#drew them two years back already I think?? and u know what U KNOW WHAT

[gatoiberico]

goofs

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: cute silly little gesture from drewseph 😋 progress progress

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authors note: this is just part 2 of day 2 so i’ll incorporate the movie night in the next part fs. let me know if u still want to be added to the tag list through replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

you’re awoken by the light coming in through the blinds. it’s subtle, but it’s there. it bothers you and causes you to stir awake.

you can hear drew snoring—a habit you know all too well, but you ignore it. your eyes flutter open as you look around the room, then you look at him.

he’s dead asleep, but he’s on his stomach, his face parallel to yours. his mouth is a little open and one of his arms is underneath his pillow, hoisting him slightly higher, while his other is reaching toward your side of the bed.

you yawn as you twist your body and grab your phone off the nightstand, then check the time. it’s already noon. the others must be up and awake by now.

you drop your phone on your lap and use that hand to shake drew awake gently, but when he doesn’t wake up the first time is when you get a little rougher.

“star,” you tell him, in hopes that he gets up at least now or soon. you don’t want either of you to miss any of the plans going on that day. “wake up, come on,” you say, and drew’s eyes open once before he closes them again, and his legs move underneath the blanket slowly. he’s waking up.

“mmh,” he moans, and because his eyes are closed you know that he’s trying to fall back asleep. you retract your arm and get up from the bed. you figure he’ll wake up anyway, he knows he has to.

you walk over to the door and open it, then peek your head out into the hall. you look around for anyone, but all you find is theo walking upstairs to his and leila’s room with two plates of food.

“hey,” you say, then pause to clear your throat. you’ve already caught theo’s attention. “what are we doing today?”

theo shakes his head, his mouth full of his piece of toast. “not today,” his words are difficult to understand so he drops the piece of toast on one of the plates. “tonight. leila has this checklist that’s guiding our everyday, and she said she’s been wanting to just stay in one night, relax, watch some movies. it’s gonna be chill, but it’s only that.”

you nod, patting the doorframe twice. “thank you,” you say, then pull back into your room as you add, “and good morning!”

“‘morning,” theo says, and you close the door gently.

when you turn around you see that drew’s awake. or at least he’s changed positions. he’s lying on his side now, facing you again. you watch him as you return to your side of the bed. he has to flip onto his other side again when you even leave his sight.

“free day until movie night tonight. leila’s orders,” you say, and there’s a small smile on his face before he rubs his eyes with his palm. you look around the bed for your phone with a frown, “could sleep in ‘til tonight if we wanted to.”

“we?” he asks, and it’s like he’s caught you already suggesting plans for the both of you.

“if i . . . wanted to,” you correct yourself, then pause for a moment while you rub the back of your neck, looking away. “libby did say she could help me with some audition tapes today though.”

drew groans, stuffing his head back into his pillow. “why are you working during the two weeks we’re supposed to do anything but that?” he whines, as if you’re dragging him along to do it too.

you shrug, “some people are expected to book their next role as soon as possible. now that tempest is over, i want to start working on my next big thing.”

“tempest was the next big thing, you won an mtv award for it,” drew reminds you.

you think back to your tv series that had went on for six years, a good chunk of your life, before it ended just recently with its final season. tempest is the reason why you met drew in the first place—he shared his praise for your lead role at one of his movie premieres years and years ago.

you shake your head at him. “okay,” you say, deciding to get up and out of bed.

“where are you going?”

“i’m not gonna work but i’m not just gonna lay around in bed all day,” you tell him, and you leave the room to freshen up in the bathroom.

you hear a few footsteps that descend the staircase and you can’t help but peer over your shoulder to see who it is. it’s oscar. you’re seated at the kitchen island, and he’s just minding his own business as he retrieves something from his backpack it seems like, then he looks to you.

he’s kind. there’s a genuine smile on his face as he nods his head at you. “good morning,” he says.

he turns to leave and you try to return it, “good morning.” you clear your throat as you continue to watch him head upstairs. from there, you can see someone walking across the hall, just from their feet.

you can recognize his patterned socks. it’s drew.

“hey!” leila’s voice is a jumpscare and you can’t help but react quickly, facing forward like you’re a child getting caught stealing candy. leila laughs when she realizes she scared you. “sorry . . . i thought you heard me come in. are you ready?”

you’re dressed to go out to town, as leila said earlier that she wanted to visit the local market nearby. you nod your head at her and shuffle off of the chair.

“who’s driving?” drew asks as he jogs down the stairs and pulls his crewneck over his head. you barely cast a glance at his body before you look into his eyes, and he walks over. “am i?”

“yes—” leila tries to say before you cut in.

“you’re coming with us?” you ask. you don’t necessarily have a problem with it, it’s just why was it kept from you?

“problem?”

“i don’t know. is there one?” you furrow your eyebrows at him and tilt your head to the side, but you realize the way you’re talking to him.

he squints his eyes at you in question, then glances up at leila. he’s not sure whether you're teasing him or not, but he lets out a short, awkward laugh. “okay, let’s not get dramatic,” he says lightly.

leila, sensing the unease, smiles as she steps in. “i figured we could all go together! it’s a trio outing now! plus, you two are joined at the hip anyway.” she says it like it's the most natural thing, blissfully unaware of how the statement lands between you and drew.

you swallow the discomfort and force a smile as you get off the chair, grabbing your bag. drew’s eyes linger on you for a moment before he turns and follows you both out the door.

“careful,” he warns you about your blatant attitude.

you know he’s right, and you mutter out, “sorry.”

the car hums as you’re driven down to the beach market, then get out to enter. it’s not a huge deal being seen out in public together—you’ve done this before. but of course it’s different now. there’s something strange about holding drew’s hand when you know, deep down, it’s all for show. but you don't pull away.

when you reach the town, you spot a few people recognizing you—actors always catch eyes, even in quieter towns like this one. drew stays close, his hand still gripping yours, a comfortable smile playing on his lips as the three of you wander around.

a couple of fans approach you, their faces lighting up at the sight of you and drew together. “oh my god, i loved you two in hellraiser! this feels like a dream," one of them gushes, and for a split second, you feel drew’s hand squeeze yours tighter.

you try to play it off, laughing softly as you and him pose for a quick picture with the younger girl.

after, drew steps beside you, leaning forward with his hands behind his back as a few record him. “we’re glad you enjoyed it,” he says, flashing his grin. you feel a familiar flutter in your stomach, a reminder of all those moments you used to share during press events like this.

another girl beams, and what seems like her mother is standing there with her, “you look even prettier in person! can we take another photo?”

“of course!” you laugh, and you part from drew to tend to the few of them.

drew is just standing a few feet away, his gaze locked on you. his expression is unreadable—something between admiration and something deeper, something heavier.

leila catches onto his lingering stare, and she approaches him with a smirk, nudging his arm. “you’re staring,” she teases, her tone light. drew blinks and breaks his gaze, glancing down at leila like he’s been caught.

“was not,” he mutters. his eyes flick back to you for a second, but he quickly looks away again.

leila’s inspecting a few trinkets before glancing back at him, a knowing look on her face. “you’re a terrible liar, you know,” she says. “you’re staring, and don’t think i didn’t notice at the firepit either.”

drew shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a way to defend himself. “okay, well yeah, because she’s my girlfriend!” he says a little too loud, and even you look up at him and furrow your eyebrows before returning to what you’re doing.

“okay, i’m joking. god, please lighten up. you can stare at your girlfriend all you want. who cares?” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “is everything good with you two?”

drew hesitates, glancing over at you as you smile politely at another fan. “yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, the words coming out too quickly. “why wouldn’t it be?”

leila narrows her eyes, watching him closely. “i don’t know, you’re acting a little . . . weird. normally, you’re more laid-back when she’s off and doing stuff on her own. but lately, you’ve been all . . . protective. intense, even.” she pauses, studying his face. “is something going on?”

he rubs the back of his neck. “no, we’re good. we’re good.”

leila hums, her fingers tracing one of the bracelets on a stall table. “you know, i talked to y/n last night,” she says carefully, her voice soft. “she said you guys have been stressed with work lately, but that everything’s good between you. still . . . i don’t know, something feels off. you both seem a little . . . distant.” she gives him a gentle nudge. “i’m not trying to pry, but i just want to make sure you’re okay. i already asked her, so now i’m asking you.”

drew stiffens slightly, but forces a small laugh, trying to brush it off. “yeah, work has been a lot lately. it’s probably just that—stress, you know? juggling schedules, auditions, appearances . . . it’s hard to get time for ourselves.”

“i get that. trust me, theo and i have been there too with our careers. it can get messy, but...” she trails off, giving him a sincere look. “you and y/n have always had something really special. and i know it’s not my business, but if something’s really bothering you—or her—you guys should talk it out. don’t let it fester.”

he shifts on his feet, the words striking closer than he’d like. he nods, though, appreciating her concern. “yeah, you’re right. i know we need to talk more, make time for that.”

leila smiles, “good. i’m here for both of you, okay? if you need to blow off steam or talk, don’t hesitate. i can tell there’s more going on than just ‘work stress,’ but i trust you’ll figure it out.”

drew forces a grin, trying to play it cool. “thanks, lei. we’ll be fine.”

leila holds his gaze for a moment longer, then nods as she steps back toward the vendor. “you better be. you guys are a strong power couple around here,” she jokes lightly.

as she glances over drew’s shoulder, her gaze settles on a nearby flower shop across the street. she doesn’t say anything, but her eyes linger, then shift back to him. there’s a soft smile playing on her lips, and she raises her brows in a silent suggestion.

he follows her line of sight, his eyes landing on the shop. it takes him a second, but he gets it. leila doesn’t need to say the words. he knows exactly what she’s trying to tell him.

“really?” he asks, dropping his smile. “you’re playing wingman?”

“wingwoman, but you know.” she gives a small, almost teasing shrug. “i mean, they’re her favorite, right? might not fix everything, but it’s a start. little things, drew.”

his eyes flick back to the shop, an old habit of buying you flowers bubbling up in his chest. “yeah, she always liked those kinds of flowers,” he murmurs, half to himself.

he nods, muttering a quiet “thanks” under his breath, as leila gives him a knowing smile before turning back to browse a nearby stall.

drew makes his way over to the flower shop, eyes scanning for your favorite blooms. the vendor helps him put together a simple yet thoughtful bouquet, and drew can't help but feel anxious but hopeful.

a few minutes later, he looks for you amongst everyone. you’ve already found leila, as you two inspect something on a stand just a few stalls down. you must not have seen drew when he was handling the flowers.

he makes his way over, and his presence is warm behind you that causes you to peer over your shoulder. you’re startled when you realize there’s actually someone there, and he’s so close. you immediately notice the flowers.

your eyebrows lift in amusement as he grins. “oh, what’s this?” you ask, your tone teasing, though there's a flicker of surprise behind your eyes.

drew holds the bouquet out, his voice soft. “for you,” he says. “maybe to make the day a little better.”

you look at the flowers, hesitating for a second before taking them. there’s a small warmth in your chest that you try to suppress, but it shows in the way your lips twitch upward into a faint smile. “thank you,” you say quietly, studying the flowers briefly before your gaze shifts back to him.

you can’t help but wrap your open arm around his neck and pull him close. his gesture is sweet and unexpected. drew’s arms finds your waist before he’s hugging you back, even tighter, but trying to be polite with how long he squeezes you.

you feel bold, and you lean away from him before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. it’s brief, almost hesitant, but enough to make drew’s breath get caught in his throat for a second.

as you pull away, you notice his glance toward leila, who's standing just a few feet away, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever she's holding. but she can’t hide the small wink she throws his way when he meets her gaze, a playful, silent “you're welcome” before she turns back around.

you catch it at the very last second and your mouth gapes open, so you take a step back. “are you two conspiring now?” you ask, in fake shock.

he chuckles softly. “just trying to be a good boyfriend.”

“mhm,” you murmur, but your smile lingers, and you look up at him to mumble a small “thank you” again, to which he waves it off like it’s nothing. even though you're hesitant, you can't deny that the gesture worked—at least a little.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains

[imasl0tforchallengers]

I missed u.

Summary: During the night before the Challenger, Art knows Tashi is going to Patrick so he calls his ex, You. But ends unexpectedly.

Art Donaldson x reader!Oc. Kai Miller is you.

A/N: English is my third language, so bare with me. Minors DNI.

You sat at a bar, drinking Chardonnay, you had closed the bakery you owned, Glazed&Glory, you were tired, exhausted. The bartender asked if you wanted more, and you decided to get more. You had to prepare a huge order today, and you had a packed bakery since tomorrow is a tennis match being played at a nearby place from your bakery.

Tennis, you thought. Tennis was something you hadn't thought about since... Art Donaldson. It was now 2019 and 2006 was a long time ago. You moved on, right? "Another glass?" The bartender asked pushing you away from your thoughts. "Yes," you downed your glass. You stroll through your phone, checking if you had any messages. As you take a sip your phone rings, UNKNOWN NUMBER. It's probably a customer, you thought.

"We are closed, so sorry," You answered. "Kai?" You froze. "Hi, it's Art," You were silent, too stunned. What did he want? After thirteen years? "Um, I-" your breath was unstable. "I know, it's been a long time but I'm in town, I wanted to know if you would be okay with meeting me at Carl's." He said. Your mouth goes dry. "I-i-i don't know," you replied. "You don't have to, I just wanted to see how you we-" he continued. "I'm already here," you cringe.

"Oh? Can I meet you there?" Art asked, his voice dripped with desperation. "Um, sure" you said. "Ok, I'll be there in 5," he replied. "Kai?" He said. "Yeah?" You downed your glass. "It's good hearing your voice," you almost choked. You quickly hung up. You took in very deep breathes. Art? Art Donaldson?

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"Kai Miller?" You turned around. "Art Donaldson," you forced a smile. "It's been so long," Art said. He pulled you into a hug, his fingers burning through the fabric of your sundress. He hugged you tightly before saying, "You still smell so good, I will never get used to it," you cough softly.

You both sat on barstools. "So..." Art trailed. "How have you been?" he sat back as he ordered a beer. "Good. I see you and Tashi have been busy," he avoided your eyes, clearing his throat he said, "Ah, Tashi...yeah, we're doing great, so is Lily," you looked confused because you were. "Sorry, who's Lily?" You asked. "Um, our daughter," his eyes wandered.

