangers in his closet) when Newt dragged him out, more or less by the collar of his argyle sweater, with multiple threats to make his life a living hell the following week in the lab if he didn't comply immediately. "Seriously, dude," Newt had said, ominously, while Hermann looked at him like a furious cat ready to take a swipe, "you're gonna put in those vampire fangs and get drunk with me, or you're gonna regret it. I mean it." Newt was not opposed to blasting the shittiest depths of his Spotify account over his bluetooth speakers or using Hermann's favorite coffee mug to hold his dissection tools. Luckily for both of them, Hermann decided the risk wasn't worth it.

Newt knows Hermann is bound to recognize how selfless Newt is being and thank him for it eventually. Probably. Maybe a few years from now. For now, Newt is enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling of having done a good deed, and also of drinking a considerable amount of spiked punch.

Hermann is not enjoying either.

"I did, in fact, have plans for tonight," he tells Newt, sipping his ginger ale and observing Newt with a fierce scowl. He flat-out refused the booze Newt tried to push on him. It's fine, whatever—it's enough for Newt, right now anyway, that he actually came. They'll work up to bigger stuff like that later.

"Like what?" Newt says. "Doing a crossword puzzle and watching the second half of that boring-ass documentary you put on last weekend?"

Newt considers it an affront to the very concept of movie nights that Hermann used his pick on a documentary, and one about the jaeger program that didn't even bother interviewing him, no less. Newt loves a good documentary, don't get him wrong, but movie nights are for escapist shit. You don't see him switching on Godzilla. Plus, having to watch stock footage of Dr. Gottlieb Sr. blabbing his mouth about how smart he was while you were debating making a move on his son (who was currently in you bed, looking super cute in your sweatpants, because he'd forgotten to pack pj's) was kind of a mood-killer. "It wasn't boring," Hermann sniffs, which tells Newt that his guess was dead-on. "It was...interesting. And anyway, just because they aren't your idea of plans..."

"Okay, whatever," Newt says. "Let's just have fun. That's the point of a party."

He throws an arm around Hermann's shoulder and drags him closer, until their heads knock together painfully. He hears Hermann growl low in his throat. Newt doesn't say, soon, we won't have the time to do stupid shit like this anymore, so we should enjoy it while we can, even though he wants to. It's better to not make fun stuff depressing. Plus, Hermann might decide to take that as an invitation to bail and put on his documentary. Instead he reaches up across Hermann and flicks his chin. Hermann's whole body stiffens. "I can't believe I got you into this super awesome party and you're not even pretending to be thankful," Newt says.

With no great deal of difficulty, Hermann pushes Newt off of him. Newt lands heavily back in his chair, making the whole thing wobble, and he laughs as he just manages to catch himself from falling off the other side. "You got me in?" Hermann says. "Newton, I was invited three weeks ago."

Newt stops laughing. "You were?"

"Yes," Hermann says. The corner of his lip twitches up, with a smugness so powerful Newt can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Bastard. "I took it upon myself to ask if you might be permitted to come, too." He adds, sarcastically, "Out of the kindness of my heart. I know how terribly put out you get when you aren't included in these sorts of things."

Newt considers this new information, and then discards it, because it really doesn't fit the image of himself he's been cultivating as the cool, hip friend to Hermann's uncool, unhip nerd. Like, come on, between the two of them, Newt is obviously the one you'd want at your party. Hermann's gotta be kidding. Probably. Maybe. "It's a lame party anyway," Newt mumbles.

He tries to put his arm around Hermann's shoulder again, remembers that Hermann really didn't like that the first time, and then drops it back down at his side instead. "Totally lame," he continues. Newt recalls the Halloween parties of his youth with a warm, fond glow: elaborate costumes, tacky decorations, passing around bowls of peeled grapes in the dark, carving jack-o-lanterns while his dad hovered protectively over him to make sure he didn't take a finger off with the knife. This is none of that. Barely anyone even dressed up! The lack of Halloween spirit is tragic. "There aren't even any party games."

"Yes there are," Hermann says, mildly.

He points across the room at a large metal tub that Newt somehow missed before. It looks like it's filled with water, and...

"Dude," Newt says.

He doesn't wait to ask before he's hopping to his feet and dragging Hermann along after him by his blazer cuff. Hermann swats at his heels a few times with his cane, but eventually—like he does with most of Newt's ideas—gives in. "I'm a fuckin' champ at bobbing for apples," Newt boasts. "I used to—oops, excuse me," (he runs into two guys who are, like, twice his height, upsetting their drinks, and he hears Hermann groan as something purple spills on his sweater), "I used to always win it at the fall fest when my dad would take me." And then when he went back as an adult by himself, but it was less impressive a win when you were up against a bunch of ten-year-olds.

"You do have an exceptionally large mouth," Hermann says, rubbing at his stained shoulder. "I suppose that helps." As Newt bends to investigate the iron tub, he says, "Oh, Newton, don't, it's been out all night. Who knows what sorts of germs are in there?"

Newt gets to his knees and rolls up the sleeves of his PPDC-issued labcoat. He's a mad scientist to Hermann's vampire (vampire librarian?) tonight. Yeah, it's kind of a lazy costume, but it was free—he already had everything he needed in the lab. "I can get it in five seconds, max," he declares. His record is one second, but he's the first to admit he's a little rusty, and he'd rather impress Hermann by beating his estimate. "Will you hold my headlamp?"

Grumbling, Hermann takes it. Newt sets his glasses on the ground. "You're going to get yourself bloody soaking," Hermann says, and then he complains about something else, too, but Newt is screwing his eyes shut and ducking his head into the tub, which makes it difficult to hear him. One second—two seconds—two and a half—Newt emerges victorious from the tub, teeth clenched down firmly on an apple, and accidentally splatters a large amount of water on Hermann's shoes. He pulls the apple out of his mouth with a grin and waves it at Hermann. "See. I'm a fucking pro."

He tucks his glasses back on his face to discover that Hermann is staring at him with a very strange expression on his face. Newt can't decide if it's the blacklight bulbs overhead that are washing him out and making him look so flushed, or something else entirely. Then, in a second, he's grumpy and scowling and tsking over his wet shoes. "A pro," he echoes. "Hardly. It can't be that complicated."

Newt gestures grandly at the tub and takes a bite out of his apple. Hermann can always be relied upon to never turn down a challenge, especially when it means making Newt look—potentially—stupid. Newt uses it to his advantage often. Whatever it takes to help the guy have a good time. "It's all yours, dude."

Hermann grumbles something again about Newt being too arrogant for his own good, and something else about showing Newt how to do it without making a mess of everything, then gets down to his knees with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He shoves his cane, and Newt's headlamp, at Newt, though bewilderingly leaves his blazer on. "I'll be just a moment," he says, and dunks his head into the tub.

He splashes back up no more than five seconds later. Apple-less. "Bugger," he coughs, and then coughs some more. The entire front of his sweater is soaked. "I didn't—I didn't start out right. Let me—"

Newt watches Hermann try to drown himself a few more times in mild interest before he finally intercedes. "Need a hand?" he says, getting to his knees next to Hermann.

"No," Hermann splutters.

Newt takes his glasses off again. "Yeah, you do. Okay, now watch me—"

He emerges with another apple in seconds.

Hermann grits his teeth. "Newton—"

"One more?" Newt says, his grin widening.

Back under. Another apple. He winks at Hermann when he goes in for a fourth time, and this time, he feels the water of the tank being upset as Hermann (refusing to be outdone once again) splashes in alongside him. God, Newt loves riling Hermann up like this—he gets so funny, and kinda cute, when he's mad about something. Red in the face, and scowling, and sometimes (when he's real mad) speaking in a dangerously low and rough sort of voice with his r's rolling that makes Newt shiver, just a little. Like, Newton, you worthless, pathetic little man, cease this immediately, or else I'll... He actually said that to Newt once. It made Newt feel a little warm under his collar. Hermann's probably going to say something similar to him this time, and Newt can't wait.

Ten seconds in. Newt has been cutting Hermann a little slack at first, just to see if he can catch up, but finally decides to just go for the apple that's been bobbing steadily against his mouth this whole time. (He loves beating Hermann at stuff.)

And, well, apparently Hermann goes for it too.

They both miss the apple. Newt's mouth is up against Hermann's for another five seconds before he realizes what's happening (that that is definitely not an apple, that that is definitely a mouth, that that mouth is wide and weird another to belong to only one person Newt knows, that that mouth is parting in surprise, oh my God) and then he pulls away so quickly that he breathes in what feels like half the tub of water. He falls back on his ass, coughing furiously, and it's not until he shoves his glasses back on with a shaking hand that he realizes that Hermann has done the same. "I," Hermann says. His eyes are wide. "I'm sor—"

"It's fine," Newt squeaks.

"It was—"

"I know!"

Newt and Hermann's mouths were touching for five whole seconds. Underwater, while apples bobbed against their foreheads, but their mouths still touched. Oh my God. In elementary school, Newt thinks dizzily, that would be enough to catch cooties. This was so not how he wanted his awesome eventual seduction of Hermann to go down. For one thing, it wasn't even a seduction.

"I'm gonna get a towel," Newt says.

Hermann nods. He looks strangely adorable with water droplets on his nose and his hair plastered to his head like that. Newt has to get out of here before he does something stupid, like take Hermann's pointy cheeks between his hands and put their mouths together on purpose. He doesn't think Hermann would respond to that very well right now.

"I'll get you one too," Newt says, and it takes a lot of effort to force himself to his feet.

Hermann nods again.

"Okay," Newt says, and stumbles away. Out of the corner of his eye, he just catches Hermann raising a hand to his mouth.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

I’m guessing all Vmins were right Sweet night is about the past. I guess it’s why Tae give it for the movie instead of for his mixtape. I’m guessing JM gave him the ok to do so and why he’s been silent about it cause it’s over between them. TK are making it too obvious. jk treating JM like they aren’t friends suddenly. jk in purple/green all the time. v not shutting up about jk suddenly. JM is not handling it well. I guess it’s why v said he likes JM the most (guess as friend) cause he feels bad

Admin 1: “Sure, go and release a song easily identified as being about us and your hope of me giving you a second chance with a hopeful ending seeing as we aren’t together anymore, sounds like a nice idea to me. Go, Taehyungie, do it. Then also let me hold your hand on national TV and show it to the cameras happily, smile sweetly at you while we stand next to the president, talk about our song and memories and how much they mean to me, perform this song that's essentially a love letter to our bond in a live-streamed concert for almost 800k people, and when you tell me you like me the most, I’ll say I like you a lot as well. Because we’re over and not even friends anymore.” Sounds like some sound logic to me, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible to humans.

Honestly, either I’ve just been around too long and all these asks are starting to sound the same and impossibly uncreative, or they are just getting more farfetched and bizarre. If you want a proper answer, I told you, bring something to the table that hasn’t been talked to dust yet, or leave it be.

To quote Tae, the man who knows best what he feels: 95z is love.

Until he (and Jimin) changes his mind, this is the answer I have for any and all Xkooker ask, as well as any other ship involving Tae or Jimin.

Also yes, I did see the hate against Jimin that exploded yesterday, we even have an ask about it in our inbox, and honestly these types of questions, anon? Yeah, you're not helping, in fact, you are part of the problem, just saying.

Admin 2: Man, man, man!

We didn't really want to answer these types of questions anymore, but this ask takes the trophy when it comes to delulu/nonsensical questions, so I decided to answer it after all. Because it’s hot and I need a distraction.

Also, this question basically confirms most of our suspicions we’ve had so far. Let me explain.

Folks, who is behind these kinds of stories which are being presented and preached as truth on various sns?

I don't believe this is any single persons invention (in this case, that anon came up with this idea “without help”), if anything it’s the result of delulu, and often times toxic, scenarios and stories created by a group of people intended to further a narrative and actively disrupt the “peace” within ARMY (or at least that’s what it feels like since all these things do is ignite hate and toxicity). Where is the origin of it all? Ship centric YouTube channels.

It is very evident that these "imaginative creators/shippers" behind those videos have no consideration of the consequences and harm their content does because, in my opinion, the more controversial and clickbait-y, the better. You know why? More views means more money, which is the goal of it all. We’ve spoken about this before, I believe, how these videos on “ship evidence” and “ship drama” for Xkookers are the most beloved topics of these videos and thus make up one of the easiest means of generating income, in some cases even something upward of $80k a year depending on the channels CPM, sub and view count.

The average person has to work hard all year round to make this amount of money, if they even have a job that brings in that much. So, it is not surprising that these content creators go very far in their fantasies to support their claims and keep their viewers/costumers engaged and coming back.

I wouldn't be surprised if the creators (or rather the whole lot of them) of both Xkook camps are basically the same people, because their ideas, conclusions and explanations all sound the same and follow the same nonsensical patters. Which is why we’ve already told you many times that the best thing you can do is stay away from this type of content altogether.

So! Let's analyze this ask a little more:

"…Vmins were right Sweet Night is about the past. I guess it’s why Tae give it for the movie instead of for his mixtape."

Ok, let's say Tae wrote "Sweet Night" for Jimin, but in the meantime he has changed his feelings (that's how I understand the question) so he gave the song to the Itaewon Class OST instead of putting it on his mixtape. I wanted to note that Taehyung's mixtape isn't finished yet and we will probably wait many more months for it.

It seems to me that Taehyung really wanted to show his feelings to the world, so he saw an opportunity with the OST, and therefore a quicker release for SN, and took it. The fact is that SN is about the past, but there is also hope for the future, hope for the fulfillment of wishes, which likely did come true judging by how Tae said he wrote SN during tour abroad (so sometimes summer/early autumn 2019 perhaps) and we saw vmin holding hands at the airport on Tae’s birthday in 2019 when they thought no one would see, just three months before SN was released (and likely long schedules for said release since these types of things don’t just happen overnight) and many, many other such things.

“I suspect that JM gave him his consent and why he kept silent about it because it was over between them, TK makes it too obvious. "

And I suspect that Jimin was very touched by Sweet Night and ultimately wrote Friends in which him and Tae sing: “Many promises and memories / and more to come / Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey / You are my soulmate”

The fact is that BTS didn't say much about SN, but it was the same with many of their other SC releases as well, so it wasn’t unusual, especially since SN came out while they were promoting MOTS7. Also, in my opinion, the content of this song is too personal to be able to describe/discuss the song in detail beyond the bit that was mentioned during Tae’s vlive with Namjoon. During a Japanese interview, the members basically confirmed/pointed out how romantic Tae is and when SN came up, Namjoon “coincidentally” turned around toward Jimin who has a similar facial expression of pressed lips as he did during Let’s BTS.

"JK treats JM as if they suddenly weren't friends"

And here I have caught you, dear anon. I think you're not even looking at the original BH content, but that instead you are basing your conclusions and opinions on manipulative YT ship videos instead because if you would’ve watched the original content like RUN, the recent SOWOOZOO concerts, and interviews, you wouldn’t arrive anywhere near such thoughts and conclusions.

Jimin and JK are still close, also Jimin calls JK his little brother (dongsaeng) and JK describes Jimin (or associates these words with him) as charm and cute. Does there seem to be any kind of conflict between Jimin and Jungkook? Certainly not, no.

„JK always in purple / green. v not shutting up about jk suddenly."

You mean their microphone colors? I wanted to point out how Tae wore a yellow shirt during the concert, which is the same color as the chick emoji ARMY associates with Jimin as well as his mic color. LOL.

As far as I know, when Tae has something to say, he will say it, and if he is praising JKs songs, and especially You Eyes Tell which we know is a song Tae liked a lot, that is a good thing. It simply means Tae appreciates the song JK created, appreciates and values his talents and hard work. If the entire band praises Namjoon and his lyrics/contributions on their songs, does that automatically also mean all six are “not shutting up about him” and therefore must be in love and in a relationship with him, or it’s an indicator of it? If anything, it’s merely an indicator that Tae is an honest person and JK did a good job on those songs. Easy as that.

That's my favorite part of the question: "JM doesn't handle it that well. I think that's why I said he likes JM best (as a friend, I guess) because he feels bad."

Personally, I consider myself a person with a great imagination, but I wouldn't really come up with a scenario like that.

How cruel of a person do you think Tae is? Imagine they aren’t together anymore or close anymore, or whatever else you tried to insinuate anon, and then Tae would go on national TV and do this whole thing of asking for the card in his letter to Jimin to be blurred and then said “Jimin-ah I like you the most”? To do something as hurtful as that you either have to be a sadist or an asshole and I’d like to believe even you, anon, don’t think in such a way about Tae, of all people.

Perhaps that’s something dumb teenagers or kids would do, but not adult men in their mid-twenties who see each other every single day, are part of the same team and have to work with each other. This is real life, not a soap opera. If these types of dramas really would be happening within BTS, they would’ve stopped existing as a band a long time ago because no one would be able to live with such actions and people for a prolonged amount of time. BTS are grown men, best friends, even found family, and not actors on a badly written TV show for our entertainment where they act out increasingly stupid relationship drama in which JK somehow ended up being the toy going from hand to hand like he’s not even an actual person anymore.

In summary, this question was written by a child, teenager, or an emotionally immature person naïve enough to buy into outlandish ship narratives.

Anon, hear what the members had to say during FESTA 2021. Make your own conclusions and stop watching and believing the nonsense on YouTube. As Tae said: Get out of your imagination. It’s not good in there.

[karasuno-volley]

anon request : (TW: disordered eating) hi volley :) might i maybe suggest tsukishima with an s/o who has been having trouble eating properly? lately i’ve been undereating a lot and losing weight again and my mind is just slipping back to a bad place. honestly when i’m able to kind of get myself out of it, it’s because i think about how much kei would hate to watch someone he loved deteriorate and i wouldn’t want him to feel helpless or like it’s his fault. i’m sorry to dump this, and i completely understand if you don’t want to write this. please do not feel obligated or pressured to do anything at all, i understand that this is a heavy topic. i’m so genuinely sorry if this upset you in any way <3

pairing : tsukishima kei + gn!reader

warnings : disordered eating / eating trouble, mild profanity, some angst but fluffy ending !! let me know if you need specific tags. 

a/n : of course you can have this !! i really, genuinely hope ( + believe! ) that you can get through this. i also struggled with eating disorders in the past, and it’s hard, but believe me when i say that the other side is so worth it. love you. let me know if you need any specific tags for this. likes / reblogs welcome, no reposting please !! love, volley. 

