#but i like it. its named ''better days ahead i hope'' in my folders ... :-)

[mercyofempty]

look at my fursona boy

[libermachinae]

Cradle

Available on AO3 Summary: Post-battle roll call. Notes: For @soundwaveweek, prompt was ‘poetry.’

---

The MTOs were stressed. He could understand that, and in fact had little choice but to. Coming online in a crashing shuttle was a less than ideal way to begin life, and the hours of listening to gunfire and artillery going off just outside their prison-slash-shelter almost guaranteed the sorts of injuries no tool could fix. Soundwave had no idea whether the silence that followed the Decepticon victory would have been a welcome reprieve or the most hellish stretch of the experience, but his torch cutting through the crumpled hatch had broken its hold on them, and now they were frantic.

Their thoughts cut him like millions of grains of sand caught up in the exhaust of a shuttle launch. There were questions, the standard Who is that?, Am I going to die?, and Is that supposed to happen? Then the observations, It’s dark, It’s light, He’s blue, He has a gun, and I have a gun.

Mostly, though, they were giving off impressions that could not be condensed so neatly into words, not without at least a few days’ practice to understand the ebb and flow of language. Without it, Soundwave could feel the crush of the darkness, the burning slice of the light. When he announced himself on arrival, his voice came back to him thirteen different ways, shivering or sliding or in boxes, an impressive feat for a group whose sum total life experiences were the inside of a dead shuttle and each other.

The volume increased as he approached them, both due to proximity and their own increasing anxieties. Their thoughts were loud enough to be knocking against his helm, adding to the cacophony the echo of his own internals, but he soldiered on, approaching the first cradle, its occupant staring at him with a mouthless expression that nevertheless seemed to snarl.

“Designation,” Soundwave demanded.

“Megatron.”

Hisses and whispers and flares. Soundwave wished he could turn down his sensitivity, but with all the cassettes investigating other casualty reports, he couldn’t risk making himself that vulnerable, even if it meant he would be taking a splitting processor ache to berth with him that night instead of recharge.

“Your designation,” he said, with no patience to start with.

The MTO stared at Soundwave, optics glancing first over his face and then the length of his frame. He started to speak, aborted the effort, attention straying to his comrades before snapping back to the officer. His thoughts were bright, sour, and runny, becoming more disorganized the longer Soundwave stood waiting for an answer. Now he was tearing through his data packs, the disorganized folders spilling open with instructions on how to shoot, who to shoot, which way to run—

“No designation,” Soundwave concluded, feeling a part of his psyche slump with resignation. “Serial code.”

The uncomprehending stare slid again to the other MTOs, whose own thoughts echoed the globular confusion. A few of them were in the same process of upending their entire storage libraries, and although any one of them could have accurately pinpointed the coordinates where their plummeting ship had disappeared off the edge of the battle map, not one of them could provide him the very basic information he needed to complete this task and leave these soldiers for the recovery teams to salvage.

Soundwave made a quick visual inspection of the MTO, who tried to lean away—not far, given that he was still suspended in the cradle—now that his defensive bluster had dried up. No printed serial code, nor was there on the MTO beside him, a quiet mech who barely glanced at Soundwave as he came close. No serial codes, either printed or coded.

“Any identification markers?” Soundwave asked the room at large. A flicker of movement: Soundwave looked down to the mech at the end of the starboard row, the one installed opposite the sole casualty, aside from the ship itself. His thoughts had been quieter than the rest, colorless and inflexible in a way that had suggested a concussion, but Soundwave’s question had provoked a brief flare. He was looking up: on the ceiling above his squadmate was painted the number 2.

That, unfortunately, was something that could be plugged into a database, checked against the shuttle manifest and production logs, and be used to reverse engineer a serial number. Success, though, depended on this being a legitimate deployment, and certain signs were suggesting the opposite, though none so definitively as to trigger a full investigation. Soundwave put out a recall signal to Frenzy and Ravage, wary of how isolated the shuttle’s final resting place was, and tuned his sensors up higher…

Only to immediately turn them down again as the minutiae of the newbuilds’ thoughts flowed like acid rain through fresh gaps in a roof. He could read the rudimentary threat assessments they were running on him and taste the swell of emotions too new to differentiate yet; the bravest among them had started to free curiosity from the mass, and they plugged it into every observation they made, building questions on top of each other until the thoughts were heavy enough to bend under their own weight. Within the shuttle, everything felt compressed and heavy on top of him.

“Calm down,” he commanded, and winced at spikes of anxiety impaling him from multiple directions.

What a waste, he thought as he recovered from the burst, of his time and their lives. Nova Point was captured, the Autobot base overrun, and Starscream’s choice to put him on recovery meant vital logistics standards were being delayed. The already lengthy identification process would easily be doubled if this much of his processor remained dedicated to his hypersensitivity sensors, and he was vulnerable as long as the soldiers’ thoughts were filling his audio feed. Soldier was even a generous word for the mechs he’d been tasked with risking his life for. Their minimal data packs and emotional instability would make them ill-suited to the promotions occasionally offered to MTOs. They would be getting hauled out of one wreck only to be pressed into another, one that would more likely than not reach its intended destination.

Soundwave did not fault Megatron for leading a chunk of their forces off to the distant front lines on other worlds, but he did long for his leader at times. Megatron would know what was best, whether to forge ahead with the recovery efforts or leave them here to—

“A new row of unlit lanterns is marched in, And I can’t remember what my world looks like In the dark.”

The recording was poor quality, torn from a processor moments before it went offline. Soundwave kept hoping to find the rest of the poem, but bots who survived that time were few and far between, and they guarded their secrets fiercely. Because it was short, he let it play out, and when it finished the attention of the MTOs had narrowed.

“What was that?” the first one asked.

“Untitled,” Soundwave said, which wasn’t entirely accurate. He had a recording of a secondhand account that referred to the poem as ‘The Chain Runners,’ but had never been able to confirm it. He could have asked, but then he would have to tell Megatron he kept the old poem, and that wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have yet.

“But what was it?” The MTO jerked in his cradle; despite the clatter of plating, it did nothing to free him.

“Identification: a poem.”

The complete absence of understanding was a hole Soundwave could have fallen into. A couple accepted that as an answer—a poem must have been another form of marching order, the only communication style they had been brought online to understand—but the others prodded him with their curiosity, audials straining to catch another blip of that strange voice.

“That wasn’t you,” one of the others said.

“Negative,” Soundwave said. “Speaker…” He stopped, remembering how the first MTO, now gazing at him with useful curiosity, had snarled the poet’s name. Had that been out of a sense of pride? A desperation to answer the question, using the only scrap of information they had? Or had it been in worship, choosing his lord’s name to be his first word to the real world? The clashing, violent thoughts did not readily bear an answer to Soundwave, but they did give him pause as he considered his response, long enough that the MTOs’ anxiety rose up once more in a wave.

“What’s it mean?” one of them asked.

“Definition subjective,” Soundwave said. He still had so much work to do. “Silence requested.”

“It’s a code.”

“Negative.”

“Then it’s gotta mean something.”

Soundwave grasped uselessly for words, wishing Ravage were there already. He was better at this. Soundwave wasn’t good at conversation, but most of the time he could get out of it by virtue of the fact that the people he ran into were either his subordinates and afraid of him, or at about equal level and jealous of his proximity to Megatron. It was so rare for him to enter a room without his reputation having already made the rounds for him, he had no basis for navigating this.

He couldn’t come up with anything, and the longer he let the silence drag out the louder the background of thoughts grew to compensate. At a loss and desperate for relief, Soundwave dove into his archives and pulled a file at random, plugging it into his speakers without even scanning the contents.

“The revolution failed because the lords were unamused. The smoke that rose from the burning corpses of their clerks Soured their palmful drinks, And the chants which rose to their balconies, Calling for their heads, Were out of tune with the afternoon symphony.

(The first chair would be tossed out at intermission, And the crowd would suck closed empty fuel lines While inside, the lords sipped in peace.)”

Even with his speakers playing at a high volume, the relative noise inside the shuttle dropped instantly. Their minds were still working, turning over each word like they could find the meaning hidden underneath, but without the fear of the unknown it was quieter and reflective.

“If you still say your knuckles ache, Lay them here, on my knee. I cannot take from you That pain, But I will map the seams of your palm. I will memorize you, Memorialize. I will chart your construction And between your seams find…”

Crunching data while listening to Megatron’s voice was second nature by now. Soundwave stood in the center of the wrecked shuttle, seeking out the identity of the MTOs, while around him they leaned and twisted in their cradles, hunting down the poems like the twinkle of an enemy across a battlefield.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 14: Day Tripping

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder awakes the next morning with his face crammed into his pillow, squeaky leather couch cushions groaning, and for the first time in years he thinks maybe he should get a bed. For his own sake, of course; sofas aren’t meant for long term sleeping, and his joints aren’t getting any younger. It seems prudent to invest in a bed frame, a good mattress, maybe some nice sheets.

And hell, if a certain small redhead happens to come by…

He has a slight crick in his neck, but it fades into the background as his memory replays the night before. Pad Thai, Scully’s big blue eyes, ice cream, soft lips under the cover of branches. Requited affection at last.

He doesn’t know where they’ll go from here, but he’s eager to find out.

He waltzes into the basement office, freshly showered and shaved and wearing his least offensive tie. Scully’s already there, digging through her briefcase.

“Morning, Scully,” he says cheerily, dropping into his chair and searching her face, attempting to make eye contact.

“Morning,” she replies, not looking up.

“I had a, uh, good time last night,” he says in a low voice. “Best night I’ve had in years.”

She nods, cheeks faintly pink. “It was nice,” she says carefully.

Something’s wrong.

“Scully, are you okay?” he asks, leaning in.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she replies, exhaling softly. “But I don’t want to talk about this now.”

Disappointment and dread creep into his chest, spreading a chill like midnight frost.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks, voice suddenly small.

“No,” she clarifies, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m not, I promise. It’s just that things look different in the light of day, and I’m adjusting.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel better,” he says, worrying the end of a pencil between his teeth.

“It’s not meant to,” Scully replies. She sits down opposite him and reaches into their inbox on the desk, hauling out a stack of files. “It’s just the truth.”

They’re quiet for a long moment before she reaches out and places a hand atop his on the desk, squeezing gently before withdrawing it and returning to leafing through files.

She knows exactly how to comfort him, to communicate that things are alright, they’re alright, and that he doesn’t need to worry right now. A paragraph in the touch of a hand. Their eyes meet, and she gives him a tentative smile, causing warmth to bloom in his chest once more.

They sort through potential cases for an hour before Mulder makes a triumphant sound in his throat.

“Got one, Scully,” he announces, handing her a file. “Equine mutilations in Gettysburg. Wanna go check it out?”

Scully opens the folder and immediately frowns. “Not really, but if I say no you’ll go anyway,” she sighs, flipping through the pages. “And then when you get lost in some cave or stuck in the bottom of a well or something and are in need of a rescue, who’ll inform the local authorities? Oh god,” she says in realization. “I’m Lassie.”

“There’s a filthy joke in there somewhere, Scully-”

“-And right now’s not the time to find it,” she cuts in, giving him a patented eyebrow arch.

“Let me know when that time’ll be,” he says in a low tone. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Dead horses, Mulder,” she reminds him, waving a gruesome photo. She sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mulder’s in a great mood. The sun is out, they have a case, and he kissed Dana Scully last night. Twice. He’s actually humming as he drives, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Nothing lights you up quite like mutilated livestock, Mulder,” Scully observes, shaking her head. “What are you hoping to find? More vampires?”

“Civil War ghosts, actually,” he replies, adjusting his mirrors. “Think about it, Scully. Those wounds lacked the consistent placement and patterns we usually see in ritualistic killings, nor did they resemble animal attacks. I’ll bet if we compared the wounds with weapons and ammunition from the era, we’d get some matches.”

“To what end?” Scully asks.

“If I’m right, we’ll see some ghosts. If I’m wrong, we’ll stop some sicko from slaughtering more horses. We can’t lose.”

“Hm,” Scully replies, the brief exhalation steeped in skepticism. He knows the meaning of each little hum and sound of hers at this point.

Well obviously not all of them, he thinks, pulse quickening. But soon.

“So,” he says, cracking a sunflower seed between his teeth, “About last night.”

“It happened, if you were unsure,” she confirms. “It was real. I was there.”

“Funny,” he quips. “No, I know it happened. I just wanted to make sure you were okay that it did. You seemed a little uncomfortable when I came into the office this morning.”

Scully sighs deeply, and Mulder braces himself for a rejection he’d always feared would come.

“Mulder, yesterday I told you that I spent years repressing certain facets of how I feel about you,” she reminds him. “And only yesterday I found out that… that I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m simply adjusting. It’s all very new, and seeing you this morning in our office… you looked the same, everything looked the same, but I felt different. Frankly, it was jarring. It was like watching two planets collide; Mulder the colleague and friend, and Mulder the… the lover,” she says quietly.

Lover. The words gives him a thrill. “Am I your lover, Scully?” he asks softly.

“Well, you did kiss me twice,” she replies matter-of-factly, “So I think you’re on your way.”

“Then that makes you my lover,” he says, almost to himself. “You’re right; this does feel kind of weird.”

“Not a bad weird,” Scully clarifies. “Just… new. I think we just need practice.”

“Lots and lots of practice,” Mulder agrees, flashing her a grin.

Scully rolls her eyes, turning to look out the window as though to hide the smile creeping across her face. “Just drive, Mulder.”

They get to East Cavalry Field at half-past noon, just in time to enjoy the sights. Namely, the latest victim, a Clydesdale named Morris. The warm spring sun pours down on them and the fallen animal, illuminating the gore spilling from its lifeless body.

“Well, Mulder,” Scully says flatly, snapping on a pair of gloves, “You sure do know how to show a girl a good time.”

They drive home six and a half hours later, having gathered little new information. A musket ball, borrowed from a local museum, rolls around one of the cupholders.

“Mulder, are you sure they said you could take that thing back to DC?” Scully asks, glancing at the ball. “Why didn’t they put it in some kind of bag or envelope?”

“What are you implying?” Mulder asks, plucking the ball out of the cupholder and awkwardly tucking it into his pants pocket.

She just gives him a look.

“Civil War musket balls aren’t that rare, Scully,” he informs her. “You can buy them off history buffs for a couple bucks.”

“Mulder, my feet hurt, and I’m exhausted. At this point I don’t care anymore.” She doesn’t even bother to stifle her yawn. “And I spent the day poking around dead horses, even though I’m not a veterinarian or a munitions expert. You owe me.”

“Alright, what do you want in reparation?” he asks. I can think of a few things, but we’re not there yet…

“I don’t know. Take me out on a date,” she says flippantly. “We never do anything nice. Preferably something with no mutilated corpses.”

“Damn, that really narrows down the options,” he jokes. “But sure; we’ll go do something nice.”

“Let me know what it is ahead of time,” she adds. “So I know what to wear.”

God, she’s adorable.

“It’s a date,” he confirms, and he can feel his heart pulse.

They’re doing this for real.

[grantzarrr]

Just a thing g.d

summary: Y/n and Grayson don’t like labels but they fuck around with each other and feelings are definitely there, but what happens when they are revealed?

warnings: poorly written smut :)

tags: @fangdolan @gothlydolan @onlyyyarii (idk why it didn’t work :(( )

There she is, in her sexiest piece of lingerie that she could find. What was she doing? Well, she was taking mirror pictures for her boyfriend—fuck buddy—? To everyone besides them, they were seemed to just be dating but Y/n and Grayson just didn’t want to put a label on it yet. They never claimed each other but would always deny that they were fuck buddies, they just wanted to enjoy each other without having to feel like there was a need to call- what they have- something. Just taking it slow.

But while she was setting that up, Grayson was in the middle of filming for his podcast with Ethan and Ryan and she knew far and well what he was doing. She knew exactly what time it was, she knew that if Grayson’s phone ‘blew up’ a few times, everyone would be on his case ready to ask questions. And that's exactly how she wanted and what she wanted.

“So gray, are you still trying to figure your love life out or—like what’s going on there?” Ryan asked, being very keen on his relationship.

“Uh, ry you mean fuck partner?” Ethan teased knowing where to push him.

“Oh fuck off e, we’re not fuck partners nor in a relationship—just enjoying each other for a bit.”

Then he felt it, his phone buzzing notifying him that he received a message, he only glanced though, roughly seeing your name and turning his phone back over. But then, that notification went off again back to back. That right there caused some heads to turn as Grayson saw it was you again and going to see what’s up this time. And oh- was he surprised, there you were sitting on your knees in some lingerie, giving him that little smirk he would love to fuck outta you. He noticed the first little remark of 4 that you sent, that one just stuck out more it seemed like you were talking as if you had known what exactly he was doing.

here’s something to talk about on ur little podcast. p.s ik u wanna tell them were together so go on ;)

And that fucked Grayson up, as much as he wanted to fucking call you his just for you to say that did something— but he couldn’t be quite sure. But as he continued staring he started to shift in his seat a little, only staring at your tits in that, looking so perfect for him. Only him. All he wanted to do was to cover them in hickies. Oh, how bad he wanted to flip you over your vanity and force you to watch him through the mirror as he pounded into you miraculously. Then to place you on your knees and shove his dick down your throat until he saw the tears himself.

“Yo gray? seems as if someone got you a little tensed there? You’re shifting bro..” Ethan chuckled, he knew it was you asking to get dicked down or something. He just wanted to fuck with his brother and see how long it would take here. “Oh no, it’s nobody.” He blurted out quickly but he knew for this to stop he had to respond, to at least say something so he did it swiftly as possible.

Y/n you better fucking stop or I swear you won’t even have free hands to type.

He was pissed, aggravated he was so mad that you were getting away with that, and he couldn’t do shit. He had to sit there and film his podcast for about an hour and he just fucking knew you wouldn’t let this go, not even for a second. And he thought everyone forgot until Ethan brought it back up and he had to say at least something they wanted to hear now.

“Is that uh is that your girlfriend? Hm? Is she asking for you to come over again?” Ethan lightheartedly joked but still, he was so determined to get Grayson to boil and steam over like he did every time just on camera. “Jesus e, would you let it go already.” Grayson gritted being so easily tempted to just end the podcast, it's been at least 58 minutes he can firmly say.

“Oh no go ahead, I would like to hear about this so to be fuck buddy, what is it only on Fridays? like a club? because I would love to be invited” Ryan joined in with Ethan on the little joke but he seriously wanted to know about this just in the goofy little way to make of it. But just as Grayson was about to answer, another one of a more scandalous photo sent. This photo made its way to his number one spot on the “Private Folder” of his. Grayson felt like he was gonna explode but the explosive was straight at his dick and his face went beat red. Not of embarrassment but because holy shit— look at you.

It was you legs spread and the camera hovering just where to leave the imagination running wild but still enough to tell you were wet, even if he has already seen it all. It still fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even began to fonder over. And it was just enough for him to say enough of that teasing.

“Yo, um, I gotta go- but finish the pod ok? Alright, I’ll be back...later.” Grayson rushed off quickly. Everyone in the room just watched in silence as he quickly gathered his phone and a few small little things he carried with him and he left. “Yup, booty call- where the fuck is my 10 dollars, Ryan!” Ethan shouted, happy he won this little ‘bet’. “Wow-.” Was all Ryan could say.

Once Grayson got to her house, he didn’t even bother to knock, he knew that the spear key was always under the 4th rock to the left. And when he got in...oh boy was he furious. Talking as he closed and locked the door back, not knowing she was right in the living room getting herself off. “Y/n what the fuck was that!? I told you that I-.” He was stopped dead in his tracks when he heard her wimpier his name softly, he gulped quickly and turning her way to watch exactly what she was doing. “Oh-, I see you’ve started without me—and that’s the biggest mistake of your fucking life babe.”

And with that, he went and grabbed both her hands and held them above her head, diving in with a very heated kiss. Y/n begun mumbling words against their kiss as she tried rolling her naked hips against his crotch for some friction. “You wanna go and send shit like that to me when I’m filming? Then have the audacity to finger yourself? Instead of simply telling me you wanted to fuck—god why are you so risky.”

