#my god. i just noticed i forgot to delete my own writing notes from the first post

[innocence-wont-save-you]

>Find a safe spot and hide! It's probably going for either the centipede or the lizard.

You duck behind the nearest building to watch the scene unfold. Neither the lizard nor the centipede make any moves to escape, too busy dealing with each other to notice. Rather them than you, you suppose, to receive whatever the Miros vulture will bring.

A few more clanks, each one louder than the last, and you see it: a dark, frilled head, rising up above the memory boxes. You press yourself harder into the side of the building as it gets even closer, a towering figure that casts shadows long enough to rival that of the buildings around you. The Miros quail were big enough, but they're easily dwarfed by this Miros vulture. This thing must be at least twice your height.

The lizard finally notices the mechanical avian looming over it, and it yelps in terror, claws skittering on stone as it turns and runs away. The Miros vulture ignores it, gigantic, flickering eyes impassively fixed on the centipede that is now free to crawl away. It makes no move to eat it, merely staring at the retreating wildlife.

This is a good sign. Miros vultures, particularly the protective variant, weren't designed to be aggressive without cause; after all, your creators would have had to periodically return to their respective memory crypts to upload their memories. They were only supposed to attack if unauthorized intrusion into the memory boxes was detected. Otherwise, they were mostly docile guardians.

You slowly step out into full view. The Miros vulture's gaze instantly snaps toward you, and you flinch, lance clutched tight in both hands. It hisses, lowering its head slightly, frills flared in warning. If it wanted to, it could lunge at you right now and bite your puppet to shreds.

Instead of backing up, which would have been the sensible option, you step closer to it. It hisses again, opening its beak and closing it with a loud clank. But now you're in range to communicate with it, and you send it a quick pulse: "Iterator. Here to inspect memory boxes."

Immediately, it drops its aggression, eyes flashing from a dull yellow to blue, then back to yellow as it processes your message. It then lowers its head until its face is almost level with you, and you find yourself staring down its gigantic beak. You grip your lance tighter. "Inspect?" it questions, eyes blinking green as it pulses back at you. "Iterator inspect?"

You sigh. Of course it's confused, you were never supposed to be able to do this. "Yes, just inspecting the boxes."

Its eyes flash green again, faster this time. "Authorized?"

Typically, the authorization process would be done by sharing citizen data with the Miros vultures. You... do not technically count as a citizen of your own city. You're just its iterator. There was never a need to give you a citizen identification code.

You send your iterator identification codes to it instead. Its eyes flash rapidly as it processes the information, from yellow to blue to red and back to yellow, over and over again. Drumming your fingers on your lance, you wait for it to give you a verdict. You have no idea if this is going to work, but at the very least, this Miros vulture hasn't mutated. It shouldn't attack you even if it doesn't let you enter.

With a final white flash of its eyes, the Miros vulture straightens up. "Authorized." You sigh in relief as it promptly starts ignoring you, ambling back the way it came. You're now free to peruse the memory boxes. As long as you don't alter any data, what you do will still fall under the jurisdiction of 'inspection.'

You wander around for a bit, only partially looking for the access points into the memory boxes. All of these boxes are at least twice your height. Each one is a building in its own right, except instead of storing items, it stores physical replicas of memories. If... if there were any of them still around, somehow, and if they wanted these memories back, they could just upload the data back into their brains. As if nothing had ever changed.

You stop in front of one of the boxes, hand hovering over the small access port jutting out of the otherwise smooth surface of the memory box. Data. All of this is just data now. Data on those who once lived, who once were. Who decided to leave this world behind.

Who decided to leave you all behind.

You unlock the access port. It unfurls, metal pins pulling back to uncover a small, circular access point of cells. They pulsate gently, glistening in the dim light. You stare at them, simultaneously repulsed and fascinated. This was—is—someone. Someone's memories.

Haltingly, hesitantly, you reach in and touch your hand to the cells.

Rage. Rage, you feel rage. Rage at the announcement of your construction, at its commencement, at the inability to save Day. A sacrilege, a shirking of duty to her, abandonment of the parental obligations that are owed to her, in favor of you. A waste of resources and space, of time and dedication, of energy and devotion, of the investment put into her. The ancestors of old, their efforts, their beliefs, dashed and thrown to the dirt for you. How could they let her fall? How could they have given up on her? You should never have been built. You should never have been planned. They should have tried harder, so these memories would never have had to rest here.

Some pleasant memories of Day: communes with her, asking her for advice, for opinions, on the important and on the mundane. Greeting her as a child, as an adult, as an elder. Her, warm and kind and welcoming, always. A constant, until she wasn't. Until you happened. Until you replaced her.

A wretched, pathetic mistake is what you are. If it had been an option, your existence would never have happened.

The connection breaks. Your hand loosens; you pull it back, let it fall, where it shakes. You're shaking all over.

You sink to the ground, trying to remember how to breathe again. Two Clouds, Three Gentle Breezes. You remember that name. Of the few citizens you had the displeasure of dealing with, this one was one of the most vocal about hating life in your city.

Slowly, leaning on the memory box for support, you get to your feet, using the blunt end of your lance as a cane. None of this comes as a surprise. You've heard this all before. But experiencing it this directly was still unpleasant.

Despite that, you did get some of what you came here for. She... Even throughout the process of trying to save her from collapsing, she was kindly and patient as ever. You can't say you could ever do the same.

You lock the access port and move on, glancing around at the other memory boxes. Larger ones store more memories, generally, since there's more space for them, so maybe you should tap into one of those. Many of the memory boxes you can see in the immediate area are considerably large, so any one of these would be a good candidate.

You're not even sure how much you want to know. The last one had more about you than Day, and the odds are that many of the rest of these will be the same way. But it's not nothing. You can't pass up that opportunity. You'll go for as long as you can tolerate it.

You stop in front of one of the largest memory boxes, one that's wider than it is tall. Unlocking the access port is fast, gears whirring and bolts clicking to reveal the access point within a matter of seconds. But you still have to wait, however briefly. Did it ever feel like they were losing time when they did this?

It doesn't matter anymore. You brush your fingers against the cells.

Schematics, old ones that feature plans foreign-but-not-quite to you. Old systems, old pipe layouts, old modules, old wiring. All of it for keeping Day running properly. A deep tenderness, deep familiarity for her systems, the essence of what made her, her. Plans on how to navigate through her, how best to serve her, how to work with her. She's eons old, but so is this line of work, passed down from generation to generation.

Until it stopped. Failure. Utter failure, the inability to save her despite so many efforts, despite time spent toiling and weeping and doing anything possible to keep her running, even as she began falling to pieces. All this knowledge, gone to waste, titles stripped and roles replaced. No more need for these ancient skills now, when you are fresh and young and new. When you were designed to uphold your own perpetuity.

Knowing her so closely made losing her hurt worse. Her collapse took part of her memory crypts with her, forcing these memories to be here. Even beyond life, these memories cannot lay with her.

This is your fault.

You pull your hand back and lock the access port, leaning against the wall with a sigh. You know who Seventeen Rings, Resounding Song is. As one of Day's former engineers, none of the knowledge on Day's maintenance could be transferred to your own maintenance, since the two of you are from the first and last generation respectively. When everyone was forced to migrate to your city, this knowledge became obsolete. Seventeen Rings, Resounding Song never stopped being resentful about it. You were glad when they finally ascended.

They talked so much with Day. Working on her systems meant knowing her thoughts and feelings on everything, and she was... so, so incredibly content with this work. Even as the visits got more often, and even as her condition worsened.

She loved them. They loved her.

Where do you even fit into this all?

You sit, leaning against the wall of the memory box, and sigh again. All the better that all of them are gone now, because you could never live up to what Day was anyway. You're just a disappointment.

Scene 9

reiterate main goal being to access the memory boxes; trying to keep an eye out for the miros vultures

The pearl is still in your hands as you power back on again, unharmed and still containing all its data. Relieved, you pocket it. Hopefully you'll find more like it this cycle. You don't know how many pearls around here will still hold information like this, but surely there has to be other ones that do, right?

The blue lizard scrutinizing you late last cycle isn't in its crevice anymore, likely having gone off to hunt already. You heft your lance into your hands with a huff. You should get a move on too, regardless of what you're doing. You're eager to start searching around for more about Day.

The sounds of lizards hissing and screeching immediately comes into full clarity the moment you open the door of the building. A blue lizard is tussling with a pink lizard not far ahead of you, both a writhing mass of muscle and blood as they bite and scratch at each other. To their right is a dead centipede, clearly having been killed by one of the fighting lizards. Another blue lizard is watching the fight while perched on a nearby building—the same one from last cycle, you realize as you give it a glance over. It glares at you with beady eyes as you step out of the building, the door shutting with a quiet hiss behind you, and you return the look, raising your lance in warning. Blue lizards aren't large enough to pose any threat to you, but that doesn't stop them from being an annoyance.

At any rate, your memory crypts seem rather lively. You can hear more activity on either side of you. You are still on the outskirts of your memory crypts though; the memory boxes are situated much deeper inside this facility. You'll be making your way to them gradually no matter what, but... You grip your lance more tightly, sending a test pulse out from your antennae. Hopefully you won't have to get too close to the Miros vultures to communicate with them.

[thissliceofnonsense]

Originally a Land of the Fallen Fairies blog, with the occasional rottmnt. This has evloved into 'rottmnt superfan makes an AU and 100+ posts with three followers (one of them being my sibling) and goes insane. /pos.

(the old stuff is still here btw)

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles AU.

Is this show the best thing to ever exist? Yes. Did the fandom make it even better? Also yes.

Can I try combining the two? Here's hoping.

This AU consist of - the older sisters, Mikey getting more 'episodes', Donnie getting validation + being besties with Baron Draxum and so on and so forth.

If the links don't work, try this post

Concept post

Backstory ramblings

Frida, daughter of Big Mama and the eldest turtle.

More Frida, and Louise - the one trapped in another dimension.

Basically a bookmark for Donnie reference

Frida's upbringing.

Louise, the god-child of the other dimension

Louise plays with old Kraang mechs

Leo meets Frida

Louise has her own fashion show. (ft- old Kraang mechs)

Frida and Donnie hack the government

Legalize Nuclear Bombs trio

Louise

Frida fights with Leo

Louise gets a glow up

'I understand you, little brother'

Baron Draxum raised Louise

Frida meets Louise. ft: turtle tots

Donnie headcannons

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Show Notes.

As a rottmnt superfan, I think it's very shameful I have not actually watched the full series. I have been trying to get myself to watch all of it for literal months, and I will finally start now.

To keep my motivation to actually watch my favorite show (wow) I will be writing down little things I like/notice/one sentence summary of each episode.

Plus I want to do the AU with the events of the show but a "little to the left" including the missing sisters, Mikey getting his deleted episodes back, ideas that couldn't be used because the show was cancelled, fandom ideas, etc. etc.

AND this is also doubling as info from each episode, so that way I don't forget anything important.

(Like I forgot Heuso existed. Who does that?)

Mystic Mayhem

Mystic Mayhem Donnie notes.

The Land of the Fallen Fairies.

A story about some non-humans with no human contact and is as far from reality as possible.

A story told in captions and multimedia that is meant to be my comfort story. It's about a unreliable narrator that is so in faer head that the actual plot happens in the background. Literal civilizations are dying and faer guardian may be destined to kill faer, but Anuli has something more to think about. Fae can't stay happy or go for too long without making a mistake that ends up hurting everyone else, so fae uses faer hyper fixation to fix faer overthinking and general incompetence. After all, if Anuli isn't the antagonist anymore, fae will get a happy ending, right? That's the hope anyways, that one day fae will be someone that will put the other's care to good use instead of wasting it.

General tag

Anuli's thots

Blurb

fiddle leaf figs

"I have a tree?"

Meet Anuli, your resident tree-less dryad. (The others are baffled, how can a tree fairy not have a tree?) Fae is story obsessed, and constantly overthinking, to the point where reality is just something fae has to deal with from time to time... and it's getting really unpleasant actually. Why does everything Anuli tries either fall apart or go well but... not really be the thing that gets fixes what fae messed up. If only fae could live in a constant daydream-

oh. Bad idea.

milanote - where most of the info is

The Mundane Magic series

Based off a tumblr post, here's a story about having control about what your mundane magic.

Part one - the concept

Part two - character prose

[leviiattacks]

CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER

author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭

word count :: 3.3k

every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...

HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)

today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread

it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!

and who is him you may ask?

levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card

levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name

anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea

the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred

levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?

“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”

the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was

she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it

“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone

“cash or card?” he asks plainly.

you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”

you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself

but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????

looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused

faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak

“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”

“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification

gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money

“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”

he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”

“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct

levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags

“you must love em.”

“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?

OH YEAH

“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly

“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out

he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are

hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car

there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!

okay so.

it is officially next time.

actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home

but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??

the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line

for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist

you are not casper the ghost

also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy

finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.

“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly

so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you

my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no

“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived

“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking

“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”

his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made

the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around

“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened

“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down

“you sure peaches?”

“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”

“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence

wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...

“could you walk me to my car?”

and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees

it stays like that for a while.

every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together

like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.

to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it

“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face

looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week

god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge

levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell

BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily

for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care

his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time

“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”

warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering

“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck

if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it

“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately

“oh yeahhhh-”

“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile

he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&

wait?? yellow??

“didn’t you say purple?”

“no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit

“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag

nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”

damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??

update

it’s been two weeks!!

and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)

it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going

you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed

being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart

not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least

walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him

“so you didn’t come last week...?”

it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name

“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display

“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”

“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop

“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom

????

isn’t he just a cashier??

“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes

“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”

at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you

there’s no way connie is being serious

“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand

“i’m not kidding?”

turning around you give him a skeptical look

he sighs and shakes his head.

“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”

“who said i like-”

“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now

“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can

“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”

“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”

connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves

“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”

“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”

“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”

playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof

“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!

“i’ll think about it.”

before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.

by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number

looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.

right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat

“hi!” you wave at him

“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place

placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got

“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?

his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates

“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode

“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card

levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock

“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes

“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood

“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.

the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.

just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him

“no i don’t need those.”

he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts

“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile

there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.

no way.

is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?

taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated

“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift

“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time

nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi

“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes

great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?

without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind

at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???

god, you probably look like a creep

the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you

“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief

turning you see him savour the air

is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—

“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm

oh.

fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores

this.

is.

the.

worst.

moment.

of.

your.

life.

“open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it

you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot

but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised

...

inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline

hello??

HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???

“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way

the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are

you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out

“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”

you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.

well...

you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??

:-)

[holidaywishes]

a bit of stress relief

  Requested: 👍

  Summary/Request: Can you PLEASE write about Freddie coming to your work and having a quickie in your office

  Warning: smut, fluff, whiny Freddie

  Author’s Note: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED for a bit. I do have one more in my inbox right now so I’ll add it to my drafts but after I write that I won’t be taking requests for... a while. Maybe a month? I have a few series I want to finish up before I start having requests piling up. I always love seeing my inbox full of requests for different types of fics, so this isn’t forever, just until I’m able to finish my Gally series for sure and possibly my 9-1-1 series. This request was fun and I just couldn’t say no lol. Thanks in advance for your understanding and I hope I’ll be able to get back to requests sooner than later but I’ll keep y’all updated! Stay Golden, loves! <3 

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

  Your boss asked you to go into the office on a Saturday to finish an assignment that she had forgotten to mention earlier in the week. You would’ve argued that you had plans but your boss said it was for a presentation the next morning that they needed the information for

  “I’m sorry, Freddie,” you whined to your boyfriend as he tried to convince you to stay at his apartment, “believe me, I’d much rather be here but I’m not about to get fired...”

  “It’s not your assignment, it’s hers,” he argued, “she made the mistake. Why do you have to do it for her?”

  “It’s my job” you admitted

  “Except when it’s not...” he groaned

  “Freddie,” you sighed, “I won’t be long I promise. I just need to go in and print up some stuff and make a couple calls. Nothing major...”

  “So why can’t your boss do it?” he challenged, “it’s her mistake, so.. she should be responsible for fixing it”

  “I know,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing his cheek, “but I can’t lose this job. I have loans to pay off”

  “You know I can help with that”

  “No,” you scoffed, “no you absolutely cannot. I don’t want to feel like I owe you anything. That’s not the relationship we have... I’m not your sugar baby”

  “But you could be”

  “But I don’t wanna be”

  “Alright...” he laughed, kissing your nose playfully

  “I’ll call you when I’m finished okay. I give it one, two hours tops”

  “If you’re not finished in two hours, I’m coming down there and taking you home” he teased

  “Okay,” you scoffed, “I’ll see you later.” You got to the office and rushed into your boss’s office to find the information you needed to work on. The office was empty, as it should’ve been, but when you heard the door open and close, you popped your out of the door to see who was there, “Hello?” you called

  “(Y/N)?” your co-worker asked

  “Mason? What are you doing here?” you returned, noticing now that a bunch of your co-workers were walking in

  “We could ask you the same thing” he chuckled

  “Laura forgot to do stuff for the presentation tomorrow, so she asked me to come in and do it”

  “For the conference?”

  “Yup”

  “Yeah,” he replied, “our team is having the same issue. Except they’re saying they ‘lost it’ or that it ‘must have gotten deleted somehow’ so now we have to be here all day trying to fix this”

  “Why are any of this people in charge again?” you asked

  “Maybe they slept their way to the top” he joked before waving you goodbye and heading to his station. You started at this company as an intern, mostly handing out mail and grabbing coffee for everyone, but they kept you around because you had a good eye for graphic design which was important in a marketing firm. However, your boss, Laura, had replaced Debra, the former Head of Marketing, a month before you were hired to be her assistant and she really wasn’t all that fond of you. She claimed that your degree should be in Business or Marketing not Graphic Design and that you’d only ever be an assistant in this industry so ‘don’t hope for more than that.’ You didn’t think too much of her comments though, at the end of the day, you had a job to you and you were going to do it well; even if it meant coming in on the weekend to do her forgotten assignments. When you finally found Laura’s papers, you groaned audibly, realizing this wasn’t going to be quick work

  “Hey!” Freddie greeted you from the other end of the line when you called him to let him know what was happening

  “Hey...” you sighed

  “What?” he groaned, “what’s going on?”

  “It looks like I’m gonna be here for a while. Laura underplayed how much work there was for me to do...”

  “You can’t really be doing this?” he whined

  “Babe, I have to. I told you, it’s my job. But,” you added, hoping it would make him feel better, “it’s not just me! Apparently, all the senior staff forgot to do these super important assignments for the conference. So, a bunch of us are here working until we finish them”

  “You need to quit this job,” he grumbled, “clearly no one is good at what they were hired to do”

  “I can’t quit unless I have something lined up,” you argued, “babe, I’m sorry. I know I promised that we’d lay in bed all weekend because this was the first time that you had free time but I have to do this. I promise, I’ll work as fast as I can but the longer I’m on the phone, the longer I’m at the office. So, I gotta go. I love you and I’ll see you as soon as I’m done okay?”

  “Call me and I’ll pick you up,” he replied, “you shouldn’t have to take an Uber back here...”

  “Okay,” you smiled, “that would be nice. Talk soon. Love you”

  “Love you, too” he said before you ended the call. You took a deep breath and started getting to work. Organizing timelines and trying to understand doctors-note-handwriting from past meetings

  “How can she possibly expect me to be able to understand this?” you thought to yourself. You signed onto her computer and were immediately left in shock at the jumbled mess of her desktop, “holy fuck!” you exclaimed silently, it’s no wonder she gets nothing done, “she’s the most unorganized person I’ve ever seen!” You spent the next 20 minutes opening files to find what you were looking for, closing what was not it immediately so you could legally say you didn’t see anything, and then you had to spend the next half an hour printing documents and running back and forth between Laura’s office and the copy room

  “How’s it goin’?” Rob, one of the other team members who was forced to come in and work on a Saturday, asked when he noticed you rushing throughout the room

  “Oh, you know, I’m sure I’ll have a panic attack in the next, oh, twenty or so minutes” you replied, sighing as you walked back to the printer one last time. You had managed to get most of the paper work done but you still had to make a few phone calls to get estimates on some of the ad spaces needed and whether or not there could be a discount involved for the company

  “Hey!” Freddie said gleefully, walking into your boss’ office like he owned the place

  “Freddie,” you gasped, a slight sneer on your tone, “what are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you...” he replied, furrowing his brow at your response, “when you said you were gonna be longer than you thought, I thought I’d come down and surprise you. Maybe take the stress off a little?”

  “That’s sweet, babe,” you smiled, noticing the look in his eyes and realizing what he was really there for, “but I have to make some calls so I can’t... do that”

  “We can make it work” he teased, biting his bottom lip quickly before pulling you close to him

  “Fred...” you whined, kissing him once before pushing him away from you and walking back to Laura’s desk, “I really do have to work. You can sit if you want but that’s it...” he slumped onto the plush couch against the window and frowned before scrolling through his phone as you started to call the businesses on your list. After about 10 minutes, you noticed Freddie peering up from his phone to look over at you, as if he was trying to get you to hang up the phone just from a look, choosing to walk over to you when you didn’t. “Yes, that’s right. I know you’ve been with us for quite some time and our relationship has helped both our businesses grow,” you spoke as Freddie swiveled you and your chair out from the desk, “we want that relationship to keep growing” you continued before noticing the smirk on Freddie’s face as he hovered over you, kissing your neck as you tried to pay attention to the call. “Mhmm,” you said to the person on the other end of the phone, distracted by Freddie’s lips pressing against the sensitive skin on your neck, his hot breath cascading down your neck, “mhm, sure. I understand” you said again, trying not to let on what was happening. “Laura is so sorry she couldn’t make this call to you herself,” you lied, Freddie kissing his way down to your core, pulling off your leggings quickly and kissing your inner thighs as you spoke, “however, she is excited to showcase your work to those at our conference tomorrow. We all just wanted to make sure the numbers were 100% accurate...” you had to bite your lip and move the receiver end of the phone from your mouth in case any sound escaped when you felt Freddie’s tongue finally press against your clit. “Oh that’s great!” you exclaimed when the partner on the phone added a discount to the quote you’d already been given, claiming that, had he known other businesses would be hearing of his services earlier, he would’ve offered it sooner. “Thank you so much,” you smiled, Freddie’s hands pulling your body closer to his him as his mouth brought you closer and closer to your orgasm, “I or Laura will let you know how everything goes. Thank you again” you said quickly before hanging up the phone. “Fuck,” you cursed breathlessly, “oh my god, Freddie!” your back was forced to arch, as you were pretty much falling out of your seat as Freddie continued to stimulate your clit, only now moving his finger to caress your folds before slowly inserted it inside of you and pumping until you whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Freddie,” you squeaked, trying not to be heard from outside the office, “fuck” you repeated quietly, your grip loosening from his hair as his ministrations slowed and your breathing steadied.

  “How’s your stress now?” he smirked, wiping his mouth casually before standing up in front of you once more

  “You can’t do that” you said, small pants escaping your lips, making Freddie believe you less than you intended

  “I think I can” he teased

  “I was on a business call, Fred!” you exclaimed, pulling your leggings back up, “what if they heard something?”

  “They would only hear something if you let them” he countered and, ultimately, you knew he was right but you still shook your head

  “You can’t do that” you repeated and he scoffed, hovering over you once more to taunt you with a kiss but stopped right in front of your lips

  “We’ll see about that...” he smirked, taking his hands away from the chair and walking back to sit on the couch

  “What’s goin’ on with you?” you asked

  “I just want to be with you,” he whined, giving you puppy dog eyes and earning a scoff from you, “that’s what we were supposed to be doing anyway...”

  “I told you we would when I got home...” you said

  “Come here,” he said, patting his thigh, “come sit on my lap” you chuckled but obliged. You wrapped your arms around his neck after sitting on his thigh, playing with his hair and kissing his nose before he spoke again, “see, isn’t this better than making a few phone calls?” he asked, his hand beginning to rub your back lightly

  “You know I would rather be doing this, or more than this, with you,” you admitted, leaning in and kissing him softly, letting your lips linger a moment before you pulled back, “but I have to do this stuff...”

  “Just a quickie...” he whispered, “and then I’ll go. Then we can pick up at home”

  “This is my boss’s office” you whined

  “All the more reason to do it. We’re in a private spot, secluded from everyone else, it’s perfect” he replied, kissing your jaw before moving down to your neck and you let your head fall back to give him more room

  “Mmmm,” you hummed, melting into his kiss, ���I can’t”

  “(Y/N)...“ he groaned

  “Just a few more calls,” you argued, “I don’t have a lot left. Just like, five, maybe six”

  “That’s a lot. How long are each of those calls? 10 minutes? 20?” he asked, “we could do a lot with that time...”

