#her child is wearing matching shirt and shorts that are both striped but in a way that meshes together so it looks like one thing

[nameification]

I think elisa would wear fully black-and-white striped clothing as like. either sleepwear or casual wear. yes this is based off the many times I have startled my mother by purposefully wearing identical striped shirts and shorts. yes I think elisa does it and then vienna or dehlia found out laughed abt it and one of them (cough. vienna) started imitating her

[inkheartedwanderer]

a tally on the left || s.h.

in which the most embarrassing moment of steve’s life leads him to you.

steve x fem!reader. 

content: tacky leotards, steve in a crop-top, a fitness class. summer of ‘85, instant crush, girly reader (kinda). not very good i’m sorry :( more steve-centric than reader-centric

word count: 4.2k

Steve Harrington never thought the most humiliating moment of his life would come at the hands of two fifteen-year-old girls. Pleading doe eyes, empty promises of never ever bothering him ever again and his own goodwill to blame, he agreed with barely a qualm, just a deep sigh followed by El’s skinny arms around his torso and a less vehement than usual pat on the back from Max.

If he had known what he was really getting into, he wouldn’t have acceded so fast.

It’s times like this, when he’s standing in the middle of the Starcourt Mall parking lot in very short shorts and a fucking crop top -courtesy of a very amused Dustin, and that he’s wearing god knows why-, that he deeply regrets having a soft spot for the kids.

Leaning against his car, hands on his hips and duffle gym bag on the concrete by his feet, Steve waits for El and Max to get out of the vehicle with their backpacks. He’s not exactly sure why Max wants to do this in the first place, it seems precisely like the type of activity she would hate, from the outfits down to the music; but El is very excited, has been since they asked the boy to tag along a few days ago, and has apparently talked Hopper’s ear off about it to a point of near madness.

“Okay,” Steve claps his hands and motions for the girls to get closer, “here’s the plan. We walk in fast, get over with this batshit insane idea of yours, and dip. Clear?”

While El is agreeable and nods, Max rolls her eyes, a smug smile gracing her lips.  Steve raises a questioning eyebrow and she snorts, “I can’t take you seriously while you’re wearing that.” Her eyes travel up and down his body, settling on the dark hair that covers his abdomen. 

It’s remarkably awkward to be ogled by a child. “It was the only clean t-shirt I had left.” Steve tugs at the end of his top, a muted blue monstrosity that he will burn as soon as he gets home, and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, eyes closed, willing himself to breathe deep and be a supportive friend. Babysitter. Whatever. “Let’s just do this, okay?” 

El squeals with joy and laces her arm through Max’s, the girls leading the way towards the mall in their bright, colourful attires and matching leg warmers. They whisper with each other, heads close, their giggles reaching Steve, who’s a few feet behind thanking whoever was in charge of this whole mess for scheduling it so early that the parking lot is virtually empty.

We need an adult, they’d said, no one else is free. He can pinpoint now, as he replays the conversation in his head, all the times he could’ve said no. But he didn’t, because he’s an idiot (a good friend if he says so himself, but an idiot nonetheless); and now he’s crossing the upper level of Starcourt in the dead of summer, peak season in full swing, about to spend his morning doing aerobics.

The name of the small studio glows in pink neon letters, mocking Steve with the promise of cheesy music and cheesier moves. It’s a modest rectangular space that someone painted in bright coloured stripes, painful to the eyes, with wooden panel flooring and a large window wall facing -much to Steve’s dismay- the inside of the mall. 

A small crowd of mostly middle-aged women is gathered on the left side of the room, all sporting leotards with tacky prints and tights. The only other man in the room is sitting down on a small bench, fastening his shoelaces. He’s very fit, all defined muscles and shiny hair, and seems delighted to be there. 

Max pulls El to the far end of the studio, the designated space for everybody’s bags, and both girls giggle as they stare unabashedly at the others. Steve drops his stuff in the corner and stands next to them, grimacing. “Will you tell me why you really wanted to come here?” He’s beginning to question the girls’ motivations for this early-morning adventure.

El looks at Steve with a mischievous smile and whispers “The inst-” Her face drops and she looks at Max, frustration crossing her eyes, then sighs. “Uhm, the teacher is cute.”

“Instructor.” Max offers her friend, then turns to Steve. “He’s like, the hottest guy ever.”

Steve huffs, ignoring the not-so-hidden dig at him in her words, and crosses his arms. “What about your little boyfriends?” 

“Mike is visiting his nana.” El’s hand fiddles with the yellow scrunchie holding her short hair up. She suddenly looks a little bit sad, her brown eyes clouding, eyebrows pinched together in the middle.

“I dumped Lucas last week.” The redhead shrugs nonchalantly at Steve’s bewildered look. “He forgot our seven-month anniversary. He’ll apologise soon. Meanwhile, we will enjoy the view.” She points towards the door, and Steve turns around.

The teacher can’t be much older than he is. He walks across the room with a powerful stride and too bright of a smile for this time of the morning, greeting the older, most likely regular attendees. His eyes land on the girls as he puts his stuff aside and takes his jacket off.

“Hey, you two,” he’s still beaming, a cheery tilt in his voice that makes Steve cringe, “aren’t you too young to be here?”

“We’re with him.” Max points at Steve, who gives the teacher a tight-lipped smile and a wave of acknowledgement, feeling entirely out of place.

That seemed to be enough for the guy, whose smile grew, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. “Well, alright. Some of the moves may be too intense, so just go at your own pace, alright?”

He claps twice, loudly, and motions for everyone to get into place. Like a well-oiled machine, every person knows their spot. Steve follows the girls to the back of the room, feeling all too exposed, and uncharacteristically nervous. 

At the press of a button, loud, synth-heavy music starts playing from a brand-new shiny set of speakers. It’s exactly the kind of songs Steve was expecting, the ones he loves to scream in the car when no one’s watching, but not the kind he wants to jump and dance to, surrounded by complete strangers and two teenagers who will never let him live it down.

Maybe, he thinks, he can make a run for it and hide somewhere until the class is over. The backroom of Scoops Ahoy, he thinks, is perfect. If only his new co-worker and personal nightmare Robin Buckley weren’t working the morning shift today… she would pay good money, Steve’s sure, to see him right now. Possibly take a picture and send it to the local newspaper. They’ve only been working together for a little over two weeks and she’s made it her mission to keep track (literally, on her whiteboard, the words you lose earning tally after tally) of every single embarrassing moment of his life. She would have a field day with this.

Now, Steve’s always been athletic. He was a great swimmer, regularly winning races and regional championships as a preteen. Then, in high school, he moved on to basketball, and he was the star player until he graduated. He’s fought monsters with nothing but a bat and adrenaline and made it out alive. 

This should be easy, right? Just moving around a little bit. That’s what he thought.

Fifteen minutes later, beads of sweat cover his forehead, light brown strands of hair falling over his eyes. Patches of perspiration stain his shirt, the cotton fabric hot against his clammy skin. To his right, El and Max are definitely going at their own pace, making up their own moves and laughing at each other.

Steve deeply regrets every single decision that’s brought him to this moment.

He doesn’t notice you, at first, too busy trying to follow the steps and not make a fool out of himself. It’s only when the instructor tells the class to grab a mat from the pile at the back of the room and sit down for the flexibility exercises that he finally sees you in his peripheral, to his left.

With your hair tied back in a ponytail that sways behind you every time you move, cascading over your shoulder when you crouch to settle on the floor; you’re a doll dressed in pale lavender and sunshine yellow, soft colours hugging your frame in all the right places as you sit down, legs apart, stretching your body towards your right, towards him. 

Steve has to fight the urge to stare, failing miserably when you raise your head and your eyes lock. You smile, pretty pink lips curling upwards, turning your cheeks into round bright apples. He likes the way your nose scrunches, how you unintentionally try to hide behind your shoulder, shy under his gaze.

He can feel his face grow hotter, fire under his skin, a drum inside his ribcage. You’ve got the kind of face that makes him want to melt, the kind of smile that sends his heart into a frenzy; and he almost misses the small hi that leaves your lips. You blink up at him expectantly and stretch over the opposite leg. 

Steve is frozen in place, knees bent awkwardly, a sweaty, heaving mess. But he reacts, and he hopes you keep on looking at him the same way. “Hey there.” He reaches out to touch the tip of his right foot unsuccessfully, his muscles protesting the pull, and winces.

You’re leaning forward now, your chest almost touching the floor, and your smile widens at his words. “You doing well over there?” 

The boy inhales loudly and nods, a bashful smile across his lips. “I’m not very flexible, apparently.”

A chuckle floats between the two of you. “Here, let me help.” You crawl away from your mat and kneel behind him, placing one small hand on his back and another on his thigh. Your skin is warm as you press your whole body weight against him gently, helping him reach. He would complain about the sharp pain on the back of his legs, but he’s at a loss for words -it has been a long time since he felt the touch of a woman, and what once seemed as natural to him as breathing -chatting up pretty ladies, that is- is now nearly as scary as facing a hungry pack of demodogs ready to pounce at him.

"Hey, what's your name?" You whisper, close, very close to his ear, your breath hot on his nape, igniting his cheeks aflame. How he manages to mumble his answer is a mystery, but he does, and he can hear the smile in your words as you tell him your own name. A pretty one that suits you just right, he thinks.

Steve grunts when you lean back, relief washing over him as he sits up straight. It startles him,  how he immediately misses your body on his body, your warmth on his skin. He wonders if you can see the effect you’ve had on him because you immediately place a gentle hand on his shoulder and ask, “Are you alright?” 

“I- I think I just broke something.” A god, he wishes he doesn’t sound as profoundly mortified as he feels.

“Is this your first time?” Smiling, you sit back down on your mat and bring your tummy down to your knee. Although there’s genuine curiosity in your words, they come out low and raspy and they make Steve blush -again. 

For the first time since the class started, he’s happy to be sweating, thankful for the loud music that conceals the loud thumps of his heart against his eardrums, and he prays that the flush that tints his skin is enough to camouflage his reaction. He swallows the lump in his throat, coughs, and nods. “It might be my last.”

Your giggle makes his breath hitch. "You just have to get used to it. It took me a few weeks." 

Steve could tell since he first saw you you're not new to the class. As if it were muscle memory, your motions seem to flow from one to the next. It's methodical and easy; each movement calculated, almost innate. He forces himself to keep his eyes on yours and to answer with what little voice he finds. "I don't think this is my scene."

“And what is your scene, Steve?” You say his name with a lilt and a chuckle, like you’re hiding a secret and daring him to find it out. And maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, a little bit shy and a little bit daring, or the strands of hair that have fallen out of your ponytail and now frame your face all pretty. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s too overwhelmed and not thinking straight and you’re the only girl who hasn’t looked at him like he’s a complete loser in too long, but he wants to find out.

The class is nearing its end, the music now softer, and the instructor moves on to stretching. He’s running out of time. It’s now or never. So Steve smiles that smile that used to get him both into and out of trouble, the one that’s soft and warm and a little cheeky and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners; and he rejoices in the way a deep pink blush graces your face this time. 

“Are you hungry?” 

You raise an eyebrow and a wide smile -certainly a little playful, maybe a little smug- stretches across your lips. “Oh, I’m starving! I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You both stand up, mats forgotten on the floor.

That smile and the obvious enthusiasm in your words take Steve by surprise, his brief surge of courage crumbling down like a house of cards. When you get used to rejection, much to his dismay (and he would never admit it), it’s easy to set your expectations low; but your eyes are shining, and all too pretty, and his smirk falters. 

Two loud claps from the front of the room signal the end of the session and a collective sigh of relief makes the corners of your mouth twitch in amusement. The instructor turns off the music, and Steve is sure he would feel ecstatic about the silence, finally, if he weren’t so flustered.

“I- Well, I…”  The boy can feel his brain freeze and turn into mush. He throws a thumb over his shoulder and clears his throat. “Wanna go? Together? For breakfast?” Well done, Harrington, you dingus.

Cursing Robin mentally for how her jabs have begun to seep into his own vocabulary, Steve braces himself for your rejection because why would you want to hang out with such a babbling idiot? 

To his surprise, however, you simply shrug one shoulder and say, “Now?”

Steve blinks once, then twice and, as if in a trance, he finally nods. “Yeah.”

You smile again, this time a wide, pretty smile that lights up your whole face, innocent and sweet. “Sure! Let me go grab my things.” 

As you turn around and head towards the back of the class, a spring in your step and your ponytail bouncing behind you, Steve lets out a deep sigh and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. He wants to kick himself silly. His plan was to ask you out on a nice date -breakfast at the diner right outside of town, pancakes and coffee; ideally, after a shower, when he’s not sweaty and, he remembers suddenly, wearing the ugliest outfit known to man. 

A cough startles Steve. He turns around to find two sets of eyes fixed on him. Max’s eyebrows are furrowed, but Steve can see the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at her lips. El is giggling, hiding behind her friend’s shoulder, and the boy would buy the coy act if he didn’t know better.

“What?” He says, curtly, tugging at his shirt with a sour face.

“Pretty.” El states, voice soft, stealing glances at you while you stuff a small pink towel into your equally pink bag. 

“I know.” Says Steve, still wary about the girls’ intentions. “I-”

Max, never one to not speak her mind, cuts him off way too loudly for his taste. “Are you taking her out or what?” 

Steve huffs. He plays with the strands of hair that fall flat on his forehead, too damp to stand up in his usual quiff, then gives the redhead a stern look. “You cannot talk to me like that, alright?” The boy points his index finger at the pair of friends. “Not today.”

“You’re still wearing that,” Max says, waving her hand lazily at his outfit, “and I’m still not taking you seriously.”

“Ungrateful children…” Steve complains, throwing his head back with a whine. 

“So, are you taking her out or what?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Then what about us?”

Steve’s head snaps back down and stares at the girls with raised eyebrows.  Unbelievable. “What about you?”

“You said you’d drive us back home.” El giggles, her arm wrapped tightly around Max’s.

The boy’s mouth drops. “But… I can’t.”

“Is everything okay?” Your voice makes Steve turn around with a jump, and Max and El chuckle under their breaths. You’ve put on a soft-looking jacket and your bag rests at your feet, and you look lovely. 

Steve grimaces. “Everything is fine, I just…” 

You raise one eyebrow, eyes jumping from the boy to the two girls who now snicker unabashedly behind him. "I can just go home if you're busy or something-"

"No!" Steve waves his hands frantically in front of your face. "No! I just-" 

Steve is certain his poor neurons have never ever worked this fast -not when Nancy pointed a gun right at his face, not when Billy Hargrove beat his ass-, yet so slow.

It feels like a movie reel in motion in his head, Steve travels the mall mentally to find a place to keep the kids entertained, just for an hour or two.

And just like a revelation, a miracle, an oasis in the desert, the light bulb turns on and he's never been so grateful for his job before.

He smiles. You smile back. Max and El take a step back. "Do you ladies like ice cream?"

                                                             -

The way from the studio on the top floor, down the mechanical stairs and across the food court to Scoops Ahoy takes your little group a dreadfully long time. For Steve, it’s never-ending. He’s not used to feeling self-conscious, quite the opposite, actually, but he’s struggling to cover his midriff with his duffel bag. 

Steve leads the way, rushing towards the stairs, trying to avoid the families and groups of tweens that arrive early, hiding from the scorching late June sun inside the cool shade of the mall.

He sees Lucas Sinclair’s little sister, Erica, sitting on the steps across the big fountain and tries desperately to cover his face with his hand and stepping up the pace. She can be mean, has been mean before -when Robin refused to give her more free samples of cherry ice cream or whenever Lucas walks by, so Steve doesn’t want to risk being seen.

You’re happily chatting with the girls, who are bombarding you with questions about your outfit (from JCPenney) and your bag (Sears), where you live (on the other side of town, near the library), if you attend this class often (every weekend like clockwork). 

It’s almost cute, Steve thinks, how El’s eyes shine with curiosity when you answer, and the genuine smile that has replaced Max’s smirk. Maybe, if his plan doesn’t work, you won’t mind them coming along.

When you finally reach the ice cream parlour, the mall is buzzing with energy. The calmness from earlier this morning has been disturbed by loud voices and laughter, babies crying and kids running around. 

There’s a line already at the counter, and Steve can see his co-worker, Robin, a sullen look on her face, handing a chocolate cone to a young girl. He doesn’t really want to do this, because he’s certain her mockery will be endless.

But when he turns around, you’re standing there, so beautiful even after that workout, happy and patient, and he really, really wants to take you out. You’re looking at him with a smile so big your eyelashes touch.  There they are again, those red apple cheeks of yours. He could just take a bite.

So Steve Harrington swallows his pride, squares his shoulders and takes one step ahead. "Wait here." He tells you. “You two, follow me. And behave. Please.”

El and Max follow him into the shop, ignoring the line and the objections -and threats- of those waiting. 

“No-fucking-way.” Robin Buckley is already bending over laughing when Steve reaches the counter. Her eyes are settled on his top, a hand over her mouth to perfunctorily conceal her amusement. “Is this a dream, Harrington? Please, don’t pinch me. I love it.” 

“Don’t say another word.” He pleads, brown eyes wide and desperate, one finger up in weak command. “I need a favour.”

Robin bites her lips, torn between her need to cackle as loudly as her lungs will allow her, and the pity she feels at how utterly hopeless the boy in front of her looks. She coughs, barely hiding her delight. “I’m all ears.”

“See that girl over there?” Steve turns around, waving discreetly at your figure while you look up at the Scoops Ahoy sign, amused. When Robin, who’s leaning on the counter,  hums, but remains quiet otherwise, he goes on. “I’m taking her out. Like, right now.”

“Wow. You got a date with her wearing that? Right.” Robin takes a step back and grabs a cone from the glass display case by the cash register. She resumes her duties, scooping ice cream for the unhappy customers behind Steve with an even unhappier expression herself. “Comedy is not your forte, dingus.”

Steve rubs his face, sighs deeply and walks behind the counter. “I’m not joking, we’re having breakfast together.” He waves at you when you make eye contact with him, your smile perennial, your eyes bright. His legs are shaking, willing him to run towards you.

“And what’s this favour you need? Do you want me to go with you? Help you not mess up, Stevie boy?” She snorts, and so does Max from her spot, sitting on a boat-shaped booth. 

“Ha-ha, funny, Buckley, really funny. No, I need you to keep an eye on these two.” 

His younger friends smile, all fake innocence and girlish charm.

