#despite the fact that the app had me try posting this for more than three times

[vodika-vibes]

Just read some of your Bly stuff. Ahhhh love Bly.

So I have a request, you and Bly are best friends, and he thinks he likes General Secura, so he asks you for advice and you offer what you can despite the fact it kills you. He even goes on a date with the General and he realizes she's not who he wants. They both realize it's not what they want. All Bly wants is you.

You Make Me Happy, When Skies Are Grey

Summary: When Bly comes to you for advice on asking General Secura out on a date, you’re happy to help, even though every word rips your heart to shreds. You want him happy, even if that happiness isn’t with you.

Pairing: Commander Bly x F!Reader

Word Count: 1513

Warnings: Reader is heartbroken at the beginning

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Sorry this too so long! I hope you like it! Also, I now have a super sad post-Order 66 continuation based off of this because I just had to name the story this.

You sit in your apartment, in the dark, your eyes locked on the ceiling. You trace the stars on the ceiling, while you try your hardest to ignore the burning in your eyes and the lump in your throat.

Three weeks ago, Bly came to you for advice on asking General Secura out on a date. 

Though it broke your heart, you still helped him. 

You planned the perfect first date for him and General Secura. From dinner to dancing to wrapping up at a local cafe that had a good first date ambiance. You even helped him out by buying him nice clothes for the event and giving him tips on good conversation starters that don’t revolve around the war.

You even gave him advice on the best way to ask her out, warned him about putting her on the spot and making her feel pressured to say yes.

And every word, every plan, added another crack to your fragile heart.

But, more than anything, you want him to be happy. And if his happiness comes at the expense of your own…well, so be it.

After all, Bly deserves someone as amazing as he is. Someone as gorgeous as he is. Bly and General Secura deserve each other, they’ll be great together. 

He deserves better than some IT girl. Especially some IT girl who was too nervous to admit her feelings towards him.

To give yourself some credit, your heart didn’t completely shatter until you got a comm late last night saying that he asked General Secura out on a date and she agreed, and that he was going out with her the following day.

Going out with her now.

You cried yourself to sleep last night. And you spent the whole day in bed today.

You’re allowed to be a little heartbroken. Just so long as you put the happy smile back on your face when Bly inevitably tells you how his date went.

You can be happy for him. You can.

Just…later.

You trace the constellations on your ceiling, and swallow hard to try and force the lump in your throat to go away. Bly helped you hang them when you moved into this apartment. He spent hours here, with you, helping you turn your house into a home.

You hoped…

Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?

Annoyed, with the situation and with yourself, you push yourself up into a sitting position, and swing your legs off the bed. You’re going to shower, wash your hair, and then order your favorite pasta from the too expensive restaurant just down the street.

And then you’re going to watch your favorite animated movie from when you were a kid, and you’re going to ignore any comms that you get from Bly tonight, and you’ll be happy for him in the morning.

That decision made, you half-heartedly make your bed, and step into the fresher to start the water. 

45 minutes later, you don’t feel better, but you do feel a little more like you. And you absently drop on the couch to place your food order.

You order your favorite, and then scowl at the app that said that you needed to order more food for it to be delivered. 

“Dumb. Why is there a minimum delivery-” You bitch to the empty room, just in a bad mood in general, but you also order a second meal as well as some breadsticks and a dessert. 

At least you won’t have to worry about making dinner tomorrow.

You drop your datapad on the table, and turn to the holo. Time to find your favorite movie. You’re sure you saw it in here not that long ago-

An hour later, when you’re half way through the movie, there’s a knock on your apartment door. And you huff out a sigh as you push to your feet. It’s about time your dinner arrived, you’re starving.

You cross the apartment and push the button to open the door, “Thanks for the deliv-” You stop as you turn to look at the person on the other side of the door.

He is definitely not the delivery droid you’ve been waiting for.

“...Bly?”

Bly smiles at you, nervously. He looks nice, dressed up in the casual clothes that you bought for him, “Hey there, sunshine. Can I come in?”

You automatically move to the side, “I thought you were on a date?” You ask as he steps into your apartment and removes his shoes, “What happened?”

He glances at you, “Ah, yeah. Well, I was. And now I’m not.”

“It…” He walks deeper into your apartment and you allow the door to slam shut as you chase after him, “Bly, your reservation was half an hour ago-” You fret as you follow him into the living room.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You did show up, right?”

Bly’s gaze is directed to the cartoon on the holo, “Having a bad night, sunshine?”

“I…what?”

“You told me once that this is your Bad Day movie.” Bly clarifies, as he turns to look at you, a small frown crossing his face as he scans your face, “Sunshine, have you been crying? Your eyes are red.” He says as he steps closer to you and lightly tilts your head back so he’s able to see your face better.

You blink at him, “Bly! What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“Ah. Right.” He releases your chin and takes a step back, “I did go to the restaurant with General Secura, at the time for the reservation, and we sat down and…” He trails off.

“...and? And what?”

“It didn’t feel right.”

“Bly, you’re not making sense. I did all of that work for you-” You seethe, “And you couldn’t even stay for the whole dinner-?”

He holds up his hands to try and calm you, “I realized, as I was sitting there with General Secura, that I didn’t want to be there with her.”

You blink at him, twice, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, I hope you didn’t tell her that? That’s so mean.”

Bly laughs, “She also told me that being there with me felt awkward and weird.”

“Oh. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be. She helped me figure out who I did want to be there with.”

You feel a sharp pang of hurt, though you do your best to make sure that he doesn’t see it. “Okay. So you need my help to ask this new person on a date?”

“No. I don’t, actually.” Bly replies, his gaze still locked on your face, “Sunshine, why were you crying.”

“I…watched a sad movie.” You lie, badly.

Bly takes a step towards you and very gently reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Yeah. I know.” You mutter, “It…it’s not important, Bly. Really.”

“It’s important enough to make you cry.” Bly counters.

“Bly-”

“Is it my fault?”

You stare at him, stunned, “I…wha-...why would you ask me that?”

“It is then.” Bly murmurs, “I didn’t think…” He rubs a hand over his head, “You seemed so happy to help-”

You sigh, “I want you to be happy, Bly. No matter what.”

“And…what about your happiness?”

“Unimportant, in the grand scheme of things.” You say with an awkward shrug. A moment later, the doorbell rings, and you pull away from him to get your food from the delivery droid.

You tip the droid, and take the food, before you return to the living room, and set the bag of food on the table. “Um, so I have extra food, if you want some. They changed the minimum for delivery-” You trail off when you see the look on his face, and you shift nervously.

He looks mad. Like you said something to make him angry.

“Bly?”

His gaze locks with yours and he smiles. He steps closer to you and lightly taps your chin, “Sunshine,” Bly almost coos, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“You…wha-” Your words are cut off by the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss is very chaste, very respectful, and Bly breaks the kiss soon after he instigates it, and he presses his forehead against yours.

His dark eyes scan your face again, and then he smiles wryly, “That was inappropriate of me, I suppose.”

You blink at him, dumbly, “...you can be more inappropriate with me. If you want.” You offer shyly.

He grins at you, “I might just take you up on that offer…later.” His lips graze yours, and he pulls back, “But how about, we eat this food you bought us and restart this movie and turn this into our first date.”

“...you want to date me?” You ask.

“Is that so surprising?”

“But I-”

He raises his eyebrows, “Yes?”

“General Secura is so much prettier than me-”

“I disagree. And even if she was,” Bly says, “You’re my Sunshine. How could I possibly be happy without you by my side?”

Your face heats, “...I’d like to date you,” You whisper.

“Great! Then let’s start now!”

[epithet-beloved]

HI. NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE. NO CLUE HOW IT WORKS. LOVE this page so far❗️It’s so clear to see how much love has been poured into it and I hope you all have nothing but good fortune coming your way. so… a heem heem herrmmm…may I request a romantic Jericho Felocity post…an imagine…a heem…

SAVE POINT

synopsis… Your boyfriend was a master escape artist. It was really only a matter of time before he escaped from prison and came home.

ft. Jericho Felocity

tags… epithet erased spoilers, fluff, post jailbreak reunion, mentions of prison gang, use of nicknames, established relationship, reader and Jericho live together

word count… 1144

a/n… YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I WAS TO SEE OUR FIRST REQUEST WAS FOR JERICHO!!! LIVE LAUGH LOVE JERICHO I EAT SLEEP AND BREATHE JERICHO!!!!!!!!!! ✧🦄

It had been about half past four when you received the phone call. Despite the risk of it being spam, you admittedly hadn’t looked away from the TV when you answered it. Things had been slow ever since your speedy boyfriend got taken to prison, so you might as well cure your loneliness by listening to an automated voice message.

“Hi!”

The single word had you shooting up from your slouched position instantly. That polite, unbothered tone and cheery voice could only belong to one person.

“Jerry?!” It was impossible to conceal your excitement. “I thought they didn’t give you phone calls!”

“Oh, they don’t!” A brief pause before he followed up, “I broke out. Me and some other people. They were my party members!”

…..I mean, could you expect anything less? You wondered why he didn’t just glitch out of his cell on the first day.

“We all left the party, so I should be coming home now.”

“Now?” You parroted his words.

“Is now not soon enough? I can try to shave off a couple more seconds if I backwards long jump over some of the cars if you want.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant! Now is good. Great, even, I’m just glad you’re finally—“

Jericho’s apologetic voice cut you off. “Oh, hold on, this is starting to phase through my hand. I’m gonna have to talk to you—“

The garbage noise on the other end informed you that your boyfriend had disconnected, but you weren’t upset at all. No, you were just left sitting on the couch with the timer app open.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four—

A knock on the door nearly caused you to drop your phone, but you managed to stop the timer at 4.97 seconds. It probably would’ve taken shorter if he didn’t go through the effort of knocking. It always took him a few tries to get his hand to actually touch the door.

You couldn’t beat his time, even if it was just going from the living room to the front door, but you knew he would forgive you. Despite being the fastest man alive, Jericho was never anything but patient with you. Loving you wasn’t a part of a speedrun, he said. He’s with you for a 100% completion run.

God, you love that dork.

Even if you didn’t open the door as quickly as you could, your prize was still there waiting for you when you did. Your boyfriend, grinning wide and sort of shaking in place. Just the way you liked him.

“Hi! I’m back. I really missed you!” He would say in quick succession, making the muscles of your face tug harder at the corners of your mouth with each sentence.

With a grin wider than you thought yourself capable of, you instructed him, “Stand really still for me, okay?”

“Okay!” Jericho Felocity mustered all the strength in his body to try and stand as close to still as possible for himself. The fact that Jericho could stand still for you was nothing short of a testament to how much he loved you.

When you were sure he was standing ‘still’, albeit shaking slowly, you would launch yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his shoulder. Jericho was stronger than he looked, barely budging even after you’d flung your entire body weight at him.

“Oh!” Taking the hint, his trembling hands found their place on your upper back. “Why are you crying? Are you okay?”

It was only when he’d said this did you feel your own tears wetting your cheeks. Ah, so you were.

“Yes, yes, more than okay,” a long sniffle interrupted your words, “just…..really happy to see you.

“I’m happy to see you too!” His reply was simple and matter of fact, like there was no reason he’d ever feel otherwise. These simple words along with the quick circles being traced into your shirt were Jericho’s unique yet effective method of comfort.

After a long yet comfortable period of silence, you would ask, “So, who were these ‘party members’ of yours? Were they all nice to you?”

“Oh, yeah! There was Ramsey, Indus and Mera, Dixon, Slim—“

“Slim?” You pulled back from the hug to shoot him a quizzical look. “Like California Slim?”

Jericho nodded. “Yep!”

“The murderer?”

And nodded again. “Yep!"

Well, that didn’t bode well. “You sure that guy is your friend?”

“I don’t see why not. He was actually kinda nice if you weren’t on his bad side.” Your boyfriend’s good nature prevented you from being even a little bit mad at him.

“Jerry, you are way too trusting. You’re just impossible to hate.”

A light blush coated Jericho’s cheeks, which you didn’t fail to notice. “Aw, c’mon……I wanna have you meet them someday! They’d love you.” He said that with such confidence, which in turn made you blush. “They were all so surprised when I said I was dating someone. Except Dixon. Dixon said he knew it.”

“I think Dixon is my favorite so far.” Your remark earned a frankly adorable laugh from Jericho. His hands lingered on your back, still drawing little shapes and patterns while you thought. “So where are they, do you know? I assume you all had to split and take care of business.”

“Oh, yeah.” His nods were so fast that you sometimes didn’t notice that his head had moved at all. “Ramsey did offer to all go get takeout together, but Slim didn’t want to, Mera and Indus had to leave, and…..” emerald green eyes averted from your face sheepishly, “…..I just really wanted to get home as quick as I could, honestly.”

“Oh?” You cocked a brow. “Another speedrun?”

A blurry shake of his head again, this time from side to side. “It’s not really like that, no. Just…..” you felt the strange, fuzzy feeling of his hands phasing through your body to rest on your shoulders instead. “It’s been a really long quest, and you always need to save after a long quest, right? I just really missed my save point.”

Save point? You scrunched up your nose. You don’t remember Jericho keeping anything that looked like a save point in the house. Did he pick one up from one of his wacky adventures at some point?

“Oh, I don’t know where that is, sorry Jer….maybe I put it away by accident?”

A hearty laugh was not the response that you expected from your boyfriend. It was rare for him to laugh that hard. Not that you were complaining, you just……weren’t sure what you said?

“No, no, I mean….” His bright smile warmed your heart, but not as much as his words.

“You’re my save point.”

Another thing you loved about Jericho Felocity was that his kisses were always electric.

[bllsbailey]

New: The Little-Noticed Moment From the VP Debate Mic Cutting Debacle That Makes CBS News Look Even Worse

One of the most talked-about moments from Tuesday night's vice presidential debate was when Sen. JD Vance (R-OH) corrected CBS News debate co-moderator Margaret Brennan, who falsely "fact-checked" Vance on the "legal" status of the Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio.

As RedState reported, after Vance used the term "illegal immigrants," Brennan rushed to state they were technically here "legally." Vance then proceeded to explain the "technical" reason for why they had that status. Brennan and co-moderator Norah O'Donnell tried to shush him so they could move on to the next question but he continued speaking. 

"The rules were that you guys weren’t going to fact-check, and since you’re fact-checking me, I think it’s important to say what’s actually going on," Vance stated before attempting to make his point. After some crosstalk that included Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, O'Donnell cut Vance's mic.

For those who missed it, watch:

READ MORE:JD Vance Just Flattens Smug 'Fact Checking' CBS News Mods in Epic Fashion on Springfield Topic

As if that wasn't bad enough, there was one little-noticed moment from that exchange that actually made it all even worse.

If you watch it closely, it's not until moments after Walz lies about the CBP One app and Vance tries to respond to his whopper that O'Donnell finally hits the button. 

She had her finger on it but then waited until Vance was addressing Walz's remarks to push it. After that, you could barely hear what Vance was trying to say:

And not just making a good point but correcting one of the moderators and Walz in the process.

That's why his mic had to get cut.

Relatedly, CBS News is also being criticized for a ridiculous post-debate "fact-check" of Vance's comments on Democrat presidential nominee Kamala Harris being Joe Biden's border czar. Astonishingly, they claimed Harris was never the border czar. But as my RedState colleague Brad Slager documented here and below, that is at odds with the facts as reported by CBS News themselves in 2021:

Sigh. Some things just never change.

