#its just a bunch of writing that happened when i felt the need to scream into a void

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[phneltwrites]

Got some comments a while back asking me about how I do research for fic, so here are my two tips of dubious quality based on my own experience.

become an observer of habitual things

a bad detail is worse than no detail, take things out

I think stories feel well-researched or lived in when there's details that feel true and real to what those characters would be experiencing. But it can be hard to figure out what to include. That's usually when the research rabbit hole kicks in. Researching everything, trying to figure everything out but not knowing what to look for and ending up overwhelmed. And then! still not knowing what to include.

The counteragent to that is to look up the things that character would be eating, touching, using, travelling through as they are going about their life. And then including those things.

But figuring out those things is the hard part!!!

That's where I recommend really pausing and noticing mundane things. For example: Character A is walking down the street, finishing up a snack and then throws the wrapper into a garbage can.

If we break that down, there's a lot implied there, but I'll talk about one thing: the garbage can.

Streetside public garbage cans imply that there is a central authority responsible for garbage that will come and collect it and take it away. That's a monumental amount of civic infrastructure! So streetside public garbage is not a thing that exists most places in the world.

If you notice the things you do and then stop and ask yourself what systems need to be in place to make that thing happen, that can help point to where something might be different for your character. Those differences are opportunities to include small details that will make the work feel more lived in.

Become a person who pauses and notices. It'll make your research more targeted and manageable.

The more repeated an action is in your own life, the more invisible it becomes to you, and the more rich and depth you can give your writing if you challenge its normalcy.

Sometimes, though, you figure out something is probably a point of different but are like fuck me if I know what they do about garbage. So my other tip for writing things that feel well-researched is: omit details.

Character A doesn't have to do anything with that wrapper. They finish their snack and continue on towards the train.

I wrote a fic once that many lovely people said felt very true to the 90s and I was like heck yeah!!! I spent all my research points on 90s vibe research so that felt good. And then the second most common thing people said in the comments was that people in Seattle don't use umbrellas. It was a throwaway line that if I'd focused on being a noticer of habitual things, I might have thought about. But I'd been cocky about my knowledge of Seattle, a place that I've visited, and didn't pause. And that line threw a bunch of people out of the cocoon of 90s popcorn ceilings and screaming modems that I'd been weaving. It didn't need to be there and without it I could have kept up the illusion that I knew what I was talking about.

This doesn't just go for writing about places. For example, RICH PEOPLE DON'T BUY THEIR OWN GROCERIES. That man is NOT in a grocery store looking at basil he has people for that. What is the point of a dubious billionaire fantasy if he's acting like a middle manager i ask u.

So to sum up: pause before including any everyday actions and consider their implications. Find out if that character would do it differently.

And if you can't find out, then skip it.

[deerscradle]

okay, so... the universe basically threw signs in my face yesterday (on my birthday, no less!) to remind me that i can desire and manifest literally anything i want — and that i'm on the right path.

first off, while i was on the bus back to my dorm after class, i was deep in my thoughts about my spn dr and how much i want to shift. and JUST THEN, a motorcycle passed right beside the bus, and guess what was written on the number plate? CAS. I FREAKED OUT. like, it made me so happy. 💖

later, i started thinking about asking for signs from the universe to confirm that i was going to shift. but then... doubts crept in (i knowwww — i'm working on trusting myself and my mindset. don't throw tomatoes 😣) i remembered that when i was trying to shift to my previous dr (the hunger games) 2 years ago, i asked to see roses outside during car/bus rides as a sign a few times, and it never happened. so, of course, i was like, "it probably won't happen this time either…" but then, just as i thought that, i saw a bunch of red roses tied to a pole 😭😭😭

when i got back to my dorm that night, i decided to ask my tarot cards some questions (i’m a beginner, btw). my first question was : "am i on the right path to shift?" the card i pulled? eight of pentacles. 🪙 this card basically says you're making progress, improving, and mastering your craft — you just need to keep going.

i also asked a few questions about my personal life in my dr, and the cards were so accurate. they didn't sugarcoat things with a "yayy ❤️ everything will be all giggles and butterfiles" vibe. they were real. for example, when i asked if my s/o was the love of my life, i drew the strength card. it shows a girl calming a lion, and kinda taming that lion, showing that you make that person weak and they show you a different side of them that they never show anyone else normally. and it means the relationship has its pros and cons, kinda like a wild dynamic, but mutual maturity and effort can make it work when it comes to love if both parties really want to make it work. honestly? spot-on.

afterward, i decided to look up tarot meanings on youtube to learn more. while scrolling, i stumbled upon an unrelated video from a channel called taroverse (highly recommend, btw). i watched one of his general energy readings, and WOW. it was so accurate. i don’t remember everything word-for-word, but the reader mentioned feeling stuck in a place and LITERALLY said "the door is right there, yet you decide to not step in, doesn't matter if you do this consciously or not. you deep down think that you don't deserve this new step, but you have to change your mindset. or you'll delay this new awakening etc." HE CALLED ME OUT. i feel like i needed to hear that. 😭

then i clicked on his capricorn love reading, he talked about how my shadow self is damaging me, that i have to work on that or i'll keep hurting myself and it may sabotage my love life too (...). and when he pulled cards about my s/o, he said he was getting air sign energy — specifically AQUARIUS. (Dean. Is. An. AQUARIUS. 🥹🥹) i legit teared up a little right then and there.

and to top it off, while watching all this, i randomly felt like looking at my phone. no notifications or anything, just an urge to check. it was 23:23 🥹 (while writing this post i looked again with an urge now and it was 19:19).

the universe is literally screaming at me to wake up and trust the process. and i know i need to stop constantly looking for signs because the universe isn't waiting on me to shift — i have to choose my reality and my desires. i'll work on this. the signs are everywhere guys, whether you see them or not, trust yourself. 2025 is OUR year.

[deadrlngers]

WIP DAY.

i was tagged by @nuclearstorms @katsigian @nokstella @arklay and @morvaris thank you all soso much!!

tagging (if you already did this feel free to ignore me <3): @devilbrakers @uldwynsovs @girlbosselrond @steelport @reaperkiller @indorilnerevarine @risingsh0t @swordcoasts @calenhads @honeysofte @faarkas @moiragf @shadowglens @camelliagwerm and whoever else wants to do this bc i love reading your amazing writing mwah

i have two wips to share this time. incredible. a bit long but there's so much that makes me SCREAM here

1. vesper/fenix. year 2074, a few months before breaking up, they are going Through it. i picked two different moments in the wip bc i think it's interesting to see vesper's desperate and contradictory resignation vs fenix's bitter one

The walls of their apartment felt comfortingly claustrophobic, like a scaffold they willingly accepted to walk to; Fenix’s stuff was still scattered on the floor of the living room as when she threw it around–or maybe at him, she couldn’t remember. A few shirts, one of his favourite jackets, a bunch of bullets the sole of her shoes made her aware of as she trudged through the dim hallway of the house.

Fenix was holding her hand as he lead the both of them through the darkness–was it out of care? for her wellbeing, her decaying eyesight? dare she hope for the spectre of concern? He knew, he must. Volatility of chance? impossible…hope, hope…–and it felt almost intimate, to be able to experience the other’s touch after so long. Normalcy, among the mess. It could last only one moment, so it’s safe to make the most of it.

Neither dared to speak. Silence was in the wake of their steps and it felt quite strange to be in that room again with this new guest; the same space that a few hours earlier witnessed the opposite of peace. Yes, it was quiet now but the remnants of their pitiful spectacle still lingered in the air. In the dimmed light of the kitchen they forgot to switch off before leaving with a slam of the door, in the memory of the tears that wanted to escape but didn’t, in sharp glares and the persistent stench of pride, in the buzz that kept plaguing Vesper’s ears–be it the loud music of the club they just left or the memory of her voice turned strident as she yelled. Words she meant, words she didn’t; it didn’t matter any longer.

They walked through a place that should have the comforting title of ‘home’ like strangers, and no one dared to speak. The echo left by their shared anger was at home, not them. The echo spoke for them.

Then Fenix turned and Vesper felt his arms around her: again she didn’t fight it, not when he kissed her nor when they ended up in their room. An expected end, desired but mortifying nonetheless. Vesper wished she could’ve kept that unbreakable front, hold her ground, keep that anger inside her, but for what gain? It’s the last time, she reminded herself. Never again, right?

If love lasts one single day, then be gone in the morning. I will wait for the next one–No! She had to remember. Never again. But remembering was so difficult when it was drowned by a consoling embrace such as this one.

Rewind time. Erase him completely like the night they first met never happened. That, would be easier.

[...]

He threw the phone on the passenger seat and shoved his hands into the pockets once more. He needed a smoke.

Truth is, Fenix hoped she would answer with a big, enormous, ‘fuck you’ so that he could finally tear a reaction out of her. All the yelling and aggressive looks weren’t so bad after all, he experienced something worse which is the silence–the indifference–and now he prayed to hear the sound of one more interminable fight. Funny. Or something like that.

Rolling paper, filters and tobacco. He was running low on the latter but it was too late to come back to Night City now. Ignoring the disturbing spasms of his right hand, he laid the paper between his index and middle finger, and covered its surface with finely cut leaves.

Indifference…indifference…It plagued Fenix. His apathy? Justified. That’s the way I am – the easiest of justifications, he was lucky. But what excuse Vesper had? To be that silent and inert after unrestrained rage pushed her body even at the plainest of the provocations. Instead she didn’t move a muscle when he left. Laying motionless on the bed with her face stuffed into the pillow and the sheets balled up in her hands. Fenix was sure she wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t expect her to plead, to say ‘stay’, that’s fantasy. Yet he could’ve been happier if she at least gifted him one last heinous remark before he left.

There’s no love without someone crying, someone once said, and no one cried that night. Maybe he finally fucked up enough to make Vesper give up.

Weirdly comforting, when someone gives up on you. No one left to disappoint. Unsettling. I’ve loved wrong my whole life, he noted as he watched the tobacco fall on his jeans when his fingers turned paralyzed by the pain, there’s nothing else I could do. Justifications are so incredibly easy.

2. violante&ruven in their younger days and their toxic codependency, a quick little physical abuse mention tw

Among real wounds and the ones that were committed by her own hands in honour of a humble desire–witnessing remorse into those beautiful eyes of his–which one was he staring at?

“Did you want her to hit me?” The question was viciously insinuating, Violante knew exactly where to lead her little game. Her fingers were digging into the bruised flesh of her left cheek where her sweet mother's hand inflicted the real pain, the shame, as she waited for the answer.

Ruven exhaled a heavy breath, tired, bored by the conversation. “I want you to learn.” Pretentious, as no one else could be. “To never trust. Not even myself.”

Heart of a devil, he had. Violante fed on that rotten insides of his for far too long to let something so small faze her, and yet rancor shined bright in her golden eyes, as her false, soft gaze turned into one of an executioner. “Who could ever trust someone as atrocious as you, unloved even by that whore of your own mother…a snake, a–”

“You.” His words were deafeating, more than ever when accompanied by the sweetest smile anyone ever spared for Violante. Unloved by your own mother and anyone else in the world, just like myself, my own mirror of rot.

With disarming calm, Ruven extended his arm towards Violante and offered her an open palm. She should’ve answered with hostility–she hoped she could–but his offer was ever so comforting, tempting. Companionship. Violante didn’t think it twice as she reached to unite her hand with his. My own mirror of rot.

“You will thank me, in time,” Ruven added with honeyed voice “for the venom.”

[manuscripts-dontburn]

The Palace: From the Tudors to the Windsors, 500 Years of Royal History at Hampton Court

Author: Gareth Russel

First published: 2023

Rating: ★★★★☆

Gareth Russel is an extremely readable writer and I particularly love his biography of Katherine Howard. However, The Palace did not meet all of my expectations. I had hoped this would indeed be a story of the building, with its workings, its growth, its daily life, and its impact. Instead what I got was a swift (even if enjoyable) fast course on English royalty from the Tudors onwards. The Hampton Court in itself did not seem to be especially important to anything that happened. If I already did not have considerable knowledge about English history, I would also probably get swamped by the names and events that span over 500 years but need to be crammed into roughly 350 pages. Well written, not uninteresting, I did like it a lot but ultimately... I guess not many books can be like Pavlovsk : The Life of a Russian Palace

The Girl Who Couldn't Read

Author: John Harding

First published: 2012

Rating: ★★★★☆

Even though this is officially a sequel, it can easily be read as a standalone. In both cases, I found it engaging and OH SO satisfying.

Prize for the Fire

Author: Rilla Askew

First published: 2022

Rating: ★★★★★

A portrait of a complicated woman who fights for her own identity and strength and eventually finds it, along with inner peace, in her faith. Anne Askew was, by a definition, a religious fanatic in a time when religion was being redressed and differences of opinion on it punishable by death, and Rilla Askew (a curious accident of a name) does not make her exactly likable - which is good, because instead of a legendary martyr washed of off all sins, we get a believable and complex human character, a woman trapped by her era and her circumstance. The whole book is what I would absolutely call a quality historical fiction and the nearer the end, the more powerful it becomes.

Russian Fairy Tales

Author: Alexander Afanasyev

First published: 1855

Rating:  ★★★★☆

It took me several months to go through all of the stories. Some I enjoyed more than others, naturally, but I suppose the main great thing about this collection is the possibilities it gives to future authors who can search for inspiration in it.

Magic Lessons

Author: Alice Hoffman

First published: 2020

Rating:  ★★★★★

Practical Magic was an OK book but I loved The Rules of Magic and this one is also *Chef´s kiss*. I was ready to scream at a certain point near the end and audibly breathed my relief afterward. Alice Hoffman is a beautiful storyteller.

The Company

Author: J.M. Varese

First published: 2023

Rating: ★★★☆☆

This had a gorgeous cover, some seriously creepy vibes, and not bad writing. Unfortunately, most of the book felt like an endless repetition of previous scenes, and in the end, there is really no resolution, just a feeling of being confused. At some points, I thought this book needed much more editing since some dialogues felt unnecessary. I also felt very frustrated that whenever the two main characters interacted and you would hope they would actually have a conversation, it ended after a bunch of sentences with "Ya know?" "I know", but my sweet dude, WE don´t know. Not a terrible book by any means, but it truly could have been so much more.

Maximilian Kolbe: the Saint of Auschwitz

Author: Jean-François Vivier

First published: 2021

Rating: ★★★★☆

The life of Maximilian Kolbe was remarkable, not only for his martyrdom he chose to save another person but for his tenacity, unwavering energy, and belief in God and that everybody can become holy. The richness of it, however, makes it difficult for a volume as slim as this one to really make you feel connected to his story. I felt that it either needed to be a bit longer, or should have focused more on at least some of the episodes. That said, this makes his legacy accessible to any reader, and the art style, though simple, conveys everything it needs to. I am also happy to note there are actual photographs of the saint included at the end of the book.

The Mill on the Floss

Author: George Eliot

First published: 1860

Rating: ★★★★☆

I am a little torn. Some of the scenes were written so beautifully and played out in a manner so powerful one could not but be swept away. At other times I felt that while still written well, the pacing was off and the mundane was losing my interest. I understand that the first part was needed to establish the characters and let us truly know them, but I was also seriously considering DNF-ing the book while plowing through. My rating would be in between 3 and 4 stars, but since Goodreads does not allow that, I will be generous.

Mere Christianity

Author: C.S. Lewis

First published: 1942

Rating: ★★★★★

C.S. Lewis explains Christianity in a very sensible and natural manner, with no shoving of it down your throat. I loved all of the parables and examples he used, bar one, which obviously stemmed from his inexperience with that one issue: actual women. (Or at least he had little experience of them at the time he wrote this book). "Who would you rather talk to if this happened? Man or a woman?" "The one with the brain, Clive Staples, the one with the brain." Other than that small part of one chapter, this is a book any Christian can easily and reliably draw on for inspiration when speaking about their faith to others.

Hell Bent

Author: Leigh Bardugo

First published: 2023

Rating: ★★★★☆

I was reading this slowly, a few pages at a time, to keep my sanity and focus, while the genocide of Palestinians was raging (still is) in the world for all of us to witness. Who would have thought that a book about demons and Hell would be absolutely nothing compared to our reality? But yes, it was absorbing, it led me someplace else for a moment. It was good.

Small Spaces

Author: Katherine Arden

First published: 2018

Rating: ★★★☆☆

I wish this had been an adult horror because I guarantee you I would have shat myself.

[duskyvision]

m. l. rio - if we were villains

Hi, it's been a while! I've been itching to write a book review because it's been over a year now, and sometimes I just have to scream about books in other places than on Discord (I still scream about books on Discord, but shh).

So why not just write a book review about a book that I did not enjoy? Haha, what a funny thing nobody has ever done before! I sure wonder what this funny guy is going to say about this book he didn't enjoy.

Anyway, this is going to be pretty long, and I'm gonna bitch about a bunch of stuff in here. Will contain spoilers.