     “You have to eat something.” 

     You hear him from behind, and without even looking, you know his expression. A mixture between exasperation and concern. You make a point not to look, staring down at your work instead. There’s a silence that grows between you two-- one that, under normal circumstances-- your boyfriend would just shrug off-- but not today. You’re startled out of your focus by Kei dropping a small bag in front of you. The smell of curry buns waft out from it, and you attempt to ignore it. 

     Tsukki pushes your chair back and kneels in front of you. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him without his glasses. He reaches up, his hand encasing your cheek. “I know you don’t want to.” He prefaces before you could get a word in. “But I’ve been watching you sit here for a few hours and you’ve barely touched anything.” Kei sighs and pulls his hand away, running it through his hair. 

     “Honestly, you’re smarter than this.” He stands, and finally, you’re able to speak. “Kei, it’s not that I don’t want to eat-- I’m just not hungry.” 

“Bullshit.” His cut off of your denial is swift and fast, almost as if he’d been expecting it (which, to be fair, he was). Kei frowns, fingers going to pinch the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. “Y/N, do you think I’m stupid? I see what this is doing to you and I don’t like it. I would hate to think…” Tsukki starts pacing, and then stops directly in front of you. He holds your face gently, refusing to look anywhere but him. “You’re not stupid.” he repeats, voice quiet. “I know I’m not--,” you start, but Kei shakes his head. 

“Shut up and let me finish. I know you’re not stupid, but lately, this is...” He gestures to the food on the table which was quickly going cold. Tsukki has to stop himself from saying something he might regret, so instead he leans back on his heels. “I love you, Y/N. I do. That’s why I would hate it if your refusal to eat is... because of me.”

“Because of you?” You’re incredulous, grabbing at his hands. “It’s not you, Kei. It’s not.” 

     He stares at you for a long time, and you’re sure, for just a moment, that he’s about to say something else. Then Tsukki shakes his head, throws his glasses on, and reaches for the bag. He disappears into the kitchen, and you’re about to follow, before your boyfriend reappears, carrying two bowls filled with the pork curry buns and the soup they sometimes give alongside it. He places a bowl in front of you before sitting at the opposite end of the table. Silence stretches onwards, the only sound the ticking of the nearby clock and the birdsong outside. 

     “I know you’re not stupid. So… Please, eat. I hate seeing you do this to yourself.” He watches you, his eyes almost begging for you to at least try. You do. 

     It takes an enormous amount of effort to take the first bite, even more for the second, but Kei obviously seems to be waiting on you until he eats himself. The meal passes slowly, but Tsukki refuses to finish before you do, and once everything is gone, he takes away the dishes like nothing ever happened. 

      You start to feel guilty, like you always do, but this guilt quickly manifests into something else. The fact that your boyfriend clearly thought he’d done something to make this happen? That it’s his fault? It burns your insides more than any food ever could. 

     You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t heard him calling for you, but you do feel his hand in your own, tugging you up and away from the table. He guides you gently towards the couch. “Kei, what are you--?” “Come on.” That’s the only answer you get as he grasps you, pulls you into him as the pair of you half-collapse onto the couch cushions. It takes a moment to settle, a blanket pulled over you as you curl into his side. He doesn’t say anything-- just lets the moment hang. You don’t feel it, but Kei grips at your shirt, scared you might disappear if he lets you go. 

     The sound of his breathing, his heartbeat, his arms around you, forces you to relax, to forget about the food you’d just eaten. Cocooned between him and the couch, your head resting on his chest, your arm strewn across him, you can’t remember the last time he’s done this-- held you this way. Kei doesn’t let you go for a very, very long time, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

master taglist : @beanst0ck​, @owlnymph​ ( send a message or ask to be added ! )

[mae-gi-writes]

Only For You | Hyunjae

anon request: in which you catch Hyunjae with another girl, leading to misunderstandings about where his love truly lies. 

I hope you like it anon! <3 So sorry for the lateness xx 

Genre: fluff, slight angst

Words: 1k 

------

If she thought that she was being subtle, she wasn’t. 

You had noticed her hooded, wandering gaze over Hyunjae’s figure the moment the door to Changmin’s flat opened, practically overflowing with balloons of all sizes as if the day itself didn’t scream enough that it was, indeed, his birthday. The girl -- a classmate of yours, a familiar face you had spotted wandering around campus but never actually spoke to -- but while you weren’t one to judge others only based on your biased assumptions, her cold mannerisms and reputation did not help her case whatsoever, especially when your Major was such a small one in the first place. 

But you had wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, and thus had only nodded with a quick smile in her direction as you greeted the rest of Hyunjae’s friends with open arms like a bunch of puppies ready to be cuddled. 

“Hey Fiona,” Hyunjae threw the said girl a quick smile as he spotted her figure, which she returned with a full-fledged beam. Your stomach twisted and you looked away, trying hard not to scowl at the energy radiating off her skin. 

You didn’t like her. You couldn’t deny it. But she didn’t do anything wrong either, which prompted your guilt to resurface. 

She was just greeting him. They’re friends, of course she’s going to smile at him, you reminded yourself sternly, don’t be stupid. 

The flat -- unlike any other time when you would stumble in unannounced -- was now bathed in purple hues of light sprouting from various spotlights lining up the wall of the flat. Bodies danced along to the music, dark silhouettes moving to the beat and chatting idly amongst themselves as you followed Hyunjae to the makeshift bar that had been set up on Changmin’s kitchen counter, courtesy of Eric’s newest addiction of course: he was the one who usually changed Majors just like he would change underwear, and this month he dreamt of becoming a somelier.

“What do you want to drink?” asked Hyunjae as he grabbed two clean glasses from their drying rack. Spending his time in Changmin’s flat most of the time, Hyunjae could practically feel his way around this space blindfolded. 

You tilted your head to scan the array of beverages, “vodka and coke for me.” 

“Sure you don’t want to start with a shot?” Hyunjae raised his brows, wriggling them in a teasing manner and causing you to swat his arm. 

The night wore on, causing you to forcibly relax and mingle with people that you haven’t seen for a while as you brushed aside the weird knots inside your stomach. It was stupid, you thought to yourself, it was stupid and immature of your part to think that there was more to the way Fiona’s sultry gaze had run over Hyunjae’s figure. You had to admit that you were being paranoid, more so than usual, and so forcibly attempted to focus back on Changmin and Sunwoo who were currently arguing as to who was the better dancer. 

Your gut feeling was never wrong though.

It was only a couple of drinks later that, as you stumbled over to the washroom to relieve yourself from the amount of alcohol coursing through your veins, that your eyes fell on two figures pressed up against the corridor.

One of them was instantly recognized as Hyunjae. 

A silent gasp fell from your lips and you had half a mind to just storm over to wrench them apart, when his voice sliced through the air like a knife: 

“I’m not going to repeat myself, Fiona. Step away from me. Now.” 

Your brain instantly prickled at the girl’s name, before you registered his words. 

“You like me, Hyunjae,” Fiona’s voice was thick with desire, her silhouette pressing up to Hyunjae’s chest and causing another bout of fury to rise through your chest, “tell me you like me. I’ve seen it, the way you look at me--” 

“What are you talking about?!” Hyunjae’s arms grasped her arms and shoved her away, “You’re crazy. I don’t like you--” 

“Then why do you keep leading me on? What about all those messages? And the fact that you chose me as your partner--”  “That was just because you didn’t have anyone else! I felt sorry for you!” 

“Lies,” she shoved her face right into his with a hiss, “you’re lying. You like me, and--”

You couldn’t hear anything more. A sob escaping the back of your throat, you turned on your heel and dashed down the hall without caring whether they noticed your presence. From the way Hyunjae’s tone of exclamation followed your footsteps, you guessed that he’d realized who had just witnessed their small encounter. 

“Y/N!” His cry bounced off the walls, “wait!” 

Turning into one of the rooms and quickly shutting the door behind you, a small breath -- almost like a whimper--  escaped your lips as you pressed back against the wall. Your legs felt shaky, almost as though you were going to collapse from the weight of this sudden revelation. 

Maybe Fiona was right. Maybe Hyunjae did like her. What did he even see in you anyway? Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at the thought, a film of water dotting your vision. You were nothing more than just another girl and these, these girls could be found anywhere.

No wonder he liked Fiona. She was beautiful, gorgeous and edgy. The kind of girl that boys admired and enjoyed chasing, the kind of girl that you were never going to be. 

A knock vibrated through the door, muffled against the sound of the music pounding through the floor.

“Y/N. Please open the door.” 

Hyunjae.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“Please Y/N,” there was an edge of desperation in his alto, “it’s not what you think. You didn’t let me finish.” 

Still, you kept quiet as you contemplated his words. It wasn’t the fact that you didn’t trust him, no. It was the idea of his rejection, of the words that might strike you right through the chest and tear your heart apart that made you so reluctant in hearing what he had to say. 

When he knocked once more and pleaded for you to let him in, there were a few beats of silence in which you hesitated, before reluctantly reaching over to unlatch the door to see the desperate, puppy-eyed look sported by your boyfriend. 

“Y/N,” he wasted no time in slipping in and closing the door behind him. He clasped your hands in his, his thumbs brushing comforting circles over your knuckles as his eyes searched yours for any indication, “what you saw wasn’t--it wasn’t what you think.”

“What was it then?” your voice shot out as sharp as a newly-sheathed blade.

“I was just on my way to the bathroom and then she just cornered me out of nowhere, started spluttering things about us being good together and how I was wasting my time--” his tone grovelled with sudden anger as it flashed through his eyes, “you should’ve seen her. She was acting like we were the closest of friends when in truth, I haven’t even spoken more than ten words with her ever since the start of semester. And most of the time it’s just about work.”

Still, your eyes were glued to a random spot on his shirt as you weren’t sure whether you’d crumble the moment you’d see his face. His words rang between your bodies like a gentle reminder of his love for you, and your heart couldn’t help but tremble slightly at the amount of emotion in his voice.

“Please Y/N,” Hyunjae’s alto choked up with emotion. He stepped even closer, causing you to get a whiff of his cologne that you loved so much, “you have to believe me. Why would I look for anything else when I have everything right here--in front of me?” 

The tears that were threatening to fall now cascaded freely down your cheeks as you nodded, allowing him to bring you into a soft, gentle hug. One of his hands found comfort on your back, while the other cupped your cheek to wipe away at your face. 

“I never want to hurt you,” came Hyunjae’s hushed murmur, a soothing lullaby to your ears, “I hate seeing you cry.” 

You buried closer, arms winding around his middle, as if failure to do so might wrench him away from you.

“I love you,” your muffled words didn’t go unnoticed by the said young man, who pulled back to gaze down at you with a tenderness that made the breathe still halfway through your lungs.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I love you too.” 

And then he brought his mouth over to yours, sharing with you such a gentle, tender kiss that your entire body quivered for more. You unconsciously gripped him a little tighter as he kept kissing you, mouth imprinting over yours in a chaste manner that made your heart sing. 

“I love you,” he kept on murmuring as he moved to kiss a path along your jawline, up your cheek, stopping to nibble upon a patch of skin at your neck, “I love you,” showering you with kisses to the best of his ability, you let out the softest of giggles at the numerous pecks he kept on peppering over your skin like the softest kiss of rain on a hot summer’s day.

It was only when you pulled apart, foreheads touching, that you mumbled, “I’m sorry, for doubting you.” 

He grinned back though, “as long as that means you love me enough. I’ll take it.” 

----

[angstyaches]

Please Please Please could you maybe do the next part of that Felix "drinking blood and getting a tummy ache" fic??? I'm just craving tears and fluff and tummy rubs and just 🥺🥺🥺and you are also so talented omg

Aagghh, I promised this so long ago, anon, I’m so sorry! I was reluctant because I thought I had to write emeto into it and Felix would be so ashamed and guilty and I couldn’t bring myself to do it (Fee’s already got quite an angsty storyline coming up), but your request was perfect.

CW: accidental stuffing/overdoing, drinking blood, mention of a dead animal, guilt and worry (but it turns out okay), nausea, stomach ache, mention of emeto (no actual emeto)

Continued from this fic.

__

“Fee? How are you doing, boo?”

The haze of something between sleepiness and drunkenness was thick as Felix looked up at his talking pillow, Elliott, from the taller boy’s lap. He took a moment to let his hammering heart calm down from the fear of whatever he’d been dreaming about, and admired the wide curves of Elliott’s jawline from below, and the soft smile it was offering.

Remembering the events of the afternoon made something like an anchor sink in Felix’s gut, a metaphor that here was quite appropriate. He wasn’t exactly sure how much a typical anchor weighed, but the weight in his belly must have been at least somewhat comparable.

Then, in a flurry of panic, Felix realised that they were both in the back of Ryan’s car without seatbelts.

He pulled himself forward, feeling Elliott’s hand rest on his back to help ease him up, but the movement was still way too strenuous for his full, aching stomach. Felix whimpered, feeling as though something with giant feet had just tried to use his belly as a trampoline.

“Fee.” Elliott rested his hands on Felix’s shoulders. “Boo, take it easy.”

“Seatbelts.” Felix’s voice was thick and heavy. “We have to put on – put on seatbelts.”

“We’re sitting in the driveway,” Elliott half-laughed. “We’ve been home for about an hour, but I didn’t want to wake you in case you felt sick.”

Felix felt a flash of gratitude amidst the pain radiating from his gut, and turned his body slowly in the seat so that he could face his boyfriend.

“Thank you, darling.”

Elliott gave a tight smile and nodded, as though agreeing that he should be thanked. “My legs are very numb.”

“Sorry. Ugh…” Felix mumbled, easing his back into the seat and running his hands carefully over the swell his belly had made beneath his green, loose-knit jumper. He heard Elliott getting out of the other side of the car, but closed his eyes quickly after.

His senses were tingling with acute awareness, probably heightened by whatever chemicals were produced in a vampire’s body during a hunt. He wasn’t used to feeling like this, to noticing the rhythm of his own heartbeat, the whistling rush of air in his throat and lungs, the volume of liquid in his stomach rocking back and forth like it had its own tidal pull.

He also remembered it all way too vividly, with too much colour and saturation; he remembered getting caught up in thirst and lust and the need to try to impress Elliott by being on the same level as him. He remembered feeling the creature’s meat between his teeth as he sucked the blood from its veins, though it was still pulsing so quickly that it probably would have filled his mouth quickly even if he hadn’t sucked. It had been so fresh, so freshly-delivered from the condition of being alive.

Felix winced as tears sprung to his eyes, partially from the ache in his belly and partially from the memory. It was like all of the nausea and regret of waking up with a hangover.

He opened his eyes again as Elliott slowly opened the car door.

“Come on, Fee,” Elliott coaxed as he offered Felix his arms. His voice was soft, like he was trying to soothe a frightened dog.

Felix took the help with a little pout, leaning his weight against Elliott’s chest when he could. He whimpered when he felt strong arms close around his back, careful not to pin him to tightly.

“Oh, my gosh,” Felix groaned. “Elli, I drank too much. I drank so much –”

“Sssshhh, no, no, no, you’re fine,” Elliott whispered.

“No, I’m not, I – I’m weak, Elli.” The sob that shook Felix’s frame was dry and gentle, like all of his muscles were conscious of the swell of pain in his gut, and knew that sudden, harsh movements would make everything so much worse. “I can’t do a single thing I set my mind to.”

“What are you going on about, boo?”

“I’m just so weak...”

“Come on, crazy, we’re getting you inside.” Elliott’s sigh made his chest rise and fall in front of Felix’s face. “You can take another nap if you want, and I’m sure Ryan has something you can take if it hurts too much. How does that sound?”

Felix ran a hand over his sore belly, shuddering at the oppressive warmth radiating out from it. His stomach was churning in an optimistic attempt to be productive; it hadn’t accepted the fact that it was futile just yet, even if Felix had.

A wet belch rumbled up, tying a knot in his oesophagus somewhere along the way. Felix promptly pressed his fingers a little harder against his stomach to coax up one more burst of air, this one sounding hollow as it made its way up.

“There you go,” Elliott chuckled, rubbing a hand across Felix’s back before attempting to direct him towards the front door. “Does that feel better?”

“No? I hate this so much,” Felix whimpered, lips trembling miserably as he allowed himself to be led. He still held onto his belly, as though afraid of what it would do if it was left to its own devices.

“I know you do,” Elliott assured him. “You’re doing really well, though. Let’s just get you inside.”

He held Felix up as best he could until they made it inside the front door. Felix sensed his boyfriend hesitating in the hallway by the foot of the stairs, as though considering whether their bed would be a better option.

Felix peered up at Elliott from behind drooping eyelids.

“The front room is fine, darling,” he groaned. “I can’t walk upstairs right now. No chance.”

Elliott scanned Felix’s eyes very carefully while holding him in place. “How about a bathroom?”

The trembling in Felix’s lips still hadn’t subsided, and was even creeping into his jaw and making his teeth rattle a bit. There was no doubt that he would probably empty his stomach of every last drop if he was given a toilet to lean over, and his tummy even gave a pleading whine at the thought.

“N-no, I – I don’t want to be sick.”

Elliott’s eyes stopped searching Felix’s, and began to cross over his pale face instead. “You mightn’t have much of a say in that, Fee.”

“I’ll be fine, darling, I promise.” Felix gulped, his throat bobbing ominously. “I just want to lie down. It hurts so much.”

The sofa in the front room was a dark shade of beige. Everything in this room was styled to look a little earthier than the rest of the house. The absence of pure white walls was an instinct relief, but it was nothing compared to sinking down into the cushions and curling up.