In any event, despite yet another three-on-one debate, Vance more than held his own and commanded the evening from start to finish, leading to some sour faces and unhinged reactions on cable news outlets, which is exactly how you know that they know he won it, bless their hearts.

RELATED:The Girl Squad Moderators for the Vance-Walz VP Debate Fixated on Childcare, Totally Skipped Over Crime

[necromancy-enthusiast]

I downloaded it and got into the mines in Zone 1, it's not so bad yet at least. I imagine things will get more complicated once I get to the characters that have less conventional ways of speaking, that always throws in an extra monkey wrench in translation. I do have to look up quite a bit but like I said, it's a lot easier and faster than looking up Chinese characters, because with the characters I have to open up my Pleco app, draw the character, and then pick the right one from the list I'm given. Usually it's pretty good at picking up which one you were going for but you still may have to try two or three times. But with French I can just type stuff in like with English, I don't even need to download another keyboard program on my phone or computer like I do with Chinese.

I mean I really shouldn't even complain, Pleco is great, and the way you had to look characters you didn't know up before stuff like that came out was in a physical dictionary. Traditional Chinese dictionaries are... Interesting, since Chinese doesn't have an alphabet, it has to sort characters in a different manner. The most common one is sorting by the number of strokes a character is written with, each 'stroke' being the mark you make when you put your writing instrument down and pick it up to write the next part of the character. So as you can imagine, looking things up in a traditional physical dictionary is extremely tedious, especially if you don't know your strokes (but thankfully my professors were pretty fastidious about hammering that into our heads, so I do).

Man I'm not gonna lie, this is bumming me out a bit, like I just taught myself a bit of French based on a whim, like first with Duolingo and then with a textbook and some other stuff online, and it's so much easier to advance than with Chinese, which I learned with some great teachers for two years in college and then when I studied abroad for a bit, and now I have plenty of resources to continue to teach myself with. It's just a proven fact, the more a language is like the one you speak natively the faster you'll progress, and sure French and English may be from different families, but they've influenced each other quite a bit, and English has also been heavily influenced a lot by Latin, which French descends from. Plus I also have some Spanish I learned in high school and from the area I live in, so even though French is notorious for being pretty different from it's nearby family languages, it helps a good bit.

Chinese and English are extremely different and have a very short history together, so it takes longer because there's so much more to learn, and you're retraining your brain to an even larger degree. Usually I'm good at not letting this bother me or slow me down, but right now it's making me kind of sad because I like Chinese a lot more than French. My academic interests (like potentially going to grad school and stuff like that) largely involve Chinese but French is just... You know, a side thing. I just thought it would be useful since there was some history and literature in French I was interested in. And yet despite that much more casual relationship, it's a lot faster and easier to progress. Oh well.

Anyway, I think I'll try and find some videos of the 2.0 and 3.0 Off English translations to compare. This post has already gotten pretty long so I'll make a new one, but I might add a couple of short things to this one later too.

Apparently in the track Silencio from the game Off, the track where you're choosing which world to go to that's mostly just creepy whispering, the whispering is about the apocalypse spoken in French. I tried listening to it a couple of times and basically all I can gather is 'yeah I can kinda pick up on a few individual voices here and there and they sound like they're speaking French but I have no clue what they're saying'. But apparently it's really hard to pick out much of anything even for people who natively speak French, which I'm sure was the intention to begin with. I should download the original French version of Off, my French is still very basic but looking words up in French is much easier and faster than looking up stuff in Chinese so I think I won't get frustrated as quickly, and I know there's a lot of contention about the differences between the 2.0 and 3.0 translations. This track, by the way:

[slytherpuff98]

Thank you really much to @thecursedzerin and @enraged-fangirl-and-co for sending me these asks ❤❤❤ I hope I answered them in an acceptable English 😅😅😅

22. Have they any interest in dating? Have they a crush on someone? How do you think this someone feel about them?

I think this meme I made summaries perfectly Jay's entire love life, because she can't stop herself from developing a crush on every single blonde guy she meets and most of these boys have no interest in dating her whatsoever. It's a real problem for her, especially since she constantly risks to have her judgement clouded by it even if she is well aware of that. Everyone knows about it and became even more evident when Jay started acting strange towards Edmund Quincy ( belongs to @hey-jacob-its-me ), with whom she has a strong salty rivalry, just because someone turned his hair blonde for fun by using colovaria: the two of them faced the most awkward and long hours of their lives that day. In fact, even though she might hate that person, Jay will unfortunately end up feeling attracted by them anyway.

Edmund: << Listen Jay, I know the blonde hair thing was probably awkward for you, but I just want to say right now so there are no confusions that im not interested in you. It's nothing personal, I'm just gay. >>

Jay: << ... >>

Edmund: << Sophie wrote that down for me... Actually, it is personal, I can't stand you. >>

( Yes, Dee, I saved that because I almost spit out my own heart by laughing too hard 😂😂😂 )

The only thing that stops her from pursuing a romantic interest in these boys is for these same boys to be already in an happy and healthy relationship or not being interested in dating in the first place: Jay would never put herself between two people who love each other or force someone to date her, never.

As you can imagine, Jay is currently crushing over a lot of guys at the same time, but she indeed has someone towards which she is feeling even more interested day after day: I'm talking about Cillian Casement ( belongs to @iri-lynx ). They're both in the Theatre Club, so they hangout a lot "as friends", because that's how Cillian's see their relationship, even if Jay's never had any problem acting flirtatious towards him in any place and at any time: everyone knows she is trying really hard to get his attention, but Cillian is just too pure and naive to get what's going on.

Cillian: " What are you talking about? Jay doesn't have a crush on me. "

Lyx: " Yes, she does. "

Val: " Yes, she does. "

Jay: " Yes, I do. "

My boy Finn has no interest in dating at all because his "one and only true love" is and will always be food and nothing more.

27. How do they change throughout their school years?

( This is going to be really hard to answer because I'd like not to spoiler the "Arc" I'm working on for Jay. Fortunately most of it should be settled after her school years, so there shouldn't be problems... )

Jay started attending Hogwarts like a really "chill out" kid despite having nearly died in her animagus form by the hand of an hunter: that experience, not by any chance, scarred her both physically and mentally making it difficult for her to trust even in those most close to her. Even if most of her childhood friends are sorted in other houses, like Logan ( belongs to @phyl-the-gryffinclaw ), she has no problems keeping herself in contact with them and befriend new people at the same time, mostly from Slytherin like Lyx ( belongs @jadeowl19 ).

Jay was already a sort of "child prodigy", especially when it came to Transfiguration and Charms, but started building a strong reputation only after her third year, when she started manifesting that vindictive and competitive side of her the most: as I said in another post, she is at the same time a "bully" and a "hero", since she feels no remorse while punishing people who dared to step in her way or annoy someone she cares about. These are also the years in which she started attending the Theatre Club and met the kids from Beauxbaton.

Under Slughorn suggestion, Jay was chosen to be Prefect of the house of Slytherin due to her grades and strong personality, despite she was known for testing a lot of new spells and curses on those she didn't like just for fun: cause of this, she "had" to develop a more mature and responsible attitude in order to put all those troublemakers from her house in line. Another one she has to care about during these years is, of course, her little brother, who, as the "lazy butt" he is, prefers to avoid confrontations and have his own sister deal with all his messes.

Everything changed on a fateful DADA lesson, when, despite her cousin's advices, she decided to face her greatest fear under the form of a boggart, failing miserably and humiliating her own self in front of the entire class. Never wanting to have to deal with a situation like that again, Jay decided to persevere in her research for ultimate knowledge and magic: the only two things that, in her opinion, would've finally guaranteed her the protection she was seeking. Unfortunately, this made her grow colder towards people, closer to her or not, day after day, spending most of her time reading and looking for new forms of magic in the library and testing them in secret. Whenever asked by a friend or a member of her own family if something wasn't right or why she was avoiding them, Jay would deny it and lie to them... But something was wrong... Something was definitely wrong...

About Finn, he actually isn't going to change that much throughout those years of school, if we don't count the physical changes due to growth spurt. The only thing that he is going to learn is not to avoid responsibilities cause of laziness by relying on your older sister: Finn is going to challenge his own self more often and try to participate a little more the school activities cause of this.

[musical-shit-show]

showed up just in time

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #12 (“don’t move, i’ll be right there.”), #35 (“i’d be lying if i said i didn’t miss you.”) and #82 (“you’re really warm. it’s nice.”) from Prompt List 2 with a little bit of “Afterglow” and “This Love” by Taylor Swift in there somewhere

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drunkenness, vomiting (sorry), mild angst, cursing, reader is a ball of anxiety, fluff at the end

Word Count: 3,550

Author’s Note: This took me a LONG time but I’m so glad that I’m writing for Dewey again. I know it’s not as popular as my BJ one shots (and don’t worry, I will be continuing to write those as well to fill the sandworm-sized hole in my heart after the Broadway production closes) but I think it’s important to give Dewey a little bit of love every once and a while. As always, if you like these kinds of fics, please like/comment/reblog and check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists if you want to submit a request! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with my posts so far; it really does mean a lot. Happy reading and Merry Christmas!

Don’t call him.

Do not call him.

Under no circumstances should you be calling him.

Your alcohol-addled brain managed to scream at you as your eyes flickered over your ex’s contact photo. You knew it wasn’t the smartest decision, but what other choice did you have?

The phrase ‘absolutely shit-faced’ rang in your head. Despite the prep work—eating a sizable meal beforehand, drinking water, strictly adhering to the liquor before beer rule—the world around you was tipping on its axis, the ground feeling more precarious with each passing second.

Maybe it was the lemon drop shots. It was always the lemon drop shots.

To make matters worse, you’d barely know where you were sober, let alone when you were on the verge of a blackout. Your friends, who were even drunker than you were at that point, had lost you somewhere along the way on your yearly holiday bar crawl. It wasn’t exactly their fault; the group was incredibly intoxicated, and you tended to wander.

You wouldn’t have been in this predicament if you and Dewey hadn’t broken up only weeks before. More accurately, you wouldn’t have been in this predicament if you hadn’t broken up with him when your brain decided to concoct a delightful cocktail of abandonment issues and anxiety. That was always your M.O. in relationships; duck and run before you could get your heart broken.

But it was cold. And dark. And in your impaired state of mind, you had no one else to turn to.

So, there you were, standing on a deserted sidewalk, in the frigid air, calling the last person in the whole city who wanted to see or hear from you.

After three agonizing rings, a hesitant voice answered.

“Did, uh, you mean to call me?”

“Dew,” you breathed, “Thank god. Uh—I need you. I mean, I’m out and lost and I just—”

“You’re drunk.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but was instead tinged with concern. 

You sighed heavily, leaning up against the brick wall of the convenience store that inhabited the street corner where you stood. You tried desperately to steady your breathing as a wave of nausea approached.

“Yes. I am,” you said, trying your best to not to sound too wasted, “And I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t serious. But I’m by myself and fucked up and don’t have my fucking keys—”

“Don’t move, I’ll be right there.” Three beeps and the call ended abruptly. The thought of him actually coming to get you snapped you back into semi-coherence. You suddenly became acutely aware of your skimpy dress, disheveled hair, smudged makeup.

You looked like a fucking wreck.

Like lightning, you whipped open your camera app and frantically smoothed down your strands and smeared your eyeliner off with a few swipes of a finger. More presentable, but only slightly so. If your phone call wasn’t enough of an indication, your appearance would certainly let Dewey know that you were sloshed.

Even more jarring was the fact that time was now slowing. Your drinks were finally catching up to you as you felt a throbbing in your right temple. Luckily, you didn’t have much time to think about how drunk you were, because a familiar screech of tires made you blink your eyes open to see a mess of wavy brown hair poking out the window.

“Get in,” Dewey said urgently, surveying your immediate surroundings, “Please.” Without a word, you scurried behind the back of his van—which was somehow still miraculously running despite being at least two decades old—and got into the passenger seat.

You sat in a tense silence, the liquor still churning in your stomach as he slowed the vehicle to a stop at a red light. His fingers tapped frantically, rhythmically on the steering wheel.

“Thank you,” you breathed awkwardly, unsure of exactly what to say. Luckily, Dewey had plenty on his mind.

“Are you crazy?” he asked incredulously, exasperated as the light changed from red to green. He stepped on the gas pedal lightly despite his disgruntled demeanor, “You’re lucky some creep didn’t try to harass you or worse. And where are your friends? Or are you making a habit of going out by yourself these days?”

His words were harsh, but you could tell his nerves were rattled. You knew something like this would happen, but you didn’t really have any other option. Dewey was always protective of you, even with his reputation of being somewhat unreliable.

You blinked at him stupidly and sat back into the worn leather seat. “How did you know where I was?” you asked, completely ignoring his line of inquiry with your own, less imperative one. Dewey couldn’t help but let out a cautious chuckle.

“You uh, never stopped sharing your location with me,” he said sheepishly, “I guess it came in handy tonight, huh?” You nodded silently, your heart pounding in your chest. Pathetic didn’t even begin to describe how you felt. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

A heavy exhale left your throat dryly, fogging up the passenger side window, “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does fucking matter if you’re getting trashed alone at weird bars. I’m—I’d be worried about you.”

Crossing your arms like a petulant child, you couldn’t bear to look at Dewey. Since when was he the responsible one and you were the hot mess? “I didn’t go alone,” you muttered quietly, “I was with my friends, we all got hammered, and I wandered off.”

“God, I hate your friends sometimes,” he said with another dry laugh, “They should know to keep you on a leash whenever you drink.”

“Hey!” you punched him lightly in the arm as he turned onto his street, “You can’t be mean to me, I’m drunk.” Dewey shifted the van into park and unbuckled himself with a flourish.

“I can definitely be a little mean to you, seeing as you made me drive out in the freezing cold to get your plastered ass.” In a flash, he was opening the door and helping you out onto the pavement. You were finally getting your bearings when your heel caught the edge of the sidewalk and making you trip. Right into Dewey’s arms.

You looked him up and down, a sheepish smile on your face as he propped you back upright, “You’re really warm,” you remarked dumbly, his body heat radiating off of him as he hooked his arm around your waist to keep you from falling again, “It’s nice.”

“Jesus Christ, kid, you are drunk.”

Kid.

Maybe it was a reflex, but that single pet name made your stomach do a somersault, lemon drops be damned. As you neared his door, though, you felt your throat tighten, and it wasn’t due to your ex’s arm wrapped firmly around your body.

The alcohol was finally fighting back, and you knew you were vastly outmatched. “Uh, not to be that person, but…” You were choking out your words as Dewey swung his front door open, “I need to throw up. Like, now.”

He raised his eyebrows but his expression remained unsurprised. “Alright, superstar. Let’s go,” he walked you to the bathroom as quickly as he could without upsetting your stomach even more. He took one glance at your face, which had quickly turned a pallid green color.

Dewey couldn’t help but laugh at this situation. When the two of you were together, it was you who would take care of him nearly every time he’d have one too many at the Roadhouse. Having the tables turn like this, when you were broken up no less, made him feel like he was in an alternate universe.

As soon as you laid eyes on the door, you rushed into Dewey’s bathroom and slammed it shut. Your last three drinks emptied into the toilet bowl, the acid from your stomach burning your throat. The bitter taste made you gag even more, and in a few moments, your stomach felt void of all contents.

Hot tears of embarrassment fell onto the tile as you leaned up against the door. The cold floor was almost soothing as heat radiated throughout your body, but it did nothing to quell your distress. You jolted at the sound of a light knock behind you.

“Hey, you okay?” Dewey asked softly.

