#not a single straight person among them huh

[aaron-minyard]

happy pride month to the fruitiest team in all of collegiate exy

[qqueenofhades]

Good Omens Season 2: Some Thoughts (and also Screaming)

First, /screams

Second, obligatory disclaimer that this meta contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all six episodes. If you somehow have managed to remain virginally unspoiled, look away now, scroll past, or add "good omens s2" and "good omens spoilers" to your block list, as those are the tags I have been using for all posts and reblogs.

Third, /screams more

Okay okay okay. Deep breaths.

Anyway, so, uh, how about all that, huh? First, the good thing about the tone of the season overall was that it felt considerably darker and more adult, in a good way. We didn't have the precocious kiddies, the kitsch and literally-comphet Anathema and Newt, the so-clever narration, etc. All that was gone, which makes sense when you consider that a) the end of last season saw them reboot into an entirely new universe, and b) the fact that God has gone silent is, in fact, a major plot point for the season. We don't have Her slyly telling us the story, or indeed anything, and everyone is left to make their own judgments and take their own actions. Which, obviously, gets them into a lot of trouble, especially when Metatron (the Voice of God, aka someone acting in the belief that they're speaking for God and therefore doing terrible harm) swoops in with the ultimate buzzkill at the end of episode 6. But we'll get to that.

The downside was that the main, present-day plot (hiding Gabriel in the bookshop and trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love) was fairly thin, felt stretched out and at times weirdly paced, and otherwise existed mostly to get us to That Ending and the setup for season 3. But the ending was so damn good (if obviously, very painful) that I can't be TOO mad, not least because we spent six episodes with them just making absolutely no pretense about the whole thing being as incredibly homosexual as possible. I'll be honest: I did not think they were going to actually, explicitly go there. Neil Gaiman has been so consistent about "your interpretations are valid and you're welcome to read it however you want, but the only canon is what's on screen," which I think is frankly a good thing (not least since the Neil GAYman Cinematic Universe is consistently very, very good to us queers), that I just... didn't quite think they'd pull the trigger. Sir Terry is dead and can't have active input, this is based on a book published 30 years ago, maybe they didn't want to make it LIKE THAT... etc. I certainly hoped, but I didn't really think they would.

Uh. Well.

As I said in my various semi-coherent liveblog posts, I honestly don't think there was a single straight person in the entire season, among both major and background characters. Aziraphale/Crowley and Maggie/Nina are the obvious paralleling couples, but Beelzebub (using "they" pronouns and addressed as "Lord" despite presenting as femme/femme-adjacent) is clearly nonbinary and therefore also queer, and the countless gay/queer side characters were just /chefs kiss. From Job's son making a sassy pass at Aziraphale, to the random Scottish goon with Grindr on his phone (which he then gives to Aziraphale, because what is subtlety), to the interracial couple with the trans spouse at the Pride and Prejudice ball, there was just a lot of casual, unremarked, non-story-critical queer representation visible at every turn. It's like the NGCU saw the bigots wailing about Sandman season 1 being extremely gay and went CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LET'S MAKE GOOD OMENS 2 EVEN MORE GAY.

God bless.

Obviously, Jon Hamm as Amnesia!Gabriel stole the show (he was SO fucking funny) and it was also incredibly fun to watch Miranda Richardson repurposed as a scheming demon. Nina Sosanya also reappeared as Nina the coffee shop owner, which leads us into the Maggie-and-Nina subplot. They're obviously, wildly, incredibly clearly an analogue for Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, but they're also each, crucially, a mix of both. On the surface, Maggie is Aziraphale: the plump, blonde, earnest, sweet-natured one owning a slightly dated book music shop and somewhat clueless about emotional nuances, while Nina is (also on the surface) Crowley, the hard-edged dark loner who doesn't want to open herself up to people or be spotted caring. But emotionally, Maggie is Crowley: the one openly pining, clearly besotted, only wanting to hang around their crush and do whatever they can to make themselves useful, while Nina is Aziraphale. Interested but reticent, attracted but conflicted, trapped in an abusive relationship with a demanding offscreen "lover" (Lindsay/Heaven) who tries to constantly control and shame them without ever offering much, if anything in return. By the end, they bring themselves around to what Maggie/Crowley are offering, but by then, well. We've got a lot more problems on our hands.

As I also said in my earlier posts, this entire thing has always been a metaphor for religion, queerness, and what religion -- especially abusive, fundamentalist, organized religion -- does to queer people, but they really cranked the FUCK out of that metaphor this season. Aziraphale is guilt-tripped, controlled, and shamed for his attraction to Crowley at every turn. He is torn between his imagined duty to Heaven, in all its ignorant, uncaring, bureaucratic, gratuitously cruel system that he still insists on seeing the best in because he can't bear the alternative, and the chaotic and sometimes grey but genuinely more good morality that Crowley offers him. (Can I just say, we were explicitly shown that the two of them together doing "just a little miracle" are more powerful than Heaven AND Hell combined.) And at the end, he's told that the only way he can be with Crowley -- what Metatron explicitly blackmails him with -- is if they both go back to heaven, submit themselves to the cruel system again and give up everything that has made them who they are: their home in London, their human friends, their reliance on each other, their independence, their own ways of doing things. You can be queer in this (religious) framework, but only the limited, watered-down, controlled, controllable, constantly-under-supervision kind of queer, which relies on both you and your lover "converting" back to the true faith. And if you don't cooperate, they will literally kidnap you, lie to you, manipulate you, take you from your soulmate, and force you right back into doing the one thing (destroying the world) that you never, ever wanted to do in the first place, because in their minds, that is still better than this. It's for your own good.

Ouch.

And the thing is: that's why the ending a) hits so hard and b) is so fucking painful, because of course Aziraphale agrees. He has no conception of being able to defy Heaven on his own; he has always, always needed Crowley for that. In the flashbacks, when Aziraphale is faced with an order from Heaven that he desperately does not want to carry out (such as letting all Job's children get killed), he still relies completely on Crowley to "outsmart the rules" and find a better way. Crowley is A Crafty Demon; that's what he does, and so Aziraphale rationalizes it to himself that therefore that must be fine. Even in season 1, when he really didn't want the Apocalypse to happen but initially thought it was his duty as a good Heaven footsoldier, he relied on Crowley to talk him out of it and allow him to do what he really wants instead. That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell, as exemplified in that scene in episode 2, where Crowley tempts Aziraphale with the "pleasures of the flesh" while sprawled on his back in Ravish Me mode like the giant walking gay disaster that he is. (Sorry, buddy. That beard. Can't do it.) Everything that Aziraphale's existence is, that makes him who he is, that he loves and cherishes the most (in this case, food and wine) comes from Crowley. Everything else is just background noise.

Throughout the season, what we see is Aziraphale increasingly coming around to the fantasy of being with Crowley. He's coy and flirty; he talks about "our car" and expects Crowley will let him (which he does); he wants to have a Jane Austen ball and for them to dance together (oh my heart); he even thinks, at the crucial moment, that the best way for them to be together is to go back to heaven just like they were in the beginning, once more perfect angels, as if those entire six thousand years of struggle and grief and pining and separation and falling didn't happen. And Crowley -- poor, poor, brave, devoted, heartbroken Crowley -- has just heard for the first time in said six thousand years that actually telling the person you love how you feel is an option. Maggie and Nina tell them point-blank that their whole stupid plan failed because people aren't chess pieces who can be moved and automatically achieve the desired result. And of course this gobsmacks the dearest and dumbest Ineffable Husbands, because they can't conceive of anything else. People are chess pieces in the Great War of Heaven and Hell; Aziraphale and Crowley themselves are chess pieces who have been desperately trying to get out of being moved by external forces, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what they are. They don't have volition or agency aside from that which they can sneak for themselves in brief and stolen moments. That's it.

Until, well. It's not it. They discover that this whole would-be war is actually an elaborate ruse to cover up another angel-demon romance, that of Gabriel and Beelzebub. (I'll be honest, I'm 99% sure they did this storyline because they saw the fans crackshipping them, but I appreciate a fictional narrative that values and incorporates its fans' input, rather than trying to constantly "trick" or "outsmart" them or "do what they don't expect.") And Gabriel and Beelzebub get to be together, but only by leaving their world forever. They have to desert their homes, their structures, even their own identities, and never return. And Crowley and Aziraphale are so rooted in their "precious, perfect, fragile" life in their little corner of Soho, with their bookshop and their Bentley and their dining at the Ritz (which they didn't get to do in the end because METATRON /shakes fist), that that just doesn't work. Neither of them can conceive of doing that. So Aziraphale thinks "go back to heaven and try to make the terrible system do some good and take what we can in terms of being together" and Crowley just... pours out his heart. He's ready to fucking propose. He barely stops himself from saying something to the effect of "I want to spend eternity with you." He begs, he pleads with Aziraphale to go away not in the literal sense, but the emotional/metaphysical: to finally break this toxic dependence on Heaven and tell them once and for all where to stick it. And because he is desperate to make Aziraphale understand, he finally throws all caution to the winds and recklessly, desperately, adoringly kisses him, the one thing he's wanted to do for ages and...

Gets. Shot. Down.

Ugghhhhh. I'm suffering all over again. Aziraphale wants him, hungers for it, for them, and yet he's been so abused and so conditioned by Heaven (he's still blithely repeating to Crowley's face that "Hell are the bad guys!") that he just cannot accept that kind of desperate, blind, limitless, lawless affection. He even forgives Crowley for this "transgression," just to really twist the knife, and Crowley just can't take it, can't face up to how terribly this has all gone up in flames, after he went to heaven trying to find the answer for Gabriel's situation. Gabriel, who he fucking hates. Gabriel, who tried to kill the angelic being he loves (and for which Crowley has transparently never forgiven him). And yet at one pouty puppy-eyed look from Aziraphale and a warning that whoever is harboring Gabriel might be in danger, Crowley leaps headlong into the Bentley again and rushes to the rescue while "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is blaring. He stoutly protects Gabriel; he does a miracle to disguise him; he lets him have hot chocolate and stay in the bookshop; he guards him from the literal demonic horde outside. All because of Aziraphale. That's it. And then, it still doesn't work. Not only that, Gabriel's absence and decision to forego Armageddon gives Heaven the one tool they finally need to take Aziraphale away from him.

I repeat: Ugghhhhhhhh.

(In a good way. Ngl, I love this angst. This is the kind of angst my brain Thrives on, the Thematic Parallel Romantic Character Arc kind. Nom nom nom. But also: AGONY.)

I also need to talk about Aziraphale driving the Bentley, aside from the obvious metaphor of him being in Crowley's home while Crowley is in his. Last season, we had the "you go too fast for me, Crowley" scene with them sitting in said Bentley, which was Aziraphale saying he's not ready for a relationship. In this season, as noted above, we see Aziraphale increasingly embracing the potential fantasy of being with Crowley. But here's the catch: when he's in the Bentley this time, driving it, setting the pace, acclimating to the idea, he's driving his own idea of what the Bentley/his relationship with Crowley is. It's not the real thing. He plays classical music; he supplies himself sweets; he turns it yellow; he drives too slow. Crowley calls him in another old-married-couple snitfit to complain that Aziraphale's messed it up, but what Aziraphale has actually messed up (or will, by the end of the season) is far more consequential than just a car. He's changed the entire shape of their relationship to the one he thinks can make it work, and it just doesn't. It has to be them -- "we could have been... Us" -- or it's not even close to the truth. It's not worth their time.

I repeat: Ouch.

Speaking of the writers validating fan theories, I know we all picked up and screamed about on Crowley's idea of Peak Romance Guaranteed To Fall In Love being sheltering from rain and gazing into each other's eyes, which confirms that that poor bastard was indeed ass-over-teakettle gone as soon as he met Aziraphale (again) in Eden. I also need to talk about the 1941 redux, because wow. This time, the danger comes from Hell, which we see being its usual self: gleefully, pointlessly cruel, pettily backbiting, dirty, sniping, tedious, endless, determined to mindlessly destroy because They're The Bad Guys and they like it. So they blackmail, spy on, miracle-block, illicitly photograph, and try to prove that Aziraphale and Crowley are secretly a couple, right after Aziraphale himself has just had the Light From Heaven realization that he's in love (which we all also picked up on in s1). They're forcibly outing them (to speak of more Religious Queer Trauma) in order to break them up/get them into trouble with their authorities/families. Aziraphale and Crowley manage to escape it mostly by dumb luck, but Crowley having an altogether freakout, hands shaking, barely able to actually point the gun at Aziraphale even in the knowledge that it's supposed to be fake, is just... wow. He can't even fathom the idea of ever trying to destroy him in earnest, especially when he knows on some level that Aziraphale also finally just realized his own feelings. So I just need to --

/screams

Anyway, Aziraphale's entire arc this season is doing what he thinks is the right thing and then inadvertently causing harm and damage as a result. In the Edinburgh flashbacks (live slug reaction of me: SEAN BIGGERSTAFF???!!) he tries to stop Elspeth from stealing bodies and gets Morag killed and Crowley drinking the laudanum to save him (though that part with David Tennant just riffing left and right, using his natural Scottish accent, and being Tiny Crowley/Huge Crowley was hilarious). He invites his neighbors to a Pride and Prejudice ball and makes them all the target for demonic attack. And of course the Job episode: Aziraphale, horrified at Heaven's callous cruelty, desperate not to get Job's children killed, willing to go along with Crowley's tricks to save them somehow, tempted by Crowley to do the fucknasty with their angel bits eat some food and decide that he likes it. As mentioned, the whole thing about God being silent this season is a major thematic choice. The only time we see/hear God is Her communing with Job from afar. Aziraphale enviously imagines the answers he must be getting (he's not, he's baffled and perplexed), while Crowley longs beyond words to even have the opportunity to ask the question: why? Why do this? Why is this your plan?

And of course, this absence culminates in the Metatron, the Voice of God, the person arrogantly claiming that they're speaking for God and know exactly what Heaven wants, being able to seize Aziraphale by the short hairs and absolutely fuck him over. Gabriel is gone/decommissioned/eloping with Beelzebub, so Heaven needs a Supreme Leader (God apparently is no longer a factor in the equation). And what this Supreme Leader needs to do is finally unleash the Apocalypse that Gabriel decided to pass on (the Second Coming). Aziraphale needs to be punished, taken away from Crowley's influence/love, and put back under Heaven's explicit control, so Metatron spots a great opportunity to do all three at once. It's not an accident that the exact tool he uses to get Aziraphale to agree is "now you can actually be with Crowley!" Aziraphale and Crowley have been trying so hard to hide out from their respective Head Offices, but now all at once, there's this seemingly miraculous opportunity for them not to have to do that anymore! They can be together! They can be sanctioned by Heaven! They can give up all this hiding and sneaking around and lying! Isn't that better?

