#everyone fails her test so at least im not alone!!!

[swans-chirping-in-the-distance]

Finals this week!!

[norman-fucking-reedus]

I’m absolutely obsessed with your writing! I was hoping I could request a one-shot where Daryl and fem!reader are married. They are working on separate outdoor projects but Daryl can’t stop watching the reader throughout the day. The dirtiest thoughts cross his mind as he watches her. Later that evening when they are home and finally alone he recreates all those thoughts with her throughout the night. Daryl has a pleasure and praise kink, includes oral, Daryl loves going down on the reader!

*Set during later Alexandria or Commonweath era (Daryl never goes to France!)

STOP IT RIGHT TF NOW ANON CAUSE WHY HAVENT I THOUGHT OF A PLEASURE KINK. DROOLING RN

Heres me admitting im only on season 9 of TWD so this takes place in Alexandria 😿

A/n: Thought I’d actually title this bc reading it again months later I just think it needs one 🥸

gif creds @daryl-dixon-daydreams

BUSY BEE

Daryl was going to simply pass away and die.

He hated his own mind for it’s never-ending thoughts, even more so when he had a literal job to be doing. His racing thoughts had been distracting him the whole day, occasionally using the wrong tool, knocking something over, and even almost spilling all the oil at one point.

It was just the way your hips looked, so well rounded in those jeans, shirt clinging to your body as you walked quickly with your own tasks in mind, not noticing your husband’s hardcore staring.

His mind was bursting with thoughts of what horribly dirty things he wanted to do to you. Sometimes he physically can’t wrap his head around how he ended up with someone like you. All Daryl could think about was just how bad he wanted to fuck you, cock already stirring to life in his pants.

No. No. He had to stay focused. He couldn’t be seen not doing his task and also now needed to hide the tent forming in his pants. It was worse that he was out in the open, having been assigned to work on the cars to keep them running longer.

You had been assigned to ask around to see what was needed for the next run, only for some reason you had timed yourself to get to everyone in under an hour, hence your quick pace and focused gaze. Daryl had seen you walk past at least three times, each time you sped past while furiously scribbling on a notepad. He felt like a teenager watching and obsessing over his crush.

God, he was so ready to blow himself up, staring down at under the hood of one of the cars used for runs. He forced his mind to focus on fixing shit instead of wandering off. Rick had been saying that the brakes had been failing, only Daryl couldn’t exactly do much without a jackstand.

He decided to test the car battery instead since it had been having trouble starting. Stepping around the car to the toolbox, he almost tripped as you bumped right into him. “Bulky bitch!” You yelped as you fell down onto your ass, dropping your pen and paper. Daryl gently but quickly pulled you to your feet, picking your stuff up. “Tha’ hell ya runnin’ from girl?” He stepped closer to you, sliding a hand to your waist. “I’m a very busy woman with places to be and times to beat” You rolled your eyes, yet smiled softly at Daryl. “Too busy fer me now?” You nodded, leaning up as if to kiss him but going for his ear instead. “Very busy” You whispered sweetly, placing a faint kiss on his cheek before speeding away again.

Daryl simply stood there with his cock straining harshly against the fabric of his pants, cock pulsating as he could feel himself leaking pre-cum. He should just blow his goddamn brains out, now.

He slammed the hood of the car shut and climbed inside, dropping his head onto the steering wheel. It felt like his head was about to fall off with how many filthy thoughts were flooding in. You were the biggest tease and absolutely knew it, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to silence his brain, hands gripping the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to jerk off inside a car with the clearest windows ever, at that point he might as well do it out in the open.

While Daryl was suffering silently, you were simply serene as you rocked on the porch swing of your house, turning in the list to Rick right before your timer hit fifteen minutes. You toyed with the ring on your finger, smiling down as you thought of how Daryl refused to get you something small. He had found a jewelry shop out on a secret run and spent an hour overthinking and questioning himself before finding the perfect ring. It was a sliver band with clusters of smaller diamonds around a larger one that so happened to be the shape of a skull, matching the one he wore every day. He smashed the glass without a second thought.

You smile fondly, also remembering that the same man was probably struggling to do his work. Getting him super worked up was your favorite thing to do as he basically melted in your hands the second he stepped foot inside.

Speaking of inside, you had stepped in earlier to change out your underwear, switching into a black thong you found. You could practically feel Daryl’s hands roaming your body, shivers running down your spine at the tingling sensation.

Whilst you were enjoying yourself, Daryl was still sitting in the car, staring down at the steering wheel as he tried to focus his mind on anything else, aside from the cocky sway of your hips, and the ghost of your lips against his ears.

He needed to get off badly. The only thing really stopping him were these shitty windows, however he proceeded to begin rubbing his hand on his clothed cock, letting out a shaky moan. Daryl slammed his hands back onto the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as he tried to recenter himself. He thought for a moment, sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

The car door swung open and he kicked it shut behind him, walking quickly to avoid anyone who might wanna talk, quickly making his way back home. He passed Carol, who was sitting out on her swing. She waved and he gave a short wave back, trying his hardest to keep his hard-on concealed as he sped past.

He stepped heavily up the stairs, the wooden porch creaking under his weight as he opened and shut the front door. It was remotely quiet as he kicked his shoes off next to yours, tearing his shirt off as he stomped upstairs to your shared bedroom, where he found you in one of his shirts lying on your stomach reading a book, closing it at the sound of your husband's arrival. “Already stripping nude for me, Dixon?” You pushed yourself onto your knees and he approached the bed, grabbing your face rougher than intended and crashing his lips onto yours.

It seemed like in that moment, Daryl’s hyperactive mind finally shut itself down, his shoulders relaxing as his hands held your soft face, licking into your mouth desperately. Your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers splayed out on his upper back as he moved to join you on the bed, readjusting you so your legs rested comfortably on either side of his hips. There was a burning desire in his gut as he sucked harshly on your skin, grinding against you as he did.

Daryl’s hands stayed locked at your hips, massaging and groping the flesh as he continued marking up your whole body, practically eating you. He reached your boobs and ran his tongue over the right one and started to suck deep marks into the sensitive flesh.

His hips picked up speed, becoming erratic before burying his face in space between your boobs, shaking as he literally came in his pants. It was the hottest thing you’d seen. “Feeling better?” You whispered breathlessly, watching him groan and lift himself sluggishly off your chest. “M’not done yet” His words were slightly slurred as he leaned back on his knees, hands fumbling to undo his pants.

You eventually reached down to unzip his zipper, and he was back on you instantly, shoving his boxers down enough to free his hard and dripping cock, precum pouring from the puffy tip. “God, Daryl, you’re so needy tonight” You moaned as he pulled down your pajama shorts, eyes staring down at the black thong. “Yes tha’ hell I am” He whispered, hands sliding up your sides and he slid down, cock pulsing as he got a look at your cunt even with the thong on. There was just so much he wanted to do to you that it was overwhelming his senses.

He ran his tongue up and in between your folds, tasting you through the measly garment. He rubbed circles in your clit as his tongue explored every inch, slipping past the thong and into your entrance, causing your brain to short-circuit as he worked you to release, especially since his own was drying in his underwear. Alongside his tongue, Daryl eased two fingers in, stretching and scissoring you open, his tongue going in much deeper and curling. “Fuck yes, baby just like that” You bit your bottom lip harshly, sliding your own fingers down to stimulate your clit, knowing how to push yourself off the edge quicker. He got so fucking hard at the sight of you playing with yourself, even more so that it was your ring finger, the diamond skull standing out as your fingers sped up. Daryl pulled his tongue out, continuing to move his fingers as he licked your clit, a strangled sob coming from you as you came.

Daryl settled for unleashing another attack on your torso while you recovered from your orgasm, licking, kissing, sucking, and biting at the smooth flesh of your stomach, one hand holding your thigh over his shoulder, and the other resting right by your boob, his thumb teasingly stroking the skin under it. He felt every curse, moan and gasp you let out, licking right in between your already marked boobs, kissing the junction of your throat all the way up to your lips. The head of his cock nudged your pussy slightly, and the heat of the kiss had you dizzy. “C’mon handsome, I can’t wait much longer” You batted your lashes at him, running your hand down his one of his big arms, your ring shimmering in the dim lamp light.

Your other hand slid in between your bodies to shift your soaked thong to the side, pulling him closer by wrapping your legs around his waist. He used one hand to steady his cock, and gripped the headboard as he slammed in, two of you moaning in unison. Daryl’s cock was more sensitive than ever, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he readjusted himself, pounding roughly into you as you gripped his bicep.

Daryl’s thrusts were relentless as he kept his pace up, bed creaking and headboard slamming as he panted like a dog, watching the way his cock was sliding in and out of you, a giant wet spot forming on his jeans as he showed no signs of stopping. “My big strong man, always fucking me so good with your fat cock” You bit down on your lips as one of your hands came to rest on his cheek. He turned his face to the side, kissing your palm while staring into your eyes with a lovingly lustful gaze. “M’all yers, m’gon always give my woman wha’ she wants” His voice was raspy and breathless against your hand before he locked your fingers together, pinning your hands onto the mattress and dipping his head down to press his forehead against yours, simply panting into each others spaces.

From how tightly you were holding hands, your rings dug into one another’s fingers, and it only turned Daryl on more. You were his and he was yours. “M’so proud ta call ya Mrs. Dixon. Gon fill ya up w all my kids” He whispered, bumping his strangely cold button nose against yours. “Let’s just start with one?” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears, and by the way Daryl’s hips had sped up you could tell he was close “Not one now!” You shrieked, nails digging into his hands as he railed your sweet spot, orgasm already hitting him incredibly hard as he practically laughed in your ear from how hard he came, pulling out just a little too late.

He fell on top of you, but recoiled when something wet touched his navel, eyes flickering down to see his cum soaking into the black fabric of your thong and seeping out your hole. “Gonna clean that up for me?” You winked suggestively at him, and he lowered himself to be eye level with your messy cunt, massive hands spreading you further apart as he licked his lips. “Yes ma’am”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I made myself very horny writing this but I also kept falling asleep as I was writing

also I based both rings off Normans ring :3 (he should put his finger in my body)

[traceofexistence]

you know what I despise the most?

double standards.

so apparently someone translated the word kainyank, Lae'zel says to shadow when they are about to enter the helm after rescuing her. and it's not flattering at all, though I didn't find anything official myself, and that person claims a friend translated it to them, but regardless of the meaning, it is obviously diminishing by tone alone.

so that person is like "chill girl" and im like why should she?

did you say to shadow to chill when she outright go on about how Lae, A PERSON WHO SAVED HER ASS, is dangerous, that she knows of her kin, that you should not trust her, that "who put you in charge" line that gets the kainyank reply.

later on she keeps on saying that Lae left us, and we shouldn't look for her.

and then there is my playthrough were I failed the dice to open her damn pod, and mind you I didn't trigger Lae's "we have no time" dialogue, because I went straight to the machine. and since I failed the dice, and I need her ass to get the fire sword. I had Lae do the rescuing and talk to her, just go make a new game with a tav, and let Lae do the whole thing, and test all the lines, save scam and test them all, from the "I saved you cause you asked" to the rude ones, in every single case Shadow is ungrateful and refuses to join the party unless tav asks her.

in the case you dont save her, or not wake her up after the crush, she will be at the grove. and if you have Lae with you, she will unpromptly tell you, that Lae is going to stab you in the back, and you should ditch her if you want shadow to join.

Lae reacts with just saying "I offer a cure" she doesnt say anything that implies to exclude shadow.

so yeah "chill lae'zel, why wont you, this woman over there has only been racist to you from the moment you meet her, save her, offer her to join forces, how can you be so angry and rude and use whatever the diminishing word you said on her" /s

and if we are to speak plainly here, every single character EXCEPT KARLACH, be it companion, friend, or foe, has been racist at the very least to one race in the game, the goblins, the only one who said something good about them was Karlach.

and Lae'zel exhibits tendencies of unlearning and relearning, she had never been out of the astral plane, and her first reaction to tav, is "good im fortunate we can escape together" then when she's trapped, her first words are "I offer a cure" and when you release her, she says again "I have a solution and you gonna get it too" and she doesnt even know you so early in the game. you ask her what a creche is, and that yes you will join her to find it, and she instantly tells you you made a friend/ally in the githyanki.

when you correct her on the pronunciation of tiefling she doesn't disapprove(as in actively dropping her approval score) she rolls her eyes yes but what she says is that she doesnt know of and you will have to teach her.

so just up until the grove she has changed 40 times her world view, while shadow (and I pick on shadow cause no other companion is being anti lae) all she has offered is, insult after insult after insult, and discrimination, and bias.

if you have them together in the party, their banter is along the lines of shadow deaththreat and lae reacting with the same vigor.

later on lae asks shadow to tell her why she holds a relic of her people, accusing her of stealing it (which she did)

and the next thing we know is shadow trying to kill lae in her sleep, and even being canning enough to tell her "I will lie that you attacked me, everyone will believe me"

and you know what? lae could have killed her, if she wanted to, she's way stronger, and martially adept to do it, but she chooses not to.

and if tav takes shadows side, she kills lae

but if tav takes Lae's side, she simply hit her with a rock, but not kill her (even if the companions are bugged and talk about the massacre that just happened, while shadow is alive and well at her tent)

so if we compare the two, it's shadow that has to chill.

and dont get me wrong this is not some kind of attempt to hate on the character.

this is a mere observation and what actually happens in the game.

as I said at the beginning of this post, is the fandom's double standards that grind my gears.

[yunhsuanhuang]

You Look So Good In Blue | Y.H. Huang

Inspired by Child Ballad 16.

When a teenage fling mutates into something vast and terrifying, two seventeen year olds at a certain mid-tier college in Singapore make a desperate plan to control their future, earn their parents' love (or at least respect), and get the hell out of this school for good.

i. the daughter

It's whispered in the kitchen, it's whispered in the hall

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair,

The king's daughter goes with child, among ladies all

And she'll never go down to the broom anymore.

It's whispered by the ladies one unto the other,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair,

“The king's daughter goes with child unto her own brother–

And they'll never go down to the broom anymore.”

Sheath and Knife, Maddy Prior

-

/r/sgacads

is st cecilia rly a pregnancy school?? [o levels]

/u/anxiousorange

hiii sorry for the 29583th school admissions post today lol but i just got my o level results back and they’re pretty ok ^_^ so i was thinking of going to st cecilia junior college since it’s near my house but the more i hear about it the more i want to reconsider… like apparently the people are very party type which is not really my thing?? and ofc everyones heard about how its got the highest pregnancy rate in sg o_0

is this true? or just say say one

comments (8)

/u/academicweapon

As a SCian it’s not true LOL none of us get bitches

/u/theatrekidaf

skill issue

/u/sharpsdisposal

we’re too busy failing physics :/

/u/zombiegrave

q: how many scians does it take to change a lightbulb?

a: none. they like it better darker 

/u/aw_bass34

Q: What’s the only test SC girls can pass?

A: Pregnancy test :P

/u/gregorythomas91 [s]

Damn old rumour, probably from 1990s, 2000s around there. But it’s not really unfounded. Especially with what happened in 2008.

/u/anxiousorange

what happened? im scared lol

/u/gregorythomas91 [s]

You haven’t heard meh? It was a big deal back then, I'm shocked they've covered it up that well. Let me try and remember. 

-

You never told me what really happened over those few blistering months in 2008, but I guess I wasn’t alone in that. Even when the newspapers shoved a mic in your face, even when you were being grilled by the lawyers, even when you were standing on that trap door, waiting for the drop– what really happened was a secret you’d bring to the grave.

So it’s all inference and extrapolation and linear correlation– sue me. How else am I going to make sense of that moment? How else do I come to terms with why you did what you did? Could I have known? Could I have stopped it? Was I even, when it came down to it, your friend– or was I just somebody who let you copy his lecture notes?

I don’t know. What I do know is this:

It was some mid-week mid-afternoon, indistinguishable from any other. The bell had just rung, and the whitewashed corridors were packed with sweaty kids rushing to PE, squeezing past those dragging their feet from class to class. We were part of the latter group, squinting against the September sun as we ambled across the quadrangle to home class. Above us, the school motto loomed in oversized light-blue letters: Remember you are in the presence of God. 

I was mentally calculating how long the Malay stall queue would be when you said, casual as always, “Eh, pass me your market failure notes later, can? I’m yellow-slipping after GP.”

I raised an eyebrow. You weren’t a stranger to leaving school early, but you’d been doing it more and more often lately, and at this point I hadn’t seen you stay for Shooting in ages. As your club captain, I was supposed to be concerned. As a friend– well, I was intrigued. Of course I’d heard the rumours, passed from homeroom to homeroom, Friendster account to Friendster account. Who in St Cecilia’s hadn’t?  “Is this related to whatever you and Camilla Wong have going on?” 

“Cam’s not my girlfriend,” you said, after a brief, completely unsuspicious pause.

I snorted. “She doesn’t let anyone in this school call her that but you, dumbass. ”

You ducked your head down to hide a smile, your dress-code fringe falling into your eyes. It was a strangely endearing habit. “Fine lah. We’re– seeing each other.” Then you continued, hurriedly, “But don’t let anyone else know, OK?”

“Fine, I'll write you off CCA for today. But don’t make it a habit, ar? Hold pen, not hold hand.” Despite myself, I grinned. Sure, the two of you made an unlikely couple. Wong was an ex-Convent girl and student councillor, all relentless energy and long hair tied so high it was prone to hit people when she spun, while the only time I’d ever seen you really alive was behind the barrel of an air pistol. Back then, I thought it was cute. Opposites attract– wasn’t that the backbone of any drama worth its salt?

I wouldn’t realise, until later, that despite how different the two of you appeared, at the core of it you were the same– pale and skinny and drowning in your school uniform, searching for exits the moment you stepped into a room. Always, always halfway out the door: of your school, of your body, of the life you knew.

But back then it was just a September afternoon, and we were only seventeen. You smiled back at me, all cheer, like you saw something I didn’t, like you saw something I never would.

-

In the end, though, this isn’t my story. This is yours. So let’s tell it your way.

-

The newly minted 1T26 trickled slowly from assembly into the classroom, chopeing the best desks and nervously rotating between the same few ice-breakers: orientation, secondary schools, O-Level points. As you entered, you cast a glance over the sea of blue pinafores and green pants. Still reeling from the sheer increase in the female population, you took a desk at the back, between the ancient, peeling noticeboard and the window looking out on the covered tennis courts. You were tall enough to see over all the heads, anyway.

Soon, your home tutor arrived, a round-faced lady toting an oversized Cath Kidston duffle bag, and wrote her name on the board in neat block letters: Mdm Alvares. The class stood to greet her, chairs scraping hurriedly against the linoleum. She beamed back, her smile all teeth, and was busy setting up the visualiser when the door slammed open.

The class spun in their seats. “Sorry,” the intruder sheepishly said, leaning against the doorframe. Some of her hair had fallen half-out of her high ponytail, her pinafore already wrinkled at the hem. A dusting of freckles covered her pink cheeks. 

Mdm Alvares squinted at the girl, then the laminated name list. “And you are?”

“Camilla Wong.”

Mdm Alvares looked out over the class, scanning the rows, and her eyes landed on an empty seat in the corner whose sole occupant was your beat-up Jansport. Realising where this was going, you sighed, putting your bag on the floor.

Camilla smiled, made her way in–

and put her bag down at another empty seat, half a class away.

–

There was nothing in this world you hated more than 4PM Maths lectures. That day the aircon was actually working, which you would normally have been grateful for, except for the fact that that sharp, recycled wind was blasting directly at the very back rows of LT5, right onto your face.

You were trying so hard to 1) figure out plane vectors and 2) stop yourself from getting hypothermia that you wouldn't be able to recall, later, the exact moment that Camilla fell asleep on your shoulder.

When you realised this, you froze. Oh, you thought, and didn't know what else to think. On one hand, it would’ve been so easy to wake her. Just a poke from your pen, and she would’ve jolted up almost instantly. On the other hand, though, her long eyebrows brushed against her freckled cheeks, and her chest rose and fell in these small, slight motions, and–

Before, you had only ever seen her as a baby-blue blur in the corners of your sight, always in motion even in the earliest of classes. But Camilla, asleep, tucked in the crevice between your shoulder and neck–it felt fragile, thrumming, tense. Like something made of glass, nestled gently in your hand, that it would only have taken a squeeze to splinter.

The next twenty-two minutes were the longest twenty-two minutes of your entire life so far. Even so, when the bell rang and Camilla pulled herself upright, you found yourself missing it already.

– 

After that, it was like a switch had been flipped in your brain. It was only then that you began to really Notice Camilla, capital N, italics. You noticed her with her head bowed in mass, noticed her shoving fishball noodles into her mouth at lunch, noticed her arguing with your classmates over technicalities in GP. But you noticed her the most in Monday zeriod house meetings, when the artificial grass glimmered with dew and the syrupy dawn light made the whole world seem like a Hollywood coming-of-age movie. You watched her toss her braids over her shoulder, wipe the pearls of sweat off her flushed face. Her red, red shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing a sliver of pale flesh above the waistband of her shorts–

It took until then for her to notice you Noticing. Her eyes flickered over to you, she winked, and blew a kiss. 

You felt as if you’d walked out onto the PIE and been hit by a truck. It was a wonder every single smoke alarm in the school didn’t go off right that moment–a cacophony of ringing like firecrackers all strung up, exploding pop-pop-pop from the foyer to the science block to the hostel. It swallowed every other sound, every other thought. Then she turned away, a grin still lingering on the corners of her lips.