Content warnings:

substance abuse (alcohol, drugs)

cheating

suicide

This book was my first venture into the dark academia genre/aesthetic, something I'd seen a bunch of stolen Tiktoks about on my Pinterest feed, but never paid too much attention to, mostly because I don't really care about stories centered on students. Maybe that should have been my first warning sign.

Initially, I wanted to read The Secret History by Donna Tartt because that's apparently what's seen as the dark academia staple, but I decided to stick to this because it was the only book I'd found an audiobook of on Scribd, and audiobooks are more digestible. Read a bit of the blurb and thought, "okay, sounds like it could be interesting".

Man was I wrong.

Reading the blurb, I already knew I'd have to handle pretty pretentious characters, because there's nothing more pretentious than a group of more or less wealthy white theater kids obsessed with Shakespeare (except for rich white business majors and law majors, put one of each category in a locked room and they'd maul each other within 0.5 seconds like wild beasts trying to one-up the other), but holy shit, it was worse than I'd anticipated.

The writing makes everyone and especially Oliver (the narrator) sound insufferable to the point where I wished they could simply shut up. Unfortunately, this book has slug-like pacing and bitches who love to talk on top of chapters that are padded with lines copied verbatim from Shakespeare plays because admittedly you need a very high IQ to understand the nuances and intricacies of Shakespeare plays and how it influences the characters.

And while we're still on writing: while in theory, the script-like snippets are a fun nod to how plays are formatted, it simply doesn't work in audiobook format. Really grating to hear things like "James: Cock" "Me: So true bestie" when my patience was already wearing thin the more I listened to it.

Yet, the writing wasn't the most infuriating aspect of this book to me. I think what infuriates me the most about If We Were Villains is that, ultimately, the entire book tries so hard to be deep and emotional regarding its plot and its characters when said plot is predictably boring and the characters have the depth of a single sheet of paper.

So let's talk about the plot! By the halfway point in the first part of the book, it was made obvious who would die between the main characters, but comically so. The moment Richard started acting up, I felt like the author slapped a huge sign on his head like "Watch out! He's either the bad guy or... THE VICTIM! OMG!" because there was no way Mrs Rio could come back from turning Richard into a goofy Sunday morning kids cartoon villain. And as soon as Richard died, I also predicted the twist itself, because it was so goddamn obvious it felt like it was screamed into my ears.

Now, I usually don't mind if a plotline is predictable. Actually, I enjoy it! It makes me feel smart to predict things and figure out what's happening, and it usually keeps me engaged rather than plot twists that are pulled out of the author's ass! The problem with this book, though, is that I wasn't engaged in the characters to begin with, so following them going through their problems after Richard's death just made me feel a total sense of apathy followed by "so... when are we getting to more plot?"

It focuses too much on trying to give emotional depth to characters whom, in my opinion, severely lack it to begin with. The main characters aren't interesting to me, they're just puppets with names on them at this point. They can really just be summed up into archetypes that are barely explored in a way that feels compelling:

Oliver: The average joe. Oh, look at him, he's so average and surrounded by people who are so much more interesting than him (this is a lie)!

James: The guy. I'm struggling to find anything interesting about him, besides the fact that he's Oliver's best friend and roommate. You can tell he's important because he's Oliver's roommate. I think a loaf of white bread would be more memorable as a character than him.

Richard: Probably the most interesting character in the cast, ironically, solely because he's a fish out of the water. By that, I mean that he's just a jock in the middle of theater kids. Besides that, he's laughable at best: the author tries so hard to make him devoid of anything sympathetic in the moments leading up to his death that it nullifies any emotional investment you could have in any of the characters.

Meredith: The hot girl but like not in an objectified way, in a gaslight gatekeep girlboss way (this is a lie). Richard's girlfriend. Can't catch a break because everyone and their mom objectifies and slut shames her. She usually breasts boobily, not in written script but in spirit due to how her role in the story is pretty much "piece of meat".

Alexander: The weed-smoking gay literature major stereotype, except in a special way because he objectifies Meredith too, for some reason. Diversity win! Gay man is also gross towards women!

Filippa, Wren and Colin: Filippa and Wren exist for the sole purpose of not turning this cast into a complete sausage fest (& Knuckles Meredith). Filippa is the good friend who covers everyone, and Wren is the fragile frail uwu girl. Colin exists solely to be Alexander's boyfriend.

What a totally charming cast of characters who are oh so full of depth, and completely developed throughout this book. There's also a detective guy, but I completely forgot his name because the book spent too much time on this group of pretentious theater kids whining about their interpersonal relationships.

Man, just talking about how much this book bored me is becoming a pain in the ass, so I'll just summarize what I thought about the book here:

Pretentious, flowery writing with sluggish and often jarring pacing

Characters who are equally pretentious and whose high airs desperately try to hide the innate nothing burger-ness of their existence

Extremely predictable plot that's handed to the reader on a platter by the first part, making the reading experience that much more boring when you have 0 affinity nor sympathy for any of the cast members

Final rating: 1/5 (2.29/10 on CAWPILE). I should have dropped this book when I predicted the entire plot instead of being stubborn.

[ilovetheseattlemariners]

Lost the poetry contest

That was yesterday. I've been meaning to write to you for awhile. I feel like I smell like shit right now and I've been paranoid. I've been stressed. Last night I was lying in bed and I was ready to scream uncontrollably. I felt as though I was on the verge of dying.

Yesterday I found out that I had a bunch of poetry due for my intro CRWR class. That was a fun surprise for everyone. I'm just going to try half-assing some things and then end up turning in something that I really have no pride in just for the sake of getting a mark. Such a thing is one of the most depressing things in the world, and is intrinsic to trying to interpolate arts into academia. I've had the most terrible writer's block for so long, and yesterday when I found out that I'd lost the poetry contest any sort of possible motivation or passion or drive for my field instantly left me. I did finish James Agee's letters to Father Flye yesterday, though, and was kind of motivated a bit. And thought again of Ashbery's story, too. Some of the half-assed shit I wrote yesterday sound pretty good right now, even. Though I don't know. I've been trying this Franz Wright/Tang Dynasty style of sparseness in my writing, and it doesn't really feel like me? I honestly feel as though I've lost my voice. I feel too like I need to compromise myself for any sort of success. Nobody else really writes like me, and that should be a good thing but I end up hating it. I hate how people don't know how to respond when I read a poem. I hate not knowing whether or not my poetry is good. I hate not know what to do about it at all

That's poetry, at least. I feel like my prose is great, but that's because its prose. I read Jesus' Son in like two days, and it was some of the finest prose I've ever read. I need get on revising a piece of short fiction for my fiction class. Johnson's work should help me with that.

Improv on monday was pretty uneventful, too. I hit the shed last night and sounded great, which is of course how that works: you sound great on your own but suddenly you have to face a crowd and your playing has no body or soul. I mean, I was just in the practice room today and played until I fell out of love with myself. I don't think I love the cellist any longer either. It's just dry and sparse. I'm tired of having to start everything. And I mean that's just how she is but I know I can't live with that. But I always think of her. It's bad. I have a lot of thoughts about her being there next jazz jam and me really blowing everyone's socks off. Because last Mon nobody really said much about my playing. I mean nobody was really there. Its midterms szn — hence the aforementioned stress having me feel as though I'm perpetually falling to my death. But nobody telling me that I'm the greatest bassist they've ever heard, which I never really cared to hear back then because its all exaggerated lies but I guess lately I've been needing to have my dick jerked off. I've been needing to get lucky too. The girl said she was tentatively inviting me to her friend's house for a friend get-together over a movie, but I doubt that's going to happen now because I'm not putting in any effort and she doesn't have the inclination to give me anything. Its upsetting. I'm mad and I'm unloved. I mean I guess I could work my ass off trying to get her to perceive me but who fucking cares anymore. Just me. I care deeply.

Ran into my childhood friend again for the first time in god knows how long. She's ignoring me, I know she is. I tried hitting up her line the day after that awkward blocking thing happened and she didn't reply, and when I saw her yesterday I brought that up and she acted like she didn't see that. Alright. She's studying with my gym bro rn, too, someone else who is also ignoring me and I don't know why. I think everyone hates me. I have no real deep friendships and I have nothing going for me. I have a gig tomorrow where I'll be playing music that I don't care for at all and I'll probably get home late and have to clock into my fucking 9-5 and who cares at all who gives a shit. I better get away from you now to touch up this short story and then somehow get together the time to fucking write some poems. I bailed on my niece's jazz gig today like a jackass. Of course I wouldn't get a piece of nothing at all.

I should just call off work, right? I should just call all of this off and just fucking fuck off of it in all honesty. God damn I'm so fucking over it all.

[daggerzine]

Personal Trainer- Still Waiting (Bella Union Records)

Amsterdam’s Personal Trainer deliver a mix of electronic prog, acoustic indiepop, and screaming punk; and that’s just on the first track! Here are ten songs that will blow your mind. Main man Willem Smit says, “When I listen to the records I make, the main thing I hope is that every time something happens on them, you’re like, ‘Wow.’ I like to be taken by surprise like that on a record, to kind of be thrown around.” Well, that pretty much sums up the new album. Up first is “Upper Ferntree Gully.” At over seven and a half minutes, it’s simple to see how all these musical genres fit in. It’s also a great introduction to the album. (Don’t bother deciphering the introductory voice of the woman(his mother?) unless you speak Dutch.). Try to stop singing along, “Kangaroo in a kangaroo; In a kangaroo in a kangaroo; In a kangaroo in a kangaroo, etc.” Up next, “I Can Be Your Personal Trainer,” settles things down as a Kinks-like pop song with its witty lyrics. “I’m squinting at forgotten fables; Rid me of my bitter failure; Hit me with your dinner table; Rough me up babe; Kick me in the shins; I need to believe in something; And a friend; I need to go on to somewhere; Until the end.” “Cyan” is a bouncy keyboard-driven number with a kicking rhythm section. And the gorgeous chorus takes you away, “Have you ever felt sorry for something that you didn’t do wrong now you’re stuck in a muddle; Have you ever had a doubt about a record coming out; You can throw those lines away.” Here’s the video:

Track 4, “Round,” is one of the few singles to pre-lease the album. It’s a guitar rockin’ song complete with backup vocals shouting, “Woo Woos.” Another easy one to sing along to, “An educated guess; I gotta take the hit; This is the gig of a lifetime baby; You know I can’t get out of this; I feel round.” Here’s a cool live version of “Round” and “Intangible.” (Not seeing any US dates, so this will have to make do.)

“New Bad Feeling” is a beautiful song that begins with acoustic guitar and sorrowful lyrics, but then adds some punches of sound. It’s another song that you swear is a bunch of songs, but it’s actually only one. “There is something happening to this room; There is something blocking off the moon; It’s the new age; There’s a pencil in a box; And there’s a new bad feeling.” Up next, “Intangible,” is a synth rocker that settles down to a strong rhythm section with cutting 80s guitar riffs. Enter Smit’s falsetto chorus, “When you look at the prize; You don’t let anyone get to you; It’s gonna be alright; You’re intangible; The only valentine that knows; Will make you feel alright; You’re intangible.” Here’s one of many remixes of this song:

“Testing The Alarm” is another bouncy keyboard-driven track with a beautiful guitar riff. Here comes the title track, “Still Willing.” It’s a slower, somber song with sad, disturbing lyrics, but checks the mark for another different feeling captured on this album. It’s a song that releases the frustrations of getting older. “You Better Start Scrubbing” is a fast-paced song that will definitely get your feet tapping. The chorus, featuring members of The Klittens, “You better start scrubbing or your act will start rotting,”  is sure to be a great crowd-pleasing chant. The album comes to an end with “What Am I Supposed To Say About The People And Their Ways.” Beautiful, spacy keyboards, and then, Spanish guitar begin this song; but then the sludge guitar comes in and changes it up. Smit lays his heart on his sleeve, “I tried to write about the sunset and the pretty waters; I tried to write about the movies and the TV stars; I tried to write about my sadness and my frustrations; But oh, the words come out like “coockachu” and “la la la”; So what Am I supposed to do with the people and what they do?” This album is all over the place, and that’s why I like it. It’s hard to pigeonhole what musical style Willem Smit is actually trying to pursue. I do get a Gruppo Sportivo vibe(another Dutch band- remember them?), but Personal Trainer is not quite as quirky. Here’s hoping the album sells well enough to get this band over to the States. ERIC EGGLESON

https://personaltrainertheband.com/?lang=en_US

[marigoldbaker]

okay so i did write more of this under the cut. on impulse. a bunch more. set in that loose no-magic timeline that i am still figuring out. requires zero context :)

(content warning for some offscreen character death!)

~~~

Jane was standing on the door, dripping wet, her black hair down and sticking to her face like an oil slick. Her big round glasses were fogged up with some combination of the chill or the downpour, Thea wasn’t sure which one, and it didn’t really matter anyway, because Jane never wore her hair down when she left the house, or even when she was in it. Once she’d been at home, Caleb on a business trip, and she’d had one of her pregnancy cravings and called Thea to bring her fresh-baked bread at four in the morning. Been a hell of a trip out, made even more surreal when Thea had met Jane at the door and found the other woman in a full fucking pantsuit with her hair in its usual perfect chignon. Thea half imagined Jane went to sleep like that—pantsuit, makeup, glasses, hair, rising from her bed like a strange little unmoving vampire.

Apparently not. Jane was wearing a frilly nightgown that didn’t suit her at all and her hair was down, which was how Thea knew that something was deeply fucking wrong. She was shaking like a leaf, which could have been from the chill, but Jane didn’t shake. Not ever.

Thea said, “Janie—”

Jane’s face crumpled and her knees gave way.

Thea hadn’t been expecting this. With Jane so much taller than her, it was a feat for her to catch the other woman, but of course she did—it was what you did when you were needed. Jane fell forward and clung to Thea with such clawing desperation that Thea almost felt like she was being attacked. There was no relief or tenderness to it. She just held on so fucking tight.

Heart hammering in her chest at the very thought, Thea forced out, “Is it the kids?”

Jane sobbed. She didn’t seem able to answer.

It was cold out, and pouring. Jane would catch her death of cold in those clothes. Thea maneuvered them inside and shut the door, then picked up her overcoat from the coat tree and wrapped it round Jane, who bundled herself tightly into the heavy fabric like she was trying to hide inside it.

“Janie,” Thea tried again, but this just made Jane burrow further into the coat. “Jane. What’s happened?”

Jane didn’t answer. She curled into the coat and sunk down to sit on the stairs nearby.

Thea stepped back a little, testing the waters, but Jane didn’t seem entirely aware of the fact that she was gone. She’d call Caleb, she decided, and she was moving towards the phone when Jane screamed—her first word since arrival— “DON’T!” before bursting into another series of violent and hysterical sobs.

“Sweetheart,” Thea breathed, heart twinging, “I’ve got to know—”

“You can’t, you can’t, he won’t pick up! He w—” Jane sobbed, unable to finish her sentence. She was almost retching with the force of her tears. “You c-can’t—you can’t—”

“Can I call Flora?”

“NO!”

Movement from upstairs caught Thea’s attention. “The kids are going to be down in a minute,” she warned, but Jane stared at her with a vacant misery that made it very clear she wasn’t hearing anything Thea was saying. “All right. I’ll be right back. Let me just head them off.”

Jane grabbed Thea’s hand.

Goddamn it, Thea thought, this really was a fucking emergency. Jane was not a fucking tactile person, and here she was hugging and sobbing and clinging and wearing her hair down and the world’s most awful fucking nightgown with frills and pink ribbons. Clearly either the stress of her job had finally broken Jane psychologically or—well—something else had happened, and Jane didn’t seem to be in any condition to talk about it, which meant she certainly wouldn’t be helped by the girls getting underfoot.

Marigold was already peering down the stairs, eyes big and worried. Thea made a shooing motion with her hand, which, of course, Marigold entirely ignored, jumping down two stairs at a time to kneel down next to Jane.

“Bunny,” Thea started, “don’t—”

Jane grabbed Marigold and hauled her in.

And then Thea knew what had happened. She’d known Jane for twenty-five years and change; of course she could fucking piece this one together. She knew that if anything had happened to Jane’s kids, Jane wouldn’t have ever been able to bear comfort from Thea’s kids, blissfully alive and unharmed and tucked up in their little beds—particularly not Marigold, who had survived her own personal horrors by the skin of her teeth. But Jane hadn’t wanted Thea to call Flora, probably wouldn’t have wanted Thea to call Julio either, which only left—

“Fuck,” she said. “Caleb’s fucking dead. Isn’t he.”

Jane threw up on Mari’s bathrobe.

~~~

So then of course Marigold started crying, which woke the others up, and sweet, sensible Ros decided to corral her sisters into the laundry room and get Marigold’s bathrobe clean. She gave Jane’s shoulder a squeeze as she left, which didn’t seem to help, but nothing really seemed to help, which made sense. Caleb was dead.