“You want me to babysit.” Robin deadpans, matter-of-factly.

“No.” Steve grimaces. “I mean, yes, kinda. But this is an emergency. Please?”

Robin looks at him, up and down, once, then twice. The boy can see the gears in her brain turning and plotting, and he knows nothing good will come from it. She stays silent as she grabs two cones and places them neatly on the metal holders, and as she takes two big scoops of chocolate brownie ice cream (Steve’s favourite, he notices with a sour look) and sticks a little plastic spoon on each one.

“What’s in it for me?” She finally says, placing a maraschino cherry on top of one of the scoops and looking at her work with a pleased smile.

“Anything.”

“Okay.” Robin takes the cones and hands them over to Steve, who looks at her, bewildered. “You’ll do the weekend morning shift the rest of the summer. Wait here.”

She walks into the backroom, leaving a perplexed Steve behind, and comes back shortly after holding her Polaroid camera and grinning maliciously. She’s too quick for Steve, the camera flashes before he even has time to react. The white paper rolls out from the front, and she snatches it and starts shaking it eagerly.

In any other circumstance, he would fight for that picture, he would tear it to pieces and burn them so nobody could ever see the Steve Harrington wearing a sweaty, ugly blue top.

But this is the nicest Robin’s ever been to him, the first time she’s agreed to help him without complaining, and Steve is not going to wait for her to start, so he shakes his head, still puzzled, and slowly walks back towards the door. 

“The rest of the summer, Harrington!” Her voice travels across the store.

Getting up early every day for the next two months to work at an overrated ice cream parlour is almost as bad as getting up early on a Saturday to take two teenagers to an aerobics class. But your face lights up when you see the ice cream, and you thank him earnestly when he gives you the one with the bright red cherry on top that matches your cheeks.

Even though he knows she doesn’t like him, and even though he’s still not sure he likes her that much either, Steve turns around and gives his co-worker a thumbs up in gratitude. He smiles when he sees her take out her blackboard and draw a thin, black tally on the left.

                                                  🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: i’m baaaaaaaaack. this is probably one of my worst stories (i like my original idea, but i’ll admit i wasn’t sure where to go with it) but i am a bit rusty and need to fall back into it.

i’ve missed writing so much, but i needed to get out of the house really badly. i hope you don’t hate this one. as always, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. much love!

[jonathan-samuel-smith]

In one of your posts you ask for a prompt then I hope you don't mind mine: knight and magic where there are rumours about a feral and bloodthirsty dragon into the mountains and his bard who keeps him sleep

Meanwhile Jon is the dragon who likes to play and Damian just wants peace and knows art and music very well

YOU ARE A FUCKING GENIUS!!!!!! I am always taking requests :)

fic under the cut.

Relationships: Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne

Characters: Maya Ducard, Kathy Branden, Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent

Tags: Fantasy, Dragons, Fluff, Dialogue-Heavy

Being a mage wasn’t strictly illegal, but it was highly regulated, and if you had the power your freedom would be curtailed and people would fear you. So Maya and Kathy told not a soul once they discovered what she could do. 

Kathy Branden and Maya Ducard are some of the best knights of the realm. Kathy is known as a shining beacon of chivalry and Maya is known as easily mingling with the commoners as if she were a nobody. They’ve been working together since they were squires, so they’ve had their petty squabbles and become all the more stronger for it. They’re both very smart, but Maya is the tactician, and Kathy is only a little better at de-escalation. Kathy’s noble parents were killed when she was young so her grandfather gave her over to become a squire so he could bring all his remaining focus on their estate in his child’s absence. Maya’s family had a proud tradition of being knights but Maya had to prove herself before she was allowed to become a squire; she caught a thief stealing from her family’s serfs and returned all the stolen goods he had stashed away.

One day, the king of the land sent the two to investigate the rumors of a bloodthirsty dragon in the mountains and the bard who keeps him asleep, to learn how to use his skills for other dragons or to kill the dragon once and for all. They wore thick fur armor to combat the cold of the mountains, Kathy’s golden hair braided and bundled near her cheeks like earmuffs, Maya’s short haircut hidden behind a fur hood. Their cheeks and noses were red from the cold but they took breaks to make fire. Kathy was secretly a mage, and could create magical flame when the firewood was unsuitable. The only souls who knew about her powers were Maya and the dead who tell no tales.

They were getting closer to the rumored spot, when they heard a mild voice singing out dulcet tones.

“La la la la, hmm-hmm~ Da da dee dum…”

“You know Damian, you could write actual lyrics?”

“That would be a feat for me~” Damian sung as he played his pipa. 

Kathy and Maya slowed and tried to quiet themselves to listen.

Jon laughed, mirthful. “Maybe I can help! What would you want to sing about? A wish? A fish? A delicious vegetarian dish? A star, a marr, a land way afar? A boat, a goat, a gloating goat’s boat?”

“Hmm. Would you like to swing on a star, or carry moonbeams home in a jar? If you could do whatever you wish? Or would you rather be a fish?” Damian sung, adjusting his chords to match the whimsical tone.

“These two are weird.” Kathy whispered to Maya. Maya nodded, and they moved in closer to view them. The bard was a small arab-chinese man with cropped black hair, brown skin, a handsome face, and green eyes. The Dragon looked around as young as the bard, with blue slit-pupil eyes and red scales, pink on his underside, with stripes of yellow on his cheeks and around his wrists and ankles. Right now he was in his more human form, with horns and wings, clawed tip fingers and a big tail and hair on his head. But really, He couldn’t look more harmless if he tried. He was wearing just some scuffed linen pants and a cloak, green, presumably borrowed from the bard as he was dressed in a white flannel shirt with a green vest which had brown leather fastenings, and thick soft leather pants and fur boots. 

Jon laughed again. “I love this game! Would I wish to be a fish or a caster? Who moves oceans with a pace much faster? Than the beat of my dragon wings? … Say, what rhymes with Wings?”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s many things. As many as the echoes when a bell rings.”

Jon clapped. “Do you know any new stories?”

“So many of the stories i’ve learned to tell are about bad dragons, Jon.” Damian looked sullen.

Jon pouted. “I don’t like you hiding things from me, Damian.”

“Oh. Well that’s okay! Tell them to me anyway. I want to know what the humans think of us.”

Damian took Jon’s hand. “I don’t think you want to know. It’s best you forgive their ignorance for the sake of peace and move on.”

“I will tell you if you really wish. However, I could tell you a new story?”

“That sounds really cool!”

“A new story?”

“One nobody has ever heard before.”

Maya stepped into their clearing. “I’d like to hear it.”

Jon let out a surprised cry, and Damian jumped on top of the log he’d been sitting on, holding his flute like he was ready to bash the poor thing onto her head. “Who are you? What do you want? Can’t you see we’re just trying to have our peace?” Damian demanded. Kathy stepped out too. “There’s two of you?!”

“We can see you two just want to have fun. How old are you?”

“I’m 17, he’s 20.” Jon answered. Damian glanced at Jon disapprovingly. 

“Hey, that’s the same age as us!” Kathy said cheerfully.

Maya put her hand on her hip. “Do you see us drawing our swords?”

“...No.”

“Then put the lute down.”

“It’s a pipa. But fine.” Damian said, hopping off the log and securing the lute to his back. “What do you want?”

“We heard that you have ways to put dragons to sleep, but it looks like you’ve learned how to tame them!”

Jon puffed out his cheeks, offended. “I’m not a wild beast to be tamed! I’m his best friend!”

Damian nodded. “Dragons are really just misunderstood. We’re lucky they haven’t actually started a war against us for always hunting them and attacking them.”

“We just want to be left to our hoardes in peace! Except me, I guess.”

Maya eyed him suspiciously. “You’re the bloodthirsty dragon?”

“Bloodthirsty? No! I’m just curious and love to play! Humans have such fun games. And this one is really cute.” He says, jostling Damian’s shoulder. Damian rolls his eyes. “I think we can all get along! Right Damian?”

“That would be ideal.” Damian sighed. “But people don’t see it that way.”

Jon pouted. “It’s not fair! I’m nice, i’m not scary at all! I hate when the humans run away from me.” Jon was almost crying. Damian sighed.

“Come here, I’ll give you a hug.”

Jon’s tail wagged and his wings flapped. “Really? Yay!” He pulled Damian into a hug, who returned it. 

“You’re such a crybaby.”

“Wow, you two are really good friends!” Kathy observed.

“My mom says that all dragons have a human they’re supposed to protect. This one’s mine. Say, do you think that’s why humans hate dragons? Cause we add them to our hordes?”

Damian nodded. “That is probably where tensions first began. Humans miss their family members and friends.”

Jon nods. “That’s why I don’t make you live with me in my cave!”

“Is it a nice cave?” Kathy asked.

“Yes! It’s very spacious and there’s no bats or rats or bugs, there’s soft moss everywhere and a nice cool pool with a small waterfall to relax in or help shed my scales. I’ve got lots of stuff I like there like star charts and spyglasses and shiny rocks and gems, some stuff Dami has given me, some art i made that i’m proud of. I’m still young so my horde isn’t that big yet but it’s gonna be huge when i’m older! Dami will help me.”

“Will I?”

“Won’t you?” Jon gave him puppy dog eyes. “Even if you don’t live with me it’s still your horde too. What’s mine is yours. If we don’t have a big horde then it’s like we don’t care about eachother or something!”

“Tt. Don’t be an idiot. Of course I will help, I already do.”

Jon smiled and hugged Damian again, nuzzling the top of his hair. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Damian blushed, embarrassed. 

“Jon, there’s people around.” 

“Hmm?” He said, wrapping his tail around Damian. “Why are you pointing that out?”

“Tt. You’re warm.”

“And you’re cool like a nice rock. But so squishy. Humans are so squishy, like babies. It’s very cute.”

“Why don’t you live with your dragon, if you’re so close?” Maya asked Damian.

“My family doesn’t know about him. They’d want to know where I'd gone, and ask to visit my new home. It’s easier just to pretend I don’t notice them trying to set me up with village women and return every day with a jewel from Jon’s horde. I tell them It’s my payment for my performance but I replace it the next day and take a new one.”

“How does your family afford meals?” Kathy asked.

Damian scoffed. “My father is one of the wealthiest nobles in the kingdom. All my other brothers became knights in his service, but I’m sick of fighting. I just want peace.”

Kathy and Maya shared a look. “Sometimes that’s all I want, too.” Kathy confesses. “But I have a job, and I need to report back to my king. What should I say?” 

“Say the dragon was fearsome and made you leave him and the bard alone. I don’t want people bothering me.” Damian groused.

“No, don’t do that! Then people will still think dragons are bad, and I won’t have any human friends.”

“Jon, I keep telling you, people don’t understand that dragons are good.”

“Then let’s change that!” Maya spoke up. “You talk like people can never change their minds! But I did! Kathy did! Make them see you for who you are, both of you. You should bring your family to meet Jon.”

“Out of the question! They would slay him on sight!” 

Jon puffed up his chest. “As if they would have any chance, my fire breath can melt their weapons!”

“And burn them to a crisp!”

“Ah, right. That would be rude.”

“Ya think?!”

“But there must be something we can do!” Kathy proclaimed. “Maybe…. You’re a bard. You could write a song! Spread it around! Or a book, all about your life with Jon. Change people’s minds, then have him meet them.”

Jon’s tail swished. “I like collecting books. They’re so pretty.”

Damian sighed. “Things are fine as they are. Jon and I are happy. If we get caught up in this crusade to end human-on-dragon violence, we would become a target. I just want to be left alone.”

Jon sighed. “I really wish I could add you to my horde. I’d give you the nicest things, whatever you asked for.”

Damian shot him a glare. “And what would I tell my family?”

“You’ve got a secret boyfriend in the woods and you’re running away to escape homophobia, but you’ll be back to visit.”

“A secret boyfriend, who flies and finds me collectables.”

Jon nodded. “And who loves you very much.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’ll still want to meet you.”

“I appreciate that you want to be left alone, but I can’t just let an injustice like this stand by. Dragons deserve to be respected! I am going to have to tell the King about this.” Kathy spoke decisively. 

“I think it would help if a bard could eloquently communicate the situation.” Maya tried to convince Damian.

“Me, Eloquent? Please. I just like music. I hate talking to people.”

Maya frowned. “Alright, what if we take in Jon as a prisoner with you nearby to show that he’s harmless?”

“No. You can’t put him at risk like that. He’s the only thing that matters to me in this godforsaken world, I will not let you harm a scale on his hide.”

“Jesus Christ, who hurt you?”

“Damian just has these black moods a lot. Don’t you know anyone like that, who gets sullen for no good reason? The best thing is to just give him whatever he wants and stay by his side.”

“We’ll go alone. But we’ll tell him what we’ve learned.”

Damian sighed. “If you must, I cannot stop you.”

And so the two brave knights returned to their king, who went down in history as the ruler who united the humans and the dragons in harmony. Kept out of history were the two boys who started it all, as they just wanted to be left alone, and sing songs in the mountains.

[lemonzestwrites]

Assumptions.

A man sits across from his small daughter. She’s mumbling to herself while eating parts of a pizza inside the box. I can't see his face but I can see the back of him. He’s wearing a blue and white striped dress shirt and gray pants to match. His phone is up to his ear and there are black headphones on his head. There’s a smaller child on his lap. Curly brown hair and lighter brown skin. The daughter looked the same. I imagine they’ve all just come back from church. The father is talking to important people on the phone and the children…well, they’re just being children. Talking to themselves. Playing with their food. 

On the right of me is a woman. Black woman, maybe in her middle or late 40’s. Braided hair and simple clothing. A pair of shorts, white tee and tennis shoes. She’s got a notebook and computer set up in front of her. I imagine she’s taking another crack at college. Good for her. I hope I’m in the same position in a few years. Maybe 2. 

There are 5 kitchen staffed Starbucks employees. Two of them black and the other two are white and one I’m not entirely sure about. 3 males, two women. Curly, dirty blond hair, pulled back into a neat ponytail on an older white woman. I'm also assuming she’s in her mid 40’s. Maybe the manager. Both black men have dreaded hair. I assume they’re in their early 20’s. Like me. One taller than the other. They both have vastly different personalities. One seems quiet and almost mysterious. Like you would never catch him speaking unless he absolutely had to over the microphone attached to the device on his ear. The other, cheerful and smiley. I had the chance to speak to him. Another older white woman, maybe a lot later in her 40’s. Doesn’t seem to smile at the customers she has to speak to. I imagine she’s a single mother. No, ring on her finger. She works from 9-5 every day trying to provide for 2 kids at home. 

On the left of me. Right next to a window is an older couple. The woman sitting, hunched over her phone and the man watching her. Only occasionally looking around at the people and objects around him. He’s got a pretty silly shirt on. White, with letters written on it in a silly looking font. I can’t see his wife much. Blue shirt and dark washed shorts. Simple. They both look simple. Which is nice. 

The people are disappearing slowly in this café. I too will be one of these people. Leaving and becoming a little less unaware of the people around me.

[godess-of-the-void]

LAST CHANCE TO NAME JANET’S BABY!!!!

Janet Kingsburg and Creepy the Clown are having a baby!!!

the baby will make an appearance at Necessary Evil Chapter 13! And will be a main character for Chapter 14 & 15!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096469/chapters/143971468

But the kiddo will have multiple appearances in Maid in Whipstaff!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260846/chapters/48022495

You're not just naming the baby, but also alter the gender and personality!

Here's what's going to happen for all three names!

The child is going to inherit Creepy’s fire engine red hair. The color of the eyes will be the color of Dead Lights but extremely weak Dead Lights. And the white of their eyes will be black.

They will take on a clown appearance and have a tendency for arson. The outfits would be a combination of yellow, orange, and red. The outfits would also have some indication of flames.

They will inherit pyrokinesis, illusion, and minor reality warping.

Cinne (she/her) = Cinne will inherit her mother's cinnamon smell. While very human-like her face is still a little too close to an uncanny valley and has a bit of a Jack In The box feel to it. Her dress is orange with two yellow stripes on her front. Hem of her dress has flames. She wears a Yellow Minnie Mouse Bow between two large pigtails. on hands are yellow Three Fingered Mickey Mouse Gloves. She prefers human food. She doesn't like to eat meat unless it's hamburgers.

Pyre (he/him) = Pyre has a bit of a Killer Klown From Outer Space face. He wears an orange top hat with a yellow flower. On his top hat are his flames. He also wears a red jacket similar to a ring master’s. The jacket has yellow pom poms as buttons. He also has white pants and Three Finger Mickey Mouse Gloves. Pyre’s favorite pastime is juggling with fireballs. He's also a bit of a predatorial hunter. His favorite meal is supernatural maneaters and will even trick Killer Klowns to accept him as one of their own before eating them.

Jehoel (they/them) = Jehoel is the most human looking. They have their hair up in a short, messy ponytail. They wear a white shirt with black and white sleeves and matching shorts. They also wear a yellow tutu with a matching collar. They also wear orange suspenders with flames. But don't let their human-ness fool you. They have a True Glamour Form! The Firefly! They also smell negative emotions, not just fear. They like to eat both human food and “other meats.” Their favorite food is pizza and ice cream while their favorite “other white meat” is narcissistic abusers.

Wouldn't except any more votes after Chapter 13 of Necessary Evil.

So far Jehoel is in the lead, Pyre is second, and Cinne is dead last!

Vote Here or in the comments in Necessary Evil or Maid in Whipstaff.

[angelst4re]

hello love! first of all, I appreciate you ❤️

I was wondering if we could have a quick lil fluff piece where reader and Jamie have a small child together and they’re getting them ready for Halloween? Since we’re approaching that of the year now! Maybe they have a family costume situation, and they’re going to go out trick or treating. I feel like Jamie, being the witch king and spooky lad he is, would make Halloween time so fun for a kid if he had one. I just think that would be so cute 🥹

hii love! thank you <3 i've been waiting for this week to post this... and i 100% agree, he would make it so fun for them :')

Trick or Treat- Dad!Jamie x Reader

summary: it's halloween!

warnings: none! :)

note: i brought back our loves charlie and belle for this one!! <3 also now i'm finally posting this i've realised it's quite short :(

“Mummy!” Belle huffed, a frown appearing on her face, “it doesn’t look right!” 

“But this is how she has her hair, sweetheart.” You tell her, looking at her in the mirror before placing a kiss on her cheek, “you look amazing!” 

“But my hair isn’t right! Daddy knows how to do it!” 