–

During one of your lunch breaks, Camilla pulled you out of class. She had to ask you something about your PW survey, she said. As far as you were aware, you weren't in the same PW group. You knew this. She knew this. The entirety of 1T26 knew this, too, so you headed down to one of the wooden picnic tables underneath Block D, the one tucked beneath the staircase next to St Pat’s room. Both of you hovered awkwardly around the bench for a moment, doing the calculations in your head–how close to sit? What to say? You shifted from foot to foot.

All of a sudden, Camilla slammed her hand down on the table. You jumped. “Walao eh. I legit can’t do this anymore. Is this a Thing? Are we having a Thing?”

You swallowed, eyes darting.

“Make up your mind, sia.” She rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. “St. Francis boys, I swear.”

“No, wait, yes–” The words spilled, embarrassingly and pitifully, out of your mouth. You feared you were not beating the all-boys’ school stereotypes that day. “I mean, I did, but, um–” Just stop, your brain chanted. What're you saying? You're only making it worse. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.

“So that’s a yes,” Camilla said, and surged forward to shut you up herself.

–

The next thing you knew, you were stumbling into the stairwell together, the door banging noisily shut behind you. “Why–” Camilla started, and you said, “Nobody ever uses Staircase 6. Now come on.” You pushed her up against the curved concrete wall, not caring that the low ceiling scraped against your head. There was that wild, exhilarated look on her face again, like she still couldn’t believe that she was actually doing this. Beautiful, even in the dull grey light. Her nails dug crescents into your skin. 

The air was all heat, sweat, too much cherry blossom perfume. You worked at your tie–quicker than you’d ever been able to in all your years of schooling–as she undid the buttons on her uniform shirt, revealing the freckles that dusted her pale shoulders like so many stars. As you unbuckled her bra in one quick motion, she gasped, then giggled. “Damn, Yeoh. You��re good at this. Is there anyone you haven’t told me about?” 

In between kisses, you came up for air. You could've made a joke about not having many opportunities to practise in St Francis, but the real truth was that your desperation shocked even yourself– this wasn’t the careful boy that your pastors, parents, teachers, knew. Your heart threatened to burst from your chest like the bullet from a gun. For the first time in sixteen years, it felt– really felt– like you were fully alive.

“Just you, Cam.” You dipped back down. “Only you.”

ii. the yew tree

He's ta'en his sister down to his father's deer park

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

With his yew-tree bow and arrow slung fast across his back

And they’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

You made close acquaintances with every dark corner of the school. When June came, you merely shifted your meeting points closer to home– behind heartland malls in Tampines or in the nooks and crannies of Cam’s sprawling landed estate along Cluny Road. Neither of you were sure, yet, if you were doing it Right– things like bubble tea dates, strolls in Botanics, or mugging in NLB (god, you should have been mugging, mid-years were in a week and neither of you had cracked a book). But if it wasn’t capital R Right, why did it feel like it was? You thought you had developed a case of myopia–Cam in focus, everything else blurred.

All that to say: the holidays were closer to ending than beginning when you and Cam found yourselves in an overgrown grassy patch tucked somewhere in between a storm drain and the wrought-iron back gate of some minister’s landed property. It had sounded a lot more romantic in theory, but the cloudless sky was the same powder-blue as your school uniforms, and the sun beat down like it had a personal vendetta against you. There was nothing much for shade except for a single banana tree, which you lay crumpled under, sweat-sheened and reddened. The last of the endorphins were beginning to wear off.

Cam’s ringtone cut through the air, a chiptune rendition of some Green Day song.  She sighed, then propped herself up on one elbow as she picked up her phone. Her hair was loose, cascading down her back like smooth dark water. You fought the urge to run your hands through it.

“Ba!” she chirped. The cheer didn’t show on her face. “Ba, of course I'm still at the library.  I’m with Lucia. Yes, Ba, I’m sure. Don’t call her, can?” She flinched as though she’d been slapped– a familiar, instinctual tic. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll study hard, I promise. Byebye.” 

She hung up and sighed, leaning backwards. “I think I’ll need to go soon.”

“Soon,” you promised. You were lying flat on the warm grass, arms crossed over your chest like you were about to be lowered into the grave. 

“Soon,” Cam repeated. “Fuck, I hate that we have to sneak around like this, sia. I keep thinking that he’s going to jump out at me from any corner, that any random passerby can tell I’m not where I’m supposed to be. It’s like this whole island has eyes, and maybe it does.” As she lay back down beside you on the grass, her oversized t-shirt–Camp Veritas Counsellor 2007–drooped down to reveal the blades of her shoulder, the ones you’d kissed just moments ago. Her voice lowered. “You know ah, the moment we get our A-Levels back, I’m getting out of this city. Australia, London, LA, anywhere. There’s nothing here for me.”

“No leh.” She can’t say that, you thought, pettily, awfully. She had a mansion and a scholarship and a real iPhone. She had the freedom to just leave. To go somewhere without worrying about the money. You had– what? Parents on the edge of divorce and a bankrupt family business? So much for inheritance. So much for a glorious kingdom. Then you had banished the thought from your head. “You have me.”

“I guess I do.” There was a pause. Then she asked, quick and soft and desperate: “Hey, if I asked you to do something, you’d do it, right?”

You reached over, squeezing Cam’s hand tight in yours. The leaves of the banana tree shivered. “I’d do anything for you,” you told her, and it was true. It was really true.

–

Your grades wobbled, then declined, then plummeted, and you found, to your surprise, that you couldn’t care less. You’d made a lot of bad decisions in your life. Try as you might, you couldn’t count Cam among them.

This, then, might have been why you were lying on your bedroom floor, squinting at your Nokia at four AM on a Monday morning. An empty can rolled lazily from your hand, on an epic journey across the glossy faux-marble floor. The house, for once, was still. Even your parents’ screams had petered off about an hour ago. The silver light from the HDB corridor fell through your windows in slits, providing just enough light for you to see the tiny phone screen. With the phone’s small buttons and your clumsy fingers, it took a long time for you to dial the number, but none at all for her to pick up. 

“Cam,” you whispered, “Want to see you.”

“Jesus, Yeoh, it’s a school night.” Her voice was gorgeous like this, low and blurred. She only ever used this voice with you: when her raw-bitten lips were pressed against your chest, your ear, your– You shifted. It didn’t help. 

“Cam, Cam, Camilla.” Her name rolled off your tongue like a litany, sharp and needy. “Can talk a while or not?”

“Are you drunk again?” she teased you. On the other end, her sheets rustled as she sat up.  Although you hadn’t ever been in her house before, you could reconstruct it well enough from the blurry webcam pictures she’d sent you: piles of assessment books, porcelain cross, ceiling fan. And she– beautiful, beautiful, feet kicked up against her headboard, black hair spilling over the flowery sheets, the smile evident in her voice. “Help lah. How–”

“Miss you,” you murmured, by way of an answer.

“I miss you too.” 

“Want to meet you. Want to talk to you.” Then, because you were three cans of beer deep and loved making (aforementioned) bad decisions, you charged on: “You and I, we never talk.”

“I know we haven’t met in a while. It’s not my fault I was sick–” Her voice wavered a little, then bounced back to its chirpy cadence. “But we talk all the time, though. We literally talked in class yesterday. I’m talking to you now.” Cam laughed. Her laugh still sounded to you like the first day of the month– every church across the island breaking into bellsong, light and birdlike in the hot blue air. It was cliché, you knew. You didn’t care. Perhaps you were in too deep to care.

“No,” you insisted, but you didn’t really know what you were saying, or why you were saying it at all. “We don’t.”

“We don’t,” she said, then fell silent.

The funny thing about the two of you was this: Over the past few months, you had seen each other stripped bare, worn to the bone with want, more times than you could count. But the both of you knew, all right, that there were things that you couldn’t– that you didn’t say. Things that were secret even to yourselves. The scars on your forearm, the bruises on hers, the way she looked at you when she thought your mind was elsewhere. Those three words, weightier than any false promise you’d whispered against each other’s skin.

“Staircase. Tomorrow. I need to tell you something.”

–

That night, you dreamt of flying.

You weren’t a bird, weren’t yourself– just bodiless, incorporeal, sweeping through the hallways of the college like a ghost. You phased through the auditorium doors to see the loose ceiling tile, the one that had been hanging over your heads like a guillotine all term, topple to the ground in one fantastic crash, sending students fleeing out the doors and into the foyer. You fled with them, but the ceiling fan in the foyer was spinning just a bit too hard, just a bit too fast, and the students screeched to a halt just in time to catch it falling, an angel with clipped wings. It broke in two over the staircase railing, knocking down the tables and the notice boards, pulling down the ceiling with it. Then the chapel was the next to go, the shattering stained glass catching the light in a thousand colours. As you raced up the corridors, the destruction raced up, up, up, alongside you, past the staff room and canteen to the lecture halls, the classroom blocks, the PAC, every single building in the college folding in on itself like so much wet paper. Block J detached itself cleanly from its precarious perch, tipping head-over-heels into the field. You couldn't hear a thing, but you could imagine what it sounded like: the earth itself breaking, rapture the other way around. 

Then you crossed the lower quadrangle, where two little blobs of baby blue lay pressed against each other’s bodies. Even without descending, you already knew who they were. It was strange to watch yourself like a movie. When you were younger, you'd thought that this was how God saw the world, top-down, like a player peering at a chessboard. When you’d failed an exam for the first time, you'd cowered under a table-cloth to escape His wrath. You’d stopped believing in a lot of things as you grew up, but you could never kick that instinct to flee, that inescapable, intrinsic fear that the presence of God really was everywhere: under a table, in a school, in every splitting cell.

The boy on the ground turned his face towards the girl, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She smiled infuriatingly, endearingly, back at him.

The school came down on them.

–

Most of the morning was taken up by this awful college event that you’d totally forgotten was happening, all cheering and sweat and thirty-eight degree heat. It was only when the day was coming to a close, then, that Cam and you could sneak away past the computer labs and guitar room into Staircase 6. As you entered, Cam pulled out something from the pocket of her sweater–an admin key–and latched the door behind her with a deliberate click. You blinked. “How’d you get that?” 

Cam didn’t say anything, just tucked the key in the pocket of her oversized school hoodie. There was something strange and tense about her, stranger and tenser than she had been all term. She walked up to Level 4, where the sky through the grilled window cut long slices of light onto the concrete floor, and sat down on the top step. You sat down next to her. 

She breathed, imperceptibly, in and out, looking straight ahead. The question rushed out in a gasp.

“You told me you’d do anything for me, right? I need you to kill.”

iii. the arrow

And when he has heard her give a loud cry,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

A silver arrow from his bow he suddenly let fly.

And she’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

-

WONG CHIEN PING 

The New Paper, 1998

WONG: To me, family– family always comes first. My kids always come first. You know ah, I’ve got five children. Four boys, one girl. 

INTERVIEWER: Wow.

WONG: [Laughter.] Can be a handful at times, lah, but what can you do? As I was saying, right, when I look at my kids, I’m thinking about everything they could be. Lawyers, doctors, maybe even MPs like me. [Laughter.] And I think about how Singapore’ll change in ten years, fifty years, a hundred years. My youngest, Camilla, she’s going to graduate from university in the 2010’s. In a new century. What’s Singapore going to look like then?

INTERVIEWER: Mhm. 

WONG: I want to make Singapore a place where my kids can grow up safely. Where they can have a future. 

-

For a moment, all you could do was laugh. Then you stopped, of course, but the echo lingered. “Cam?”

Without meeting your eyes, she lifted up her sweater. The first thing you’d thought was that she’d forgotten to bring her house shirt– she was still in uniform. Then you realised that her shirt was unbuttoned at the bottom, and her skirt was unlatched, and there was a solid, unmistakable, swell to her stomach.

The world tilted on its axis. There was no way this was happening. This was a really terrible prank. She’d stolen a prosthetic from Drama. It had to be something, something other than this, something other than a child– You made an inelegant noise, some spluttered form of protest. “Oh.” 

“Oh,” Cam agreed, unhappily.

You instinctively reached out to touch her bump, like you’d seen in the soapy Mediacorp dramas Ma always watched. You didn’t feel anything. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of parental instinct singing to you; love, love, love all through the water and the flesh and the blood? 

“Didn’t you listen in Bio? You can’t feel the heartbeat yet. Not for a while, but not for long, either,” she said. “Not until I can’t hide it anymore.”

“Oh.” You didn't know what else to say. You pulled her into your arms, and she pressed herself against you, body against body. Like stragglers hiding from the cold, except it was thirty-five degrees outside, the air the same dull dead warmth that school air always was. She turned her face away, but you could still see her eyes go glossy, hear her take those shallow breaths. "I'm so sorry."

You couldn't begin to imagine what she was feeling, how much she'd lost in that instant when she knew she was carrying a life that wasn't hers: the scholarship, the law school, the clear American sky she'd never see. The future rushed out before you, a landscape vast and desolate, and you found yourself unable to picture it except for your mother's face, crumpling in on itself, her world imploded in a single moment. Thinking: all you had to do was study hard. We gave everything for you, pinned every hope on you, and this is what we get? Saying: stupid boy. Stupid, stupid boy.

You don’t know how you say what you say next, but you do. “So. You want to- to kill it?” It, it, it. Still an it. 

Cam laughs wetly. “Almost there. Kill–” the pronoun trips off her tongue–  “me.”

-

ST CECILIA’S JUNIOR COLLEGE

CAMERA 235

12:28:03

YEOH shoots to his feet. WONG does too.

YEOH: You can’t just say that–

WONG: Just shut up for a moment and let me explain, can?

YEOH shuts up.

WONG [with a wince]: Sorry. But you know my father lah. You know how he is. He’ll have my head.

YEOH: What’s the worst he can do ah? Pack you off to some boarding school overseas?

WONG takes a sharp breath.

WONG: It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that he’s worked his whole life for this position. If he ever finds out what we’ve done, his career jialat liao, just like that. Every single day for the rest of my life he’ll look at me and only see a disappointment of a daughter, a stain on the family name. I snuck around and I lied to his face and I bribed my friends for alibis but at least for seventeen years he didn’t know better. He called me his princess, his golden girl, and he meant it. Now all of that’s gone. Or will be gone, I guess. I don’t know how I’d live without that.

YEOH: He doesn’t need to know. You understand that, right? There are ways to get rid of it, I mean, there has to be some way–

WONG: That’s the fucking problem!

WONG turns away, stifling a sob.

WONG: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you–

YEOH [instinctively]: And before you were born I consecrated you. 

WONG: This is our child, Yeoh. This is a human life. 

YEOH: Better any other life than yours.

A long pause. 

WONG [overlapping]: You can’t mean that.

YEOH [overlapping]: I can. I do.

YEOH ascends one step. YEOH stares at WONG as if he’s daring her to say something, until WONG begins to cry. YEOH freezes for a split-second. He reaches for WONG, whispers something inaudible in her ear. WONG reaches up and kisses him in response. After a while, WONG extricates herself with an expression that seems almost like a smile. She walks over to the railing and leans against it. YEOH follows her.

WONG: I’ve always told myself I want to be a good person, but maybe the real truth is that I didn’t want my dad to figure out otherwise. Maybe all of that hiding was for nothing. Maybe it was only a matter of time before he found out who I really was, deep down: rotten. Impure. That woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess. 

WONG: And, sure, I can sneak away to a clinic, God knows we can afford it, I can do whatever it is girls do in movies with the clothes hanger or the back alley. But if my life after this is all an act– what’s the point, if I already know where I’m going when I go? I’m tired of keeping secrets, trying so hard to keep this part of my life from him– when one day I’ll slip again, I know it, and the whole house of cards is going to come crashing down. If I die now, all my sins are going to die with me. He’d be happy, and I’d be loved, and you– 

WONG [almost envious]: You’d never understand.

YEOH tilts his head downwards, fringe falling over his eyes. He starts to say something, then stops.

YEOH: I do understand.

-

Like so many other people you knew, you never meant to go to St Cecilia’s. Everyone said you could make Temasek, maybe Victoria. Tampines at the very least. And you'd believed it, too, until you didn't anymore, until the college you were going to became the least of your worries. 

When did you stop believing you’d ever have a future? It wasn’t a single moment so much as it was a series of them: stepping over the yellow line when waiting for the train, trying to find footholds in the railing of every overhead bridge, your eyes always flicking to every exit you could take. The words you said under your breath in prayers weren’t Our Father who art in heaven but a litany only you knew: I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to keep going. I can leave any time I want. For as long as you remembered, you’d already been halfway gone. 

It was a comforting hypothetical, until it wasn’t, and suddenly you found yourself on the bathroom floor at three in the morning, a week before prelims. The cool white light bounced off the tiles, the mirror-cabinet above the sink hung ajar like it was beckoning you, and you were so, so exhausted. Why were you trying so hard? What were you even studying for? No matter what college you went to, the future would always be blurry and grey. Test after test after test, then onto– what, exactly? You’d never been able to imagine yourself past sixteen. You’d never be able to imagine yourself more than half-alive.

You’d tell the psychiatrist later that you didn’t remember the rest of the night, but that wasn’t true. You remembered the pills. You remembered the blinding, fluorescent pain– and through the pain, your father’s face, your mother’s voice. 911 on the cordless telephone. The ambulance. Changi Hospital. When you’d finally woken, there was a split-second where all you could see was white, and all that came to you was a rush of relief– until the white coalesced into white walls and white sheets and a ceiling spotted with air-conditioning vents, and you could almost laugh at yourself for expecting anything different. If you’d succeeded, anyway, it wouldn’t have been white.

So you failed both at dying and at Chemistry. That was fine. You took the two points off for affiliation.  You took the 5AM bus. You took the desk at the corner of 1T26. That was fine too.  You swore you didn't care about any of it, and you didn’t, you didn’t. Then Cam happened, and suddenly you did.

But you couldn’t shake the memory of that night in the hospital, your parents whispering next to your bed when they thought you were asleep. For once in their life, they weren’t at each other's throats. What’s wrong with him?  your father demanded in Chinese, betrayal running like cracks through his voice. I don’t understand why he would do this to me. In response, your mother only sighed. Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid boy.

-

The story came uneasily to you, like writing an exam for a subject that you hadn’t touched in months. Once you were done, Cam turned to you. If it was anyone else, they would’ve said something benign, something untrue, like, I’m sorry or I’m glad you didn’t die. Instead, because this was the Cam you’d always known, she asked, “How much did it hurt?”

You thought about the answer for a long while. Then you said, “If you do it right, only for a moment.”

She laughed, then, throwing her head back with the force of it. For a brief, blasphemous second, you’d never seen anyone so beautiful: fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army all set in battle array. It was the kind of beauty wars were fought over, the kind any man would get on his knees for– to be knighted, to adore. And she’d chosen you (you of all people!) The fact made you dizzy with its weight.

“So.” Her voice brought you back to reality. It was casual as anything, like she was discussing essay outlines or Physics solutions instead of– whatever this was. “I was thinking about the stairs, right? If you pushed me, hard enough, it’d look like an accident…”

Below you, the concrete staircase looped in on itself, down, down, down. Tall, yes, but only three stories, not enough to kill. Not if you wanted to be sure. When you told her as much, she frowned, swearing in Chinese under her breath. The two of you bounced around a few more ideas, but none of them seemed to stick. You fell silent, tapping out meaningless rhythms on the rails, as you considered what you’d been dancing around since she’d asked you to kill. A competition-grade air pistol, a shot at just the right angle– it’d be, well, if not easy, at least simple. Less up to the fates. 

There was only one problem with that plan– it’d no longer be an accident. There’d be police, lawyers, fuck, maybe even journalists. Your juniors would whisper about it for camps and camps to come. You couldn’t feign innocence with a shotgun, couldn’t frame the act of pulling the trigger as anything but what it was.  

So, fine, they’d hate you. They’d shred all your certificates, put your photos face-down, pretend they’d never had a son. So what? Boy hung from his bedroom fan, boy hung from the prison beam. Whatever formula you used, the result was still the same: you’d be gone, and they’d be free. Besides, there wasn’t any way St. Cecilia's reputation could possibly be worse than it already was.

“I think–” you started, suddenly, “I might have a solution.”

iv. the grave

And he has dug a grave both long and deep,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

He has buried his sister with their babe all at her feet.

And they’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

INTERVIEWER: You didn’t notice the keys were gone meh? I thought you were the captain.

THOMAS: The captain doesn’t carry the keys, sir. Um, he was the armourer, sir, he’s always had them. Since the beginning of the year. 

INTERVIEWER: So you weren’t aware that Yeoh and Wong entered the armoury at 12.39 PM and retrieved a [pages ruffling] .25-calibre Baikal air pistol. 

THOMAS: Of course the alarm went off, lah. To notify the teacher-in-charge. But he told Miss Judith he forgot his water bottle inside, and she was in a hurry anyway–

INTERVIEWER: She believed him?

THOMAS: Miss Judith’s always had a soft spot for him, sir. And we all trusted him. That’s why we made him the armourer. Of course he was quiet, um, but in a calm, reliable sort of way. Out of all of us we thought he’d be the last person to do what he did. [laughter] I trusted him– oh god– 

INTERVIEWER: Calm down, boy.

THOMAS: Sorry, sorry.

INTERVIEWER: Can continue or not?

THOMAS: Okay. Can. Go on.

-

Laughing the loud and triumphant laugh of the already dead, you and Cam crashed back into the staircase landing like you’d done so many times before. How many giggling, short-lived couples had this place borne witness to? The seniors who’d winked and nudged you in its direction must’ve learnt it from their seniors, who’d learnt it from their seniors in turn– back and back it went, a story in two-year cycles, mutating each time it was told. A haunting, a myth, a folk song.