Jane and Caleb had been married longer than Thea and Jane had known each other. Thea liked Caleb. No, liked was too soft a word: Thea loved Caleb. He was the sort of husband any woman who wanted a husband would want. He was a devoted dad, which worked, because Jane had wanted kids but hadn’t known how to just stop working to take care of them, so he’d given up his job to keep an eye on Flora and Julio while Jane worked hours long enough to frighten everyone she knew. He’d been one of the first people that Mari took a shine to, and one of the only people who could always get Norie to laugh. He'd never tried to change Jane, which felt important, and once a friend of his had called Jane “frigid” and he’d punched the fucker in the mouth, which Thea had liked.

And now he was dead. Jane didn’t seem able to talk about it, which made sense, so Thea put the kettle on and tried to put a face on that suited a steadfast best friend, which was fucking hard, because Caleb was dead. He’d been planning to come by next week with some more supplies for the treehouse Thea had been building for Mari. They’d been working on it together, off and on.

Jane sat at the kitchen table. She was still wearing that stupid fucking nightgown. Her glasses were flecked with vomit, so Thea plucked them off, which she didn’t once object to.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” said Thea unsteadily.

“My fucking husband is dead,” said Jane, which was a much-needed return to normalcy for Thea. “I get to do whatever I want.” And then her face crumpled again and she buried her head in her hands.

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that!”

Thea decided to go back to making tea. Norie was in an intense tea phase, so they had a lot of things that growing girls could drink without getting too overly caffeinated—caffeine seemed to hit Norie a bit harder than most people. What was the sort of tea you gave someone when their husband was dead? Probably this was one of those questions she needed to ask the Internet.

From the table, Jane said hysterically, “I am a horrible person.”

“Mm,” said Thea noncommittally. She wasn’t going to disagree like she wanted to. Jane got to do whatever she wanted tonight.

“You wouldn’t even let me sit here if you—if you knew—”

“Sugar in?”

“What the fuck kind of fucking question is that, Althea? Sugar in? No, I do not take fucking sugar in my tea! How long have we fucking known each other? How could you possibly think—”

Thea turned to glance back over her shoulder at Jane, whose face was drawn tight and pinched and outraged like it often was in the courtroom, when she was arguing for a client. She did love that face outrageously; it made the world feel right-side-up, and on a night like this it felt good to see it again. “A lot’s changed tonight,” she said lightly.

“Fuck you!” said Jane. “And fuck you for fucking letting me talk to you like this!”

Ah, to hell with it. Thea crossed the counter and pressed a kiss to Jane’s temple—a long one—until she felt the other woman still underneath her into a shaking exhalation. She let her hands linger on Jane’s shoulders. Jane was still cold from outside. She could do with a bit of warmth.

“You can’t touch me like that,” Jane whispered.

“All right, lunatic,” said Thea. She kissed Jane on the cheek, just to be contrary. “No sugar in. No milk too, then—”

“No, I want milk.”

“You don’t want milk. You want to fight with me. How long have we fucking known each other, Janie?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

Thea squeezed Jane’s shoulders and let go. Jane’s hands moved up, fingers brushing almost desperately against Thea’s as she left, but Thea got the sense that Jane wouldn’t be happy about anything tonight. “Chamomile,” she decided. “For sleep. Where are Flora and Julio?”

“I d—” Jane took in a gulping breath. “I don’t know. Flora stayed on c-campus this weekend and Julio—with friends, I think? I—”

“Well, Julio still lives with you; he’s going to get home and see you’re not there and that’ll be a problem. I’ll call him, all right?”

“No, I should tell him,” Jane said hysterically. “I’m his—I need to—it’s my responsibility, I shouldn’t just—just delegate it to you, I—”

“You aren’t delegating shit. You’re in the middle of a fucking breakdown. Did he die in the house?”

Jane shook her head. She whispered, “Car crash.”

“Shit,” said Thea. “He’s an excellent goddamn driver so I know it’s not his fault. You stay here, I’ll go kill whoever killed him.”

Something almost like a smile broke over Jane’s face. “Don’t do that, Al,” she said.

“How long have we known each other?”

Jane’s almost-smile didn’t seem to be going anywhere. “Murder is illegal.”

“And I’ve got the best goddamn lawyer in the business. Whoever the fuck did this—”

“We aren’t in Arthurian times. You can’t just go around killing people because they wronged you.”

“The fuck do you know?”

“I am a lawyer.”

“Exactly. And you’d defend me in court when I get arrested.”

“You’re planning to get arrested?”

“I’m not covering my tracks when I’m doing the world a public goddamn service—”

She’d crossed the kitchen with the cup of tea, which was why she was close enough for Jane to grab her by the waist, which was, again, so unlike Jane that it sent a spike of something strange and unwanted through Thea. Grief, Thea remembered, did funny things to people. It was her responsibility to keep her head.

Jane said, enunciating every word, “Murder is illegal.”

Not the most romantic sentence in the world, but it had been four years since Jasmine had been round, and in the times between Jasmine being there and Jasmine being not there, Thea always started feeling that pent-up well of desire and frustration, which sometimes spilled over into looking at Jane. Normal, when you knew someone for that long, to feel like that, but dangerous on a day like this, when Jane was doing some very un-Jane things. It didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility that a grieving straight woman would turn to Thea to feel something and regret it later.

That could not be allowed to happen, so Thea decided to do what she knew would make sure it wouldn’t: she pressed the tea into Jane’s hands and kissed her best friend’s forehead like she did with her daughters. She knew Jane well enough to know what would happen now.

“I am not,” said Jane, “a child.”

“You’re a half decade younger than me, kiddo.” Thea ruffled Jane’s hair.

Jane batted Thea’s hands away and then just started hitting them. Thea caught one of the hands in hers and Jane said immediately, “I’m going to stop! I’m going to stop! Don’t—”

“You’re still biting your nails?” Thea examined the offending fingers in question. “You polish these. You’re poisoning yourself.”

“You are being immensely melodramatic and I do not need to be patronized on my first night of widowhood,” snapped Jane, before her face crumpled again and she slammed her head into the table.

“Oh, don’t do that,” said Thea. “What’s the table ever done to you?” But Jane had started to cry again, so Thea carefully guided her face back up, pressed the tea into her hands again. “Drink. You’re losing too much water; you need some back in you.”

“I am a horrible person,” Jane sobbed.

“You’re not.”

“I am! You don’t—he’s dead, and I—I feel—I feel relieved! Who feels—after, after—he’s such a good man, he’s a good man, he’s not—”

Thea sat down on the other side of the table. She hesitated, then said, “I was raised in a convent, you know. Nuns. No real mum to speak of. But when Sister Claudie died, I went out and I bought a sword and I tried to chop down a telephone pole.”

Jane’s head lurched up and she stared at Thea like Thea was insane, which was pretty much the reaction that Thea had been hoping for. “How are you not in prison?” she demanded.

“Mentioned your name when the officer pulled up,” said Thea. “Lot of people pretty fucking afraid of Jane Medina round the police station, apparently. But that’s not the point, what I’m saying is—”

“A telephone pole?”

“WHAT I’M SAYING,” Thea persisted, “is that losing someone makes you goddamn insane. Sleep on the feeling, Janie; don’t let yourself think it says something big about you. He just died. You’re going to be fucking insane for weeks. Months. You lost your fucking husband. Grief looks different on everyone.”

The storm clouds over Jane’s face were starting to clear. She said, “I can say anything to you tonight, then, and it doesn’t matter?”

And Thea did know Jane—she knew what Jane was going to say next, and she didn’t fucking want to hear it. Not like this. Hell, not at all. There were some lines you didn’t cross, no matter what. She said it lightly, so it would pass as a joke: “So long as you don’t ask to fuck me, I think we’ll be all right.”

“Oh,” said Jane. Her smile trembled and she stared down at her tea. “Yes. No. Yes. Yes, that would be—awful. Horrible.”

“Yeah, when I give it to a girl, she tends to flee the country for a few years,” said Thea dryly.

Jane’s smile stiffened and she looked up at Thea with that flint-sharp look in her eyes that always came out whenever they brushed near Jasmine. “Don’t joke about that,” she said. “You know I’m going to kill her the next time I see her.”

“I do know that. That’s why I don’t tell you when she’s in town.”

“She doesn’t need to be in town. Fucking dump her.”

“We’re talking about you right now.”

“God, why couldn’t Jasmine have gotten T-boned?” wailed Jane, and buried her face in her hands, which was such an absurd fucking statement that Thea had to hold back a laugh. “Where’s the goddamn fairness in that, Al?”

“Take the law into your own hands,” said Thea. “Buy a sword. Chop down a telephone pole near her house.”

“I don’t even know where she lives!”

“You’ll figure it out.” Thea squeezed Jane’s shoulder. “You’re smart like that.”

~~~

Obviously trying to make as little noise as possible, the girls had fallen asleep in the laundry room, piled up on top of each other in the corner like puppies. Thea picked Mari up first—she was the smallest, after all—and carried her upstairs while she mumbled with sleepy incoherence about photosynthesis. Ros woke up with the movement and carried Norie up with her, walking a little unsteadily herself but mostly fine.

Norie and Mari were put down easily. Ros, not so much. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall with those eyes that meant she wanted to talk about something. As soon as Thea had shut the door to Mari’s room, Ros said, “Caleb’s dead?”

There was this little tremble to her voice. Thea swallowed. “Jane’s in a bad way about it,” she said. “I’ll be around for you girls when I can, but right now—”

“No, mommy, of course, don’t even,” said Ros immediately. “That’s literally her husband.” Her eyes were big and wet and extremely sad. “What about Flora? She’s just about to graduate. This is going to be such a mess for her.”

Thea didn’t know how to fix any of it, but she knew she had to do it, because Caleb wasn’t there and Jane was going to be in pieces for a good long while. “We do what we can,” she said, and gripped Roslin’s shoulder, pulling her down to kiss her on the cheek. “Get some sleep, all right?”

“You too,” Roslin breathed.

But she lingered a bit longer, and Thea knew what that meant, so she pulled her into a tight hug and they stayed like that for a few seconds. Helped both of them, probably.

~~~

Jane was asleep on the couch. She’d changed into one of Thea’s old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were clearly too short for her, but it didn’t matter too much with the blanket over her. Thea sat down and carefully pulled Jane’s head into her lap.

“Allie,” Jane mumbled, clearly still asleep. Then again, in a tone of voice Thea had only ever heard her use with Caleb: “Allie.”

Thea’s chest felt tight and sad. Jane was supposed to be the one in a functional relationship, the brusque, unromantic beacon of hope, the sensible woman in a sensible marriage with a wonderful man who adored her. Nothing like Thea, building her life in the spaces between Jasmine’s random, impulsive visits, knowing for fucking certain that this was all she would ever get because she didn’t know how to love anyone else.

Jane had picked well. That was the sort of thing that God was supposed to reward you for, wasn’t it? Picking well? But God felt very far away tonight.

Not that that was anything new.

Thea tucked Jane’s shiny dark hair behind her ears. It really was a marvel that Jane hadn’t gone grey, though it seemed more likely that Jane dyed her hair to shit to look young, professional, at the top of her game. She didn’t look anything like that now.

Jane stirred.

Thea said, softly, “Take the day off work tomorrow?”

“Mh,” murmured Jane, and pressed her cheek into Thea’s lap.

I am a horrible person, Thea thought. She stroked Jane’s soft hair.

turning over the concept of a love interest for thea if ever this becomes a full novel later with all original characters. i am vaguely imagining this high powered lawyer named jane who as a closeted lesbian has had a really not normal friendship with thea for the last 30 years, which thea’s horrifying on again off again much older ex is only not threatened by because jane is married to a man. Surely all of these things will go fine forever

[seijorhi]

To the Wolves

my (first) entry for the Deal With the Devil collab, because i couldn’t resist writing for Yakuza Getou <33

Getou Suguru x Female Reader

TW Extremely dubious consent, coercion, manipulation, threats, implied murder, smut, nsfw

“No. I- I won’t.”

Sitting comfortably on the old, worn couch in your cramped little apartment, Getou raises a single eyebrow, “Oh? Is that so?”

His voice is perfectly pleasant, the smile on his face a touch amused, but you’re not so naive as to believe that the question is anything but a generous offer for you to rethink your reply. A smart person would take it – since the day you’d first arrived home to find him waiting for you, Getou hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you. He had no need for guns or knives, never shouted or bullied you, his reputation more than enough to cow you into submission before he’d even opened his mouth.

Of course, once he had, the simple threats to your friends and family’s lives had made certain that you were more than amenable to his request.

A mutually beneficial arrangement, he’d called it, as if there hadn’t been tears silently streaming down your face, your whole body stiff with fear. 

But that was the world he came from. Violence and ruthlessness, cruelty masquerading as kindness.

By all accounts, someone like you – a lowly admin assistant living a very boring, mundane life – should never have crossed paths with a man like Getou. The irony, of course, being that it was precisely because of your job that he’d been drawn to you in the first place. 

“I-I said no,” you stammer. “I’m not doing it.”

Getou sighs, long, pale fingers idly fixing the cuff of his left sleeve. “I had no idea the lives of your loved ones meant so little to you.”  

“Please, I-” you break off, biting your lip as your hands curl into useless fists at your side, “I can’t. Anything else, I’ll do anything, I swear it, just… please.”

Men like Getou aren’t the type to be swayed by pretty words or tearful pleas, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer of interest that flickers in his eyes at the offer. Casually, he leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and regarding you with a smirk. “So you’ll bring me the list of witnesses then?”

The barely audible hitch in your breath is enough to make him chuckle.

“No? How about those surveillance tapes, hm?” Smoothly, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards you. “Careful, little one, first rule of negotiation is knowing when you have something to bargain with. Don’t promise me what you can’t give.”

“Getou–”

He raises a hand and you quickly fall silent. There’s only inches between you two now, Getou’s taller, broader frame looming over yours. He could kill you like this, you realise with panic – reach out and wrap his hands around your throat and snap your pretty little neck before you could so much as scream. The tailored line of his jacket hides the gun he has holstered at his side, but Getou knows you're aware of its presence, have been since the very first time he’d broken into your home and threatened you. 

It’d take him only moments to draw the sidearm, even less for him to pull the trigger.

The walls of your apartment are thin, would your neighbours come if they heard gunfire? Would you, for that matter, if your roles were reversed?

Yet Getou makes no move for his gun, instead reaching for your chin, tilting it up with two curled fingers until you meet his gaze, “You understand, don’t you, that I make one phone call and that charming sister of yours and her fiance meet a very tragic, very untimely end?”

He pauses, waiting until you jerk a quick nod of assent before continuing. “You love them. There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with prioritising the ones you love over everybody else.” His voice is gentle, but the words make you shake, dread rising from the pit of your stomach as the pad of his thumb grazes over your bottom lip. 

You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something to that, but even as you try, you can’t summon the words. The by now familiar scent of his cologne tickles your nose and invades your throat, the warmth of his touch burning through your veins. Your own heart hammers like a drumbeat in your chest, every cell in your body screaming danger, but you don’t run, you don’t even flinch.

Getou smiles kindly, and perhaps if you hadn’t seen first hand the aftermath of his handiwork you might be tempted to believe it. His spare hand reaches into his jacket, but instead of the gun you’re expecting, he pulls out his phone, the screen flickering to life with a swipe of his finger. “So tell me, before I make a call you and I both know you don’t want me to make, why you’ve suddenly decided that their lives aren’t worth your compliance?”

Nanami. Your boss’s face flashes to your mind, the odd, fleeting glances he’d sent your way over the past few weeks when he’d thought you weren’t paying attention. Your stomach erupts with butterflies, your cheeks unwittingly warming, but you just shake your head, “If I give you those files, you’ll kill them. You’ll hurt them.”

“Maybe,” he hums, “maybe not. It’s no less than those monkeys deserve, don’t you think?” He spits the word like it’s venom, the twitch in his jaw the only chink in his otherwise effortless composure. “You’re protecting them, even now.”

You make no attempt to defend yourself, terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting him off, but Getou seems entirely unfazed, laughing coldly at your stricken expression.

“Your boss, the one with the perpetual stick up his ass; Nanami,” potent disdain drips from his tone at the name, “Always so morally righteous, sitting up on his high horse. You think he cares for you, that he’ll protect you when all of this comes out? And it will come out eventually,” he says, his smirk widening at the sudden pallor in your face. “At some point there’ll be one too many unfortunate coincidences, and the higher ups will realise that they have a mole in their ranks. Fingers will be pointed of course, but eventually even those idiots will figure it out.”

A knot tightens inside of your chest at his words, constricting until it feels like you can’t breathe. You’re shaking your head, eyes filling with tears, “N-no–”

“Oh, little one,” Getou murmurs, dark eyes drinking in every ounce of your distress. “Surely you realised that they have security cameras covering every inch of your floor? There was no reason to look before, but once they do…” he trails off, letting go of your chin in favour of brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek. “They’ll throw you to the wolves.”

His voice is soft and cruel, belied by the gentleness of his touch, but it does nothing to quell the rising sense of dread inside of you. You want to believe it’s a lie, another threat meant to scare you into submission, but some deeper part of you recognises the truth in his words. 