“Do you want me to get him to do it instead?” You ask, unbraiding her hair. 

“Yes, please.” She sniffles. 

This year, seeing as you and Jamie have both a son and a daughter, he suggested dressing up as the Addams Family for halloween. Belle loved the idea of being Wednesday and Charlie couldn’t wait to wear his striped t-shirt to be Pugsley. Jamie had bought a fake moustache and slicked his hair back to be Gomez and you had bought a beautiful, long black dress to be Morticia. 

You put down the hairbrush and left the bathroom to find Jamie, who was sitting on your bed with Charlie- using your makeup on him?

“Hey, this is expensive! We bought face paint, didn’t we?” You grin, plucking the makeup brush from Jamie’s hand. 

“We did…” Charlie began, before looking down. 

“He dropped it, it was an accident, darling” Jamie explained, before whispering, “he got a little bit upset about it.” 

“That’s okay! Accidents happen, love.” You sit down on the bed beside Charlie as he cuddles up to your shoulder. “Oh and Belle asked if you could do her hair, she said you can do it better than me.” You chuckle. 

“Of course!” Jamie grinned, standing up, “we practised it a couple days ago, it looked amazing. I think I should become a hairstylist!” 

You giggle as Jamie leaves the room to help Belle out, before turning to Charlie. 

“Let’s finish your makeup then, shall we?” 

He grins as he nods his head, so you pick the makeup brush back up. 

Once the kids were finally ready, Jamie occupied them in the living room so you could get changed into your outfit and do your makeup. You were surprised how quick you got ready, but you knew you had to hurry as the kids were excited and couldn’t wait to go trick or treating. 

As you walked carefully down the stairs so as to not trip on your dress, you could hear music coming from the living room. 

“They played the Monster Mash!” You heard Jamie sing in a funny voice as the kids giggled. 

He carried on singing along, not noticing you were standing at the door. Charlie was by his side, dancing with him as Belle sat on the sofa, laughing as they danced like zombies?

“You’re having a party and didn’t invite me?” You decided to speak up after the song had finished, leaning against the door as you smiled at your little family. This was truly all you could ever ask for. 

“Sorry, love.” Jamie pouted, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your skin, “you look amazing.” He whispered. 

Jamie was wearing an old suit of his, one you forgot he had. He never failed to look wonderful, no matter what he wore. Even last halloween when you all wore matching fruit-themed onesies and he was a banana, he was still a beautiful banana. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you grinned, kissing his cheek. “So, who’s ready to go trick or treating?” 

Belle and Charlie’s eyes widened as they rushed to pick up their black pumpkin-buckets and stood by the door. Jamie followed them, he was almost as excited as the kids. 

“C’mon, y/n!” He smiled, everyone waited for you as you went to get everybody’s coats. 

“It’s going to be cold out there-”

“No! It’s going to ruin my outfit!” Belle frowned as you handed her her coat. 

“But you don’t want to be cold, darling.” Jamie said, helping her get her arms into the sleeves as you helped Charlie into his coat. 

“Can we go now?!” Charlie asked, desperate to leave. 

“I guess so.” You grinned, handing Jamie the car keys. 

Jamie had driven towards the town where you lived, where there were more houses to go to. He wanted to make Belle and Charlie’s first proper halloween one to remember. 

“Go on then, love. Knock on the door.” Jamie smiled in encouragement as Charlie and Belle approached the first house. 

“But I’m scared,” Charlie’s lip trembled, “will you come with us?”

“If I must.” Jamie pretended to sigh, handing you his phone as he held Belle and Charlie’s hands and walked up to the door, “when they answer, what do you say?” 

“Trick or treat!” They sang, big smiles on their face. 

As the door opened, an old lady stood on the other side, dressed up as a witch. She ‘awed’ at Charlie and Belle’s costumes before handing a big bowl full of chocolates out to them. They took one each and the woman looked at Jamie, a look to say ‘go on, take one too!’, and so he did. He grinned and thanked the lady as Belle and Charlie began to make their way back to you. 

“What did you get?” You asked, smiling as they showed you their chocolate in their pumpkin-buckets. 

“And I got one, too!” Jamie grinned, looking very proud of himself. 

“Mummy, can you come with us to the next house?” Belle asked. 

“You might get some chocolate like daddy did!” Charlie added. 

“Yeah, come with us!” Jamie smiled, kissing your cheek, his fake moustache making your skin feel itchy. 

“Okay! As long as you don’t kiss me with that moustache on again!” 

“I don’t know about that…”

By the end of the night, Belle and Charlie’s buckets were full of all kinds of sweets and chocolates as you all walked back to Jamie’s car. 

“I don’t want to go home yet!” Charlie frowned. 

“But we’ve been to all the houses here, and your little buckets won’t fit anymore sweets in!” You smile, helping him put his seatbelt on. 

“We could eat some of them and then we’ll have more room!” Belle suggested. 

“That’s a good idea!” Jamie gasped, helping Belle with her seatbelt. 

“No, don’t encourage them, Jamie!” You chuckled. “It’s past their bedtime!” 

“But it’s halloween! I have a shopping bag down there by you, they can tip their things into theirs and we can find some more houses to go to!” He grinned, getting into the driver's seat. 

“Pleaseeee.” Belle pouted. 

“We promise to give you some of our chocolate!” Charlie added, making you smile. 

“Well, I guess I know some more houses we could go to…” You begin, “Jamie, take a left out of here and head towards the other side of town.” 

You reach down to pick up the shopping bag by your feet and hand it to Charlie, he tipped his collection of sweets and chocolate into it before passing it to Belle so she could do the same. 

“This is the best halloween ever!” Belle smiled, looking out the car window at all the passing houses.

[dragoneyes618]

Here's another glimpse into the Badun Detective Agency.

Badun Detective Agency: Death Report.

Name of Detective: Yzla Sorcerer.

Age of Detective: 17 years old.

Date of Report: January 6th, 2017.

Name of the deceased: Lil' Yaz.

Age of the deceased: 19 years old.

File number: 0210.

Report: The Desceased (19, Male. Child of Yzma) appears to have died from an untreated and unexpected case of something called 'Apendictist'.

The Desceased reported feeling an unexplainable sharp pain in his chest two days before he passed-- On Today, January 6th, 2017.

The pain reliever his mother, Yzma gave him didn't appear to do anything to alivate the pain.

He was able to keep anything down and was running a fever, so his mother sent him to bed to rest.

His condition only continued to deteriorate until he was found without a pulse at 5 am by his mother.

His family wasn't able to revive him and none of the medics on the isle nor Yen Sid were able to either.

His employer and friends have been notified.

A death certificate is being issued and no foul play can be detected so he will be put to rest via pyre at the end of the week.

Yzla signing out.

[At the top of the report, a picture can be found paper clipped to the page. In the picture, 5 people can be seen.

Two identical men around 26 with short black hair and ocean blue eyes. Both Dressed in Chippers boy scout uniforms, grinning widely.

in front of them, there was a beaming boy around nineteen with tan skin, dark eyes, and short, curly purple hair that was partly hidden under a golden hat that matched the golden jacket and purple v-neck he was wearing.

One of his arms was draped over as scowling boy in black. his hair was short and black with a faint blue stripe, and the same dark eyes as the first. Looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

and the other was draped over the last person in the picture. A girl with

thick black hair that was up in an uneven ponytail and dark soft eyes. She wore a magenta off shoulder shirt and had light, almost lavender skin. She was rolling her eyes to the side, but still smiling.

Written at the bottom of the photo were the names 'Lil' Yaz, Yzla, Zam, Zevon, and Zim. January 1st, 2017.']

Yzla chronicling the death of her own older brother.....that's so sad...

Now, this isn't an investigation. Yaz's death isn't a mystery. He wasn't murdered. She knows how he died: of illness. But she doesn't know exactly what illness.

This is the equivalent of an autopsy. But she's not going to cut open her own brother to look for the cause of his death. She doesn't know how to, she doesn't know what to look for. She's not a doctor. And they don't have proper doctors on the Isle. So all she can do is chronicle his symptoms and put the paper with all the other files.

And the photograph....it's not just an impersonal file, written by someone who's seen too much and is jaded, not just clerical paperwork. The writer is a human. The person who died is also a human. Real live people with a real live family who loved each other...until one died, leaving the other to write down what had happened. With the picture in the file, as a reminder to Yzla, a remembrance of her brother.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[impala1967dwinchester]

Teacher!Dean Winchester: Crayons

Pairing: Teacher!Brother!Dean x Sister!Reader 

Pov: Deans 

Warnings: Cute Dean, fluff, lots of laughs, Dean making kids giggle, Dean being great with kids, Talk of Deans baby Y/n 

Summary- Dean and his sister (Y/n) doing cute little projects with his pre-school/ kindergarten class. 

Word Count: 3k 

Main Masterlist: 

Taglist: @akshi8278​ @deanswaywardgirl​

I’ve been working for the cute little mam and pop, day-care. This year will mark the second year I’ve been here.  

I grow-up with loving parents, and a baby sister. When Y/n was born I felt the natural pull to protect her, and make she was safe at all times. My parents, let me take that brotherly role in her life. My baby sister Y/n was only a year younger than me, so we pretty much did everything together.  

When we were in elementary school, I’d walk Y/n to her kindergarten class, and then I’d walk to my first-grade classroom. I honestly can’t believe I still remember that memory.  

I walked up the hall and to my classroom door. I had only had these kiddos for about three weeks now, but there were making great progress. And since today was Friday I thought it be cool if I dressed up a little and we had an arts and crafts day.  

I looked down at my watch, the digital numbers popping up it read “8:30″. ‘Great I had enough time to pull out all the supplies, and have a few more cups of coffee to keep up with the little munchkins.’  

I set my half empty coffee cup on my desk in the front of the classroom, and open the shades letting the morning sun fall into the class room. I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the abundance of playlists on my Spotify account.  

This was the only time, when the kids weren’t in my room was, I allowed to listen to my type of music. “Heck yeah, let’s rock baby.” I said as I clicked the most recent playlist.  

I set my phone down on my desk and walked around the room. I had a fairly small class this year. I had 2 baby girls that were only about ten months old, but the rest of my class was 2 years, which had the attention span of a Nat, and had the most energy I had ever seen.  

Ya, see I love working with this age group. The babies which have to come to day care are the most adorable little girls I had ever seen. Little toes and babbles coming from them as I would change them into their afternoon outfit, or we sit down and eat.  

My other kiddos were just having equally adorable. They’d raise their hands for everything, they also asked the oddest of question, but I think what I love most about being with these kiddos every day is that they make me so much happier.

I generally wake up in an over-all happy mood, but the minute my kiddos step into my room. I can feel the joy raise through me, starting at my toes and ending at head. And just like any day, I’m always the first to make it to the daycare. The second person to make their way into the building was my co-teacher. My co-teacher just so happens to be Y/n. She had a thing for being late, but I didn’t mind.  

Y/n walked into the classroom, setting her belongings on the rounded desk in the back of the classroom. When Y/n had told me, she had interned to be a part of the daycare I couldn’t help but feel so excited.  

Y/n and I’s relationship was prefect damn near unbreakable. Something about having her by my side thirty years later had a great feeling. “Hey big bro!” She said as she looked up after setting her things down on her desk.  

“Hey sis, you get enough sleep last night?” I asked knowing she probably didn’t, not with the way those two-year-old ran her ragged yesterday. Y/n and I had a system to how we took care of our class. I’d take Monday with the two-year-old, and then Tuesday I spent with the baby girls, Wednesday I was with the big kids again and then Thursday I was with the babies yet again Friday I’d take the big kids.  

Then the cycle would change and Y/n would start with having the big kids Monday. I went over to the paper section, pulling out craft paper, crayons and markers for the kids to play with. “Today if you can’t tell by my amazing outfit, it’s craft day.” I said walking past Y/n desk in the back, as I kicked out the raveling carpet.  

I set the paper down at my desk. The day care didn’t open until nine fifteen. “Sis, what may it be?” I said fancying my best London accent, doing things like this made me even happier, it got me in a mood to see my kiddos in the morning.  

“Tee time may be nine ten brother.” Y/n said trying her fancy on the old London accent. I got up, quickly turning my playlist off and standing neither my door, other teachers were starting to the same. I waited, and the first child I saw was one of baby girls. Her name was Amber. Her mother said hello handed me her Amber’s bags and then said a short and quick bye-bye to her daughter. “Y/n, Come get amber and bring her to the back room.” I said Y/n came running taking Amber to the back room.

The back room was meant for any kiddos under the age of one year old. It was a quiet space for them, a space dedicated to just them. When I handed Amber off, I heard coo at the Y/n, “Awe, good morning sweetheart.” I heard Y/n say has she walked father away from me and closer to the back room.  

The next kiddo was the other sweet baby girl. “Hey, Dean. I like the outfit today.” Said Poppies mother, and she handed me a sleeping poppy, and of course her bag for today. “And look you two match, how adorable.” Poppies mother said before kissing her baby's temple and then walking out the front door. The sun was starting to peak further above the horizon.  

I figured since Y/n wasn’t back yet that she was probably putting amber things in the respectful place. I set Poppy down slowly and softly. “Well, the two baby girls are here, you need anything with these two and I’m right outside okay, sis.” I said as I saw Y/n come back from the little kitchenette we had in the back room.  

AS Y/n got closer to me, she too noticed the matching outfits that me and Poppy were wearing. “You and poppy match today!” She spoke. Both poppy and I were wearing striped shirts, and dark blue overalls. The only different was that Poppy had a cute little bow in her short hair. “Okay, I’ve got to go out into the classroom and get ready for the other kiddos.” I said to Y/n before walking out of the back room.  

When I made it to the door, Justin, Rachel, Cassie, and Paula were standing outside with their parents. ‘Good morning!” As each kid kissed their mothers' cheeks and ran over to me.  

after all the parents had left, saying their goodbyes. We all went into the classroom. Like I said before my classroom room size was fairly small. Which I of course didn’t mind.  

The kids put all their belongings on the little racks, and ran over. In the morning time we’d sit around in a circle and say one good thing that happened yesterday. I never picked on the kids, I just let the first kid that wanted to go, start us off.  

Rachel was the first to start us off. “Yesterday, my mommy and I had ice cream for dessert.” She said her high and squeaky voice, making me smile. “Oh, that sounds awesome! Do you remember what flavor?” I asked sitting down like the kids were. “it was CHOCOLATE!” Rachel screamed the last part. “Oh, that does sounds yummy.” I spoke.  

The next kiddo to go was Paula, she started off by saying “When i got home yesterday, I help my daddy make dinner. And we had mac and cheese.” She said rubbing her tummy as she looked back at that not do long ago memory.  

Justin interrupted me before I could say anything “Mr. Dean? Where’s miss Y/n?” He spoke. playing with his shoe strings. “That a good question, but remember we have to raise out hand if we are going to ask a question.” I spoke. “I’m sorry.” Justin said.  

“To answer Justin question, Miss Y/n is in the back room’ I said pointing towards the door in the back. ‘She’s taking care of the babies today, like I did yesterday.” I spoke.  

“Really?” The four kids said in unison. I laughed a little. “Yes, Now Justin would you like to share your good thing?” I asked. “Of course, I want to share Mr. Dean. Yesterday, I helped my sissy with her make-up.” He said putting both his hands on his hips.  

I again laughed, another reason why I love working with kids. They are always no matter what so eccentric. “Okay Cassie, what was one good thing that happened yesterday?” I asked. Cassie and I had a rocky start in the begging of class. She was an overly shy girl, and talked softly. But she grew comfortable with me. “Mr. Dean?” She asked getting up from where she had been sitting. “Can I whisper it to you?” She asked.  

I just shook my head; she came closer and cupped her hands around my ear. “Yesterday, I told my mommy and daddy I couldn’t wait to come back to class.” She said in a very quiet whisper.

Awe I thought to myself, and said out loud. “I’m glad your excited to come to see me.” wrapping one of my arms around Cassie already small body and hugged her. “Okay kiddos, since today is the last day of the week. We’re are going to arts and crafts.”  I spoke.  

“Yay!” Justin said getting up and walking over to the little table. I looked over at Cassie, and smiled. she gave me a short smile and walked over to where Justin was. So, I got up and made sure that Rachel and Paula were walking with me. Once they were all sitting down at the table.

I grabbed the different colored papers, and the crayons and markers. Placing everything in the middle so they would be able to share. "Now kiddos, if you want anything else. I will be at my desks.” I spoke.

I sat down at my desk, trying to figure out anything else that I could do with the kiddos since today was Friday. ‘We could sit down and watch a movie; I could wait for them to do finished with their crafts, and then do another craft all together.’ I thought to myself.  

I was pulled out of my thoughts when I heard the back-room door open, “Um, Mr. Dean. I need your help!” Y/n said. The kids rose their heads, but went back to coloring when they noticed it was just Y/n. “Listen kiddos, I have to go help miss Y/n, so just continue doing your drawing.” I spoke. I heard a “Okay, Mr. Dean.”  

I walked to the back-room, Y/n walked back through the door, not shutting it. “What’s up Y/n? ” I asked. “I just needed your help, getting them into their afternoon clothes. They both had accidents.” Y/n said walking over to grab Amber and Poppy’s bag.  

“Alright then, let's get started.” I said taking Amber’s bag. When I came over to where Y/n and had laid them out on the soft blanket on the floor, Amber had her small hand wrapped around her small ankle chewing softing on her big toes. “Awe sweetie, not that icky.” I said taking her foot from her mouth. Amber’s mother had packed two different outfits, one being a short sleeve shirt that said “Daddy's girl!” in purple glitter with a black skirt. Her second outfit was a long sleeve that had a momma and baby elephant on it, with blue leggings.  

I held up either one of the shirts, I know she’s only ten, but I bet her Amber’s mom is letting her choose some sort of her outfits. I held the shirts up and Amber did the thing that most kids her age do which is grabby hands. Amber wanted to wear the elephants, which meant she was pants.  

So, I lightly lifted Amber's head to let me put her head in through the hole at the top of the shirt, then I had to grab her arms. Amber had this thing when you changed her cloths. All the sudden she’d become a wiggle worm. Finally, after a few minutes of trying to grab her arms, she let me. I gently put her hands and arms through the holes. Afterwards I put her leggings on and I sat her up in my lap.  