  “Stop,” you smiled, standing up from his lap and walking back to the desk chair, “just a few more calls...” you repeated. He slunk into the couch and angrily unlocked his phone while you picked up Laura’s phone and began dialing. You were able to make three calls before Freddie began sighing loudly across the room and you had to glare at him, which is when the texts started

  “I want you” he sent as you spoke to another advertising partner on the phone

  “Like now” another came through

  “I’m gonna come over there”

  “And make you cum again” you glared up at him and he smiled

  “And again” you shook your head, turning off your sound so the partner didn’t hear the constant dinging

  “And again”

  “And again”

  “Until you can’t cum anymore” you noticed him smile as he thought up more responses and you threw a pencil at him, still paying attention to the conversation on the phone before mouthing ‘stop’ to Freddie but he just shook his head with a teasing smile

  “You won’t be able to walk”

  “Your legs will be numb”

  “Your chest will be heaving because you can’t catch your breath”

  “You’re gonna crave my dick”

  “Every time you move”

  “You’ll have to physically stop yourself from jumping me in public”

  “Because you’re still feeling me inside you” your eyes went wide as you read his messages, heat flooding your face as you ended the call, forcing yourself to dial another number before Freddie could get the upper hand. He slowly made his way to the desk once more and you gulped as you swallowed the saliva that had filled your mouth, Freddie hung up the phone before it ever even really began to ring

  “Seriously, don’t...” you whispered, knowing that you were about to break from whatever move he made next

  “But I want to” he growled, grazing your nose with his and you started to give in when he walked toward the door, “crap” you thought to yourself when you thought he was about to leave but he was only locking the door

  “What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, “that was unlocked this whole time?!”

  “Yeah?” he chuckled

  “Freddie! What would have happened if someone walked in earlier?”

  “They would’ve gotten a great show” he replied, walking over to you, leaning over you but not doing anything. You took a deep breath before running your hands up his arms, tangling your fingers in his hair before bringing him down to kiss you

  “We have to be quick...” you whispered, earning a grin from Freddie before he pulled your leggings off and directed your thighs around his waist so he could pick you up to carry you to the couch. You laughed when he sat down and you fell into him clumsily, “quiet” you shushed him before kissing him slowly and trailing your hands down to his waistband, pushing his pants down just enough to free his erection while his hands lifted your shirt up, stopping to massage your breasts. You heard a laugh outside of the office and stopped what you were doing, “wait,” you whispered, “I think someone’s there” he didn’t listen, kissing your neck and lining himself up with your entrance before bucking his hips to yours; your nails digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from making any sound. His hands gripped your hips as he thrust into you, bringing your attention back to him while your lips found each other in a clumsy rush to muffle the sounds of each other’s moans

  “Fuck,” Freddie moaned first, “fuck” you were about to reciprocate his sentiment when the phone rang and your head jerked back in panic

  “Shit” you sighed, worry mixing with pleasure as Freddie continued to grip your hips tightly

  “Ignore it” he said, kissing your peaked nipple over your shirt before moving a hand to your core, but your head still stayed looking at the ringing phone

  “What if it’s her?” you whined, referring to your boss

  “Ignore it” he repeated

  “What if it’s one of the partners or the vendors? What if it’s one of the really important clients?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give any helpful advice other than

  “Ignore it” he said once more, pulling your face back to his before kissing you harshly. The phone stopped ringing and you felt a faint sense of peace course through you as you softened the kiss that Freddie had started, your tongue begging for his lips to part, a muffled moan intertwining with his warm breath as it brushed over your exposed neck. Your tongue danced with his for a while as his fingers circled your clit, pressing down on the sensitive flesh every so often

  “Fuck” you breathed finally, now beginning to ride him faster, feeling his thighs flex underneath you as he welcomed the sensation of you crashing onto him. “Fuck,” you repeated, “shit, oh my god. Fuck Freddie” you felt your climax build as his lips met your neck, his finger still working on your clit while you rode him harder; the loud ringing of the phone the only thing that brought you back to where you were. “Ugh” you groaned

  “Leave it” he groaned back

  “Fuck” you sighed, reluctantly ignoring the phone to continue fucking your incredibly broad shoulder boyfriend

  “That’s my girl” he smirked, watching you bounce up and down his length

  “Fuck, Freddie, I’m gonna cum” you panted, your hands clutching his shirt as your hips began to shake. “Sh-i-it, god fuck! Freddie” you moaned, still trying to be as quiet as possible but knowing that everyone in the office was probably putting on noise cancelling headphones just to try to escape the sounds they were undoubtedly hearing.

  “Almost there, baby” Freddie breathed, clutching onto your waist to assist your movements. Fuck, his hands fit so perfectly on your body, you really hated that this had to end so quickly, but that’s what he came here for. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in you”

  “Fuck” you breathed, dropping your head onto his shoulder, your body taking over until you and Freddie met your release. Like clockwork, the annoying ringing of the phone appeared and you had to scoff at Freddie while you quickly got dressed

  “That was fun,” he smiled, “you sure you don’t wanna go round two?”

  “Hello” you greeted, picking up the phone to continue the work you had come to do, “I am so sorry about that. I’m not sure what was happening with the line…”

  “So we’ll continue this at my place then?” Freddie teased before and you nodded with wink before shooing him away but not before he kissed you goodbye. You were dreading the walk out of the office if Mason and his team hadn’t left yet but you knew it had to happen sooner or later

  “So, should we hire a clean up crew before your boss gets back?” one of the guys teased

  “Shut up” you said, hoping your embarrassment didn’t show too clearly

  “You do know we put on our headphones as soon as we saw him,” Mason admitted, “we knew there’s no way that he was gonna just show up to say hi”

  “He could’ve,” you tried, exhaling when you realized you were never going to fool any of them, “fine. Just, please, don’t rat me out. I just pulled together a miracle in that office and I don’t need Laura finding out about my office sex-capades — I don’t want that to be the reason she fires me. I’m not that girl…”

  “We know” another co-worker smirked

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us,” Mason assured, “it’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy as far as we’re concerned” you gave him an appreciative smile before heading out to meet Freddie in the parking garage

  “Hey” he smiled as you sat in the front seat

  “Hi” you replied, leaning over to peck his lips

  “Did you get your work done?” he teased

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, “it was a miracle but I got it done” he took your hand and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to it

  “No more quickies,” he whined, holding your hand for the remainder of the ride, until he needed it for one reason or another, “I need more than that”

  “I agree,” you smirked, “now, let’s go home so you can fuck me until I can’t walk

  “Yes ma’am.”

[noritoshiikamo]

this is how you fall in love

pairing: kuroo tetsuroo + fem!oc genre: friends into lovers fluff with slight suggestive end tags//warning: nothing major // slight suggestive at the end if you squint enough note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. o wow look ive been posting back to back, ive been writing nonstop lately watch me ghost my stories in few weeks guys my brain = rotting, plus lately ive been feeling emotionally abuseddrained so i need something fluffy

listen to this is how you fall in love by jeremy zucker + chelsea cutler for maximum feels

“you’re a lifesaver.”

kuroo huffed, eyes rolling back with a small laugh as he unlaced his sneakers and slipped the room slipper on. it was odd to see the gymnasium without any nets or balls sprawled around. the gym has been closed for a week now in preparation for the upcoming open school event and currently under the art club’s jurisdiction. under her jurisdiction with her canvases and paints and it pained him to see her ruining his sacred place. he carried two plastic bags and holding two boba teas in the same hand. he wasn’t sure which one she was more excited for; the boba, the paints she made him ran to an art supply shop or him. she reached out, the bobas in his hand exchanged as she settled it on the floor, and she squealed at the sight of the plastic bag. he frowned.

yup, not him.

tins of different colors of paint that she ran out mid painting that she forgot to buy had her dialing his number and now it’s all here. all thanks to kuroo tetsuro. she grimaced at the price tags; it was costly than her usual one. usually, she would’ve gotten her supplies online, but desperate measure calls for desperate solution. she could always claim her expenses with the club. typical kuroo, she huffed. he always preached about getting the best, not minding the price tags but she’ll be the victim of his nonstop complaining that he’s getting broke every single day. she tucked a stray hair back and mentally counted how much she owed the man as she arranged the tins on the table.

kuroo noticed that look; same look she had when they are in the math class and he clicked his tongue, “tch, you’re not paying.”

“i’m reimbursing you with the club money,” she shook her head and reached for her bag, “please kuroo, it’s so expensive.”

he reached for her wrist and she dropped the tote bag as he invaded her space. kuroo rested the palm of her hand right above his heart, his own around the waist and another under her chin as he tilted her chin up. his heartbeat was erratic, and she flushed. “it’s okay,” he said, softly. her lips formed into a small pout and he fought the urge to just kiss her.

their dynamic is something even kenma couldn’t figure it out.

they weren’t exactly dating. they are friends, close friends, and classmates. it has always been him, her and occasionally yaku; creating the chaotic duo/trio of class 5. they both played volleyballs, both captains while he’s the middle blocker, she’s their female team’s setter. they knew a lot of each other’s friends from other schools; he was the reason why she dated akaashi keiji from the first place. it was selfish of kuroo to admit to bokuto a month after they started dating that he disliked the idea of them together. typical kuroo is no longer snarky, he felt lost, felt like he was losing his other half. so, he confided to his close friend, the simpleton ace.

“you didn’t make any moves, kuroo, you can’t blame them.”

bokuto noted as them both stared at the two setters, playing around the fallen cherry blossoms. bokuto never seen akaashi smiled that much and kuroo could only wished that she smiled the same way to him. kuroo stared at the half bitten onigiri he’d been holding, suddenly every bite he took tasted bitter. every trace of akaashi on her gave him bitter taste. she liked wearing akaashi’s jersey; kuroo longed to see her in his own numbered jersey; she’s his number one after all. her own jersey number is as same as akaashi. it’s not like kuroo could hate anything he did; he treated her well. akaashi was a perfect boyfriend and everyone knew. that’s why kuroo hates him; he gave him no reason to hate the dude. it didn’t last long however, they drifted apart 6 months later, sending her to kuroo’s doorstep soaked in rain.

he stared at her soaked figure with no thoughts in mind.

“he dumped me,” she said, voice hoarse and shivering.

he was alone and was about to leave for kenma’s, but he couldn’t leave her alone. dropping his keys on the small table by the door, he threw his jacket back in the closet. “come in,” he whispered, pulling her figure in. dropping her bag on the floor, she clutched on his sleeves as she kicked off her soaking shoes. “i’m sorry, my mom isn’t home and i can’t find my keys,” she was a blabbering mess and he hushed her. he left her for a few minutes, coming back with a steaming towel and a clean shirt and pants. “it’s from the dryer. you can borrow my sister’s clothes,” grabbing her hands, they ran upstairs where he took her to the bathroom. she was too quiet, so he called her name. when she looked up to him, her eyes were red. she was no longer crying, more confused and upset. her cheeks flushed and he could see her teeth chattering. he wished nothing but to throw his fist at the man. finally, he got a reason to square up the stoic man; he always hates the way nothing could riled up akaashi.

“he’s stupid for doing you like this.”

she shook her head, “it’s nobody’s fault.”

“then stop blaming yourself,” he ruffled her hair, a small smile appeared from the corner of her lips as she watched him disappeared closing the door behind him. he left her with the hot water running, urgently grabbing the mop and bucket from the kitchen, and wiping the trail of her soaked feet has left before it could ruin the wooden floor.

cant come over, busy, ill tell u later

kuroo texted kenma. the pudding head left him on read.

they spend the night together, sitting on the floor with pillows pilling against the end of the bed as they sat in arms. he had his tv opened to one of the late-night game show. they sat in silence, her head rested on his shoulder and her lips pressed into a tiny line. at the corner of his eyes, he could see her phone’s notifications blaring despite being on mute. the number isn’t saved but it was familiar. she deleted his number already, probably out of rage, but it’s a good step.

tell me where you want me to drop your stuff im sorry i hope youre okay y/n? i heard it was storming did you make it back home? give me a call im calling you okay?

just as like what the message stated, the unknown number called her. it startled her which startled him too. she stared down on the screen, he noticed the grip on the phone and wondered how the phone did not break yet. “can you answer it for me?” she said, holding the phone out to the black-haired man. shocked, he took the phone and pressed the green button. he pressed the phone to his ear and heard her name being called.

“hey man,” kuroo cleared his throat, “listen-”

“she’s with you?” the voice- akaashi asked.

looking down on the girl who was pretending to not have any interest in the call at all, eyes focused on the gameshow, kuroo sighed.

“she is. listen, i think you should leave her alone.”

“kuroo, i know about your feelings. for her. bokuto-san told me about it. if you think that this is the proper way to get her when she’s vulne-”

kuroo bit the inside of his cheeks. he was offended that akaashi dared to call him out like that. “so, what? she made her pick,” the girl turned to face him, brows up wondering what they are talking about.

“that’s low, even for you, kuroo-san.”

their eyes met. he didn’t even realize how deep the cut on his palm where he had balled his fingers into a fist until she touched it. he calmed down. “you hurt her. you have no right to say what’s low or not. be a bigger man, leave her alone,” he muttered flatly, before ending the call. they didn’t break eye contact until he realized what he had done.

“i-i shouldn’t have done that.”

she shook her head, “stop blaming yourself,” a small smile on her face.

that was 3 months ago.

kuroo had made moving on easy for her. akaashi and her remained friendly, although kuroo noticed that she tended to avoid him when possible. the breakup was indeed mutual, but merely on the fact that he lost feelings. akaashi had fallen out of love with her and in love with some other girl but who was she to judge when she was falling in love with the rooster head in silence. they still hang out with bokuto and akaashi but rarely with the latter.

she made him apologized to the fukurodani’s setter too and they remained on friendly term, still practiced together whenever they have training camps together where akaashi had admitted one training night that kuroo and her looks better together. kuroo didn’t say anything, not that he knew what to reply to that (his mind scream fuck yeah we do) but shrugged at his statement. “i guess dating her made you less pain in the ass, kuroo-san,” akaashi joked as they resumed the game.

kuroo was pulled back to reality when he felt his lips brushed against something. his eyes widened when he realized what it was. a quick kiss from her. he blinked frantically, trying to comprehend what had just happened which caused the girl to laugh. “did you just?” he asked confused by what had just happened which she nodded. she bit her bottom lip to hold herself from bursting into a laugh. “god, you should see your face. it’s so stupid. and every girl called you the playboy captain huh?”

he huffed and rolled his eyes, “i am not. i’ve been loyal to one girl for many years now, she is the one who hasn’t notice me at all,” he faked his pout, refused to look her directly in the eyes, praying that she wouldn’t notice his reddening cheeks.

“she must’ve been so stupid,” she teased, her nose rubbing gently against his jawline as she rested her figure against his closer. his chin rested against her head.

“she is,” he looked down on her, his arms around her waist tighter, “i don’t think she knows this but if she leaves me, i think i’ll be so broken inside. is it selfish to say that?” a small frown appeared on her face.

“i don’t think she ever talked about leaving you.”

a grin grew on his face, “so you know who i’m talking about huh?” she fell into his trap. she rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, calling him stupid. he studied her face, his grin softened into what yaku and his volleyball team called the kuroo is stupidly in love with y/n but refused to admit face. his fingers ran into her hair which she had been growing out in few months down to her shoulder because she thinks that he likes her better that way. the way she tried to subtly put on make up to look better that the other girls who’s shamelessly flirting with him. she was too stupid to realize that he had loved her beyond that.

he loves the rough pads on her hands from holding her paintbrushes and volleyball. he loves that she works hard for everything she’s doing be it studying, volleyball or arts, she would put her blood, sweat and tears into it. he loves that she would wait for him to buy lunch so they can eat together in class. he would buy her a box of milk which she insisted that she doesn’t need too; but he convinced it would be good for her. he wants the best for her.

he loves that all the missing clothes he’s complaining about is in the back of her closet or on her. his cream hoodie hanging behind her closet door, his random pile of t-shirts in a basket on the floor of her closet that he liked to left beside the mix pile of her shoes and his one big ass nike shoes. her room isn’t messy, it is because she kept the messiness in her closet. she also like to keep random stuff of him too. the one medal he won from a science fair hung on the headboard of her bed, the misshapen looking hand wax sculpture of their hands intertwined from a funfair where she rested a purikura of them on it and a lucky bamboo plant he gave on her birthday to compromise on the no gift rule.

“for luck,” he grinned.

unlike hers, he kept her item neatly in his drawer. your spare shirts that he borrowed and refused to return, extra towel and her toiletries, some of her drawing blocks and a small cat shaped pouch where she kept her allergies medication. mostly hidden because his annoying friends come over often and would accidentally talk about it in front of his grandparents. but, on his bedside table, he has a cup of pencils by the bed where he collected the art supplies she left behind, random markers and paintbrushes, a clay sculpture of a trinket plate she made from art club (she carved a tiny letter k in the corner beside the obvious looking genitalia drawing) and a fake plant which she was sure he will not be able to kill it.

he loves it when she wore his jersey. he lost his mind when he found out that her current season number is the same as his. he’s in love. the first time he saw her in his jersey, the number one jersey on her body was during their training. he lost concentration; mouth hung a bit. he got so flustered that he let lev served the ball straight to his head. usually, lev would be dead by now, but he doesn’t mind. his nose bled but to see her kneel beside him, clutching on his own shirt screaming how stupid he is, wiping the blood away with towel, he could only say how pretty she looked. all his teammates were startled, her included. she clutched on his collar angrily; her knees stung from when she leaped down to his side, but this idiot could only smile at her with a bloody nose. “you are fucking idiot,” she cried out angrily, pushing him away before throwing the towel on his face leaving the pleased third year laying on the floor.

he loves the way she would find a way to impress him, be it as ridiculous as the halloween costume idea she had where they’ll go as the front and end of a horse or as serious as the submitted college application to the same university he had gotten into. “you are not getting rid of me that easily, tetsu,” the evil look on her face as she clicked the submit button send shivers down his spine.

“if you leave, i think i’ll cry,” he confessed, his smile slowly died.

“kuroo tetsuro is going to cry after me?” she teased. he nodded eagerly. “does kuroo tetsuro realized that we are literally moving into the same university? i couldn’t catch a break from him,” she faked her annoyance which he playfully avenged by sending her on the floor laughing as he tickled her. tears trickled down her cheeks as she begged him to stop, screaming to get away from his grip. “please, kuroo, i’m going to pee if you don’t stop!” he obliged, tears prickled the corner of his own eyes from laughing too much. straddling her waist, he gathered her wrists in one hand over her head. “apologize and said that kuroo tetsuro is the best man in your life or i swear i’ll make you pee,” he threatened her playfully, wiggling the fingers of his free hand close to her waist. her eyes widened in fears.

“that’s not fair!”

“apologize first.”

“fine!” she pouted, “i’m sorry, i won’t make fun of you again. now get off me!”

he raised his eyebrow, “andddd?”

“annddd-” a teasing smile appeared on her face as she said the next 5 words that send him to mars and back; “i love you kuroo tetsuro.”

he froze in shock. he heard the words before but never in this way; never for him.

finally, i think i got the calculation, love you yaku! lev you’re adorable but so stupid, i love it! thank you for letting me borrow your game, kenma. you’re the best, love ya!

the grip on her wrists loosened. taking advantage of his shock state, she pushed him back, straddling him by the waist, pinning his own hands above his head, giving him the taste of his own medicine. “i’m not going to leave your sorry ass, tetsu. i hope you don’t regret it,” she leaned down, capturing his lips with a longer kiss. letting go of his wrist, her hand went immediately into his rooster hair while another cupped his cheek, deepening their kiss. she could feel his cold palm resting against her bare waist and she shuddered. between the kisses, he heard her whispering his name. “kuroo, do you love me too?” she asked so innocently with kisses between the words but the way she grabbed a handful of his hand in a fist felt so dirty, eliciting a strangled moan from the back of his throat. she pulled back, staring down on his eyes as his lips moved.

“i love you too.”

nothing in his hazel eye but sincerity. he groaned when she pulled herself out of his reach, missing her warm body as she laughed. straightening her sweater back, pulling her hair back up into a tighter ponytail before she picked up the paintbrush she dropped. the paintbrush left a white stain on the court. as if kuroo wasn’t here, whimpering underneath her a minute ago, she continued her work. “i need to finish the mural by this week and you’re not exactly helping me,” she warned him, pointing the wet brush his direction. through the corner of her eyes, he was propped on his elbows, still staring at her, causing her to blush profusely. it annoyed him that she would tease him, then leaving him high and dry. before she could crack open the new paint tin, he ignored her warning as he tackled her back into his arms.

breathless against her lips, he told her to continue later. the urgency and rawness of his voice made her putty immediately. looking up the man, she pouted her lips.

“kuroo-san,” she whined as he captured her bottom lips.

he elicited a soft moan from the girl. he grinned against her lips. a hand rested firmly beside her head while another snaked under the sweater. there will be bruise tomorrow, she was sure of it, he will make sure of it.

“it will be quick, baby. i promise.”

she has no objection.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 282: Aizawa Defeeted

Previously on BnHA: Oh my god do we even care about that at this point. Tomura made a speech; Gran Torino died; Deku lost his shit and tried to strangle Tomura to death with his bare hands; Ryuukyuu came back from Wherever She Was and tried to grab Tomura but he punched a hole through her giant hand; and now he’s grabbing his Quirk-Be-Gone bullets and is ready to cause some mayhem okay?? That about sum it up?? Is anyone even reading this?? CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT I’VE WAITED AN ENTIRE WEEK.

Today on BnHA: Well I guess let’s start with what doesn’t happen: Bakugou doesn’t lose his quirk. HE LUCKED OUT!!... for now, anyways. Because, thanks to a near-impossible-to-predict series of events (seriously, raise your hands if you had “Aizawa gets shot but goes full World War Z on his own ass” on your bingo card), Tomura has seemingly regained his regeneration powers, which means that his other quirks are probably back online as well! So we’ll see how that all goes. Anyway so in the meantime Shouto’s back, looking very mad that everyone temporarily forgot he was a main character. And Gigantomachia is back as well! Or almost, anyway. Also, you’ll never guess who broke another one of his arms! Go on, guess. But at least he still has the arm, though, which is more than we can say for certain other people’s limbs. Poor Aizawa is literally on his last leg. He and Tomura really got off on the wrong foot. He chopped his leg off, is what I’m saying. It’s that kind of chapter folks.

you guys I’m losing my whole fucking mind. I straight up deleted the tumblr app off my phone for 24 hours so that I wouldn’t be tempted to log in and risk potentially being spoiled. and I’m happy to say that it worked! so here we are now, completely spoiler free, and let me just say that if Horikoshi decides to cut back to Gunga Mountain now, I will either cry for hours or abandon the series forever and go do something more productive with the rest of my quarantine like learning how to play sad songs on the guitar

all right. here goes

so we’re opening with Deku, who is currently comprised of 100% rage and 0% mercy, and is doing that thing where only the whites of his eyes are visible. and basically he’s just thinking “I’VE REALLY GOT TO HOLD ON TO THIS GUY AND MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE HOMICIDAL.” which is a solid game plan, but perhaps not so easily accomplished

-- oh my god this poor kid is still in denial, I can’t. why are you doing this

is there even still a Gran Torino to tend to at this point? after Tomura bulldozed a hole through his torso, and you went and finished the job with your own fucking attack? sob

but I guess the law of Tragic Shounen Mentor Deaths mandates that Gran’s should be at least as drawn-out as Nighteye’s was, though. so he’s probably only Mostly Dead, which is still Slightly Alive if I remember my Princess Bride correctly, and I think I do

so now the rest of these stooges are finally catching up with us here

yes, my friends. a bullet. WELCOME TO MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FUCKING WEEK. anyways I have a LOT of pent-up energy here just fyi. there may be a lot of unnecessary screaming in this recap

FUCKING WYOMING SMASH Y’ALLSSSS

I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED SOB. DID HE JUST HAMMER FIST TOMURA’S HEAD INTO THE GROUND. DID HE SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK AT 100%. IN AN IDEAL WORLD HE WOULD HAVE JUST CHOPPED TOMURA’S ARMS OFF WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO AVOID BREAKING ANY OF HIS OWN BONES IN THE PROCESS, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THIS SITUATION WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IN ANY KIND OF MANNER ONE WOULD CONSIDER “IDEAL”

(ETA: fun fact: this attack did absolutely nothing except make things approximately 100x worse. but you tried Deku. you tried.)

THE FUCK KIND OF PORTENTOUS BULLSHITTING TITLE IS THIS. OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT EMOTION I’M HAVING RIGHT NOW, IT’S JUST A LOT OF LOUD THOUGHTS

anyway so if you’re just joining us, Tomura just pulled two bullets out of his pocket, the good guys finally noticed, and then Deku did a smash and everything exploded. the radius of this attack actually looks wide enough to have potentially involved Aizawa, who probably does NOT want to get any debris in his eyes right now, and also Gran, who probably doesn’t particularly want to be hit by another deadly attack for the third time in the past ninety seconds. anyway so I guess what I’m trying to say here is WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT YOU LITTLE GREEN LUNATIC

AHHHHHH

he got the one!! the one that was in Tomura’s right hand!! but what about the one in his left ahhhhhhh

(ETA: lmao at Kacchan being the one to blow up the same bullet I was so sure he was going to be shot with. saw the writing on the wall, huh kid? what do we say to the god of foreshadowing?? ‘NOT TODAY.’ ...except that we’re still not actually out of the woods yet so you still better watch yourself lol.)

...

based on the font here, these are Tomura’s thoughts. which he is thinking immediately after getting the lower half of his jaw very painfully cronched by the VERY homicidal sixteen-year-old still clinging to him. anyway so Tomura’s thought processes are as inscrutable to me as ever lulz

and Deku’s arm looks broken again, yaaaaay. but at least it’s his left arm and not his right! so that’s nice. now they can match

[SHRIEKS]

HE YEETED IT. IT HAS BEEN YEETEDED. HE DID A YEET. [sobbing] he DiD a YeEt oH my GOD

DID IT HIT SOMETHING!?!?!?

my reading process here is as follows: 1) scroll down exactly one panel. 2) scream even though absolutely nothing has happened yet. 3) WRITE THAT DOWN 4) REPEAT

DKSFJLKHSDLGKHLI

DID IT HIT HIM!?!? DID IT GET HIM IN THE LEG SOB ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. JUST LIKE THAT?? BOOM GUN BULLET LEG!!?

