#but I am telling you: you don’t have to live like this
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The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.
“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”
“I am the—”
“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.
“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”
“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”
“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”
Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.
“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.
“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.
“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”
“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”
“There was a recession,” says the ghost.
“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.
“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”
“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.
“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”
“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.
#
The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”
Which you knew.
“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”
The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”
“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”
That makes them look kind of embarrassed.
“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”
“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”
You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”
“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”
You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.
#
The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.
“How come you’re a man?” you say.
He says, “I think you know.”
“Fucking—go away.”
“I have something to show you first.”
“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”
He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.
“They went with the full name,” you say.
The ghost nods.
“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”
The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.
The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.
“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.
“Okay.”
So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”
“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”
You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”
“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”
“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.
You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.
#max.txt#max actually writes#flash fiction#hello. merry christmas transgender people#i actually wrote this last january. go figure
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can you please do prompt 12 with quinn hughes!
Thank you for requesting <3 - Merry Christmas!
FLUFF #12 "Just pretend to be my date."
📞 dialling…
She stared at him directly in the eye, blinking like a deer in headlights at Quinn’s pleading face. Quinn Hughes, the man she had known since childhood, stood the closest he ever had before, minty breaths fanning over cheeks, in front of her in his parent’s empty kitchen with his hands clasped over hers.
“Please, just pretend to be my date. Even if it’s for the next few hours or so, you know they ask every year, and I don’t need her doing that speed dating shit again.” He begged so quiet his voice rumbled in her ears and flushed heat up her neck, heart hammering in his chest hearing his aunt and uncle’s voices announcing their arrival from the other room. “Y/n, I swear I’ll make it up to you-”
“-Okay.” She smiled as his eyes lit up brighter, a familiar pull in her chest that tugged every time she was in the room with him, like two magnets trying to meet. They’d been through this same annual Hughes-l/n Christmas event for years, since they were kids, and every year it was always his nosey aunt who asked him if he had a girlfriend, fiancée or wife yet to which he always awkwardly had to think of some excuse.
“Quinn! There you are my superstar!” his nosey aunt’s voice rang out into the kitchen. Quinn stood up straight, arm automatically wrapping around y/n’s waist and his hand finding comfort on her hip. Something about the gesture felt alleviating, perfect, natural, y/n responding with her arm winding around his torso, palm soothing over his back for reassurance periodically. “Y/n! Oh my, you look as gorgeous as ever! Look at you both, so grown up.”
“Aha, yeah,” he forced a laugh, feeling her beady eyes flicker between himself and y/n. Y/n leant her head into him, his whole charade starting to feel less like a favour and more real with the longer they held each other.
His aunt gasped, making them both flinch and his grip tighten. She soaked in the sight, the way that even after all the years, they still fit in each other’s figures and still looked at each other the same way. They were still the kids who would sneak off to Quinn’s room, and on one occasion, had their first kisses there.
“You two!? How long? Tell me everything, I must know! Has he proposed yet? When’s the wedding? I have to write this down, am I getting a niece or nephew? Oh finally! Y/n, Quinn’s been talking about you for years and the way he looks at you, oh my-”
“Caroline, relax,” y/n smiled, heart almost stopping when his thumb rubbed her hip gently, “It’s been a year, so we’re still at the start. We’ve only just discussed living together.”
No other words were spoken, and his heart swelled, Caroline took her dramatic exit to find her husband. Quinn and y/n exhaled, bodies slumping into each other and melting into each other’s embrace, her ear pressed to his chest while her hands gave his back a reassuring rub.
“So, you’re moving in huh? At least let me take you on a date first, show you what I can offer.” He chuckled softly, pulling away to cup one of her cheeks, her eyes glistening under the bright lights as she leant into his palm and one thousand little fireworks exploded inside her chest at once.
“Talking about me for years, huh? Damn, couldn’t even tell your best friend who you had a crush on,” she joked, catching his genuine smile creep into his face with rosy cheeks, “But a date sounds nice, I’d like that.”
They basked in a pleasant silence between them, the world pausing in each other’s steady eyes until choruses of surprised voices echoed from the living room. Quickly, he slipped his phone from his pocket, using his free hand to text his brothers the situation before slotting it back, cupping both her cheeks with his hands and puffing his chest out. They had only a few minutes to figure out a story, but in hindsight, they’d been in love with each other for so long, it wouldn’t be that hard.
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Rant incoming, this got out of hand sorry.
Also, a lot of these foods do actually have distinct ‘styles’ that are really only Israeli. Take shakshuka for example— it’s a North African dish, created around Morocco and Tunisia, but it’s eaten as far as Turkiye and Greece (side note: went to Greece recently, they have amazing green shakshuka, but I guess we aren’t allowed to eat it cause it’s eeeevil appropriation). Speaking of Turkiye, they’re a great example of a specific regional style. Their shakshuka tends to be spicier and have yoghurt or cheese on top if it. It’s pretty easy to tell that it’s shakshuka, but it’s also very clear that this isn’t your standard North African one, and if you know how they do it in Turkiye then it’s easily recognisable.
Israeli shakshuka is the same. It’s made with a lot of cooked onions and herbs, definitely more than the any other of the styles I’ve encountered. Because anybody with a tiny bit of Israeli heritage is addicted to tchina, basically every pan of shakshuka (it’s served in the pan in Israel) comes with a side of it, and also with basic salad and toasted challah. There’s a thing called shakshuka sandwich, which is shakshuka as a sandwich where the bread is challah. Sometimes it’s also served with chips (which also have a cup of tchina, chips in Israel will always have tchina no we don’t have a problem)
side note again: this is actually a really common thing with Israeli food— everything is a sandwich. Traditional Persian and Nash Didan herb omelet is served plain, but Israelis looove to put it in bagels. I’ve eaten at a cafe this amazing aubergine ‘schnitzel’ and matbucha sandwich, where yes the bread was challah, and yes they also offered you a mountain of tchina, and yes I drenched that mofo lol. It’s all sandwiches here. Israel turned chamin and leftover aubergines and cabbage into a pitta. Nothing can stop the bread obsession.
Actually, that ‘schnitzel’ sandwich is a good example of a big aspect of Israeli food— the cultural mixing. Matbucha is a Moroccan sauce, schnitzel comes from Austria I’m pretty sure (although Israeli style is already different because it’s exclusively made with chicken), and aubergines are well known for being west Asian, especially Iraqi I think? This weird great fusion dish probably came about from a mixture of Jews whose families lived in these three areas, as a natural way of sharing and integrating subcultures when together. It’s not some evil plot to try to steal as many people’s cultures in one food item as possible, its just people close to each other eating food and something new coming out of that. One of my mum’s best friends is a Moroccan Jew and she regularly gives us matbucha, so I decided to make a monstrosity of Iranian dolma pielpelim with matbucha and guess what that’s how I earned my Israeli citizenship.
Fun fact— this woman also makes the best kneidelach I’ve ever tasted and she doesn’t have a drop of Ashkenazi blood in her. Does that make her evil, and am I evil for eating it when not Ashkenazi, or is it only applicable when deemed ‘ethnique’ enough?
There’s also just completely unique Israeli dishes like sabich, that was created in Israel by Iraqi Jews and wasn’t eaten anywhere else before, or ptitim which came out of 50’s rationing/the country being too broke to afford couscous. Also, Jewish specific foods like jachnun, kneidelach soup, challah, chamin, etc. are a thousand times more Israeli than they are of those host countries, by virtue of the fact that they were not a normal dish in said host countries. Yemenite goyim didn’t eat jachnun, so how is it stealing from them when the descendants of the ones who did continue to do so?
This is kind of a weird pivot, but I think that people are treating ‘Israeli’ like it’s it’s own ethnic group now as a desperate attempt to slice it away from Jews (and Israeli Arabs sometimes, depending on the situation) and have their own special root of all evil. So they expect us to have all of these special unique foods that no other Jewish community in the world has or else we’re just like… stealing??? I guess??? By eating food from our Jewish communities??? But the thing about nationalities is that the culture is created by the ethnicities of the people who live there. And the thing about Jewish sub-ethnicities is that because we were torn apart from each other and forced to live under much more powerful rulers, we tend to have very different cuisines from each other that seem similar to those of the countries we were living in— but even then, our food tends to have similarities to each other and differences to goyim’s just because kasher restrictions and pre-diaspora foods are still adhered to and made in almost every community.
So of course Israeli food is going to have Moroccan elements to it, seeing as if you meet five Israelis three of them are going to have some sort of Moroccan heritage, and one other is going to have someone close to them that’s Moroccan, that’s not even an exaggeration help they’re everywhere. And of course it’s going to be mixed in and muddled up with a bunch of Iranian, Romanian, Egyptian, Iraqi, Russian, and however more elements. Because once again, a nationality’s culture and cuisine is not independent from the people of that nationality. And Jews spent a long time in all of these countries, long enough to pick up some food habits in between all of the pogroms. If you wanted Israeli food to be completely independent to anything you’ve ever seen before, then just fucking time travel and give Bar Kochba a gun already.
Rant over. Ugh.
To the large chunk of non-Jewish bloggers on this website who before Oct 7 would every now then reblog something along the lines of "don't be antisemitic" and around winter time "happy hannukah to all my Jewish followers" and then a out a character who maybe be headcannoned as Jewish and nothing more
but after Oct 7 has become riddled with the most disgustingly antisemitic posts, posts full of misinformation, posts calling for the death of Israelis, denying Jewish Indigeneity, and of course posts using "shitrael" or "isntreal" or "isrhell".
Do you think we are stupid. Do you think we can't see this.
Or is it rather that you never cared about us and now that you have permission to revel in the hate you are.
I would like to share something that I saw on of these such types of blogs. It was one who is exactly has I described. Did the barest and of bare not even bare minimums, but after Oct 7 has become a hate infested cesspool.
They reblogged a post where someone had shared an article from the Middle East Eye, a Qatari run propaganda machine.
Now how did Hebrew steal from Arabic when Hebrew predates Arabic I guess we are not supposed to think about that. That Jews have been living in the region for several millennia don't think about it. That there have Mizrahi communities in these places since the Babylonians don't think about it.
The notes of course was filled with the tags "cultural appropriation"
but then I saw these tags
You mean the Shekel which is mentioned in the Tanach. The parliamentary system of government. Which craftworks, please be specific?
So again do you think we don't see these things. Do you think we are stupid.
Or what we see not the point and not what matters, but rather what matters is the lies and misinformation and making sure that is what is seen and spread so that you can ensure we have no friends and no allies. So that no when will stand up or make a fuss when you come to hurt us, to kill us, and destroy us.
And to that I will say look to those who came before and see where they are now. Do you see them? No, because they are not here, but we are.
So if you are going to come for us, if you are going to come to destroy us you better give it all you have because when you fail and you will fail it will not end well for you.
It never does. But we survive, we always do.
Am Yisrael Chai עם ישראל חי
#also— I have never seen anybody say that knafeh is Israeli Jewish. The only time I could even THINK of someone claiming it’s Israeli#is if they’re talking about Israeli Arabs#but it’s always been understood and loved as an Arab dish. You guys just don’t like it when we eat food and are compulsive liars I think#Jewish stuff#antisemitism#anyway Israeli food is great and if you can’t understand how exile might make it hard to have a single distinct cuisine then be quiet pleas
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❀˚܀stop stalling and admit you’re afraid ❀˚܀
it’s okay to be scared but you gotta know how to deal with it.
❀˚܀ ACT I | Admit to yourself you’ve been stalling
no you’re not being productive while scripting every single detail, i get that can be satisfying but when are you gonna lock in. Do you feel accomplished when you sit back up for the fifth time “before i induce let me script this ONE LAST thing”, just to wake up in your unfavourable story? again?
Although scripting puts so much joy in creating and shifting awareness to your new story, you need to admit to yourself that spending more time scripting trivial stuff than actually trying to induce pure consciousness can be harmful.
܀˚❀ ACT II | Look at the law
at this point we all know the law of assumption tells us to “assume as if to be that which you want to be”.
so assuming you have your dream life, are you sitting there upset about your circumstances, begging for an instant method of you were there. Would someone who’s just baked a cake sit there and script what the cake would look like and what flavours it would have, would they cry and get desperate for an instant cake-baking method?
Would someone who has successfully manifested blonde hair be binge watching “i hAvE bLoNdE hAiR ✨✨” subliminals, or would they spend time gushing over their hair and how beautiful and blonde it is, which is basically reaffirming what’s true: they have blonde hair.
Instead of stalling and be miserable, gush over your new story, actually apply the new fact that you’re in your dream life, apply he fact that you are a master at inducing the “I AM” state. Use what you know to reaffirm what’s true.
܀❀˚ACT III | It’s okay to be scared, how do we deal with this?
Sure it’s comforting to reduce yourself to a “failure” even after barely trying. You fell asleep one too many times so you run back to stalling, you don’t wanna let yourself down again. You “failed” and woke up in an undesirable state. You don’t want to go through that again so you stall and tell yourself that doomscrolling on tumblr and adding “one more thing” to the script is way more important, and that you’ll “do it later”
But I must warn you, this will lead you down a path where more time is wasted. And although time is a concept do you really want to spend a day more in your unfavourable environment? you could’ve have everything, an hour ago, yesterday, a few minutes ago, IF YOU APPLIED.