Nanami, who’d told you once that there was innocence and there was guilt and very little in between. Nanami, whose office you’d bugged, whose trial only weeks ago you’d all but derailed with a few misplaced documents. You think back to the late nights shared in his office, bowls of ramen and case files scattered across the desk between you. You think of the rare smiles, his oddly dry sense of humour, the pleasant fluttering in your heart–

“You’ll rot in prison long before I do, and there is not a soul among that insipid bunch that would lift a finger to stop that from happening to you.” 

A soft, strangled noise leaves your lips as you fight not to sob, and Getou sighs, the corners of his lips twitching downwards in contrived sympathy. “Say the word and I’ll walk away tonight. I’ll still have to kill your sister – I am a man of my word, you understand – but I promise it’ll be the last you see of me.”

He slides his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, taking your face in both of his hands as tears spill down long lashes. “And when they come for you, you can tell them I threatened you, show them what little proof you have – if you have any at all. Maybe it’ll even make a difference,” he says. “But I doubt it.”

Every word is like a knife, slicing away at the raw, bleeding, vulnerable parts of you.

“Please…” It’s weak and desperate, your voice cracked and broken. You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore; your sister’s life, for Getou’s mercy, or maybe just for him to stop saying such awful things. He must take pity on you though, because he sighs once more, his right thumb sweeping across your wet cheek to brush away silvery tear tracks. 

“I’m not a complete monster, you know. I protect what’s mine.”

And in one breath, everything screeches to a standstill and a trickle of very real fear creeps down your spine. There’s no mistaking his implication, not when he’s holding your face like that, his eyes dark and simmering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“W-what?”

Getou closes the gap between you two, a startled noise leaving your lips as his hips press flush up against you. “Don’t play stupid, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a warning, “It doesn’t suit you.”

One hand slips to your neck, the other curling almost possessively around your waist. There’s no room for you to move, to back away or free yourself. For a moment, neither of you speak, the heavy silence deafening between you.

Does he notice the way your pulse races under his fingertips as they circle your throat, how you’re shaking like a leaf beneath him? Does he want you afraid? A scared little bunny rabbit cowering from the gaping maw of the big, bad wolf? 

Judging from the bulge of his semi-hard cock pressing into the soft flesh of your belly, he’s not entirely unaffected, and for the first time it’s not Getou’s gun or his threats that you’re most afraid of. 

It’s the selfish, twisted want that glitters and glints in those pitiless depths. You’ve never felt so entirely at somebody else’s mercy as you do with Getou now, staring you down like he wants to lay you bare, claim you again and again for all the world to see. And you don’t understand. There’s a thousand and one questions running through your mind, your insides twisted up into knots. 

You know what it is he’s asking of you – though asking feels like a generous word when he can so easily just take – but none of this makes sense, not when he was threatening your family’s lives only minutes ago. 

As if he can sense the turmoil and confusion raging through you, he leans down, his lips ghosting over the outer shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll walk away right now.”

I am a man of my word. 

His earlier statement rings through your head as you search his face for any sign of deception – you find none. But walking away means your sister dies. It means you’re left on your own to fend off the wolves when they find out what you’ve done.

Nanami might believe you. He might even defend you, but you’ve worked in the Prosecutor’s office long enough to know that duress isn’t the bulletproof defence people think it is, and for tangling with the likes of him…

You were screwed the moment he showed up in your living room, this- this is just the coup de grâce. The final damnation.

“Why me?” 

Getou doesn’t answer, but when he draws you into a kiss, his lips moving torturously slow against yours, there’s an edge of… something there, lying hidden just beneath the surface. And it terrifies you, more than his words and his promises ever could.

But when your back’s to the wall, what choice do you really have?

It feels like defeat when he takes you by the hand and leads you into your bedroom, ignoring the uncertain glance you cast over your shoulder towards the living room. You don’t want any of this, but you can pretend that it’s just… business if he fucks you out there.

Not in the bed you sleep in.

It’d be easier, you think, if it was cold and impersonal. If you cried and it stung and the only sounds in the room were flesh hitting flesh, ragged breathing and an occasional rough grunt.

There’s nothing impersonal about the way he watches you strip out of your clothes at his command. His own join yours on the floor without much ceremony – his gun pointedly set just within reach atop your nightstand.

The first time you’d laid eyes on Getou Suguru, it was two months into your new job; a photograph pinned to a thick, heavy file Nanami had dropped on your desk. A surveillance picture, you’d gathered, snapped as the man was exiting some neon lit club downtown. And you remembered the smug smirk he’d had, staring directly down the lens of the camera like it was a challenge, but that wasn’t what had struck you most.

It was the flutter of interest that’d shot through your veins the moment before common sense kicked in. Tall and fit, with long, dark hair swept up in the wind, a sharp jaw and a handsome face, you remember thinking he was probably the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Now, standing naked before you, bright, colourful tattoos inked across his torso, accentuating the muscles that rise and fall with every measured breath, you can’t bear to look. It’s easier just to stare at the wooden floorboards, the corner of the shagged rug you’d bought at a thrift store when you first moved in. Easier to pretend Getou isn’t pulling you closer once more, pressing searing, open mouthed kisses along your neck, murmuring words that are lost to you entirely as his hands wander. You can feel it now, the heat of his body as he cages you in, his cock, thick and heavy and flushed nudging insistently up against your stomach.

You expect him to shove you to your knees, to force his cock down your throat in some archaic show of dominance before he claims your cunt, but he doesn’t. 

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he whispers into your ear, teeth catching lightly on the sensitive lobe as you shiver. “Like you do when I’m not here, those pretty legs spread, fucking yourself on your fingers…”

The comment feels too familiar to be entirely offhanded, striking a chord of panic somewhere deep inside of you–

But it doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter now.

You allow him to kiss you again before climbing onto the mattress. Like a good girl, you fall back onto the pillows, let your legs ease apart, wrapping your lips around two fingers and sucking for a brief moment before gliding your hand down between your thighs. 

His breath hitches, a soft curse sounding when saliva slicked digits spread your folds, the tip of your middle finger brushing lightly against your clit as you stroke your pussy. Your nipples harden and peak under the cool night air and you use your free hand to palm at your breast, pinching and teasing at the sensitive bud while one finger slips into the warmth of your cunt. 

The mattress dips, Getou climbing onto the bed, settling himself back on his knees, your spread legs either side of him.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. 

Your heart stutters, movements jerking as you brace for him to interfere, to touch you, but aside from nudging your thighs further apart to get a better view of your glistening cunt, he seems content simply to sit back and watch, his own hand lazily stroking at his cock.

Trying in vain to block him out, you squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the way your fingers feel between your legs, the pleasure–

 (Not the shame, don’t think about that, don’t think about Getou watching you debase yourself for his enjoyment)

–that pools in your core as you rub the shining pearl of your clit. It’s a familiar dance, a routine you’d normally help along with a glass of wine and a few faithful toys, but you don’t exactly have that luxury here.

And even with the rigid tension in your shoulders, the unwanted presence of a man you’re terrified of impossible to ignore, you can’t help the quiet moan that slips past your lips, the way your hips stutter, grinding against the heel of your palm as your fingers hit that sweet, delightful spot inside of you. 

Getou tenses at the sound, the last, fragile thread of his composure snapping–

He strikes fast. One moment you’re biting down on your bottom lip, your index and middle fingers knuckle deep in your dripping pussy, the next he’s braced atop you, one hand locked around your wrist, the other propping himself up. And as your eyes fly open with a startled cry, his lips crash against your once more – desperate and ravenous, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth to taste you.

And you don’t fight it when he pulls your hand from your pussy and drags it to his crotch, his fingers entwining with yours as he wraps them around his heavy, throbbing cock and moans. It’s humiliating, the way he thrusts into your hand, tightening his grip so you’re forced to feel every shivery twitch of his dick while he sucks eagerly on your tongue.

This is the choice you’d made, the deal you struck. It’s too late to back out now, and even if you tried to… 

“I want you,” he pants, his lips glistening with saliva, an almost manic look in those dark, pretty eyes, “to ride me.”

… you’re not so sure Getou would let you.

So you allow yourself to be manhandled, lifted and situated across his lap like a doll. Hands braced on his tattooed chest, you lift your hips just enough for him to guide his cock to your slick entrance before slowly sinking down onto his length.

Every inch hurts. 

It doesn’t make it any less painful, the way Getou soothes you, his thumbs stroking gently at your waist as you whine and mewl, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he stuffs you full.

“Fuck– good girl, taking me so well,” he purrs.

You’re not sure if it’s shame, pleasure, or some sense of twisted pride at the praise that has your pussy clenching, fire racing through your veins when Getou experimentally rocks his hips upwards. And if your cheeks weren’t already burning, the lewd moan that escapes you when the head of his cock hits your g-spot would certainly do the trick. 

Ever observant, he wastes no time capitalising on your slip, lifting you up just to drive you back down onto his length at the perfect angle. You shudder around him, keening out a cry that has him groaning in pleasure.

There’s no illusion of control here between you two.

You might be the one on top, but Getou’s grip’s too tight, guiding every roll of your hips against his, his own rising in time to fuck his cock deeper into your warm, velvety cunt. And somewhere distantly you recognise that this could be a thousand times worse. How easily he could change the narrative in a heartbeat, flip you over, force your face into the pillows and fuck you like a dog until you’re gasping for air. He could use you, hurt you, probably kill you without ever needing to touch the gun he’d left on your nightstand – and you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of stopping him.

But he doesn’t. Lying back against your pillows, dark hair falling from his half up-do, cheeks flushed from exertion, Getou’s attention is wholly fixed on you - on your face, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he hits somewhere deep inside of you that has you seeing stars, on your tits, the way they bounce every time you sink back down onto his cock.

His eyes are hooded, dark and intense, searching for every hint of pleasure he’s drawn from you. You gasp his name, fingers digging into his chest, your cunt fluttering so deliciously around him – and he loses that last little bit of his self control. 

He jerks upright, one arm wrapping around your waist to anchor you to him as he braces himself with the other, and before you can so much as gasp his mouth is at your tits, hot tongue laving at soft, supple skin there.

“Suguru,” he growls, hips snapping feverishly against yours. 

“Suguru,” you parrot, head lolling back as heat coils tighter in your core. 

You’ll worry about the consequences later, when he pulls you boneless and sated into his arms and you feel his heart thumping at your back as he kisses you and tells you to sleep. When tomorrow you arrive at work and Nanami stares a beat too long as the love bites scattered across your throat, no doubt wondering why you won’t so much as look at him.

For now, you settle for pulling him closer, gasping as you chase that quaking, blissful end.

[burnedbyshoto]

for want of a bento box

– It’s plain and simple, you see, someone is stealing your bento boxes and you will find your lunch thief! Or, in which Todoroki Shouto keeps taking your bento box and you declare war. 

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, cursing, shouto is a bad chef, I believe I made reader pretty gender neutral but I whipped this out in two hours and I can no longer remember if I used any fem!pronouns but im pretty sure I didn’t

word count: 3,060

a/n: this is for the wonder coworker bnharem collab! I had intended on writing a completely different theme and storyline but was very overwhelmed by how much time it actually needed to be written compared to the amount of time I actually had. that version will be out another time! but for now, enjoy some pure flufffffff!!!!

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Having a normal, functioning, well-paying job was probably the most desirable thing to you. It wasn’t to say that you were slacking or that you were homeless, broke, and never to be seen again because you were that in debt. But it was nice having a job!

When you entered the prestigious Toshinori Company, you joined not as an entry-level job employee but as a senior representative. You thought it was crazy.

It had to be crazy.

You had no prior experience, and now you were going to be in charge and the lead in certain areas?!

“And that was the entire layout of the office!” Mina chirped happily, throwing herself onto the desk chair across from yours with a big smile. “Any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you mutter, brows creased as you look around the room again. 

The office space was ample, sleek, open. Each desk has its own grand computer that you currently could not afford with your own money, comfortable chairs, and beautiful wood desks. It was elegant, far superiorly fancy, and yet, you didn’t feel out of place. Strange.

“Oh!” you say with a roll of your eyes as you reach below your desk to bring up your packed lunch. “Where was the break room again? I need to refrigerate my food!”

“Omg, of course, come this way!” Mina grins, standing up and motioning you to follow her. You smile gratefully and do. 

The entire way to the office, Mina takes the time to point at the many different people on the floor and give them names. Everyone so far had sort of acknowledged you earlier as Mina was giving you the official tour. Some were much more open and friendly, and some had sneers or blank stares that left you dumbstruck. 

Definitely a personable group.

“Hm, well, I guess Todoroki-kun isn’t here today?” Mina mutters as you enter the break room that has couches and comfortable-looking chairs. “Such a shame! You would have loved to see the office hottie!”

You snort at that, lips curled into a granulous smile as you place your plastic container with food into the fridge. “I’m sure I’ll live,” you brush off the fact that there was an absent person on your floor today.

“That’s the thing, though,” Mina points a finger at you, a lone eyebrow raised and a confident smirk on her face. “You won’t be thinking that again the moment you see him!”

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Mina joins your laughter. Eventually, she motions for the both of you to leave, and you nod in understanding. And with a weird sense of comfort and belonging, you realized that this job was going to be good. 

.

.

Eventually, you had been working at Toshinori Company for two months.

Sixty-two days to be precise, and in all that time, you had only met Todoroki Shouto once. Even then, you had only seen the man walking through the office with a blank face, fingers in his pockets as two other men were walking in front of him, bickering lightly.

Had Mina not quite literally thrown herself across the table and gripped the collar of your shirt and twisted your head to look at him, you would have never caught a glimpse at the man with red and white hair. The three of them walked into the break room and came back out with their own lunches before leaving.

And that was it.

You had learned that the three of them (Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku, and Bakugou Katsuki) were within your department but worked very closely with the very high up members within the company. Many rumors pointed at one of the three taking over the company when the current CEO stepped down. They were, however, on the roster for your floor; they just never appeared except to pick up their lunches. Something they seemed to come to grab whenever you were a) way too fucking busy or b) not in the room.

You weren’t too bothered, though.

It wasn’t like you were trying to date one of them! You had only wanted to say hi.

.

.

.

Now, at ninety days, you had your first and probably most crucial evaluation. 

Toshinori Yagi, the man who founded and currently ran this company, sat before you, looking at papers within a folder with tired but kind blue eyes. He nodded, impressed (hopefully), making small comments about the work you had been able to accomplish, a smile becoming a warming grin as he looked up.

“I’m impressed by the performance you’ve managed to attend to despite the short while you’ve been here, y/l/n-shojo,” Toshinori spoke, his fingers threading together and placing them onto the table. “I knew it was an excellent decision to put you in that position, and you exceeded my entire expectation!”

You flushed at that, lips twitching as you attempted to suppress that smile of yours. 

“Thank you, Toshinori-san,” you practically wheeze as he waves off your thanks.

“No need to thank me, you’ve done all this work!” he laughs, tired eyes closing with a glorious supply of crow's feet blooming at the corner of his eyes. “Typically, at these evaluations, I ask a bunch of questions because there isn’t too much anyone can do in their first ninety days, I must admit.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, but because I am curious, is there anything that has been happening as of late that you feel needs to be addressed with me?”

You felt yourself stiffen but knew your one and only complaint was not something to bring up in this setting.

“No, nothing,” you shrug, and Toshinori beams.

“I’m glad!”

Now, the problem.

The big, fat, stinky, hooligan, wanting to throttle someone problem.

For the past sixty of your ninety days, someone has been stealing your lunch.

Yes, you heard that correctly; someone was stealing your damn lunch! Every morning you woke up and prepared a delicious bento box for yourself. Some days you went as far as cutting shapes into your fruits and veggies just to make yourself grin. You weren’t the best chef in the world, but your bento boxes were pretty enough to make up for it, in your opinion. But the thing is, every day when you went into the communal fridge, you noticed two things.

One, your bento box was no longer in the same place, and two, the bento box was not yours at all.

The food was disastrously organized. Rice and lettuce spilling out in every partition in the box. The fruit and veggies often packed in this box had multiple cuts in them, implying that whoever did this was less than ideal with a knife. The meat was often oversalted, the sushi never sitting together, and everything was just… not it.

The first time you had sighed and eaten it, grumbling about how your precious lunch was stolen. But you had quickly figured out that it was inedible, and Mina, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu thank god, offered to share their meals. 

Seeing that you were distressed about how someone stole your egg and octopus sausages one day, Mina declared that they would watch the break room for whoever was stealing your light blue bento box. The first day you staked out, you had done it with Mina. But ten minutes into waiting around, you needed to pee. So you stood up and left in a hurry, leaving Mina alone.

But when you returned, Mina was gone, instead standing by Kirishima’s desk with a bright grin and a stance that screamed that she heard something she liked (gossip, possible in-office romance, a love confession?). Her jaw dropped as she noticed you and Kirishima had turned and waved in your direction as you raced into the break room to open the fridge, and sure enough, your bento was gone.