Daughter? Your chest tightened, "Oh," you remembered how much you two wanted kids together. Art cleared his throat snapping you out of your trance. "What have you been up to?" He looked into your eyes. "I own a bakery, now, three branches," His eyes stayed on me. "What is it called?" He asked. "Glazed&Glory." He choked on his beer, eyes widening. "Holy shit," he coughed. "What?" You queried. "That's where we order donuts in California, Lily loves them, I love them" He explained smiling, you couldn't believe your bakery drew attention to the likes of the Donaldson's. "Aw, thanks," you smiled. "But I knew they tasted familiar, I missed your baking, how you would bring me glazed donuts after tennis practice," he looked at you, his gaze lingering at your lips as you drank your Chardonnay.

You two spoke until midnight, catching up and telling each other on what was missed. "So you and Lloyd dated?" He chuckled as you told him about your ex from Stanford. "Yeah," you giggled, the alcohol taking over your body. He watched as your breasts bounced at each movement, his eyes remained, thinking about how much he wanted to see you again, feel you, and care for you. "So you single right now?" He asked. You nodded. "I think I'm gonna go to the restroom, be right back," he said.

"M'kay," you replied. As he got up, someone pushed him, knocking her beer over and spilling it onto your sundress soaking your chest. "Fuck!" The sundress was wet, revealing your lacy red bra. "I'm sorry," Art used his hoodie to try and wipe away. He felt himself grow hard as he stared at your breasts. You looked up at him catching him staring. You quickly looked away. He inched closer, you breathed out. "Art..." Before you could say anything, his lips were against yours. His arms brought you closer. You kissed him back, "Art..." You gasped.

"You have no idea of much I've missed you," he said between the kiss. He grabbed your hand leading you the restroom, and locking the door. He captured your lips pinning you against the wall. "Art, you'r-" you said. "I'm what, baby?" He asked as his hand raked up your thigh. Your breath hitched. "You're m-married," you managed to say. "I know," he said, continuing. You pushed him off, "What?" He asked confused. "No, Art," you sighed. You couldn't let him, "You love Tashi," you said stepping back. "You serious? You gonna talk about Tashi?" He said. "Yes, why are you here, Art?" You queried. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I-i-i don't know, I- t-thought," he stopped speaking. He stood there recollecting his thoughts.

You looked at him, waiting for his response, "I just wanted to see you again," he said. "Why?" He looked at you, "I just wan-" he continued. "Want what? Why are you here? You made it clear that you didn't want me," you huffed, gaining anger. He was shocked by the sudden anger. "You chose Tashi over me, right? I needed you, I choose Stanford over Harvard for you, now I need to know, what the fuck are you doing here?" He did betray you. He looked at you, tears brimming his eyes. "Tashi is with Patrick right now," his voice cracking. "I needed someone,"

You stepped back, you chuckled, "So you call me? Really? Me?" He nodded. "Fuck, you are so fucked up, Art, you call me just because the women you married isn't with you? Just because she is fucking Patrick? Wow," Your chest tightened, a painful pang shocking your chest. "I see what this is, I'm a rebound," You pushed him. "No, Kai, you ar-" You slapped him. The noise filled the restroom. "What? We are not going to fuck, Art," You squared up to him, looking up at him.

"Your little wife doesn't want you, anymore?" You asked. Tears stung your eyes. "You are pathetic, Art," his jaw tightened. "Fuck. You."

You unlocked the door and left.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

A/N: Thanks for reading. Maybe part two???

[funkii-fox]

Drider! Hazmada x Miner! Reader- Rose of Flesh and Blood

For Halloween 👻 loosely inspired by a Drider! Chrollo x reader fic by ramwrites (i forgot what she changed her name to but ik she changed her name. I keep forgetting bc she will always be ramwrites to me)

Also!!! I already drew drider Hazamada about a year ago; i LOVE the concept but no one cares!! hazamada is a spider to me!!! Please look at it so u can know what I’m describing!

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

It’s hard work in the mines. Hours upon hours of you and your coworkers smashing precious rock with only rusty iron hammers and pickaxes. A new dribble of sweat slides down your forehead with every echoing clang of metal on rock, only to be wiped away by the back of your debris-covered glove. Heavy breathing of you and your fellow miners bounces off the walls of the cave, sometimes giving the illusion that there’s something else breathing in the darkness. There are often odd noises that sound as if something is tapping on the rocks of the deepest parts of the cave. A faint tap tap tap that you barely pick up in the cacophony of heavy breathing and rock smashing. All of your coworkers are seasoned miners, and they tell you not to worry. “Probably just some critters or the Earth’s breathing. Rocks and stuff settling, ya know?” one of them answered, “‘though, no one really knows. We just know that whatever it is, it’s not gonna kill us.” This answer does not comfort you, but there’s no reason to press the issue. Whatever it is won’t kill us, right?

The only lights in the place are the two lanterns for the entire group that cast everyone and everything in an orange glow. The aged wooden structures of the mine bathed in sickly pale orange, contrasting the deep sienna brown of the cave rock. Dramatic shadows dance about chaotically due to the flicker of the lantern’s flame. Sometimes in the corner of your eye, you see a shadow among the shadows that stands out. It’s a long, thin black void inside the already dark shadows. This shadow moves too calmly, if at all, as if it was made by an intelligent creature that doesn’t want to be caught. Just as you turn your head to confirm your suspicions, it’s gone, as if it never existed. Even as you frantically point the lantern in the direction, there’s nothing to see but normal cave. Like it was just a trick of the light or your own sleep deprived imagination, but you know it wasn’t. You know there’s something in the shadows, but it won’t kill you, right?

You desperately wish to quit this job; no amount of money can compensate for the awful time in the mines. It takes such a toll on your body; shoulders and arms feel like they’ll slough off after every day. The energy spent on mining will never be replenished in only the few hours of nightly rest allowed; After what feels like 3 minutes of letting yourself relax, the sun’s already up and it’s time to go back in the mines. There is always the looming threat of a sudden disaster such as collapsing walls or miasma; as well as the thing that lurks in the shadows. Even if it won’t kill you, it’s still disturbing. All of these grievances are pushed to the back of your mind, because you need money to make ends meet and the last option available had to be the mines.

•┈••✦ 🌹 ✦••┈•

It’s a chilly, overcast day outside. This type of weather always makes you tired and depressed, but there’s no time off to waste the day in bed. You stand and stare at the place, thinking. Today was the dreaded day that you would be introduced to the deeper parts of the mine. There had been a naturally occurring cave discovered somewhere along the path. It was being explored by cartographers, knights, and special miners as your crew excavated resources from the shallows of the mine. Walking into the mine with a small selection of your coworkers, a gut feeling tells you to turn back; You can’t just do that, so you just try to brush it off as you enter the maw. “It’s been scouted by the king’s knights! We’ll be fine, surely…” you try to comfort yourself, but it doesn’t quite get rid of the unease in your gut.

After you pass the familiar areas, it seems like the same environment loops for forever. Barely stable wooden beams support the cave in evenly spaced intervals that disrupt the dark brown rock. Never ending footsteps and clinking of gear overshadow the soft groaning of the walls. The shadows seem to get impossibly darker and darker the further you go; they encroach upon you and your group, like a wolf waiting to pounce on a rabbit. There’s nowhere to hide from this crushing environment, no way to just stop and breathe: just keep going forward until you get there. After that, go through the same hell while getting back. And everyday after that, you will go through this hell. Over and over and over and over again until you eventually die in a cave accident.

Some change in the environment pulls you away from your deprecating thoughts; it has become dead quiet. The only sounds are your footsteps and ruffling of gear. The ominous cave sounds were eerie, but it’s even worse without the ambience. Caves should sound odd, shouldn’t they? It doesn’t even echo, now that you think about it. It makes you shiver. You’re about to mention it when something sparkly catches your eye.

webs.

Centimeters thick, shiny silver webs line the walls. It was a few strings here and there at first, but soon the walls are encased in webs so much that you can’t see the rock behind it. No spider you know can have such thick webs; this has to be from a drider. “What?! No one ever said anything about driders…” the leader of the group said with a halt to his steps, “we’re not even close to where we need to be!” “Maybe she came before we got here, but after they explored,” your coworker chimes in. “That, or we’re lost. Seems more like we’re lost, since I don’t know how a single drider species that could cover so much ground in such a short amount of time,” the leader adds while analyzing the map again, trying to figure out where they are. No matter how much he looks though, he can’t find out where they took a wrong turn. “I thought there were just going to be a few webs, but this is clearly the wrong way. We’re basically walking right into the beast’s mouth,” he adds.

While your coworkers try to figure out a new plan, you’re freaking out on the inside. Drider: that’s what you saw in the shadows. It makes sense. You think back at all the times you saw her slender legs accidentally get into view of the lantern’s light. Thin limbs tap tapping on the rock of the hidden parts of the cave as she crawled. She disappeared so quickly because she’s a fast and agile creature that can crawl with enough grace to not break a web; she could kill us all in a second, if we don’t hurry out of here. On cue, a pebble falls from the ceiling and makes a small tap as it hits the floor right in front of your boots. Against your best judgment, you carefully look up and thats when you lay eyes on it.

Speak of the devil: A few lean, black legs curl out of view of the lantern’s light, a faint, sickening tap tap as it settles in a new position on the rock. All composure leaves you through a shriek that echoes off the walls of the cave, probably all the way back to the entrance. Your coworkers are immediately alerted. “Y/n!!!! What’s wrong!?” The leader comes towards you and holds you by the shoulders in an attempt to comfort you, but all you can do is raise a shaky finger and point towards the ceiling. The other coworker, holding the lantern, holds it up to reveal the monster. Both of them gasp when they see it.

He- you noticed he’s a male due to the lack of breasts- is scrunched up in a crevasse overhead. It’s not well lit because the lantern’s light doesn’t go too far above, but pale exoskeleton is the first thing you see. This platinum white fades into orange, brown, and eventually black at the very tips of the body. Spikes litter the dorsal sides of his body; three long, symmetrical white spikes poke out of his spindly black hair. His face scrunches up due to the radiant light shining in his two main eyes and the six smaller ones; it was so blinding that one of his four hands went up to shield his eyes.

You’ve seen enough. You jolt the way you’ve come from, even out of the range of the light. The other two quickly follow, allowing you to see where you’re going. Quick succession of tap tapping on rock and the clacking of his exoskeleton above as he hunts your group. Your lungs burn because of inhaled debris, all the mucous in your throat and mouth dry. Legs throb from the over exertion and feel like they might buckle beneath you. Despite all, you don’t dare slow down or stop in fear of becoming drider meal, but when you hear a scream behind you you’re forced to.

The leader has been grabbed by the drider. He howls and squirms, but it’s no match for the monster’s hold. Thinking quickly, you raise your pickaxe to rip the beast off of your leader, but the creature grabs and throws it with one of his many arms, a clang as it lands on the floor. Before you can even try to look for it, the creature drags him into the darkness above. His lower legs and shoes are still in the lantern’s light, kicking back and forth for any type of advantage. Blood curdling shrieks echo throughout the cave. Suddenly, all noises cease; his howling replaced by the sickening sound of flesh being ripped off. The pungent odor of iron fills the area. Your heart sinks as he goes limp, blood menacingly slides down his body and taps onto the floor below. Snapping out of your shocked daze, you grab your only remaining coworker by the shoulder and sprint away. You tremble and try to rid yourself of the guilt of not being able to help the leader; “it couldn’t be helped,” you repeat to yourself. It doesn’t soothe the pang in your heart every time you replay the scene in your mind, but there’s no time to sulk; we need to get out of here.

•┈••✦ 🌹 ✦••┈•

Eventually, you two find yourselves far away enough from the drider to be able to catch your breaths. It doesn’t seem like he followed as there was no tapping, and hopefully he was satisfied with having only the leader as a meal. You become disgusted with yourself that you thought that, but it is genuine; hopefully you and your other coworker will come out fine. “It couldn’t be helped,” you repeat to yourself. In order for you to not end up like him, for his sacrifice to not be in vain, you will not let your guard down; your coworker routinely raises the lantern to see if the drider is there.

These caves are long and convoluted, and neither of you have a clue which way to go. The map got lost in the process; either the leader still had it in his hand as he was eaten, or it’s on the floor back at the area where the drider was. Either way, you’re not going back to get it. We could get through without it, right? “Eventually, we will run out of places we’ve been to, right?” Your coworker asks, and all you can do is nod and hope God is merciful. While wandering aimlessly and foolishly hoping the exit will just magically appear in front of you, you realize there’s probably a female somewhere around here. That would explain why there’s so many webs and how they got there so fast; they made a nest together. The male is plenty giant compared to a human, you can only imagine what his mate looks like. Not just that, but you imagine the female is hungry and filled with fertilized eggs. The thought of a hundred baby driders makes you shudder.

It was looking like you would be set free; maybe God did hear your prayers this time. Webs had thinned out and the ambience, though eerie, returned. You smiled with relief, “finally! It must be over!” You started to walk a little faster with a cute pep in your step, eager to get back home and never step foot in a mine ever again. “I’m definitely quitting after this,” you joke to your coworker, and you share a hearty laugh with him. “Ay, cheers!” He says, pretending to clink a beer with you. Things are looking up. The leader’s death will not be in vain; we will get out! You confidently take a left turn at a forked path, swearing that it looked familiar, and that’s when your heart sinks, dreams shattered:

walls caked in webs.

Your coworker stands there, trying to deny it, yet it’s staring him right in the eyes. “We’ve just gone in a giant circle,” you say with a pathetic tremble to your voice. Your lips quiver and the overwhelming urge to sob your eyes out overcomes you. Dropping to your knees, you pray to God to lead the way out. The two of you probably should’ve asked for God’s help sooner, but it’s better late than never. The drider and/or his mate are probably close, neither of you know where you’re going, the candle fuel is running out, neither of you have any supplies because they were abandoned in the mess, you already violently lost a friend, and you’re back at square one. Your coworker lets you pray and sob quietly while he tries to think of a way out. He has more experience, surely he can figure something out. Carefully walking towards you, he puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, we can look for the map now, at least.” You look up at him with weeping eyes, and he smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “We aren’t completely hopeless. We must trust in God’s plan,” he reassures. You nod and get on your feet, too overwhelmed to speak. Once you’ve gotten yourself together, your coworker dips the lantern down to the floor, and there’s a trail of blood soaked webs that leads deeper in the cave. Hopefully, it will even lead to the map. Hopefully it is God’s plan. Hopefully your prayers will be heard.