“Oh – ow,” Felix whined, unfurling his legs to stop the pinching cramp that gripped his belly. He rolled halfway onto his back so that his stomach wasn’t being pressed into the sofa either.

“That’s it; I’m going to get Ryan,” Elliott decided.

“N-no, darling, don’t.” Felix took hold of Elliott’s hand, drawing it to his chest before holding it gently against his belly. “Please, I just need you to be here with me.”

“What if something’s wrong –?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Felix let out a shaky laugh between gasps of discomfort. He could feel how pale he face must have been, along with a ripple of cold sweat that broke out across his forehead and shoulders. “You know me, Elli. I just like to complain.”

Looking unconvinced, Elliott turned his hand over so that his palm rested against Felix’s stomach, just as the unsettled thing let out a growl. Felix felt the grumble begin in the swollen point beneath his ribs before it bubbled down and tapered out somewhere just above his belly button.

“Look like you’re not the only one complaining,” Elliott pointed out, smoothing his hand over Felix’s belly with the slightest amount of pressure.

Felix hummed under his breath, all too aware of the sensation of digestion once again trying to take place inside his stomach walls. He could feel a shift in his throat, a quickening of his heartbeat. A shaky hand went to his mouth, hovering uneasily, but there wasn’t even any air trying to escape.

He shivered without warning.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm – yeah,” Felix mumbled thickly. His throat bobbed with another nauseous gulp. “I’m getting there.”

Elliott’s frown deepened as he kneaded his hand softly over Felix’s abdomen. He paused to redirect his hand whenever a gurgle was emitted from an unexpected area, doing his best to seek out the most uncomfortable points without pushing too hard on anything.

“I know you’re hung up on this,” he said after hearing a growl that travelled halfway up Felix’s chest, “but there’s really nothing to be ashamed about, if you feel sick –”

“’M okay.”

“Okay.” Elliott’s lips were pulled into a thin, resigned smile. “How the hell can you say you’re weak, hmm? You drank almost as much as I did, and you’ve got a much smaller – you know.” He patted Felix’s belly very gently. “Capacity.”

A shaky sigh left Felix’s lips. “My capacity is still very achy.”

“I’m not doubting that at all. Just try to relax. I’ve got you. Okay?”

“Mmhmm. Okay.”

He didn’t know if it was the relief of finally being home, or the gentle press of Elliott’s hand, but the gurgling in Felix’s tummy eventually didn’t feel (or sound) quite so angry anymore. In its calmed state, it swirled and bubbled with the motion of Elliott’s hand, continuing to do so even when Felix’s drifted into a light, if somewhat twitchy, sleep. He smiled semi-consciously at the sensation of Elliott’s lips pressing gently against his cheek.

[ladylouoflothlorien]

Hi, may I request a quick drabble where Legolas is dying on the Pelennor Fields and Aragorn is there comforting him, cradling him? (character death please) Thankyou!!! Love your work! Keep it up

Two things! First of all, in my quest to empty out my inbox of requests my brain seems to have decided to pick requests at random to have spurts of inspiration for, rather than having inspiration for the oldest ones first, so I’m sorry to those of you who have already been waiting ridiculously long amounts of time.

Secondly, ANON PLEASE TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR HOW EMO YOU HAVE MADE ME, this is the angstiest thing I have ever written. And I’m proud of it, but I hate it. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Leaving Legolas

word count: 643 content warning: severe angst, character death

His fingers, slick and crimson wet, scrabble for purchase. They find another hand, a cold hand, and Aragorn well knew the cool touch of Elven skin, but his friend's hand was unnaturally cold... So, so cold.

“I feel cold, Aragorn… Is it cold?”

And Aragorn can’t speak, not when he can hear the unmistakable death rattle in his friend’s chest.  Some clinical, detached part of his brain notes how strange Legolas looks now, mortal, as the lifeblood drains from his veins.

“I am never cold. Not even on Caradhras…”

The Elf’s words trail off abruptly, followed by a sickening wet cough that leaves blood around his lips and on his cheek. It’s shockingly bright against parchment coloured skin.  Aragorn steels himself, pressing his free hand against the gaping wound in his friend’s stomach without looking at it, and he does his best to ignore the gushing sensation between his fingers, the liquid viscous and warm. It’s a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. He knows it, Legolas knows it.

“It is too late, Aragorn. I can feel myself fading.”

And all Aragorn can smell is iron, the metal scent invading his senses and he can almost taste it. It’s all he can do to stop himself from throwing up.

“No.. no mellon, this is not your last day.”

Legolas coughs again, the sound brittle, and it’s a feeble attempt to expel the blood pooling in his lungs.

“Aragorn..”

The Elf trails off. Words don’t come easy to him now.

“You... take my body to my father... Promise me?”

Aragorn nods, feeling the cooling track of a tear making its way down his cheek. But this isn’t about him, this is about comforting Legolas, his dearest friend.

“I promise you by all that I am, by the very throne of Gondor.”

“Your word is enough.”

Legolas fell silent, and it was all Aragorn could do to watch the unstable rise and fall of his chest to convince himself that his friend had not yet passed. It was an almost impossible task to stay calm, but Aragorn was managing somehow, the tears falling silently - but freely - the only external sign of his anguish.

“Aragorn.. I can’t see, is it raining?”

There’s a droplet of salt water on his brow, moving slowly as it traces the contours of his elven face. Aragorn swallows to keep his voice from breaking. It’s not raining.

“I believe so my friend.”

“The rain will wash everything away.”

Legolas turns slightly, and Aragorn holds him closer. They both fall silent. Aragorn doesn’t know what to say, everything he thinks of feels so inadequate. He waits for Legolas to speak again. He doesn’t. Aragorn looks down at his friend, and his chest is abnormally still. He panics, fingers fumbling to remove Legolas’ leather bracers, to expose his wrist, to find his pulse… And there’s nothing, no steady beat, not even a stutter beneath his corse fingertips.

He turns his face up to the sky and screams his pain to anyone who will listen. Aragorn had internalised Boromir’s death, Boromir was a good man and a good fighter, and his loss had struck a blow somewhere deep inside him, but this felt so much worse. Legolas had been by his side constantly for the better part of a year, trusting him, respecting him, and there was some other thing, some strange sense of wrongness that came from seeing one of the fair, immortal folk pass on in a way that was so inherently mortal.

Gimil had heard his cry, had looked in his direction, had seen the body cradled in Aragorn’s arms, and had let out a cry of his own. He was running towards them now, sprinting over the fallen bodies of orcs and men alike. But it was too late, too late to do anything that mattered. Legolas was already gone. 

Forever tags: @sweeticedtea @cd1242 @strongandfreedc @pixierox101 @jotink78 @luna-xial @underthemoon-n @anangelwhodidntfall Legolas Tags: @dark-angel-is-back

[colorseeingchick]

hello, can i request a matchup for jjk in your event? i go by she/they, i'm 5”4 and bi, long platinum blonde hair with bangs, hourglass figure, pale skin and green eyes. i intimidate people and seem arrogant or careless, but in the end I’m very adventurous, stubborn, fiesty and pretty laid back. i joke around a lot and can act flippant on purpose a bit. i also act serious in situations to the point it seems scary.

i like to draw, listen to music mostly rock, indie and pop. fashion, games, knives, cooking and nature. i like to move around and do physical activities. i'm a leo-virgo cusp and an intj. i’m afraid of heights. i really want to travel around. i do martial arts and yoga. i prefer to deal with problems and things i work on by myself and have a hard time asking for help.

i get easily bored and pick up on new hobbies. i like excitement and seek thrill, even, if it gets me in trouble. i also tend to act impulsively in situations. i go between between y2k and witchcore style wise, but i also wear a lot of black. i have a big sense of patience and very loyal to my loved ones. i enjoy being social, but i also enjoy being alone. i seek someone who has similar interests and traits, someone i can have fun with too and has mutual understanding. i tend to empathize and put myself into other peoples situations. i also like to read, learn new things and hate liars!

thank you and have a nice day 👏 -❄️

Hellooo Snowflake anon! You seem like such a cool person omg. Now hear me out, you might love him, you might hate him, but your JJK match is…

Gojo Satorou!!

Many people struggle to keep up with Gojo, but as someone who had similar views as him, he was willing to bring you along for the ride. You’re a badass person who’s powerful enough to manage the chaos that is Gojo, and while it was a lot at times, it was definitely rewarding. Gojo in a committed relationship is adventurous, passionate, and fast-paced. But because you were close to this unique, complex man, your relationship had a lot more depth than what meets the eye.

You’d meet Gojo while both students at Jujutsu Tech. And at the time, you thought he was annoying. He knew this, and definitely went out of his way to annoy you, just like he did with Utahime. But it didn’t take long for you both to realize that it wasn’t going to work out the way he expected it to, because a fight between you two was like fighting fire with fire (which is funny because you both have fire signs). When Gojo would say arrogant, instigatory comments to try and get you mad, you’d be flippant and snarky in return, radiating as much “I don’t give a sh*t” energy possible. He’d take the bait more often than not and get irritated at your neutral response, even though Geto always pointed out the game you were playing. You both had a strong sense of humor, so the jokes and banter could continue on for a while. And at the end of the day, you both were chill enough that it was never that serious. Which is why you could pick up the empty bickering again.

It was pretty obvious that Gojo had a thing for you at that time, but he kept quiet about it. Just like every other dumb highschool boy, he used teasing and fighting as a means of flirting. He’d intentionally get you riled up because “You’re hot when you get feisty.” He knew you intimated the other students and he thought that was hot, too. You two radiated a good amount of enemies to lovers energy that everyone else was able to see it. You both were aware, and yet you were both too stubborn to let up on the bickering flirtation you had going on and just confess.

You’d gotten stationed out by the Kyoto school for a long time, while Gojo stayed in Tokyo. It was until you guys were a few years out that you both ended up back at Tokyo. Your initial dynamic was the same, but things changed when you both went out on a mission together. Somehow, you both ended up in places you definitely shouldn’t have been in and were on the run from law enforcement. Not that either of you minded. You actually both seemed to enjoy the chase. It wasn’t until you got...higher than expected (climbing a tower) that the pace changed. You were freaking out, but doing your best to maintain calm. Gojo noticed and teased you about it, but you seemed a bit more somber about the whole situation. And he realized he didn’t like seeing that expression on you. “I gotchu. I can float, so falling isn’t a problem for me,” he’d slowly wrap his arm around you, “so as long as you’re with me, it won’t be a problem for you either.” He knew you were strong. You weren’t as strong as him, but you were strong enough that he respected you. Which is why he didn’t mind comforting you, the person he’d developed a major soft spot for, once in a while. But he was definitely gonna tease you about it later.

At some point after that incident, you guys gave in and started dating. Who confessed to who, who asked who out, all those questions would get different answers based on who you was telling the story. But at the end of the day, you two made one hell of a power couple. This could be seen most prominently in the times you both worked together. While playful with those you were close to, you both took battles deadly serious. Neither of you would walk into battle without keeping the consequences in mind. You both were stubborn about your ways, and so the shared goal was easier to achieve given the drive you both had. While you were impulsive, Gojo got excited easily, and you both aided and supported each other’s decisions. While they may not have been the best decisions (and all the other sorcerers were willing to tell you that), it really comforted you both to know someone else saw it your way. It may seem like a small thing, but I am convinced Gojo felt isolated usually, so knowing someone ‘got him’ meant a lot. The difference came in your emotions with the battle. Gojo, while taking battles seriously, didn’t care for the enemy or bystanders. He prioritized victory over people. On the other hand, you tried to empathize with the people you came in contact with and were patient with other sorcerers. This allowed you both to balance each other out, you acting as his emotional intelligence guide, and him pushing you to be more firm with the odd circumstances you encountered as a sorcerer.

Outside of being active sorcerers and dealing with the complications that arose from the job, you two had a very fun relationship. As sorcerers, you were able to travel, and you often did it together, taking all the chances you could. You got to explore nature and abandoned spaces with the job, and it became you and your boyfriend’s favorite form of quality time. But you had fun back in Tokyo as well. You were sparring partners, often fighting and practicing together. When not fighting, you kept him engaged with your endless hobbies. He loved eating your cooking, and he quite enjoyed playing games with you. He thought your two very different aesthetics were both attractive, so he enjoyed shopping with you (he loved to spend money on you) as well. Gojo was just as easily bored as you, so he thought the way you kept yourself amused was admirable.