Cam, leaning back against the wall, ran her hands along the sleek pistol. She looked, still, beautiful: even after the run, after the tears, despite the baby. If you hadn’t seen her before, you couldn’t have guessed that she was the kind of girl who would ever cry. “It’s like I’m a spy.”

“I mean, we kind of are, right? People are going to start getting suspicious soon. We should do this quickly.”  You shot a furtive glance through the window in the door. The corridor, as always, was dark– the lightbulb had been busted for a long, long time. 

“Soon. Won’t take long, right? Just–” She aimed the gun at her temple, mimed pulling the trigger with a grin. Miss Judith had trained you well– your first instinct was one of sheer panic, of tripping over your own feet in your haste to rip it from her hands– but you didn’t do any of that. 

Instead you only swallowed, shifted. “Just like that I don’t think is strong enough. It’s not real ah. Can’t do that much damage. Um, can I–”

Downstairs, someone shouted. Cam shoved the gun in her hoodie pocket. You stopped breathing. Something clunky was being dragged across the floor, chatter following in its wake. But no one had opened the door yet, so when the clamour finally died down, Cam removed the gun from her hoodie and passed it to you. 

In your hands, the pistol was cool, familiar, deadly in a way it had never been before. It reminded you that despite any pretences to precision or skill or patience, this sport was, at its roots, a killing sport– drawing blood and blood and blood again. 

You’d only been a shooter for a few months. You'd always been a chess club kid in secondary school, and in St Cecilia, you’d even applied for Strat Games before you walked into the interview, saw an old classmate, and walked right back out.  At least shooting was a singular sport. No emotions involved, no one to fool, no one to ask you what happened.

About a week or two past orientation, you’d hit bullseye for the first time.  You didn’t notice, at first, still reeling from the ricochet, until Greg shouted and the club gathered round and you saw that tiny wound on that tiny target, fifty whole metres away. In another few weeks, it’d become routine, but you never forgot that first time: the breath held, the trigger pulled, the bullet sailing through the air. The gun like an extension of yourself.

She must’ve sensed something had shifted, because she hurried out, “If you don’t want to do this, just say, OK? If you really want, we can– I don’t know, figure something out.”

You’d do anything for me, right? 

Okay, so maybe you were helping her because you knew what it was like to be so tired that you wanted nothing more than to be gone. You knew what it was like to fail– your mother’s eyes avoiding yours, the flat stinking with shame, cut fruits slid under your door like an apology– and you knew, you knew, out of all the people in the world she didn’t deserve it.

But maybe you were helping her because you’d never known anyone who could go to their grave with a smile quite like her, brilliant and foolish and brave. It was your hand brushing hers under the desk and her laughing with her head thrown back and the two of you sharing earphones on the bus. It was the fact that in life or death, you’d never wanted anyone but her. 

So, fine. The moment you’d opened your eyes in a hospital bed, you couldn’t find it in you to care about Heaven or Hell or anything in-between, couldn’t care about a God who’d turned his back to you as you were bleeding out. But even the staunchest of atheists could admit that it was nice to believe that you’d been brought back for a reason; that more than any grade you’d ever gotten or any target you’d ever hit, the greatest achievement of your time in college– okay, your entire short and sorry life– was this: to love her, to kill her, to be loved, impossibly, in return.

You kissed her like it was an answer. Maybe it was. You’d never know.

–

Just like you’d predicted, it wasn’t easy, but it was at least simple:

The muzzle dimpling her button-down shirt. Her heart beneath the gun, frantic and wild. Her smile– smug, inscrutable, like she was getting away with some great and treacherous heist, like she’d stolen something you’d never notice missing until it was too late. Coloured-in Converse perched on the edge of the top step.

A moment to aim. Less to fire.

A crack. A body arching backwards, falling, falling, falling. A body against concrete. A body with its neck all wrong– no, that wasn’t right. Two bodies. One body. But what was the difference, really?

Somewhere, someone was singing.

–

I got tired of waiting

Wonderin' if you were ever comin' around

There was a boy at the edge of the canteen, that isolated corner where the cafe used to be before it went bankrupt and left neon-yellow wreckage in its wake. I could just barely make him out through the other kids who’d swarmed like moths around the speakers we’d looted from the grandstand, a do-it-yourself rave all our own. We were seventeen and free from Promos and knew every word to every song on the radio and there was nothing in this world to worry about, nothing at all.

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town

My voice faltered as I tried to peer over the heads, earning myself a poke in the ribs from Joshua from 28. The boy was tall, in uniform–on the one day we were allowed to wear house shirts? He’d be sweltering hot. He stared off at something I couldn’t see, collapsing on a bench– and the moment I saw the fringe, I knew who you were.

“Xavier!” 

I painfully extracted myself from the knot of students, making my way over to you. You didn’t seem to notice me, didn’t seem to care. There was something red on your face, probably some failed attempt at Go SC! It seemed like the sports leaders had gotten to you. Funny. I’d never thought you were the type. 

You turned to me. 

“Xavier?”

I broke into a run.

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Your hands were shaking, your eyes wet.  There was red on your shirt, red on the corner of your lips. Shit, there was so much of it. “Are you hurt?” My brain was going at thirty miles a second. “What happened? Did you– are you–”

“I’m fine. I just–” You broke off. Slowly and carefully, like you were explaining something to a very small child, you forced out two more words: “--lost something.” 

I cast desperate glances around the canteen. There was something wrong here, something I couldn’t even begin to comprehend, like standing on the edge of a cliff with a sea below you. “It’s OK, bro,” I muttered out, stupidly, awkwardly, “You’ll get it back, whatever it is. Um. You need me check with the GO? Call teacher?”

Through the thin walls, a scream rang out. The singing died a quick, violent death, but the music, still, played on.

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

“No,” you said. “No need.”

It's a love story, baby, just say yes.

-

After everything– after the police, after the trial, after the drop– Wong’s father swept in and gave half of St Cecilia’s a dizzyingly long contract that boiled down to Don’t tell a soul this happened or I’ll kill you myself. Of course I’d signed it. What else could I have done?

In the years to come, I’d want to tell you about so many things: The times we’d instinctively turn in our seats to ask you about homework or classes or anything at all. The two empty desks we’d dodged for the rest of the year, even after we switched classrooms, even after they struck out your names from the class list— as if long before that October afternoon, you were already gone. The shiny, upgraded surveillance system, a threat, an eulogy, as much acknowledgement as they’d ever give you. 

Now, though, I want to tell you about the staircase.

When I stepped back into St Cecilia’s for the first time in ten years, so much of it remained the same. The same old coat of paint, the same wobbly tables, the same starched blue uniform. The only thing that’s changed is the kids– how young they seem now, how they call me Mr Thomas when I’m listening and ‘cher when they think I’m not. In the spaces between classes, when the halls are full of chatter, I’ll overhear snippets of their conversation: I’m yellowslipping for Taylor tickets or Walao, my stats really CMI, like this how can pass or Wah, are you going to take her to Staircase 6? That last one’ll be invariably followed by a wink, a nudge, and loud, boisterous laughter, the kind that only teenage boys can summon up. I can’t blame them much for it. Weren’t we once seventeen too?

The staircase isn’t particularly hard to avoid. For the kids, it’s more of a novelty than anything– a quick selfie at the door during Orientation, then it’s out of their minds for the rest of the year, too far from the classrooms to be of any use. Soon enough, though, exam season rolled around, and I was on my first night study shift of the year. I didn’t have to do much– just make sure nobody escaped the well-lit confines of the library, which was just as crowded and chilly as I’d remembered it. But the campus seemed different after dusk, every flickering light a blinking eye, and I felt myself being led down the concrete corridors, past the office and the hall and the lockers, past the bulb they’d never fixed, and I unlocked the door.

It looked, obviously, like any other staircase in the school. The floor was grey, the walls white. I went up to the top floor and to the railing, the security camera swivelling as I walked. Over the railing, the stairs went down, down, down. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find any part of it that suggested your presence. No pale figure, no blur of light. I felt, suddenly, foolish– what answer was I seeking? Even if you’d lingered, even if you’d somehow escaped where I’d most feared you were, this was the last place you’d want to stay. 

Maybe I would never really understand why you did what you did. But I’d known you, even still, and so I could say this with certainty– if there was any justice in this world, you weren’t here. You were somewhere edgy kids couldn’t gawk and giggle at you, somewhere the camera couldn’t find you. Somewhere only you knew.

An engine growled beyond the gates. Sweet and heavy in the air, the scent of flowers lingered. 

I closed my eyes.

-

And when he has come to his father’s own hall, 

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

There was music and dancing, there were minstrels and all.

And he’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

O the ladies, they asked him, “What makes you in such pain?”

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

“I’ve lost a sheath and knife I will never find again

And I’ll never go down to the broom anymore.”

“All the ships of your father’s a-sailing on the sea

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

Can bring as good a sheath and knife unto thee.”

But they’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

“All the ships of my father’s a-sailing on the sea

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

Can never ever bring such a sheath and knife to me

For we’ll never go down to the broom anymore.”

[holly-fixation]

Three... Guards? Ch 10

Summary: Tifa finds Cloud at the train station in Sector Seven. It’s the first time she’s seen him in seven years. But he’s not alone. Three silver haired boys protected him. Three silver haired boys that triggered memories of her hometown. Of steel through her chest. Of SOLDIER First Class. Of Him.

The truth finally comes out.

Please Enjoy!

Inspired by the prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Chapter 10: Denial

“You are currently seeing footage from Sector Five’s support pillar taken only two hours after Director Heidegger’s announcement. The blond seen here is a vicious spy for Wutai, a mercenary no doubt. He attempted to take out two pillars in one night and only by the skill of the Security Division were we spared. The Turks defeated him before any damage was done, but what does this say for the ceasefire? With threats like this the war with Wutai may return, and this time, SOLDIER and the army will put the country in their place.” The obvious newscast looped endlessly with the so-called breaking news, completely ignoring the irritation it caused the already weakened boy.

Everything hurt. Every inch of him whined endlessly, but the screaming finally lessened at least. His mind blurred as his eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t afford to open them until he knew exactly what was happening. He scanned his memories, slowly connecting dots. Big Brother saved him, bringing AVALANCHE and the girl from the slums along. The girl casted a healing spell but he felt acid wrecking his body before nearly fainting, the injection inside him sizzling and searing each vein under his skin. Then the headache, the twitching under his skin that was not his own body. The sight of Mother that only he and Big Brother saw. Why else would Loz and Yazoo stay behind? Then everything went dark.

…why was everything so quiet? Was he alone in a cell with a running television? Why?

Despite his pain, he curled in on himself slowly. With the aches finally beginning to fade, he couldn’t ignore the feeling deep in his mind. Rejection. Replaced. Worthless. These weren’t conscious thoughts. Was that serum capable of both physical and emotional pain? Then why did it leave him, combining before him and swirling in wait for the remainder of the injection?

Why did it come together?

Outside his body, why did it re…

Reu…

…No. No no no. No, it must be something else. Anything else. It couldn’t be. Why would Hojo…? What could that man possibly gain? And why would he suffer if-?

His face scrunched in frustration and denial before he finally, attentively, opened his eyes.

Everyone at his rescue was there watching him, a new red beast joining them, with the exception of Tifa and Big Brother. Big Brother was still unconscious on the bed, effortless rises and falls of the sweatered chest. He was lying on something soft and covered in an old but comfortable blanket. The television near the ceiling opposite of him showed Big Brother with his arms behind his back, the Turk they tortured back in the Northern Cave unharmed here and pushing the blond adorned with wolves into a Shinra helicopter. 

But that was the real Big Brother- the one that failed to stop their descent into the Lifestream. The one that inadvertently led them to this time and place.

“Kadaj…” Loz spoke first, and his still adjusting eyes landed on his brother. 

“Give him a minute, Loz.” Aerith placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s still recovering.”

His brothers both stood next to the woman in pink, the girl who stirred such baffling feelings inside him during their time in Sector Five. Both silver haired boys had their heads turned down and slightly away, shoulders curled in soft defense as they nearly took steps away from the youngest brother. 

“...what… happened…?” He tested his voice, raspy and weak, barely a whisper above his breath. 

Yazoo glared at Loz, the taller of the two looking anywhere but at them, scratching the back of his neck in shame. 

“They told us everything,” Tifa stated, her gaze never moving from Cloud as she tightly gripped her arm. 

His cat-like eyes narrowed, looking to his brothers for confirmation. 

“Loz… told them everything…”

“I'm sorry! I can't help it! It's something with them. I don’t know what. It’s something with-!”

“the women…?”

“See!” The short haired one pointed to their youngest sibling. “I'm not crazy! He has it too! You're the different one.”

“everything…?” He couldn't hide the need for confirmation in his voice. 

Barret rattled off every detail. “How you are all artificial. How you are actually combinations of Sephiroth’s will and the memories of him within the Lifestream- yeah that one took a while to digest, bein’ parts of other people’s perception driven by His goal and all. How you’re lookin’ for your mama-”

“Mother,” the uninjured ones corrected, but the man did not stop his explanation for a second.

“-to finish some ‘Reunion’ to become whole again, becomin’ Sephiroth. You know, the guy you were all offended to think of as a father but are apparently totally chill with physically becoming. Oh, and not Sephiroth’s real mama, an actual real life alien that’s hell bent on destroyin’ the planet to…use it to get to other planets or somethin’? I dunno, that was weird. Did I miss anything?” He addressed the general room. 

“You fell into the Lifestream without Jenova’s cells,” Aerith added.

“And none of us know why it sent you back,” the beast, who could apparently talk, explained. “With goals like yours and your physical make up of memories, you should have dissolved, like a drop of rain entering a puddle. But you didn’t. It sent you back here, and it always has a purpose when returning souls. The Planet wouldn’t send you back to spread a virus and complete Jenova’s goal. It even sent your world’s Cloud, which is a much greater feat.”

His mako blue eyes met the television screen once more. 

“Yes, him,” Tifa spat.

He held his head in his hands, blocking his face, leaning on his knees and elbows. He was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He tried so hard to conceal the truth, to reach Mother without suspicion, to accomplish any- any part of their goal. He suffered through Hojo's experimentation and only defended Mother, never revealing anything about himself beyond the DNA Hojo stole, and what was the point? Why couldn’t he do anything right? Why was he…?

Why was he such a complete failure?

“The Planet gave you a purpose, a second chance. Those are incredibly rare. You may squander it, it can’t stop you, but that will only work toward The Planet’s and your own detriment.”

“Don’t cry, Kadaj…”

His hoarse sobs quaked his delicate body, each wound sizzling from the uncontrollable movement. Tears slipped through his fingers, cascading to the dusty blanket as airy wails left his throat. Loz cried reflexively, almost instantly joining his brother on the small couch. Yazoo exhaled calmly and rubbed Loz’s back. 

“What’s wrong? Upset you got caught?”

“Barret, stop.” Aerith quickly made her way to the wounded boy.

“They’re tryin’ to kill The Planet. And they’re usin’ us to do it. This is on them.”

“You’re not helping.”

“What? They can handle it. They threw enough at us.”

She wrapped an arm around Kadaj, holding him against her chest. He sobbed harder against the soft warmth as she brushed his bangs out of his eyes to prevent wetting them any further with tears. “They don’t need roughness. They need kindness.”

“Sephiroth burned their village and killed their parents and you want to be kind to the three mini ones in the room?!”

“They did not choose to be born. They've only done what they thought was right.”

Barret backed down at the flower girl’s sharp truth, glancing away with a grumble, but Tifa stood, appearing at the side of the bed.

“He’s waking up.”

All eyes turned to the blond, even those filled with tears, though Aerith turned Kadaj back to her with a soft hush and a pet to his hair. “There, there…” 

Cloud’s mako blue eyes opened slowly, and Tifa’s face and her call of his name met him first. He groaned softly as he lifted himself up, his sight flooded with the colorful painting of the cell. 

“You’re alright. Thank goodness,” Red commented, flicks of his flaming tail maintaining their calm cycle.

“Yeah…” He held his head. “Where-?” All thoughts hitched in his throat at the sight of the boy they came here to save. 

“He’ll be alright,” Aerith assured softly, but that didn’t stop Cloud from jumping out of the bed and kneeling to see the boy’s face to be sure. “Just give him a moment.”

The ex-SOLDIER turned to the other brothers, asking with only a look if they saw what he did just like with Marco. But Yazoo shrugged, and Loz shook his head as he wiped away his final tears, clicking back into control of his emotions. A gasp forced them to watch the injured boy.

Kadaj slowly removed his hands, keeping his tears cupped in his palms. The same amethyst ink floated above the water, perfect droplets refusing to mix.

“What is that stuff anyway?” Barret’s voice broke the silence. “Hojo tell you anything?”

The boy winced before shrugging. “I don’t know…”

Hesitation. A harder look from everyone, including the two women that always made him obey. 

“I-I don’t know…” He held the side of his head, the substance threatening to stain his hair.

“Is there a bathroom in here?”

Aerith nodded. “Yes. Through that door.”

“Does it have a bath or shower?”

Barret glanced in. “Yeah. Why?”

Cloud met Kadaj’s eyes. “Come on. Let’s clean those wounds and replace the bandages.”

He looked away, disappointment filling his features. 

“I can do it, Cloud,” Aerith interrupted. 

“what’s the point…?” Helplessness infected his already damaged voice. “you won’t get past Hojo’s experiments with me…”

Blond brows furrowed with a small ‘hm’.

“Have you tried using materia…?” The middle brother asked. 

He shook his head, and Cloud immediately ejected a green orb from his bangle. 

“Here. Try this.”

At Kadaj’s touch, the orb instantly warmed, and small surprise overtook his expression. 

“See? Now you can defend yourself.”

“Make’s escapin’ with ya a lot easier. If you don’t turn on us.”

Kadaj finally accepted the aid and the orb. Before anyone in the chamber attempted another escape, they prepared for battle, even gifting the marked beast materia of his own. However, Tifa, Barret, and Aerith all glanced at the television screen once more, seeing the blond desperate to prevent their world from becoming his. They couldn’t help but wonder if their escape would end with Kadaj, or if they would return for Cloud Strife.

The only question that ran through their minds was irritating and simple simultaneously: Where is Shinra keeping him?

* * * 

Strife expected the long elevator to land him in the labs. The bag over his head completely hindered his ability to tell direction on the moving vehicle, and he didn’t realize how wrong he was until his sight was returned. 

The chamber was dark, the wall opposite of his glass cell nearly impossible to see. This cell was exactly what Hojo trapped Aerith and Red back in his time, scientist was nowhere in sight, only a few other tubes  littered the walls. He slouched against the wall, a frustrated sigh leaving him. He only hoped the Turks kept their word, especially after treating him like a Wutaian spy. He hoped he saved the plates. He hoped with enough effort, and definitely breaking out of here the first chance he got, he would save The Planet as well.

His weapons were gone. He didn’t recognize the floor around him. It wouldn’t be easy to break free like it was to defeat the Turks. He started by simply waiting for guards, or any kind of personnel, to enter the facility so he could snatch their keycard. He could do this. He could save everyone, as long as Tifa obeyed his warning.

Mako blue eyes spotted a red blur in one of the cells. He shook it off as his imagination at first, but he couldn’t deny what echoed through the chamber. 

“When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end

The goddess descends from the sky.”

.

.

.

.

To be continued...

Thanks for reading!

Author's Note: I solemnly swear this is the last character I'm bringing in that's not supposed to be here. I cannot believe I unintentionally timed this for his Ever Crisis appearance (the trailer specifically).

[183idfk10-24]

Random ass vent that Lowkey is all over the place and I shouldn’t post this publicly but idgf maybe someone will read it and relate or be like “this bitch stupid idk”

Today my family is celebrating thanksgiving. I just weighed myself and turns out Im at my starting weight again. Starting tomorrow I’m going to watch what I’m eating. I don’t necessarily want to go hard core 500 cals just yet, but I want to eat healthy foods and count calories. I also wanna exercise. I just wanna make healthy habits and be healthy. I mean yeah I will probably eat a less amount of calories to keep me healthy but once I reach at least 120 pounds , that’s when I will starting eating a healthy amount of cals cuz I look like a cow. Even my cousins are getting smaller than me. I think that’s my problem. I mean I compare myself to a lot of people but I compare myself a lot to my cousin. Maybe because my mom compares her to me a lot. Or maybe because we where close in age. Or maybe because we use to be friends but then she turned into a fake bitch and now I feel like I need to be better than her to just prove something. Like today I’m at her house and I noticed she wrote “permit test” on her calendar. And that really makes me annoyed and stressed out because I am a year older (16) and I should already have it but I can’t take it yet because I’m still waiting for my birth certificate to come in the mail. It’s stresses me out because what if I fail? I mean I could retake it. I don’t know. I don’t need to be better than anyone. I just want to be skinny. I wanna have good grades. I wanna be able to drive. I want good friends. I wanna be closer to God. I just want inner peace. I know it sounds corny but meh idk . I just wanna go home to my cat and be alone in my room. What’s wrong with me. Am I even normal lmao? Am I just overthinking… overreacting? I know I can be so much better than this what the actual fuck is wrong with me. I’m such a btich. I always complain abt my mom yelling at me but then I treat my brother the same way. Am I gonna treat my kids like this in the future? Tf hopefully no. I need to change. I need to just be nicer and more positive. Not just in a mental form but also physically I need to be healthy. Like I have such good genes! I have a very curvy body and small bones and waist. It’s just covered in 60 each pounds of tucking fat. I have nice hair, a pretty face (I mean some ppl will think it’s normal not like supermodel, western beauty standard type of pretty) I mean I kinda got a non defined nose and uneven eyebrows but it’s alright bc it makes my features look softer and my eye shape is pretty. And my mouth reminds me of a pourcil doll (idk how to spell it lol) but anyways I’m just saying I like how my face looks, I like my hair and body (if I was skinny) and I like my skin color. I use to be embarrassed of how pale I am but idc anymore. Everyone should be happy with themselves and their skin bc everyone is different. Yk how boring earth would be if we all looked the same. Anyways I just needa loose weight and be nicer and stop overthinking so much. I’ll be alright I just need to make the changes.

