#i mean congratulations but the way you announced your engagement was in a tumblr post

[clockworkconstellati0n]

communicate with your system you fucks

/j, you aren’t obligated to actually tell anyone anything

- 🕷️

Status update or whatever cool kids be sayin these days - 🔦 (and @clockworkconstellati0n)

[jensettermandu]

These half-witted femcel’s represent why i’m no longer active on wattpad. It’s not all wattpad users, but it’s always wattpad users. Getting triggered by me not being in love with a woman i don’t know and that my ult bias has always been Chuu goes to the hall of fame wall for the dimwits that have stumbled upon my blog and gotten triggered by me. 

First of all these “people” have to be one person because there’s no way strangers speak this generically with each other ONLINE on WATTPAD. If it is three different people, congratulations, it’s giving obsessed (it’s giving even more obsessed if it is one person or friends), especially since none of you follow me. so you’re telling me you’ve been lurking on an inactive profile waiting for something to happen??? AND YOU KNOW WHAT, I don’t blame you, my work slaps and I WILL GIVE YOU THE ATTENTION YOU WANTED. 

Second of all, no i do not love any of these idols so let that marinate in your head and everyone else's. i admire them for the things they have accomplished, their talents and their beauty. I do not engage in parasocial activities considering i get love from the people around me which im assuming you don't :/ poor you.

I cannot feel love for someone i don’t know, especially since i know their idol image and don’t know what type of person they are in real life. That being something that triggers you means you’re too weak for the internet buddy so wrap it up and touch some grass, sign up for some yoga classes and start doing breathing exercises. There’s still time to save yourself from a miserable life. 

The question i was asked came with no good context and i answered it the best i could <3

Third, jennie is not all im about or all i write about if you were to check my masterlist. She’s only all i write about on wp because that was how i grew my following to begin with and decided to stick to it on there and create a tumblr so i could try something new. SO there's one thing you weren't wrong about and that's my WATTPAD account being all for jennie, never said my tumblr would be it.

The receipts:

SO womp womp, cry about it while still eating up every Jennie fic i have posted/updated since 2020. YES, they manage to complain despite being fed since 2020.

You unfollowing me does not bother me, it rather feels like an accomplishment seeing that i managed to trigger someone so much with so few words that it made them unfollow me AND announce it to everyone.

I will also hand out the block for you three so you can feel like you accomplished something fr to considering it will never happen outside of this. rather than chasing something that would make you dimwits useful and appreciated and not like a waste of good chromosomes, you’re on my feed trying to prove a point that never existed, making you look like bigger fools than you already are. 

much love your biggest CHUU STAN, JENsettermandu <3

i would like to get a reply from all three even if you have to log into all three accounts to do it

[starsailorstories]

I’m just posting this bc, idk, I’ve gotten tired of not posting much writing on tumblr, and I’m not sure how much of this particular storyline is in or out of vol. 2 at this point so I feel like I can post it and...probably not be spoiling anything

Backstory here for those who don’t know it: Lionna Luneia Sola (whose full name, fun fact, literally means “north star, full moon, [local] sun”) is next in line for a very high and favored noble office titled by the Hyperians (so her power is tied to the aula’s--that’s important) and was pressured into a political marriage to the daughter of a wealthy shipbuilder in response to a direct request made of her aunt by the royal family. Her wife died pretty young just by chance, leaving Lionna positioned to inherit control of a huge business on top of her political duties, and a few quinturns later her parents made an ill-fated trip to the Milky Way and were lost in space. So for the past half-turn or so she’s been panicking alone at the top of the world, putting off her official instatement as a Marchiesa of the Outer Rings. Her only real confidant is Definite, a former umbralis who was assigned to serve her when they were both young teens and now is with the rebellion. She’s still posing as her umbralis because the proximity to power is really good for the rebellion’s intelligence situation, and at this point that’s all out in the open and Lionna’s become sympathetic and is trying to leverage her position to keep Defi and her allies as safe as possible, but there’s still a lot of baggage there. Also she’s been secretly in love with her since they were kids together, but that is SO taboo and also seems a bit exploitative so she’s trying to push those feelings away somewhere convenient. ANYWAY,

Lionna climbs the Aula’s thirty-six steps, lifting the few remaining corners of her mourning-scarlet drapery that aren’t folded over Definite’s arm. She’s come as discreetly as she can manage, but by design there isn’t really a discreet way to inherit a noble office in the Rings.

Particularly when you’re late.

“You’re late,” Maximata Caliopa observes, traveling diagonally to meet her halfway up.

“I know. I got stuck at security.”

“You would think they would know who you are by now.”

“Well, rules are rules,” she says, with what she hopes is a beatific, gentle smile worthy of someone who hasn’t been making up excuses all day.

“Never were truer words spoken,” the Maximata replies, taking her hand with a ferocity that overextends her elbow and nearly takes poor Defi down. “We’re only going to have a tenth hour to run through the fine points for the ceremony.”

“I know them,” Lionna answers softly, “it isn’t my first court season.”

At the gates one porter ushers them in; another takes up the train of Lionna’s robe and points Definite to a doorway on the side. They have a single instant to exchange invisible glances as she gives her tiny hand-to-shoulder bow and disappears. “Learned by sight is not learned by core,” the Maximata rebukes as they pass the threshold. “Oh,” she adds, as if she’s just noticed the color of the sleeve she’s holding, “sorry about your parents.”