Hopefully.

Eventually, a familiar clang of metal and rock hits your ears. It’s faint at first, but as you go on it gets louder. You thought that it was the other miners near the entrance; somehow your wandering had lead you there. You look at your coworker, and he smiles gently. Maybe our prayers were heard. Maybe it was God’s plan. You’re still a little skeptical, how would you have gotten to the entrance? Could there be a secret passage that you didn’t know about? Eventually, a rusty iron pickaxe swings into view, then into the darkness with another clang. Both you and your coworker are amazed, and run towards it with relief... yet something is amiss.

It’s the leader… he’s mining away at rock that’s been exposed via torn webs. But something is off… did he not die back there? Why would he not turn around? Surely, he’s heard you two walking over and seen the light of the lantern. Not just that, why is he mining? Shouldn’t he be focused on getting out? How is he mining without light? I guess you could blindly hit the wall, but it would seem very useless. Why is he mining in such an odd way? Like every downstroke tugs his arms.

That’s when you notice small glimmers around him that shine with every movement he makes. Strings relax with every downstroke of the pickaxe, and straighten out with every lift of his arms. It’s not him moving himself; it’s the gravity of his arms falling and the drider puppeteering his body like a damned doll that creates the movement.

You both come to this conclusion too late. Your leader falls backwards onto the floor with a loud thud, clearly dead. His face is just barely in the lantern’s light, harsh shadows paint his face: smeared blood obscures his true skin color, eyes locked wide in horror, jaw slack with tongue lolling out of his mouth. Both of you shriek and scramble off.

Excessive tapping from above imply the drider is in hot pursuit. You try to keep your composure, “we’ll get through this. We have to.” It’s all shattered when your coworker yelps from getting yanked back violently, the lantern falling and the small flame vanishing in the process. The room went pitch black immediately. Panic sets in as you have no idea where to run. You feel so hopeless, yet in an attempt to survive, you reach your hands out to find the walls, but the cave is too wide to find it easily. “Finally,” the drider speaks for the first time as he crawls towards you, menacing tapping getting closer and closer. His 8 glowing golden eyes pierce your soul. You run in the opposite direction, yet to no avail as you run straight into the sticky webbed wall. “That light was blinding me,” he says, his voice right behind you, breath tickling your neck. You yelp as you feel his arms wrap around your torso. “Humans really can’t see anything in the dark, huh? You’re running around like a mouse in a field.” You can hear a smile in his quiet, breathy voice, as if he was making a little joke. You feel yourself being lifted into the air, primal terror filling you. “NOOO. PLEASE DON’T!” You don’t even know what to do but squirm in his hard, cold arms. His lower set of hands grab onto your calves and upper set of hands grab onto your upper arms. His pedipalps hold onto your hips to support your body, and now you’re thoroughly trapped. “Calm down,” He tells you in an unamused tone as he crawls onto the ceiling, turning you upside down in the process. You shout for God, your coworker, the leader, your mom, anyone to save you, but nothing happens.

“He’s out cold. No one’s here but you and me,” he says sadistically. Dread sets in and you cry hysterically while babbling teared laced nonsense. You’re trapped, and you always have been the second you stepped in the cave today. When you walked into the mine for the first time. When you agreed to become a miner. You were better off being a chancre ridden whore on the street and selling your hair. You wish you did; then you wouldn’t be this drider’s dinner. At least you would be able to see your family and friends one last time.

A slow, painful death of driders biting into you until you lose enough blood to pass out and die. You think about the smell of blood earlier when the leader died, and how it would tenfold when you get eaten. The sound of ripping of flesh from your bones and disgusting squelching as they chew their meal. You’ll die like a dog, just like the leader. The thought makes you release an ear piercing screech, and that’s when the drider has had enough. He bites your neck and holds you still as you try to squirm away one last time. You feel hot, burning venom enter your bloodstream through your jugular vein. This hot venom goes straight to your heart, blossoms into your lungs, and blooms throughout your body. Immediately, you physically can’t move anymore, and your thoughts drift off from you. The reason for fighting fades away and you accept this fate. “At least I’ll be at peace,” is your last coherent thought. You still try to think, but it’s all word salad of all the various grievances of working at this Godforsaken place. Something along the lines of “work, sleep, money, rest.” Your mind goes completely hazy, and everything slips away. At least you’re at peace now.

But you’re not at peace. That wasn’t the end.

•┈••✦ 🌹 ✦••┈•

Your eyes snap open and heart races when you hear a loud wail of pain. The first thing you notice is that there are light sources; straight lavender lines and yellow dots move around in the dark while mint green curves stay stagnant. It was beautiful, but didn’t make much sense to you until your memory came back to you; his eyes were yellow. You can see his full body due to bioluminescence; the skin below his exoskeleton glows lavender while strands of webs around the room have a soft, low green glow. Things near the light sources are visible; you can finally look at his face clearly. In your dazed state, your thoughts wandered a bit. “His face would be a handsome face if only it belonged to a human rather than a beast.” Then you noticed what he’s looking at; a soft purple glow is casted on your poor coworker. He’s stuck to the wall, and that’s when you’re hit with the reality of what’s happening.

Your coworker had blood streaming down his face, the color looking more like black in the green and purple light. The drider is mumbling something incomprehensible, perhaps something in his language. Whatever it is, it sounds very upset. This is reinforced when he lifts a clawed hand and shoves two fingers in his left eye and rips it out, a grotesque noise of his muscle fibers being snapped. He shrieks again as adrenaline courses through your veins. The odor of iron hits your nose and it makes you want to vomit. A million questions run amok in your mind. “What’s he doing? Don’t driders simply eat their prey? Why is he torturing him? Where is his mate? Did we upset him and his mate? Is the same thing going to happen to me?”

You start to tremble as the scene unfolds; you can’t just sit here and watch your coworker get tortured, but what else can you do? Getting antsy, you just need to do something other than sit and wait to die. “Well, if he’s already going to kill me after him, there’s no point in trying to preserve myself,” you think with adrenaline poisoning your blood. The decision is final; you will go attack the monster with your bare hands. At the very least you tried to save your coworker and yourself, even if the odds against you are high.

You get up, and immediately, his glowing eyes dart over to you. There’s a pause: both sides waiting for the other to strike. “Oh? Do you think you can run away?” The drider spits metaphorical venom at you with a smile, “you’re deep in my den, there’s no way you can escape. You humans can’t see anything in mild darkness. Even if you could run fast enough to evade me, I can feel your heavy human footsteps on my webs. You’re helpless; now sit down and behave while I prepare dinner.” You stay standing for a while, trying to calculate your next move. He turns back to his task of mauling your coworker alive. There’s no way to sneak around him or anything because of the webs; the only thing you can do is charge right at him.

You run at him as fast as possible with your fists poised for a blow to his face. “Leave him alone, you hellish monster!” You yell. Obviously, he dodges easily, but you anticipated than and corrected your aim and go for his face again and manage to land a blow on his nose, the part of his face that stuck out the most. His eyes went wide, but it was a more out of surprise rather than pain. It hurt you a lot more than him, and it was obvious. It felt like you punched a wall! You cradled your wounded hand in the good one; oh, how you regretted that. He was looking quite amused at you. “Did you know that driders have hard outer skin? It’s the drider equivalent of bones,” he said very sarcastically. You backed off a little, trying to think of a way out of this. He also went back to his task at hand; clearly, you’re no threat. The throbbing ache in your hand was getting deeper and deeper, so much so that you hissed through your teeth to alleviate the pain. He must’ve misinterpreted the hiss though, because he didn’t miss a beat in punching you in the face, hard. Blood that isn’t your own splatter all over you, a little bit even falling into your mouth giving a strong irony taste. You immediately fell to the ground. In the back of your mind you worried that you would get brain damage from the blow, but thankfully, or perhaps unthankfully, the web below somewhat cushioned your fall.

The drider was forced to let go of your coworker and grab you fully, his bloody, slimy hands practically clawing into your shoulders. In your pain-dazed state, you think back to how the leader grabbed you by the shoulders earlier. How gentle his hold was in addition to his concerned expression and voice, a stark contrast to the drider literally breaking both of your humeri bones. The searing pain in your arms snaps you back to the present, and you writhe like a pathetic worm. His body towering over your small form, stringy long hair falling on your face. All his eyes narrowed in anger. “I don’t think you understand,” he practically hisses while showing his fangs, which also glowed yellow, “I do all the work. I hunt, I prepare food, I protect us. Your only job is to be obedient. Your only job is to serve me. You belong to me now.” You’re not listening to him: mostly focusing on the unbearable pain in your arms and how you’re probably going to die. He picks you up by the broken arms, the aching now feeling like you’re being burnt alive. You can’t help but groan and weakly struggle. “Now, I don’t feel like preparing food anymore. You’re going to starve. Have fun.” You barely process his words. He takes you to another room and weaves you into the floor; limbs hooked under the web below. With no more energy left inside you, you accept your fate. The last thing you see before closing your eyes is his handsome drider face staring daggers into you. “Maybe you’ll behave when you wake up,” is the last thing you hear before your consciousness drifts away.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

Tbh i hate this ending but we roll with the punches

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Can you please do aged-down levi one-shot?? I've been thinking of a hc where levi didn't know how old he actually is since they don't have birth certificate back in the underground, the fact that he never celebrate his brithday didn't really help. Since Farlan said he's 25 when they first joined the scouts, Levi just assume he's also 25 and that he's just short. Timeskip (3-4 years?) to when the 104th cadets were recently admitted, one day, Levi had a growth spurt...and even grew taller than Hange (I mean..Armin had a frickin glow up when he's 19 ish..so Levi can too :,,)

The scouts we're just like....wth...how old r u, and Levi's just like uh idk 😒.

SORRY IF THIS IS WEIRD 😭✋

The Hope of Humanity Characters: Levi x Hange, Erwin, Miche, Eren Word count: 1122 words

Pale light filtered through the window’s cross grilles, exposing patches of flaking plaster around the walls of the small room. Beneath one of the tall panes stood a wooden desk and chair, whilst a low couch of blue leather ran alongside the adjoining wall. Sitting upon it, shoulders hunched, shirt dirtied and stained with blood, huddled Eren Jaeger. The boy was holding a white cloth to his bruised, swollen face. Hange Zoe knelt before him, brandishing a cotton swab with increasing vigour. 

Behind them, Mike Zaccharius had crossed the space to gaze through the other unobstructed window. He stood so immensely tall that his blonde mop of hair almost swept its top frame. Commander Erwin Smith had followed, his boots striking smartly against the parquet floor. He too stooped before Eren and extended a hand. Captain Levi was leaning back against the far wall, arms crossed with a sullen air. As he stood surveying his comrades gathered around the shivering adolescent, something struck Hange about the man’s appearance. Then, their eyes widened as Levi strode forwards slowly.

His dark hair swept gracefully into grey-blue eyes, both narrowed in contempt. There was a coolness in his expression; a muscle flexing in his jaw.

But there was something else… something intrinsic about him had changed. Broad shoulders filled out his tan, leather jacket; the sleeves no longer reached his wrists. White cotton strained across his abdomen; the buttons of Levi’s shirt threatened to slide open with each stride. Dark straps cut into his sides as he moved. Buckles were laced tight over his thighs, revealing a swell of muscle through the material of his trousers. Hange’s eyes drifted along the inside of his thigh… oh, they were snug. Very snug. 

They swallowed, wrenching their gaze away as Levi threw himself down heavily beside Eren. As Levi crossed a leg over his knee, with all the fluidity of a swift kick, the boy openly whimpered. He had been on the receiving end of enough of them to fear the power of that boot.

“Hey Eren… do you resent me?”

Hange was only half-listening, their eyes mapping out the proportions of the two individuals seated in front of them. Levi’s shadow towered over the adolescent, one arm resting along the back of the couch. Eren shifted so far forward that his rear was hardly touching the seat. 

Calculations clouded Hange’s mind; measurements which did not add up. Invisible lines drew themselves in the air; the scale of the diagram defying the very core of Hange’s reasoning. Then again, if they weighed up the evidence…

Hange thought back to the Scouts’ last departure from Trost. Positioned upon horseback beside one another, Hange remembered the palpable anticipation as they had waited for the great, stone gate to rise before them.  

“We’ve already bagged the craziest abnormal…”

“What? Where?”

There had come a swift movement of air as Levi had swept his arm towards them. Hange had jumped as his fingers traced their chin, clutching their jaw. He eased their chin up, forcing them to meet his gaze. Their noses were inches away from each other as a teasing glint had lit Levi’s eyes.

“Right here,” he had pronounced, looking down at them…

Back in the present, Hange shook themself from their deliberation.

“Speaking of abnormals… Levi?”

Levi’s eyes slid to Hange’s face. His mouth shaped a silent syllable, perplexed by their sudden interjection. For a moment, Hange had forgotten that they had been revisiting earlier conversations in their head rather than speaking aloud.

“Pardon the intrusion Levi, but have you… experienced a growth spurt?” they blurted out, “I mean, I’ve never heard of another guy my age…”

Levi was glowering at them, the muscle in his thigh tensed.

“Who says I’m your age?”

“Oh I… I thought…” Hange was scrambling nervously. “I thought… based on everything I’ve noted about… that is, your style of leadership, the dynamics you have with the younger members of your squad, your fussiness…”

“What, have you been studying me, Four Eyes?” Levi asked dryly, “you tired of your pets already?” The lash of his voice caused the boy beside him to shiver.

Hange turned to Erwin, astonished, who returned the gesture with a solemn nod. 

“Well… it’s true that Levi had no official documentation when he joined us…” the Commander explained gravely, before lifting his head to regard Levi.  “Your details, including your date of birth, were simply recorded from the information you gave us.”

Levi glanced at Hange who was still gaping up at him. Eren had lowered the cloth onto his lap, pulling at its corners until the edges had frayed.

“Look, no one cared about that kinda thing in the underground.” Levi shrugged. “I only put December 25th ‘cause it was easy to remember.”