Overall you and Gojo would have a mutual understanding of how the other person thought. He was more than ready to protect you (just you though) and he knew you would always support him as well. Neither of you asked for help, but you both knew when the other needed it, and that managed to keep you two going for a very long time. Everyday was a fun day while dating Gojo Satorou.

~~~

Ahh I hope I did okay! I'm an anime only so if I mischaracterized his younger self I'm so sorry. Regardless I hope you liked the matchup! Please lemme know what you thought :D

[monaownsmyass]

Queen B(itch)

Requested fic by anon #1 and #2 (if you have any fic ideas or requests you’d like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: Queen B, Chapter 16

Pairing: Zoey Wade x Good Girl MC (Bea Hughes)

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Rating: PG 13, a little strong language

Word count: 4,269

A/N: It’s a revamped chapter 16 but it’s in Zoey’s PoV. Poppy wins the award and Zoey comforts MC since she didn’t get it. Later, Poppy decides to rub it in MC’s face but MC’s not having it. I also threw in a little Veronica x Chloe cuz why not? Lemme just feed the Zoey stans real quick since that finale was crap for us.

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 (lmk if anyone would like  to be included or removed in my next fics.)

"And the winner is..."

The suspense was hanging in the air as Dean Steinhelm carefully pried open the envelope with her nail. Ugh, it felt as if it took forever.

Bea was sitting beside me. I clutched onto her hand and interlaced our fingers before I gave it a squeeze. My own eyebrows were knitted and I frowned. I felt so worried for her.

I caught her looking at me and immediately, my face relaxed and the frown was replaced by a small, reassuring smile when I saw the uncertain expression on her face.

'You. Got. This.' I mouthed to her and nodded.

That small gesture calmed seemed to calm her down immensely. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them slowly. She looked at me again and gave me a small smile. This is it. The moment of truth.

"Ms. Poppy Min-Sinclair!"

My first thought was to check on Bea. I instantly turned to look at her, wanting to make sure she was okay. I saw her face fall and looked at her wide eyes even though she was staring straight ahead. As she watched Poppy accept the award, I could sense dread running through her in her eyes. Dread for the future of Belvoire, for the students, for everyone placed lower in the rankings that Poppy could and would trample over. She turned to me, eyes still huge with her mouth slightly gaped and I knew; it was also dread for me.

Bea might have been worried about what this could mean. Not me though. No, I wasn't worried, I was mad. I was livid. How could this pathetic, snobbish, spoiled brat of a bitch be more deserving of that award that Bea? I looked around to see how the other attendees reacted to this announcement. There was a scattered, hesitant applause and everyone didn't look excited about it at all. They were obviously just doing it to be polite. Which just made me question, how the hell did she win when no one wanted it?

My wondering eyes finally landed back on Bea. She looked at me, worried. Her eyes were glossy and I could tell tears were threatening to spill. And yet, she placed her other hand on my arm and softly spoke my name. "Zo? Are you okay?"

The sight made me face soften. I knew she was trying her best to hold her tears. "C'mon, babe." I helped her from her chair and lead her out of the event hall with my arm wrapped protectively around her. I knew she was holding back because she didn't want to cause a scene in front of everyone.

I brought her to the restroom and as soon as I closed the door, she broke down and started sobbing into her hands. I rushed over to her and removed her hands from her face, pulling her into me. I placed a hand on the back of her head and guided it to lie on my shoulder. She sobbed into the crook of my neck while my other arm rested around her waist. She brought her arms around me and pushed herself further into my embrace.

She may have thought I was comforting her but in reality, having her here with me was calming me down too.

"Shh, babe, it's alright. It'll be alright," I spoke softly into her hair as I swayed us back and forth slowly.

"It's not though," she replied shakily between sobs. God, I hated seeing her like this. This usually confident, strong-willed, unstoppable woman being reduced to a vulnerable crying mess was beyond heartbreaking. "I don't even care about getting that dumb trophy, Zo. It's just feels like I disappointed everyone. Everyone that looked up to me and supported me, Belvoire, you..."

"Hey, no, listen," I disagreed and pulled back from her so I could stare at her. Her eyes were red and puffy, her makeup was disaster and her cheeks were damp with her tears. "You are not disappointing anyone, you hear me?"

Bea looked away, not wanting to meet my eyes.

"Hey," I called in a gentle voice. "Look at me." I carefully raised my hand to touch her cheek. She leaned into my palm, still quietly sobbing. I guided her face to look straight into mine but her eyes were still looking down.

"Please?" I pleaded. She finally looked up to meet my gaze. My brown eyes peered into hers, trying to show that my words weren't lies, that it was the complete, utter truth. "You didn't disappoint me. Or anyone for  that matter. You've came so far and so high on top. You won the entire school over, you turned Poppy's minions against her, you gave Belvoire hope that Poppy's reign would be over. You started out at the bottom and you did all of that in less than a year." I made sure she was still listening to me before I continued, "I've never been more proud of anyone or anything."

"You're proud of me?"

"I always have been, you're amazing and don't you dare forget it."

She crashed into me again, resting her head against my chest and squeezing me. "Thank you."

I returned her hug and removed her crown to rest my chin on top of her head. Her hair was in a mess anyway, we'd fix it later.  "You don't have to thank me, it's just the truth."

"No, thank you for being here."

"Of course, darling, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

I stroked her back and thought about how perfect she felt in my arms. I loved that she was shorter than me and that I could hold her in this position comfortably. It was as if she was made to fit in my arms. I listened to her sobs slow down to a stop while she listened to the steady thump in my chest. I have no idea how long we stood there like that but I all I knew was that I could've stood there with her forever. But I'd need to take my heels off first 'cuz they were killing my feet.

"I just wish it wasn't Poppy that won," she mumbled into my chest. "It feels as if nothing will change for as long as she's on top. I'm worried she'll try to hurt you again too."

"I know, love. I wished it wasn't true either but I promise whatever happens, we'll get through it together."

After a while, Bea pulled away a little and I did the same to look at her. "You good, babe?"

She nodded and wiped the last of her tears away. "I think I'm ready to head out. Thank you for bringing me here. I don't think I could've held it in any longer if  I was still out there." She completely removed herself from me and right away, I missed her warmth and the feeling of her in my embrace but I knew it had to happen eventually.

"I think I know you well enough by now to figure out that was the case," I teased and softly nudged her with my hip.

She giggled and it was the best thing I've heard in a while. She moved towards the door but I stopped her. "Wait! Baby, I love you and you know I think you're always gorgeous, but I'm not letting you walk out with your hair and makeup like that. As your stylist I forbid you."

She giggled harder and walked over to the sink instead. "Sorry, babe, I forgot I must look like a mess." When she saw her reflection in the mirror, she froze. "Okay, jeez, I wasn't expecting it to be that bad."

I laughed and walked up to her, hugging her from behind and staring at her reflection from over her head. I felt her body lean back into me and relax. "You're still a pretty mess."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" she asked me with an eyebrow quirked up.

"Take it as you will." I smiled at her. "And I'd never let you out like that so don't worry. My reputation would fly out the window and take a 50-foot plunge faster than Veronica's wifi connection."

I saw Bea roll her eyes. "And here I thought you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart for me."

I laughed and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Yeah, that too." I moved to stand beside her to help her fix her hair and makeup. After about 15 minutes, I was almost done. I just needed to apply her lipstick.

"Okay, babe, look at me and purse your lips, mhm, okay, now open."

Just as I was finishing up, the bathroom door open and in walked the demon herself, holding the Person To Watch award. I groaned and mentally kicked myself for not locking. Of course she among all people would walk through that door.

Her eyes immediately locked onto Bea and I felt anger flare up in me again.  I quickly moved to stand in front of her, blocking Bea from Poppy's view.

I crossed my arms. "What do you want?"

Poppy rolled her eyes and waved her hand at me. "This doesn't concern you, New Money, I'm just here to rub it in Farmsville's face how her pathetic attempts to dethrone me will never amount to anything," she bragged. "Now move aside- what's your name again? Zara? Zia?"

I felt the heat of my rage go to my head and as I opened my mouth to retort, I heard Bea's voice from behind me. "Zoey, it's okay, let me handle this." Her voice was firm and even though I knew it wasn't directed at me, I felt chills run down my spine.

I stepped aside to make way for her.

"Oh, babe, wait," I stopped her before she moved in front any further. I lifted her crown that was still in my hand to place it on her head. She grinned at me when I bent down to kiss her cheek and whispered in her ear, "Show her who the real Queen B is, love."

I didn't even bother to see Poppy's reaction to my gesture. I moved back and let Bea step forward to go head-to-head with Poppy. She squared her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.

"How cute," Poppy taunted. "A small pep talk from your little girlfriend before facing the Queen."

"Cut the crap Poppy, say what you came here for and make it quick."

I saw anger flash before Poppy's eyes but she kept her composure. "Pack it up and go back to your farm, Pig Girl. You can try all you want but we all know you're nothing but a sad, sorry, pathetic wannabe loser that can only dream of being Number One." Poppy took a step forward, trying to intimidate Bea but she stood her ground and looked her straight in the eye. I  couldn't help but feel proud of my girl. "Consider this your lesson learnt, Farmsville. You came, you saw, you tried to conquer, but you failed. Now, my suggestion? Stay out of my way and leave before I destroy you. For good."

Poppy reached out to push Bea's crown on her head but not hard enough for it to fall. Bea's hand shot up to the accessory and fixed it back to place. Still touching it, she glanced back at me, eyes full of wrath and determination. I gave her a small nod of encouragement. She took a deep breath and faced Poppy again. In that moment, I knew what I had to do; text Veronica ASAP.

I knew shit was gonna hit the fan and Bea was gonna obliterate Poppy to another dimension. When that happens, Poppy should definitely get her own live audience. It was the only way to stop Poppy. She likes the attention anyway, so I'm sure she wouldn't mind.

I shot Veronica a quick text, telling her that some shit was going down in the ladies' room and that she might want to stream this for her fans. She responded in no time, no doubt that she was already on her phone instead of listening to whatever speech whoever was giving.

"Listen," Bea started in a calm voice though I knew she was anything but calm. "Ever since I stepped foot on campus, you've made it your life's mission too make my life a living hell because I decided that I wasn't gonna take shit from you. And you got threatened, didn't you, Poppy? That some newbie didn't bow down to you like everyone else did."

Poppy scoffed. "That's the most ridiculous bullshit I've ever-"

"I didn't say was done," Bea said in a low voice that must have taken Poppy aback.

"Excuse me?"

"Just shut up and listen, you’ve had your chance to speak."

Poppy's eyes shot wide open and she looked positively scandalised. I don't think anyone has ever told her to shut up before and boy, was I having the best time. I had to stifle my giggle behind a hand.

"I know your type. I've had to deal with girls like you too many darn times and y'know what? I'm tired of putting up with y'all's crap!"

I know I should be angry at Poppy with Bea, and I sure as hell was, but I couldn't help but let out a small smirk at angry Bea. Don't get me wrong, she was definitely terrifying when she was mad, but being significantly shorter than me, it was like witnessing an angry chihuahua barking. And I discovered a few months back that when she was really mad, her midwestern accent tended to be more prominent. It's really cute if you weren't the receiving end of the yelling at 'cuz trust me, you do not want to mess with mad Bea. And since I wasn't the poor victim, I found her accent absolutely adorable. The little twang in the way she pronounced some words made my heart happy. I snorted. Who knew I'd find a country twang endearing.

"I think we could've been friends if ya weren't such a bitch all the fuckin’ time!" Bea continued. "But you are! Jeez! And I don't see what you've accomplished with that. Ya ain't got friends, just people who are scared of ya. Or should I say were, since most of them are just tired of ya dumb antics by now."

Poppy was so red in the face, I was sure I'd see steam coming out from her ears if she went any redder.

Just then, Veronica entered with Chloe and a few other girls I recognised from the Zetas. I didn't actually mean a live live audience when but since it's here, why the hell not? It definitely makes things more interesting.

Veronica, ever-ready with her phone, raised it up to get a good angle of the face-off. Bea was still shouting at Poppy and I think they were both too busy to notice.

"Hey, Veronicats!" she greeted. "Here we have Poppy Min-Sinclair and Bea Hughes at each other throats about that award thing and by the looks of it, Hughes is winning." V looked at them and back at her camera. "Between you and me, Veronicats, Bea definitely deserved the title more." She glance at Chloe and a caught a small smile playing at her lips. "After my gorgeous girlfriend, of course." At the mention of her, Chloe, who was watching the spitfire intently, rushed to Veronica's side and smiled at the camera, giving the audience a wave.

I turned my attention back to Bea to see her waving her arms around aggressively to emphasise her points. "Not only am I tired of ya treatin’ everyone around ya like stinkin' pile of manure, you also dared mess with my Zoey?"

My ears perked up. I'm her Zoey, huh? Definitely liked the sound of that.

"It's one thing to fuck with me but then ya went ahead and did it to the sweetest, most caring woman on campus who darn well didn't deserve it! You should be so ashamed of yourself, you're nothin’ but a spoiled rich girl who throws a hissy fit and gets her panties in a bunch every time somethin’ don't go her way! Ya ain’t Queen B, you're Queen Bitch!"

God, listening to Bea take Satan down with that midwestern twang of hers brought me joy like no other. If I could listen to it on replay all day, I honestly would.

I could see Poppy's mouth gaping like a fish but before any words could come out, Bea interrupted.

"And if you're gonna say something, Poppy, think before ya speak, 'cuz look around."

Poppy's eyes darted around and widened. It was only then that she realised that I wasn't the only third party listening.

Poppy tried to quickly composed herself and threw her shoulders back. "This means nothing, Farmsville! I'm Poppy Min-Sinclair! I can do whatever the hell I want."

I shot Bea a look and she looked back at me. We both knew what the other was thinking. Poppy was no Sinclair.

"Sure," Bea drew out. "You're a Min-Sinclair."

The demon squinted. "What are you implying, Hughes."

"Dontcha know I know? Do ya really want me to say it? Here?" she challenged and I noticed Poppy's jaw clench.  "Since I'm so nice, I won't say it. But you've got to hand over the award to Chloe St. James."

"Me?" Chloe squeaked as Poppy gritted, "Her?" Poppy's grasp on the trophy tightened.

I let out a laugh, not bothering to hide it anymore. Making Poppy hand over her precious award to her ex-best friend was the perfect revenge. My little evil genius. All in the name of justice, of course. Definitely not to see Poppy suffer or anything.

"Yes, her."

I swore I saw Poppy's eye twitch. I could tell what was gonna happen next. Poppy lurched for Bea and I immediately stepped in between them to catch her before she could attack. Bea took a step back as Poppy tried to reach her arms out to grab her.

"Okayyy, psycho, calm down," I said irritably as my clutch on her tightened.

"Bitch, ya think you could win in a fist fight with me?" Bea asked in disbelief. "I've been wranglin’ and wrestlin’ pigs my entire life!"

"Are you calling me a pig?!"

"You said it, but fuck it, you damn well do act like one!" Bea laughed which only caused Poppy to become more enraged.

"Babe," I called out to Bea. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself but a little help here?"

"Right, right."

She moved to grab her arms behind her and whispered into her ear. "Play nice and behave yourself, unless ya want me to expose ya daddy issues."

Poppy looked around to see the Zetas whispering among themselves. She huffed but stopped struggling so we started to loosen our grips on her. In typical Poppy fashion, she shrugged us off and dusted herself off. She stomped towards Chloe who looked like she was gonna cower. Veronica stood by her, watching Poppy's every move cautiously, ready to defend her girlfriend if necessary.

"Here's the stupid award." Poppy shoved the trophy into Chole's arm and stormed out the door. Everyone looked after her and then at each other, stunned.

I sidled up to Bea's side and rested my elbow on her shoulder. My own personal arm rest. She always rolled her eyes when I did it but I knew she secretly loved it.

Everybody still looked perplexed so I decided to take matter into my own hands.

"The one and only Bea Hughes, everyone!" I exclaimed and gestures towards my girl.

The Zeta's gaze finally landed on Bea and they erupted into cheers.

"Someone finally did it!"

"God, I've been waiting for forever to see that bitch get taken down."

"Poppy can kiss her crown goodbye."

"That's my babe!" I joined in.

Bea and I giggled and she pulled me down into a tender kiss. My arms wrapped around her waist instinctively to pull her closer. Her hands made their way to the back of my head and neck. Kissing the girl of my dreams after the villain has been defeated while a bunch of people clapped and cheered us on? Definitely movie-worthy. Except for one small thing...

I broke the kiss but let my forehead rest against hers. "A little ridiculous this went down in a washroom," I breath against her lips.

Bea let out a beautiful, genuine laugh and took my hand. "Let's get out of here."

She led me past the crowd and through the door. We made it back to the event hall when we saw an entire commotion happening. Chaos was unfolding at the centre of it was none other than Ms. Poppy Min-Sinclair.

We didn't stay long to find out what exactly was happening though. As soon as we saw what was happening, we heard a voice shout out.

"Bea!" Professor Kingsley rushes towards her when she saw her.

"Anddd that's our cue to leave," Bea said and tugged on my arm.

"Bea! Wait!"

But it was too late, we were already running out of the hall, hand-in-hand and giggling like we were preschoolers playing a game of catch.

We didn't stop running until we were halfway across the courtyard. We let go of each other and Bea doubled over while I fanned myself, trying to catch our breaths and slow down our heart rates.

"As fun as that was," I panted. "Let's never do that again."

Bea laughs breathlessly. "God, I feel so alive!"

"I bet knocking Poppy down a few notches helped too, huh?"

"Oh, for sure! It was exhilarating."

"Let me help make you feel even more alive," I murmured and pulled her to me by the waist.

Our lips crashed and I my heart started beating like crazy all over again. "I love you, Bea Hughes."

"I love you too, Zoey Wade."

This wasn't the first time she said it but it still had the same effect it had when she first did. Forget butterflies, there was an entire zoo in my stomach. My heart leapt in joy at the words and all I wanted to do was kiss her like my life depended on it.

And so I did.

I dipped her backwards and I heard her gasp in my mouth at the sudden movement but my lips never parted from hers. With her front pressed against mine, it felt like my whole body was set on fire. I burnt so bright the stars in the sky couldn't even begin to compare and the gorgeous woman in my arms was the one to thank for that. She was the fuel to my fire and for as long as she was with me, my light would never be dimmed.

I pulled her up from the dip, never breaking the kiss. Nothing could have stopped my from kissing her all night. Well, nothing except a loud growl that came from someone's stomach.

We both laughed into the kiss and Bea asked, "Was that you or me?"

"Maybe it was both of us."

"At the same time?"

"We're just that in sync, babe."

She giggled. "I think it's time we grab some food. We hadn't had anything to eat all night."

"I mean, I had those amazing mini quiches."

Bea rolled her eyes but she smiled. "Okay, I haven't eaten anything all night."

"Aww, poor baby," I teased and gathered her into my arms.

"This is the part where you offer to get me food, by the way."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "So demanding."

She just stared at me expectantly.

"Fine, fine, what would you like to have, gorgeous?"

"Mm, let's go to the nearest fast food joint."

I scrunched my nose at her. "You want to go to a fast food place? In this?" I pointed to our outfits.

"Why not?" she laughed.

"Let's make a compromise, we do drive-thru instead. 'Cuz there's no way I'm risking my Jimmy Choo's on those greasy floors. I might step on a soggy fry or something!"

She threw her head back laughing and the sound warmed my heart. "Deal." She leaned up to kiss my cheek. "Never change, Zo."

I was ready to move when Bea grabbed onto my arm to stop me.

"Babe, hold on!"

"What is it?"

She turned to face me and took off her crown. "I know you think I'm the actual queen of Belvoire, but you're my queen." She stood up on her tip toes despite already having high heels on and stretched her arms up, carrying the crown. I bent down a little to help her out and placed my hands on her hips to stabilise her. She placed the crown on my head and moved back to admire it. "It fits you perfectly!" She gave me the cutest grin.