The tenth hour of preparation feels to Lionna like something she might hallucinate, if she ever gets as far as hallucinations. Seemingly cradled in a dozen glittering gold arms at once, she is kissed from bended knee like a shrine statue, drilled in verses like a child before a school exam, and prepared for the empress’s scouring purity like a traitor on death row.

“Pray, first, for alignment in the orbits. Maximata Teleonara withered in a year after she became a lady-in-waiting and the lower lumini here say it’s all because she was unworthy in our most exalted lady’s presence.”

“Sounds like the worthy have nothing to fear, then.”

“Don’t be proud, it’s best to be on the safe side. We’re all of us subject to decay in this world. There might be some little thing you’ve forgotten.”

Lionna flashes her practiced cheeky smile--voidside warmth and Jenya sparkle--and says what it will let her get away with. “And what does your all-knowing chambermaid claim Teleonara was up to, senneta?”

“Oh, she--” The goldlighted Maximata refuses to corrupt her junior’s innocence for exactly a second before she lowers her voice. “You know. She had been a bit too affectionate with a certain clone.”

She doesn’t have time to decide if that, too, is an examination: others are offering condolences as more than an afterthought, bringing up family history in appreciative tones. All avoid the subject of the house signet she is to receive, which has been quietly re-cast--its ancient counterpart presumably floats somewhere far away, drifting as the void-currents bid--whether or not it remains on a Sola scionette’s finger.

As Caliopa predicted, a satellite’s satellite--handmaid to a lady-in-waiting, she’s pretty sure--comes curtsying in and announces that the empress has requested both of their presence well before Lionna feels ready. She kneels and puts her new gloves on, as suggested, in a kind of consecrated vestibule opposite the door to the great chambers. The threats aren’t quite enough to move her to pray for her own purification--the empress, after all, can’t be anything but a very old lady behind a screen, and on the brink of doing what she most dreads, Lionna finds it hard to be afraid of her. Instead she says Ella’s forbidden prayers, for the dead, for the seafaring. She asks for Avia, who certainly strove for wisdom in a way she never could, to find herself reborn somewhere just a bit less meticulously humble--somewhere she could relax a bit. She asks for her sennamiae to tarry somewhere close, where maybe somehow they can tell her what to do. And she asks, though she suspects it’s going too far in spirit if not in letter, that she never use the power she is about to receive to harm a lesser being, even by accident, even without knowing. 

Past the high polished doors and curtains of onyx beads that announce the boundaries between mundane and royal, the unnatural hush and cleanliness of the city is total. Guards and gold-trailing courtiers--favorites of the dynasty, elevated to proximal splendor--seem to float over their reflections in the floor, engaged in brief meetings of shoulders and hands that, while no sound or light is exchanged in their courses, manage to look significant. If it weren’t for the clear aisle laid across the floor, which they avoid, and the grand principa with a representative of the praeceptorate on her arm at the end of it, it might seem she has no particular role in this scene at all.

The empress is perfectly invisible. The enormous screen at the back of the room, with its Syfrae glyphs and sun lilies, stands for her, like brass circles for the goddesses in an Aivuran temple. Her presence presumably affords the hush, the courtiers, the guards, the officials, and all the other bits--but otherwise it casts no radiance. She cannot even see her light. 

It’s a relief, though she imagines for some it’s a disappointment. Where the aisle dead ends she sinks to her knees, pressing her folded hands to the floor the way she watched her wife do many times before her various relatives. This is how it feels, she thinks for an instant, and then immediately takes it back. A person’s place is more than a gesture, more than its trappings and symbols--more than its glyphs and sun lilies, more than its courtiers and guards.

Isn’t it?

The grand principa extends her hand; Lionna takes it, at light-level, between both her own. With the aula’s protocols of silence and obscurity at their deepest, homage is given wordlessly and taken with a nod. She closes her eyes and feels the principa’s other hand cross over to slide the signet ring over her thumb. She feels the covered stinger at her wrist catch, just briefly, on her sleeve as she straightens it. With a second nod the posture is dismissed. At last she raises--partly--the dense red lace that covers her face.

The little rhombus of lacquer takes only an instant to apply, from a tiny brush in the praeceptor’s hand, over top of her old First Daughter fiddlehead. She hasn’t been expecting to be regenerated atom by atom, but it’s certainly faster, softer, and less of a shift than she’s assumed. Becoming a Marchiesa, it turns out, feels exactly like coming of age, finishing school, and getting married: like absolutely nothing.

Suddenly she wants to scream. To break the silence irreparably, into a million shards. It isn’t that she didn’t walk in disenchanted, but the layers of forced profundity feel, now, personally insulting. How dare they set this, any of it, her, apart, when everything was so sickeningly random, when anyone wearing any ring could die. 

She places her hands and bows, a second time, in gratitude. She rises slowly, she takes even steps; eyes fixed forward on the shrine at the end of the hall. When she reaches it she stops, feeling the stares hit her shoulders one by one, and stays frozen until the doors are closed.

And still without a word, she runs.