YOU GUYS IT REALLY HIT AIZAWA AND NO ONE DID A GODDAMN THING?? it wasn’t even drawn out or anything??? it just HAPPENED, within like four pages??? NO SLOW MO?? NOT EVEN A REACTION PANEL WHAT THE FUCK

son of a bitch I would so dearly like to grab Manual and RockLockRock’s heads right now and just conk them together real hard. YOU STUPID FUCKS sob YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! IT REALLY WAS JUST ONE!! AND YOU WERE SHARING IT!! SO IT’S MORE LIKE HALF A JOB!! AND YOU STILL COCKED IT UP IN ABSOLUTELY NO TIME AT ALL OH MY GOD

(ETA: they should blow this panel up and make it into a t-shirt and make Manual and RLR wear the shirts every day for the rest of their lives. half a job, you guys. please go away I cannot even look at you right now.)

FUCK MY EVERYTHING

(ETA: I still can’t figure out if this horrific angle is due to the earlier damage from the Noumu, or if Tomura really just flung the bullet THAT hard. honestly I’m surprised it didn’t just slice right through him with that kind of velocity. “no thanks because then I wouldn’t get to write a scene where he chops his own leg off” oh okay well when you put it that way, Horikoshi.)

if I recall correctly this is the leg that he said was “twisted”, no? yeesh. might just want to chop it off real quick, then. s’not like it’s doing you any more good. does anyone know if zombie rules apply or not with this sort of thing?? shit

?!?!

“THANKS”?? okay what. did it hit him or not??

-- oh my god WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT

I WAS -- I WAS JOKING I -- FFFFFFFFKJK

jesus fucking christ. when I said “might just want to chop it off real quick” literally FOUR PARAGRAPHS AGO, I can tell you that the one thing I did NOT expect was for Aizawa to be all, “you know what, that’s a good idea”, and then YOINK OUT HIS TRUSTY HERO SHANK AND GO FULL 127 HOURS ON THIS BITCH. "LALALA WE’RE GONNA DO IT RATIONALLY TEEHEE” like excuse me, the fuck

anyways. I don’t even know what to say. thank you Aizawa’s leg for your sacrifice, and for always supporting him. literally. oh my god I came here ready for my son to enter a new phase of character development, and for the manga as a whole to enter a new phase of glorious, glorious angst. no one told me I’d be sitting here making puns instead. what a fine, confusing day

anyway though let’s just fucking hope it worked. and side note, if Aizawa Shouta really did chop off his own fucking leg just now and somehow STILL managed not to fucking blink, I think we might as well just go ahead and hand him the Biggest Badass In The Series award right now because no one is ever going to top that. nope. not happening

it is truly a testament to Shigaraki Tomura’s unfathomably mysterious sexy villain energy that he still somehow manages to look hot with only half a face

also no one in this manga actually feels pain, do they. not Deku, not Aizawa, not Tomura, no one. no wonder none of them have any self-preservation instincts to speak of

um

did someone just randomly explode just now. at this point it might as well happen, right

oh it’s the shockwave from Deku’s Wyoming attack, apparently. how nice of it to have a delayed reaction for absolutely no reason

anyway so Deku’s being flung back, but he’s grabbing onto Tomura again with Blackwhip. but oh shit you guys, if Tomura escapes Deku and Ryuukyuu’s clutches and still has any bullets left in his pocket, we may still be able to salvage this Bakugou quirk situation after all. would be nice to be able to actually do something with all of these “happy quirk losing day” balloons that I ordered

(ETA: actually, believe it or not I honestly like this better. Tomura using AFO was always the more dramatic option anyway. and now that we’ve done the bullet thing everyone has presumably let their guard down again, which, good.)

I love how Tomura apparently hasn’t noticed that Aizawa’s just amputated his own leg? to be fair he’s probably distracted by all the explosions and such

also gotta love how Deku’s arm-breaking attack seemingly just made everything worse for no reason. and also how Manual and RockLockRock are once again just standing there doing absolutely nothing

SO NOW GUESS WHAT’S HAPPENING

I MEAN IT! GUESS. BECAUSE YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE LOL

OH WELL OKAY THEN

just like we all saw coming!! ...

so is this Endeavor’s attack?? Bakugou’s?? either way, hot damn. fortunately for Tomura he is apparently operating under the same guidelines as the U.S. Federal Reserve, in which mutilated bills may still be exchanged at face value if more than 50% of a note identifiable as United States currency is present. basically as long as roughly half of him is still vaguely Tomura-shaped I assume he’ll be fine

(ETA: in hindsight I should have immediately been able to identify this as a Shouto attack based solely on how murdery it was lol.)

OH MY GODDDD

KRANCH?!?

OH MY GOD LOL WHAT. LOL. REMEMBER EVERYONE’S THEORIES FROM LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO LOL. SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK. DID YOU STOP FOR DRIVE THRU

AND MEANWHILE DEKU’S BACK ON THE SCENE GIVING ARGUABLY EVEN LESS FUCKS THAN BEFORE, IF SUCH A THING IS EVEN POSSIBLE. SO FAR THIS CHAPTER HAS PRECISELY ZERO THINGS THAT I ACTUALLY EXPECTED IN IT, WHICH IS VERY IMPRESSIVE

IT ALSO HAS A LOT OF SMASHING

a LOT. of smashing, guys. feels like... 60% smashing, 20% severed legs, 20% Kranch

-- oh no oh SHIT oh shit oh shit

(ETA: um so I really can’t tell how far that wound extends and whether or not Aizawa still has his right eye, shit.)

first of all how did Deku get here next to Aizawa when he was just over there with Tomura, what. and second, I think Aizawa just blinked, oh shit. probably on the verge of passing out after CHOPPING HIS OWN LEG OFF which STILL hasn’t been acknowledged yet?? did I just completely misinterpret all of that back there or what

(ETA: there was seriously so little attention called to this that I scrolled back up to confirm it probably like half a dozen times. apparently Horikoshi thinks that THE MOST BADASS THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE MANGA should be completely downplayed. whereas if it were me, there’d be an entire two page spread of JUST THE LEG. WITH MUSIC PLAYING. EVEN THOUGH IT’S A MANGA.)

YEPPPPPPP. fuck

look at him though. he’s so happy. this is why I can’t stay mad at you no matter how deranged you get you little maniac

so is quirk-stealing back on the menu then or what. don’t think I’ve been lulled into any kind of false sense of security by any of this lol

-- ARE WE SERIOUSLY CUTTING AWAY

so Todoroki really went after them ALONE. the better to put his dad right back up at the top of the Lose Your Quirk Sweepstakes finalists. well... second-to-top, maybe. like I said I will not be lulled

yuh-oh

why do I feel like the odds of Gigantomachia arriving to herald the end of this chapter just shot up DRAMATICALLY

so the next page is almost entirely just a list of cities that the news anchor is telling people to evacuate because they’re in Machia’s path. along with a bunch of dead heroes lying around everywhere, and Ochako being all ominous

(: weren’t they, though? heh. this is going to be so, so bad (: (: (:

-- fuuuuuuuuuuu

aaaaaand that’s it. hahahaha. okay then let’s summarize

Bakugou defied all expectations and kept his quirk (FOR NOW)!

Aizawa cut his own fucking leg off and it WASN’T EVEN REMOTELY ACKNOWLEDGED FOR REASONS I CAN’T UNDERSTAND (R.I.P. AIZAWA’S PRECIOUS LEG. YOU ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD)

Kranch showed up after 157 years and is probably wondering why the heck I keep calling him “Kranch” now. THINGS CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE MIA FOR A WHILE MY LITTLE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS CUP

Deku broke his arm for the 78th time

Tomura regenerated but seems to think Aizawa’s quirk is actually gone for good, which I’m pretty sure it’s not. so if they can keep him from destroying everything long enough for Aizawa to turn it back on again, we might possibly still survive this

and lastly, Machia is about to kill all of these stupid people frolicking around outside of this fitness club who are probably so proud of themselves for not being glued to their phones 24/7 because they prefer to LIVE LIFE IN THE MOMENT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. well that’s on you my friends. at least it’ll be a quick death. ffff

[whosaskingwrites]

See You Again (Tendou x Reader)

A/N: This was supposed to be uploaded awhile ago but first I got stuck on how to write it and then we I figured it out halfway through writing it the entire thing got deleted. So I prolonged rewriting it from scratch. So many other things went wrong while writing this too. But I got it done so here is the final product.

WARNINGS: Angst. One mention of abortion nothing to explicit.

Date: Thursday October 29th, 2020

Details: 7.1 pages 2,530 words

Theme: Stranger- when you get heartbroken you have the option of forgetting the person who caused the heart break as long as you say the word stranger with enough conviction while thinking about the person you want to forget.

Angst Masterlist

He was tired.

Visiting his old team had taken a lot out of him. It was weird not seeing you among the group. He missed your e/c eyes and how they always lit up when you saw him. How every time without fail you always hugged him and said hello reminding him silently that he wasn’t alone. How could he not fall in love? Soon enough word got out Y/n L/n and Satori Tendou the famous Guess Couple of Shiratorizawa Academy. While he was known for his guessing ability on the court you were know for your guessing ability in pretty much anything else.

You always knew just by looking how someone felt and knew what was wrong. You could watch the boys train and no matter what new tricks they tried you always knew what they were going to do. Hell you even knew Karasuno's every play as they made it despite all of this neither of you could guess what happened toward the end of the school year.

He thought about it a lot that moment he destroyed his own paradise watching tears well up in your eyes and roll down your face. He always remembered how Semi looked at him when you went to him for comfort telling him what happened. Semi still looked at him that way even though it’d been fifteen years since then.

“Excuse me sir…You look sad what happened?” He turned looking at the girl next to him. She was clearly a high school student a white blouse tucked into a black skirt. She wore black leggings and a simple pair of white shoes a grey jacket and a blue striped bow-tie. His eyes spotted the gym bag a pair of volleyball shoes dangled out very obviously well worn and he noted that the gym bag had Fukurodani labeled on the side.

“I let her go,” It was then he looked at the girl and he froze the high schooler in front of him looked like you s/c skin and slightly full cheeks, a nose that was curved just right l/c lips and big beautiful eyes. But what caused him to freeze was not the fact that the girl looked like you but she looked exactly like him as well.

From her long arms and tape wrapped around her fingers. To her wide slightly crooked smile the resemblance strongest in the girls dark red eyes and in her h/c hair that had fiery streaks of red running through it. It was then he realized that the girl in front of him was studying him much like he studied people during a match. She sat down next to him “Who'd you let go?” she hummed and god did it hurt him seeing the girl next to him.

Just as kind-hearted as her mother and insatiably curious like her father. She looked at him he hummed debating on how to answer the girl. “My paradise,” he finally settled on turning to stare off in the distance. “Paradise huh? Can you tell me about her?” She was attentive and didn’t push things like her mother. She was waiting for him to talk he sighed before opening his mouth.

“Well it started when we were high school first years…,”

He sat in class bored out of his mind. He watched the teacher easily predicting what they would do next as he kept up his mindless tapping against the desk. He wasn’t the only one bored of course but he was the only one crazy enough to do something about it. However, before he could open his mouth the door was thrown open.

A girl stood there panting heavily she had on the girls uniform black stockings and shoes a plaid purple skirt with a light purple blouse tucked into it. The white jacket over top and her purple bow tie. The girl jolted up looking at the teacher “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She pulled a pass out of her bag handing it to the teacher while he observed the girl. Now that he got a good look at her face, he saw she had slightly full cheeks, a nose curved just right, big beautiful e/c eyes with s/c skin and h/c hair held back by a distinct owl pin.

“Ah! So you’re the transfer student eh?” The teacher said while the girl blushed “um yes sir,” she said. “Well introduce yourself then!” The girl turned bowing to the class “Hello I’m the new transfer from Fukurodani Academy L/n F/n! I hope we can all be friends!” She looked up smiling while Tendou looked away. A new transfer huh?

“Eh!?” He was startled from the story turning to look at the girl on the bench. Her eyes were wide in wonder “You…you knew my mom!” She shouted in excitement and that confirmed all he needed to know. The girl in front of him was infectious in her excitement and he smiled “I did,” Perhaps in her excitement the girl had forgotten what this story was about so he decided to let her find out.

“Good morning Tendou-san!” Everyday like clockwork y/n's voice hit his ears as soon as he walked in. She always greeted him and for the life of him he couldn’t guess why when it came to her he couldn’t read her and guess her actions he just didn’t know. He decided it annoyed him enough “Why do you always greet me?” He asked suddenly placing his stuff down. Before placing his hands on the girls desk. She hummed as she looked at him “Am I not supposed to?” she questioned and he was confused “No one talks to me so why do you?” He narrowed his eyes at her and suddenly she giggled. It was light and carried across the room seeming to light up everyone who heard it.

“Because I want to be your friend Tendou-san!” he blinked. “Friend?” he repeated the word like it was a foreign concept to him. “Yeah friend! So, what do you say wanna be friends?” She held out her hand with a cheeky smile that he reciprocated “Sure. I hope you know what you’re signing up for,” He took her hand it was small in his own and he couldn’t help but notice that they fit almost like puzzle pieces.

“You were her friend? Mom never really talks about high school with me,” She sighed. “Said she’d forgotten most of it,” the girl clicked her tongue a habit formed from annoyance and one she’d picked up from her mother. “I believe her…whenever I ask, she always looks confused so most of what I know comes from Uncle SemiSemi,” He smirked at the nickname she really was his daughter through in through.

“You play volleyball?” He asked motioning to her bag. The girl brightened up “Mhm! I’m a Middle Blocker though my team gets upset when I guess block...It’s not my fault though! It’s instinct and I block the ball so I don’t see what the problem is,” A soft smile etched its way across his face when he'd heard that she guess blocked and was a Middle Blocker. “Why do you tape your fingers?” He asked and the girl hummed “I dunno mom tapes them. She said it’s because it reduces the risk of injury,” She raised her pointer finger scratching her nose slightly.

Then he noticed the necklace she wore it was a small eagle with a red gem clutched between its talons and he remembered that necklace. It was the one he confessed with during their second year.

“Y/n!” He shouted towards the girl. She spun around h/c hair fluttering around her as her eyes met Tendou's. “Yeah Satori?” She questioned as Semi left the conversation he returned to cleaning the gym while Tendou grabbed the team manager and pulled her outside. “Hey Satori what’s going on!” He let her go when they reached outside and he faced her.

He pulled out a black box while watching the girl she had a look of confusion it was something the two guessers learned early on. They couldn’t read each other but it never bothered them and made their days more exciting. “I wanted to ask you if you’d um…go out with me?” he questioned opening the box. Her eyes widened at the little eagle pendant and her finger brushed against the red gem in its claws. She smiled softly at it while Tendou waited for a response.

“Satori the gem it’s the same color as your eyes you know?” She stated looking up at him he blinked in confusion. She turned around lifting her hair up to show access to her neck “Can you help put it on?” He let out a sigh of relief and knew what she was implying.

He passed the cold metal across her neck and let his fingers lightly skim across the exposed skin. She shivered lightly at the touch and sighed as she let go of her hair. Letting it fall back to its normal length she turned wrapping her arms around his torso. “I would love to go out with you,” she whispered into his chest and suddenly a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

“That’s a pretty necklace,” He stated “Thanks…it was a present from my mom to celebrate me getting into Fukurodani Academy!” The girl chirped with a bright smile. “…What has your mom told you about high school?” She frowned and shook her head “Uncle SemiSemi told me mom doesn’t remember…because she used her stranger and since they were in most of her memories she’s forgotten a lot of high school,” His eyes widened never had he considered she used her stranger on him.

She forgot him on purpose after what happened he supposed he wouldn’t blame her. He almost used it himself in France but he always knew deep down he’d come back for her. He loved her after all but it seemed she didn’t believe the same thing but how could he have blamed her? He remembered that day well it was forever etched in his mind as the worst day of his life.

“Satori!” her sudden shout made him stop his rant about France and the wonderful time they’d have. He looked at her but she was already watching him her eyes showed she was afraid. The air smelled like rain and fresh cut grass as she stared at him. “I…I can’t go to France Satori,” she whispered and his smile fell “Why not?” he asked as she looked down.

“Satori…I’m pregnant,” she whispered it so quietly that he’d almost missed it. “I can’t go to France because we wouldn’t be able to support three people,”

Though that day may have been the worst because they argued he had been so angry that he doesn’t even remember the argument but he knows it was stupid. He knew from the moment he walked back into her dorm after the fight.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” He paused in the door way his eyes meeting the cold ones of Semi Eita. “Semisem-,” “After what you did don’t call me that,” he paused mouth still open letting the words process before he formulated his own response. “She told you?” he sighed out. “Yeah she did. Telling her to get rid of the child so you could go to France together? What the hell is wrong with you?” He didn’t have a response he knew how bad that sounded.

Especially when someone else was saying it to him and suddenly the reaction of you immediately crying made since as he grimaced. “Well?” Semi stated arms crossed over his chest. That’s when he saw you laying down on the chair behind Semi blanket covering you and the little eagle plushie that Goshiki had bought you held tight in your hands.

“Please Semi I just need-" He tried appeasing the other male but Semi didn’t back down “You need to get your shit and get out. I'm not letting you be here when she wakes up even if I have to throw you out,” Semi snarled and he had a brief moment that Semi almost seemed like a dog protecting its owner from a home intruder. He knew he wasn’t going to win this and just sighed “I’m leaving for France tomorrow…Can you tell her for me?” Semi's eyes narrowed but he nodded and with that Tendou left the dorm hearing it lock behind him.

She never showed up that day and vaguely he wondered if she’d already forgotten him by then. “Hey mister um…,” He looked to the side the girl next to him was nervously playing with her fingers a habit he wasn’t quite sure where she’d acquired it though. You certainly never played with your hands when you were nervous and neither did he.

“What is it?” He asked softly and the girl looked at him again big red eyes wide in curiosity. “You…You know a lot about my mom don’t you?” He hesitated before nodding. “Then…Do you know my dad?” He flinched at the girls question “You don’t know who your dad is?” he guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised the team probably all knew you used your stranger and didn’t want to dig up unwanted memories.

“Well…Uncle Ushijima told me his name but they wouldn’t tell me anymore than that and made it clear that mom shouldn’t know,” he hummed and supposed that it was okay to tell her. “Tendou Satori,” He said simply and the girl gave him a confused stare. “Yeah I kno-,” “My name is Tendou Satori,” he said again and he watched the girls eyes widen “You’re my dad?” she asked. He could only provide a nod “What…happened between you and mom?” He sighed as he looked at her.

“I said some pretty messed up things the day she told me she was pregnant. In fact not a day goes by that I don’t regret saying those things to her…or trying harder to get past Semi and talk to her. I was an idiot and now she forgot me,” He looked off in the night the street light behind them blinked a few times every now and then the buzz filling the silence left behind.

“You know…Maybe you could try again?” the girl asked and he whipped his head towards her “What?” he voiced. “You could try and win her back again since she doesn’t remember you,” A car pulled up and he saw her stand up “Maybe I will,” he stated sending her a small smile. “Good but you better not hurt mom again!” he laughed then “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he saw Goshiki get out of the car to open the passenger door. He didn’t say anything to Tendou but Tendou saw the hopeful look in Goshiki's eyes and knew that the younger male was on his side.

“Before you go…what’s your name?” the girl turned to face him one last time and smiled. “Nara L/n,” Tendou smiled as the car left before he chuckled.

“Paradise huh?”

————————————————————————

Nara- means extraordinary blossom from paradise

TAGLIST- @wonhomarshmallow

[zeppelin-and-unicorns]

TSG Missing Scene

Hey! If you’ve read my story, The Sweetest Gifts, you probably noticed how I mentioned in the last chapter’s notes that I had to cut off a small moment between Jackie, Eric and Hyde. In that same note, I promised I would post the part I’ve discarded here on tumblr.

I was supposed to have posted this so long ago, but I’ve been so occupied that I completely forgot. A huge thank you to the few people that reminded me, I’m sorry you guys waited so long for this, lol. I hope it isn’t disappointing.

“Knock knock!” Eric said, peeking his head through the door, his eyes closed “You guys are not making out, are you?” 

Hyde rolled his eyes and chuckled, pressing a kiss to Jackie’s forehead before leaving her bed.

“No, we’re not” Hyde said, taking the sleeping baby from the bassinet and carefully cradling her in his arms, sitting on the couch.

“Oh, thank God” Eric said, entering the room “I mean, I’m glad you guys are happy and everything, but I don’t think my eyesight would have survived that”

Jackie smiled and Eric turned to look at her. She looked really tired, her eyes were a little swollen and reddish, but she looked happy and more alive than ever.

“Glad to see you’re well, devil. You gave us quite a scare” Eric said

Jackie smiled, and Eric sat on the edge of her bed while Hyde observed everything with a small smile on his face.

“Glad to be well” Jackie replied “Have you met our new baby yet?”

“Yeah, Hyde took us to the nursery to see her once” Eric answered “She’s really cute”

“Of course she is, she’s my daughter” Jackie joked “Did Steven tell you her name?”

“He said he was waiting for you to wake up to name her” Eric answered, glancing at Hyde as he stood up and sat next to his wife again, this time, he was holding their kid “Something about you kicking his shins until he had a permanent limp”

“Well… Steven and I finally decided what we should name her. Eric… Meet Erica” Jackie said, pointing at the baby resting in Hyde's arms.

“What?” Eric stared at Jackie and Hyde in shock

“Erica Grace Hyde” Jackie said, running her finger through the baby’s chubby cheek

“You… You named your daughter after me?” Eric asked with tears in his eyes

“You saved my life Eric” Jackie replied, taking his hand in hers “Thanks to you, I’ll be able to see my kids growing up, and I’ll be able to grow old with Steven. You have no idea how much this means to me”

“It clearly means a lot if you named your child after me” He said with an incredulous laugh, then he carefully pulled her into a hug “I’m honored”

Jackie felt the back of her gown getting wet, and she took a deep breath in order to try to keep her own tears in. She obviously wasn’t successful, and started to sob on the geek’s arms.

She was in pain. She didn’t get to see the first two days of her baby girl’s life, she’s not able to have children anymore, her lower abdomen was hurting like a bitch, and seeing Steven crying earlier was like torture.

So she let it all out on Eric’s bony shoulders, as he rubbed her back and whispered comforting words in her ear.

Hyde watched with a sad smile as Eric comforted Jackie. He wanted to hold his wife and comfort her himself, but he’ll have plenty of time for that later. Besides, Eric saved her life, they both needed this.

So Hyde decided to fuzz over the family’s new addition instead of focusing on the touching scene in front of him. He’d shed a fair amount of tears already, and now it was Eric and Jackie’s turn.

They stayed in a tight embrace until they were both breathing normally again. Jackie gently kissed Eric’s tear-stained cheek before they broke apart.

“Thank you” She whispered, squeezing him one last time and laying her head back on Hyde’s shoulder.

“You are a great person, Jackie” Eric said “I know we have our differences but… The world wouldn’t be the same without you”

“Oh, Eric…” Jackie said, placing her hand on her heart and smiling at him

“That’s enough tears for now, so c’mon, hand me the little Erica!” Eric said with a big smile, wiping his face and extending his arms to Hyde, who gladly passed the baby to him.

That’s pretty much it. I didn’t write Eric interacting with the baby because by this point I’ve decided to cut the whole scene off, I just didn’t have the guts to delete the whole thing, so... here it is!

There’s two reasons why I decided to discard this scene:

The chapter was already waaaay too long

And I had no idea on how I would wrap things up after that

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it. I love Jackie and Eric’s friendship, and it hurt me to discard that scene, but I kind of had to. 

The sequel won’t be up for a long time, but I plan on posting the first one-shot of this universe after I finish posting all of the stories from my prompt game.

If you have any questions, please don’t be shy and let me know! Thanks for reading!

[whump-mania]

I Will Survive

Something a little different from what I usually write! This is a songfic inspired by “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor. I made some new characters for this one, not sure if I’ll ever use them anywhere else. Enjoy! (This is a long one)

TW: domestic abuse, implied noncon attempt, dubcon, nonconsensual kissing/touching, cursing, gaslighting, use of slurs (sl*t)

~

The crowd was silent. All eyes on him. A bright, burning spotlight shining down on him. Everyone was waiting in quiet anticipation for the first note. Tyler steadied his breathing and focused on the sheet music in front of him. His fingers rested lightly on the keys of first chord of the song. A breath. A glance into the crowd. Alex was there, smiling at him. A surge of confidence flowed through Tyler as he turned back to the piano. 

He struck the first chord, which sent him into a flurry of notes arpeggiating up to the end of the intro. A nod to his bandmates sent him into the first verse of the song.

“At first I was afraid, I was petrified...Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side...”

~

“N-No, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean it, I love y-”

“Shut the FUCK up, Tyler!” Eric was filled with rage. He had just pushed his boyfriend down onto the ground of the kitchen, Tyler’s now broken phone on the hard tile next to him.

It was all started by a text. A text that Tyler sent to his new friend, Alex. A bartender at the bar they performed at with their jazz band. He had been so kind to Tyler, coming up to him after the performance and telling him he had never heard someone play the piano as well as him. Eric was putting his trumpet away when he noticed the two talking, and he kept a wary eye on the bartender since then.