“But it’s not that easy…” according to who? who is assuming the that?
“But I always fall asleep and fail it’s not that simple…” according to who? your subconscious doesn’t know that so who is perpetuating that assumption over and over again?
“scripting feels so good tho lemme just try tonight” TRY? the operant power doesn’t try! and yes scripting is so fun, but more fun than living the dream?
i thought so.
as you can see you can flip these thoughts, you don’t have to be afraid of failure if you know failure doesn’t exist for you. you don’t have to stall when you succeed at everything you do, there’s no point in it.
so get off your ass and apply loves, this community is lovely but don’t stay here longer than you need to
🐅🌀 don’t be afraid and apply what you know
#salemlunaa#shiftblr#reality shifting#shifting#loa#permashifting#law of assumption#void state#success story#the void#void concept#respawning#void#voidstate#void state tips#the void state#i am state#pure consciousness#shifting awareness#shifting consciousness#desired life#desired reality#loa tumblr#loablr
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Dig That Crazy Santa Claus
Russell Shaw x reader
A Tuesday's Gone Christmas drabble
Summary: Your daughter may have uncovered her dad's greatest secret ever.
Warnings: none
A/N: Surprise, haha! I couldn’t resist — I had to write a little drabble about their first Christmas together. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!
Wordcount: 810
The house was dressed for the holidays in all its mismatched glory. The tree leaned a bit too far to the left, decked with candy canes and glittery, uneven ornaments. But it was perfect, because this was your first Christmas as a family of three, and you had gone all out: stockings hung by the fireplace, wreaths everywhere, and enough gingerbread to open your own shop.
Yet, instead of the excited squeals you’d been expecting from a five-year-old, there was… silence.
Emma sat on the couch, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout that could rival the Grinch.
“What’s wrong, bug?” Russell asked after noticing her little frown. His tone was light, but his brow was furrowed with concern. “You look like someone just canceled Christmas.”
“No one canceled anything” Emma mumbled, staring daggers at the floor.
You and Russell exchanged puzzled looks. Emma wasn’t usually subtle when upset. She was more of a dramatic-foot-stomping, full-volume protest kind of kid. This… this was new.
“Sweetheart” you tried, sitting down beside her and gently brushing her hair back. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell us. Did Misha eat your gingerbread man? Did Daddy burn the cinnamon rolls again?”
Russell shot you a playful glare but stayed focused on the scowling little girl. But Emma’s pout just deepened and gave you no reply.
“Okay, we’re going to need reinforcements” Russell muttered, plopping down on her other side. “Em, I’ll trade you a cookie for the truth… two cookies.”
Emma huffed but didn’t take the bait.
“Three cookies” Russell tried, wiggling his brows.
Nothing.
“Alright, we’re getting desperate here” he sighed. “I can give you four cookies, but that’s my final–’
She glared at him, her cheeks puffing with frustration. Finally, she burst out, cutting him off, “I saw Santa’s clothes!”
Both you and Russell blinked in unison.
“Santa’s clothes?” you repeated.
“In your room! Hanging with Daddy’s stuff!” Emma exclaimed, her voice quivering with the sheer weight of her discovery. “You’ve been lying to me! Santa’s not real!”
Russell’s eyes widened, and then, like a true master of improvisation, he leaned back with a dramatic gasp. “Emma Grace, do you know what you’ve just done?”
Uh-oh. He broke out the full name.
“What?” she asked, her pout faltering slightly.
“You’ve stumbled upon the biggest secret in the whole world.”
Her frown faltered, curiosity creeping into her expression.
“What secret?”
Russell leaned in close, lowering his voice like they were co-conspirators. “What I’m about to tell you is top-secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your little school friends, ‘kay?”
Emma nodded solemnly, her earlier betrayal temporarily forgotten.
Russell leaned a bit closer, and whispered, “The truth is… I am Santa.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. “No, you’re not!”
“Think about it” Russell said, tapping her temple. “Have you ever seen Santa and me in the same room?”
Emma squinted suspiciously. “...No.”
“And how do you think all those presents get here every year? Magic? Nah, it’s hard work, bug. I’ve got a sleigh parked in a top-secret location, and those reindeer? They’re on a strict carrot diet.”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh at his earnest delivery.
“But… you don’t have white beard!” Emma challenged, crossing her arms.
“Ah” Russell said, stroking his dark stubbled chin. “That’s my disguise. Can’t have people recognizing me at the grocery store, can I? Imagine the chaos.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she was intrigued now, her earlier anger melting into suspicion laced with wonder.
“If you’re Santa…” she started. ”Why do you live here and not at the North Pole?”
“Budget cuts” he said solemnly, earning a stifled laugh from you. “And between us, your mom’s cookies? Way better than the elves’. They get jealous, but I don’t care.”
That finally got a giggle out of her. “You’re just making this up!”
“Am I?” he countered, raising a brow. “Now, you cannot tell anyone, not even your friends. If word gets out, it’ll blow my cover. Deal?”
Emma hesitated, then slowly extended her pinky. Russell hooked his pinky with hers, sealing the pact.
“So… you’re really Santa?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement now.
“The one and only.” Russell nodded gravely.
Later that evening, as she cuddled up between the two of you in front of the fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa in front of her on the coffee table, Emma glanced up at Russell.
“If you’re Santa, can I ride in your sleigh someday?”
He grinned, ruffling her hair. “Sorry, kid. Only bad ones stay up that late. And you don’t wanna get on the naughty list, do ya?”
She shook her head and snuggled closer to him.
As Emma drifted off to sleep, her head resting against Russell’s arm, you leaned over with a soft smile. “Santa, huh?”
Russell shrugged, looking entirely pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of many hats. And apparently, one big red suit.”
I hope you enjoyed this little holiday treat, haha! Wishing you all a wonderful day and the happiest of holidays, loves!
xx Pam
🤍Taglist🤍
@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never @roseblue373
#russell shaw x reader#russell shaw fanfiction#russell shaw x you#tracker fanfiction#Tuesday's Gone#jensen ackles#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles fanfiction#russell shaw#tracker cbs#merry christmas#happy holidays
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HIII this is my first time requesting so it's fine if you can't do it! But I'd like a Spotify wrapped event please! My top artist is Mitski and her "My love mine all mine" thank you so much! Hope you have a nice day/afternoon/evening!!!
so glad to be your first ask!!
if your top song was my love mine all mine by mitski, i'd pair you with...
sae itoshi
જ⁀♡⊹。° shine it down here
♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist - **this event is now CLOSED**
♡ content — sae itoshi x gn! reader, gn! reader, soft sae!!, established relationship, mention of sae feeling unfulfilled
♡ synopsis — sae itoshi didn't know how much he likes nights in with you until tonight
The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt rare in Sae’s whirlwind of a life. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting faint silver patterns on the living room walls. You sat cross-legged on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, flipping through the pages of a book. Sae was beside you, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, his other hand absently twirling a loose thread on your blanket.
It had been weeks since his last game, and even though his calendar was still packed with meetings, sponsorship obligations, and training sessions, tonight, he chose to stay. With you.
“You’re quiet tonight,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence.
Sae’s gaze lifted from the thread in his fingers to your face, his teal eyes unreadable for a moment before softening. “I like this.”
“This?”
He gestured loosely to the space around you both—the blanket you shared, the faint hum of the world outside, the warmth of your presence. “It’s peaceful.”
Your lips curled into a smile. “You sound surprised.”
“I am,” he admitted. “Most things in my life feel like I don't have enough time to appreciate them," the words coming from him made your heart squeeze with...sadness? joy? you weren't sure. "But this, being with you, I feel like I could stay here forever.”
You tilted your head, watching as he leaned back against the couch. His expression was relaxed, but there was something vulnerable in the way his fingers brushed yours, hesitant, like he was afraid you might slip away.
“I don’t think I tell you enough,” he said, voice low, almost hesitant. “How much this—how much you—matter to me.”
Your heart fluttered at his words, rare and carefully chosen. You shifted closer, your knee brushing against his thigh as you placed your hand on his.
“You don’t have to say it all the time,” you replied gently. “I know.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the composed, untouchable Sae Itoshi was gone. In his place was someone raw, someone who didn’t always have the right words but wanted to try for you.
“You keep me grounded,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of your hand. “Even when everything else feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.”
The weight of his confession settled between you, a quiet but profound reminder of what you meant to him. Sae might not always know how to show it, but in this moment, under the soft glow of the moonlight, his love for you was undeniable.
SOFT SAE!! SOFT SAE!!
i hope you liked it!
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!
#★ · airybcbyy#airy posts#blue lock#bllk#airy answers asks :)#bllk x reader#bllk sae#sae itoshi x reader#sae itoshi#itoshi sae#blue lock x reader#blue lock sae#bllk sae itoshi
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I am not even anti-billionaire when it comes to rich women. Women deserve to be ultra rich and live however we want; having financial freedom, real independence, enjoying luxury, not owing our time and energy to anybody, and being impossible for men to exploit us cause we don’t need them for anything. I myself am working hard to be rich enough that i don’t have to work hard anymore and so i can enjoy my life while fulfilling my desires that are far beyond my basic needs. If i ever become as rich as Taylor Swift, i'd love to have my own private jet as well and use it to travel everywhere while leaving the carbon emissions on every jealous hater’s face to make them feel suffocated so they can shut their mouths for once!
These low-life, chronically online, judgmental freaks who talk about caring about humanity or the environment only do their judgmental shit talk when they have to target or blame a woman. Meet them irl and you’ll see they are just jobless, miserable nobodies sitting behind their phones all day scrolling and pointing fingers at other women thinking they can bring them down to their level. Sigh!😮💨 And they fail every time. You will never find these people actually doing something nice for the world themselves because they think hating and blaming women automatically puts them in the "good people" category and gives them the validation of everyone else pretending to be a good person on the internet! They are so horrible they even defend cyberbullying rich successful women with comments like:
“but she’s a billionaire she deserves backlash”
“oh she’s so rude and obsessed with herself she deserves all the hate”
“oh but she has never donated her money to charity she’s so selfish”
The so called angry liberal activists, including some of the radfems, go in all their way to pass such stupid ridiculous comments; no wonder so many women are leaving feminism because what we want is freedom, rest and to own our lives. We are not here to carry the burden of everything y'all like to put on our shoulders. Feminism is only about our liberation from men and patriarchy so put your focus on that, whatever we do other than that is none of anyone’s damn business. Stop expecting feminists to solve every humanitarian crisis as we are not here for that! Stop asking women to cut off our expenses and make sacrifices for the sake of others. No we won’t do that! Cope and cry! And do it yourself if you care!
And to the women who often get guilt-tripped by these miserable insecure losers for wanting a rich luxurious lifestyle, ignore them all! They are not at your level for you to be wasting your energy on them. You are the only one working hard for yourself to gain these privileges, money, and freedom. You deserve to cherish it however YOU want, and not according to these low-value people who didn’t put an ounce of effort in your life but have the audacity to tell you what to do with your blessings. They all didn’t support Taylor Swift in 2016 when she was cancelled, didn’t care about how she was feeling, refused to acknowledge her existence like cowards to be on the safe side of the internet, and also participated in cyber bullying her all over the internet just for fun. Now when she’s a self-made prospering billionaire, all of a sudden she exists in everyone’s mind as a horrible person because she is not living her life the same miserable way as theirs.
Always keep in mind that they don’t even hate you, they hate themselves, they hate their lives, they hate everything about themselves so what they direct at you is just the projection of their own insecurities and they always do it in the form of gaslighting. If Taylor Swift did it while enduring the entire world hating on her, so can you! Stay evil and selfish while sipping on your fav wine in your private jet and let them cry about it because nobody is important when you’re lost in having fun, let alone their opinions. I am proud of you for choosing to upgrade your life, instead of suffering in the same shit! Cheers! 🥂
i will always be anti-billionaire, but it pisses me off when people talk about Taylor swift likes shes the literal spawn of Satan. sure, she does have a very big impact on the environment, but I see males harassing her about her carbon footprint but don't bat an eye at elon musk or any other male billionaire. if you're going to target a billionaire for their impact on the environment maybe focus on all billionaires, not just a woman lmao. don't claim to be doing this to "help bring awareness for the earth" when you literally only talk about taylor
#taylor swift#swifties#i support rich women#rich woman#rich life#billionaire#feminism#radical feminism#radblr#radical feminist community#radical feminist safe#radical feminist#women
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The Agreement - Rafe Cameron (smut)
So, this is a new one. But I am so deep down the Rafe and Drew rabbit hole, I just had to write something. This has potentional for more parts, but I will settle on that once I get your reactions on this part 1. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: The reader is new to the area, but it didn't taken long for Sarah's and her ways to cross. But life in the area is expensive, so the reader is in desperate need for someone to support her, perhaps Rafe Cameron, the guy everybody warned her about, is the right guy to help her out. But Rafe Cameron isn't a guy with a soft heart, the devil doesn't make one sided deals.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), sex with a stranger somewhat, sex in an unfamiliar room, spitting, slight choking, degrading, talks about the reader working as a sugar baby
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (3.1k words)
I LIVE for this gif. Jesus.