It seems as if nobody stands in her way, but somebody must have noted her flight, because Definite waits at the door for her. She pulls her behind with a toss of her head--their familiar way, touching without touching--and clears the steps before anyone can breathe a word of congratulation to her. She is too fast for the valets; she finds her little ship in the long line by the violets twining up the nose. Before the lacquer is dry, they are together with their ragged breathing, shrieking over the rings in the voidward direction of home.

[freshmeatfriday]

Fresh Meat Friday ROUND UP

Hello dear Fannibals, and welcome to Fresh Meat Friday’s Roundup post for the end of March 2018! This post gathers all the recs posted on Tumblr this month under the #Fresh Meat Friday tag so they’re in one easy-to-find place. Many thanks to all who took part and congratulations to our rec’d creators! Until next time, stay hungry!

Just a quick reminder: Tumblr is often rude and doesn’t show us every rec, no matter how hard we try to find them!  If we missed yours, just send us an ask with the information and/or a link to the post, and we’ll get it on next month’s round up. :)

Giveaway Update: winners of our 1K Giveaway will be announced tomorrow!

Fic

@beatricenius rec’d by @copperore for Home “If, like myself, you live for the post S3 emotional push and pull, this fic is for you! The dialogue is moving and cutting, the smut heartfelt and a little bit vicious. Just perfect!

Zigzagwanderer rec’d by @fhimechan for Tomorrow Was Our Golden Age  “After the fall, Hannibal and Will live in a remote Baltic island while they navigate their relationship. Each story is a short lyrical piece of their life together, sometimes with a promise of violence, sometimes fluffy, always beautifully written.”

Zigzagwanderer was also rec’d by @fragile-teacup for Love is a Journey, not a Destination and Tomorrow Was Our Golden Age  “If you love beautiful, sensual Hannigram fic with a healthy dollop of angst and a huge amount of heart, then please, PLEASE give this writer a look.”

@andiemerizein rec’d by @diea-kierlyn for All for the Best “Tech problems! Mutual pining! Soccer! Ice cream! Mads’ legs! Hugh’s butt in tight bike shorts! Adorably awkward nerds! All in the California sun! Give this rare pair a chance and encourage a brand new writer who is full of great ideas!”

@strangestorys rec’d by @niakantorka for Landscape Change “Don’t we all need more Digestivo fix-its? This one is really lovely and was written for the Hannigram Holiday Exchange 2016.”

@helly-watermelonsmellinfellon rec’d by @hannibalsimago for L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune “ The emotions and characterization is spot on. I read it three times in a row because I couldn’t get the music out of my head. It weaves throughout the story.”

@thecountessolivia rec’d by @thenecronon for Funeral of Flowers “It’s a daring AU set in 1800s Venice, and is exactly as lush and vivid as you’d expect it to be. @thecountessolivia takes us into an sensuous, mysterious world while maintaining all the integrity of the characters we love.”

@genufa rec’d by @pka42 for Black Swan “I mean, guys, Hannibal is a majestic af black swan. What more do you want?”

@aametis rec’d by @shukky for Scars “It’s an emotionally driven Post Fall fic with lots of great porn where Will deals with the fact that he is in love with Hannibal and eventually finds a way to connect to him again...the atmosphere in this fic is absolutely breathtaking and sucks you right into their quiet little cabin.”

@thecountessolivia rec’d by @crystalusagi for The Boy from the Market “This is so good and manages to be sexy despite not (yet) having any actual sex. It’s also slightly angsty and tense and psychologically thrilling, and just. Go read this now, because jealous!Will is just lovely in this.”

@diea-kierlyn rec’d by @crystalusagi for A Preference for Blood “The author manages to infuse so much characterization and so much story into what is (as of now) only 3,000 words, and it’s amazing.”

@crystalusagi rec’d by @tiggymalvern for Whatever Happens “Less then two thousand works, and she packs in so much pathos, deviousness and eroticism as Hannibal takes advantage of Will’s desperation. It’s brutal and perfect.”

@virdant rec’d by @kinkodon for As the Plant Never Blooms “I highly recommend @virdant ’s hanahaki AU Hannibal fic which I find fantastic because hanahaki is humorous to me, floral based dishes are ranked highly to me, and also because the scene of Hannibal daintily making candied violets and roses is super cute.”

boycoffin by @victorineb for If I Tell You I Love You “Some fics create a world that you never want to leave, and this is very much one of them. The Beau Morgue is a gorgeously-rendered setting, glamorous and sinister, but with a family of warm, funny, hugely engaging characters at its core.”

Art

@mooseydoodles rec’d by @redfivewritingby “Let me tell you about how much I love @mooseydoodles Galen/Krennic art for @freshmeatfriday! Mad’s cheeks look sharp enough to cut through a planet.  I love the detailing of the hair too.”

[moved--306389]

Letting Go

Fandom: Pacific Rim Pairing: Newmann Rating: free for everyone I think Details: Post Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, fluff Warnings: bullying, curse words

SUMMARY: Why do the worst memories stay the longest? - Hermann tells the story of the reason he uses a cane

[Author Notes: this is the first fanfic ever that I’m posting on tumblr, so if you guys could maybe leave a feedback I would appreciate it so much. It was based on a headcanon my friend told me, not expecting me to come back with a fully fleshed out fanfic, but that’s what she gets by talking about angst with me]

READ ON AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067774

Guys, if you read, please reblog

          Newton honestly couldn’t understand how his lab partner even breathed in the middle of all that chalk. Hermann was standing on a ladder, erasing his mathematic scribbles on the chalkboard. White dust was flying everywhere, forming a cloud in the air and landing on his clothes. Newt started coughing as soon as he stepped in. Startled, Hermann looked down, but once he noticed who it was, just climbed down the ladder - very slowly, because of his leg.