“Oh, just peachy.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. Want me to hold your hair back?” You could hear his smirk through the door. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself.

“Not to be gross, but, uh, there’s not much left,” you said queasily, “It’s the sewer system’s problem now.” You heard him let out a small laugh himself, which caused your throat to grow even drier. “I’ll be out in a sec, just gotta’ freshen up. Thank you, though. Again.”

A beat passed, but you knew he was still at the door. You clawed at the skin around your fingernails, a favorite nervous habit of yours. “Don’t mention it,” he said finally, “But you so owe me one.”

***

After some soap and water, a decent amount of mouthwash, and swiping a t-shirt and pajama pants that you had unfortunately left behind only weeks earlier, you exited ready to face the shame of barfing in your ex’s bathroom after one (or four) too many.

“I see you finally finished hanging your collection,” you said, gingerly sitting down on his couch. With his new tutoring gig, Dewey was able to afford a few more guitars, which were now prominently displayed on the wall. He emerged from the kitchen, a tall glass of water in one hand and two Advil in the other.

He sat down next to you, making a point to refrain from any physical contact, “Well, I’ve had some free time.” That stung. And Dewey knew it. Both of you wore your heart on your sleeve, which meant you could read each other extremely well. “Sorry.”

You shook your head, “No, uh, that’s…that’s warranted.” He handed you the pills and the water, and you couldn’t help but smile. “My savior.” Dewey let another smirk creep onto his face.

“Sorry, but could you just say that one more time, for the record?” he asked as he whipped out his phone, “I need some audio proof of that little nugget of gratitude.” You barked out a laugh and shoved his arm away from you. He smiled back at you, but you could so clearly see the sadness filling his eyes. “Uh, you sure you’re feeling alright? Sounded pretty gnarly in there for a while.”

Your face reddened again, but the look of genuine concern on Dewey’s face made your pulse slow. “Yeah,” you choked out, “I mean, I still feel a little woozy, but ten times better than before, I swear.” You threw the aspirin into your mouth and gulped down the majority of the water. “But just know, if you ever tell anyone about tonight, I will have to kill you.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” he crossed two fingers over his heart in mock reverence, “Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a Boy Scout,” you deadpanned.

“Not in practice,” he dropped his regality and tucked his arms across his chest, “But I just know I could’ve crushed those nerds in knot tying.”

Even though you couldn’t stifle your laughter at his corniness, it was almost unbearable trying to bring yourself to look at him for more a few seconds. “So…how are the kids?” The best course of action was to change the subject. Dewey smiled softly and sat down next to you, making sure to leave a considerable distance.

“They’re, uh, good.” Now it was his turn to not meet your eye. “Little shitheads, but they somehow manage to blow me away a little more every day.” Your heart squeezed in your chest every time he mentioned the Horace Green kids. They all idolized him of course, and he adored them in return. “Need anything else? Another blanket? Glass of water? Maybe another round of tequila?”

You shuddered at the thought. “Absolutely not, Dew,” you giggled, despite your head still pounding. A pit formed in your stomach despite his lightheartedness; he was being so sweet after you had been so shitty. “I’m sorry. Again. I just, I don’t know when I became such a fucking trainwreck.”

Dewey sighed and grabbed a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and placed it on your shoulders. “You’re not a fucking trainwreck. Everyone has bad nights. I just can’t believe you called me of all people. Pretty sure Ned still wouldn’t trust me to pick him up when he was wasted.”

“Well, he should,” you muttered softly, heartache radiating through your entire body, “You’re a good person, Dewey. A great person. I’m just, I’m sorry that—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cut you off, “We don’t have to. I mean, it’s okay. I understand.” He took your palm gently into his, absentmindedly rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. The small act of gentleness almost made you uncontrollably sob.

And as time passed, you found it was becoming harder and harder to blame the alcohol for your actions. Your harrowing experience in the bathroom meant you were only sobering up faster, and you couldn’t stop yourself from spilling your guts to Dewey. Metaphorically, this time.

“No, I—I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you, Dew,” you voice trembled as you finally met his gaze, which was partially hidden behind his mess of wavy brown hair. You couldn’t bear to look at his sad puppy dog eyes for long and involuntarily shrunk in on yourself, pulling his blanket closer to your chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You felt a few hot tears fall from your eyes, and quickly wiped them away regretfully. This whole night was like a long, agonizing parade of humiliation, and Dewey had a front row seat. And the worst part was, you were the one who had invited him to the shitshow.

Dewey closed the distance between you, his hand still grasping yours. You were now shoulder to shoulder, his stocky frame comforting you despite your discomfort. “Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow? I think we’d both agree you need some rest.” You nodded, like a sleepy child finally agreeing to an afternoon nap.

You rested your head on one of the throw pillows, the fleece feeling plush against your cheek. Dewey teetered on the balls of his feet for a moment, running a damp palm through his messy hair. You were already starting to drift off, your eyelids heavy with sleep. The final phase of a drunken stupor always seemed to result in you knocking out fairly quickly.

After quietly tidying up, he couldn’t help but smile at how fast you had drifted off to sleep as you laid peacefully on his sofa. Gently, he placed a light kiss on your forehead. You didn’t stir. Dewey’s affection for you still felt like second nature, even while you dreamt.

He missed you. He never stopped missing you, loving you, but it wasn’t his place to take you at your word when you weren’t sober.

No matter how much he wanted to believe you meant what you said, he couldn’t bear to have his heart broken again.

***

The sun was your mortal enemy. Every ray that peaked through Dewey’s curtains pierced you like a knife to the chest. You groaned angrily, grabbing one of the surprisingly soft pillows from behind your head and pulling it over your face. Maybe you would suffocate and save yourself from the indignity of the previous evening.

“Ah, I forgot how much of a morning person you were,” Dewey drawled dryly from the kitchen. You removed the pillow and sat up. He was sitting peacefully in his flannel pajama pants and Iron Maiden t-shirt. You remembered picking that shirt out for him at the thrift store.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, the aroma of coffee wafted towards you as Dewey sat on the couch with a mug in hand. “Like you’re one to talk,” you replied, still squinting, “I distinctly remember someone saying waking up before noon was ‘early’ in your book.”

“People change,” he shrugged. You muttered an unenthused “Yeah,” as you pulled the blanket towards your chest. You wished you were a magician so you could throw it over your head and disappear. “Here,” he held the mug in your direction, “splash of cream, one sugar.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, which had become chapped overnight. You hadn’t been nervous in front of Dewey since before you started dating, and now you could barely look at him. “Thanks,” you took it from him, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the handle. You instantly felt your heart flutter.  

“I was a total idiot last night, wasn’t I?” You set the coffee down and threw your head into your hands. You did always have a flair for the dramatic. It’s one of the first things you and Dewey bonded over.

He nodded, “Oh yeah,” he winced, “How much do you remember?”

Your mind instantly flashed to an image of your body crouched over Dewey Finn’s toilet bowl.

“Enough.”

“So, you don’t remember sucker punching that chick who was flirting with me when I picked you up?”

“I did what?!” You knew you could get feisty when you drank, but you had zero recollection of talking to anyone when you left the bar, let alone fighting some random girl. Before you could ask any follow ups, Dewey burst into a fit of laughter, throwing his head back effortlessly. You blinked at him before narrowing your eyes in suspicion. “You little shit.”

“What, is it my fault that you’re so goddamn gullible?” he choked out between cackles. You stewed unconvincingly before cracking a smile. Rubbing a stray tear from his eye, he cleared his throat, “Or maybe it’s believable that you’d still fight for little ol’ me?”

You dug your fingernails into your palms, which had already begun to sweat. Dewey knew exactly what he was doing with that one. He always made it seem like he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but you knew he was much smarter than people gave him credit for. More perceptive, too. Which meant he could read you like the newest copy of Rolling Stone.

Now it was you who was shedding tears yet again. “Whoa hey, hey,” he said, immediately noticing your eyes glazing over, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have joked about that.” He inched closer to you, but you turned away, still guilt-sick from the events of the past 12 hours.

“No, Dew, the thing is…you’re right,” you said with a sniff, a tremor overtaking your voice, “I would’ve. I would’ve fought for you. I should’ve. But I was fighting against myself. And we all know what a losing battle that can be.”

Dewey shifted on the couch restlessly, hesitant to try and console you; no matter how much he wanted to grab your hand, tell you it was alright, that you could work it out, he knew that he needed to hear you out first.

“I meant what I said last night,” you murmured, finally able to meet his gaze, “I miss you. A lot. I think about you all the time, and I feel like such a fucking idiot for ending things between us, because, well. Because I love you. I still love you.”

Dewey usually had a comeback or snarky remark ready to go, but not now. He was completely speechless. For a long moment, at least. You watched as a relieved smile spread across his face, unable to contain the joy he was feeling at the thought of getting back together.

“Oh, baby, I love you too,” he said, finally wrapping his arms around your torso. You could smell his body wash, earthy and clean and comforting, “You drive me absolutely insane, and don’t ever think about leaving a bar by yourself again, but I missed you so goddamn much.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, and for the first time in weeks, your body relaxed.

Throwing your arms around his neck, you played with the unruly waves that fell at the base of his neck as you deepened the kiss. “Whoa, easy there, killer,” he smiled, his lips grazing your cheek, “You better sleep off the rest of this hangover. And since I’m so generous, I’ll let you sleep in my bed.”

You couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow, “What’ll it cost me?” Dewey smirked; you knew him all too well.

“Dinner. You’re paying, obviously.”

“Fair.”

“And drinks.”

“Okay.” He was really milking this for all it was worth.

“And of course, makeup sex is always a must in these situations.”

You gave him one final playful shake of the head before pouncing on him, showering him with affection. Even though you were messing around, you felt your heart swell; no matter what happened, no matter how many times your fear of losing him reared its ugly head, you would choose this. This was real, here, now, and important. This was your love for Dewey, and you’d do everything in your power to keep it this time.

***

Thanks everyone for reading! Please comment/like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[scarlettriot]

Breaking Point - On Ice

Pairing: Hockey Player Eijiro Kirishima x F!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI, Panic Attacks, Fatfobic Comments, Badgering, Swearing

Contains: Struggles with trauma in the form of panic attacks, fluffy moments thrown in though too! As the pairing suggests, Kiri is a hockey player, reader is also plus size.

Summary: When Kirishima finds out you've never tried ice skating he insists you come to the hockey team's fundraiser at the rink.

Word Count: 4,601

A/N: This is part three in the Breaking Point series. I did make a mistake in the posting of part 2, all main characters are at least sophomores in college, not juniors. Friendly reminder this is a quirkless AU. I hope you enjoy getting some more background here.

Other Parts:

Breaking Point - Part One - Locked Out

Breaking Point - Part Two - Intimacy

Breaking Point - Part ? - Do More (This is just out-of-order smut for the time being)

Eijiro lay on the floor of your bedroom, flat on his stomach, with a pen between his teeth. You were situated on your bed, back against the wall, while textbooks and notepads surrounded you when you heard a thump.

Eijiro's head now atop his own binder, the pages muffling his aggravation, "'M gonna fail!"

"You are not. Don't be so dramatic!"

Over the last month, you really had become friends with the red-headed giant who you'd let use your shower on a whim. Of course, it helped a little that he'd been childhood friends with your roommate and also happened to be the cousin of her boyfriend.

There was also the fact that you had four classes together. Eijiro excelled in your psychology classes, understood the material with ease! It was the core classes that were giving him trouble. English Lit and Calc specifically. Katsuki, his best friend with the shortest temper of anyone you'd ever met, had taken up tutoring him in calculus even if it was for mildly selfish reasons. If his grade slipped any lower, he stood a chance of being benched for the hockey season and Captain Katsuki wasn't standing a chance of their best goalie not being able to play.

That just left English Lit which, you took last semester, and remembered the material pretty well. Enough to help him study and get a decent grade at least. That didn't mean Eijiro liked it though, still struggled despite trying his damndest.

You cleared a path and leaned over the edge of the bed, "Gotta move your head, big guy. I don't have superpowers, can't see through it." Eijiro lifted his head, the page of his textbook clinging to his forehead. "It just wants you to write a synopsis of the last five chapters, 1K minimum. Why are you gonna fail?"

"'Cause for the life of me I can't stay focused on it!" He rolled onto his back. "Don't know how you can read so much and like it." His eyes scanned over the five shelves that made up one of the walls in your bedroom, each filled to the point you had to start stacking piles of books on the floor in front of them. "I think you need another shelf."

You pointed to the box in your closet, already way ahead of him. "It's taller than the others and heavy as hell. I'm just waiting for Suka to get time to help me."

"Hello! You coulda asked me!"

He had a point, you could have, it just hadn't crossed your mind.

"I've got this hockey thing tonight and then practice tomorrow but I could stop by after and help you put it together."

"Sure, thanks! I have- you know, never mind, just come by when it's done."

You were supposed to have a date, nothing series, just a meet-up off an app. Nothing you couldn't reschedule or just cancel if you had to. They wanted you to come to their birthday celebration at a bar anyways... it certainly didn't feel very date-like.

"Great!"

"But, you know you actually have to finish this paper..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Gotta reread the chapters first though and hopefully remember enough of it." He started gathering his things, "I'll try again after this thing tonight. Unless you feel like coming to this fundraiser thing tonight with me and we can keep studying there."

You thanked him but, "I can't skate anyways, I don't think adding studying to the mix would be safe."

Eijiro dropped his books, "You what?"

"Yeah, I can't skate."

"You've always just said you didn't wanna go on open skate nights with us! How've I been friends with you this long and not known you couldn't skate!"

You shrugged, "I dunno. Not like it really comes up..."

"Please come tonight." His elbows rested on the edge of your bed, big eyes pleading with you.

"Why? So you can watch as I fall on my ass?"

"I mean, you probably will but who hasn't! I fall so much! Plus, you can be entertained by Kami singing terrible karaoke!"

You did like watching Denki's performances... "What if I just show up at the rink and not skate? I'll be happy to come and show my support!"

His eyebrows dropped. "You've gotta try it. Please, Y/N. If you hate it, I'll drop it forever."

"Fine. Only if you promise you'll read two chapters when you get home AND text me about them so you can remember what you read. Do we have a deal?"

He gave a rather indignant sigh but finally accepted your terms.

You agreed to meet at the rink around 8, giving you enough time to make a pit stop at the library before going. Eijiro made a point to remind you to wear something warm but that you could still move easily in, and thick socks. That was a very important point he was driving home.

A part of you wished Itsuka was going, wanting the comfort of your best friend around but you knew she had to check in on her brother back home as well as her grandfather. The nursing home made things easier in some ways and yet harder in so many others.

So, you grabbed something to eat, threw on a hoodie and a thicker pair of black leggings, and dug out a pair of black cotton gloves just in case, stuffing them into your bag for now, and proceeded to lock up for the evening.

>>><<<

The library was on the way to the ice complex. A massive ten-story tall building with an art gallery taking up two of the floors. You loved this place. Becoming very acquainted with its walls during your freshman year. The only place quiet enough for you to study.

You nodded at the woman on duty at the circulation desk. Showing you the school idea even though she knew who you were and headed right for the elevators to take you up to the sixth floor, straight to the section that contained books of philosophical fiction.

At home, on your second bookshelf from the right to be exact, you had your own copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey but, Eijiro's class was reading the version that consisted of twenty chapters rather than your book's thirteen. You scanned the shelf and were in luck, plucking the book and heading right back to the elevator.

"Are you taking English Lit over again?"