“So…” Hange’s brow furrowed as they came to a conclusion. “We have no idea of your actual age… meaning for all we know… you could be…”

Yet another memory surfaced in Hange’s mind. They recalled the very first time Levi had performed with ODM gear in front of the other scouts… Hange remembered the flash of hooks as they had launched into tree bark… the elegant arc of his body as he had spiralled upwards, his training blades glinting… It was enough to send the blood rushing into Hange’s face, much as it had done that day. But that had occurred almost six years ago… how old had Levi been exactly? The unknown chilled Hange’s insides; cooled their flushed skin with sobering caution. Levi’s manner had been practically paternal towards Isabel. He had even been the voice of reason to Farlan. That level of maturity wasn’t often found in adolescents… Hange had seen enough of their comrades come and go to know that…

“At least this finally explains why you were rather, uh…” Erwin coughed into his large palm. Miche gave a snort from over by the window. Levi’s glare could rival a sharpened knife.

“Yeah?” His voice was full of daring. “Say it, Erwin.”

“...rather lively as a personality, condensed into such a pocket-sized treat!” Hange finished for him.

Levi swung his foot at them.

“But look at you now! You must’ve shot up another eight inches!” Hange cried, narrowly missing his swipe and rising to their feet. “Forget about Eren being the Hope of Humanity, the titans will be cowering in fear whilst your giant footsteps shake the ground around them!”

Both Erwin and Miche shook with laughter. Even Eren managed a weak smile. Levi removed his arm from the sofa and crossed his arms firmly over his lap.

“Shut it, Four Eyes…” Her turned his head away so that his companions could not see the pale flush which dusted his cheeks.

[arthropodwithapen]

Just wanted to say that I love all your stories, specially Spaghetti and Red Wine, that I already read twice.

Aaaad I have a prompt: Peter develops an alcohol (or other substance) problem after his aunt May dies. Tony, having taken him in, finds out and tries to help him.

Thank u ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you so much for your kind words and for the prompt! Sincerest apologies that it took sooo long to get to, I've been so uninspired this year! Hope it's okay! :))))

Here it is!

Word count - 1724 words

***

Drowning was backwards, Peter decided.

It was all backwards. 

Day in and day out, his lungs burned and he gasped for air. It was unbearable. But as soon as he was drowning, he drew air into his lungs. The burn was quenched with the burn at the back of his throat. 

It was only when he wasn’t drowning that he felt most like he was suffocating. 

Backwards. 

Peter liked drowning. 

Spider-Man drowned too but no one knew it. It came with perks - the mask, the reputation, the rapport with the locals that made lying to them all the more easy.

With his mask he was Spider-Man, not Spider-Sixteen-year-old-kid. ‘Man’ as in, over twenty-one.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out how this would benefit him and Peter used to consider himself a genius. He wasn’t so sure now that he’d been consumed by the tides. A genius wouldn’t let this happen. 

Sixteen was pretty young to start drinking. Sixteen was pretty young for a lot of things. 

Sixteen was pretty young to have lost two parents. Four parents was simply excessive but Peter always had been something of an over achiever. Now he was nothing. He felt nothing under the waves. 

He drowned on rooftops. He drowned on top of moving trains, staring up at the clouds swirling over head. He drowned at every chance he could get and when he wasn’t drowning he was thinking of it - thinking how badly he needed it because not drowning was worse. Always worse. 

He did it alone. He kept it hidden - safe. Sacred. His dirty little secret.

The only issue with that was he’d never been great at keeping secrets from those he held close to him. But the more he drowned, the further he drifted from them and the easier it was to push them away, squeezing empty bottles in the growing space between himself and everyone else like he was building a wall of glass to hide behind. 

Drowning his sorrows - and he had no shortage of those - was a solitary activity. He wanted it to stay that way. People always tried to make him talk and think and do all the things he never wanted to do again. 

He didn’t want to think about it. About her. About any of them. About any of his dead. 

Tony Stark was perhaps an unfortunate oversight that caused the whole operation to crumble. The man hadn’t factored into the equation for quite some time and Peter barely registered him as a character in his story anymore. He wasn’t an issue.

Tony had been thrown in the deep end and had had a moody, bereaved teenager dumped on his doorstep simply because Peter had thought of no one else to call on the fateful night when the waves descended over him, pushing him so deep he couldn’t escape the current if he tried. 

They both stopped pretending either of them had any idea how to navigate the waters together pretty soon after. They skirted around each other to avoid difficult conversations neither of them wanted to have. They hardly ever saw each other anymore, even though Peter was now living with him. 

Gone were the days of easy lab sessions after school spent joking and laughing. Peter didn’t laugh anymore and Tony didn’t know what to do with that. So he didn’t do anything.

Tony never questioned his whereabouts. He never got close enough to smell the liquor on his breath. He never pried long enough to realise what he was doing.

Peter never once blamed him for it. It only made it easier to drown in peace.

It was destined to fall apart at some point, though. 

Spider-Man had been detrimental to his survival and he continued to be, though he spent less and less time actually active in the suit fighting crime like he had been doing for almost two years prior.

But he still tried now and then. Only, web swinging wasn’t the smartest idea when he was drowning and couldn’t remember the last time he bothered with the frivolities of food. 

He didn’t remember trying to swing to the Tower. He didn’t remember not making it to his room. He didn’t remember Tony finding him or how he got him down to the MedBay. He’d never forget the look on his face when he woke up, though. 

*** 

Peter had spent no shortage of time in the MedBay. When he was more active in the suit, he’d been injured on the regular and May and Tony would panic and rush him to the MedBay for Cho to stitch him up. He wondered how she’d try stitch this one up. 

Tony was there beside him, his hand covering his mouth. He didn’t look angry, like Peter had expected, but he was disappointed. Wasn’t that supposed to be worse? Peter just didn’t care. He had been caught and he didn’t care. His eyes told him he knew everything there was to know about him. There was no use hiding now. 

“You care to explain why your blood alcohol levels were through the roof?” Tony asked when he noticed Peter’s eyes were open.

“Probably the tequila.” 

Tony swore under his breath. “I swear to god, Parker, you have some serious explaining to do.”

Peter shrugged. 

Tony stood. “You know, I really thought you were better than this.” 

Peter stared at him. It was backwards. He was breathing easily but it felt like inhaling fire. 

“I just.. what were you thinking?” Tony’s hard stare pierced holes in his chest.

Peter shrugged. “Wasn’t.”

“Clearly! Do you even understand how reckless you’ve been? How stupid..” Tony seethed for minutes, pacing around, waving his finger and ranting about how much Peter had screwed up.

It was like the ferry but worse. But he didn’t tear up like he had then. He didn’t beg for the man’s understanding like he had then. He didn’t tell him he was sorry or that he wanted to be like him like he had then. He didn’t want to be anything. So he didn’t say anything.

Eventually, Tony sighed and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. 

“Everyone always said - May always said” - Peter winced - “how alike we are. How much like me you are. And that.. and that always used to make me so proud.” Tony laughed humourlessly. “I’d have never thought that this is what they meant.” 

Peter kept watching him, blinking up at him while Tony worked through his anger and disappointment. It was all he could do.

Tony sighed. “Okay.” He nodded, as if steeling himself to say something unpleasant. “Right. I guess.. I guess it’s time.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment, he just stared down at the floor, deep in thought. 

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Time?” He asked, his voice hoarse. 

“Yes, Peter. This was only supposed to be a temporary thing anyway.. and well, we all know I’m not qualified..” Tony rambled. And continued to ramble, talking around what Peter already understood. 

Tony was getting rid of him. It was simple. The ship was sinking and Tony was abandoning it to the merciless waves. Peter could drown peacefully now on his own, not worrying about dragging Tony under too. It was better this way.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

Tony spread his arms. “Well? Were you even listening?” 

Peter shrugged. “S’okay.” 

“What?”

“It’s okay. Wherever I go. It’s okay.”

“Okay? Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Peter stared at the wall behind Tony, speaking expressionlessly. “What would you like me to say instead?” 

“I don’t.. I don’t know!” Tony ran a hand through his hair. “This is all just..” Tony waved his arms, looking for the right word. He couldn’t. 

“Backwards,” Peter said. 

Tony looked at him. Peter met his gaze head on. The man was silent, pursing his lips. His eyes were glassy. Tony’s shoulders sagged, he sighed and then slowly sank back into the chair. 

“Yeah. That’s.. Yeah. Backwards.”

They didn’t speak for a long time. It could have been hours, days, years. Peter aged an eternity in that silence. 

“I just.. Why?” Tony sounded broken.

Peter kept his mouth closed, worried that if he opened it, he’d start screaming and wouldn’t be able to stop. 

“Why won’t you talk to me? You know me. You know who I used to be.”

There was pain in his eyes. Peter wondered if it was like looking into a mirror for him - seeing all of his bad choices manifest in the mentee that was supposed to be better than he was.

“Say something.”

Peter had nothing to say. He had a million things to say. He never wanted to speak again. He wanted to dive into the salty depths of despair, sink down and swallow until his lungs stopped burning. 

“Peter, if there’s anyone that understands what you’re going through, it’s me. And I’m the last person that’s going to judge. I just want you to tell me.”

His lungs were filling up with water. He didn’t remember how to breathe.

"Just say it.”

“I’m drowning.”

Tony sucked in a breath. Peter waited for him to do something, say something - help him. Tony smiled a sad smile, relieved at the admission. 

“Go on,” Tony encouraged gently. Peter’s throat burned. His eyes did too. 

“I’m drowning and the only time I don’t feel like I’m drowning is when I drown  myself. It’s backwards.”

Tony reached forward and took Peter’s hand, covering it with his own. He didn’t remember the last time he’d touched another person. He looked at their hands. 

Tony’s was warm, Peter’s was freezing. Gradually, the warmth seeped into his and the places were their skin was touching reached equilibrium. Balance. Understanding. 

“I get it, Peter,” Tony said, so incredibly earnest that the burning overwhelmed him and a single tear spilled down his cheek. “I see you. I understand. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this, okay?” He squeezed his hand. “Together.”

The urge to run and hide was there, to shy away into the dark depths of his mind and push everyone further back from himself. But Tony was a lifeboat. He had been drowning once too and maybe that meant he could be the one that helped him learn to swim. 

“Okay.” Relief. 

Backwards.

[13eyond13]

Hey Bloz! How r u? I cannot even begin to express how fun it’s been to see ur Beatles posts on my dash. the minute I saw the Real Love demo I was like ok… she’s fallen down the rabbit hole XD I was fixated on them last year for a good few months. It was a lot of fun reading about them, watching their movies, and reading fan analyses online. There’s so much out there! And Beatles rpf is a whole world unto itself lol at first I was skeptical of it but then… I was intrigued haha

Do u have any fave songs or albums? :)

Omg hello Jess!! I miss you and it's so nice to hear from you 🫂

Hahaha YES I'm pretty deep into The Beatles lore rabbit hole already, it's been my main fixation for entertainment for the past month or so. You're right, there's just so much to dig into. Caught me totally by surprise, I feel like I'm so late to the game to just be having a Beatles phase now... I never felt extremely interested in learning about them before, but a randomly recommended YouTube video (x) about how it's reductive to blame the band's breakup solely on Yoko Ono drew me into this whole fascination a few weeks back.

😆 And hah, you must have sent this ask to me right before I deleted that "Real Love" demo reblog, because I thought I'd better delete it after I looked in the notes of the post and saw the OP wasn't taking kindly to anybody questioning if John was actually giggling instead of sobbing there (which is what I think he was doing, personally... but it still sounded like he was writing something about Paul? 🤷‍♀️ idk, doesn't need to be crying for it to still be a bit of an eyebrow raiser, imo)

I haven't actually really looked into any rpf yet, just digesting the "canon" material and whatnot (listening chronologically to their discography and not completely finished with that yet, up to halfway through the White album rn). Been watching their movies and behind the scenes stuff and documentaries (the Get Back one by Peter Jackson was fascinating even for a relatively new fan to watch, imo), reading a bigass biography about them (Tune In by Mark Lewisohn, it's like this great slowburn real-time mosey through the band's childhoods and earliest days together), and watching the occasional YouTube video deep dives (this one series in particular is p beautifully made and impressively researched and really got me in the feels regarding the shippy theories about J&P: [x])

As for my faves of their music, I haven't finished listening to 100% of their albums yet, BUT right now I'm actually very partial to some of their earliest records. I feel like some of their more normie stuff from the early 60s is actually the most fantastic fun to listen to, and Please Please Me and A Hard Day's Night might be the two albums with the most bangers that I never want to skip so far. Their more experimental and psychedelic and surreal later stuff is also interesting and arguably more unique and groundbreaking or creative or whatever, but I'm not as familiar with them outside of the main extremely famous tracks on them yet, and I'll need to finish listening and let them grow on me a bit before I can probably say for sure. However I think so far my faves from their later stuff would probs be Magical Mystery Tour, Abbey Road, and possibly the White Album (once I actually finish listening to it).

John is definitely my favourite Beatle, which was actually a complete surprise to me, I thought he'd be my least fave. And there are so many good bops that it's hard to narrow it down, but some of my personal faves so far are I Saw Her Standing There, I Should Have Known Better, I Want to Hold Your Hand, It Won't be Long, A Hard Day's Night, Do You Want to Know a Secret, Oh! Darling, I Want You (She's So Heavy) and If I Fell... hmm, I think maybe I'm just kinda a sucker for their simple and enthusiastic and joyful love songs the most, usually?

Thank you for sending me this sweet ask! I'd love to hear what some of your faves are too 🧡

[imaginespazzi]

Chapter 10!!!🥳 I didn't even do a review for chapter 9 cause I was a bit busy (and it was like 5k words worth of smut tbf) but here we go again:

-The temmates noticing, Steph been knew, like Ruth said: what is love if it can't be seen by everyone? "Love. The word sends a shiver through Azzi. It’s not a foreign feeling to her at all, especially not when it comes to Paige. If she’s honest with herself, it’s a feeling that has never left." "Love. The word seeps into Paige’s veins, traveling up her bloodstreams until it claws its way into her heart, settling against her ribcage like a rock so that when she breathes, it’s all she can feel. It’s too soon, she knows, and it defeats the purpose of going slow except- it’s not soon at all. Because this isn’t a new feeling, it’s a far too familiar old one that she’d buried as deep within her as possible but is now yearning to get out. It had never gone away, simply lingered in the back of her mind just waiting for this moment."