          "What are you doing up at such hours?“ He asked.

          "I know what I’m doing up. What are you doing up?” Newt grunted back. “Holy shit look at you. You look like a snowman. A really old one.”

          Newton wasn’t one to talk himself. His hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. On top of that, all the bruises and cuts his body and face had acquired during the last 24 hours made him look like a very sleepy zombie.

          "It’s really satisfying to finally be able to clean all these boards.“ Answered Hermann, petulantly. “It’s comforting to know I won’t need all those equations anymore. That the war is finally over, and we are ready to move on.”

          Newt waved his head, impressed. He was about to congratulate his partner, when the man said:

          "Besides, I may had had too much black coffee. I really can’t sleep.“ He admitted. “So I’m trying to tire myself up.”

          "Never mind.“ Newt rolled his eyes. He sat on the worn out sofa in the middle of the lab, the one they used to mark where his working space ended and Hermann’s began. That sofa had kept them from engaging in slap battles against each other on several occasions.

          "So… what are you doing up?” Hermann asked again, moving on to the next board. “Didn’t the party tire you enough to sleep?”

          "I had a bad dream and just had to come and see you." Newt answered, attempting a charming smile. - "You know what I mean, right, Herm? Say, doesn't it feel good to finally know that..."

          Hermann raised an eyebrow. His face was showing confusion, and once Newton realized it, he stopped dead on his tracks. Oh, no, no way, it couldn't be...

          "The drift... you don't remember the..." Newt stuttered. "You have no idea what I'm talking about. Oh." He managed a quick recovery and rolled his eyes. "Forget it, then, dumbass."

          He was hurt, of course. Newt cursed to himself. Shouldn't a drift be a two-way road? Shouldn't Hermann know about those feelings he just found out he had for... Maybe it was the kaiju. Maybe the kaiju fucked up their drift, and Hermann didn't get to see and feel his thoughts the same way he felt his. Whatever. It's not like he cared.

          He remembered he was supposed to be explaining himself.

          "I had this weird, oddly real dream. I was falling… it felt like seconds, but took forever at the same time.“ Newt told. “And then I woke up with a blinding pain on my leg. My right leg.”

          Hermann stared at him, a confused expression in his face. His colleague was looking at him, hesitant.

          "Are you somehow talking about me?“

          "Kind of. I think I felt a side effect of our drift.” He said. “Mako told me she felt her arm hurt after she drifted with Raleigh. She said she could even feel his brother’s ghost through the drift. Said she felt the pain in his last moments, through Raleigh’s memories. Heck, it’s pretty gruesome if you think about it.”

          "Shit, Newt, I’m so sorry…“ Hermann stuttered. "I didn’t even consider that…”

          "It’s okay, I’m completely fine now.“ He assured. "But it hurt pretty bad, dude. How do you put up with that on a daily basis? Drugs? Is it drugs?” Newt blinked. “Hermann, is it drugs?”

          "I’m not Dr. House, idiot.“ Hermann crossed his arms. "I assure you, I barely even feel it. It’s just a distant, annoying pain. My leg is kinda stiff, but that is all. I’m just as normal as you are. ”

          "Alright, alright. I see…“ Newton thought. "Then maybe this pain I felt isn’t your everyday one.” He guessed. “I think maybe I felt the day of your accident.”

          "Oh.“ Hermann blinked. "Oh, that would be plausible. A lot of bad memories flashed before my eyes during that bloody hurricane we called a drift. I guess at least one must have stuck out.”

          "The thing is you never told me how it happened.“ Newt accused. "Once I asked, and you said you were just born like this.”

          Hermann froze. Well shit. He forgot about that.

          "You know it’s hard for me to talk about it…“ Hermann insisted.

          "Why don’t you tell me, dude? We’ve known each other for a long time.” Newt said. “We are friends again, now. We’re drift compatible, for fuck’s sake. Don’t you think that at this point we are close enough for that? Why act so goddamn repressed for no reason?”

          "Shut the fuck up, Newton, you have no idea what you’re…“ Hermann started yelling, but suddenly interrupted himself. He sighed, and stood quiet in the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He didn’t look up from the floor, and after a few seconds, Newt started to regret having talked altogether.

          "You know what, never mind.” He apologized. “I have no right to insist. It’s personal. I’m sorry.” He started getting up from the sofa.

          "No, wait! Wait.“ Hermann exclaimed. "Alright. You’re right.” Then he walked to the sofa and took a sit beside him. “I’m sorry, it’s been a really long time anyway, and I… I… I should have let this go already, right? I should just let this go.”

          Newton observed, with piqued interest, as Hermann picked up his cane and held it with both hands. Fidgeting a little, he began telling the story.

          "I was about 13 years old…“ He started. "My school had just won an international chess competition and they announced a party to celebrate. The teacher said there would be dancing, and we could ask someone to be our pair during it. And, uh, well, I had a crush. ”

          "You had a what now” Newt furrowed his brow. The idea of Hermann actually going through regular teenage things was almost alien.