“The kiddos out there asked where you were today?” I said catching Y/n attention. “Did they? Awe that’s cute” She said had she lifted Poppy into her lap. “I’ve got them drawing out there, since it’s Friday.” I said “I figured you go easy on since today is Friday. Yesterday I tried to teach them number one through twenty, but it didn’t work out as I planned.” Y/n said laughing a little when poppy babbled into her lap.  

“I was thinking that we could let them watch a Disney movie and feed these girls, maybe go for nap time too.” I said lightly bouncing Amber in my lap, and she chewed on her binky. I saw Y/n face contort like it always did when she was thinking.  

“I don’t see why not; what movie were you thinking?” Y/n asked. Without missing a beat “Frozen” I said, a little giggle erupted from my younger sister. “Okay, I guess we got a plan then.” She said putting Poppy on her hip, and walking towards the door, so I followed her. “Let’s go Amber!” I said putting her on my hip and walking out of the room.  

When I walked out the kiddos were still coloring and drawing. “Alrighty kiddos let’s be done with coloring. Because we are going to watch a movie.” I said All heads turned and looked at me, in the moment you could hear a mouse scurrying across the floor for how quiet it was.  

“What movie are we watching?” Rachel said after raising her hand. “Rachel we are watching Frozen!” I said as I put Amber in the high chair. All that could be heard for a few seconds was screams of happiness.  

“Alrighty calm down, kids. I want you all to go sit on the carpet in the front of the classroom.” Y/n said as she buckled Poppy in her high chair. “I’ll get the movie started, and you get the babies food.” Y/n said. “Okay.”  

I walked in to the back room and grabbed their food. Y/n had finished set-up the movie and it had already started playing the starting credits. She walked back over, and grabbed a fandom one from my hand, and we started to feed the babies.  

The kiddos watch the movie in silence, at one point close to when Anna meets Kristoff. The babies were done eating so we took them out of the high chairs and set them down in our laps as we sat behind the kids. When Cassie noticed that we were now on the floor, she turned around, and crawled over to me.

Laying down and resting her head on my thigh. “Are you tired Cassie?” I asked, all I got in response was a hum. I smiled, and brushed her arm. I felt the change in her breathing. I looked over at Y/n. “Cassie is out and so is Amber. Should we call it?” I asked her. She looked down at Poppy. “Poppy is asleep, and I think so is Justin.” She said looking at the kids.  

Y/n got up with poppy in her arms. She came over and grabbed a sleep Amber in my arms. And brought them into the backroom. I gently picked up Cassie, she didn’t weight much seeing as she was asleep. I moved her over to the sleep mat, and grabbed her a blanket, before walking over and noticing that the once awake Rachel and Paula were asleep, which made this whole process just so much more easier, Y/n walked out of the back-room and noticed the same thing as me.  

Whispering Y/n said “Looks like they did the job for us.” Giggling she picked up Rachel, and brought her over next to Cassie. I picked up Justin, now he weighed more than Cassie, causing me to grunt a little when I picked him up. I heard Y/n giggle a little at me. “Stop laughing at me, he’s heavy then I thought.” I said setting him down. Y/n grabbed Paula and did the same thing with her.  

“At least they are all asleep.’ She spoke. ‘I could use a lap.” She said leaning her head against my shoulder. I leaned my head against the top of hers. “How about we just take a little nap since it’s the last day before the weekend.” I spoke. She shook her head.  

We waked over to the shades that I had pulled letting the morning sun in, and Y/n pulled them back, and then she slides down to the floor, and sat down next to her and she rested the head of my shoulder, “I’m glad I work with you De.” She said a yawn passing her lips.  

“I’m glad you’re here to help, Y/n.” I said patting her knee. I kiss her forehead, something I had done since she was a baby girl. I kissed her forehead every night when it was time to go to bed. “I love you, big brother.” She said before she hugged me tightly. “I love you too baby sis.�� Hugging her back.  

Completed: 03/16/2021 

[feeling--pink]

My Sweet Ride is an amazing episode of Phineas and Ferb and the only thing bad about it I that I wish we could have seen more people in full out 1950s clothes!! So I did that!! (Also including some MML kids because I love them and don’t draw them enough!)

Anyways!! If y’all want to see me rant about 1950s stuff for a very long time because I had a blast doing research for this project you should click the keep reading!! :D

Okay a quick prelude!! Not only am I going to talk about outfits I designed, but while doing research I was blown away about the attention to detail the original designers had for these outfits and characters so I’m going to talk about their outfits too! :D

Here are my sources if you want to look into this btw!! :D

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-teenager-fashions-girls-fashion-trends-and-clothing-styles/ 

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-teen-boys-clothing/ 

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-hairstyles/ 

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-dress-styles/ 

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-womens-hats-by-style/ 

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-womens-shoes-style/ 

Candace

Okay I’m going to start out by saying I just adore this outfit

That has nothing to do with anything I just really love it!!

I’m thinking I might make one of my own for Halloween but that’s off-topic

Okay- 1950s clothing!!

Candace is wearing a blouse (?) with a cardigan over the top, and a pleated swing skirt.

This is a classic 1950s girl’s style

More specifically its also a classic “preppy good kid” look

Which Candace absolutely is!!

Y’all should notice that all the skirts are past knee-length, which was standard of the time.

Candace also has a neck scarf, a common accessory, and a headband.

Ribbon headbands were still a thing in the 50s but the hard plastic headband was also coming into style in the later 1950s.

She’s wearing a pair of saddle shoes which were one of the popular options of the time among boys and girls

Her hair is long with curls at the end, another classic teenager look in the 50s!

While short hair was more popular among adult women, teenage girls often kept theirs long with slight curls on the end!

Bangs were also standard, but usually shorter than how I drew them

Sorry that bit’s inaccurate through all of them, it’s just easier for me to draw long!

Finally, in case you had any doubt about Candace’s outfit being time period, here’s an advertisement from the article I read:

Vanessa

To start off we have a blouse and pencil shirt for Vanessa

Pencil and swing skirts were the two most common skirts of the time

She’s also wearing a belt, which I modified slightly to look like-

The wide contour belt on the bottom right!

She’s also wearing a pillbox hat, one of the popular hats of the time!

Hats were generally not worn by teenagers because they were seen as “mature” 

But that fits pretty well with Vanessa’s character

It’s the same story with the pumps, which I also changed lightly to match time period ones a bit more

Now what made me make my original post about the outfits in My Sweet Ride was actually the hair

Specifically, Vanessa’s hair is modeled after the Bettie Page style

This hair wasn’t actually that popular with the masses because it was seen as too simple, not classy, etc.

BUT it was popular among rebel girls in the USA

And like!!!!!! Y’all the designers did SUCH a good job to get down into details like that!!!!!!!!

But yeah her outfit’s great!! Next one!

Stacy

For Stacy, I decided to change things up slightly and give her a dress!

Specifically, it’s a shirtwaist dress, which I modeled after the reference below

Why the shirtwaist dress you may ask? Idk I think they’re neat

I thought it fit the vibe I was going for so I did that one I don’t know what to tell you jkdshsf-

Okay so generally, the belt wouldn’t have been a different color but I wanted to tie the green I used in a little more

Btw sorry I changed her color scheme a bit

I honestly haven’t fully figured out her original color scheme so I modified it a bit so it would look nice for this!

Pastels were very popular in the summer after all

I tried to stick to everyone else’s original color scheme though!

Stacy also has a headband tied up into a bow, which was standard

And to change things up I put her in a ponytail (with the end curled) which was popular with the teens!

Sklsdjhdkj I sound very “how do you do fellow teens“ while writing this that’s unintentional sorry

Shoes are penny loafers, another popular shoe at the time

I liked the little bows on the ends of some of the ones I saw and thought it was very Stacy!

That’s about it for her!

Phineas

This has nothing to do with anything but I love drawing Phineas

He’s just a funky little triangle!! I love him!

I’ll admit here that I didn’t look into men’s hairstyles, so you won’t hear about that from me sorry!

Phineas is wearing a black button-up, standard. 

Black and white matched everything so they were the most common undershirt colors

Over that, he has a jacket that looks to be varsity jacket inspired, which was seen as super cool!

Full jeans were coming into popularity in the 50s but only with the younger generations

Finally, he also has saddle shoes like Candace does

So yeah it’s a solid 1950s outfit!!

Ferb

Ferb’s a greaser, need I say more?

No, really he has everything

The white t-shirt and jeans combo is exactly the greaser look, so much so that most teenagers avoided it to not fall into stereotypes

Tighter fit jeans were coming into style in the later 50s, so that’s also accurate

The leather jacket just amplifies the greaser look

The one thing is that for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what shoes he was wearing

So I gave him a pair of sho-loks and called it a day!

More about sho-loks in Milo’s portion!

Isabella

Isabella makes an appearance with the first (and only) poodle skirt of the group!!

Poodle skirts, while definitely what most people think about when you say the 50s, actually weren’t that popular among teenagers

The embroidered designs were seen as childish, so children and preteens wore them the most

But here’s a fun tidbit you may not have caught from the show, Isabella is, in fact, a child

(I don’t know why I built that up so much sorry ldksjfhkds)

Anyways I decided if I was going to give anyone a classic poodle skirt it might as well be Isabella!

I modeled it after this poodle skirt:

She’s also wearing a blouse with a peter pan collar, the most popular collar of the time

Another headband tied into a bow because it’s Isabella I had to give her a bow

Standard belt (nothing really to say about that)

And another pair of penny loafers with little bows because they’re cute gosh darn it!

Milo

Okay, I’ve been writing for a while but honestly a lot of the rest of these I just drew directly from reference so…

I did say I would talk about shu-loks here though and I will!!!

Now we know Milo is shoelace-adverse

And while there are plenty of slip-on options I found the shu-lok to be fascinating!!

As you can see above, the tongue snaps down to keep the shoe on your foot!! Isn’t that cool? :D

So yeah I gave Milo those!!  

Zack

We know Zack plays football so I gave him your standard sporty outfit

Sorry I just find girls outfits infinitely more interesting so I kinda focused on those skjhgfdss

Oh! I do have something to say here!!

Converse were your typical sports shoe for the 50s so he has those!! Almost forgot that tidbit!!

Yeah, thick soles with wrinkles and stuff were seen as cool among teens so they got popular!

Melissa

Finally, we have some patterned pants!!

Yeah- checkers, plaid, stripes, polka dots, etc. were all very popular!!

I just didn’t want to draw them a lot ‘cause it’s hard sksfjdhgs-

But I gave Melissa checkers because it would get the black and white of her color scheme and I liked the way the checkered pants looked!!

Girls did wear pants at the time by the way!!

During summer and weekends mostly since they weren’t allowed to wear them to school

Short-sleeved turtle necks were also a thing and I thought that combo would look neat!!

Also, converse because it went with the outfit and that’s kinda what she’s wearing in the show!

Hair in a ponytail and side part bangs, both popular!

Yeah okay, that’s about it for Melissa!

Amanda

By this point, y’all are hopefully getting the gist of 50s fashion so we’re going fast now

Blouse, swing skirt, penny loafers (different style but still penny loafers), headband

(here’s what I modeled the whole thing after:)

I do want to mention the pullover sweater because I thought I should include one and I really like the flower embroidery on them

Then finally we come to her hair!! I already mentioned the headband but I was specifically modeling her hair in the pageboy style which looks like this:

Obviously, it looks a little stylized but what can you do?

And that’s it!! I had so much fun doing research and designing this and I think they all turned out pretty good!! I’m going to do more go this in the futures so if there's someone in particular you’d like to see let me know!! I’m planning on doing Cavendish, Dakota, and Sara at least in the next batch!! 

[soft-for-them]

a cup of tea for the handsome man ♡ geordi la forge x reader

anon: OKAY concept: Geordi had a failed valentines date, and reader (who crushes hard) is like “bruh hang out with MEEE” a la Taylor swifts “you belong with me”

gender neutral reader, geordi ain’t straight,

gif doesn’t really match but it’s cute ok! not proof read.

‘Maybe you can accompany my friend Geordi La Forge today.’ Data bluntly asks as you both walk down a stone covered street.

‘Data, I swear to the stars, stop!’ you whine to your android friend who currently still wears his yellow dress uniform despite it being shore leave.

‘I am only asking because Geordi seems to be by himself.’ Data holds up the cat carrier that he holds, wiggling his finger to Spot, ‘Please calm down Spot.’

You are Lieutenant (Y/n) (l/n), though most people call you (y/n) and ever since you have met Data you have both been found friends. You are interested in robotics and androids, so the friendship came naturally.

However, Data doesn’t have many out of work friends. He mostly hangs around you, Spot and a very handsome man by the name of Geordi La Forge.

‘Just because I’m your friend does not mean I’m automatically his, Data.’ You tug at the draw strings of your oversized hoodie straighten the out strings.

‘Yes, but you are technically mutuals for you both have me as your friend.’ Data looks at you with a blank stare, ‘And you are normally alone so you need another friend.’

If you haven’t been friends with the yellow tinted man then you would have told him off.

It is somewhat true; you do spend a lot of time in engineering and most of your really good friends are stationed on different ships. But you want to spend you shore leave on earth doing something fun, not awkwardly trying to befriend Geordi La Forge, a man you have fancied for quite a while.

If Data has some more common sense the he would see your heart eyes towards his dear friend but he doesn’t; all he sees is a hermit engineer who needs a buddy whilst Data isn’t around.

‘Data, why has this come on? I’m alone most of the time!’ you have plans and it doesn’t involve trying not to out your crush to a clueless Geordi or Data.

‘I just do not want my friends be lonely.’

Data’s eyebrows frown as you two stop in front of a veterinary practice.

‘Just because me and Geordi will be alone when you take Spot to get her check-up doesn’t mean we will be lonely.’

‘But you will both be alone.’ he deliberates.

‘We will be fine Data.’ You place a hand on your friend’s arm, ‘If you want, we can all meet up after Spot’s check up and I can officially meet Geordi, ok?’

‘I would like that very much (y/n).’ Data sincerely smiles.

He nods his head and then walks into the small vets.

 You shake you head in amusement at your dear friend’s worry as you begin walking down the street.

‘Data, data, data.’ You think with an amused smile blooming on your face.

For about ten minutes you wonder the streets aimlessly, looking at the plants that grown up the shop fronts and the old Roman roads. Benches are in the middle of the ‘roads’ that are really used for pedestrians to walk on, tram cars sliding by the painting like scenery.

Whilst wondering a small alleyway catches your eyes.

It’s not a dingy alleyway with bins and a dead end but it’s actually a little nook filled with cafes and small hobby shops.

Looking both ways you walk across the street into the alley, every bump of the pathway felt even in you tick soled trainers.

Passing a few shops your eyes land on a small round of metal tables, some filled with people, outside a small two-story café.

You walk in, a heartly woman automatically greeting you from the counter at the back. The place is very small and thin but it does not feel claustrophobic. There is a cottage core vibe to it, the place lit up by the huge widows at the front and the fairy lights shaped like hearts.

The downstairs seems to be the place to order food and drink, a peak of a small kitchen at the back can be seen from an open door past the counter.

‘Um hello.’ You say back to the woman whilst you wipe your feet on the welcome mat, ‘What’s good here?’

‘Well first are you allergic to anything my dear?’

You answer the question and tell the woman what kind of tea you like.

‘Well because today is Valentine’s day, we have our cake special that I think is perfect for you!’

You look at the slice of cake the woman points at in the little display case.

‘It’s freshly baked, I made it just this morning!’

‘Yeah, sure, it looks nice. I’ll have a slice.’ You need to indulge yourself every now and then.

She slides a cup of your favourite tea and a slice of cake to you. You pay with you card, leaving a good tip.

‘The upstairs is the best place sit.’ She says as you take your plate and cup.

 With a nod you ascend the steps to the upstairs to see the prettiest room you’ve ever seen.

The room’s roof is a giant glass window and there is many potted plants that look like they’re growing up the walls. Tables are littered around, each one with a different flower on it, some customers are using the built in holo computer screens.

You find a small two four person table near the back and you sit down breathing in the faint smell of pollen that doesn’t actually tickle your nose into a sneeze.

‘Hum, could be fake plants?’ you think as you take a sip of your tea.

.

.

For a while you just eat and browse the holo screen at your table, emersed and doom scrolling through blogs about robotics.

You had sent a message to Data telling him where you are and telling him to come here when he was done with Spot’s check up.

It must have been half an hour at staring at the screen. You had finished the pink decorated cake and your tea was almost done as well.

With achy eyes you peer up and look around the room.

There seems to be the same people albeit a couple new faces.

In on corner to your right is a mother with her child who you hadn’t noticed, an older person sits clicking on old keyboard laptop and a new younger man sits waiting next to the giant window overlooking the alleyway.

Even though this man is far away you can tell that he’s a good looking man. Said person wears a short sleeve patterned button down reminiscent of the 1990’s, the blues stripes bold against the cottage core interior of the café. The shirt is tucked into some brown slacks, that are rolled up at the bottom and held up by a shiny black belt. Block coloured peek out from his trousers and equally shiny black shoes.

If you would try to pull off such a vintage outfit but all you ever wear is your work uniform or oversized hoodies, making you look like a in debt college student. Right now you look like a in debt college student in your Starfleet branded hoodie and shorts that are comfy but childish in colour scheme.

‘I bet this café attracts all the fashionable types.’ You think sipping the last of your tea only to spit out in surprise.

The man in the retro shirt turns around only to reveal a very familiar yellow and silver visor.

‘Fuck, he’s even more good looking!’ your mind becomes scrambled, ‘Was he always there? Does he know I’m here? Should I go over and say hi?’

Your eyes stay on Geordi as he keeps on peering out of the big window, him looking like he’s waiting for someone.

‘Maybe he’s waiting for Data?’ it’s a logical assumption that Data told him to meet him in the café you are in. A check up for a cat doesn’t take that long right?

 You leave you cup and plate on you table and start to edge your way over to the handsome man.

You’re not sure if what you’re doing is right but you step next to his table, with a big smile on your face and hand raised up in a too enthusiastic wave.

‘Geordi La Forge, right?

Geordi’s snaps up to yours, his face looks slightly confused in that puppy kid of way.

‘Sorry, I’m (y/n), Data’s friend.’ you stop waving so you don’t look so odd, ‘Um, I saw you here and wanted to say that Data will be coming here after Spot’s vet appointment. Sooooo, if you want to join, my table is free.’

Whilst you happily talk Geordi’s face morphs into a sweet smile. You quickly look down to his two person table to see to sets of cups and two slices of heart themed cupcakes, clearly for another half.