“Honestly, I am so ready to marry rich and forget about all these payments. Who can even afford to pay for all these things?” A groan left (y/n), head rolling back while she pressed herself further against the mattress of her bed. For a moment she was met with silence, waiting for Sarah to reply, but her friend kept quiet, seemingly deep in thought.
“Well, maybe it’s time we finally find you someone good. I bet you’d easily find someone fitting at the Country Club.” (Y/n) had to fight against the urge to roll her eyes, Sarah was all too aware of her distaste for all these rich people who only cared about themselves. She was still relatively new to the area but had instantly picked up on the struggles between the pogues and kooks, fights (y/n) desperately wanted to stay away from.
“Thank you, but I’d rather sell my soul than step a foot into that place.” Sarah’s giggles forced a smile to widen on (y/n)’s lips, knowing that her new friend wouldn’t back down from this discussion.
“Oh c’mon, live a little. But you could also just try to mingle at a party, I guess.” It took (y/n) a moment to think through the idea, especially since she knew she’d feel by far more comfortable at a party rather than at the country club. The hum leaving her drew another giggle from Sarah, already excited about whatever (y/n) may stumble upon.
“I guess I could but only if you join me to figure out if there are any parties worth joining.” She had interacted quite a lot with Sarah Cameron so far, a friendly face she had crossed paths with every now and then when she had first moved here. Something seemed to connect the two of them, something (y/n) couldn’t pinpoint yet but was insanely grateful for nevertheless.
“Absolutely I’ll text you in a few!”
…
She should have stayed at home, away from all these unfamiliar faces, the alcohol which would undoubtedly leave her massively hungover, and the horrible music she couldn’t endure much longer. So far she still hadn’t crossed paths with Sarah, clinging to the promise that she’d eventually show up with some friends in tow - people (y/n) could click with, according to Sarah at least.
The distaste clung to her face as (y/n) pushed through the crowd of sweaty bodies, trying to stay away from those who looked at her for a few seconds too long. Her feet carried her towards the kitchen, set on pouring herself another drink to at least endure another hour of this party.
With her eyes set on the open cabinet, (y/n) tried to reach for one of the almost empty bottles, weight shifted onto her toes to grasp it - though miserably failing. The exhausted huff clawing through her was swallowed by the sound of a raspy laugh filling the kitchen, forcing her eyes to find a pair of bright ones.
“C’mon, you almost had it, don’t stop the show now.” The smirk clinging to his lips left her scowling, instantly recognising him, Rafe Cameron, Sarah’s brother. Even though (y/n) hadn’t been around for long, she had picked up on numerous warnings, telling her to stay away from the guy who was followed around by trouble.
“Fuck off.” Her words made him laugh again, letting the sound ring in her ears while he pushed himself closer. Rafe’s cologne wrapped itself around her, making her heavily swallow the second she felt his front pressed against her back. With one hand finding her waist, he held her close while reaching for the bottle she had tried to grasp. Wordlessly he poured her some of the liquid, letting go of her seconds later, but she stayed quiet, not saying a single word to the smirking guy.
“Where’s my thank you? Or is cursing the only thing you can do?” Rafe leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest. Her eyes couldn’t help but find his bulging muscles, hating that he was that handsome while she had promised others she’d stay away from him.
“I don’t want to further inflate your ego, Cameron.” (Y/n) tried to push past Rafe, though without any luck. His bright eyes wandered over her features, grinning down on the frowning girl. His hands kept holding onto her, settling on her waist as if they had crossed paths numerous times before, more familiar with one another than they let on.
“I can see why you haven’t found many new friends so far, (y/n).” A scoff left her as she tried to push him away, though without any luck. Anger began to bubble deep inside of her, wondering how she could get rid of the devilish handsome guy. But Rafe seemed all too comfortable with their closeness, looking at her like a predator ready to snap, already high on her blood he’d feast from any second now. “What’s your problem with me, huh?” “I have no problem with you, Rafe. Let me go.” He clicked his tongue before letting it run along his lower lip, a motion she couldn’t help but stare at, eyes following his every movement.
“What did my sister tell you about me?” His thumb began to move, softly stroking along the silver of skin her top showed off. Goosebumps covered her arms, something (y/n) could only curse at, hating her body for feeling that drawn towards him. Sarah had told her all those gruesome stories about him, a psychotic guy she should desperately try to stay away from – and yet something intrigued (y/n), something she couldn’t shake.
“Drugs, guns, whoring around, the list is long, and I really don’t want to catch anything from you.” She shot him a sickly sweet smile before finally pulling herself free. Without giving Rafe the chance to stop her, (y/n) managed to disappear from his sight, finding shelter in another spot of the mansion. Her heart was racing in her chest, beating faster than probably ever before.
Sarah’s words kept hallowing in her mind, sharply reminding her of the bad news following Rafe Cameron around, words that began to lose their importance when her eyes were drawn back to his bright ones. They held contact as she drowned her drink in one go, still feeling his hands on her body as if he had burned his touch into her skin. Her breath got hitched in her chest as Rafe began to move, seemingly set on speaking to her again – and yet he didn’t get far, forced to watch his sister find (y/n) first, pulling her outside.
“I was looking for you, I want to introduce you to some people.” Sarah clung to (y/n)’s side as she led her to the pool area, introducing her to people whose names she didn’t pick up on, still thinking of Rafe. Sarah’s words from this morning reached her again, overthinking their plan of (y/n) finding a guy to keep around at a party like this, a plan she had to scoff at now.
“Sarah told us you’re currently working as a surf instructor around here, would you want to go surfing with us tomorrow morning?” A blonde guy smiled at her, forcing her to focus for a second. The cap he wore only showed off a few of his strands, enough for her to pick up on how cute he looked. She was close to denying, wanting to spend the morning sleeping in, but the way Sarah squeezed her wrist forced a soft “Sure” out of (y/n).
She didn’t listen to the other things the group shared, feeling a pair of eyes on her. Slowly, (y/n) let her gaze wander, finding Rafe looking at her from one of the windows. He raised his brows in an almost mocking manner, taking a sip of his drink as if he was daring her to find her way back to him. She rolled her eyes at him, and yet she stepped away from Sarah a moment later, murmuring something about having to find the bathroom.
Rafe was back at her side the second she stepped into the house, pulled through the room by the hand finding hers. The loud music momentarily managed to drown out her racing thoughts, thoughts that were completely silenced the second she found herself pushed into a dark room, front pressed against Rafe’s.
“Is this one of your famous tactics? Pulling girls you don’t know into dark ro-,” she didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence, interrupted by the feeling of Rafe’s lips finding hers. Even though her first instinct was to push him away, she didn’t find the want to do it, instead (y/n) chased his lips, swallowing the raspy chuckle leaving Rafe.
She was all too aware of the way Rafe’s eyes had followed her around for the past weeks, trying to find the right moment to speak to her whenever he was at the beach with his friends or when she met friends near the club. Late at night he’d stroke his cock to the thought of her, painting the screen of his phone white while looking at her pictures, only further fuelling his obsession with her. Something about (y/n) stuck to Rafe, perhaps it was the fact that she was all too oblivious to the struggles they all had faced for the past months, perhaps it was the fact that she didn’t seem to give a shit about him, whatever it was, he needed to get his hands on her.
Without breaking the kiss, Rafe led her to the bed, plopping down on it with her falling into his lap. Their tongues got tangled, brushing together while his warm hands found their way underneath her shirt, feeling her tremble in his grasp. His name rolled off her tongue as (y/n) needed a second to breathe, high on the feeling of him kissing his way down her throat.
Her mind screamed at her, asking her what the hell she was doing, and yet her body didn’t seem to care. Rafe Cameron had pulled her into his trap, unable to rip herself free while slowly letting him in. She didn’t protest as he pulled her shirt over her head, didn’t protest as his lips found her right nipple, softly biting and sucking on the soft skin before finding the other.
“Fuck, we shouldn’t do this.” For a second he froze at her slightly panicked words, waiting for her to say something else, to push him away. But (y/n) didn’t find the strength to pull herself free, tugging on his golden strands to reconnect their lips, allowing him to shift them around to press (y/n) against the mattress. It felt as if her body was on fire, set ablaze by his touch, by the way he towered over her and looked at her as if she was the prettiest sight he had ever set his eyes on.
“Breathe, sweetheart, let me do this.” Rafe kissed his way down her stomach, pulling her shorts and soaked panties down her legs to settle between her thighs. The moan that left him the second he brushed his tongue through her slit made her arch her back, pushing herself further against his mouth. Rafe’s eyes were set on her pleasure-drunken features, watching her get lost in the sensation.
“Fuck, Rafe.” (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, hands finding his hair to hold him close. It had been a while since she had last been with someone, no longer used to feeling this alive. His thumb circled her pulsing bundle, tongue slowly fucking into her tightness to push her further towards the edge. No longer was her mind racing, no longer did (y/n) find herself overthinking this situation, solemnly focused on Rafe’s skilled touch.
“Look at you, pretty girl, at the mercy of a guy you claim not to like.” It was clear that he enjoyed this all too much, smirking up at (y/n) who couldn’t reply to his teasing words. She was desperate to cum, to let go with his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer spoken in a need of guidance.
He put his mouth back on her heat, sucking on her clit while he pushed two of his long fingers into her, fucking her with his fingers curled against her swollen spot. Another moan clawed its way out of (y/n), reverberating through the dark room, a sound so sweet Rafe couldn’t help but groan against her skin. The sound was enough to push her over the edge, cumming on his tongue with a call of his name.
Rafe’s fingers fucked her through her high, enjoying the sight of her trembling body, watching her fall apart with his bright eyes that had slowly adjusted to the darkness. Only when she loosened her grip on his hair did Rafe move up her body again, pressing a kiss to her slightly swollen lips which allowed (y/n) to taste herself on his tongue.
“Will you let me fuck you, (y/n)?” She was spaced out, and yet her mind was still clear enough to pick up on his words. A moan left her before she could stop the sound from making it past her lips, set on the same goal as Rafe. His ringed fingers rested on her throat, keeping a tight grasp on her, “Gonna need you to speak up, use your words.”
“Fuck me, Rafe, please.” It was all he needed to hear, momentarily letting go of her to pull his shirt over his head, to free his hard cock from the confines of his trousers, and to pull a condom down his length. She forced herself up on her forearms, resting her weight on them to watch him tower over her. Their eyes held contact as Rafe pushed into her, letting his cock spread her tight walls.
For a second, neither of them moved, allowing their bodies to adjust before Rafe began to fuck her with a faster growing rythm. With one hand resting on the pillow next to her head, he kept himself balanced while the other found its way back to her throat. She stared up at him, fully at his mercy as if the devil himself was fucking her, forcing her to accept that she had just gambled with her soul and lost it to him.
His thrusts were ferocious, hips meeting hers with every movement, drawing sinful sounds from the both of them. Rafe’s thumb tapped against her lip, forcing (y/n) to open her mouth – seemingly understanding what he was about to do. He stared down at her as he spat onto her tongue, making her swallow his saliva without protesting once, finding the way he was claiming her too hot to fight against it.
“I should have fucked that tight cunt of yours the first time I laid my eyes on you.” Rafe’s rasped out words left her gasping, eyes rolling back into her head for a second. His words had an instant effect on (y/n), letting her stuttering breaths break out of her as if she hadn’t been allowed to inhale any air for the past minutes. “Such a pathetic little slut, letting the guy others warned you about fuck you. But you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I am, fuck, you’re so good at this, Rafe.” She no longer cared about his way too big ego, didn’t care about how desperate she sounded, solemnly focused on her second nearing orgasm. One of her hands found her pulsing bundle, circling it while her free hand moved up his naked back, feeling his muscles tense beneath it.
“Beg for it, baby, let me hear how desperate you are to cum on my cock.” Another moan left her, and another as his thrusts met the spot that made her choke. It took (y/n) a second to find her voice, blabbering a few incoherent begging words before finding her strength.
“Please, let me cum, fuck, I need it, Rafe.” He chuckled against her lips, once again picking up his speed before a raspy “Cum” found its way to her. She choked on her moans, sobbing his name while he followed her down the edge seconds later, moaning into their kiss.
Heavy breaths left them both, clinging to one another without speaking for a moment or two. Only slowly did he let go of her, pulling away to throw the condom into the trash. (Y/n) watched him move around, redressing while he seemed deep in thought, no longer wearing that arrogant smirk she secretly loved.
“I heard what you talked about with Sarah this morning.” Rafe had his eyes focused on her, eyebrows furrowed as if he struggled to find the right words. She didn’t say anything at first, dressing herself before plopping back down on the bed. “About bills and payments and all that shit.”
“Mhm, what about it?” Her tone had something almost bored to it, not daring to let him in on the panic that slowly began to simmer inside of her. She shouldn’t care about what he was thinking of her, even though he had just fucked her better than any other guy she had been with so far.
“I have a proposition for you, an arrangement if you want. You need someone to help with your bills and I need someone I can trust by my side for all these galas and events I need to show up at, someone to fool partners with.” A humourless laugh left (y/n) at his words, not daring to believe the words Rafe had just spoken.