I felt myself blush slightly under her gaze and leaned down to give her a peck. "Thank you, sweetheart. But we already knew we are both queens."

She chuckled. "Of course, but now with Poppy out of the way, it's time we rule together." She took my hand and gave it a kiss. "C'mon, my queen, our chariot awaits."

I didn't know what the world or Belvoire would throw at us next but all I knew was that with Bea by my side, we were unstoppable.

(More fics!)

[lokiandbuckyaremine]

What Will It Cost?

Prompt: “pls do an angsty 2 and 3 with Bucky pls pls” ~ Anon

Summary: You really love that Bucky is protective over you and wants you safe on missions, but it begins to drive you crazy when it almost causes you both to lose a mission. And your relationship...

2. Whoa, what is with the attitude change?

3. Why does she keep avoiding me? It’s not like I did anything wrong.

(PROMPT LIST) ~ REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Warnings: Language, pretty angsty between reader and Bucky, Bucky kinda being an asshole (SORRY!)...but FLOOFY ending. 

One more blow to the side and you swear you were gonna pass out. Blood spread across your cheek, from your nose to your mouth, and began to harden since you had spent a much longer time trying to fight off these agents. Your arms were starting to give in, as you were sick of punching. The guns were out, you lost your knife, and your team aka your boyfriend was no where to be seen. Looks like you were handling this on your own.

You enjoyed yet feared doing these kind of missions partially by yourself because it gave you a chance to prove yourself to the rest of the guys, and to your boyfriend. He was the fucking Winter Soldier and it took a lot to impress him. BUT he’d always step in front when he thought you couldn’t handle yourself, and you were growing tired of him trying to save your ass. This was your time now to show him otherwise. 

Throwing down a couple of more agents, you saw that you almost had the area cleared except for this one guy that would not surrender. Running to him, you raised your leg to throw a hard kick, but instead he grabbed your calf and threw you against a concrete pillar. The sting of a cut and a bruised spine seared through your body and you hissed in pain. Your vision was going blurry yet you could see a black blob running in your direction. “Doll! Jesus christ!” A few grunts and screams could be heard, and Bucky was quick to your side. He brushed a few stray hairs out of your face and went to lift you up. “What the hell happened, y/n?” You refused to let him help you up and pushed him aside. “I’m fine, James. I have everything under control. Where’s the hard drive?” 

Nervousness filled his face as he attempted to help you up again. “I have to go get it but I saw you lying here and I had to save you.” Raging with anger, you punched him aside and screamed. “What do you mean you have to go get it?! You’re gonna cost us the fucking mission! I don’t need your fucking saving all the time. I’m a grown ass woman that can handle myself.” Stepping back in shock, Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Whoa, what is with the attitude change? You have always appreciated me having your back.”

Walking away from him, you spoke over your shoulder. “There’s a difference between having my back and treating me Steve who you always had to save, like I’m some lost puppy. Your feelings are gonna get us killed, Barnes. Man up.” And with that you jogged off to go find the hard drive, that was in the jacket of a dead agent. Part of you felt extremely bad for talking to your boyfriend like that, but it was definitely built up feelings that needed to be shared. It was going to be quite the ride home...

When you and Bucky arrived at the compound, neither one of you spoke to each as you painfully walked to your shared room. You were in serious pain from the amount of cuts and bruises you earned with this mission. Seeing you in this much pain killed Bucky, but he knew by now to not mess with “the bull”. You landed on the bed harshly and began to undo your clothing. Wincing as you tried to pull off your bodysuit, you noticed Bucky walking over. “Here, let me help you babe.” His calloused hands stretched out towards you, but you pushed them away. “Don’t touch me, Bucky. I’m not in the mood.” You spat each word at him and his heart broke. Finally being in just your underwear, you saw the huge incision in the side of your rib.

Bucky stared at you with puppy eyes, and badly wanted to help you. “Doll, let me help you patch that up. It’s the least I can do.” You brushed past him to the bathroom and turned around sharply. “Let me tell you something plain and simple...I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to save me. And quite frankly I don’t need your pity. You nearly cost us a seriously important mission because you couldn’t keep your fuckin feelings to yourself and saw me as a poor little lamb. I apprec--” Bucky held up his hand and his body tensed up. “Oh, I’m sorry for being a great boyfriend. And maybe I wouldn’t have to save your sorry ass if you weren’t such an ignorant and egotistical fighter. It’s very apparent that you are not trained enough nor have the skills to handle highly trained and well equipped agents. But you’re right, not my job to keep you safe.”

Tears burned your eyes as you fought so hard to keep them from falling. “My bad. I forgot you were the perfect soldier. Always the heroic guy to swoop in and save the day, just like the good ol days. Well wake up, James. This isn’t 1942 and you’re not a perfect soldier anymore. And I’m a damn good agent. I have busted my ass day in and day out, training and pushing myself. Unlike you, my skills are real and not something that came out of a fucking bottle. I’ll handle myself from now on.” Bucky began tearing up too as he walked towards the door. “Well then I guess you don’t need me anymore.” With a slam of your bedroom door, Bucky stormed down the hallway wondering what the hell just happened to your relationship. 

You and Bucky were always the best team/duo, whether it was in combat, in the bed, or just being a couple. He loved you more than anything in the world, and never thought that he could love someone considering his broken past. But you were his partner, his girl, his everything....and he couldn’t afford to lose you. That’s why he was so overprotective of you. But this time he knew he fucked up really bad and didn’t know if you’d ever speak to him again.

A couple of days passed by and Bucky never returned to your room. The lonely nights with no warm body pressed against you was driving you insane, though you were still upset. You knew in your heart he was doing this to protect you, but how would you learn if he kept getting in the way? You couldn’t afford to lose him, but you also couldn’t afford to lose your rep of a bad ass agent. One was way more important than the other, and you knew you’d have to make some sort of decision to balance them both.

Trudging down to the kitchen, in the same clothes that you’ve worn for the past 5 days, you hear some muttering in the direction you were walking. “Why does she keep avoiding me? It’s not like I did anything wrong. I love her, Steve. And I can’t afford to lose her on any mission. Believe me, I know she can handle herself but seeing her in a near death state made me wanna screw the world and do anything to save her.” Hearing Bucky speak like this made your heart flutter and you began to feel bad for the way you had barked at him. The next mission would be interesting, whenever that was. Part of you hoped that you both could go back to the old days where you treated each other as partners and that’s it. But he meant well and had every right to protect you, as you would him. 

Walking into the room, the boys stopped talking and stared at your slightly disheveled appearance. Your eyes first hit Bucky’s and your body sunk. HIs eyes looked puffy, he didn’t shave, his hair wasn’t combed, and he looked like utter hell. Steve excused himself and the both of you sat there staring at one another. Bucky grew tense yet cautious at the same time because this was the first interaction you’ve had in a little while. Even you didn’t know what to make of it, but your heart had a different idea. You slowly walked over to him and paused inches away from his solid body.  

Staring up into his gorgeous steel blue eyes, you couldn’t help but pull his broad body into a tight hug. He sank into your arms and squeezed you back. He missed this. YOU missed this. Sitting in the warm embrace for a few moments, you murmured quietly into his body, “I’m sorry, Buck.” He smiled briefly against your head pressing a small kiss to it, and answered back sighing, “Me too, Doll. Please no more fights.” You pulled apart and linked your hand with his metal one. “Agree. Look, I know you want to protect me and you have no idea how much I love that about you, but I really can handle myself babe. YOU trained me to do so.” Nodding softly, Bucky pulled your interlocked hands to kiss it, “I know. And I promise not to interfere, but I can’t promise that I won’t stop saving you. You’re all I have.”

Leaning your head onto his warm chest, you rubbed you free hand up and down it, feeling his body relax. “I can’t lose you either. Guess that’s what makes us inseparable.” You both chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You know what I think we could really use right now?” You smirked as Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that, Doll?” Running a hand through his messy hair, you pressed a small kiss to his lips. “A nap! Because we both look like serious shit and definitely aren’t living up to our expectations.” He let out a loud laugh as he began to bring you with him to the room. “Couldn’t agree more.”

When you both finally settled into your shared bed, skin to skin, and bodies intertwined, you tapped Bucky’s half-asleep body. He hummed in response, not opening his eyes but letting you know he was listening. “I love you, Buck. Thank you for saving my life, really.” He smiled and tugged you closer to him, pressing small kisses to your neck. “Anything for you, Doll. I love you more.” Letting Bucky be himself may cost you becoming a self-driven agent, but if it meant not losing Bucky and keeping him by your side, you’d give up anything. 

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A/N: Awwww I hate angsty Bucky x Reader, but I had a lot o fun with this one. I was almost debating whether or not to make it a 2 part thing, but who knows?! PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG, AND COMMENT AWAYYYYY!!!!

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[wisteria-lodge]

bird primary with the snake model, at it again...

I’m stuck and spiraling with my sorting. I’m definitely not a Badger. I do believe all people have inherent value, but I’m not really attached to my community. I thought I was a Snake for a really long time, but I realized it was just a model. The idea of giving up all my values for a person (no matter who it is) wouldn’t sit right. I would do a lot for the people I care about, there are very few lines that they could cross that would make me drop them. However, if they did something wrong - like kill someone on purpose - I will not be helping them hide the body. I also grew up with really Snakey Snake parents so that’s what I’ve been using to explain all the Snake to my sorting.

So basically I’m stuck between the Idealists. Now there are arguments that point to both:

BIRD

 I think through a lot of my moral questions. Just trusting my gut isn’t right. That implies that I think I know better than other people and that’s how bigots are born.

I maybe have a system? It’s just basically composed of my favorite aspects of religion, but that could be me latching onto them because I agree with them emotionally which seems more Lion?

LION

I do believe trusting my gut is important. I get those feelings for a reason and sometimes that’s the best thing I have to go on.

My intuition tends to be right a good amount of the time, especially when I don’t listen to it. Like the times I actually listen it will be wrong. Ugh.

Well? Which is it? Do you believe that just trusting your gut is right or isn’t right? That is the main question here, and you’ve said two things that directly contradict each other. 

(also, hate to say it, but the ask you sent in is an itemized bullet pointed list with headings. This is a REALLY BIRD MOVE.) 

POSSIBLE BURNING

I started questioning a lot of things and eventually started questioning the basis of my morality system - religion - and it basically led to me realizing that I don’t agree with a decent amount of their beliefs and I was like, these people are supercilious, haughty hypocrites, and I wanted to run from all of it. 

I suspect you’re the anon who sent in this ask, because “supercilious” is a really unusual word. That ask was more Lion-flavored, and while it’s true that your long-form asks feel very Birdy to me (being concerned that people are specifically hypocrites is so Bird) it is definitely possible you’re a Burnt Lion… as Burnt Lions are usually very Bird-flavored too. 

Then I realized that I do believe in God and the main Cause, just not some of their beliefs which caused more confusion. There are exceptions to every situation and I believe that all people have value and the idea of some people being less or just inherently wrong doesn’t sit right. I’m still angry at them and confused. I don’t like their closed minded thinking at all. The world is changing and we have to change with it. We are not living in 1620.

What you believe honestly doesn’t matter all that much - like sure your idealist primary clearly really likes the Badger value set but that doesn’t really help me sort you. it’s all about how you believe. 

At the same time I feel wrong for thinking that way. I don’t want to live a lie. 

Okay. This is important. Are you worried about lying to yourself, or worried about living in a world that you don’t understand correctly? 

I felt really guilty for not being able to believe everything because I can’t just pick what I like and ignore what I don’t whenever I feel like it to feel good about myself. Being moral is hard and the things that are worth it, the things that are good, are usually hard. I wished at one point I wasn’t raised religious so I wouldn’t have to spiral thinking about this. I don’t want to lie to myself but I don’t want to deal with this either.

I’m hearing some really Bird angst - I feel guilty for not wanting to engage with the entire system, it is hard to follow all the required rules - framed in some moralistic, right/wrong Lion language. (And honestly, I don’t see why you shouldn’t take the parts of the system that are helpful and make sense to you, and use that as a starting point to build around.)

MORE RANDOM INFO

I really really wanted a Cause as a kid. I wanted something that I could dedicate my entire life to once I became an adult. My mother found that ridiculous ‘cause she said life is not about having a job that you love, you just need to be able to get through each day and not hate it. Family is what makes life worth living. I agree with that to a degree but I also think having something you believe in that helps you make a difference is important.

You’re an Idealist in a Loyalist family, we knew that. 

Younger me fits the glory hound lion description perfectly. I was a huge jerk. Thought I was going to be the next Einstein or something.

This could be either Lion or Bird. Young Birds will sometimes think they’ve got it all figured out, and are smarter than everybody else. Young Lions more… want to win prizes. They want recognition and glory. 

As a child I used to wish to have all the best traits of my favorite people. I believe that would make me the most good person I could possibly be. This probably tie s into the Snake but idk

Collecting favorite bits of all the people around is a young Bird thing. (Harry Potter and Luke Skywalker both do it, for starters.)

Lion feels too emotional and wild and the trusting only my gut bothers me while Bird feels too cold and restrictive and calculating and what I feel is important too. I’m not going to chose the more correct choice that other people told me to pick. I need to come up with things myself and be my own person not an echo of another person

Don’t know what to tell you, you’ve got some preconceptions to work though. Being a Bird does not mean that you are rigid copy of someone else, and being a Lion doesn’t mean that you like, stop thinking? You’re never going to pick either of them if you consider them both the bad option. 

[terrifictomholland]

Oh my God! Please write about Tom being the reader’s PA when you get the time and inspo. I just had a glimpse of what it may be like but I need the whole thing and I don’t think there’s anyone better than you to do it

I hope you’re still around dear anon, I finally got around to writing this for you. I hope you enjoy the amount of softness and preciousness that this turned into.

Being an actress was all you’ve ever wanted to be. It had taken a lot of work to get from the bottom to where you were right now. One of the most sought after young actresses of your time. You loved what you did, you loved to work and make movies and really get into the small details of acting. Whenever you were filming and you had finished a scene, you always stuck around to watch the other actors at work, watching the true greats, admiring them. 

You’d learned so much just by watching them and the way they carried themselves.  You could only hope to reach that level of humility and a reputation like that down the line, but for now, you sunk your teeth in and did the hard work. Hard work was always rewarded in the end, at least, that’s what you’d been told and you prayed that it was true. 

But for all the glory, there were also downsides. Mainly, press and promo, specifically the interview aspects of it that you had to do to sell the movie. The traveling and visiting other countries and meeting so many fans was also one of the highlights for you. It just got a little repetitive and tiresome doing interview after interview, the same questions over and over again and not to mention you using the same answer time and time again, playing it up as to not make it too painfully boring or obvious. 

But the thing you hated the absolute most about doing promo? The constant stress and the fact that you found yourself overwhelmed very easily because of the tight schedule you were on. That made your anxiety kick it up into high gear, you liked structure and organization and that was something that was very easily lost when you were so busy promoting your latest project.

That was where Tom came into the picture. Your PA, also, the guy you were harbouring the biggest mother-loving crush on. He was from the same town as you and you had been best friends for years before you asked him to become your PA. At the time when you asked him, you were just starting out in the industry and all that Tom did was book some auditions for you, but after you had a breakthrough with a small role on a local tv-show, things started picking up and you started relying more and more on Tom to help you keep you grounded.

To say in the least, he rose to the occasion and then some. 

When things became too much for you, he was the one you turned to and he knew you better than anyone so a mere look was enough for him to know what you needed. 

You liked to call him your beacon of light. To you, that was what he was. Your anchor to bring you back home through dark and stormy seas, he was a permanent light and a safe harbour for you to come back to when everything felt like it was too much and you felt like you were drowning. A single look at him and some of your fears and anxiety faded away and all you could focus on was his smiling face, a calming and safe presence for you to lean on. 

You oftentimes found yourself in his arms, stealing hugs because there was no other place in this world, beside in his embrace that made you feel quite as protected than in his strong arms. He took care of you and there was nothing wrong with that, everyone needed someone to fall back on, to have a pillar in their life. 

Tom was yours.

You knew he was responsible for the fact that yes, you had a few hours longer of press, but your interviews were arranged for you to get a bit of a break between them. Which, for you, it meant everything. 

And you meant everything to Tom. 

Those few and rare times where he couldn’t space the interviews out for you, he was there at your sides with multiple cups of coffees and gentle, encouraging smiles reserved only for you. A single smile of his could get you through hours upon hours of interviews. 

 “You okay?” He asked gently holding a cup of coffee out for you when you finally finished all of your interviews for the day. You gratefully took it from him, practically inhaling the whole cup in one go. He looked at you with an amused look.

“Better now that today is done, I just want to go back to the hotel,” You said quietly and his eyebrows knitted together looking at you concerned, considering his words for a moment.

“Are you okay?” His gentle eyes piercing into yours and you just felt like crumbling. Your body turning to him, seeking his comfort more than ever and he was there in an instant.

“I just want a moment for myself, for a taste of normalcy,” You admitted into his chest, your words coming out muffled but you knew he heard you. He heard everything you said.

“C’mon, let’s get in the car,” He ushered you, taking your things for you and a soft hand pressed against the small of your back guiding you. 

All throughout the car ride he kept his hand on yours, tracing idle patterns on the back of your hand sending shivers up your spine. 

“Hey, pull over here yeah?” His voice broke you from your daydreaming of watching the city pass you by. You looked over at Tom as the car turned and slowed. He was already unbuckling himself, you did the same automatically, following his every step.

“Is everything okay? Did you forget something?” He never forgot things, you both knew that but he’d never done this before and you were concerned, but even more curious.

“No, I just need you to come with me?” Before you had the chance to say anything, he got out of the car closing the door. Moments later he was opening it for you, holding a hand out which you immediately took.

“Will you wait here?” You cautiously asked the driver who nodded with a small smile right before you followed Tom. 

“Is this the spot where you’re gonna murder me?” You joked and he let out a laugh, his grip on your hand tightening as warmth coursed through you.

“I’d never,” he promised with such sincerity you wanted to cry. 

“I know, but where are you taking me?” 

“I’m letting you breathe,” he simply stated, leading you out to a deserted park with a view over the entire city which, ironically, took your breath away rather than letting you breathe.

“W-where did you find this?” You whispered letting your eyes take in the view. Street lights dancing in the distance, the constant buzz of cars and people out and about. Yet here, where you were, all you could hear was the two of you breathing.