Tyler was just saying hello. He was just asking him if he wanted to meet up for coffee. As friends. That's when Eric found the texts messages and lost it, accusing Tyler of cheating on him.

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” Eric accused. “You think I’m not good enough for you, huh?!” 

Tyler shook his head rapidly. “No! No, please, I was just being friendly, I-”

“I don’t think I can be with you if you’re gonna be a slut,” Eric spat. “Have fun with your new boytoy.” Eric turned and left Tyler on the floor, taking his own things and heading for the door. 

“Wait! E-Eric, please!” Tyler scrambled off the floor and grabbed Eric’s arm. “I’ll do anything, please, d-don’t leave me...I love you...” 

Eric glared at him, not even needing to think about his next move. Everything was going according to plan. “Would you block him? Would you never speak to him again?” His voice dropped to a lower, vulnerable tone. 

Tyler nodded immediately. “Yes, yes, I promise, I won't even think about him, just please don’t leave...I-I’m sorry...” Tyler fell to his knees and sobbed. 

Eric grabbed Tyler’s broken phone from the floor, handing it to the sobbing form on the tile. Tyler took it instantly and deleted Alex’s contact with shaking hands. Eric smiled and embraced him.

“Good boy...I love you so much, Ty.” He stroked his boyfriend’s hair, calming his sobs. “Shh, I’m here.” Tyler melted, falling in love all over again.

~

Tyler’s eyes shut closed as he sang the next lyric.

“But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong, and I grew strong...and I learned how to get along...”

~

“He’s using you, you know.” Alex frowned at the man in front of him. 

Tyler and Alex were at the bar. Alex was working and Tyler had just finished his set. This was the only time they could see each other without Eric knowing: Eric was sick at home with the flu, and couldn’t perform in the gig. Tyler sipped his drink nervously.

“Maybe he is. Maybe he doesn’t even love me.” He took a shaky breath. “But I think I still love him, you know? And he’s my lead trumpet, and the band can’t survive without him...I-I can’t just...leave.”

Alex became more upset, but held it in so he wouldn’t upset Tyler. “I know it’s hard to leave a relationship like that.” He reached over and held his hand. “But I’m here to help you. I can stay with you the whole time, so he can’t hurt you.”

Tyler looked into Alex’s eyes. He couldn’t help but be reassured by the concerned, caring look in those brown eyes. A look he barely saw from Eric anymore, a look he had to work for. Tyler furrowed his eyebrows and nodded.

“Okay.”

~

“...And so you're back!”

Tyler tapped his foot, feeling a new rush of confidence as the rest of his band struck up and the lights shone on all of them.

“From outer space...I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face. I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key, if I'd known for just one second you'd be back to bother me...”

He pounded the keys of the piano, not even needing to look at the sheet music. He knew exactly what he was supposed to say.

“Go on now, go! Walk out the door! Just turn around now, 'cause you're not welcome anymore...Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye? You think I'd crumble? You think I'd lay down and die?”

~

“Welcome home, Ty.”

Tyler stood, dumbfounded, in the entrance to his house. Standing there, in his own home, was Eric. Someone he thought he had finally gotten rid of. Tyler closed the door behind him. 

“W...What are you doing here? How did you-”

Eric smirked and held up the house key, the one he forgot to take from him before he told him to leave.

“I couldn’t just leave you here all alone with him. I had to come take you back...after all, he did take you from me.” Eric stepped forward.

Tyler’s eyes widened and he backed himself against the door. “W-We broke up! We had a talk, you...you agreed and everything!” Tyler’s eyes threatened to shed tears. “I thought everything was okay!”

Eric laughed. “Wow, Ty, I knew he made you a slut but I didn’t know he made you a dumbass, too!” He strode forward and pressed Tyler against the door. Tyler tried to struggle away.

“No! N-No, you can’t call me that anymore, I don’t belong to anyone!” He tried to worm his way out of Eric’s grasp, but he was locked in place.

“God, he really brainwashed you, didn't he?” Eric frowned and stroked Tyler’s hair. “You can't really believe that bullshit.” He grinned and leaned in to kiss him.

“No! Stop it, g-get away from me!” Tyler wasn’t strong enough to escape the kiss. It was aggressive, and passionate, and it brought him back. Back to the fear, to the shame, to never being good enough. Eric’s hand slithering down to his waistband sent Tyler into panic mode, screaming and pushing Eric away with all his might.

Eric snapped out of his trance of lust and glowered at Tyler. His mood changed entirely as he snarled and rushed toward Tyler, ready to fight. He lunged at him and Tyler was able to dodge him, using the opportunity to push Eric to the ground. 

Tyler took the opportunity to run to the kitchen, grabbing a rolling pin and holding it at Eric, panting.

“Get. Out.” His hands were shaking as he looked at Eric with all the rage that had been built up over his months of recovery. Eric stared in bewilderment at Tyler before stumbling up and running out the door. 

Tyler dropped to his knees. He didn’t know it would be so easy. It was almost too easy...but that didn’t matter. He was gone.

~

“Oh no, not I, I will survive! Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive...I've got all my life to live, and I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive... I will survive...hey, hey!”

Tyler belted and stood up from the piano seat, feeling stronger than he ever had before. Alex was in the crowd, beaming at how much he had grown. He cheered as Tyler continued.

“It took all the strength I had not to fall apart...kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart. And I spent oh-so many nights just feeling sorry for myself, I used to cry...but now I hold my head up high!”

~

“Tyler, stop! Don’t say things like that!”

“But it’s true! I-I’m disgusting, I need to go back to him, I’m being unfair...”

Tyler was sitting on his own couch, Alex by his side. He had just broken up with Eric yesterday and it was the hardest thing he had ever done. It was only possible with Alex by his side, and to his surprise, Eric left with barely any argument. 

Now, however, he regretted it all. Everything Eric said to him in the past was coming back to him, grabbing him and dragging him back to Eric’s arms. And Alex was doing his best to keep him at bay.

“Tyler, you don't owe him anything. You did the right thing, he was horrible to you, please understand that.” He looked at Tyler in the eyes, pleading. “You are not disgusting. You’re brave, and you’re beautiful, and he never deserved you.”

Tyler shook his head. “No, y-you’re lying, I’m a slut, I’m using you, I-I’m a dirty cheater, I need to go back...”

“Tyler. Look at me.” Tyler shuddered and looked at him with bloodshot eyes. Alex sighed. “I don’t want to force you into anything. But I will say this. I’ve seen the way he treats you, and it isn’t okay. You are the bravest person I know for leaving him, and I know you can recover. I...I love you, Tyler. I have for a while and I hate seeing you upset. So...I wanna see you happy.”  Alex teared up as well, quickly wiping his eyes.

Tyler stared in shock, not knowing what to say. So he didn’t say anything. He leaned forward and kissed Alex, most likely soaking his face with his tears. Alex embraced him and kissed him back. This was a start, but they still had a long way to go.

~

“And you see me, somebody new, I'm not that chained-up little person still in love with you...”

~

“Uh...Eric, I dunno how safe I feel doing this...” Tyler tugged at the restraints that kept him tied to Eric’s headboard. Eric gave him a dangerous look.

“Tyler, you promised me. You’re really gonna do this to me on my birthday?” Eric raised an eyebrow, securing the knots.

“N-No, I-”

“You’re really gonna be that selfish? After all the things I’ve done for you? Remember all the stuff I gave you for your birthday? Does that mean nothing to you?” Eric feigned a hurt expression.

“Eric, no, I...” Tyler swallowed. “I’m okay. We can do this, I’m sorry for upsetting you.” Tyler smiled at him, but it was forced. He really, really didn’t want to do this, but he was afraid that it would be even worse if he kept complaining. He felt trapped, he felt chained up and restrained: in a literal and figurative sense. 

Eric smiled down at him, giving Tyler that approving, loving gaze he so yearned for. “Thank you, Ty. I love you.”

“I love you too.” The response was automatic. It was the only thing keeping him going.

~

“And so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free...”

Tyler smiled and looked to Alex in the crowd.

“Well, now I'm saving all my lovin' for someone who's loving me!”

Alex laughed, blushing and clapping along with the song as Tyler went through the chorus once again. 

“Go on now, go! Walk out the door! Just turn around now, 'cause you're not welcome anymore...Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye? You think I'd crumble? You think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive! Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive...I've got all my life to live, and I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive... I will survive...I will survive!”

The crowd cheered loudly. Alex stood up, tears in his eyes. He was filled with pride watching Tyler, his boyfriend (that still felt good to say), performing on stage like this. 

Tyler’s fingers danced across the piano as he ended the song, the crowd erupting in applause when the song was over. Tyler rushed offstage and into the crowd to embrace Alex. 

He was brave. He was beautiful. And Eric never, never deserved him. 

He will survive.

[luxexhomines]

if requests are open, may i ask for ouma and saihara (separately) getting their nails painted by their s/o and the whole time they’re like “hOLY fRiCK dUDE HOLY FRIcK-“ and blushy n stuff but their s/o is just completely and utterly oblivious? thank you c:

Thank you for the request, sweet anon! To be honest, I don’t feel as though I’ve done the prompt justice, but here it is anyway. I kind of forgot about the oblivious part, oops… Your request came after requests had been closed, but I didn’t delete any of the ones I’d gotten for some time after I’d closed them, so today after I looked around my inbox, I thought maybe I’d fulfill this one. Icon credit to danganronpaicons! I used their surnames in the writing since your request used their surnames, so I hope that’s okay- I never know whether to refer to them by their first names or surnames. I can change it if you’d like. Here’s your request, under the cut, since it’s a little long. 

                                                            —–

Kokichi & Shuichi x Crush! Reader Painting Nails

Kokichi Ouma

Ouma was currently sitting in front of you, his hand cradled gently by yours as you concentrated and carefully painted a layer of purple nail polish on his index finger. Grape Panta purple, to be exact. 

He couldn’t quite remember how he’d got into this situation- did it even matter, anyhow? 

He tried to keep the red from tingeing his pale cheeks as he stared at you blankly. If he were a robot, this would be the moment he overheated. What’s that, you say? Why make a fuss over getting his nails painted? The point was not that his nails were being painted. The point was that his nails were being painted by you, his crush, the one and only. 

He thought he might faint, but that would be much too out-of-character for someone like him. He’d leave all the fainting and daintiness to Saihara. 

“Alright, that’s one hand done,” you exclaimed happily. “I was so nervous, I thought my heart would burst!” you looked him in the eye and beamed at him. 

Perhaps he should get a pair of sunglasses, Ouma thought to himself. Not that it would actually help prevent him from falling further in love with you. He offered his usual smile- or at least, what he hoped was his usual smile -and leaned in slightly. 

“How does this work? Should I paint your nails, too?” 

You laugh. God, that was such a beautiful sound- like the trickling bubbles of the river, or perhaps the singing of the birds. Was Ouma being sickeningly cheesy and overly poetic for no reason? Probably. Not that he minded. It was a natural reaction to being around you, after all. How anyone spent time around you without acting the way he did and thinking the things he did was a wonder to him.

“No, that’s alright,” you reply, grinning. “I somehow have the inkling that you’d get the nail polish all over me and my clothes, probably on purpose.” 

He arches an eyebrow, amused. 

“You really have so little faith in me? Nishishishi,” he nickered. “I promise I won’t,” he says in a rather sincere manner, which was a miracle in its own way. He supposed being around you just made miracles like that happen. 

A corner of your lips raises, and you display a lopsided smile. 

“Only if you pinky promise,” you say, giggling. 

He sighs and shrugs. 

“Fine, if it’ll get you to believe me,” he says in a mock-show of disappointment and betrayal. 

He holds out his pinky, the one that hadn’t been painted yet- after all, the other one was still drying after you’d applied the polish -and you hooked your own unpainted pinky around his firmly. 

“You promised,” you remind him before letting go. “You’d better be careful. But first, I have to finish painting your other hand!” 

He holds out his unpainted fingertips to you, and you hold his hand gently. It was warm, you thought to yourself absent-mindedly before grabbing the bottle of purple nail polish once again and forcing yourself to focus as you painted his thumbnail. 

Ouma shivered, and you looked up at him, stifling a chuckle. 

“Not used to it?” you jab. “You will be soon, with me around. I’ll paint your nails again after it all chips off.” 

He wasn’t sure if he could handle being in such close proximity with you again, but at the same time, he had to thank his lucky stars that you wanted to paint his nails. Either way, it meant he got to spend more time with you. 

“I’m not a nail polish maniac like you,” he retorts. “This is the first time I’ve had my nails painted, after all.” 

You smile broadly. 

“That’s right, I’d forgotten! That’s why I decided to paint your nails,” you declared. 

Ouma rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Against my will. You dragged me in here kicking and screaming.” 

You shake your head as you paint his pinky finger. 

“Lies, all of it,” you say, teasing him back. 

“When have you known me not to lie?” he smirks. “It’s my trademark.” 

You snort. 

“I knew you were the devil when I met you. Should’ve kept away. Now it’s too late, and I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life,” you say dramatically. 

His heart skips a beat. It was now or never, he thought. 

“It’d be nice to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says softly. Oh, the things you did to him- it was hardly a phrase he’d ever imagine himself saying. Maybe in another life, but not as Kokichi Ouma. He waited for your reaction as you capped the purple nail polish bottle and then examined his fingers closely. 

“I’m all done! Your fingers are all painted. Aren’t they pretty?” you say excitedly. 

Funny. He was sure you’d heard him. He stares at your face pointedly, and it was then that he started to notice the redness of your cheeks. It’d been there all along, actually, but somehow he’d failed to notice it until now. And you looked rather nervous and somewhat giddy. He smiled and licked his lips. It sure was different, being on the other end of having a crush. Especially once you knew it was mutual. 

Your eyes flitted around as you stammered, taking note of the silence. 

“W-What’s wrong? You don’t like the nail polish?” 

He leans in just as you lean backward instinctively, away from him.

“I love it,” he says with a smug smile and watched your expression change as your heart jumped. 

“You…you love the nail polish? That’s great,” you babble. “I..next time we’ll switch colors, and maybe I can draw some designs on them too…” You stand and rush to the door in an attempt to escape, but somehow he gets there just as quickly, and soon enough, you’re trapped between the door and Ouma, who’s somehow starting to resemble some kind of predator hunting his prey. 

“Don’t run away,” he says, gazing directly into your eyes, and it’s all you can do to keep the heat on your face from rising any further. You gulp. 

“What is it…?” you ask, your voice quivering. 

He takes your hand in a sensual manner, intertwining his fingers with your own. 

“I haven’t painted your nails yet,” he says slyly. 

You glance back at the door, wanting to escape as the tension rose, and you tried to answer him, stumbling over your words in an attempt to find an excuse. 

“I… There’s… I’ve got to go,” you say. “You can paint my nails another time.” 

He sighs dramatically. 

“I know you’re lying,” he says with a mischievous smile. You know that smile means trouble, and you press your back to the door. “But I guess I’ll let you go for today,” he concedes. “We’ve got a lot of time, after all. But I’ll just take this first,” he says and leans in, placing a small kiss on your cheek, and you felt yourself stop breathing as the heat that had dissipated rise once again to your face. 

“O-Ouma!” you stutter when you find your voice. He smiles in that infuriatingly self-satisfied manner, and you run out the door, a ball of nervous energy, embarrassment, and happiness.

He laughs. 

“Now that I know there’s at least something there, I’ll take my time chasing you down,” he says to himself, a smile playing at his lips. “We have all the time in the world for me to make you fall in love with me.“

Shuichi Saihara

“You’ve never had your nails painted before? Want to try?” you say with great enthusiasm, grabbing Saihara’s white, slim fingers. “It would look great on you,” you promise. 

Just holding your hands was enough for a blush to rise to his pale cheeks, and he struggled to focus on your words. You were holding his fingers, he thought to himself again. It was hard not to doubt the existence and reality of such a lucky occurrence. 

“I, er… I’m not so sure it would look too good on me,” he says apprehensively. 

You shake your head adamantly. 

“Saihara, it’ll look amazing on you! I can see it now. Come on,” you laugh, carefree, and pull him into your dorm room. He was having a hard time following the events, what with all the sensory overload- first, you’d taken his hands in yours, and then he’d entered your room, which smelt like you and had all your personal effects in it. 

“Are you sure?” he tries again, still not convinced. 

You pat the chair, signaling for him to sit, and sit across from him, holding a bottle of nail polish. 

“I’m sure! I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you say, your body almost unable to contain the excitement you had. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your energy as you uncap the nail polish bottle. 

“Okay, okay, if you say so,” he replies, smiling wryly. 

You put your hand out, palm-up, and looked at him expectantly. 

“Hand,” you say as if ordering a dog to give you his paw. On command, he gently places his left hand on yours, and you keep it steady as you paint the first layer of nail polish onto his thumbnail. It was colder than he had expected, and he observed your careful precision at work. It was like a dream, having you paint his nails- and being in your room, too, was like a dream. 

“Out of curiosity,” Saihara says, “why did you pick the color gold? I would’ve expected something a little more understated for someone like me.” 

At those words, your head flicks upward quickly. 

“Don’t say ‘someone like me!’” you admonish him. “How many times do I have to remind you? Anyway, the color gold is perfect for you,” you smile. “It’s the color of your eyes,” you peer into said eyes, “which are absolutely stunning.” 

He leans back slightly, and the color pink crawls onto his face slowly. 

“Thank you?” he says as if asking a question. “I’ve  never been told that my eyes were stunning before.” 

You hum as you paint his ring finger. 

“Well, they are,” you reply, not thinking too much. “You’re the most attractive person I’ve met, actually.” 

When you don’t hear him reply, you look up at him only to see a sea of red coloring his cheeks, and his signature ahoge is all bent out of shape. His dark gold eyes, the color of ichor, the blood of gods, were averted from you, and it was then that you realized what you’d said. You subsequently turned a similar color and tried to backtrack- but the damage was done. 

“I, uh… I meant that you’re objectively beautiful!” you blurt. Nice save. Not. He glances at you, and you’re suddenly back to painting his nails studiously. 

“Oh, I see,” he says, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he sounded disappointed. 

“There,” you say, all smiles. “One hand down! Keep it away from stuff so it doesn’t get ruined, and give me your other hand.” 

He nods, placing his other hand on yours once again. He thought he might understand why people said they wouldn’t wash their hands after shaking hands with a celebrity now- the feeling was unbelievable, and he wanted to enjoy it as long as possible. 

You work in a comfortable silence for some time, and he finds himself drawn to observing each part of you. There was just too much about you that he loved. Being able to be in your presence like this was too good to be true, he thought to himself, but he still valiantly fought the heat from his face. 

You finish and cap the bottle of nail polish, standing and putting it away. 

“All done! Now you’ve just got to be careful not to ruin it by touching things or doing anything weird,” you say as if prescribing him a treatment. 

“Thank you,” he says, standing up as well, and he looks at his painted fingernails closely. “They’re rather pretty.” 

You bit your lip lightly and then smiled proudly.

“I did my best! They look better than my nails ever do. Probably because I can do both of your hands with my dominant hand.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. 

“That’s right, I forgot that when you paint your own nails you have to switch hands…” 

“Unfortunate but true,” you agree. “It’s alright, though. I do it more for the fun than to look nice,” you admit. “Thanks for trusting me,” you say genuinely. 

“Of course,” he says warmly. 

It was now or never, you thought to yourself. 

And so you leaned in and kissed Saihara on the cheek affectionately. 

It took a moment to register- rather, it was funny watching the usually cool-headed and calm detective transform into a young schoolboy once more, and he put a hand to his cheek quietly, mouth slightly open. 

“Did you- did I…” he mumbles, and he stares at you as his face rapidly turns redder and redder. 

“Did you not like it?” you say innocently, slightly nervous. 

Out of all the words to come out of your mouth at that time, he had been expecting something more along the lines of you asking what he meant or maybe something else confirming he’d been hallucinating- but no, here you were, a fond look in your eyes as you looked at him questioningly, blushing slightly. 

He summons up his courage for his next actions, and he leans in and delicately wraps his arms around you, and you do the same, your arms going around his back. You could feel the color on your cheeks as the pace of your heartbeat escalated. 

“I-… I loved it,” he says. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, in case it wasn’t obvious,” you say with a teasing tone in your voice. 

The two of you embrace for a bit of time before letting go, and your eyes immediately darted to his fingernails. 

“You ruined them! What did I say?” you scold. 

“For a good reason,” he protests in defense of himself. 

The two of you hold defiant expressions until you both burst into laughter. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll redo them,” you say in between fits of giggles, and you kiss him on the cheek once more. “I’ll just take this as my payment,” you smirk as he turns another 50 shades of red. 

[swellwriting]

Datapads and Love Letters

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Reader x Armitage Hux

Warnings: None.

A/N: It’s dumb and it's soft and I wanna write more Hux fics, I might do a “lemony” part two (oh god how I hate the word) but hey who knows?

Word Count: 3.6k

-

He writes a love letter to you, it’s harmless. It’s meant to be harmless. He needs to get his feelings out but he doesn't want anyone to know. His feelings though they are about you are his own feelings, they are private and he wants to keep it that way.

He knows you like him, “like” being a term he isn't sure how to define when it comes to you. You like Kylo Ren the Supreme Leader who is also your “master”, you like Phasma your only high ranked friend and you like any stormtrooper that doesn't slump their shoulders when you walk past them. Liking him doesn't necessarily mean anything spectacular. Not to say he isn’t grateful for it, at least you don't hate him.

He knows he's a bit older than you, he’s your co-worker, though you’re both Generals in title so at least he isn't your superior, he holds no power over you and he likes that. You make him feel powerless.

He grabs his Datapad and opens up a private note and starts typing.

He starts with your name but quickly erases it and starts over. If this got out by even a chance he didn't want it traceable to you so easily as to write your name on it.

He dims the brightness of his screen, holds it close as he types and pours his heart out. When he's done he goes to delete it but Millicent spills his glass of water on the bed he is currently sat in making him jump up to fix the mess. Before he can get back to what he was doing there are Stormtroopers at his door and he's so busy, so focused on work that he leaves it there. But it should be safe in his living space, a private note like that should be perfectly secure in his private quarters.

But he forgot that today was a scheduled cleaning day, the cleaning droids and sanitation troopers with high clearance would be there any minute, they’d have to move the Datapad and with the screen just remaining open like that, how could they not accidentally read such soft emotional words and be so curious to read more, especially on the cold and mean Generals Datapad.

The trooper sent it to his friend, he took a picture of the screen with his own Datapad and it wasn’t supposed to spread around as quickly as it did but before Hux even gets to the meeting he was going to everyone with a Datapad at their fingertips has seen it.

Everyone except for him and you.

You’re too busy with your current conversation with Phasma, the only thing distracting you as she glances down at her Datapad to read the email she was just sent is the fact that Hux just sat down across from you. You offer him a courteous smile as if you hadn't noticed the second he walked into the room. As if you hadn’t wished he would have sat down beside you and started a conversation as easily as Phasma had.

She’s still distracted by her tablet so you think of something to say to him.

“Usually you’re the first one to show up at meetings.” You comment casually, not wanting him to think you're chastising him for being later than usual, which still wasn’t late at all.

“I was a bit busy, paperwork and such,” he offers in response, a wave of his hand as he sips his coffee.

Before you can think of anything else to say Kylo Ren Speaks from behind his mask, his deep voice unable to be quiet at all. “Paperwork?”

Hux nods and tries not to think too much about what he was actually doing out of fear that Ren would be in his head.

Kylo lets out a chuckle, it’s more of a reflex than him trying to have anyone hear it but it comes out muffled yet loud from the mask and you notice, wonder what on earth Kylo Ren could be laughing about regarding paperwork.

The meeting starts with long conversations about budgets, rebelling systems and politics as per usual.

Many officers are reading their Datapads during the meeting, a basic rule violation.

Hux’s fingers itch as he instinctively goes to just grasp his in his hands, that's when he realizes he left it behind, unlocked, on his bed with a dictionary of everything he feels for you on it. He panics then. His chest feels like its caving in on his lungs, his heart stuck in throat as he assumes the worst. An officer, much below him, looks at him from across the table and Hux only offers him a scowl making the young officer quickly look away.

He looks at you, your eyebrows are furrowed as you chew the end of your stylus pen even though you don't even have your Datapad out. It seems like everyone in the room is in on the joke except him and you. Well, he's in on it, it's about him and he knows it, fears it.

You look across the table at him to find him already staring at you, you offer him a sweet smile but he doesn't return it. His eyes are wide and he looks worried before he forces a smile on his face. Somethings wrong with him and you aren't sure what it is. When the meeting ends he basically rushes out of the room and locks himself in his quarters.

He finds that his room is cleaned and his Datapad had been moved. How could he have been so stupid? Why would he ever let his true feelings out when he should have pushed them deep inside and never let them see the light of day. He doesn't even know what to do with himself. He takes his uniform off piece by piece, throwing it on the floor as he walks and then sits at the end of his bed wondering what he has done.

Thankfully he didn't write your name on it anywhere, and maybe no one would know it was about you but the second you read it he knew you would know. He was kriffing screwed.

Hux ran away before you could talk to him so you decided to give him some time and then go to his office and see if he was there.

You knocked on the door but no one answered, a stormtrooper, and a bold one at that, walks up to you.

“He's not going to be in there and if he is he won't see anybody.”