[miekasa]

Mie, I’m begging for some Jean college au bf hcs - im literally so down bad for this man and the way you write men is just 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

Absolutely, not a problem 😌 I saved this ask as a draft a while ago when you sent it, sorry for just now getting to it. Anyway, I love Jean with my whole heart, best boy, best boyfriend <33

King of forehead kisses, and not even just because of his height in comparison to yours; he just likes it. He likes the feeling of pressing his lips against your skin, and making you feel safe.

Brings you tea or coffee however you like it every day without fail. If he can get it to you in the morning before work/school then he’ll do that, if not he’ll meet you some time in the middle of the day to drop it off. Your own personal courier just for drinks.

He… has a thing for long(er) nails. He loves the feeling of them against his skin, even if you’re not scratching to apply pressure—just you holding his hand them grazing his skin is enough for him.

That being said, he will pay for you to get your nails done. Actually, he’ll pay for… almost anything you want, but the nails benefit him as much as they do you so feel free to ball out.

He never blowdries his hair because he doesn’t... know how to do the back of it. You did it for him once and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since, but he’s also too embarrassed to ask you to do/style it again.

On the subject of hair, he does do his best to style it and take care of it, but he’s a sucker whenever you play with it. Sometimes he feigns like you’re messing up all his hard work, but he’ll literally crane his head into your touch. He loves it. 

The first time he lays on top of you and you run your hands through his hair... top 10 most euphoric moments of his life. He tries to fight off the sleep threatening to take over him, but it’s futile. Give it 15 minutes at most before he’s knocked out like a baby. 

Dogs love him. Anytime you’re in a park or just taking a walk and there’s a dog around, it’ll come up to him and he looks adorable leaning down to pet it. He loves dogs, too! So he’s always happy to stop and pet them. He’d be a 10/10 dog dad. 

Has your name saved in his phone with two hearts at the end. Do not point it out.

Loves taking pictures together and if you guys are on a date, he’ll ask someone to get a picture for him. He just likes having them to look back on (and to send to his mom, later).

He doesn’t mind painting classes or videos or tutorials, but he hates paint by numbers kits. He claims that they have no sense of color theory and that it takes the originality and fun out of painting. Not to mention the quality of the paints isn’t great to begin with; all of which he takes very seriously.

It’s pretty cute actually, to see him get worked up over the paint kits. He claims that painting and drawing isn’t even something he takes “that seriously,” it’s just a hobby for him (one he’s insanely good at); but in moments like these, you can tell that he’s way more into art and art theory and history than he lets on. 

Huge movie guy, from animated movies to martial arts movies, Jean is usually willingly to give anything a watch at least once. When he’s high, he can go on about his favorite directors and art styles and movie details for hours if you don’t stop him. It’s super cute. Just don’t bring up Moana, because he’ll start crying. 

Arm around the shoulder kind of boyfriend for sure. It’s a casual way of keeping you near him and letting everyone know that you guys are together. Plus it allows for him to easily pull you into him for a quick forehead kiss when needed.

Listen. If you hug his arm, he’s on cloud nine. He tries to be nonchalant about it but he’s about three seconds away from his eyes rolling back in his head it feels that good to him. Bonus if you lean your head on his bicep a little—then he’s a goner.

He takes his bagels very seriously and believes that both you and him deserve nothing but the best quality bagels. He’ll grumble if a bakery gives you guys a less than favorable one and make a note that taking the long route to get to his favorite place is much more worth it.

Always makes you walk on the side furthest from the cars. If he notices you’re not, he’ll just shuffle behind you until he’s shouldering the street and you’re on the inside. 

He grew up on a kind of modern ranch situation; not exactly all the way in the countryside, but not isolate from the city, either. Because of this, he knows how to ride horses, take care of smaller farm animals, tend to plants, and yes he knows how to use a lasso. You wouldn’t know any of that though, because he never ever talks about it. The only way you find out is when he takes you to visit his mom’s house for the first time, and she asks him for a hand around the place. 

(He’s got a cowboy hat, too, but refuses to put it on. He got it when he was, like, nine, okay, leave him alone). 

When he thinks you look tired, he’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders to hug you. It’s usually followed up with a kiss to your head, and a promise that you guys will go home soon and get food on the way. 

He’s a really good cook. He just understands and flavors and pairings really well, so he doesn’t need a recipe to make something that tastes good; he just kind of knows what to add to get the balance he’s looking for. 

Naturally, he’ll cook for you. Especially if he finds out that you haven’t eaten all day/in a long time. He doesn’t care if it’s 11pm and it might seem excessive to make steak and potatoes with a side salad at this hour, he’s gonna do it to make sure you eat, and you are going to sit there and watch. 

He also bakes pretty well, though he isn’t as experimental with his baking as he is with his cooking. He usually sticks to what he knows, and it’s not cupcakes and brownies and cakes; he’s better at croissants, and cheesecakes, and canelés. 

Dating Jean means getting along with his friends. If you guys didn’t know each other before you started dating, be prepared to be ambushed by Connie and Sasha (after Jean stops hiding you away and gives them the green light lmfao). Neither of them waste time with the small talk and formalities; straight into mini golfing and beer pong. They make you feel welcome right away.

Sasha always teases that you’re too good for Jean, and that she might just steal you away for herself some day. Sasha is also Jean’s main confidant, so she really knows just how much he loves you, and yeah, she teases him for being lovesick, but really she’s happy for Jean. And proud of him for facing his feelings like this. 

Connie adores you, and you know he trusts you when he starts going to you for advice/help. Could be anything from schoolwork, to what color he should get his new shoes in. He’s also the one who, surprisingly, you have the sentimental talks with about your relationship with Jean. It’s easy to overlook, but Connie loves Jean, and he’s come to love you too; he just wants you both to be happy, so he’s there to listen when you need it. 

Jean waits outside of your classroom after you’ve had a test or presentation, usually with a drink or a snack, or the promise of taking you out as a treat. Always tells you he’s proud of you, and is there to comfort you if you think you didn’t do too well. 

He does not shut up about whatever major you’re in. It could be the same as his; it could be the complete opposite as his. He thinks it’s so sick that you’re doing it, you make it look cooler, you make it look better, and he’s certain you’re the smartest person in your program. 

He’s pretty serious about his studies, too, so he’s always down to study with you in the library whenever you’re both free. More often than not, he shows up after you, usually with food or extra chargers. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead, and asks you how you are while massaging your shoulders gently. If it’s been a while since you took a break, that’s the first item on the list, after that, he gets to work and stays with you until you’re ready to go, even if he doesn’t have as much work to do. 

He always sits across from you. This goes for when you’re in the library, or out to eat at a restaurant; Jean loves sitting across from you. He gets to see your face the best that way, and he adores looking into your eyes when you talk. 

He’s not... not a morning person. He’s not up at 6am ready to grind, but he wakes up before noon; let’s say 10am is his happy medium. That being said, if you wake up before him, regardless of the time, there’s a 9/10 chance he’ll lay on your back and tell you to hush so you guys can sleep for 10 more minutes. 

If you’re (close) friends with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, Jean is... happy you’ve got people to rely on, but, “Of all people on the planet, you put your trust in Jaeger?” He acts so bitter (because he is), but deep down inside, he’s glad you have Eren to rely on if you need to. 

(Also, you have to humble him and remind him that he and Eren aren’t all that different. If you like him, why wouldn’t you get along with Eren, bye). 

Turns out though, that it’s not Eren who threatens to beat him up if he breaks your heart. It’s not even Mikasa, although, her threat goes without saying; it’s Armin he’s terrified of.

The last time Armin hated someone, it was this guy in your program, who happened to share a few mutual classes with him, too. Jean never knew the full story, just that he’s pretty sure that kid dropped out the following semester. 

If you have a job on campus, Jean usually doesn’t show up while you’re working (knowing how embarrassed he would be if you did that to him), unless you work the night shift and it’s dead. Connie, however, does show up; usually in some kind of crisis (“Please help me, I don’t know what the fuck APA formatting is and this is due tonight, please, please, please!!”). Your coworkers actually thought Connie was your boyfriend for a minute. That’s when Jean starts showing up more lmfao.

He makes it a point to go on a scheduled, night out, kind of date at least twice a month. He knows life gets busy with school and work and midterms, but he always makes sure you both set side a time to take a well-deserved break and be with each other. 

He’s the romantic type, so these dates are pretty swoon worthy, too. Drive-in movies, nice dinners, classy art exhibits, Jean plans it all. On that note, he really likes planning dates; he just doesn’t like talking about them with his friends beforehand. 

All in all, very romantic, very precious boyfriend. He’s always thinking about you, what you need, and how he can help you out. You’re one of his main priorities, and he just wants to treat you right. 

[matchmakerecorner]

Request number two :)

Id like a romantic twisted wonderland matchup please. My pronouns are she,her. Im 5’2 hour glass shaped African American, with black hair, and blackish brown eyes.Im straight, but Im an ally :). I’m told I’m kind, smart, funny, responsible, polite, respectful, obedient, thoughtful, considerate, empathetic, caring, protective, nerdy and compassionate, but im also anxious, fearful, awkward, shy, clumsy, emotional, moody, indecisive, highly sensitive, an introvert, have low confidence and self esteem issues. I like animals, books, reading, writing, fantasy, magic, sci fi, anime, cartoons, music, video games, friends, alone time, helping others, taking personality quizzes, learning, bread, and sweets. I dislike spiders, loud sounds, people who harm others, not being listened to, people i care about not caring for themselves, losing people, disappointing/letting down people, failing, math, tests, certain foods and textures, things with weird holes and patterns. Extra stuff about me is that: I pace a lot, i sing when no one is around, and im clumsy.

I think im just gonna leave it at these two for now i dnt wanna both you both and im sure you have a lot id matchups or at least you’re going to if you don’t already and i dont wanna hog all your time. Thanks again

🐇 | I have decided to match you with...

☆ Silver is a pretty calming person. He's kind, thoughtful, but also has a hard time not falling asleep.

☆ Genuinely admires how polite you are. It's already a yes from him since you respect everyone in Diasomnia. You don't treat Malleus as if you're scared of him, and you're nice. That really warms his heart.

☆ Both of you will probably just be going on a date in the forest, taking walks, he'll even introduce you to some of the regular animals he wakes up next to.

☆ Speaking of which, sometimes the two of you will fall asleep next to each other near a tree, and then you'll wake up and see a few animals cuddled up to both of you. Lillia has seen this happen and finds it adorable

☆ Maybe since you like reading, Silver will ask you to read him bedtime stories even though he knows he might not stay awake to hear much of it. Just having your voice be the last thing he hears before drifting off to sleep is enough to make him have sweet dreams.

☆ He's not scared of spiders! He's been surrounded by worse, so you don't have to worry about killing any. With little spiders, he'll let it crawl onto his hand so he can take it away from you. With bigger and more poisonous spiders, he'll just do the same thing with a cup.

☆ Since you enjoy magic, he likes to do different tricks for you. Sometimes he'll even use magic to make you a gift! Maybe he asks Malleus and some other Diasomnia members to show you some magic whenever he notices that you have a bad day/are in a bad mood. Anything to cheer you up!

☆ With how responsible you are, sometimes you save him being scolded by Sebek... He really appreciates it whenever you wake him up before something important.

☆ Sometimes on days when you don't feel like reading, he'll ask you to sing him a lullaby while he rest his head on your shoulder or in your lap. Either works with him, he just wants to be near you.

The Other Choice(s):

Riddle: He admires your motivation to learn. It always makes it really fun to read books with you in the library! He'll let you play with the hedgehogs and flamingos, and lastly, he'll be the one to reassure your worries.

Idia: He's introverted and won't push you to do anything you're uncomfortable with. He'll play video games, take personality quizzes, and you both can lay/sit down next to each other and read fan fiction to tour hearts content! Bonus: his room is also quiet, a perfect place to relax.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜

A/n: Once again, thank you for being descriptive! As always, if you have any problems with it just send an ask or comment so I can rematchmake you! ^^ Have a nice day/night!

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜

| Teleportation: The Map Room | Matchmaking |

[reidswritings]

everything changed then

word count; 5.1k

warnings; 14x15 spoilers!!!! curse words, gun violence (i think that's it??)

author’s note; this is my first spencer fic and im feeling really good about it so like, i hope you enjoy!!

 She wasn’t sure of the events that led her to the current situation. Or, you know, maybe she was— she wasn’t dumb. No in fact, other than Spencer, she was probably one of the smartest people on the team. Regardless of whatever the reason was, she was still there. She was in a terrible, terrible situation. 

What was once a car chase turned foot, had quickly turned into a hostage situation. A standoff between three FBI agents (JJ, Spencer, and Y/N) was cut short when the villain with the psychopathic tendencies forced all three to toss aside their weapons. He then forced an innocent hostage to lockdown the small shop. The innocent woman, who doubled as a mother and the judge who had locked the unsub away, with the other gun, pleaded with him. 

“Please, don’t hurt her. I don’t know how they found us, I didn’t call them!” she was nervous, her  hands shaky. Y/N, ironically, could feel the anxiety flowing from her own body. She was supposed to save them, save them all, and yet, here she was barely able to breathe as the potentially deadly weapon was trained on her boyfriend of three years. “Please, just let her go!”

“Melissa, we haven’t finished our little game.” The nasty man sneered at her, still holding the blonde against him while pointing his gun at Spencer. The three agents, shared a look. It was clear between them that they weren’t getting out without setting the man off. 

Casey forced Y/N down first, noises of protest coming from both her and Spencer. He had pulled her arms behind her back, more rough than needed, and wrapped her wrists in multiple layers of duct-tape. The tape pulled harshly at her skin, no doubt leaving behind a couple of nasty bruises. JJ and Spencer not far behind her, instead, Casey forced Melissa to do so. 

Spencer, trying to relive at least some of the tension, said, “Don’t worry, it's gonna be okay.” While Y/N knew that he was talking to the judge, she felt the undertones of his promise. 

don’t worry. it’ll be okay. we’ll get out of this, promise. nothing will happen. She knew that it was  meant for her too. 

“Hurry up!” Casey stressed, gun pointed at the stomach of the blonde who was barely holding it together. “Get over here. This is all your fault. I told you it was an accident, that—that Mark was the one who forced me to do it.”

The three tied up cops shared a look. This was bad, really really bad. Casey continued. angry, “But you wouldn’t listen! You just sat up there looking smug and superior. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not. You’re just as capable of hurting someone as anybody is.”

With too much force, Casey forced the young blonde to the ground, causing her to cry out as well as causing Y/N to move to her knees. He then pointed the gun back at Melissa, Y/N let out a noise of discomfort before saying, “C’mon, C-Casey, you don’t want to do this.”

A smirk playing on his lips, gross and unattractive, he looked to Melissa and ignored Y/N’s pleas, “Well, here it is, judge, your moment of truth.” In his outstretched hand was the gun that Melissa had previously tossed aside. She took it from the unsub’s hand, Jennifer’s eyes going wide at the sight. “Shoot her. Or i’ll kill your daughter.”

No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke a word— that is until JJ’s voice rung out, breaking the silence. “Come on. She’s got nothing to do with this, okay? Just let her go.”

“Shoot her!” It was forceful and loud and dangerous all at the same time. Spencer and Y/N were stunned into silence, JJ spoke again, “Casey, she’s not a part of this. Okay?” She was trying so desperately to get everyone out with out any injuries. She was brave and Y/N admired that about her good friend. “You have no reason to hurt her. Just let her go.”

Y/N knew it was wrong as soon as the words passed her good friend’s lips. She watched with an anxiety filled heart as Casey’s whole demeanor changed, he snatched the gun from Melissa’s hands and stomped over to where JJ was sitting. He knelt down to her level and roughly grabbed a chunk of her beautiful blonde locks. Spencer moved forward, like he was going to say something, something that would aggravate the gunman even more. Y/N silently pleaded with him to stop, to just say silent— stay safe.

However, Y/N beat him to it. She didn’t care if the fire was on her. She’d rather that than on JJ or Spencer or an innocent bystander. “Leave her alone.” 

Her voice was harsh and threatening all at once. In all the years that Y/N had been on the team, no one had ever heard her talk like that. Then again, Y/N was always cautious enough to never end up in a hostage situation. 

It was then Casey pointed his gun at Y/N—Spencer’s heart stopping— “I wasn’t talking to you.” It was clear to the room that he was directing that to both girls. He then, without anymore aggravations, violently released JJ before standing up, gun still trained on Y/N, and backed up to the blonde who had the unfortunate job of working in this shop on this god-awful day. 

“Get up! Now!” He pulled the young girl up, tossing her into the counter next to Spencer. Her body flung into the counter with such force it knocked down a mirror, shattering. A gun shot rung out and Melissa and the unnamed worker both yelped— one in fear and the other in pain. 

Y/N watched as Spencer slowly moved over, trying to see the young girl, only to be stopped by a shout and a gun in his face. “Do not move!”

If Y/N’s anxiety ridden heart was in her throat before it was now jumping from her mouth and onto the floor. She didn’t understand why she was on the verge of loosing her breath. She had seen a gun pointed at her boyfriend before. It wasn’t anything new, it happened. It came with the job. Maybe it was the fact that she knew there was no getting out of this without injury and pain. 

Again, Casey’s focus was on Melissa, “New deal.” Gun in her face, gun in his hand, offering. All three agents watching helplessly. They were out of options. This was really fucking bad. “Now you need to kill one of these three.”

Y/N’s heart calmed slightly as she watched the scared brunette take the gun from the wild man’s hand. She could do this. She could talk her down— this she could do. Melissa turned to the three, gun pointed at the floor before focusing it on Spencer. 

“Melissa— Melissa, you don't want to do this. I know you don’t, you can stop this. Just put down the gun. Please—”

“Shut up!” Casey’s voice was raw. It was clear his patience was running thin. He was going to snap. Back to Melissa, he asked, “Who’s it gonna be?”

Her eyes locked with Spencer’s then with Y/N’s, they were sad and scared, “Please. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

“Focus, Melissa!” Loud and angry. The gun shook with his words.

“Please,” she begged, it was no louder than a whisper. Y/N could feel herself loosing hope, maybe she was wrong. Maybe she couldn’t do this. 

“Judge, you gotta decide. That’s what you do right?” He was calm, now. Way, way too calm. “Decide life or death with a flick of your gavel.”

The gun in Melissa’s hands moved from Spencer then to the floor and then to JJ only to go back to Spencer in the end. And Y/N was going to lose it. She was ready to do something, anything when the phone rang. Hope flooding her veins again. Help was here. They would get them out, without any damage. Right?

Y/N let out a breath, one she wasn’t aware she was holding, when Spencer spoke. His voice providing her with a much needed feeling of ease. “Answer it. Casey, answer it.”

“Shut up!” Melissa’s gun was still trained on Spencer as Casey yelled at her, “Pull the trigger!”

Melissa cried out, terrified. Y/N opened her mouth, the words flowing out before she could stop them. “Please, please don’t do this.”

“Shut up, everybody, shut up!” Casey was nearing his end, he was snapping. He lunged forward, ripping the cord from the wall, the insistent ringing stopping with it. “Focus, Melissa! Pull the trigger.”

JJ shared a look with Spencer then looked to Y/N, before trying one last time, “Casey, if Melissa won’t play, I will.” The beautiful blonde moved to her knees. She was determined to take the heat off Spencer. She couldn’t lose her best friend— she couldn’t let Y/N loose the love of her life. 

Jennifer was standing now, everyone sharing a worried look. Casey trained his gun on JJ, moving it from Melissa. Small victories. 

“Truth or dare, that’s your game, right?” The beauty shrugged, like it was nothing off her back, “I’ll play.” 

“JJ—” Y/N started, but cut herself short when Casey pointed the gun at her again. “Melissa, the weapon— give it, now!” 

“Casey,” Spencer began and Y/N felt her eyes close, hope slowly draining away again, ‘I know what its like, to be wrongly accused, sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Casey laughed, though no humor was held behind it, “Bullshit. You went to jail?”

Spencer nodded and Casey laughed again, “Yeah, I’d like to see that, pretty boy.” He then moved over to JJ and Y/N’s mind was running a mile a minute trying to fix this. Trying to find a way to get them to safety. Trying, trying and failing. 

“Alright, agent. . .”

“Jareau,” she supplied and Y/N could hear the underlying fear. 

“Agent Jareau,” he repeated, testing it on his tongue, “truth or dare?”

“Truth.” she was calm, but Y/N could tell that her good friend was just trying to put on a brave face.

“If I think you’re lying or stretching the truth in the slightest, I’ll kill him.” His gun was pointed at Spencer again and Y/N felt herself gasp loudly. JJ nodded solemnly and the wild man continued, “you ever shoot anybody before?”

“Yes, I have.”

He was sick; he laughed, “You enjoy it?”

“No.” Y/N felt like she was going to throw up. She couldn’t, this was too much. She couldn’t believe this was how her day turned out. She watched with a heavy heart and tearful eyes as Casey’s face morphed into anger. She knew JJ had messed up. He turned, annoyance heavy on his shoulders. Before any of the highly trained agents could make a move, Casey pointed the gun in Spencer’s direction and fired, screaming out. “Liar!”