It always amazed you the way the woman at the desk remembered faces. Hundreds of people had to come through this library on a daily basis and yet she could recall names and classes with seemingly no effort at all.

"No, not exactly, a friend of mine is though and he's struggling a bit. Just wanna freshen upon it."

"What a good person you are! Your friend better consider himself a lucky man." She scanned the book, reminded you of the three you still had checked out, and bid you a good weekend.

>>><<<

For a fundraising event, there weren't too many people present at the ice complex, even the overall team's members seemed to be lacking. Not that the school had that big of a hockey team to begin with. Itsuka told you how it started off as a club just last year with only six members, just enough to form a team. At least now their numbers had tripled.

You could hear music pouring out of the rink as well as chatter and laughter.

You pushed open the door happy to see some familiar faces. "Hey! Y/N!" Hanta waved from the concession stand balancing a basket of nachos and a pretzel in his hand, "Ha. Thanks." taking the basket and cup of cheese from him.

"Kiri said you'd be stopping by."

"It's sort of just a way of getting him to actually do his literary homework."

The man laughed, "Yeah. He's been trying to tackle that book. Kami threw a shoe at him the other day for walking around narrating it at one in the morning."

So, he did try reading to himself. It was good to know he was at least trying to take your advice.

Someone slammed into the rink's wall making you jolt, a nervous chirp escaping you in the process before you heard the low laugh of the team captain. "Show'd up, huh, Squeaks? Go talk to Headphones and get a pair of skates. Heard you've never been on the ice, time we fix that."

You'd only had a moment to wonder why it was Katsuki telling you to get skates rather than Eijiro because as soon as you looked at the explosive captain you spotted the redhead over his shoulder, skating backward, and holding the hands of a little girl bundled in a jacket as puffy and pink as her older sisters hair. The little girl couldn't have been related to anyone other than Mina Ashido.

"Come on, I'll show ya."

Hanta led the way around the concession counter and to a small window where Kyoka was sitting, busy fiddling with buttons on a soundboard. She smiled, seeing the two of you at the window and pulling back her headphones so she could hear when you told her your size.

The fee wasn't a lot and you were happy to pay it since half was going to the team.

"Can I help ya? That's way too loose." Hanta commented on your laces.

"This is how I normally tie my shoes."

"That might be but these have to be tight to give you the support you need. Plus, you don't want them coming undone on the ice, that's just a pain in the ass."

He bent down in front of you, tugging and pulling until the top of the boot was snug and asking you if it was too tight before tying it off and moving to the next one. He held out his hands, pulling you up onto your feet. "Walkings gonna feel a little weird, so, take your time."

You took a cautious step, balancing on the thin blade. "Feels like I'm walking on a tight rope."

"It's going to for a little while but you'll get used to it." He led you around the wall of the rink, letting you get a feel for them, checking again how they felt on your feet.

"Hey!" A whirl of pink hair zipped by you, Mina, spinning around perfectly on the ice and joining you both by the wall. "Whatcha waiting for? Get her out here Hanta!"

"Whenever you're ready."

If you hate it, I'll drop it forever.

You just had to try it once, one lap. "I'm gonna fall."

"That's a part of it though, babe." Mina grinned and glided back to the rink entrance. "Everyone here has fallen." She held out her hand while you carefully placed one foot on the ice. "I'm gonna hold this hand, grab the wall with your other. Hanta will be right behind you, okay?"

Everything wobbled the moment both feet were on the ice, knees locking just to try and stay upright. "Whoa, don't do that. Keep them bent just a little." Hanta corrected, "Locking your knees is a sure-fire way to fall."

Mina pulled you along, neither foot lifting off the ice, while your heart was firmly lodged in your throat. "You're doing just fine, see!" You really weren't doing anything but her praise was still nice.

"Mina!" You almost slipped, trying to follow the voice, but Hanta caught your elbow and guided both your hands to the wall. Jiro was standing at the entrance, waving a box over her head.

"Crap," Mina muttered. "I forgot to set something up with the sound system to get the karaoke going. Hanta, can you help me real fast, you're taller."

"Wha, what about me?"

"We will be right back. Promise! Not even taking our skates off!" They were gone before you could say anything else... damn it.

You stared at the far side of the rink, you'd gone exactly halfway around. One lap. You just had to go one lap. Your fingers gripped the edge of the wall, muttering to yourself, hating how unstable you felt when your feet started to move, oh no no no...

Willing them to stop moving wasn't working. Quickly, you pulled against the wall but you were getting away from it, "Come on, stop stop, please." You muttered but your feet weren't listening.

A hand slipped behind your waist. "You really shouldn't panic. All you have to do is point your toe down into the ice. 'Surprised someone didn't tell you that."

You had no idea who the man beside you was. Tall and slender with blonde hair falling in front of blue eyes. "You really have no idea what you're doing out here, do you? Poor thing."

"I'm, well, I'm just waiting for-"

"Not a problem, I'd be happy to help you back where you'll be more comfortable."

"Back off, Monoma." Someone's warm hand was tight on your shoulder, that gruff voice at your back. "She's fine."

"Take it easy, Bakugo, I wasn't doing anything. She just looked uneasy, that's all."

"Yeah, right. Why are you even here?"

"Supporting my dear brother, though I haven't seen him around."

"Kaminari's got class 'til 8." You turned, Eijiro skidding to a stop at your side, the little girl up in his arms.

"You'd think you'd know that about your, dear brother." Katsuki spat.

Katsuki pulled you back against him, slipping slightly but you were more than safe in his grasp. "Ah, that's right. Must have slipped my mind. Well, you seem in capable hands, enjoy your evening. I'll make sure to leave a donation to your little club before I go."

"Don't want any of your damn money."

"Hehe. Eiji said a bad word! Imma tell Mina!"

The two weren't distracted by the bundle of giggles in his arms. "Kats, can you take Hana back to Mina, please?"

Hana pouted, lip sticking out while she whined, "No, wanna stay with you, Eiji, please?"

Katsuki took the little girl. "You'll have your boyfriend back in a little bit, Squirt."

"So, Denki has a brother?"

"Step." Eijiro clarified, his arm casually slipping around you making sure you didn't lose your balance. "Like, we've never really found anything wrong with the guy. He's a year older than us, has money thanks to his mother, and likes to toss it around, he's just always rubbed us the wrong way. Little comments here or there about Denki but nothing to warrant us actually getting mad at him."

"Katsuki seemed pretty mad."

"That's just his default setting though." Eijiro sighed, shaking his head, before settling on a grin, "Anyway, "m happy you came. Sorry, I couldn't help you right away."

"That's alright. You were skating with a cutie. I can't blame you for that."

"I dunno why Hana latches onto me, but she has since she was a baby. We were fifteen when she was born and Mina loved babysitting so we all got used to her being around. But, I guess being Mina's neighbor meant I was around a little more than most."

"That's actually pretty cute."

He chuckled. "You're pretty good at this, by the way."

You hadn't even realized it. Eijiro had pulled you from the wall and you'd been skating at his side this whole time. Granted, he was doing most of the work but still! "Hey, don't tense up on me now!" He spun and took your hands in his, just like he'd been skating with Hana. "I've got ya. Just try moving your feet. Push against me."

With speed, something actually felt a bit familiar to you. You hadn't rollerbladed in years but you pushed off exactly like you used to. The toe pick Monoma had mentioned snagging a bit of the ice but Eijiro kept you stable with a smile, cheering you on and into your second lap around the ice.

He watched you, then your feet, his brows slowly coming together. "What? What am I doing wrong?"

"No, nothing like that but, you sorta skate like a hockey player. See, look at Mirio over there watch how he moves compared to his boyfriend who's a figure skater." He directed you to the blonde and his blue-haired boyfriend and there was something different about them. Mirio was moving about, turning quickly, chattering around Tamaki who pivoted when needed, favoriting long turns. "I think you should try a pair of hockey skates."

"Next time, Eijiro, okay?"

It was impossible to miss the way his face lit up. "Next time? You wanna do this again?"

"Yeah, yeah, this isn't so bad, actually. Just don't leave me stranded, 'kay?"

"Not a chance."

He continued to guide you around the rink so many times you'd lost count, bracing to catch you each time you stumbled. "I think you should try going backwards."

"Eijiro, no," A devilish grin spread across his face, "No, no, you can't. I can't!"

"Oh yes, you can!"

"No! Don't do it!"

You felt his hands shift, "Hang on tight."

He whipped you around. "Move your feet just a little," He pushed you along, "Yeah! Hell yeah! You got it!"

Despite wobbly knees, you woke muscles you hadn't used in ages from when you roller skated, gliding your feet the only way you knew how and praying it worked. And it did... for about twelve seconds.

A groove in the ice made you stumble backward, letting go of Eijiro as your arms flailed, doing your best windmill impression. You didn't hit the ice though. Eijiro was too quick to let that happen. He'd grabbed your waist and spun you around again. You still fell but onto his chest instead, his back smacking against the ice.

"Shit! Kiri! I'm so-"

His laughing cut you off, did he hit his head!? "You did great!"

"Gr-great? You think I did great!? Eijiro! What the hell is wrong with you!" You barely even felt the bite of the cold ice below your bare hands as you stared down at him waiting to see dark red blood trickling from behind his head, indicating some trauma.

"'Nothing! And you did! Better than me first time I tried anyways!"

"Don't break my damn goalie, Squeaks! I need 'em!"

"Or do!" You looked up to see Denki zipping by, a mic in his hands, "A broken Kiri means I might actually get some ice time!" The blonde wore a large smile, laughing in good fun before yelling at Kyoka to drop the screen for karaoke to begin.

"Are you alright?" Eijiro made sure to ask when you scooted off of him.

When you assure him you were, he hoisted you back up on your feet, slipping up only twice before regaining your balance just as Denki began singing Sweet Caroline.

You stayed out far later than you expected. Ended up walking back to the apartments with Eijiro, Hanta, Mina, and Denki. Hugging them each good night before slipping into the quiet of your apartment.

>>><<<

The next morning, you woke up late. The copy of Dorian Gray from the library lay open across your chest and the voice recorder was dangerously close to the edge of your bed. A quick playback told you you'd made it halfway through chapter eight before falling asleep. Decent progress.

Itsuka wasn't home, you noticed that on your way back from the bathroom. Her bed was still made and when you checked your phone, sure enough, there was the text telling you she was crashing at Tetsu's place. Honestly, you didn't even know why she bothered renting this place with you when she was never here.

That was a lie, you did know. It was out of kindness. Because she was a good person and knew you couldn't afford the rent on your savings alone. Hell, next year you were going to have to get a job along with classes just to stay in the apartment.

You also knew it was her way of looking after you. Itsuka would never outright say it but you knew she never looked at you the same after what happened your senior year of high school, and you couldn't really blame her. In fact, you were thankful in a way. Out of everyone you tried pushing away, Itsuka was the one who refused to let you slip through the cracks. Not only that, she pulled you back on your feet too. Literally filled out your college application when you felt like you didn't even deserve to go.

Itsuka Kendo was too damn good for this world and now she was dealing with her dying grandfather and trying to support her younger brother, needing to get him through just one more year of school. You wanted to go back with her on her visits, you felt like you owed her that after all she'd done for you but just the thought of driving through your old town terrified you and thankfully, she knew that.

Still, you were going to think of some way to help her. Something you could do. You added it to your list:

Currently, you just had to cancel your "date", finish chapter eight of Dorian Grey, and then download the audio files before Eijiro's practice ended in two hours.

Canceling the date was task one. Wanting to give as much notice as possible, already feeling a little guilty for forgetting to do it yesterday, you opened the app, reading a few of the messages they'd sent while you'd been away. You'd seen a few come in while you were at the rink but were honestly having too good of a time to want to respond.

Them: Gonna be a great party. Tons of drinks to go around.

You were still underaged but that meant little to a lot of college students. Besides that, you probably should have mentioned that you wouldn't be drinking even if you legally could.

Them: Your pictures look so hot! Bet those curves look even better in person ;)

Them: This is gonna be an awesome birthday. I know the present you're gonna give me is gonna be the best.

They could have just said they wanted to fuck you and it would have been quicker.

You: I'm really sorry but something's come up and I'm not going to be making it tonight. Hope you have a great party though.

Leaving your phone tossed on your bed forgotten, you moved on to task number two: the book.

It only took you ten or so minutes to finish the chapter. The files themselves took a while to upload to your computer, giving you enough time to throw together a bit of breakfast and take a shower in the meantime. Once they were all neat and orderly, you pulled a flash drive from the clutter on your desk, wiped it, and then started the download process. It was all rather robotic at this point.

Tugging on a hoodie and jeans, you intended on cleaning up your room a bit. Making sure you and Eijiro would have plenty of room for building. First was your rug, pushing it out of the way leaving only the wooden floor below, a nice even surface. You'd rolled it up, setting it in the corner of your room when you noticed your notifications flashing.

The dating app. They'd responded right after your message and you simply missed it... and the messages didn't stop coming through.

Them: Not gonna make it? Why?

Them: You mean like at all? Aw, come on baby? Don't leave me high and dry on my birthday.

Three minutes after,

Them: At least stop by my place later and gimme my present.

Them: That fat ass will do.

You sank to the floor of your room, back pressed against your bed, reading the messages that got progressively worse.

Them: Not gonna fuckin' answer now? Sick of damn teases like you.

Them: All you guys are good for is a quick fuck anyways.

Them: C'mon! I was even nice to you! Bet that doesn't happen often! Not with the way you look!

Them: Why can't you just gimme what I want?

It's all your good for... I was nice to you... gimme what I want...

Your chest felt tight as the phrases played over and over again. It crept up on you at the worst times, from the most damn things...

Just listen. Just do what they ask. Everything will be okay if you just listen.

Just listen, just do what they ask, everything will be okay. Just listen, just do what they ask, everything would be okay...

The way your brain twisted facts and bent reality, making it into nonsense that only seemed right within your mind. Your fingers pressed into your scalp, desperate to quiet the mess.

Everything will be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay, she'd be okay- in your hand, your phone began to vibrate.

Through blurry eyes, you made out the bright red hair of Kirishima's caller ID photo. You made sure to clear your throat before answering, steadying your voice.

"Hey, Kiri, what's up?"

"Hey, are you home?"

"Yeah. Been here all morning."

"Well, I've been knocking on your door for the last ten minutes. Can ya come lemme in?"

Ten minutes? Shit. You hadn't heard a thing. "Yeah! Sorry, I had my headphones on."

You could only pray your eyes weren't too red as you quickly wiped away any tears that may have spilled before answering the door. "Heya!" But his bright smile faltered. "You alright?"

"Totally!" Lying had become so easy now. You barely had to think about it, "This is gonna sound dumb but I stubbed my toe on my bed. Don't laugh! It really hurt!"

"Oh... Yeah, I've done that a couple times myself. It's okay though, right, no blood?"

"No, I'll be just fine."

>>><<<

Eijiro let you lead him into your home, carefully watching your back because he knew you were hiding something. He'd meant to take a shower before coming over but he heard your muttering coming through your open bedroom window. It wasn't like he was listening in but he'd heard your words nonetheless, heard you repeat them over and over. He knocked, banged on your front door with his fist actually, and got no response. Just the same words over and over.

He'd tried looking in your window, just wanting to know if you were okay but your curtains and the blind kept you hidden from view, kept your whole room private which, any other time, would have been great! He didn't want to scare you by calling through the window to you, didn't know if that'd be better or worse.

That's why he pulled out his phone and called you. Thrilled that apparently, that was enough to bring you out of whatever panic you were in.