The next time, you staked out with Uraraka. Your arms were folded, your bladder cleared, and your lips twisted into a pout as you glared and stared down every single member who entered the room. Uraraka whispered to you her guesses about just who might be the thief, every other person rating an 8/10 likelihood of stealing your lunch.

But as the both of you sat there, your eyes narrowed at each passerby, no one came to collect your bento today.

“Deku-kun, no packed lunch today?” Uraraka asked as the green, curly-haired man you had only met once previously raced into the break room, grabbing the extra chopsticks meticulously hidden in the third bottom draw.

“Ah, Uraraka-san, y/l/n-san! Uh, no,” Midoriya greeted you both, who apparently responds to the nickname Deku, laughs off as he grabs a handful of napkins. “Todoroki-kun left all our lunches in his car by accident, and well… they spoiled… Kacchan’s pissed, so I ran off to get lunch for us today!”

Uraraka laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to Todoroki-kun to act that way.”

Midoriya laughed, bright and clearly in agreement, “You should have seen his face when Kacchan asked for his lunch! I swear–”

“HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GRAB FUCKING CHOPSTICKS, SHIT-KU! I’M FUCKING STARVING!” a voice roared from nowhere near the entrance of the break room. You did, however, jump a bit, eyes turning toward the break room entrance to see the blond man (Bakugou? Kacchan? You had no idea which was correct) near the entrance of the floor. 

“It’s only been a minute, Kacchan, relax!” Midoriya laughs, completely unaffected by the startling shout as he waves goodbye to both you and Uraraka before leaving, joining Bakugou as the both of them seem to talk comfortably… well, maybe more like bickering.

“Why are they–”

“Childhood friends, apparently,” Uraraka sighed, but the smile on her face betrays her exasperation.

No one stole your bento that day.

Yaoyorozu took up the third stake out, the two of you idly chatting about tea. You honestly had no idea what to talk about with Yaomomo; she was often just so elegant and mature despite being your age. When you learned that her family was in charge of the Yaoyorozu Corp, it had been strangely easy to accept that. 

It made sense.

So as the two of you stood at the kitchen sink, boiling water for tea Yaomomo swore would be the best matchup for your packed nigiri, the both of you missed the man who walked into the room, opened the fridge, and took your lunch.

“I… I am so sorry,” Yaomomo apologized, head bowed dangerously low as the both of you looked at the sloppily cut salmon in your not actual bento. “Please eat my food in reparation.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sigh, chewing on the somehow still warm salmon. “I deserved this loss.”

Luck was just on this man's side, it seemed. No matter what you did, you could never catch the man in action, and you were ready to give up.

But this was the last attempt you said to yourself as you returned to your office floor, the evaluation done, and the rest of your life coming to light. You could do this. No! You WOULD do this!

.

.

“Why don’t you just put your name on your bento box?” Bakugou asked, a lone eyebrow raised in what you could only assume was judgment and pity. The explosive man was standing in the doorway of the breakroom, watching as you and Mina were trying to climb up the counters of the breakroom to grab the camera you had previously planted. “Obviously, it doesn’t have your name on it.”

“Um,” you squeak, having been obviously caught by someone who intimidated you just the slightest bit. “That’s a good idea, thank you, Bakugou-san.”

“Tch, whatever, just clean up the damn counters, fucking nasty standing up on there. Some people prepare their food there.”

“We would never forget to do that!” you argue, desperate to not leave a bad impression on this man.

“I don’t know much about you, but I know raccoon eyes over there would.”

“MY NAME IS MINA!”

“Like I care.”

He left without so much as a wave but did seem to nod with his departure. You sighed as you hopped off the counter, Mina grabbing the cleaning supplies as she cursed out the long-gone man under her breath. 

But you were looking at the fridge with your missing bento box.

“I can’t believe I never put my name on it.”

“It’s okay! Not even Yaomomo thought of it, so I say we are still smart!”

.

.

.

It was the next day, you were at your desk, anxious as hell as you did your work, trying not to focus on the fact that it was lunchtime and you were actively avoiding the break room. You wondered if they wouldn’t come and collect it today. If somehow they were an asshole and wouldn’t care if your name was on it! What would happen then? What if it was someone like Bakugou who was taking your lunch? What then? You were sure you would cave in slight fear and major intimidation if he said that your lunch was his now.

“Want a cutie while we wait, cutie?” Mina asked, waving the small tangerine in her fingers as she grins.

“Please,” you say in gratitude for the food because you were starving. “Thank you.”

Eventually, you lost track of what was happening, becoming all too invested in the conversation that Mina was telling you about that involved Kaminari, Kirishima, Bakugou, Midoriya, twenty-seven Red Bulls, fifteen Monsters, and five shots of sake. It seemed that the former two were quite big instigators when they wanted to be, and the latter two were unable to back away from challenges, especially when the other was involved.

“Y/l/n?” an unfamiliar voice called from behind you, and you turned partially in your chair as you looked behind you.

Standing behind you was a tall man with red and white hair, and from this distance, you noticed immediately that his eyes were a deep grey and brilliant blue.

Todoroki Shouto.

“T-Todoroki-san!” you greet him back, voice unable to keep from trembling as your nerves shot up. What was going on? You two had never interacted before! He was always gone, never present, and whenever he was in the office, it seemed that you weren’t there.

He cleared his throat and raised up two identical bento boxes.

“It seems… I have apparently been stealing your bento boxes,” he concludes, pressing the blue bento box with your name written on it into your hands.

Your jaw drops as your fingers curve around the cool plastic, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to abstain from laughing high pitched and ugly like. 

“It was you?!”

A pink color blooms onto his cheeks as he averts his eye contact with you and nods slowly, “I am so sorry.”

“I just… how?!” you exclaim, exasperated, this man obviously being a bit dense if he had no idea he was taking your bento box!

“I prepare my bento boxes the night before, and I don’t really remember what I put into them….” Todoroki explains slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his tongue clicking the roof of his tongue. “I just thought that my cooking was improving and that I was somehow doing an amazing job.”

The grin that overcomes your face is one of subtle, strange fondness and soft warmth. “I can tell you that you probably haven’t improved much,” you tease, opening your bento box to see your prepared meal for the day. 

Cucumber salad, bulgogi beef, rice, and some fruit.

It was packed exactly how you remembered.

“I can’t believe I finally get to eat a meal I prepared,” you continue to tease, your eyes moving up to meet Todoroki, who was also looking at your bento previously. “Thank you for returning my meals and apologizing.”

“It was nothing,” Todoroki waved off with a single hand before opening up his own disastrously assembled bento box. It looked worse than usual today. Everything was just thrown in, it seemed. You saw egg and rice, but everything else in there was indescribable. He smiles at you before sighing at his bento. “This looks more like my stuff.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “You want to share my bento box? I’m sure you probably don’t want to return to that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Todoroki gently declined, although he looked at your bento with great want. He cleared his throat, gaze moving to lock on yours, and you swore his cheeks were still pink but no longer from embarrassment. “I just wanted to come and apologize for stealing your lunch for so long and to thank you for the meals; they were all delicious. Especially the soba you had made.”

“It’s all good; it’s in the past now,” you say gently, somehow finding yourself falling for a man you’ve barely just begun to talk with. The both of you stare at each other, and your skin feels warm. You chuckle, gaze averting for a moment before returning as you tease him. “Although, if you steal from me again, I’m not so sure if I’ll be so lenient.”

“It won’t happen again, promise,” Todoroki smiles, and you feel your spine melt. “But I would love to make it up to you somehow. I can make you dinner one night or something?”

You laugh, head shaking, “No, absolutely not; I don’t trust your cooking skills just yet. But you can definitely take me out to dinner.”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” Todoroki agrees, and the both of you fall silent as the shy stares continue. “Does, um… is Friday at seven okay with you?”

“That works,” you say, and Todoroki smiles.

“Good, I’ll uh, see you then?”

“See you,” you agree with a sweet smile before turning around, your fingers raised in a small wave. 

You turn to see Mina, Uraraka, and Yaomomo staring at you, eyes comically wide and so very intrigued.

“Oh… my… GOD!” Mina shrieked as Todoroki walks away, and you shriek as she jumps across the table and shakes you, screaming about office romances and meet-cutes being entirely too underrated. “PROMISE ME I’LL BE INVITED TO THE WEDDING!!!!”

“MINA!”

.

.

.

.

.

It would take about three years of dating, several months of teaching Shouto how to cook, which resulted in a few bellyaches. Still, eventually yes, Mina would be invited to your wedding.

[akaashisbabygirl]

the tutor

if you know the original source of this picture! please dm me or let me know in my inbox so i can tag them

Summary: akaashi keiji isn’t just a normal tutor. in fact, he has strong, sexual feelings for the girl he has to tutor. but what he doesn’t know is that late at night, she thinks about him too while her fingers stuff her cunt

A/n: i did it. i actually did it. i took a short 300 word story about akaashi being a tutor and turned it into a fic. i hope that you all enjoy this. i tried to keep the same style while writing but i’m not sure if i nailed it :/ nevertheless, i hope that you enjoy and have a great 2021 

Words: 2667

Pairings: tutor!akaashi x female!reader

Warnings: nsfw - male and female masturbation, oral (giving and receiving), vaginal penetration, sex toy use, fingering, riding, multiple positions, overstimulation, praise, akaashi calling reader angel

Just seeing you sitting there, your legs shut together, your tongue flicking out of your spread lips as you concentrated on the equation made Akaashi wonder what would happen if the two of you were in the bedroom alone together.

He watched your lips, wondering how you would look with your shiny pink lips wrapped around his cock. He wondered what you would look like, with your legs shaking, cum dripping down your thighs, hickeys decorating your skin as he pins you down onto the bed, his cock thrusting into your tight walls.

He wondered what pretty noises you would make as he ruins you, tears your tight hole open, leaving you a dripping mess filled with his cum. Thinking about the way your freshly done makeup would run down your face, the way you would close your legs to hide your body from his eyes.

Akaashi sat there, daydreaming in the open. He didn’t even realise that you had stopped working on the equation.

“All done? he asked.

Akaashi knew that you were a virgin, and he wanted to ruin you. He wanted to be the only guy you would go crawling to when you were needy, and that at moments late at night when you touched yourself, you would only think about him, and be reminded that you can’t even pleasure yourself the way Akaashi can. How Akaashi’s fingers could reach deeper in your cunt than your own, small ones.

“Yes! Give me something harder,” you wore a cheerful smile on your face as you asked for a harder equation.

Akaashi chuckled as he pretended to be thinking of an equation to give you. But secretly, he thought about how he wanted to throw everything on the table aside and give you a reward for doing so well.

“Alright, how about this one?” Akaashi asked, handing you back the piece of paper, seeing how your eyes widened at the question.

“I don’t know that…” you said softly, almost as if you sounded like you were trying to admit defeat to the male.

Akaashi could only chuckle, his hand slowly moving to rest on your soft thigh as he looked over your shoulder, watching how you took on the equation.

Your thigh was soft. So soft. He wondered what your thighs would feel like, wrapped around his neck as he went down on you, his soft tongue sliding over your dripping folds. Or the way your legs would wrap his waist, his cock pushing through your walls and tearing you apart as you squirm underneath him.

“Is this right?”

Once again, your soft, adorable voice cut through the lewd thoughts spreading throughout his mind. With his face resting with a smile, he turned to you. A chuckle escaped his lips as he read over the equation.

“Oh darling, that’s not correct. Here… let me help you.”

Akaashi loved being in your company. He loved the feeling of you being close to him, again, which only made him wonder what it would be like if he were inside of you, the two of you becoming one. He secretly craved so much from the small university girl that he tutored, so much that he would rather die than express his thoughts.

However, what Akaashi was oblivious of was what happened whenever he went home. After leaving, you would rush yourself to your bedroom, small fingers moving to your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud, moans and whimpers of his name falling from your lips. Truth was, you craved Akaashi more than he craved you, if that was remotely anywhere near possible.

You imagined him in between your legs, his soft black locks brushing against your soft skin, his large hands keeping your thighs spread as your back arches from all the sudden pleasure. You craved the sight of your cum coating Akaashi’s beautiful face, the way he would lick his lips before pushing you into a position on the bed, beginning to fuck you with a slow, deep pace which would have you screaming out for him.

But you knew that would never happen.

He was just the boy who was assigned to tutor you, not to come and take you in every way possible.

Akaashi was the same way, sitting on his bed, his cock in his hand, jacking off to the thought of you spread out for him. He wanted to feel what it was like to have your soft hands roaming around his body, your soft lips wrapped around his cock, eyes directly watching his every movement as you take more of him into your mouth. Akaashi climaxed, his hair thrown back against the bed as he panted.

He wanted to be with you. He desired you, he wanted to feel you against him. The love that he felt was going unnoticed, the love that strongly sat there for you to run into his arms, pressing your lips against him as the two of you look at each other with such love.

The next tutor session was nothing new – not that it had changed at all. Overtime, the two of you had begun to get closer and closer. You were fine with Akaashi resting his large hand on your thigh, and you noticed how he would slowly move his hand higher. You even tried bucking your hips at him, wearing shorter clothing just to find a way to get him to touch you more.

Akaashi wanted to punish you for wearing short clothing, but he thought that somewhere there was the same feelings he felt for you rushing through your mind.

Every other session felt like the same day on repeat. The same hours of questions and work, only to pleasure yourself when Akaashi would go home.

You opened the door for Akaashi, believing it were to be just another normal day of the two of you working on equations together. Akaashi stood there, a large hoodie in the freezing cold. You began to shiver somewhere throughout the session, causing Akaashi to panic, pulling his hoodie from his body, revealing some of his muscles in the process, which only made you drool more at the sight of his toned body.

You inhaled the scent of his cologne on the hoodie, the way the jumper was too big for your small body, the way it sat halfway down your thighs. Akaashi loved the sight of you wearing his hoodie, even making a comment about how you should wear his hoodie more often. He knew that if he wanted this relationship to progress in anyway, he needed to start being more vocal, other than just sitting there and waiting for you to make the first move. He was smart enough to know that was never going to happen.

“You should wear it more often,” he whispered into your ear as you washed your hands in the bathroom.

Your eyes darted to the mirror, watching how he had to move himself, leaning down so he was able to whisper into your ear. The way his hand sat on the bathroom sink, his other hand, his pointer finger tucking your hair behind your ear. You felt his hot breath on your skin, squeezing your thighs shut to try and relive the ache that sat there.

Yet, once again, you waited for Akaashi to leave before you did anything.

You threw your head back as the vibrator sat on your clit on its highest setting. Akaashi’s hoodie you wore, bunched up at your waist. Your legs shook from the intense pleasure, back arching as cries of his name fell from your lips. You wanted it to be him, not some stupid toy. You could only imagine, pretending your fingers weren’t your own, that it was Akaashi holding the toy on your clit, looking down at you as you squirmed on the bed.

Akaashi was no better, because every night, he thought the same.

The next time was different. You gave Akaashi back his hoodie, but he told you to keep it, only causing you to blush. He knew that the two of you could never be a real couple, so he tried what he could do to make it seem as if the two of you were one.

Days progressed.

Akaashi sat anxiously in his seat, watching how you walked into the room, dressed in his large blue hoodie. Akaashi knew that he wanted you, and he could only think that you wanted him too. He watched as you moved over to him, sitting yourself down in his lap, legs on either side of him as you push your breasts to his chest, head resting in the crook of your neck as your arms wrap around him. Akaashi’s first instinct was to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you close. He could feel your panties against his thin shorts, wondering what you were wearing underneath the large hoodie.

“What’s the matter, angel?” the nickname made your panties wet.

You grinded your hips on his lap. Akaashi took in a sharp breath, not wanting to become hard for nothing.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that,” he mumbled against your skin.

You knew what you were doing. In fact, it had been what you had been planning for ages now. You wanted Akaashi to be the one to take your virginity, you were sure of it.

“Take me… Akaashi. I want you to take me,” you let your lips graze the skin of his neck, sucking lightly on his beautiful skin.

You felt him become hard underneath you, your panties growing damper as you moved your hips. Akaashi wasn’t having it, pulling you from him and watching how you dropped down onto your knees in front of him.

Shaking his head, he mumbled a soft, “Not here.”

You nodded, softly holding his hand and taking him upstairs to the same place you had sinful thoughts about him and did sinful things while moaning out his name. He watched as you pushed him down onto the bed, climbing over him. You rested yourself in between Akaashi’s thighs, spreading them to your liking. Shaky fingers moved to his belt, pulling it off and throwing it to the ground, tugging his pants, as well as his boxers down his legs. Akaashi took in a deep breath as the sight he dreamed of appeared before his turquoise coloured eyes.

He watched as you took the tip of his semi hard cock into your mouth, moving his hands to your hair, wrapping it around his hand, tugging slightly, forcing you to take more of him into your mouth. You gagged slightly, but continued to suck him off, letting your tongue run along his most sensitive spots.