-Oooohhh, Angie... So Paige is scared she might need to leave next year? Well I don't really have more to say about that, I guess we'll have to wait and see, please be nice.

-Stephie asking Azzi if Paige can hug, carry and kiss Claudia's mom is interesting, that girl always knows what she's doing so she might be onto them. Now wheter she can fully comprehend what a relationship is I don't think so but she can at the very least see the jealousy in her mom, I think.

-"All chatter comes to a halt as the boy -well that’s not quite right; not when he towers over Paige and Azzi as he stands up from where he’d been sitting on the lawn chair." OMG DREW???!!! 

-It's Drewwww! 

-"Celebratory cuddles"😭😭😭 what a save Azzi, what a save...

-Said this in a past review, I knew he'd be pissed. But Paige and him had at least apparently been talking about him coming to visit so I don't think they're on bad terms. Which is normal too cause ngl, it for sure hurt him super bad to have to lose Azzi, but you can't be mad at YOUR sibling forever because of THEIR relationship coming to an end. I'm just waiting for him to melt, Stephie's already getting to him.🥹

That's it I think, like u said important chapter but at the same time filler so I don't see much to hyperanalyze, right now at least. I might notice something later and if I do I'll just send more thoughts in but yh that's it I think. Thank u as always and can't wait for the next chapter! -🪐

Omg hi love I missed you! Lmao not you calling me out...

-Ahhh I was wondering anyone caught the little parallel-ish moment between the two of them hearing the word love and their relatively similar "it's always been there" moments.

-Hey I'm always nice :)

-Stephie's very perceptive (as kids often are). She might not fully know what's going on between them, but she can tell there's something there for sure.

-I giggled writing celebratory cuddle. It was at some point going to be morning seven up but that didn't make as much sense lol

-He's rightly pissed. I think with time he's realized it's not really fair to be mad at Paige for her relationship ending but he absolute is allowed to be mad at Azzi for in a sense abandoning him.

[llitchilitchi]

Ahoj, ahoj, zasa ja a mam ďaľšie otázky o vampire AU!

I know this was technically asked before but I don´t think there was any explicit answer sooo ... aside from vampires what other kinds of supernatural creatures are in your AU? And do you have any ideas on which character would be supernatural and what kind they´d be?

So Sapnap and George can be seen in modern mirrors but what about photos? In some stories it´s said that vampires won´t show on photos so now I wonder ... does Dream ever try to take a selfie with these 2 and George and Sapnap are just not there or it´s just their clothes seeming floating around?

I think it was mentioned that after argument or something Dream puts on lot of silver jewelry because vampires hate that. And I´m sorry if this was already answered and I forgot, but how do Sap and Gogy react to this? Also does Dream put on just enough to keep them from biting or does he go overboard putting on ridiculous amount of jewelry just cuz he can and it´s kinda fun walking around the house with enough silver on him that these 2 assholes don´t even dare to come close? They´d be on the opposite end of the room shooting him very wary glances and just "come on babe, we´re sorry" (I also can´t get the picture of Dream holding eyes contact with them while putting on jet another silver necklace in passive aggressive manner)

Do Sapnap and George ever kinda ... stalk Dream around? Like following him to school etc. even if he doesn´t really want them to?

No myslím, že to je nateraz všetko. Vopred sa ospravedľňujem ak sa za pár dní objavím s ďaľšou otázkou 😅

ahojahoj welcome back :D

the au is gonna be centered around the vampires. I know I promised it half a year ago at this point but I do want to introduce other vampires that snf are friends with (cough cough they're from the munchymc crew). honestly I didn't put much thought into other supernaturals? the only one that I am 100% sure of is that Techno is a werewolf (or a wereboar. let me indulge). as of the others I think it would be nice to include fairies, as you can guess it'd be Tina, Sylvee and/or Hannah, but I don't really know what I'd do with them in the AU, so this is more of just a loose idea than a promise

that's an interesting question! I didn't think about it before, but it's probably because silver (or more specifically, silver bromide/AgBr) was used in photography back in the day. given that the images are processed digitally nowadays, they would not have this problem, though the image of that is really funny. (and, to be entirely honest right now, the selfie of them that I drew was supposed to be a window reflection. if you've taken one of those two-storey trains they make for amazing 'mirror selfie' places)

I should genuinely draw that :D it doesn't repel them Entirely, they can still approach him, but they try to avoid touching anywhere near the silver. which sucks for them because Dream loves his silver rings and chains. but the 'babe. babe no y do u do this to us we're sorry' is very much a thing :D the silver is a very clear sign to back off though, so they'd keep some distance. I wonder how much silver would be necessary to keep them at the other end of the room? on a bit of a sidenote, there is one human-vampire couple where the human threatens to get silver lip and tongue piercings whenever his boyfriend gets a little too much

and no, they don't. they respect him and his privacy and wishes, and trust him enough when he texts them about going places or staying somewhere longer. I'm trying to write a healthy relationship for once

thank you for the questions! vôbec sa nemusíš ospravedlňovať, vždy ma tvoje asks potešia, hlavne keď vidím slovenčinu :D

[poxei]

hii i got some stuff at your table at fanime and wanted to say that I really love your art and merch!! I was rly taking in how well designed everything was (i esp love the graphic design on your pins and stickers) and i wanted to ask how you got into/how long you have been tabling at conventions? i want to get into it too but im overwhelmed with keeping track of all the applications, merch making, etc--do you have any tips for beginners that you wish you knew when u started?

Thanks so much!! I'm glad to hear you like what you got from me! and that you appreciate the effort I put into graphic design :'D

I'll answer your question below the cut since it got kind of long

My first time tabling was in September 2018 at Crunchyroll Expo! I only did 4 cons pre-2020, the last of them being Crunchyroll Expo 2019, so I tabled for exactly a year before the pandemic started. Then I stopped for two years and started doing cons again in May 2022 at Fanime. I've got at least 3 more cons planned for this year including my first AX 😳 But my last con as of right now is Fanime 2023, so I've been tabling for a little over two years.

Tabling was really overwhelming the first time I did it too, but I mooched off of a friend's table so at least I didn't have to worry about getting the table. It's really helpful if you have a friend who's willing to share their knowledge with you, but if you don't, you kind of have to learn how to table the hard way... I also have a bunch of friends who started tabling around the same time, so we all helped each other by sharing resources, tips, and manufacturers. I strongly recommend getting a buddy! Especially if you ever plan to travel to a convention to table, having a friend go with you takes off so much stress.

When you're first applying, I would suggest finding a convention or free-admission art market close to you (doesn't matter the size of the convention/market), or a big con where you're almost guaranteed to make your money back like AX, ANYC, or Fanime (though it's gonna be tough to get into these because of all the competition). Don't worry about tracking the apps for every single con, just pick a few deadlines to track. I think for your first con it's best to cut down on travel/lodging costs as much as possible because you never know how much you'll make back.

As for making merch, I wouldn't worry about making so much all at once. Well, maybe you have to produce a lot for your first con. But after that I just try to add at least one new thing for each con, even if it's just a sticker, so I slowly build up a catalogue that way. For my first con, I just printed zine pieces and illustrations that I already had, and the only new thing I drew was buttons.

For more specific questions, the blog @howtobeaconartist helped me so much in the beginning! You can also ask me off-anon, and I can try to help, but I can't guarantee that I can be of help.

[reidsnose]

doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

-

-

doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

-

-

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic

[myherowritings]

PART 2. LOVE IS FAKE, MARRY A WEALTHY SUITOR

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.5k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. thank u guys for all the positive feedback on this series so far and i really hope u enjoy this chapter too ! ^-^ xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

It seemed your subtle pleas to the gods to see the mysterious businessman again had been answered, since only the day after Shouto gave you a $100 tip, you saw him at the cafe. 

You looked to the skies with a hint of suspicion. This seemed too easy— You were expecting at least a few weeks of your heart pining as you wondered where-oh-where your dreamy customer could have gone. But instead, after a mere 24 hours later, you saw him enter the store in a pair of pressed trousers and a light blue, button up shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. 

Blinking, you drew your attention away from his exposed forearms. You knew he was attractive from your first encounter, but was he always this hot? 

Sadly, you couldn’t focus too much on that since he had to get behind the line and obstruct himself from your view, and you had to take the order of the next customer. 

“Hi! I can take the next person in line.” You smiled. “Good morning! What can I get started for you today?”

After repeating that five or so more times and starting a few drinks on hot bar, you finally reached Shouto’s place and, thankfully, there didn’t seem to be too many patrons piling behind him. 

“Good morning, Shouto!” you greeted when he stepped forward to the counter. “How are you this morning?”

“Better now that I saw you.” 

Your smile faltered as your cheeks heated up, but you tried to brush it off with a laugh. While Shouto had the definite looks of a so-called businessman playboy, his words held none of the flirtatious intonation as one might expect. In fact, he sounded like he genuinely meant it— Like he was only stating a simple fact and had no reason to be shameful. 

It felt both like an attack on your heart and like a refreshing glass of water at the same time. 

“How about you?” he continued. 

“I could say the same thing,” you said with a chuckle, but you found yourself meaning everything you told him. Though you didn’t expect to see him again at the cafe so soon, you couldn’t deny the instant he walked through the doors, your morning felt just a little bit brighter. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but this is a pleasant surprise.” 

Shouto had the decency to look a little bashful as he averted his gaze slightly. “Yeah. I…really liked the...cheese danishes.” 

Surprised, a small giggle left your lips. “Don’t tell me you finished all three dozen of them!”

“Well…” He looked even more sheepish. “I didn’t exactly… I guess you could say that.” 

“I’m glad you liked them so much you came back for more,” you teased, looking down at the pastries from the oven you just stocked. “Sadly, our fresh pastry today is a chocolate croissant. I can tell my manager to have cheese danishes made again soon though!”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try the chocolate croissants today then. Maybe five dozen this time.” 

Five multiplied by twelve… A whole 60 chocolate croissants? Were they all for him? You shrugged, not one to judge. If someone wanted to eat 60 croissants, so be it. Though you did hope he wouldn’t eat it all in one sitting. That might give him a stomachache. 

“Alrighty, five dozen chocolate croissants,” you repeated as you typed it into the register. “And would you like any beverages with that? Another flat white maybe?” 

“Actually, I’ll have a large macchiato with two extra shots of espresso this time.” 

You nodded with a hum. “Long day ahead?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“I hope the coffee and croissants can carry you through, Shouto!” you said, wishing his day would go by smoothly. “Will that be all for you today?”

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope so too. And yes, that’s it.”

“Great. $73.24 is your total then! Will you be paying in card again?” 

He nodded. 

“Go ahead and scan and sign when you’re ready.”

You busied yourself by writing his name and order on a large cup and starting the espresso pulls. Your manager was helping get the pastries and other orders ready this morning, so it was nowhere near as hectic as yesterday. 

“Your order will be to your right. It was nice seeing you again, Shouto.” You smiled, giving him a small wave and already wishing you could hold the line up to talk to him longer. “See you tomorrow morning?” you asked almost hesitantly.

He returned your smile with upturned lips of his own. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” Before he left the counter, he pulled out another $100 bill—did he go to a dry cleaners to have his cash steamed and ironed? It was almost ridiculously crisp—and handed it to you. “A tip to show my appreciation for your service.”

“A-Again?” you stammered, eyes wide. That was $200 in two days from just his tip alone. That was more than you made in two weeks when you worked part-time! “Are you sure?”

Whether he had money to spare or not, this was incredibly generous of him and you would never have expected this amount from anyone. And it wasn’t like Shouto made it a scene for everyone in the shop to look at and gawk; he was subtle yet unashamed. Like he wanted to do it for no other reason than to do it. 

“Of course. You deserve it for your work, Y/N.”

The customer behind him made an impatient noise and you winced. You wanted to be able to thank him more, but all you had time for was a simple, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Shouto nodded in response before walking to the other side of the cafe to wait for his order while you managed the other customers in line, a fuzzy but warm feeling lingering in your stomach from your bizarre interaction. Money or not, you enjoyed seeing him in the mornings and were already looking forward to your brief conversations that would take place the next days to come.

He certainly gave you something to look forward to amidst the inconsiderate customers who barely saw you as human every morning. Sometimes, that was all you could ask for. 

When Shouto left the store and the line had died down towards the end of rush hour, your manager approached you with a curious look on her face. 

“That guy named Shouto…?” Miyazaki said. 

You nodded. 

“A friend of yours?”

“You could say that… We just met yesterday’s morning shift,” you said as you finished up the green tea latte for one of the remaining stragglers from the last hour’s boom. “But he’s really friendly I think.”

“You only recently became associated?” she asked, lifting a brow. “It seemed like you two were quite chummy today.” Then, nudged your side. “He was rather attractive don’t you think? And rich-looking.”

Fumbling with the lid on the beverage, you stifled a surprised cough. Sure, you got along with your boss and thought she was one of the more understanding and kind individuals you have worked under, but gossiping about the looks and potential income of a customer with your 56-year-old manager was not on your bingo sheet as a worker here.

“I…” You called out the order for the latte before turning back to your manager. “He is.”

“Ooh, he’s rich?”

“I meant he’s attractive!” you sputtered, feeling abashed at her blunt words. You thought of the tip he gave you in your pocket and his orders of dozens of pastries. “Rich…maybe so. Not that it matters!” 

Miyazaki tsked. “Of course it matters! Marry rich and your life will be easier. That’s what my mother told me and what her mother told her.” She shook her head. “Should’ve listened.” 

You laughed, feeling only a little awkward. It wasn’t the first time you heard that sentiment from someone older than you. It wasn’t uncommon for family members or even workers you were close to to share that same advice—if you could even call it that.

While you agreed money could make a lot of things easier, marrying someone for wealth didn’t appeal to you. But you recognized that even that may come from a place of privilege to be able to say. 

“He seems like a wealthy suitor for you, yes?”

“Suitor—?” you choked out. “No! I mean— We just met! We don’t know anything about each other really.”