          "I know. And a pretty cliché one, to be sincere.“ He admitted. “Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, white skin, you know the deal. Looked straight out of a disney movie.”

          Newt nodded, trying to take that in. Overall, sounded like an innocent beginning, for something that apparently ended bad.

          "We were together in the same math club, and had even talked a few times. So I gathered some courage and sent him a flower.“ Hermann continued. Despite the quite adorable image, his face had suddenly gone dark. "It had a little card attached to it, with my best handwritting, asking him to be my pair, and signed with my name. It was…” He muttered. “My complete, absolute worst mistake.”

          "Oh wait, it was a him.“ Newt remembered. "Of course it was, why did I think… oh wait."

          "Yes, and he was pretty grossed out that a boy had asked him out. He came complaining right to the teacher.” Hermann told. “Though I didn’t get in trouble for it, she wasn’t really the most open-minded person. No one there was, actually. She told me about how I should be ashamed of doing something like that in her school, and that I should have kept it to myself. And she yelled it, not caring about anyone that might listen. After that, I was exposed. I had been outed.”

          Newt nodded, sympathetically. He knew what it was like to be outed against his will. Situations like those didn’t often end well. It even got him fired from a job once.

          "But… I had always been the weird kid, you know. The nerd, the weirdo… I was an easy target.“ Hermann proceeded. "Only now the teachers didn’t care. I didn’t matter to them anymore. They started ignoring all my cries for help. This is why the situation escalated so much. This is why… it’s…”

          He covered his mouth with a hand, and Newt could see he was choking back tears. His face had gone pale.

          "Hey man, uhh…“ he stuttered. "Listen, I shouldn’t have asked. Let’s just leave it, okay, I’m sorr…”

          "They pushed me off the roof.“ Hermann finished. His voice was deathly serious. Newt interrupted himself mid-sentence.

          "Oh no…”

          "It wasn’t enough for them to beat me up. To steal my things. They had to go far with it, to teach me my place. Right in front of a teacher, who pretended not to notice.“ Hermann cried. "It was only one floor, but it hurt bad enough for me to still remember. I broke my leg in three different spots. I never fully recovered from that.”

          His fingers were white from gripping the cane so hard. He was facing the floor, his eyes covered by his hair, but Newt could still see tears beginning to drip.

          "It’s all in the past now. I should have let this go. I should just…“ Hermann muttered, more to himself than his colleague. "I will let this go. I will leave…”

          Newton felt his face burn with shame. God, why didn’t he just stay in his lane. He was curious, he was nosy, and now Hermann was crying. It was all his fault. In a moment of panic, the only thought he had was that he had to comfort him somehow. And this is why he abruptly held his hands.

          Hermann looked up, startled by the sudden physical contact. Newt saw the opportunity to meet his eyes, that now shared a trait with his. He touched his face.

          "I know there’s a lot of cruelty in the world. Specially to people like us.“ He said. He could feel his heart pounding with anxiety, the feeling he might have crossed a boundary, and the fear that he was about to say something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Still, he kept talking.” But, Hermann, it doesn’t have to always be like this. We’ve seen, first hand, what respect between people could accomplish. What kindness could accomplish, what cooperation could… what love could… shit…“ he stuttered. "Hermann, I… I… if I told you that I…”

          "You don’t have to say it.“ Hermann answered. He leaned in for a hug, and held Newton as tightly as he could. He returned the embrace, his eyes now tearing up as well. "You don’t have to say it, I already know.” Hermann whispered. “I already know.”

          The piece of shit, Newton thought. He did remember.

[bluebrrn]

This Means War (part 1)

Summary: Two top CIA operatives wage an epic battle against one another after they discover they are dating the same woman (based on the movie)

Word count: 1500 A/N:Hey guys! so i’ve decided to post this on Tumblr as well as on Wattpad. I haven’t seen any This Means War fan fic on here so i’ve decided to try it out. Feedback is greatly appreciated. This Means War (Masterlist)

After doing a product testing you walked out of the experiment room ready to take on your next task.

“Ooh (Y/N)..” your assistant Wanda called out.

“Yeah?” You stop and turn to her. 

She glanced down, “I was wondering if I could leave work a bit early today for the holiday weekend. Vis is taking me to an alpaca farm.” She giggled.

Ugh Vis. Don’t be mistaken, he’s a great guy! But sometimes it feels like everyone has someone special in their lives besides you. “Oh, yeah of course.” You smile, “it’s a holiday, And a weekend.” Wanda chuckled. “so yeah you should do that.”

“Okay.” He smiled.

“Have fun!” You muster up the friendliest smile you could.

“You have fun too.” She waved walking away.

“I will.” You reply. Not.

After a few hours at the gym you grab your things and make your way towards the diner for your usual.

“..And just maybe I’m gonna make it, I’m gonna shake it, shake it, shake i-” you stop singing when someone stops infront of you.

“Hey (Y/N)! Hey!” A man standing next to a red head catch your attention.  

Your eyes widen and you pull your headphones off. “oh! Hi! Clint hey!” You smile awkwardly.

“Hey.” He repeats smiling at you with a dazed look in your eye.

“Clint…” You trail off.

He snaps out of it, “yes, oh! I’m so sorry, uh (Y/N) this is Natasha.”