... As long as, of course, they give up absolutely everything that makes them who they are. No big deal. Minor catch. Probably nothing.

Metatron doesn't let Aziraphale have time to escape, or think it over, or reflect, or anything. He pressures Aziraphale to come with him immediately, or be once more subject to Heaven's implicit wrath/destruction/judgment. Believe me, Aziraphale already KNOWS he's made a huge mistake, as soon as he hears what Metatron really wants: bringing him back to unleash the Apocalypse that Aziraphale and Crowley have given up literally everything to prevent. He doesn't need time to reflect. By the time my man is in that elevator, he's well aware of what a catastrophic misjudgment he's made, and yet --

Aziraphale needs this. He has, as noted, literally always relied on Crowley outsmarting Heaven's cruel orders in order to prevent himself from having to do them. He's relied on Crowley rescuing him ("rescuing me makes him so happy," WELL BUB, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS NEED IT). He admits to Crowley's face that "I need you!" He hates Heaven's sadistic meanness, but he has absolutely no framework, in and of himself, to defy it. When the rubber hits the road, he will crumple and try to go along with it, and now he's been put in a position where he's going to have to stand up, defy Heaven, and make the break once and for all BY HIMSELF. He doesn't have Crowley around to do it for him, he has no support, he is going to arrive in Heaven and be shuttled straight off to the Apocalypse 2.0 War Room. The only way he gets out of this is if he actively stands up, if he chooses himself and Crowley and their life, and he has to.

The thing is:

Aziraphale has lived his entire eternal existence Looking Up. Up is the direction of Goodness and Heaven. Up is where Angels go. Up is where Aziraphale comes from and where Demons and Hell are not. But now he's going Up, in a position to take over the whole shebang, and it's the last thing he wants.

So he's going to have to come back Down.

He's going to have to Fall. He's going to have to get back Below at all costs. He's going to have to finally, once and for all, understand what led Crowley to make the choice to leave Heaven and never come back. It's only then that they can possibly be together on any kind of conscious, equal, deliberate footing, claim their own agency, reject Heaven AND Hell, and try to really earn that South Downs cottage and that happy-ever-after, and it's gonna hurt so good.

Now if you will excuse me, /screams

[eiflawriting]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 - 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯-𝘵𝘰-𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀! 𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.

𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

"Y/N, dear. Hurry up, we're going to be late!" your mom shouted from downstairs. 

𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻𝒀-𝑺𝑰𝑿. 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑳𝑬. 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨 𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺. This wasn't the life you originally planned, but honestly, you couldn't complain. You're the youngest of six siblings. Five brothers and one sister. And with being the youngest comes overprotection. What comes with the overprotection comes them wanting nothing but the best for you— even if that means arranging a marriage with a man you've never met.   

You loved your family. You had a good relationship with your parents, and you're close with your siblings. Especially your eldest brother, Obi. Whenever your parents would lecture you about your unhinged lifestyle, it was Obi who would come to your defense. He could understand you just wanting to have fun because he was once like you before he married and became a father. Your parents needed to realize that you won't be in your twenties forever, and eventually, you planned on getting your shit together. 

You were the black sheep among everyone in your family (which is pretty big, by the way). The wild child who loves having fun and going with the flow. You thought life was too short, so you would live every day as if it were your last. After clocking out your receptionist job, you would head straight to the bar with your co-workers to drink your life way. 

Although your family loved how free you were, they wanted you to have some type of stability in your life. To them, you weren't immature. However, the drunken nights of coming home, or sometimes not even at all, had them questioning do you have any sense of direction? 

To everyone's surprise, you graduated young and had a bachelor's in psychology. You were the perfect balance of brains, beauty, and a party animal. You knew there was a time and place for everything, so when it was time for you to get your degree, you did so effortlessly without mishaps. Initially, you planned to be a therapist, but after graduating college, you wanted a break. 

Yeah, you didn't have any failing moments throughout school. Unfortunately, though, that didn't mean it was easy. The last thing you wanted to do was start working after achieving your degree. Thus, that's how you found yourself here, being a receptionist at a law firm who loved partying while their degree grows dust in a box. 

You wound up being in an arranged marriage because your parents didn't want to admit that they were tired of you living at home. They thought you were too beautiful and had too good of a personality to still be single. You've only had one boyfriend throughout your entire life, and that was when you were twenty-two. A college sweetheart, to be exact. You were in love. As cliché as it may sounds, he made you feel like the only girl in the world. Until he left abruptly, of course. No explanation. No heads up. You went to his dorm and his roommate told you he was gone. Some love, huh?

Anyways.

Having children and getting married was something you wanted, maybe in your mid-thirties. But you certainly weren't expecting that now. You agreed to this arrangement because even though your family didn't express it, you felt like you were a disappointment. You grew up in a middle-class household. Your parents worked hard to provide for you and your siblings to ensure you didn't have the life they did. You were the last amongst the siblings to not be married with no kids, so having made a few calls, you were set to get married within the next six months. 

Now, here you are, in your room, preparing to meet and have dinner with your soon-to-be husband.  

You knew your parents would disapprove of your outfit choice, but you had to dress to impress, right? The attire you had on was a black sequin maxi halter dress with a plunging vee neckline. The high slit and back lace-up detail was definitely your favorite. You paired it with expensive red bottom heels and minimal accessories. You had micro links installed in your hair the week before, allowing curlers to set as you did a neutral makeup look. Taking one more look in the mirror, you felt confidently beautiful. It was a chilly night in Tokyo, so you were sure to grab a coat before heading out the door. 

“Sorry, mom. I’m ready now,” you announced while walking down the stairs. 

Your mother's eyes widened. "Y/N, what do you have on? That's not the dress I chose for you." 

“Mom. No offense, but I don’t want to look like I’m going to Sunday’s Best. I’m a grown woman, and I am very capable of dressing myself.” 

“Well, if you were such a grown woman, we shouldn’t have to be arr-” 

“Honey. I think Y/N is absolutely right,” your father interrupted, which made you smile that he came to your defense. He walked over, giving you a kiss on the crown of your head. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, dad.” 

"And thank you for agreeing to this marriage. It may seem like we're controlling your life, but you know we just want the best for you." 

You deeply sighed. "I know. I guess it's the least I can do. But I'm definitely running out the door if he's ugly!" 

"I can ensure he's not ugly. He's actually a well-known bachelor in the city. His family's notability can do you well. And just like you, he's the youngest," your mother explained. 

“Ah, so two of the youngest being forced into marriage. The dream. You gotta love it.” 

Your mother eyed you before looking at your father, who was putting on her coat. “You see where she gets her mouth from?” 

“Haha, yeah, yeah. Let’s just go.” 

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑶𝑾 𝑨𝑻 𝑨𝑵 𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑵 𝑵𝑬𝑨𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝒁𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑨 𝑪𝑰𝑻𝒀. It was a beautifully decorated gated community with security posted at the entrance. When your mother said this was a notable family, she was definitely not overexaggerating. Pulling up to the gate, your father stated his name and reason for being here. Once confirming his identity, the guards allowed him in, and he proceeded to the location that was given for the meeting. The valet crew took care of the car as you and your parents walked toward the front door. After knocking, the door was open almost immediately, where you were greeted by who seemed to be one of the housemaids.   

The mansion was breathtaking. From the European porcelain tile floors, you guessed they were custom. This massive chandelier currently dangling over your head added a blinding glow to the room. The exorbitant scent gracing beneath your nose gave an eccentric citrus aroma, almost convincing you that living here wouldn't be too bad. 

Whoever designed the interior did a fantastic job, ensuring it perfectly balanced modern and traditional Japanese finishes. 

While you continued to survey the home, your attention was soon taken by the sounds of closing footsteps echoing down the hall. Glancing to your right, you saw three men in suits heading in your direction. Two older and one younger, which you figured would be your soon-to-be husband. Their presence was quite intimidating. However, it was nothing you couldn't handle with your natural charm. Maybe you were wrong, but even in this big beautiful mansion, the energy they seep made you feel that this family was broken. The complete opposite of yours. 

“Zen’in-san, it’s so nice to see you again. I’m glad you accepted this invitation to meet my daughter,” your father said while bowing. 

“L/N-san. The pleasure is mine. My apologies for rescheduling last minute. Also, for missing our game of shogi the other. I happened to get caught up in more important matters.” 

"Tch, yeah, like getting drunk and watching anime," the young man muttered while scrolling through his phone. 

“Ignore him.” 

What is going on?  

The older man now directed his attention toward you. "And you must [Y/N]. You look lovely. You'll be the perfect addition to our family. My name is Naobito Zen’in. I'll be your father-in-law." As if complimenting your looks was enough to have the young man standing behind his father to look up from his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Zen’in-san,” you bowed. 

“No need to be formal. Naobito is okay. Please, make yourself comfortable. Allow our maid to take your coat.” 

The maid stood behind you, aiding you in taking off your coat. With your appearance entirely on display, the young man could examine you. And based on the words that escaped his mouth, he was definitely pleased with what he saw. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. 

“Naoya, you insolent child. Your manners, ” firmed the other older man.  

"Move it, geezer." Naoya shoved the man out of his way to waltz over you. He grabbed your hand to place a wet kiss on the soft flesh of your knuckles. The mischievous smirk as he looked at you through his lashes told you everything you needed to know. "You are absolutely gorgeous. Maybe an arranged marriage isn't so bad if you're the trophy. The name's Naoya. Y/N, is it?" 

Seriously—what is going on?  

You scrunched up your face in utter disgust from his words, but you would be lying if you said he wasn't attractive. 

He was tall. Even with the assistance of your six-inch heels, he was towering over you. The white dress shirt with three buttons undone showed a glimpse of what seemed to be a tattoo on his chest and a gold chain with a serpent pendant. His navy pants were snugged, being perfectly tailored to his hips. You could see his build through his clothes, and maybe, just maybe , you wouldn't mind seeing him bare.   

A typical pretty boy with three piercings along his left ear and just one on his right. His hair was bleach blond with black accented roots. But what captivated you the most was his snake-like golden eyes. They bleed confidence... power... intimidation. Yeah—he's a fuck boy. 

You scoffed. “Trophy? I’m not an object. This isn’t some kind of race. We’re just getting married. Nothing more. Nothing less.” 

"Mhm, feisty. I think I like you already," he declared. Still holding your hand, Naoya looked behind you in an attempt to glance at your ass. You instinctively grabbed his face with your thumb and index finger, digging your nails into his flesh to bring his attention back to your face. "Rough, too? Yes. This should be pleasant." 

You raised your brows. “Do you have no shame?” 

“I do. But I also have an attraction.” 

“Whatever, blondie. Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Blondie?” 

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑻𝑴𝑶𝑺𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑨𝑳𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑻 𝑭𝑬𝑳𝑻 𝑺𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑶𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬, 𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑺𝑶𝑶𝑵-𝑻𝑶-𝑩𝑬-𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑳𝒀. Your parents attempted to spark a conversation, but based on the one-word responses coming from the Zen'ins, it seemed pointless to continue trying. All that resonated was the sound of cutlery being tapped across plates while you cut into your meal. At least the food was good.  

Naoya was sitting directly across from you, and his eyes nearly pierced holes through your head. His look was hungry. Almost as if you'd let him, he would fuck you right here on the table. Even while eating, he seemed to cut his food perfectly while keeping his sight on you. Anyone else would probably crack at his gaze, but as you said before—the Zen'ins' intimidating personas do not phase you. If anything, in a way, his look was alluring. Eye contact during sex must be intense with him. They had the potential to be desirable. Maybe you did like how he was leering at you. 

As soon as Naoya looked up from his phone, he wanted to fuck you. "Who is this intoxicatingly sexy woman?" The rich silkiness of your deep complexion caused him internally to go feral. He admired how your breasts were sitting perfectly in your dress, wanting to decorate them with his marks. Your body was so full and thick. That slit in your dress gave him a peek at the fold between your thigh and lower stomach. He knew you would taste so sweet on his tongue grazing along your core. And, fuck. The way you spoke to him with that spicy mouth of yours had him desperate to hear you moan his name in ecstasy. 

Naoya thought your eyes were so soft yet sultry. Oh, how he would kill to see how you would look on your knees, tears falling down your face as your choking on his co- 

“So, Y/N. What is it that— hiccup —you do for a living?” Naobito asked, barely holding onto his liquor. 

“Uhm, I’m a receptionist at a law firm.” 

“Did you go to school?” 

“I did. I’m sorry, and you are?” 

“Ogi Zen’in. Unfortunately, I’m Naoya’s uncle,” he said in a vile tone. 

“Unfortunately?” Yo, seriously. What the fuck am I getting myself into?  

“Ah, okay. Well, yeah. I have my BA in Psychology.” 

“And why is that you’re not a therapist?” 

"Is this an interrogation, or are y'all trying to get to know me?" 

Your mother incredulously scoffed. “Y/N.” 

"I didn't come here to get questioned about my career choice. I make my own money, and I'm very capable of taking care of myself. Isn't that what matters the most?" you sassed. "And also, last time I checked, I was marrying blondie. Not his uncle, so why does he care?" 

“HA. Blondie? That’s a good one,” snorted Naobito. 

“Excuse my brother. However, I believe I have every right to know who my nephew is marrying. Do I not deserve that much?” 

"No. You don't, actually. You don't even like acknowledging him as your nephew. I've only been in this house for one hour, and it repulses me. I'm sure whoever he marries, you would be glad to finally have him out your hair." 

"Zen'in-san, please excuse my daughter. It seems like she had one too many drinks tonight," your mother said through gritted teeth. 

“Mother. I had two, and even if I had more, y’all know I’m no lightweight. So, please.” 

Meanwhile, Naoya sits quietly with a satisfying smirk on his face. Although he doesn't care what his family thinks of him, hearing you speak while defending him and yourself is turning him on. From what he can tell, you weren't a pushover. You were a beautiful firecracker waiting to be lit. Outside his obvious sexual attraction towards you, he thought maybe this couldn't be so bad? 