“Fuck, y-you don’t know how long I’ve b-been waiting for this,” he groaned out, watching how you maintained eye contact with him while having his cock shoved down your throat.  

Akaashi let go of your hair, tucking it slightly behind your ear. He grabbed onto the bedsheets for support, moans falling from his lips that he wasn’t afraid to show. He bucked his hips up into your mouth, causing you to gag around him once more.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he muttered, stroking your hair slowly, “Taking me in your mouth like the good girl that you are.”

At one moment, Akaashi’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he climaxed into your mouth. He watched as you pulled yourself off his cock, watching as you swallowed his cum, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show that you had.

Akaashi flipped you over, praising you, calling you a good girl as he shoved the hoodie up, letting it bunch at your waist. He noticed the red lace panties which sat underneath, his eyes widening when he noticed the damp spot in the middle, right where your dripping cunt was. He pulled his hoodie from your body, removing his shirt so he was fully naked. His eyes widened, seeing the matching red lace bra that you wore.

Akaashi’s fingers were skilled, easily removing your panties and bra. His lips moved to suck around your hardened nipple. His lips sucked dark, purple marks down your soft skin. Your body was softer than he thought it was. He loved the way you felt, the way your innocent demeanour changed when the two of you were alone.

His lips attached to your clit, a cry of his name leaving his lips as he began to suck lightly on your most sensitive spot. His fingers toyed with your entrance, collecting your wetness on his long digits. He needed to prep you for when he was to fuck you.

Lust and the way your tight velvety walls clenched around Akaashi’s digits filled his mind, the way your hands gripped onto the sheets, your hips would move and how angelic you sounded when you cried out his name. He wanted more. He needed more.

“Kaashi’ I’m gonna fucking cum… O-Oh, you’re gonna m-make me fucking cum.”

That’s what he did. He made you climax all over his digits, his tongue now dipping down to your entrance to taste you.

The two of you were stripped of your clothing, looking at each other with lust filled eyes. Akaashi pulled you closer to him, attaching his lips to yours, sharing a soft, passionate kiss.

“Where are your condoms?” he mumbled in between kisses.

“Top drawer on the left.”

Akaashi climbed off the bed, opening the drawer. He observed the small bullet vibrator he found, bringing it out along with one of the condoms. He slipped the condom onto his length, hovering over you.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Yes, there was a slight pain when he thrusted into you, but it felt too good. Pain was washed away with the pleasure of being filled, the pleasure of having Akaashi’s lips on your neck as you moaned underneath him.

“F-Faster,” you moaned out slightly, wanting to be pounded into by the boy.

Akaashi wouldn’t take no as an answer, not when he’s here fucking the girl he’s always wanted to. Slowly, he increased the speed, grabbing hold of your vibrator and pressing it against your clit. You cried out, cursing at the way the boy found your favourite toy and decided to use it against you.

His hands reached out for the headboard, grabbing onto it as he quickened his pace. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, tongue slightly sticking out of your mouth as drool dripped down your chin.

A sharp cry left your lips as you climaxed again, this time, around his cock. You felt Akaashi pull out of you, throwing the toy onto the bed.

“Ride me.”

His voice was harsh, commanding you, not giving you any options.

You straddled his waist once again, feeling his cock enter you from now a completely different angle. Your hands rested around his neck, as his sat on your waist and guided you up and down his cock.

Your head was thrown back as Akaashi moved his to suck lightly on your nipples. Intense pleasure soared through your body as you were driven to your third climax of the night. Your body felt weak, unable to move on its own.

Instead, Akaashi pulled out of you once more, shoving your back down on the bedsheets, moving your legs to sit on his shoulders as he entered you once again. His hand intertwined with yours as he mumbled against your skin,

“Cum with me.”

And that’s what happened. The two of you climaxed at the same time, just like how the characters did in every smut you had read. He pulled out, watching how your cum dripped from your abused hole. He smirked, moving his fingers to your hole, stuffing your cum back into your body.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, angel.”

You could now say, that every tutoring session, you two studied each other’s bodies.

© all content belongs to akaashisbabygirl 2020, do not repost or change

[familyfriendlyweed]

makeup sessions (karl jacobs x fem reader)

a/n : hi! this is my first tumblr post. i have written stuff on wattpad in the past, but it’s still quite new to me, so please be nice :]] i accept positive critism and advice, as that most definitely will help me grow as a writer!

 Y/n let out something between a squeal and a scream at the same time when she saw Karl's tweet. her face was beat red and her lips couldn't help but curl into the stupidest grin ever.

the tweet read :

hey @) y/nhasursocks wanna do my makeup at my stream today :]]

 it was the simplest tweet, yet it meant so much to the girl. Karl and Y/n were always really good friends, they often streamed minecraft together, but never in a million years did he yet ask her to be in his stream in real life.

 Y/n picked up the phone with trembling hands, already seeing a bunch of likes, comments and retweets to Karl's tweet. before answering, she got curious to know what the people say. cautiously opening the comments section, the girl scanned it through with her eyes. a bunch of "awwwwws" and hearts could be seen, which worsened her already red cheeks.

With her heart thumping hard against her ribs, she started writing her reply :

sounds great! <3

 for a moment Y/n hesitated to press the "reply" button with the "<3" emoticon in the comment, but then she figured she and Karl sent lovey dovey emojis/emoticons in the past to each other anyways, so, she pressed the "reply" button at last.

 in an instant, her reply started gaining more and more likes, comments and retweets. Y/n was never really popular, having her clout was only because of Karl being her friend, so seeing this much attention was weird to her. but she didn't care about that right now. all that Y/n cared about at the moment was the fact that Karl appreciated her enough to actually invite her over.

 a little bit later in the day, Y/n received a private message from Karl, which said :

hey Y/n! I'm really glad you're up to stream together <3 i planned on starting the stream at 4 pm, but you can change the time if you're busy :] here is my address (don't tell anyone! :D) - (random address lol)

 Y/n answered :

 thanks for inviting me bestie!! 4 pm is cool, I'll be there! <33

 she set the phone down, unable to remove the blissful smile from her face. she has never felt this way before - it was really weird, but the constant butterflies in her tummy reminded her that it's a good feeling. taking a few deep breaths, Y/n reminded to herself that all she has to do is to go to Karl's house and have a good time AS FRIENDS - no romantic stuff is needed.

  ~~~~~time skip~~~~~

  Y/n got off from the bus at 15:50, but she still had about 5 minutes to reach Karl's house. in what felt like forever, the girl felt a sting of what was unmistakably fear and guilt - what if she was late? and what if Karl would be annoyed with her for that?

 slowly she broke into a panicky run. passing careless citizens, who all looked at her fear-stricken face curiously, she finally made it to the front door of Karl's home. Y/n pulled out her phone and found the code that she was supposed to enter next the main door. she quickly dialed it, a beep beep beep was heard and she entered.  

 finally making it to Karl's apartment, Y/n stopped to smooth her hair and straighten her clothes so she doesn't look too shabby. her body seemed to be moving on its own - her finger pressed the doorbell automatically.

 Karl opened the door almost in an instant - he wore a warm smile and before Y/n could stutter a "hello", he pulled the girl into a big welcoming hug.

 "hey Y/n! it's so cool you made it!" Karl exclaimed, still holding her close.

Y/n's head was spinning, she needed more time to process what was happening. but nevertheless, she finally lifted her own arms and hugged the guy. burying her face into his sweater, she inhaled Karl's scent deeply - he smelled something like honey and warm days.

"hello, Karl." she mumbled with a grin on her face.

"come on, do you want to eat something before the stream?" Karl asked, letting go of the girl and taking her hand into his instead, leading Y/n into the house.

"oh no, I'm full. let's get straight to business." she answered, the blissful smile and content blush never leaving her face.

"alrighty! you already know, but we'll have an eventful makeup session, and then I thought maybe play some minecraft so the stream isn't too short?" the guy asked, opening his bedroom door.

"sounds great!"

Karl smiled and went to his computer :

"you ready? I'll start the stream now."

the girl quickly fixed her hair again and gave him thumbs up :

"ready."

Karl started the stream with facecam on and as soon as the chat saw Y/n, it went absolutely wild.

"guys, give her a rest, poor girl just came!" he laughed, drawing her a chair. Y/n thanked quietly and sat, waving to the chat timidly. in the corner of her eye, she saw comments like "she's so adorable" and "look at Karl being a gentleman" in the chat and her cheeks grew more red, but this time from satisfaction.

"well, as you guys know, Y/n agreed to be in my stream today, and since some of you don't really know her, she's a really good friend of mine who also streams and does youtube videos - so go support her!"

from that moment Y/n relaxed more and more with each minute. it was fifteen minutes into the stream when she already felt as if at home.

"Karl, you have a hell lot of lipsticks, where did that come from?"

"uhhhh, I only bought them for the stream today!"

"oh really? why are they all used, then?" Y/n asked giggling and showing them to the stream.

"hey- don't expose me like that!"

"chat, clip it, CLIP IT!"

all was going really well, Y/n was having a really good time with Karl AS FRIENDS. it was really nice. but all hell broke loose when the time to put eyeliner came.

"alright, I have no idea why, but you have four eyeliners."

"they're my sister's."

"haha, yeah, yeah, alright. Which one do you want big man?"

"hmmm, the one in your left hand!"

Y/n set the other eyeliners on the table, quickly glancing at the chat. her cheeks grew very very red…

"Y/N DO THE MEME SIT ON HIS LAP" "SIT ON HIS LAP" "THE MEME, DO THE MEME!!!"

  a/n: if anyone is confused, this is an example of the meme i’m talking about :

the girl tried to act as if she hadn't seen the comments, but Karl was already by her side, reading them with her.

"meme… what meme?" he wondered out loud. Y/n got the impression that he was genuinely confused.

'chat, shut the fuck up, please shut the fuck up.' thought Y/n, but of course chat was just being chat.

"SHE SHOULD SIT ON UR LAP" "THERE'S A MEME WHERE A GIRL DOES A GUY'S EYELINER WHILE SITTING ON HIS LAP" "WE'RE NOT FORCING BUT YOU GUYS WOULD LOOK SO CUTE"

Y/n hid her face in her hands, unable to control her blushing. Karl just chuckled sweetly :

"chat, calm down, she's going to die from blushing."

he put on the "please stand by" screen and scooted over Y/n :

"hey, it's fine. we won't do it if you don't want to," Karl then leaned closer and whispered, "I'd be pretty glad if you agreed, though."

Y/n lowered her hands, showing off the big red hue on her cheeks. for a split second Karl's eyes widened -  she looked really adorable.

"I'd also be glad." the girl said, almost not believing her own words.

Karl's adorable smile came back and he leaned back:

"well then, come here."

Y/n stood up shyly and straddled his legs, grabbing the eyeliner in the process.

"do you want me to turn on the facecam?" Karl asked quietly.

the girl nodded :

"I don't mind."

he turned it on and put his hands onto Y/n's hips. even without looking at it, Y/n knew the chat was blowing up at the moment.

"you guys better subscribe, because we're providing very good fanservice." said Karl jokingly and Y/n laughed. turning to him, she opened the eyeliner and put it next to his eye, only to find him staring at her in an awe. the girl blushed as a strong urge to kiss him kicked in. it looked as if Karl wanted the same thing.

at the precise same time, they both leaned in and pressed their lips together, Y/n putting her hands onto Karl's cheeks to hide the view from the chat. the kiss was very short and with no tongue included - but it was the most sweet kiss Y/n has ever shared with someone. she pulled away, an identical grin to Karl's on her face and hugged him very tight - they almost fell off the chair.

laughing, she continued to do Karl's makeup as if nothing happened and everyone watching the stream wasn't fainting and clipping the kiss. this will be talked about for a long time, but as before, Y/n didn't care about that, and nor did Karl.

a/n : anddddd cut! it’s quite wonky, but i believe it’s pretty swell for my first mcyt fanfic :]] let me know what you think of it and if you have any tips or advice on how to make my future stories more enjoyable! thanks for reading and i hope to see you around <3

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

The Bet (Bakugou x reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x female reader Word count: 2,653 Warnings: 18+, orgasm denial, over stimulation Notes: An excellent idea I had one day. I was originally going to send this idea in an ask to @lady-bakuhoe (especially since the idea came from something she said once), but I never got around to it and then realized I could write it for Bakugou’s birthday bash. I hope this is good, this is my second 18+ fic and the first one to actually have vaginal penetration, so I hope I did it justice.

 ~~~

"Bakugou's hot, but he's probably terrible at sex," you said to a friend once.

You were in your workshop. And your friend was free and decided to come around. She was an old classmate from U.A.’s support course. You rarely saw each other since graduating. But whenever you did see her, it was always an enjoyable experience. So it was decided that you would catch up while you were working.

The conversation somehow led to the point where she started pondering how the pro heroes could do the deed. Of course, she mainly mentioned the popular ones. Which led her to mention Bakugou.

"What was that!?" Bakugou came barreling into the room. A vein bulging from his forehead.

Perhaps it would have been best if you remembered that you were finishing up a project for Bakugou. And that he was in the next room waiting for it to be done. You didn’t know him well the first two years in U.A., but the last year you were given the task of inventing something for him. Ever since then, you had taken more jobs for him and became friends of a sort.

It was too late to take your words back now, and you just had to roll with it. Plus, it was the truth.

"I said you'd be terrible at sex."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you could be! How do you know? Last I checked, you still had your v-card."

"Does he really?" Your friend asked, her emotions a combination of shock and amusement.

"Yeah." You laughed.

"Shut up! I'd be the best at it, and you know it!"

"No, I bet you wouldn’t."

"I bet would!"

"Prove it!"

"Fine! Let's settle this right now!"

His words catch you off guard, but you aren't losing to him. "O-okay! As long as you're paying for the hotel room."

You and Bakugou left the room. You looking up a good place on your phone. And your friend sat there, wide eyed, with her mouth gaping.

It went how you expected.

You asked for a room, after having Bakugou’s promise that he'd pay you back. You texted him the room number so he could sneak in from the back without being noticed. Lord knew the media internet would go crazy if they saw pro-hero Dynamite enter a hotel room with some girl. Especially if anyone happened to notice condoms in his pocket. You also made sure to text your friend later and make her promise not to tell anyone.

He was very clearly inexperienced. Jackhammering into you, not even pay attention to your clit. Eventually he did remember that you had to please the other person to be good at sex. But his attempts were clumsy.

You had to remind him to stay quiet several times when his growls got too loud. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he came and struggled to hide his exhaustion. It ended there.

"See, you're terrible at it. Not even close to cumming." You told him. And with that, you left to go get your vibrator.

It was a while until you saw him again. You were called into another city for work, and was just getting back. And it just so happened that you were back when it was Bakugou’s birthday.

Kirishima and a few other classmates from his U.A. days arranged a party at his place, one you were doubtful that Bakugou had agreed to. You were invited, which surprised you, but you accepted. You did your best to converse, but it was difficult when you didn’t know most of them particularly well. You mostly hung around Bakugou.

As evening bled into night, people slowly began leaving. You hadn’t left yet because you, quite frankly, had nothing better to do. Though, you thought it would be nice if you could catch up with Bakugou alone.

The conversation was fairly mundane. Work, news. At least both of your workplaces were fairly interesting. He had the usual angry bite to his voice, but you expected it of him at this point. You were asking him about how the improvement you finished for him was working out, when he had a faraway look in his eyes. His cheeks had turned a red color. You asked him what he was thinking about.

"We still haven't settled our bet!" He said.

"What?"

"Our bet! You said I was bad at sex!"

"This again? I thought we settled it. And, as I said, you were bad at it."

"No! That was just a fluke! We're gonna do it again!"

You let out a sigh. "Nothing's going to change. We already did it once and know the answer."

"You're just saying that because you're afraid you're going to lose." He pointed at you.

That was it.

"No," you glared, "I'm not."

"Then what's stopping you!?"

"Nothing!" You stood up. "Where’s the bedroom?"

With a smirk, he pointed with his thumb.

How did you get yourself into this? Well, you said you didn’t have anything better to do.

You confidently strode over to the bed. Throwing the bottom half of your clothes off, you got onto the mattress and waited. He wasted no time in undoing his belt with a quick jingle, and climbed over you. You felt the bed dip under your combined weight as he ran a finger against your folds.

He pushed one finger into your hole. Last time he had just tried to shove his length in, which is why his new behavior confused you. Though you didn’t dwell on it. Your tight walls clamped down on his finger as he added a second one. You hissed at the stretch. He shoved them in and out of you, knuckles deep. His fingers brushed against your sensitive spot. You bit your lip in an attempt to not buck into his fingers.

"Everything alright?"

The words alone would have made you believe he was genuinely concerned. But you saw his face, his smirk. His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, of course. Just waiting for you to actually be good at this," you retorted.

Your comment didn’t seem to have any effect on his ego. He twisted his digits around, until they brushed against a spot that almost made you lose your composure.