‘Though you don’t have too if you have plans.’

‘He talks about you a lot.’ Geordi declares, ‘Too much sometimes.’

‘Well I am a brilliant person.’ you lean against the window trying to look cool but the hoodie you drown in just makes you look dishevelled.

There is an awkward pause before you just stop leaning as start walking away.

‘I see you might be busy, so I’m over here-‘ you point over to your table, ‘-yeah.’

With some more muttered pleasantries you shuffle back to your table hoping tha he doesn’t find you too weird. With you bum on the seat you wave you hand at the holo screen unlocking it from it’s sleeping state before quickly looking up to catch Geordi looking at you.

With another odd wave you hunch down and resume reading an article cybernetic enhancements in the medical field but every ten minutes or so you have to look up at Geordi.

One time you looked up he was staring out the window, another time he was stirring his drink like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and now you’re looking at him rapidly typing out something on a communicator.

With your tea and cake devoured you quickly stand up to go downstairs to order some more tea. You look around and hope that no one takes your table, the tope floor is pretty empty now, and the holo screen on the table is still on.

It takes about five minutes but you bound up the stairs with not one but two cups of tea.

Hurried you head over to Geordi’s table and slide him one of you cups, making the man look up to you with another look of confusion.

‘Hot tea turned cold isn’t the best so I got you another cup.’ and with another small wave you walk back your table.

‘Smooth (y/n), he’s going to like me now!’ a Cheshire cat grin blooms as you take a sip of you drink.

As you fangirl/fanboy over your ‘move’ a person slides in the seat opposite you.

 ‘Is it still ok to sit.’ Geordi asks holding his cup of tea.

‘Well you’re technically already sitting down.’ you turn of the holo screen with your hand, ‘But you can stay, if that’s what you’re asking.’

You look at Geordi, gaze unchanged, confidence oozing out of you.

‘I’d imagine that Data will be here soon.’ you lean forward a bit, ‘So we should acquaint each other before he does.’

‘I guess you already know who I am. I know who you are… thank you for the tea by the way.’

‘I don’t want to be a nosy so and so but why were you alone.’ You ask hoping you don’t sound rude.

‘I can ask the same thing to you.’ He quips back.

‘Had nothing to do and went exploring, found thing place. You?’ you press.

‘I got stood up.’ He plainly puts it, ‘Was chatting to someone in engineering and yeah…’

Geordi looks deflated as he gulps his drink.

‘Which dick stood you up, I can set my robot on them.’ he looks up at you with a bright smile.

‘You have a robot?’

‘It’s my thing.’

Another pause o silence happens before Geordi speaks.

‘Lieutenant James Sibell.’ as he says the name a disgusted scoff comes from you lips, your face distorted in disgusted.

‘That bastard man!’ you hand fly up in a comical rage, ‘Good job you have me to keep you company.’

Geordi laughs at your words, a small pit of joy growing in his heart, he must tell Data later that he has a good friend in you and that he should have introduced you two sooner.

.

.

Data step up the stairs of the café, spot in her cat carrier, and a slice of cake.

He only bought the cake out of curiosity, the cake having rainbow icing and little sugar heart shaped sweets on top.

When he gets to the top he automatically scans the room. His eyes land on a table near the back, his two closets friends chatting together, both sitting rather close.

.

.

.

i have no clue if this is good. it’s long-ish but that doesn't necessarily equate to it being the best.

please tell me if it’s good or not.

[dancedance-resolution]

here's my design for goty 2022 (in an au where copyright isn't an issue)

FACTS

name: nia mahdi

age: 11

ethnicity: persian

religion: muslim

family: nia is an only child. she was born in charlottesville, va, after parents immigrated there from iran.

notes: nia is autistic and trans <3

DOLL

face mold: nia would get a new face mold that is designed based on ethnically persian features

skin tone: 25 ("tan skin with warm neutral undertones")

eye color: dark brown

freckles: yes

hair cut: wavy, very long (kanani length)

hair color: dark brown

meet outfit: a trans pride flag colored scrunchy for her hair, a light blue zip-up sweatshirt that says "i am proud to be autistic" on the back, this t-shirt (a light blue t-shirt with fan art of dreamer with a trans pride flag cape) beneath that sweatshirt, these shorts (pastel plaid knee-length shorts), lindsey's striped leggings beneath those shorts, and sperry shoes

meet accessories: bright purple ear defenders, an AAC tablet, a doll-sized version of the 2021 dc pride comic book, this pink kryptonite chewelry

BOOK 1

(these books would have three authors - me, an author who is muslim and a second generation immigrant, and an author who is a trans woman of color. the reason for three authors is so that we can tell nia's story authentically - i'm autistic and have autism gender like nia, the second author is muslim and an immigrant like nia, and the third author is specifically a trans woman of color like nia.)

in chapter 1 we'll briefly go over this background information:

nia came out to her parents as trans on the car ride home from the last day of first grade. she chose the name "nia" because she wanted to name herself after nia nal, a character on her favorite show (supergirl) because nia nal is trans like she is, nia nal is an alien (and nia mahdi oftentimes feels like an alien around other humans), and nia nal is a really cool superhero! (unspoken: nia nal is nia mahdi's special interest.)

it took nia mahdi's parents a little bit of time to wrap their heads around her truth, but soon, they fully accepted nia for who she is.

that summer, her parents informed nia's school of her correct name, pronouns, and gender. and nia started growing out her hair, and she's never cut it since! nia loves her long hair.

when nia started second grade, nia's classmates sometimes accidentally called her by the wrong name and pronouns, but they always apologized and corrected themselves when nia pointed out their mistake. a few kids were confused, but once nia explained that she knows she's a girl just as well as you know you're a boy/girl, they all understood and accepted her :)

now onto the real content of the first book, which takes place from september to december:

nia's just started sixth grade at a new middle school. it's really loud, big, and hard. but she has a friend, ender. ender doesn't speak english well (he moved to america from turkey just last year), but that's okay because nia has trouble speaking sometimes too.

one day, nia's parents take her to a doctor, and she has to answer a lot of questions and take a lot of tests.

a few weeks later, nia's parents sit her down and tell her that she has been diagnosed with autism.

nia researches autism and feels very relieved and validated. (unspoken: autism becomes one of nia's special interests.)

at school, nia gets some cool accomodations: she's allowed to wear ear defenders at lunch and in the hallways, she can keep a tablet in her backpack to use for AAC when necessary, and she can use the school's sensory break room when necessary.

one time, nia gets very upset after receiving a "bad grade" on a reading test. a few of the questions asked her to identify characters' emotions, motivations, etc., and nia wants to explain to her teacher that her autism makes "emotional reading between the lines" hard for her. but she's so upset that her mouth isn't working properly, so she uses her AAC to talk to the teacher.

after that, one of nia's classmates makes a rude comment about her AAC. speaking through her AAC, nia explains to him why she uses her AAC. she stands up for herself.

in her free time, nia keeps researching autism and disability justice advocacy. she begins to think that her friend ender might be autistic too - he has a lot of autistic traits, and she's never felt alien around him in the way she does around most people.

she tells ender about her theory. ender says he's not sure whether or not he thinks he's autistic. but he does know that the hallways are far too loud, and he would like to be able to wear ear defenders like nia. so nia lends ender her spare pair of ear defenders.

the next day at lunch, ender gives nia back her ear defenders and reveals that he got in trouble for wearing in the hallway. the teacher thought he was wearing headphones and listening to music (which isn't allowed), and ender couldn't remember the english words to explain to her that they were just to shield him from the noise.

nia wants to help ender be able to wear defenders. she schedules a meeting with the guidance counselor. together, she and ender explain to the guidance counselor that ender just wants to wear ear defenders in the loud hallways. the counselor says that ender can't do that since he doesn't have an official accommodations letter.

nia leaves the office very upset. she knows from her research that autism diagnoses are very expensive and hard to get. she wants to find a way to get ender this accommodation without an official letter.

so nia makes a plan: she and ender write a long essay explaining why ender should be allowed to wear ear defenders.

they present the essay to the counselor, and she's convinced by their arguement. ender is now allowed to wear ear defenders in the hallway :)

to celebrate their victory, nia buys ender bright purple ear defenders (the same type she has) so that they can match :)

and that's the end of book 1

BOOK 2

book 2 takes place from january to march

nia goes on puberty blockers. nia's glad that she won't have to go through male puberty, but she also feels weird about it. nia is very excited to start wearing a hijab, and her mom says that she can start wearing a hijab when she goes through puberty and transitions from being a girl to being a woman. so, if nia isn't going through puberty now, when will she get to start wearing a hijab?

nia talks to ender about her problem. ender suggests that she should talk to her mom about it.

nia talks to her mom about her concerns. nia's mom explains that the shift from girl to woman involves more than just her body changing: it involves growth, strength of spirit, and learning about oneself. nia's mom will be able to tell when she's ready to start wearing the hijab, even if nia isn't going through puberty. nia feels a lot better now.

the next day at lunch, nia tells ender the good news. he is very happy for her. he then tells nia that he's scared of puberty too. he asks nia how she knew she was a girl, and nia explains how it was this strong internal feeling. ender reveals that he feels like he's not a boy or a girl. he's afraid that that means he's weird or broken. nia explains that he's not weird or broken - some people are non-binary, which means that they're not fully a boy or fully a girl. ender really likes that word. nia also tells ender that some non-binary like to use the gender-neutral pronouns "they/them" and asks ender if he would like her to start using those pronouns for him. ender says that he's not sure. he likes he/him pronouns, he thinks, at least for now. nia smiles and tells him that she's proud of him.

the spring dance is in march. nia and her mom go shopping for an oufit. at first, nia drifts towards the pretty dresses. she loves how they look and feels great in them, but she wants to try on suits too. she feels a little bit insecure when she realizes that she loves how she looks in the suit too. (plus, this navy suit will go better with her purple ear defenders than the colorful dresses will.) she's scared that her classmates will think she's not a "real girl" if she comes to the dance in a suit, but then she remembers her conversation with ender - when ender asked her how she knew she's a girl, her answer was that it was just something she knew. her gender isn't defined by her clothing preferences - she's just as much of a real girl in this suit as in those dresses. so nia buys the suit, and she feels very happy and confident.

at the dance, she finds that ender is wearing a skirt (and a tuxedo shirt and blazer). she runs up to him, and they both happy stim. they have a lot of fun dancing and snacking on cheez its together.

BOOK 3

book 3 takes place from april to june

the main plot of book 3 is going to be nia's grandmother visiting from iran for three months. nia learns a lot of new information about her family culture.

in june, to celebrate the end of the school year, nia's school has a multi-cultural night.

ender signs up to bring in some traditional turkish food and share some of the poetry his dad has written in turkish. he encourages nia to sign up for multi-cultural night too!

so nia signs up.

together, nia and her grandmother cook a ton of traditional iranian food to share at the celebration. she and her grandmother also work together to sew a special kaftan for nia.

the night of the celebration, nia dresses up in her kaftan and grabs the containers of food. as she's getting ready to leave, her father asks her to stop so he can take a picture of her. her mother says, "wait! i have one other thing for the picture!" (but spoken in faarsi). she emerges with a hijab for nia. she helps nia put on the hijab and tells nia that she's seen how nia's grown into a woman this past school year (aka, over the course of these 3 books). nia is so happy that she cries.

at the multi-cultural night, everyone loves the food and nia's kaftan and hijab. when ender sees nia's hijab, he starts happy stimming, and nia starts happy stimming too.

that's all my plans for goty 2022!

[readyourimgaines]

Age Doesn’t Mean Much

Summary: Five times the BAU remembered Reid’s younger than them plus one time they were violently reminded he’s not a child. 

Spoiler/Trigger Warning: The entire ending of the second season’s 15th episode: Revelations. 

Dr. Spencer Reid was merely 21 when SSA Jason Gideon convinced him to join the BAU. With the exception of Aaron Hotchner (who had also read the young doctor’s file) the team wasn’t sure how to feel about the inexperienced man. 

Other than giving a pointer or two to a professor lecturing on a cold case, Reid had no experience working in the field. The others figured that was why the poor kid pushed himself so hard: to prove himself. 

Right after the first case, Elle stopped talking down to him. Half way through the same case, Morgan decided he’d taken the doctor under his wing. JJ was the first of Hotch’s subordinates to warm up to Reid. Their friendship was an awkward one for a couple of days. To an outsider, it looked as though a childhood friend was trying to help the other through a bout of amnesia. 

Though the team never again questioned Reid’s ability on the field, there were times when they were suddenly reminded of Reid’s age. 

1: Trying to Balance on a Curb While Walking

Hotch lost count of how many times Jack would walk on the curb, one foot in the front of the other, both arms outstretched for extra balance. Almost always, one of Jack’s hands would be firmly holding one of his father’s. SSA Hotchner almost laughed at himself when he nearly held Reid’s hand on instinct. 

Reid and Hotch were walking alone to get lunch for the unit while between cases back home. They’d been walking side-by-side while Reid babbled happily about the last book he finished. Hotch contently listened, his mind occasionally wondering. 

Hotch’s mind was pulled back to reality from one of its wonderings when his hand had brushed against Reid’s. The doctor’s hand quickly formed into a fist as he concentrated on his balance, his lips pressed tightly together. While Jack had his arms stretched straight out, Reid held his at more of a slant. 

One thing Hotch quickly noticed, and was surprised the scientifically minded doctor missed, was that Reid’s ever present satchel was throwing him off balance. 

“Reid.”

“Hm?”

“Let me hold onto your bag.” Hotch held his hand out to take the leather bag.

“Why?” Reid’s foot touched down on the road as he lost balance now that he was doing more with his brain than focussing on his footing. 

“It's a hypothesis.” Hotch smirked but Reid missed it, not taking his eyes off his sneakers. 

Carefully, as not to fall, Reid removed his satchel and held it out, blindly, for Hotch to take. The older agent held it by the shorted of the two handles as he continued to walk alongside Reid. 

Hotch chuckled to himself upon seeing the look on Reid’s face. The young doctor was looking at his feet, almost in awe. He hadn’t needed to touch down since Hotch took the bag half a block back. 

Once he walked two blocks on the curb- without losing balance- Reid was content and took his bag back, putting it back over his shoulder so the pouch of it bounced against the opposite hip.

“Did you know the position of an object’s center of gravity affects its stability? The higher the center of gravity is, the easier it is for the object to fall. That’s why a small boat- like a kayak or canoe- is less likely to tip if the occupants are seated lower in the boat. 

“Textbooks usually demonstrate this with either a bus and or two cars of different heights and lengths…” 

2: Mismatched Socks

One of the first things Emily Prentiss noticed about Reid were his mismatched socks. Of course, the other BAU members noticed it too, but they never questioned it. It’s just part of who Reid was. Curiosity got the better of SSA Prentiss. 

“Reid?” 

The doctor looked up from his case file. “Yeah?”

“Why do you never wear matched socks?” She looked down at Reid’s ankles and he followed her gaze. One lavender sock, one pink with blue stripes. 

“My uh- When I was a kid, my mom would tell me it was bad luck to wear matching socks.” Reid pulled the lavender sock back up to where it should be. 

“That doesn’t sound like something that could be scientifically verified.” A slight smirk spread across Emily’s face. 

Reid huffed slightly. “The night I was taken by Tobias… It was the first time I wore matching socks in five years. Burgundy with orange stripes.” Reid blinked heavily, clenching his eyes shut. “I don’t wear socks if they match.” He paused again. “Besides, matching socks are boring. Some people say socks should be a shade darker than their pants or a shade lighter than the shoes- Hotch does the former.

“Also, 82% of men in my age bracket wear mismatched socks at least once a week because we keep losing one of a pair. And a family of four- on average- loses 60 socks a year.” 

3: Playing With Jell-O

Reid loved Jell-O. No-one was really sure why, but didn’t ask, either. Everyone had their favorite dessert, so maybe Jell-O was just his? He liked cake, sure, but he didn’t eat it nearly as often as he ate Jell-O. 

On jet rides back home, no-one ever knew what conversations were bound to come up. This week’s was what the team was going to do with a three day weekend and morphed into best desserts. 

“What about you, Reid?” Prentiss drew Reid from his train of thought.

“Hm?”

“You like Jell-O, don’t you, Pretty Boy?” Morgan checked.

“Yeah.”

“Not even Henry likes Jell-O,” JJ smiled at the thought of her young son. 

“It doesn’t have much of a taste,” Rossi added. 

“I think that’s part of why I like it, actually.” Reid fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. 

“Because it tastes like watered down Kool-Aid?” Rossi frowned.

“Yeah. All the other foods are so strong and Jell-O’s not. It’s cool, but not cold, and it’s fun to play with.”

A ghost of a smile danced across Hotch’s face. “Jack likes playing with it. He gets sad when I don’t buy finger Jell-O on accident.” 

“That’s the only kind I buy.” Reid nodded. “The red is my least favorite- It takes like Red 40.” 

“What is your favorite kind, then?” Rossi couldn’t help but ask. 

“Pineapple. Minimal amounts of dyes and you can see through it.”

“No numbers about Jell-O?” Prentiss challenged with a grin.

JJ, Hotch, and Morgan all smiled while Rossi teasily groaned. The groan got a smile from Reid too. 

“Actually, in the US, the Jell-O brand is recognized- by name and product- by 99% of the populous.” Spencer chortled. “That means that if you got a group of 100 people together, only one person would have no idea what Jell-O is.”  

4: Doodles on Everything

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t always carry his leather satchel with him. Hotch more or less ordered him to get a notebook he could keep in a pocket. The unit chief didn’t care if Reid drew on his arms. The unit chief cared when Reid jotted down notions or points for the running case.

Garcia loved Reid’s little doodles and had a decently sized collection. She referred to him as a “chronic doodler”. The analysis tech found it almost funny that someone as brilliant and talented as Reid had so little artistic skill outside of his geographic profiling maps. 

Reid knew full well that Garcia collected his doodles. After a particularly stressful case- which always resulted in more doodles, Reid would sign and dare the flip book page before tearing it out and leaving it in Garcia’s bunker. 

There were times when Reid would doodle on his arm rather than the flip book simple because it was more convenient. That didn’t mean Garcia didn’t see those ones. No, no, no. These ones, Reid would take pictures of and send to Garcia when a case was getting to her.