“Y/N, sweetheart. Zen’in-san was just asking you a question. Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” 

“Dad, I understand you’re trying to be the voice of reason, but not right now. This old fart didn’t even ask me what’s my name before playing CSI.” Naoya snorted, causing you to glare at him. “And what the fuck is so funny, blondie?” 

"This. This whole dinner. I know you're new here, doll, but allow me to give you a heads up. I don't give two shits about what these geezers or the rest of the family think about me. I appreciate you defending me. However, this is trivial." 

"What the—Uhm, yeah, no. This is not going to happen. I'd rather swallow a jean jacket with peanut butter and drag my vagina on a floor of needles than marry into this family. Mom. Dad. I can find my own husband, but this arranged marriage bullshit is not going to happen." 

“Y/N M/N L/N. I know you fucking lying. I just know you are.” 

"Mom, you think I'm unhinged? You know how close of a family we are. Why would you even want me to marry into a family like this? They all hate each other. No way in hell I'm bringing my kids around this." 

“Ah, so a breeding kink you have?” Naoya sneered. 

Arranged marriage, my ass.  

“Alright. I’m done for the night. I love the both of you, but this ain’t gon work. I’ll see you guys later.” After taking a couple of bites of your food, and one last sip of wine, you wiped your hands and walked towards the door. 

"Hold on, doll face. I'm coming with you!" 

𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿

[cosmobrain00]

ok pt.1 of the official time travel break it insanity post tht will only be slightly coherent: GO!!

(n bf we start, this is going off of the assumption its a single person traveling back in time, bc it would be a whole other discussion w multiple ppl)

first off, as I said in my tags, I see sm ppl think its going to be a true “solution" when a v fallible character, who usually can only know So Much of their own experience goes back to "fix things", when in reality, most times the potential for it to be way WORSE is like. Right There. ESP when they keep this fun fact to themselves n will Not say anything to anyone for guilt reasons, pride reasons, or bc they simply think its for the “best”, etc, bc we all know the best way to “fix smthing” is to keep it to ourselves n only allow our biased view of smthing to direct our actions, right?

(also side note to this, but its ironic how smtimes trying to avoid things is the best way to literally make it Worse, but I digress)

anyways, maybe this isnt wht ppl were expecting, but I think a rlly under explored element of time travel “fix its”, it the absolute memory fuckery tht could arise due to it. u think a character who’s probs been thru smthing awful enough tht it requires time travel to fix it is going to be at their best? haha no. definitely not. no matter how many notebooks they keep, no matter how many things they try to retain, how r they going to rmber evrything? will they be able to step outside of themselves n see tht harmless butterfly effect tht screwed evrything ovr in the first place? probably not, esp if they go at it alone. n yk, just bc a character has gotten "older" n possibly "more mature", doesn't mean they'd come at this level headed a lot of the time, esp depending on how severe evrything ended up- n also btw, wouldnt it be hard to keep both timelines "straight"? wht has/ hasn't happened yet? stuff like tht

(also ik its a “situation to situation” thing but for now this is simply a general post ok? ok.)

n this, ofc, can lead to two of the biggest elements: paranoia n the fear of being “too late” once again, which. wow. perfect combo to absolutely ruin evrything once again, huh?

paranoia could be abt their own mental state, could be abt the ppl arnd them (even if they r, in fact, doing this all for them), could be even abt the smallest things tht end up snowballing into an actual Thing, n ofc, paranoia tht they r going to fail again n tht they r ultimately running a race against time itself, which is true, but also, best way to fuck evrything ovr again or worse is to pressure urself w a deadline, even if in a way, its unavoidable.

I have a LOT more to say, but, tldr for this section: most characters r ultimately human w limited knowledge, even if they r aware of events from the future, causing them to act on their biases, possibly regress back into bad habits, break their relationships even further due to their fear, paranoia, etc, as well as pressure themselves to “make a move” bf its too late, which ultimately could lead them into fucking things up even further/ sooner n making an even bigger mess of the situation. n I havent even dived into the inaction bit of this, among several other things yet. LMAO

[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: The Devotion to Tatsumi Kazehaya - 2

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, three years ago

Characters: Jun, Tatsumi, Kaname

Proofreading: 310mc + Remi (JP) & honeyspades (ENG)

Translation: hyenahunt & Peace

Kaname: AHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Time: Lunch break, that same day.

Jun: Yaaawn... ♪

(Ah... No matter how much I sleep, I seriously can’t shake off this exhaustion. I didn't even do anything to cause it... Wonder if it really is depression.)

(I'm gonna fall apart at some point if I don't manage to pick myself back up.)

( —- But in any case, it's time for the only daily moment of peace throughout this living hell: lunch break~ ♪)

(The Special Students are an eyesore in the main school building, and they boss me around with all their errands so I can't catch a break there.)

(But they think the Labour Camp is too gross to get anywhere near it, so I can kick back and have a lil' nap here... ♪)

Jun: (And I dunno why, but on top of that, Kazehaya-senpai's been making good food and desserts and treating everyone to 'em lately.)

(It's seriously the highlight of every single day...)

(We're all super grateful for the free food considering how we're broke from stuff like our tuition fees, and we can all sit around a table and have a lil' chat as we enjoy ourselves...)

(Lunch break's straight-up our one and only respite! It actually feels like I can catch a break~♪)

Jun: (...The thing is, what I actually wanna do in my free time is get some practicing done, but I don't even have the luxury of that anymore. It's just as they say, huh? There's no leisure for the poor.)

Tatsumi: .....

Jun: Mm? Huh, Kazehaya-senpai...?

What're you doin'? You're gonna block people if you stand in the doorway like that.

Tatsumi: Ah, Jun-san. Good afternoon.

Jun: Yeah, good afternoon to ya.

Tatsumi: My, your greeting was wonderfully done. You're a good child, Jun-san.

Jun: ...It's not like that was really something to praise, though.

Tatsumi: It was. All of you do things worthy of praise, you see. How you walk on your own two feet, how you speak, even the fact you can breathe... It's all worthy of praise. ♪

Returning to your earlier question, do you know anything about this? I'm not entirely sure of the situation, so I'm rather hesitant to enter the room.

Jun: Huh? Whaddya mean by "this".... Err, woah!?

Kaname: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

AHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Jun: What the hell is going on!?

Tatsumi: Well... That's what I'd like to know. No one knows what's going on, so they're simply standing aside and watching in horror.

Not a single person knows what is going on, either. It's rather troubling.

Jun: U-Usually you'd call over a teacher or something... but we can't do that here, huh? They wouldn't even lift a finger if it was for a Non-Special, after all.

Tatsumi: Not all of the teachers are like that, but... Still, it is difficult to judge if this is something worth making a big fuss about.

We must consider our options carefully to determine what would result in the best outcome for HiMERU-san.

Jun: Himeru...? [1]

Tatsumi: Oh, don't you know? This is HiMERU-san; he’s a Special Student who managed to claim the top spot among his fellow newcomers.

Jun: Huh? Was that really his name...?

(Wait, he introduced himself at the entrance ceremony as Kaname Tojo, didn't he? Is this a different guy? Nah, no way — he's the same guy no matter how you look at him, right...?)

(...Unrelatedly, that guy who looks a lot like Kaname Tojo.... Tojo-senpai. I wonder how he's doing? I haven't seen him since the entrance ceremony...)

(Since I've never seen him around the Labour Camp, maybe he's a Special Student?)

Tatsumi: Haha. HiMERU is only a stage name, apparently. Whereas Yumenosaki idols seem to have a custom of using their real names, we have quite a lot of idols who go under aliases.

At Reimei Academy, students are viewed only by their status as an idol, and so in respect to that they have a policy that those with stage names should be called only by them.

Jun: Oh, I see... Ah-ha, so that's what it is. His stage name, huh?

Tatsumi: On the other hand, Jun-san, you normally give out your real name yourself, don't you?

Jun: Yep. Since I didn't think twice about it and enrolled with my real name, I get laughed at for being the "son of a loser". Damn 'em all.

Dunno who started it, but that awful rumour spread right away.

Tatsumi: I see. At Reimei Academy, with its strict hierarchy system, using such "facts" that would humiliate someone counts undoubtedly as a worthwhile weapon in their climb to the top.

It's the only weapon they can use in order to change their position.

That's why it's so popular. However, it isn't good. It truly isn't.

As I thought, such a thing needs to be changed. We shouldn't live in a world where one must hurt another to uplift themselves.

Jun: ...?

Tatsumi: Nonetheless, I've decided I'm going to try to talk to HiMERU-san a little, since no one including myself knows what else to do.

If there's something wrong, then I'd like to help him out.

Jun: Er, I feel like it's better not to get involved, y'know? I dunno what happened, but he's been absolutely losing it while making weird noises this whole time...

Tatsumi: Whyever would that be a fault, when newborns do the same when they need someone the most? If we were before such a young one, and they were crying, then it is only natural that we would bring them into our arms, isn't it?

And so I too shall do what comes naturally to humanity.

HiMERU-san. Tell me what you wish for, and I will do everything possible to grant it.

✦✦✦✦✦

Jun says his name in hiragana instead of the English characters to indicate his unfamiliarity with it.

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[clarklovescarole]

Feb. 7, 1937: The Girl of the Day

Whatta contract! 

And because of it, Carole Lombard is definitely the girl of the day out here in Hollywood. 

Tucked away among her personal effects is a brand-new agreement with Paramount which calls for two pictures a year, at $150,000 a picture, for three straight years – no options. Of course, other stars have come at higher figures. Carole could have got more money, too, but she didn’t want more money. 

The studio begged her to make four pictures per annum, which would have doubled the ante from $300,000 a year to $600,000.Now Carole still likes to make pictures, but she also likes some time to herself. She said no – she’d make two. Studio no likee – Carole no signee. 

So before another company had a chance to muscle in and grab her off – and there were plenty of them who wanted her – Paramount drew up the bill o’fare and shoved it under a pen. 

The contract also gives Miss Lombard the option of making a third picture a year, at the same price, either on or off the lot. 

That reads like a lot of dough. One might even say that it represents a typical Hollywood success, except for the fact that there is nothing typical about Carole Lombard or the place she occupies in the Hollywood scene. You have only to see the stunning blond from Indiana on the set, in front of the scenes and behind them, to realize that she has no imitators. Only one person could get away with being Carole Lombard, and that’s the girl herself. 

If you want to see the human counterpart  of a streamline steam engine – watch Carole Lombard at work. Her laughter is raucous- her language is lusty. Seriously rehearsing one moment, she’s hysterically acting out some humorous incident the next. 

That’s Carole – the darling of the press and sometimes their despair – the adored of the studio gang she works with. Her love of a laugh, her spark and her fire and her undisciplined effervescence, together with that determined will of hers, are just a few of the more explosive ingredients that make her the most vital and independent personality on the screen. She gives “spontaneous combustion” new meaning. 

Let’s go out on the set of “Swing High, Swing Low” where Carole is working. It seems as though that’s going to be difficult. The set is virtually closed. Miss Lombard isn’t any too fond of visitors on the sound stage. 

For many weeks, they tell you, she hasn’t granted a single interview and has left very definite instructions that she was not to be disturbed while working on “Swing High, Swing Low.” Upon hearing this, everyone nodded knowingly and said: “Uh huh,  she’s afraid people will ask about Gable.” 

Afraid? Carole Lombard? Fiddlesticks! 

Be that as it may, this reporter was unbelievably lucky, with the result that she went on the Lombard set at 11 o’clock one morning and remained until 4 o’clock that afternoon. 

The set was that of a cheap little cafe in Cuba. Fred MacMurray was there, and Cecil Cunningham and Director Mitchell Leisen and Charles Butterworth, and Carole was there. Oh yes, you knew the minute the weighty stage door was swung upon for you, that Carole was there. Every bit of business transacted on that set revolved around her. 

It was interesting to note that, still chuckling as she left her gold and white portable dressing room, Carole went directly into a scene in which she had to cry. How simply she did it. No walking up and down trying to work herself into a frenzy. No listening to woeful music, no waits, no delays. When her cue came she burst into tears – real ones. 

Ask her how it’s possible to turn on the faucet so convincingly without apparent provocation and she says: “The scene itself does it. That’s all there is to it.” 

“Like this picture?” she echoed. “Very much. It’s a grand story and we’re having the time of our lives making it.” 

“You know,” she continued, “that the formula for making motion pictures is gradually changing. Directors are beginning to let the characters evolve their own situations on the spur of the moment instead of concerning themselves so much with a plot. Yesterday we worked out a swell scene that wasn’t even in the script. “And I play the dumb girl again,” remarked Carole, laughing. “Maybe there’s a reason for that.” 

Interruption: Edith Head, studio designer, comes in with a batch of sketches for Miss Lombard to okay. (Delays, yes, but fascinating ones; fascinating to watch the blond star’s intent expression as she makes quick decisions and grants or refuses requests.) 

“Money,” repeats Carole, suddenly getting back into the swing of things, “Well, it’s nice because it enables one to make the people around them more comfortable. Other than that it simply means that it’s possible for me to look forward to the day when I shall be able to retire on a comfortable income.” 

Retire! Have we here a movie star who actually looks far ahead to visualize a time when she won’t be in pictures? 

“You’re darn right,” stated Carole. “Not me. I don’t want to be any broken-hearted ‘has-been.’ As a matter of fact I doubt if I ever make another picture after this contract is up.” 

Now Carole casually means what she says, yet one wonders how it’s possible for a girl – a popular celebrity used to applause – who has worked as hard for her success as Carole has, to give it up for a private life  almost as ordinary as yours and mine. 

“Of course,” she admitted, “I have a natural pride in achievement but,” she scoffed rather disdainfully, “what is there in being a movie star after all? It’s such a transitory business – certainly nothing for a person to lose his head over. Today you’re in, tomorrow you’re out. If you make a good picture, everybody thinks you’re swell. If you make a bad picture, everybody thinks you’re lousy.

“There are a few people here in Hollywood who will never be happy because being a star has become an obsession with them. Something in their emotional makeup demands the adulation, the attention and the rah-rah that goes along with being a star. I like it, but I know that I can be happy without it. 

“And I can guarantee this,” she continued, “when I do step out of pictures I shall never be idle. I will take up designing or interior decorating. I have a fair flair for writing and I like to travel. Oh, I’ll be busy, all right, after I leave the movies.” 

And so, as Carole talks you begin to realize that inside that blond head of hers is a sane philosophy and a sensible outlook – rather surprising in a girl who seems, putting it frankly, to be such a flighty madcap both on and off the screen. 