Both Y/N and JJ gasped, but Y/N was the only one to yell out. “No!”

Panicked, JJ’s wide eyes moved from Spencer’s uninjured form to the man with the gun, “No, no, no. I’m not lying. Okay? I’m not lying. The people I shot, I had no choice, but I did not enjoy it. I didn’t. Okay, you asked and I-I told the truth. Okay, I told you the truth, so, uh— now, it's my turn. Right? That’s how this game is played, we take turns. Truth or dare?”

Casey slowly lowered his gun and Y/N watched helpless. “Truth.”

“What’s it gonna take for all of us to walk out of here alive? For this to end peacefully?”

Casey scoffed and trained his gun on JJ again, angry, “I ain’t going back to prison. My turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“I want you to say something you’re afraid to say, that you’d never tell anybody. And you better make it good, ‘cause if it's not, it's gonna be the last thing you ever say.” Y/N was out of hope. She could feel her walls breaking down, she could feel the few tears that had escaped her closed eyes. The gunman continued, shaking his weapon, “What’s it gonna be?”

JJ shook her head, voice watery. “There are only four people I trust in this world.”

“Boring.” He had snapped. This was it, his breaking point; he moved the gun back to Melissa and pulled the trigger, the bullet entering her leg. She yelled out and collapsed to the ground. Casey brought the gun back to Jennifer, “Next!”

“Um. . . My. . .” she was struggling, “My baby I lost, I, um—” Y/N’s eyes opened, trained on her friend, watery and blurry. “I wanted to name her Maggie.”

“Wrong!” He wanted more. He wanted her deepest secret, “Come on, you can do better than that!”

“Casey.” Spencer’s voice rung out, warning. 

“Shut up!” The dangerous man rushed her then. His hand attached itself to JJ’s arm and shoved her down to her knees with force, gun eye level to the blonde, “Last chance. Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partners here. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me or I kill him.”

“JJ,” Y/N’s broken voice was no louder than a whisper as she begged her friend to save her boyfriend, “please.”

The blonde shared a look with both of her friends as Casey yelled again, “Come on!” 

JJ’s eyes and voice were watery as she spoke. “Spence, I, uh, I’ve always loved you.”

It was like a punch to the gut. She felt like she was a balloon and all the air had escaped. She didn’t believe what she was hearing spill from her best friend’s lips. In a broken whisper, Y/N asked, “What? JJ—”

Spencer had turned to the blonde, his face that once held anger and confusion now held a look that Y/N couldn’t quite place. The blonde continued on, crying, ignoring Y/N’s cries, “And I was just too scared to say it before. And now things are just really too complicated to say it now, because I have Will and the boys and you have Y/N— I’m sorry, but you should know.”

Y/N’s blurry eyesight shot to her boyfriend, trying to see his reaction. And what she saw broke her heart in half. He smiled. He fucking smiled. He had a fucking smile on his lips and he was looking at JJ how he usually looked at Y/N. And maybe that was what hurt the most. Seeing the far away, lovestruck look in his eyes. 

Casey broke the heavy silence, his laugh was loud and bitter, gun lowered, “Hot damn. That’s what I’m talking about. Now those are some last words right there, but not good enough to save your life.” 

Casey leveled his gun on JJ’s forehead again, ready to pull the trigger. Y/N cried out, eyes slamming shut, she couldn’t watch this. Sure, her best friend had just admitted to having feelings for her very own boyfriend, but she was still her best friend. 

A gunshot filled the room. Y/N yelped, crying harder, opening her eyes after hearing a thud. Only, JJ was fine and Spencer was holding a gun, panting, keeping eye contact with the aforementioned blonde. Spencer had moved to cut his girl free first, helping her stand. Then he moved to the blonde who had just confessed her undying love for him. 

The brokenhearted girl watched as her boyfriend carefully cut JJ free, an unspoken conversation seemed to be flowing through them. Spencer had a look of peace on his face as Jennifer turned to look at him. It was like they had forgotten that Y/N was in the room, heart breaking. 

Spencer opened his mouth, to say something. To fix it, Y/N hoped. But before he could get the words out, the back door burst open, their team rushing in, and the spell was broken. 

The two moved away from each other. Y/N watched as how her boyfriend seemed to remember she was standing right there. She watched as he turned to face her, reach for her. She watched as he moved to comfort her. 

But before he had the chance, she ripped away from his gaze and left him standing in the small shop. Left him standing in the place where their relationship died. 

—

Six weeks had passed. Six weeks of sitting across from one another. Six weeks of stolen glances and regretful eyes. Six weeks of Y/N wishing, longing for Spencer. Hoping that he would come back to her and just say he was sorry. 

Sorry for pushing her away. Sorry for giving the heartbroken girl the impression that JJ was his girl. Sorry for making her feel like she was a second choice; for acting like nothing ever happened; for everything. 

She he’d been held up in her apartment, surrounded by all the things that reminded her of the pretty boy (apart from work, she barely left. and to say the team was very worried about the young girl was and understatement). Ironic, right? All she wanted was to forget about the curly haired boy and yet, he was all that plagued her mind. 

Y/N was surrounded by boxes, some taped shut and marked with what was inside; others only half filled, things hazardously sticking out the top. The memory that all the packages brought was a stab to her heart and a kick in her stomach. How dare they still be there; unmoved and happy. 

The once happy couple, who were together for almost four years, was all set to move in together. Y/N could almost imagine Spencer in the new, bigger and better, apartment all by himself. She could see him waking up before the sun and pouring himself a cup of too sweet coffee and re-reading books he had already read. She could see it all.

 She hoped it was lonely, that it held the same sadness that she was feeling. She hoped that he was just as miserable. 

She knew he wasn’t though. He couldn’t be. No, he couldn’t be. . . right? He had JJ now. He was happy now; he finally had what he always wanted— the pretty blonde girl that he had been in love with since day one. Day one of the BAU, day one of friendship, day one of birth— the girl that he was always meant to be with. Y/N wasn’t stupid, she knew how much she paled in comparison to the very beautiful girl. 

She could only imagine all the times that Spencer had wished that it was Jennifer Jaraeu instead of his loser of a girlfriend. She imagined all the fantasies that had to be playing in his mind every time they kissed, every time they laughed, every time they touched, every time they made love. 

Maybe that was what hurt the most; knowing that he had always wanted it to be her. The blonde. The beauty. The brains. The everything Y/N was not. 

A very loud ringing broke Y/N away from her intrusive thoughts. Again. She had thrown her phone across the room (not literally, of course. She had just dumped it on the counter along with everything else that she didn’t want to look at). She knew who it was; JJ. It had to be— everyday for the past month she had been calling, trying to apologize, explain, salvage what was left of their friendship. Jennifer had left voicemail after voicemail and text after text, trying to get the heartbroken girl’s attention. 

It wasn’t like Y/N was completely ignoring her old friend—no, she wasn’t that much of an asshole—, she would read all the texts received and listen to the messages (which actually, when she thought about it, that was probably even worse. maybe she was the asshole she tried so hard not to be). 

She even talked to her during cases (of which there had been two since the incident), but the second JJ had brought up anything to do with Spencer or what had happened, Y/N retreated into the shell she had created for herself. Though it wasn’t a perfect situation, it worked. It worked for her and that’s all that mattered. 

What she didn’t expect though, was a knock at her front door. She had considered ignoring it and letting whoever was at her door think she was out or asleep. Or literally anything else that would excuse her not moving from her pathetic slumped position. 

The knocking sounded again before his muffled voice flowed through the door, stopping her heart. “Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

She sighed (he did too). Her heart was in her throat (so was his); she hadn’t seen him outside work for longer than she cared to admit. She stood and felt her body drag her to the wood that separated her and her pretty boy. 

And before she knew what was happening, Y/N was swinging the door open, Spencer was standing before her— distraught. 

“Why do you look like that?” She asked, deadpanning. There’s that asshole bit rearing its ugly head again. It wasn’t fair that he looked so strung out, he did this. This was his fault. Her hand was resting on the door, barricading him out and her in. 

“What?” Genuine confusion crossed his face and Y/N almost felt bad. Almost. “Y/N, we haven’t talked in weeks.”

“We talk at work.” Short and unforgiving. He sighed at her words, running a very gorgeous hand through his curls, breaking apart a few. A part of Y/N, a very, very small part, wished it was her fingers pulling apart his crazy mane. She missed how soft his hair was, the way he smelled. She missed how with just one touch she could feel all of the stress leave his body. She missed how he looked at her. She missed it all and she hated herself because of it. 

“Don’t be so obtuse.” The regretful boy started and Y/N could feel her heart breaking all over again, “I mean, for real. . . Y/N, I miss you— I miss us.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” A knife to his heart, she could tell. Good. He deserved this; he deserved to hurt just as much as he had hurt her. 

“That’s not fair, she—”

“No,” the heartbroken girl began, a sadness in her voice. “you don’t get to decide what’s fair and what’s not— especially when it comes to my feelings, Spencer Reid.”

He was still standing in the hallway, eyes begging to be let in. The pleading didn’t go unnoticed; maybe that’s why she found herself opening the door and dropping her arm, watching as he moved inside. 

He was still her boy. Her beautiful boy. No matter what he or JJ had done, Spencer Reid was still undeniably hers. No matter what she was still under the spell of his gorgeous browns.

The sad boy followed her into the living room, taking in the scene. He felt his breath hitch as his eyes swept over all the boxes and the mess that covered the once happy apartment. He could just about throttle himself; he couldn’t believe he had let this happen. That he had let it get this bad— he was such a fucking idiot. 

Y/N watched as his curious eyes took in everything before him, committing it to his never forgetting memory. She knew that, regardless of anything, he would always come back to this moment. She knew that he would always blame himself. Spencer Reid had such a big heart and that was probably his one and only fault. Regardless of any hurt he may have caused her, she knew deep down that he hadn’t meant to. He would never intentionally hurt anyone, and maybe that’s why she asked her next question:

“Why are you here, Spencer?” She had pulled his eyes back to her. 

Swimming in regret, he said, “I want to fix this.” Y/N had begun to shake her head and opened her mouth but he cut her off, continuing, “Please. . . Y/N, tell me how I can fix this.”

“I-I. . . Spencer, I don’t know if you can.” Heart breaking more than she thought possible. 

Then, he did something she would’ve given her life to never see. 

Spencer got down onto his knees, now eye level with the girl on the old couch. He placed a hesitant hand on her knee and squeezed. When Y/N met his gaze, she felt her heart break its final piece. His eyes were glossed over with unshed tears and when he spoke his voice was wet with the cries he was trying so hard to push down. And Y/N hated it. 

“Y/N. . . please,” he was begging. Begging to be heard, to be forgiven, for her. Just begging. 

Against her own wishes, Y/N’s hand reached out and pushed back the hair like she had been wanting to since he showed up at her doorstep. “Spencer, I— There’s things we’d have to talk about— questions I have. I-I can’t just jump back in, we have to talk about—”

“Then ask me.” The crying boy rushed out, sniffing. “Ask me anything.”

Y/N sighed. Did she really want to do this right now? Could she handle this? 

“Do you love her?” It spilled from her lips before she knew what she was asking. She didn’t regret it.

His answer spilled from his too, “Yes.” Maybe she did. 

Tears spilled from her eyes and she struggled to hold down a sob. It came out as a watery laugh and she stood up, forcing his hands off her body. She closed her arms around herself, another barricade from the boy who refuses to stop breaking her heart into a million little pieces. He stood up too, reaching a hand to connect them together again but decided against it, too afraid of being rejected. 

Her mind was running a mile a minute. She was kicking herself for trusting a man who was so clearly into another woman— a married woman. She was so angry that he led her on for so long. She wanted to throttle him; she could’ve too, if she really wanted to. As much as she wanted to, she knew her body would never do it. As angry as she was, her body was still irrevocably in love with Spencer Reid. 

“Then why are you here?” It was dangerous. She half wished he wouldn’t answer, she didn’t know if she could handle the answer. 

His reply was slow to start, she wondered if he had even heard her, “. . . Because, I love you, too. I love you differently.”

“What?” She was tired. So, so fucking tired. 

She felt his hand place itself on her shoulder, she didn’t react. She didn’t move, didn’t lean into it. She just froze and waited for his response. Spencer surprised her for a third time. His hand moved down to her elbow, turning her around gently before starting his monologue. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground as he spoke. 

“Y/N, I’ve known JJ for over 14 years. When I first met her, sure I wanted her to notice me,” he paused to laugh before continuing, “I even tried to take her on a date one time. . . she ended up inviting Penelope. . . I was mortified. . . that’s not my point. Hell, I don’t really know what I’m saying. I tried for so long. I tried to get her to notice me, but then she met Will and then she had Henry and everything got so complicated. And I realized, Y/N, that I had to let her go, and then I met you and everything changed.”

Y/N’s eyes finally met his brown ones. She echoed him, “Everything changed?”

Sappy and clumsily, he laughed, “Yeah. Y/N, everything— everything changed. Suddenly, instead of wondering what Jennifer thought I was thinking about you— thinking how to talk to you, what you liked, if you liked me. God, I was so into you back then. . . I still am. I won’t lie to you, Y/N, I never have and I won’t start now. Yes, I love JJ. I think I always will, it’s just different. I love her, but I’m in love with you. And I always will be, I-I mean, you’re my girl.” 

During his confession, Y/N had moved closer. She had hesitantly placed her hands on his chest, where they belonged— she realized. “Spencer. . .”

His eyes were soft as they gazed down at her. They held love— the love that she had seen focused on JJ all those weeks ago. He brought a hand up to her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. It felt like it was forever, them just looking— gazing, falling back in love. Then, she watched as her boy started, very, very slowly, to lean down. She felt his lips just barely brush against hers, his breath fanning her face as he spoke. “Y/N, please.”

And that was all that it took. The desperation in his voice was what made her finally, finally, connect their lips. It was just as wonderful as she remembered. His lips fumbled lazily against hers; she could feel the love though the sloppy kiss. He had brought his other hand up, fisting her hair into a messy bunch. Her hands pulled him closer, her lips spreading as she felt Spencer’s tongue dart across her lips, asking to be let in. His name fell from her lips in a hungry manner, she wanted him. She needed him. The only sound in the small apartment was their moans and the noise of them reconnecting. In between kisses, Spencer managed to sneak in the few words Y/N was sure she’d never tire of hearing.

“I. . kiss. . love you. . . kiss kiss. . so much. kiss. . .Y/N.” She had smiled against his lips, feeling like everything would be okay. While she knew they had more than enough healing to do (both together and apart), she also knew that she wasn’t going to lose him anytime soon. And that was all that mattered, because the rest would figure itself out. 

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 8

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Content warnings: death mention, possible minor body horror with regards to injury

It had been a fortnight since Andariel. Morgan was adjusting to his new reality, one where speaking much louder than a whisper for more than a few sentences made it feel like he'd been screaming his throat raw. Where pain was out of proportion to the damage that caused it. Where his left arm was all but useless. Although he felt well enough to get up and move around, the wound on his arm showed no signs of closing. An inky colouration had spread out from the puncture, extending up above his elbow and down to his wrist. It turned his stomach to look at it. Any remaining strength in the limb was negated by the pain that shot through it at the slightest jostle or pull. Akara's expertise in the healing arts was not sufficient to handle a wound like this, caused by a demon queen and determined to linger. She had offered her sympathies and a supply of bandages, which at least allowed him to bind the damned thing so he didn't have to see it. His own limited knowledge of medicine did not extend to this manner of injury either, so simply keeping it covered and clean seemed like the best option available.

Morgan had been spending most of his time and energy on meditation and geomancy. Physical pursuits were not very attractive at the moment, so instead he focused on improving his magic. He would need it more than ever now, given the state of his arm. Eventually he would return to the graveyard he'd marked, to check on the restless spirits there, but he wasn't yet well enough for that journey.

The ground around the encampment was largely untended, but the soil was good. Morgan had been using it to flex his magical abilities cautiously, not wanting them to suffer from disuse. He turned small patches at a time, shuffling the richer earth up toward the surface bit by bit, until eventually there was a respectable area prepared. Nobody had asked him to install a garden, but it felt like it might be a useful contribution. It also helped to ground him. He had often tended the gardens back home, and found now that he was missing that work.

Short forays into the surrounding fields were still within the scope of Morgan's ability. Over the course of about a week, he'd managed to successfully transplant a reasonable variety of usable plants. Comfrey, feverfew, yarrow, and chamomile had all been easy enough to spot, and each had at least one medicinal use. They also had the benefit of being reasonably hardy, taking root well in the freshly turned earth. He had also experimented a little with some preparations of other plants he'd found - an outcrop of sway grass by a small lake, some sage nestled in among a patch of bright trefoil, a little bark from the willow just outside the encampment - but despite following standard procedures for preparation, none of the resultant concoctions did anything to relieve the pain of his injury. He took some fruits from what looked like an oleaster, intending to dry them for another attempt in the future, but he kept his expectations low. If the wound wasn't going to heal properly, it stood to reason that the other effects would also linger.

Cain had been good company, stopping by often. He inquired about the garden as it was talking shape and seemed legitimately interested in the various applications of the plants filling it. Morgan took care not to speak at too much length on any one topic, endlessly interesting though they were. Equally fascinating were the tales Cain had to share in exchange. The story of Tristram had been a sobering one, between the king's corruption by Diablo and the destruction it had wrought. And it seemed that it was not yet concluded, given the hero-turned-dark-wanderer who had fled. It would be worth pursuing that tale to its conclusion; Morgan's original request had been duly fulfilled, but the evident threat to the Balance was more pressing than returning to the Necropolis.

He'd also been alternating between meditating on ways to improve his clay golems and creating small versions to test the changes he'd thought of. So far he had come up with a lot of failed designs, going too far to the extremes to test the boundaries. A build with above average mobility that would crumble in combat, a strong and sturdy make that could absorb a great deal of punishment but would be too slow to hit anything that wasn't standing still. Now it was time to rein it in, to tinker with proportions and the flow of magic through the construct until something better emerged. Morgan slipped easily into the in-between state, retreating into his mind while his body rested in a comfortable cross-legged position. A pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree he was leaning against. Today would be good for focusing on the smaller details. He lost himself for a time in the contemplation of his designs.

A crawling, prickling discomfort pulled him back into reality. The sun was getting low in the sky. Someone had put their hand on his shoulder, and they were speaking to him.

"- word I've said, have you?" It was Blaise, looking annoyed.

Morgan shifted away from her, and she let her hand fall. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't hear you. I was meditating." The rough sound of his voice was another thing he was still getting used to. He rubbed his throat gingerly. Should have thought to keep some water nearby.

"Of course you were. I said, I talked to Kashya and she's agreed to give you some training. If you're going to keep fighting monsters and demons, you'll need some help. With your swordplay. It's not very good."

She was right, of course. Now that he could no longer hold a shield, his sword would have to be defensive as well - and magic had always been his strength, not actual physical strength or coordination. He'd been planning to refocus himself entirely on the magical side of things, but this was undeniably a good idea even if he didn't relish the prospect of physical training. Any formal instruction in the use of a sword would be useful.

"When?"

"You're welcome. Whenever you're ready. As soon as tomorrow." Instead of turning to go, she sat next to him. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't. Maybe she was working up to something. The silence stretched uncomfortably. She didn't like him, she'd often said as much - so why was she staying so near? He'd been doing his best to be avoidable, true to his word. She hadn't been taking advantage of it, instead crossing his path at least once a day. Probably some sort of sense of obligation. The Sisterhood had been treating him with a cautious, grudging respect since Andariel's defeat. It was... strange.

That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, so he turned to study her. "Blaise. Why did you tell everyone I killed Andariel?"

She startled visibly and raised a hand to shush him. "What the hell, Morgan," she hissed, "you can't just say-" she cut herself off, looking around furtively. Apparently satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping, she continued in hushed tones. "Look, if Akara and Kashya knew I killed that big ugly bitch, they'd never let me get away from this backwater. It's different for you. They're expecting you to go. And when you leave, I'm going with you. At least until I'm well away from here. This place... I'm not really cut out to be part of something like this."

"Ah." That explanation made enough sense. He hadn't realized she wanted to leave, but then he often didn't realize things about other people. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted her loyalty as fondness. There wasn't always a correlation there. She hadn't exactly been talkative during their time together - not to him, not about personal wishes and desires. It also explained the closeness; by spending time around him, she was putting on a front, laying the groundwork that would justify her departure. Satisfied, he turned away to look at the sky. It was starting to be tinged with pink, and it was lovely to see.

"How do you do it?" Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. She was staring intently at his face as though it was going to hold anything other than confusion. Do what? Had he slipped back into his thoughts and missed part of the conversation? "I mean, doesn't it bother you?" That clarified nothing. He stared blankly, and she huffed. "People don't like you. As a necromancer. I mean, we didn't exactly give you a warm welcome. But there's no way it's just us. Your kind are... well, hated."

Oh, that. It was just a fact. He'd come to accept it easily enough. People didn't usually take kindly to him even before they knew his particular area of specialization. He shrugged, wondering idly what had lead to the question. She didn't seem to like that response.

"It's normal," he offered.

"It's not normal! How could you think that's normal? How do you... live with it?" She gesticulated, as though the waving of her hands might clarify her meaning. It did not. How else would he live? He took a moment to search for the words to frame it.

"As followers of Rathma, we are driven by pursuit of the Balance. What others think of us is not important."

"Not im- Morgan, of course it's important! The way people treat you matters. You have to rely on other people all the time."

"I try not to."