You hoped he didn't notice, but he must have, because he applied more pressure to it. The sheets bunched up in your hands as you grasped at anything to stop the moan that threatened to escape from your throat.

Your breaths became labored and inconsistent. To your embarrassment, you could hear the wet slide of his finger that came out only to hit the spot once more. A pressure built up inside of you, begging to be released the more intense it became.

A long whine escaped from you, still heard even with your mouth closed. Your thoughts blurred. You were close. You tried to resist at first, but was slowly surrendering.

Almost as soon as you had come to accept it, it stopped. Your heart rate quickened as if facing a fatal misfortune.

"What? You weren’t going to cum if I'm bad at sex, right? Or do you want to be wrong?"

No. Your pride was on the line and you weren’t losing.

He got on top of you. You sunk further into the mattress with his arms caging you in. You could smell yourself on his fingers. He tugged down his pants and boxers, finally releasing his cock from its confines.

You pursed your lips at seeing how large it was. You didn’t think you'd see it again after the first time. The blond ripped a condom out of the crinkling plastic and put it on.

He ran the tip along your slit. It pushed against your clit. You grasped the covers and bit your lip to conceal a whine. Collecting your arousal. This was different from last time. He just stuck it in.

He was taking so long to just stick it in! Your hole clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was almost like he was being slow on purpose. Making you desperate for him after you challenged him.

You must have accidentally shown some of your frustration on your face. He leaned in with a smirk. His breath fanning your warm face as his tip pushed even harder against your sensitive bud. You let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, princess?" He said mockingly. Enjoying your pain. God, you wished you could punch him.

"Nothing, just wonder when y--" he suddenly pushed into you, not even letting you finish.

Your mouth gaped open and eyes widened, feeling him invade your pussy. His smirk grew and he repositioned himself. His mouth was at your neck. You could feel his sharp breaths on you.

"You can't handle my cock when I haven't even moved yet?" His growls vibrated against your skin. "Need me to stay still even longer?"

You couldn't let him win. You were never going to give him that satisfaction. "No," you lied.

You regretted it immediately. His length started pistoning in and out of you. So fast you almost lost yourself.

His hips slightly adjusted their thrusts. Confusion began to show on your face until it twisted back into shocked pleasure when he hit that perfect spot. You couldn’t stop a moan from tumbling out of your mouth. That little ba-

"Ah-hh!" He kept hitting it at an unforgiving pace.

“Heh. You’re enjoying it this much already?”

“No--” you were cut off by a moan escaping your throat. “God, right there.”

You could feel him grin as he began biting your neck. Licking, and teasing where you were most sensitive. All the while, he moved a hand down to your neglected clit. He rubbed circular motions into it. A small moan tumbled out of you.

You could feel it, a heat intensifying again. A lot faster after being edged the first time. It was coming. You were going to cum. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you were so close.

He must have been able to tell. Because he slowed. Oh, he slowed to a painful pace. Your eyes went wide in panic.

"What are you doing?! Why did you--?" One quick thrust interrupted you before slowing again. You were hating this new habit of his.

"Nothing. Just not letting you cum until you beg for it. So beg."

You shook your head. You were dripping. Your primal instincts screaming at you. But you had enough wits about you to not sacrifice your dignity.

He shrugged, the slightest bit of irritation in his face. "Suit yourself."

He continued at the same, slow, painful pace. You withheld a whine of quickly losing the promise of a release. Gradually he began going faster. Consistent, quick claps filled the room once more. You twisted the soft sheets in your hand. Trying to hide how quickly the pressure was built up again.

He was making an absolute mess out of your pussy and of you.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to get fucked real good.” His pace was relentless. Words couldn’t even form in your head from the overstimulation.

Almost there. Almost- then any sort of stimulation stopped again.

You felt like crying. No, you were crying. Desperate to meet your end. Your attempts to be subtle while helpless grinding on his cock was pathetic. And you knew it.

He let you fall from your high, only to build you back up again. Your body writhing, feeling every cell in your body overheating.

"What's wrong? Need me to make you feel good? Need me to finish you off? That's right! You need me right now. Me and my cock."

Your mind was too clouded to even create a witty response. He wasn't this good last time! What happened?

Your eyes went wide at this realization. "How are you--?"

"I did my research."

"I thought Midoriya was the only one who would- ah-h!"

"Don't," he gave an extra hard thrust, hitting your cervix, "say his name. I should be," he pounded into you at every word like a punctuation, "the only person you can even think of right now."

You frantically nodded, completely forgetting about the competition you had made this out to be.

A strong arm wrapped around you, holding you against him. He grinned while staring at your face, contorting in pleasure.

You let out a long whine, combined with a sob. "Please," you said, forgetting everything. Screw your dignity and pride. You couldn’t take this anymore.

"Please what?" He teased, savoring the victory on his tongue.

"Please," you mindlessly babbled. Tears rolled down your face as your resolve shattered, "please let me cum. Please. Please. Please."

"Well, all you had to do was ask." He hit the perfect spot in you. Over and over again, while rolling your clit between his fingers.

Almost instantly, it all returned and you felt yourself gushing all over him. Relief and euphoria flooding through you. He kept thrusting into you during your orgasm, making your brain spark and sputter.

As you started to come down from your high, was when he came undone. He grunted and gave one shove to the hilt, creating a large wet slap.

He slumped over somewhat, having lost his rigid energy from before. He pulled out of you. Your own liquid running out and making your skin sensitive to the air. Your breaths were still deep. You tried to pull yourself together as quickly as you could and started to sit up.

"No way, sister." He pushed you back down by your shoulders. He threw the used condom to the side and put a new one on in a fluid motion. He was already hard again… "We're not done yet."

He pushed calculated thrusts into your sopping pussy. Continuing at a pace only a hero could so short after cummimg. His strong hands clamped down on your hip, letting him roll into you more easily. Constant pressure to your g-spot made your eyelids flutter.

It built up and snapped all over again. You moaned out gibberish deliriously. Waves of pleasure washing over you becoming harder to stand.

He showed no sign of stopping. Angling himself to ram into that spot mercilessly. He adjusts his hand to allow his thumb access to your clit. He lifted up your shirt and bra and leaned down to lick and nibble at your breasts. You tried to pull away, the overstimulation being too much, but he held you down.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Body heating up so much you thought you would catch fire. He shoved you over the edge once again. And again. Reminding you of a computer stalling, only to perform the action you wanted far too many times.

His face was twisted in a determined concentration before it finally relaxed in a groan. Finally he came again. He let out a long sigh before letting himself fall on the bed next to you, sweat glistening on his toned body.

You both lay there. Recovering your energy, trying not to give into exhaustion demands to fall asleep. Apparently it took more out of him than he let on. You tried to ignore how wet you felt.

You breathed heavily. Trying to catch your breath. "That was… better."

"Better? Do you know how many times you came?"

"Yeah. But, just," you took a deep breath every word, "not sure. I would have to try again, to really know. It could have been a fluke." You were too tired to even acknowledge your pathetic argument.

"There’s no way it could have been a fluke!"

"It was the last time, according to you. Why can't it be one again." Trying to remember you schedule was getting easier as you came down, but was still hard. "I'm busy tomorrow. Next week?"

"Three days from now."

"Deal."

But you would only have to wait for two.

[buttterknifeee]

How long is forever? - Teen Titans x Aquagirl!Reader

Masterlist

Request: "Hello, May I request an episode insert in the Teen Titans episode 'How Long Is Forever?'"

Summary: Starfire takes a trip to the future... only to find out that you and the other Titans have disbanded. Will she find a way back to the present, or will you live an unfulfilling life forever?? (from S2 EP1)

Pairings: None

Word Count: 3919

A/N: Hey!!! sorry this took a while, it was super hard to write it due to most of it being in Starfire's POV. Most of the episodes in the series are centered around specific titans, so if you have an idea for an Aquagirl centered episode, feel free to send it in!!! (theres also a grand total of one cuss word in there)

Aquagirl’s Room - 2004

“Where is it? Where is it?” you mumble, tearing your room apart. You were looking for one of your CDs that you were in the mood for listening to. You threw your clothes into the air, looked under your bed, and even checked inside of your fish tank, holding the water containing a few tropical fish above you until you gave up. You sighed, finally checking the clock. You realized that you’ve been in your room for an hour and you haven’t even said hello to the other titans. You quickly change into your suit and head to the living room.

You stretched as you walked in. “Hey guys-” you stop in confusion at the scene in front of you. Starfire was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, holding a bunch of necklaces and boxes and babbling something about “Blorthorg”, Beast Boy and Cyborg were brawling for a video game remote, Raven was reading silently and holding up a pair of nail clippers (?) telepathically, and Robin….

Anger bubbles up inside of you as you realize that he was in front of the stereo, blasting music. From your CD. You cross your arms as you march up to the Boy Wonder.

“Hey Rob, whatcha doing with my CD?” You say. “What, was Kelly Clarkson too quiet for you?”

Raven adds, “Yeah Robin, could the music be a little louder? I can still hear myself think.”

He glares at the two of you “I don’t listen- I only turned the music up to DROWN OUT ALL THE YELLING!!” He refers to the two boys. Cyborg now had Beast Boy in a headlock, holding the controller triumphantly.

“Whose turn is it now, tough guy? Whose turn is it now?” Cyborg taunts the green teen.

“Knock it off! I can't work with you two acting like idiots!” Robin yells.

“Work?? The only “work” I see you doing is stealing my stuff!” You snap.

“Great. More yelling will definitely stop the yelling.” Raven says, a sarcastic smirk on her face.

The three of you glared at each other, Cyborg and Beast Boy were still fighting, and one of Starfire’s necklaces broke, its beads tumbling onto the ground.

“STTTOOOOPPPPP!” the alien princess screamed. You stared at her in surprise. She took a deep breath and recomposed herself.

“ Friends must never behave this way, and especially not on Blorthog! Do you wish to invite the Rekmas?” she said.

“Gesundheit?” Beast Boy said, confused by her vocabulary.

“On my world, ‘Rekmas’ means ‘the Drifting.’” she explains. “The point at which close friends begin to drift apart, and their friendship begins to die.” She frowned. You immediately felt bad for all the yelling you did.

“Aw, come on, Starfire.” Cyborg comes to her side.

“We are so not Rek-whatever-ing.” Beast Boy reassures her.

“We're getting on each other's nerves a little. Big deal.” Raven says.

“Fighting’s just a part of life. As long as we resolve it, we’ll be fine.” You say.

“Yeah. This is just typical roommate stuff. We're not going to drift apart, Star. I promise. We'll all be friends forever.” Robin declares

“Forever?” Starfire asks. Before you could answer, Robin’s T-communicator beeped. The communicator was flashing red, and he turned to you and the others.

“Titans! Trouble!” he says. You all rush out of the Tower and into the city.

You find the “trouble” in the Jump City museum. It was a man wearing black and gold armor and a goatee: Warp. He was monologuing to a bunch of guards that he had frozen.

“I didn't journey back in time one hundred years to squabble, I came to steal.” You see him reaching for one of the clocks. “The Clock of Eternity. Valuable in the past, priceless in the future.” Robin steppeds forward, throwing his birdirang to knock Warp’s hand back.

“But for the present...you'll keep your filthy hands off it.” He says, announcing the Titans’ entrance. The man turns to the six of you.

"The Teen Titans. This is a treat. I read all about you in the historical archives. And now, you're all history!” He fires his laser at you all.

“Titans! Go!” Robin yells as you scramble to dodge his rays. He blocks Warp’s rays with his staff, but at the last shot the staff breaks, and he backed up. Starfire blasts her starbolts at him, but the bolts ricochet off of him and hits her, sending her to the ground. You and Beast Boy attack him now, a stream of water lifting you into the air by your feet. You put your hands in front of you and a jet of water blasts out of your hands, heading straight for Warp. He held his hand us as the water made contact with him, and froze the water. The ice traveled up the jet of water and onto your hands, encasing them in the long shard of ice. You fell, the weight of the ice dragging you down. You winced as you saw Beast Boy meet a similar fate, his animal form frozen in ice next to you. You struggled to free your hands as Cyborg and Raven both went down. Robin gives one last attempt to take Warp down, running towards him.

“You cannot defeat Warp. I am from the future.” He says, throwing disks towards Robin. He dove to the side as the projectiles exploded. “And your relics are one hundred years out of date." He grabs the clock and presses a blue lens from his armor. Suddenly, a blinding white portal forms in front of him. Your hands were still stuck so you had to squint.

“Ta-ta, Titans. I have enjoyed our time together, but I've got a very bright future ahead of me.” He sneers, stepping through the portal. You finally pull your hands out of the chunk of ice just in time to see Starfire slam into Warp, sending the two of them into the portal.

“Starfire!” Robin yells, trying to dive in after her, only for the portal to close and him to fall on the floor. You pull him up from the ground and look around. Starfire was gone.

Titan’s Tower-2024

Starfire couldn’t believe what was going on. After tackling Warp, she ripped off the lens on his suit and ended up in Jump City, 20 years into the future. She found Cyborg alone in the rotting Titans Tower, hooked up to a large battery. He explained that the day she left, the Titans fell apart, and disbanded soon after. He told her that the others can help her get back to the present, telling her where to find you, Beast Boy, and Raven.

She found herself at a circus whilst looking for Beast Boy. There in a cage, sat Beast Boy, changing into various animals. She approached the cage as he turned back into his human form. He was now a pudgy old man, with a great deal of hair loss. He looked at her with wide eyes through the bars.

“No way! It's you. But how?” he asked, peering at her with his wrinkled eyes.

“I require your help.” Starfire said.

“What kinda help?” Beast Boy asked.

“The future is not as it should be. We must find Warp. I will free you from this--” Beast Boy stopped Starfire from continuing her sentence.

“This cage isn't to keep me in! It's to keep those maniacs out!” he explained in a panicked tone, referring to a group of kids. “Look. After the Titans broke up, I tried the whole solo-hero thing. Got my butt kicked, a lot. So now, well…”

He turned into a chicken briefly to illustrate his point. “ Besides, I'm in the showbiz now.” Starfire could tell he wasn’t happy with where he was, but there was nothing she could do. She left Beast Boy and went to find Raven.

She found Raven in a room in a broken down building. She was standing in a pure white room, wearing a white cloak to match. Her back was facing Starfire when she arrived.

“Raven?” she squeaked, inching into the room. “Raven, it is Starfire, your friend”

“No such thing.” she groaned, her back still facing Starfire. Starfire’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Please, Raven I-”

“Just another figment. Don’t even look.”

“You must listen! I am here because-” she pleads, but Raven stops her.

“I’m never coming back! Go away!” she yells, Starfire backing up in fear. “It has to go away. Just like before. Just like all the others.” Starfire frowns in realization. She must not think I’m real; she thinks it's all in her head.

“Your mind.” she says softly, approaching the cloaked woman. “Without friends, you must have--” Starfire was about to touch Raven, but her familiar dark shield formed around her. She gasps, then eventually leaves the room in defeat. There was one last person she could try talking to. You.

She walked by the Jump City beach, the same place where you got your powers all those years ago. Suddenly, you rose out of the ocean, the water around you carrying you onto shore. Your face was stuck in a permanent glare, different to your constant smiles as a teen. You were taller, definitely had a few wrinkles, and you were wearing Atlantean clothing. Starfire flinched at your sudden arrival.

“Aquagirl! how-”

“I don’t go by Aquagirl anymore. I am Queen (y/n), ruler of Atlantis. And word gets around when one of your old teammates who had disappeared 20 years ago is roaming Jump City again, even at the bottom of the ocean.” You say coldly, eyeing her as she shrunk at the sight of you.

“What had happened to you, my friend?” she asked.

You sigh, recalling your memories. “After you disappeared and the team disbanded, I vowed to never be as soft and vulnerable as I was then. I moved to Atlantis, and was eventually appointed ruler.”

“Oh my, that sounds terrible!” Starfire exclaimed. “I need your help my friend-”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s not terrible, I am quite fine just the way I am. And we were friends 20 years ago; things have changed.” You turn your back to her. “I must get going; there’s much I need to do.” Starfire stares at you in sadness as you walk back into the ocean, the water swallowing you up and the waves lapping like normal.

Starfire trudges through the snow-covered city, when a laser blast knocks her back. Her eyes raise to meet with Warp’s, his weapon aimed at her.

“What’s the matter, dear? Have I come at a bad time?” he snarls, opening fire once more. She dodges his shots and fires back, but the starbolts simply bounce off his modern armor. She tried to hit him close up but he held up his hand and ice formed around her midair. The large chunk of ice containing Starfire drops and shatters, leaving Starfire on the ground, shivering. She glares at Warp, who now has deeper wrinkles on his face.

“You have become so old,” she notes, still on the ground.

“That's what happens when someone steals my vortex regulator.” he says, holding out his hand. “The regulator, if you please. I really must get back to my future.” She stands up and takes the lens out from her belt. She couldn’t let him leave, especially when she’s stuck in a future like this. She held the disk next to her and warmed up a starbolt, as if to hold it hostage.