She sighed, “Young people and their obsession with marrying someone they ‘know’ for true love. When do you really know someone anyway?” Waving a hand she changed the topic. “But enough of that. What I wanted to say was next time that man comes in here, we can offer him a complimentary box of a dozen pastries— Since he’s spent so much in so little it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Sure. A complimentary dozen.” Finally. Work. A topic you felt much more comfortable talking about. “That, I can do.” 

“And then maybe offer a hand in marriage while you’re at it.”

“Mrs. Miyazaki!” you gasped, feeling only mildly affronted. 

“I joke.” She ruffled her hair and smoothed down her apron. “I’m going to make more pastries now. Can you hold up the front?” 

“You can count on me.”

“I know I can. Thanks for your hard work!” 

And with that, she headed to the backroom where the kitchen was to leave you alone with your thoughts in a quiet cafe. Rush hour ended so there were only a few customers trickling in, most much kinder and more pleasant to talk to than the bustling businessmen of the earlier shift. 

Throughout your small conversations with the patrons, you found yourself thinking back to two things— One, how interesting traditional values and teachings in collectivist cultures were and questioning where you fell into place with them, and two…wondering about Shouto. 

Tomorrow, he had said before he left. You’d see him again tomorrow. 

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to it more than you’d like to admit. 

— ✩ —

It was the fifth day of the week, the fifth time he had seen you at the cafe, and he was already tempted to see you again. Would it be invasive to get another pastry after work? Would you even be there working at that hour?

Shouto saw you this morning (along with all the other mornings before that) and yet he couldn’t quell the pull he felt towards you with only the short interaction time you had together. But he would take what he could get without being weird. 

He had been told in the past he could be too forward and dysregulate his feelings and scare people off, and that wasn’t something he wanted to risk with you, though he was certainly much better at it now with learning and practice. If he was reading things correctly, you at least seemed to enjoy seeing him during your shift. 

“You got more pastries, sir?” an employee from the medical supplies sector asked him gleefully. “I swear they get better each time!”

Shouto nodded with a smile. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be sure to relay your compliment.”

With the dozens of pastries he’s been ordering from your cafe (each order seeming to grow every time he visited after realizing just how much his employees enjoyed it), he would place them around the breakrooms and staff kitchens in the establishment. Those areas were always fully stocked with drinks and sandwiches and chocolates in case anyone needed a little boost, but nothing seemed to bring as much comfort as freshly baked pastries did. And a different baked good almost everyday seemed to give people more to get excited about. 

He owed it all to your sales’ pitch and blinding smile that made him want to buy it. And your personality, of course.

His Personal Secretary had started to wonder why she no longer was tasked with his early morning coffee runs, and Shouto had to find a way to answer without saying it was because there was a barista he wanted to keep talking to. 

Not even he was that shameless. 

The first time, his PS had just called in sick and Shouto decided he might as well head to a cafe himself for the first time in a while. He worried he might have been rusty while ordering, but you did such a good job at being welcoming and guiding the transaction that he found himself actually enjoying it. (Enjoying you, maybe. But it was too soon to admit that.) 

And now, after that initial meeting, he decided it was worth half an hour of his day to give his PS some early morning break time and visit the cafe himself. 

It was worth it so much, in fact, that the next morning on a Saturday, despite most of his employees being given the weekend off, he still went to buy some coffee and pastries. 

“Good morning!” an older lady called as he entered the front doors. Shouto had seen her assisting in shifts and baking pastries when you were busy working the cash register. “What can I get started for you today?”

He looked around the store—relatively quiet compared to the rush hour during the weekdays—and to his disappointment, saw no sight of you. 

The current barista laughed, seeming to read his very thoughts. “Looking for someone? Y/N perhaps?”

His gaze shot up, feeling like a kid getting caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to by his guardian. Cautiously, he gave a small nod. 

“‘Fraid they have the weekends off, actually,” the lady—her name tag read Miyazaki—said. “But don’t look so down, they’ll be back on Monday morning to greet you with a smile.”

He nodded again, feeling his face heat up. Was he that transparent or did Miyazaki just know too much? “Thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckled, waving him over. “No need to be so formal. Now, is there anything I can get for you? Or were you just visiting in hopes of asking our dear Y/N out?”

“No— I…” Shouto felt himself averting his gaze. “I’ll order something.”

At his apparent discomfort, her mischievous gaze softened. “Of course, hon. Sorry for teasing too much. I was just excited seeing how adorable you and Y/N were.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, that’s not my business. Anyway. What can I get started for you?”

He asked for a macchiato and a couple dozen of today’s pastries, paid, and tipped. (Though, it was initially met with a blatant rejection. He didn’t take it too hard; he knew some older members of society thought of tips as insulting and he’d never force anyone to take a tip if it made them feel bad. But after offering again, she thankfully accepted it.)

When he left the cafe, although the exchange was pleasant enough, Shouto still found himself disappointed he wasn’t able to see you. 

At least he had something to look forward to next Monday morning, though part of him wished the day would somehow come sooner. 

a/n: hope u enjoyed miyazaki’s words of wisdom u.u FHKDF i’m totally kidding, but if ur asian like me then u kNOW what convos like that are like omg ,, just had my mom and two grandmas tell me that recently :’/ kskskfd but anyway i hope u enjoyed this chapter and liked seeing a glimpse of shouto’s thoughts ;3 tysm for reading!

what to expect in the next part:

more shouto and y/n :>

maybe some ~flirting~ pfft idk idk u.u

some minor...misunderstandings 

“hello, zuko here” vibes

[juyoens]

coffee, waffles, & the boy next door | eric sohn

summary: you’re not really into this whole adulting thing yet, but now you have two things to look forward to: the new guy next door who keeps jokingly asking you to dinner every time you see each other, and the person who found out they’ve been unintentionally stealing your favorite waffles at the cafe and has started telling the baristas to leave notes on your coffee being all cocky about it. pairing: eric sohn x gn!reader ft. some tbz members making cameos pairing: slice of life, romance :p warnings: you & co. def say ‘fuck’ at some point, you and eric are kind of crazy, horrible attempt at comedy

It’s been over a year since you moved into your new apartment, which has you over the moon because 1. You live alone now and you can do whatever you want, and 2. It makes you totally feel like a legit adult….if such a term even exists.

And as for the third reason, well…..

“Y/N!” The cheerful, hearty voice that always greets you as you make your way back from work belongs to Eric Sohn, your next door neighbor.

“Hey! D’you have a good day?” you plastered a smile on your face once you turned to him. Ever since you moved in he has always greeted you, some days even helping you carry your groceries inside since he knows you live alone.

The routine of asking each other about how your days went had gotten you two standing outside your apartment doors for like 30 minutes while you just kind of….awkwardly held onto your key already inside the keyhole.

But you were always so immersed into your conversations with Eric, having the positive energy of someone so funny and cheerful constantly around you be such a contrast to your days at work where you’re still trying to get the hang of things. In summary, you’ve grown fond of your neighbor. Your really really really cute neighbor.

There’s always this one line that he says though that catches you off guard each time.

“What if....you went to dinner with me?" jokingly, of course.

You’re not sure how he even manages to casually slip that in each time and why he does so jokingly, but it always ends in the two of you bursting out into laughter before waving goodnight and getting inside your respective apartments.

“They’re clearly interested, who the fuck asks that everyday?” a co-worker of yours, Chanhee, says with simple directness as the two of you walk inside the nearby cafe before heading to work.

“There’s no…..way. Fuck!" your smile slips as soon as you reach the display of pastries, seeing your favorite waffles filled to the brim with cream, gone, once again. Just like every other day.

It shouldn’t piss you off this much, but the baristas know about your whole struggle and have told the person who keeps getting them ahead of you all about it, leading to them having the baristas leave messages for them whenever they hand out your coffee.

Chanhee simply lets out a chuckle as you let out a gloomy sigh. The usual barista working the morning shift and the reason behind this weird waffle war starting, Younghoon, gives you an awkward grin as you walk up to the counter.

“The usual, Younghoon. Thanks.” you order, and he doesn’t say anything and just gets to work with it. You watch with an annoyed look as you watch him place the post-it note on your coffee cup.

“Well, well, what’s it gonna be this time,” Chanhee mocks as Younghoon hands over the cup to you. “Thanks….Younghoon.” you force a smile at him, and he simply shrugs. “You were just late by 2 minutes, y’know.”

“We really shouldn’t have stopped in the middle of the sidewalk just to talk about my cute neighbor,” you turn to Chanhee with a disappointed look.

“There are other waffles in the city, you know that right?”

“It’s not like this one though.”

Chanhee rolls his eyes at you at how ridiculous and funny he found this whole situation, while you look down at your coffee cup and take the sticky note off.

I won again! You should get here earlier, they sell out fast, if you haven’t figured that out yet ;)

“I do know that!” you huff, and Chanhee nudges you to tell you that you just said that out loud and now the people behind you are just giving you weird looks, but you completely ignore that and just get out of there.

The day passes by with you forgetting the whole thing like you usually do, and you write a mental note to yourself that you’ll be there earlier tomorrow, which, you’ve wrote so many of that your brain is on overload with the same note being written every single day only for you to not succeed and get that damn waffle every morning.

There’s something good to look forward to, at least.

“Y/N!” The familiar voice is like music to your ears at this point. “We seem to always get off work at the same time, no?” he chuckles.

“How was your day? I don’t really have much to tell on my part, but there’s this really funny person who keeps trying to get the waffle at the cafe across the street from where I work, and I do feel bad but also those are my favorite so I’ve just found it fun to leave them-”

“What?” your eyes widen and your voice raises at him, cutting off his babbling. "That was you?!”

Eric drew his eyebrows for a second in confusion, before terror overtook his face as soon as he realised what you were implying.

“Y-You….Oh my god. That was you, Y/N?”

“I asked you that first! You mean to tell me I’ve been so friendly with the guy who's been stealing my waffles for the past months?!”

“I didn’t steal them!”

The two of you bicker, your voices echoing through the halls before some guy named Sunwoo peeks his head out his apartment door and tells you two to shut the fuck up or at least lower your voices.

Now with your little argument interrupted, the two of you mutter your apologies to the poor guy before turning back to one another in awkward silence, unsure how to return to it.

After a few seconds of silence, you tried to stifle a laugh, before bursting out into laughter. “What?”

“We just...argued about waffles.” you breathed out, making Eric burst into a fit of laughter with you.

Your neighbors probably think the two randos who were just loudly arguing about waffles and now laughing like maniacs in the hallway are batshit insane, but you two couldn’t even care less about that right now.

“Ok, well, I’m really sorry about the notes thing. I promise tomorrow I’ll let you have it. If only I had known that was you….” he says, making the effort to sound assuring.

“It’s fine. I don’t care now that I know who’s been doing that,” you assured, letting out a chuckle. But then, a bright idea. This was your chance to get that dinner that you wanted.

“Although,” you begin, Eric’s head suddenly jerking back in your direction. “Since you’ve been jokingly asking me to dinner all this time, you should get on that for compensation.”

Eric grins. “That wasn’t a joke at all. I just kept doing it since you…..kept laughing it off."

Great. Good to know you both are crazy and really fucking oblivious.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. As payment for that, I’ll be getting the waffle again tomorrow.”

[wizkiddx]

hiiiii i love your stuff - could u do one where the readers ill but they have stuff to do and tom has to look after her. maybe if they were just friends before too but both pining? thankuuuuuuuuu

should I be writing this instead of revising? clearly fucking not. Did I make this little blurb req ridiculously long purely to procrastinate? Of fucking course.

but also this was v cute! I assumed u meant famous!reader, sorry if that's not what u were after at all anon x

summary: Tom Holland turns into the readers knight in shining armour when they get ill during promo

warnings: fainting / feeling ill

///////////////////

It couldn’t be today. Of all days, why today? You’d been at home for two weeks doing absolutely nothing, before this trip. And yet it’s when your itinerary is packed to the brim, people moving heaven and earth just speak to you. Two weeks of unrelenting press for Marvels next big ensemble movie. 

Your manager was speaking to you, reeling off a run down of todays activities but instead of listening you nodded along blankly - head rather cloudy with this heavy mist that was not shaking off, no matter how hard you tried. 

“You got that Y/n/n?” Lucy pointedly spoke, eyes almost physically knocking you backwards as if her eyeliner was battery rams. Fumbling with your thoughts, your answer wasn’t particularly cohesive earning you just a disappointed head shake. 

“I um… yeh I think. Who-who did you say I was paired up with?” 

“Y/n please for the love of god. Tom, like I said the past fifty times.” And to be fair to Lucy she wasn’t wrong. It was the first major major promo tour for the both of you and after just two days so far - you were both exhausted. She was more than allowed to be a bit short tempered. 

“But we-we hardly know each other? The chemistry won’t be there and-“

“As I said, I tried to re-jig it but Kevin is of the mind that acting is your job.” Her tone was sharp but as she glared across the opposing seats, in the little mini van Marvel had hired for you as transportation, her eyes softened. Lucy had been so wrapped up in her own stress she may have overlooked quite how gingerly you were sitting. By the time she had arrived at the hotel, your stylist had already managed to half save your ghoulish looking face, with sunken under eyes and tired skin, so it wasn’t so blatantly obvious how crap you were feeling.  “Is everything okay with you?” 

It felt pretty puny to say that the jet lag from flying to Tokyo had been weighing you down further than you wanted, or that the local cuisine top chefs had kindly prepared for you last night wasn’t siting well in your stomach. To be honest, even you thought it was just your body being a bit overdramatic. So in response, you put on your best happy-go-lucky face feigning a smile.

“No no I’m fine, just want to give the best interviews I can and you know…. I’m awkward as hell as it is, then pair me with the most talented actor that I share about two minutes of screen time with…it’ll be interesting.” 

The way Lucy reacted with a weird slow nod, eyebrows furrowed, meant it was quite apparent you had perhaps overplayed that one. Had you not been so over the day before it even began, you would’ve tried again to give a more believable act. But as you were, you turned your attention back out to the bustling streets of Tokyo and the high rise buildings bordering each pavement. 

You didnt have a problem with Tom, far from it in fact. Tom was hilarious and the times you had met him, you’d both built up this weird and sarcastic competitiveness with each other. It was a game of who could get the last laugh, each of you pushing each other with the Mickey taking just a little further. Of course, not in a malicious way, just the way you’d both lived pretty similar but parallel careers - when everyone drew comparisons between the both of you, it was nice to make it a joke. 