Blaise pinched the bridge of her nose as though the conversation was giving her a headache. "Yeah, I know you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like - there's no way you could have gone up against Andariel alone, she would have killed you in a second."

"Mm." While certainly true, it didn't change much. Alone, he would have been more cautious, planned better. Probably died anyway. Others would have come to take his place. His individual life only held value in the contribution it could make toward the Balance. Death came inevitably to all things; to die in service was at least honourable.

Blaise seemed agitated. "I don't think you understand - this is life and death stuff. For fuck's sake, you nearly did die! When-" she lowered her voice, which had risen in frustration. It shook a little. "When I brought you to Akara, she argued with me. She didn't want to waste her supplies on you. She was just going to let you die on her doorstep, because she doesn't like you. That's not normal. You can't just think that's okay."

It certainly wasn't extraordinary. That was why necromancers generally brewed their own potions, not that he'd had either the time or the forethought to reach for his own during the encounter. He started to shrug again. Akara had been pleasant enough since - oh. All the pieces came together suddenly, but the picture they formed didn't quite make sense. Blaise had lied to save him. She'd decided, probably on an impulse, out of desperation, to frame him as the hero because the healer wasn't going to touch him otherwise. She had wanted him to live, and had sacrificed her own part in the story to ensure his survival.

Of course, that type of instinctively selfless behaviour was part of the reason he'd decided she was a genuinely good person. But having that kindness extended to him - that was new. He didn't quite know what to make of it. People weren't kind to him, as a rule. That was familiar, at least, predictable. It didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn this special treatment. He'd have to tread carefully.

"It's what I'm used to," he said quietly. "Death comes to all things. We do not expect others to delay it for us. But you... are extraordinary." It didn't really feel adequate, but he would need some time to process this new information, and the moment would be long past by then. "Thank you," he added. That also felt shallow. He had no reference to draw from - what was the appropriate way to convey this tangle of feelings? Indebtedness, surprise, gratitude, admiration, and those were just the aspects he had names for. He purposely held her gaze for a moment, hoping she would be able to glean something from that since his words weren't doing the job.

Blaise opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, she stood and stretched. "I bet you haven't even eaten today. Come on, Charsi made these beautiful rabbit pies. You have to try them." She extended her hand toward him. He didn't especially want to join a communal meal, but it would be rude to refuse such a rare offer. And he had, in fact, neglected to eat. He took her hand to pull himself up. Tomorrow he would attempt to train with Kashya, but right now he wouldn't worry about it.

[maira-writes-shit]

Salt, saltier, Yahaba and Shirabu

Haikyuu Yahaba Shigeru and Shirabu Kenjirou friendship

Fluff, mild angst, Yahashira childhood friends

Yahaba and Shirabu met when they were 8.Some may ask: How did that happen? Well this is the story:

Both of them had been dragged to a business dinner by their parents...

Shigeru’s parents were business people. That’s just what they were.Everything they did, they did it for business.

They got married for tax benefits and to combine their companies. Sure they did love each other but that wasn’t the main reason they got married.

They got children for image. They used them to seem closer to the „average family“, to try and seem more trust worthy and kind.

So that’s what he was here for.“And this is our son Shigeru.“,his mother said with a fake smile on her thin lips. She was talking to a small woman with copper hair. Something suddenly moved behind her legs and Yahaba tried to get a glance.

The woman took a step back and a boy with the same copper hair as the woman became visible.

He was a little bit shorter than Shigeru, had chocolate brown eyes and a pale complexion.

“Well this is Kenjirou!“, Shigeru’s mother put out her hand, she had to crouch down a little do to her wearing the heels that her son always wonder how she could even walk in, the boy -Kenjirou- took her hand and nodded to her.

The two women walked away chatting with equally fake smiles and cheerful voices, leaving their sons on their own.

The awkward silence between stretched out for multiple minutes until Kenjirou sighed.

“I’m Kenjirou Shirabu...“

“Well I know that.“, Shigeru whispered looking away.

“Hey jerk! I’m trying to talk to you!“ „Well you're not succeeding!“ „You’re talking to me, right?!“

Shigeru opened his mouth but shut it again.

He was right

The taller pouted.

“Why are you like this?“

“I’m trying to not fuck this up for my parents.“ at that Shigeru looked up at Kenjirou.

„What do you mean?“ „We just moved here and my dad says he needs friends under the other higher ups...“...“I’m Shigeru Yahaba. You’re the first other kid I’ve seen here.“

“Really?“ „Yeah. I only come along for the image.“„Well I guess we will probably have to cross paths a few more times so-“, Kenjirou extended a hand with a sly look on his face „-We should probably get along.“

Start

They were 11.

They had ended up on the same middle school.

Easy to say:The teachers both hated and loved them.

Both were smart and talented people and they knew it. And they abused it.

They didn’t pay attention in class and would always make snarky remarks only loud enough for each other to hear because they knew they could keep up.

Fun

They were 12.

“You know...I think I wanna join the volleyball club.“

Kenjirou looked up from his homework a bit startled.

“Huh?“ „I mean every time we play in gym class I just have so much fun and it makes me feel good! You know?“

Do I know? Yes I do know.

“I feel like I have the control yet at the same time I can play in a team!“

“I want to join too!“ „Really?!“ „Yeah! We can play together!“

Friendship

They were 14.

Sweat was dripping down Shigeru’s face.

24:23 for the other team...it seems useless...

The silver haired boy turns his face to his best friend.

I can’t do it. It’s too much.

Those thoughts wash away as soon as he sees him.

He was determined.

That’s what he admired the most about Kenjirou...he didn’t give up.

Shigeru was weak alone. All it took was a B on a test to send him spiraling but Kenjirou was always there.Kenjirou was his setter and Shigeru was his spiker.

They were feared for being able to know exactly what the other was thinking.

They were a threat.

Shigeru couldn’t do it on his own...but he wasn’t on his own.

Kenjirou was there and he was looking at Shigeru with that look of determination that always made him go though with all the shit they thought of.

They won.

Determination

They were 14.

This wasn’t normal.

He shouldn’t feel like this.

But he did.

Chikara Ennoshita.

The brown haired boy had been his and Shigeru’s friend since the start of middle school. He was smart, determined, kind and he was able to handle the combined salt level of both Shigeru and Kenjirou.

He had been his first real friend after Shigeru.

And now here he was...having a crush on him.

That’s all it was though: a crush. Still...he was a guy...This wasn’t right.

“Kenjirou? You ok?“

The copper haired boy jumped a bit at his best friends voice. He looked up and-“Shigeru I think im gay-“

Why did I say that? I never planned on telling anyone! Let alone Shigeru...what will he think of me now-?

“Same.“

“Wait what?“

“Well I’m not completely gay- I do also like girls...so bi? Maybe even pan or something...I don’t know yet.“

„Wait you aren’t surprised?“ „Shirababe...nothing about you staring at Chikas ass is subtle. Turn the horny down child!“ „I AM OLDER THAN YOU!“

“NO YOURE NOT! WELL AT LEAST NOT MENTALLY!“, Shigeru threw a pillow into Kenjirou‘s face.

The shorter got hit right in the face and let out a dramatic gasp while throwing the pillow right back.

“STOP WITH YOUR MENTAL SHIT, ASSHOLE!“

Acceptance

They were almost 16.

“Wait what?“

“I said I’m going to apply for Shiratorizawa.“

“But-we said we would got to Seijoh together!“

“Well there is still the possibility of me failing the exam because we both know I won’t get a sports scholarship.“

“Oh who are you kidding!? You are going to pass that exam with flying colors!“

“Well thank you.“

„KENJIROU YOU PROMISED!“

“I WAS LIKE 13!“

“YOU SAID- You said you won’t leave me alone...“

“Oh boo hoo! Little baby Yahaba can’t take being alone!“

Yahaba? He had never called me that...

“Well that may have to do with the fact that you always need to show me that your better than me in everything, Shirabu!“They stared each other down.

Sure they had had fights over the years but nothing quite like this.

There was so much to lose.

But also so much to gain.

I can’t do it. It’s too much.

Shigeru walked away.

Fear

They were 16.

Kenjirou had made it to Shiratorizawa.

He looked down at his test results with a grain of salt though.

He had passed with flying colors...just like he had said...

They hadn’t talked since their fight. They had graduated without a word to each other and now they were separated.

Shigeru got his test scores back some time ago, he would go to Seijoh after summer break.

Ennoshita would go to a different school as well.

Kenjirou‘s Heart hurt a bit at That thought as well. Not only was Chikara his only other real friend but Kenjirou also still had his stupid crush on him.

Kenjirou Shirabu was sitting in his room alone.

He was alone.

He had forgotten what that felt like.

Ever since that faithful day 8 years ago Shigeru- no Yahaba- had always been there somehow. Kenjirou had always seen him or texted him in some way and even when they were fighting he would always have Chikara to talk to.

But now both of them were gone.

Empty

They were 16.

Everything reminded them that the other wasn’t there.

It hurt.It hurt worse than when Yahaba got rejected by the girl he liked.

It hurt worse than Shirabu being beaten in his favorite subject.

It hurt more than the punches exchanged when they fought over something so seemingly little now that they forgot what it was.

How do you feel after the person you spent half your life with leaves?

Broken

Lost

Alone

They were 16.

„Yaha-Chan we Are playing a practice match today and I want to put you in.“

The dyed brown haired teen turned around a bit startled.

“But Oikawa-san I’m not even that good! I just started really playing this position! I can’t possibly-“ „Trust yourself more Yaha-chan!“

Yeah as if that’s so easy...Kenjirou was my setter and I was his spiker...I honestly just wanted to try this position but-

“I can see you overthinking Yaha-chan!“, Shigeru’s senpai snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

„You are a great setter Yahaba. Don’t forget that.“

The younger looked up from the ground.Instead of the usual sing songy voice of Oikawa those words were said with a kind yet very stern voice.

He cracked a little smile.

Change

They were 16.

Winning.

That was what he did all of this for.

Winning.

So this was being part of a real team, huh?

He only stood on the court for a few minutes but here he was...screaming, laughing and hugging his teammates.

The last time I was this happy I was with Shigeru-

The copper haired boy turned around to the other side of the net.

There he was.

Yahaba Shigeru was crouching over a third year crying on the floor.He went around giving everyone water bottles.

He hadn’t played.

He had sat on the bench observing and filling up water bottles.

Anger rose in Kenjirou. How could they not let him play? There was definitely more than one of the third year spikers that was way worse than Shigeru!

Why won’t they let him play?

Or did he choose to not play?

Did they think they could win against Shiratorizawa and then use him as a secret weapon?

What was up with him?

He was slapped on the back by his senpai, their setter Semi Eita.

One eye contact was all Semi need to check up on him...

One eye contact and he could feel himself falling.

He wanted to tell Shigeru.

Longing

They were 16.

Loss.

That was the worst part about this.

Losing.Shigeru was on his bed looking up at the ceiling, like he and Kenjirou used to do when they told story’s till 2am.

His phone pinged.

Bangsie:

“Heh“, Shigeru smiled. He had forgotten to reset the nickname.

What does he want though? Rub his win under my nose? Tell me how much better than me he is again?

He picked up his phone anyways.

Bangsie: Shigeru we need to talk...same place

Same place.

Shigeru knew what he meant by that.

When his older brother was younger their parents had bought him a little treehouse at the outskirts of the woods not far from the Shirabu residents.

They would go there when Shigeru‘s little brother was being noisy, they wanted to get away or they just didn’t feel safe enough at home.

The Fake brunette sighed and put on his shoes.

Fixing

They were 16.

He came.

They sat in silence.

Until The copper haired boy broke the silence: „I’m sorry.“

„I know I made a promise and I knew what it meant to you but-“„No no I get it! Shiratorizawa fits your needs as a person and for your future more...I was being selfish.“

“But you had all right to be! Your brother left you behind and he was the only one there for you, I did the same!“

“Don’t fucking blame yourself for my problems!“

They stared at each other down for a good minute until they broke and they ended up hugging and crying.

The next hours were spent catching up.

Shigeru learned about Kenjirou’s crush on his upperclassman Semi.

Kenjirou learned about a guy named Kyoutani that absolutely drove Shigeru crazy and now even quit.

He also learned that Shigeru had switched to being a setter.

The night ended like many nights in the treehouse ended: with them curled up in blankets falling asleep on each other.

Home

They were 17.

I need to get better. I need to work harder. I can’t stop-

„Yahaba!“

The ball dropped on the other side of the court and he turned around to see his spiky haired senpai Iwaizumi.

“You are overworking yourself, Yahaba...“ „Oh I’m sorry I didn’t-“ „Oh no you know exactly what you’re doing! I already have one of you dumbasses!“, he looked at Oikawa, standing in the door talking to a few fan girls.

“Don’t freak out too much, ok?“, he sounded concerned...

“I’ll try, Iwaizumi-san!“

Shigeru hurried out of the locker room.

He was late to his and Kenjirou’s weekly movie night!

While he was mentally crossing all the things in his bag off a list as to not forget what to bring the boy ran into someone...and crashed to the ground.

“Hey watch were your going!“ the guy he bumped into only gave a little growl as answer.Kyoutani.

Of course it was Kyoutani.

“You’re good...“ came a little murmur from besides him where Kyoutani had apparently set off into the same way as him home.

Shigeru raised an eyebrow.

“You’re a good Player...“ Shigeru shoot around at that.

“Wh-what? You t-think I’m a g-good player?“

“I mean yeah...“Shigeru could feel a flush creep up his cheeks.

Wait what? Im supposed to hate him! He quit the team! But...

Diffrents

They were 17.

“This arm has to be a bit higher.“

Kenjirou was maybe having a so called gay panic.

Semi was too close. He was also correcting his form and touching him in all these places- Kenjirou couldn’t do this.

He threw the ball into the air, jumped and smashed that ball to the ground.

“Not so bad-Not so bad! But there is still some things you need to work on.“

“Well I wanna see you do a jump serve.“, he whispered.“As you wish, Shirabu my highness.“ The older said with a little bow before he got up to serve.

Kenjirou refuses to admit that his heart danced a little cha cha cha when Semi said his name.

The ash blond threw the ball up into the air, the perfect hight, he took two large steps and leaped into the air and finally his hand made contact with he ball and hit the ground with a beautiful thudh.

Kenjirou stood in awe for a few minutes before he excused himself to the bathroom.

Beauty

They were 17.

The ball dropped.

They lost.

Again.

Shiritorizawa won.

Again.

Again

They were 17.

They were sitting in the treehouse again.

„You guys played really well you know...“The copper haired boy looked over at his best friend and found the tear rolling down his face.

Neither one of them have ever been good at putting their feelings into words so all Kenjirou did was hold him.

Hold him while he crys.

Emotions

They were 17.

Karasuno.

Every point was a battle for power.

Yahaba got to play again...

He got to feel the ball in his hands again...

He made points!

He let the ball drop...This was his fault.

He thought he could be better, he thought he could finally face off against Kenjirou but no.

He was still weak.That’s all he was.

Weak

They were 17.

“This will be our first practice match with you as captain Shirabu.“, Kenjirou’s Coach looked at him. „You can do it.“

The new captain smiled and walked behind his team again.

“Hello and welcome at Seijoh!“ a familiar voice said. Kenjirou smiled.

“It’s a pleasure to win agains you.“

“Hahaha win? Yeah sure! We will stomp you to dust, Shirabu.“

“Game on, Yahaba.“

“Well what do we have here?, a singsongy voice said from behind Shigeru.

Oikawa Tooru

To be continued

[midnightsnyx]

Matthew Tkachuk - In Your Dreams: part 2

a/n: a couple people requested a part 2 and i couldn’t help myself!! thank you for all the love on part 1!! <3  also im bad at writing cheesy romance so i apologize in advance at how bad it will be lol

part 1 here

warnings: angst, fluff, insinuated smut (i may get there some day folks but today ain’t that day)

word count: 2967

tag list: @buckybarneshairpullingkink​

my masterlist

Matthew Tkachuk

“Are you sexting my brother?”

You yelp when Brady drops on the couch beside you and snatches your phone from your hand. Luckily, you were only scrolling through Instagram so he didn’t see the suggestive texts you and Matt had been exchanging all morning.

After the summer, you and Matt had been texting back and forth, trying to get used to the idea of talking without insulting each other. It was much easier than you were expecting and you discovered rather quickly that you enjoyed talking to him. He was sweeter than you’ve ever seen, thoughtful, good-humored and you were completely infatuated with him.

After a couple months of texting and Facetime, you flew to Calgary to spend the weekend with him. He wined and dined and took you to his bed and you hated having to leave.

You snatch your phone back. “No. Although I’m not sure why you would want to see them.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep your nose out of my business then.”

. . .

“Heck no.” Brady says when you meet him at the Canadian Tire Centre. “Oh, heck, no. You’re not wearing that!”

You look down at you Calgary Flames jersey and shrug. Matt sent it to you and asked if you would wear it for tonight’s game because the Sens were facing off against the Flames.

“I mean, technically, it still has your name on it.”

“You’ve betrayed me!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic. Look,” you lift your jersey up to show a Sens t-shirt with number 7 on it. “See? Now c’mon, you have a game to play.”

He follows you like a sad puppy and sighs. “My own brother is stealing my best friend. You know, I think I liked it better when guys hated each other.”

You groan and shove his shoulder. “Grow up.”

 Along with buying your jersey, Matt also bought your ticket so that you’d be on the visitors side. Which means he spent most of warm up showing off to you as if you’ve never seen him play before which you have but you’ll never admit it to him.

It’s an intense game and you’re not sure who you’re cheering for half the time but they go into overtime so at least they’ll both get a point.

Matt ends up scoring the winning goal and when he points to you and mouths, that one was for you, you think your heart might burst out of your chest.

. . .

The two of you haven’t put a label on whatever you are and part of you is okay with it because it is fairly new but you’re also worried about what he does when the two of you aren’t together which is quite a lot. Sure, he sends you flowers and calls you after every game no matter how tired he is. He texts you every morning and calls you before you go to bed and it makes you feel special but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he does this for other girls and if it makes them feel special too.

It’s something that’s on your mind on a weekend that Matt brings you to Calgary. He had practice in the morning so you’re hanging out at his apartment waiting for him to come home. You’re cooking lunch when you hear the front door open, and Matt calling out to you.

“Babe, I’m back!” He shouts and your heart swells at the term of endearment but it drops when you think about him calling other girls that when you’re not around.

His arms wrap around your waist and he presses a kiss on your neck.

“Something smells good.”

“Yeah, it’s fettuccine… I think I might’ve messed it up a-”

“I’m not talking about the pasta.” he mumbles, pressing more kisses down your neck.

“Oh?” you squeak and you really shouldn’t, because you’re still worrying about not being the only one, but you let him drag you to bed anyway.

Later that night, long after he’s asleep, you’re trying to ignore the taunting voice in your head reminding you that he might be holding other girls like this. Reminding you that someone else might also wake up to his sleepy smile and messy hair.

. . .

“So you’re her.”

You raise your eyebrows at Johnny Gaudreau, who Matt had introduced you to when the two of you first arrived at the bar. He introduced you as Brady’s friend and when you looked at him, he just shrugged.

You’re not sure what you were expecting - certainly not saying you were his girlfriend - but Brady’s friend? It was bothering you and you were doing you best to hide it but you knew you were failing because Matt had been sending you weird looks all night all while basically ignoring you. He’s barely touched you since you sat with his friends.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply, glancing at Matt who is deep in conversation with one of his teammates.

“He talks about you a lot.” Johnny shrugs. “I thought you two were dating.”

“Apparently not.” You mumble, standing up and giving Matt a quick look. “I’m going to get a refill.”

You leave before he can reply and push through all the sweaty bodies trying to get to the bar. While you’re flagging down a bartender, someone sits on the stool next to you. You look, expecting it to be Matthew but instead it’s a stranger. A handsome stranger so when he offers you to pay for your drink you almost say yes but a familiar arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Matt says, glaring at the man until he mutters an apology and leaves. When he’s out of sight, Matt turns so he’s facing you and now you’re the one on the opposite end of his dirty look.

“What the hell was that?” He snaps and you scoff, shrugging his arm off you.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going to let him buy you a drink!” He says loudly and you glance around but nobody seems to be paying attention to you thankfully.

“It was a drink, Matthew. I wasn’t inviting him home.”

“Well I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” He says harshly and you flinch. His eyes widen immediately and he reaches out but you hop off the stool and run out of the bar, ignoring him calling your name.  

You run out of the bar and down the street until you come across a quiet diner. A bell dings when you open the door and a kind looking, older woman greets you and tells you to seat yourself.

You’ve been sitting in the diner nursing a glass of water for no more than fifteen minutes when the bell rings, signally a new customer.

You don’t have to look up to know who it is but you do anyway and you’re greeted with a very guilty looking Matt. He slowly walks over and seats himself across from you.

“How’d you find me?”

He shifts in his seat and stares at the table instead of you. “I tracked you on snapchat.”

You swear under your breath for not turning that option off. When you look at Matt again, his eyes are on you already. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off right away, wanting to speak your mind before he says anything.

“You introduced me as Brady’s friend.” you say quietly and he nods. “you barely spoke to me the entire night and then you got possessive when that guy spoke to me.” he nods again and you sigh. “look, Matt. I’m not asking you to say something you’re not comfortable saying or you’re not ready to say - I don’t think I’m ready for it - but you’re not allowed to act like I’m nothing to you when there are people around but get jealous if someone talks to me. And you’re not allowed to say what you said to me. That was unfair.”