“I knew you were an asshole, but I don’t need you to fuck with me like that, Cameron.” She rose to her feet, set on fleeing from this room, but Rafe didn’t let her, hand snapping down on her wrist like it had back in the kitchen.
“It’s the truth, Sarah seems to like you for whatever reason, and even though her people skills are fucked, I fear she may be right with this one.” His words had a strange undertone to them, a desperation that made her halt for a second. (Y/n) let her eyes wander over his features, studying Rafe who stared at her with an unreadable expression.
“Do you really mean that? You’d pay me for making you, what? Look good at events? Would I be like a sugar baby?”
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pls do something for pau based on d1e with a smile by bruno mars 💞
Die with a smile 𖦹 Pau Cubarsí !
summary. pau was dared to kiss you under the mistletoe, which, you’d agreed to for the sake of it all. but, maybe the kiss meant a little more to pau, and maybe, you as well.
word count. 1.56k+
disclaimers. fluff, confessions, just pure adorableness
bea speaks! merry christmas to those who celebrate, and to those who do not, i hope whatever you are doing today is special and you have a fantastic day <3
The casual night, where your friends group always celebrated your ‘friends-mas’, was going greatly. Laughter filled the room constantly — when you weren’t telling old sappy stories, that is. You’d played many trivia games and charades, which was your favorite.
The lights in the room were dimmed, mostly lit by the Christmas tree and fireplace to add a cozy feel to the room. It was the house of one of Pau’s teammates, Héctor. Which, you’d actually all helpend decorate with his mother along with a few of the girls.
As the group sat in the living room, and you were busy in the kitchen, making more hot coca, of course someone had suggested truth or dare—that’s when things got out of hand.
“You have to do it!” Your friend, Elisa, exclaimed, pointing in Pau’s direction.
“I don’t have to do anything.” Pau shot back, his head shaking as he laughed nervously.
When the boy’s head shook once more, Lamine intervened. “Don’t be boring, man.”
They’d all just dared him to kiss the next person to stand under the mistletoe—knowing deep down it’d be you, considering it was placed under the door that would be the one you’d have to walk through to get into the living room. Instigators, all of them.
In that moment, you’d begun to walk towards the room. To your misfortune, or possibly luck, you paused under the door, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the looks you were receiving.
Smirks, amused laughs, and a fidgeting Pau, had you—well, on edge. When your best friends eyes nervously flickered up above you, you leaned your head back, coming face to face with the green mistletoe.
Right.
“Come on, it’s tradition!” Alejandro spoke now, a taunting tone to his voice. “It’s no big deal!” He groans, nudging the boys arm.
Trying to ease the situation, you chuckle lightly. “If he’s too scared, I understand.”
The brunettes head snapped up at you, his eyebrows pulling together. “I’m not scared.” He said that, though the blush spreading across his cheeks told a much different story.
“Oh?” You nod, lips curled into a teasing smile. “Then get up. My arms are staring to hurt.” You lift the two mugs of coca in your hands, giving him a look that said, ‘just do it.’
His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes as he stood up, flattening his hoodie before making his way to you. The room fell silent, everyones eyes widening slightly.
Sure, they all knew you two liked each other, and that something happening between you two was inevitable. But, they hadn’t actually expected you to agree to it, much less for Pau to go ahead with it.
“Alright.” Pau sighed, stopping just inches away from you. “Only if you’re okay with it.” His heart beat quickened in his chest, but no matter how badly he did want to kiss you; he wasn’t going to do it if you felt pressured.
Your chest tightens at his sincerity, “I am,” you had to whisper, your brain short circuiting when his eyes flickered to your lips. Your grip tightened on the mugs in your hands when his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
“Good.” He murmured, hands lifting to gather your face in his hands before his head dipped, tilting to the side before his lips brushed against yours. The world fell away from the both of you as you became lost in the kiss. It was soft, warm, and though it was meant to be a short peck, neither of you pulled back right away.
When you did though, the room erupted into cheers and whistles, but you hardly noticed.
You laugh, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “I really need to set these down.” You lift the mugs into his view, and the boy swallows hard, taking a step back.
“Yeah, you do that.”
The night seemed to carry on normally, but something had changed.
After the kiss, Pau returned to the couch, pretending to focus on the game as his friends teased his mercilessly. You’d tried to brush it off too, laughing at the jokes, diving back into the game. But every so often, your gaze would fall back onto Pau, meeting his eyes every time. You’d send him a small smile, to which he’d force one back before looking away with pink cheeks.
“Okay, what is happening between you two?” Elisa whispered, leaning into your side while everyone’s attention was on Lamine, since he was being asked the next question.
Turning to her, you let out a short laugh. “Nothing.” You insist, though your quickening heart beat and light pink cheeks was surely betraying you.
“Uh-huh.” Elisa smirked, “sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
As the night dragged on, the room began to thin out. People grabbed their coats and started trickling toward the door, the festive energy giving way to the quiet stillness of a snowy night. You grabbed your purse and jacket, joking with Elisa as she gathered her things. She was your ride home, so you chose to sit behind with her as she stuffed extra bags of cookies into her bag.
"Ready to head out?" she asked.
"Yeah, just a sec," you replied, glancing over your shoulder toward the living room. Pau was standing by the tree, pretending to busy himself with fixing a crooked ornament while Héctor babbled about something his friend clearly didn’t care to know about. But when your eyes met again, he motioned for you to wait.
You waved Elisa off with a promise to catch up and turned back to him. A small smile formed on your lips as you met him half way, leaning against the door frame as you waited.
“Hey.” He said softly, stepping and stopping only a foot away. The soft orange glow of the fireplace lit up the side of his face as he leaned against the wall beside you. His usual confidence giving way to a bit more vulnerable look. “Can we talk for a sec, before you go?”
“Of course!” You say, a bit too quickly—your heart beat skipping in your chest.
Pau glanced around, as if to make sure nobody was watching. Of course, Héctor was. The second Pau’s eyes landed on him though, the curly haired boy quickly looked away, busying himself by pretending to examine the tree’s lights. Rolling his eyes, Pau looks back to you.
“Uh, about earlier..” He scratches the back of his neck, letting out a short breath, “the mistletoe?”
You tilt your head and feigning nonchalance, “What about it? It was just a dare.. right?”
His eyes catch yours and he gives a nervous laugh, “yeah… no? I mean—no. No, it wasn’t.. not to me. Not really.”
You could either scream or faint. You weren’t sure what one to choose, honestly. Your breath catches in your throat and your head feels dizzy. “Uh—for sure. Or, wait. What do you mean?” You squeak out at the beginning, but force yourself to remain cool and collected.
Pau exhales, looking down at his intertwined hands for a moment before he meets your gaze again. He grips his hands together tightly as he speaks, “I.. I like you. A lot. And when I—“ he pauses, internally cringing at what was about to come out of his mouth, “when I kissed you, and you kissed back like that.. I thought maybe there was a chance you maybe possibly felt the same?”
By now, Pau’s hands were shaking and his words were scrambling together. He could hardly bring himself to look away, scared that if he did, the sweet smile slowly growing on your lips would just be a figment of his imagination.
The soft hum of Christmas music played in the background, the only thing breaking the silence between you two. “You could’ve said something before, y’know.” You tease, but your voice was quieter now, softer.
“Yeah, well,” Pau starts, his lips curving into a sheepish smile, “I didn’t want to ruin things. You’re my best friend, and I was scared it wouldn’t be reciprocated.”
Taking a brave step closer, your heart pounded in your chest as you spoke, “you don’t have to be scared.”
His eyes searched yours, hopeful, but still unsure. “So… does that mean..”
You smile, lifting a hand to straighten his collar and brush off fuzz from his shoulder. “It means… we’re under the mistletoe again, and I think you should stop overthinking.”
Pau’s breathing faltered, his gaze drifting above you two. The mistletoe. Right. He grins, his confidence gaining as he looks back to you before leaning in, his hand brushing against yours. This time, the kiss wasn’t part of a joke. It was real—soft and warm, and full of everything he’d been holding back.
When you pulled back, your lips still hovering near each others, Pau laughs quietly. “Merry Christmas.” He whispers, sparkling eyes finding yours.
You smiled back, feeling lighter than ever. “Merry Christmas, Pau.”
“About fucking time.” The annoyed grumble coming from Héctor snapped you both out of your trance—heads whipping in his direction with a glare. “Well!” He shot his hands up defensively.
When you eventually did leave—not that you wanted to anymore, your heart was full and you couldn’t stop smiling. Definitely the best Christmas gift you’d ever received.
likes, comments, reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.
ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @ar4ujos @sakashq @h4vertzz @unx100to @n0vazsq @ilovebarcaaa @jajajhaahaha @f1lover55 @spidybaby
#pau cubarsi#pau cubarsi x fem!reader#pau cubarsi x y/n#pau cubarsi x you#pau cubarsi fluff#pau cubarsi one shot#pau cubarsi fanfic#pau cubarsi x reader#pau cubarsi imagine#blurb#football#fluff#fanfic#fc barcelona#fc barcelona fic#fc barça#christmas#merry christmas
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Tom Riddle as your secret admirer at Christmas ༊*·˚
Word count: 630
Masterlist
Authors note: Different style of writing for me, half bullet points, half prose. Not sure what to call it, a drabble? no it's too long. Headcanons? no, there's a storyline. This was originally going to be a series of scenarios with Riddle at various relationship stages, but of course the next one I wrote turned into a beast (friends with benefits), so here's this while I finish the other. Whatever this is, I hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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You know of Riddle but you don’t really know that he knows of you
But boy, he definitely does know of you, way more than he should
He admires your intelligence, and kindness and looks from afar
He doesn’t want to complicate things for both of you by associating with you in public initially
AND he hates the idea of actually being vulnerable when not hiding behind the blanket of anonymity
He sticks to occasional anonymous gifts to satiate his inconvenient desires for connection with you
My angel,
Flowers that while exquisite, may never even hope to compete with your beauty. A mere shallow token from the deep well of feelings I harbour.
Yours,
T
Attached is a bouquet of your favourite flowers, enchanted never to wilt
Enough people’s names start with T that he’s happy to sign the card this way, unconsciously hoping you might figure him out
When you first receive them, you’re sure they mustn’t be for you, asking around all your dormmates to see if they might be for them
Nobody claims them, and they are your absolute favourite flower
You display them in a vase on your bedside despite finding the whole thing odd
A few more little gifts appear for you throughout the year, although you have doubts they could really be for you, they are all personalised to you
You spend many nights with friends pondering over who ‘T’ may be
Riddle knows how much Christmas seems to mean to most romantic couples, so he figures he must go all out for you
My angel,
The days are long and gloomy but ever brightened by your presence. Thoughts of you keep out the harsh cold at night, giving me my very first taste of what many call ‘the Christmas spirit’. I wish for us to spend time together like other couples do, cuddled together by the fire. Perhaps one day. I have never hoped for such things before, but you have changed everything. You are now and forever my angel. I worship you from afar.
Yours,
T
With this note comes a large box, full of various gifts
Jewellery, perfumes, chocolates, luxurious quills and ink, an intricate leatherbound diary, and indulgent bathing products, all perfectly tailored to your preferences
You’re unsure what to make of all this, half-flattered, half-creeped out
Riddle had pulled a lot of strings to get you so many expensive products, so is absolutely thrilled when that day at dinner, he spots you wearing the angel wing necklace he gave you
You don’t realise that both your initials are engraved on the back
When Tom Riddle, polite and charming Head Boy, compliments your necklace as you sit alone, you pay it no mind
Until he innocuously asks if there are any engravings, and you look down to see the letters T.M.R. staring back at you beside your own initials
He’s gone by the time you look back up, though a note sits on the table before you in familiar handwriting, clearly prepared ahead of time
My angel,
Seek me out tonight if you wish, I will not push. I will be in the back of the library awaiting you with great anticipation. I promise that with me you will live a very happy life and want for nothing. I am not as frightening as I may seem, I am merely afraid, and I will tell you all about it tonight if you come find me. Then perhaps I may hold you by the fire as I dream of if you’ll allow it. To me, you are precious, so I am willing to go slow. If I have made you uncomfortable, I will stop correspondence with you after tonight, but my heart will never leave you.
Yours,
Tom Riddle
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xoxoxo Merry Christmas xoxoxo
#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle x you#harry potter#slytherin boys#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin boys x you#tom riddle one shot#x reader#reader insert#fem reader#tom riddle era#voldemort#voldemort x reader#fanfic#tom riddle fluff#fluff#christmas fic#drabble#mini fic
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★ — HELP WANTED
★ — pairing : canon/contractor!abby anderson x fem!reader
★ — as a new homeowner, paying full price to get a remodel on things was so expensive. luckily abby anderson gave pretty faces major discounts.
★ — warnings : sexual content
🔖 : @thaatdigitaldiary @d3arapril @rosemariiaa @ashortyluvsports
you weren’t much of a handyman—or handywoman, for that matter. when you moved into your new house, you quickly realized that the charm of its old bones came with a laundry list of things that needed fixing: a leaky faucet, creaky doors, shelves that threatened to collapse if you so much as looked at them.
that’s how you met abby anderson.
the first time you saw her, she was unloading a truck across the street, all lean muscles and work boots, her blonde braid sticking out from under a baseball cap. you didn’t think much of it at first, too busy trying to wrestle a box through your own front door. but when you dropped it with a loud thud, she appeared out of nowhere.