“Why? What’s happened?” You ask with a worry-filled tone and the expressionless Stormtrooper lets out a laugh.

“You haven't seen it yet? Read it? If I were you I’d check your email and see for yourself. It’s pretty self-explanatory that he knows it's gotten out, I don't know when he'll come out of his room and if he does it will be to kill whatever person leaked it.”

“Leaked what?” You press further, too scared to even touch your Datapad.

“It’s a love letter, written by the General.”

Your eyes widen and your heart sinks. He wrote someone a love letter, a love letter that everyone has read. Given that this is the first you’re hearing of it you assume it isn't about you. You aren't ready to read it, have your heartbreak when you see the name in the letter. The name of some other person who had somehow warmed the cold General's heart.

You nodded at the trooper silently and then swiftly turned and walked back to your quarters, they were only around the corner from Hux’s.

Before you close your door Kylo walks down the hall and calls your name, his tone almost happy sounding. He enjoys when bad things happen to his least favourite General and he wants to quickly share the knowledge with you that he is certain you’re the object of the letter but you yell a, “Not now!” Before slamming the door in his face.

Maybe he should wait until another time.

You make your way to your bed and take your Datapad out, gripping the sides gently as you stare at it. You are filled with a mix of the fear of knowing and curiosity.

You tap the screen, unlock it and open your emails. More than ten different people have sent you this picture, it's a bit hard to read the letter but as you zoom in it becomes more clear, and as you read further on it become more evident as well.

~ I like the sound of your voice, it’s small most of the time, you sound unsure of yourself, when I pass you in the hallway and you're asking a question like you expect yourself to know everything.

I like when your voice is loud, when your laugh fills my ears and when you're explaining something you care about, like crystals and power and politics. I know how smart you are the way you explain intricate things so easily, though you brush it off as nothing.

I like that there isn't a planet in the universe you aren’t aware of, that no matter the state of it you dream of going to one day. I fear for any person who tries to stop you.

I feel for the way your past is like a weight on your shoulders but you never let anyone catch you slouching, masking the pain of the past is hard and I want nothing more than to relieve you of it.

When you smile your cheeks round in this perfect way that makes your eyes squint closed and your teeth visible to all, you always bring your hands up to hide it once you realize but that short moment of pure bliss and happiness is all I look forward to some days.

Your elegant composure, your respect for your work, and your pride in your position are almost as beautiful as any other of your features. You look out the windows into space as though you've never seen a star while simultaneously capturing the light of each one you behold in your eyes. Your touch is always gentle, your compassion is contagious and your intelligent outlook on life and war is astounding.

Perhaps I've never felt love before, I'm not entirely sure what feeling love entails. It seems as though it’s something you could be an expert in, I’d love to hear you explain it to me, the way you think it works.

I think it's in the way my cheeks go red when your skin fleetingly touches mine, the way my stomach drops when you look at me from across a room filled with important people. I think I love you because you're on my mind every second of the day, even when you're across the universe, the way I always want you closer to me. I'm no expert but I think this is what love feels like, I think I'm in love with you. ~

Your mouth was hanging open as you read it, he doesn't say your name in it but you can tell it's about you. You quickly close the tablet and your eyes, lying down in your bed as you think it over. Maybe it isn't about you, maybe you’re projecting yourself into it because you want so desperately for his ever so formally written love letter to be about you.

You can’t imagine anyone else making him feel such things, you can't imagine anyone else matching his description the way it so perfectly matches you.

The love letter is so clearly written by Hux too, even if you were given it with no context you could tell. The way it starts so unsurely, the formality of it and the properness, the lack of spelling mistakes and the way compliments are worded. Though it seems out of character for him to even write a love letter in the first place, this is exactly the way you would have imagined it.

You turn the Datapad back on, you reread it over and over and over again until you found yourself walking over to his door, knocking quietly.

He doesn't answer so you knock harder, you use his professional title to give you a bit of confidence.

“General Hux?” You ask boldly as you wait to be met with only silence.

You knock again, your voice softer this time. “Armitage?”

He’s standing on the other side of the door, face paler than usual and his usually steady hands shaking. He can tell you've read it, he can tell because why else would you be here other than to set him straight.

He needs to open the door, apologize, promise to keep his distance and then hope the Supreme Leader doesn't kill him the second you ask him to. He should have never fallen for Kylo’s apprentice. The smart force sensitive woman who knows too much about Sith and Jedi and the faults that lie with their practices to become victim to them.

He thinks you’re too smart to fall victim to him, and his foolish heart.

But you aren’t, you don't see it that way so you knock one more time and plead with him. “Armitage, please.”

He presses the button opening the door, the door you could have easily forced your way through if you really wanted, if you were angry with him, but you weren't.

He’s standing there, usual proud shoulders slumped as he looks at the floor, refusing to look at what sort of expression is on your face.

You walk in and close the door behind you.

You walk up to him and place your palm on his cheek and his lip quivers slightly before you make him look at you. You can tell he is filled with regret and is mentally punishing himself, as he often does.

Your eyes are filled with the same forgiving kindness they always are.

You let go now that he's looking at you and step back, you feel for a moment as though maybe you acted too soon.

“I read your letter.” You say quietly and he looks away again, unable to lie or do anything. Completely submissive to the way you decide this conversation goes.

“Was it about me?” You boldly ask and his hands shake at his sides, he goes to grab the edges of his uniform but that's when he realizes, oh to his horror, that he isn't wearing it.

Instead, he is wearing black cotton pants and a white undershirt, completely inappropriate for even a droid to see him in, but here you are.

He takes in a deep breath, looks around you and beside you and then finally meets your eyes. He can't lie, he can’t nod or shake his head, he just looks at you with sorry eyes before he starts apologizing, sorries coming from his mouth like a waterfall.

“I'm sorry, General Y/L/N, the letter was... unprofessional, completely erratic and I should have never written a single word. I'm sorry for my lack of composure, my inability to control and retain myself and it will never happen again. Our professional relationship will not be affected in this manner and I will never speak of it or think those things of you again.” By the end of it, his eyes are red, he's about to cry but he wouldn’t dare let himself show any more emotions to present himself as even weaker.

His hands shake and his lip quivers even more, his voice is wobbly and he doesn't even sound genuine, he sounds disappointed in himself, like a wounded dog begging their owner not to hit them. Though he’s been a situation like that before.

You bite your lip as you think over the words in the letter, again and again, silence fills the room.

“I think I know how it works,” you start and he looks up. “I could explain it to you. I could explain the way it feels to me.”

He raises an eyebrow as he looks at you like you’re crazy, but his expression softens when he realizes you’re just as scared as he is.

You take in his soft expression and begin to elaborate, present your feelings so you’re both just as open and just as weak and exposed to the prospect of love.

“I like the way you look at me, you don't look at anyone else with such soft eyes and it makes me feel proud almost that I get that from you. I like your devotion to the order, your devotion to the galaxy and a realistic peace.

I like when your hair is out of place and I really really like seeing you outside of your uniform like this.

My feelings for you run deep, they have for a while and I know it’s more than something simple, because of the way I hide the thoughts of you from the Supreme Leader, the way my heart skips a beat when you return a smile to me and the way I can tell when your smile isn't genuine.

I think I'm no expert but I do think I’m in love with you too.”

You ramble on and he stares at you, his heart skipping beats and pounding against his ribcage, his hands are still shaking. He’s still scared even though he now knows your feelings are mutual. He is scared of how Kylo will react, he is still scared for the lower level officers to think he has a weakness, even if it’s true and it’s standing right in front of him, stepping closer and placing your hands on his to steady them.

It's in this moment the shy little boy of his past creeps into his skin. He wants to touch you, hold you or do anything but he's frozen solid. You bring his hands and place them on your hips, he revels in the way his skin tingles, his fingers squeeze just slightly to hold you a bit tighter.

You are worried and rightfully so about the Supreme Leader, about what people will think since everybody knows about the letter. But at this moment it doesn't matter, what matters is the way his pale skin shows his blush so boldly, the way his ginger hair looks so dark in the dim light and the fact that you can see a few scarce freckles across his nose because your so close it’s almost pressed to your face.

But it doesn't last long.

A Stormtrooper knocks on the door, terrified of being shot with a blaster the second the General opens the door. But when the door opens the General they weren't expecting is standing on the other side. You smile at the trooper.

“Can I help you?” You ask politely and the troopers heartbeat slows down.

“The Supreme Leader summons General Hux,” he states as confidently as he can, now unsure of himself since he thought this was Hux’s room, not yours.

“Does he now?” You tease as the Stormtrooper nods.

“We will be right there, thank you.” You say closing the door but before the door closes the trooper sees Hux is standing beside you.

The trooper decides himself that the love letter was definitely about General Y/L/N and that this was evidence that the two Generals are some sort of “thing” and that news spread faster than any letter ever could.

They are certain that such gossip is spreading around, they don't care much at all. Armitage doesn't care about anything except the way you smile at him as you turn back around and don’t hesitate to come closer to him again.

You grab his face, squishing his cheeks a bit as you bring him closer. He’s nervous, lacking experience and wondering how this wonderful person has any interest in him at all but he doesn't pull away. He feels himself leaning in, his eyes fluttering shut and he feels your breath on his lips before they touch.

The kiss is soft, a combination of hesitation and fear, like you’re breaking all the rules. His freckled nose presses against yours as you tilt your head and move your lips in a calculated manner. Both of your eyebrows furrowed in concentration like this important task was yet another thing for you both to perfect.

His hands remain pliant at his sides and you grab them, placing them on your hips again and oh how he loves to hold you there. He squeezes harder as you continue to melt your lips against his, he mimics your actions, breaths out his nose tickling your cheek, never wanting to pull away.

It’s at this moment he finally believes in the force. Not that he hadn't felt it before when it wrapped around his throat or threw his body across a room. In those moments he felt it as pain and power, though it was described so differently he never believed that side of it until now. They way it prickled his arms and travelled up his spine, it left a wake where ever your fingers lingered on his cheeks. He felt you and he never wanted to stop feeling you like this.

-

When you walked down the hallway with him by your side, close but not touching,  the troopers, the officers and the mechanics, they all stared, for how hadn't they seen before today that there was something more between the two Generals. It seems so obvious now that they’re in love, even when trying to conceal it.

[strangesmallbard]

Would you mind doing the fic commentary on "all my children can become me"? Thank you!

thank you, anon! this was fun! 

fic link

Lyra was perfect when she was born. A prone creature no harder to control than her own arm; move her little hand that way and it goes there, turn her on her side and she looks at the new world in wonder.

Then she cried. A baby’s first cry is a sacred thing of course of course. Lyra tucked her little arms safely away from comfort and Marisa ached for any maternal instinct to snap on, if only to shut her up.

Wow, Yikes Marisa! those sure are some healthy thoughts. i wrote this one because i was thinking about mrs. c and the particular qualities to her love for lyra. i rail against the concept that her maternal love is inherently redeeming as it inspires some of her more heinous acts - drugging/kidnapping her (to save her life, but Uh), the implication that she wanted to use lyra to kidnap more kids for her child murdering experiments (again, to save her life, But Uh.) 

but she does love lyra; this growing affection arguably drives her arc in both the book (particularly ASG, you could make several different arguments for TGC/NL) and the show. however, i don’t think her first emotions towards lyra involved love and affection--i’d say curiosity, wonder, like staring at the aurora and contemplating how it works. if it is love, it is possessive. mrs. c lives in a world devoid of agency, particularly as a woman. she’s been taught how to act and be her entire life, and suddenly she has a Thing All Her Own. until lyra cries, and she realizes that lyra’s a small person with needs, and she wants no part of it. (until she does!) i wasn’t thinking of it while writing this, but you could also read mrs. c’s reaction to lyra crying as a reaction to shame she feels about lyra’s birth--and she really hates feeling shame.

But Lyra is hers now. Hers. Everything slips away, even the world from one to the next, but Lyra is her own thing to shape. Her dæmon will prove an issue, just like how Ozymandias clung to her shoulder in his lemur form until she tossed him out a window with a shriek, her own shoulder stinging at the marrow from the effort. Marisa made him stay there all night long, watching her from the trees.

And Lyra would learn, as she did. Small attachments mean nothing when the world is as large as it is, when men are stupid as they are. Marisa enjoys God’s world, and her top floor apartment just a bit more.

more narration on mrs. c’s possessiveness. after 12 years, lyra is Hers once again--no longer a very small baby, but a willful person with agency who likes to climb on rooftops and swear. and who, perhaps, isn’t dissimilar to mrs. c. that’s a problem for marisa, who wants zero problems. 

here, i delve into my headcanon for Why the Monkey is Like That. as a kid, i think the monkey was very clingy. he preferred monkey shapes to cling more strongly; to mrs. c, this reflects insecurity and fear that she really wants to repress. ozy can leave her side because of a deliberate effort to separate herself from him. since mrs. c was able to repress herself for the needs of her society, she believes she can train lyra in a similar vein, but mostly to be an obedient, loving daughter who only makes the fusses mrs. c wants her to make. also a weird contradiction, because mrs. c doesn’t view herself as a detrimental attachment for lyra to have.

also! i wrote this early on in my reread so i forgot that they call god “the authority” in lyra’s world. oops! i’ll fix that at some point. anyway, i think mrs. c ultimately uses religion to further her own personal quests. (ruth wilson discusses this in her podcast episode!)

(Paste on a smile. Wait for everything to fall into place. Everything would.)

i tried like, four times to delete this line. it doesn’t fit this fic perfectly, but it aided the rhythm enough that leaving it out felt wrong. it’s very inspired by the way ruth wilson smiles as mrs. c - faux sweet, calculating, a bit menacing.

Lyra dives onto her shiny new bed with a delighted yell and Ozymandias looks on with a carefully tepid curiosity. Marisa can read him, of course she can. Her hand curls by her side and he stills. A smile curls on her lips before she can notice. Or no, it doesn’t curl. It settles. It creeps. She remembers the crying. She will always remember the crying.

whenever mrs. c realized she had affection for lyra and tried her best to Not (until she stopped trying), it’s such a Moment to explore. here, i wanted to highlight that realization through the monkey. i chose “tepid” as a word to illustrate that the monkey is also trying to pretend it isn’t happening. he’s just worse at hiding than marisa. i also brought back the crying motif - i think mrs. forgot about lyra, like genuinely didn’t care for all 12/13 years, but was never able to repress that first outburst of emotion & need. especially as someone who represses those things within herself. it Stuck.

She wipes it away. Lyra is a wild thing, but Marisa—smarter than her father, smarter than anyone she will ever meet—can see the edge of a forest, want to look beyond, and know the right moment to pull back. The many worlds will cower and bend to God when she is done, and the men who love to smile will stare in awe.

i know we find out more about mrs. c’s family in the book of dust, but i went off my own headcanons. i think her dad is probably just like. look up the definition of Patriarchy and there he is. she loves the notion that she’s smarter than her father; than any man who’s ever looked down on her. she’s fixated on power - some paralleling to asriel’s motivations can be read in here. i’m gonna leave the rest alone; i’d rather it be up for interpretation! 

The children are hardly a sacrifice, but Lyra—Lyra who’s safe, no not safe, settled and growing (at home) now. Lyra who will never leave again, who’s hers hers hers (until she won’t be until Marisa must push her from—)

here, i want to talk specifically about narration & voice. up until this point in the fic, mrs. c’s narration is collected and calculated. she wants to keep her work and keep lyra, and hasn’t figured out yet that keeping both will be impossible. (keeping lyra will also be impossible as lyra is, once again, her own human person with agency.) she fears that choice too, that she’ll lose lyra because of her own work. in this context, i wanted this fic to somewhat foreshadow her choice at bolvangar.

Well. A sacrifice is what a prophecy gnaws to the bone. And Marisa remembers the crying.

what prophecy, marisa? what do you know? what do you think you know? i was originally alluding to lyra’s prophecy, but managed to completely forget that canonically she only finds out during the events of tsk. i’ve decided to keep it because we only get marisa’s pov in asg--pullman intentionally keeps her true intentions & knowledge of things hidden. i can also believe mrs. c would frame her own actions in terms of prophecy. 

[mcrmadness]

I’ve been tagged a lot lately, which is awesome and I want to thank you all for that! :) To this one I was tagged by @charlotte-lancer.

Play time: List your five favourite movies and why, then tag some more players.

This is actually extremely hard question as I’m a massive movie freak. I watch so many movies and I pretty much watch anything that is not a) romantic movie b) romantic comedy or c) a horror movie. Thrillers are okay, but I don’t like movies that build up a certain tension. I have anxiety disorder of my own so I don’t need anything to add more fuel into it.

I also own so many dvds and blurays that I had to go and see my collection to remember what I even like and I still feel like there’s tens of movies that should make to the list but I don’t want to remove any of the existing ones because they should be on the list as well! But I will mention here 5 movies that mean something to me or that I have attached to for whatever reason, but I’d say only the first one in the list is actually the favouriteFAVOURITE movie, the rest are in just a random order. I’ll put this under the read more link as this is gonna be a veeeery long post!

Beetlejuice (1988) I am a fan of Tim Burton. I have seen his movies so many times and I love Danny Elfman’s scores especially in his movies. In fact, when I was a kid, Burton’s movies were always my fave ones but I was probably a teenager when I finally started to connect the dots and realized my favorites were always from the same man. And so were the scores too! This is also one of those movies from my childhood that I have seen so, so many times and I have called different Burton movies as my favourite movies but somehow I just always go back to Beetlejuice and then one day I just realized that hey, why do I even try to choose the one as this apparently IS the favourite one! So, this is my fave from Burton AND from all the movies I have seen.

And why? The humour is just perfect here, I live from dark humour and there’s so much of that in the movie! And I have also always been so fascinated by the idea of death not being permanent, makes my fear of death a lot easier. As you might know already, this movie is about a couple who die and become ghosts and try to survive with the family moving into their old house, trying to make them move out but failing. And I just LOVE how Burton has imagined what death is like! There is so much to see and I feel like I see something new every time I watch that movie and I just love it when movies or any media has so much details in it. And I have always been saying that if death is like the one in Beetlejuice (I said it for the third time now, whooooops), I’m really happy to die one day.

The Dark Knight (2008) This I just HAVE TO include into this list because of memories. I was 17 when this movie came out. I remember not being interested in the newer Batman movies at all but then one day I watched Batman Begins (2005) from tv and the last frame of that movie caused me to go crazy and I knew that the next movie would be even more interesting. Then it was confirmed that TDK will have the Joker in it and I’ve been a Batman fan since I was 7-8 years old and Joker has always been my fave villain from the Batman universe. I was watching the 60s tv show as a kid and I had seen Burton’s Batman (1989) many times before as well, and that movie also has the Joker in it.

A remember following the news of the movie so closely all the time and I remember the news about hem casting Heath Ledger, who was a new name for me but seemed very interesting for the role, but sadly passed away before the movie even came out. When the movie finally did come out, I was so blown away by Ledger’s work as the Joker that I still cannot decide who has been my favorite Joker of all times. But he’s at the very top of that list, for sure. And that whole movie was just the best thing the 17-years-old me had seen in a while that I actually did go to see it 3 times in the movies. I even drew kind of fan art of the movie and I had 2 TDK Posters on my walls, as well as 2 Joker posters on my walls and I still plan on hanging the Why so serious? poster to somewhere one day.

As a side note, I also like Christopher Nolan’s other movies a lot but TDK is definitely a favorite from them. I have seen almost all of his other movies and they all are really fascinating and interesting and I just love Hans Zimmer’s music and the combination is so perfect. I have to mention that my other favorites are definitely Interstellar (2014), The Prestige (2006) and Inception (2010).

Life of Brian (1979) I’m a Monty Python fan and this movie is yet again a part of my childhood. I have seen this movie millions of times and I never get bored with it and I never get over how funny the jokes are. I will laugh for the same jokes every time, no matter how many times I would watch this movie. My favorite scene is simply the one where Brian jumps into this pit and the man there starts jumping and finally notices the crowd and hides again. I cannot explain why, but I just find things like that way too funny :DDDDDDDDDD And it��s not even close as funny when I try to explain it, so look for yourself. I’m still losing it during that scene XD

And it’s not only funny, but it also has some really smart, hmmmm, perceptions of the world to it. I love that scene where Brian is trying to tell the people not to follow him because they don’t need to follow anyone and they’re individuals and should use their own brains, and these people just don’t understand a thing, they will just praise the ground under Brian’s feet no matter what he would say.

Breakfast on Pluto (2005) With this one I’m not exactly sure what happened with this one. I was just quitting my antidepressants when I saw this movie and I had just got all my emotions and ability to feel back so I don’t know if I fell in love with this movie because of my brain chemicals trying to get their shit together, or if I would have fallen in love with this movie anyway if I saw it some other time. But this one still gives me so strong reactions every time I watch it and especially the starting and ending music causes me so strong wave of happiness that I feel like exploding and I wanna cry from happiness. Oh and I watched that movie 3 times within one week back then. I feel like the antidepressant did have something to do with this.

Amadeus (1984) / Se7en (1995) / Donnie Darko (2001) / A Beautiful Mind (2001) / Joker (2019) The last one is actually impossible to name now. There’s so many good movies out there and I’m already leaving out some of the best ones. Some are classics and some are just movies from my childhood that I grew up with and attached to. TV was pretty much my biggest friend when I was growing up! So here’s a bunch of movies that I wanted to mention as they also tell a little bit of the movie genres as well. Shortly:

Amadeus - Another one from my childhood and it’s a biography film over Mozart. I don’t know why I grew to attached to this film but I feel like ever since I’ve had this need to rewatch this every once in a while. Because of this movie I get chills every time some of the Mozart music pieces used in the movie play somewhere. I don’t know if I like the music or if they just remind me of this movie. And for some reason, after seeing the movie millions of times, at the age of 9 or so I suddenly was so upset after a character’s death.

Se7en - I was bit older when I saw this (thank gods) and this is a good example of the type of thrillers I like to watch. And this movie’s plot is insane and it has one of the best endings to a movie that I know. I won’t say what kind of feelings it wakes up, but some very strong feelings. And this reminds of the fact now that I forgot to mention The Green Mile, which is also one of the best movies I know. Gosh this post is failing so badly already :D

Donnie Darko; A Beautiful Mind - Both have a plot that is wrapped around a mental illness. I actually like to watch movies about mental illness a lot, “Girl, interrupted” is also one of those movies that I like a lot. These movies are nothing like each other but both basically do a portrayal of schizophrenia. Donnie Darko is of course a bit more scifi and A Beautiful Mind is a biographical movie. I actually saw Donnie Darko for the first time several years ago, I was to school and watched it from Netflix and wanted to rewatch it so badly but it got deleted from Netflix and finally I was able to find it on a blueray and now it’s in my shelf and I love that movie.

Joker - This is definitely the best movie of the 2019 imho. Again, pretty much a movie about mental illness. I was bit afraid first that it would make the treatment of mentally ill people take a turn back(?) and would make healthy people be afraid of us instead of make them open their eyes, but I’m happy it didn’t turn out that way. But I feel like the people who got upset after the movie are actually relating to the groups attacked in the movie as maybe they finally (subconsciously?) realized what COULD happen in the world if things keep going like they’ve been going so far. But as a mentally ill person, I just got so attached to this movie. Plus I’m still a Batman fan whose fave villain ever is Joker and this was another great version and even greater portrayal of the character.

And that’s it, no more text. No idea if anyone found this even slightly interesting but oh well, I don’t care, it was still fun writing all that. And I’m so tired after this now that I don’t really have energy for tagging anyone but I guess I could tag at least someone or some people... let’s see... okay, @hanhan156, I’m gonna tag you! :D I have no idea if you watch movies and how often/many if so, but do this if you want! (And you tagged me so many times today so here’s something back ::D)

[frisbee-camp]

Let Me Help (Complete!!)

AO3 Link//Wattpad Link)

Tj and Cyrus have been friends for a long time, but will that change after life comes crashing down and impulsive decisions catch up to them? (Angst, Ambi, love notes, slow burn, aged up so they’re all in high school, god tier ships, mental health, and like a whole bunch more ladies! Let’s get this angst.)

Chapter 18: Bonus Chapter: Why Would I forget that?

"T you gotta eat something," Cyrus gently coaxed TJ's face away from his computer screen, he had spent all day furiously typing and deleting and retyping his common app essay. He had no idea what to write about, he had told Cyrus that no college would ever accept him. He had said that he was just another white boy who wanted to study film. Cyrus hated when he put himself down like that, but he was right. TJ was just average in the eyes of the college admission process.

TJ frowned at Cyrus as he cleared space to sit on the dining room table. They had been together for a little more than a year now. One year, two months, and three days to be exact thought Cyrus. Cyrus handed TJ a plate of steaming pasta freshly ordered off of Grubhub. TJ smiled a bit as he took it.

"Thanks," he grumbled as he swirled fettuccini Alfredo around his fork. Cyrus knew college applications made him irritable and grumpy, but he didn't mind. He knew he could always get him to smile with Tyler James' favorite food group (cheese).

"And what do we say?" Cyrus pried. The last year had been life-changing for Cyrus, he had started to be bolder, less afraid of uncertainty and judgment.

"Thank you, Cyrus," Tj mumbled as he scooped heaps of the pasta into his mouth.

"And?"

"And I love youuu" Tj smiled sweetly at his boyfriend.

"Thank you T, I love you too." Cyrus grinned and hopped off the table. "Come on," he said, "take a break. Maybe we could find some inspiration outside." Tj got up and hesitated, "Yes T, you can bring the pasta with you," Cyrus added as he took his hand.