“Oh,” explained Carole, “I affect that attitude purposely. I know – I shriek and cut up around the studio and the set. Sometimes I swear. There’s a reason. I do it to stimulate the atmosphere on the set. Long waits between scenes and the tiresome delays can be insidious, and unless you’re careful the mood behind the camera will turn up in your picture. I try to maintain a tempo by letting off steam.”

She does a good job of it, too. No one is ever bored on a Lombard set. 

Among other things, Carole Lombard is known as the girl who “gets away with murder” – as the girl who gets exactly what she wants around the studio. 

For herself, Carole says: “Yes, I suppose I do get away with murder – but I believe there is a good reason for it. When I fight it’s about something important, not about some little petty detail that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Most of my fights have been over stories, and those have been because I was honestly convinced that I wasn’t suited to the role. 

“I never flatly refuse to make a picture. Knowing that I’m not just trying to be funny, the studio is usually willing to consider my opinion and let me out of it if possible.” 

There are, by the way, only two things that Carole absolutely refuses to do when she goes to work. She will not have a director whom she doesn’t like and will not be interviewed by anyone whom she doesn’t wish to see.

And she’d rather not talk about Mr. Gable. You can’t blame her. She had rather an unfortunate experience. Someone misquoted her, very flagrantly according to Carole, and made it terribly embarrassing for both her and the gentleman. So Miss Lombard shut up like a clam, figuring that if she couldn’t be quoted correctly, she wouldn’t be quoted at all. 

However, if you don’t bring Clark Gable into the conversation – Carole will. He sort of creeps in unawares. Somewhere along the line you’ll catch that “Clark and I,” “Clark and I.” It will be about what fun they had at the San Diego Fair or some picture they enjoyed at a little neighborhood theater. 

Carole is also known as the town’s best practical joker. She says that she inherits it from her mother, who is a “genius at delightful nonsense.” 

That Carole is still a gagster of the first order was discovered by Mr. Gable on Christmas Day. She sent east for a handsome buggy, a two-seater, which Clark can hitch up to his horse. Then she went out into the valley, to a horse farm, and bought him a $4 mule and a ton of  hay to go with it. 

Yes, the Gable-Lombard friendship is still going strong and Clark is Carole’s steady escort around town. At the moment there is apparently little possibility that the two will appear in another picture together. 

They were, you remember, co-starred in a picture several years ago, before the present set-up. It was during its production that Clark received his first gag from Carole – an enormous ham with his photograph pasted on the front. Paramount made the picture, and it was titled, “No Man of Her Own.”

Feb. 7, 1937 – Arizona Republic

[matsubrokq]

anyways the recent hatred of hxh and haikyuu is strangely contained to tiktok and only started within the last few months and my research concludes that 1)misogyny 2)weird elitist individuality complexes 3)homophobia

[kiame-sama]

I kinda have a headcanon about Little Spjder. So, Little Spider has a STUPIDLY LARGE amount of completely useless knowledge. They are a living breathing encyclopedia. They’re 100% the first person you’d want on your team for Jeopardy or Trivial Pursuit. They know more obscure facts than Chrollo and WILL go into great detail (it’s one of the reasons that he likes them). An instance I think of is that one time when Chrollo and the troupe were planning to steal some rare artifact or treasure and needed to find information on it - Little Spider just word vomits literally everything there is to possibly know about this one thing. They’re all impressed and they think it’s funny and cute.

100% truth! I do this and all of my knowledge is near useless to everyone else! (I am a self-serving writer, if I want a fic written I gotta do it myself, so often times I base the 'Reader' off of myself. Little Spider is me and I would 100% do this)

"The primary target is in the center train car, guarded by several hunters. The target itself is an old piece that several large name collectors are looking to get their hands on."

Shalnark was explaining the main part of the heist and the highest payoff target among several ancient jewelry artifacts, being shipped by train from one museum to the next. They would ensure that train never gets where it is going, having already sabotaged the tracks on certain routes, forcing the train to pass through a station and stop until cleared to go again. All members of the troupe were sneaking onto the train, meaning you were going too.

Typically Chrollo didn't let you leave the 'hideout' during heists, but he wasn't going to leave you completely alone for who knows how long. He knows better. Besides, the train wasn't too heavily guarded and the rear cars were barely ever checked, which meant he could keep you out of harms way and keep you by his side.

"Looks worthless to me. Not even a single jewel on it."

"Actually, Uvo, it's worth comes from its history, not its components. It has significant cultural importance to modern descendants, being kind of like a physical connection to their ancestry. Given so many were wiped out, a large portion of the history and significance was lost, but that is actually one of the few surviving pieces of those wiped out groups, found among the ashes of a burned village by the few survivors left. It was important long before it was found as it had been used in several important ceremonies that typically were meant to evoke the spirits of their ancestors to bless them with good fortune while cursing their enemies. The ritual itself was almost lost to time before they found it in the ancient village. It connects them to their long departed ancestors and preserves just a bit more of that culture while keeping the historical record straight for not only the rituals, but the genocide against... the people..."

You snapped out of your mini-lecture when you realized just how long you had been talking, only intending to give a short answer before you got carried away. All of the Spiders were staring at you now and you felt extremely small among their intimidating presence and undivided attention. Heat flushed to your face as you tried to save-face and distract from your prior behavior, only able to lamely whimper.

"I'll stop talking now."

"Whatever for?"

"Huh?"

"Keep going. I didn't know you knew about this, Little Spider."

You were uncertain how to respond, feeling more distressed the longer they all looked at you, displeased with the attention of so many people at once. Not to mention the fact that the entire troupe had committed genocide, so talking about a group that experienced genocide didn't mean much to them. Chrollo smiled warmly, realizing how stressed you were and gently pulling you into his arms.

He found himself wondering how many times you had been mocked or scolded for sharing your knowledge, seeing as your reaction to the fascination of the troupe was one of shame and anxiety. A hateful feeling rose in his stomach as he wondered just who made you so ashamed of your adorable quirk to silence yourself when you realized you were doing it. Perhaps he would figure that out later and end their miserable existence if they were still alive, for now he held you close and affectionately kissed your forehead.

"Oh, my Little Spider, never worry about talking to us."

[thefanficmonster]

Let Them Talk

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female) ft. Sykkuno

Warnings: Swearing, Jealousy

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: We can all agree Among Us is a fun game on its own but what makes it ten times better is playing it with the right company. Y/N could agree 100% Being a streamer herself, she loves playing with the streamer gang that includes her boyfriend and best friend. But, what happens when her boyfriend starts doubting her feelings for him due to her close relationship with her best friend.

Requested by @cheetoscat . Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, I hope the final product is worth the wait. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Y/AU/N - Your Among Us Name

I settle in my gaming chair, adjusting my webcam one last time before joining the Among Us lobby with my friends. 

“Hi everyone!“ I say into the mic, a smile plastering itself on my face. Discord is a magical thing, man. It’s so easy to forget that the people you are talking to aren’t around you or within arm’s reach. You could be separated by miles and miles of land or - in our case - oceans as well. Distance becomes negligible when you hear your friends’ voices, their laughter; when you have a good time together despite being each behind a screen, often times alone.

Well, I’m one of those lucky ones that isn’t alone. No one knows that, though. Everyone thinks I’m a single, self-employed girl that’s straight out of college. And they are 90% right. Only thing is - I’m not single. That would be a shocker in and of itself, but revealing who’s changed my relationship status would be a bomb with a whole new intensity.

Speaking of my significant other who shall remain unnamed - just kidding, it’s Corpse - his form materializes in the doorway of my recording room. I give him a hand signal the camera isn’t able to capture, alerting him of the fact that my mic is on. He replies by blowing me a kiss and walking off down the hall to his recording room where he’ll be stationed for the next three or so hours.

I owe this relationship to my best friend Sykkuno. I’m a pretty new and not very well known on the platform, however, thanks to him I haven’t only obtained a boyfriend, but a following of a little over million subscribers as well. 

It all started with an invitation to fill a spot in the Among Us lobby him and his friends had created. It took him quite a bit to convince me to join, but I eventually caved and agreed. Suddenly, there I was. In a Discord call, in an Among Us lobby with some of the most well-known names on this platform. I’m talking YouTube legends. I was that puppy playing with the big dogs. The newbie tagging along with the big leagues. Or at least that’s how I felt until we all started vibing - talking and teasing each other as though we’ve known each other for years and not minutes.

When I joined the call, Corpse wasn’t present. After everyone else introduced themselves, Sykkuno informed me that we were waiting for Corpse to return. The name sounded really cool to me and I was genuinely very excited to meet this Corpse guy.

And then, out of the blue - no prep, no warning...

“Did you get someone to fill the spot? Oh- Hello, Y/AU/N.“ 

…he started talking and he had me star-struck. Apparently, he also had me a blabbering mess cause I remember blurting out: “Whoa, who’s this guy speaking in bold and underlined at the same time?”

The entire lobby, including Corpse, laughed. Sean, or Jack like they called him most often, answered my question, “That is the voice of God, Y/N. Its source is named Corpse, though.”

Heat spread from the bottom of my neck to the tips of my ears. I was mortified by my own stupidity. I was well aware they couldn’t see me and I was incredibly thankful for that, but I simply could not get myself to open my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I said through nervous laughter.

“No, no, I like that description. Bold and underlined at the same time, huh?“ His voice sounded even more pleasant when it had that teasing, mischievous note to it. That thought popping up in my head only made things worse for my self-esteem and only made me more embarrassed, causing me to hide my face in my hands. “You sure it’s not in Italics as well?“ 

His question got a weak laugh out of me. “Nope, definitely not. Nothing Italic about it.“

Yes, I don’t even know how some terrible jokes about MS Word fonts got me as far as a romantic relationship, but they did! We’ve been living together for quite some time now, dating for even longer - hiding it just as long. It’s not that we have been actively trying to hide it or something, we just wanted to see how long it would take someone to become sus of us. When we realized no one would notice, we decided that if any rumors about us started, or even fans shipping us, we’d come clean. That hasn’t happened either, so we haven’t had the proper chance to address our relationship and neither of us minds.

At this point, I’m honestly afraid of revealing it to the gaming squad. Sykkuno especially. He’s my best friend, after all. I can see him being hurt by the fact that I kept a secret so big even from him. The last thing I wanna do is hurt my best friend but it’s already too late for that, it’s inevitable.

“Y/N have you looked at Twitter today?“ Rae, another streamer I’ve become close with over the months, says urgently.

Overlooking the tension in her words, I answer: “Nope, haven’t had the time. Why? What’s up?“

Before Rae can say anything else, Sykkuno joins the conversation, his voice somehow even more urgent than Rae’s. “It’s nothing, Y/N. If you see it, just don’t let it bother you, ok?”

Hearing such a tone from Rae isn’t unusual, but hearing it from Sykkuno is completely different and a lot more worrisome. “Well if it has the potential of bothering me it can’t be nothing. What’s going on?”

Just then, my phone dings with two notifications. I check to see they are messages from Rae.

“I sent you screenshots. Sorry, Sykkuno. She has to know in order to address it and defuse it as well. I know better than anyone how fast these rumors can spread, especially if no one reacts to them.“ She says, her tone barely apologetic at all.

I open the screenshots she has sent me and I find myself frozen in shock. Some old pictures of Sykkuno and I have been posted on Twitter by some random user. These pictures have started an entire thread of suspicions surrounding our relationship.

The pictures in question are from a New Year’s Eve party a mutual friend of ours held two years ago. Sure, in the pictures we are a lot closer than what would be considered a platonic proximity. And yes one of the pictures is of me kissing his cheek. Yes we were both a bit tipsy. I acknowledge all those things and yet none of them are concrete reasons for these rumors to have started piling. 

“This is silly.“ I finally say after maybe five minutes of silence on my end. ”This is absolutely ridiculous! And why are people so serious about it as well? Actual, important matters get discussed more nonchalantly than the potential relationship between two online personalities! What is this world we live in?“ I know I shouldn’t let these rumors get to me like this, especially not on camera. Still, I can’t help it. I feel it’s so unfair to Corpse. He has to put up with this as well and it’s by no means easy for him. I’ve been shipped with people from our group in the past and he always took those rumors to heart despite acting like he didn’t care. Neither of us should get worked up, but him getting upset about them creates a domino effect with my emotions - causing me to be hit just as hard as him, in some cases harder.

Rumors of the past aside, this one is the worst by far. Mostly cause even Corpse himself suspected something between Sykkuno and I at the very beginning, when we were still acquaintances, barely crossing into the realm of friends.

I pull up Twitter to look for the whole thread, barely sparing my stream chat a glance in the process. It seems pretty split - those who agree with me and those who think Sykkuno and I make ‘such an adorable couple’. The thread is ridiculously long, and if we take into account that it was only started approximately five hours ago, you can either view it as impressive, amusing or sad. Why sad? Because someone has dedicated so much time and effort into fueling the fire of a weakly supported theory.

I love Sykkuno with all my heart. Everyone knows that - fandom, streamer squad, Corpse and Sykkuno included. I love too much and too platonically to ever even dream of having a romantic connection with him. I thought that was more than obvious, but people are either blind here, or just grasping at straws. One thing’s for certain - they’re stepping on a nerve.

“Hey where’s Corpse? Did he disconnect?” Felix asks, gaining my full attention. My eyes dart to the monitor, searching through the little avatars in a desperate search for the one of my boyfriend. It’s nowhere to be found.

“He just messaged me saying his connection is unstable but he might join us later.“ Rae says, “You guys can invite someone to fill...“

“Bathroom break.“ I interrupt, not waiting for a response before shutting my mic off, putting the ‘BRB‘ graphic on my stream and yanking the headset off. I basically run down the hall to Corpse’s recording room, my heart pounding like a bass drum.

“Corpse?!“ I call out to him, one hand already on the doorknob. When five seconds pass by without a response, I barge in. 

Inside, I find his usual spot on the gaming chair empty and his slumped figure seated on his bed.

“Corpse?“ I try again, watching for even the tiniest change of body language. He remains still as a statue, not bothering to look up at me either. 

His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hanging low. His eyes are covered by the short curtain of his dark messy curls. I can’t gauge much. Is he angry? Is he sad? Both? How should I approach the situation?

Before I find the answer to any of those questions, I am kneeling in front of him, our height difference eliminated. I gently pry his hands off the mattress and take them in mine, holding them firmly but tenderly. With one hand I reach up to tilt his head so his eyes can meet mine. He complies, his tear-filled brown orbs meeting mine. Those tears have the same effect on me as fifty sharp knives stabbing into my chest. These tears focus their attack straight on my heart, tearing it to pieces.