Like Tom you’d also started out on stage, had a ‘big break’ movie as a kid and then spent your teenage years on and off film sets - till marvel happened. Then everything blew up to epic proportions, changing your life forever. Actually, it was so similar to Tom’s story, plus the fact you were also from the south west of the UK. It was bizarre your paths hadn’t crossed more - He probably could’ve been a useful ally in the the whole ‘becoming famous’ thing. 

And yet, you could probably count on two hands the amount of conversations you’d had with him. 

Now that, that was the issue. Right from the beginning you learn what the press want and when you are publicising a movie you cater into it too. They’d all be asking for the insider scoop on set; what pranks you’d pulled on each other; what was the most annoying thing about each other. Which is hard if you’d only had 5 or 6 days actually on set together. 

By the time the cab had wormed its way through the Tokyo traffic and you arrived at the PR hotel, it was already 9:30 - making you 15 minutes late (blame it on the traffic). Instantly then you were ushered straight to the interview room for the evening, no chance of green room chat or grabbing a drink before. The place was stuffy, everything was draped with black curtains except the poster board that Tom was already sitting infront of. 

He’d scrubbed up well, no doubt about it. He was wearing statement-ish burgundy suit trousers, teamed with a black knitted but collared shirt thing - that was clearly tailor made for the man. As soon as he noticed you scurry into the room, his face broke out into a warm smile, jumping up to greet you in a friendly hug. It was brief, and as you pulled back you accidentally bumped your head on one of the overhanging lights. No doubt someone had spent a ridiculous amount of time configuring them so they were positioned perfectly, which you had just ruined with your big head. 

“Oh shit!” Tom just laughed in response, shaking his head slightly as he lead you the two steps across to your pre-positioned seats. 

“Making an entrance as always I see!”

“Yeh, you know me, a bit of chaos just to keep everyone on their toes.”

“Oh is that why you’re ‘fashionably late’” With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, you just rolled your eyes, fidgeting on the chair to find a position that didnt aggravate  your stomach so much.

“I’m ready now though! What did I miss? Just having to pretend to be your friend for 15 minutes?” You stressed the words as though the thought of conversation with Tom was the absolute worst thing in the world - which you definetly didnt think. Scowling like you’d insulted his dog Tessa, it was almost visible how the cogs were turning in his head looking for a comeback. Unfortunately for him though, he was quickly shut up but the organiser bringing the first interviewer in . 

For what would, no doubt, be a long day. 

////

Everything had started off so well, the banter was flowing between you and Tom, no major spoilers revealed that meant Marvel would have to make the journalist disappear. It was once you hit an hour of back-to-back interviews that everything started to crack bit. Because yes, it had only been an hour but that was enough to exhaust you on this particular day. When Tom joked around you got slower and slower, similarly the  energy was zapped from your own answers. It’s not very compelling when someone says ‘you have to watch this movie’ in a monotonous voice with sullen eyes. 

As the interviewers were swapping in and out, Tom actually lightly nudged your shoulder.

“Everything alright? We’re trying to sell tickets and you’ve got a face like thunder.”

“Oh no-no sorry I just, I-um.”

“You want some water?” Now looking at your with more concerned eyes, as if he was just nervous he’d actually offended you for calling you a boring bastard. And you would’ve picked up on it and alleviated his concerns, if it weren’t for the fact your eyes were glued on the water bottle he was holding out to you. You were thirsty. You knew that, that wasn’t the conundrum. What you weren’t so sure about was whether your stomach would accept it, or more violently reject it. In a very non ‘we’re-trying-to-sell-a-movie’ style. 

But the lightheaded fogginess in your brain won out, as you nodded jerkily, taking the bottle and taking a little swig - too cautious to take anymore. 

Now concerned with how Tom thought you were being a Debby-downer too, you managed to perk yourself up for the next four interviews. They were easy, asking questions without any activity and though you did rely on Tom beefing out and adding to your answers, it was okay. Then the next interviewer came in, who you recognised as being from the BBC, Ali Plumb, that had interviewed you a number of times. From the way Tom jumped up to give him afirendly bro-hug, you guessed he also was familiar with him. As soon as he took a seat the cameras were already flashing with the red light, demonstrating his 7 minutes had already started. 

“Guys! It’s been a while.” 

“How are you Ali?” You started it off with the pleasantries, Tom echoing, before the speccy dirty-blonde asked his first question. 

“So the last time I spoke to you guys the universe was in chaos, Peter Parkers on the run and Aurora Blake was trying to strip her own powers, so I guess my first question is how are you both doing? We can use this as a therapy session if you guys need.” His very typical nerdy joke made Tom laugh, nodding as he leaned forward and repositioned a bit. 

You didn’t share the same humour though, more focused on this invisible blanket of stuffiness that seemed to have been thrown on top of you. It made you feel groggy, incredibly hot and so unbelievable nauseous. The lights weren’t helping either, it felt like you were pouring with sweat from your forehead. You thought Tom was answering Ali, even if you couldn’t really hear  - everything had merged into a deafening roar. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, unconsciously making you fumble yourself to standing, desperate to get somewhere with fresh air. The last thing you saw before your vision tunnelled into darkness was Tom, reaching out to try and catch you. 

Because next thing you knew, you were on the floor, wires from all the cameras and lights digging into your back as you looked up to see Tom on one side and Lucy on the other - both wearing a similarly panicked expression. You knew you hadn’t been out long, seconds if that, going by the fact everyone else was in the ‘oh my god’ phase of panic. It was a bit weird how calm you where, but then again all your life you’d been the ‘class fainter’. Waking up on the floor was something you were long since used to. 

“Y/n? You awake?” Rather stating the obvious Tom asked the question as you bent your head up - allowing you sight of all the concerned facing oggling you. With a defeated sigh, you flopped your head back. 

“If this is a dream then it’s a real bloody nightmare.” This time Tom didnt seem to appreciate your joke, looking at you without almost dumbfounded eyes, as you blinked repetitively and groaned. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Lucy appeared to want to lecture you, which to be honest wasn’t the most time appropriate. You were still on the floor, legs crumpled up under you, so ignored her. Instead you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to blink away the blotchy haze that threatened to takeover your vision once again, whilst the pair above you both cautiously rested their palms on each of your shoulders -trying to be useful. The room still felt cramped and stifling, as everyone around were no doubt looking at you. 

It took a few minutes but your body seemed to get over itself, sitting up normally and trying to make small talk with Ali - who, by the way, was still sat awkwardly in the chair. Still nestled on the floor, your back up against the chair you had been siting on as you raved with Ali of the Harry Potter theatre show. In a natural lull in conversation, Tom perked up - from the door where he’d been muttering with the organiser as Lucy bit her nails nervously. 

“Y/n you need to go home.” 

All of you knew what Tom said was impossible. Not being egotistical, but you were too important. Although you hadn’t been paying masses of attention for Lucy’s run down of your itinerary - you knew it was packed. 

So you just looked up and rolled your eyes at Tom, earning yourself a strong glare, before locking the organiser in eye contact.

“How many have we got till lunch?” 

“Um this gent here” He gesturned toward Ali, who was almost squirming in his seat now “then two more.”  

“And then lunch?” 

“Yes, then you have a personal appearance at a dinner, so transport will be coming to pick you both up.” This poor guy seemed obsessed with the clock and his timetable, looking at your with a mixture of panic and frustration. You should know this stuff, you should’ve listened to Lucy. 

“How fars the drive?” 

“At this time probably an hour and a half.” 

The plan was clear in your head, you’d sort yourself out in the car and be fully fine by the afternoon and evening engagements. Plus you felt almost fine now. So with a sigh, you hauled yourself up onto the chair, patting for Tom to sit back down. 

“It’s half an hour and then I’ll sort myself out at lunch - come on their waiting.” The way Lucy pouted showed she disagreed somewhat, except a stern look kept her from protesting, as Tom walked toward you. 

“Are you sure you don’t loo-“

“Let me stop you before you insult my appearance.” Snickering slightly at his worried face, you laughed it off , knocking his side with a gentle murmur of ‘don’t worry about me’. 

In fact after that little episode you did feel a little recovered, which meant you were properly noticing the change in the boy sat next to you. Throughout the remaining three interviews he’d done a complete 360 from earlier. Rather than trying to get little digs at you, he had become fiercely protective - jumping in if a questions wasn’t particularly appropriate or relevant to the movie ( meaning when an awfully crap man asked what underwear you’d been able to wear in your suit) ; taking the heat of the conversation as well as just watching you like a hawk. Each time you answered his beady brown eyes were watching you from the side, you got the impression it wasn’t only just because of the risk of spoilers. 

Quite remarkably, you survived the rest of the day pretty well, after a power nap in the car on the way over - even if it was a bit difficult when you had your manager watching you like a hawk from the seat across. It was as if Lucy had never seen anyone ill before, she seemed concerned that you were going to spontaneously stop breathing and die at any point. 

Though by the time all the official business at the dinner was done, your body and willpower had reached the end of their tether. You and Tom were both on a round table, surrounded by 6 CEOs and execs of what seemed to be a multimillion pound business enterprise. With the language barrier meaning you had to speak through the two people on the table who were fluent in both japanese and English, the conversation was already pretty jilted. Though to be fair, the six did seem to be enjoying the evening - something you werent able to reciprocate. Thankfully, five minutes after the main course dishes had been collected, Tom spoke up from his position opposite you.

“This has been lovely and we really appreciate your time and generosity but me and Y/n have a really early start tomorrow so I think we should probably get back to the hotel.” You swore in that moment you could’ve kissed him, and it looked like Tom could tell - by the way your shoulders sagged and you let out an exhale of pure relief. Apparently even if you’d managed to convince the hosts you were enjoying the evening, Tom easily saw through the performance. After some hurried goodbyes, Tom led you out of the hall with his hand hovering over your lowerback, trying to make sure your exit was as discreet as possible. 

Away from the bubble of chatter and activity, in the deserted hallway, Tom stopped you - lightly holding both hands on each of your arms. 

“Wheres your team?” 

“Um Luce is back at the hotel, she was trying to see if she could reschedule any of my stuff tomorrow.” You winced at the way he sighed, realising you were all on your own in some random business event hall in Tokyo.

“Harry -my brother- is waiting in the car at the front - is that okay?”

“No Tom, don’t worry abo-“

“Yeh well I am and I think you feel ten times worse than you’re letting on.” He spoke harshly, like a school teacher telling you off - except the hint of a kind smile at the end was a dead giveaway. 

“You sure?” 

With a relieved nod (Tom had thought you might be a bit more stubborn - you obviously were really really ill) he wordlessly shrugged his suit jacket off, wrapping it round your shoulders. He muttered something about not wanting you to catch a chill but to be quite honest you were a bit distracted by the woody cedar smell of Toms aftershave that enveloped your senses. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being fussed on by him? To be fair he wasn’t wrong either, you were in a strapless evening dress - you would’ve preferred to be in joggers, but Marvels press team had other ideas. 

After a quick pit stop at the toilets, the two of you managed to make an unnoticed escape out the building - into a big SUV which had seconds prior pulled up onto the steps. You literally melted into the nearest window seat, body hunching over as you probably crumpled Tom’s jacket beyond belief. 2 seats along from you, a frizzy haired boy gave you a sympathetic smile, which you returned weakly whilst muttering a ‘hi’. Meanwhile, Tom pulled the sliding door shut, sitting across from you. 

“Oh Y/n this is Harry and Harry this is Y/n.” In unison both of you replied with an ‘I know’ eye roll. Your response was somewhat more shocking to both Holland boys, you could tell from the way they had this whole nonverbal conversation with their eyes - they were very clearly brothers. Needing to explain you continued. “I like to keep tabs on my castmates, I’ve seen you on Toms instagram.” That had both boys smirking, Harry presumably just because you knew who he was; Tom more smugly, you’d just given away you slightly stalked him on instagram. 

Silence reigned for a moment, as the driver put his foot down slightly. 

“How you doing?” Tom asked. 

“Mhm…” you thought for a second, how to eloquently describe the sensation. 

“shit.” 

Both boys chuckled a little and even though you had closed your eyes in an attempt to dull the throbbing behind your temples, you could feel the eyes on you. 

“You want the music off?” Harry asked, referring to the indie-rock coming quietly out the speakers of his laptop, which was resting on his lap. With a shake of your head you refused, even if really silence probably would help your head, you were already causing the two Hollands enough trouble - no need to bore them during the journey back into central Tokyo, especially when you weren’t the most enthusiastic company ever. 

Thankfully the music stayed on a low volume, whilst the car seemed to settle into a comfortable silence. With a long exhale you fluttered your eyes open, seeing Tom focused on his phone, before you rested the side of your head against the black-out glass. Taking some relief from the cool glass, you huddled further into the corner of the car against the door.

Floating in the space between sleep and wakefulness, you were kind of aware of your head occasionally bobbing and jerking about - but really didn’t have the energy or willpower to do anything about it. Instead, the thing that perked your attention was hearing some supposed-whispering from inside the body of the car.

“I know she said she didn’t care but she was clearly lying-“ 

“Like you know! You’ve been desperate to try and spend some time with Y/n- maybe you poisoned her just so you could be all knight-in-shini-“

“Turn. The. Music. Off.” Tom sounded scathing now, and with a grumble from your other-side the cheery drum beats ceased.

“Happy now?” …and Harry was sarcastic. 

“Swap places with me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Why?”

“So she can lie down.” 

“Well no because you would still be in the way if we swapped.”

“Yeh but she can lie on my lap idiot.”

“She can lie on me.”

“She doesn’t know you!”

“Well for 1, barely ten minutes ago she said she did know me. And 2, she doesn’t know you any better!”

If this was their version of whispering, you would love to hear what volume ‘shouting’ was. There was no reply for a short while, you imagined the two brunettes locked in some intense staring match.The next time Tom spoke he sounded more defeated - almost begging. 

“If I admit you beat me at the driving range the other day will you-” 

“I KNEW IT!” Harry yelped, the volume making you jerk, eyes flying open before reflexively closing because the light was too bright. There was a little mutter of an apology, then silence again. 

Once agin you must’ve drifted off because it felt like absolutely no time had passed when a firm but gently hand on your shoulder nudged you awake. 