“you need a hand?”
her voice was warm, slightly teasing, and when you looked up, you were momentarily struck by her presence. abby was… well, extremely beautiful. sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and a crooked smile that could melt steel.
——
after helping you with the box, abby quickly learned about your diy incompetence.
“so,” she said a few days later, leaning against the doorframe as you struggled to fix a curtain rod. “you always this good with tools, or am i just special enough to witness it?”
you turned, rolling your eyes at her smirk. “yeah, yeah, laugh it up. at least i’m trying.”
she chuckled, her gaze dropping to the small pile of mismatched screws and nails at your feet. “tell you what—how about i come by this weekend and help you out? i’m pretty handy, if i do say so myself.”
you hesitated, but the truth was you needed the help. “are you sure? i don’t wanna intrude.”
“darlin’,” she said, stepping closer and giving you a lopsided grin. “it’d be my pleasure.”
——
that sunday, abby showed up in a tank top and work pants, a toolbox slung over one shoulder. she whistled low when you opened the door.
“well, look at you,” she said, her eyes dragging over the black cropped tank you had on, showing off the bold tattoo on your right shoulder. “you dress up for me?”
you blushed, shaking your head. “you wish.”
“maybe i do,” she replied, her voice dropping slightly as she brushed past you, her shoulder grazing yours.
the day passed with abby fixing things at lightning speed while you hovered nearby, asking questions and offering her water or snacks. she made it impossible to concentrate, the way her muscles flexed when she tightened screws or hammered nails.
at one point, she caught you staring.
“enjoyin’ the view, ma’am?” she asked, smirking as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
you stammered, “i—i was just tryna’ make sure you were doin’ it right, that’s all.”
“uh-huh.” she leaned closer, her voice dipping into something more intimate. “if you’ve got any other… inspections in mind, let me know.”
your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.
——
by the time the sun set, abby had fixed more in one day than you thought possible. the two of you were sitting on the floor of your living room, surrounded by tools and scraps, laughing about the crooked shelf you had tried to install before she arrived.
“i can’t believe you thought duct tape would hold that up,” she teased, nudging you with her knee.
“look, desperate times, desperate measures,” you defended, shaking your head. “besides, you’re the expert. that’s why i have you now.”
her smile softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded. “yeah,” she said quietly. “you do.”
the air between you shifted, tension crackling like a live wire. abby’s gaze dropped to your lips, and you felt your breath catch.
“i—“ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat when abby reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“you’re something else, y’know that?” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “been drivin’ me crazy all day.”
your heart hammered in your chest. “abby…”
“tell me to stop,” she said, her forehead nearly touching yours now. “i will. just say the word.”
instead of answering, you closed the gap, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was so soft at first but quickly deepened. abby’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as the tension of the day finally snapped.
when you pulled back, breathless, she smirked. “so… does this mean i’m gettin’ that ‘thank-you’ dinner you promised?”
you laughed, tugging her back in. “dinner can wait.”
——
abby had you sprawled against your bed, the same bed that she fixed hours earlier. your bra was thrown across the room, landing on the vanity she just remodeled.
“fuckin’ beautiful, i fuckin’ knew it,” she says, looking at you like prey, and you can feel yourself salivating at the way her muscles bulge when she manhandles you. “spread those legs, sweetheart, lemme’ see you.”
you spread yourself to abby’s liking, your pants and panties discarded on your rug, leaving you fully bare in front of your next-door-neighbor.
her mouth damn near waters at the sight, your folds glistening in slick, simply because she talks to you nice. abby eats that shit up, making sure the neighborhood knows she does this to you.
“let me in, baby.” she says, as her fingers start pumping in and out of your pussy, the squelching noise driving her batshit crazy. she’s on top of you, kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “pussy’s talkin’ to me, isn’t she?” she says, inserting another finger inside of you.
“shitttt, abby, don’t talk like that.” you whimper, causing abby’s pace to speed up when she hits that sweet spot inside of you, causing your moans to grow louder and louder.
“shh… gotta be quiet sweetheart, you just got here—you want the neighbors to know my name already?” she whispers against your skin, leaving messy kisses along your tits.
she’s forcing you to grind into her fingers, the show your giving alone making her boxers a soaked mess.
“p—please, abby…” you pant, your head spinning and baby hairs sticking to your forehead.
“i’ll give it to ya’ sweet girl, always so fuckin’ patient, yeah?” abby’s breath starts to hitch as you dig your nails into her back, her chest clad with a black sports bra.
“gonna… abby please, i’m so close—,” you manage to let out, and abby takes this as a signal to let you finish. she holds your body down, pumping at lightning speed, listening to your moans grow and watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“c’mon sweetheart, all over my fingers.” your stomach snaps, and sudden flow rushes through your body and right onto abby’s digits. you were shaking, abby’s thick fingers leaving you in a trance, all of her handy work being put to use.
“jesus, abby. you do this to all your new neighbors?” you say, attempting to catch your breath.
“nah, just you honey.”
——
the night stretched on, filled with whispered laughs and stolen kisses, and for once, you were thankful for all the broken things that had brought her to your door.
#abby anderson#abby anderson smut#abby anderson tlou2#abby anderson x reader#abby tlou#abby the last of us#kennedy’s works ⋆·˚ ༘ *
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FLAVORS
Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x fem!reader
Summary: Kol learns about modern day beauty products, his favorite being flavored lip balm.
Warnings: Kol being Kol, Kol being a softie, Klaus being sassy, Best friend Rebekah, Brief mention of blood, Mention of Rebekah previously trying to eat reader (we all make mistakes), Kol being very very curious about modern stuff, inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad.)
Notes: This was originally a very short fluffy idea that I had… and then it kind of just turned into way more? whoops? I feel like we never really talk about the little things that would be way different to all the originals, we always focus on the big things like technology and laws but never something as simple as flavored lip balm…
I’d like to take this opportunity to shout out my red crab makeup headband.
Word Count: 2.4k
———————
“And what do we have here?” Kol’s teasing voice cuts into the conversation you and Rebekah were currently having in her room.
The blonde girl rolls her eyes, “Go away, Kol.”
You turn and look at the boy, you hadn’t officially met him yet as you spend most of your time with Rebekah but you had heard stories about him. Kol smirks at you and then looks at all of the items laid out on Rebekah’s bed.
He walks over and tilts his head, obviously curious, he picks up an eyeshadow palette, “Is this makeup?” he looks at you when he asks, addressing the question to you.
You hum and he nods, continuing, “See, right before I was put into a little box, makeup was still a bit of a taboo for common women…” he opens the palette and stares at all the vibrant shades, “now you all wear these bright colors.”
You watch in horror as he digs his finger into the pot of a glittery purple shade causing the pressed pigment to crack and break. You’re on your feet immediately and grab the palette from him, letting out a sigh when you see the damage.
Kol doesn’t seem to notice your expression, “What do you do with this?” he holds up his pointer finger that is coated in sparkly purple.
Rebekah takes the palette from you and glares at her brother, “You do realize you’ve ruined the purple right?”
Kol ignores Rebekah and looks at you, expectantly, you sigh, “It goes on your eyelids, it’s eyeshadow.”
Kol hums and in a quick move, puts his finger on your eyelid, spreading the pigment onto your face, effectively ruining your makeup look you and Rebekah had just finished. He smirks, proud of his work.
“Kol!” Rebekah gasps, standing up to forcibly shove her brother out of her room. She slams the door shut and locks it even though he could get back in if he really wanted to.
With her back still to the door Rebekah looks at you with an exasperated look, “I am so sorry! My brother is a bloody fool.”
You shrug, grabbing the makeup remover to clean your face, “It’s fine, Bekah. It’s not your fault he hasn’t seen an eyeshadow palette yet…” you pause a moment, tilting your head in thought, “though, I guess it’s not really his fault either?” a small smile appears on your face, one Rebekah recognizes as your ‘he’s cute’ smile.
“Don’t tell me you think he’s—” Rebekah starts and you cut her off, very aware of the fact that you’re in a house full of vampires with super hearing.
“Besides, I hardly used the purple anyway.”
Rebekah narrows her eyes at you and crosses her arms, walking closer to you. You roll your eyes and bring your fingers up in a pinching motion, mouthing, ‘Only a bit.’
You giggle as Rebekah’s nose scrunches up in disgust at your admission of finding her brother a bit cute.
-★-
You were currently lounging on the Mikaelson family’s couch, reading to pass the time while you waited for your face mask to finish. You didn’t care about anyone seeing you in such a thing, the Mikaelsons always came home covered in blood or worse. Seeing you in a little bit of clay wouldn’t kill any of them.
It would certainly confuse Kol, though. He was a bit alarmed when he entered the living room to find you with a green face.
“What on earth is that?” he asks, he seems mildly concerned but also intrigued.
You look up at him, closing your book, “It’s a face mask. It helps your skin become clearer and healthier.”
He nods, still a bit weirded out by it and an idea pops into your head.
“Would you like to try?”
“What?”
“The face mask! Oh come on, it'll be fun!” you say, jumping off of the couch to grab his hand and drag him up to your honorary room you had in their house.
Kol attempted to glance around the room but didn’t really get a chance as you drug him straight into the bathroom, you held up two fluffy headbands in front of him. One was red and had eyes on it, accompanied by little claws to look like a crab and the other was brown with little bear ears.
The one you were currently wearing was red with little devil horns, he would have preferred that one. Still, he chooses the crab one so you two would have matching colors.
You let out a little squeal and stretch the headband over his head while he sits there like a doll, doing nothing to help you. You grab the face mask tube and set it on the counter and that’s when you notice you left your drink downstairs and grumble, you needed your caffeine.
“I’ll be right back!” you chirp and practically skip out of the room to get your drink.
Kol bounces his leg, a bit nervous before he picks up the tube and begins to read the ingredients. He decides to open it up and squeeze a bit into his hand, just to get a feel for the texture. However, even as a thousand year old vampire he sometimes underestimates his strength which results in him squeezing over half of the tube out and onto the floor.
Kol’s eyes widen in panic just as you come back into the bathroom and see the mess on the ground.
“I didn’t mean to!” Kol quickly tries to defend himself.
You sigh, setting your drink down and reaching for a towel to wipe the mask off the ground, “How much is left in the tube?”
“A third…” Kol waits for you to rip the crab headband off his head and shove him out of the room just as Rebekah had done the other day but you don’t.
You look up at him and smile, “That’s still enough to do yours!”
Standing up, you toss the towel near the hamper and grab the tube from Kol. You squeeze a generous amount onto the scoop, gently grabbing Kol’s chin to tilt his head up.
“It’s going to be a bit cold since it’s a refrigerated mask, just a warning.”
Kol nods but still flinches when it first touches his skin. He sits quietly, just watching you as you focus on spreading the clay evenly on his face.
After a moment you finally speak up, “Klaus bought me this mask when he was dragging me and Stefan all around that summer trying to find werewolves… I practically begged him.”
“My brother kidnapped you as well?”
You shake your head, “No, no, I essentially forced him to take me when he took Stefan.”
“I do believe your exact words were ‘I’m not letting Stefan run around with a filthy mutt all summer by himself.’” Klaus announces while walking past your room, stopping for only a brief moment.
You roll your eyes and shout back, “But now we’re the best of friends!”
“You just like my credit card!”
You laugh a bit and set down the scoop you used to spread the mask around with into the sink.
“And now we wait.”
Kol nods, then asks, “So you were there when Rebekah was undaggered the first time?”
You nod, “Mhm! I was the one who taught her about todays makeup and some fashion trends! She actually tried to eat me when we first met but Klaus stopped her and now we’re thick as thieves!”
You smile fondly at the memory of helping Rebekah understand modern makeup and fashion, you explained everything to her and even did her makeup for her.
“Is it supposed to feel like my face is being frozen in place?” Kol asks, interrupting your trip down memory lane.
“Yup!”
-★-
Kol tilts his head to the side as he watches you apply something to your lips, it wasn’t the action that was confusing him, it was that there was no color.
“What is that?”
“This?” you hold up the small cylinder and he nods, “It’s called lip balm… it’s kind of like lipstick.”
“Why is there no color if it’s like lipstick?”
You shake your head, “No, no, it’s for healing your lips, it’s meant to be clear. It’s more like a medicine. It makes your lips all soft and prevents cracking and bleeding.”
Kol nods, “So it’s like… moisturizer?”
“You can think of it like that!”
After a moment you gesture for Kol to take the lip balm, “Wanna try? These ones are even flavored! This one tastes like cherry!”
Kol’s brows shoot up, “flavored?”
“Mhm! They have all different kinds! Coconut, strawberry, cotton candy—“ you cut yourself off, “oh my gosh! You’ve never had cotton candy before, have you? Oh you’ve got to try it! That’s the next thing on the list! Right after lip balm!”
Kol chuckles at your eagerness and takes the lip balm from you, cranking the bottom of it til over half of the actual lip balm was sticking out of the container. He sniffs it, as though he thinks you’re playing a trick on him when you say it's flavored.
Then very carefully he brings it up to his lips and… takes a bite out of it?
“Kol—“ you try but it’s too late.