Morgan talked to Garcia more than anyone else on a case. Whether or not Penelope voiced her unease, Morgan- ever the profiler- could tell. He’d have Reid a certain look and the younger man would send Garcia texts of his doodles- evenly spaced- throughout the case. If he did the math and found he didn’t have enough, nothing stopped him from drawing a couple more. 

Hotch and Gideon thought of the times their sons would draw a picture or make them a card when they had a bad day at work. Morgan was reminded of the beaded bracelets his sisters used to make him when he was injured in football or his team lost a game. 

The one hitch with their theory? Garcia was the one person who got to keep the drawings. Not even Reid kept them. She knew this fact and gloated about it to the team whenever she got a new one. All of her computer screens in her bunker had a different doodle as the screen saver. 

5: Dependent on the Team

For the most part, the BAU stuck to themselves after hours if they weren’t going out for drinks. Reid was the one exception and the rest of the team found they didn’t mind. 

JJ was the first one he texted. The message was a simple worded question: How can you tell the difference between romantic feelings and transference? The gentle blonde took it upon herself to explain to the doctor that he’d know when he was in love because how being near the person or even just thinking about them made him feel. 

The media liaison assumed she’d never really see the person Reid texted her about that Sunday evening. She was a little less than shocked to see the light in the young doctor’s eyes shift when Morgan wandered into the bullpen Monday morning.  

A month passed before JJ got a message along the lines of the one she was expecting: Reid asking for advice on how to ask someone out. How to better the wording, how to keep from straying off the point. 

The next day, he texted Elle about flowers: I have a date next weekend. Are flowers too forward?

Elle smiled down at her phone, at Reid’s innocence. She told him that flowers were a nice and caring gesture, but that he’d want to be careful with what flowers he got because different flowers sent different messages. 

This was the first of this Reid was hearing. He thanked Elle and thought more. Hotch was married. He must know a decent amount about flowers and such romantic ideas, right? So he texted Hotch: Do you know anything about flower symbolism? Elle says flowers have different messages to them.

Hotch chuckled, getting Haley’s attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“Do you remember Dr. Spencer Reid?” Hotch looked at the blonde. 

“He’s the shy, Autistic boy, right?” Haley glanced up from feeding Jack.

“Yeah. He’s nervous about an upcoming date and texted to see if I know anything about flowers.” Hotch’s thumb was dancing across the flip-phone’s buttons.

“What are you telling him?”

“That roses have the highest chance of getting him in his date’s bed. Pink camellias and carnations are signs of love and longing; ivy means friendship.” Hotch typed this by naming the flowers, placing an equal sign, and the meaning. 

“Do you know who his date is?”

“Not as far as Reid and his date are concerned.”

So yes, he did.

Friday morning- the morning before his date- Reid sat by himself on the jet ride home, trying to read a book he brought. He couldn’t focus on it for the life of him. He’d been staring at the same page for then minutes. He jumped a little when Gideon sat down across from him.

“What has you so nervous?”

“Noth-” Reid stopped short. That wasn’t the right word; the date meant everything to him. “I uh… I have a date tomorrow evening and I’m worried, I guess. I’ve never actually been on a date, but I really like this person.”

“Okay. So what about it has you worked up?” Gideon’s eyes were gentle and fatherly.

Reid thought about how to answer the question. “We’ve been friends for a while and I don’t- I don’t want to mess up so badly that he doesn’t want to be friends-” Reid froze, his eyes wide. “G-Gideon, I-”

“There’s nothing wrong.” The older man squeezed the younger’s shoulder. “If your friend know you as well as you know him, I think it’s safe to say he’s not too worried about the friendship failing. Sometimes, Reid, you have to take a leap of faith.”

+One: “I choose...Aaron Hotchner.”

“Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Click. “Choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

Click. “Choose.”

“I...I choose...Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4, “Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.” 

Bang. Raphael took a bullet from Tobais’ pocket and held it up, showing it to Reid. “For God’s will.”

Morgan’s heart shattered at seeing his boyfriend crouched over the body of his captor and tormentor. The side of Reid’s head was coated in dry blood, he was avoiding putting weight on his sock-less foot.

Reid limped his way over to Hotch and hesitantly put a hand on his superior’s arm as though he wasn’t sure the man was there. The young man quickly and tightly hugged Hotch.

“I knew you’d understand.”

JJ was the next to hug Reid, the doctor losing his balance slightly and the liaison easily caught him. 

“I am so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The second JJ let go of Reid, Morgan stepped forward and pulled Reid into as tight of a hug as he dared. He needed to feel his boyfriend in his arms but he’d seen the same video as everyone else and didn’t want to hurt him more. 

Prentiss was shocked and looked at JJ with wide eyes when Morgan kissed Reid and the doctor eagerly reciprocated. The blonde just smiled.

*****

@stxrryspencer​ @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ @the-need-for-reid-speed​ 

[mythgirlimagines]

After seeing the glowing reputation of the Things That Never Happened talentswaps by the fellow Anons, I decided to try this again! Introducing the hybrid setter-spiker-libero superstar and the Former Ultimate Volleyball Player, Myth!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

With two older siblings who had past experience with volleyball, Myth has been taught by her sisters ever since she was little. The constant practice with her older sisters made her a practical powerhouse, by the time she made it to middle school. Her passion for volleyball, despite her diminutive height, drove her to attend Hatohane Girl’s Academy, a high school famous for their prestigious powerhouse of a volleyball team. Within days of attending the club, she proved herself to be a formidable ally and an even more formidable enemy, for she is able to assimilate herself into just about any position on the court, even positions that require height (for she has one of the most impressive verticals, this side of the academy). Her enemies consider her a “wild card”, for she is utterly unpredictable in her gameplay, and you better believe that she wears her title on her sleeve. In fact, she once played against an entire team, while her other teammates are out sick, and she managed to wipe the floor with them. This action alone is what catapulted her into stardom and granted her a spot at Hope’s Peak Academy. In her adult years, she’s working hard at a top-tier professional girl’s team, known as the Sunset Pegasi. But she is currently taking some time off to chaperone this year’s Ultimates and Jr. Ultimates.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Carpenter

Wyre has been Myth’s volleyball teammate ever since middle school (as a wing spiker), and has been her best friend for even longer, thanks to their similar competitive natures, despite Wyre’s wild and expressive personality clashing heavily against Myth’s stoic and disciplined personality. The natural muscles they got from working at thejr father’s carpentry shop really made them a valuable asset in just about any sport they put their mind to, with volleyball being a major favorite of theirs. Imagine Myth and Wyre’s mutual elation, when they both got accepted into Hope’s Peak. Wyre was so elated, that they carved a large wooden sculpture of the two of them holding hands in victory.

Outfit: A purple stripe in her hair that matches Myth, protective orange goggles, an orange and brown flannel shirt, a dark brown leather tool-belt, blue jeans, off-white socks, brown steel-toed boots.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Screenwriter

Famous for screenwriting in both action media and horror media, Scar originally wanted to be an actress, but her natural stage fright meant that she had to settle for behind-the-scenes work. Luckily for her, she proved to be excellent at both sketching out action/horror scenes and writing the very scene out, making her the mastermind behind several recent blockbuster movies. In an attempt to “fake it until she makes it”, Scar tries to project the personality of her favorite archetypes: “The Dark Lord of Script”. But as Myth very quickly figured out, she’s not doing a particularly good job of it, for when she shows concern for her conmates (which is all the time, by the way), her true personality resurfaces.

Outfit: A black and white striped sweater, a purple and red vampire cape, a matching long skirt, stockings, boots and gloves from original design.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Linguist

As a child, Fusion showed a surprising aptitude and interest in the countries of the world, with their languages and their food being what he mainly specializes in. Fusion’s parents quickly signed him up for language courses, and time after time, Fusion picked up the languages left and right. As of his acceptance, Fusion can speak ten languages on a conversational level, and can read and write in twice as many languages. Fusion is currently running a foreign language tutoring business, and even holds seminars at the Kibo-Con for the other Ultimates. Myth thinks that Fusion’s seminars would be a valuable asset, for when she’s playing against international teams, so her attendance is perfect.

Outfit: A grey bomber jacket with country flags lining his sleeves, black fingerless gloves, red and white sneakers, glasses, undershirt and pants from his original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Hiker

Famous for besting mountains many people claim to be impossible, the numerous selfies that Fusion II takes of her travels all prove her claims that she bested the tallest of mountains, all with the signature smirk on her face. But despite the confidence and charisma she carries in her selfies, she actually has a massive nerdy side that she would much rather keep hidden. Myth found it confusing on how two Anons could share the same name, but based on the father-daughter behavior that occurs between the two Fusions, Myth has a hypothesis made. That being said, Myth shows respect for her kohai, and will always be there to boost up Fusion II’s ego, whenever she’s feeling down.

Outfit: Diamond-crusted sunglasses, a light blue parka with white fluff and matching winter gloves, brown cargo pants, matching steel-toed boots.

Just Anon, Ultimate Tree Climber

Originally climbing trees to escape teachers and other bothersome individuals, Janon was eventually nicknamed “Chameleon”, for his extraordinary skills in climbing up and camouflaging himself in the trees. While Myth normally has an inhuman amount of patience regarding more defiant and disrespectful underclassmen, Janon’s blatant disrespect towards his all his senpais (apart from the gardener), makes her want to spike a volleyball directly into his face. But upon seeing Janon interact with and actually showing affection and respect towards his kohais, Myth gained a newfound respect for Janon, that she never thought she would gain. If only Janon could start respecting his senpais.

Outfit: A camo-colored army helmet and matching hoodie, brown pants and black boots.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Sprinter

With a bombastic, loud, and flashy appearance and the personality to match, it’s very hard to miss the appearance of Sparkle, when she is on the racing track. Sparkle is particularly known across the internet for sprinting in ridiculous costumes, in order to assist charities across the world. Myth was happy, upon finding out that she would be accompanied in her chaperoning by a fellow athlete, even if their personalities are like oil and water. They regularly meet in the Kibo-Con gym to exercise, while exchanging fitness plans and mutually fangirling over each other, for they’ve both seen each other‘s competitions, and are impressed by what they’ve seen from each other. 

Outfit: Hair in a bob being held by a red and white headband, a red and white sparkling tank-top with her name on the front and blue sparkly shorts, long white socks, and shoes that match her tank-top, a black and white checkered flag slung over her shoulders like a cape.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Gardener, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Liar

Famous for managing one of the largest and most breathtakingly gorgeous botanical masterpieces ever known to man, Egg was introduced to Myth as an only child. But what Myth doesn’t know, is that, in interviews, Egg pulls the classic “twin-switch” trick and has their twin Wet Sock masquerade as them, while blowing up their reputation with lies of commission and omission. Even in their stay at the Kibo-Con, the duo regularly intact the twin switch to such an extent that most Anons didn’t even know of Wet Sock’s existence (apart from Eldritch, but nobody believes him, because, well, he’s Eldritch), and passing off the times Wet Sock’s been seen out of costume as morning-induced delirium.

Outfit: A straw hat, a yellow and green flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans with dirty knees and green gloves and matching rain boots

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Finder

After their classmates realized that Curious had an excellent eye for details and a helpful and altruistic spirit, they quickly used Curious like their personal finder for lost objects. Eventually, Curious got paid to help people from all around their hometown find lost objects, pets, and even people. Myth has quite the watchful eye, so she barely, if ever, needs Curious’s help in finding objects that she happened to misplace. But she is willing to misplace objects on purpose, if it means getting a smile and a look of pride and accomplishment on the face of her kohai. Curious reminds Myth of some of her kohais: desperate for praise and lives for validation. 

Outfit: A black gakuran with a magnified glass clipped to their belt and a matching hat and shoes.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Sharpshooter

With an unparalleled bullseye streak and temper issues of an equally unparalleled caliber, Anon Nerd is a name to be feared in competitions, and for good reasons, considering Nerd’s volcanic temper and sheer skill at shooting targets despite that. If someone even slightly wrongs him, they risk getting shot with one of his prized rifles. Considering Myth’s stoic and composed attitude and Nerd being the complete opposite, one would think that they would never get along. But, shockingly enough, Nerd considers Myth to be the only one (apart from the other Brain Cells), to not be a complete and utter dolt. They regularly like testing their accuracy in each other’s sports, with Myth faring better at shooting.

Outfit: A brown and dark green bomber jacket, red tinted sunglasses, blue jeans, brown sneakers, a red rifle strapped to his back.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Tattoo Artist

Growing up in one of the seediest underground communities, rife with scum and villainy, Eldritch is famed all around town for his skill in tattooing the people of his town with anti-government and pro-anarchy tattoos on visible parts of their body, as protest to the government that put them in this horrible condition in the first place. Eldritch can’t trust anybody who doesn’t have a special tattoo inked by Eldritch himself, up to and included his own conmates. He especially can’t trust Myth and her stoic and unpredictable demeanor. The thought of one of her kohais being scared of her brings Myth to internal tears. Myth is currently attempted (unsuccessful) senpai-kohai trust exercises.

Outfit: Hair being completely shaved on the right side, black eyeshadow, a black sleeveless hoodie that shows off his various anti-government tattoos, blue jeans and knee-high black boots.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Confidant

Known around her school as the most trustworthy girl her schoolmates know, Dream organized a secret room in the school, in case any of her classmates need to talk about their secrets and vent to an optimistic and loving role model figure. Ever since Dream met Myth, her idol in athletics, she knew that her senpai had common ground with her, for they both share a passion for volleyball and show endless support to each other. Besides, Dream always wanted to crack the tough nut and unpredictable beast that is the Iron Wall of Hatohane. Surely, someone as stoic and unmovable as Myth must have some secrets and she’ll always be there to support her senpai in a rough patch.

Outfit: A dark grey ski cap with heart pins on it, a pink and grey hoodie over a black shirt with a red heart on the front, shorts, socks and shoes from her original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Surfer

As the daughter of two parents who own the local beach house, Iris has been living by the ocean ever since she was little, and she has efficiently mastered the art of catching the biggest and most gnarly of waves, earning her the attention of entire fleets of preteen ladies, which is also helped by her adorable personality and her adoration of marine biology. Iris’s passionate and optimistic attitude reminds Myth of some of her younger kohais and for that reason, Myth attached herself to the cheery water-lover. Being a fellow athlete helps matters. Myth also introduced Iris to beach volleyball, and Iris was more or less a complete natural. Needless to say, Myth was impressed at her kohai taking on her craft.

Outfit: Hair tied into rings, pink swim goggles, a pink swimsuit top, a galaxy printed sarong around a matching pink swimsuit bottom, galaxy printed flipflops.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Emergency Planner

As the daughter of only the biggest CEOs in the entire nation, Purple learned of the dangers that many people in the large and cramped offices face on a daily basis. From there, Purple knew that she had to take matters into her own hands, and begin stocking up and preparing for every work emergency under the sun, whether that’ll be economic or physical. These duties instilled her with a timid attitude and a natural motherly instinct, and of course, that’ll extend to her conmates and chaperones. Every time Myth gets injuries on or off the court, Purple would always be right behind her, with her medical kit in tow, as well as a healthy (if needlessly verbose) reminder to not overwork herself. 

Outfit: An off-white hard hat, a black safety vest over a purple sweater, a black and white striped skirt with a fully-stocked emergency belt, purple stockings, black boots.

This series would center around everyone getting to know the stoic iron wall, who secretly has a soft spot for all of her dorky kohai.

——————————————————-

PERSONALITY

Volleyball!Myth is known by her opponents as an utterly unpredictable beast, but to her teammates, she is heavily supportive and kind-hearted, despite her quiet and stoic demeanor, which clashes heavily against her more loud and flashy appearance. She has a particular soft spot for her kohais, and loves it when people show respect and look up to her. In a height-dominant sport like volleyball, Volleyball!Myth used to have hangups regarding her height, but constant support from her family and middle school teammates gave her the much-needed confidence boost to strut onto the court in all of her 5 FT 3 IN glory. Volleyball!Myth is surprisingly hard on herself, for she spends practically all of her time practicing, claiming that she still has room for improvement and needs to push herself even harder. Only her childhood friend Carpenter!Wyre can convince her to chill out and take a break for once. 

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APPEARANCE

Volleyball!Myth wears her natural brown hair in a ponytail with a purple skunk stripe down the middle and also wears black sports glasses. Volleyball!Myth simply wears the uniform of the Sunset Pegasi, which consists of the following: a blue jacket over an orange jersey with a yellow sun design and a big number “6” on the front, shorts that match her jersey and red shoes with white soles and laces.

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Luckily, I was able to use all of my Haikyuu knowledge to help write Myth. In Haikyuu terms, Myth is like a mix between Nishinoya, Aone, Ushijima and Tendou (with Hinata’s height and vertical). I hope that you like this swap, and I’d love to hear what the others think of it!

-Fusion Anon

[criticizing-blogger]

Fudge

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: cursing, gore

Word count: 3423

In a small, snowy town of Minnesota, a black Chevy impala drives into a motel parking lot and settles into an empty spot up front. Two men, brothers, stepped out. The driver was a shorter man with a crew cut style;  his hair a straight, dark blond, matching his smooth forehead to his strong cheekbones and chiseled jawline. His eyes were hues of a forest, an earthy green that revives grass from the harsh winter. His stature is short, a brown shirt covered with a black and red flannel and that covered by a brown, leather jacket as his pants were blue going over his brown boots.

The passenger was tall, taller than his brother. His hair was shaggy brown and long, shoulder length to be exact but brought wonders to his features. The man’s eyes were the softest of brown, infused with a deep green as if he held a forest inside them. He wore a blue and white flannel with a grey, denim jacket. Pants were a light blue and like the other man, they, too, covered his dark brown boots.

The two looked at each other before walking into the motel. The bell on the entrance door jingled signaling the employees that customers were walking in. A plump, ederly woman who stood behind the check-in counter smiled and greeted them. “Welcome. Bed for one?”

“N-no...we’re not….we’re not together.” The taller man of the two stuttered.

“It’s okay sweetie. No need to be ashamed. We don’t judge here.” .

“Yeah, no need to be ashamed, honey.” The short man spoke as he spanked the taller man, grinning in amusement.

He gave his brother a look of annoyance. She gave them 2 sets of keys and he grabbed one before walking off.

“He's something, isn't he?” He winked and walked away with his key. 