“Baby....“

He cuts me off, “Why is it always someone else, huh? Do they deem me not worthy of being with you? Do they think you deserve better?” His voice wavers, “Well, they might be right. They are correct and there’s little I can do to prove them wrong. They mean you well, Y/N - pairing you with guys better than me. Those are some loyal fans you’ve got. They only want what’s best for you. And so do I. If ‘best’ is being with someone else then...”

It’s my turn to cut him off. I put an end to his nonsense ramble that’s slowly killing me by pressing my finger against his lips. The sternness of my gaze is beyond me as I get up and walk over to his computer setup. I put on his headset and hop into the call as well as the lobby with his avatar.

“Hey Corpse’s back!” Toast says, “Good to have you back buddy.”

“No, not Corpse.” I say in a casual, nonchalant voice.

“Wait, wha-“ Sean’s voice shows just how confused he is, representing the confusion of the entire lobby actually.

“I know all of you are streaming so this message will be heard by several different audiences so I’m gonna make myself perfectly clear.“ I take a deep breath, “Sykkuno and I aren’t dating. He’s a lovely guy and he deserves to find a girl who will treat him right. That girl isn’t and won’t be me though. I am already treating someone right. Someone who treats me more than right as well. An amazing person. A man-child with a heart of gold. You know him, to a certain extent. He goes by the name of Corpse Husband, but I prefer to call him ‘Love of my life’. Thank you for your time and attention, goodbye.“

I exit the call and turn around to find a stunned Copse looking at me.

“That was meant for you just as much.“ I say with a fake strict attitude, one hand on my hip the other rested on his desk behind me, “Were you listening?“

Within milliseconds, he’s on his feet standing directly in front of me, his lips inches away from mine. “I heard and memorized every word. But...” he pauses for a moment, “I think you have no idea how big of a chaos you just created.”

I smile mischievously, “We’ll worry about that later. For now...” I close the gap between us, connecting our lips in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams  @the-fuck-up-of-today  @slashersdream  @chiefwombathoagiepizza  @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01

[earliebirb]

i’ll save you a seat

steve/tony, established relationship, canon divergence, 1673 words

(inspired by this deleted scene from the avengers [2012])

“Waiting on the big guy?”

“Ma’am?” Steve looks up from his sketchbook, eyes squinting against the sunlight. 

He meets the gaze of one of the waitresses working at the café. Her long blond hair flows down to her chest and she is dressed in the café’s signature uniform: pastel orange blouse, black skirt, and a white half apron tied around her waist. 

“Iron Man,” the waitress clarifies, lips quirked up in a knowing smile. “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by.”

“Right,” Steve says, lips twitching at their inside joke. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a familiar silhouette in the distance catches his eye and breaks his train of thought. “Uh, actually…”

He nods at the sky. The waitress follows his gaze.

The object grows larger, approaching at a high speed. It morphs into a blur of red and gold that streaks across the blue sky right above them, sending a gust of wind that ruffles the waitress’ blond locks. The figure lands a short distance away from the café with a distinct metallic thunk — the sound of gold-titanium alloy hitting concrete. 

All around him, people begin to whisper among themselves with excitement, some even taking out their phones to document the spectacle. Although Steve can’t really say he enjoys the attention, warmth still blooms in his chest as he observes the approaching figure. He finds himself hiding an involuntary grin behind his hand.

“Always a dramatic entrance, huh?” The waitress chuckles.

“You know it.” Steve sighs with fond exasperation. All eyes are on Tony as he walks toward the outdoor area of the café, the nanotech suit peeling away from his body. The excited murmurs and whispers increase in volume.

When Tony finally arrives at the table, he bends down to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Good morning, beloved.”

“Mr. Stark-Rogers,” the kind waitress greets with a smile. “The usual?”

“Please, Beth. I told you to call me Tony.” Tony reaches up to slide his sunglasses a few inches down the bridge of his nose, giving her a disapproving look that makes her chuckle. “And yes, please. Thank you.”

“Table’s yours as long as you like,” she says before disappearing into the indoor part of the café to relay the order. Steve knows she means it, too. She’ll make sure of it, just like she always has for the past few years.

The café had been Steve’s favorite café, at first. He visited the place often, especially during his first few weeks in the twenty-first century. He developed a fondness for their sesame seed bagels and the lovely view of Stark Tower from his favorite outdoor table, although the latter is a fact Steve would never admit to Tony even on pain of death. 

However, the café quickly became Steve and Tony’s favorite café when their reluctant camaraderie bloomed into friendship all those years ago. Even before they started dating, Steve and Tony already established a weekly ritual of having brunch at the café whenever their schedules aligned. 

Tony did eventually admit to Steve that he found the café’s coffee to be subpar. He did, however, insist that the café was his favorite, albeit for reasons different from Steve’s. Not for the bagels, not for the exceptional view of Stark Tower, and definitely not for the coffee, but because the café was a place full of memories. His memories of the two of them, his memories of Steve:

“That café was where I first made you laugh. Like, really laugh. I’d seen you smile or chuckle before, but that kind of full-body laughter? That was a first. And I remember thinking that… I really, really liked the way you laughed.”

It has been seven years since Steve first sat at this very table and sketched the figure of Stark Tower looming before him. Beth is still working at the café, having made her way through the ranks. Now a co-owner of the café, she has developed a friendship of sorts with Steve and Tony — both of whom she claims to be her favorite regulars. Tony likes to joke about how she probably says that to all of her regulars, something Beth always denies vehemently. 

Steve turns his attention back to Tony, who has taken off and folded his sunglasses, letting them hang from the collar of his shirt. 

“Would it kill you to take the elevator and walk?”

“It’s not like I do this every single time. Besides, why take the elevator when you have a flying suit? That’s just ineffective.” Tony makes a face as he pulls his chair out.

“‘S good exercise.”

“I exercise plenty.” Tony sits down on the chair across from him, scooting closer to the table. Under the table, his ankle brushes Steve’s. “Besides, we just engaged in a vigorous workout session this morning.” Tony bites his lower lip, giving Steve a lascivious wink.

“Tony,” Steve reprimands, but finds himself unable to say anything further, not when the back of his neck is heating up at the memory of what they were up to just a few hours ago. While Steve immediately showered afterward and headed straight to the café, Tony decided he wanted to sleep for a few more hours, promising to join Steve later. 

Tony grins before leaning forward on his elbows to peer at Steve’s sketch.

“Which lucky building are you sketching today, honeybunch?”

He squints and frowns when instead of a building he finds a rough and nondescript sketch of a person’s face. 

It could be anyone to the untrained eye, but Steve’s pen strokes are sure and confident, having rendered the same jawline countless of times. 

Every single time, Tony’s figure never fails to fascinate him. Always so beautiful from every angle, in every light. Steve knows it well enough by now to be able to sketch him simply from an image in his mind’s eye. 

Still, nothing beats the real thing. Steve takes in the sweep of Tony’s dark lashes and his coffee brown eyes as he appraises the drawing.

“It’s not a building,” Steve says instead. 

Tony hums noncommittally, tilting his head at the sketch and giving it one last look before leaning back in his seat. “How was your morning run?”

“Uneventful.”

“Really?” Tony says distractedly, his attention on Beth who is once again approaching their table with his cup of coffee, black as midnight.

Tony engages in more small talk with Beth as she sets the cup and saucer on the table, asking after her husband and kids. There is an easy and carefree smile on his face, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

All the while, his fingers are fiddling with two sugar packets Steve knows he will only use one of. He is always buzzing with energy, parts of him always in a state of perpetual motion, finding it near impossible to stay still. 

Steve also knows that he won’t finish the coffee because it wasn’t made by Steve or himself.

These little idiosyncrasies are details that make up Tony, the little quirks that only Steve knows.

The little things that make you mine, Steve thinks privately. He feels something inside him softening at the thought.

“Sorry, honey,” Tony says when Beth eventually leaves to take another table’s orders, his smile soft and affectionate. “You were saying? Running was uneventful?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, “nothing really interesting.” He admires the way sunlight turns the tips of Tony’s dark hair into a lighter shade of brown. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re still the highlight of my morning.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes, but his lips curve up into a pleased smile and his brown eyes are warm with affection as he meets Steve’s gaze. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The band of vibranium around his husband’s ring finger gleams in the late morning sunlight.

“I better be, after waking you up with one hell of a—”

“Tony!” Steve exclaims, knocking his ankle against Tony’s in warning. “Stop it.”

“What? It’s the truth! You really did enjoy it when I—”

“There are children around,” Steve hisses, casting a furtive glance at a nearby table occupied by a family of four. 

Tony laughs softly, his shoulders shaking with it. Still holding his gaze, he brings Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing two feather-light kisses to the back of his hand. He continues holding Steve’s hand against his mouth, and when he speaks Steve feels his lips and the bristles of his goatee brushing his skin.

“Sorry, baby, I can’t help it.” Tony hides a smile against Steve’s knuckles. “You’re just so pretty when you blush.”

Steve looks down, avoiding Tony’s eyes in favor of staring at the cookie crumbs next to his half-full cup of coffee that has long since gone cold. His cheeks are still burning, and Tony’s words are not helping.

“See?” Tony says, before planting a kiss to his knuckles. “So pretty.”

Steve shuts his eyes with a defeated sigh. “Please just drink your coffee.”

Tony chuckles again but Steve hears the clink of ceramic, a cup being lifted from its saucer. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

He only allows himself to open his eyes when Tony gets distracted by some pigeons, immediately launching into a spiel about the one time he was attacked by a pigeon who was apparently really determined to steal his sandwich.

Steve nods along dutifully, reacting at appropriate times throughout the story, but all he can think of is that sitting there, at a café’s outdoor table on Park Avenue on a bright Sunday morning, his husband sat in front of him talking a mile a minute, is that there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

His gaze falls down to where Tony’s hand is still holding his, even when his other hand is gesturing animatedly as he tells his story.

Yes. Steve thinks, smiling helplessly at the twinkle in Tony’s eyes — the one that appears whenever he gets excited. I’m home. 

[greenygreenland]

Date: Jean Havoc x Reader (w/ Big Brother Roy Mustang)

REQUESTED

-PRETEND ROY IS YOUNGER FOR THE SAKE OF THIS ONE-SHOT (say, like 20-ish) -sorry this took so long. I had an internship and it got a little crazy

-idc about the timeline because this is a one-shot and i’m not gonna use my big brain lmaooo

Summary: Overprotective Roy? Yes. You’re dating Jean Havoc and your bro watches your first date from the shadows.

Nervous. That was the first emotion you felt when you stepped out of the front door. Today was a big day, maybe more so than you’d like to believe. The sun shimmered overhead, where the sparse clouds drifted lazily across the sky. “Bye, Roy,” you called. “I’ll be back around sixteen o’clock.”

Roy was your elder brother by four years. If a guard dog had a human personification, it would definitely be him. For all your life, he wrote himself off as the responsible sibling. He acted like his grades were better than yours, like he was the one to take out the trash, or finish all the dishes before cockroaches decided to make home in them.

Anyone would have thought that to be true. After all, Roy was young and rose up the military ranks at an alarming rate. But you knew better, along with his close colleagues. Roy was stupid, overprotective, and impulsive. He would do anything that interested him, and if it didn’t, he’d pay no mind to it.

You prayed your brother would pay no mind today.

The front door slammed open with a creak. “Where do you think you’re going?” Roy inquired. He squinted at you as if you were about to do something stupid. “And what are you wearing? I hope you have shorts under that.” You rolled your eyes and adjusted the purse slung over your shoulder. 

This sun dress was a gift from Jean for your (age) birthday. The skirt flowed in the passing breezes like a flower, illuminating all the vibrant colours under the rays of sun. It was a beautiful dress. If Roy thought otherwise, you’d make him understand. “It’s called a dress, doofus.” you sarcastically replied. “Not like you’d know when you only see Riza in the Command Centre. Poor you. Haven’t gotten the chance to see her in a skirt, huh?”

Roy averted his gaze to the sky with a haughty huff. “What are you talking about? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Heat rose up his cheeks. “If you’re implying I harbour romantic feelings for my First Lieutenant, then you’re--”

“A hundred percent correct.” you stated with a smug smirk. “I’ll be back around sixteen o’clock. Don’t burn down the house.” If Roy accidently did, you wouldn’t be surprised. He was the Flame Alchemist, and above all, your stupid big brother.

“Where are you going (Y/n)?” Roy called. You flung your hair over your shoulder with a bright smile that could have blinded even the sun. “A date, of course.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to rub salt in a wound. What Roy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. But then you saw look on his face. Nevermind, it was totally worth it to rub in his face: jaw agape, eyes as wide as saucers, and shoulders hunched down.

Ah, it was good to be you.

The city bustled with life. With the sun shining, and the beauty of living in your palms, you trotted down the street. There was nothing that could ruin your date.

"Jean!" Your tone was light as a laugh escaped your lips. "It feels like I haven't seen you in a while." 

Cherry red dusted his cheeks. He stuffed the unlit cigarette into his pocket and offered you a hand. In his other, he placed a single (f/c) flower between your hairclips. "I saw you yesterday," he said with a bashful smile. "What do you mean it's been a while?" You bumped shoulders playfully and intertwined your fingers together. "Hyperbole, Jean."

"Well, it's one hyperbole too many." He remarked with a grin. "Do you want to have sandwiches today or a hot meal?" You shrugged, leaning against his shoulder. It was comfortable to have him hold you like this as you made your way down the street. He always had this secure way of linking your arms with his.

Off to the side, Roy couldn't say the same. It wasn’t like he planned on following you. Curiosity just swept him out of the house. And besides, what you didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt, right? Right.

Roy wished Jean didn’t hold you like you were some stuffed animal. For all he knew, Jean was just playing you. It wouldn't be the first when he had over fifteen other girls in the past four months. If Jean broke your heart, he'd be sure to fry the man up to a crisp. "Damn him," Roy grumbled. He pulled down his fedora and adjusted the glasses over his nose. "What makes him think he can touch (Y/n) like that?"

You suddenly laughed loudly at some joke. “Stop!” you cried, playfully smacking his arm. “That’s the worst one I’ve heard all week!” 

Roy slinked out of the shadows with a low huff. He shouldn't have worn such a thick jacket. It had to be over twenty something degrees today. But that was no matter because you were being whisked away to the park--by Jean! Roy hurried down the street. Since when did you get lunch? And what was Jean going to do to you?