You turn your head to look at the gorgeous woman, “Hi!” You grin extending your hand.

“Hi! Very nice to meet you.” She grins shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you too, yeah.” You smile pulling your hand away and noticing something shiny on her left ring finger.

“Wow,” you chuckle, “what a big rock!”

“Yeah.” Clint grins, “this is my fiancee…”

Your eyes widen, “you are engaged..” you muster another fake smile for the day. “…To be married.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He smiled. “Things just worked out exactly how they’re supposed to, didn’t they?” He turned to her happily and cupped her cheek leaning over to kiss her.

“Yeah..” you look down awkwardly. “cool…” God could this be any more awkward? You look down at your feet waiting for them to remember you were there too.

“Okay well, you know what? I’m gonna go because I’m gonna go meet up with my guy, Sam.” You blurted out.

“Huh.” Clint nodded.

“Yup, he’s a surgeon.” You continue to lie.

“Wow.” He nods impressed.

“So, great, well…Uh congratulations on your ring.” You smile to natasha, “and everything..”

She smiled, “thanks.”

“Yep, uh well peace.” You threw up a piece sign and got out of there as quick as you could.

“See ya.” “Bye.” They said at the same time.

You walk away, “I can’t believe I just said peace.” You muttered to myself, “I just want to die right now.” You groan.

You walk into a local diner that you eat at basically everyday.

“table for one!” Sam and Scott announce when you walk into the diner.

“Ha ha very funny guys.” You roll your eyes and take a seat on the booth infront of sam.

“Hey Sam, Scott.” You sigh.

“The usual?” Sam asks.

You nod, “yeah.” You look to your right and sigh seeing another couple. Couples everywhere!

“Long day huh?” Scott sighs leaning forward.

“You don’t know the half of it.” You groan.

The door bell jingles, “Hey welcome! Take a seat.” Sam grins.

You notice the couple next to you had left.

“Aw come on, this is too funny.” You hear that familiar voice say.

You look up and Clint and Natasha had just walked in.

“Hysterical.” You force a smile.

Clint noticed an empty seat to your right, “oh I’m sorry this must be your boyfriend’s seat, uh Sam right?”

“Oh, yeah..” you lie.

Scott snorted, “boyfriend? She always comes in alone.” His eyes widened when he realized what he said. “sorry.” He muttered quietly.

You sighed and hide your fave in your hands.

“Ugh! It was the most humiliating thing ever!” You groan as you walk down Walmart isle with your best friend.

Daisy laughed, “well that’s because you have to come up with better excuses.” She grabbed some paper towels off of a rack. “you should have been like ‘ichave a fiance too but he’s getting a reduction surgery bec-”

“Oh my god shut up!” You groan which makes her laugh more.

“It’s just, my brain freezes when I see him!” You sigh. “I just can’t believe I gave up everything for him. It’s just, I feel so stupid. I left my friends, my family-”

“Don’t say that, I’m happy you moved here. We have a happy life together. ” Daisy interrupted.

“I just thought he was my person. ” you looked down at your shoes.

“Well I thought he was your person too. You know what kind of person he ended up being? The kind of person that ends up with a girl that likes to makes out after she eats onions.” Daisy said.

You chuckle, “she seemed really nice. She was really pretty.”

“Well I don’t care about her. I care about you and your love life.” She mumbled as she checked out the laundry detergent.

You huff “I’m going out, dating, meeting guys. ”

“Oh please, you’re not- you date, but you’re not taking it seriously.” She places a detergent in the basket.

“Oh I don’t use that brand, it leaves a film. That ones more effective.” You point to a different bottle.

“Well, I wish you would act like that with men.” She trades out the yellow gallon for the green one. “I mean you can choose a laundry detergent, but you can’t choose a guy you want to sleep with.”

“Hey! That’s my job it’s easier. There’s charts, there’s numbers.” You explained.

“Well that’s why you should start online dating. They have lots of charts. ” Once again she’s trying to get you to join the online dating bandwagon or whatever.

“Not that again.” You complain.

“What’s your problem with online dating?” She raised a brow.

“What’s my problem? Have you seen dateline? Do you know how many creeps are out there?” You whisper. “I could end up in a skin suit, or in someone’s trunk!”

“Uh, that’s a little dramatic okay? That happens to like one of twenty girls. And you’re not gonna end up in anyone’s trunk. If you’re lucky they’ll end up in your trunk.” She winked.

“Oh my god Skye!” You laugh.

“It’s Daisy!” She reminded you.

“Right right sorry.” You chuckle.

“The point is, that you need to get back out there.“she smiled. "Yeah sure you might make a mistake and end up with the wrong guy, but you might end up meeting the right guy. So isn’t that worth it? "She smiled softly. "I mean really what is the worst thing that could happen?”

“Skin suit.” You nod, “skin suit Is pretty bad.” You walk off.

The next morning you walk into work and you greet the receptionist, “morning Maria.”

She blushes, “uh morning.”

You furrow your brows and keep walking. You notice everyone laughing or staring at you. “Uh hi there.” You smile at another employee.

“Looking good boss.” He smirked.

“What?” You frown and keep walking. You look down at your outfit, maybe something wrong with it.

“Hi Paul.” You smile.

“What? nothing!” He looks up guilty.

Okay what’s going on ? Everyone is acting strange…

“Morning Hudson.” You smile.