The brothers walk out of the building and towards their shared room. Walking in, the walls are a dark, plain green with brown wood trims and the flooring white carpet. By the door to the room was a mahogany desk with a small, black desk lamp on top, a painting of a forest hung above. A dresser, the same color as the desk, stood against the wall with a small green dining table and matching chairs beside it. Across the table on the other side of the room were two separate beds with an end table in between and a large lamp on top. On the far side of the room across the entryway stood a door to the small bathroom. 

The bathroom, on the other hand, consists of a small, white sink on a grained counter top, the sink cabinet matching the dresser. A white toilet sat on the black and white tile floor, towels neatly folded on a silver rack above.  And next to the toilet was an off colored white bathtub with a few unknowable light brown stains on the sides; white tiles stuck to the walls and a silver showerhead attached above.  The bathroom walls are beige.

Dean slams the door shut and drops his bag onto the bed closest to the entry. He rummages through the bag grabbing out a black and white suit and a gun. Sam does the same before walking into the bathroom to change as his brother changes in the main room.

 “Witnesses first?” Sam shouts.

“You can question witnesses,” Dean spoke, fully decked out in his suit as Sam was when he walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll check out the crime scene.” 

Both men tuck their guns into the back of their pants and the fake FBI badges in their front suit jacket pockets. The same routine they do in almost every case. With their feet covered by white socks with black dress shoes, guns and badges ready, they headed out the door and to the first crime scene.

The small parking lot of the only hardware store in town, had attracted plenty of locals who stood behind yellow tape and two police officers at each end keeping them in line. Police cars and ambulances swarmed the outside, officers questioning witnesses all the while the EMTs checked for injuries. Despite the lot being small, Sam and Dean were able to maneuver around everyone. They found the sheriff talking to the owner of the store. 

“Excuse us, sheriff.” Dean spoke causing the man to look up from his phone.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, putting his device away.

They pulled out their badges from their front pockets flipping them open. “I’m Agent Page and my partner here is Agent Young. Can we ask what happened here?”

The sheriff squints his eyes at the fake I.D.s and sighs. “According to crazy Doreen-” pointing a finger at an elderly lady with an annoyed officer watching her- “there were small men walking out of the store wearing bloody clothes and holding tools stolen from inside.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Dean asked. The sheriff gestured towards the store.

Sam stayed to talk to the man while Dean went inside to check out the scene. The first thing he noticed was splatters of blood over the walls and counter where the checkout counter is. He carefully leaned over the counter so as to not get blood on his suit or mess up evidence, his eyes roamed over the area to see a man dead, multiple stab wounds to the chest. He leaned back away from the counter to look over it. Smack dead in the middle of the blood splatter was a tiny handprint; as small as a child almost. Dean took out his cell and shot a picture and sent it to Sam.

Turning away he looked down at the floor for any further evidence. The blood hadn’t gone too far as most of it laid where the man is. Less clean up he supposed even though he knew it wasn’t the time to make jokes but does it anyways. Dean kept walking throughout the store. Nothing could be spotted on the floor. Even the shelves didn’t show signs of anything supernatural. They just looked ransacked. 

But something shiny caught the man’s attention from the corner of his eye. A bell. A small, gold bell. He walks towards then bends down to pick the object up. As it sat between his thumb and index finger, he slowly inspected the object. What the hell, he thought. Unfortunately he couldn't think further as his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up from behind. Dean quickly stood and turned only to let out a sigh of relief. It was just his brother.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, noticing Dean a little tense.

Dean opened his palm and showed him the bell. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He picked it up to inspect it. As it is just a bell, nothing more. He pockets it and starts to tell Dean what the elderly lady had said. “According to Doreen, when she was walking past the store, she saw little men walking out with sets of tools covered in blood, the same for their clothes. Apparently they were wearing red and green striped pointed hats that contained bells on top, the shirt and pants matched and the shoes were pointed upwards on the end of them, also with bells on top.”

Dean looked at him like he didn’t believe any of the words that just came out of his mouth. And he doesn’t believe Sam. “So dwarves? You’re saying dwarves. Like Santa’s little elves.”

“I-uh, I mean, I guess,” he shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck realizing the elderly woman might actually be crazy just as the sheriff said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Does any other witness say anything actually useful?”

Sam shook his head. 

“So no one else saw elves? Not even Rudolph?” Dean sarcastically spoke, making it Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, let's go.”

Dean sat in his car parked in front of a small house with the window rolled down talking, no, flirting to a woman while Sam sat inside a house talking to the family of the dead employee from the hardware store. The woman, Dean learned whose name is (y/n), was trying her hardest not to laugh at his failed attempt of flirting with her. Which, he was epically failing and miserably. 

“Okay dude. Look, you’re cute and all but you are literally the walking cliche of James Dean. I’m not interested.” she spoke before walking off just as Sam was coming out of the house having heard everything and chuckling. 

“That was awesome.” he states getting into the impala.

“Oh shut up,” spoke  Dean, annoyed, as he started the car and drove off. “What did they say?”

“According to the mother, nobody told her and her husband that their son is dead. The sheriff said that the guy, whose name was Greg, died sometime around six this morning. And despite it being several hours later, they never got a call.”

“Anything useful?”

“She said that Greg had been seeing little men for about three days and shrugged it off as drinking too much. It seriously sounds like elves.”

“Yeah, no. There is no such thing as elves.” Dean spoke, obviously still not believing Sam.

“Do you remember the case with the girl that was in a coma and her dad was reading her fairy tales?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“What if this is something similar except the whole disney sugar coating? Like how the mice were turning into servants and how Cinderella was being abused by her stepmother except this time it's elves.” Sam explains.

“Unless they’re dwarves from Lord of the Rings, I’m not buying it.”

.    .    .    .

Seven in the morning rolled around when a bedside alarm goes off. A hand reaches out and slams the top of it shutting it off. Yawning, (y/n) pulls back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed and stretches. She gets up and walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to do her business. When finished, she walked back into her room changing into some black leggings with a red sweater and white socks. After changing she walked downstairs putting on her black boots lined with white fur and a dark red double lapel jacket. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.

The weather outside was freezing causing her to slightly shiver. The ground is covered with pure white snow. Her boots leave small prints in the snow from the front door to her vehicle. She quickly gets into her car and lets it run for a few minutes before turning the heat on and leaving. She was used to the cold weather as she has lived in Minnesota for most of her life so the snow didn’t bother her.

The first place she headed for was the small cafe in town where she had breakfast almost every morning. The owner, Mrs. Smith has lived here for all her life and the cafe was passed down generation to generation. (Y/n) has known her since she moved here with her parents when she was younger. Mrs. Smith used to babysit her when her parents had to work. They were close and still are to this very day. The cafe has changed interior multiple times over the years as to keep up with modern times. But the outside has never changed. 

By the time (y/n) has arrived and walked into the building, her usual breakfast consists of fried egg, bacon and cheese on a toasted bagel, a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal with sliced bananas and black coffee, in her spot she claims as hers in the far corner of the building in the booth. It was her favorite spot as she could watch customers for inspiration for her writings.

While she ate and watched people come and go, two men in black suits came in, taking a seat a couple booths away from her. One of them, the same one she talked to, well, technically watched him fail at flirting with her yesterday, caught her eye. He puts on a charming smile fixing his jacket while he says something to the other guy, who seemed amused to see him fail again, and made his way over to the woman. 

He sits across from her. “Morning.”

“Morning, Agent.” she smiles, leaning back into her seat, waiting to watch him fail for the second time.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes. I just can’t seem to take them off of you.” 

She couldn’t help but snort while she took a sip of her hot coffee.

“Boy, that coffee looks hot. Just like,” Dean started before sheepishly saying, “hi.”

That caused her to raise her eyebrows. “Okay, now that was kind of adorable.”

Dean perked up. “So, did it work?”

She stood up, her breakfast finished. “Nope.” And with that, she walked out of the cafe with an amusing grin on her face. Dean’s mouth was open with shock. He’s never been rejected by a woman in years. Especially twice. He lets out a groan before closing his mouth and sitting at the same table Sam currently sat at. Sam was grinning letting out chuckles at his older brother’s failure.

“Oh shut up.” Dean told him as he grabbed a menu covering his red face of embarrassment while he looked for food. “So, what did you find from research last night?”

Sam who already knew what he wanted to eat pulled out his laptop from his computer bag and placed it in front of him. “According to Wikipedia, in Germanic mythology, a dwarf is a human-shaped, usually bearde, entity that dwells in mountains and in the earth and is variously associated with wisdom, smithing, mining, and crafting. But in this case, it's around Christmas time so instead of it being dwarves, we could be dealing with elves.”

Dean deadpanned and looked at the man across from him. “Please for the love of Chuck, you’re joking.”

Sam shook his head.

“I thought elves were supposed to be nice. Not all murdery.”

Sam shrugs. “I think at this point from all the shit we thought wasn’t possible, this goes along with it.”

“But why would elves start killing people and taking hammers and shovels and whatever else?” Dean spoke confused as hell. 

The only thing Sam could come up with is, well, he couldn’t come up with anything as they never went through something even remotely close to this. They didn’t have much to go on since they only talked to very few people and saw one crime scene. He already knew this odd case was gonna take more than a few days unlike most of the ones they have been on. 

“Sam sighed. “I don’t know. We need to look at the other scenes and see what happened there. Like the one lumber yard.” 

Before Dean could say anything, a waitress came up and asked them if they were ready to eat. Dean ordered a large, meaty breakfast, something likely to give you a heart attack if you ate enough of it while Sam got something small and healthy so he could keep his physique up. She wrote it all down, eyes widening when Dean spoke what he wanted and giving Sam a flirty smile as she took the meus from his hand, letting their fingers touch before letting them know she’ll be back with coffee and walks away with an extra sway of her hips. Dean watched her backside as she walked away till he couldn’t no more. He looked at his brother eyebrows raising up and down and smirking at him. “She’s hot.”

He just ignored Dean’s behavior as he was used to it. 

“Dude! You should go for her.” Dean states.

“No thanks.”

“Oh come on, you need to get laid. That’s probably why you’re so tense all the time.”

Sam looked at his brother with annoyance and rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, saving lives is more important than getting some.”

“If you won’t have her, I will,” Dean grins. “What happened at the lumber yard?”

Sam pulled up the local newspaper, called Morning News written on top in huge black letters, on his laptop. Everything that had happened over the last several days here covered a good part of the first page. On the left column showed rebuilding the bridge that connects the two surrounding towns as it was falling apart and unsafe to drive on. It didn’t give an estimate of how much it would cost to demolish it, which Sam knew was gonna be expensive, but to build another was gonna be much, much more. 

On the right column was a ten-year-old boy being awarded for selling the most chocolate in time for the holidays. He won a two hundred and fifty dollar gift card and got to leave school to go to any restaurant for lunch. He remembers middle school used to do that but he was never able to because of his father, John Winchester. He would’ve liked to do normal activities growing up, and still does, but with the line of work they do, he can only do so many normal things every other human gets to do. Otherwise, nothing of importance.

And on the bottom of the page showed the weather for the next seven, cold and snowy. No sun or warmth which of course is normal with it being winter. Before Sam could get off topic in his thoughts, he read the column of the murders until it told him to turn to page nine. The whole entire page, he notices, was covered about the murders of two men but three crime scenes. Sam didn’t bother reading the few paragraphs of the scene at the hardware store. Next, it showed what may have happened at the lumber yard which apparently happened first before the hardware store as the man who chopped wood there was found with an axe in the back of his head.

“So it says here a man, Finn Huckle, was found at three am two days hunched over the tree stump. His legs hacked and an axe stuck in the back of his head as his body laid over the tree stump he was using to shop wood. It looked like a regular murder accoring to the police until they saw Finn holding a pointy hat in his hand. It looked like he tried fighting back because he had skin under his nails. But when the lab tested it, the skin didn’t belong to anybody. Like whoever, or whatever, did this, doesn’t exist. However, at the last scene, at a children's park, in the sand box was a large, gaping hole with what they know is snow, surrounding the area.”

Dean took everything his brother said in. This was definitely something they haven’t dealt with, even heard of. But Sam says he thinks its elves seem to be making more sense, oddly to him, the more they learn what's happening in town. But why elves? Weren’t they supposed to be nice and make presents for good boys and girls? This case seems to be getting odder and odder. 

“Say it is elves, did they lose their mojo or something? Maybe they ran out of alcohol. I’d be all grumpy if I ran out of alcohol and had to deal with shit ton of kids.” Dean spoke gruffly.

Sam suddenly perked up, an idea as to why, if it is elves, acting dangerous. “What if they were hit with some potion making them angry?”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. Okay, maybe it is Santa’s little helpers, or logically, it's not. This is definitely something new. Before they can confirm what they think, they would need to see the hole at the park. His thoughts were interrupted with the pretty waitress bringing their food. She gave Sam his first, again, giving him a flirty smile then gave the other man his food, looking at him. Dean winked at her as he gave her his world famous smile he uses on all the ladies causing her to scoff and roll her eyes before walking off. Sam laughed at Dean’s flabbergasted look on his face. “Rejected by two women in one day. Got to be a new record.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped Sam off before digging into his food, annoyed.

___________________________________________________

DEAN X READER TAGS:

@akshi8278

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 3.4 - The Dog’s View and the Giraffe’s View

4. CHILD OF VOLLEYBALL

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In the week before the ballgame tournament, practice for the tournament took priority over after school club activities. On Monday after school, it was the first day of team practice for Team F.

“I’m not the manager for the boys’ volleyball team. I’m just here to help out.”

“It’s totally fine! We have twenty-four people and only one manager currently. How many does boys’ volleyball have? Huh, eight? So little. One per twenty-four people and one per eight, don’t you think that’s a weird ratio? We’re going to need three managers, you know? That’s why, please be our manager.”

“Look…you haven’t listened what I said at all, have you. I don’t know how you think that logic is going to convince me.”

When he went to the gym, he immediately came across a scene of a row of four muscular boys were sitting on their heels and making supplications to one girl. The girl they were supplicating to was the second-year Suemori, who came as a helper from the girls’ volleyball team.

For today’s practice, it was arranged that the two teams would each use one half of the court. The teams were Oda’s Team F and Team B, which had the corps from the aforementioned rugby team. The rugby team was the third great power among the boys’ sports clubs in the school after the soccer and baseball teams, but because rugby wasn’t included in the events of the school’s ballgame tournament, they appeared to have discovered their raison d’etre in the ballgame tournament by dispatching members to each event and having them run wild. As if to tout their club, all four of them were wearing those characteristic horizontally-striped shirts, and the pattern made their upper bodies look even squarer and burlier. I’m pretty sure the temperature in the gym went up one or two degrees because of those four… Though it was already the season of high humidity, it really was sweltering in there.

“This isn’t the time for scouting. Scram.”

Oda raised his voice and cut in front of Suemori.

“Suemori is our important charge from girls’ volleyball. If anything happens to her while she’s with us, I’ll get throttled by them. If you wanna poach her, talk it over with the girls’ volleyball captain.”

“Aaah? What’s your problem?”

One person among the four talked back in a boorish voice. His height approached Aoki’s when he stood, and unlike Aoki, he had a width and thickness, so his weight was completely different. He felt a feeling of oppression like he was being crushed just from standing in front of him.

This man was a second-year from the rugby club, Okuma.

“This ain’t the place for a first-year runt to show up. Get outta here.”

The moment he said that, his temple started convulsing, but it would never end if he flared up at every single thing.

“I’m the captain for boys’ volleyball, Oda from 3-F. I’m in charge today.”

“Heh? A third-year? You serious?”

Okuma’s eyes widened, and he confirmed with Suemori over Oda’s head instead of with Oda himself. Standing in a position to protect Suemori, she was taller than him. Oda’s existence was no obstacle for Okuma.

When they were convinced that he was really an upperclassman, Okuma and the other three changed their attitude more or less, and they followed his orders without disturbing the progress. First, the two teams took the time for a joint orientation. There were three to five students from each grade per team. There would be no more than twenty-five people in two teams. Three times the usual number of eyes during regular club practice watched him and listened to him seriously. He was a little nervous and cleared his throat several times.

He didn’t see Haijima there. He wondered if the positions were assigned just for the sake of adjusting the numbers. If that was the case, then excepting Suemori who was a girl, Oda was the only one who had volleyball experience between these two teams.

In the volleyball division of the ballgame tournament, all six teams would be divided into two groups of three teams, and after a round-robin competition within the group, the first-place team in each group would play the deciding round. The group league had a total of six games, and adding the deciding round, that would make a total of seven games. The regular rule was to get twenty-five points first, but they eased that so that it was now a three-set match where the team that got fifteen points first won. Although, if they were to pull off seven games without a hitch, it was going to be a dizzying day for them on the management side.

“I’m sure we’ve all did it before in gym, so you’re alright with the basics, right? The rotations might feel complicated, but well, don’t take fouls down to the smallest detail, just three people in the front row and three in the back, and make sure to serve in the right order. Once you got it, you’ll be divided into teams to practice. I’m in Team F, and Suemori’s in B, so take a look. If there’s anything, call us immediately.”

“Hey, Captain!” Okuma raised his hand when he was about to tell them to split up.

“I’m not your captain, but…what?”

“It’s boring to practice separately. B and F should play a game. I think that’ll help us learn the flow of the game better.”

“A sudden game?”

Is he the type who loves playing games but hates practice? Oda didn’t like people who neglected basic practice. He frowned and said, “You can play games on the day of the tournament. Why do I have to teach your team our plays?”

“You don’t mind showing just a little, do you? Don’t tell me you’re gonna lose to a bunch of rookies like us? You can jump about two meters, right Captain? If you can’t do that much, then we’d be able to knock you down without jumping.”

I thought he’d become obedient, but he was thinking about things like that…I’m not going to be taken in by such a cheap provocation. I should just ignore it and move to practice as planned. He was thinking that, but he couldn’t help but feel a boiling feeling at the pit of his stomach. No, Aoki’s not here today, so I have to be the one to keep calm.

“Senpai, let’s do it. Why don’t we just do one set?”

Right when he was working hard to restrain himself, he was unexpectedly spurred on. He turned around in surprise and Suemori was standing firm with an expression that was even more indignant than Oda’s.

“Suemori-san, you sure are brave. I want you to be our manager more and more.”

Suemori gave a sharp glare at a grinning Okuma before whispering into Oda’s ear. “Oda-senpai, aren’t you angry? I can’t stand it. Making fun of volleyball…Let’s break his nose.”

“No, even if you say that…”

“If you don’t have confidence in yourself, then I’ll join.”