“I have my ways,” 

“I-it’s, I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” You felt your emotions overcome you as you turned to him seeing him grinning at you, wrapping his arms around you holding you close to his chest.

“Breathe, it’s all you need to do darlin’,” he instructed as his chin rested on your shoulder. He inhaled deeply making you follow along, doing the same. You were a mirror of each other, what one of you did, the other mirrored. It had always been like that with you two. 

“How do you do that?” 

“Do what?”

“Know what I need before I do,” 

“It’s easy, I know you,” his words shouldn’t have had the effect on you as they did. But they did, your heart was pounding against your ribcage to the point where you were so sure he heard it. More than anything, it felt so right, this moment in time where only you and him existed. 

Ever so slightly, his face inched closer to yours, your eyes never breaking contact searching for any sign to pull away.  

There wasn’t any.

Time stood still as you held your breath watching him as he closed the gap between the two of you, pressing the faintest kiss on your lips at long last. It was the shortest kiss you’d ever had, full of love and innocence and you exhaled as he pulled away and he was watching you carefully, a hand coming up to brush some hair out of your face, still gauging your reaction carefully. 

His entire face changed when you began smiling and you placed your hand on his wrist, this time pressing your lips against his. Soft and skilled lips moving with yours, exploring and experimenting. The press turning more intent one second, softer the next. His tongue running over the seam of your lips after a while of finding a way of kissing that made your toes curl. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids as your tongues met, hesitant at first but growing more and more confident with every swipe of his tongue. He kept you close to him and you could feel the way your knees were getting weaker and weaker, completely overcome with emotions and feelings.

This was all you’d wanted for ages, so to now know that your feelings were so reciprocated was everything to the both of you.

He was your home and that was all you needed. A safe harbour to weather any storm, standing steady.

taglist -  @exitsali96ivette - @localfangirlx - @siriuslyslyslytherin - @shaharloni1 - @immnotsure - @worldoftom - @averyfosterthoughts - @unicorn-princess-1999 - @softbaby-tom - @alwaysbenhardysgirl - @farfromhaz - @peterparkoure - @fallingforfics - @1believe-in-your-self1 - @awesomelupe - @captainbuckyy - @parkeraul - @maryjanee23 - @underoosjae - @sexyllamas04 - @definitely-not-black-cat @howdyho-holland @thirsttrapholland (crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason im sorry! :(

[holly-mckenzie]

bitch! since no one asked you, I'll ask you myself! What is happening to your version of Sana, Noora, and whoever else you have done an absurd amount of research + written an entire essay about

wow its almost like I sent this message to myself! thanks “anon”

I know, I know, you’re probably thinking... Erica, how are you going to tell your version of Sana in an Indian, Malaysian, and Turkish context (especially because all of ‘em countries either are Muslim Nations or have a Muslim community...) to which I say: BEHOLD! 

9. Introduce us to your version of Sana

GERAM (SKAM Malaysia) : Kalifa Ahmed (name subject to change)

So, here’s the thing... Making Geram!Sana Malaysian makes absolutely no sense, especially because of the overall Muslim population. So I figure that there are three versions to do it 1) make her of another faith (which is tricky), 2) Make her not be Muslim enough, (she doesn’t wear her Hijab, interacts with dogs, has gay friends etc...) 3) or three which is the option I will be going with.

Kalifa Ahmed is a Somali-Malaysian (I haven’t decided if I want to make her half-Malay, half-Somali, or a Somalian who has emigrated to Malaysia). Kalifa, much like Sana is super close to her family, especially her mother. Kalifa enjoys playing the football/soccer and is the member of the group that says it as it is (think SKAM NL Imaan). She’s a bit rough around the edges from all of the things she has faced in life, however, she is super sarcastic and funny. She is super independent, so a thing that I want her season to focus on is her friends realising that she is more than the “strong-Black-woman” and does need help. 

Kalifa constantly feels ostracised from the Malaysian population, due to the large anti-Black sentiment that is rampant in Malaysian. Thus, as a product, Kalifa is very close to her family, due to all the racism that they face on a daily basis. This includes ”racial preferencing” when it comes to apartment hunting, to people avoiding them in public, and constantly hearing racist comments made towards them. 

Before the show starts, Kalifa had a close friend in the character of Jamila. Jamila would probably either be a character that Kalifa met in the apartment that she lives in or to the refugee school that she went too (in Malaysia refugees aren’t allowed to attend national schools and must attend refugee schools). They became fast friends, bonding over their shared experiences of facing racism on a daily basis. However, Jamila feels betrayed by Kalifa for “leaving” her to become friends with the Girl Gang. Jamilla is incredibly hurt by it, especially because Jamilla thinks that Kalifa lets GERAM!Vilde gets away with being casually racist. However, Kalifa, feels pressure because though she does speak out about the racism she faces, she knows that she could face backlash for it. Especially since if you are a foreign worker in Malaysia, you can face deportation for speaking about the injustice. This is one of the reasons that both Kalifa and Jamila don’t like  Geram!Vilde, because Kalifa feels like the prejudice that Geram!Vilde has, goes against their shared Islamic faith. 

An aspect of this that I would really want to touch on is the fact that Kalifa doesn’t face the same sort of “tension” that og Sana faces between having to choose between the secular world and Islam (because that makes no sense in Malaysia. Also, I thought the love triangle was stupid, so it won’t be happening.). Instead, Kalifa is torn because, she feels finally “settled” in Malaysia, however, her family, in particular, her brother, wants to go back/seek refugee status somewhere else (This is my version of the Sana-Yusaf-Noora love triangle). However, this all comes to head when her brother is attacked when he is going to the Mosque (which will replace the whole Elias punching Isak plot). With this we will see, just how ingrained into Malaysian culture anti-Black sentiment is. This will end, with her parents deciding, really deciding to seek refugee status somewhere else (which will replace the Yusaf leaving plot). 

* tw for the season : pain/angst, racism, hate crimes, Islamaphobia

** additional notes: Kalifa is probably really close to Nor (my version of Noora) and they are super cute (e.g. - they fix each other’s Hijab and stuff... it’s ducking adorable). Also, the show will focus on Ramadan (though that’s boring I know)... However, instead of having Kalifa invite the girls to Hari Raya, Nor’s family invites Kalifa’s to their house. (You get the idea that because Kalifa’s family is so ostracised from the community, that this act is super important because they are finally being invited in... Also, Nor’s mom tries to cook Somali food and it's hella cute). Lastly, Geram!Yusaf, is a Sabahan Muslim. He volunteers at the refugee school that I mentioned earlier (hence his whole being good with kids thing). He is also lowkey an activist and is thus, really educated in racism and stuff. One of the reasons that Kalifa falls for him, is because he doesn’t put up with the casual jokes by his friends, and instead corrects them. 

Okay, so I haven’t actually thoroughly throughout the rest of my Sana’s... Partially, because I’m not well educated on the countries/religions etc. So here’s a brief summary:

Mó Bafão (SKAM Brasil): Monica (name subject to change)

Monica is a young Afro-Brasileira (Afro-Brasilian) woman. Monica practices the religion Candomblé, and thus faces a lot of prejudice from her peers for firstly, being Black (because racism and against Black people is a thing in Brasil, regardless of what Josh Boone may think). However, the other prejudice comes from the facts that her peers are mostly Christian and Catholic and see Candomblé as a heathen religion. Thus, due to that belief, many of her peers have grown up learning to avoid signs of the Candomblé faith (e.g. - orange coloured strips of fabric near a tree, or a specific arrangement of "ingredients" or tools). Much like Sana, Monica feels torn between two worlds. However, unlike Sana what it really comes down to is colonialism. Monica has really seen how the Christian/Catholic faith has affected Brasilian society, and how Brasil is still very much facing the consequences of colonialism (the post-colonial hangover is a real thing guys). 

SKAM TURKÏYE : Sera

Sera is Turkish-Armenian. Sera comes from a family where her family is super supportive of all of her dreams and goals. She is the mom friend of the group and constantly wants to care for everyone. She is Armenian and thus the prejudice that she faces is largely tied to the denial and recognition of the Armenian genocide by her peers and schools. Due to this, Sera is very much an advocate for the rights of Armenians, as well as Kurds and Jews. She faces a lot of backlash from her fellow peers who would rather keep the status-quo and not believe that there is something wrong about the world. Much of the season will discuss what it would mean for Sera to live in a modern Turkey and whether that would mean assimilate to the culture or to stand up for her people and her beliefs. Also, I just think it would be neat if we made Turkïye!Yusaf Kurdish. 

7. Introduce us to your version of Noora

Mó Bafão (SKAM Brasil): Grace Lee

At the start of the show, (Marie Vitória Silva’s (Mó Bafão!Eva) season), Grace Lee is a new student at their school. Grace is  Korean-Brasilian, and though her parents offered to send her to Colégio Polilogos (a South Korean international school in São Paulo), she chose to go to the school that she currently goes too, where she meets the Girl Gang. Grace is a super interesting character because though she grew up in Brasil, she also lived in Korea and the States, before moving back to São Paulo. Thus, Grace has curated her own cultural experience, which accounts for the fact that she doesn’t drink, smoke, party, have a boyfriend, or subscribe to traditional beauty standards. Grace would probably be considered fat/thick by most Asian (and Brasilian) standards. She is also quite tall for an Asian and doesn’t have the fair skin that is associated with Asian beauty standards. Grace kinds walks to the beat of her own drum, and because of that, Marie really admires Grace, which is one of the reasons for their tight bond. However, Mó Bafão!Vilde discounts this, believing that Grace’s decision to not drink, have sex, or conform to the standard of beauty is due to the conservative Korean culture or Grace’s family’s religious values. I think an important aspect of Grace’s character that I would like to point out is the place of privilege that Grace has, because she grew up over-seas she hasn’t had the same societal pressures in regards to beauty, partying, or sex that the rest of the girls have had, allowing her to be the character that stands up against it. Grace also is a total foodie and her Insta posts are entirely made up food. She also, posts these really cute Meokbang’s where she and one of her friends go out and try different foods in São Paulo. 

Okay, so here’s where he run into a lot of trouble. Because, I hate the whole Magnusson brothers plot in the original show, and I much prefer what eskam did in that regards. However, I also know for fact that Brasil has a huge sexual violence problem, so... I feel like, I would *really* need to be *way* more educated to be able to tell a beautiful and honest storyline that deals into ideas of consent and what not in the Brasilian context, and I am just not there yet?

* tw for the season : sexual violence + slut shaming + fat shaming ** additional notes : Okay, so I would really enjoy is Grace lived at home with her family and you get to see her interacting with her family. In that scenerio, the Mó Bafão!Eskild would probably be a family member/family friend that lives with them. However, another option would be to make Grace be living in a homestay situation with Mó Bafão!Eskild being the host of the homestay. Another aspect that we could potentially go into is intimate partner violence, with Mó Bafão!Miquel being this super charasmatic dude, who buys Grace clothes to wear that she doesn’t like (they are tight + bright colours she doesn’t like) and encouraging her to diet, all the while talking about how much he likes her for not being like the other Brasilian girls. Mó Bafão!Mique would totally have a TikTok account where he would post one of those TikTok “pranks” that’s straight up emotional abuse. This is sees through Grace’s socials because she stops posting her foodie content and Meokbangs. However, the last social you see from Grace (at the end of her season) is a tiny Meokbang again (maybe with Mó Bafão!Alejandro).  

SKAM India : Nana

Nana’s is from Nagaland, though her family has been staying overseas and have just moved to Bangalore. Nana is super close with her family, especially her father, who is her number one supporter. Nana’s family knows one of Anjali (my version of Eva) extended family. Nana and Anjali are really close. To some degree, Nana’s peers are a bit taken aback by her because she’s from the Nagaland, and there are some misconceptions about whether she is actually Indian. Nana is super smart and a bit of a know it all, which gets her in a lot of trouble at school. She is also super hardworking and lowkey the mom-friend of the group and just wants everyone to be okay. Due to this, she always wants people to be comfortable and treats them with kindness (which is great when it comes to India!Isak, but not when it comes to Kabir (India!Miquel).

So, I don’t know if you have already picked this up, but I am a huge fan of the way that eskam dealt with the Magnusson brother plot and the Miquel vs. Alejandro plot... And obviously, India has a huge issue with romanticising toxic relationships(looks pointedly at Arjun Reddy) and sexual violence.

So, that being said, in the first season we get an introduction to Kabir (my version of Miquel), who is this Delhi boy. He is a shameless flirt and flirts with everyone until he meets Nana. When she doesn’t reciprocate his affections, he focuses all of his attention on winning her over. For the first season, we see scenes of Nana and Kabir talking and it is all framed as harmless and funny, with them having a back and forth about how she doesn’t want to date him. We see, how annoyed she is by his advances, but it is pictured as almost romantical. However, when we delve into her season, we really see into just how much Kabir’s advances affect her, especially because she (though she is friendly with him) doesn’t want his advances, and he keeps playing it off as her “playing hard to get.” Due, to this, he continues to push Nana, whether it is to touch her against her will (hug her, attempt to play footsie with her, touch her face) or insert himself into her life (introduce himself to her family). Due to all of that, plus the fact that Kabir comes from a good family, Nana’s family and friends think 1) she is pretending to hate him (because she actually likes him) so they discount her words and 2) she is making a big deal because nothing actually happened (he didn’t actually “touch”/r*pe her). However, with the encouragement of her friends, India!Alejandro (if he exists) and her grandparents, she is able to stand up against Kabir and pushes him away.  

* tw for the season : sexual harassment + victim blaming ** additional notes : Okay, so in the scenario where we establish India!Alejandro, I thought it would be *really* fun to kinda do a flip on what eskam established. Instead, of establishing Alejandro in the first season, and introducing Miquel later. We establish Kabir in Season 1 where we see their “love” unfold and what not... Then we see India!Alejandro in her season... And he is just so much of the opposite of Kabir, he is patient, and is always waiting for her to make the first move. They, also have a fun back and forth (that’s very reminiscent of the Pakistani film Cake), and when she tells the “Girl Gang” and India!Alejandro about Kabir, he immediately believes her and wants to help in any way (get in contact with his family friend in order to press charges). 

GERAM (SKAM Malaysia) : Nor 

Nor is Malay-Muslim, and would probably be what my Aunt would call a Modern Day Muslim, and what the government of Malaysia would call heretical. Nor, doesn’t always wear her hijab (only when she wants too), but is deeply religious and goes to the Mosque and prays and what not. She also helps out in the animal shelter with dogs (’causing a lot of her friends and family to believe that she is un-Islamic). She is a total activist and is constantly talking about the evils of conversion therapy (a thing that can be forced on gay Muslim folks in Malaysia), the treatment of Orang Asli, foreign immigrants, and the Indian community in Malaysia. At the start of the season, Nor has just moved back from New Zealand, which has created a lot of hub-bub in her friend group because they see her as totally fancy and such. Nor, is really close with her family, who she lives with. Nor and her mom were especially close when Nor was younger, but because of Nor going through the classic teenage drama stuff, their relationship is not as tight as it could be. Nor’s cousin (who is an out and proud gay man) and Nor’s maid combined become Geram!Eskild. Nor, kinda has that rich popular girl thing going for her (think the energy and vibes that Tina has in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai). She is kinda outspoken, which causes her a bit of drama because she sometimes (all the time) says things that get her into trouble. In Geram, I won’t be playing around. Nor, is constantly being harassed by this boy. To the point where it gets really depressed and causes her to lock herself in her room. Her maid Geram!Eskild, finds out about the assualt and tells Nor’s mother. Nor’s mom, finds out and presses charges against Geram!William.

* tw for the season : sexual harassment + victim blaming

** additional notes : Okay, so I have two things to say. I know that most versions of Noora focus on the fact that she doesn’t want to have sex/drink. However, I’m going to subvert that by having her not do that, but instead being such an activist and being willing to talk about “controversial” things thus causing people to give her the label of un-Islamic and slightly heretical. Additionally, victim-blaming is going to be a huge focus this season, with randoms blaming the assault on the fact that Nor doesn’t always wear the hijab + wears that red lipstick, or the idea that she its punishment because of her views. I also, know that most seasons focus on Noora dealing with her issues by herself... however, I really want Nor to have to lean on her family in this time. Lastly, I would probably combine both Magnusson brothers into one person, and have them be Eurasian, making all the girls want him (because of that white-worshipping). Additionally, because he is a rich he tells everyone that Nor wanted it, and frames it as her asking for it. However, everyone that is important in Nor’s life believes her and knows that he is an idiot (even as he posts defamatory things about her on the socials).

[dylinski]

Wasting Time

Request from Anon:  How about #1 I love you, please dont go for sterek

Warnings: language, angst, little make out sesh

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Word Count: 2079

Author: @dylan-obrien-fanblog

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, I just couldn’t find the inspiration but I found it!!!! this is also what ignited my little sterek rant post I posted yesterday. i hope ya’ll like it. 

Listen to THIS. It was my inspiration and is now my new favorite Sterek song.

Derek grunted as he turned in his bed for the hundredth time that night. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get comfortable and fall asleep despite being exhausted. Sleeping in a shitty motel bed didn’t help much either. He had been on the run for almost a year with the FBI chasing after him. Being framed for mass murder sucked, but thankfully Stiles intervened when they were just about to catch him. That was a couple months ago, so Stiles has had time to recover from his ‘injury’. He was still a wanted man, but Stiles was using all the power he had with the FBI to throw them off his tracks or to find evidence that proved Derek’s innocence. There have been a few leads, but none of them ever panned out and only led to dead ends.

In order to stay under the radar, Derek would move around to different motels every couple nights, but never too far from where Stiles was. At first, he only stuck around to make sure he was okay and recovered from the botched field op, which was mostly Stiles fault, but it was for Derek. He knew that it was a risk for him to save his ass, especially with only being an intern. He still couldn’t believe that he somehow convinced them to take an intern with little to no experience on a field op, he was also surprised he didn’t sway them to let him lead the damn thing. That was Stiles though, a relentless little bastard. After Stiles got better though, they had spent so much time together that it reminded Derek of the old days in Beacon Hills, fighting the bad guys and saving the world. Stiles begged him to stay and let him help to clear Hale name, and Derek just couldn’t say no to those whiskey eyes.

That wasn’t how things stayed though, tonight was terrible. Derek replayed the memory in his mind, going back to every word that was said and how each one cut him like a knife.

“Stiles, we haven’t had a new lead in weeks. This is getting ridiculous.”

“I know. I’m checking a few other things out, but it will take a while for my sources to get back to me.” Stiles rummaged through some papers that were laying on the bed, trying to make a connection between something, anything.

Derek sat at the small square table in the corner of the room, scanning his own pile of papers, but gave up on them a while ago. After some tense silence, Derek finally spoke. “I’m leaving in the morning Stiles.”

Stiles froze and slowly looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face laced with anger and confusion. “What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving in the morning?”

“I mean exactly what is sounds like. How is that confusing?” Derek was befuddled as to why Stiles didn't understand him.