"The park's a good place." you noted. “Let’s go there.” The bag from Sally's Sandwiches hung from Jean's arm. It swung back and forth as he happily pranced along the street with you hand in hand. "Good thing I remembered to bring a blanket this time. We can sit under that tree."

Oh, what was Jean going to do to you? Roy couldn't stand the thought of you walking with him like that. There had to be an ulterior motive to this 'date'. Maybe Jean wanted to leech off you for money, or maybe he would try seducing you in the park? Roy shook his head. No, no.

Jean wasn't a bad guy. Maybe Roy was thinking too far ahead. But what if he wasn’t? What if Jean pulled some sneaky plan?

You crossed the street just as a car wildly swerved. Its tires screeched against the road like nails on a chalkboard, grinding against stone until it came your way. Roy frantically popped out of his hiding space. "What kind of idiot would--"

Suddenly, you slammed a hand into the ground. The stone transmuted, blocking the car from any unnecessary collisions. It smacked straight into the wall, smoke and steam rising from its engine. "(Y/n)!" cried Jean. "Are you okay?" He frantically placed a hand on either of your shoulders and looked you up and down. A smile rose to your lips. "I'm fine. Not even a scratch."

A sigh escaped Jean's lips. "That's good. I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt." You placed a gentle hand to his cheek and pecked it (Roy wanted to gag). "I'm an Alchemist. It'd be a shame if I went down by a car."

"Don't joke about that," Jean chastised. He hooked his arm with yours again and led you away from the screeching onlookers and police. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Roy blinked. Did he hear Jean right? 'I don't know what I'd do if I lost you'? What was that supposed to mean? “Look at them, being all lovey-dovey...” Roy continued after the couple. They passed through a field of forest green grass, where flowers bloomed in straight, uniform lines all around. It was a beautiful spot to have a picnic. 

You swung your arm, hand in hand with Jean. The sun kissed your heads from the Heaven’s, illuminating a bright happiness Roy couldn’t look away from. Urgh. He wanted to kick something, or better yet, set a tree on fire. How could you two look so perfect? You were only (age) and that was far too young to be dating. 

Besides, you had a career in the military. If your little ‘relationship’ was sealed with a ring, you’d be separated. “Did they even think that through?” Roy grumbled to himself. He gritted his teeth together and ducked behind a bush. 

“Excuse me sir.”

Roy glanced over his shoulder with a false smile. “Ah, what is it?” A little boy ball up and down in his hand. The glare on his face could have been intimidating, but Roy was Roy Mustang. He wouldn’t let some kid look down upon him. “Are you lost?”

The kid clutched the rock so tightly his knuckles turned white. “My mama said to watch out for creepy people. I think you fit well, Mr. Pervert.” He took a step back and launched the ball at Roy’s head. “Take that!”

“What are you talking about?!” Roy exclaimed. He jumped out of the bushes and brushed the leaves from his jacket. Boy, it was getting terribly hot in the sweltering heat. Poor Roy found himself losing what little patience remained. “I’m not a creep, kid! Where are your parents? If I was a creep, you would have been kidnapped already. I’m just trying to make sure my sister...!”

At that very second, you so happened to come to a stop. At that very second, you so happened to stare. At that very second, you so happened to recognise a face among strangers.

Roy was royally screwed. 

The little kid pointed at Roy as if he were the most wanted criminal in all of Amestris. “Lady!” he screeched. “I saw this guy watching you since you got here! He’s a creep! Call the cops!” Jean squinted at Roy. At first, he actually believed the kid was telling the truth. What kind of normal person wore a winter coat, a fedora, and a pair of sunglasses if not to deal drugs in the alleyways?

“Hold up...” Jean blinked owlishly. “Colonel, is that you?!”

You released Jean’s arm. “Oh, it’s him alright.” A menacing glare rose to your face as you cracked your knuckles. What was Roy supposed to do? The wrath of his sister was not something he could brace himself for, especially when she could be just as impulsive as Edward Elric.

Roy waved his arms in denial. “I don’t know what that kid’s talking about. I just happened to pass by, and in the process, I ended up dropping my wallet, which turned out to be in the bushes, so--”

“Save it.” You cracked your knuckles and pulled on a glove. “It’s time to crank up the heat, because we’re having fried Alchemist tonight.”

Anger. That was the only emotion you felt as you chased your big brother around the park. Today was supposed to be a big day. You planned to walk around, maybe go shopping, and spend the night wandering around with Jean for a whole day. But no. Your stupid, idiotic, big brother had to be the creepy party crasher.

[musette22]

Local museum volunteer Chris explaining all the items and history facts to teacher Sebastian and his 20 kids on a school trip or to single dad Sebastian and his twins (one who is really into it and ask a lot of "but why?" And the other one who just sticks his fingers up his nose and yawns lmao)

Okay so I was just on a walk and I started thinking about this ask again (I am so so so sorry for how long it took me to reply to this, I suck wow) because I couldn’t get that new pic of Seb looking like a literal DILF out of my head, but I couldn’t remember the specifics so what came out is slightly different from what you suggested but not much – hope you still like it (I personally screamed into my fist multiples times while thinking about this – I’m furious at how cute this little scenario is, thank you so so much for this!)

Disclaimer: I literally wrote this just now so it’s unbeta’d and probably riddled with nonsense, but I hope you guys like nonetheless!  <3

*********************

“Hi, guys! Welcome to the Concord Museum. My name is Chris and I’ll be your guide this afternoon.”

Chris eyes the little family – a father and two young kids – standing in front of him in the entrance hall of the bite-sized museum, then makes a show of looking around the otherwise empty hall. “Seems like it’s a quiet one today, so you’ll have me all to yourself!”

The father smiles, his sparkling, blue-grey eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that Chris shouldn’t be thinking of as ‘adorable’, but does nonetheless.

“Fantastic,” the man says warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris. This is Margot,” – he gestures to the girl of about eight standing next to him – “and this little guy here is David,” he adds, lightly bouncing the three or four-year-old, curly haired boy on his hip. David gives Chris a wide eyed look before promptly burying his face in his father’s neck. “He’s a little shy,” the dad says fondly.

“That’s fine,” Chris tells them. With a smile, he ducks his head to try and catch David’s eye. “You’re not the only one, kiddo. I’m a little shy myself sometimes, you know.”  

“I’m not shy,” Margot pipes up.

“No,” her dad agrees with a chuckle, “you certainly are not.”

Chris turns his eyes back to their father’s face. “And your name..?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man says, “I’m Sebastian.” He holds out his hand for Chris to shake, warm and dry with long, elegant fingers that fit nicely against Chris’s own, studier ones.

Sebastian, Chris thinks. Perfect name for a perfect guy. The term ‘DILF’ flashes unbidden through Chris’s mind – wildly inappropriate, given the circumstances, but oh so accurate. Sebastian has a sweet, charming smile, incredible bone structure, and dark, wavy hair, swept up in a quiff-like style that manages to make him look both sophisticated and a little boyish at the same time. There’s a hint of grey at his temples as well as in his beard that has Chris placing him at maybe two or three years older than himself.

“New York?” Chris guesses, as he reluctantly lets go of Sebastian’s hand.

“That’s right,” Sebastian nods. “Well, formerly, anyway. We just moved to the area, actually.”

“Oh, really? What brought you all the way out here?”

Sebastian runs a hand through his hair; a nervous habit, perhaps. “Oh, um. My ex-wife got a job in Boston last year, and I didn’t want to be too far from her and the kids, so I decided to follow suit. Only moved down here last month. This is my first full weekend with these guys at my new place, so I thought I’d take them out to do something cultural, learn a little about the local history, y’know?”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of that here,” Chris assures him. “In fact,” he adds sheepishly, “that’s kinda all we've got.”

Sebastian laughs, causing Chris’s brain to glitch, which is probably why the next thing that comes out of his mouth is – “Divorce, huh? I’m sorry, that must’ve been tough.”

When Sebastian doesn’t answer straight away, Chris wants to kick himself for running his big, stupid mouth. As usual. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes hastily. “That’s none of my business. Just tryin’ to make small talk, but I always seem to forget I’m really bad at that. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian assures him, flashing Chris a quick smile. “Thank you. These things are never easy, but it’s better this way, you know?”

“They’re not fighting or anything,” Margot chimes in again, from a few feet below. “Mommy and daddy only got divorced because mommy’s a girl and daddy likes boys better than girls. Right, daddy?"

Well. Chris tries not to be too obvious about glancing at Sebastian’s face to see his reaction to that bombshell his daughter just dropped, but he’s not sure how well he manages.

Sebastian closes his eyes for a moment as if praying for strength. “That's right, sweetheart,” he says with a grimace. “But I'm sure Chris doesn't need to hear about all that."

Chris begs to differ – he’s actually extremely interested in hearing about all this, but before he has a chance to say anything in reply, Margot squares her jaw and crosses her football jersey-clad arms.

“Why not?” she asks defiantly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Some girls just like girls and some boys like boys, it’s totally normal. It’s not prola- probu –" She sighs in frustration, looking up at her dad, who’s watching her with something like pride on his handsome face.

“Problematic?”

“Yeah,” Margot concurs, “not probametic.”  

Chris hums in agreement. “It’s not, you’re absolutely right. I’ll tell you what,” he tells her conspiratorially, “I happen to like boys better, too.”

Margot’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You do?”

“I do.”

Suddenly, Margot’s little face lights up, her shrewd eyes flitting to her dad’s face for a second, then back to Chris. “Do you like my dad?”

“Margot,” Sebastian cuts in, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “That’s enough, honey.” When he tuns back to Chris to give him an apologetic look, Chris can’t help but notice the slight blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. She’s gotten it into her head that she needs to find me the perfect man ASAP, or I’ll waste away or something.”

Chris laughs, throwing back his head in genuine mirth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” he assures them, then claps his hands together to change the precarious subject. “So, who’s ready to learn a little bit about what living in Concord was like over a hundred years ago?”

******

Chris always enjoys volunteering at the museum – it’s nice to give something back to the community that’s been his home for his entire life, and to chat to visitors from all over who have come to visit the land of Little Women, among other things – but what Chris likes best is when he gets to show kids around the place. Some of them need to be won over (after all, a dusty old museum isn’t quite as exciting as a trip to Disney World), but others are instantly captivated by the strange objects and old-timey atmosphere – Sebastian’s kids, fortunately, seem to fall in the latter category.

There’s one room in particular that’s an invariably a favorite with kids – the one that houses the old children’s toys. Trains, dolls and dollhouses, most of them made from wood, all arranged in a colorful parade, with a few screens set up in front of the glass display cases on which kids can watch animations of the toys being used. To Chris’s delight, Margot and David are both immediately taken with the display, David pressing his nose against the glass while Margot fires off question after question that Chris answers patiently and to the best of his ability.

“You sure know a lot about them,” Sebastian remarks, not without a hint of admiration, once Chris has finished explaining the mechanics of the miniature train set.

“Ah.” Chris rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m something of a toy enthusiast myself. I’ve actually got a carpentry workshop – that’s my real job,” he explains. “I’m just a volunteer here – and I dabble in some toy making sometimes, too.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding. I used to want to be a toy maker when I was a kid, you know,” he says wistfully. “Probably just saw Pinocchio one too many times, but it just seemed like the best job in the world to me, at the time.”

“It kinda is,” Chris grins at Sebastian, getting lost in his dancing grey eyes for a moment. “So what did you end up doing for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a journalist. I love it, don’t get me wrong. It’s enriching, challenging. But there’s just something about working with your hands, creating something tangible, something useful…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Chris nods. He bites his lip, hesitating for just a moment before deciding to bite the bullet. “Hey, I don’t know if you guys have plans after this, but my shift ends in a few minutes. I live pretty close, maybe a ten minute drive – if you want, I could show you my workshop? Maybe the kids can try out some of the things I’ve been working on, see if they’re actually any fun to play with?”

There’s an excited collective gasp from the kids, both of them immediately turning big, hopeful eyes on their father. “Oh, daddy,” Margot pleads, tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go see the workshop, pleaaase?”  

Chris tries to ignore the way his stomach drops when Sebastian visibly hesitates.

“I don’t know, guys.” Sebastian looks back at Chris. “I don't want to intrude. It’s almost dinner time on a Saturday. I’m sure you’ve got plans, maybe with your partner..?”

Oh, Chris thinks, chest expanding with hope. He shakes his head. “No partner,” he says, holding Sebastian’s gaze. “Just a dog.”

“A dog?” Margot squeals. “Oh my god, daddy, he’s got a dog. We have to go.”

Sebastian chuckles, rolling his eyes. "They've been hounding me about a dog for months, excuse the pun. I want one too, but I'm just not sure I'm home enough.”

Chris nods sympathetically. “Yeah, it can be tricky if you work full-time, but there’s usually a solution for this kind of thing, in my experience.”

“What’s your dog’s name?” Margot interrupts, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

“He’s called Dodger,” Chris tells her, unable to keep the pride out of his voice as he talks about his beloved, four legged-rescue.

From Sebastian’s other side, a small voice suddenly joins in. “Like the one from Oliver?” asks David. His big, brown eyes are wide as he stares up at Chris.

“That’s right,” Chris confirms, dropping to his haunches to level the playing field a little. “Exactly like the one from Oliver. You like that movie, huh?”

David nods, looping one arm around one of his dad’s long legs while clearly fighting the urge to hide behind him completely. “It’s my favorite,” he mutters, then quickly sticks his thumb in his mouth to signal the end of the conversation.

“Really?” Chris asks, beaming at him. “It’s my favorite, too!”

David actually smiles at that, doing an excited little wiggle on the spot. “Daddy, can we go see Dodger, please?” he asks his dad, not bothering to remove his thumb from his mouth.

From his spot on the floor, Chris looks up Sebastian too, probably looking just as hopeful as the kids are – maybe even more so.

Smiling, Sebastian shakes his head. “Sure, buddy,” he laughs, ruffling David’s hair. “How could I resist all these cute little faces, huh?”

There’s a chorus of cheers from the kids that gives Chris a much-needed moment to recover from the euphoria of hearing Sebastian call him cute. Well, sort of.

“Alright,” Chris says, getting to his feet again. “I’ll just go grab my things. Meet you guys in the parking lot?”

“Sounds good.”