It was brisk outside in TJ's backyard, the flowers were in full bloom and the night was full of hope. They sat on TJ's grandparent's old lawn chairs, in silence while TJ finished his food. It didn't take long.

"You eat so fast, you're going to get sick" Cyrus said.

"You're the one making me sick," TJ chuckled and grinned at Cyrus. "Loooove sick" Cyrus rolled his eyes at the cheesy joke but smiled on the inside.

"Think of a better joke next time," Cyrus said calmly as he leaned into the old chair.

"What?" Tj gave a dramatic gasp and smiled wide "next time you nag me?"

Cyrus closed his eyes, "Whatever," he said as he imagined them as an old couple, lovingly annoying the heck out of each other, "I still love you."

Cyrus felt TJ grab his hand, "I know, I love you too."

They stayed like that for a long time, holding hands with closed eyes, their breaths synchronizing and the moon softly illuminating them in the grey moonlight. This was it. This was what Cyrus had hoped for when he agreed to be with TJ, this calm, this balance, this stability. It was what he felt when TJ was near, he felt invincible and calmed, like a hummingbird resting on a branch. He breathed out.

"You know," TJ finally whispered after a long time, "this is where I finally realized I liked you."

Cyrus hummed and finally said, "Liked? Past tense?" TJ lightly laughed. Cyrus would do anything for that laugh.

"You know what I mean Cyrus," Cyrus' eyes were still closed but he knew TJ was looking at him with that soft look that made his insides turn liquid. He opened his eyes and found him staring at him. He melted.

"I know" Cyrus said with a sly smile, "you're mom told me."

Tj's eyes widened and he sat up, "My mom told you?!"

"Yeah," Cyrus stayed calm, "we're friends. She said that Amber told her. Cute right?"

"Oh my God, so that's where you go when I'm doing homework? You hang out with my mom?" Tj sat with his mouth open, Cyrus thought it was absolutely adorable. "That is so embarrassing what the hell." They both laughed as TJ started connecting the dots. The coupons he found in Cyrus' backpack a couple of months back, the inside jokes between them, Cyrus coming back to Tj's room with canned bloody Mary's. Cyrus watched as TJ shook his head and slumped back into the lawn chair. "You're ridiculous," he finally said and settled into a light smile.

"Maybe so Tyler James, maybe so."

When they decided to go back inside, TJ moved his college station to the living room where he sat crisscrossed on the floor while Cyrus laid down with his head in TJ's lap. Things had calmed in the past year, Andi and Amber were the epitome of perfect girlfriends, Marty and Buffy still adored each other, Jonah and Walker had broken up but they were still friends, and he and TJ were, well, an old married couple. Cyrus had finished his homework for the week. He normally spent most of his time at Tj's house now. He hadn't come out to his parents officially yet, but they did catch him and TJ kissing on the porch a couple of weeks after they had gotten together. It was strange, Cyrus expected a sit down with lots of therapist talk but instead, they never spoke directly of it. Instead, they would sprinkle in phrases like, So how's your boyfriend and You know Cyrus, that boyfriend of yours is good to you why don't you invite him over? Tj had already known his parents, but sitting down for an actual dinner was awkward and Cyrus hated it at first until he saw his parents laughing at Tj's jokes and asking him for his pie receipt. He had focussed so much on the bad that he forgot that maybe things just sort of...work out on their own.

He felt Tj's cat Petunia sit on his chest. He was a shiny light brown cat with crystal blue eyes that glowed even in daylight. Cyrus had picked him out with Tj's mom, but TJ didn't know that. Cyrus lightly scratched at Petunia's chin, who immediately nuzzled into the touch and purred as he laid on Cyrus' chest.

"What are you writing about now?" Cyrus asked as he looked up at TJ who was now clack clack clacking away at his laptop.

"About how my boyfriend is better friends with my mom than I am."

"You'd definitely get into an ivy with that one."

"I don't need an ivy, I need UCLA" TJ frowned at his screen, the light made him look flushed out and ghostly. The essay wasn't due for another two months, but TJ had already finished every other part of the application. He had never seen TJ so set, so driven, it was nice but it terrified him. California wasn't that far, only an hour or so flight, but an hour is an hour. In an hour he could die or crash his car or fall off a cliff or worse, TJ could stop loving him in an hour. He would find himself a cute artsy film boy and forget about Cyrus altogether. Cyrus was excited for TJ on the outside, but he was horrified. Cyrus had been thinking about college for years now, but thinking is different from actually having to go. He didn't want TJ to leave him already, they had only had so much time together.

Cyrus later explained this to TJ's mom while they shopped for holiday gifts in late Autumn, a couple of weeks after TJ had sent in ten applications to colleges around the country.

"Well Cyrus, you know what I always say," TJ's mom said as she floated through the department store in her signature pink fur-lined robe. She answered herself before Cyrus could even understand the question. "There is no greater punishment than that of being abandoned to one's self," she said in one breath before sipping on a mug tumbler Cyrus knew she had filled with something vaguely fruity and definitely alcoholic.

"You've literally never said that before Dawn," Cyrus said. He loved Tj's mom for all the reasons she annoyed TJ. She was erratic and outspoken and her advice was absolutely horrible in every single way. She'd tell him to leave the country every time he was mildly inconvenienced. It was this ridiculousness that always brought Cyrus back to his senses.

She sighed and put an entire rack of clothes in her cart, "What I have or haven't said in the past doesn't matter. If tyler leaves then I know you will wallow in pain, but that's the point no? Young love and all that. If he stays you will also wallow in pain because you'd feel like you held him back from his dreams. There is no winning. No one ever wins except The Man. Do not let The Man win, no matter what." They had made their way to the shoe aisle and Dawn was now sitting trying on heels in the mirror.

Cyrus frowned at no one and nothing in particular. He hated this moment. He just wanted Tj to decide already, but he knew that decisions wouldn't be out until spring. He felt Dawn push back his hair out of his face, just like how TJ does when he wants to say something important.

"Cyrus honey," Dawn's blonde hair fell in perfect curls around her face, "I can't pretend to know how you feel, but I do know that I was in love once," her voice was softer now, genuine. She sounded like TJ during their midnight facetime calls. "And I know that it hurts, that it makes you feel like you're on top of the world one second and down in the darkest dungeon of hell the next. But you can't stop that from you enjoying it because you'll always remember it. Now please help me get this heel off my foot. It's cutting off my circulation."

So, as Cyrus sat on the floor of the Nordstroms Rack pulling a seven-inch heel off Dawn's left foot, he let go. Not of the shoe, but of TJ. He wanted him to live his life, with or without him. He wasn't going to break up with him, he just didn't want to emotionally tether him to Shadyside, this town of less than a thousand, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The winter in Shadyside was brutal, unrelenting, and cozy with TJ beside him. Cyrus tried being less clingy, he called TJ less, only slept over at his house twice a week instead of their usual alternating schedule, and didn't dare talk about the future. TJ had been so anxious waiting for college decisions to come that he barely noticed. It was limbo, but Cyrus knew it was for the better. It would be too hard for both of them if Tj left one day and never came back.

One day, the day before Cyrus' birthday and UCLA admissions decisions, Tj and Cyrus found themselves in the park with the swings. They sat in silence, swinging slowly.

Finally, Cyrus spoke, "Tyler James Tanner Kippen, I want you to know that whatever happens tomorrow, I love you no matter what. If you get in or not or decide to leave or not I'll support you and you shouldn't stay here, no offense to Utah or whatever but this place sucks and if you go to Shadyside College I'll kill you dead with my own two hands and force you to transfer and-"

"Cyrus-" TJ stared at him.

"And! I'm not finished Tyler! And you need to freaking live your life and if that means going to California or France or the freaking Serengeti you need to go-" Cyrus was angry and blotchy and it felt like his lungs were about to burst.

"Cyrus," Tj cut in, "I don't deserve you. I haven't been there for you the past couple of months and I'm sorry I really am. I-" Tj stammered and looked down and away, "this year has been so weird, college is so weird and I don't want to leave you and I won't I promise I just, I don't know what's next."

Cyrus softened a bit, he bit his lip. "I'm scared," Cyrus said through tears. Tj wiped away a few tears of his own and grabbed his hand. It felt like Cyrus had just gotten used to the feeling, he hated knowing that in a few months the feeling could be gone and he would be stranded.

"I'm scared too," Tj admitted. Cyrus felt Tj's hand tighten, "Cy you need to promise me that wherever I go you don't follow."

"Wha- What? What do you mean?" Cyrus gave a confused look. Was he breaking up with him?

"I don't mean it like that I just mean that wherever I go you can't just follow because I'm your boyfriend. I want you to decide what's best for you not for us." Tj swallowed hard and continued, "Pinky promise."

They shook their pinkies, "Pinky Promise" Cyrus affirmed.

The next day Cyrus didn't see Tj at school. He had woken up to Andi, Buffy, Jonah, and Marty throwing balloons and confetti in his face screaming Happy Birthday at the top of their lungs. He laughed but couldn't help but notice TJ's absence. He knew today was the day most college decisions came out and TJ would probably be home refreshing his UC portal until 3:00. He understood, he felt selfish for wanting TJ all to himself.

School that day was as boring as always, but his friends had promised they'd do something fun after school.

"We're going to the freaking zoo Cyrus!!" Andi and Buffy had screamed in his ear right after throwing more confetti in his face that morning. He loved the zoo sure, but he hadn't talked to TJ all day. No texts, no calls, no facebook messenger notifications. Nothing. Matter of fact, the more he looked around, the more he noticed just how many seniors had skipped the day. None of the jocks were at school, nor the theater kids, it was empty in more ways than one.  

After the last bell, Cyrus' friends basically dragged him to the zoo. They knew he missed TJ and wanted to make up for it in the more over-the-top ways. Andi kept buying him cotton candy and Marty even bought him a koala backpack. Buffy even gave him a piggyback ride most of the way around the park. Cyrus was grateful but after an hour wandering the zoo, he was exhausted and just wanted to go home and sleep. He looked at his watch and saw 3:00 come and go. He sighed as his friends dragged him around one last corner, by now he was barely hanging onto Buffy's back. He huffed into her hair.

"SURPRISE!!!" Cyrus screamed a high pitch wail as his friends and family appeared out of seemingly nowhere. He hadn't noticed that he'd been navigated into an indoor event space, crawling with dinosaur dioramas and cardboard cutouts of kangaroos with party hats. He was still slightly panicking on the floor when someone dragged him up.

"Surprise. Happy Birthday." smiled Tj softly, Cyrus just stared at him and looked around in disbelief, "What? Did you think I forgot? "Cyrus gave him another look, "I skipped to help set it up." Tj smiled wide and gave him a quick peck on the lips and led him to the others.

Cyrus' entire family was there. Both sets of parents, uncles, aunts, TJ's friends from the basketball team, some of Walker's art friends who spoke in riddles, Amber and her friends, and even some of Jonah's old frisbee friends. They were all there for him. For him. He gave a wide smile and joined the party.

Once the excitement died down and everyone was full of chocolate cake, Cyrus pulled TJ aside and raised an eyebrow. TJ sighed and looked back at his mom Dawn and his twin sister Amber, "No luck," he said defeated, "denied." Cyrus felt his heartbreak for him, he wanted to send everyone home and grieve with TJ.

"You can always transfer in," Cyrus gave his last shred of advice, but he knew it was futile. TJ would never go somewhere where he wasn't the first choice. Tj softly smiled and held Cyrus' cheek in his hand.

He gave Cyrus a sweet kiss, "I love you Muffin," he said and walked back to the crowd.

Tj spent the next few weeks sitting quietly waiting for other decisions to roll in. The sadness from his rejection from UCLA was short-lived as he was accepted to basically every other school (except the ivy's of course). TJ even received a full ride to New York University, his second choice. He was ecstatic. He had spent so much time thinking about UCLA that he forgot that there were other universities.

"Wow," Cyrus said longingly, "New York City."

The summer went by too quickly for Cyrus' taste. TJ spent most days talking and researching what to do in New York City. Cyrus tried to be happy he really did, but Cyrus cried every time Tj said goodbye, even if he was just going home to check up on his mom. Then the day came where TJ packed up his room, and then came the day where he drove him to the airport, and then the first day he wasn't in Shadyside at all.

Amber decided to take a gap year to volunteer in a country Cyrus couldn't pronounce the name of, so he spent a lot of time grieving with Andi. It was lonely and the school year sucked but he tried to enjoy it the most he could. He would get calls from TJ every day so it never really felt like he was all that far away. He'd tell him about his classes, and the parties, and how everyone in New York was mean unless someone needed help. Cyrus had told TJ that he could break up with him to be a free college kid, but TJ refused. He even said that he was offended and that he would never do something that selfish.

Then the day came where he was writing his essays and sending in his test scores. It was grueling and he thought it would never end but then he remembered how TJ had written his essay on how his mom's relationship with his boyfriend would inspire his first film and he'd laugh to himself. Cyrus wrote his essay on the detrimental effects of having too many parents.

And then Cyrus got his acceptances and rejections. He had been rejected to every school except one: Columbia University in the City of New York. He couldn't believe it. He was going to New York too.

Andi ended up at Parsons to study design, just down the street from TJ. Buffy went somewhere in the pacific northwest where she started playing soccer. Jonah went somewhere hot and cheap, Arizona State. Walker went to Parsons with Andi and Amber decided to join the peace corps, and Marty went to CSU Long beach to learn how to surf.

Cyrus' time at Columbia was short-lived, he stayed a semester before transferring to NYU because it was arguably better for screenwriters.

He had never told anyone, but NYU was his top choice, even before he knew TJ had applied. TJ and Cyrus spent their days eating dollar pizza and basking in New York City parks. Cyrus was finally completely happy.

THE END

authors note: after high school reed goes to jail for aggravated assault and lester goes to community :) lmao

[self-indulgent-sparrow]

BIG GOD

Queenie went through a lot of work to get to where she is today. Putting it onto paper was a hard thing to do, for reasons that will become painfully obvious.

Please understand that I've had this concept planned out for at least 3 years now—if it reads like an angst ride, it's because it's something 2015 May had conceptualized, and I've set into stone for years and years. If anything, writing this nailed down some facts about her character and her beliefs that I haven't gotten to really talk about or study in depth.

10.8k. 30 pages, single spaced. Not an enjoyable ride to read. Heavy, heavy lore—there's no humor in this one.

Warnings for mention of suicide/suicide idealization, graphic descriptions of violence and body trauma. Also just general angst. Probably some CPTSD.

BIG GOD

The white cliff side stretched along the horizon, a stark contrast to the blue sky that it cut into, to the black sea that crashed against it. From here, she could see the thin red and white lighthouse, could only just make out the coast that crested partway along the bottom.

Beachy Head was the second of the four chalk cliff ranges she'd narrowed the location to. Mirah had seen the Seven Sisters—had scoped the cliffs for over a week, studying every shadow and dip—to no avail. The scripts had been unclear, only truly describing the cliff-side cave entrance as well hidden, barely a blot against the white edges of Albion, soaked in a history of blood.

In all honesty, she predicted the artifact would be at Dover, near the castle. It was a logical conclusion to jump to—the site had been witness to war, over and over again. The right island, the right backstory, it made sense that the scripts would describe Dover.

But Beachy Head was just east of the Sisters, and she wanted to be thorough. She'd come this far.

–

When she was a child, she devoured stories like they were air. The books she collected on Egypt and Greece and Rome numbered well beyond the dozens, alongside books about dragons and monsters and heroes. Heroes, always heroes.

She excelled in the history, drowned in the beliefs that were, to her, so foreign, but had once been people's lifelines. Dead stories, speaking beyond the grave, still forcing themselves out of the ground to be known. They held their own power. They lived beyond their people.

She had devoted herself deeply to the powerful concepts, needing badly to believe that, even when she was gone, she'd leave something behind. Something more than what she was at the time—a small, lonely creature, whose only friends were the books.

One day she'd tell a story, and it would echo into the years that would follow, without her there to witness it. She'd have that power too.

She had to believe that. She had to believe there was something more than the existence she'd been given.

Time passed. She nearly forgot. She nearly burned away.

–

The boat swayed gently, thumping against the wood and spraying water and foam as it docked. She had barely stepped onto the pier when she was handed the brochure. She opened it with chilly fingers, tucking her chin into her chest.

It proudly advertised the view of the lighthouse, the nearby pub in Eastbourne. It declared she should try the ice cream trucks that traversed the area, should follow the trail on the day hike to really appreciate the whole of the grandeur.

The national parks. The history. The bike marathon.

It all begged the question, she thought, as she made her way to the entrance of the dock, where the cab drivers waved at the tourists to beckon them over. With all this tourism, with eyes on the cliff-side at almost all times—

How could anything hide here? Would it truly not have been found?

(Underneath the listings and advertisements, she noted quietly, was a plea that, if one was contemplating suicide, to seek help immediately.)

Mirah looked out along the bottom of the cliff face, her eyes narrowed. It just out from the water in a sharp line, almost perpendicular, almost a straight shot upward. For miles, there were no coastlines along its base.

Soaking in a history of blood.

–

When she was six years old, Mirah would look out the window of the car, her seat-belt digging into her neck. She would fantasize, then, in the quiet of the drive, about jumping off high cliffs into the ocean to her death.

She would think about being dashed against the tall rocks at the bottom, barely hurting for more than a moment before disappearing into froth. Six years old, and she wrote out the suicide notes in her head. The people she'd leave behind, the  blame she'd pin, the guilt they'd drown in. The voices they'd hear that weren't truly there. Her voice, living long after she did.

An event that would mean something to other people. A way to live through words long after the body had slipped away.

Strange. She would always find herself crying at the idea.

She didn't know for a long, long time, that six year olds shouldn't be thinking about that.

Strange.

–

The hotel was barely ten minutes from the trail. She reeked of tourism and sweat, an out of place form in the quiet bedroom with its warm lamps and soft bed. It barely complained when she dropped the weight of her backpack onto it, the sheets calling to her, the hot shower calling to her.

She chose, instead, to unzip the pack, and began to pull out her maps. There was little time to worry about showering—Beachy Head was a long expanse. It would take time and focus to study its rough white face, to narrow down possible cave entrances.

She dropped her maps and script translations onto the small desk, flicking the light on. The translation sheets rolled—she pinned them down with her travel mug, full of the crap hotel coffee and four bags of sugar.

Mirah dropped into the chair and bent over her studies, like she had every day for the past month and a half. She laced her fingers, putting them under her chin, and began again.

Her eyes ached from the effort. They begged for rest she did not give.

The trail of Beachy Head could be traversed in a single day. Along the path, members of the chaplaincy patrolled, to ward off potential jumpers, but their patterns were predictable and avoidable, as had been proven by the increase in bodies found in the last month.

She divided the cliff-line into portions with care, opening the journal she'd used for documenting the progress she'd made. Painstakingly, she pasted portions of one of the maps into the pages, dedicating a few blank pages to each one.

The patrols would be little problem. She had no plans to die.

It neared two-forty in the morning when she checked her phone for the first time in the past forty-eight hours. Her mouth became a hard line.

You have 2 (Two) missed calls

Blocked Number

You have 2 (Two) new voicemails

Blocked Number

She deleted them without listening, and turned her phone off again.

–

She was sixteen she she finally saw someone for her depression. The room was south facing, the sunlight slanting through the blinds. The woman she met was old, and kind, and stern, and she wept in that room more times than she could count.

“What made you decide to see me?”

Mirah dug her fingers into her plaid school skirt. Her eyes flicked to her mother's form in the chair  beside her, and to her knees.

“I nearly crashed my car.”

That day had been a bad one, like so many before it. She had--

She had told her father, time and time again, that she was sick. She was sick and sad and she needed help, she needed to get help, and he had told her, with all the kindness in the world, that she could always talk to him about her problems. He had bought her lunch, and that was it.

She was his little date.

–

On day four, she stood at the highest point of Beachy Head, gripping her journal tight to her chest against the cool wind that bit into her cheeks. The lighthouse was a slender thing thing from here, below her. Here, there was no coastline, just the crashing water over five hundred feet below her.

When she looked down the face of the cliff, she could see the jutting rock, the dipping shadows. They dipped and warped, wrong, like they were falling into unseen crevices.

She flipped the journal open and marked the location studiously, sketching the lighthouse to size for reference. Her eyes narrowed, watering from the cold. When she looked up, the sunlight glinted off the ocean.

It really was beautiful here. The sky was clear. The sun was high.

She hadn't been focused on a goal like this in a long time. It was the closest she felt to alive again; the closest she could come to joy and satisfaction--

It was nice to care about something again.

The devil was in the details. She opened her journal and continued her work. If this was it, she needed to do everything she could to get it right.

–

She decided, at one point, to disappear. She hurt everywhere, she hurt all the time. The people she loved didn't love her back. The people who said they loved her hurt her, over and over and over.

She'd never been anything to anyone. She felt, all the time, little more than a burden, little more than a weight around people's necks. There was a weight on her neck, something keeping her tethered, something that kept her head bowed to the earth.

There was no pride. There was no passion. There was just her, little more than a ghost.

At night, she dreamed that she stopped existing, and nobody noticed.

–

The night was cold and still as she trekked up the trail that followed the cliff side. Her headlight bobbed along the dirt path, its dimmest setting still painting stark shadows from the pebbles and the long grass. In the dark, she could hear the high cry of unseen birds overheard.

Her pack dug into her shoulders as she walked, quick and quiet. She paused for hardly a moment, ducked low, and turned her light off, listening hard. A minute passed, then two, before she stood again, continuing forward to the high point. She left her light off, now.

She'd timed the patrols, learned the routes. They followed the road in search of cars in the night, then moved up the trail—if she was right, she had about a half hour to set up her posts and begin rappelling the cliff-side before the first patrol would pass it. That was not a lot of time.

She'd have to get it right. Lucky for her, she'd become somewhat efficient at this part.

The anchor posts were cold and heavy in her gloves. She drove the first into the ground, striking it deeper with the mallet. The noise was muffled by the rubber head, but the strikes resonated through her. The second post, ten feet from the first, went in easier. She looped and knotted her rope onto them, double checking her harness knots and descender. They were stable, secure. They would hold her weight.

She tightened the leg loops of the harness on her body, checked her headlight. In her inner coat pocket, easily accessible but secure, were her maps. Her glasses were strapped on, and would stay in place.

She stood at the edge of the cliff, inhaling deeply the painfully cold air. It smelled of sea salt and ice. Her body trembled—the rock felt ready to give way underneath her feet. An illusion, her own mind playing tricks on her. Terrifying and exhilarating all the same.

She hoped beyond hope that she wasn't wrong, but she didn't bet on it.

Mirah took one last huff of breath, turned her headlight on, gripped the rope in both her hands, and began her descent.

–

She stayed alive.

A spiteful action. She stayed alive, holding her bleeding heart in her hand.

She could never explain why she chose, or when she chose, to try to love herself. She'd not been loved for a long time, and somehow the biggest insult she could provide to others was the attempt to provide what they refused to.

Mirah was nearly eighteen when she finally ran away. Ties were hard to cut—she did her best, blocking phone numbers, changing bank accounts. She came as close as she could to becoming a new person, and she ran so far she crossed an ocean. Her funds had always been low, but school was always hosting classes abroad.

It was easier than she expected, and equally as hard. She had no foundation—but she had never had one, really. The foundation she'd been born with had been rotten from the beginning. It was a miracle she had chosen life.

She had made her own miracle. She'd pulled herself from her own grave. Somewhere along the way, she chose to love.

–

She shuddered against the wind, pressing herself to the rock face. Her boots were braced against the chalk, and she could feel the gentle slide as it gave and came loose in places.

This was insane, a weak voice pleaded in her head. Go back, go back. This was too far, it begged. She stepped down, down, down. The white stone swallowed her entire vision on all sides.

She was keenly aware, now—of the ache of the harness where it dug into her shoulders and thighs, of the stretch and burn of her knuckles where they gripped the rope and let it slide through their creaky joints. Of the way her skin was freezing cold and burning hot all in one moment, from adrenaline.

Down. Down. Down. Her rope unwound from the descender slowly, surely. Down. Each step down the wall was careful, bracing, in an attempt to find footing against the eroding stone. Down. She'd descended how far now? Forty feet? Fifty? Was she close? She must be close. She had to be close. Down. How much longer did she have before the patrol crossed? Down.

The next step downward struck the cap of her boot—her foot slipped and failed to brace and her knee struck the jutting rock. She swore hard and corrected, her jaw tightly clenched from the sudden pain. It was fine—she was fine. She should have expected the sudden slope outwards, should have prepared for it.

Here came the hard part. With careful movements, Mirah edged backwards down the slope, her eyes on her rope. She'd have to keep it in place when it caught on the slope, swing herself back to the wall of rock and the mouth of the potential cave, and be able to pull herself up it again.

It was a feat of strength, which she only barely had enough of. She edged over the furthest point of rock, and she could not resist the urge to press her hand flat to the scratchy white stone. Even this high up, she could see the spray of water from the ocean glistening against it.

There were no grips to the chalky surface, but that was fine—she just wanted to touch it. It was real.

This was real. She was scaling a known monument, a historical landmark, in the dead of night. She had made it to this place—this gorgeous site, drowning in history—all on her own. She was—this was insane. This was spectacular. Mind-boggling.

Mirah turned her head to look over her shoulder, out to the ocean that was as loud in her ears as the blood rushing through her. She could see the lighthouse, its light like a star on the water.

For a blinding moment, she was struck with the urge to weep.