“I’m down girl.” He smirked.

“Uh I’m down too?” You keep walking confused.

“Uh Wanda? What am I down with?” You ask her.

“Oh my goodness, it’s a… your- check your desktop.” She cringed.

You walked to your desk and gasped, someone had created a dating profile for you and had put um some photos of you in college. “Oh crap.” You sigh.

You grab your phone and call Daisy.

“Hi.” You could hear her grinning.

“Skinny dipping? Roller blading? What is this? 1994?” You roll your eyes.

“Hey! You looked adorable in those shorts!” She argued.

“I’m gonna kill you!” You whisper yelled.

“Um how about a thank you?”

“My entire office thinks I clean my house in a naughty nurse costume.” You growl.

“That’s fine! That means your open to role playing!” She cheered. “Okay? We’re trying to cast a really wide net. We don’t know what guys you like yet..”

“You’ve got a photo of me in a keg stand with my profile saying I’m looking for a relationship.” You say. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re flexible.” She smirked. “Guys want to know that you’re flexible and that you’re good at gymnastics.”

“Just please get me off! How do I cancel?” You scroll down the page.

“You’re not canceling it.” She said.

A handsome man catches your eye. “Wait a minute, who is that?” You click on their profile.

Steve Rogers. “Oh my god he’s cute.” You grin.

TAG LIST OPEN!

[i-read-good-books]

fic for victuuri week day one!

Title: i have a confession to make Rating: Teen.

Wordcount: 1.6k Summary:  

 “Yuuri,” Victor asks, his voice suspiciously cheerful. “What’s this?”

Victor is holding a poster. Not just a poster, though. The poster. The 2013 Victor Nikiforov doing a swimsuit spread for Vogue poster that he hunted for for endless months. Although he knows it’s pointless, Yuuri racks his brain for any, any possible way to explain himself that doesn’t include the sentence: “I was obsessed with you and I maybe jerked off to you when I was 15 once or ten times.”

Link to A03: here

Yuuri’s pretty sure that Victor, being one of the best figure skaters alive, is aware that most of the community, including Yuuri, worships the ground he steps on.

He’s just, um, he’s just not sure Victor knows just how much Yuuri adores him.

…

It starts one day, when Yuuri least expects it.

Victor asked him to go live in St. Petersburg with him a few days ago, still high from the silver medal, and he accepted without thinking, using the time they could’ve used to plan to instead make out as much as possible.

But moving from one country to another, moving to a new house, means packing. It means many boxes, personal effects, and more not fun stuff. So they fly to Japan once more, both of them, despite the fact that Yuuri tries to get Victor to leave for Russia directly (“I’m not leaving my fiancé for one second, now that I have him.” “...Alright.”), and start preparations.

First comes the announcing the arrangement to his family and friends here in Hasetsu. It’s hard, even though Yuuri feels a little embarrassed to admit it. He’s already 24, but he’s spent the last few years either away in Detroit or spending most of his time training, and leaving once more makes his throat close up. His parents look a little misty-eyed when he tells them, but congratulate him and Victor on their engagement, hugging them enthusiastically and yapping away about wedding preparations and what-not, to Yuuri’s horror. They just got engaged, do they have to talk about the wedding yet? Don’t they get time to… rest?

Yuuko and Takeshi get slightly more emotional (“My little Yuuri is getting married!” “Yuuko, you’re not that much older than me!” “Stop making your mother cry, Yuuri.”), and the triplets exhort an oath from Victor in which he vows to send them exclusive pictures of them in their day-to-day lives so they can post it on their Instagram. Yuuri chooses to ignore it.

The point is, that mostly goes over well. After the cheesy bits, Yuuri requests a permit so that Russia isn’t able to kick him out until he’s allowed citizenship, gets his papers ready, and finally feels like he’s really, really doing this. And that means that they have to start getting his stuff into suitcases, even if it’s just enough clothes to survive until he starts buying his own stuff in Russia.

Yuuri, innocent, forgetful Yuuri, thinks, Well, two people pack faster than one, right? and I can totally give kisses in exchange for making him lift heavy stuff, and asks Victor for some help taking care of the stuff in his room.  

Which is what brings them to the current situation:

“Yuuri,” Victor asks, his voice suspiciously cheerful. “What’s this?”

“What’s wh-?” He turns.

Victor is holding a poster. Not just a poster, though. The poster. The 2013 Victor Nikiforov doing a swimsuit spread for Vogue poster that he hunted for for endless months.

“You weren’t supposed to find that,” Yuuri says. His voice sounds very far away.

“Oh yeah,” Victor continues, smirking. “It was in a glass box. As if to be displayed. I figured it was very important to you.”

He reaches down, picking up a cardboard box. Yuuri is too stunned to move, despite the fact that he knows this is about to get worse. Much, much worse. “But not as important as the framed picture of me you have in your night table drawer. Or the life-sized poster you have of me in my grand prix outfit from two years ago.” He winks, “That one’s a signed copy.”

Although he knows it’s pointless, Yuuri racks his brain for any, any possible way to explain himself that doesn’t include the sentence: “I was obsessed with you and I maybe jerked off to you when I was 15 once or ten times.”

“...I have a confession to make,” Yuuri whimpers, not meeting Victor’s eyes.