“I know what you said asshat! I just don’t believe it!” Stiles was now standing as he shouted at the raven haired man from across the room. He started pacing as Derek leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t leave, we said we were going to figure this out together.” Stiles started biting his thumb as he stared at his feet, continuing to tread back and forth. He suddenly stopped and looked up at Derek with weepy eyes. “You said you would let me help you.”

“You tried helping and we’ve gotten nowhere. It’s time for me to move on and search for other solutions.” Derek spoke calmly with a-matter-of- fact tone, hiding his own despair behind his stolid mug. 

Stiles eyes dried quickly and his tears were replaced with rage. He scrunched up his nose in the way he does when he’s trying to stop himself from lashing out, which was evident by his clenched fist at his side. “Move on from Virginia or move on from me?” He couldn’t look Derek in the eyes when he asked his question through gritted teeth and found himself fixed on a point somewhere beyond the careless man.

Derek subtly flinched at Stiles’ last few words and his heart skipped. He kept his forthright features, despite everything he was feeling. His words were caught in his throat, so he spoke as few as possible fearing they would betray his composure. “Both.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he heard Stiles whine in his throat, like a cry for help, he wouldn’t had heard it if it weren't for his wolf hearing.

“FINE! THEN FUCKING LEAVE!” Stiles grabbed his suit coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. His absence was felt and the room became silent and cold. Derek could feel the sorrow brimming at his eyes. He never wanted to hurt the boy, but that was all he knew how to do. Everyone he ever loved got hurt because of him, he was just better off on his own. There was no point in him dragging Stiles down with him, possibly ruining his career and reputation and even the smallest possibility of getting him killed. It was a stretch for him to even accept his help in the first place, but he had been here too long and it was time to press on, leaving Stiles behind...again.

Derek just laid there, staring at the ceiling repeating Stiles’ words in his head only hours after he spoke them. He hated that he left things that way, but there was no point in bothering the brunette when he was angry and had his mind set on something. He had no intention of seeing him again before he left at dawn, unable to deal with confrontation and emotions. He shifted in his bed, yet again, and closed his eyes trying to push out the sound of pain in his friend’s voice. Lost in thought, a knock at the door drowned out all the noise in his head. He sat up and immediately knew it was Stiles from his scent and the sound of his heartbeat, which was racing. He got up and opened the door, leaning against it wearing only sweatpants.

Stiles was soaked from the rain, still wearing his suit which meant he never went home after their argument. He looked up at Derek, his hair matted to his forehead and eyes full of tears that were indistinguishable from the droplets of rain that rested on his cheeks. Neither of them needed to speak, and Derek let him into the small room as he went to the bathroom to get him a towel. He grabbed an extra pair of sweatpants and a shirt from his already packed bag and handed them to the wet man while he was roughly scrubbing his head. The towel left his hair sticking up in all directions and Derek couldn’t hold back a smile as he remembered the young boy who used to wear his hair spiked up all the time. Stiles didn’t bother with his hair anymore and he wasn’t that young boy anymore either. Stiles peeled off the damp clothes and changed into the dry ones, causing Derek to blush. He had never even seen him shirtless before, but it was different than seeing another man topless...it was Stiles. It was always Stiles. He always did something to him that no one else did, something he couldn’t explain or begin to understand.

Once the spiky haired boy was settled, he sat down at the foot of the bed and let his head fall. He gulped, like he was nervous and preparing to make a speech which was not unforeseen for him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then looked up to Derek standing in front of him, looming with his arms crossed. Most people had resting bitch face, Derek had resting bitch arms. 

“Derek...:” His voice croaked and sounded raw, like he had been crying and screaming for an unreasonable amount of time. Derek could see the pain in his eyes when the dark chestnut orbs took him in. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the thing I regret the most is that I didn’t ask you to stay after Mexico. I know we’re both different people now and we’ve changed since you left, but I still feel like we haven’t.” He was crying again, avoiding eye contact as he stared at his feet. Derek had let his arms fall to his sides and his face more empathetic. He kneeled down to meet the boys face and squeezed his arm.

Stiles still didn’t look up, but continued on his monologue. “I’ve wasted so much time...spent countless nights trying to push you down, ignoring this hole in my chest that manifested the second you walked away. You said you’d be back, but I knew in my heart you wouldn’t. It was just by chance that the FBI was hunting you and I got on the team. If that hadn’t happened, would I have ever seen you again?” The question was rhetorical, but Derek didn’t have an answer either way. He hooded his eyes in disappointment in himself as Stiles wiped his nose on the sleeve of the borrowed shirt. He held it under his nose for a minute, inhaling the smell of Derek that clung to the fabric.

“I know this a lot, Derek, and I don’t understand much of it myself, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t have these emotions and I can’t go through this again. I can’t watch you leave, not knowing if I’ll ever see you again, not when I feel this way.” Stiles finally looked up, staring into Derek’s eyes with a longing he had never seen in those honey iris’ before. “I’m not going to let you leave again, at least not without trying. So Derek...I love you and I’m begging you, please don’t go.”

Derek couldn’t hold back his tears or his own emotions anymore, he cupped Stiles cheek and searched his eyes for answers or some kind of sign that this wasn’t all just a dream. He could feel everything he was feeling by looking at his face and he wanted to take all the pain away, let him know that he wasn’t crazy, that this wasn’t stupid, that he loved him too. Derek leaned in and pressed his lips to Stiles’, leaving him awestruck as his eyes widened. Once it kicked in what was happening, he screwed his eyes shut and kissed him back passionately, turning the kiss into more than just that, but something fueled with desire and longing that had been begging to escape for years. Derek pressed against Stiles, causing him to crawl backwards up the bed, refusing to break the unrelenting kiss. Derek straddled Stiles as his tongue dug into his mouth, searching it’s depths and creating a dance between their lips.

Hearts were racing and chests were heaving as Derek pulled back for air, placing his forehead against Stiles’. Their breaths mingled as their lips brushed, still processing what was actually happening. Stiles pulled his head back and ran his fingers through the black hair of the man staring back at him, giving him a crooked smile that made Derek blush.

He pulled his leg over so that he could settle down next to the brunette and draped his arm around his shoulders. Stiles turned into his firm body and nuzzled his nose into the crevice of his arm, wrapping his arms in an enclosed circle around his waist. He could hear Derek’s heart through his chest, strong and rapid. Derek rested his head on top of Stiles’ spiky hair and whispered, “I’ll stay.” He could feel Stiles smile against his chest eliciting a smile of his own.

“Good, now I don’t have to resort to plan B.”

“Plan B?” Derek leaned back so he could see Stiles.

Stiles just giggled into his chest, “Yeah, I was going to break in and circle the room in mountain ash.” Stiles looked straight at Derek with a serious expression as if it was the most logical solution.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile again as he thought back to Derek’s words. It meant more than what laid at the surface. In his own way when he said ‘I’ll stay’, he was actually saying ‘I love you too’.

Taglist: @bitch-banshee​

[starsmuserainbow]

* HOW I RUN MY BLOG

*  SPEED :  I tend to answer things at what I think is a pretty fast speed, usually within a few days.

*  REPLIES : Uh what to say here? I try to, mostly, do them in the order that I recieve them. I sometimes mix it up a little (like for example if I want to avoid posting like 3 replies on Blackfire and then 2 on Starfire, I’d make it an altering posting like B/S/B/S/B), but mostly they stay in order. - Oh, this excludes stuff that I have going focused around festivities or recent dates or events or whatever, those are usually handled with priority for as long as the thing is still current.

And another thing about replies - I like to have something to respond to in replies, and I usually try to offer that too. Sometimes replies just are shorter or the likes, which is totally fine, but if all I ever get from someone is a line of "he/she nods and says ‘ok’” or something like that, there’s a good chance I’ll drop the thing soon.

And if you still want to hear something else, please make a thing we have into a new post if it started from an ask. I hate hate hate it when an ask is dragged around all the time, it’s probably the worst thing to see for me, so please for the love of anything just make a new post of a thing. And since we’re at it, cut the post at least after 5 short, though usually I’d recommend at highest 3, replies or so, please, I don’t wanna scroll an hour to get through one thread.

*  STARTERS : I always welcome them! If you ever wondered if you could just write up a starter to/at one of my muses? Yes, please please do! I’ll probably be very happy and love you a little more for it! Of course, this goes mostly for mutuals, since for non-mutuals I think some form of talking first would be good.

Or if I should name something else here - I do open starters every now and then. Usually on sundays, but sometimes also somewhere in-between or on special dates/events, I either make new opens or reblog some on most or all of my muses, and I have so many of these that stay stuck at never being turned into any thread, so please don’t hesitate to respond to them.

*  INBOX : My inbox is open for pretty much anything! I appreciate random asks for my muses, or unprompted things, or maybe some of the memes I reblog on each of my muses, or whatever - just throw it at me! Anon is also usually on, so feel free to use that if you prefer.

I don’t think I can add anything else here? If you do intend to send me OOC stuff, that’s perfectly fine too.

*  SELECTIVITY : I think I am rather picky in who I follow, but I am open to non-mutuals too and sometimes even end up following the person after we started interacting even if I didn’t beforehand. So please don’t hesitate to try something with me, even if I didn’t follow you yet! If you’re reading this on any other blog than that, please remember that @starfirechan​ is my mainblog, and all my other muses are sideblogs of this one, which means I can’t exactly be mutuals with you on them, I can only follow back from here. If we did interact before, I will most likely let you know when/if I end up unfollowing. Which probably hurts in the first moment, but personally I think that that is better than just silently unfollowing and you one day learning that we weren’t mutuals anymore and feeling like I dragged you along or something.

Reasons for me not following you or unfollowing, listed without any order: Many many uncut posts or dragged-along asks, a big amount of things posting all at the same time especially when non-RP-things (or before-mentioned kinds of threads), no about or rules pages, dash-only [I feel like I should elaborate here, so: It’s not that I have anything against those using dash-only - you do you, and I do me. It’s simply that I keep track of what I owe by keeping tabs in my browser open, and that tends to mess up quickly when the tabs are tumblr/dashboard/blogurl/posturl, and not an actual url on the blog. I simply can’t good work with it, so that’s why I don’t follow. If we are mutuals and interacting and you choose to become dash-only, I’ll probably try to keep our interactions going, but I can’t really predict if that’d work well-enough.]. Sometimes autoplay, though with the script blockers I’m using in my browser I don’t think I actually notice if a blog has that anymore. Oh, and if you have a ‘special URL’, as in not the tumblr one, like those ‘co.vu’ things. Another, very obvious reason for me not following you, is of course me not getting a notification of you following in the first place, that happens sometimes too.

So yes, again, please don’t hesitate to approach me even if we aren’t mutuals, there’s a good chance I’ll still give us at the very least a chance!

*  WISHLIST : First off, here’s links to my wishlist-tags on my muses: Starfire, Blackfire, Wildfire, Galfore, Starlight, Moonshot. Starlight’s wishlist is still empty at the moment of posting this, though. I don’t really know what else to say? Usually, having some ‘enemy’-esque relationships feels like a rather rare thing to me, so I could maybe name that too. Oh, and I feel like I have way too little of my muses ‘opening up’ to someone, that would be really amazing to have more too - though usually that would probably require some bonding beforehand so I guess I can just call it ‘lasting relationships’ (not talking the romance-way here).

Every few days or so, I also find myself longing for a few characters in particular, and since those are kind of wishes too, I guess I can name them here as well: Jericho, Mar’i, Red X. Cyborg too. Those’d be the characters I usually am most wishing/longing to actually have as interaction partners (in a lasting fashion), so yeah.

TAGGED BY: I’ve seen it on the dash a few times and figured it’s been a while since I last did a thing similar to this. TAGGING: Whoever wants to

[whenimaunicorn]

Spa Day with Bobo

Fandom: Wynonna Earp Characters: Bobo del Rey x Reader (gender unspecified) Rating: explicit

Summary: from the best anon prompt I have ever received - “ Imagine he overhears you telling the girls that you'll treat yourself to a home spa day after the latest evil had been turned to dust. Next thing you know, you hear some noise while you're relaxing in your bathtub and suddenly Bobo stands in the doorway, a bottle of wine in hand and a dirty grin on his face. "I thought I'd come by and help you relax." 😏 “

What a day. Wynonna and the rest of her crew might prefer to blow off steam from that kind of clusterfuck with a bucket of beers at Shorty’s, but as for you, all you want to do is wash this demon goo off you with a power sander… and then re-hydrate and replenish with your entire home spa routine. You told them all as much, before retreating solo to the little house you’ve been renting on the quiet side of town.

You probably exfoliated 5 layers of epidermis off in the shower, but at least now you’ve got the heavy-duty cleansing out of the way.  Your pore-opening face mask and full-body moisturizer are ready on the bathroom counter, but before you get to that step you decide to ease your aching muscles by setting the stopper in the drain and filling up the bathtub for a little soak. It’s too bad you didn’t think to set yourself up with a bottle of wine within easy reach of the tub first.

As you let the hot water loosen your muscles, you find your mind wandering. The strangest thing about today wasn’t even the monster you all had obliterated. It was the fact that Bobo del Rey and his gang of revenants had actually been fighting alongside you and the Earp crew this time. Working with him was… weird. He had a surprisingly useful amount of information about the occult, and local history, but it all came out garbled and sideways. It was almost cute, really, if you could get past the hyper-aggressive attitude he spat out between helpful tidbits and actually-useful ideas. By the time the demon exploded in a ball of stinking slime, you had almost felt a little bit of friendly camaraderie with Bobo. You can still feel the way his hand clapped on the back of your neck, a gesture that at the first moment had felt affectionate.

Turned out, he was just trying to pull you away from the monster’s corpse, knowing it was about to spew hell goo everywhere in a twelve foot radius. Maybe he was just using you as a human shield against it, but you could have sworn he said ‘watch out’ just before he tugged you closer to himself.

You sink deeper into the bath, sacrificing leg coverage to get that hot water on your aching neck. And maybe to erase the feeling of Bobo’s grasping fingers. Thoughts of the enemy are not supposed to give you the sort of dreamy longing that just tugged at your chest.

You shoot up when you hear your front door creaking open. Then it slams shut. A masculine voice calls your name through the house, playful and friendly. The way it stretches around the syllables in unmistakable. Bobo del Rey is in your fucking house. Looking for you.

The kitchen floor squeaks as he steps across it. “Yoo-hoo, Y/N,” he calls again. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? You’re naked in the bathtub; you didn’t even bring any clothes in here. You could stay silent, try to pretend you’re not home, but from the tone of Bobo’s voice he seems pretty sure you’re there. “Heard about your little spa night,” he says, voice loud and a little amused, coming now from your living room. “I brought supplies.”

It’s a small house. By the time Bobo crosses the living room, all that’s left is the bathroom to his left and your bedroom to the right. The back of your neck tingles as you imagine him standing there, filling up the threshold to the back hallway, looking in one direction at your disheveled bed, the clothes on the floor, and then turning his face to the closed door with the light coming from underneath it.

The game’s up. You should probably say something. “Um, what?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

The doorknob turns and you shriek, grabbing at the shower curtain so Bobo won’t be able to see anything but your face as he barges right into the tiny room.

Bobo grins when he spots you, face just above the rim of the tub with the sheet of semi-opaque plastic tucked tight under your chin. He leans his hip against the counter and brandishes the “supplies” he’s brought. A bottle of red wine in one hand, a giant bag of M&Ms in the other.

“You’re in my house.” It’s so strange to see him like this. He still moves with a swagger, but his usual edge of malice is gone. Like the monster under the bed decided tonight it just wanted to relax and hang out.

Bobo’s head tilts to the side. “This spa idea sounded so nice, I just had to invite myself to the party. My skin’s been feeling really dry lately.” He turns to look at himself in your bathroom mirror, setting the candy on the counter so he can swipe one paw down the side of his face. He snatches up your package of face mask goo, peering at it dramatically to examine the label. “Is this good for combination skin?”

“Um, I think?” you answer dumbly. “It’s noncomedogenic.” You should be telling him to get the hell out, but once again you’re struck by how cute Bobo is when he’s not threatening everyone in sight. His face is almost soft as he examines his pores in your mirror, the handsome lines of his eyebrows arching up in concentration. Suddenly your bath water feels like it’s getting hotter. “So… you promise you’re not here to kill me.”

Bobo hops his butt up to sit on the counter, then angles his head as he looks down at you. “Why would I do that? We’re teammates now, remember?”

You don’t believe he believes that for a second, but you’re really hoping you can trust that just for tonight, he doesn’t have any ulterior motive. “This isn’t the beginning of some crazy hostage plot,” you doublecheck, with a skeptical upturn to your voice. “Because I’m not really worth much to anybody. You’d really be wasting your time, just making Wynonna hate you worse than she already does.”

Bobo straightens up, puts his hand over his heart. “I’m not up to anything. Just to help you relax. And hopefully getting some fresher-looking skin, too.” He turns to the mirror again. “You got any kind of peel around here?”

This is too bizarre. “Uh, the mask is supposed to take care of that,” you answer, still feeling like your head is spinning. But… as your eyes run down the stylishly shaved side of your intruder’s head, admiring the lines of his muscular neck, you think that you kind of like the feeling. “OK. You can stay.” Bobo flashes you a wide grin in response, catching your eye through the mirror. “But you gotta step out for a minute.”

He looks back at you quizzically.

“I’m not getting out of this tub with you just standing there.”

The phrase ‘shit-eating grin’ has never been so personified. “I can hold your towel!” He grabs one off the rack and flips it out wide for you.

You roll your eyes. “Out.”

At the disappointed pout he shoots you before moving to comply, you realize there might in fact be at least one ulterior motive to Bobo’s presence here tonight. And you’re not even sure if you’re mad about it.

* * *

Ten minutes later, you’re in shorts and a tank under your favorite jersey knit robe, bending over Bobo who’s relaxing on your couch in the much puffier, plush white bathrobe you keep in the back of your closet. You can’t quite believe it even fits him. But his fur coat smelled a little bit too much like demon goo; after you wrinkled your nose in complaint he promised you he’d take it to a dry cleaner tomorrow before chucking it onto the front porch to air out.

You already can’t recall what excuse Bobo used to get you to apply his face mask for him; now he’s sitting with his arms spread along the back of the couch like a king while you carefully rub little circles into the skin around his eyes. Kneeling on the couch cushion beside him is a little precarious; you can’t get the image out of your head of what might happen if you lose your balance and tumble into his lap. You lean in to cover his opposite cheek with bright green, citrus-smelling paste and can’t avoid pressing your knee into the side of his thigh.

He doesn’t seem to mind; Bobo just keeps on studying your face while you work on his. His eyes are as intense as ever, but he seems to keep reminding himself to tone it down, to relax his jaw and make sure to appear more harmless. You avoid awkwardness by not quite letting him make eye contact with you, keeping your own gaze fixed on covering the small pores in his forehead, following the lines of his cheekbones, keeping the line of paste neat along the top edge of his beard. You wish you hadn’t put your own mask on already, so maybe he might be able to find you attractive right now.

Not, you know, that you want anything to happen tonight, right? Just, it would be pretty flattering if Bobo del Rey had the hots for you. It would be something you and the Earp girls could have a good laugh about tomorrow.

That’s all.

“It tingles,” Bobo comments. The low sound of his voice, so close, almost startles you as it interrupts your thoughts.