The Mikaelson boy grimaces at the artificial waxy taste, he swallows it and glares at you, he isn’t actually mad at you and you can tell.
He gets a drink of water to wash away the taste, “You said it was flavored! That tastes God awful!”
You laugh, “Because you’re not meant to actually eat it!”
“But you said—“
You shake your head, taking back the lip balm to try and smooth out the bite marks, “C’mere.” you becken him over to invade your space.
You tilt his head down, holding his cheek as you apply the lip balm onto him. Kol stands a bit awkwardly with his hands out for about five seconds before resting them on your hips. He’s relieved when you don’t jump away from his touch. To his surprise, when you’re finished applying the lip balm, you don’t pull completely out of his hold.
“Lick your lips.” you say, smiling up at him.
Kol’s brow furrows but he follows the order nonetheless, his eyes light up when he tastes the faint cherry flavor.
“Better?” you ask.
“Much.”
“And now your lips will be super soft! Perfect for kissing!”
There’s silence for a moment and reluctantly you step out of his hold, “I’m sorry I just made that super awkward…”
“No, no, you didn’t.”
You clear your throat and hand him the lip balm, “You keep this… after all, you did take a bite out of it.”
“That I did, darling.”
-★-
It had been awhile since you had seen Kol and you hoped you had not ruined whatever little friendship you had going on with your kissing comment. It may have also been a while since you had seen him since you were avoiding the Mikaelson house to, well, avoid him. It was weird for everyone since you were always there. Rebekah had heard about what happened from both you and Kol and she was about to go crazy with the two of you dancing around each other. She demanded that Kol go talk to you since she knew you’d never get the courage to do so.
You were washing dishes in the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. You dry off your hands and go to look through the peephole, there’s Kol Mikaelson, standing on your doorstep holding a large shopping bag.
You open the door and raise a brow, “What are you doing here?”
He holds up the bag to emphasize its presence, “May I come in?”
You nibble your lip, you knew if you invited him in there would be no take backs on it. You shook the thought from your head, all of the other originals (besides Finn) had access to your home. The Mikaelsons were practically family to you and Kol had been good to you.
You step aside, “Come on in.”
Kol looks around as he enters, taking in your home.
“I know it’s not nearly as fancy as your mansion but not all of us can come from billion dollar original vampire families.”
He chuckles at your comment, “It’s a nice home.”
The two of you stand in silence for a moment, just staring at each other before you cough awkwardly, unable to handle his intense gaze any longer, “What do you need Kol?”
“Oh, right, I almost forgot.” he gestures the bag towards you, urging you to take it.
You raise a brow but comply, opening the bag you find a new eyeshadow palette, the same one that he had ruined the purple in, a bottle of the fancy clay mask you use, and a number of different flavored chapsticks (including the cherry flavored one he’d taken a bite out of).
“Kol… you didn’t have to…”
“I figured I should since I practically trashed your old stuff.” he walks farther into your home, until he reaches the living room where you have reruns of your favorite television show playing.
He turns around, facing you as you rummage through all the different chapstick flavors.
A small smile appears on his face, “Maybe we could try them all?”
Your eyes widen, “You want to open all of them?”
“Well, maybe not all but a few… I have an idea, what if you put them on and I’ll guess the flavor…”
Your brows furrow as you open one of the lip balms and begin applying it, “That doesn’t even make sense, they’d be on my lips not yours!”
Kol lets out a chuckle at your statement and you just become even more confused.
“Bloody hell, you’re oblivious.”
“Wha—“
Kol cuts you off by connecting your lips in a short but very sweet kiss. He pulls away, looking at your expression to make sure Rebekah hadn’t been lying to him about you having a crush on him. His worries disappear when you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in again. His hands find your hips, pulling you flush to him as he begins to nibble on your lip. He pulls away again, resting his forehead against yours, allowing you both to catch your breath.
“Coconut.” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“The flavor,” he clarifies, “It’s coconut.”
You remove your arms from his neck and look at the lip balm in your hands, “Oh you so totally cheated!”
“I did no such thing!”
“The coconut one doesn’t even taste like coconut!”
“Okay… maybe I peeked just a little.”
“Kol Mikaelson!”
You both begin to laugh before Kol smirks cheekily at you, pulling you impossibly close, “Next lip balm? I promise I won't peek this time.”
#kit kat writes <3#kol mikaelson x reader#kol mikaelson x y/n#kol mikaelson x you#kol mikaelson imagine#kol mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#the originals#the vampire diaries#the cw#tvdu#tvd#fluff#x reader
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KARMIC BALANCE ✷ CHAPTER III
✷WARNINGS cursing, pining??? idk. mention of the nd game and h*annah h*dalgo
✷NIYAH SPEAKS aye we back! this one is just paiges pob
✦✦✦✦
SENIOR YEAR
We lose to Notre Dame every year.
Every. Fucking. Year.
And now that I’m home in Storrs, looking at everyone as they try to mask their disappointment, I feel the loss even more.
Which is why I’m walking around in the middle of night, the December air biting into my skin. I can’t stop thinking about everything that went wrong. Why everything went wrong.
I honestly have no fucking clue why, but I know what went wrong. Everyone does. Our defense was lousy, our shots were horrible, we got too tired. I could go on, but that won’t fix anything.
I find myself at Xavi and Janes house before I realize it. I tell myself that it’s because Yanna’s there, and not because of the wisdom that Xavia seems to have about every aspect of life.
When Xavia opens the door wearing a smile and a moo moo, I ignore that bubly feeling in my chest and ask to come in.
Once inside, I see her apartment is almost completely dark. The big lights are off, the living room being lit only by a candle and two lamps in opposite corners.
“So, what’s up P?” Xavi asks, running her hands down the silk of her moo moo. “It’s almost midnight and you’re usually dead to the world by 9.”
Knowing that Xavia knows my bedtime makes me smile for reasons I don’t want to admit.
When I first met her, Xavia was like a mystery. She was funny and smart and absolutely fucking beautiful. She’d apologized for making a false assumption about me. It was the first and only time anyone had ever done that and I never forgot it.
When she and Jane started coming around more, I forced myself to swallow the want I had to learn more about her, to learn from her because I knew that if I’d gotten to the root of who she was, I’d be even more enthralled than I already was at that point.
Eventually my heart stopped beating so fast around her. I’d stopped avoiding being within 3 feet of her and trained myself to treat her like I’d treated all my other friends.
Because that’s what she is. My friend.
It didn’t matter that her not worshipping ground I walked on excited me. It didn’t matter that almost every conversation we had alone rested in the back of my mind at all times.
Xavia is my friend and that’s all she’d ever be.
“Yeah I know. I just can’t get the ND game outta my head and I thought Yanna would be here to talk to.”
I’m lying and I know it. Whether Yanna was here or not, I would have found a way to talk to Xavi. I always did. Not because I wanted to be around her, but because she always had the answer to whatever problem that I have. Anyone would do the same if they’d stopped to pay attention when she was trying to get a word in.
“Oh, yeah, she’s not here.” Xavi pointed a thumb to the back of her house, where Her and Jane’d bedroom’s were. Her locs swayed with the turn of her head. “Her and Jane went to Urgent Care cause she hit her shoulder on the wall and-” She waves her hands anxiously, as if she doesn’t feel like explaining a complex situation. “It was a whole thing. I’m sure you’ll hear about it tomorrow.”
I know I should be worried about my teammate who can’t seem to stay healthy. And I am. I make a mental note to check in on Yanna at some point, but right now, I’m thinking of a way I can stay and talk to Xavi without making it a thing.
“Oh…” is what I came up with.
“You can talk to me?” Thank. God. “ If you want.”
Of course I fucking want. It’s all I’ve done for the past three years.
I want to be a better person.
I want to be 19 again and do everything differently.
I want to win the championship this year.
But all those wants are null and void for the biggest want of all.
I want to get drafted to the WNBA.
And I’ve made too many shitty decisions to get there to just throw it all away. So what if I’m miserable?
“Uh, yeah. That’s cool.” I play off my desperation and take a seat on her orange bean bag.
Xavi plops down on the couch in front of me, crossing her legs and folding her hands. All her attention is on me and a part of me feels like I don’t deserve the attention of this amazing woman. But a bigger part is screaming that this is how it should be.
Me, admiring every part of her, and her, willing and ready for anything I give her.
Of course, in this situation all she wants is to know what’s on my mind, but I would give her whatever else she could think up.
“So whatcha thinkin ‘bout?” She asks sweetly.
Her voice isn’t obnoxiously high. It’s kinda deep and mellow, just like she is.
“Um… I just can’t get over everything.” I shake my head and look at my hands. Hands that are supposed to get me everywhere I want in life. “Like, I get why we lost. What we did wrong on the basketball front. But we were off the other day. We’d run those plays over and over again in practice. Studied film. We should have been prepared, but we were just off. Like no matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t get there.”
Xavia nods her head like she understands everything I’m saying.
“Like everything was against you guys?” she questions.
“No. I don’t think that anything was unfair. I think that our all just wasn’t enough.”
“Well, I know you can’t speak for anyone else, and I’d never ask you to. But why do you think you were off that night?”
She sounds like a therapist. The kind that isn’t just trying to fix you, but trying to understand you. The kind that hangs on to every word, but not to hold it against you.
“I don’t know. I just kept getting madder and madder and it threw me off. I did everything I was supposed to do.”
She looks confused now. “What do you mean ‘supposed to do’?”
“Like everything I thought was right. Everything I've always done.”
“Maybe that’s the issue.”
Now I’m confused.
“What?”
Following my routine has taken me and my team to the Final Four, and for Xavi to tell me it’s wrong stings a little.
“Maybe doing everything you’ve always done isn’t the answer. Paige, you’re a somewhat mature adult. Do you honestly think you’re right all the time?”
What does she mean ‘somewhat’ mature?
“...No?”
“Right.” Xavi sounds so sure of herself, leaning in and starting to talk with her hands like she does when she’s talking about her coursework or something equally as interesting to her. “It’s impossible to be right in every situation because every situation is different. When you throughout your daily life, do you treat every person the same? Do you go into every conversation with the same mindset, expecting the same outcome?”
I mean most people are the same, so what else am I supposed to do?
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Well that’s no bueno, babe.” She huffs out, pointing at me. Then, she entrances me again with her hands as she speaks. “ Every human is different. They have different pasts, and different views. Even if the difference between one person and another is miniscule, it’s there. And that difference is why it’s so important that we don’t generalize people.”
I know she’s stopped talking but I’m so caught up in her voice, and her hands and her face, and her to contribute to the conversation.
“Are you understanding?” She asks, seemingly genuinely concern with whether I’m comprehending what she’s telling me.
And the answer is no, I’m not understanding. Whether there’s a differenc eor not, each person want the same thing and should be dealt with the same, based on what they want.
This is the code fucking live by,a nd she’s sitting her debunking it in the most intellectual, attractive way possible.
“Not really.”
“Okay so like…” She sighs, pauses to think and then continues. “Do you remember when we first met? When I assumed you were a whore like alot of college athletes are?”
The reminder of our first interaction brings a calmness to me. I remember everything abou that night in her dorm. She wore sweats with no bra, and I’m pretty sure she was stoned.
“Yeah of course. You apologized to me that night and it kinda weirded me out.”
“Right.” Xavia snapped her fingers, bringing me out of my memory. “I apologized to you, because I generalized you and made an assumption based on one aspect of your identity. And I think it weirded you out because you’d generalized every person who’d made an assumption about you. I guess it’s rare that people apologize after being an asshole to you.”
It was rare. So rare that she’s the only person who’d ever done it.
“Okay…”
“So. Incourpurating that into basketball. Every team is different.”
I nod my head to let her know I was following. “Of course.”
“Okay and so every player on every team is different too.”
She lost me.
“No.” Now I’m the one leaning forward, talking with my hands. “They all move as a team. Yes, they have differences, but they’re all working together.”
“I see it differently.” She shrugs like she’s the master of basketball and done copious amounts of research on the psyche of an athlet. “I feel like every player on that court moves individually. Do they play for the same team, and have the same goal? Of course. But they’re all different. They all have different thoughts and concerns and ideas. You said that girl Hannah was the head of the snake, but I think you should see it differently.”
“How so?”
“Instead of thinking of a team as one snake, think of it like… Like cheetahs!”
“Cheetahs?”
“Cheetahs.” She finalizes. “Once the mama cheetah gives birth, she trains her cubs to survive in any situation. To adapt to any surroundings. She teaches her cubs how to kill different animals, to hide, all that. Eventually, the cubs form a sibling group and go out together to execute everything their mother has taught them. Are you getting the analogy?”
When she’s explaining it in laymans terms, of course I get it. She could probably explain thermodynamics to me and I’d understand it fully. Xavia just has a way of making everything in life seem so simple. It’s wonderful, really.
“Yeah. Like the coach is the mother, the players are the cubs.”
“Right. But each cub is different. There’s a more dominant one, there’s submissives and then theirs the runts. Each one has to edit their mothers lessons to make it useful to them individually. Does that make sense?”
I’ve decided that she’s blown my mind enough for tonight, once again by being right about everything. So I just chuckle and dismiss the topic.
“How do you come up with this shit, Xavi?”