He tried to not rage at her, there was no point she wasn’t his girl but nor was she a ‘fuck buddy’ well technically yeah, but to them, they weren’t. But the shit she pulls sometimes fucks him up, having him thinking about it for days and easily getting hard at the smallest memory and he can’t say shit or it’ll be over, and boy he fucking loves it, who wouldn’t? The adrenaline is what Grayson Dolan is all about. He doesn’t know if she feels the same or he just really knows how to fuck her right yet. “ Mhmm I did and I’ll do it multiple times until you boil over because I’m your little risk maker.” She smirked—oh did she just say-

“You wanna fuck with me like that hm? Have me thinking about it for days? Well, I’ll show you a good fucking alright.” He growled at her, having a good reason to give it to her good after that claim. He started attacking her neck. Sucking and licking, little nibbles here and there and he then moved down her body. Still having her hands above them. He stopped right at beginning of her pussy.

“Get up and bend over on the couch, now.” He demanded and was very determined to show her what she could have if they were together. He still didn’t quite know if she meant what she said but shit... he’ll take it. As she was getting up he smacked her ass giving her more of a little pep in her step, and she didn’t dare to say anything. As she was getting in the position, he got behind her and started to scrip, he just wanted to see her bend from behind, getting some of the action in. Once he did he started to stroke his cock, eyes fully on her pussy from behind and her ass. Her being impatient and hearing his short little breaths, she peaked from her shoulder at him and God was that a sight to see.

“Does that feel good, angel?” His deep voice rumbling within her, he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of her. His dick is big enough to keep anything but moans and groans from escaping. So all she did was nod quickly. The couch was snacking, she was shaking he was pounding into her giving out everything he had built up. “Fuck, I love the sounds my fucking pussy makes.” He gritted. She already knew face down on the couch, ass up and he hammered, Y/n wasn’t even sure she would be able to walk after this. And oh wait— did he say?

He just filled her up to the brim with his cock alone, the thickness and fullness of it alone would fulfill her. God was he good, gripping a handful of hair for a leverage of their position, “Graysonn, don’t stop, please.” She begged and since she asked so nicely he didn’t stop and wasn’t going to until her orgasm had her in tears. “Come on, baby. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.” But she couldn’t, her neighbors recently complained about it since their baby was born. But when he was going at it like this, all she could say was “Neighbor. Babies—FUCK!” He understood completely- on both ends. The neighbors that had their baby and that she was gonna cum, he also felt her pussy clench so he knew for a fact. He was already at the edge of his orgasm.

“Did you claim me?” They both coincidentally said at the same time but who was gonna answer it...

A/N: helloo, hope you liked it!! im gonna drown in holy water now :D

[lcnelyinthesky]

admiration - tsukishima kei

a/n: okay hi?? im ellie?? heres this??? i worked on it for like four? days?on and off? and its longer than any oneshot ive written but yk shes cute ig. pls be nice pls enjoy... but also my last piece got 2 notes and im really hopin in not shadowbanned here lmao

genre: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers!!

pairing: bisexual!female!reader x tsukishima kei (yes bi reader its a vibe)

warnings: a break up with a beautiful woman i made up myself, swearing

word count: 3.7k (ahhhh!!)

enjoy!! :D

Elementary second year. Your newly-assigned seat was next to a much taller, blond kid. He was smart and bright, rivaling the sun in terms of unbridled joy. Now, none of that can be seen by eight year old eyes, but looking back and comparing, it's easy to spot that he changed. 

Tsukishima Kei was an excitable kid, just as everyone was, but he was still snarky; his arrogance seemed to be something that just festered within his soul, no matter the trauma that brought it out. 

Childlike wonder is still alive and well at eight. 

The teacher you had back then was quite rude. She was pushy and angry, and she assigned way too much homework. Everything she uttered made you huff in disappointment, crossing your arms and hoping for some sort of reaction from someone. The kid next to you was named Koji--or, at least, that's what you called him. He was your best friend, spending every moment with you like you were siblings. You'd be able to crack a joke with the smallest glance and you’d talk constantly. As soon as your handwriting was legible to people of your age group, you'd pass notes back and forth and cackle at their contents. Until, of course,

“Tsukishima, will you switch seats with Kojikata today?” Your teacher sounded exhausted, huffing her sentence out on a sigh before going back to the multiplication tables on the board. Suddenly, your little world was interrupted.

“Y/N, right?” He didn’t look at you, placing his folders down on the desk and pushing his glasses back up as he sat. His words were hushed and quiet, but the class had moved into individual work--he wasn’t interrupting anyone.

“Yeah. Can I call you Tsukki?” You were angry, gripping your pencil tighter in your little hand as you wrote numbers down on white paper. One times one is one. Two times two is four. This is easy.

“No,” he was long doing the same thing, but writing quicker than you. That’s how it is, huh?

Three times two is six. Four times five is twenty. Six times three is eighteen. Five times six is thirty. This is easy-

“Miss, I’m done.” His voice was always so dry. Uninterested. 

Four times three is twelve. “Me too!” Your hand shot up with the paper in it, sending a death glare at the boy next to you.

That's how it is, huh?

This pattern continued for weeks. Tsukishima didn’t move from his seat next to you, as your teacher had made the realization that you worked far harder without friends around. Tsukishima lit a competitive fire under you; everything was now a race.

It started with handing in assignments. Who would go up to the front desk first to have their work checked over? Who would finish this quiz faster? Then it transferred into everything. 

Who would get to class faster? Who finished their lunch quicker? Who could read faster? Who scored higher on spelling tests? Who could run faster in gym class?

And then it was middle school.

Middle school brought in Yamaguchi Tadashi. 

It'd be an understatement to say he warmed to Yamaguchi quickly, but the basis behind that was strange. Tsukishima was never one for friends, even though everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was cool in the eyes of a handful of eleven year olds; letting everything roll off your back seemed to be an admirable trait. Yamaguchi worshipped him, and Tsukishima took him under his wing to teach him the ropes of being a cool kid.

At heart, though, Yamaguchi was kind and attentive. He could tell when things were going wrong, and supposedly it was him that changed the rest of your life.

The rivalry continued just as it had in elementary, just with higher stakes. You'd fight for answering questions first, working ahead of everyone else to just beat him. He’d never bat an eye at it, and sometimes you thought it was all over, but then

“Y/N.” Tsukishima Kei stood three steps behind you, looming over you with the height he was seemingly born with. The hallway was emptying by now, kids walking into their classrooms once again. The white floors rung with the quiet sounds of soft-bottomed shoes and a light above your head flickered calmly.

“Yeah?” You spun around to meet his gaze.

“What’d you get on that lit essay?”

“A 96. Why?”

“No reason,” he smirked and tilted his head up, looking down at you, “I got a 100.”

A huff and a stomp away gave him the answer he needed as he followed you into the classroom, sitting down behind you and next to Yamaguchi just as he did every day. The little shit.

Tsukishima was never better than you, technically speaking. On average and on paper, you were always both roughly the same. You'd fight for being top of the class, the position switching between both of you every day. You excelled in creative things while he excelled at sports, but both of you dabbled in the other. When people in your year began dating, everyone came to assume you two were. It was embarrassing, really, because Tsukishima Kei was a little shit know-it-all who will never beat me at anything ever and people need to stop thinking he will because he won’t I’m better than hi-

“Hey?” Oh right. Friends.

“Koji!” He never left, at least not yet. His nimble fingers tapping on your shoulder brought you back to reality, making you jump and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his body for a split second.

“You looked zoned” his face was riddled with concern that was easy to write off.

“Oh, whoops” a small blush heated your cheek as your hand migrated to rub your neck. “Did you want something?”

As you walked into the classroom a bit further, Koji sat on your right; he seemed to buckle down more when you had moved away from each other way back in the day, so there were less mid-class comedy shows. He grew up just as you had, and with the closeness of the two of you people began to think you were dating. At twelve, it was incredibly necessary to date someone--anyone. Theories bounced from everywhere and anywhere and with you it was either your best friend or your biggest rival. Your lack of attraction to either of them became the center of many late night crises. 

“Not particularly,” his gaze switched from you to the board again, beginning to write something down when he turned his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Of course I am,” you smiled at him, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly it was high school.

-

“Tsukishima is really cute! And he's smart, I heard that Kageyama wasn’t too bright somewhere.”

“But Kageyama’s so much hotter! His being a little dumb sometimes is endearing.”

“Are we not going to talk about that third year setter, Sugawara?”

“No, he’d never go for a first year. Besides, that Hinata kid is more of an enigma.”

“Have you even seen them play?” A howl of angry “yes”s fell over the crowd, trying to prove something. None of them had ever seen them play.

That asshole Tsukishima getting popular felt like a stab in the soul. None of them knew him or how much he sucked, but the amount of girls fawning over him was horrific.

-

There's something consistently poetic about young love, no matter where it comes from. Something extra sweet about holding pinkies in school corridors when no one is looking and seeing them every day, smiling loudly as the sun broke over the horizon all bright and early. The raging hormones and dumb, fake social hierarchies of fifteen make emotions run wild, and only the deeply immature end up helplessly infatuated. Others are more cautious, but there's only so many precautions one can take at fifteen. Sometimes some of us just want to be loved, no matter the sincerity of it.

Cared for, and whatnot. No harm in that, in the long run at least. 

“Y/N, right?” Her name was Mei. She was in your class; 1-4, just like Tsukishima. She was pretty. Long, black hair was preceded by two green streaks at the front. She’d always have those down, making her features look like a photo in a perfect frame. She had a collection of hair clips with small shapes on them that she’d have somewhere on her person at all times. Her more mid-sized body was paler than most, and she was covered in freckles and moles. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that looked deep enough to swim in. Her cheeks were always stained with a peachy blush that moved up her collarbones and into her ears, making her look like she was always smiling no matter what her face was doing. Karasuno’s school uniform did wonders for her curves, the skirt swaying up on occasion and making her look so damn perfect.

“Yeah! You’re…” a second of dumbfounded pause felt like years in your mind, coming to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever met. “Ojiro Mei?”

“Yep! I just wanted to tell you you looked really pretty today!” Her voice always had an upward inflection, and was higher than most. It was cute. Incredibly cute.

“Oh.” A moment of confidence fell over you like you weren’t in control of your actions, “you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you very much,” she bounced back on her toes and then rolled back to her heels, hands intertwined behind her back, “You’re too kind, Y/N.” Her sentences were always punctuated with an eye-crinkling smile.

Later that day, you found her on every social media account you could; she messaged you first.

When you don’t know you’re interested in women, it’s hard to notice that they’re flirting with you, but after a handful of supposed gay panic, you asked her on a date.

She was two inches shorter than you, and somehow that persisted no matter what shoes she was wearing. Every small outing with her felt like cloud nine--watching the sunset, small conversation over tea at a nearby cafe, cuddling in your bedroom with only a string of Christmas lights on. She always looked so wonderful in soft lighting, the potential cold of winter disappeared with pale beiges that made her freckles look like stars. Every action Mei ever did was soft and full of care. She could send every single emotion through her fingertips on your jaw, deepening a kiss you started moments before. She was like magic, until she wasn't anymore.

You supposed, when thinking back, that things fell out around month thirteen. The rose colored lenses everything was viewed through faded a bit, and it's easy to notice her pulling away. There were less late night phone calls and less recommended music and less hands running through your hair. Everything has a natural progression to the end, right?

“Do you still feel it?” It was raining. Large drops of water fell down to the floor, smacking the pavement at speeds you couldn’t even try to measure. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat that looked almost dull in the four pm light. 

“Feel what?”

“Anything, baby.” All of her words ended with a huffed out sigh, like she was tired of something. Lying, maybe. 

You pondered the question, and it seemed like your hesitation gave her all the answer she needed. 

“Ya know, Y/N.” She looked down and grabbed your hands with hers, rubbing her thumbs on your palms as you grabbed around them. “This was fun. We had a good run.”

A solemn tear fell down your cheek at the ending, but there was no use in self pity or anger now. She was so sweet and kind, and it's truly unthinkable how she continued that kindness in the end.

“Yeah. A good run.” The pink in your cheeks grew as you choked out a laugh, pulling her in for one final hug under the dim fluorescent lights on the front door overhang of the school.

Fifteen came and went with love, and when sixteen rolled around you wondered if you’d ever be loved like that again.

-

A spirit can't be broken overnight, and if you’ve spent the last eight years of your life having a strong, consistent rivalry with someone, it won’t leave any time soon. Tsukishima and you were on similar playing fields for most of your life, but you had one thing he didn’t: relationship experience. In that way, you always counted yourself one point higher, like a boy scout badge. 

For a spell, however, your intensity changed. There was nothing more driving you than spite, and there was nothing you wanted more than to beat him. You were well into your second year of high school at this point, and--volleyball notwithstanding--you had wins over Tsukishima. You had seen him play volleyball, every match in his second year, and you deemed he was simply okay. You refused to count his success onto the list of wins for both of you.

June fifteenth. Tournaments were coming up around the corner when it happened, which explained every reason why he was there. You weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, so the best bet seemed to be sitting at the front entrance of Karasuno High School and wallowing in a little bit more self pity before you went home. You were just dumped after all, the tears weren’t done falling. 

The feeling between sadness and shame overflowed you, shades of yellowish green painting the world around you and churning your gut into oblivion. And the tears fell. It felt like a scene in a movie; in a few seconds, a strong, capable man would show up to your rescue.

“Y/N?” what the fuck?

He was sweaty. His face was matte from a light film of saltwater. He had a grey umbrella over his head, keeping himself dry from the still-pelting rain. His six-foot-two frame was covered with a black tracksuit, and he still had his sports goggles on.

Those fucking sports goggles.

“Tsukishima.” you deadpanned, trying to get him away as fast as possible. His words were snarky, as always, but this time laced with concern. Like he actually cared.

“What are you still doing here? It’s almost six,” he stood under the overhang with you, crouching to take a few feet off of his incredible height. 

“Sulking?”

“Ah,” he huffed and sat down next to you, “it’s not great for your posture, ya know.”

“Oh shut up, Tsukishima.”

“Remember when we were eight,” he looked up, studying the moths as they flew around the lights on the ceiling, “and you asked if you could call me Tsukki?”

“Vaguely, but we were eight.”

“Yeah, true” his head dramatically fell to his lap, staring at his knees as he chuckled, “but you can. Call me Tsukki, that is.”

An uncomfortable laugh fell from your lips, and he spoke for you, “this one kid, Koganegawa, the setter on Date Tech, calls me that too. It's not a Tadashi-only nickname anymore.”

“You say Tadashi-only like I wasn’t there first.”

“He never asked.”

“Would you have said no?”

“Probably” he hasn’t actually looked at you yet. 

“Should I not have asked?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Okay, Tsukki” you drew out the last letter, giggling at the situation before you had time to think about your emotions.

He noticed that you weren’t crying anymore and helped you stand, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Tsukishima and you lived closer than you thought, walking the same direction and only splitting up seconds away from your home.

You walked in silence the whole time, but it was comfortable. While he was your rival, he was always a friend. There was nothing scary or intimidating about him, as is with most people when you’ve known them forever; it was almost like his facade just didn’t work on you. You were huddled close to him to stay out of the rain. 

The second you parted ways, you ran home. The rain was more of a drizzle now, but the temperature began a free fall--getting out of the cold as fast as possible was your first priority. Upon entering the front door and taking off your shoes and jacket, leaving everything to sit in the entryway, you took a shower. The rain didn’t do enough to wash away the pain of the day, and warm steam would let the rest evaporate. The expected unrelenting sadness wasn’t really present as much as was expected, though. Everything felt fine. Content. Okay.

-

And it continued that way. He sent you a snapchat asking if you had gotten home safely, which prompted a memory of you never giving each other your phone numbers. After a quick yes, tsukki. no need to worry ;), you sent him your number asking to play some game.

Whatever is meant to happen does, right? Any excuse for falling for him. You didn’t want to, of course, but things happen. Time changes. Thus, the excuses. Thus, the ignorance. Thus, the five stages of grief. 

It started with the denial, because no Y/N you can’t like Tsukishima Kei. He’s so competitive and mean and snarky and horrible and you hate him! Then, the anger, because Tsukishima sucks and he’s horrible and you’re going to punch him in his stupid cute face. Next, the bargaining, because please don’t let this be happening you’ll do anything to lose these feelings, even if it means letting him win at something. Going into the depression, because all you’ve ever wanted was to be free of this assclown and now you’re stuck thinking about him at three in the morning when you’re supposed to be dreaming about anything other than him. And finally, acceptance, when you scowl at him in the hallway because fuck, you like Tsukishima Kei.

The worst bit of acceptance is getting over it. Now you had to confront your feelings. Now you needed to tell him. 

It was roughly five months since he found you sulking on school grounds, and you regretted most days the way you let him text you every morning. It’d always be something stupid, like a joke about the novel you were reading in lit or sometimes he’d tell you, off hand, something dumb Hinata and Kageyama did at practice. Sometimes he’d text you, within the first twenty minutes of the school day, pointing out something little you did with your hair. They were never really compliments as much as comments; he’d say “your socks have a pink ring at the top” and give you nothing to work with from there. A simple yes would suffice, you always supposed, because “yes, tsukki. they do.”

He’d linger at his desk during the break between classes and would stay there if you didn’t leave, but would leave a few steps behind you if you did. He wouldn’t follow you, but he’d watch to know where you were going. Everything he did was concealed though--you'd only notice if you really wanted to know.

Yamaguchi was the only one to notice, even after a while of it. You’ll never know what he said to his friend, but the conversation you had with the aforementioned friend a day later gives some guesses.

“Y/N?” Tsukishima was never the shy type, and you knew him in the days where everyone was shy. He wasn’t loud, but he was bold. His words were always pointed and important. Everything he did always had purpose and intensity behind it.

“Tsukki?” You were sitting under a tree, enjoying the late spring weather of the beginning of your third year. Nothing became intense yet classwork wise, so there was ample time to chill on the school grounds. Overlooking the soccer field was a large oak tree. It was big enough to comfortably have multiple groups of people under its shade, but it was empty at the moment; save for you and the book you were reading.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out sometime?” He somehow didn’t pause while talking, but his words came out more something akin to word vomit. You we’re more shocked than you should have been, if you had picked up on the signs. But you were feeling the same as he was, as far as you could tell.

“Sure, when?” You looked back down at your book for a second, placing the bookmark in it and folding the pages shut.

Tsukishima looked dumbfounded, standing there with his eyes bugged out and his mouth slightly agape. He started making unintelligible babbling noises, hoping to get something out that had any meaning at all. You took the reins instead, gaining confidence in his lack thereof.

“I was planning on getting coffee or something today after school. It gets really cold at night now, huh?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Would you like to join me?”

“There's a break before practice today so” he hesitated, letting the pink in his cheeks finally catch up to the beating in his chest. “Sure.”

You wouldn’t have ever pegged Tsukishima Kei as the flustered type.

-

There was never a drop in conversation, as there never really was between you two. A whole life together and you still had things to talk about, mentioning everything from your individual childhoods to recent developments. Turns out he never knew what genre of books were your favorite. Or what kind of music you listened to. Or what any of your hobbies were. 

Turns out you both had more in common than you thought, competitive spirits notwithstanding. Tsukishima Kei was a strange man in every sense of the word. He was arrogant and snarky and disinterested and bright and passionate and smart. He was your rival, smug look plastered on his smug face making your chest bubble in anger just as it had a million times before--or was that admiration this time? The world may never know. 

All that was real right now was the deck of cards on the table, being separated out into a card game both of you learned as kids. The small, round, cafe table shook with every slap of your hands, but the basis of your relationship would always be competition. It's just that now the anger behind that competition was gone. All that was left was admiration. 

[benedictsvestcollection]

Ever Ever After- A Whiskey x reader Modern Cinderella Fic

Rating: T for now!

Warnings: Ummmm.... Some swearing. Whiskey being a sweetheart. 

Word count: 1.7k 

A/N: Basically I love Cinderella and Whiskey so here we are. Secret Agent Whiskey is investigating your stepmom’s company and there’s a spark there. This will be a multi chapter fic so more to come!

Chapter 1

Whiskey looked up from his large, oak desk in his Manhattan high rise office. “Well hello Ginger, to what do I owe the pleasure of an in person visit?” He grinned at her. 

“Champ sent me to help on this next mission. Wanted you to have an extra pair of hands.” She smiled back at him and sat in one of the empty chairs across from his desk. 

“He didn’t say anythin’ about a mission to me.” He frowned at this news, not that he minded Ginger briefing him. He was simply surprised. 

“Yes well, he thought it would save time if I just debriefed you myself when I got here.” She explained as she pulled out a tablet and pulled up what she needed. 