Sure enough the boys had swapped position, Tom now sitting along the seat from you, Harry looked a little sulky from across the way. It was Tom who was reaching over, a gentle and peaceful smile on his face.

“You wanna lie down? Don’t want you to strain your neck.” He wasn’t wrong, adding to the throbbing headache, the cloudiness in your brain and the unsettled feeling in your stomach… now your neck hurt. Just bloody great. 

Had you been your normal witty and perceptive self, you might’ve teased Tom as to why him and his brother had done a switch - but everything hurt and all you wanted to do was sleep for a hundered years. So with squinting eyes you jerkily nodded, missing how Tom chuckled to himself. The guy undid your seatbelt, then sat back to let you balance the back of your head on his thigh, looking up at the roof of the SUV. Already your eyes were closed again, you kicked off your slip-on heels and bent your legs up to lean against the backrest - occupying the position you had been sat in before hand. You felt his hands reposition the jacket, pulling it round so it was now like a blanket tucked under your chin. 

To be fair it was much more comfortable than sitting up and you weren’t even aware of how quickly you dropped back into sleep. 

Though it wasn’t quick enough to miss Harry’s very sulky sounding comment, presumably meant only for Tom’s ears. 

“Still think you’re being fucking creepy bro.” 

<33 lemme know what u think! (would make me feel less guilty for not doing all the work I rlly should be doing aha)

tagging : @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove

[halfpint55]

Feels Like We Only Go Backwards - Chapter 16:

by @oldpotatoe on AO3

"Hina claps with awe at the eruption of flames from Zuko’ skin. It is yellow, yes, orange too, but there is purple in the fire, and green, and red, blue, white, pink and more, all dazzling and brilliant as they burst from Zuko’s palms.

“Cool!” she yells, but Sokka hears her as if from a distance, finds his heart catching somewhere between his throat and mouth at the sight of Zuko’s shy smile, the rainbow reflected in his eyes. The light flickers over both their faces, vibrant and ethereal.

...

Sokka turns on his heels slowly, awestruck at the colourful warmth surrounding them. Zuko’s taken care to keep the flames a safe distance away, but Sokka can still feel the gentle heat of the fire flowing around him. It sinks into his skin, pushes all the way through to some unknown, untouched part of him that resides deep within his chest, making it unfurl until its blossoms peek out like the first buds of spring. And when he comes to a stop right back where he started—staring at Zuko’s cupped hands, his upturned mouth, his hair shimmering a thousand different shades, the way he looks up at Sokka just then with his unscarred eye squinting at its corner, bright and effusive and striking— the blossoms spread wide in his chest, trailing up and down and throughout him, catching at his seams. Coming alive.

And he thinks, oh.

And he thinks, oh shit."

Note: This art has a very specific song to go with it!

“We’re not equal parts / light and dark / we can be brilliant”

I literally had this song on repeat most of the time that I was drawing this and this particular lyric just hoofs u in the chest as you look at Zuko SOFT AS ANYTHING bending dragon fire so pls, feel free to play it while you peruse the art.

There’s been a lot of really amazing but oh my GOD PAINFUL art from the flwogb fandom recently so in these trying times may I offer this happier piece to remind you of the magic moment Sokka fell for Zuko for the second time in 5 years. I title it “Oh Shit”. 

I'm such a sucker for a character realising they're in love with the italicised "oh shit" I go FERAL for that every single time and ms oldpotatoe fucking DELIVERED on that (even though she delivered an emotional sucker punch almost immediately after thank u ma’am). This moment just made my breath hitch as I read it and I was thinking “of course, of course they just make their way back to each other. of course they do”. It was such a gorgeous moment I had to put my phone down for a moment and BREATHE.

something that really inspires me to create from Ruby’s fic is the perfect clarity of the writing - I can SEE these gorgeous moments she writes as already made paintings in my head and I gotta DRAW. This one was clear as day, so I’ve spent so long trying to achieve what I saw in my head and I think I’ve come pretty close.

Not gonna lie I drew his expression and immediately got emotional about my OWN GODDAMN ART, (but I have been assured that this is completely normal).

Now I can’t post this without talking about the goddamn hair. I wrestled with his hair on this for MONTHS - I always thought that I'd struggle with hands, or even anatomy and proportions but NO. Hair seems to be my drawing nemesis and makes me wanna snap my tablet in half but nonetheless i have persevered (but for the love of all that is holy please zoom in I beg u I spent too long on the little details).

In terms of the shading and colour, the hair is very much An Experiment and I haven’t played with hair and light much before, but i was so intent on capturing the colours of the fire reflected in Zuko’s hair, i wanted it to be so ethereal. ethereal enough to just make Sokka fall headfirst down the stairs, two at a time, in love. So I gave it a go. It’s possibly too shiny and not quite how real hair would behave, and i’m probably gonna go away after posting and keep fiddling with it, but you know what I think it’s pretty, and im gonna challenge my perfectionist self to just... leave it be. 

Ruby, I love u and I offer u this humble art as a small bribe to treat my boys well in the coming chapters (please, we don’t always have to go backwards do we?). <3 <3

[the-lonelybarricade]

Hiii!! I've been following your work since the beginning and i just wanted to give u a big squeeze of a hug for blessing us with all of your fics 'cause i feel like we don't deserve u for blessing us with all these wonderful feysand content that u are sharing.

I hope all is well with ur life and in ur studies, and if it's not too much to ask, would you consider writing a feysand au where Feyre & Rhys aren't mates, but are happily in love and in a relationship--when all of a sudden, one of them meets their mate (preferably Rhys..?) or something like that 😚. Won't lie to u that im dying to know what events would play out and how Feyre would react if this scenario happened. Really no pressure to write this or anything just wanted to try my luck with this idea :DD. Thank u!

Bestie, ooof. What are you trying to do to me? Can you imagine how heartbreaking that would be for Feysand to be happy and in love, waiting patiently for the mating bond to snap only to find out they were star-crossed lovers all along? Well you don’t have to imagine it, because I already have. And if I’m going to be in torment over Feysand angst, I’m (affectionately) dragging you all down with me.

P.s. thank you for the submission lovely, I hope you enjoy <3

The Chains That Bind Us

Word count: 1,956

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Feyre and Rhysand were happily married. For 300 years, they had basked in what seemed like an infinite stretch of rapture, working alongside and complimenting each other with a grace and chemistry that had always felt predestined. They had always been certain they were mates, but time had flowed on and neither had felt the inkling of that special, magic bond.

They have resigned that perhaps the mating bond will never snap, perhaps that’s simply not what they were to one another, but that was okay. It was enough to be husband and wife, to be High Lord and Lady, to be happy and in love. They didn’t need a mating bond to reaffirm what they felt for one another. Things were already perfect as they were.

Until they weren’t. Until they had journeyed together to Illyria to oversee the announcement of the first all-female battalion. It had been a long term goal of Rhysand and his brothers to finally battle back the long ingrained sexism of Illyrian culture, and the visit was meant to be a celebration. A liberating ceremony, in honor of their mothers and all the females who had been victims of prejudice.

But when the leader of the battalion stepped forward to be acknowledged for her accomplishments, Rhysand had gone rigid at Feyre’s side, his breathing suddenly ragged. His pupils were blown wide, eyes fixed, riveted to the female.

Feyre felt her whole world had imploded in that moment. Especially when that female’s eyes had met her High Lord’s and had frozen just the same, the two bearing matched expressions of awe and disbelief.

She was certain she was going to be sick. Such a thing would be far from befitting of a High Lady, so Feyre had immediately winnowed back to their River House, back into their bathroom where she was instantly emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

Rhysand was there not too long after, holding back Feyre’s hair. They said nothing to each other, not until Feyre had recovered enough to turn and face her husband.

She was entirely unprepared for the way her heart shattered to meet his face, to meet those lovely eyes she had loved for centuries. Eyes that had only moments before been staring at another female with so much blind devotion it had torn her open.

“Feyre—” he started.

“I suppose we should have assumed that something like this could happen,” she interrupted, because she couldn’t bear to hear him apologize. Not for something like this, something that was entirely out of either of their control.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he insisted, but there was a strain to his voice that had never been present before. A bite that Feyre was convinced was the result of Rhysand battling against his instincts to return to Illyria, to that female.

“It changes everything, Rhys.”

She was already weeping as she choked the words out, because speaking them made them true. Those few centuries of bliss between them, they were a bubble, a perfectly crafted delusion that had finally popped.

“I love you,” Rhys seethed, as though arguing with himself. “I don’t even know that females name—”

“It doesn’t matter, Rhys. She’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” he begged, his voice a broken rasp. “Please, don’t say it.”

Somehow, that made it impossibly worse. That Rhys had been gifted this incredible, Cauldron-blessed thing, but was scorning it for her sake. Most Fae dreamed of the moment their mating bond would snap, and here was her husband acting as if it was his worst nightmare.

But Feyre knew what it was like for males. She knew he was clawing against every instinct in his mind, screaming at him to go to his mate, to know her name, to claim her. Feyre stifled another sob. Rejected mating bonds could drive a male mad. How could she ever think to do that to him? How could she deny him this piece of himself?

What broke her heart more than anything is that Feyre knew he would. Rhysand would reject his bond, would let that intrinsic part of his soul be torn away, for her sake. If Feyre asked, he would stay. He would stay and be miserable.

“I can’t do this to you, Rhys. I can’t force you to stay with me out of duty. I will not be your jailor.”

“You are my wife,” Rhys choked, reaching for her hand. He drew her palms to his face, allowing her to caress his cheeks. He shut his eyes as he nuzzled into her touch, causing his unshed tears to fall, racing down to collect at her hands. “You are my High Lady. You are the only one I want to be with.”

That wrecked another sob through Feyre’s body, which came out as a harsh exhale as she tried to restrain it. “You’d be a broken male without her, Rhys. The Cauldron—” she sucked in a strangled breath. Some truths were just too difficult to confront— “The Cauldron didn’t intend for us to be together.”

“Damn the Cauldron,” he growled, reaching for her with newfound conviction. “No one and nothing can decide who I love. No one can tell me that you are not who I belong with—who I belong to.”

Feyre allowed him to bundle her in his arms, to press her fiercely against his chest. She knew moments like this were fleeting, where they could hold each other as husband and wife. Already, their love was tarnished. Tainted. Blood spilled onto white snow. How long would it take for this mating bond to seep, to spill into the cracks, to spread until it consumed them? She couldn’t see an outcome where they could stay together unblemished, where they wouldn’t come to resent one another.

“Rhysand, listen to me love,” Feyre said, and found that her voice was steadier than she anticipated. “I care more about you being happy than I care about that happiness being found with me. Do you understand?”

“I would not be happier without you, Feyre.” His voice was ripe with earnesty. When she turned those eyes to meet his, those violet depths were burning, the silver constellations completely eclipsed by molten amethyst. He swallowed thickly. “Do I… want that female? Yes.” Feyre cringed to hear her husband admit it outloud. “But, that is just my instincts. I will be able to manage them with time. This bond is nascent. My love for you? It’s endured for centuries. The cauldron is not faultless; my parents were mates and they were miserable together. I could never imagine someone so perfect to walk beside me as you, Feyre. I do not seek another, no matter what fate has to say for it.”

Feyre allowed the comfort of his words to wash over her. She rested her head against Rhysand’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, letting herself lavish in the rhythm of him, the beat of his heart steady in his chest.

“I will understand if you change your mind,” she whispered. “I do not hold you to your vows. If you become unhappy, if one day you cannot resist the pull you feel towards her… I will not hold it against you. I give you permission to… to leave me.”

Rhys let out a small, rueful laugh before he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “How could I desert a love that is so selfless? The least I could do in the wake of such a declaration is promise to never see that female again.”

Feyre shook her head emphatically. “Don’t promise me that, Rhys. Just—just promise me that we’ll always be honest with each other. That we’ll always be a team, whether it be as rulers, or as lovers, or… or just as friends.”

“I promise,” he swore. “I vowed on my court and crown that I will love you for eternity. And I still know that to be true, even now. My soul… it might belong to someone else. But my heart, Feyre, it will always belong to you.”

There was something irreparably changed between them. They both knew it, could sense the way it lingered between them. The first crack, and possibly not the last. What they had was fragile now, but they had a gift for being delicate with one another.

The silence hung between them, a wretched, discomfiting presence that had never been there before. Both not quite sure what to say, not quite sure where this put them. She watched Rhysand’s lower lip quiver, understood that it was from the strain of not burdening her with his own turmoil over the situation.

Feyre tutted as she threw her arms around him, recognizing the signs of his crumbling. Rhys bowed his head in shame, burying his face into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against her, releasing a sob of his own. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been you. I wanted it to be you. I’m a failure of a husband, for putting you through this.”

“You are an excellent husband,” Feyre protested, threading her fingers through his hair soothingly. Her voice was still raw. “I don’t blame you for this, Rhys. I love you just the same.”

He lifted his head so their tear-stained faces were level. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, still glistening in silver. “What do we do now?”

They clung to each other so tightly, as if they pressed hard enough they could redirect fate, could mold their souls together and correct the misdeed of the Cauldron.

“I don’t know,” Feyre answered, burying her face in his shoulder as if it would hide her from the truth of the world. “I suppose we have no choice but to keep going. We’ll find our footing again. Together. And if we don’t… well, maybe we can wish on the stars.”

There was a huff of air at her ear. A laugh, she guessed, or something like it, something wry and humorless. Rhys moved underneath her, and Feyre pulled away to watch in confusion as her husband rose to his feet.

He extended his hand towards her. Curious, Feyre accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet. In a blink, they were on the rooftop, beneath the stars. She hadn’t even realized the sun had set until she was staring up at the impossibly bright cosmos.

“Where better to find our footing than under those very stars?”

She turned to him, and Rhys was staring at her the way he had on starfall, all those centuries ago. Staring at her as if she were the brightest star in the sky, as though he looked to Feyre to cast his wishes.

“Will you dance with me, wife?”

Not convinced she was capable of speech, Feyre nodded. Using the hand he still held, Rhys twirled her into his arms. And though no music played, they found their own rhythm, lost in the cadence of each other, spinning endlessly under the stars.

As they swayed under the endless expanse of sky and starlight, Feyre mused how even the brightest of stars eventually burned out, but that didn’t make them any less worth wishing on. That didn’t mean they weren’t worth fighting for.

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