She swallowed the growing ache in her throat and turned back to the cliff.

Down. Down.

When she pressed her toes forward, she could just feel the rock face at the tips. Still, she lowered herself with care, until she had fully passed the jutting lip of rock.

Mirah stared at the flat wall that met her.

There was nothing here.

Her chest heaved hard. Fine. That—it was fine. She'd hit dead ends like this before. It wasn't her first empty lead, and it wouldn't be the last. It hurt like hell—like she had failed altogether—and she'd have to pull herself all the way back up the cliff-side to make it to the next map point, but. It was fine.

Mirah gripped her cord tight in her fingers, her entire form curled and tensed. A strangled scream escaped from her despite her best efforts—a choked sob followed, and the dam broke. She began to cry there, hanging in the air, her headlight bouncing along the rock and painting uneven shadows everywhere.

Her breakdown was short, though it left her shaking. She braced herself against the rock again, her gloves pressed flat as she tried to compose herself again. A deep inhale, a shaky exhale. Another. When she swallowed the rest of the tears, she turned to look down the length of the white wall.

It was then that she saw the stark cut of shadows, maybe two meters away.

The mouth of the cave was not a mouth—it was barely more than a crack, a cranny, an uneven, imperfect overlap of rock against rock. It was so terribly small—barely enough for the average person to fit.

She was so small.

A choked noise escaped her as she rocked herself along the rock face, struggling for purchase against the crumbling stone. She reached out with near-desperate fingers, and grabbed the sharp lip of rock. With all her strength, she pulled herself towards and into the crevice, her face pressed into the wall. Her light painted stark bright light into the tight passage—she could hardly fit, through the layers of clothing and the harness.

Still, she forced the snug fit, her breathing shallow and strained. It was too tight—she wouldn't fit—

All at once, she fell into the open, dark cavern.

Her aching knee throbbed with a vengeance when it struck the uneven floor; she threw her arms out and her palms hit the ground with a jolt of pain that had her landing on her side, gasping hard. Her body trembled from the exertion of the fit and the pain vibrating through her palms.

She lay there, catching her breath, headlight shining along the stone of the bottom of the chamber. The air was musty with dust, salty with ocean. Dust particles swirled through the cold light in lazy patterns. When she turned her head, she could see the stalactites that descended from the ceiling of the cavern. There was the very gentle drip, drip of the water that had collected at their tips.

She'd found it—well. She'd found something.

Fingers trembling from weariness, Mirah pushed herself into a sitting position, her breathing labored and her harness's rope looping out in front of her. From her small hiking bag on her waist she pulled out a water bottle, and she downed half its contents with near desperation. Fuck, that had been hard. When she finally set it down, she gasped again for air, wiping her mouth on her coat sleeve.

Now the harness was strapped off, left to lay on the floor several feet from the entrance. Through the crack, she could just barely see the ocean and black sky. When she stood, her knees shook as they supported her weight, but they did not buckle.

The cavern was cold and nearly perfectly round, its walls rough and uneven. The stone was not white like the rest of Beachy Head—here, it was varying shades of brown and gray, nearly rust colored in places. She crossed the length of the chamber, her steps quietly echoing as though she was in a space larger than she realized. At the other end of the dark space, she realized why.

The cave was merely an antechamber, an entrance. In front of her was the tall mouth of a tunnel entrance.

She pulled her headlight off and held it in her hand, aiming it into the tunnel without entering. It sloped upward slightly, so she could not see where it ended. Around the entrance to the tunnel were engravings she could barely discern for how high they were, a stark contrast to the antechamber's rough, nearly natural appearance

She braced herself and entered the tunnel. She'd come this far—she would not stop.

The walls of the tunnel were engraved—along the top half were tall figures, ancient symbols. Hieroglyphs at the expanse of the bottom half, where she pressed her fingers. Her neck craned upward, eyes wide.

She wanted to see it all. She wanted to see every detail. There—the sun disk. The eye of Ra. The heron.

She'd been right. She'd gotten it right. The hours of studies, the painstaking translations, the numerous maps and countless markers she'd gone through tracing a path here—

She'd gotten it right.

She walked up the sloping tunnel, her fingers tracing the smooth carved stone as she devoured the images with rapture. Here—the Ished Tree, the seat of the Great Heron. There, the Obelisk of Heliopolis. The Benben stone, hovering above the Nu, the sun shining upon its face.

She had started there—she could remember the way her hand pressed carefully to the class that had encapsulated the black stone. She had begun, like all the stories had, at the Benben stone. How far she had come—how so like the ancient scripts.

Everything began at the Benben stone.

Mirah reached as high as she could, and pressed her hand to the bottom of the Sun Boat. Her chest shook, threatening to heave with tears of wonder. Her face hurt—she realized, belatedly, she had been smiling.

The end of the tunnel widened suddenly into another cavern. This one was massive, far larger than the antechamber, and oblong, slanted away from the tunnel and warmly lit. At the far end of the chamber was a brilliant light she could not make out, that filled the whole of the space like a fire would. She turned her headlight off, shoving it into her pocket.

The floor glittered—when she looked down, she found it covered with solid gold feathers, like golden down. They were spread across the floor of the chamber, away from the tall figure that stood at one end of the cave, nearest to the tunnel's entrance. Its form glistened in the light, hauntingly terrible and beautiful.

She approached the still figure slowly, careful to not touch the feathers scattered along the ground. They gathered in circular waves around the statue, more and more abundant at its base.

It was an enrapturing thing—a woman, nearly six feet tall, posed like a titan against some force of nature, her hair blown back and away from her face. Her arm was outstretched towards the light source of the room, as though reaching out for it, or trying to ward it away.

Her long gown stretched out behind her, blown away from her in uneven curves and near-jagged edges. A close inspection revealed—its hemline was carved into feathers like those that filled the room, caught in the midst of a transformation into something larger.

The woman was beautiful, her face detailed to the eyelashes, to the wrinkles in her jaw and the pull and strain of muscles in her throat. The attention to the smallest ridges were exquisite, yet there were no tool marks. It was as though a human had been perfectly frozen in gold.

Despite her beauty, the woman's face was hard and angular, expression twisted into one of rage. Her earrings, large diamonds that framed her jawline, were blown back into her hair, the strands and curls chaotic twists, caught in an unseen storm.

Near reverently, Mirah's hand rose, struck with the urge to stroke the long exposed neck, to press her fingers to the column of golden throat.

AWAY FROM THERE.

The words were not spoken aloud—they did not echo throughout the room—but they filled her head as though they had been whispered directly into her ear. The voice was hers and was not; it was one voice whispering and a thousand shouting, all in the same moment. It sent shivers up her spine—she twisted to where the statue was facing, its arm outstretched to the other end of the cavern. To the light.

Every step across the chamber seemed heavier than the last. Her heart was loud in her ears, loud like the words that echoed through her entire body. Closer, closer.

YOU HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED FOR ME.

It wasn't a question, but she found herself nodding. The room was warm—she shed her coat on the smooth floor without pausing in her slow stride. When she spoke, her tone was hushed with awe.

“You're—alive. You're a living thing. I—“

She had expected magic. She'd known in her core that there were different kinds of magic, artifacts that held power and strength. This was another thing altogether—this was a sentient being. The divine creation of a god, and it lived.

“I. The scripts—I knew you'd be powerful but this is—“

At the other end of the chamber was a circular raised pool, large and shallow. The water inside rippled, reflecting the trembling gold of the light onto the ceiling in constant shifting patterns.

In the center, an obelisk rose from the water. Its point was capped with black. And, hovering at its tip—

“You're beautiful,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet.

When the Sun Disk spoke, it was not in English. It didn't have a voice, not really—but its presence in her mind was like her own voice in her head. It was like an alien presence in her head, that was and was not her.

THE SCRIPTS YOU SPEAK OF WERE WRITTEN BY THOSE WITH LIMITED KNOWLEDGE. THEY HOLD LITTLE VALUE.

It shone spectacularly. Mirah stood at the edge of the pool, staring long after it had burned light patterns into her eyes.

WHY HAVE YOU COME TO THIS PLACE.

Her hands pressed to the smooth raised edge of the pool. She looked into the golden water, and then up again, her eyes narrowed in thought, the skin of her lip caught in her mouth.

TELL ME, WHAT DID YOU EXPECT WHEN YOU ARRIVED HERE?

She stepped back from the edge of the pool, and dropped to a knee to unlace her boots, one after another.

“I—honestly? I don't really know. I mean, I knew there would be an artifact—I figured out its name, and—“ she yanked the boot off “—I. Guess I thought I could find it.”

She was silent for a moment, pulling the other boot off, and then she added, “Sorry, that's not very descriptive. It wasn't really that I cared about some great fancy treasure.”

NO.

“No, it was—I saw a story. Yeah.” She set the boots aside, worked her gloves off. Layer by layer, she shed the clothing. They stuck to her skin from sweat.

“I saw something like a story, and I loved stories, you know? It looked interesting, like it had potential to be a big grand story—but it was missing so many details. It had all these gaps,” she explained, with a little gesture, her fingers outstretched. She looked at the spaces between them. “Like a jigsaw puzzle that was missing some of the pieces. And I saw these parts and—I don't know, more than anything I wanted to fill in the blanks.”

WHY.

“I don't know why,” she said, trying not to be sharp. “It—I felt like I had to so badly, and I don't know—it was like, if I didn't, I would wonder about it forever.”

She could feel the stretch from the curve of her back as she pulled her socks off. She stretched her toes out.

“I started looking for the pieces and,” she swallowed, “For the first time in a really, really long time, I started to feel full again. I could feel excited again. Christ—I saw so much trying to get here. I learned so much just to get here.”

She had taught herself to read  ancient languages. Had learned mountain rappelling, had forced herself to stay up into the early hours of the morning inscribing, translating, journaling and researching. Had visited country after country to get here, to this place.

TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN.

Even as she stared at the Sun Disk, her mind reeled back the memory. There was something in her throat, like a fluttering bird. When she spoke, she felt miles away.

“I saw Egypt. Heliopolis, in Cairo. It was—you could drown in the heat and the noise and the color. All that desert and there was still so much color, so much noise. And then, at night, it was so cold and quiet. At—At night, you could see the stars over the pyramids.”

AND.

She inhaled deeply, her chest trembling.

“Greece, after that. As many of the Cyclades islands as I could get to, and Crete too. The water was as blue as the sky, and those buildings built onto the waterfront were—they were just as grand as all the marble and bronze in the museums. Christ, all that blue.”

AND.

Her fingers rose and pushed into her hair, pulling loose the band holding her curls back. She hurt, in a deep, impossible to describe sort of way, deep in her center.

“Scotland—Alba, and then Albion, as you probably know it. I saw the old castles being eaten up by the landscape again—and hills so green they looked like fairy lands, and the white cliffs, and no wonder people believe fairies come here. It's old magic, isn't it?”

She stood again, and stepped to the edge of the pool. She found, belatedly, that her cheeks were wet and her brow was furrowed. Her throat was locking up—Mirah forced herself to breathe, pushing her glasses up and wiping her face.

In place of answering her question, the Sun Disk asked, as though it already knew the answer.

WAS THE QUEST THE GOAL ITSELF?

She yanked the lenses off altogether, the band holding them to her face relaxing with a snap. Without much thought, she dropped them on the raised edge of the pool. Her jaw was tight. She forced the muscles to relax, but her grip on the sharp ridge tightened enough for it to hurt.

“No. It wasn't that—I already said, it was the story. Maybe I saw a lot of beautiful places and learned a lot of new things, and maybe there's something great in that, but I didn't do it for that. It didn't fill me with nearly as much excitement as figuring out the puzzle.”

As she spoke, she lifted a leg and placed it on the ridge, fingers on the hem of her jeans. Rolling the edge up her calf, she continued, slowly.

“Everybody always goes on about the journey being more important than the destination, but that's rarely the case for me. It's important, sure, and maybe it's as important, but it's rarely the deciding factor. The end result has to matter or else everything will feel like a waste of time. It'll be disappointing if the goal isn't important—and I'm not disappointed.”

The leg of her jeans was cuffed above her knee. The other leg, now.

“I think the goal was solving the puzzle. Doesn't matter how small the project or big the task—I get satisfaction out of a job well done. I did it, I did something nobody else had accomplished, and I did it without any help.”

She stood, back straight and shoulders back, squinting at the Sun Disk. She thought, maybe, she was trembling, but when she held her hand in front of her face, it was perfectly still.

“I didn't quit when it was hard, and I didn't let anything get in my way. I wanted to do something big, and I succeeded, and I wanted to be here. I proved I could do it.”

For the first time, she allowed herself to feel proud.

“I did this, I proved that I deserved to be here, right here. I deserved to have this.”

She had done an impossible task. Despite everything, she had won.

I AM NOT A PRIZE TO BE WON, CHILD, it said, and through the echo of its words, she thought she heard the cool tone. She fought the urge to bare her teeth at the name. Her displeasure was painted on her face.

“What are you, then?”

The light that radiated off from it flared, painfully bright, like looking into the center of a star. She raised her arm to shield her eyes, grimacing.

I AM THE BEGINNING OF THE BEGINNING. I AM THE CALLER OF CREATION. I AM THE SOUL OF THE SUN.

It was a roar—it was her blood boiling and her eyes burning, streaming with tears. It hurt—she clenched her teeth and felt them grind. Its outburst continued, wide, filling the room.

She realized, suddenly, that'd she'd been wrong about something incredibly important. Her throat went dry. She lowered her arm.

“Bennu. You're Bennu.”

As sudden as it had begun to flare, the light dimmed, low enough to nearly go out. The pounding in her head ceased, though the ringing was slow to dissipate. She could see the outline of light around the silhouette of the Sun Disk, cutting in clear lines the head of the snake, the detailed edge of its scales.

I am, it said, hushed. She continued, her chest heaving. Her voice was stronger now, bursting with something she could not explain.

“You're the Bennu Bird—The ba of Ra, his soul. The bird that flew over the Nun and made the call for creation, that which created himself, you. You're not just the creator of the artifact, you're the Sun Disk. You're—you're still here. The gods are still here, they're real, you're real.”

She was smiling widely, eyebrows turned up in wonder and awe. Her chest hurt, heart aching.

She was witnessing a miracle. She was looking at a deity given form—not just a divine creation, but an actual, physical god.

It was more than she had ever expected. It was almost too much for her to truly grasp.

I AM, it said again. Its voice, she thought now, was beautiful, and grand. She was understanding, finally, all the parts of her scripts that she could not make sense of. It slid into place, a significant piece to a grand mystery that she had solved herself.

She was in the presence of something so much bigger than herself. It almost made what she was about to do seem horribly blasphemous.

The water of the pool was warm against her calves when she stepped into it. The gentle splash seemed loud in her ears.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DO?

She swallowed, then nodded. Her steps were slow.

TELL ME.

“The scripts—they said there, there was a ruler,” she spoke haltingly, and licked her lips. They had dried and begun to crack from the heat. “A deity, a being that wore the Sun Disk and ruled its first subjects. The first beings, the ones that resembled its first form the most. The—the birds.”

The water splashed against her knees as she waded through it.

“The Disk was passed down, to those who proved their potential.”

AN APT WORD.

ARE YOU A RULER?

Mirah nearly scoffed at that. “Christ—I don't know. Maybe? I make things, I'm an artist. I'm stubborn, and I know right from wrong, and it matters to me, and I'm loud about it. Does that sound like a ruler to you?”

YET YOU CONTINUE TO APPROACH.

YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO RULE?

Closer, she stepped. Closer. From here, she could see the jewel in the eye of the snake, and the unblemished face of the disk. Her face looked back at her, through her blurred vision and the pristine surface.

"I think I'd be an idiot to get this far and not try. Don't you?”

STOP WHERE YOU STAND.

She stopped midstride, breathe caught in her throat. With a sort of defiant slowness, she straightened, her head help up, chin raised. She could not yet reach out to touch it, but from here, she could see the black obsidian head of the obelisk, a sharp diamond. In its face were deeply carved runes.

The Sun Disk pulsed, the light pushing out, pulling in, like a heartbeat.

YOUR QUEST IS NOT YET COMPLETE.

YOU WILL COMPLETE MY TRIALS. YOU WILL PROVE YOUR WORTH.

Her brow furrowed in momentary surprise.

“....okay?”

IF YOU FAIL, YOU WILL PERISH.

Ever the stubborn one, she said, her cheek pulled into her mouth with disdain, “What is this, Indiana Jones?”

WHAT IS THAT.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Um. A joke. Don't worry about it.”

It continued, without even the slightest change in infliction.

DO YOU ACCEPT THE TERMS?

The light was becoming brighter, the gold edges becoming crisp white. The pulsing was expanding, thudding in her ears. Her mouth became a thin line again, her gaze narrowed. She could feel the pinch of her brows where they furrowed.

“Yeah. I accept.”

It flared, a supernova. It filled everything—everything disappeared. All that remained was white light, blinding her even as she raised her hand to protect her eyes. And, then—

For a moment, there was nothing at all.

–

The waves crashed loudly at the bottom of the cliff behind her. With hesitance, she lowered her hand from her face. Above her, the sun shone intensely, though it did nothing to hinder the sharp cold wind that blew harshly against her.

She pushed her hair away from her face, looking along the grassy hill she faced. The Sun Disk spoke again.

BEFORE YOU STAND TWO ARMIES. FOR CENTURIES, THEIR NATIONS HAVE BEEN AT WAR.

In front of her, two lines stood apart in the long grass. The wind blew between them, their individual flags waving wildly in the air. Beyond that, they were still and silent. The gap between then could not have been more than ten yards, that she looked along with slitted eyes.

OF THE NATIONS, ONE HAS A LARGE ARMY AND SUPERIOR WEAPONRY.

As if on cue, the footmen on her right raised their spears above their heads. The movement caused the shuddering of steel on steel, yet still they were silent. Did they even see her?

THE OTHER NATION MAINTAINS SUPERIOR STRATEGISTS.

On her left, the men raised their shields into the air as one.

Every face was unique, undoubtedly alive. Mirah's teeth dug into the flesh of her lip.

IN THIS WAR, WHO DO YOU BELIEVE WINS?

Her eyes flicked to the English sky, following the clouds that pushed ever closer. When she looked back to the scene, the armies made no movement.

At her sides, her hands curled and uncurled.

She didn't understand this scenario. Was she to guess the winners, or was she the deciding factor? Were these the only options she had?

The volume at which she spoke was not quite a shout, but was nearly there.

“Why--” she licked her lips, dry from the wind. “Why are they fighting?”

THE REASON HAS BEEN LOST.

She frowned.

“Wait, do they know why they're fighting?”

IT IS IRRELEVANT.

“Like hell it is!” she found herself saying, turning away from the field to the cliff, out to the sun. “Do they even speak the same language? Can they communicate at all?”

NO.

“Well,” she said, and it caught her by surprise how much impatience was in her own voice. It was sharp with distaste. “There's your problem! How are they supposed to come to a compromise when they don't even know why they're fighting? When they can't even talk it out? How can they come to any kind of peace?”

YOU HAVE MISSED THE POINT OF THE SCENARIO.

“No!” she shouted. Oh, it was suddenly like she was in middle school again, the eyes burning into the back of her neck as she stood at her desk. “This puzzle or scenario or whatever you want to call it—there are no winners! I can't pick out a winner here, when—when they've been fighting for so long, and nobody's won.”

There was silence. She continued, fierce.

“And even if I was supposed to pick a so called winner, the winner wouldn't be here! These are just soldiers! They're going to die! Here, there aren't any winners, and there won't be any winners until somebody tries to talk it out! But they won't even try! So nobody wins.”

THAT IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER, the Disk said, as she turned back to the hill. The footmen were staring at her, now—they could see her. She swore, looking along the faces she could see, that there was fear in some of them. Resoluteness in others. Acceptance.

They knew they were going to die, she realized.

“Fine,” she said, nearly a snarl. “Then Death wins. Death wins two whole battalions to carry to the afterlife. That's my answer.”

There was a beat.

THAT IS AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER.

“Wh--”

The wind picked up—she curled around herself, fingers digging into her upper arms. Her hair blew into her face again.

“Are you serious?!”

YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE MIND.

“But--”

She twisted her neck, letting her hair blow back. Something in her boiled, made her head hurt.

“Why did you accept that answer and not the first?!”

WHY DID YOU NOT CHOOSE ONE OF THE TWO OPTIONS OFFERED?

She squinted, trying not to let her teeth chatter. “Because they both sucked?”

THERE IS YOUR ANSWER, HOWEVER INELOQUENT.

Her lips pressed together.

“Peace is not a bad answer,” she mumbled, tucking her chin into her chest.

In front of her, the battalions turned and began to march. Closer and closer they advanced to the edge of the cliff—to her, they were coming to her.

“Wh--”

She stepped back, glancing behind her to the approaching ledge. It was uncomfortably close, enough for her to be nervous for her balance.

“What's happening?”

THE NEXT TRIAL BEGINS.

The battalions stopped. From the masses, there was a shuffling deep within, and then as though in sync, each party shoved a form forward, onto the flattened grass in front of her. They fell to their knees, heads turned down to the ground.

The wind died.

“What's...”

To her right, a man stepped forward. He pointed at her, then to the body kneeling on the grass. When he spoke, it was in a language beautiful but incomprehensible, and filled to the brim with barely-controlled rage.

She was reminded, for a sickening moment, of her father. Mirah swallowed. She glanced up again to the sun.

“C—Can you tell me what's going on, here?”

From each mass, another man stepped forward, and they pulled the prone forms to their feet, yanking their heads back by the hair to reveal their faces. She nearly reeled backwards, toeing the edge of the cliff. Her eyes widened.

They were children.

The both of them were young, young as her if not moreso. Each of them wore rags with the color of the opposing armies, their wrists and ankles shackled. Even without the wind, the cold air did little kindness to them—she could see their shudderings. A murmur of noise filled the air from each battalion.

Something in her mouth tasted suspiciously of bile.

PRISONERS OF WAR, the Sun Disk said, numb to the drama. EACH OF THEM HAS COMMITED CRIMES TO THEIR OPPOSING NATION. THE RIGHT OF BATTLE BELONGS TO WHICHEVER NATION'S KIN IS STRUCK DOWN FIRST.

“Are,” she started, her voice breathless in a desperation she couldn't place. She inhaled deeply. “Are you shitting me? Are you kidding?”

AS AN UNBIASED PARTY, YOU MUST CHOOSE WHO HAS FIRST RIGHTS.

“You want me to pick which kid is supposed to die?!” Her hands flew out in front of her, gesturing at the madness unfolding. “They're kids!”

Her stomach churned—the muscles in her neck and throat were tight from horror, from rage. She twisted again, on the edge of the cliff, to face the vast, black ocean.

THEY HAVE COMMITED CRIMES, AND ARE NOT BLAMELESS.

“This is wrong! These—these 'scenarios' are flawed and you know it! The choices are too black and white—the world doesn't work like that! Just because somebody did a bad thing, doesn't mean a nation gets to go to war over it! Nobody has to die over it! You can't expect me to choose who gets first dibs on bloodshed, I won't play that game!”

The wind picked up again, biting her face, her eyes. YOU ARE A PACIFIST?

“I'm sensible!”

THERE MUST BE BLOOD. YOU MUST CHOOSE WHO HAS FIRST RIGHTS.

It spoke over her, like she hadn't spoken at all. Like she wasn't there at all, she was nothing.

Yet this was her decision?

Her decision, and yet if she provided any arguments, any other choice, it would ignore her.

That wasn't fair. That wasn't right.

She turned to the prisoners. Eyes burned into her skin—hundreds of them, thousands, maybe. They stared at her, and all she could see were the freckles under the eyes of the children, the little scars on their lips.

There was a little lump in her throat. She looked out to the cliff, her eyes on the frayed edge. She could just see the sea foam at the base of the cliff, where the water crashed unforgivingly into its side, again and again.

Oh.

When she was six years old—

How many times had she dreamed—

Her eyes narrowed. Her jaw set.

“Someone has to die? For the battalions to choose who goes first?”

YES.

Mirah stepped away from the cliff. The children in front of her quaked, the wind cruel against their skin. The flags blew and blew and blew.

Her chest shook with each breath. Was this even real? This scenario—maybe it was all in her head. Her stupid, stupid head, these grand puzzles designed in the perfect ways to make her blood boil.

Could she really imagine something so cruel?

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

When she was in front of the children, they shook, but she didn't stop—she walked past them, her body between theirs and the masses. She looked out to the individual faces.

Could she really imagine the amount of detail and care here? What if she was wrong?

“What if it's me?” she said, her voice cracking down the middle.

YOUR REASONING?

That wasn't a no.

“This,” she started, haltingly, “this is just another puzzle. It's another impossible choice, like before. You—you say somebody has to die, there has to be blood, but choosing a kid—it'd be based off nothing. There's no context and there's no crime big enough for this. So—So I can't pick one over another, and that only leaves picking both of them.”

Her voice strengthened, firm, unyielding.

“I refuse to do that. That's wrong. You can't make me their judge, and judge over this whole stupid war. It's not my war.”

She braced herself. Her fists were curled tight, nails digging into her palms as she looked out along the wall of people in front of her. Behind her, one sea. In front of her, another. Both unforgiving.

“But you won't let me not choose, so there's got to be a third option. There's always a third option. It's never so black and white.”

Her hands shook.

“So, me. I'm the third choice, and I'm unbiased. I don't belong to either party, killing me won't anger the opposing nation. They get their blood, and the fight's over. It's—it's the way to keep peace.”