Whiskey nodded at her. “Fair enough.” He gestured for her to go ahead. 

“This is Miranda Cox. She’s the CEO of UrbanEdge. An environmental company that specializes in making environmentally friendly clothing, houseware, you name it… They make it.”

“I’ve heard of it. A lot of controversy surrounding their company in the news lately.” He mused with a nod of his head as he waited for Ginger to continue. 

“Yes. Shareholders recently accused her company of not being as environmentally friendly. But that’s not the worst of their problems it seems. Once the shareholders brought that up, we suspected Ms. Cox of insider trading that was linked to everything from oil spills and forest fires. That her and her company only seemed to benefit from.” 

Whiskey snorted at that. “Of course. The rich get richer at the expense of others.” 

She shook her head at that. “Yup. Anyhow, the company used to belong to her husband but when he died, control went to her. Despite the biological daughter who couldn’t afford to contest the company passing over her in court.” 

“How is that relevant?” He asked her, curious. 

“Our sources say that she treats the step daughter like shit. She’s basically a personal assistant-slave to her evil step mom and her step sisters. Champ thinks she might be a possible asset for you once you get in the company.” 

“Good to know.” He nodded. “What’s my in here?” 

“Potential hands-on investor in the company. Despite the money she has, her company is bleeding money and will need an investor. You can bargain for more of a say to get an inside track and information we need.” 

“Other than gatherin’ information, is there another goal here?” He asked her. 

“As of now, no. Unless we feel she might be a dangerous threat. We’re just going to gather information and bring it to Champ. And he’ll deal with contacting the necessary authorities. I’ll be here to help you sift through any tech or emails. And if you need another person undercover.” She explained. 

“Perfect. I have a feelin’ I’ll need another face on this mission at some point.” He admitted. 

“We’re keeping you as you on this mission. The premise being that Statesman Reserve is environmentally friendly and wants to expand its partners.” Ginger told him. “And you, CEO and the face of the company… Wants to invest in UrbanEdge.” 

Jack loved when Ginger worked on missions with him, she was efficient and always thought ahead. “I take it, you already called and made an appointment for me?” He smirked at her. 

Ginger smirked back. “Tomorrow morning. Miranda was very interested in meeting you and potentially investing with her company. You’ll get a full company tour and meet with the shareholders as well so they can pitch to you.”

“Perfect. Guess I’ll need a suit for this. And an assistant. Wanna go?” He asked her. “You can hack into their systems easier if you’re in the building.”

“Sure thing, partner.” She told him with a grin. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ugh.” You moaned as soon as you shut the door to your loft apartment. Compared to your stepmom and sisters who lived on Fifth Avenue, your apartment was a shithole. But it was your home and you loved it. 

Today had been a long day. Your stepmother had you prepping all day for a potential investor coming in the next day. And you had put together a powerpoint presentation, made copies of all the numbers from finance and put all of those in folders. And that was just for work. You then spent the day helping your stepmother deciding what to wear to impress this CEO, followed by your sisters who were simply hoping to ‘land a husband’ and meet him. They didn’t know jackshit about the company, or care about like you always had. 

You missed your father dearly and wished the company had passed to you. You strongly suspected your stepmother was doing some shady shit with his beloved company. But you had no proof unfortunately. So, you were stuck watching her destroy the company and your spirit at the same time.

Kicking off your heels and setting your purse down, you now had just enough time to shower, eat a quick meal and crash for bed. Tomorrow was yet another long day of pretty much doing all the work and your stepmother taking all the credit. Not to mention her and your step sisters talking shit about you, directly to your face. It was exhausting. 

You awoke early the next morning. You had to get to the office early to prep for Jack Daniels, CEO of Statemsan Distillery to arrive and his tour. You arrived at the office in a high waisted gray tweed skirt, a blue sweater and black suede Mary Jane pumps. Once there, you made sure the breakfast spread was being set up. Bagels, croissants, fruits, coffee and juice. Your stepmother was certainly making a big deal out of this CEO’s arrival. 

After making sure the cars were on the way to pick up your stepmother and stepsisters, you finally sat at your desk to respond to some emails until everyone started to arrive at the office. With the exception of the one person she doesn’t read emails from, Miranda didn’t allow you to read emails from her investor for whatever reason. But you just shrugged that off. 

You were so absorbed in your emails you didn’t hear the elevator doors open to announce your step mother and sisters arrival. 

“You weren’t downstairs to meet us, so now your sisters are soaking wet.” Miranda announced and you looked up from your laptop on your desk. Blinking at your step sisters who looked bone dry. 

“I… Don’t understand.” You sighed out. 

“My makeup to meet Jack Daniels is ruined!” Madison screeched out. “He’s New York’s most eligible bachelor.” She told you, as if you were an idiot who didn’t know anything about the man. “And I’m going to marry him.” She added confidently. 

“You both look fine. I was busy getting work done for today.” You told them calmly as you rose to take all their coats and hang them up. 

“See that it doesn’t happen again.” Miranda warned you as you hung up their coats and sighed. 

“Yes ma’am.” You told her quietly as your desk phone rang. “Yes?” You spoke into it. “Thank you. Send them up.” She hung up and looked at them “They’re here.” 

Your step sisters squealed. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m about to meet my future husband!” 

“Girls. This is a business meeting first and foremost.” Your stepmother warned them. “Husband hunting is for after hours.” She winked at them and then looked at you. “Not for you. Jack Daniels is not for your eyes.” 

You internally rolled your eyes. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Like Jack Daniels would want to date her. She’s an assistant.” Madison sneered at you.

Soon, the elevator doors opened and revealed the CEO of Statesman and who, you could only assume was his assistant. “Ladies, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He drawled out as he stepped into the office and took his time greeting each one of them charmingly. 

“Oh, Mr. Daniels. I’m absolutely thrilled that you are interested in investing with our company.” Your stepmother told him. “These are my daughters, Madison and Jade.” She gestured to your stepsisters. 

Jack nodded to both of them and then turned to you. “And who, may I ask, is this charming creature?” He asked, studying you intently with a soft smile on his lips. 

“Her?” Madison asked with a laugh. “She’s unimportant.” 

“That’s no one. Just my stepdaughter.” Your stepmother waved at you dismissively. “Go get everyone coffee and be useful for once.” She told you. Completely missing the looks Jack and his assistant shared as you blushed and walked away silently. 

“I’ll help you.” Jack’s assistant chimed up as she hustled to your side. “I’m Ginger.” She told you with a smile. 

You introduced yourself and smiled back at her. “Thank you.” 

“So… Working for your stepmother. That seems… Interesting.” Ginger told her as they prepped all the coffees. 

You snorted. “If by interesting, you mean hell… Then sure.” You told her. 

“She does seem like a bitch.” She smirked at you. 

You smiled at her and chuckled. “That’s putting it nicely.” 

“Your boss seems to at least not treat you like shit in front of other people.” 

“Jack? Oh, he’s the best boss. Kind and treats the whole company with respect.” Ginger nodded. 

You blushed at the way you remembered Jack complimenting you. “He seems very sweet.” 

Ginger didn’t miss the way you blushed, but chose not to say anything. 

You brought out the coffee and nearly collided with none other than Jack Daniels himself. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” You told him, frantically looking around for your stepmother or sisters so they didn’t yell at you. “I-I was distracted. Did I get any coffee on you?” 

“Hey darlin’... It’s alright.” He soothed you, large hands coming to your arms to steady you. “I got you. And no, not a drop of coffee on me.” He reassured you.

You shivered at his hands on your arm, despite the sweater. “I-Thank you.” You stammered at him. 

“I’m not gonna get you in trouble with your family. I promise. You deserve better than that.” He murmured in your ear before promptly going to Ginger where she held his coffee and then entered the conference room for the presentation. 

Leaving you to contemplate what he meant by that as you quietly brought in the coffees and sat down. Very much aware of Jack Daniels’ gaze almost always drifting to you when there was a lull in conversation.

Tag list:

@absurdthirst @spacegayofficial @lilangeldevil006 @manda-but-not-lorian @din-djarin-protection-squad @emmymarieofrivia @nope-itsnopi @deafspaceperson @auty-ren @gothgirl13 @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @babe-dont @dreamgirl-67 @luminescentlily @katialvi @zoe-rachel-crisp @cryptkeepersoul @jaa1682-27

Send me an ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

[nym-ic]

THERE ARE GOING TO BE AN UNGODLY AMOUNT OF SCREENSHOTS. IF YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT THE DREAM SPEEDRUN DRAMA, YOU’RE BETTER OFF SCROLLING PAST, BECAUSE IT’S A LOT OF INFORMATION THAT REQUIRES THE GENERAL CONTEXT OF THE SITUATION

hi!! so i’ve taken some screenshots of the speedrunning discord in the interest of showing the toxicity i have seen in chat. i will also be including the screenshots of mods who were actually trying to stop the conversation because it was getting way out of hand.

dream’s messages in screenshots will also be mentioned after the toxicity and mods in the beginning.

this is an analysis of the toxicity and mod response as well as an analysis on the conversation that took place with dream.

also, small note: i will be using gender neutral pronouns for everyone mentioned in this discussion aside from dream, as we are aware of what he prefers :)

i am going to state this now that every single one of these screenshots was taken on december fourteenth, 2020 somewhere between 9:30 am and 11 am in the PST timezone:

this is just blatant hatred and toxicity. i don’t have to explain it because it’s very visible.

Mango is both a verifier and mod, and is seen actively trying to end the conversation and toxicity about dream, as it was completely flooding the general chat of the discord. i’m fairly sure the night before, general was locked about 2-3 times due to the spam and toxicity.

CasseBot as you will see later on in the screenshots, is also both a verifier and mod, and the screenshot above me is definitely a statement done in poor taste and uncalled for. however, in the screenshot below, you can see them reprimanding and handing out warnings to end the conversation about dream as well as the toxicity. the statement above was unnecessary, but they were actively trying to end conversation.

now, i will be sharing screenshots of the messages dream sent to the #coding-math channel in the discord, i am apologizing in advance for the pure amount of screenshots, but i was trying to capture the entire conversation, and i left out as many side conversations unrelated to what they were talking about as i could.

i am not blurring names here as it would be very difficult to follow the conversation, and the names are relevant to who is saying what to understand when certain people are talking at once. it should also be noted that these people were very calm in their discussion to dream, and there was no yelling or blatant calling him a cheater, which is a win in my book because it points toward an actually intelligent conversation

every single one of these screenshots was taken on december fourteenth, 2020 somewhere between 9:30 am and 11 am in the PST timezone:

the conversation in the beginning starts out incredibly calm, civil, and dare i say it, wholesome, as everyone taking part in the conversation at this point was genuinely helping dream find the files he needed from his world files in the version folder

the screenshot above is a closeup of the image seen in the screenshot before it!!

i’m not sure exactly what the eclipse directory is, but if someone is willing to explain it, feel free :)

aadil is an average community member of the server (not a mod or verifier!!), and can be seen supposedly very confrontational and flippant of certain evidence, though this is due to the wording of their messages, as they quickly corrected themselves below

Kohru here mentions being able to hide different ways to do the same thing dream is being accused of, however does not send anything due to the fact that they likely don’t actually know. i state this because they use an argument a few screenshots ahead saying they could “get [their] mom to do it” which is an argument that isn’t actually professional to what they’re discussing, however this could be due to the time that these messages took place.

this is where you can see dream start to get a little frustrated through his sarcasm and wording of the statement, but he is still remaining otherwise civil in the conversation, and those having the conversation (aside from a few choice reactions to things he sent as messages including flipping off emojis and a clown emoji) with dream were also being reasonable debaters and relatively non-toxic.

ImZaJojoReference (an average community member, not a mod or verifier!!) states “evidence” claiming anything dream will put forward will be fake, but then does not produce anything else to the conversation of note that could explain why they believe this.

we’ve seen dream admit this many times that he does not have the knowledge in math nor statistics to be able to accurately debate this data, which is the reason for his hiring of staticians to help him in his own investigation and defense of himself. he states he has several, so again, i’m excited for the outcome because maybe the situation would finally get resolved!

throughout this entire conversation, i noticed that Kohru, an average community member (not a mod or verifier!!) was very confrontational in their statements to dream, though i will attribute this behavior to the timestamps of the messages, as it’s so early in the morning (in my timezone at least. this could be fundamentally flawed).

these are all the screenshots i took from the Minecraft Java Edition Speedrun discord, and i hope i grabbed enough screenshots to remain primarily unbiased to both sides of the argument, but i can conclude that most of my perceived bias will be dragged from how i brought up toxicity, and how i was glad it was being taken care of.

if you made it all the way through, thanks for listening to my rambles in between, and i hope this provides information for people who aren’t in the discord, or are generally confused on the dynamic dream holds with the speedrun community. the #general chat is mainly just completely toxic, and there are a few of dream’s defenders in there, but they get almost immediately shot down because of their like of him. this means that many of the people against dream aren’t truly listening to other sides of the argument (not including the many screenshots i provided of the more level-headed members of the discord). dream’s rebuttal will likely bring forward new information, and though a lot of it will be ignored by this community because of their almost pure hatred for the guy, it will be everyone’s decision to make up their own opinions on the subject.

taking information from many different sources and making sure you take in both sides of the story is very important to making an informed decision on the matter at hand. i hope these screenshots of the conversation made information a little more digestible due to its casual and lax nature

I AM NOT ADVOCATING FOR THE SENDING OF HATE TO THESE CHOSEN PEOPLE. I HAVE BLOCKED OUT THE NAMES OF THOSE ACTING TOXIC BECAUSE I KNOW HOW THE COMMUNITY IS. TOXICITY IS NOT A WAY TO DECIDE IF A PERSON IS BAD BECAUSE IN ALL LIKELIHOOD, THOSE PEOPLE WERE UNDER 18 AND THUS CHILDREN. EVEN IF THEY WERE ADULTS, SENDING HATE AND DEATH THREATS MAKES YOU JUST AS BAD AS THEM.

if you send hate to the mods or the people having genuine discussion with dream, i don’t know what else to tell you other than you’re an idiot. because those people were pretty much the nicest people on the server.

thanks for reading, hope you have a good day!!!

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Can I get uhhh fresh professor membrane x femme reader who's head of biochemistry at ML, they're working on a project together but one of them accidentally bump into an abandoned fertility drug project, shattering the vials and getting it on their skin. Basically a sex pollen situation. Where there was already sexual tension between them but now it's like, hardcore overdrive and they end up just...fucking for hours before it wears off. Sorry I'm very tired and not good w words

so uhhhh, it’s been a year. (sorry about that) But hey lets start off my comeback with a bang

@gildedmaggot hope i did this ask justice 

Director of Biochemistry. That’s what your job title said. Dr. L/N that’s what your degree said. Yet, as you look out over the greenhouse where your lab technicians were currently weaving and bobbing between different species of plant, you couldn't help but feel like Gaia herself. Each of the plants here you had painstaking grown, tending and nurturing with your team. The building before you was full of hundreds of hours of man time, and no amount of insurance could ever mend how heartbroken you would be if something ever happened to it.

You knew the people and plants here like the inside of your eyelids, and yet a stranger was in your kingdom’s midst. A line of jagged- lighting like- hair stuck out among the tall leaves. Ah that was right- your boss would be working with you today. The Professor did not often come to visit as he was more than content with the work you team put out. However, it seemed that one of his projects could use your expertise. And so, information was exchanged, a meeting set and here you were.

Looking at the clock you sighed. It was going to be a long day and probably night. Your lab and greenhouse usually closed late afternoon so your workers could have dinner with their families, and you could catch some sleezy TV with your pets. However, there was no time either you or the Professor could spend during the day to meet, so you would both be staying after-hours. You felt for the man, you really did. You knew he had a family he took care of by himself. “I suppose those are the sacrifices you make to better the world” you thought as the man in question made his way towards you.

“Dr. L/N! How wonderful to see you again!” the Professor greeted you with cheer.

“Same here, how does it feel to be able to breath in a lab?” You jeered. The regular labs were well regulated, but they always smelled of chemicals and usually something burnt. That was why you insisted on any meetings with the Professor be in your lab. Your lab was fragrant with the scent of earth and flowers, you liked to think it calmed you boss. Maybe gave him a welcome change of pace.

“The labs may smell, but they smell of PROGRESS!” Professor Membrane laughed. The scene was almost movie like. His encouragement was truly unwavering wasn’t it?

“Shall we get started?” you stretched your arm out in the direction of the lab. “Maybe if we start now we can get a good 10 minuets of sleep tonight!” you joked. Professor Membrane gave an amused snort and long sigh. Just as you were about to open the door one of your team called your name.

“Dr. L/N before you go!” A young intern ran up “what do you want me to do with those extractions that we decided not to use for the fertility drug?”

“Go ahead and just set them in the lab, I’ll take care of them tomorrow” you turned as the intern walked off to see the professor patting his jacket.

“Oh, I’m sorry F/N, I forgot my phone in my office, I’ll be right back”

You watched as Membrane made his way towards the exit, then decided to get started on your work. The intern dropped off the extraction samples and you handed him your keys to lock the cabinets in the green house before leaving.

The professor returned and your long vigil began.

*Several hours later*

The night was beginning to ware on you as you and Membrane tried variation after variation on different formulas. This was the last piece of the puzzle you just knew it. After another failed attempt, the Professor stood up and popped his back.

“I think a well-deserved break is in order, perhaps after a few minutes of recharging we will get it.” He was right. He also looked worn. You found this point happened often when you stayed late together. His shoulders began to slump, and his hands began to fidget. He became…softer. Like he was releasing the control that he always held over everything and was just letting himself exist. Membrane walked over to your desk and looked around at the various decorations you had.

“It’s alright” you began walking over with a broom and cloth. “These were just here for me to get rid of in the morning” You stooped down to brush the pile together when a spicy, almost savory aroma filled your senses. It was unlike anything you could describe, but it was pleasant in the most wonderful way. From where you were bent down you began to sweat. You made a move to stand but your knees gave way as you grabbed onto the desk for balance.

You pulled out your phone to check on your pets through the security app. You were watching them peacefully sleep- something you wished you could be doing yourself- when the sound of glass shattering broke you out of your revere. Membrane was holding a stack of folders. The box of extracts- that had been previously lying of the stack of folders- was lying of the ground. Its contents were leaking out over the floor.

“F/N I am so sorry, I thought I could remove the stack.” Membrane began to taper off and began to stare at the floor. As if he was looking at a pile of literal broken dreams.

“F/N!” Membrane leaned down to help you up, grabbing onto your arms. His touch was fire on your skin, and yet you wished he’d never let go.  You looked up at his face, when did he take off his googles? When did he start smelling so good? The usual smell of burnt chemicals and sweat turned into a musk. Rough and sharp. You stared deep into his eyes and leaned your head closed to smell.

SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT 

Membrane had noticed something was wrong, how could he not? You were staring into his soul and smelling him. He leaned down to get a better grip on your arms to hoist you up, getting a whiff of the pile on the ground. His breathing began to quicken, and he noticed just how close you were. Everything around the two of you seemed to be enhanced. The sharp lights of the lab. The defined tone of Membranes shoulders under the coat. The aroma of flowers all seemed to turn savory and flavorful. The way your bottom lip quivered as you panted.

“F/N, I…. are you…?” Membrane was at a lose as he seemed to size you up right then and there. You moved your hands to hold his neck and feel the stubble of his undercut. He took in a sharp breath and let out a muttered “please”. As if he was holding the very weight of the world back from crushing you.

You made a move to stand up using his shoulders as leverage, but your legs still didn’t work. You fell with you back on the desk, pulling Membrane on top of you. Your skin was on fire, he was encompassing you and all you wanted to do was bury yourself in him. Membrane it seemed had the same instinct as he began devouring you in a kiss. An arm on either side of you face as you felt him press his weight into you. The more you had the of him, the needier you became. You grew wetter by the second as he pressed his clothed erection into you. Forcibly grinding you into the top of the desk

Suddenly with the force of thunder he stood up and practically ripped his jacket off. Shrugging it off while you weakly managed to do the same. Your core pulsated with need, as he stripped. You managed to get topless but your legs would not cooperate with you. Membrane remedied the situation, taking your bottoms and underwear in one fell swoop.