“I know.” he replies. “and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I was out of line.” He looks back down at the table and you know he’s trying to think of what to say so you give him a moment. “I know it’s selfish… but I guess I just want you to myself a little while longer. I like the two of us in our bubble and that bubble is going to be popped when people find out about us. I’m in the spotlight, people are going to want to know our business and I don’t want it to freak you out.”

You nod in understanding. You were aware of how the media can be and it’s not something you look forward to.

“I’m scared.” He admits and you reach across the table, squeezing his hand.

“I’m scared too.” you tell him, lips turning up in a tiny smile. “but it’s better to be scared together than alone, right?”

He mirrors your smile and leans across the table and you meet him halfway.

. . .

You spend Christmas with the Tkachuk’s and Matthew proudly introduces you as his girlfriend and Chantal and Taryn squeal, Keith smiles and hugs you and Brady rolls his eyes and says “I knew this would happen all along. The two of you should really thank me.”

Matt blushes when his mom gushes about how glad she is that he found someone like you and that she had a feeling the two of you were meant for each other but later that night he tells you how happy he is that you gave him a chance.

The two of you debate over how it would be best to tell everyone you’re dating and you decide on a cliche but simple post to his Instagram.

It’s a picture of the two of you standing in front of the tree, his arms wrapped around you and lips pressed against your forehead. The caption reads, it wasn’t love at first sight, but we turned out okay.

It accurately sums up your relationship perfectly and you tease him about how long he’s had that one in his back pocket.

But it still makes your heart race and you want to shout I love you from the rooftops.

. . .

It’s not easy being 2877 kilometers apart and it becomes more obvious the longer the two of you are together. You fly to Calgary as often as you can but you still have school and Matt can’t visit Ottawa much because of his hockey schedule.

It’s a test for the two of you - and your relationship - and sometimes you feel frustrated and you wonder if you can do it but you think about when Matt Facetime’s you nearly every night that you’re apart from each other and you know that it would break your heart to live without seeing his curly brown hair and blue eyes and hearing his voice so you tell yourself it’s worth it.

And it is, until it isn’t.

. . .

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Matt says, obviously frustrated.

The two of you had been arguing for hours. You were graduating in less than two weeks so you’re job searching and when Matt brought up the idea of you moving to Calgary with him to get a job, you panicked.

You have been together for just about eight months now and you know that it’s normal at this stage to move in with someone but you were scared. There’s always been the fear in the back of your mind that one day Matt is going to wake up and decide that you’re not who he wants and if you uproot your entire life in Ottawa for him, you don’t know what you would do if something happened between the two of you.

But you couldn’t explain this to him so you kept making up lame excuses as to why you couldn't move in with him.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” You say quietly and he huffs.

“Can you please just think about it?” He pleads and you’re tired of arguing that you just agree even though your answer will still be no when he asks.

“I love you.” He says and you smile softly. One thing about Matt is that no matter how big an argument and even if it’s not solved right away, he tell you he loves you.

“I know. I love you too.” You say before he ends the call.

You flop back on your bed and even though it’s only seven o’clock, you feel ready for bed. Ten minutes later, you’re just dozing off when you hear your door open and slam shut. You would freak out but you hear Brady call out to you and you tell him you are in your room.

You expected him to come over because when you and Matt argue, he makes sure to check on you.

What you’re not expecting is to see him fuming with anger.

“You’re an idiot.” He says.

“Excuse me?” You snap and he huffs, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at you.

“You love my brother, right?” he asks and you nod. “and he loves you.” you nod again and he raises an eyebrow.

“So why won’t you move in with him?”

You roll your eyes and sit up. “It’s not that simple, Brady.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not.” you say because you don’t actually have a valid explanation. You know most of your reasons are foolish but you can’t help it.

He sighs and sits on the bed next to you. “What’s going on in your head? We’re best friends, you can talk to me about anything.”

You look at him and can’t help but smile. Brady always had a way of making you feel better when you were kids.

“I guess I’m scared.” You admit quietly and he knocks his shoulder against yours more gentle than normal.

“’bout what?” he asks and you shrug.

“He wants me to move across the county.”

“Yeah.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

A small smile crosses his face. “But what if it does?”

. . .

Three weeks later you’re holding a one way ticket to Calgary in your hand and saying goodbye to Brady in the airport.

“You got everything?” He asks, passing you your carry-on. You’re pretty sure if you looked close enough, his eyes would be a bit watery but yours are too so you can’t poke fun.

“Everything I need.” You tell him, and hug him tightly. You hold on to him a little longer than usual but it’s hard leaving your best friend after being attached at the hip for so long.

When he pulls away, he grins. “I’m proud of you.”

“I know.” you say. “I’ll text you when I land. And don’t forget-”

“I won’t tell him.” he promises and you hug him once more before leaving.

You’ll miss Ottawa, but it’s time for the new chapter of your life to start and you can’t wait.

. . .

Matt’s not surprised when he opens his front door to find you standing in front of him. He just grins and leans against the door.

“Missed me, did you?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “I really did.”

[interstellarflowers]

wish you were sober | billy hargrove x reader x steve harringon |

wish you were sober

billy hargrove x reader x steve harrington

summary: parties weren’t your thing, and maybe billy wasn’t either

a/n: hey everyone this is my first shot at writing a stranger things fic, and obviously my first time writing billy so i hope it’s okay! just a disclaimer, i dont condone billy’s behavior in stranger things and if you find yourself in an abusive relationship romantic or otherwise, please seek help! that being said this is inspired by conan gray’s wish you were sober i suggest listening to it while reading, also! the gif isn’t mine! im honestly not sure who made it but credit to them! 

song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHyE_erqAe0

tw: angst, language 

This party's shit, wish we could dip

Go anywhere but here

Parties were so not your scene. Alcohol wasn’t your thing, dancing anywhere outside of your room was out of the question and the music was deafeningly loud. So why were you here? Oh right, Billy fucking Hargrove. How could you even begin to describe your relationship with Billy Hargrove? The only way that you could think to describe it was the same way that you would describe Billy himself, soft in the middle, rough around the edges and full of fluctuations. One second you would feel like you were on top of the world, and the next you would feel as if you’d hit rock bottom. If you got to close you were sure to get cut but the closer you got the better it felt, the more it opened up. Sometimes you weren’t sure if you were talking about Billy or your relationship, sometimes you weren’t sure of anything. 

Tonight, everything was on a downswing. 

The day had started out fine, Billy drove you home from school and had managed to talk you into accompanying him to the party. 

“It’ll be fine (y/n)!”

“What if it’s not?”

“It will be. Now go put on something nice so we can get going.” You sighed but complied, you knew that you’d do anything for him because you had just always assumed that he’d do the same. Assumed.

Not even ten minutes were you at the party and he was already at the keg stand doing exactly what Billy does best, being a reckless little shit. Having left you for alcohol so early on you found yourself frozen, so here you were. 

“(y/n)!” Steve made a beeline for you through the crowd.

“Hey Steve.” you responded meekly,

“What’s up?”

“Oh you know, Billy.” you responded dryly, Steve’s face fell in disappointment.

Steve knew all about your dynamic relationship with Billy, the ups, the downs, but mostly the downs. Steve had been a good friend of yours since diapers so it was only natural that he would know everything about you and Billy,

“What now?” You nodded over in Billy’s direction as you and Steve watched him stumble towards you,

“Harrington.” Billy slurred shooting Steve a look that could kill.

Don't take a hit, don't kiss my lips

And please don't drink more beer

“And that’s when Steve makes an exit,” Steve says patting your back and disappearing back into the crowd,

“What did he want?”

“Nothing Billy, he’s my friend, you know that.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I know you don’t like him Billy.” 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing Billy,” you shifted your gaze to the floor, refusing to look Billy in the eye, you didn’t feel like expressing your disappointment in him, you just wanted to make it through the night so that you could just go home,

“I know,” Billy gave you one of his classic smirks failing to notice how you looked down, “You need a drink.”

“Billy, I don’t really drink-”

“Oh? So you don’t want to drink it?” Billy moved his face closer to yours, lifting your chin up, his breath smelt of beer and something else that you were pretty sure you could place as weed.

“Billy please don’t-”

He did anyways, he tasted how he smelt, and you didn’t like it. You waited for him to pull away and watched as he turned to get more beer,

“Billy.” you said over the crowd with a soft tone,

“(y/n).” he turned around, sending shivers down your spine, and not in the way you liked,

“Please don’t drink more beer.” He only laughed and continued walking away. 

I'ma crawl outta the window now

'Cause I don't like anyone around

Kinda hope you're following me out

But this is definitely not my crowd

As the night went on it only got worse, Billy seemed to have an inhuman tolerance for alcohol as he downed one after the other. Ignoring you, leaving you to sit alone. 

You sat at the edge of the pool, your shoes off with just up to your ankles submerged in the chlorinated water. You were taken out of your thoughts when someone over by the porch screamed,

“COPS! EVERYBODY RUN!” 

You quickly stood up stumbling to put your shoes on as you rapidly searched the crowd for Billy, failing to be able to see him through the masses. You finally got your shoes back on and pushed your way through everyone still searching for Billy, you kept searching until you found yourself face to face with a certain someone everyone had been running from-

“(y/l/n)?” Hopper stared at you astonished to see Jane’s on and off babysitter at a party like this,

“Hopper?”

“What are you doing here?” Tears started to well up in your eyes as you struggled to create sentences,

“I want to go home…” you managed to squeak out. Hopper nodded silently before briefly leaving to scan the grounds, having found that everyone else had managed to escape, you followed Hopper to his car.

“Thank you.” you said quietly as you strapped yourself in,

“It’s no problem,” Hopper paused for a second testing the waters, “But I really have to ask (y/n), what in the world were you doing there?”

You shook your head at him and Hopper respected that whatever your reasons were that you didn’t want to talk about it. He decided not to press further, he knew that you were a good kid, so whatever you were doing there, he trusted you.

On the drive home the car was silent but your mind was buzzing with thoughts of Billy. You swore that you could still taste the alcohol from his lips. Every minute or so you couldn’t help but look out the rear view window, wishing that Billy was following you home to say that he was sorry or to at least say goodnight.

“Here we are,” Hopper pulled over in front of you house,

“Thank you.” you said as you got out of his car,

“(y/n)?” you turned to look at him, “Don’t let anybody make you do anything you don’t want to do, okay?” You nodded firmly and thanked him again before shutting the passenger seat of the car door and quietly letting yourself into your house. 

It was dark, good. The last thing you needed was to deal with your dad tonight, his bedroom door was shut and the lights were off in there too, which meant that you were safe. You took note that your parent’s car wasn’t in the driveway which meant that your Mom was out with one of her men on the side...again. 

You lightly padded down the hallway and let out a sigh of relief as you finally shut your bedroom door. 

“(y/n).” It was him, you turned your head to the right taking notice that your window had been left open.

“Billy.” You couldn’t lie, you were relieved to see him, but you couldn’t hide the hurt in your tone. 

Nineteen but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Take me where the music ain't too loud

Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'till the party is over

Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober

“(y/n),” Billy was hammered, “I didn’t realize that you didn’t escape too, I would have driven you home. So I came here and I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Billy, did you drive here?”

“Yeah, parked down the street.”

“Billy, you’re drunk.”

“(y/n), you’re pretty.” He gave you another classic smirk that only Billy Hargrove could do and placed a kiss to your lips. Alcohol still on his breath. You frowned,

“What’s wrong (y/n)?” you sighed and started to change into your pajamas,

“It’s nothing Billy.” you saw Billy watching you take your clothes off out of the corner of your eye but you didn’t really care in this moment all you could think about was how little Billy seemed to care about you.

“It’s not nothin’, you’re pissed.” Billy put his hands on his hips and faced you as you sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed, 

“What is it (y/n)?” Billy moved in closer to you and kissed your forehead, “You’re so pretty, you know that?” He was too close right now. It was too much. You could feel the aftermath of the sound system in your eardrums and it still felt like a train was running through your body, the closer he got the stronger the stench of alcohol was, it was seriously too much, you forced your gaze away from him and your eyes fixated on a crack in your wooden floorboards,

“You’re sweet Billy, but I wish you were sober.” 

I wish you were sober

Wish you were so, wish you were so, wish you were sober

I wish you were sober

“But (y/n), it was a party.”

“I know Bily, I’m sorry, I just, I just wish you were.”

“Sober?” he rolled his eyes at you, “I wish you were drunk.”

“I don’t want to be.” you said quietly as you continued to fixate your gaze on the floorboard.

Tripped down the road, walking home

You kissed me at your door

Pulling me close, begging me to stay over

But I'm over this rollercoaster

Billy’s face faltered and he ran his hands through his hair,

“Look, (y/n), I’m sorry okay? Let’s just go back to my place, and I’ll have you back before your dad even notices you’re gone, okay? Please?” 

“Billy.”

“My dads not home, and Max is at her friend’s, it’ll just be you and me, and we can, we can just...We can just do. You know? Let’s just go (y/n), come on.”

“Billy please.”

“(y/n), let’s go. Love you, you know?.”

Billy never failed to put the “I” in the relationship never failing to completely leave behind his narcissistic ways despite this, Billy Hargrove never failed to leave the “I” out of “I love you.”

“Billy, I love you...I really love you but I’m over this rollercoaster. I’m sorry.”

“(y/n), what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I can’t do this anymore Billy.”

“Do what? (y/n), yes you can, you just said so.”

“Billy I’m sorry, but you have to leave.” 

“(y/n), you love me, you can’t-”

“Yes Billy, I love you.”

“See? So why-”

“I love you but you’re killing me.”

Billy opened his mouth to respond, but quickly closed it again, he looked at the ground, at you, and then at the ground again before making his way out of your window, leaving you to sit on the edge of your bed tears falling onto your floor. 

I'ma crawl outta the window now

Getting good at saying, "gotta bounce"

Honestly you always let me down

And I know we're not just hanging out

Billy had taught you how to do a few things without even meaning to. He taught you how to get good at hiding disappointment. He taught you to get really good at responding to “gotta bounce.” He taught you how to hold on tight on a rollercoaster. But most importantly he taught you what it was like to die without taking your final breath. 

Nineteen but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Steve Harrington. You swore he was a different breed. He was eighteen but he acted like he was twenty-five, yeah, it was obnoxious sometimes, but just by looking at him you could tell that it was warranted. He never did tell you about what had happened in the past two years, all you knew was that there were just some things that were better left unsaid, and you were okay with that, you could understand that. 

Steve Harrington was something that you could understand. 

It started slowly, Monday morning after the incident Billy pulled up to your house in the morning only to see you getting into Steve’s car, smiling lightly as Dustin pouted in the backseat.  Billy felt a pang in his chest but ignored it, figuring that all of this would blow over in a week, you loved him after all, and he did love you.

Steve Harrington drove you to school for the rest of that week, and the weeks following, weeks turned into months, and it was March. Three months since the incident and Billy never failed to loop around your block, just in case. Still in denial. 

On the other hand, you had never felt better in your entire life. Steve was a breath of fresh air after breathing in smoke for so long. He had a special mixtape to sing along to on your morning commutes together, he would bring you coffee some mornings, and every day he would greet you with a bright smile and a, 

“Good morning love.” There it was. You smiled at Steve, getting into his passenger seat. Billy had seen you smile before, but never like this, you smiled with your eyes.

“Gross” whined Dustin, “Get a room, and drive me to school already.” Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes,

“Aye aye captain.”

“Another party?”

“Yeah, I know you don’t like them,” you sat on Steve’s bed staring at the ceiling, “But I promised that I’d go and I don’t want to leave my best girl alone on a Friday night.”

“Not your girl Steve,” you giggle and Steve smiles and rolls his eyes making his way over to look you in the eyes,

“And I promise that I will not leave your side.” 

Take me where the music ain't too loud

Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'till the party is over

Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober

He didn’t. Steve Harrington didn’t leave your side the whole night. Regardless, you let him do his thing, zoning out and following him around like a lost puppy dog. Billy watched from a corner of the party, you and Steve seemed to be getting on nicely. Billy wished that he could say that he was happy that you were happy, he had always wished he could be someone like that, but he couldn’t. He downed his eighth drink of the night as he followed you with his eyes and all he could feel was hurt. 

“(y/n)?” Steve had pulled you into a quieter part of the house,

“Steve.” you smiled up at him, wondering why the sudden shift in attitude,

“(y/n),” Steve took a deep breath looking you in the eye, “I need to tell you something. It’s really important and I’ve been meaning to say it for a while so, here it goes...I love you.” 

Your chest squeezed before you masked your feelings, giggling and rolling your eyes at him,

“You’re drunk Steve.”

“Completely sober actually.” You met Steve’s eyes again,

“Are you for real?”

“Completely and one hundred percent real.”

“Well Steve, I love you too.” Steve smiled at you before leaning down to kiss you. His lips were soft and they tasted like cherry chapstick and rain. 

Sober.

a/n i hope you liked it! thank you for reading! please reblog and like if you enjoyed! should i make a part two?

[flimflamfranky]

Day 12 - Broken Down

Franky contemplates his own death as his body breaks down.

(yeah, this one gets kinda dark and im not sure how to tag it, so uh proceed with caution).

~

Franky could feel himself breaking down. The last remains of his cola slugged through his system, in slow, torturous drips, and he could feel his insides shutter and fail as they ran out of fuel. Not a big deal for his cybernetics parts - but for his squishy, all-tall-human bits that needed those parts to stay alive?  

He was dying. Slowly. Completely aware of each moment bringing him closer and closer to a total shut, forced to contemplate his own morality until his body kicked the bucket.

It was terrifying.

And the worst part? He could do nothing but experience it.

His legs had given out first, sending him crashing down to the forest floor. He had then tried crawling, pulling himself over bushes and tree roots with his arms until those gave out too. And now, he was stuck here, half-paralyzed, unable to move an inch as his body drained of cola.

He wasn’t even stuck on his back, where he could at least look up at the sky and watch the clouds pass by. No, he had fallen face first into the dirt. All he could watch were the ants and beetles that passed, showing off their ability to move as they crawled over his fingers.

He knew he had sunk low when he started feeling jealous of bugs. He was really starting to hate them.

He had back up systems installed, of course. When he ran out, he wasn’t out out. Cola would still be running through his body, and if he didn’t refuel immediately, it would get recycled and reused as much as possible.

Problem was, he had been running on fumes way before this, when he first got separated from the others and blasted into this damned forest. Had been for a while, as they got chased over hell and high water by those ant worshiping freaks. Or maybe they had been ants? Really big, really weird ants? He couldn’t remember.

But whatever they had been, there were a lot of them. They had been everywhere, and he had no time to refuel, forced to flee and fight on empty. He didn’t want to know how much that drained him.

He never tested his back-up systems before - never had to. Wasn’t exactly something he wanted to test. He wasn’t sure how long they would last, even without the extra stress.

With his body already shutting down, he was worried he wouldn’t last much longer.

He really hoped the others would find him soon. He couldn’t have gone that far, right? And his crew was smart, clever, when they wanted to be. They’d find him. He just hoped it was before his cola ran out, not after. He didn’t want them discovering just his body and not him. That’d suck.

At least this time, he wasn’t in pain. The sea train had nearly killed him too, and that had hurt, hurt like no other. Hurt so much that he still felt it sometimes, a heavy ache in nerves he no longer had. But not now, though.

He couldn’t feel anything right now.

It was probably for the best. Even if he could feel the leaves and ants tickling his skin, he wouldn’t be able to scratch it. That’d drive him crazy. And no pain was a big bonus. He could handle feeling disconnected but trapped from his own body. He really could.

Man, he hoped the others found him soon.

He had so many plans for the day, when they first landed on the island, before they were overwhelmed by those ant jerks. He was gonna show Usopp and Luffy and Chopper his latest invention, and help Nami scout for her new map, and go with Robin to collect some flowers, and try that new spice rub Sanji came up with, and show Brook that song he’d been working on, and have that swimming competition with Jinbe.

He- He needed to see Sunny to the end of her journey. He needed to see everyone accomplish their dreams. He needed to make Luffy the King of the Pirates. He couldn’t just leave this far in. He couldn’t.

Panic and desperation and fears began to well up again, stronger as he thought of the friends he didn’t want to miss, but his body didn’t respond. His breathing didn’t pick up, his arms didn’t shake, his eyes didn’t even tear up. He just kept still, staring forward and watching the leaves rustle in the breeze.

Oh, and there went his vision. Perfect. Just what he needed. Complete darkness to make things better.

This sucked.

He couldn’t even think of a harsher way to put it, he hated it so much. He’d work hard to be able to cry! Installing tear ducts, rerouting nerves, working past his issues to cry freely and openly. And now, when he needed it the most, he couldn’t fucking do it.

He really hoped the others would find him already. He didn’t want to die - not like this. He thought he go during a fight, giving his all with a don! Or maybe of old age, after he passed his skills to someone bright and young and full of potential. Hell, even by accident, an explosion by one of his own inventions or something, would be better than this!

Dying face down in the dirt, in some random forest, on some random island, just because he ran out of fuel? It was pathetic. It was terrifying.

He didn’t want to die alone.

“Franky!”

He really really didn’t want to die alone.

“Franky!!”

What was that? He thought he heard something over the rustle of the wind. It was getting hard to focus. His heart was pounding. It felt like he was floating.

“FRANKY!!!”

Luffy.

Franky wanted to cry and jump up and scream I’m here, I’m here, come find me. He couldn’t but it didn’t matter. He knew they’d find him anyway.

And find him they did.

“Look, over there!”

“Is that-?”

“Franky!!”

The relief Franky felt was nearly overwhelming. Was overwhelming, because his hearing started to fade. He was fading too, his consciousness dragging down into nothingness.