She laughs like a seductress and leans back on the couch, “I dunno. I read alot.”
You read alot? Reading alot has given you the ability to break down a sport like you’ve played it your whole life?
“Well thank you for sharing your knowledge with my dumbass, oh wise one.”
I stand up from the beanbag and make my way to the door, ready to take my exit.
“I’m not wise, I just see from a different point of view than you. Sometimes you gotta get outta your head.”
“I guess.” I sigh, then open my arms. “Thanks, Xavi.”
She steps into me, her head just below my chest and wraps her arms around me. Her body is warm, but the silk she’s wearing cold. She doesn’t hug me tight or aggressively. Just stands there with her arms around my waist.
It feels terrifyingly comfortable.
“Anytime P.” she mutters, pulling away and ushering me out of her home.
The whole walk back, my mind is on her and everything she said.
How is it that this girl that is the exact opposite of everything I’m looking for, seems to be everything I need?
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"You hate yourself. I hate myself. Common interests."
For @thehistoricalbook for @narlieweek Osemanverse Secret Santa. Happy holidays! Hope you enjoy!
Ace of Hearts | A Solitaire fanfic
I immediately regret opening the text.
Michael: wanna go to the cinema on monday?
It is ridiculous that such a seemingly innocuous question could get me so worked up, for reasons I don't really want to delve into.
Monday is Valentine’s Day.
Ordinarily, this fact would be inconsequential to me. Ordinarily, I would not consider having plans on Valentine’s Day. Ordinarily, I would not have anyone to make plans with. I would sit in my room, and start watching a film, and drink diet lemonade, and not think too much about what day it was.
But lately things have not been ordinary.
Last week, standing on the roof of Higgs as it burned, Michael and I kissed. We haven’t really discussed what that means. Maybe we should have. Maybe if we had, Michael wouldn’t be asking me out on Valentine’s Day.
I’ve never been asked out on Valentine’s Day before. I’ve never been asked out, period. I’ve never been in anything remotely in the realm of a romantic relationship before. I’m not even sure if I want a boyfriend. What does ‘having a boyfriend’ even mean?
Michael and I aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. At least I don’t think so. No, we definitely aren’t, because that is the sort of thing you confirm before assuming, right?
I stare at Michael’s text.
Maybe he isn’t really asking me out. Maybe he just wants to hang out again like we have been doing. Maybe he doesn’t even realize what day Monday is. Maybe I’m freaking out for no reason.
I tap the text box. The cursor blinks back at me while I consider what to reply.
Tori: monday the 14th?
Michael: yeah
Shit. So he does know.
Tori: why?
Michael: why not?
He is asking me out on Valentine’s Day because he thinks we are boyfriend and girlfriend when we definitely aren’t, and I am going to have to tell him that and ruin our relationship and never talk to him again. Probably. Possibly.
My phone buzzes again.
Michael: you mentioned that your family all had plans, so I thought you might want to hang out
Mum and Dad have a dinner reservation, Charlie has plans with Nick, and even Oliver has a playdate. Ordinarily, this would mean an evening to myself to rot in my room, which honestly isn’t any different than any other night. But lately I’ve been trying to do things. And doing things with Michael makes them less awful.
I debate whether or not I should go for ten minutes before Michael texts me again.
Michael: sooo do you want to?
I sigh. The truth is that I really do want to spend the day with Michael. Why can’t it be that simple? Is it not enough that I just like being around him, without getting into what that means, or what label to put on our relationship? I contemplate for another ten minutes before replying.
Tori: sure
It is going to be awful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Monday evening, the doorbell rings, so I get up to answer it before Charlie does. Mum and Dad and Oliver are thankfully out already, and I’ve been waiting in the living room for Michael’s arrival in the hope of avoiding any questions from Charlie. It’s not that I want to hide anything from him, but I know he’s going to ask about Michael and whether we’re officially going out, and I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t even know what the answer is. So I should probably figure that out first.
I wrench open the door, and it’s not Michael on the other side, but Nick. He’s carrying a bunch of red, heart-shaped balloons in one hand, and a teddy bear in the other. The teddy bear is holding a handmade card with a picture of him and Charlie on the front. The whole thing is covered in heart stickers.
“Oh,” he says, clearly expecting Charlie. “Hi, Tori.”
“Hi.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence when he smiles that toothless, puppy-dog smile at me.
“Charlie is in his room,” I tell him, and step aside to let him in.
As he steps over the threshold, Charlie comes bounding down the stairs and launches himself at Nick. Somehow Nick manages to catch him, despite his hands being full.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Nick says into Charlie’s shoulder.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Charlie returns before letting go and promptly getting tangled in the balloon strings. He and Nick both giggle as they work to free him.
I leave them to it and return to my spot in the living room. I can still hear them gushing over each other’s gifts.
“Oh, he’s adorable! I love him! Did you make this yourself?”
“I did!”
“Here, open mine.”
“I love it! That’s so thoughtful! I love you!”
“I love you!”
They can be a bit sickening sometimes. Like the stomach ache you get after you eat too much sugar.
Somehow, my brother has a sappy, adorable, ‘90s rom-com relationship. Nothing makes him happier, and it’s exactly what he deserves, so of course I’m happy for him.
I hear Nick and Charlie leave and I slump further into the couch. I can’t tell if what I’m feeling is nausea or envy.
There is something so obvious and effortless and exceptional about Nick-and-Charlie. They’re so open about their feelings. Even if they didn’t say it a dozen times a day in various ways, with the way they hold hands, the way they look at each other, it’s clear to anyone that they’re mad for each other.
I wonder if that is what Michael is expecting.
I jump when there’s a knock at the door. I stand and grit my teeth. If Michael is on the other side of it with a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses, I am going to slam the door in his face.
I open the door, and there he is. No chocolates, no roses, no Valentine’s paraphernalia of any kind. But he is wearing a red T-shirt that is suspiciously on-theme. Of course he isn’t wearing a coat.
“Hello!” he trills when he sees me.
“Hi.”
“Sorry I didn’t bring my bike,” he says while I put on my coat. “The roads are still too snowy for it.”
This has been an exceptionally snowy winter.
“I don’t mind the walk,” I say.
We set out, and it’s snowing lightly. The streets are quiet, and the snow makes the whole world quiet, and Michael and I are quiet as we walk together through it. It’s beautiful. But I can’t fully appreciate it with all the noise in my head.
I don’t want to ask Michael, ‘What are we?’ partially because I might actually die of embarrassment if I did, but mostly because I’m afraid I won’t like his answer. I’m not even sure what I would want his answer to be.
Instead, I ask, “What are we seeing?” I stupidly didn’t think to ask earlier, and I belatedly realized that which movie he wants to see may indicate what his intentions are.
“They’re playing Amélie.”
Shit. I love that movie. And it also happens to be probably the most romantic movie that I actually like.
“You said you liked that movie, right?” he asks when I don’t respond.
“Yeah.” I rewatched it recently, but I never actually finished it.
We lapse into silence again.
On the high street, we walk past a shop with a display of red lingerie in the window with a sign reading, ‘For that special someone.’
I stare straight ahead, but somehow I can see both the display on my right and Michael on my left in my peripheral vision, and I’m trapped between them. I shiver.
I stuff my fists deeper into my pockets and raise my shoulders so the collar of my coat comes up over my ears. I peer sideways at Michael in his red t-shirt. “Aren’t you ever cold?”
“Nope,” he says. I can see his breath in the air and he turns to me. “I’m…hot blooded! Check it and see!”
I quicken my pace and leave him behind me as he continues to sing Foreigner’s ‘Hot Blooded’.
“I’ve got a fever of a hundred and three!”
I roll my eyes. God, I hate that song. I hear his footsteps as he catches up to me.
“Come on baby, do you do more than dance?” he sings into my ear.
“Please stop,” I say, looking straight ahead.
“Am I annoying you?”
Yes. “I’m cold.”
He drapes his arm over my shoulders and I consider shrugging him off, but he is actually quite warm, so I just trudge through the cold beside him.
“I’m hot blooded, I’m hot blooded,” he sings to himself before he stops.
I’m aware that someone being cheerful is a shitty reason to be annoyed with them. It’s not exactly that I’m annoyed with Michael. I’m sort of annoyed with the world in general for no particular reason. Because I’m a pessimistic idiot. Maybe I’m just making things up in my head to get sad about.
Michael’s joy can be infectious. I wish I wasn’t so resistant. I wish I could just let his joy burrow into me and make a home. Like how warmth always seeps into the cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We arrive at the cinema, where a giant heart is displayed in the window. The lobby is filled with couples: couples holding hands, couples whispering to each other, couples laughing, couples kissing. I’m not sure what else I should have expected on Valentine’s Day.
I unzip my coat; the heaters must be on full blast and it’s stuffy in here.
Michael and I weave through all the couples and eventually settle into our seats. One of the couples from the lobby sit behind us and start giggling to each other insufferably. I wonder if it is going to be like this for the next two hours. I wonder if I can slam my head into the seat in front of me with enough force to knock myself out.
The lights dim, and thankfully they do shut up by time the movie starts.
About halfway through, I realize that I am enjoying myself. Or rather, I realize that I was enjoying myself. Because my absorption in the movie is interrupted by a wet, fleshy, clicky sort of sound behind me. The couple are now making out. Like, really obnoxiously. Why do people have to ruin everything?
I stare at the seat in front of me. The noises do not stop. In fact, they’ve escalated. I don’t think I’ve cringed so hard in my life.
I peer over at Michael, who appears oblivious to the whole thing. Then I noticed that his arm is perched on the armrest between us, with his palm sort of half-opened, like maybe he’s hoping I’ll put my hand in his. I don’t. My hands are wedged between my knees, and I dig my nails into my palm, trying to tune out the noises behind me.
The rest of the movie passes slowly, but I can’t seem to focus too much on it. As soon as the credits roll, I stand up and grab my coat. I involuntarily glance at the couple behind me. They seem to have just realized that they’re in public. I look away and shuffle out of the row of seats.
Michael follows me out of the cinema. He suggests we get something to eat at Cafe Riviere and I agree, mainly because I can’t stand a silent, awkward walk home.
Inside the cafe is decorated for Valentine’s Day, with paper hearts and cupids hung on the wall and from the ceiling. We order our food, and Michael talks about how much he enjoyed the movie, and how he understands why I like it, and something about the cinematography. I nod and mhm along as needed, but I think he can tell I’m distracted. Our food arrives before he asks me about it.
When we finish eating, I suggest we head home. It’s grown dark, and it’s still snowing. Michael and I walk side by side, watching the snow fall on the river as we go.
Michael doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if I’ve ruined the evening by being a misanthropic shit.
I’m about to ask him as much, but as I turn, I slip on some ice and lurch forward. My hands are in my pockets, but before my face smashes into the pavement, Michael catches me. One of his hands grips my arm, while the other clutches my hand, which is braced to break my fall.
He steadies me before letting go.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“No problem.”
We continue walking.
“You’ve been really quiet today,” he says. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Well, more than usual. Come on, spit it out.”
I consider saying nothing, or brushing him off with some generic excuse. But as the seconds tick by, I can feel him looking at me so intently and finally I blurt, “I don’t want things to be weird between us!”
“Are things weird between us?” He sounds genuinely surprised. I realize this may be one of those things I’ve made up in my head and gotten upset about for no reason.
He waits for me to answer. I stop walking and so does he. I turn my head to look at him, feeling mortified.
“Why did you ask me out on Valentine’s day?” It comes out angrier than I intend.
His face contorts with anger and confusion. “Why did I—?” He sighs. “Why do you think I did?”
I can’t say it. I just stare at him.
I watch Michael’s face return to normal as understanding slowly sets in. “Did you think I was planning some romantic candlelit dinner with chocolate and roses and everything?”
I feel my face getting hot and I don’t say anything. That is exactly what I thought, which is entirely too embarrassing to admit.
“Because that wasn’t what I was going for at all,” Michael continues. “Honestly, I had forgotten it was Valentine’s Day until you mentioned it.”
I bite my lip and look down. “Oh.”
It’s silent for a moment, besides the sound of the river. Then Michael says, “Tori,” softer this time. “I don’t have, like, any expectations or anything. I just like spending time with you.”
It’s a relief to hear, but I don’t entirely trust it. “Why?”
He looks at me with this indecipherable expression. “Because you’re…you.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He sighs a little. “It’s a compliment, Spring. Trust me.”
I do, so I say, “Okay.” And we keep walking. And things feel a bit better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When we make it back to my house, I see Nick’s car parked outside, which means that Charlie has beaten me home.
I linger outside the door, on the front stoop so that I’m standing almost at eye-level with Michael.
“I’m sorry that I made today weird,” I tell him.
“S’okay. I don’t mind weird,” he says and then pauses thoughtfully. “I mean…society kinda makes today weird, doesn’t it?” he asks rhetorically. “All these unrealistic expectations about performing romance in a very specific, public display, when really doesn’t it make more sense to just show the people you care about that you care about them?”
He says it in the general sense, but he’s looking at me like he means just me, like he’s saying he cares about me.
“You care about me?” It sounds like I’m teasing him, but only because it feels so strange. For someone to really care about me, and to say it.
“You know I do.” He says it so nonchalantly, like it’s obvious.