He buried his head into your thighs, breathing deeply. As if you were the oxygen he needed to breath on a foreign planet. His cold metal hands came up to part your legs, and he sunk his head further into your pussy. He wasted no time in thrusting his tongue into your folds. You let out a gasp and then a moan as he began to consume your very core. Obscene wet noises filled the air as he alternated between licking stripes up your core and taking your clit and folds into his mouth and sucking. You grabbed onto the desk as you reached your climax. Moaning out his name. He drank you up and then reemerged, looking ravenous and wild. The climax did nothing to easy the heat inside you. And the need in your center came back tenfold.

“Over, Now” Membrane commanded with a voice that left no choice for disobedience.  You did your best to comply, now situated on your stomach. You felt his hands hold onto your hips. A punishing grip that would leave bruising in its wake pulled you back onto his cock. As the head made it past the first ring of muscle you heard him moan and hiss. He slowly sheathed himself inside you. And as he set fully inside you, there was a moment of clarity. The haze lifted for a moment, and the lab returned. Then as he slowly pulled out, the fog returned. There was no desk, no lab, no job, no world. Only you and Membrane. He thrust into you quickly and you just about screamed in relief. He set a punishing pace. Pistoning his cock inside your warm walls. Causing moans and grunts to join the noises of wet slapping filling the air.

He used his leverage to push deep inside you, redecorating your insides. You were close and he began to falter and lose pace. You felt the string inside you snap for a second time as he painted you white. The clarity returned for a moment and you looked back to see him panting and looking down where you two were connected. As your eye met you felt him hardening again.

It was going to be one long and pleasant night.

[f-117-nighthawk]

Playlist Update? From MY Brain? More Likely Than You Think

can't remember the last time I posted these all together but I just put a few new songs in. I've been playing Arknights bc STARSET songs keep being used in the trailers, and then I was listening to Transmissions while making dinner, and uhhhhh there's two new Transmissions songs on the playlists, plus whatever else the spotify links needed to update to my ever-changing apple versions.

This is just the main playlist, because this one is now 3h 40m, and the other three playlists are about an hour each. I’ll give them their own post tomorrow. Under the cut, because it's also Write Random Snippits and Include Important Lyrics time

Dark Matter

Surprise surprise, this one’s got probably the most work done on it. A lot of that is moving things around, a few deletions, and the additions.

DM now starts with Your World Will Fail, Dark Matter, and Eater of Worlds. Turn the Lights Out still kinda applies, but I stopped vibing with it starting everything, and wasn’t really sure where else it should go so it got dropped. It’s role is sort of picked up by a UtA song later? Anyway, the opening three are still very much about not only the birth of [REDACTED], but the birth of the universe itself. And that’s why it feels better to start out with YWWF. Because it is the start.

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

(Can’t imagine the violence/The rage and the love in my madness/I am the eater of worlds and I’m looking for someone to feed me)

Remnants of Stars is a hook to Filaments at this point, but stays way up here because the thing it’s about connects back up to those three ^ and is something slowly realized by the Paladins throughout the series. There’s kinda three different points that they realize something new about this (at the moment, I Am the One, Cosmic Vertigo, and Centigrade).

(Shed all you know and make way for a galaxy of light/Answers found hidden inside the smallest stone/Bringing forth a new way of life/Open your heart to the sky)

Apocalypse 1992 hasn’t changed. Still about The Fall, still the turning point for the entire damn war. Still about poor Krolia. Still the Rogue One of DM. It happens between parts of Awakenings, detailing the rise of [REDACTED] and the final hours before the destruction of everything sentient species knew beforehand.

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of Apocalypse 1992 from the Red Lion’s perspective, and connects nicely (just as in the albums lol) to the next UtA songs. Which we’ll get to in a bit.

(Brother mountain/Now we sleep/For a thousand years/I will see you again/Something is coming/Coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between The Fall and the Battle of Arus. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuanial War is forgotten under the influence of Zarkon, Haggar, and [REDACTED]. Marzin and Galraasa quickly rise the ranks as the Empire’s left and right hands, like omens of destruction before them. The four are the ‘holy half-dead,’ the ones who shape the devouring of the universe before them.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

The Glory and the Scum is partially here bc I missed having Delain, I’ll freely admit that. (Delain split up! Like six months ago! I’m still sad!) Here, it’s (most) of the reason why Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Think Winter Soldier-ish. It’s also from Krolia’s perspective as she’s talking to Kolivan in a conversation I implied in Shatterpoint. Perhaps it shall see the light of day.

(Look at what we've done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We're the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, mostly, and connected to Closure via its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark) and also to Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Also the thing about the Pleiades has kinda become A Thing associated with my two favorite halfbloods.

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here, it’s the sad part, based around the time that the SFSS Genesis launches for Kerberos. It also is sort of about Shiro’s thoughts throughout the war as he watches ‘from distant skies’ (and influences String Theory kinda)

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. They’re specifically the Red Lion waking up on Sendak’s ship to her new Paladin, but also sort of the rest of the Lions as they find new Paladins for the first time since The Fall (and, also, an accidental hook to the end of Filaments just by virtue of being on the same UtA album…)

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here that they need to prepare for. It’s a declaration of protection for Earth, but a recognition that the Paladins may not be able to do what they say.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

Then there’s The End of the Beginning. Which is, well, the eponymous fic. And don’t forget the String Theory connection! Fun fact: part of the last chapter leads directly into part of String Theory at the moment.

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is about anything but a simple plan. Lotor is making his secret bid for the construction of the Sinkline ships, but there’s one more thing he needs before it can come to fruition. Haggar has suspicions, and knows one thing that she needs to keep from both him and Voltron. Team Voltron is still struggling to fit into their new roles, especially with a Black Paladin who adamantly does not want to be Black Paladin, and is in desperate need of one thing to fix the last of the damage done during the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula.

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Such a short song for such an important fic. It skips all the way over Naxzela to the Mission to the Baaria Shipyards, the first major offensive that isn’t somehow connected to canon (even if only a very very small part of it is actually at the shipyards lol). This is also the song that solidified Keith’s very queer identity in Dark Matter. And more Pleiades stuff!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

There’s another fic in here that I’m still waiting for a song to catch my ear, but it’s pretty big so I’m putting it in here. For the moment, it’s called MGHM 2.0: Electric Paladinloo. Featuring the Whispers, Voltron, and a few mullets.

And then. Hoh boy. The beast of beats. TRIALS (reimagine), Dark On Me, String Theory, and I Am the One. We’ve got [REDACTED], we’ve got [spoiler], we’ve got the first major turning point in the entire war, and the first revelation of the true nature of [REDACTED]. Hence the honor of being the separation point of my two main DM folders. TRIALS is the first part, the horrifying realization. Dark On Me and String Theory itself are from Shiro’s perspective. I Am the One is… an image song? I guess? That’s all I’ll say on that. (I would like to note that the STARSET songs bar OWtT tend to be about the Shiroganes…)

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I'm the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they'll hear the violence/We'll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(You're the cause/The antidote/The sinking ship that I could not let go/You led my way, then disappeared/How could you just walk away and leave me here?/Light the night up, you're my dark star/And now you're falling away)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the aftermath of String Theory, and a large vibe of We ARE Struggling Together! It’s about family, never letting go of something you care about, and the slow act of trusting.

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade is The klance song! It is a) a bop b) always stuck in my head because it is That Good. The line in the chorus about ‘sweet songs of seduction’ is eternally funny to me bc a)they’re both ace and b)QPR’s don’t usually involve seduction. Belgrade also leads almost directly into…

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. Mostly. It’s also about Pidge. And Zaivorge cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure fic (the second is End of the Beginning, forgot to mention that. They’ve slowly moved away from actually being related to it in anything but name and general idea). It’s about Keith coming to terms with parts of himself, and learning how to use them to great effect. Also has a huge info dump about the Blade.

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. I really recommend reading the whole lyrics for Monarch, because the entire thing is very much a Lotor song. I had a bit of trouble picking a lyric to use here. Monarch is here because Lotor is also the ‘singer’ of Birthright, and both songs are to a very specific high-level target of the Coalition. Firewall is a little different as it’s a Team Voltron song not a Lotor song, but happens because of the same thing the other two do. They’re all not exactly a direct result of Iron, but they wouldn’t happen how they do without it, and then [REDACTED] swings back into the fray and things learned in String Theory/the framing story for Through Apocalypse Skies hit in full force.

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

and then, The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t come into full effect until several months after Birthright/Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. It’s largely about Haggar and [REDACTED]

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here… kinda as a placeholder? Things have shifted around since its original purpose, and frankly it’s here still as a framework for what I like to call The Meme Battle. It’s generally about the increase in Coalition support and general winning as they go after warlords in the aftermath of Feyiv, culminating in I Need a Hero which is, of course, The Meme Battle.

Yes, it’s the Shrek version. It’s the Meme Battle.

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night/He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast/And he's gotta be fresh from the fight)

But Tonight We Dance isn’t exactly a klance song, but it’s here for them. On a diplomatic mission gone wrong, the Red and Blue Paladins of Voltron uncover a literally-buried government conspiracy, a rebel cell, and nearly die. A normal days work for the two of them. But they’ve really gotta stop having relationship milestones in the middle of a warzone.

Another reason it’s here is Tonight We Dance is a very aro song to me. “A language universal, but I speak not its tongue” hits hard. I felt like I needed a bit in here to remind listeners/readers that romance isn’t a language Keith speaks. And it becomes very explicit in this fic, just like Belgrade.

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we'll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

But Tonight We Dance is the last of the Closure fics, which is why it’s here. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development and some of the struggles he goes through to accept his place in the universe and the fact that yes, he does have people that care about him. The last fic is me shining a brighter light on Closure’s chorus and taking a ‘last goodbye’ as never needing to say it again

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Then we step back into the universe-level action with Soulbound. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall swing back in with a vengeance on a joint Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity.

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

About three months after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster Than Light. Haggar realizes something and goes searching for her fifth [spoiler], sending the Blade and the rest of the Coalition scrambling. These also lead directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds Than These. Together they are the second of two revelations in what, exactly, is [REDACTED]

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you're just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting for gods, even as one of them disappears.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. I’ve been thinking of them as akin to the suicide mission in Mass Effect 2, if that gives you an idea of what the hell they run into. Also I switched which specific Redemption is on the playlist, because I was listening to Red Handed Denial again and their Redemption was vibing way more than the Hammerfall one. They link up to Godhunter and Soulbound in subject matter, and lead directly into…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn)

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World On Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, The Wind That Shapes the Land, and Louder Than Words. Switched the order up a bit so it makes more sense chronologically, because the message ‘sent by forces beyond salvation’ has to get there before the reckoning can begin.

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

[georgescatcafe]

vermillion — 1

rating: t warning/s: period-typical homophobia pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: cowboy x city boy au, rancher sapnap, rich george, coming of age, slow burn word count: 3,152 summary: When Sapnap gets sent into the city to get quick cash for his family’s struggling ranch, he’s not expecting much from the experience—lights aren't very blinding when held up to the Sun, and he's not exactly there to play around. But then he meets George, a boy built on money, who quickly sweeps in not just paying customers but also Sapnap, leading him into what any ruddy country boy would call the mouth of the Devil: high society. Cue a summer spent by each other’s side while feelings run unbidden, uncaring of deadlines and restraints.

It should be enough for the pair—and for awhile, it is, right up until it isn’t.

+ao3 +masterpost

;;

PART I

1994

Going to the city alone isn’t too different from going with his Pa. The drive there is mild, skies blue, sunny, fields on both sides of his muddied pickup stretching out endless and golden, ready to be cut down. Nick is sixteen now, old enough to head to the market on his own, license shiny and new, brain bright and sharp. He’s been preparing for this, and now it’s time for him to show off what he knows.

He had thought the 80s were bad, his dad cursing some figurative Big Man (Nick’s pretty sure he just meant the government) and constantly pushing hard on the ranch to make ends meet. They aren’t farmers, their neighbors having it way harder than they could, but it was rough, and it’s still rough—everything is so expensive, so now Nick is their last hope, Pa working the ranch, son sent off to the city to try and get some immediate cash. It’s hard to deny freshly cut steaks.

They’ve got horses too, pretty ones, some sold to be racers, but mostly pretty ones. Nick’s been planning to propose they start some summer thing, parents bringing their kids to the ranch to ride the horses, get the wind in their hair from something other than a car with its windows down. Not this year, though. (The highway sign tells him his exit is in two miles. Nick focuses back on the road.) This year, he’s busy.

;;

Pulling into the market’s parking lot, Nick doesn’t feel blinded. Really, opening the truck door finds him with a lungful of stink, and his thoughts are drowned out by the honking of horns and shouting of pedestrians. He thinks he hears a bell tower in the distance—does this city have a college?—but he can’t be sure.

It’s nothing glamorous.

Rounding his truck, he gets the coolers out the back, gets the papers too, lists of cows they’ve got, some horses, sheep, goats. Pa wants to get rid of them, but Ma likes to make sweaters. The sheep can be costly, but sweaters cost others, so Nick guesses it all balances out. They’re not getting rid of any chickens this year, but Nick’s two coolers definitely have some plucked birds. He blinks, remembering the eggs. He’s got some of those to sell too, and they don’t even need to be refrigerated. He’ll get them later.

Finding his shop is easy. The signs pointing out where everything is are all done in a looping, confusing cursive, so Nick forgoes reading them to just follow the sight of flannel and the smell of smoking meat. And there it is. A booth, the sign above it not in cursive (thank God) and declaring the name of their ranch in bold. Once Nick’s got all his things in place, he comes to stand proudly at it. PAPPAS RANCH above, Nick Pappas below.

Things go a lot slower after that. People don’t really flock to him, people don’t even come up to him. If anyone does, it’s at a meandering pace, like the wind might’ve pushed them more than them deciding to look. It’s a little humiliating, but Nick does his best to sell what he can. He’s not really concerned about the meat, and the animals are all still alive and fine on the ranch, but he is concerned about cash, and he knows they need it. Customers are vital. There just… aren’t any.

He leans back on his heels, surveying the marketplace. It’s quaint, kind of cute. Not as rugged and rough as the one in town, more proper-looking. To be expected. He people-watches. The people are people. No one is particularly interesting. Another customer is blown towards him. Nick sells them a couple twelve-ounce filets. He pays a little more attention after that.

Still, that’s the only big purchase he gets, and he tries not to let it sit on his mind too heavily when he heads back to his truck, coolers and folder and cash in hand. The night is warm, and he’s grateful for it when he settles in the bed of his pickup. In hope of saving some money, he’d turned down his parents’ offers of a hotel, the reluctance of giving up cash clear on his dad’s face anyway, so now Nick is left to sleep in his truck bed, surrounded by coolers and tarp and blankets. When he rolls over, he winces. He’d put the cash in a little safe then tucked that little safe under his makeshift bed. It sticks out uncomfortably underneath him. Oh well. He literally made his bed. Now he’s lying in it.

;;

Morning comes before he’s ready for it, and he finds himself glaring at the Sun as it creeps over the horizon, taunting him with cotton candy skies and sweet birdsong. The night wasn’t much better, with the safe in his back, with the city still awake long after the market closed. Despite his exhaustion from the drive, from standing, sleep did not come easily, and Nick feels the effects of that as he sets up shop all over again, goes to the market’s little bathroom installed down the way to change clothes, to splash water on his face. He groans when he remembers his toothbrush, still in his truck. He goes to get it anyway.

So, his start is a little slow, so what? Nick ties his bandana tighter around his head when he reaches his booth, double-checking his inventory before smiling at the woman who runs the booth across from his. She tips her hat at him in return.

There’s more people coming around today, which is good, and it makes sense. It’s a Thursday, which, while it isn’t the weekend, it’s getting there, and Nick eagerly anticipates it.

He makes a deal for one of their cows, sells some filets, some chicken thighs and veal—it’s a better day. He’s hesitant to call it good.

;;

Like the day before, Friday comes bright and early, uncomfortably so. He climbs out of his truck, gets his things—the whole rinse, wash, repeat. And then he’s back at his booth, saying hello to the woman across, again she tips her hat, and he’s drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

Nothing.

Nick takes a breath, holds it, lets it out. Things are fine. He’s fine. Rome wasn’t built in a day; Pappas Ranch doesn’t sell their entire inventory in two. It’s fine.

It’s still early, a whole day ahead, and though Nick braces himself for disappointment, he tries not to let it show, still standing tall beneath the sign above his booth. He just needs to be approachable, smile, be the charming boy his Pa raised him to be.

It works when two women walk by, mother and daughter, probably, arms linked, the two of them chatting only to stop at Nick’s booth, the mother smiling politely at him and daughter waving. “We’re having guests over tonight,” the mother says.

“How many?” Nick asks. And the deal goes through.

And it works with an older man, eating only for himself, but wanting to stock up for the weekend. A full guys’ thing. But it’s just him. Nick tells him he gets it, and he’s a few chickens shorter, a rack of lamb ribs gone.

It’s around lunch that things slow down, leaving Nick mildly surprised, but not entirely annoyed, as he uses his own pocket change to get some fruit from a farmer in another section, and an elderly woman three booths down gives him a little bit of smoked pork free of charge. It’s a meager, but good lunch. He’s leaning up against the wall, apple in hand, surveying the business still going on, when he spies someone who looks his age, hair a dark brown, eyes the same, dressed a bit more upscale for a market, even if this market is in the city. Nick pushes himself off the wall when the boy makes his way over to him. It’s a very deliberate walk, and Nick stands straighter for it, not showing off or anything, more like sizing up the competition—the competition for or on what, only Nick’s subconscious knows.

“Pappas Ranch,” the boy reads, and Nick almost laughs at the accent coloring his words. “Are you Papa?”

And the question is so reasonable yet so absurd, spun wonky with the accent, that it makes Nick laugh and reply with a name not quite right either: “Nah, I’m Sapnap.”

It’s such an… outdated name, given to him as a kid by an enthusiastic pen pal and then latched onto by his parents, fading out of fashion the moment he hit double-digits, when he started working his way up the ranch. The name is dumb too, zero sense without context, still stupid even with it, and he feels every bit of its stupidity when the boy studies him, unamused.

“Sapnap?” The word comes slow off his tongue, and Nick resists the urge to flush a bright red.

“Yeah, what about it?” He plants his feet firmer in the ground, wanting to shift from foot to foot but refusing. Refuses to take back the name too.

“Sounds dumb.”

Nick stutters out some excuse that falls flat before straightening. “What’s your name then, hotshot?”

“George,” and oh, isn’t that hilarious? Talk about outdated.

“My name might be stupid, but at least it isn’t lame as hell!”

George, of course, doesn’t like that, and that fact makes Nick grin, eyes growing wild when George grips the edge of the table between them to lean forward. “Fuck off.” Their noses nearly touch.

“This is my booth,” Nick replies.

“My city,” George shoots back, and Nick stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“It’s a city.” Nick raises a brow when George merely huffs, leaning against the booth. He spies the apple in Nick’s hand, and Nick fights back the urge to hide it, possessive. “What?” It’s his lunch. What about it? Workers eat too. Not that someone like George would know that. Nick gives him a cursory once over that George ignores, still focused on the fruit.

“Where’d you get that?” George asks. “It looks fresh.”   

“It is,” Nick points towards the booth he got it from, “over there. Everything here is fresh, dumbass.”

“What time is it?”

“Noon, I reckon.”

George studies him, still leaning against the booth, head coming closer and closer to Nick’s the longer he stares. “Your lunch?” Both of his hands now press down on the table between them, fingers splayed. His nails are short but nice. Nick’s have dirt under them. He holds his apple tighter.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Come with me,” George says, and Nick frowns as George moves away from the booth to nod his head towards the main road. “You can take a break.”

“Not really,” Nick wants to reply (break? Lunch was his break. He’s got to work!), but then George pivots and starts walking away, and he can’t have that, so he follows. “My stuff—”

“Will be safe, chill out,” George tells him. He glances behind and meets Nick’s eyes. Nick wonders if the other will crash into any of the various obstacles around them, booths, pedestrians, goods, fucking rocks in the walkway or something, but he doesn’t, just keeps walking. Part of Nick hopes he crashes. Wants to see him trip, fall, ruin his pants—they’re fancy, clean with those pressed lines down the middle. In the middle of the market, however upscale, they look stupid as hell. To see the knees covered in dust, caked in dirt, it’d make Nick pretty happy. He smiles at the image, and George, though brows end up quirked in confusion, offers a smile back.