But that was okay. His friends had found him. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Everything was going to be okay.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Daughter of the Honorable Thief - Harry Hook x Hood!reader - part 15 - Lying bitches and Group chats

=

Harry raised his brow as Aaron glared at him from the other side of the room, the other teen had been more aggressive at Harry ever since he returned from the Sherwood forest fair.

Harry sighed, ignoring the glare and going back to his notes for algebra.

“Hello~” a voice purred suddenly from beside him, Harry mentally frowned and slowly looked up, his shoulders dropping and a glare settling.

Lila had decided it was a good idea to sit next to him and try to flirt. She fluttered her eyes and trailed her fingertips across the table counter, licking her lips flirtatiously “I haven’t seen you around before? I would know if such a handsome guy like you had been around”

Harry let out a dark chuckle, the green-eyed girl faltering for a moment, eyes widening as Harry gave a sharp grin and a harsh glare. “too bad I know who yeh are huh? Lie-la~”

Lila suddenly stood, tears starting to pour from her eyes “I knew it! Erza and (y/n) lied to you! They-they abused-“ Harry let out a snarl, standing suddenly, making Lila squeak as Harry towered over her. She hadn't expected for harry to be as imposing as he was.

“cut the crap yeh cunt, I know what yeh did ta Erza and I'm not interested in yer lies, besides I'm an isle kid, I know how ta lie like its breathing, yeh think I cant tell when someone's lying ta me? Go try it on some other poor soul yeh bitch”

Lila's jaw dropped, never before had she been talked to like that, “you-how boorish-“ Lila squeaked as Harry reached for his waist, and in a flash, the curve of his hook was inches from her nose.

“yeh might wa’nna get a move on lassie” Harry chuckled darkly “I don’t have a care fer people like yeh” Lila stared at him with fear-ridden eyes before she turned and bolted out of the study hall.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, packing up his work and books and heading out of study hall, glaring back at Aaron as the other teen continued to glare at him.

Harry stopped as he saw Aaron's eyes flash purple, but harry shook it off, taking out his phone and texting the group chat.

-

Mr.Cookie -I officially hate Lila >:(

It was a moment before Erza replied first.

Marriedtocake -u officially met her huh? Yeah shes a bitch,  luckily she hasn’t spotted me yet

Marriedtocake -…somehow

Harry snorted, remembering the small explanation Erza had given him and the others about Lila's abuse.

If he had anything to do about it, Lila would be running for the hills away from Auradon.

Wait, why was his name-

Mr.Cookie - WHY IS MY NAME MR COOKIE?!

Gillyboi - Hook sounds like Cookie, and Erza said Hookie that one time so, Cookie~

Mr.Cookie - that makes no fkin sense

Hawkeye - deal with it mr.cookie, ur not getting out of it until we find a more funny nickname for u

Mr.Cookie - why is (y/n)’s name cool?!

Hawkeye - because im cool

Seagoddess - Cookie stfu im in class rn

Mr.cookie - FKIN UMA U TOO, AHHHHHHH

Mr.Cookie has been muted by Seagoddess

Marriedtocake - HA

Harry pouted as his messages wouldn't go through, he looked up, grinning as me made eye contact with (y/n) who glared at him

Hawkeye - u idiots he-fukoasjdfsodhg

Hawkeye - UMA HOW FUCKING DARE U

Seagoddess - heh

Gillyboi - Cookie stole (y/n)s phoooone

Seagoddess - we know gil

Piratequeen has entered the chat

Piratequeen - wtf is happening I leave for two minutes and you all descend into chaos

Hawkeye - MAKE UMA UNMUTE HARRY

Piratequeen - Harry get off (y/n)s phone

Hawkeye - NOT UNTIL UMA UNMUTES ME

Piratequeen - at least stop the caps lock

Hawkeye - NEVER

Seagoddess unmuted Mr.Cookie

Mr.Cookie renamed Mr.Cookie to Harryisabitchboi

Hawkeye - HEY

Harryisabitchboi - GET THE FUCK OFF MY PHONE THEN

Gillyboi - (y/n) stole harrys phone

Seagoddess - thank you gil, but harry give (y/n) her phone back

Hawkeye - NO THEN YOULL MUTE ME AGAIN

Harryisabitchboi - GIVE ME MY PHONE BACK U FUCK

Hawkeye - MAKE ME

Gillyboi -ooooh those some fighting words

Hawkeye sent a photo

 Piratequeen - harry she will beat your ass don’t tempt her

Harryisabitchboi - TOO FUCKING LATE

Hawkeye - WAIT IM SORYISGHHHHHHHHH

Gillyboi - annnnnd (y/n)s chasing harry around the campus

Seagoddess - I can see them from class

Piratequeen - just let them fight it out

Marriedtocake - XDXDXD found em, (y/n) is on Harry's back smacking him

Seagoddess - HA

Uma looked out her class window, smirking as she watched (y/n) wrap her legs around Harry's waist and smack at his head, Erza a few feet behind them and cackling, holding up her phone to record the spectacle.

“idiots” Uma chuckled, turning back to the teacher and continuing to take notes.

She heard a low audible groan from the class as the classroom door opened and someone stepped in. she looked up, freezing as Lila stepped into the room, a soft smile on her face.

Ooooh, Uma could see a fake bitch from a thousand miles away.

And that was a fake bitch.

Seagoddess - guess who just stepped into my class

Marriedtocake - u fucking serious? First, she bugs harry now shes in ur class? Christ

Marriedtocake - she better leave u alone or im throwing hands fuck my trauma

Harryisabitchboi - erza no

Marriedtocake - ERZA YES I WILL KICK ASS FOR MY GIRLFRIEND.

Uma sputtered, a blush rising across her face, Ezra just called her her girlfriend…..and it sounded nice.

Fuuck

Hawkeye - erza please leave it, Uma please tell me there's not an empty seat next to you

Seagoddess - nope, the only seat is near the back.

Uma looked up as Lila turned to the teacher and touched her ears “oh Mr. Crawford, I have tinnitus and it's hard for me to hear if maybe someone can switch seats with me?”

The teacher just gave her a look “Ms. Lila, we have your full file including your pathological lying, please go sit down before you make a fool of yourself” Lila turned pale and she looked down at the floor as she speed-walked to her seat, her ears turning dark as the class snickered at her failed to try at the teacher.

Uma smirked, glancing back down at her phone.

Seagoddess - teach knows about her shit, sent her to the only empty seat after she tried saying she had tinnitus

Marriedtocake - HAHAHA!!!!

Marriedtocake - MY YEARS OF BITCHING TO THE SCHOOL COUNCIL HAS PAID OFF

Marriedtocake - EVERYONE KNOWS SHES FULL OF SHIT

Hawkeye - we must celebrate! meet at Tiana's café after school!

Several people are typing….

Mr.Cookie - Yes ma’am

Gillyboi - aye sir!

Seagoddess - alright then

Piratequeen - k

Marriedtocake - look at harry being all polite~ after hood kicked ur ass~

Mr.Cookie - shuuuut the fuck up

Uma chucked again and pocketed her phone, tuning back into the teachers droning about the history of pixie hollow.

=

“to the bitches downfall~!” Erza cheered, holding up her frappuccino in the air, the rest of the group cheered with her, raising their drinks.

“and to not failing our tests next week” Uma snorted, Harry and Erza groaning at that.

“don’ remind meh” Harry huffed, sipping at his mocha.

“How bout a study night tomorrow?” you suggested, bitting into your sandwich “gods knew we all need a set time for studying or else it'll never get done”

“true that” Erza chuckled, leaning back in her chair, the front legs lifting off the floor.

“Erza?” Erza’s eyes widened and she slowly turned around, her shoulders dropping as she made eye contact with Lila. “you, you’re still he-?”

“I'm still here? Yes Lila, I'm not as weak as you thought I was” Erza snapped, standing up and cutting off Lila by a few inches “now what do you want?”

“well I” Lila stuttered, eyes running up and down Erza’s body “I was wondering if you wanted to talk?”

“she” Uma interrupted her, standing from the table and walking over to Erza, tossing her arm around her waist “is going to be spending time with her girl, no time for you sweetheart” Uma purred, knowing Erza’s cheeks were now pink.

“you?” Lilas lip curled in disgust “why would she with someone….like you?”

Uma let out a dangerous chuckle, Harry's insane laughter popping in. Lila's eyes went wide as she finally noticed the rest of you, including the bright, eyed harry and Harriet staring at her, sharp smirks on their faces “yeh never wan’ ta anger a sea witch lassie, they aren’t ta be trifled with”

Lila's eyes snapped back to Uma, taking a step back from the glowering sea witch. “you-you're the daughter-“

“daughter of Ursula~” Uma purred, giving Lila a low bow “ now, leave” Uma's necklace gave a low glowing pulse, sending Lila out the door and down the road, away from the group of friends. “good riddance” Uma huffed, tugging Erza back into a chair and leaning on her shoulder.

“she's a right off bitch” you muttered, holding your hand up to Uma for a high five “nicely done by the way Uma” Uma smirked and smacked her hand into yours.

“back to the original topic” Harriet sighed, setting down her iced coffee “study night? Where?”

“my room” you perked up, finishing off your caramel frappe and setting it on our leg “it’s the biggest and I have a lot of snacks already in my room”

“Alright, hoods room it is tomorrow night! Then after that video game!” Erza cheered, the rest of the group cheering with her.

“sounds good” Uma hummed.

“so for now, let's go to the arcade cuz im bored” you suggested, raising your brow at the others, Gil and Harry's eyes glinting with excitement at your suggestion.

“that ALSO sounds good” Uma chuckled, standing from her seat and nodding her head out to the road “lets go”

“yeet!” Erza cried, hopping from her seat and running out the door, the rest of you following after her.

-end of part 15-

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[artificialqueens]

Girl I Met On The Internet, 2/? (Crystal x Gigi) - Strawberry

a/n: aaaa i’m so glad everyone liked the first chapter! i think this story will end up staying focused on gigi and crystal for the most part, but there is some (one sided) jankie in this chapter if you’re into that! also: just in case no one got the reference, the nickname crystal gives gigi, ‘georgia rose’,comes from the 1d lyrics “Said her name was georgia rose, and her daddy was a dentist” from their song ‘best song ever’!

gigi: are u okay :( ily crystal

crystal: yeah i just got picked on by this cheerleader that doesnt like me

Technically, she wasn’t lying. Crystal didn’t think it was too bad, considering she really only ever saw Dahlia in history class, but she still made it her mission to make that 45 minutes rough for Crystal whenever possible. This time it was pushing all of Crystal’s belongings off of her desk while she was leaving.

gigi: fuck. im sorry. 

crystal: it’s fine dskjdshjgkjf i wish all cheerleaders could take notes from you and jan

gigi: yaaas me and jan invented being nice

gigi: but i was wondering if maybe you could teach me about one direction later tonight?

Crystal had tried to convince the group earlier in the week that One Direction was the best boy band ever, and had only managed to get Jan to agree. She was glad that Gigi had finally come to her senses.

crystal: finally changing your mind? amazayn!

gigi: i regret asking now. take that pun back to 2011!!!!

The rest of the day went as normal. The chat was pretty active, but eventually died down at the end of the school day. Everyone seemed to have plans; Jan was studying, Jaida was going out to hang with friends, Nicky was sleeping, and Heidi was starting a new challenge on the Sims. It appeared to be just her and Gigi, alone in the group chat. 

Crystal decided to message Gigi privately, not wanting the rest of the girls to see her go into full stan mode. If someone asked Crystal about her interests, she could go hours before thinking of stopping herself.

crystal: ok miss gigi are you ready for your 1d crash course?

Crystal told Gigi everything she wanted to know and even more. A history of how they got together, way too much information on each of the five boys, telling her the best songs on each album, and making sure that Gigi knew ‘Midnight Memories’ was their best album. 

gigi: but ur @ is dedicated to made in the am?? fraud!

crystal: HELPFDFHBJ

crystal: mmcrystal sounds weird… like no thanks 

gigi: that was very interesting.. i’ll def listen to midnight memories in the morning <3

crystal: YAY! gigi 1d stan finally

gigi: no promises! :)

Crystal didn’t respond to that, not really knowing what to talk about now. Having a group of friends helped her be less awkward, but it definitely didn’t fix that problem completely. 

gigi: do u wanna play 21 questions or something?? to get to know eachother better???

Of course, Crystal jumped at the chance to get to know the other girl better. It started very innocently, asking about favorite colors and foods. Gigi quickly changed that.

gigi: uhh… have u ever kissed a girl?

crystal: sadly no.. my state is full of straight people

gigi: same.. ur turn

crystal: this feels awkward to ask but uhhh….

As soon as she hits send, she instantly regrets it. She backtracks what she had originally typed, desperately trying to come up with another question. Crystal was not able to think of anything else.

gigi: ????

“I guess I’ll have to do it,” Crystal says, talking to absolutely no one. She types it out again, looking away from her phone as she blindly tried to hit the send button, like it would help her situation be any less flustering for her.

crystal: how long have you and nicky been dating?

Would Gigi find it weird that she asked? Gigi was the one who brought up kissing girls, not Crystal, so it would be fine. Right?

gigi: CRYSTAL WHATBDGNHSDMFD

gigi: nicky and i are not dating omg im single

gigi: she’s like my sister. plus i would never do long distance

Crystal was so embarrassed. She was relieved this conversation was taking place through a screen, so Gigi wouldn’t see her blushing face. 

She was pleased that she was wrong about the two girls, but Gigi’s answer was upsetting to her.

They asked a few more personal questions before Gigi started asking Crystal would you rather questions instead. Crystal’s favorite out of them was if she would rather get a mullet or dress like a clown every day for the rest of her high school career. The answer was both, obviously. 

They spent the rest of the night sending each other stupid questions, giggling to themselves. The later it got, the more Gigi would flirt with her. At least Crystal thought it was flirting.

gigi: it’s really late and i have a test tomorrow so im gonna go to sleep. goodnight, babe

Gigi always would say ‘goodnight, bitch’, and this made Crystal even more confused. The ongoing joke that lesbians had the hardest time telling if a girl is into them or not was one of Crystal’s favorites, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if that was exactly what was happening to her. There was obviously a connection between them, but it was unclear to Crystal if it was just platonic. 

It didn’t hit her until later that night, while she was trying to fall asleep, but Crystal wasn’t entirely sure where Gigi lived. She knew they were in the same time zone, but wasn’t sure what state she was in. It was totally possible that Gigi lived in Missouri, but Crystal highly doubted it. Though Gigi obviously trusted Crystal enough to want to play 21 questions with her, she was still very private, and Crystal wasn’t too sure if Gigi would tell her what state she was in. 

Crystal fell asleep thinking about her highly unrealistic perfect world, where Gigi lived in Missouri and where Crystal wasn’t just another Nicky. 

-

Crystal got onto Twitter right after waking up the next morning, ready to ask Gigi if she happened to live in Missouri, but quickly got distracted with a very interesting conversation going on in the group chat.

jan!: now i may not be gay but i’m in love with a woman… 2 words jackie

jaida: i- that’s only one word

jan!: fuck

heidi: the way i can’t tell if you’re joking or not

jan!: the way i don’t think i am joking

gigi: YAAS about time u admitted that u like her

crystal: hold on i thought jan was straight?? who’s jackie???

nicky: do you really think a straight person would hang out with us?

crystal: good point 

jan!: I AM STRAIGHT! i think? i don’t know i’m so confused. 

heidi: jackie is jan’s local @ crystal

gigi: jan be like: im straight.

gigi: but also jan is like: wow jackie is so pretty and she’s so funny and smart i’m going to fail geometry so she can tutor me but no homo!

heidi: the delusion janice has…

jaida: not to be serious but if you think you like jackie, you probably aren’t straight baby. everyone else hush and let her talk

nicky: ^^ yeah jan what happened

jan!: first of all i did not fail geometry i just said we should study together so we did!!! and have been for months! but last night i couldn’t focus at all bc she’s so pretty all i wanted to do was k*ss her out of nowhere

In a way, Crystal could definitely relate. Gigi wasn’t her local, she still didn’t know what the girl looked like, but she still kind of wanted to kiss her. She couldn’t focus on anything besides Gigi sometimes, not like she would ever admit it. 

All of the girls had sent many comforting messages addressed to Jan, saying that it was okay, and she has all the time she needs to figure out her feelings. Afterwards, everyone had gone back to being playful. Gigi also tried to convince her to make a move on Jackie, which Jan refused.

gigi: if u talk to her u guys can get married <3

crystal: gigi you’re so stupid i love it

jan!: omg did someone say stupid love??? stream! 

gigi: crystal back me up :(

crystal: i might’ve found out who jackie is only 10 minutes ago but i will cry if jan doesn’t talk to her right now

jan!: better start crying bc i dont think i can even look at her now

jaida: that’s not saying much at all. you cried the other day bc gigi sent a pic of her dog

crystal: I AM A NANCY STAN FIRST AND A HUMAN SECOND!!

Crystal knew she looked like an idiot, walking to her locker with her eyes glued to her phone and a dopey smile on her face but she couldn’t care less.

-

The day actually went well for Crystal. The highlight of her day was finding out that the story she wrote for her creative writing class had gotten the highest grade out of everyone in the class, earning her a piece of candy. 

crystal: just got candy and a 99% on my story for class… i truly have the mind of a mastermind

jaida: beauty and intelligence in one combined!

Navigating through the halls was much more difficult when your eyes are glued to your phone, but replying to a meme Jaida sent seemed much more appealing to Crystal than getting to her seventh period without worrying about bumping into someone.  And bumping into someone, she did.

“What the actual fuck, weirdo?” Dahlia yelped, looking extremely offended, “Get off of your sad, cracked phone and watch where your dumb ass is going.”

Crystal just stared at her, frozen in fear. Dahlia taunted her daily, but this was very different from how she usually acts towards her. It was quite terrifying. 

“I swear to God, if you ever look at me, let alone fucking touch me again-” She continued, but before she could finish her statement, she was interrupted by her friend, Georgina running over and pulling her away. 

Crystal didn’t think Georgina shared Dahlia's hatred for her, and Crystal didn’t hate Georgina either. Georgina actually seemed very sweet besides the fact that she had never bothered to step in on the rare occasion Dahlia happened to target Crystal outside of class.

“Can you please leave her alone? We don’t have time for this.” Georgina groaned, looking back at Crystal, flashing her a quick smile, before turning around to escort Dahlia to what Crystal assumed was cheerleading practice.

“But she bumped into me!” Dahlia whined, not used to being interrupted like this.

“Really? Wow, funny. I don’t care.”

Once they were out of sight, Crystal was alone again. She pulled out her phone and went to check if anyone had said anything else in the chat; just Jan freaking out, because Jackie had smiled at her in the hallway.

heidi: everyone say i if you think jan should stop being a baby and ask jackie out

jaida: i

crystal: i

jan!: WTF

jan!: friendship ended with heidi, jaida and crystal. now nicky and gigi are my best friends

jaida: they would say i too if they were online and you know that

jan!: i don’t need friends! they disappoint me!

Crystal decided to not use her phone while she was walking home, not wanting to have a repeat of the Dahlia situation. Her after school routine changed a lot in the past week, making a rule to not check Twitter before completing her homework. Her Twitter addiction was getting worse, but since it was also causing her to be more productive with doing her homework, she saw no issues with it. Once she had finished, she picked up her phone to see that Gigi had messaged her less than a minute ago.

gigi: hey clown :) im done w practice

crystal: WHY AM I A CLOWNDFSHDM

gigi: u just have clown energy. i cant and wont explain 

crystal: honestly yeah i see it but can i at least be your clown wife or something

gigi: yeah <3 hey clown wife! i listened to most of midnight memories and it was really good! my fave song is u and i

If that’s not love, then what is? If that’s not friendship, then what is? Crystal had never been able to get anyone to listen to anything she recommended, ever. She was filled with glee, double tapping the message to heart it. It meant a lot to her.

crystal: YAYAYAYAYA im so glad but it looks so ugly when you spell it like that 

gigi: my fave song you and i* >:(

crystal: better 

gigi: if i have to stop spelling it as u to make you not divorce me i will

Crystal knew deep down it was just a joke, but it made her heart race. The feeling she got every time Gigi would flirt with her was very unfamiliar, but very nice. It didn’t help that Crystal thought ‘You and I’ was one of the most romantic songs One Direction had, she couldn’t help but make the fact Gigi liked it out of all of the other songs into something it was not.

This reminded her of her late night thoughts. She had completely forgotten to ask Gigi where she lived, but the idea didn’t seem the greatest now that she was fully awake. She was still curious though, so against her better judgement she asked, without a segway or anything.

crystal: i forgot to ask but what state do you live in? asking for science

gigi: oh i live in missouri

crystal: omg me too

gigi: i don’t wanna reveal where but this is amazing.. maybe we won’t have to break the distance at all <3

Pleased that she somehow got an answer, Crystal changed the conversation into a discussion of ‘Midnight Memories’, and if Gigi agreed with the opinions Crystal had shared the night before. She did, for the most part and before they knew it, it was time for Gigi to go sleep. Had they really talked all evening? 

gigi: i have to get up early so i need to go to sleep but im really glad jan added u to the gc

crystal: and im happy you asked me about one direction!

gigi: me too. ur cute when ur passionate. i hope we can continue to grow closer

crystal: i’d like that.

gigi: goodnight, my clown :)

crystal: goodnight, georgia rose

gigi: U DID NOT

gigi: my full name isnt even georgia and dad isnt even a dentist but i’ll allow it bc i know u think u invented comedy

gigi: ok gn now <33 luv u

crystal: gn!!! sleep well

Crystal wanted them to stay like this forever.