She paused, and looked up.

“Right? Am I right?”

For what felt like an eternity, the Sun Disk didn't speak.. And, then, it asked:

YOU WOULD SO EASILY LAY YOUR OWN LIFE DOWN IN PLACE OF STRANGERS? YOU DO NOT KNOW THEIR CRIMES. HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?

“I'm not sure!” she shouted, baring her teeth. “But it's because I don't know them, and I don't know anything about them! Whatever they did, whatever stupid crime you can claim they're guilty of? They're kids! It can't be so big they can't learn! You can't just punish them for making a mistake! You can't put a whole battle on their shoulders!”

She threw her hands out, a frantic gesture. “It's this or I let someone I don't know die, just to decide who gets to throw the first stone! I'm not okay with that, I refuse to have anything to do with it, and you won't take no for an answer, so here's your goddamn scapegoat! Right here!”

Her chest heaved. The wind blew fiercely around her, trying to shake her, to knock her down. Still, she braced, eyes on the gathering storm clouds.

“I'm not taking no for an answer this time.”

As one, the footmen approached her. On all sides they surrounded her, cutting off her view of the cliff's edge and the ocean past it. The clanking of their armors and their weapons and their boots were loud in her ears. She shuddered.

THIS IS AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER.

They raised their weapons, blotting out her view of the clouds.

Down they came, and their aim was true—every time, the aim was true. Again and again spears dug into her chest; swords slashed into her back; hands grabbed at her arms and twisted and pulled them. Again, again, again.

Through the barrage, she did not black out. It would have been a welcome reprieve to the drawn out slaughter of a single individual, but unconsciousness did not come. She did not become numb. Every strike felt like it was the first.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. She was dying. She was bleeding. Maybe she was screaming, she wasn't sure over the noise and the ringing in her ears.

On and on and on. Maybe this would go on forever. Maybe that was the final trial. Maybe she was supposed to die forever and ever, on this cliffside.

The sky finally disappeared from view, though, maybe, it was just her eyes finally giving up the ghost. She was drowning in what must have been her own blood, filling her lungs with a warmth they shouldn't have known. Then—

YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE HEART.

Breathe.

When she opened her mouth, it flooded with water. Her body spasmed up into a sitting position, wretching and coughing, choking on what tasted like iron and chlorine. Her chest burned as she gasped desperately for air.

She became vaguely aware, after a period of time, that she was in the pool again. Her body was slumped against the obelisk at the center, and now she curled in on herself. The water was tainted red where it spread around her aching form.

The wounds, she realized faintly, were real. The pain was real. It was like dying—no, that wasn't accurate. She was dying. That was a fact, wasn't it? She was bleeding out. Her vision was fuzzy; was that because she had left her glasses at the edge of the pool? Or was it the blood loss getting to her brain, shutting off her senses one by one? Was it the call to fall unconscious altogether and rest so she wouldn't witness it?

She didn't know. It scared her that she didn't know.

THE NEXT TRIAL BEGINS.

No more, begged a pathetic little voice in her head that still clung to awareness. No more, please. She swallowed hard—it was like choking on needles, coated in rust and tearing her throat open.

YOU ARE DYING.

And like that, it was a thousand times worse.

The numbness that had begun to spread was gone, replaced with the distinct impression that every inch of her was screaming. Her body curled tightly in the pool of water as she opened her mouth and wailed, the sound reverberating through the chamber back at her and causing her ears to ring. Her fingers felt broken and mangled—her eyes were bleeding. Her brain was full of thin long needles. Her mouth tasted of nothing but iron.

Her spine—every vertebrae seemed to unalign and snap her backwards, arching her ragged bloody chest into the air out of the water. Every breath she tried to take seemed to fill her lungs with more and more fluid—coughing made the agony and the weight worsen, aggravating whatever wound was causing it. She thought, maybe, her ribs had shattered and lodged into her heart, piercing the tissue and causing the arteries to spurt everywhere into her.

Oh, god. She was going to die here, like this.

YOU ARE SUFFERING.

She was going to disappear. She was going to go slowly and painfully, and nobody would even miss her. She would vanish, and nobody would even know it had happened. An unrecovered body at the suicide jump. A statistic, a tally on a board. She'd never had any more merit—she'd never been more. She'd never done more. She'd never done anything for anybody, and now it was too late.

Was she still screaming? Did she even really know how to anymore? Was her body capable of it?

YOU THINK WHAT YOU FEEL NOW IS PAIN? THE EXISTENCE YOU SEEK IS PAIN. IMAGINE, CHILD, THIS AGONY TENFOLD. EVERY MOMENT. EVERY DAY. AN EXISTENCE OF THIS SUFFERING. THIS LONELINESS, THESE CHOICES, FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.

Nobody loved her. Nobody had ever known her enough to love her—to love her, the person she was supposed to be and not the one they'd all wanted her to be. She could have been so much, she could have done so much more, and nobody even knew her real name. Her life was over before it had ever really begun to be hers.

YOU SEEK A PURPOSE, DO YOU NOT? YOU SEEK TO BECOME PART OF SOME GRAND SCHEME. TO BE HEARD.

THIS IS THE FATE YOU SEEK?

She sobbed distantly, and the motion tore her chest. She ran her mangled fingers through her hair, clawing at her scalp.

It was in her head. It wouldn't get out of her head.

YOU ARGUE THE CHOICES I HAVE SHOWN YOU ARE FLAWED, BUT THEY WILL OCCUR AGAIN. THEY WILL BECOME YOUR EVERY MOMENT. THE PAIN YOU CHOSE IN YOUR SELECTIONS, YOU WILL HAVE TO CHOOSE AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THIS IS THE FATE THAT AWAITS YOU.

LET GO.

There was no more air in her lungs—every breath she tried to take was shallow, pained, a wretched little gasp she could barely hear over the pounding in her ears. It was impossible, that she was still alive, and yet, still, she was alive. For however little time left, she was still alive.

I WILL END YOUR AGONY. I WILL LET YOU REST.

LET GO.

She couldn't think. She couldn't focus. She wanted to focus.

Focus.

The children on the cliff-side that she'd put herself in front of. Were they alive?

Had that been real?

When she was a little girl, she had been told that her every moment was preparing to take care of her elders. She had not been offered comfort, and so had never sought it. She had spent thousands of moments by herself, pushing herself, holding herself, giving herself the only comfort she could.

She had mastered, at a painfully young age, the art of silent weeping. Crying so hard your body shook, while the wails you were desperate to release wracked your lungs. When it was over, she, a child, had wiped her face and straightened her shoulders, and that was it.

Countless moments by herself. Hundreds of nights silently imagining a world where someone loved and cared for her. It had taken an impossible length of time for her to realize children shouldn't experience such things.

Children were supposed to be protected. Children were not supposed to carry the weight of responsibilities. They weren't supposed to be told that their pain was their own fault.

She'd been told, when she begged for help, that it was her fault. It was always her fault.

Even here, aching in the water, for her own stupid decisions—

She hoped those children were alive.

It's funny, the morals you gather in your life. Of all the nightmares, and the loneliness, and the cruelty, she'd come out furious. All of it, and she'd come out with the fierce belief that—

That children shouldn't have to hurt like that.

LET GO.

She—

She wouldn't—

LET GO.

She wasn't going to—

A noise forced itself out of her throat.

“Nn—“

She choked on her tongue, sobbed. Her wrecked fingers scrambled on the tiles at the bottom of the pool as she struggled, blindly, to push herself onto her knees. Get up. Get up.

It hurt. She hurt.

LET GO.

“N—No, no.”

She wouldn't die. She wasn't going to die here. She refused. She refused.

When she was sixteen years old, she had nearly run her car into a building. At seventeen, she dreamed she stopped existing, and she waited day after day for the right moment to disappear altogether.

And she didn't. She didn't do those things, despite how badly she wanted to. She had come so close to the edge of despair, of giving up, of giving in, of letting go.

She stayed alive. She stayed. She chose life. Again and again.

It had been out of spite, mostly. Spite and anger had fueled her, had strengthened her. She had a desperate need to prove she could do what everyone had said she couldn't do. She was going to stay alive, and she was going to help people where people hadn't helped her.

She wasn't going to die here. She wasn't done being spiteful and angry. She wasn't done helping kids who hurt like she hurt. She wasn't don't protecting people who needed protecting.

She wasn't done.

LET GO.

“No!”

There was a heat in the tips of her fingers. She could feel the strain in her shoulder blades, the way her twisted neck ached as she forced it to obey her.

“I won't!”

Through the haze she forced herself to wade through, and the persistent shrieking every muscle made, she was struck with the overwhelming sensation that the Sun Disk was examining her. Inspecting her; the broken creature on the bottom of the pool that dared defy it, and its bizarre and broken mind.

She shuddered and ignored it.

Get up. Get up.

She'd felt worse, she told herself. She'd wanted to die before. It had been more overwhelming then than it was now.

She could get through this. She would prove to this thing, too, that she was stronger than whatever it thought would be enough to break her.

She couldn't stand, couldn't find the footing, but her hands pressed to the flat face of the obelisk in front of her. She pushed herself against it, pressing her forehead to the smooth stone. Her fingers pressed into the sharp edges. It was a hot surface, towering over her. The light at its peak hovered at the edges of her failing vision.

YOU CHOOSE TO LIVE, DESPITE THE CONSEQUENCES?

The heat was spreading rapidly, through her forehead and fingers, into her aching limbs and mess of a chest. The pain had begun to fade in its place, until all that remained was a dull throbbing.

YOU CHOOSE LIFE?

She made a faint noise of affirmation into the stone face, her eyes shut. She could barely feel the water anymore.

YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF WILL.

I YIELD TO YOU.

She was tired, her cheek pressed to the obelisk. There was little room for satisfaction or pride through the exhaustion.

TELL ME YOUR NAME.

She could breathe again. The wet ache that had threatened to drown her was gone. Yet, her breaths still shuddered from the effort. She whispered into the stone, resigned.

"Mirah. Mirah."

THAT IS NOT YOUR NAME.

Her eyes snapped open.

It knew. Of course it knew—it knew everything. It had known from the beginning, hadn't it? It had known who she was. It knew what would make her fight harder than anything.

It had known she would win.

“You're right,” she hissed. Her teeth were grit again. Her palms dug into the edges of the obelisk, stinging and burning as she pushed against the rock. She wanted to stand.

“May. My name is May.”

She'd chosen the name herself, years and years ago. She knew herself as no other name, despite the one she'd been given at birth. She'd always been May, the moment she started living outside of how she'd been told to.

No one had ever referred to her by it but herself, but it was her. The person she'd always been.

I YIELD TO YOU, CROWNBEARER.

REACH FOR ME.

May lifted her head to the light, the lines of her face cast into sharp illumination. The Sun Disk shone. She lifted her hand, reaching up, up.

REACH FOR ME, MAY.

Her fingers traced the smooth golden face. She spoke, her throat dry, her intent filling the cavern with a power to rival its own.

"Make me a queen."

-

The pool glowed with its own golden sunlight. The ceiling of the cavern was painted with its patterns, shimmering brighter, brighter. The warmth of the water turned to boiling, then to burning.

Where her fingers touched the Sun Disk, there was a deep, firey sensation that swelled inside of her. It was sharp and piercing—it made its way out her chest and to her skin and her face. When she looked up at her fingers, she found them coming undone. Golden ash where the tips had been, floating serenely in the air. Her hair, now, too, came apart, the strands crushed to fine gold.

She began to scream again.

She was torn to pieces, shred, taken apart until all that were left were the atoms, glowing bright like stars. And, still, she was present. Still, she lived.

It burned, like standing in a bonfire, but there was no smoke. There was only heat, and fire, only the intense flash and the stars, the billion billion billion stars that had once been a person.

She lived, she died. She lived.

And, then, again—

Breathe.

She gasped hard, her body shaking against the obelisk. The light of the cavern began to dim to little more than a faint glow, as though lit by a weak candlelight.

Her body was whole. Her fingers were pressed to the stone, she could feel its engravings under her nails. The pain that had flooded her—the pain of coming apart at the seams—slipped out, as though it would spread through the water instead.

Her sight returned. When May looked up, she could see, even in the dim glow, the details her face, reflected into the smooth face of gold. Her vision was clear, crisp.

Slowly, she braced herself against the obelisk, and pulled herself to her feet.

The Sun Disk hovered in front of her. With lidded eyes, she examined the object, her gaze cool, and then, as though she was grabbing her keys, she reached for it gracelessly. It changed in her hand, but she did not bother to look at it as she waded across the water to the edge of the pool.

She forced it to sit atop her head. It stayed there without her holding it—it belonged there.

She began to gather her belongings—her coat, her boots—as though nothing had happened. Across from her, the statue stared at the empty and dim pool.

Your predecessor, the Disk whispered. And, then, as an addendum, Do not fail me like she has.

She said nothing. As she walked past the statue, the gold feathers that covered the ground in front of her parted, like real feathers, blown gently by the wind.

Her footing was somewhat shaky. The walk down the tunnel to the antechamber was a slow one. This time, she paid no heed to the inscriptions on the wall as she braced her hand against her. With each step, her firmness grew, until, as she made her way to the mouth of the cave entrance, she was standing straight.

The harness lay forgotten on the ground. She didn't need it anymore.

Through the crack that was the entrance, May could see the light of breaking dawn. The ocean shimmered with breaking sunlight. She climbed through the crack, holding herself against the walls that kept her from falling into the crashing waters below. From here, she scanned the horizon with narrowed eyes.

It was like seeing a new world.

Ataret, the Sun Disk called. Distantly, she recalled the word as Jewish. Ataret, choose your form.

She thought, the idea rolling in her head. Below, the water continued to spray cool mist up towards her.

She chose.

The change felt like nothing—it was like shedding a loose layer of clothing from her frame, shaking it off to reveal her shape.

From the crack along the side of Beachy Head, a small bird, barely a blot along the white wall, fluttered and took flight upwards. The sparrow went unnoticed by the humans that stood at the edge, studying the anchor posts that anchored nothing. It dived down the hillside, over the cresting peaks, and then disappeared.

[butterflyinthewell]

Let’s clear up this hooey with “orlandomakeup” right here, right now.

* * * TW: Mentions of violence, attempted murder, rape culture, abuse, a suicide attempt, alcohol (spiked drink) and severe bullying. * * *

This post was typed with a calm mind. It’s not an angry retaliation. I want to set the facts straight on this issue. I have no desire for anyone to send hate to orlandomakeup or boycott them-- I only encourage a boycott of anything that supports Autism Speaks.

This person is not keen on keeping facts straight. They’re projecting their own behavior onto me. I’m merely laying out the facts and letting the rest of the chips fall where they may.

(Note: I made some minor edits and corrections because I was interrupted several times while trying to type this and it posted to my blog instead of drafts for some reason. It should all be correct now as of 1:35pm PST on August 5, 2017.)

First off, it sounds like orlandomakeup is a caregiver and not autistic themselves. The artist is not the problem, it’s the person promoting their art. I think the artist is unaware that Autism Speaks is harmful, but orlandomakeup seems to conveniently leave off any means of contacting the artist who painted the artwork.

Anyway, here’s the facts of what happened.

My reblog of the post in question. Orlandomakeup deleted the original, so you won’t find it on their page unless they reposted it from scratch.  http://butterflyinthewell.tumblr.com/post/163797108223/orlandomakeup-buy-a-painting-and-support-autism

They responded via the post comment system. It’s on the post, but I’ll put the text of it here, too: (images of the art left off to prevent the screenshot from getting huge, you can see them if you click the link I shared above.)

Their text on the post: 

“Buy a painting and support autism. 10% of sale will be donated to Autism Speaks. Painting created through the eyes of autism.

White snowflake on cobalt blue background. Acrylic paint. Small amount of blue glitter for added sparkle. Feeling of calm, winter, peace, tranquility, contentment. 16"x20" canvas.

#autism #autistic #abstractart #artforautism #aspergerssyndrome #autismspectrumdisorders #highfunctiningautism #autismspeaks #autisticartist #autismawareness #autismsupport #photooftheday #potd #abstractart #aspergers #lifewithautism #artforaspergers

(Ebay link left off to avoid it getting clicks.)”

My reblog text:  

“Don’t buy this art. The money goes to a charity that harms autistic people. I wish the OP would support ASAN instead at autisticadvocacy.org because that charity really helps autistic people without trying to silence or erase us.”

And their comment

“The artist is autistic, and Autism Speaks has never harmed her. You speak of bullying yet you bully. The artist has been bullied everyday of her life due to autism. She has even been held by gun and knife, shot and stabbed at, and beaten until left nearly for dead. Your hate exemplifies why people are bullies towards those of us with autism.”

They’re calling me a bully because I reblogged the linked post above and told people not to buy “this art” because it’s supporting Autism Speaks and said I wished the artist would support ASAN instead. ASAN (Autistic Self-Advocacy Network) is a charity run by autistic people that actually helps autistic people and not parents / caregivers / anybody except the actually autistic people. 

They equated my behavior to being bullied-- to being shot, stabbed, beaten, etc. Just...what? I was bullied in nearly the same way for being autistic, same as the artist. I was never shot at (thank God), but for all 4 years of high school I was threatened with rape and murder, survived a murder attempt, narrowly escaped a rape situation by refusing a drink spiked with vodka that would’ve intoxicated me to a blackout, I endured public humiliation on an almost daily basis and attempted suicide once because none of the authority figures who were supposed to protect me did shit to stop the bullying...

...and orlandomakeup is equating my saying “don’t buy this art because it supports Autism Speaks” to THAT?

Wow, talk about trivializing bullying. Just wow.

At no point do I say “ewww, don’t by this artist’s art ever!” or “eew, this art is ugly!” or “the artist sucks!”

All I did was point out that buying that art will support Autism Speaks, a charity that harms autistic people. 

Orlandomakeup is defending Autism Speaks on the grounds that “it never hurt them (the autistic artist)”.

Again, I need to remind people that defending a person or organization as “good” because “it / they didn’t hurt me / this person!” is like saying someone who abuses their spouse is a good person because they distribute food at a homeless shelter. That person may help the poor, but they still go home and beat the shit out of their spouse and they are NOT a good person.

Likewise, Autism Speaks is not a good organization. Just because (general) you saw it do good doesn’t mean it is good. It still stigmatizes and demonizes autism and their claim of “acceptance” is “accept that your child has an autism diagnosis, but don’t accept their autism.” Autism Speaks changed “cure” to “solution”. All they did was change a word, not their rhetoric. Autism Speaks is harmful to autistic people the same way PETA is harmful to animals. They care about profit, not lives.

So, I still ask-- where is the bullying behavior this orlandomakeup person claims I’m engaging in? Nowhere. Orlandomakeup, reblogged stuff about bullying and made one long callout post that doesn’t directly name me even though it’s very obviously about me. Keep in mind they did this after they blocked me, and I only found out because someone who follows me saw their post. I figured it would look at it out of curiosity. I plan to let this whole thing go after this point, but I want to clear the facts up before they get all muddled and twisted their through distorted view. 

Here is a link to their callout post. http://chicglamgeek.com/post/163823401339/fifty-shades-of-bullies  (DO NOT SEND HATE!!!)

ETA: Forgot a link due to constant interruptions while writing this post. Here’s their “bully” tag where they again attack me without naming me.  http://chicglamgeek.com/search/bullying  I didn’t bother screencapping. If they delete stuff, it just proves they’re trying to hide that they’re projecting their behavior onto me.

I also have a screenshot of their big post. Linked due to size. http://imgur.com/a/Dr4zG

The text of the post is in the description area below the image so that those who are blind or have trouble processing screenshots can read the post, too. I’ll add the text under the cut of this post just in case imgur farts.

They claim I’m showing “disdain” of the art when that’s not even close to what I was doing, but orlandomakeup won’t see any other POV except their own. I fully endorse buying the autistic artist’s art (because it’s beautiful art!), just don’t buy the art that supports Autism Speaks. 

If someone knows how to contact the autistic artist to tell them about A$, please do.

There. Those are the facts of the situation. I’m now washing my hands of it. Orlandomakeup can continue calling me a bully if they want. I wanted my side of the issue out there in case they continue trying to convince people that I bullied them. 

I did not bully orlandomakeup or the autistic artist. I am not saying orlandomakeup is a bad person.

Unfortunately, orlandomakeup is misrepresenting everything I said and is projecting their own behavior onto me. They could have blocked me and carried on, but they chose to write that long and obvious post and may be talking trash about me in private. (I have no way to know, nor do I care. I know who I am and what I represent.) 

Again, I say this is not posted in anger. I posted my side to ensure the facts are straight. From here on out orlandomakeup can say whatever they want about me, but I know I’m telling the truth to the best of my ability.

Please do not harass them or send hate. That solves nothing. 

If you feel an urge to send them something mean, do yourself a favor and close the tab instead, okay?

Text below. Bolding is their references to me.  Btw, I’m amused that they think I’m a Millennial. I’m not a Millennial. I was born in 1980. I just turned 37 (as of July 29, 2017).

There are two basic types of bullies.

1. Those who have full understanding of their actions and seek power and control.

2. Those who lack the intellectual capacity to understand their behavior.

The latter is the most dangerous, because there is no reasoning with them. They disparage and harass with the belief that they are doing no wrong. All bullies are shallow, insecure, and need numbers. They have no strength of their own. They are weak.

Millennials are exceedingly becoming the bullies about which they speak. They bully as a platform for drama and attention. They lack the intelligence to acknowledge their faults and how to conduct themselves. They lack professionalism and decency. Millennials suffer from narcissism. They think their lives and stories are more compelling, because they want attention. However, there are bullies well into their late ages that also have these characteristics.

These bullies can be found at any age and are not confined to school. They are coworkers, neighbors, strangers, and, more dangerously, online. Bullies intend to harass even if the are not intelligent to know they are bullying. At any age, they have the ability to know they should not perpetuate negativity, but some still claim they do not understand how their actions are harmful. While this may seem contrary, consider that when you address their behavior with them, they insist they are “not bad” people, ask their friends to insist they are nice, even say they are Christian. Your addressing their behavior puts them on notice that they are harmful. At this point, they become aware that they are engaging in this behavior but are defensive to avoid admitting they are wrong. Introverts and intelligent people admit when they are wrong, because they are more concerned with data and facts than feelings. They have no incentive to lie. They do not rely upon external validation. Extroverts do. This is not to say that all extroverts lack intellectual capacity, only that they are more motivated to be bullies.

Here are some examples of bullying that were unprovoked and occurred in situations where the person being harassed did not know the bully and/or was not interacting with the bully:

1. I like how you match your lipstick to your sweater. On second thought, I don’t. It’s ugly. You’re a bitch.

2. You need to pray to be normal.

3. Jesus can make you not be Asian.

4. We don’t want, you know, the black people in our neighborhood.

5. You’re not celibate. Look at you. You look like a model.

6. Don’t buy this art.

7. You need to smile.

Why are these words harmful? One of the “rules” of Christianity is to do unto others as you would have done unto you. If you cannot say something nice, do not say it at all. These examples ignore cultural and biological differences. They are punitive.

1. Introverts do not need compliments. In fact, they sometimes find compliments offensive. This “compliment” was a way to seek attention. The person did not receive attention, so he had intent to harm to assuage his feelings of insecurity.

2, 3, & 7. While there is a normal distribution, statistically speaking, people are not normal. There are cultural and physiological differences, which may seem “odd,” but those differences do not warrant being forced beliefs of the insecure. If you do not smile, shake hands, laugh at jokes, or make eye contact, you are not abnormal. You handle / process emotion differently.

3 & 4. Racist and ethnocentrist.

5. There is no look of celibacy. If one prefers to preserve his/her temple, then others should not assume their inability to keep their legs shut afflicts everyone.

6. Demanding that others boycott art defames the artist, nothing else. That statement alone shows disdain for the artist and/or the art. If one feels financial contribution to the artist is repulsive, or one feels the contribution would benefit one to the detriment of others (i.e. Boycotting people who shop at Hobby Lobby* as opposed to boycotting Hobby Lobby itself), then one should make the distinction. There is a difference between harassment and social awareness. Using the Hobby Lobby example, a person who shops at Hobby Lobby may not be aware of the practices of the establishment. Demanding people avoid the individual is harmful, seeks to exclude, and seeks to harass the individual rather than the establishment. Demanding the person avoid Hobby Lobby is completely different. A mature minded, intelligent person knows the difference. A bully who lacks intellectual capacity does not make the distinction.

The best way to handle someone who disparages you and claims they did nothing wrong is to ignore him/her. S/he will have friends to join in the disparage fest, because s/he is insecure and has to belittle everyone and everything that is secure. S/he needs power and control to compensate for the lack of power and control s/he feels with his/her life. S/he is unreasonable, immature, unprofessional, and lacks mental capabilities to examine his/her actions. This type of person always has to be right and will never understand his/her shortcomings. Additionally, these people are not intelligent enough to understand that constant communications from them and/or others on their behalves are harassment. It is no different than painting the n- word or the word “slut” on someone’s locker or home. It is no different than walking by someone bound, throwing rocks at them.

The best last word is the one left unsaid. This does not make one weak. It makes one mature and intelligent enough to understand the other person is deficient. In other words, thou shall not give pearl to the swine. Do not waste your energy on people who are unwilling to accept and admit their faults, those who are incapable of higher thought processing.

* This in no way suggests anyone boycott Hobby Lobby. People have their own reasons for shopping or not shopping there.