Nick stumbles, a direct opposite to his imagination, but it’s because it’s not the city that’s blinding—it’s George’s smile. He blinks, glances behind himself; does George have a particularly white smile? Artificial, does George reap the benefits of being rich? Does the sun glint off those bleached teeth? But the Sun is still high overhead. And George’s teeth were white, but not white enough to be fake. Nick shakes his head, not wanting to get caught up in the thoughts, merely following after the other still. They’re out past the market now, heading deeper into the city. Delicatessens, bakeries, designer shops, and corner stores line the road, and Nick stares into the windows of them all with rapt attention. Sapnap, that’s what he told George his name was, and maybe here he is: Sapnap, someone else, someone new, someone who could walk by George’s side like it’s where he’s been his whole life, like the city is all he knows.

Looking at the elite walking by, Nick knows it wouldn’t be sustainable, not for him, but just for a bit, he can pretend. He glances over at George, who walks on ahead, easy, unassuming if not for the sun in his hair, spinning it into gold, unassuming if not for the set of his shoulders, the quiet confidence with which he carries himself. Carefully, he attempts to imitate the other.

They walk for another few minutes, and Nick is starting to worry about his things, about whether he’ll make it back in time for the after-school rush, the dinner rush, the weekend—when George finally stops and pushes open the door of a restaurant named something Nick can’t pronounce.

“Is that French?” he asks George.

“Yeah,” George replies, “I can’t pronounce it, though.”

“I thought all rich people knew French,” Nick says.

“Next state over,” George tells him. “Or in the east maybe. I’m taking Spanish.”

“My cousin knows Creole.” George hums before smiling at the host and asking for a table for two. The fancy atmosphere, however much a consequence of location and George’s upbringing, the host’s look over George’s shoulder at Nick, table for two—all of it sends Nick’s skeleton rattling, bones shaking and shivering under layers of skin and muscle, his brain easily equating these things to a date. But George isn’t like that. He’s just fancy. And Nick isn’t like that either. This is just what rich people do in the city. What everyone does in the city. They get lunch.

When they’re seated, Nick tugs at his collar. He’s not hot, but God, has he grown uncomfortable. He’s got dirt behind his knees he’s sure, and when he speaks it’s not that smooth, sweet voice George has got, and the slight beard he’s finally started to get only makes him all the scruffier. He’s a fish out of water, and he’s growing more and more certain it shows.

“Sapnap,” George says, “are you alright?”

And oh. Right. He’s not Nick. To George, he’s Sapnap, and George is taking Sapnap to lunch, which means he thinks Sapnap is able to be seen in a place like this, if not alone then with George, so it’s fine. Nick’s hand falls from his shirt to the table, where it curls around napkin-wrapped cutlery. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m fine. Uh. Can you read this menu?”

“It’s in English, Sapnap.” George’s tone is dry, but it’s a joke, and his eyes squint with his smile. Nick smiles back.

;;

Despite their smiles, despite sharing a meal, they don’t get along. Nick wants to help provide for lunch, but he also can’t, not really, so they argue over that, and they argued over what to get too, because Nick is a firm believer in trying everything so let’s just split stuff, George, but George is apparently a possessive little bitch, so his idea was continually shot down, but then when a waitress came by, George ordered what Nick had suggested, so they argued over that, and when they left, George argued for a treat and Nick argued that he had to get back to work.

Nick won that one, but George stuck by his side as they traced their steps to the market.

Despite their inability to get along, they become what Nick thinks might just be friends.

“If I lost all my shit ‘cause of you,” Nick starts, but George just rolls his eyes. And when they reach his booth, it’s fine, like George had said it’d be, but Nick does lament the lost customers in the time spent out. He still has an afternoon ahead, but he still took off way more time than he’d have liked.

“It’s fine,” George tells him, hopping up onto the front little ledge of the booth. “I’ll help you sell it, or something.”

“You don’t have anywhere to be?” Nick asks him, checking his inventory one more time, just to make certain nothing’s been stolen.

George shakes his head, kicking his feet slightly, not stopping even when it makes the booth begin to sway. Nick steadies it with a careful hand, and George sends him a grateful look, though he still kicks his feet. “It’s summer.” He watches as Nick pulls out a chunk of meat, chuck, drops it onto the proper counter set up behind the pretty covering the booth makes, and sets about cutting it into pieces. “Nothing to do.”

“For you,” Nick says.

“For me,” George agrees.

Nick fixes up the beef, thinking about the restaurant, the roast he saw somewhere on the menu—that’s what people’ll use this meat for, he’s getting creative—and leans back, fingers curling around the countertop. “So what exactly are you proposing?”

George shrugs. “I can get you good food; I can advertise good food. You can cut what will one day be good food and keep the cash.”

“You’d do this for no pay?” Nick asks.

George tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Nick watches as sunlight catches his skin; George hadn’t seemed to sweat much, but now Nick sees where it’s damp on his skin, the light making it shimmer. Nick looks away. It didn’t look gross. George finally lowers his head. He doesn’t look gross. “I don’t need it,” George says. “And I’m not stupid. My dad works with some people from the city stockyard. You need the cash, don’t you?”

Nick fights back the urge to make a face. “Yeah. Did you remember that before or after you made me get lunch with you?”

George at least looks a little guilty. Nick takes what he can get. “Look,” George finally says, “I’m not terrible at marketing. And I know what people here want. Can you really say no?”

He can. Nick could say no and tell George to leave. Could say no and thanks, but lunch actually sucked (it didn’t). He could say a number of things that would get rid of George’s company.

He doesn’t.

“Just don’t get in my way, okay?” He and George lock eyes. George nods. Nick tightens his grip on the counter, surveys the steadily crowding market. “So who’re you going to reel in first, hotshot?”

;;

next

[shintorikhazumi]

Life at stake

A/N: Sup, my name is Khaz. So I was binging Kakegurui lately (and rewatching one too many times), and then watched the ep where Mary’s bday was revealed just the other day, looked at my laptop calendar, and went, “woah- it’s Mary’s Birthday?!” So I was super excited to make my first Kakegurui fic a Mary bday fic, but then exams hit me like a truck so...

I love Mary. So Happy birthday Mary. My first Kakegurui fic goes to you. (even if it’s late lmao so I’ll make it a multi-chap)

Self indulgent af because... Because.

This. Might suck. Not the best author. Regardless, hope you at least...

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

Kirari continued twirling the coin ‘round her finger. It was getting boring in the office lately. She needed something. Some toy to mess around with. The recent days had been rather uneventful for her corporation. Nothing interesting had popped up, and all the business chains under her rule were working rather smoothly.

In short,

It sucked.

High school was definitely better.

Sayaka was by her side, ever faithful in her duties as she filed the last of today’s paperwork. Kirari eyed her expression, watching Sayaka bite her lip, a sign she was contemplating something. The ex-president of Hyakkaou guessed it was about whether or not she should get a head start on tomorrow’s scheduled responsibilities. A good insurance move for the unexpected future. How logical of her. How rational. How very Sayaka.

Ah. But Kirari was her opposite. Always had been. And much unlike her secretary, she adored the unexpected future.

You never know what could happen in so few seconds.

Be it life or death.

It filled her with a pleasurable electricity coursing through her whole body just from the thought of the Destiny stringing her along to its predetermined design. It reminded her of that one match of Fate she had with one Jabami Yumeko all those years ago- okay, maybe like... four years ago, but that was some time in the past, right?

Speaking of Yumeko...

Kirari watched Sayaka berate the girl as she sat on-yes, on, not at- the conference table just across from her now-boss, Kirari. Why she was here, well...

Yumeko was simply too uninterested in college, but unwilling to just settle down to do nothing. Thus, upon graduating from Hyakkaou, she had accepted a modified version of her “life plan” in high school that her relative had offered.

It was better than anything else to her at the time. More interesting than going to college or back home, Yumeko had told Kirari. So the girl was found working for her, managing one of the teal-eyed woman’s underground Casinos. That was it. No other conditions attached. Who was Yumeko to reject such a generous offer that was right in line with her one true love, gambling?

Okay, so maybe Kirari had been the one to scout after her and laid her bet of being Yumeko’s patron for a lifetime of gambling ahead. Yumeko didn’t actually find her offer all that appealing at the beginning, but then a bet had been set in place.  A bet with a risk of whether or not this new business would go under or if it would flourish, regardless of Yumeko’s presence.

One billion dollars. If the casino couldn’t make that much profit in a week without the girl, but could with her, then Kirari would win, and Yumeko was hers forever. If it succeeded, Kirari could not touch her. Yumeko would be gone from her grasp, out of her paradise aquarium.  

Of course Yumeko agreed to it.

She loved a good bet. Especially if it was one as intense as the ones she’d shared with Kirari. Kirari loved good, unpredictable wagers too. You could win it all, or lose it all. That was in gambling’s nature. But well, Kirari never gambled games she’d lose. Not on purpose at least.

And that was how she’d gotten Yumeko aboard in her little aquarium once more.

For what it was worth, Yumeko had been able to offer her the entertainment she desired. However, the more successful their whole group had grown, the less Kirari was able to enjoy messing with her very competent, and now very busy staff.

Staring at Yumeko looking over her work seriously despite being in such a position on her table was becoming dull, Kirari getting used to its oddness.

Why was everyone in this room so dedicated and serious in work?

Couldn’t they offer Kirari some semblance of entertainment right now?

Who else could she bother... ah- Ririka. Her dear twin sister. Who had just walked into the room. Surely she’d care enough to save her own flesh and blood, the spitting image of herself from the claws of death by utter boredom.

“Riri-”

“Not now, Rari. I have things to do.” The girl had her brows knitted in a frown, and Kirari suspected that the meeting she was sent to attend did not go as well as they hoped.

Guess that’s another thing for her to smooth out tomorrow. Something to spice up her bland work life. Somehow. But that was for tomorrow.

For today, however, now what... what else could she...

“Excuse me? I’m Hanatemari from HR. I have some files I’d like to have looked over for the recent proposed project.”

A rather fluffy-looking girl was bid welcome into the vast office, Sayaka approaching her and handling the business, as per usual, leaving Kirari to sulk in nothingness even more.

She decided to occupy her mind with this new arrival, eyeing her from head to toe discreetly. Hmm? There was something about the her... something familiar... Hanatemari, Hanatemari...- Oh.

Kirari internally grinned, memory clearing. Hanatemari Tsuzura-san. Hoho. Since when had she been working for Kirari? This was exciting! This was interesting! This was something unforeseen! Now maybe if Kirari could just get her to-

“Thank you very much. I’ll be taking my leave now.” The girl, before Kirari could even utter a single word and get up from her chair, had already began to clean up, and turned on her heel, walking across the vast room heading for the door.

Ahh. And there went her last resort. Would anyone be willing to just take this terrible monotony of a work routine away?

Her final hope, little Hanatemari was slipping away! Kirari would have stopped her. Kirari could have. But she was leaving now, and would it be odd for Kirari to stop her? But since when had she cared about such a thing? That’s right! She didn’t! And so she would get up right now and chat the poor employee up and try to fish for something, anything of any worth.

Before she could do that however, the girl seemed to have taken a turn to have a word with Ririka. She would have frowned, but then a voice at the back of her mind told her to watch; to observe the girl’s interaction with her currently perplexed sibling, showing her some papers that made her sigh at first, but then oddly enough, suddenly light up in poorly concealed excitement.

Oh?

“Yes. As Igarashi-san has said, I will be in direct supervision of this project. Thank you for coming all this way to show me this-” Ririka attempted to speak with her usual leveled tone of professionalism, but Kirari knew her twin well enough to notice sudden brightness in her voice, and the immediate disappearance of her earlier displeasure.

Now Kirari’s attention was definitely caught. It wouldn’t be fun to remain a spectator then, now would it? Not when fate’s dice had begun to roll once more.

“Hello.” She cut in between them, an unreadable smile on her lips as both ladies showed their surprise in their own ways.

Tsuzura had visibly jumped, almost dropping her folder and clipboard, while Kirari smirked at being able to get a flinch out of Ririka.

“M-m-ma’am! Madame! I... why- I’m...” For someone supposedly in Human Resources, this girl couldn’t hold much of a conversation. Kirari was a little worried about that department now.

Or maybe it was because it was Kirari that she acted this way? The sadistic little demon in her grinned, pleased.

“And what is it that you have right there?”

“O-oh! N-nothing someone as noble as you should trouble yourself with.” The girl squeaked out quickly,  papers held tighter to her chest.

“But of course, I should trouble myself with this. This is my company, and those seem to be some documents related to a new project, I heard? Do tell me what it’s all about, Miss...” Kirari trailed off, waiting for the girl to introduce herself.

“Hanatemari. I am Hanatemari Tsuzura.”

But of course, Kirari already knew that.

“Lovely name. And what do you have right there, Hanatemari-san?”

“Oh! Um...” Kirari smiled as the papers slowly inched their way towards her itching hands. What could they possibly contain-

“Just the profiles of incoming interns and trial members.” Ririka quickly snatched the thick folder away, mixing it in with her own. “I’m sure Sayaka has approved of them for you, and I do too. You needn’t worry, dear sister. This is part of our jobs.”

Now this was suspicious. Ririka never really hid much from her. The only time she’d do it was when... ara?

This.

This was it. This was what Kirari had been wanting.

With Ririka’s sudden, careless actions, a few sheets of paper had spilled out the bottom of the files and onto the floor, one particular face-up profile causing a grin to spread wide on Kirari’s face.

Blonde hair, shimmering golden eyes, and that signature scowl of headstrong defiance that Kirari absolutely loved to coax out from this particular girl.

Ah, of course. The one who despised her so, and was one of the people who always gave her a thrill. She never disappointed Kirari, and always entertained her. She was confident, capable, faultily prideful and cocky at times, and was a tsundere.

Yes.

The perfect amusement. Ever the perfect toy.

Kirari couldn’t help but voice her desires. Her need to bring back this little fishy into her lovely, deathly aquarium.

“I want Saotome. I want to make her mine.”

---------

If a few papers on the floor were already enough for Sayaka to consider it “a mess”, then all of those applications now dropped and mixed together on the floor surely made her head hurt, Kirari assumed. Maybe she should help clear it up later if she wanted to maybe not sleep on the couch again.

“What did you just...” Ririka began, but failed to continue. Her nails dug into her palm, teeth clenched and brows furrowed.

Kirari raised a brow at this reaction.

She vaguely registered the sound of a pen clicking, before there was the tap of the plastic onto the table surface.

“What a bold declaration.” Yumeko suddenly stood up, walking towards the gathered group, eyes hidden behind bangs. “To say you want Mary-san to be...” A pause as Yumeko got all up in Kirari’s face, eyes that dangerous red glint as she breathed the last word into Kirari’s ear. “Yours.”

Oh, that delicious chill that ran up her spine.

Mary Saotome. She wasn’t even here, and yet her name had so quickly already stirred up quite the fun. As she thought, Kirari truly needed her here.

Even Tsuzura had an odd tint to her gaze, a frown marring her soft features.

Hmm.

Kirari was certain she knew why they responded the way they did. It was all too obvious, and all the more exciting. Just... weren’t these girls misunderstanding something?

Well, it didn’t matter. If misunderstanding meant an end to her daily gray, then Kirari would utilize it to its fullest extent.

And what better way to do that than...

“It seems as though you disagree with me. Don’t tell me... you all want Saotome Mary to yourselves?”

Only Yumeko vocally confirmed in her usual light-hearted, ‘but of course!’, with that deceiving cheery smile; but Kirari knew the other two shared the sentiment.

“Well then. How about...

We gamble for her.”

Yes, Kirari savored those burning gazes, the exhilaration coursing within her. They all looked way too up for it. It was perfect!

Ah, gambling your life away in high risk games was always a pleasure.

But well, this time it wasn’t Kirari’s own life. She should probably apologize to the girl once she sees her, for betting “ownership” over her.

Meh. She’d cross that bridge when Mary got here.

For now,

Mary Saotome’s life...

is at stake.

//-//-//-//-//

“A-aaa...ACHOO-! Ugh...whad da heck...” Mary reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, clicking her tongue when she couldn’t feel it there. She began to grumble, hands rummaging her bag for possibly a pack of tissues... that were non -existent as well.

Just as she was about to curse the heavens, a clean cloth was held out to her. She took it grateful to the person who she knew could be no other than her usual companion on campus.

“Thanks, Suzui.”

“Always welcome, Mary.” The brunette lad replied with a smile. “You really can’t get used to my first name, huh?” Ryota chuckled as Mary rolled her eyes at it.

“It feels weird and uncomfortable if I suddenly call you so familiarly like that.”

“And yet you’re fine with me calling you ‘Mary’?” He asked.

“Well, it’s my name, isn’t it? Everyone calls me that.”

“If you say so.” Ryota shrugged.

The pair continued walking in silence, the afternoon sun beginning to set in the visible horizon.

While Mary usually preferred this quiet between them, today she would’ve have liked it better if Ryota just... chatted her up like he always did. Lately, her mind had been swirling with a lot of thoughts, and she kind of wanted a distraction from them now.

It wasn’t like they were terrible thoughts, or things that tortured her psyche to a horrible degree that she’d be left sleepless and distraught. No.

They were rather plain, actually.

The musings of her mind were simple, and maybe related to all her insecurities and complexes growing up that had all but exploded when she was in high school.

Why those thoughts and feelings were coming back to her years later, she had no clue.

What she did know was that Mary liked to think she wasn't special.

Odd thing for her to think about when her talk was usually about being a winner, and now wanting to be looked down upon; wanting to be equals with her insane best friend; being someone who wanted to claim her life for herself as her own.

For someone so ambitious and prideful-she was self-aware of this-, she didn’t think this train of thought existed within her mind.

Looking at herself objectively, however, Mary knew she wasn’t really all that spectacular or gifted. Saotome Mary was nothing special.

Okay no, not that she wasn't special. She was, well... Not average, at least.

But compared to the other intense gamblers at school name she was at least.. Sane..r. than most of them.

And like the normal person she claimed to be, Mary went to college. Just like anyone her age would after graduating from high school.

So yes, if she really thought about it, she was going about, using her free will to choose the most mundane life route. Still beats following a pre-writen life plan, though.

If one were to talk about special- Crazy special, crazy and special, now that, that was Jabami Yumeko.

Yumeko, and the Momobami clan, and fucking Kirari, especially. Mary shivered at the thought of the latter. It was no secret that she hated her guts. They sort of got along? Maybe? But she would still sock her if she had the chance.

And yet, as much as Mary claimed to loathe the woman, she had found herself on the long list of applicants to Kirari’s very corporation.

Great.

Mary found herself registering as an intern for their a new branch of the employee services. A new project that Tsuzura- her dear old friend who she’d been reunited with recently, had shown her; and upon finding out Mary’s course, excitedly assisted her with the paperwork.

Mary sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed after all.

“It still surprises me.” Suzui suddenly cut into her thoughts, meeting Mary’s curious gaze as they crossed a bridge on their way home, Mary spotting the building of their shared apartment in the distance.

It wasn’t as though they were in any sort of engagement other than being friends. Mary just felt that it would be better to split the bill with someone else while in college, and maybe living with someone would help ease some other kinds of life burdens- heck she didn’t know. She wasn’t loaded like all their other friends, neither was she working for someone as filthy rich as Kirari-fricking-Momobami.

There were weird rumors that had floated around them for the first year of Uni, with how often they were together, and apparently living under one roof. Almost. Mary had to explain that they had separate bedrooms and bathrooms. However, Mary was very keen on making it known that she was very much not into Ryota, and very very much gay.

At most, Ryota was her platonic husband, or something. Or dog. Whichever sounded better.

But back to the issue that had just flown over Mary’s head.

“What surprises you?” She responded to him naturally, as if she wasn’t just thinking about their whole arrangement and a dozen other things instead of replying to him right away.

“That you’d choose to take this course.”

“Hah? You saying it don’t suit me, Mr. Commerce?” Mary challenged with a glare.

Ryota’s eyes widened, hands held our defensively in front of him. “No! No, that’s not it at all! Actually...” He gave her a once over. “It might suit you a little too much. The uniform.”

“Oi, creep, what were you just thinking of, huh?” Mary growled, slapping his shoulder. “Stop treating my uniform like cosplay, gosh.”

“First of all, Yumeko was the one that called it that. Second, you have to admit, it almost looks like you are-geh! Mary, we’ve talked about violence!”

“Can it, mom.” Mary grumbled, walking up the steps of their apartment complex, already fishing for the keys in her jeans pocket. “You deserved that one.”