He wished you'd talk to him, tell him whatever the fuck that was about, how long you'd been in a panic, but it was clear you weren't going to. He saw you flinch though when you looked at your phone, caught a glimpse at the screen, a dating app?

The same contact kept popping up but you just ignored it. "Do you wanna get that?"

"No. It's fine. Nothing important."

Sure seemed important. Or eager? He wasn't sure but it bothered you.

And, if you weren't going to talk to him about it, he was going to do the next best thing he could think of: distract you. "So, where's that bookshelf?"

[twistedmusings]

How the dorm leaders react when they catch you kissing someone from their dorm [Part 2]

A/N: AND HERE IT IS! Oh my god I still can't believe I managed to get this done! I actually stayed on task! Honestly these three were probably my favourite from the original post, I've had far too much fun writing these bois.

And what can I say? Playfully flirty MC is a good MC u wu

Warnings: Heavy smooching, possessive talk, and the reader just really pushing the dorm leader's buttons~

Part 1 here!

“How dare you...?”

Vil was more than happy to be coming back to Pomefiore with all the stuff that had happened today. Classes were more annoying than usual, he had to chase Leona down to tell him to get his work done and there had been some problems in the modeling studio that caused the lights to be brighter than usual and now he had a headache that only a nap could fix.

Thing was, if he wanted to keep his schedule as tight as possible he would need to stay awake for...another 6 hours.

One good thing was waiting for him though. Rook had greeted him at the entrance and let him know that the Ramshackle prefect was in the dorm today as per his request.

Good.

This would keep him awake. He remembers promising you a lesson in proper skincare in order to remedy whatever you did once you woke up in the morning. Deep in the back of his head he remembers you telling him that you just splash cold water on your face but he preferred to think that you at least put some sort of moisturizer. Maybe.

He rushes to his room to freshen up and makes sure that he has the materials he needs. Vil had decided that his own brand of face cleansing products would be a good start for your skin. The tingles in his fingertips went ignored as he thought of you thinking about him in the morning. It wasn’t that sort of thing at all, he reminded himself. Dorm leaders were supposed to help each other out, despite how often they were at each other’s throats, and he was just fulfilling his role not just as a dorm leader but as a...friend.

Vil takes one last look at the mirror and makes his way down the row of rooms in Pomefiore to reach the Lounge, only to stop when he sees you being pulled into one of the many rooms by what was clearly a Pomefiore’s students hand.

Wait what?

It’s almost alarming how quickly he approaches the door and puts his foot in it, choosing to stay quiet as he sees that the two people in the room didn’t even bother to wonder why the door hadn’t closed all the way. The student was pressing kisses against your lips in small intervals, choosing instead to talk as you run your hands up the expensive purple robe and taking in the little designs.

“I had a new lip scrub I wanted you to try out.”

“Really? Then why aren’t we in the bathroom?"

“That’s rather forward for a dorm leader. Is everyone in Ramshackle this daring?”

Vil couldn’t even pinpoint the student’s name. That was your first offense. The only thing he remembers about him is the man’s caramel brown hair and how it contrasted beautifully against his dark skin. After that, nothing could pop into his head that would make that student even remotely interesting for you to be hanging off of him like that! Of all the people to be with, it just had to be a nameless potato, didn’t it?

The hairs at the back of his head stand up as the potato hands you what he believes to be the best lip scrub in the business, which only makes the alarms in Vil’s head go off even louder. That brand wasn’t even known for doing lip scrubs! In fact, they once put out a three in one shampoo/conditioner and the fact that the student even had that brand in the dorms and you just blatantly accepting it was your second offense.

And as much as he wanted to focus on that being the thing that truly bothered him, he felt the alarms deafening him as he saw the potato’s hands wrap around your waist as he kissed you again, your lips parting to let him inside.

He shouldn’t be looking at this, he should be leaving and just leave you to your own devices. The lesson wasn’t important, you weren’t that important to him--

Amethyst eyes widen when you tilt your head as the student starts kissing down your neck, already choosing one spot to make his own as he licks and nips at the skin while you dig your fingers into his robe.

Vil didn’t really know how to describe the sudden surge of energy that caused him to fling the door open and grab the student by the back of his robe and pull him backwards, eyes glaring at you the entire time as you whisper his name, as if suddenly remembering that you had a previous engagement before this whole ‘sticking your tongue down a Pomefiore student’s throat’’ business.

“Prefect. My room. Now.”

You put your hands up and walk out of the room without looking at him, Vil letting go of the student’s robes and walking out after you. He didn’t even need to tell him that he was in trouble, the student would realize it soon enough once Rook delivered the chores that needed to be done by tonight.

A list only that student would be getting instead of the entire dorm.

Vil closes the door of his room and turns the lock rather harshly, looking back at you sitting at the edge of his bed still staring at the window. You weren’t trying to defend yourself, you weren’t even looking at him.

“I hate to be kept waiting, Prefect. Not just that, it is extremely rude to keep someone waiting just so you can fraternize with someone in my dorm.”

No answer. He grabs his desk chair and sits down so he can face you directly.

“What made you go and pick that potato?”

“Why would that be any of your business Vil-senpai?”

It was very much his business, if you asked him. He would have been okay if it was Epel or even Rook that you had picked to make out with but he wasn’t just going to stand around and watch as one of the student’s whose name he didn’t even know threw all of his work out of the window! So he asked the question again, this time getting a chuckle as an answer which only served to upset him even more.

“Out of anyone in my dorm you could have picked, you had to go with someone who offers you such a low quality brand of lip scrub?”

“That is your problem with this? What he offered me? Me and him just started hanging out, we know nothing about each other! I just wanted to change that.”

His headache was coming back again.

Vil put hard work into everything he did. That was his work ethic and people be damned if they thought it was too much. Maybe they couldn’t handle it but they still respected it, respected his craft and the work he put into it.

So why do you, of all of his recent projects, disrespect him so blatantly?

It was clear you weren’t ready yet, Vil wasn’t done working with you yet. After doing something like this, and right inside his dorm, he knew that you had just taken all of the careful brushes and strokes he had decorated your canvas with…

And burnt it right in front of his eyes.

Which is why he didn’t necessarily feel any guilt when he grabbed your cheeks and pulled his own lipstick out of his back pocket, ignoring your protests.

“Quiet.”

He applies the shade quickly and before you have any chance to protest, pushes his lips against yours.

The kiss is anything but sweet. It’s almost punishing. Vil was reminding you that you were a work in progress. He still had so much left to teach you, so much left to work with you and if you kept rushing things you were going to make him mad. Once he was done with you, you could go about your pitiful little life and kiss whoever you wanted and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash.

A hand grasps at his wrists as you press his palms on your cheeks, your tongue gently pressing against his lips so you could slip inside--

Nevermind. This sort of impatient kissing would also have to go.

He pulls away and pushes you onto the mattress, your eyes hazy with eagerness and confusion as Vil removes his jacket and gloves and leans down to trap you below him.

“Were you this greedy with him? Did he also get this treatment from you? No, don’t answer. I fear I’ll only get angrier if you do. Now be an obedient little potato and stay still, the first thing I’ll fix is that messy kissing of yours.”

“ :( “

Snacks runs had to be the most annoying and heart pounding of his usual daily life quests. If waking up was a struggle enough, especially when no special loot such as new anime or manga was available, it was hard to complete such basic tasks without some sort of incentive.

Although Idia guessed that not dying of starvation was enough of an incentive.

He walks down the corridor of his own dorm, humming a quiet tune to himself as he looks down at all the snacks he had acquired. Which, score! They even had a limited edition chip flavor that came with the card of one of his favourite idols! It took everything in his power to not just spend all of his money on more than one bag but he had such a good day today that he knew his gacha pull luck just had to be good.

The door to a room behind him opens, Idia quickly picking up his pace and hiding behind a corner as he looks at who it could be. He isn't against anyone in his dorm but...he didn't have the means to engage in any conversation that wasn't about his current FPS game or Gakemo so--

"Thank you for the help! I thought my phone was beyond repair!"

His hands tighten around the chips pressed tight to his chest, eyes wide in surprise as he sees you stepping out of the room.

Of all people...why were you here so late?

The student laughs as he scratches the back of his head, handing you back your phone and looking away.

“No--No problem! I...I honestly didn’t think you would come to me for help. I integrated the newest magical technology on it as well as voice activated features and a--a brand new messaging app that sends messages faster!”

Idia clicked his tongue as he heard the student speak. Look at him showing off. You didn’t know that he was taking advantage of your naive mind! You didn’t know anything about magic so, of course, all those features would sound fancy!

When it was literally taking your phone and just downloading some fancy new apps on it!

Yet there you were, marveling down at it as if you had just gotten the latest version.

Well maybe he shouldn’t complain too much, even from here he could see your smile. A part of him worried that all this luck he was suddenly getting would affect the luck he would get on his chip bag but...you were worth it.

Such a rare event shouldn’t be left unnoticed.

Maybe...maybe if he stayed here you could walk by and he could open up the ‘bumping into each other late at night’ event?

“So how can I repay you? Do you need anything done?”

Idia tunes back into the conversation as he frowns, looking back at the two of you as the student looks at every single corner of the ceiling instead of looking at you.

Payment? The guy had just downloaded a couple of apps that wasn’t good enough reason to offer some sort of payment. He frowns and taps his foot impatiently as the guy stutters out a few excuses before finally giving you an answer.

“A ki--A kiss? Would that be alright?”

The Ignihyde dorm leader almost falls down as he hears that, retreating further into his corner as he glared daggers at the guy who had just dared to ask for such a bold request.

A k--kis--kiss? A kiss...from you?

This guy was starting to piss him off! He should just be content staring at you! You were a SSR character all on your own! That guy should be happy he even got to talk to you at all and shouldn’t ask for more than he was given! He already rolled for such a life changing event why would he even want more!

His eyes soften when he sees you mull it over. It was okay, you could reject him. Such a guy wouldn’t even be worthy of a kiss from you so you so all you had to do was say no! Go on, [Y/N], just reject hi--

Idia can feel his heart breaking as his muscles stop working, dropping all of his stuff on the floor with a thud as the sound echoes. Yet it went ignored, the other two people in the hallway too busy with their own activities.

When...when had you even kissed him? Idia only remembers you putting your phone away and the moment he blinked you had already pressed your lips against that other guy--!

He should be leaving, why isn’t he moving?

The student’s hand goes to your waist as you deepen it, his face turning a deep shade of red as you pull away and tap his lips.

“Was that your first kiss?”

“...y--yes..”

You were smiling and giving him such a rare, almost ultimately rare item and Idia didn’t know how long he could stare until he combusted.

So all he could do was turn around…

And run as fast as he could.

He ignored the familiar voice calling out his name, footsteps quickly following him as he started to run out of breath.

Making a poor otaku like him run, even now you were still being so cruel to him!

Idia’s door slides open as he bursts inside, ready to bury himself in his bed and never come out again--!

Only to stop when he hears you hiss in pain.

Blue eyes turn around to see your foot jammed into his doorway, not allowing the electric door to slide closed. A part of him wants to immediately go to you and ask if you were alright but he stops himself as the image of your kiss flashes through his mind again.

“[Y/N]-shi! W--What--!”

You rub at your foot and sigh, walking in with a confused look as Idia presses his back against his bookshelf. He knew it. If a SSR character could be brought to real life, this is the sort of power they would have over him.

The kind of aura you were emitting was enough for him to want to get on his knees, but he chose to remain strong.

“I was calling out to you…didn’t you hear me?”

Idia turns his head and looks at the floor, the pain still raw and emotionally taxing than what he was used to. Disappointment was one thing but heartbreak was a complete other monster!

“Shouldn’t--Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?”

He spits the word out, annoyed that a guy from his dorm could unlock...no...could get someone like you. You were open to every single activity Idia gave you, you gave him good feedback and didn’t get scared when you two disagreed on something. Every manga he gave you, you read and every anime he told you to watch, you would watch it.

You were receptive, you were attentive, you were what Idia wanted in a real life friend!

He hadn’t dared hope for more!

That still didn’t mean he couldn’t fantasize when he was all by himself.

“Boyfriend…?”

You tilt your head in confusion before chuckling as you realized what had happened.

“Oh so you saw that.”

Is that all you were going to say?! You had just taken his heart and crushed it into tiny little pieces and you were just going to talk about what a pervert he was being!

Someone just KO him now, like right now!

“Yes...I saw. So what? You were just ki-kissi--doing that thing from everyone to see! So you should just go back to him instead of bullying me in my own room!”

Please just leave, he wanted to cry in peace.

Yet you stubbornly remain, just like the first time he met you.

“Idia I don’t know what crazy assumptions you are making but that guy isn’t my boyfriend.”

You put up one finger.

“He fixed my phone…”

Another one follows after.

“And he asked for a kiss for payment. Simple as that. You shouldn’t act like you caught us doing something major. It was just a kis---”

Large hands land on your shoulders as Idia now stands in front of you, head hung low as he mutters something to himself.

“Just a kiss….just a kiss.”

You jump as he gets close to your face, eyes staring at you pleadingly as he cupped your face.

“JUST A KISS? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU ARE? AN EXTRA RARE CHARACTER SUCH AS YOURSELF SHOULDN’T BE GIVING OUT SUCH RARE ITEMS LIKE THAT!”

He shakes you back and forth.

“IF YOUR KISS WAS JUST NORMAL THEN EVEN I...I COULD--”

Idia’s eyes fall on your lips, the rush of adrenaline mixed in with his built up desire for you all culminating in two choices popping up in his head. And for the first time, he knew that hesitation was not an option.

So he dives in.

His lips met yours roughly, not really moving them or anything but just pressing them against you. You put your hands gently on his chest but he takes it as a protest, which only causes him to push them onto yours even more.

This was...disastrous.

He had never kissed anyone before. How in the world did he think that he would be able to kiss you? Ah, maybe this was a dream? Right! He had just dreamed all of this up and you didn’t really force your way into his room to confront him!

His hair flares up when you cup his face, pushing him away slightly and tilting him in such a way that your lips would meet in a much softer fashion. He looks down and sees you closing your eyes, following in your footsteps and melting inside your kiss.

You both pull away slowly, Idia opening his eyes and blushing when he sees you licking your lips and sending him a teasing grin.

A rare sight...made only for him.

“I feel like I just spent all my stamina on this one event...so I don’t want to go unrewarded. Can we go further? I want to go further. What option do I have to pick for you to do that again, [Y/N]?”

“Don’t touch them.”

“YOUNG MASTER! WHERE ARE YOU!”

Malleus sighs as he looks on at the Diasmonia students gathered around the outskirts of the school, smiling as he sees Sebek directing them each and every way. Sebek really didn’t give up, did he? One of his classes had been canceled and he was eager to see the gargoyles around Ramshackle in a much better light but he figured Sebek would cause up a stir when he didn’t find him in his classroom.

As much as he appreciated him, Sebek didn’t have to walk him to every single class.

He sighs and goes deeper into the woods behind Ramshackle, the small broken path there leading him down a familiar terrain.

This is where he usually walked with you, after all.

Seeing this place in bright light was so very different. Instead of it being illuminated by his lights, the sun peeked out from over the trees and provided a sunny trail instead of the usual moonlight. He took a deep breath as he breathed in the smell of flowers all around, all of them growing wildly around him and defying any human to try and tame them.

His fingers trace some of the thorns he found on some of them, the flowers attracted to his touch and moving closer to his hands as a small vine wrapped around his finger.

All with his magic’s help after all.