Suemori started taking off her jersey on the spot, so he immediately stopped her with “Wait. It’s better for me to play than you.”

His voice was a grade lower, becoming insecure. Suemori’s face immediately reddened and she looked down, saying “No…sorry.” I might have said it too harshly. But, more than being made fun of by an amateur like Okuma, my pride was hurt by the fact that I was even looked down on by someone from girls’ volleyball.

He did have confidence. He wasn’t about to be beaten by an amateur who was just huge. He honestly even agreed with the idea of knocking him down a peg. However, it would be a problem if a girl was put in and got injured. Although Okuma was an amateur at volleyball, he was an athlete who did ball sports, and there was an insurmountable wall between men and women in the power of the ball.

But, it was true that there wasn’t even anyone who could set by themselves. If there was just one more person with experience in Team F…

…We do.

The figure entered the corner of his field of vision as though it was timed. They were standing at the entrance to the gym with a suspicious face, perhaps feeling that there was something off—Haijima.

“Suemori…can you go get Kanno?”

“Huh?”

A dispirited Suemori raised her head and blinked.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The reason he called Kanno was trivial, he just wanted him to be the referee. Suemori was in charge of displaying the points. It would only be one set where the first to get fifteen points won. If he considered this a sideshow, then this would be a good amount of time to devote to it.

He looked at Haijima, who was doing some light stretching in front of the net. Anyways, it was a piece of good luck that he was able to pull him up to the court before he could say anything…he might have to thank Okuma for that.

There were many people present in their gym jerseys, but Haijima’s equipment gave him a different vibe from the amateurs. He wore long underpants that reached his ankles beneath black shorts, short socks, and volleyball shoes that looked worn in. That Mizuno was the same model as Kuroba’s. And the taping that was tightly wrapped around the fingers of both his hands gave off an aura of something different.

When he thought that he had a different impression of his face than when he saw him in the school building, it was due to the presence of his glasses.

I see, so he switches to contacts when he’s playing.

When he was in his school uniform and wearing his glasses, he had the impression of a moody, literary-type of boy, but now suddenly he seemed like an athlete. There were also sports glasses, but sports glasses for volleyball inevitably took the shape of goggles due to the nature of the sport, and perhaps because it narrowed the field of vision and honestly didn’t look good, but Oda had never seen a high schooler use them.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much good will towards Haijima after the April incident. It wasn’t that he hated him, but he was completely in the category of people he didn’t like dealing with. It was creepy that he couldn’t read what he was thinking about at all, even now. A simply neutral expression with no enthusiasm or nervousness. I wonder what kind of play would actually be created by standing on the same court as this guy. Oda was the one who was made considerably more nervous.

However, on the other hand, he also felt excitement. ——He was looking forward to it.

“Then, the person doing the serve receive should try to return it to Haijima as much as possible. That’s our setter, Haijima.”

The other four people on the court are have some experience from gym class. He decided to try using them all first while alternating them.

“Haijima, are you fine with being the setter? Are you up for it? You haven’t done it for a while.”

Haijima, who was relaxing his shoulders, gave him a sideways glance and looked offended.

“What’s your highest jump reach height?”

He was suddenly asked a straight-to-the-point question. Without asking about the circumstances that led to this match, without saying a word of greeting like “Sorry I’m late” or “I’ll be in your care,” that was the first thing out of his mouth after he came here.

“For spikes, these days it’s 315.”

“You can jump for someone of your height.”

Haijima said and narrowed his eyes. It was a completely disparaging tone, but wait, was I praised just now? I feel like asking someone to interpret for me.

The height he could reach after doing a run-up and jumping was the highest point for a spike jump. In Oda’s case, his finger height (the height he could reach with his hand while standing) was 215 centimeters, so his spike jump was up to one meter. The two meters Okuma instigated with was of course an impossible figure—the height for a male high school volleyball player would be from around 70 to 90 centimeters. He thought that one meter was a figure to be considerably proud of.

From the start, Team B had three rugby team members in the three front row positions. He wasn’t sure if they were thinking up their own strategy where they were going to knock down the first of their attacks with a block and kill their momentum.

Kanno, who found himself in the role of chief referee, blew the whistle, and the game started with Team B’s serve. Since the server was an amateur, it was a simple underhand serve. However, because their receivers were also amateurs, it was difficult for them to cleanly return it to the setter, and the ball was greatly repelled.

Oda was about to jump out to cover for them, but…

…What!?

Haijima was already underneath the ball. So fast!? He didn’t just move fast. His reading of the ball’s course was fast as well. While in an overhand stance, his eyes swiftly scanned the entire court and he signalled Oda with his eyes for a moment. Oda, who had unintentionally stopped in his tracks, quickly rushed to the front of the net. A set was released from Haijima’s fingers with much faster timing that he expected. He was sure he didn’t make such a fast set when he saw him at the prefecturals. It was a confident set from a distance where normally a safe four set would be the only way to go.

So fast—no, rather than fast, what’s with that trajectory!?

He managed to reach up in the midair and hit it with his hand. He didn’t exactly hit the ball squarely, but the three blockers that marked Oda didn’t keep up with him at all.

The ball fell to Team B’s court over the head of the blocker who only jumped halfway. Oda himself felt like he was bewitched, and he landed with the pit of his stomach feeling somewhat weightless.

The view was wonderful. He could see the opposing court, which was usually always blocked by a wall, well. It wasn’t every day he got the chance to spike over the head of a tall blocker, so he had completely forgotten—was going over a block this exhilarating? He felt ticklish on the inside. He felt good…

With a backwards glance at the astonished opposing team, Oda ran up to Haijima.

“Oi, what’s with that set?”

Even so, it was a complaint that came out of his mouth first. He had just barely kept up, but it wouldn’t be strange if he had struck and missed.

“I can’t hit anything if you just set it without warning.”

“That one just now was lower than 315. As expected, I’m rusty from not playing for a while. My perception is dull.”

Haijima said, tilting his head to the side as though he wasn’t satisfied. He was going to make me hit it at three-one-five because I said that was the highest point I could jump? Is he a demon?

“It’s the same with the height, but it’s more a problem of timing. There’s no way I can hit the ball at that tempo if I don’t have anything to match.”

The basic set was called an open set, and the attacker must time the ball as it rose high and fell in a parabolic path and hit it. A spike that is hit at the slowest timing was called a third tempo.

Even so, Haijima’s set was a set that made the attacker hit the ball at the peak of the parabola. As a result, the trajectory towards the hitting point was short, in other words, “fast.” From the point of view of an attacker, it looked like it was flying “directly” at them. The attacker was pulling off the transcendental thing of smashing in the top of the set at the moment they swung at the highest point, but there were many demands on the attacker’s part as well. What kind of nerve did this guy have to set something like that to someone he’s matching with for the first time?

Haijima looked away from Oda, who was snapping at him, and looked as though he had lost interest in something.

“Kuroba can hit it.”

I see, I couldn’t see that high-speed setting at the middle school prefecturals because Kuroba wasn’t there?—His competitiveness was slowly rearing its head. Do you expect me to keep quiet when I’m told that me, a third-year, can’t hit what a first-year can? I know he can evade high blocks at that speed. If he could make that hitting position and speed into a thing…

“…It’s fine. Don’t change what you’re doing. I’ll match you with all I got next time.”

Haijima blinked, and then let out a short breath and squinted his eyes. …He laughed? Maybe?

“Senpai, it’s your team’s serve. You’ll be taking a delay penalty.”

Kanno called out to him in a mild voice. The rotation turned once, and then it was Haijima’s serve.

“You don’t need to match me. I’ll be the one matching you. You seem like you still have a lot more in you, so could you please give a little more? You can go up to about 320, right?”

Calmly leaving that extremely brazen and shameless statement, Haijima turned on his heel and walked to the service zone.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

His initial goal of breaking Okuma’s competitive spirit was blown out of his mind. He wanted to get Haijima to acknowledge him. That was all he could think about starting from midway through the match. He was so absorbed in it that he even forgot that this was practice for the ballgame tournament and was very ashamed to find out later that Kanno and Suemori were supporting the first-timers from off the court. It was a bad habit of his to lose sight of his surroundings when he got passionate. He had his hands full with what was before his eyes.

“Haijima, next time you get a chance, send it to the center.”

In the final stage of the set, the back row demanded a back row attack from Haijima. He was thinking of that high-speed center back Kuroba tried to show on his first day joining the club. If Kuroba could do it, then he wanted to do it himself as well.

“Oi, ref! Ain’t that what they call a delay? They’re just whispering to each other over there. That’s a foul, a foul!”

Okuma raised his voice from the other side of the net. He seemed to be pretty irritated with getting fouls many times when blocking. It was Haijima who incorporated the ingenious technique of playing right at the edge of the net to tempt his opponent into reaching over the net or touching it. He truly was a frightening first-year.

The B-team’s court got the serve, and Okuma jumped to spike it with a beast-like roar. However, Haijima moved in front of it with nimble steps and blocked it. Oi oi…Oda grumbled in his mind. Is he fully ready to end the game with block points? I just said that I wanted to do a back-row attack. Read the room.

Okuma was taller, but Haijima stopped the course with the precise way he moved his arms. It was a form he wanted to use as a model for first-years who were bad at blocking.

Oh…I’m looking at someone who has received the favor of volleyball up close right now… He was given every sense from the god of volleyball…

Thump. A different sound from the sound of a ball being hit was heard. From Oda’s position, it was a blind spot, so he couldn’t immediately grasp what had happened.

Rather than landing on the floor, Haijima dropped. Kanno immediately blew the foul whistle.

“Haijima!”

He rushed over to him in fright. Haijima was pressing his hand near his right eye, squatting and gritting his teeth. Was it his eye? His forehead? Kanno and Suemori also ran over, and the court was in disorder for a short while.

“Hey, what the hell were you doing? This isn’t rugby!”

He barked across the net, blood rushing to his head. Okuma made excuses with a slightly frightened look on his face.

“It, it wasn’t on purpose, captain. I only hit him by accident.”

“Don’t lie to me. If anything happens to our members, I’ll make you…”

“Senpai. I think he’s probably telling the truth. It wasn’t intentional. Please calm down. I was watching.”

He was clenching his fists and half-rising to his feet, but Kanno held down his shoulders. Admonished calmly by his kouhai, he reluctantly got back down while clenching his teeth.

“I’m fine…My contact just slipped.”

Haijima slowly got up. His voice was somewhat hoarse, but his articulation was clear. Oda was relieved that it didn’t seem serious.

“I’m removing myself from the game. Ow…”

After Haijima staggered out of the gym while pressing his hand against his right eye, the atmosphere immediately became like the closing of a performance. The decision was that Team B committed a foul, and Team F won 15-10, but they didn’t really care about winning or losing anymore.

The turmoil from the trouble caused everyone to lose concentration, so they decided to call off the rest of practice today. Oda’s concentration was more scattered than anyone else’s. He was in a position where he had to have more composure, but the role of captain was something that he was unequal to from the start. I don’t have the qualities to lead a team, I’m just selfish, I just…wanted to be a hitter. I just like getting to a place as high as possible above people and making them surrender.

The pleasure of being in a duo with Haijima still lingered. It was a feeling like a slight numbness that spread from the core of his body to his right fingertips.

I want him—A small but concentrated amount of fuel was thrown down onto his feelings of tiredness after losing in the prefectural tournament.

Practice was cut early and they dispersed, with Okuma and the rest of the rugby corps also leaving. When he was looking at the court thinking that it suddenly cooled down when those guys were gone, he saw Haijima standing before the net, staring fixedly up at it for some reason.

“Are you feeling okay? If you still feel like something’s off, go get it checked out. If you don’t know the hospitals around here, I’ll go with you.”

“I’m pretty familiar with it.”

“You don’t see rough play like that in volleyball a lot, do you?”

“No, I mean outside.”

“…?” Oh, he means outside the court? Hey, you need complete your sentences over here to have the conversation connect well.

In his case, no matter how you think about, the way he speaks is causing trouble. It’s no wonder Aoki went off at me about inviting him—he got him to lay a hand, I mean, foot on him.

“This is 2.43, eh.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah it is, how did you notice? I told them to put it up at 2.4 since we’re not doing club practice today… I guess we’d been playing at 2.43 all day.”

At the ballgame tournament, the boys would be playing with the net at 2.40 meters. The same height as the official matches within the prefecture. When it came to tournaments that were above prefecture-level like regional and national tournaments, they were treated the same as general boy’s volleyball at 2.43 meters.

“Do you usually practice at 2.43?”

“Yeah, it’ll be at this height for Spring Inter-High, anyways.”

Haijima gave him a sideways glance, looking slightly shocked.

Following Inter-High in the summer and Nationals in the fall, the tournament that filled in the last piece of the three major national volleyball competitions was “Spring Inter-High Volleyball”. This tournament, which was held in a particularly spectacular manner among the three major competitions, was a grand stage that could be compared to Koshien for high schoolers who played volleyball (as for Oda, he didn’t want to use this metaphor. Even if you didn’t use baseball as a reference, Spring Inter-High was still Spring Inter-High). It used to be held in March but has now been moved to January, so third-years could participate as well, making it the last tournament that all three school years to face together.

Even at Spring Inter-High, the net was 2.40 meters at the prefectural qualifiers, but 2.43 meters at the main national competition in Tokyo.

“Is it funny? A tiny team like us talking about Spring Inter-High. That might be so, but I don’t think I said anything embarrassing.”

Even if people would think he was conceited, Oda was serious. If Haijima joined their current members, it wouldn’t be a pipe dream in the least. It was a realistic goal.

Haijima’s eyes returned to the net again.

“…I think that kind of thing is okay.”

He muttered. He stretched one hand and touched the top tape of the net. 2.43 meters was, if one were to give an easy-to-understand example, about the height of the ceiling in a house. For the 163 centimeters Oda, it wasn’t a place he could reach just by stretching himself. He envied his ease with which he could put his fingers on it and, it might sound strange, to fix his eyes upon it.

“Is this…the height for Spring Inter-High?”

Oh, he smiled… His face was purely radiant, a complete change from the previous arrogance and impudence, and he was shocked to see that he could make an expression like that. It was by no means a frank and open smile. Like a strong light covered by a thin curtain and gently diffusing through it…it overlapped with Kuroba’s face when he looked up at the same thing with sparkling eyes on the first day of practice in April, even though the vectors were completely different.

His feeling that Haijima would be hard to deal with had, before he knew it, faded through the match.

“Hey, you know, I had a great time playing with you today. You had a little fun too, didn’t you?”

“Oda-san has good reflexes.”

Unused to hearing himself be called “Oda-san,” he felt itchy. What’s more, he was using standard Japanese, so it was like he was being addressed from the TV. But, it’s nice, being called that by him.

“What you don’t have in height, you make up for with being athletic. You have power too. Stretching your body in midair, I like that.”

Even though he lambasted him two months ago, he easily reversed that and acknowledged him. Is he arrogant or honest…what a weird guy.

Just as I thought, rather than trying to do something with words, it might be better to invite him to the court first. What the hell, I feel kinda happy when I’m acknowledged by him… Pride filled his chest. He was able to believe that he hadn’t been continuing to do something meaningless.

“Will you join us, Haijima? It’ll be boring if you wanna do it by yourself. You chose volleyball for the ballgame tournament too, right?” There was no doubt that he continued to practice even though he wasn’t a part of the club. There was no way a guy who had a gap period since last summer could move like that.

He expected him to nod, but Haijima dropped his gaze to the court at his feet with a sullen look on his face. His childish action of poking at the ground with the toe of his shoe made Oda feel impatient and irritated. There was also envy. Why the hell is a guy who, unlike me, can just go on with volleyball without thinking about anything, hesitating here?

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind, Oda-san. I’m not very well liked. As long as I’m a setter…”

——“Why are you clinging to that position?”

It suddenly occurred to Oda that those words that were spat at him before might not have been contempt towards him.

Is it possible that it’s something Haijima himself has been thinking about…? Even the personification of volleyball sense who seems like he was chosen by the god of volleyball thinks that way?

“Hmm? Why are you guys hiding?”

Suemori’s voice echoed in the quiet gym.

Suemori and Kanno, who had spread out a piece of construction paper in a corner of the gym and working hard on creating a records chart, looked up and turned their heads to the doorway. The two heads that were peeking in from the shadow of the iron door shook with a start.

“Did you guys come to help clean up? If that’s the case, hurry up.”

Suemori briskly stood up, and Kanno followed quietly. Though the two timidly showed themselves, they stopped at the door like they had trouble getting in. It was Kuroba and Nagato. The air Haijima wore around him instantly stiffened. Were they all from the same middle school volleyball team?

“Senpai, is it true that Haijima is joining the club?”

It was Nagato who asked that. His face was unwelcoming without even having to say it aloud. He pulled on Kuroba’s elbow as if to tell him to say something as well, but he looked away with an ambiguous look on his face.

“I’d like to have him join. I’m in the middle of persuading him, though. If there’s something bothering you, speak up.”

Oda didn’t really hide his ill humor, and he raised his voice to highlight his captain’s dignity. One of Oda’s biggest aggravations was the behaviour of trying to get rid of people in a roundabout way.

“I’m not joining, so don’t worry.”

However, Haijima himself interjected from the side. His tone, which had begun to soften, had returned to being curt again. “I don’t think I’m obligated to join in the cleanup,” he rudely excused himself and turned towards the metal door without bowing. It was towards the other metal door, clearly avoiding Kuroba and Nagato. Oda wanted to tear off his head, as just when he thought he closed the distance a little, he was back to square one.

“I understand Nagato’s point of view. What about you, Kuroba?”

“Huh?”

Kuroba jumped and took on a posture of caution.

“I…I…”

He awkwardly peeking sideways at Haijima, and then cast his eyes down, looking a little bit like he was about to cry. Even though he was so big, he sometimes made expressions like those of an elementary school student, much less a middle school student. Haijima, who had stopped for a moment, started walking again. It was at a quicker pace than before.

After that gangly body disappeared behind the metal doors, Nagato opened his mouth as though he couldn’t bear to wait for that.

“Oda-senpai doesn’t know anything. If Haijima joins, then Yuni really won’t participate in any official games. In a way, we lost that other time because of Haijima…”

“Ryo, stop it. I told you that has nothing to do with it.”

With his face bright red, Kuroba stopped Nagato. However, his voice was weak and it didn’t sound like he was seriously denying it.

Making his voice stern, Oda asked them a question.

“What do you mean?”

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