“Okay, but nursing, Mary. You. Someone as violent as you, who causes pain. You being a nurse- please put your fist down. This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

Mary sighed, other hand pushing their door open. “Whatever. You all make fun of me and constantly ask me why. I told you why so many times!”

Ryota laughed at Mary’s expense as the girl continued grumbling about judgmental friends not appreciating her goodwill.

“I mean. You all are wack.”

Ryota gasped,a little offended. “Says you-”

Mary chose to ignore that.

“Itsuki somehow keeps hurting her nails lately, someone like Sayaka looks like she could take a break from stress or else she’d collapse. Girls is bordering insanity, I tell you. Yumeko just... doesn’t give a shit about her health in general. I swear, if she gets one more fever this week, Imma-”

Mary inhaled to calm her nerves. Ranting about Yumeko would only stress her more. Speaking of which, she should message her about her meds later.

Continuing on, “Ririka can’t cook a substantial meal to save her life.” Mary complained, remembering the time she came over to the twins’ Condo, only to see stacks of various takeout on the counter. Sayaka had been gone on a business trip for about two weeks, and Mary didn’t think these two were the type to feast on fast food, of all things.

They wanted to ‘try out commoner food’, as Kirari put it, a teasing smirk on her face as she looked down on Mary again.

“She needs to learn to cook healthier! Essential life skills!”

“She has chefs for that-”

“Irrelevant!”

“It’s actually pretty relevant.” Ryota pointed out. “And what does that even have to do with nurs-”

“Anyway! I’m doing this because I want to, and because you all are... i-important to me or whatever.” Mary suddenly turned bashful. “Health is wealth and all that shit.” Her cheeks were dusted red as she turned around, marching towards the kitchen for a glass of water to cool the burning feeling overcoming her. “And because med would take too long before one of you fools accidentally kills yourself.” Mary added before Ryota could ask anymore questions. That last statement, she shook her head, believing that it really was plausible.

With all they’d been through, it wasn’t unbelievable at all.

Ryota smiled, raising his hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay. Got it. Will never ask about it again.”

“That’s what you assholes always say.” Mary growled, looking ready to pounce again before it was cut off by a sudden chill running up her spine, bringing about another strong sneeze that shook her whole frame. “Gosh, what is up with today?”

“How ironic. Our little nurse is getting sick?”

“Fuck no, screw off, Suzui.” Mary barked.

“Hmm...” Ryota rubbed his chin with his fingers, pretending to be in thought. “Maybe someone is talking about you behind your back?” He jokingly provided.

“Ugh, if I had to say...” She sniffed. “It feels like my life is in danger. Or like someone's looking at me like a "thing" again. Ugh... It feels like all those times with Kirari. Or Yumeko... or both. Are their ghosts haunting me now?”

“Don’t just go off killing our friends like that.” Ryota scolded, approaching Mary and gripping her shoulders from behind before pushing her towards the direction of their rooms. “Maybe getting changed into warmer clothes will help.”

“Maybe.” Mary began walking on her own just a few steps before reaching her room. “Ayt, see ya then.”

“Bye.”

Before they could both enter their respective quarters, their phones went off, a message from the same person, they figured.

Sure enough, the sender couldn’t be any more familiar to them.

“Guess I’ll just grab a coat then.” Mary sighed. “Can’t really turn down an invitation from her.” She chuckled.

“You’re right about that.” Ryota shook his head, amused.

“Let’s go meet her then.” Mary finalized, to which the boy nodded in agreement. “Come on Suzui. Time to meet up with Yumeko.”

Somehow, deep down, Mary had a bad feeling.

She wasn’t special. So she hoped this meeting would be as normal as normal gets.

Somehow.

.

[itsallabigmess]

Crescente | Part Two

Slow burn Friends to Lovers AU A bit of angst, a bit of flirt, lots of cliches.

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

Through the taxi window, you watch lazily as the bright lights and busy streets morph into a long road lined on both sides with palm trees, their tops waving slightly with the breeze. You slept for most of the 6-hour flight and is still finding it hard to beat your half-sleep state.

The cab makes a turn and comes to a stop in front of the main building of the resort. The cold breeze hits you as soon as you climb out of the vehicle and you close your eyes, smiling to yourself when you sense the smell saltwater. Somewhere in the distant darkness, you could hear the waves crashing.

Jinyoung touches your arm and nods towards the entrance, where you can see a valet attendant already taking both your and your friend’s bags. You are greeted as soon as you step inside, by a little woman with a broad smile. How could anyone sound so enthusiastic at such an early hour would be forever a mystery to you. Jinyoung hands her both your passports – you don’t even remember when he got a hold of yours – and you watch as she enters your information into the system.

Still smiling, she slides a navy-blue folder with the resort’s name stamped in gold. Her lips are moving but you can barely make out what she is saying. There was something about congratulations to the couple and a list of things you were allowed during your stay. Whatever it was, you were certain it could all acknowledge once the sun was up. For the moment, you only cared to know the directions to your bed.

You manage to smile warmly, thanking the receptionist when she hands Jinyoung the key-card to your room. Your gaze swims through Jinyoung’s features as he adjusts the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and grabs the folder. You were not so confident that you wouldn’t be left completely alone with your own thoughts during this trip until the moment Jinyoung met you at the boarding gate. The previous days you had barely exchanged any words. You were still not sure why he decided to come along but had decided you would spend the following days making sure he knew how grateful you were to him.

 ---

“Holy shit!” you say, dropping your backpack by your side on the ground once you crossed the door. You were not expecting the villa you were going to stay to be so opulent. But then again, why wouldn’t it be, considering you were staying in a luxury resort. “This is bigger than my place.”

“As if it was hard to be,” Jinyoung snorted, leading the way inside.

You rolled your eyes and ignore the tease and the fact that Jinyoung seemed utterly unimpressed.  You stepped slowly towards the absurdly spacious living room, eyes traveling from side to side. There are just many details your tired eyes don’t seem able to process. You’ve been up since 5 of the previous morning, going from your 9-hour job directly to the airport. The time you passed out during the flight was not enough to restore your energy and you were certain you would pass-out at any second.

Grabbing your backpack, you follow the way Jinyoung had made upstairs. You wonder if that was how the rich lived. If they would be just as speechless by the size of the room as you were. Your eyes fixed on the gigantic bed, well made and ready to devour your tired body.

And then… the engines of your brain start to work properly.

“Ahm… Jinyoung?”

He appears at the other door across the room, where you assume is the bathroom.  You don’t need to speak for him to understand the worry growing on your eyes. “Were you really expecting something else?”

You look up at your unbothered friend. Of course, that was supposed to be a trip for a couple. Somehow, the fact that the place would have only one bed skipped your mind. You didn’t mind sharing it. But did he?

“Don’t worry, I can sleep on the couch,” Jinyoung suggests, nodding towards the padded furniture under the room’s large windows. It does look comfortable enough for a person to sleep at, for sure. But still, it wasn’t fair. Especially considering how long you were going to stay there.

You shake your head slowly “No, that’s okay. We can share.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that bed is obviously too big for just me,” you yawn, kicking off your shoes. “Do you mind if I shower first?”

“Go ahead.”

 ---

You hear Jinyoung’s light snores before you even open your eyes. You fell asleep as soon as you got to bed and wasn’t sure if Jinyoung would actually take the empty spot on your side. Lifting your body, you rub your eyes and stare at the couch on the opposite side of the bed. You could only imagine the hell of a neck pain Jinyoung would feel during the whole trip if he had decided to be a gentleman and let the bed all to yourself.

You get up, making sure to stay as silent as possible as you grabbed your necessaire to the bathroom. Now, well-rested and aware of every detail, you decided that the bathroom alone was the size of your living room and kitchen combined. You loved your apartment but only now realized how small it really was. You really could not complain when your friends teased you about it anymore.

With your hair fixed into a ponytail and teeth brushed, your walk towards the marble bathtub, Spying through the window, you let out a silent curse and runs downstairs.

Air catches on your throat after you open the double window door. Yes, there’s a private pool. That was fascinating on its own but what shocked you was the only thing that separated you from the sea was a small wooden ramp and a few feet of white sand. The villa wasn’t close to the beachside. It was on the beach.

“Is everything okay?” Jinyoung appears a minute later, voice hoarse and hair a complete mess, hiding his eyes from the brightness of the day.

“I’m in heaven!” You stretch your arms as if saying aren’t you seeing this?!

A growl. That’s all you get out of him before he goes back inside. Maybe he would feel better after you found some food to put inside his body. You need Jinyoung to be on the same level of excitement that you are.

Turns out you could eat all the food you want for free at the main restaurant of the resort. It sounded like the recipe for bad food until Jinyoung points out that every item of the menu has a price on its side, and you eating for free was part of the vacation package.

Relishing the plate of waffles and fresh fruit that you made for yourself, you reach for your shorts back pocket and grab the folded list of activities the resort offered. “How do you feel about snorkeling?”

Jinyoung gives a shrug, eyes on his own plate. “I’m not completely opposed to it.”

On the week before the trip you two agreed to not tell any of your friends about you traveling together. Neither you nor Jinyoung were in the mood to deal with all the teasing and inquiries that would come from your friends. Not to mention the frustrating whining from your girlfriends because ‘how dare you to invite Jinyoung instead of any of them’. Girl drama was completely off the limits for you for the next ten days.

The bad part of it was that, by avoiding your friends, you could not ask Jackson the circumstances of Jinyoung’s break up. Over the years you witnessed Jinyoung go through some things that really put him down. His reaction was always different, but you never saw him in the shape he is. It isn’t sadness, at least not completely. No, this is apathy. And you don’t know how to deal with that version of him.

“Here says we can get a boat to one of the nearby islands and snorkel close to the reefs,” you tap at the folder in front of you, hoping Jinyoung would accept your suggestion.

“We have to schedule it with the front desk before,” he says in a monotonous tone.

The normal Jinyoung would make fun of you for not finding it obvious. The normal Jinyoung would probably complain about you not listening to what the woman in the front desk said on the night before. But this Jinyoung only shrugs and fills his mouth with a giant bite of eggs and bacon.

“We can do something else too,” you tell him.

“Let’s check with the front desk first,” Jinyoung stares at you, his lips forming a straight line. Maybe he was trying to smile, but it couldn’t be more forced. It was enough for now.

--- 

Entering your information on her computer, Kaila, another overly excited receptionist informs that yes, all activities should be scheduled at least an hour before, but since you are still far from the high season, you don’t need to worry about it that much. She suggests a half-day at the blue lagoon, a favorite spot for anyone who visits the place. Since Jinyoung doesn’t oppose – or say anything for that matter – you ask Kaila to sign you two for to the boat ride.

“All setup,” Kaila smiles half a minute later. “The van will departure at ten.”

You thank her and rush back to the villa. There’s just enough time to spray some sunscreen on your body and change into one of your swimsuits.

There are already music playing, coming from the boat when you arrive at the harbor. The tour guide greats your small group one by one, telling everybody to find a sit. He passes the itinerary for the six hours you will be spending together, safety instructions, and all. You feel the movement of waves below and while everyone gets distracted with the drinks being served, you become fascinated with the contrasts of blue in the sky.

“We sure don’t have this shade of blue back home,” you sigh, chin resting on an arm over the railing. You wait for an answer. Jinyoung is staring in the same direction as you, or so you think, his eyes hidden by dark shades. You know he must be impressed. Jinyoung was always good at appreciating views like that. And still… “Come on, Jinyoung,” you push his shoulder not so lightly. “You have to admit this place is amazing.”

“It is,” he says flatly, a hand moving to the back of his neck, wiping a bit of sweat. “And it sure is warm.”

After going back home you would call Jinyoung’s ex-girlfriend. You are sure you still have her number saved. You liked her though. Even if you never got incredibly close to each other, you always enjoyed her presence when you spend time together. But she broke your friend’s heart. And that you could not let pass. But for now…

For now, you decide to enjoy your vacation. It’s just like Jackson said: Jinyoung likes to go deep into his own sadness before deciding he was over it. And until that happened, there was really nothing you could do to help him. Even because Jinyoung was not giving you an opportunity to do so.

Sighing, you remove your shirt and shorts, tucking it inside the small bag you brought with you and hiding it under the seat. You decide to join a couple of girls that are sunbathing in the deck. You have no interest in socializing, but you also don’t want to spend the entire morning sitting on the shadows, letting Jinyoung down mood intoxicate you.

And yes, you do feel a bit guilty for it, but you let that feeling steam away with the heat.

Once the boat stops at the island, the tour guide gathers the group and lists the options: explore the island, snorkel around the coral garden or join him and a local to a separate area of the island, where you could swim with stingrays.

“Staying in the boat is an option,” he says, “for those who want to continue to drink or swim nearby. Lunch will be served on the island at one. You can see the tables from here,” he points towards the island, a few benches and tables disposed of in front of what appeared a small green house. “Please keep in mind to be back at the boat by four. Now, let’s have some fun!”

As people start to scatter and jump on the water, you see Jinyoung standing in the back, hands shoved inside the pockets of his blue shorts. You catch a mask and diving shoes with the guide before joining your friend.

“Are you going to stay here?” you ask, handing him the mask so you can slip your feet inside the shoes that were a bit small for you.

“For now.”

“Well,” you take the mask of Jinyoung’s hands to wear, its oval shape covering only your eyes. “Tell me I look stupid.”

“You look stupid.”

“Great!” you show him your teeth in an exaggerated smile, emphasizing it by giving a double thumbs-up. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

The water is cold, but you soon get used to it. You swim away from everyone, towards the coral garden. It’s your first time snorkeling and you are doing a poor job at it, often coming up for some air. You don’t care. Just like the fish that swim around you, not caring for your presence. Underwater, you let yourself be consumed by the colors, the silence, the feeling that nothing else matters. And when you feel tired of swimming around, you take off your mask and just stay there, floating. The little waves making your heart calm.

That was already the best day you had in a long time.

On the island, you go stray to where the lunch would be served. It was still early for food but you sure could use a soft drink to wash away the salty taste the ocean left on your mouth.

The diving shoes do a great job of protecting your feet from the hot sand. But as you walk where water could only reach your ankles, you did not wait to get rid of it. And how pleasant it felt when you did.

Small waves of turquoise water refreshed your skin as you try to hide your feet under the sand. You used to do just that when you were a little child, on the few occasions you went to the beach with your parents. And even though there were no children around now you sure felt giggly like one.

“What are you doing?” you hear Jinyoung’s voice coming somewhere from behind you.

Holding the shoes with one hand and the mask with the other, he caught you in a silly moment of kicking the water to your front, watching the drops of water fall down, and then doing it again. Turning around, you do the same thing on Jinyoung’s direction, wetting his white shirt.

“Please don’t do that,” he says stepping back, looking down the little trail of salty water that went from his right shoulder until the opposite side of his shorts.

You frown in disappointment. Did he really stay all this time only on the boat? “You are no fun, Park.” You do another spin in the water, the sand tickling your feet. “Why do you still have your shirt on?” you ask, pointing at him with your shoes.

“I’m fine like this,” he says simply. “They are starting to serve lunch.”

The barbecue served tastes as amazing as it looked. Somehow, it reminds you of the Korean barbecue, you so much love. Except there are no side dishes there apart from some green salad and rice. You glance at Jinyoung and decides to keep that comment to yourself, certain he would find the comparison offensive.

So, you eat silently, trying not to pay attention to all the talking happening around you. You allow yourself a fruity cocktail, dipping the slices of the fruit salad that was served as dessert on your cup before biting it. When all is finished, cheeks feeling all warm with the combination of sun and alcohol, you get up unceremoniously and make your way back to where the ocean awaits for you.

Walking along the shore, you find sit under the shades, a perfect spot where you can you’re your back against the tree trunk, and still feel the water soaking your feet. In this heaven, you could fall sleep in a second, and you smile to yourself considering the possibility.

“You shouldn’t just wander around by yourself, you know.”

You don’t open your eyes as you feel Jinyoung sitting on your left. “It’s a small island, Jinyoung. The chances of me getting lost are nonexistent.”

Of course, Jinyoung doesn’t respond. Still, you sigh in frustration. If the rest of the trip was deemed to be like that maybe you should become as monosyllabic as he has been.

You open one eye to look at him. His eyes are still hidden between glasses, but you know he is looking at the horizon. “There’s a bit of sand here…” you reach for the grains on his jaw, right below his ear, cleaning it with the tip of your fingers... You never felt uncomfortable being silent around Jinyoung and still, you really wish you could translate whatever was going on inside of him and find a way to make him happy.

“I think I’m going in the water again,” you say simply, trying to figure out how to put your diving shoes on again now that your feet are covered with sand. “You should go for a dip, you know,” you suggest as casually and unbothered as you could. “It’s not every day that we have a chance to be in a place like this.”

How long has it been since you allowed yourself to not think about anything and just… be? You couldn’t remember. So, you just swim and float and dive until, somehow, you notice people going back to the boat. You were not surprised to find Jinyoung on the exact same spot where you both sat earlier.

The boat is already moving back to the marine when you get out of the little bathroom, glad to have brought a piece of underwear with you. You manage to get most of you dry but somehow, there was still sand scattered over your body.

Jinyoung leans forward, his head almost going in between his legs. He stays like that for a few minutes, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” you ask, rubbing his back lightly.

“Not really,” he says, moving quickly to place his head outside the boat. He doesn’t throw up, but his breath is unsteady. When you finally get to see his face, you notice how pale he looks.

You rush to find a bottle of freshwater. Jinyoung drinks half of it quickly and uses the rest to clean his face and neck. You think it’s the first time you see him without his sunglasses since you two went for breakfast.

“Do you want to lay down? There is enough space.”

He shakes his head, leaning back against the railing. The way he is breathing only makes you wish the trip back would not take too long.

 ---

You are about to start a second movie on Netflix when your stomach starts to grumble. Jinyoung recovered his color once you arrived back at the villa. But still feeling nauseated and with a massive migraine, he took his time in the bathroom and then fell into a deep slumber.

After cleaning yourself you decide to stay around, just in case Jinyoung needed something. It was just your first day on the trip and there were a lot more that you could do the next day. You took a little nap at the couch in the living room, spent some time scrolling through Instagram and then checked something off your watch list.

But now, you are in desperate need of food.

At the front desk, Lisa, the same tiny receptionist that greeted you on the previous night, reminds you that you don’t need to leave to resort to enjoy a good meal. And even though the bayside restaurant is full for the night, she can get you a table with a great view at the terrace restaurant.

The view is, in fact, amazing. From your table, you can see how the moon reflects in the ocean, the top of palm trees forming a perfect frame.

You order the Homemade Gnocchi that your waiter suggests, along with whatever wine he says go well with it. And while melting in your chair with the flavors dancing on your mouth, you consider ordering the same thing for Jinyoung before going back to the villa. You left him a note after giving up on trying to wake him for a couple of minutes. The man was beyond passed out.

Which was why you were a bit shocked when he sat in front of you, just as your waiter removed your empty plate.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Front desk.”

You stare at him for a long second. His eyes are still puffy, and it looks like the salty air is already messing with his hair. Sure, he still has this aura of ‘I wish I was still in bed’. But besides that, he looks better than he was earlier.

“You could have asked for room service, you know,” his words come out lazily, fingers tapping over the table.

“I rather limit the time I spend in the room to the hours I’ll be sleeping,” you don’t intend to sound annoyed. But you do. And you feel guilty because you want to blame it on him, but you don’t feel like you can. So, you just sigh and lean back on your chair. “But you could have asked it for yourself. Room service, I mean.”

“You wrote you would bring me something.”

“You could have texted me not to.”

“And where is your phone, exactly?”

“Oh…” After failing in waking Jinyoung, you tried to be as quiet as you could, leaving the villa so fast that just now you realized you have forgotten your phone charging close to the bathroom sink.

Silence settles between you two, being broken only when the waiter brings the desert you had asked for. Jinyoung orders a simple salad, and you decide to focus on a delicious sugary bowl placed in front of you. “If I had gone to dinner anywhere outside the resort, would you still have come after me?” you ask minutes later.

Jinyoung’s eyes travel from you to the view over the balcony, letting out another annoyed sigh. If your dessert wasn’t so good, you would feel compelled to throw the empty bowl in his head, just to get some sort of reaction. Anything. Instead, you call for the waiter and ask for another glass of wine.