This was his safe space. Malleus would come here during his first and second year and lose himself in the wilderness. In here no one would fear him. Here every single thing was responsive to his touches and even dared to touch back. Some of the wild rose bushes also reminded him of him, Malleus adding a bit more thorns around the flowers as in to emulate the very home he missed.

In this lonely place, he flourished.

But it wasn’t so lonely now, was it?

His third year had brought one big surprise. A human. A child of man who did not know who he was or what he was capable of. They looked at him as if he was just any other stranger roaming around their dorm and not the next ruler of the Valley of Thorns.

And Malleus, being the very curious person he is, found himself pulled to your inattentiveness.

He had dropped many hints that he was eager to get to know you more, relishing in the fact that you two were starting to get closer. And while he had hoped to keep his identity a secret a bit longer, he found it almost unbearable for you to not know who he was.

If you were so open with who you were, then he should show you the same kind of respect.

How wonderful that you were now on a first name basis with each other.

Malleus could walk over to Ramshackle dorm now and knock on your door without hesitation, smiling as he sees your excitement at just what places you two would discover in the dead of night.

Bummer you couldn’t be with him now.

He had seen you come out of your dorm and ask Sebek if he needed any help, to which the fae replied rather rudely that no human could ever track down his young master, so he was a bit reluctant to discover any more places without you by his side.

These walks were something you two did together, after all.

So he remained at this spot, touching everything and anything that would strike his fancy while going deeper and deeper into a small clearing you two had found. A large tree decorated its middle, the leaves falling gently upon the ground as the sun shone down on the large pond that provided this part of the forest with the water it needed to balance out the sun’s gentle rays.

“Shhhh, don’t make too much noise.”

Malleus stops as he hears your voice, his head immediately turning towards the sound as he hears rustling behind him. He smiles and turns to where he thought you were coming from only to be struck by a sudden idea--and immediately hiding among the trees and bushes so you couldn’t see him.

Would you be surprised to find him here?

He hoped so. Malleus had the habit of appearing to you suddenly so this wouldn’t be breaking any traditions between you two. If he played his cards right, you might join him on a walk all the way to the edge of the island.

“Prefect do you know where you are going?”

“I do! I’ve been here so many times. Now come on!”

Another person’s voice. No...he had heard that voice before.

Malleus retreats back into his hiding spot as he sees you rush by, holding by the hand a Diasmonia student as he rushes to follow you. You smile and turn around, still holding his hand while the other looked on in amazement at where you had led him.

“Prefect...this is…”

“Like it? Me and Malleus found it a while ago. This is how we know we are close to the edge of the forest.”

The Diasmonia dorm leader smiles as he watches you show the student around, pointing out different sights and sounds as the other watched on in amazement. That student probably had never gone anywhere this secret and while Malleus was glad you were showing off the place you two shared…

There was a feeling deep inside his chest that flared up angrily as he caught the student looking at you more than his surroundings.

Green eyes watch as the student’s hand clenches and unclenches, seemingly working up the courage to do something as you continue speaking. Which was rather rude, in Malleus’s opinion. You were explaining some wonderful things about the flora here and he was just staring at you without engaging in the conversation.

And how did you two know each other? Malleus had never mentioned you in Diasmonia except to Silver and Lilia, had he known you before him?

Malleus hands grip the tree bark tighter as the student takes your hand, stopping your explanation as he gets you to focus your attention on him.

What--?

“I’ve been eager to find some time alone with you.”

The student clears his throat before pulling you by the hand gently, your surprised look turning into one of playfulness as you follow along with his movements. He leads you to the edge of the pond, spinning you around as you allow him to position you in such a way that you are now closer to him than before.

Which only makes the angry feeling in Malleus’s gut flare up even more.

“Have you now? What for?”

An answer Malleus wanted to know as well.

Blushing, the student smiles and leads you into a dance with no music which only served to make you laugh and make Malleus’s fingers dig deep into the wood of the poor tree.

In the dragon fae’s eyes, you two are dancing for hours without caring about who was around. Why had he even brought you here? This student was part of Sebek’s surveillance crew and yet here he was not doing his job. But he wasn’t the one who brought you here…

You were.

Your actions were lost on Malleus as the dance finishes up, the student dipping you low before bringing you up.

“So you brought me here to dance? Who knew Diasmonia students were so charming.”

Malleus didn’t like the way you were smiling, nor how your hands rested on the student’s shoulders. He hadn’t seen this side of you before, you were playing along with this student and his motives.

Had you always been so playful? Malleus had only seen you during the night and whenever you two spoke it was a conversation worthy of two friends sharing experiences together.

But not this...never this…

“Well, not just a dance. I’ve wanted to state my intentions outright.”

The tree starts to crack slowly as Malleus can feel more thorns growing out of the rose bushes around him.

“Ever since you arrived, you have been an enigma to me. You are always so helpful even to those who do not seek your aid. Even now, you didn’t have to help me search for our Young Master."

He wasn’t searching for anyone, he was too close to you for Malleus’s liking and he needed to learn how to respect your boundaries.

“Yet you still offered me your help...and I…I want to...”

The student was leaning closer as his hands slid down to your waist, Malleus staring as you started to tilt your head as you placed your hands on his chest while his lips were dead set on meeting yours--!

Your face is tilted up as cold lips meet yours, your mouth opening in a surprised gasp as the hold the student had on you was no longer shy and timid but angry and possessive. These lips were pulling you in closer and closer, greedily eating each and every sound you were making as the air was slowly stolen from your lungs.

A string of saliva is left hanging as you two separate, your eyes fluttering open as you think of something to say to such a ravishing kiss.

Only for them to open wide in surprise as you see who you had really kissed.

“Malleus!?”

You turn to look behind the fae’s back, the Diasmonia student looking at his Young Master in mild panic and surprise while Malleus presses you close against his chest, clearly hiding you from view.

Right before the student even had a chance to taste your lips, Malleus had rushed out of his hiding place and pulled him away by the collar of his shirt.

For a dragon to watch on as something that was his was so close to be taken away, the surprise must have gotten to him.

“Go tell Sebek to head back to Diasmonia and call off his search. I will be there by nightfall.”

The student tries to stutter out a response but Malleus glares back as he keeps you pressed firmly against him.

“Now.”

You watch the student leave in a hurry, following the broken path you had led him in with. Your eyes peek up to look at Malleus but the dorm leader waits until the sound of footsteps is long gone before tilting your face up again and leaning down to press his lips against yours in another rough and dominating kiss.

Hands push you forward as your back collides with the huge tree in the clearing, Malleus making sure that the back of your head meets the bark gently as his lips never parted from yours. You wrap your arms around him as best as you could and let out an involuntary squeak when the fae decides to pick you up so that you could pull him in even closer.

He is the one to pull away first, hands firmly on your bottom as you wrap your legs around his waist to support yourself.

“Malleus--”

The fae presses another kiss to your lips, effectively silencing you so that all your attention would be on him.

“Don’t ever bring someone else into this place, child of man. Do I make myself clear? This place is our haven and I will not have someone else come steal both it and you away from me. Well, even if you don’t understand, I’ll make sure to explain it to you thoroughly. Now...kiss me again.”

[thehollowprince]

Queerbaiting vs. Fan Service

For whatever reason, I decided to take a stroll through The Falcon and The Winter Soldier tags after the second episode, and I was slightly distressed (and mostly annoyed) with how many people were labeling the interactions between Sam and Bucky as queerbaiting. You can imagine my confusion.

Now, as a gay man, nothing would please me more to see a relationship between two men in a big budget action franchise, even if it is just the MCU. Ignoring the reality that this is Disney and that they'll probably never have a gay or bisexual main character in anything, The Falcon and The Winter Soldier is not the place to draw that line in the sand.

I've been on this app for about eight years now, and I can't tell you the number of times I've seen people make and reblog posts about the desire to see more men be friends with one another, to not fall victim to the toxic masculinity. How many times have you opened opened this app and seen posts about "let men cry" or "let men be intimate with each other without making it weird"? And yet, every time, almost as if on a timer, the moment two guys (either in a show or actual people) look at each other for longer than .05 seconds, a ship is born.

Now, there's nothing inherently wrong with shipping. Especially when you factor in the fact that same sex romances are severely lacking in modern media. I myself am attracted to the idea of SamBucky, because they have foundation there that if the producers decided, could be used to build a relationship off of. I did the same with Steve and Bucky in the MCU. Like I said, there's nothing wrong with shipping, but some people take it too far. In this instance, I've been seeing too many people claim "queerbaiting" because Sam rescued Bucky from falling to his death under a moving truck or because of the therapy scene where they had to face each other and get real close.

That is not queerbaiting.

For starters, it's been two episodes. The show isn't even halfway over. Not that I expect Disney to actually do something like that, but it's precisely this need to jump the gun and declare something that makes the problem worse within the fandom. And more to the point, I'm not entirely sure many of you know what the term queerbaiting actually means.

Queerbaiting is when a show or movie or whatever, sets up a relationship between two people of the same sex, has everything point in the direction of them becoming a romantic pairing, only to, at the last second, have one or both of them enter into a heterosexual relationship or be killed off.

A great example of this, and the first that pops into my mind, is The Magicians, specifically Queliot. Now, anyone who followed me, especially when the show as airing, knows I'm not the biggest fan of that ship, but in the fourth season of the show, they spent a great deal of time setting up Quentin and Eliot finding their way to each other, only for the production to kill off Quentin in the finale of the season. One could even argue that having Quentin chose Alice for a reconciliatory relationship after they did everything to set up Quentin and Eliot is another form of queerbaiting, eschewing the same-sex romance in favor of a heterosexual one.

Now, circling back to The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, what we have here is not a case of queerbaiting. Production of the show, and the MCU in general, more than likely scour Twitter and Instagram and whatever else and see the fandom reaction to certain ships/pairings, and specifically make scenes or scenarios where those two characters have to interact. That is called fan service, an entirely different animal.

A great example of fan service would be Teen Wolf. As anyone who has been following me knows, I've been talking about this topic a lot recently, thanks to one particularly persistent anon. If you've ever interacted with the Teen Wolf fandom, you know that the big ship that dominated it was Sterek, despite it being something that wasn't based at all in canon. Jeff Davis, after seeing how fans reacted to the few interactions of Derek and Stiles in season one, gave the fandom a more in season two, such as the pool scene, or when they were both paralyzed by Kanima venom in the sheriff's station, the dream sequence at the end of season three, or the ride to Mexico in season four. Hell, even the comedic sequence in the final season of Stiles "rescuing" Derek from the FBI to make it back to Beacon Hills for the final showdown was fan service. What it wasn't, was queerbaiting, because Sterek wasn't something that the show set up. It was something that the fandom set up, which more power to them, but with that being established, people still got mad because the show didn't go the way they (the fandom) decided it should have gone.

This same thing happened with Stucky. The idea of Bucky and Steve was appealing. If either one of them had been a woman in the MCU then their relationship would have very easily been interpreted in canon as romantic, but as it stands, that's not the case. They were just two very close friends.

Brining it back to my original point, we have Sambucky, and no matter how much fandom kicks and screams and demands, it won't happen in the show. It's alright to ship them, because I do see the appeal, but at the end of the day, too many people are getting upset about something that fandom made up and that canon doesn't deliver on, despite the two being unaffiliated. You want to ship Sam and Bucky, I fully support you in that endeavor. I myself like the idea of it, and often tag posts as such, but calling it queerbaiting in an attempt to shame people for not supporting it is misleading.

Bottom line: queerbaiting is a very specific thing and there are actual shows out there that are perpetrators of it. Please try and actually understand what queerbaiting is before you simply throw the term out at every inconvenience.

[storiesforallfandoms]

tabloid bs ~ eminem

word count: 1822

request?: yes!

@imaginesforjohnnydepp​ “hi! i was wondering if you could do an age gap eminem x reader imagine where the reader is a singer and is the daughter of a very successful actor and singer and there are rumors of her parents not liking marshall making the rounds in the tabloids?”

description: in which she decides to shut down bullshit tabloid rumors regarding her boyfriend and her parents

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (totally legal though, we’ll say the reader is about 25)

masterlist (one, two)

Being the daughter of two incredibly famous actors meant you were in the spotlight from a young age. Paparazzi, crazy fans, fake friends, none of it was new to you by the time you decided you wanted to try your hand in singing.

You were nervous at first, worrying that either you’d only blow up because of who your parents were, or that everyone would shut down your career because of who your parents were. You were happily surprised to learn that everyone genuinely liked you and your music, despite your parentage.

As your career began to skyrocket, you were contacted by none other than Eminem asking to make a song with you. Apparently he was so impressed by your talent that he wanted to get in contact with you and ask you himself for a collab, something that he only did with people who ended up becoming close friends of his (Skylar Grey, Rihanna, 50 Cent, Ed Sheeran, etc. etc.).

You ended up following this trend, except in a much more extreme way. You did end up becoming close with him, but not as just a friend. Within a month of doing your collaboration you found yourself going on a date with Marshall, and within a year you were basically living with him.

The press had a field day when they found out. You were 20 years younger than Marshall, and he was only two years younger than your mom. Of course people didn’t react to kindly to this at first, but it wasn’t as hard to ignore these things as you expected it to be.

The thing that was hard to ignore, though, was the constant stories that were published about your parents hating Marshall, and hating your relationship.

This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your parents loved Marshall, both as a musician and as their daughter’s boyfriend. Your dad and Marshall got along really well, and your mom basically viewed him as a new best friend from the moment he walked through the door.

These rumors were harder to ignore when they were brought up so often in interviews and during livestreams or Q&As. You were starting to get annoyed with it and you wanted to make it stop.

Lucky for you, the person interviewing you at that moment gave you the perfect segway to shutting those rumors down.

“I know this is a bit of a private topic,” she started, “and if you don’t want to talk about it we can just move on, but there’s something circulating in the rumor mill regarding you and your boyfriend.”

“Of course there is,” you said, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. You were trying to remain lighthearted about it all, but you were feeling the annoyance bubble up inside of you already.

“There’s a story going around that you blew off your dad’s birthday because he wouldn’t let you bring Eminem to the celebration.”

You felt your face heating up with anger. Oh, so now the media was trying to present you as a bratty singer now too? Saying you skipped your own father’s birthday due to your boyfriend?

No, they were not getting away with that one.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and quickly opened it. The interviewer looked at you in confusion as you scrolled through your pictures before holding your phone towards the nearest camera.

“Here’s a picture of me and my dad two days after his birthday,” you said. “It was taken by Marshall, because the three of us had a special celebration alone. My flight home was delayed and I had to miss my dad’s actual birthday, in which my boyfriend was actually invited to, by the way. Dad specifically asked if Marshall would be coming, even jokingly told me that I had to take him. So no, I didn’t purposely miss my dad’s birthday because of my boyfriend, I would never miss dad’s birthday on purpose.”

“All you had to say was no,” the interviewer mumbled, regarding her notes to move along to the next question.

“No,” you said. “I’m not keeping this one short and sweet. I’m tired of all these stupid, untrue things being said about me and my boyfriend and my parents. Mom and dad don’t hate Marshall, I don’t purposely not see my parents because of him. There’s no hate at all between any of us, and it makes me angry that tabloids make those accusations without any evidence just for clicks. This is someone’s real life, not just some fiction for someone to fuck around with.”

“You sound very passionate about this.”

You scoffed. “Of course I am! Ever since Marshall and I have started dating people have been saying shit about him and my parents and I don’t understand why. There’s never been any ill will between my parents and Marshall, not even any implied ill will. People just like to make up stories so they have a good headline to get views and get people talking.”