Chris nods and is about to head in the direction of the staff room, when Sebastian halts him with a hand on his arm. Chris stops in his tracks, swallowing as he tears his gaze away from Sebastian’s elegant hand on his bicep, back to his face.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says, giving him a look from under his eyelashes that can only be described as coy. “I really appreciate this, you know.”

Holding Sebastian’s gaze, Chris lifts a hand to cover Sebastian’s with his own, giving it a quick squeeze. “It’s my pleasure,” he replies honestly. “Trust me.”

Smiling, Sebastian bites his lip, no doubt noticing the way Chris’s eyes flicker down to his mouth when he does. “I do.”

Chris’s foolishly romantic heart can’t help but skip a beat.

“See,” Margot says suddenly from beside them, breaking the moment and sounding awfully smug about it, too. “Not prolametic at all.”

Chris barks out a laugh while Sebastian covers his eyes with his hand. “Whatever you do, never have kids.”  

“Oh, I dunno,” Chris chuckles, giving Margot a wink and David’s hair a quick ruffle. “I kinda like yours.”

Sebastian clears his throat. “Alright, guys. Let’s go find your jackets and we’ll go see what Chris has in store for us, huh?”

[fishstyx]

russian roulette.

featuring. nagito komaeda x fem!reader

wc. 2.0k

genre. smut, dark/taboo

tw. 18+ nsfw, noncon, penetration, gunplay, degradation/humiliation

synopsis. nagito follows you into the final dead room and shows you the proper way to play russian roulette. drv2 spoilers/context (chapter 4) ahead.

“And just what do you think you’re doing here?” Nagito says from behind you, his sudden utterance booming off the solid concrete surroundings. An uncharacteristic disgust drips from his every word, drawn out so painfully slowly that you’re convinced he thinks you a mere toddler.

“Playing the Life-Threatening Game,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible, but he’s caught you unawares. You startle even as you speak, the shudder of your body undoubtedly making its way into your voice. You’re sure that the door had locked behind you, so just how did he manage to slip in while the game was still in progress? Not to mention that the person in front of you doesn’t truly seem like Nagito Komaeda. Sure, he’s always had his quirks, but right now it feels like you’re talking to… somebody else.

“With only one bullet?” is Nagito’s only response as he creeps toward you, frown deepening when you back away, gun clutched to your chest. 

“And what about it?” You do your best to plaster on a brave face, but your arm hits the wall behind you and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how small, how suffocating the Final Dead Room is with another person in it. He lets out a heavy sigh as he corners you, box of bullets in hand. The clatter of metal rings in your ears when he presses you into the blood-stained walls, leaning into your ear to whisper:

“That’s not nearly enough.” He fishes the revolver from your shaky hand with ease, the clinking of extra bullets following soon after. “Even someone like you understands, don’t you?” He loads round after round into the gun, pressing bullets into each chamber until they’re flush against the cylinder surface, and it’s all you can do just to watch. “That the payout of this game rests upon the difficulty you set it to.” 

On top of you still, he picks the sixth bullet up and waves it in your face, almost mockingly. “It’s safe to assume that the killer, a coward among cowards, played it safe and loaded a single bullet same as you did. And as for me—well, I’ve already cleared the highest level.” Sliding the final bullet in with a click, he pushes the cylinder back into the gun frame with marked familiarity. “At least, I thought it was the highest level.” 

“H...huh? Highest level?” you wonder as loud as you dare, earning a scoff from Nagito. 

“And here I was thinking you could follow along with a simple explanation. How short-sighted of me. Well, you can save your questions for later.” Smirking at the sight of your mouth agape, he spins the cylinder before you can interrupt again. “As I was saying, I only thought I was playing at the highest level. But thinking back on it now...” His face draws close to yours, hot breath tickling your skin as he rests the muzzle flat against your quivering lips. “Wouldn’t it be something if you survived this?”

Holy shit.

You struggle under Nagito’s weight, legs going weak under the looming threat of death. How did you let this happen? One wrong move and you’d be nothing but an addition to the bloodstains behind you. “T-This isn’t funny, Nagito.” Your lips tremble around the revolver, heavy and icy to the touch, when it doesn’t budge an inch. 

“What I’m trying to say,” he continues, unfazed, “is that your efforts will be pointless if you don’t go all out here. We’ll learn nothing new if I let you play the way you want to.” You hear the words, and yet you can’t make sense of them. Not when the classmate before you holds your very life in his hand.

“Nagito, please—” you say more forcefully, heart pounding all the while.

“Please what?”

“P-Please put the gun down.” But one look at his face and you know he’s not having it.

“Oh, so you’re not going to pull the trigger? Even if I do it with you?” Sheer disappointment crosses Nagito’s features as he deliberates, armed hand never so much as faltering. He studies your face in silence, the break from his ranting more eerie than comforting. The temperature of the room drops several degrees when he finally speaks again. 

“Oh, I know.” He lowers the gun only to drag it down your neck and along your chest, drawing wide circles around your buds. “Hopeless halfwits like you need a little incentive, don’t you think?”

“That’s not what I—” 

You’re cut off by your own sharp inhale as the gun presses into your abdomen, tracing the outline of your thighs and traveling even lower still. It runs up and down that sensitive spot between your legs, poking and prodding near your deepest nooks and crannies, testing for a reaction. And he eventually gets one, a soft groan tumbling past your lips when he grinds the muzzle against your clit—and although clothed, it sends waves of electricity straight to your core. 

“You were saying?” Nagito laughs when you fail to respond, mortified by your own body’s betrayal. It’s as if you’re frozen in time. Your heart practically leaps out your chest and your eyes, wide as saucers, flicker from the gun to Nagito, Nagito to the gun, and back again. It feels like an entire lifetime passes you by when he continues to brush against the sensitive nub, chasing after another reaction, but you’re paralyzed now. You watch in slow motion as he grows impatient, fingers dipping below your waistband, pulling your panties down just far enough for the tip of the barrel to kiss your bare cunt. 

Move. Move. Move, you tell yourself. Your head throbs and your fingers twitch. He can’t kill you, not in the middle of an investigation. Not when another student was just murdered. Not unless... 

You search Nagito’s cat-like eyes for some glimmer of humanity, a silent plea, a probe into the void itself—one that leaves you with more questions than answers.

Not unless he’s the killer himself.

With the wicked smile he’s sporting, much too twisted and much too wide, you don’t doubt it for a second. But he gives you no time for critical thought, instead plunging the gun deep inside your pulsating pussy, not a moment spared to prep you.

Your back arches instinctively; you weren’t ready for this, not in a million years would you ever be ready for a pistol to slide inside you, such a cold and stiff thing spreading your walls without so much as a warning. It’s so far up that the trigger guard presses into your clit, bundle of nerves puffy and swollen from all the stimulation. A searing sensation emanates from between your thighs and you can’t help but let out a little yelp.

“N-Nagito! Wait...” you try again, a pathetic mewl more than anything else, but it doesn’t seem to register. His expression is unreadable as he inches the gun out little by little, sliding your pants down to get a better view. And then he pauses when the muzzle surfaces from your entrance.

That’s when you see it. The gun’s barrel, glistening with arousal, glistering in liquid coating, and he just holds it there as if to say, would you look at that—you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

“You know, it’s hard to understand you when you mumble.” You choke up when he suddenly jams the gun back in, stroking—no, pounding your gummy insides with fevered delight, your slimy slick squelching below you, pit of your stomach unraveling as the metal warms itself up with the heat of your core. 

A shameless whimper escapes you when he keeps up the pace, dynamic movement burying the pain in pleasure, your mind swirling with delirity. This shouldn’t feel good. And when you stop to think about it, it really doesn’t. Your walls are raw, sensitive, and throbbing, but some primal part of you is overflowing with desire, getting off on the thrill. 

Because every time the rigid ridges of the barrel burrow into you, the knot in your stomach tightens, threatening to cut loose. The gun bottoms out inside you over and over again, relentless in its constant push and pull. It forces your body into submission, coaxing it into something limp, ragdoll, and unrecognizable because the stimulation is just that overwhelming. Your knees begin to give out; it’s too much, the way your tight heat flutters around the pistol, his pistol, juices soaking your clothes and dripping out onto the floor. 

“Nng-Nagito, please stop, I-I can’t—” You struggle to find the right words, stuttering incomprehensibly.

“Hmm, can’t go on? Would you rather be doing... something else?” He cocks the hammer to remind you of your place and you shake your head vigorously, trying desperately not to think about the possibility of death, as well as the ache that grows ever stronger in your core.

“How utterly disgusting. So you admit you actually want this,” he practically spits, your pathetic pussy pulsing in response. 

That’s not true. 

“With a body like this, are you sure your talent isn’t the Ultimate Slut?” 

It really isn’t, you think. But something about his tone of voice makes you clench even tighter around the gun’s barrel, senses punctuated by his ceaseless pumping into that one spongy spot that has you curling your toes. Saltwater threatens to spill over your eyes when he points it out: “I can’t believe it, you’re basically sucking it in. Dirty fucking whore, making my job harder for me.” 

Your cheeks heat up in shame, thighs shifting wider when he nudges them apart, holding them right where he wants you. You squeak when he plunges the gun impossibly deeper, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you realize you’re about to come undone.

The world shudders when you cum on and over the pistol, the overflow drenching Nagito’s hand. A lewd moan like no other resonates throughout the room—and then you realize that it’s yours, that it’s you who’s moaning, you who’s seeing stars while creaming all over a loaded gun. The tears are painting your cheeks now, exquisite sting doing little to comfort you. His hand stills and you collapse to the floor, exhausted from reaching your high, gun still nestled deep inside you.

Sighing in defeat, Nagito crouches beside you, eyeing you like one would a wriggling maggot. You can’t even begin to imagine what you look like, arms and legs splayed out in haphazard angles, eyes glazed over, your mouth wide open as you pant like a bitch in heat. He taps the side of the gun with a sole fingernail.

“Go on, then. Take it out.”

It takes the last of your energy to swing your arm over, hand clenching the grip of the gun in slothful momentum. It’s hard to think straight. It’s hard to think about anything at all besides your sluggish relief. 

Finally. It’s finally over. The lingering effects of your orgasm die out as you’re left with nothing but the violating weapon stuck up your abused hole. It’s all you can do just to tug on it.

But as soon as you start to pull on it, Nagito grabs ahold, his grip much stronger than your own. Everything in its place, exactly how he wanted it. His smile is torturous, haunting.

“Got you.” He guides, or rather forces, your index finger to its rightful place on the trigger, and you do little to struggle.

“No, no more—” Your voice comes out a meek rasp, labored breath falling upon deaf ears.

“Bang,” he says unceremoniously, pressing your finger into the trigger.

“Say, Nagito, tell me something.” Monokuma turned his gaze from the pitiful sight of your passed out form, left to soak in your own juices on the cold hard ground. “You didn’t happen to rig the game, now, did you?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Monokuma,” Nagito said as he snatched the prize from the duocolor teddy bear, a hefty file embossed in gold letters that read, clear as day: Makoto Naegi. A knowing smile crept to his lips as he pawed through its contents. 

“The gun jammed, fair and square.”

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[twistedmusings]

Vil Schoenheit: After VDC Results

“I’m going to ask again, Prefect.”

“Are you going to walk me out?” 

A/N: Only thing I learned from this Chapter is to not trust a Stan kids, because they will ruin the even for the rest of us. 

Needless to say I have now officially began to simp for Vil, happy to find myself among you, Vil stans. 

If you haven’t read part one, here it is! 

Warnings: Chapter 5 spoilers, Lime soda (implied sexy times!) and de-stressing makeout session for Vil.

Vil had almost tried to kill someone today. 

It seemed strange to say, since it was somebody’s life at stake, but he had come to terms that he had shown everybody in his team a side of himself he hoped they would never see. 

He had shown you a side of himself he hoped you would never see. 

After the ‘incident’, you two had barely talked. You weren’t necessarily avoiding him and he wasn’t avoiding you either. There were just a few moments before the VDC officially started and despite the pain in his body telling him to at least sit down, the need to make it to the end of the stage triumphed as he gave it his all out there. 

Blood, sweat and tears. He had shed them all with no regrets. 

So as he stood there, confetti raining down as the people cheered in the grand coliseum for Neige’s song and not his, he was slowly coming to terms with another realization. 

That he wouldn’t let Rook participate in anything he ever did again…ever. 

Two years. Two YEARS he had known this mysterious man and yet there was NOTHING that had tipped him off to Rook being a fan of Neige. Oh no, not just a fan. 

An extremely devoted fan. 

“...Roi de Neige...it really is such an honor!” 

Neige’s laugh was still like metal against a chalkboard to Vil’s ears, smiling as he held Rook’s hand as the other waxed poetic about his performance. He had to turn away, tears still pricking at the corners of his eyes as he wiped them away with Rook’s handkerchief. His life was just one ironic twist after another, wasn’t it? And how frustrating, to be so close to standing first and to be betrayed by someone who he thought he could trust--! 

“Stand proud and say that you are the fairest of them all, Vil! And I am sure that even the Magic Mirror wouldn’t be able to deny it!”

He chuckles as the fanfare continues, looking down at the offending piece of cloth before shaking his head and going over to his friend, handing him back the handkerchief. 

“Go on, wipe your tears. It is your handkerchief after all.” 

Rook’s surprised face was a sight for sore eyes as he dried his tears. “Thank you, Roi de Poison.” 

“Hehe~ There is Vi-kun’s usual smile~!” 

Enjoy it while it lasts, bastard. The moment we get back to Pomefiore you are going to regret not drinking that juice and melting from the inside out because I am going to make you WISH that you were nothing but a puddle of boiling goop after I am done with you, you son of a bit--

“Vil-senpai!” 

His head turns around slowly, watching you run towards the stage before flashing your staff pass at the bodyguards trying to stop you, just like how he taught you. He clears his throat as he straightens himself out, turning his whole body towards you as the stadium quiets down around him. 

Or maybe he was just paying attention to your voice only. 

“One vote.” you give him a forced smile, “Just by one vote, huh?” 

Vil points a thumb at Rook, “The guilty party is over there.” 

You peek behind him, eyebrows shooting up when you see your other upperclassman holding the hand of the team’s supposed rival and silently crying. 

“...that...the VDC really is full of surprises…” 

You both look at each other before smiling as you share a giggle, your hand going to Vil’s arm and giving it a soft squeeze before letting go.