“If you ever wish to see your future you will repair the damage you have done to my past!” she yelled, anger bubbling up inside her. The villain laughed.

“Damage? Silly girl. There's nothing wrong with your past. One cannot damage history, because history cannot be changed.” He held up the clock and continued. “I went back in time to steal this because history says it disappeared. And history says it disappeared because I went back to steal it. Past, present, future. It's all written in stone, my dear.”

Starfire stood in disbelief dropping her glowing hand. No… this can't be the future we’re destined to live. Such terrible lives… she thought. Warp walked up to her shocked state and took the lens out of her hand.

“And nothing you do can ever change it.” he scoffed. Warp prepared to blast her when he was knocked into the alleyway by an unknown figure. Starfire snapped back into reality and looked around for you had knocked the villain back. A dark silhouette lept forward and threw Warp against the end wall of the alley. They threw disks at the villain, the area around him exploding. When the smoke cleared, Starfire could see that Warp had used a force field. He released his shield only to be met with the mysterious figure dropping down towards him. He stared straight at Starfire.

“Another time, perhaps.” he said. Before the shadowed person could reached him, he dropped into the ground. The person who had tried to fight him landed right where Warp had been, and as they straightened up, Starfire inched forward to see who it was.

“It’s good to see you again.” the person said. Starfire could recognize that voice from anywhere, and apparently, anytime.

“Robin?” she asked.

“I haven’t used that name in a long time.” he said, finally stepping out of the shadows. He looked nothing like the Boy Wonder she knew. His traffic-light esque uniform was replaced by a black suit with a blue bird on the front. He still wore a mask and he now had long, black hair.

“Call me… Nightwing.”

Starfire found herself in Robin’s (or Nightwing’s) base. She looked at a glass case of his old uniform, a feeling of melancholy washing over her. She was glad that he was ok, but the Robin she once knew was now nothing more than a mannequin display. Nightwing wrapped a blanket around her with a small smile.

Nightwing finally spoke. “So I’ve heard you’ve been looking for help.”

Starfire sighed. “There is nothing you can do. There is nothing anyone can do. The past cannot be repaired, the future cannot be altered, no matter how wrong it seems.”

“So it’s impossible.” Nightwing determined from her rant, walking towards a bunch of computers. “Good. If memory serves, we've done the impossible before.”

Nightwing’s words had surprised Starfire. None of the others had said anything as hopeful since she’d arrived here. A small fire of hope blossomed inside of her.

“I held on to this,” Nightwing says, pressing a button from a device. “...just in case.” Starfire’s eyes widened, realizing that it was a T-communicator. The communicator began to flash red, and to Starfire’s delight, so did her neck piece and wrist guard.

At the bottom of the ocean, you sat on a throne, talking to your advisers. As they left, your seashell necklace began to flash red. You looked at it in surprise, recognizing what it meant: it was an emergency signal that Robin had put in your necklace while you were still in a team. Even after 20 years, he had never used it until now. You began to get up from your throne when a group of your advisors came back, swarming you with scrolls and questions. You sat back down, a bitter feeling in your throat.

Beast Boy’s belt had flashed red whilst he was performing a trick in his animal form. He quickly jumped back into human form. He observed his belt for a moment before stepping back, hanging his head.

Cyborg's robotic eye flashed red as he sat alone in the Titans Tower. He immediately got up and started towards the door, only to be stopped by the wires keeping him alive and stuck inside the tower. He looks back at the power source.

Raven still stands alone in the room, her back facing the door. The brooch of her cloak flashes red, and without looking at it, she covers it with her hand.

Starfire and Nightwing venture to Jump City museum, where they find Warp, fixing his time travel suit. He wields the lens that he took from Starfire to his suit, whilst talking to himself.

“Tick-tock.” he laughs. “Just a few more seconds, and I shall finally--” his sentence was cut off by Nightwing knocking the tool out of his hand, revealing him and Starfire’s position.

“The future will have to wait.” Nightwing says, extending his staff. “You just ran out of time.”

Warp growls and fires laser beams at them, causing them to split up to avoid getting hit. Starfire shoots her starbolts at Warp again, despite them getting deflected by his force field. Nightwing however, jumped down on him again, using his staff to crush one of his lasers. He turns to face Nightwing, but Starfire lands a hit on his back with her starbolt. He tries to laser Starfire but has to dodge Nightwing’s staff attacks that barely strike him. He fights quickly and with fury, eventually knocking Warp flat on his back. The two heroes step close to him to inspect him. But Warp grins, and uses his second laser to blow a hole through the roof, snow and rubble falling onto Starfire.

“Star!” Nightwing yells, but Warp blasts him back with his laser. Warp runs over to the tool he dropped and started repairing his suit again as Nightwing helped Starfire up. Suddenly, he was blasted back by a familiar blue ray. Starfire and Nightwing turn to see Cyborg, his arm cannon smoking, but being able to function without any wires.

“Boo-yah” he says with a grimace.

“Cyborg!” Starfire exclaims, flying over to the half robot. “You are repaired!”

“Glad you could make it,” Nightwing says, joining them.

“Wouldn't have missed it. Now who said y'all could start without me?” Cyborg said as Warp stood back up.

“So sorry,” Warp said, holding up another device. “Perhaps I should finish you first!” Before he could use the device, he was attacked by a green lion, Beast Boy. Warp looked at the lens he was repairing, now crackling with electricity. In anger, he pointed a laser at him, but a jet of water shot up from the floor. You ran into view, a trident now in your hand.

“Heard you guys needed help!” you yell, a hint of a smile peeking out from your stoic face.

Before Warp could fall to the ground again, he is overtaken by magic, and thrown into the side of the wall. Raven materializes, still wearing a white cloak.

“Nobody hurts my friends,” she said, reminiscent of the first time you met her.

“Dude, that is so unfair,” Beast Boy whines, comparing his bald head to Nightwing’s flowing hair. The six Titans turn to see Warp, who has managed to create a wormhole, despite his suit being damaged.

“It seems my time has come,” Warp said, preparing to walk through the wormhole. Nightwing threw a birdarang at Warp, Warp throwing his own disk to intercept it. Starfire watched in awe as the birdirang sliced through Warp’s disk and hit him in the chest, right where the lens sat.

“Uh?! No! NOOOOO!” the six of you watched in horror as Warp regressed in age until he was nothing more than a screaming infant.

“Ok, I am not changing any diapers.” Beast Boy said, staring at the baby.

Cyborg looked at Starfire. “We gotta get you home. Come on!” he pointed at the wormhole, which was shrinking. He took the lens from the suit and put it in his arm cannon. He fired at the wormhole, making it bigger.

“Im redirecting the wormhole.” Cyborg said, turning to Starfire. “Starfire! Go!” She steps towards the portal and looks back at her friends. Their lives seemed so lonely and.. dissatisfying. Is this life they were destined to live?

“Please, must this really be our future?” She asked. The rest of you looked at her silently, sadness in your eyes. “Is there nothing I can do to change it?” Nightwing stepped up and looked directly into her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Star. There isn't time.” Nightwing said. He placed the clock that Warp had stolen in her hand and his other hand on her shoulder. He gives her one last smile before stepping back towards the other Titans, beckoning her to enter the portal. Starfire took a deep breath, and walked into the portal.

Jump City Museum - 2004

“Ta-ta, Titans. I have enjoyed our time together, but I've got a very bright future ahead of me.” He sneers, stepping through the portal. You finally pull your hands out of the chunk of ice just in time to see Starfire slam into Warp, sending the two of them into the portal.

“Starfire!” Robin yells, trying to dive in after her, only for the portal to close and him to fall on the floor. You pull him up from the ground and look around. Starfire was gone.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Beast Boy stared at the place the portal was. “Um, where did she-?”

Another portal opens with a brilliant flash between Beast Boy and Cyborg. Starfire falls out, curled around an item. You all rushed towards her.

“Dude!”

“Whoa!”

“Star! What happened?” Robin asked as the portal behind her closed.

“History said it disappeared.” Starfire said, straightening and revealing the clock warp had just stolen. “But history was wrong!”

The boys stared at her dumbstruck but you laughed, diving in for a hug.

You stood with the other titans as Starfire recounted her story. You covered your mouth in awe to find out what happened to you and the others in the future.

“Then Nightwing handed me the clock and I entered the vortex.” she finished.

“Woah,” Raven said, shocked by the recount of Starfire’s story.

“Bald?!” Beast Boy yells, grabbing at his hair. “You're telling me I'm going to be bald?!”

“Gosh, Star, all of our lives seem so terrible,” you say, thinking about what Starfire had said about you. You were a queen (which was cool), but you were also a cold hearted bitch (super uncool). You didn’t want that to happen, and more importantly for you to no longer be friends with the other Titans.

“Guess you were right about all that Rekmas stuff,” Cyborg said, slightly concerned.

“I don't want us to drift apart. Does it all have to happen? Isn't there anything we can-” Robin worries out loud, but Starfire stops him.

“Our friendship has already changed Warp's past. I believe it can also change our future.” Starfire says with a smile.

“Yeah I mean, the original reason we “broke up” was because of Starfire disappearing, and since she’s here now, we aren’t breaking up!” You chimed in, grinning at the other Titans.

Raven picks up the broken necklace with her telekinesis, stringing them back together.

“So… is it too late to do this festival-of-friendship thing?” she asks.

Starfire’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, it’s never too late!”

You all put on the bulbous necklaces Starfire brought in the morning.

“HAPPY BORTHOG!!!” Cyborg cheers.

“I thought it was Blort-Hog,” Beast Boy wondered.

“Okay, I feel like a wind-chime.” Raven groans.

“A very cool wind-chime,” you winked.

Starfire put the last necklace on Robin. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“So… Nightwing, huh?” he asked.

“Don’t even think about it bird brain,” you yelled from across the room, causing him to blush. You all burst out into laughter. The tower stayed cheerful the rest of the night.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

"you were missed, you know.” the voice is light, balancing on the edge of airy like a coin on its rim, in a way only careful practice yielded. so jason whirls around, faster than he normally would in a neatly-pressed suit and loose dress shoes. 

there’s a woman, close cropped red hair swinging into her face and pulling at the corners of her mouth until her expression is as severe as her form. there’s a scar on her jaw and, oh, the memory tumbles into his head as if pushed. kate kane, proof that vigilantism is genetic, once tugged jason into into her side and pulled him away from a particularly leering investor at function. the bite of her nails on his skin was a thousand times sweeter than the man’s smile.

she smirks. “hi.”

“haven’t seen you in a while,” jason responds, attempting casual and instead tripping, falling into his crime lord persona, since he doesn’t know how else to interact with people when he’s jason peter todd-wayne. 

“not since you died,” kate remarks and damn, right for the gullet. “you’ve grown up.”

jason shrugs, suddenly feeling thirteen years old again, suddenly feeling all of four feet, eight inches in the face of her candidness. “time’s funny like that.”

she eyes him carefully, trying to fish for the truth in what she believes is a lie wrapped in a careful quip. jason doesn’t blame her: he’s cultivated quite a reputation for himself. but he stripped the sarcasm from his words before he spoke them, and their rawness is shrouded in the bubbling champagne and crystal chandelier around them, but it’s no less present for anyone who knows how to peel the veil back.

“you were missed,” she repeats, satisfied with his answer. “not sure anyone’s told you that since you’ve come back. your family’s a stubborn bunch. i just wanted to make sure.”

“make sure i knew i was missed?” jason clarifies, feeling a little foolish, because dick wouldn’t beg to save his life but there were a few times that his words came close to pleas, and tim had made it clear how much he’d upheld the pedestal he’d put jason on, and alfred had actually told him that to his face. 

but this was the first time he found himself truly believing those familiar words. he hadn’t known kate, not at all. and yet, she nodded, clapped him on the shoulder once, twice, then left, completely unaware of the pit of resentment she’d carved out of jason’s stomach and thrown on the ground until jason felt like he’d slip on it if he moved, if he breathed.

she didn’t look back, but jason’s eyes didn’t stop following her until she was out of sight.

*

"you were missed, you know.” jason doesn’t startle, his training is etched into every scar decorating his skin, and there are times that he grips and holds onto those scars like a lifeline. he’s far too practiced to flinch, but he’d be lying to himself if his heart didn’t skip a beat.

he forgave himself in the next second, though. cassandra cain could make men much more experienced than him recoil. she appeared soundlessly, and folded down beside him with a grace that jason hadn’t seen anywhere outside his family. the amount of space she left between them, the relaxed posture that left visible tension cording through her arms like pulling steel taffy, the tilt to her body that made jason automatically want to open his mouth and let his tumultuous thoughts come out as an oil spill: right now, cass had dick grayson’s brushtrokes all over her.

“dick put you up to this?” 

cass shook her head, then bit her lip in a considering movement. jason wondered if he’d practiced, because bruce had long since broken that dangerous habit out of his children. 

“i am still working on comfort. assurance,”  she said, rifling through the words like flash cards, picking the most accurate ones. “i thought i’d practice.”

“oh? and why exactly do you think i need comfort.”

“i overheard your argument,” she admitted, “with bruce.”

“i didn’t think anyone was there.”

“i didn’t mean to,” she said. “sorry. but i heard what you said.”

jason scoffed. “prove me wrong. one step forward, two steps back with that dense motherfucker.”

“sign of protection,” cass said. “not distrust.”

out of everyone to say that to him, cass was probably the least likely. jason had thought she, of all people, would be on his side after he found the microchip in his helmet. she, of all people, would value independence after being owned for so long.

“by the time he found you, you were dead. and he missed you more than anything. he will never let that happen again.”

“oh yeah? privacy mean nothing to him? i know he’s crazy about this stuff but come on. there’s a limit.”

“you are not relying on him because of this.” cass stood up, stretching her back, though jason was sure she really didn’t have to. “he is relying on you. let him.”

*

“you were missed, you know.” 

“what, speaking from personal experience? i ain’t you, west.” jason could feel the gentle thrum of electricity behind him, making his hair stand on edge. two steps backward, and he’d be pulled into that void, that black hole of energy, that swirling vortex of pure power condensed into something human-shaped.

except he wouldn’t. it was just wally. just dick’s best friend joining him outside on the balcony. jason didn’t know how dick and tim could stand to be around speedsters willingly, for fun.

“i mean, sort of,” wally shrugged. “but me and you had very different experiences.”

“yeah, west, i’m not sure who else has been stuck in the fucking speedforce.”

wally snorted, an if only you knew hidden in plain sight. jason decided he really didn’t want to know. “i mean there’s that,” the speedster concedes, “but also, everyone forgot i existed. that didn’t happen with you.”

“you sure about that?” 

“hey,” wally eyed him, his eyes suddenly sharp. “don’t start that shit. i was erased from the memories of everyone i loved. you did nothing but stay in the memories of your family.”

“now i know we’re talking about two different things.”

“jason,” wally sighed, and the sheer exasperation pouring off him made jason want curl his fingers, bring them up for a swing, taste the bite of pain that would prick at his knuckles, nevermind the fact that wally would dodge anyway. “don’t do that.”

he turned to face the speedster, arms crossed deliberately over his chest. “where the hell do you get off acting like dick?”

“you’re more like dick than you realize,” wally said, “and i spent half my childhood dealing with his moods. actually, i still do.”

“do you have a point?” jason snapped, starting to get irritated. he wasn’t sure why. he’d spent his entire life one one end of a scale, dick grayson on the other. he’d always tipped his end down. this was the first time someone was telling him the scale was even.

“just because your family didn’t mourn the way you wanted them to,” wally said, “doesn’t mean they didn’t mourn you.”

“fuck you.”

“they loved you. and they missed you,” wally continues, steamrolling right over jason in a way most speedsters were prone to do. “there’s no minimum requirement for loss. no ‘if you didn’t do this, then you didn’t grieve me.’ that’s not even a situation, ever.”

“so that makes everything bruce did okay?” jason sputtered

“not at all. god knows i disagree with bruce on more things than i tolerate. but this is one thing you can’t fault him on.”

it wasn’t that easy, though. jason wanted to scream it at wally’s face, it wasn’t that easy. it wasn’t about whether bruce loved him enough,,,,except maybe it was. jason wanted bruce to have loved him enough to make a difference in gotham. jason wanted bruce to have missed him enough to change things, because change meant that bruce had been so hurt by his death that he refused to let it happen to anyone else again.

bruce had made a vow after his parents died. the fifteen year old inside jason was begging bruce why he hadn’t been afforded the same devotion. jason was his son.

“just something to think about,” wally said, then stepped backward, making to go inside where dick was calling him. “you were afforded the luxury of coming back with a place left empty in your family for you. you didn’t have to make it, like i did.”

“being dead, then coming back wrong isn’t a fucking luxury,” jason snarled.

with a shrug, wally turned, a little faster than the average human, lightning sparking at his heels as he left jason alone on the balcony. “depends on your definition of wrong.”

jason get therapy. please. also happy deathday

honestly i couldn’t decide whose side of the argument i was on, jason’s or wally’s.

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