“Well, although nothing has been ever been confirmed, you can’t say you don’t understand where those rumors came from. No one wants their kid dating someone who is basically their age, no matter how famous that person is. It’s only natural for a parent to be protective over their kid, especially from such an older person that may just be taking advantage of them.”

Your eyes were wide with shock. You could barley believe what this bitch was saying. She was really trying to spin the story and say that Marshall was trying to take advantage of you, a literal 25 year old adult?

You stood from my chair then and began trying to pull the microphone off of yourself. The interviewer looked at me with concern before trying to stop you.

“I’m done here,” you declared, pulling at the wire once I found it.

“You’re going to break the mic!”

“Send the bill to my people,” you retorted. “I’m not sitting here and having someone tell me that the guy I’m dating is trying to take advantage of me just because he’s older, or hearing you spill some bullshit about my parents. Newsflash: if someone is happy publicly with their relationship, then maybe they’re actually happy. No tragic behind the scene stories or ulterior motives, just two adults who are in love.”

You finally got the microphone off and basically threw it at the interviewer before turning and leaving the room.

~~~~~~

You stayed at Marshall’s place that night, still partially fuming from the interview. You didn’t tell him specifics (especially not that you walked out in a fury the way you did), but you told him it didn’t go well.

You were awoken the next morning to your phone ringing. When you checked it, you saw your dad’s face and name light up your screen. You groaned when you noticed how early the time was before answering. “Hello?”

“Good morning sweetie,” came your dad’s voice. “Have you been online yet?”

“I haven’t even been out of bed yet,” you responded. “Why? What’s going on?”

“You’re trending for walking out of your interview.”

You sat up in the bed so quickly that it woke Marshall. He rolled over and looked at you in confusion as you put your dad on speaker and started frantically opening your Twitter app.

“Dad, you’re on speaker. Marshall is here,” you told him as you started looking.

“Good morning, Marshall,” your dad said.

“Morning,” Marshall responded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s going on that has (Y/N) wide awake at 8am?”

“She’s trending.”

“For what?”

There it was, your name at the top of the trending list. When you clicked on it, the first thing that popped up was your interview from the day before.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “I can’t believe they actually posted. It was so bad, I thought they’d just delete the footage and never think of it again.”

“You think too highly of people looking for a good scoop, honey.”

The title of the video read Singer (Y/F/N) Goes Off On Interviewer while Talking About Parents and Boyfriend Eminem. The entire interview was included, luckily enough, including everything leading up to your storm out. Marshall watched over your shoulder as your dad waited, silently, for you to see it all.

“You didn’t tell me what was said,” Marshall said. “Why didn’t you tell me they were saying that shit to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you responded. “I mean, it did matter, but by the time I got here I didn’t think it would matter anymore. Like I said, I thought the footage would be deleted and long forgotten.”

You were nervously biting at your nails as you scrolled through Twitter to see what people were saying. You were expecting a wave of hate and people believing that you truly were a bratty singer, until you started to see how much praise and love you were getting.

“Imagine trying to frame (Y/N) as the bad one in this situation when the interviewer literally said Eminem is trying to take advantage of her”

“Never believed those rumors about (Y/N)’s parents and Eminem. They’re all too tightknit for (Y/N) to date someone her parents hate”

“The way she told the interviewer to bill her for the broken mic that’s QUEEN SHIT”

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” you said as you continued to read. “A lot of people on my side.”

“Oh, I knew no one was against you on this one,” your dad said. “I just wanted to let you know you’re trending, and let you know I’m proud of you for finally putting an end to those rumors. It was getting really tiresome to read why I hated Marshall on any given day.”

You chuckled slightly. “Thanks dad. I’ll call you and mom later. Love you.”

“Love you, too, honey.”

Your dad hung up and you decided it would be for the best to put your phone away for a while. Even though you weren’t getting any negative attention for this, you were still overwhelmed by the fact that the interview went up at all.

You settled back into bed beside Marshall, taking your place in his arms where you loved to be the most.

“I’m proud of you, too,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I didn’t realize my girl was so badass.”

“Yes you did.”

“Maybe I did.” You giggled as you nuzzled your head into his chest more. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Of course I know, babe. Don’t let that shitty interviewer and her bullshit get to you.”

“Oh she’s not,” he said. “I’m well aware your parents love me and I’m not taking advantage of you. I just wanted to remind you.”

I chuckled and shook my head. Shortly after, I drifted off to sleep, feeling proud of myself for what I had done.

[whetthypsycho]

Good morning to my new home on the internet???

Now that I've moved on from the god forsaken bird app for good now, it's time for me to figure out how to make this account feel me and get used to all the unwritten rules of this site.

Also gotta figure out how I'm going to be posting and what. The last time I had a Tumblr account was in highschool and I originally planned on making a webcomic with it.

It was called Prolonging Nothing. It was about three teenage kids accidentally causing, surviving, and preventing (time shenanigans) an end of the world where everything is swallowed by a matterless void.

Obviously I'm not doing that. I can't even remember the plot I'd planned out and I'm not even sure my original account is even anymore to take inspiration from, and even if either of those were true I'm not the same person who came up with those ideas anyways.

So what will I do?

Well, I need somewhere to post my art, and now that this place has once again legalized more sensitive artwork, I'm more comfortable posting here. Obviously I can't go all the way as to draw people engaging in intercourse but I wasn't planning on doing that publicly anyway nor was I really known for it in the first place.

That being said,

If you're familiar with my twitter, you might be aware that I wasn't really posting all that much art in the first place despite labelling myself an artist/creative. This is because I lacked drive. Still do, but I'm hoping that the nostalgia of using this site will help push me back into the groove of it. If it doesn't, well...

So what else will I do?

I'm a little bit shy about my interests, and I don't tend to talk much about them. This has always been true of me. When I was younger I used to be big into things like Homestuck and Doctor Who and Gravity Falls but you wouldn't be able to tell unless you asked me. This was despite the fact that all of my friends at the time would not shut up about them and were frankly a bit obsessed

In other words, I sucked at being a fan of things. I didn't participate in fandoms because it felt weird and unnatural to me and frankly I found it kind of cringe. But a part of me was jealous that people could be that carefree about what they enjoy. That they just ignored how other people saw them and just enjoyed what they wanted to enjoy.

This time, I plan to do that. I plan to be the cringe I used to be jealous of.

I'm an adult, and I've realized I don't need to hold myself to these weird restrictions I placed on myself as a teenager that made me think having fun and getting invested in things was cringe and weird and makes you look bad.

I want to enjoy life, and that means trying to undo all of that weird internalized ableism and misogyny and feelings like I need to cultivate an image to get people to respect me.

It's okay to be cringe.

It's okay to enjoy things.

And it's time I allowed myself to be cringe and enjoy things.

I allowed myself to be who I am once and it made me happier than any other time in my life, what's the worst that could happen by doing it a second time?

So, now what?

Now I see how this experiment pans out. I want to make it work, but the culture on tumblr now is entirely different than the culture on tumblr back then. All these desires could be distorted or altered into new shapes that better reflect the times, and frankly I kind of hope they do at least a little.

But I still want to have fun.

The world is going to hell, the economy is collapsing, people are getting radicalized to the breaking point, and I've got a bunch of unexplained health issues that are causing me a fuck ton of anxiety.

I don't want to live in that world or be stuck thinking about all the terrible things happening around me. Frankly I could get hate crimed tomorrow, or one of my health issues could turn out to be as bad as I'm terrified they actually are, or my entire family could die and my neurodivergent ass gets left to fend for herself with no idea what to do, or worse.

Any number of bad things could happen to me and ruin my life. I don't want to think about it. I just want to be happy while I have the chance to be happy, rather than succumbing to the morose nature of the world that we live in.

So I'm not gonna.

I don't have a plan, but this is a start. I'm gonna blindly take my first steps and see where they land me. If where I am at the end of this path is happier than where it began, I'll call that a success.

Even if the world and I should burn, I should at least get to enjoy it until we flicker out into the great dark unknown once again.

So to the people who stumble upon me while I'm here:

Hello!

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship, swearing, past drug use, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes:

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Your injury, and consequential recovery time, couldn’t have come at a better time. The harvest was done and the apples had to rest before being pressed, which meant Frankie was now free to start working on your home. The work didn’t often require more than two hands so the days found you doing menial tasks being his gopher.

“You know,” Frankie had had to explain to you, “Go’fer this, go’fer that.”

This mainly consisted of you passing him tools while he was swearing under his breath in the attic, or groaning after rapping his knuckles under the sink, or white-faced and clinging to the weathervane on the roof. 

You had discovered Frankie’s sweet tooth on the first day of renovations, not noticing until after he’d left for the day that more than half the cookies you’d baked that morning were already gone. Making sure he was kept happy, you had a new treat ready for when he walked in the door. 

He was a coffee drinker though, and while you owned a coffee press you had never actually used it yourself, preferring tea leaves for your dose of caffeine. You’d tried, the first morning, to make a cup for him. You even googled How to Make a Cup of Coffee? to make sure you didn’t fuck it up. 

You could laugh about it now, but the look on Frankie’s face after he’d taken his first sip made you worry you had poisoned him. He had spat the black sludge out and handed you back the mug with a look of bewildered disgust. Apparently, you needed to grind the beans first, who knew?

An efficient, if not quite comfortable, rhythm had been forged between the two of you over the past week and a half. Frankie would arrive at nine in the morning, scarf down half a dozen treats while discussing the day’s projects. You would run to town in his truck (yours was still at the autobody shop awaiting parts) and buy any supplies that would be needed while he set up the worksites and organized the tools that would be required.

You had added popping into the local café for a large coffee for Frankie and a red rooibos latte with almond milk for yourself. The first couple of days you had bought him a brownie too but stopped after he’d only half-finished the first one and mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth that yours were better. It only took you three days before the owner had your order ready for you before you even walked in the door, five days before you noticed the sidelong glances the little old ladies were giving each other as you walked out.

Small towns, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes, had the unique benefit and downfall of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. They’d quit with the hardly-concealed smirks if they knew how awkward working with Frankie was becoming.

You had been sure, in the immediate aftermath of waking up in Frankie’s arms while his truck sat in your driveway, that he was never going to speak to you again. The two of you and hopped out and began explaining away whatever conclusions Jacquie and Mark had made. Then Frankie, without even looking in your general direction, told Jacquie to get you inside and have your wrist looked at. 

To his credit, he had taken care of everything regarding your truck for you. The tow truck came and hauled it to the yard, Frankie had commandeered the inspection report and, after calling them out on trying to swindle you into buying unnecessary parts, had ordered what was needed and paid. 

You had, naturally, argued against this but you both knew you weren’t in a position to afford it. Frankie shut down your arguments gracefully, and broke his apparent vow of silence, with a gruff “I’m just doing it so I can drive my damn truck without you changing the radio station.” The absolute charmer.

It was your damn house, though, so you decided you'd talk as much as you wanted and it would be up to him to interact. Either that or you had music blaring from the radio, never playing his favourite country station purely out of spite. 

Never quite sure if he was listening or not, you rambled on about anything and everything. You explained your vision for the house and the plans you had for a greenhouse in the yard. Memories from your childhood were described in great detail, as were embarrassing stories from your year in college. Baking tips, waxing poetic about your love for sunflowers, interesting animal facts, you'd even downloaded a Word of the Day App and made a game of fitting the words into your daily uninterrupted monologues.

It took three days for Frankie to break.

You had been reminiscing about your trip to Disneyland as a child when he abruptly cut in, voice muffled due to the nails being held between his lips.

"You never talk about it."

You assumed he was referring to the little all-day nap you’d shared in his truck, as it had yet to be spoken of, but were taken aback by the slight accusatory tone.

"Talk about what?"

He took so long to reply, you started to think that he had interrupted purely to shut you up. The silence demanded an explanation though, so you kept your mouth shut and waited.

Clambering down from the attic, where he had been strengthening the trusses throughout the sagging section of roof, Frankie pinned you with his gaze and softly repeated himself.

"You never talk about it. The time in your life when you were married." He must have seen your hackles rise because he quickly set down the hammer and held his hands up in a placating wave.

"You still haven't answered my question about being in the army," was your quick response, finished with an ever-so-mature, "so there."

With a resigned sigh, Frankie twisted his hat around backward and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Come on" -waving you towards the patio doors- "these kinds of conversations require fresh air and a drink."

Reluctantly you followed him outside but rather than sinking down onto the porch swing you opted to lean against the post facing it. Opening two ciders, which you now had free access to, you handed one to Frankie and watched him over the top of the bottle.

Half of your drink was gone and your mind had wandered to greenhouse and flower garden placement before Frankie spoke again. His voice low and quiet catching you by surprise.

"Yeah," he broke the silence with another ragged sigh, "I, uh, I served. Started in the Air Force, worked my way up to Special Tactics Squadron. Made enough noise there to get recruited to Delta Force."

"Oh, fuck," your exclamation was soft with shock "you've seen some shit then." Blast your runaway mouth and its inability to wait for your brain to catch up before blurting out your inner thoughts. "I'm sorry!-"

"No, it's okay" Frankie interrupted, trying to reassure you and remove the horrified look that had come across your face. 

"No, no, that was totally uncalled for. Brad, my um, my husband, he was a Marine. He hated talking about it, said no one liked talking about it. I should have known."

"It's not that," Frankie reassured you again, "You were the first person to ever ask me about it, in all the time I've lived here. Just took me by surprise."

Leaning over in the swing, Frankie pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a photo from inside it. Five men beamed up at you. You could recognize them from a few of the photos that had rested on Frankie's mantle, they looked older in this one.

"Tell me about them?" you asked, knowing that most of the request was due to curiosity but a small part of you hoped that if you kept him talking you could avoid the subject of your marriage.

The sun was beginning to set and you'd long moved inside to eat dinner by the time Frankie was done sharing. It must have been cathartic, you mused, for him to bare this much about himself. He had never looked more relaxed in all the time you'd known him, which wasn't saying much and it could just as easily been due to the amount of alcohol thrumming through his system.

The room fell into a companionable silence, each of you digesting the information that had been revealed. You were in awe of the fact that, despite the life of violence he had witnessed, Frankie still maintained his humanity. Even after a messy divorce and lost custody battle, Frankie continued to choose the path of healing. He was clean, was fighting for shared custody of his daughter again, running his own business, and still had found time to endear himself into the town's hearts.

Frankie was, for all his sharp edges and gruff words, a sweetheart.

It put into stark comparison how Brad had reacted to the lemons life had served him. Born into an upper-middle-class home, the only son, doted on by his parents, Brad had been raised into a life where every door was open to him. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he had grown hateful of those weaker than him. He was controlling but had just the right amount of charm to pass it off as caring.

"I've met men like that," 

You nearly jumped out of your skin from surprise. Looking at Frankie with wide-eyed shock you wondered again what the hell was in the cider. This was the second time you'd poured your heart out to a virtual stranger, but this time you hadn't even realized you'd started speaking your thoughts aloud. 