He could have said no. When you knocked at his door, you expected him to say no. You had already given up on the idea of coming to this trip when he agreed to come with you. You guessed it was because he saw this the same way that you did: an opportunity to get over your broken hearts. Well, his broken heart. For you, it was more of ‘compensation for all the time you lost with the asshole you used to call your boyfriend’.

And yes, you understand how Jinyoung is feeling. Breakups aren’t the easiest thing in the world. Even if it was him the ended things – which you don’t believe is the case. Still, you can’t avoid being mad at him. Does he believe that he owns your company because you invited him? You do want to enjoy this trip with your friend but if he decided to stay in bed all day every day, it was more than fine. He just needed to tell you so, instead of looking at you like you forced him to be there with you.

Was that it? You did tell him that you only asked him to go with you and would not ask anyone else. So, were you to blame?

There it was, the feeling of guilt once again. Maybe it was your fault. Jinyoung was not ready to socialize, and maybe you put him in a situation he felt he needed to agree with.

You obviously need to talk to him but decides to do so in the next morning. Because even if you are mad at yourself, you still are mad at him. You and Jinyoung are good friends. You have always been good friends. He could have just told you those things instead of acting like you were someone he was forced to interact with.

Overthinking all the way from the restaurant to the villa, and then a bit more while doing your nightly routine, you lay in one of the pool loungers and finally begin to relax. You close your eyes and focus on the sound of the waves in the distance, the wind kindly touching your skin. But you are sure is the glasses of wine that you drank that leads you straight to slumber.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

Your eyes hardly opened to see Jinyoung standing on your side. You just grumble and turn to your side, giving him your back.

“It’ late,” he says, voice sounding closer. “Go to bed.”

“I’m good here.”

“Y/N, you are cold,” you feel a warm touch on your naked arm.

“We can try changing the villa tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Hm… This villa for two simple bedrooms,” you curl yourself, your hands going in between your knees.

“What are you talking about?”

You open your eyes again and see Jinyoung kneeling in front of you. “So you won’t have to deal with me.”

It’s silent again and you are already falling back to sleep when you feel his hands on you again, pulling your arms up, and then his own arms going behind your legs and back, lifting you up.

“Jinyoung,” you growl in discontent.

“I’m not letting you sleep in the cold,” his voice sound muffled, the side of your head pressed against his chest as he carries you up the stairs.

You are just too sleepy to object.

[kat-hawke]

Vynette’s Request

The Unit's return to Stormwind was unceremonious, as Kat preferred, and every operative had their hands full within the first hour. The guards were overworked and understaffed following the scourge onslaught, and the paperwork piled higher by the day: missing persons, domestic threats, Cultist sightings and speculations. Kat and the others worked tirelessly throughout the day and night over the week to sort the reports to the correct groups and chase leads on the ones which pertained to their Unit.

At nearly two in the morning, Kat and Vynette were the only two remaining, shuffling through folders with inkwells, and the Director's supply of whiskey, running dry. The elven operative repeatedly tapped her heel, earning a stern glance from the Director in a silent demand to cease the annoying habit. All the while, Kat could feel Vynette's occasional glance, but the Director was content with the silence and private conversations with the dagger on her thigh.

"I was talking to an agent from another Unit today," the elven operation finally spoke without looking up from her work. "I guess they've had eight agents now put in to answer the call for aid. From, you know, the Covenants."

Immediately Kat's patience ebbed at the mention, letting out an exasperated sigh through the nose as she muttered her response without eye contact. "Uh-huh."

There were few reports about the tear in the veil between realms, and few yet about these supposed Covenants on the other side. Each document was skimmed and submitted to the appropriate Units, but Kat remained adamant that none of it was her concern.

She could hear Vynette's sigh, knowing the operative would push the topic, her patience continued to decline.

"It seems like the need for more trained hands is still pretty great. And what with the duties of wartime off everyone's plates, more or less," the elf's voice trailed softer and quicker as she mumbled, "I was considering requesting a temporary assignment to offer my abilities. Ma'am."

While Kat speculated, this is where the conversation was leading, hearing the words still shook her. The depleted patience turned to annoyance and anger as she stared at the paper in hand, a slow exhale spilling over the faintly parted lips which curled inward over the teeth. Collecting her thoughts with eyes closed and shutting out the voice from the dagger for a moment, she refrained from an explosive response.

"There are plenty of eager hero types and bucket-heads t'full the ranks," she spoke in a monotone, slowly opening her eyes. "We have plenty t'do here."

"I know. There is work to be done, and I'm not ignoring or underplaying the work we do." Vynette kept the topic afloat, furthering the slow boil in Kat's blood and testing the limits of her restrained temper.

"It is just... the request came for me specifically." An uncharacteristic uncertainty softened Vynette's voice. "My teacher is part of the House of Eyes. He has called for me to aid the Necro Lords."

Without missing a beat, Kat's eyes narrowed sharply following Vyn's confession, her tone turning ice-cold. "I see..." 

Looking away from the elf, she went back to the papers on her desk, the grip on her temper slipping away as her operative mentioned a figure from her past. The sudden sense of abandonment weaved into the abusive thoughts that came to mind.

"So after everythin', I've done, everythin' I've risked, yer going t' abandon me just like that." Pain and anger laced Kat's words, her jaw tightening towards the end as a stamp violently slammed upon a folder. "One letter from a ghost and I'm nothin' t' ya'."

"No, that's not it at all! You're... you mean a lot to me. You took a chance on me." Vynette's voice lowered as the door to their office remained open. "I owe you everything."

Her words did little to cool the building heat within the Director's blood as she continued to shift through documents furiously and refuse to look at the elf.

"I am not looking to leave beyond a temporary reassignment; my home is here. With you and with the Unit." Vynette spoke again after a deep breath. "But he was the one who got me here. He saw value in me and gave me purpose. And I failed him. And he died," she finally admitted.

The rubber stamp was slammed into the ink pad and abandoned.

"And I saw value in ya', and gave ya' a new purpose!" Kat quickly countered, pointing a finger in the elven woman's direction. "A purpose that could have, and still could, get us both killed." 

With a scoff, Kat's head shook, and her arms crossed as she stood from the desk and paced. "Ya' failed him, but he sends a letter? Have ya' gone dense Vynette?" The woman's first name's deliberate use was rare, and she hoped it would erode the elf's will to continue the conversation. "It has trap written all over it. Or did ya' forget how ya' were ejected from the Horde?"

"I was overconfident when I got set up. I'm not that any more thanks to you," Vynette pointed out, pained by the truth in the Director's words. "Being by your side is important to me." 

Kat scoffed, shaking her head and putting her back to the elf as she examined the wall. Documents, photos, pins, and red tread all created the tapestry of their current open case to locate The Renovator. Her eyes glanced to the pin, which represented the Ren'dorei she awaited to hear a response.

"If bein' by my side is so important, then why so eager to leave it?" Pain and anger continued to lace the Director's words as she refused to face her operative.

"Kat..." Vynette pleaded. "There's still closure I need from my time as an apprentice. Shit I'm still carrying with me. My loyalty is with you; no one can change that. So I'm asking-- begging for the chance to serve the cause in the Shadowlands and put my ghosts to rest."

"Livin' in th' past never moved anyone forward," Kat responded in her chilled tone. "I need ya' here. Or is suddenly wot I and this job I graced ya' with no longer of importance? I didn' say a bloody thing when I came back to find yer visage eerily similar to mine, plucked a hair from the office, no doubt. Even when my patience is tested by yer sometimes questionable motivations and comments in the borderline territory of breakin' my rules, I allowed yer leash to remain lax. I never asked fer anythin' other than service in return, even after footin' the bills to fake and create yer life in the Alliance. But this is the thanks I get? T'be abandoned fer some Horde dog."

The elven operative stood from her seat as she pressed her defiance and rare occurrence from a woman who took pleasure from remaining obedient. "You've let my leash remain lax because I've done everything you've ever asked of me, without question. I've followed every order, completed every mission," her voice dropped lower but picked up its intensity, "I've done every off-book task you've needed with a smile because I'm your knife. I've committed sins for you, and I'd commit them thrice over, and you know that." 

As the operative's tone raced away, Kat looked back over her shoulder. One brow lifted as she stared the elven woman down from across the room as if cursing her for the act of defiance. Her teeth ground together as she contemplated the whispers of the soul-bound dagger.

Vynette's nose scrunched as she realized her tone was getting away, composing herself before resuming. "He's not some Horde dog, Director; he's found a place of high standing in the House of Eyes. If I went over your head, they'd give me the go-ahead. Hell, I could go to Fiske. I didn't do that because I don't give a shit about their authority. You're the one I follow."

"Go over m'head or t'Fiske, and it won't be a temporary reassignment." The Director barked the threat, the hold on her temper loosening further as the primal beast within began to stir. Though she knew the woman would never go over her head.

Resigning to defeat, Vynette sank into her seat, her gaze fixated on her desk. "If you command me to stay, I'll stay. I don't ask for much. But I'm just asking for you to trust me. I have debts to repay, but he's not my master anymore."

Content with the operative's surrender, Kat raked her fingers through the raven tresses with a silent breath of relief. "When this case is over," she motioned to the wall at her side as she turned to face the elf finally. "Then I will consider signin' off on a temporary reassignmen'. I will no' make any promises, however."

"Of course, ma'am," Vynette replied with an earnest salute and a genuine, radiant smile as the visible tension in her shoulders relaxed. "Til then, the only thing on my mind is our case. I'm all yours; you have my word."

"Good," Kat murmured as she returned to her desk and the papers scattered atop it. The pleasure she found in the elf's tension over the defiance was kept hidden.

"Now get out of m'sight for an hour or two before I change m'mind, and there better be a bottle in one hand when ya' return."

"Yes, ma'am," Vynette complied without hesitation, hastily exiting the office as commanded.

The fountain pen spun between Kat's nimble fingers as she stared at the door long after the elf was out of sight, leaning back into the seat with a deep sigh. This act of defiance was unexpected and worrisome, as she relied on Vynette's desire for subservience to keep her firm grip over the displaced Sin'dorei. The thought that putting those supposed ghosts to rest would change her behavior had the Director concerned. A shift in their dynamic of power was a threat to stability and security, the very idea of which caused the pit in her stomach to churn. There was also the fear of this former master swaying her operative into a new life and role, one of possible betrayal from within.

"I said I would consider it, not guarantee it." She responded to her mental conversation and returned to work, trying to set her paranoia to rest.

[ @lovelydeadlysocialite​ ] [ Vague Mentions: @alyssa-ward, @longveil ]

(Vynette’s perspective)

[ethereallyastral]

ALWAYS: LEVI ACKERMAN

genre: angst

fandom: attack on titan

word count: 2822

warnings: angst, character death, slight ooc, soft levi

“Levi... I’ll always be here, they’ll always be here.”

LOSS. A thing that often occurs within the Scout Regiment. It was something that was always expected. The people in the Scouts were people who were willing and brave enough to fight and throw their lives away for the sake of humanity.

For freedom.

Freedom was something that was deprived from the people of the walls for over a hundred of years. In the wall they were safe, they felt free. Or so they thought. But once you're out of the walls, it was only safety you felt within those fifty meter rocks. Freedom... was never there.

Those wings that are placed on those capes, were signs of hope. Symbolizing freedom, that one day they would be free from the torment of living in fear. Taste of freedom, an endless one. Where everything is painless.

But what is life without a little pain.

The most painful thing is to lose someone so dear, but hey, we all have out preferences of the most painful thing, but loss is something so painful. Whether it be a loss on a game, a pet, or something dear.

The human body and soul can only take too much.

Sometimes, some wished that emotions never existed. Just so that they can never feel the pain. But that's what makes you human, emotions are what humans have that what titans don't.

Pain can be overbearing. Some are driven insane, and some are driven to build their own walls. Locking themselves out from society. Drowning in their own emotions and pain.

Being a scout as a reputation, pushes you to become stronger than what you already are. Either by physical strength or most importantly, mental strength.

What goes on outside those walls every expedition is a sight to see. It was horrible. The smell of death fear, that any time you can be scooped up and find shelter in the beast's belly. And only if you are lucky or strong enough to fight, will you be able to get off easily.

You needed a strong mind and body for this job.

But as they say, the human body and soul can only take too much.

Some needed rest.

He needed rest.

Levi sat on his chair, a stack of paperwork in front of him. He felt dirty, he hadn't showered yet. He reeked of sweat and blood. They just got back from an expedition where a female aberrant came rushing in, taking lives.

And that included the lives of his squad members, only one making it out alive, traumatized.

He felt his heart clench as the image of the only surviving squad member flashed through his mind. Her E/C eyes were glossy and dead looking, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed and screamed in agony. Her cries were painful to hear.

He couldn't help but pity her as she screamed and cried, letting all of her feelings out.

It hurt him to see her like that.

She was left alone with four fallen soldiers that held place in her heart and a broken shoulder.

"AHHHHHH!" The H/C-nette screamed as she knelt down on the dirt. "Fuck it all! Fuck it all! Damn it!" She cursed and slammed her fist on the ground.

She couldn't help it. She knew that her captain's advice was to move and mourn later, but she needed to let this out before it affects her performance.

She screamed on top of her lungs, letting all of the pain out and sobbed her eyes out until she couldn't breathe anymore. The pain in her shoulder seemed non-existent because of the pain she was feeling because of the loss of her comrades. She felt it all over again, she felt everything she felt all those years ago.

She gripped her chest as she struggled to breath, she lets out another scream, "FUCK IT ALL! I FUCKING HATE IT ALL, DAMN IT! DAMN THIS WORLD FOR BEING LIKE THIS! SO FUCKING UNFAIR!" She sobbed.

Was she cursed? She thought. Why does this keep happening? The woman was fully aware that people come and go. But why is it so painful? Like hell, this woman had been through hell and back but it still hurts like hell.

With her cries, she failed to notice and hear the sound of footsteps. The raven haired captain stepped out from the shadows, "Oi, what are you crying about?" He stopped just behind her and looked around.

"Get up, L/N." Levi ordered, his voice stern.

Y/N didn't bother wiping her tears and stood up, dusting the dirt off her knees. She did a firm salute, but didn't look up from the ground, "I'm sorry captain!" She croaked out.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, L/N." He lied. In that moment, he was blaming you. Just like how he did years ago. He blamed you. But didn't succumb to it. "You're lucky to be alive." He added.

Y/N stayed quiet. Her eyes on the ground, still holding her salute. She couldn't bring herself to face the raven haired captain. He said it. The same damned thing he said from years ago. She knew that in some way, Levi blamed her.

She blamed herself too.

If only she got back on time.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, L/N." Levi spoke up, sternly.

She gulped and slowly looked up at her captain, "I'm sorry, captain."

"Tch. Group back with the others. Take my horse, I have business to deal with."

"Yes captain."

He knew you knew better than to deal with pain during an expedition. Something could've happened, get hurt or worse, killed and be found dead.

But he was thankful, someone from his squad was still alive. He wasn't better himself, after having to put up a fight against the female aberrant, he had himself a sprained ankle and a pile of paperwork. His cup of tea.

Speaking of tea, he noticed that his cup was already empty. He stood up from his seat and walked towards the burner and grabbed the kettle, only to frown when there isn't tea anymore. He reached for his box of tea leaves to find it empty.

In frustration he kicks the kettle to the floor, "Damn it." He muttered as he realized what he has done. He crouched down and picked the kettle off the ground.

He saw his reflection on the clean metal. He took out a hanky from his back-pocket, wiping off the dirt on his face. He looked strong on the outside.

But in the inside, he was breaking down.

Deep down, he couldn't stand it anymore.

His train of thoughts were cut off with the sound of knocking, it was soon followed by a voice. "Levi? Can I come in?" The man, Levi rose to his feet and placed the kettle back on the burner.

"Name and business."

The H/C haired girl's lips twitched into a smile before replying, "Cadet Y/N L/N, captain. I've brought dinner..." She trailed off, "AND tea, sir." She added.

"Don't you have any hands L/N? Open the fucking door."

"I would've captain, if my hands weren't so fucking full."

Levi, who was inside, rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open revealing the small S/C girl.

Her H/L H/C hair was pulled back in a little low ponytail, she looked much better than she was previously on the battlefield. Her lips were etched into a smile that could literally brighten up the captain's day.

"Good evening, captain. Would you like some tea?" She asked, tilting her head.

The raven haired man didn't waste any time and pulled her in his office. He swore that he was doing this for the tea.

For the fucking tea.

--

Once the H/C-nette got inside, she didn't waste a second and started to clear out the tired captain's desk while he lounged on the couch. His head leaning on the edge, he was closing his eyes.

Once the girl finished clearing out his desk, he sorted all his finished paperwork into folders and labelled them with her neatest handwriting. She placed the tray of food and tea on the desk.

She took his cup and went ahead to wash it before pouring in a good amount of hot tea. Adding a drizzle of honey, making it a tad bit but not too sweet to affect the captain's liking.

She turned around to see the captain snoozing off on the couch. She had a small smile, "It's been awhile since you've slept, Levi." She says in a soft tone.

She took the cup of tea and walked to towards the couch, she gently placed the cup on the small table before them to emit a sound and wake up the captain.

She slowly set herself on the couch beside him. She turned to face him, her elbow leaning on the edge of the couch with the side of her face resting on her palm, she watched him.

She's known this man for so long and for the first time in ten years or so, did she finally see him at peace again. His breathing was steady, his features light and serene.

It was a beautiful sight to see.

But once she noticed how he started to switch positions, she regained composure and straightened herself up only find the captain wrapping his arms around her waist.

Her hands were raised in the air, her E/C eyes were wide in shock. Levi wasn't one to be touchy feely, so just him hugging her was quite a surprise.

Levi's right hand rose up and reached for her hands, settling it down the nape of his neck. She was again caught by surprise but her hands moved on its own, finding its way through Levi's soft black locks.

"Levi?" His name rolled out of her tongue as she felt the sudden wetness on her shirt. She looked at the male who just tightened his grip on her waist. She looked closely to find him shedding tears.

He's kept them long enough.

"Just hold me, darling. Please." The old endearment rolled off his tongue, making the woman flinch.

"Darling, huh? Haven't heard that in a while, Levi." Y/N said and sweetly smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair, slowly massaging his scalp.

"I'm sorry, darling." He spoke out, "I haven't been strong lately. Everything's falling down. I'm losing everything." He says and turned on his back. His head now laying on the woman's lap, playing with her hands.

The woman gave him a sad smile and leaned down, planting tender kiss on his forehead. He looked at her, asking if he could go on with all of it. She simply nodded and let him talk.

She listened to every single thing he said. All the hurt and pain he had been through and how it affected him. It wasn't only that, he cried while doing so. Showing his vulnerability to Y/N and only Y/N.

It has been ages since she saw him cry. She felt a wave of ego boost when she realized how much this man trusted her, letting her see his vulnerable side. Because Levi was one to keep it all inside, no matter how it hurts.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"Why are you saying sorry, Levi?" She asked, raising a brow.

"I'm sorry for blaming you." He sat up and faced her, pulling her hands into his, "I'm sorry for blaming you for everything. I'm sorry for not being there. I'm a sorry excuse of a partner, I'm so fucking sorry��" He was cut off by his sobs.

She sheds a tear before pulling the raven haired man in her arms, wrapping her arms around his torso as she felt him bury his face on the base of her neck.

"Hey... Hey... It's okay, I blame myself too." She says cradling his head in her hand. "That's it. You blame yourself, then I blame you when in reality those events cannot be prevented what so ever. It wasn't anyone's fault." Levi said, hugging you tighter.

"I know I shouldn't be letting this out on you, but I'm just losing so much. They always find a way to leave. I'm scared that I'll lose you too, darling."

"Levi, look at me." Y/N says.

Levi couldn't bring himself to look up, keeping his face hidden between her neck and shoulder. Y/N unwraps her arms around him and pushing him away gently before cupping his face in her hands. Levi leaned into her touch, how he missed it. He wouldn't admit it, but he did.

"Look at you missing my touch," She teased and chuckled.

"You brat."

"But I'm your brat, aren't I."

"You're damn right."

He and Y/N laughed. She gently wiped the tears off his face, swiping her thumb against his soft cheeks. "Levi," She stared into his glossy grey orbs, "People come and go. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and it just so happens that their time is finally up."

"Our world is where death in inevitable. That's why you need to live and love while you're still alive. It's hard to do that in a place like this, but, that's that." She sighed.