I nod. I know that. I’m trying to get used to believing it.
I thought the only people I really cared about were Charlie and Oliver, but I realize that that isn’t true.
So I force myself to tell him, “I do, too. I care about you, too.” Because it’s important that I say it, and that he hears it, and that he believes it.
He gives me a big, cheesy grin. “I know.”
He looks so earnest and he blushes a little, so I decide to do something.
I slowly lean in and I kiss him. Maybe it’s meaningless, or maybe it isn’t, but it’s nice, so I decide not to worry about it.
We break apart and I look up at him and he gives me this little smile that sort of makes me want to kiss it away. Instead, I stare at his face for a moment, taking in his joy, and I feel myself smile back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. I turn around, open the door, and step inside before I overthink it.
We haven’t made any plans, but I want to see him, and I know he wants to see me. Even if I don’t really understand why, I know he does. I’ve chosen to accept it rather than question it.
I shut the door behind me.
“Tori?” Charlie calls out, making me jump. I suppose this is payback, as I’m usually the one startling him.
I lean in the doorway to the living room and cross my arms. Charlie and Nick are sitting together on the couch. It is very obvious from their postures and disheveled hair that I have interrupted them making out. Ugh.
“Where were you?” Charlie asks.
“Out.”
“By yourself?”
“...No.” Charlie clearly expects more of an answer, and I figure it is better to give him something rather than let him speculate. “I was out with Michael.”
“Oh,” Charlie says in an all-too-interested tone. “How is he?”
“Fine.” I sound too defensive. I uncross my arms. “He’s…good.”
Charlie smiles at me. “Good.”
I smile back briefly, then duck back into the hall and head upstairs.
Tomorrow I will see Michael, and maybe I will enjoy myself, and maybe I will tell Charlie about it. Maybe Michael will keep wanting to see me, even if I don’t understand why. Maybe I won’t be sad all the time. Maybe everything will turn out okay.
#osemanverse secret santa#solitaire#solitaire alice oseman#tori spring#michael holden#sprolden#sprolden fanfiction#osemanverse#osemanverse fanfiction#i know it's the wrong holiday but solitaire is set so close to valentine's day i had to do something with it#there's so many ~implications~ ya know??
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Hi! This might be stupid but I am still a little confused how everything connects. The titans and the Evanuris and the blight especially.
Are you able to explain at little at all?
Oh dear sweet anon don’t worry, I’ve got you. I spent days trying to make sense of everything in my head so there is no shame for being confused—I was also confused for a minute because Veilguard blasts new lore at you with all the speed and quantity of a water from a high powered water hose. It’s a LOT.
So buckle up and I’ll explain briefly thoroughly but with humor, because I have not much to do this Christmas Eve (for the first time in a while). But if you're interested in a full lore dive with pictures and so on, like I've done with BG3 lore dives, let me know!
Under the cut for spoilers!
Okay so most of this comes from Solas’s murals in the lighthouse, which they show us out of order because the first three basically confirm what we learned in Trespasser, and then the next two really drop the lore bomb on us. There’s other stuff we learn from codexes, too, but the murals and the debriefing sessions from the companions tell us the majority of the information.
So, briefly: In the beginning there were mortals, spirits, and Titans. Some spirits, like Elgar'nan (formerly Tyranny or something) decided they wanted physical bodies, but they wanted their physical bodies to be powerful and capable of great feats of magic. So they stole the blood of the Titans (aka lyrium) to build their bodies.
Keep in mind, the Titans were probably one of the first primordial beings in Thedas and they are huge. They're the size of mountains; the lyrium veins that run through mines and caves in Thedas are their literal blood vessels. And (this gets into some codex hints and is partly headcanon) it sounds like lyrium in a pre-Veil, pre-war-with-the-elves world must have been INSANELY powerful and capable of all sorts of wonders. Like building physical bodies to house spirits and make them powerful people, as one example. Powering eluvians is another example.
Now, I imagine that casually stealing someone's blood is bound to make anyone angry (and isn't it so interesting that some of the first magic in Thedas was technically blood magic? but I digress). But it sounds like the first elves, the spirit-born elves like Elgar'nan and Mythal, didn't just take the blood, they straight up killed Titans, too. According to Elgar'nan's concept art way back in the early development stages of the game, the red crystals on his collar (he has them in the game too) are trophies from every Titan he's killed. That's a lot of Titans.
So we have a war between the elvhen (those who used lyrium to build bodies for their spirit selves) and the Titans (who are reasonably angry because they keep getting hurt and killed). Things get desperate, the Titans are winning, and the only way for the elves to win the war, according to Mythal, is to craft a relic and a ritual capable of mass-lobotomizing the Titans. If you can't kill them, neuter them. Or...something.
So that's what she and Solas do. Together they make the blue lyrium dagger (yes THE dagger we keep hauling around) and Solas says that with the proper ritual they can use it to sunder every Titan from their dreams.
Basically? He made every Titan Tranquil, but worse than Tranquil, because he sort of stole their entire minds and separated them from their bodies. That's even worse than being Tranquil. Imagine if your entire consciousness was forcibly ripped from your physical body and them sealed away in a cage. That's what Solas and Mythal did to the Titans.
Now, we're still in a pre-Veil world, so the physical world and the Fade are overlapping and all the same and so on. Basically, everything is magic and magic is everywhere. This includes the Titan Dreams, which are now some kind of living, magical force no longer anchored to a physical body. Also, their dreams were stolen in the middle of a war, so you can imagine that these dreams are probably not pleasant or peaceful to begin with. Cage up these angry dreams, leave them to stew for a few centuries, and you just know they're bound to turn into something bad.
Well, that's exacty what happens. As Solas says, these dreams will go on to become a "disembodied blight of pain and anger." Therefore, we have the Blight. The Big One. The Mother of all Blights.
But! Somehow, when they first sunder the dreams from the Titans, they seal away this Mega Blight. Problem solved! The Titans are quiet (lobotomized, not-quite-dead, etc) and the elven people are safe. And the Blight is sealed! All is well.
Except, well, no, the elven people are now being enslaved by Elgar'nan and some of the other Evanuris who are a bit drunk on power from killing one of Thedas's most powerful primordial forces. Solas is like "Sorry this isn't actually what I signed up for" and rebels against all of them, including Mythal. Rebellion ensues. Solas becomes Fen’Harel. Elvhenan grows into an impressive empire for the elves.
But the Evanuris still want more power! One of them, Andruil, stumbles upon the Blight again (according to a Dalish legend which may or may not be real, but we're going to pretend it is). Mythal steps in and it gets resealed and sorted, but now the Evanuris have had a taste for what the Blight can do for them.
So now they're actively looking for ways to break into the Blight so they can use it for themselves. Solas catches wind of this, goes to Mythal, and is like "I know we're on opposite sides here, but the other Evanuris will listen to you, and if they don't, you should join me instead." She's like "Don't worry, babe, I'll talk to them."
And then they stab her with her own lyrium dagger and she dies.
And also they might have released...a tiny bit of the blight? Because we see Ghilan'nain messing with it during Solas's rebellion memories.
So, shit, now they have the Blight, and they're using it, and Mythal is dead, and things are REALLY REALLY BAD NOW.
So Solas is like "There's only one thing I can do here" and he stages an attack on Elgar'nan's citadel so he can steal the dagger back (this is the third Solas memory in the Crossroads) and then prepares a ritual to seal all the remaining Evanuris into one big glittering golden palace thing along with 100% of the Blight and use the life forces of the Evanuris to create the cage that will trap them there.
The goal? Cut them off from the Fade, seal them up with the Blight, let them get corrupted and rot for eternity, the end! Evanuris get stuck in a small bubble with no Fade and all Blight, the rest of the world gets the Fade and peace.
Yeah that…didn’t work.
What actually happened is the ritual failed somehow and instead of locking 7 wackos in a singular little prison with no Fade, Solas trapped them and the Blight in the pretty golden palace and also trapped all of the Fade in a very BIG bubble with the Veil between it and the rest of the world.
This is how he created the Veil. By accident.
So now we have the Blight and the Evanuris in a golden city and we have the Veil.
Also, he trapped the Evanuris, but he didn't trap the dragons they had bound their souls to. These dragons, which would go on to become the Archdemons who run the Blights in Thedas for several centuries (and five Blights), went into some kind of hibernation. I think? But also they became the gods that the Tevinter Empire worshipped, so maybe they weren't in hibernation yet. No idea! Point is, their dragons/The Archdemons were still around in Thedas, and the Tevinter people were like "those guys are rad, they are our gods now."
And also at some point the dragons went into hibernation below the ground. Unclear when.
Now fast forward a few centuries. The Evanuris have been whispering to the priests who worship these dragons/Archdemons and tempting them to break into the Golden City (unclear if they think the Maker built the Golden City by this point or if that came later, I'd have to check the timelines, but it doesn't matter right now). Eventually several magisters/priests are like "yeah! we should do that! Let's break into the Golden City and claim untold levels of power!"
Except what they actually did was break into a Blight Prison with seven Evanuris wackos, get immediately zapped by the Blight, and cast back out into their own world. We know this from the Chant of Light.
These magisters became the first of the early modern darkspawn, the pests we've had to fight for three and a half games, and thus the First Blight began.
So, long story short, Solas and Mythal created the Blight by separating Titans from their dreams and then letting those dreams fester in a cage for a while. Then the Evanuris tried to use the Blight and Solas got Mythal to try and stop them. But they killed Mythal and kept using the Blight. So Solas used their life forces to trap them and the Blight in the Golden City, and also accidentally created the Veil when he did so. And then a while later the Tevinter magisters broke into the Golden City and started the slow chain of events that led to Veilguard.
Hope that helped?? 😂 sorry it was so long winded
#it took me like 3 or 4 processing sessions to make sense of things#but I am slow to process#but yep!#dragon age#dragon age the veilguard#datv#dragon age spoilers#datv spoilers#solas#mythal#asks
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!! SPOILERS !! Arcane: Season 2, Episode 7 (LONG A- BRAINDUMP)
Found this in my drafts and it’s kinda too funny not to post (sorry if it makes no sense, I was very emotional)
LITERALLY the most emotionally violent thing I’ve ever experienced and I NEED to talk about it:
OKAY so like, Ekko wakes up in this dream world where everything is perfect and I’m like "aww cute, it’s like a Hallmark movie," and then 2 SECONDS later “WAIT NO, THIS ISN’T REAL, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME” because the moment he gets comfortable, the show’s like, “LOL nope, here’s reality, have fun with the trauma, buddy.”
THE CONTRAST. THE JUxtaposition of dream vs. nightmare?? I can’t breathe.
I’m screaming because Ekko’s dream world is all golden light and perfect and everyone is alive, and I’m sitting here like “YES, PLEASE LET HIM LIVE IN THIS ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WHERE HIS FAMILY DOESN’T DIE” and then reality is sharp and cold and cracked and I’m CAN YOU PLEASE NOT JUST SHOVE THIS MUCH PAIN INTO MY FACE???
The clock motif is an entire thesis on grief and time, why is this show so goddamn smart?? Ekko’s dream world is a pristine clock, but the real world is “lol no time doesn’t work that way, here’s a broken, rusted piece of trash” and I’m sitting here like, YES, tell me more about how time is a construct and I’m crying because none of us can go back and fix things. THANKS, ARCANE, FOR THE PAIN.
ALSO
Powder in the dream world?? She’s soft and innocent and I “holy SHIT this is the Powder we could have had, this is what she could have been if everything wasn’t so messed up,” and then I blink and she’s Jinx again, chaotic, explosive, neon nightmare fuel, and I’m just lying on the floor like "why do I do this to myself." I LOVE HER DONT GET ME WRONG BUT I ALSO WANT HER TO BE HAPPY
And don’t even get me started on Ekko and Powder dancing like it’s some kind of tragic, beautifully animated nightmare. I’m crying, I’m sobbing, I’m screaming, because this is the kind of thing that could have been real if the fate of their world didn’t DESTROY THEM. Who hurt you, Ekko? WHO HURT YOU BOTH??
The soundtrack in this episode is too much for me to handle. It starts off all soft and whimsical like “oh, this is nice, everything’s fine, I’m fine,” and then—BOOM—reality hits and I’m curled in a ball crying because it feels like every note is punching me in the gut. (This will definitely be a separate post)
There’s just so much GRIEF in this episode. Like, Ekko doesn’t want to leave the dream world because it’s everything he ever wanted, and honestly, I GET IT. Who wouldn’t want to live in a universe where your worst trauma never happens?? But then he HAS to leave because it’s not real, and reality is just there, waiting to crush you like a hextech bomb.
And I swear to god, the entire episode is a metaphor for “it’s not your fault, but it still hurts, and you can’t change the past, and that’s the worst part.” So yeah, I’m just sitting here trying to figure out how to recover from this emotional rollercoaster that is literally breaking my brain.
Arcane is a work of art, but it’s also a weapon of mass destruction. And I am DONE.
#I am literally not ok I love this show so much I will never shut up about it#0nyxxxrants#arcane#ekko#ekkojinx#jinx arcane#powder#ekko arcane#timebomb#league of legends#jinx x ekko#brain dump#netflix#ma meilleure ennemie
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