Squaring your shoulders and holding Frankie's gaze you continued, almost challenging him to find someone worse than Brad had been.

"He made me quit college because he said he wanted to start a family. Then berated me and acted like it was all my fault every time the pregnancy test came back negative. You know what that asshole did?" Tears were threatening to fall but you held on to Frankie's gaze, "He had gotten a vasectomy months earlier. I didn't find out about it until after he died; going through paperwork that had been stored in his desk."

Frankie was up on his feet now, pacing around the kitchen island, too distraught to keep still. How could anyone be so cruel? Let alone be so cruel to someone as sweet and pure as you. He hated seeing you cry but knowing you weren't receptive to people being in your personal space, wasn't sure how to comfort you. 

Acting on pure instinct he grabbed the kettle and started preparing you some tea, not allowing himself to ruminate how he knew which flavour you preferred. Setting your favourite pottery mug in front of you, along with the little honey pot, he also decided to grab the fluffy throw blanket off your couch. 

"I get it now," he thought to himself offhandedly, "why women have so many fuckin' blankets and pillows in every room."

Placing the throw around your shoulders he was preparing to say goodnight and let you have some peace but was stilled by your hand reaching up and covering his.

"Please. Stay."

Part SIX

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[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors. 

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

[scribble-blog]

Soulmate AU, part 1

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Huge thanks to the Maribat Fandom tumblr chat, without whom I wouldn’t have made this blog or posted this piece (or probably written this at all given that it’s a maribat fanfic)! @the-fusionist and @rebecarojas07 specifically for encouraging me!

*****

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Damian is a week shy of fourteen the day the names appear inked on people’s skin, when he wakes up to ink that doesn’t wash off and the news reports that all around the world people have woken up to find the same phenomenon.

The world accepts it readily enough.

Soulmates.

There are tales of it happening before, every mythology and history and folklore delved into and the proof brought forward, but no one actually can say what triggered it, or why now.

In Paris, Marinette wakes up the day after she becomes Ladybug, a dark inked name of her own blooming vivid across her skin.

“It’s because you’re a true holder, Marinette,” Tikki says almost bouncing in midair. “People can use the Miraculous without being as in tune with them, but when we land in the hands of someone who is not just attuned, but truly meant for us- interesting things happen! Especially with the Ladybug Miraculous! These markings reveal who your Soulmate is!”

Her eyes still skim over the writing, and she has to hold in her almost immediate disappointment when she doesn’t see the two swirling A’s she wanted.

“Damian Wayne.”

*****

Marinette doesn’t let it get to her most days, the fact that the name across the front of her shoulder and the name of the boy she feels she’s lost her heart to aren’t the same.

Adrien, for his part, says nothing about what name he has, and it isn’t visible for anyone to find out.

Marinette keeps her designs modest in the neckline, always layers with her favorite jacket and does not say hers either.

The world divides into those who show them proudly, who build forums and websites and apps where people try desperately to connect with their soulmate, and those who decide that to seek it out would ruin the- destiny of it all.

Marinette doesn’t even google him.

She doesn’t want to think about destiny any more than she has to.

*****

Damian keeps it hidden from his family. Grayson has Kori’s name running down his neck, and though they don’t show them off, he’s aware that Todd and Drake have their own as well. Father’s got “Selina Kyle” trailing from his wrist down to the side of his left thumb.

Grayson asks him, once. He shuts it down immediately, and he doesn’t get asked again.

*****

Lila claims her soulmate is someone rich, reclusive, and far away. She doesn’t give details about who they are, but she can tell you millions of stories about how they met as children, grew up knowing each other, how he’d begged for her to stay by his side but she had sighed and told him she must be free to live her own life! And how he waited for her even now to return once she’d graduated and they could marry and be fabulously wealthy and beautiful and happy together.

The class fawns over it. Each time the elusive soulmate is mentioned, Marinette locks eyes with Adrien and Chloé, unable to voice her annoyance but perfectly able to share it with them.

Alya sneers under her breath sometimes, when Lila is being particularly mouthy with her lies, that Marinette has always refused to show or even talk about her mark. That perhaps she doesn’t have one at all.

Marinette doesn’t ever respond.

Adrien tried his hardest to shut them down when they start moving in towards her or Chloé like sharks. She’d lost her crush on him when he’d told her to let Lila lie, that she wasn’t hurting anyone. And then Chloé had knocked on her door one day and- apologized.

Marinette had accepted.

And then when Chloé found out that Adrien not only knew but had actually allowed Lila to continue spinning her lies, she’d taken the boy to task and explained very clearly that Lila could not be treated the same way as his Father, where staying quiet and giving in was the only way to weather his unsavory bad moods. And while his Father demanded he still associate with Lila and keep her placated, that shouldn’t stop him from standing up and doing something when she started actively going after people the way she’d gone for Marinette.

He’d very quickly apologized to Marinette and started, if not scolding Lila when she targeted Marinette, at least trying to guide her and the rest of the class away from any interactions they might have initiated because of Lila’s words.

And now, even if the hours spent at Francois DuPont were chilly and quietly isolated for the three of them, they could meet up at the bakery for lunch, and more often than not now, they would spend evenings hanging out in either Chloé’s room or Marinette’s and it almost made up for it.

*****

Damian has been dead before.

He watches a girl in his class start screaming as the name splayed across her palm withers, it almost looks like it dissolved into her veins, the ink shrinking and bleeding into normal, unmarked skin.

He goes home and he looks at the long curling script that circles the right side of his chest, sweeping across his ribs. Marinette Dupain-Cheng exists somewhere and he wonders if dying once is enough that his name never showed up on her.

He searches the last names. He finds a small but well known and very well loved bakery in Paris, France, with mentions of the owners, Tom and Sabine, and one daughter.

He closes it out.

*****

Marinette turns 16.

It’s not momentous, as she once thought it would be. It’s another day facing the cold sneers of her classmates, catching Adrien and Chloé’s eyes and waiting until the end of the day when she can go home where her parents will have a cake waiting for her, Chloé, Adrien, Kagami, and Luka over, visits from Nadja and Manon, and hopefully some calls from her great uncle Wang and her pseudo uncle Jagged with Penny. Birthdays in this class used to be extravagant, and they still are- for everyone who Lila allowed it.

But Marinette’s birthday will be a quiet affair, at home with her family and her truest friends, her team, and she can’t help but prefer that.

*****

Damian turns 17. Dick marries Kori. Father and Catwoman continue their game of cat and mouse (who is what in this scenario?) and Todd keeps leaving and coming back, and Drake says nothing but acts as if he still knows everything. Damian is, in almost all ways, more capable than most of the old men that do business with Wayne Enterprises and he still has to sit through school and act like birthday parties matter or mean anything to him.

(They do. They do. He can count on one hand how many birthdays he’s ever actually celebrated.)

He’d like to know why he feels so unsatisfied.

*****

Ms. Bustier calls her aside when they break for lunch.

“Marinette,” she begins, and Marinette sighs internally, bracing for another round of upbeat admonishments.

“As class representative, I need you to start staying after class with me for the next few weeks at least- perhaps we can start tomorrow. The submission you made to the Wayne Enterprises Community Awareness and Support Program won, and we have to start planning for the trip in July.”

Marinette stops short. “Wait, trip?”

Mme. Bustier straightens her papers and selects one, handing it to Marinette. On it is a very formal letter from representatives of Wayne Enterprises, congratulating her and her class on their community outreach and outlining the award money they have been offered to plan their trip to visit Wayne Enterprises in person.

Marinette struggles not to sit there with her jaw dropped to the floor. “I didn’t realize there was any actual- reward. I thought it was just an award or recognition?”

Mme. Bustier gives her the smile she used to give her on a daily basis, back when Marinette had cared about making her teacher that happy with every success their class had. “Well, then it’s just as happy a surprise for you as for the rest of the class! I’ll send a note home with you tonight explaining why you’ll be staying after school for the foreseeable future. I won’t ever keep you longer than an hour.”

Marinette knew that would not be true, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t make up an excuse to leave when necessary. “Yes. We’ll want the trip to be planned perfectly, especially if we’re going to Gotham. Thank you, Mme. Bustier!”

She skips out to lunch, runs across the street to the bakery to meet her friends and tells them the news.

*****

Damian thinks about her often, even if he doesn’t want to. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the baker’s daughter somewhere in Paris, presumably, who may or may not have his name somewhere scrawled on her body.

He doesn’t search anything about her again. Even that single search that led him to her parents’ patisserie was risky.

Jon can tell him everything he wants to about the happiness between himself and his soulmate. His siblings can tiptoe around the subject, happy themselves and never bringing it up to him again. He watches people at school, wondering which of the couples are bound by the words inked into their skin and which are the ones who decided to forego fate. It takes him a very long time to figure out that despite himself, despite his brothers and his allies and his few friends, he is lonely.

*****

Seven weeks before the trip to Gotham, Marinette’s mother finds the Miracle Box.

Marinette hasn’t had Master Fu to guide her in a very long time. She is, in name and deed, the true Guardian of the Miraculous now.

Marinette breaks down on her mother’s shoulder for the first time in four years, since Hawkmoth started terrorizing Paris. Sabine, terrified and proud and angry, soothes her daughter, holds her and runs her hand over her hair, and asks her daughter what she can do.

Marinette has an idea.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 19

First

Previous

Next

Chat was a little confused when his phone got a notification. All the miraculous holders had long-since turned off most notifications for their TikToks, and everyone was home so there would be no reason to text him…

He felt a tiny surge of hope in his chest as he picked up his phone. Maybe it was his dad, maybe all it had taken for his dad to realize just how important Chat was to him was for him to leave --.

It was a TikTok notification.

His elation popped like a balloon and he deflated, sinking back into the unfortunate person who had been unlucky enough to be around when Chat had gotten into one of his cuddling moods.

Carapace barely even looked up from the video he was editing for class (which was fair, his headphones were so loud that Chat could hear what was going on, he doubted that the other could hear anything), but he did offer a tiny squeeze.

It wasn’t much, but it was still nice.

He tipped his head back against Carapace’s shoulder and pulled up the app. After all, it wouldn’t have given him a notification if it wasn’t slightly important, he’d specifically set it up that way.

Ah. It was because one of the four people he was following had posted. Cool.

He pulled up the video that Chloe had uploaded and raised his eyebrows slightly. She was telling people to ask for help when scared. He smiled. Sure, her tone was a little off but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get behind the message.

A weight he didn’t realize had been there was lifted from his shoulders. He had been more worried than he’d liked to admit about what Chloe was planning since she had refused to tell anyone anything. He still didn’t really understand why she had kept it a secret, but he brushed it off. It couldn’t matter that much.

~

So the weight was back.

Carapace looked exhausted. “You don’t need to call us out, too. I can get why you’re doing it for the civilians, but… we don’t need to change our behavior to not get akumatized.”

“Who said I was doing your stuff to not get you akumatized? No, I’m doing that part for fun.”

Everyone looked at Ladybug for support. The woman in question was staring blankly into her coffee mug.

Carapace reached out and took the mug from her, snapping her back to reality.

“That’s mine. Give it back.”

“You need sleep.”

“Hypocrite. I know you don’t sleep, either.”

“I don’t sleep because of school.”

“And I don’t sleep because of work.”

“Take less -- hey!”

Rena, apparently tired of their argument, had plucked the cup from Carapace’s hand. She fixed her gaze on Ladybug. “Ask Chloe not to call us out and I’ll give it back to you.”

Ladybug blinked and then looked at Chloe. “Don’t call us out.”

“No,” replied Chloe, short and sweet.

(… well, maybe not sweet.)

Ladybug looked at Rena and shrugged like ‘what can you do?’ She was given her coffee back, but she didn’t immediately go back to spacing. Instead, she looked at Chloe. “Wait, are you going to be telling them about me?”

“Nah. Currently I have two videos of you guys. One I need to just find the name of some American song, and the other one I’m going to wait until after someone slips up and everyone figures out who you really are to post.”

Ladybug blinked. “I… thank you? I think.”

“Mhmm.”

“We’re not going to mess up,” said Rena. At least someone was trying to defend them.

Chloe didn’t even glance over, just waving her off.

Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chloe.

~

Carapace had jinxed them.

Carapace had come down the stairs, a spring in his step, and Chat had done the nice thing: “Someone’s happy.”

“I finished all my schoolwork! I get to relax!”

“Congrats.” Ladybug looked up from her sketchbook and attempted to send him finger guns despite the fact that she had three markers, a pencil, and a pen in her hands (it did not work).

Carapace hadn’t even gotten to sit down.

“Hey, guys, akuma,” said Rena, not even looking up from her phone.

The overworked miraculous holder’s smile slipped off his face like sap.

“Not it,” said Carapace.

Ladybug looked back down at her sketchbook. “I can’t help either, this is due tomorrow.”

Chloe grinned and looked up from where she was painting her nails blue. “You’re supposed to say ‘not it’, ‘bug.”

This got an eyeroll and a mumbled ‘not it’.

“Not it, by the way,” said Chloe. She blew on her fingers. “My nails aren’t dry yet, I can’t punch things.”

Chat kind of wanted to opt out, too. He didn’t have a good reason, he was just really tired. He bit his lip and nuzzled his face further in Chloe’s side to pretend to be asleep.

Rena crossed her arms. “I’d love to let you guys stay, but it’s a fire one and they’re coming this way.”

“... so don’t let them?” Said Ladybug, but she was already setting all her things on the coffee table.

“She’s the size of the Tower, I don’t really have a choice in this.”

There was a collective groan as they all followed Ladybug’s lead by getting up and transforming at varying rates.

“She’s called Cinderella,” said Rena as she opened the door.

“Aw, cute,” said Chat.

It was not.

Imagine there’s a person over 300 meters tall (1000 feet for Americans). Tall, right? Kind of terrifying? Now imagine they’re wearing a dress and veil made of flames, fire and destruction following behind them like some twisted version of a bridal train.

Ladybug gave everyone that needed it masks so they could breathe (Carapace had one built into his costume) and they all took off in the direction of the akuma.

Rena gave them cover so they could get in close and everyone winced a little when they realized the akuma was crying.

“Oh… I kind of feel bad for her, she just wants to cry. It’s not her fault she’s made of fire…” Said Rena with a frown as they made it to the edge of the building beside her.

Cinderella wailed louder and they watched her kick a building. The place tore off of its foundations and went flying for multiple blocks before crashing into another building… which caused the many buildings nearby to topple like a set of dominoes.

“You were saying?” Said Chloe.

Rena stuffed her hands in the pockets of her suit and glared at the ground.

Carapace was looking a little pale (which was a bad thing, considering the fact that he’s black). “Y’know what? I’ll hang back and take videos for TikTok. You guys have fun,” he said.

Ladybug worried the folds of her dress. “How nice of you. Think I can help?”

Rena waved them off. “Don’t worry about it. I put cameras on the suits… a week ago? Maybe two weeks.”

The other four stiffened at that and their attention was briefly pulled away from the giant flame monster, which was a real feat if you think about it.

“You…?” Chat didn’t know what to say.

Chloe was the first one to properly snap out of it, probably because she was already used to having her entire life televised. “We’re talking about that when this akuma stuff is over.”

Apparently they’d been looking away from Cinderella for too long, because now she was crying harder and… of course she cried lava. Why not?

They were forced to back up to the other edge of the rooftop they were on to avoid getting doused by lava.

Chloe looked over. “Rena, I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh no,” whispered Ladybug, her voice so soft that even Chat had to strain to hear her despite standing only a foot away. It was more than a little concerning that Chloe’s main partner was so against that, but what can you do?

“Uncover you guys and leave me covered. I’m going to look around and see if I can figure out what the akumatized item is,” Chloe explained, pulling out her spinning top.

“Uh… sure, but why are we visible?” Rena made a vague motion with her wrist. Chloe disappeared from view, so she must have done it.

They didn’t get an answer in the traditional sense. Instead something that felt like a thin wire wrapped around the four of them and they were tossed at Cinderella.

~~~

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