…

“There’s one thing I don’t quite get,” Victor holds up a long white plastic bag marked in black marker. There are two words in English written on the front: VICTOR COSPLAY. “What’s this?”

Yeah, Yuuri’s deleting his Tumblr account.

“Oh, wow. My 2008 costume covered much more skin, Yuuri, you know.” He pauses. “Actually, I’m having a small problem, would you mind trying it on for me and refreshing my memory?”

…

The next level of complete and utter humiliation happens another day into their meticulous packing, after Yuuri has banned Victor to the couch indefinitely, to his parents’ worried concern (“Are things okay between you two, baby? You just got engaged…”), and it happens the second that Victor finds his short skate undies.

His short skate undies are, by the way, his custom-fitted, commissioned baby blue briefs with the front and back of Victor’s head on each side, and a cute speech bubble that says, “Hit some quads in bed for me?”

Yuuri throws Victor’s make-up set out the window in retaliation for the ten minutes he spends laughing, calming down, looking back at the briefs, and starting to laugh all over again.

…

Two days later, Yuuri opens his bedroom door to find Victor standing on the corridor proudly, hands on his hips in a Superman pose, wearing nothing but briefs with a picture of Yuuri’s face stapled to the front.

Yuuri begrudgingly removes the bed ban.

…

“You named… you named your dog after me?” Victor’s smirking now. “That’s...kinky.”

“I was ten, Victor,” Yuuri swats at him with his passport, glaring. “You can let the teasing go now.”

For a few minutes, Victor does, holding his hands up in surrender and leaning against Yuuri to press a kiss on his forehead, rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs, “Alright, alright. I just think it’s cute. Am I allowed to just ask things if I don’t make fun? I always want to know more about young Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuuri grumbles, tilting his head up to receive more kisses as an apology.

“... Did you dress the dog up in my outfits, though? Because otherwise I think it’s a missed opportuni - “

“Stop.”

…

“Yuuri, why does your mother know my favourite song and my grandfather’s last name?”

“...There was a competition on Victor Nikiforov trivia, okay? I had to practice!”

Victor smiles, “What was the prize?”

He sighs in defeat, “A ticket to one of your exhibitions.”

His fiancé lifts him up in a hug, squeezing him tight and pressing their cheeks together, “I can’t believe you’re this precious.”

…

“Um, Yuuri, why did your sweet old neighbour tell me she’s glad that ‘I finally came to see my husband, after being so long overseas’?”

“No comment.”

…

“You know,” Victor starts the day before they have to leave for St. Petersburg, with all their bags prepared. “I was wondering if…” He hesitates, biting his lower lip.

“What?” Yuuri hums from his place on the armchair, his fingers threading through Makkacchin’s fur softly. It’s been a hectic couple of days, especially with trying to put his skating gear in his checked baggage in a way that doesn’t scream ‘terrorist’ when he has more blades inside there than any respected butcher would own.

“Well, you seem to have admired me quite a lot,” Victor touches the top of his hand gently, as if to remind him that he doesn’t mind. “I just… Did I do it?”

He frowns, “Did what?”

“Meet young Yuuri’s expectations,” Victor shrugs self-deprecatingly, a small, unsure smile on his lips, the type of one Yuuri’s never seen before. “I understand that my real self is less… glamorous and fun than what the magazines make it seem, and I’ve, uh, gotten older, so my body isn’t what it used to be before I did five quads in a program.”

For a moment, Yuuri is absolutely and completely shocked into silence.

He’s sparked into action pretty soon by the vulnerability in Victor, though, standing up from the armchair and moving until he’s sitting on the couch beside his fiancé (mentally apologizing to the poodle for ceasing the petting session), swiftly catching his hands.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, firm. “Look at me.”

Hesitantly, Victor does.

“I was a huge Victor Nikiforov fanboy, alright?” his cheeks redden, but he carries on. “I was a total stalker, and you were my idol, I’m not denying that. I’m not even denying that you might have played a small, insignificant role in my sexual awakening.”

That makes the edges of Victor’s lips twitch, just slightly.

“But that means that I was also terrified of you,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb over Victor’s wrist reassuringly, meeting his eyes again. “You were a big celebrity who charmed the pants off cameramen and who ate Grand Prix for breakfast. I couldn’t even ask you for a picture when we first met!”

“You had no problem asking me for more when you were drunk,” Victor adds, because he’s still bitter about the fact that Yuuri doesn’t remember that.

He holds up a warning finger, “We’re not discussing the banquet. What I mean is, I was really shy before I got to know you, remember?” He smiles a little, when he thinks about the first few months Victor spent at the onsen, wandering around in a lazily tied yukata and drinking his way around Hasetsu’s most touristic spots. “I only managed to actually stand close to you once I was comfortable around you, once I knew you.” He hits him on the forearm lightly, almost a little bit offended, “I fell in love with you, Victor, not my teenage wanking folder.”

“Wanking folder?” Victor just can’t let it go, can’t he?

“Oh, shut up,” he hisses. “I can’t have one conversation without - hmph!”

And well. Yuuri can take kissing on the couch.

…

Yuuri’s favourite thing about living with Victor in St. Petersburg in their cozy, warm flat filled with big rugs, is that whenever Yuri comes into the place and sees the two matching walls with Yuuri and Victor memorabilia, he turns a rather entertaining shade of green.

fin