Levi stared at her, listening intently. "But just so you know." She leaned closer to him, "Levi... I'll always be here, they'll always be here." She says and pushing her finger to the left of his chest, "They're always here. Right in here." She wrapped her arms around him and he gladly hugs her back.

"Damn it. I love you so much."

"I love you too, idiot."

"What a brat." He muttered making her chuckle.

He laid on her stomach while Y/N played with his hair, he broke the silence. "Y/N..."

"Hmm?"

"I'm scared."

"The Levi Ackerman? Scared? What did you eat, Levi?"

"I'm scared of losing you too." Levi says, reaching for her hand, intertwining it with his. "I've lost Farlan, Isabel. I lost my whole squad, my mother, heck. I don't even know who my father is. I don't think I can bare losing you too."

Y/N smiles as he looks in her eyes, "Idiot. You'll never lose me. If ever my time comes and runs out, I'll always be with you. Whether I'm alive or not, I'll always be with you."

"Always?"

"Always."

--

You idiot. Levi thought as he kneeled beside her lifeless body. Y/N beaten up and bloody, you took a blow for a mere cadet to save his ass form getting kicked by the hairy beast, the beast titan.

Levi didn't know if you were crazy or were you just foolish enough to sacrifice your life for someone you merely know. But what he knew you were always this selfless.

He couldn't stop his tears from flowing down as he gripped your cold hand. His temperature contrasting yours. What broke him the most, you died smiling. You made eye contact with him seconds away from your death.

He said he could've done something to prevent it, but remembering what you said, he couldn't bring himself to move.

"You fucking idiot." He cried, gripping onto the green cape wrapped around your shoulder, "Why the hell did you leave me?!" He lets out.

"I'll always be with you."

"Always?"

"Always."

"You shitty brat, wake up." He muttered as he looked at a part of your face, your eyes particularly, wishing it would just flutter open and say it's just a prank. "Please.." He whispered.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, turning his head he saw Hanji, "Levi, it's Erwin—oh no..." Hanji covered their mouth as they saw your lifeless body.

"Levi, I'm so sorry."

He shuts his eyes and replied, "It was unavoidable." He slips his arms under your legs and hoisted you up bridal style, "My fiancé will be needing a proper burial."

"Of course. I'm sorry, again."

Levi couldn't utter a reply. His silence being the only response to Hanji's apology.

--

Levi was once again in his office, a stack of paperwork before him and an empty cup of tea. An empty kettle and an empty box of tea leaves, tired body and red puffy eyes. No one to bring him dinner or make him tea. No one to hold him and no one to bring him comfort.

He looked up from his table, staring at the blood-stained scouts cloak hanging on his office door. The image of her smile flashed through his mind, he missed her dearly.

Her voice ringing in his ear, "Whether I'm alive or not, I'll always be with you."

"Always?" he asked softly to practically no one, but he can hear her reply.

"Always."

--

eep! my first post, hope it wasn’t that cringe. hope you enjoyed tho. criticism is appreciated. 

[whelvenwings]

3k, College AU. In which Dean attempts to scam Castiel over text, with... mixed results.

 read here on AO3 if you prefer!

Castiel sat in his apartment, scrolling listlessly through his phone. He’d tried to stop doing this recently. The hours he flipped down the wishing well of his Instagram feed just weren’t rewarding him with the perfect life he wished for, and at a certain point it was time to stop making the wishes. But even though he’d put his social media apps in a folder marked Don’t Do It, and even though he knew he didn’t want to melt through his days like this – slumped on his sofa with phone in hand – he ended up doing it anyway.

He stared briefly at a picture of a dog. Then someone’s baked goods. Then someone else’s throwback picture to their time in Greece.

None of it was particularly exciting, but he couldn’t seem to will himself away.

Inside him, a little voice was saying, you know, you could be doing something that you actually enjoy right now, like going for a run or reading a book or watching a TV show or, and I mean heaven forbid, but you could possibly start doing that paper? You know, like, work?

Castiel scrolled some more. The voice in his mind was very loud but outwardly, he was just sitting in his living room, eyes fixed quietly on his screen.

Move! said the little voice. You can’t just sit here forever! What are you doing? Your minutes on Earth are slipping out from under you while you do things you don’t even like!

With a little sniff, Castiel kept going. It was like his thumb had a mind of its own, traversing his Instagram like a lone journeyman, while the sky-gods above in Castiel’s mind begged it to stop.

A white box unfurled from the top of Castiel’s screen.

He blinked. A notification – a text. He tried to pull down the notif to read what the text said, but he accidentally closed it instead. Treacherous little journeyman thumb, he thought. Maybe if it spent less time overexerting itself on social media scrolling, it’d be able to open a text message.

A text message. Weird. No one texted him anymore, not really – all his friends used WhatsApp, and his professors only ever contacted him via email. To just get a plain old text was unusual. He flipped over to his texting app and opened it.

>> Your phone is now hacked so do exactly what I say and I’ll remove the hack. If you don’t I’ll destroy all your phone data. If you try to block me or report this I’ll destroy all the data instantly send your home address or I’ll hack you and share everything

When he started reading the message, Castiel felt a cold clutch of worry grip his stomach. His phone was hacked? How was that even possible? He ran anti-virus and anti-malware apps all the time, even though they slowed down his phone. He took care not to visit any sites that looked suspicious. How could –

He read it again, and then frowned, and sent a message back.

<< I have to send the address or you’ll hack me? I thought you already hacked me?

There was a pause. Castiel could feel his heart beating a little fast. His phone was supposed to be a safe island that no one could get into, his own private space; having someone text him that they were inside it, had hacked it, felt like having someone in his bedroom rooting through his things.

After thirty seconds, the text came back.

>> Yeah I’ve definitely hacked it so send the address or I’ll destroy your data and share it

Castiel squinted. He typed back,

<< How are you going to share the data if you destroyed it?

Another pause, and then –

>> I’ll share it first

With a more suspicious expression on his face than ever, Castiel responded,

<< What phone do I have? What OS?

>> You have thirty seconds to send the address or I’m going to share the data

<< You didn’t answer my question.

>> I don’t have to

Castiel actually had a small smile forming on his face as the last text came in. The person on the other end of the phone clearly had no idea what they were doing. He wasn’t sure if this was just a prank from one of his friends, or if it was a genuine attempt to scam him, but it definitely wasn’t an actual hacker.

With that same little smile on his face, Castiel typed out,

<< It’s been more than thirty seconds.

>> Yeah and I have your data now so I’m gonna share it

It was almost endearing, Castiel thought.

<< You really didn’t plan ahead for if someone actually questioned you, did you?

>> Yeah I am prepared. I’m gonna destroy everything on your phone

As Castiel considered how to reply – and if he even should, or if it was better to leave the supposed hacker to their own devices – he felt his stomach growl. Lost in the endless scroll of his Instagram feed, he’d completely forgotten to eat for most of the day. The texts from this person had finally broken the spell.

<< Alright. Enjoy yourself. I’m going to go and get some food.

>> Copying all the content now

Of course you are, Castiel thought. Of course. He wandered through to his kitchen and started browsing through his shelves. He had rice – plenty of rice, and also a bottle of soy sauce that was going out of date, and a slightly withered onion. In the fridge he found a few more limp-looking vegetables that needed eating up before he next went shopping.

Ten minutes later found him watching a pot bubbling to cook his rice, with a frying pan sizzling beside it.

When he picked up his phone, the hacker hadn’t responded. Castiel took a screenshot of their conversation, and then flipped over to WhatsApp. Opening the groupchat he had with his friends, he sent the screenshot.

I’m getting hacked, he wrote, and then put a terrified emoji. Charlie responded immediately with four cry-laughing emojis, and a few others sent some gifs. Castiel watched along the top to see someone typing a response – a number he didn’t have saved to his phone.

Sounds pretty scary you should probably send it, said the person. Castiel checked the name in grey next to their number, the one WhatsApp displayed automatically. Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester? Castiel felt a little flip in his stomach. He’d been hoping to get to chat to Dean for months, now – they’d shared a class last semester but somehow had never got to talking, just traded looks across the room. Castiel had thought he’d lost his chance when the semester had ended and their shared class had been over – but then Charlie had added Dean into the chat at the start of the new year, introducing him as someone she’d met in one of her computing classes. Dean had been quiet so far, though, just lurking and reading messages.

Now, for the first time, Dean had actually said something to him.

And it was something ridiculous. Dean wasn’t actually taking this seriously, was he? Those computing classes couldn’t be focusing in on hacking as a topic, if he was this clueless.

Castiel didn’t want to leave Dean hanging without a reply, but he also didn’t want to embarrass him by laughing at the idea of the hack being scary. Instead, he switched over to his texting app again. Maybe if he got more evidence that the “hacker” had no idea what they were doing, then Dean would realise on his own that it wasn’t anything to worry about.

He thought for a second, and then sent,

<< How’s it going? It can’t take that long to steal all my data. I only have like 4 pictures on my phone and they’re all accidental selfies.

>> I’m getting all your credit card details you should definitely just send the address

<< Isn’t my address in the same place in my phone where you found my credit card details?

A pause, and then –

>> Yeah it is but you should tell me anyway

Castiel pressed his lips together to repress a laugh, and took another screenshot, and sent it to the groupchat.

I think I’ll be okay, he said. Dean started typing again immediately, while emojis rolled in from the rest of the people in the chat.

Dean said,

I don’t know dude seems legit to me

Charlie sent a message that said,

Dean… are you reading the same thing I’m reading?

Castiel was glad that Charlie was the one questioning him, because someone had to. Surely Dean was just kidding around, though. There was no way he really thought that this terrifying “hacker” represented a serious threat.

Dean was typing again. Castiel stirred his vegetables in the frying pan.

I had a friend who got the same message, Dean said, and he didn’t send his address and the hacker totally ruined his life so you should probably just send it

The message sat there in the WhatsApp groupchat, and was met with silence. Castiel read over it, shook his head – and then he noticed his rice was definitely cooked, and went to drain the water away in the sink before it went mushy in the pot. A frown was growing on his face as he did so. When he was done, he stirred his vegetables some more and then came back and read the message again.

His eyes narrowed.

He switched to his texting app, and read over the texts the hacker had sent him. And then went back to WhatsApp, and read Dean’s message.

The style was undeniably similar.

Was Dean pranking him? Probably not, right? Why would he? But then again, Dean was trying to convince him that the hack was real over WhatsApp in a way that was stylistically similar and just as unconvincing as the hacker themself over text… Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of that. Attention from Dean would feel kind of good, but given that the attention he was possibly getting was some kind of attempt to scam him out of his personal details, the good feeling was definitely not boundless.

After some thought, Castiel turned down the heat under his frying pan, tapped through his phone, and hit Call.

Bzz, bzz. The dial tone hummed in Castiel’s ear. He found that his heartbeat was actually pounding a little hard.

Bzz, bzz. Maybe this was a bad idea. Probably he should just hang up, and try messaging instead –

“Hello?”

Castiel went still as someone picked up. Their voice was comically low and growling, as though the person who’d answered was putting on a voice.

“Hello,” Castiel said.

“This is the hacker. Tell me your address.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, very hard, so he wouldn’t laugh.

“I said, tell me the address.”

“Um,” Castiel said. “No, thank you. Dean, what are you doing?”

There was a pause, and some kind of hurried rustling on the phone, and then the voice said,

“Dean? Who’s Dean? I don’t know anyone with that name. Just send over the address and your data won’t be shared and destroyed.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, “I called you on WhatsApp. I know this is you.”

The silence, this time, was significantly more protracted. For a few seconds, Castiel thought that Dean was actually gone, or that maybe the line had gone dead. Instead, after an incredibly pregnant pause, Dean said in his normal voice,

“Fuck.”

“Can I… ask you what’s going on?”

“Uh…” Dean hesitated. “Shit. Oh, god. Okay. Look, man, uh, buddy, I’m – I’m really sorry if I freaked you out with the whole scam thing –”

“I wasn’t freaked out,” Castiel said, trying not to sound too much as though he was enjoying himself. It felt good to hear Dean’s voice down the phone. Dean Winchester, the most handsome guy in Spanish 101, was actually on the end of the phone. They were actually talking. Under circumstances that made no sense, obviously, but still.

“Right… right. I just – I’m sorry, it was this idea I had and I thought I could just…”

He broke off. Something about the tone of his voice took the silliness and hilarity out of the situation, and Castiel’s slight smile dropped to be replaced by a little frown of concern.

“Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need a place to come to?”

“No, no, nothin’ like that. Oh my god, this is the worst.”

“Dean… is something wrong? If you need my address… you know you could have messaged me and just asked for it?”

Dean groaned.

“I don’t… I mean, yeah, but like, no,” Dean said. “Look, I’m just gonna go. I’m sorry for… whatever the hell this was, and –”

“Wait,” Castiel said, “wait, don’t go. You can’t try to scam me for my address and then not give me any answers, I…”

“Sorry,” Dean said, and then hung up.

Castiel took his phone away from his ear. There had been something so wretched and barely-concealed in Dean’s tone that Castiel himself was upset, his stomach twisting. He looked down at his phone screen.

After a long minute of thought, Castiel went to his texting app and opened the text chain with the “hacker”.

<< 401 Lazarus Rise SW, Apartment 67

He considered the text for a long moment, and then sent it. Dean didn’t text back.

But two days later, there was a knock at his front door. Castiel, sitting at his desk and reluctantly typing out some words on his paper, frowned and looked over at the clock as though its face calmly showing 5pm would give him some kind of answer about who was outside. Receiving no wisdom from it, he decided to go and see for himself.

Opening the door, he saw a delivery person wearing a big smile and carrying a bunch of flowers.

“Here you go!” they said, handed him the flowers smartly, and then marched off down the hallway. Castiel stared after them, wondering how they’d even managed to get inside the building without being buzzed in. Probably Mrs Tran down the hall leaving the door open again, so that her son could get in even though her buzzer was broken.

Castiel stood in the doorway of his apartment, holding onto the bunch of flowers. It was a simple enough arrangement – just twelve red roses, nestled in brown paper. When the delivery person was gone, Castiel blinked and looked down at them. Surely these had to be for someone else in the building – he could just check the label and try to figure out who.

The label was a piece of brown card tied to the roses with string. In a messy scrawl, Castiel read,

Hey sorry again about what happened hopefully these make up for it. Never really tried to do anything about liking a guy before so don’t know what I’m doing. Didn’t know if you’d find flowers embarrassing so tried to get your address and send them anonymously but I guess that plan sucked ass huh? Don’t feel like you gotta say anything just wanted to apologize. Dean

Castiel’s eyes went wide and soft. He read the message through one more time and then once more after that, and then tilted the roses up to look at them, and then read the message again, and then smelled the flowers. He leaned back against his doorframe. He could feel his heart just about ready to burst out of his chest.

He went into his apartment, feeling as though he were walking on marshmallows. His legs were fuzzy with his happiness. Finding his phone, he pulled up WhatsApp.

Bzz, bzz.

Bzz –

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel still had the roses in one hand. He looked down at them again, and closed his eyes because the happiness was just a little too much for a half-second.

“Uh.” He heard Dean swallow. “I did put the part where you didn’t have to say anything to me, right?”

“I know. But I wanted to thank you.”

“Uhhh.” Dean sounded floored. “Okay. Well, you’re… welcome?”

“And I wanted to ask you for something.”

“Oh. Okay?”

Castiel smiled.

“Your address,” he said.

––

The next night, Castiel stood outside the door of a slightly shabby-looking apartment, and knocked.

After less than three seconds, it was opened. Framed in the doorway stood Dean Winchester, wearing a nervous smile and nicer clothes than Castiel had ever seen him wear before to class.

Castiel breathed out.

“Hey,” Dean said. His hands looked awkward and clumsy, and Castiel’s heart was full enough looking at the confused shy man in front of him that he couldn’t stop himself – he reached out and took one of them. And it wasn’t supposed to happen this way, it was all in the wrong order, they were meant to go out for dinner and then Castiel would drop Dean back at his apartment and walk him to the door and then they were supposed to do this – but somehow Dean was close, and Castiel was leaning in a little closer still, and then their lips met.

Dean kissed so gently.

When Castiel pulled away, he saw the colour flowering inDean’s lightly stubbled cheeks.

“Uh,” Dean said gruffly. “Uh, good, okay. Yeah. Good.”

“Good?”

“Good,” Dean confirmed. “Good.”

“Good,” Castiel said.

For a second, they stared at each other. And then, moving at the same time, they both leaned in again – not so gentle, now.

They didn’t make their dinner reservation.

“We should call and tell them we’re not coming,” Castiel said at one point.

“They’ll be okay.”

“We should tell them,” Castiel insisted, giving Dean a little dig in the ribs. “It’s rude not to.”

“What, you think the cops will come for us if we don’t?”

“They’re already coming for you anyway,” Castiel said. “This has all been a ruse to catch the biggest scammer in town.”

Dean dropped his head onto Castiel’s shoulder, and laughed.

“Never gonna live that one down?”

“Never,” said Castiel, and kissed him again.

[anghraine]

fic meme!

Grabbed from shadaras on Dreamwidth:

Name:

Anghraine / Elizabeth

Fandoms:

Tolkien, mainly LOTR; Austen, mainly Darcy/Elizabeth; Star Wars, mainly Skywalkers and Jyn/Cassian

Where you post:

Wherever I happen to be active, but also at AO3 under anghraine.

Most popular multi-chapter fic:

Season of Courtship, the Darcy/Elizabeth engagement fic I wrote 15 years ago (but revised ... maybe 7-8 years ago?). It was surpassed for a long time by some other fics, but picked up a ton of kudos/bookmarks this year for some reason, so now it's well ahead of the rest in both bookmarks and kudos.

Favourite story you've written so far:

That's hard to say ... I've written a lot. In some ways, my short P&P sequel The Letters of Elizabeth Darcy, 1796-1798 will always be a fave because it came out so closely to what I wanted it to be. But the dearest to my heart are probably always going to be my Lucy Skywalker series starring f!Luke, and my f!Darcy/m!Elizabeth fic, First Impressions.

Fic you were nervous to post:

Hmm. Perhaps Better Choice, my very flawed Faramir-goes-to-Rivendell fic, which is the first fic I posted anywhere. I thought of we get dark, only to shine because of its many taboos, but Borgias fandom was so nice that I don't think I much worried about it, beyond hoping people would read it. IDK ... I'm a very nervous person, and I definitely am on the edge of my seat after I post a fic, but I don't think I'm nervous about posting fics in this sense.

How you choose your titles

They're usually general statements of what the fic is about ("Redemption," "Anomaly," The Jedi and the Sith Lord), references to a quote from the canon (Season of Courtship, tolerably well acquainted), or excerpts from songs ("But Thou Didst Not Leave His Soul In Hell," "like a storm in the desert").

Do you outline?

Sometimes—I have some things that just start with an idea, others where it's pretty clear in my head, but I ultimately work best when I have the structure and some details all sketched out.

Complete fics:

169, says AO3. Mostly one-shots, of course.

In progress:

Posted WIPs that I have active plans to continue at this time: once I'm writing fic again—Lucy Skywalker, tolerably well acquainted, and Fíriel (f!Faramir) are at the top of my list!

Posted WIPs that I have given up on: I'm terrible at really giving up on things, tbh. I always have scraps that I poke at and things like that. Such Terms of Cordiality is vanishingly unlikely, though.

Exchange fics due soon/unrevealed: none. I had the sense (speaking for myself) not to do exchanges this year.

WIPs that live in my fanfic folder and are incomplete and who knows when they'll be finished: not a whole lot, actually, in the sense of things that haven't been posted. I mostly do post my WIPs. I've got the companion fic to my Darcy-Fitzwilliam headcanons in the folder—we'll see how that goes.

Coming soon/not yet started: hahahaha, nothing. I've got quite enough to be going with.

Do you accept prompts: not exactly, these days. I don't mind them, and if they inspire me, I'm glad to write when I can spare the time, but at this point they don't usually kickstart me and I just feel vaguely guilty when they do but I don’t have the time/energy, so I don't actively invite them.

Upcoming story you are most excited to write:

It's not a story, but there's a scene in the Fíriel-Éowyn-Merry fic that I'm reallyyyyy looking forward to (though it only has Fíriel and Éowyn in it).

Tagging, if you want to do it: @ladytharen, @incognitajones, @irresistible-revolution, @kazaera, @ncfan-1