“It’s supposed to.” You risk eye contact to flash him the most winning version of your smile. “That’s how you know it’s working.” It’s encouraging how he chuckles a bit at your quip. So you keep chattering as you apply the final touches above his eyebrows. “Have you ever done one of these before?”

His smile is just a little shy. “I did get curious, picked one up once before. But it didn’t tingle like this.”

“This one is the best.” You lean back, inspecting your work. Bobo del Rey looks much less intimidating when he’s got his face covered like a teenage girl at a sleepover. But even that thought reminds you that this is your arch nemesis with his arms spread along the back of the couch, alone with you in your house, and plush bathrobe or no, he’s still a dangerous and unpredictable man.

His lip curls in an arrogant smile and he cocks his head, like he can smell your sudden rush of nerves. “I knew you’d take care of me tonight.” His fingertips dance over your knee, the one that’s been resting against him.

You stand up in a rush. “Your face is all done,” you announce. “I just need to get one more thing.”

In the kitchen, you try to catch your breath before opening the fridge to grab a cucumber for the eyelid covers. What is even happening right now? Your brain refuses to even try and interpret that touch Bobo gave you, your scattered thoughts sweeping you along with the next stage of the spa program instead.

“Have you got some glasses for this wine?” Bobo calls to you from the other room.

“O-of course.”

You chop four cucumber slices onto a plate, and grab two wine glasses by the stems that are thankfully actually clean. You’re feeling that tingling from the mask now too, unless things are just so awkward that your face is starting to go numb. ‘Spa night’ is starting to feel like ‘date night’ really damn quick.

Bobo plucks the glasses from your hand when you return. He’s already got the bottle open, and pours a generous portion of dark red liquid into each one as you sit down on the loveseat set at an angle to the couch he’s occupying. You slide the plate of cucumbers softly onto the coffee table.

He hands you a glass. “To past victories,” he says, tipping his own drink up in the space between you, “and to future conquests.”

The way he looks at you as he says it… shit. Still, you clink your glass against his and then take a hearty gulp of the wine as you try to decide what to say. Are you his next conquest? Or, even worse, you realize, is he trying to make an alliance here? Seduce you to some nefarious goal on his side of the moral line?

His eyes remain intent on your face. As you remove the edge of the glass from your lips, Bobo squares his shoulders in a way that reminds you of a cat watching some oblivious small animal as it gears up to pounce. The effect is only partially spoiled by the green shit covering both your faces.

You glance at the plate of cucumbers on the table, and his eyes follow yours.

“The final touch,” you explain. It’s also a perfect excuse to cut the tension. “Time to lie back and relax now.” You take your two slices and lean back on the loveseat. Just as you are about to put them over your eyes, you hear a soft ‘chomp’ sound.

You roll your neck and look over at Bobo. There is a big bite missing from one of his slices.

“Those weren’t for eating,” you say, lifting yours by the sides and holding them up in front of your eyes in demonstration.

“Oh, right.” Bobo actually looks a little sheepish. “What does that do again?”

A small giggle escapes your lips. “Honestly, I don’t really know? It’s just part of the aesthetic.”

Bobo’s grin is wide. “Thought you were just making me a snack.”

Somehow you are the one who feels embarrassed. “I’ll cut you some more,” you offer, already starting to get up, but he stops you with a hand on your arm.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Relax.” He pops his other slice into his mouth whole. “Don’t want to cover my eyes anyway.”

Honestly, the most terrifying thing is how nice he’s being. “Ok, if you’re sure,” you say politely, and settle back down into the loveseat. Whatever this is, all you can think to do is just go with it. “We’re supposed to leave the mask on for about ten more minutes.” You lay back, set the cucumbers over your own eyes, and do your best to relax with the palpable presence of your unexpected guest tingling over your shoulder.

The last thing he said, about not covering his eyes, tugs at your mind. You know that traumatized folks don’t often like to relax with their eyes closed, in an unfamiliar place. You can’t help but start to wonder what Bobo might have gone through after Wyatt Earp’s bullet sent him to hell. Or how many times an Earp descendent had sent him back there. What did it feel like to die like that, and more than once? Was hell all fire and brimstone, or were there a wider assortment of terrors that Bobo del Rey had endured?

The unpleasant thoughts make you feel twitchy. But it’s more sympathy than it is fear welling up in your heart, behind those uncomfortable prickles. You wish suddenly there was something you could do to ease this man’s pain. And then suppress a wild giggle, as you realize that this is the villain of your friend Wynonna’s story, who you’re sitting here hoping to offer comfort to. Is this really happening right now?

* * *

There’s another moment between you two, when Bobo follows you back to the bathroom to wash the mask treatments off. You give him the first turn at the sink, and he doesn’t leave the room after toweling off, while you bend over to rinse your own face.

Your eyes are squinted against the water running down from your forehead when you straighten back up. Bobo is standing closer than you thought he was, and there’s something almost intimate in the way he puts the driest corner of the towel he just used into your hands. You press it to your face quickly, and when you can see again, Bobo is inspecting his pores once more in the mirror. “I think that actually did something,” he announces, tracing spidery fingers down his own temple. He turns to you with a crooked smile. “I’m glowing, don’t you think?”

Something shifts in his expression as he regards your freshly-cleansed face, nodding up at him. You feel somehow naked under his gaze, like the exfoliant washed off some less-than-tangible layers of protection, leaving you more visible, more vulnerable. One of his rough hands scoops up your jaw, almost tenderly, and he tilts your head this way and that as he inspects your skin.

Your breath stopped as soon as he touched you. Part of you wants to glance over at the mirror, see what he is seeing, but you absolutely cannot tear your eyes from the hints of distant tenderness gracing Bobo’s face. “Worked on you too,” he says, voice almost a purr. “Not that you needed it.”

The compliment breaks the spell; you blush, and duck out of his hand. There was a pause just before you broke, a moment that felt like the part of a movie where two characters might kiss. And the ludicrousness of that happening in your lame little bathroom with Bobo del Rey was just too bizarre to sit still for.            

Bobo follows you out of the bathroom. “So what else happens on a spa day?”

You grasp for an idea as you retrieve your wine glass from the living room. “Manicures?”

Bobo curls his fingers to inspect his own hands. He’s got black polish on both his pinkies. “I am looking a little chipped.”

“I’ve got black,” you offer.

“Manicures it is.”

* * *

So now you’re sitting with Bobo on the big couch, files and little bottles of paint and chemicals laid out in front of you, holding his right hand between both of your own as you work on trimming his cuticles.

There was no denying your attraction to him now. The pull of him had led you to choose the seat alongside him on the same couch, to seize every opportunity for a casual touch even though each one made your heart leap into your throat. You realize you’ve set yourself on a dangerous path, leaving yourself within his reach like this. But maybe you like a little danger…

You can’t help but wonder if Bobo only keeps one nail on each hand painted because he just can’t stand to be still for longer than it takes to do one. You’re just about wrestling his arm to keep him steady as you work; meanwhile he’s telling you some terrible story about a particularly wild night of drinking, and he just can’t resist punctuating every sentence with some kind of physical gesture, your manicure goals be damned.

“So by then, me and the boys decided it was time to high-tail it out of there,” he concludes, flipping his left hand wider to try and keep his right hand still. “But not without taking the horse with us.”

You chuckle, clutching his whole arm against your side to hold it steady, and wonder absently how long ago this story actually happened. Was it before Wyatt Earp killed him, or after? You’re afraid to ask.

When you’re done with his nails, Bobo traps your left hand between both of his own. “Massages are part of the spa thing too, right?” His voice rumbles low and makes the back of your neck prickle.

His thumbs start kneading into your palm; it feels so good that all protest dies on your tongue. A strangled little “mm-hm” comes out instead, its tone reminiscent of the cry of an animal caught up in a trap.

His fingers are skilled. And contemplating the strength in Bobo’s hands makes more than just your neck tingle. “Close your eyes,” he says, somewhere between suggestion and command.

What does Bobo want from you? What do you want from him? Even with your eyes closed, you can’t seem to follow any thoughts to a useful conclusion, not with the slide and press of his powerful fingers working down past your wrist, not with his presence filling the room, the feel of his breath on your cheek as he draws closer.

You’re nothing but a ball of hormones by the time you open your eyes, finding Bobo’s face not two inches away from your own. The want in his predator gaze is naked now, held back by barely a question. Your body answers with a rush better left untranslated into words. Words would only damn you; for letting an enemy in, for letting him fill you with such quivering, just-take-me-now lust.

Something changes in your face, some softening submission of the muscles that Bobo knows exactly how to read. His lips quirk, and then they cover your own.

His kiss is warm and sweet; not what you would ever have expected, but somehow fitting for the way tonight has gone. The soft nipping of his lips is enticing, coaxing, and just a breath away from actually pushy. Playing nice, like he knows that this is still happening against your better judgement, and he wants you to want him anyway.

And it’s working. You open your mouth to his curious tongue, taste the wine on his breath. One of his hands comes to the side of your face. Spidery fingers travel down your cheek, around your head to hold you steady, to pull you in closer.

You start to relax into the couch, slowly falling more and more into his body. You haven’t kissed like this since high school, when it was called “making out” and no one was ever sure if it was going to turn into something more. Bobo laces his fingers through your own, and you wonder how far you’re going to let him get with you tonight. His kiss stays slow, snaring you in more decidedly as every minute passes. His tongue works against yours with a playful sort of lust, stirring you deeper the longer you let this go on.

You still dread what’s going to come after this. You expected Bobo to have been more crass, and more direct, if he had come over here just to try and bang you. He wouldn’t have put up with all of this spa shit just to get into your pants, would he? He must want something else from you, to have taken such time with this seduction, to put such effort into making you feel comfortable with him in your house.

You should stop kissing him, and demand to know what he’s up to.

Your hands ignore the screaming of that rational part of yourself, smoothing across the black cotton that covers the hard planes of Bobo’s chest. He pulls the robe off your shoulders, and with a little shudder of defeat you let him take it the rest of the way off you, all the while keeping your lips locked onto his.

This is ok, because he started it. It’s not so bad if you just let him kiss you, right? Let his hands roam, let him push you back into the soft cushions of the couch. Just the villain of the story making you his victim, right? You’re not culpable, you’re not responsible. But you sure can enjoy it.

Bobo stops, pulling back just far enough to examine your face. “I knew you had a soft spot for old Bobo.” He tugs at your hips. “Come up here and straddle me. I want you in my lap, sweet thing.”

He won’t let you get away with being passive. A fresh rush sweeps through your body as you comply, a pleasure centering squarely between your hips. You feel drunk on your lust for him. And now, you also feel entirely on display, as Bobo leans back and drags his eyes over your body wiggling above him to find the most comfortable position with him between your thighs.

He shrugs out of his own robe, and then his hands follow his eyes along the bare skin of your limbs. You never thought it would feel so good for him to touch you, but you press your face back into his just so you don’t have to look at him looking at you anymore. His kiss is harder now, more insistent, and his hands roam more freely. He takes two handfuls of your ass and squeezes hard, pulling you closer. You’re really going to have to make a decision soon; this isn’t going to stay just kissing for long.

Then his fingers curl under the hem of your tank top, starting to pull it up. Now he’s trying to get you naked. Your elbows come in snugly against your own flanks, slowing him down. “We shouldn’t,” you say softly against his mouth. Your tone sounds half-hearted, even to you.

“We should,” Bobo replies with much more confidence, and tugs the fabric against your resistance. “What’s the point in taking this slow?”

What’s the point, indeed. A one-night stand sounds a lot more excusable than some kind of long-term seduction, some unspoken thing between the two of you across enemy lines… and it’s not like you’re holding out for him to buy the cow or anything. The idea of actually dating Bobo del Rey is much more ludicrous than skipping to the end and fucking his brains out right now. Maybe you might as well just enjoy this strange night to the fullest.

Your hand finds his cock, almost of its own accord. You know he’s going to take this as encouragement, but you find that you absolutely cannot resist. The hard press of flesh under the crotch of his pants is enticing, and his length seems impressive as you slide your whole hand up and down the outline of his shaft.

Bobo rolls his neck and groans, distracted from trying to remove your shirt in favor of giving you room to work on him.

It’s absolutely entrancing to watch the effect you’re having on his face, how easily he cedes control in favor of closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of your fingers gripping him. He fumbles with something just above your hands, then you hear his belt buckle clink and you realize he’s opening his pants up for you in a silent offer.

This all becomes very, very real when you slide your palm under the elastic edge of his underwear, watch his eyelids flutter as you push past thick, silky hair and curl your fingers around his warm, naked shaft. A little thrill runs through you too, as you contemplate how absolutely large his cock is. Like you might be getting yourself into more than you can handle, in more ways than one.

Somehow you end up staring into each other’s eyes as you softly rock up and down on him, moving your whole body to get leverage on the monster in his pants. You watch Bobo’s eyes pool dark and drowning as you work him up, until you realize you’re just teasing a beast that’s about to devour you whole.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Then with a ragged groan, Bobo grabs your wrist, stilling your hand, and uses his entire body to lift you up and flip you over onto your back on the couch. You feel his teeth scraping against your neck a moment after impact, then with a wild, purring sort of growl he’s grinding his cock against your crotch and devouring all the skin between your ear and shoulder.

And just as you’re panting, letting him take your pants off you, just as you know that you want to let him have you, any way that he wants, you hear your front door creak open for your second uninvited guest of the night.

“Hey, Y/N,” Wynonna’s voice rings out from the next room, “got too drunk to drive back to the ranch tonight, is it cool if I crash here?” The high pitch of her voice, the edge of a giggle behind it, confirms her state of inebriation to you instantly.

Bobo rears up onto his hands above you, looking over the back of the couch at the open doorway to the kitchen, from which Wynonna’s voice emanates.

Wynonna keeps talking before you can think of anything to say, either to her or to Bobo. “Did you know that fur coat laying on your porch looks just like fucking Bobo del Rey’s?” she slurs.

This is so bad.

Bobo’s legs are still pinning yours to the couch, but you lift up onto your elbows underneath his looming torso, so you can at least see the doorway Wynonna is about to walk through. Bobo growls softly, one of his hands coming up to clutch around your back, grasping the nape of your neck from behind. Possessive? Or just irritated that he’s about to have to give up his new toy?

Wynonna’s eyes widen almost the instant she comes into the room, as she recognizes both of the faces peering up at her over the back of the couch. “Wha—OH MY GOD!” your drunken friend shouts.

Her hand scrambles at her hip. You have one moment to curse as you realize she’s going for Peacemaker. She probably thinks Bobo’s on top of you without your consent, given the way her eyes are flashing dark and angry. “Wynonna, wait!” you cry, though you can see that your words don’t register.

“Back the fuck off, Bobo, and get up right fucking now,” Wynonna orders, even though she’s sloppy getting Peacemaker out of the holster. She steadies it with both hands, the muzzle already glowing gold.

Bobo’s whole body flares hot when his revenant face burns through in the presence of his mystical bane. You think you hear him growl “Mine!” as his grip pulls you in tighter, his right hand flying out for that nifty telekinetic defense he has.

His arm cuts to side, and Peacemaker is flung at the same speed toward the wall. Drunken Wynonna stays attached to it somehow, hurtling a few feet before they both clatter to the floor.

“Bobo,” you scold, glaring up at him from your intimate angle. “Same team, isn’t that what you said?”

He’s still in revenant mode when he peers back down on you, and the effect is chilling. His face fades back to human as quickly as he can swallow that darkness back, but you’re still shaken, and he can see it. Regret tinges the corners of his eyes as he observes your reaction to him. “She was gonna shoot me,” he whines, retreating into his characteristic irreverence.

“She wanted to protect her friend. In her defense, this doesn’t look good.”

“I was thinking it looked very good,” Bobo rumbles back, eyes sweeping down the lines of your intermingling bodies, both your pants halfway off, intriguing bits of flesh exposed and others pressed together still.

You chuff at the unexpected flattery, looking away from the promise that’s still there in his eyes when they lock onto yours again. “Wynonna,” you call over to the section of floor where you saw her go down, “it’s alright. He wasn’t hurting me. You ok?”

An ornery grumble emanates up from behind the couch. “Like hell he wasn’t….” You hear her scrambling around on the floor.

“You’d better go,” you whisper quickly to Bobo. “You can’t reason with her when she’s like this.”

He looks ready to argue at first, but you see his eyes clear up as, one can only assume, he finally realizes the mood has been ruined.

He reaches down. You’re assuming it’s so he can pull his pants back up, but he finds your hand and laces his fingers into yours instead. You’re speechless as he lifts your knuckles to his lips in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly kiss. “Well then, until next time,” he murmurs, voice so low and throaty that it wraps around you like an overly-affectionate cat.

There’s a little smirk left on his face as he rises to his feet, buckling his belt back on while staring at the confused and panting mess he’s left of you on your living room couch.

“I swear to God, Bobo,” Wynonna snarls from behind you, killing even that last little moment, “if you don’t get the fuck out of this house right now—”

“Oh, keep your panties on, Wynonna,” Bobo snaps back. “You don’t want me to just run out on your friend, without even a polite goodbye, do you? After what we were just getting up to, that would just be rude.” He zips his pants back up loudly, making sure Wynonna can’t misunderstand what she had interrupted. “The last thing I want is to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“OUT.” Wynonna climbs to her feet, finally with a sure grip on Peacemaker again.

With two fingers on his lips, Bobo blows you a kiss before he hops to it, backing away from Wynonna’s glare and toward the open door. You imagine he’s trying to get out of your sight before that gun turns his face all red and black and glow-y again.

There’s a little hollow behind your chest as you watch him leave, and a disappointed aching remaining down south. But really, maybe it’s better for him to get kicked out so suddenly. So you didn’t have to hear him say something soft, make promises he wouldn’t keep. Or be disappointed when he didn’t do those things. Or so you wouldn’t have to hear whatever evil proposition you expected was likely to come after the sex. Bye-bye, Bobo.

Now the only one you’re left having to talk to is the woman holding the gun in the other corner of the room. As she turns to you, her face is so twisted up in confusion that she looks almost pained. “Are you really ok?” she asks.

A heavy sigh, more than a little shamed, bursts from your lungs. “Yeah, I really am.”

She keeps staring at you, sitting up now on the couch with your clothes askew. Her mouth opens, then closes again.

Time to try and explain. “Wynonna—”

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “I’m too drunk to talk about what I just witnessed.” She holsters Peacemaker. “Or maybe too sober.” She grimaces. “Fucking Bobo?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly fucking—”

“Nope!” she interrupts again, drawing the word out with exaggerated flair. “Definitely can’t do this tonight. Get some sleep. Both of us. Maybe we can talk about it over coffee in the morning. Or bloody marys. Or maybe just our own graves. Cuz I’m really thinking I’d like to never talk about this one.”

**Thanks for reading! If you liked this, try this drabble about running into Bobo at the mall...

Tagging: @demoncrypt1066, @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen, @writingfromasgard ... let me know if you want to be on a Bobo del Rey taglist, and/or prompt me for more like this with him... I just can’t get enough of this guy and the enemies-to-lovers thing...