He doesn’t want to think about what he would have done if you had been the one deciding vote. For a brief moment while the announcement was being made he thought that you had been that person, the one person he wished to curse and hate. Vil tried to imagine it, imagine directing all his anger towards you and promising you that every single day you remained at Night Raven College would be hell because of what you had taken from him. 

Would he have gone through with it? Who knows? 

Vil is a lot more relieved about the fact that you placed your trust in the team he had created and voted for him. 

“How annoying.” 

“Truly.” 

“There goes our heater money.” 

“I agree--what?” 

You turn to him, smiling as you gesture down to the hiccuping Grimm in your arms. He had tired himself out from crying and the headache that followed after had kept him glued to your arms. 

“I know he said that he was going to buy tuna with the money we would have gotten but I was thinking of buying a heater for Ramshackle.” you pout, “You guys were all complaining about how cold it was before using magic to make the entire dorm room cold proof. For a brief moment my dream of having heated floors came true.” 

Vil catches you staring at Neige, your stare not one of admiration but of clear frustration and annoyance. 

“And it wasn’t like his song was that good. It was catchy. Catchy turns straight up annoying in a few days. Watch people complain about how they wish it wasn’t stuck in their heads all the time, I give it a week.” 

Maybe it was the strong emotions he was feeling right now, or the fact that he had come to terms with another set of emotions that were directed towards you a long time ago but Vil immediately grabs your hand and holds it close to his heart, your eyes turning to look at him as he stares at you with fierce intensity. 

He wanted you to feel it. Could you feel how fast his heart was beating? 

“Potato, no, Prefect--” 

Your eyes widened, it was the first time he had referred you with that title. 

“I want you to know that I--” 

“Vi-kun!” 

The Pomefiore dorm leader can feel the vein in his head beginning to throb as he hears his rival’s voice, the Royal Sword Academy student smiling as he came up to him and grabbed his hand. 

“Let’s sing together! If we all sing together I’m sure it would be a lot more fun!” 

Neige smiles as he grabs Vil’s hand, quickly interlocking their fingers together as the other complains about the distance. His eyes meet yours before he grins and gives you a peace sign. 

“I’m going to steal him away real quick, I hope you don’t mind!” 

“Neige!” 

You blink before smiling as you wave goodbye, hugging Grimm close to you as you watch Vil be dragged away by Neige to the center of the stage. The small familiar in your arms groans as he hears the music start up again. “Not agaaaaain. Make it stoooop. My tunaaaaaaa!” 

With a giggle, you scratch the top of his head as he buries his face in the crook of your arm. 

“Go back to sleep, Grimmy. Let’s go back home.” 

The music blares behind you as you hum along to the song, bobbing your head to the beat as Vil’s voice comes through loud and clear despite the cheers and the fanfare. 

“See you guys again!” 

You smile and hug Grimm close, walking towards the exit of the Coliseum.

What a bummer. Guess you couldn’t work up the courage to tell him after all.  

--------

“You guys got everything?” 

“Ah wait!” Kalim rushes back into Ramshackle as Jalim pinches the bridge of his nose, “I forgot Vil’s face stuff!” 

You smile at Jalim, “You always seem to have your hands full.” 

“Isn’t that an understatement.” he smiles, “Are you that eager to get us out of here, Prefect?” 

“Not at all. I’ll be really lonely once you guys leave.” 

Jalim stares at you before looking back at the Ramshackle door, his actions making you laugh as you pat his back and head inside. Guy wasn’t used to people being that honest, was he? You smile when Kalim meets you at the bottom of the stairs, hugging you close and saying quick goodbyes as Jamil called out to him for the second time. 

“There they go…” 

You whistle a low tune as you head upstairs, letting out a huge sigh as you flop down on your bed.

It was the most perfect opportunity...and you blew it. 

Vil had been living with you for almost a whole MONTH and you only managed to have a decent conversation with him maybe three times. And you weren’t going to count that awkward moment you two shared that night. 

Probably the reason he didn’t talk to you at all after that! 

He had been concentrating so hard to win this competition and all you needed to do was just give him some good words of support, not go off about how you thought he was the ‘fairest’ in all of the school! What kind of STUPID confession was that! You wanted to be smooth about it and maybe ask him if he wanted to come with you to the Monstro Lounge after all of this was over. 

At least you had gotten some decent words through. It had been inspiring to watch him work. You didn’t really have an opinion on him when you two first met but watching him put his everything into this one competition made you want to put everything into finding a way back home. 

And like always, feelings of admirations grew to something else. 

Something annoying and unnecessary. 

Vil probably saw right through you, the way you would wake up early to catch him humming in the showers as you brushed your teeth. No, he probably caught on when you complimented every single meal he made when it was his turn to cook. Or maybe he caught on when you straight up admitted that you thought he was the most beautiful person on campus. 

You laugh as you sling your arm over your eyes. 

“I’m so messy.” 

A knock on your door bolts you up from your bed. You knew it wasn’t Grimm since he had taken dibs on the bath first and was probably enjoying the hot water you wish you could enjoy as well. Amethyst eyes meet yours as Vil stares at you, bag on the floor by his side as you two stare each other down.  

“...should I just leave?” 

“No!” you immediately get up and walk over to him, “Let me walk you out. It is the duty of a Prefect to see all the guests out, after all~” 

“You only have one other member living in your dorm, potato.” 

“Doesn’t mean I should ignore the title given to me. That’s what Riddle taught me.” 

You make a move to walk out into the hallway but his arm stops you, blocking your way as your eyes look into the deep purple linen. It must be really soft to touch-- “Oi.” 

Whoops, lost in thought again. 

“You say something?” 

Vil sighs and you were expecting the usual disappointed look but your heart nearly beat out of your chest when you saw him smile, your hands clenching into tight fists as you step back two steps. 

“You were talking about responsibilities of a dorm leader, so I’m doing my responsibility as well. I’m thanking you.” 

“Ha! Vil-senpai you shouldn’t be thanking me, it was the Headmaster’s decision after all.” 

Even then he shouldn’t be thanking you, if anything you should be thanking him. 

“So you’re just going to refuse my gratitude?” his fingers brush away some strands of your hair, “Did Riddle only teach you one thing?” 

You try to count by 5’s in your head as your face heats up, how were you still standing up? 

“Sorry. You’re right.” you take a deep breathe, “You’re welcome. I’m glad my dorm could be of some service.” 

It was a good idea to leave out the ‘to you’, it would probably creep him out. 

Silence hung heavy in the room as the two of you heard the clock tick away at the minutes, Vil’s arm still blocking your exit to the hallway. 

“Uhm...Vil-senpai?” 

“I want to have no regrets for this VDC, potato. As frustrating as it is...I gave it my all and I lost.” 

You open your mouth to try and console him but he stops you with just a stare. “But I have no regrets on how I approached this. The method was perfect and the song was perfect. I even managed to shape some rough looking potatoes into decent enough students.” 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and picking his words carefully. 

“But I intend to leave this experience with no regrets whatsoever. Both on and off the stage.” 

You tilt your head, “As in?” 

The ticking of the clock stops for a moment as your chin is tilted upwards, starts up again when you feel a hand on your cheek pull you close and stops entirely when a pair of lips press against your own. 

Your arms hang uselessly at your sides as Vil kisses you, his lips unmoving while the hand holding your cheek slithers all the way down to your waist. A shiver runs all the way from the soles of your feet to the top of your head, the sudden rush of warmth making you pull away. 

Yet he selfishly clung to you. 

“Are you going to walk me out, Prefect?” 

The answer is quick as you wrap your arms around his neck, quickly pulling him down for another kiss. His heels click harshly against the wooden flooring as you two walk backwards and fall on your bed, the purple linen you had admired earlier now caressing your arms as you pull away for a quick breather. 

“Vil--” 

He takes advantage of your open mouth, tongue pushing inside and pressing against yours as he pulls your arms away from his neck and pins them to the bedding. You want to keep your eyes open, want to see Vil in ways you hoped nobody else had seen before. The circlet on his head probably disheveled from the rough tumble you two had, the eyeliner pressed so neatly against his eyelid, the way his fingers so delicately kept you from moving as his thumb caressed your wrist. 

You can’t help but whine as he pulls away, trying to follow his lips but being kept in place by those hands on his. Vil watches you take deep gulps of air, his hands squeezing your wrists to keep you in place before moving away to  take off the circle on top of his head as he laid it gingerly on the pillow next to your head. 

“I’m going to ask again, Prefect.” 

Vil presses a kiss to your eyelid, moving down to your cheek and finally your chin as his fingers toy with the first button of your pajama shirt. 

“Are you going to walk me out?” 

He smiles when you hold out your arms open for him, your eyes begging him to not leave you alone. 

Tongues meet before lips as Vil shrugs off his robe and makes himself comfortable in your arms, grabbing his magic pen and flicking his wrist in order to shut the door to your room and locking it. 

Obviously he would have to leave before the raccoon was done with his bath, but he was intending to finish this VDC with no regrets. 

So the little furball could wait. 

--------

Omake: 

“Oi!!! Why did you lock the door!” 

“Grimm don’t come in here!” 

“Hah? You know this is my room too!” 

“I know but right now I’m-ah!-busy! I’m busy!” 

“With what--!” 

“Grimm I’m just busy! Ace left a bunch of his snacks down in the kitchen! I’ll let you take dibs on whatever you want!” 

“....no take backsies?” 

“No--oh Great Sevens--no take backsies!” 

“Fgnaa! I’ll dig in then~!” 

[dreamkidddream]

Quote 7 for Mammon Pls!! Congrats as well on your followers btw, really love your stuff, keep it up! ☆

Thank you!! Call me biased but Mammon is my fav brother. I still love em all but I can’t help but love him a lil more (can you tell by how long this got lol) 😭 Reader is gender neutral!

Prompt: “We’d make a cute couple.” with Mammon!

Having Mammon by your side throughout the day was one of the main things you looked forward to whenever you woke up. While he may have his moments where he can be a little bit annoying, you could never fully be upset with him. There was never a moment where you two weren’t together: walking to RAD, walking to class, walking home, doing homework, pissing off Lucifer. It seemed like you two were inseparable, joined by the hip with how much you two were side by side. The only time you two weren’t together was when you went to bed, and even then you still had sleepovers/movie nights to make up for it.

You honestly wondered why you two weren’t dating yet.

You knew part of the reason (honestly the main reason) was Mammon. He’s so stubborn and determined to deny his feelings for you when it is so painfully obvious that he’s in love with you. Was it a pride thing? A demon thing? Maybe it’s just a him thing, either way you didn’t understand. Plus, it’s so obvious that you love him too! You wanted to slam your head into a wall every single time Mammon brought out his tsundere side. It was cute at first (and still was sometimes), but it was starting to get old very quick. When will he stop being so hardheaded and just admit to it already?!

Whenever it was you two, he let his soft side come out. Being the family’s punching bag, he let a lot of stuff slide, and he held a lot in. He’s able to lean on you whenever he’s struggling, never having to worry about keeping up facades and having to be strong all of the time. Everyone has moments of weakness, and you made sure that Mammon always knew that and never felt ashamed when he came to confide in you. He’s a sensitive demon, and you have no problems comforting and encouraging him when he’s down.

You two balanced each other out, and he’s always there for you just you are for him. The whispers of “I love you” that he thought you didn’t here among the gentle looks that he gave you that he thought was unseen, all taken in my you.

So no more beating around the bush! This is happening, and happening now.

He couldn’t avoid you forever (not that he would be avoiding you anyway), and he couldn’t avoid his feelings either (not that he tried to hide them well in the first place). It was the weekend, and after eating dinner with everyone, you were in your room for your scheduled movie night. Some action movie was playing on the screen, empty instant Hellfire noodle cups scattered while you two laid side by side on the bed. Mammon was deep into the movie, while your attention was elsewhere.

“Oi MC! Look at how that agent landed a double shot from behind his back while driving blindfolded!”

“Uh huh.”

“And the way that he’s blowing through these guys like nothing is crazy! Bet I can do that too! Wanna bet?”

“Uh huh.”

“And- MC? Ya not even listenin’, are ya?”

“Uh huh.”

“Sorry if I’m boring ya to sleep.”, he grumbled, looking away and pouting. But he still peeked back at you, gaze forming to show his worry. You were out of it, mind focusing on something that wasn’t you and him time, which never happened. So what happened? Did someone do something to make you mad? Did he do something and made you mad? He doesn’t recall anything happening...maybe you’re just getting homesick?

It was making him get uneasy and had his mind racing now. What is going-

“You know Mammon, we’d make a cute couple.”

Well that caused him to choke on his spit and shoot straight up, knocking the empty cups over and spilling the blankets off of your bodies.

“W-where is this coming from?!”

“I mean,” you turned to him, the movie illuminating your face in the dark. “Am I wrong?”

It’s so easy for Mammon to get lost in your eyes, just as it is for you. You believed that all of the brothers’ eyes reminded you of jewels, but Mammons’ eyes were always the most unique to you. They always found a way to draw you in, the mix of gold and cerulean never failing to captivate you. Not to mention how expressive they are, his emotions easily showing through them. Like now, you could see the hesitation and uncertainty swirling through them after your declaration.

You took a leap of faith, and you’re only hoping that he would do the same.

He sat with his mouth opening and closing a couple times, the tips of words never leaving his tongue. He started to fidget, eyes darting to look anywhere else that wasn’t you, his cheeks turning scarlet and spreading to his ears. You felt disappointment bubbling in your stomach. You should’ve know that he wouldn’t confess, that you just pushed him too far. You should’ve just kept quiet and never addressed-

“You really think so?”

He said it in such a small voice, that you barely heard him. And when he looked at you, he stared in so much awe, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“I mean, yeah. Don’t you think so?”, you were trying to still be casual about it, but you feel yourself starting to sweat. The look that Mammon’s giving you is getting to your nerves, making your heart beat even faster than it already is. He’s already caught off guard, but it’s what he says next that does the same to you.

“I do,” he has tears welling in his eyes now with an infectious smile to match. “I really do. W-what took you so long to say something, you dumb human?”

“Me?! You’re the one who’s always acting so tough, you dumb demon!”, but you shoved him, laughing the whole time. “Geez, you stress me out for no reason-”

You didn’t even have time to pretend to be mad as he tackled you to the bed, his trademark laugh filling the air. It didn’t take that long for you to join him, you both just appreciating the moment. You both longed for this moment, just to be in each other’s arms, not a care in the world. Nothing else mattered right now; just this.

“MC, I really do care about you and”, he paused. “I- I don’t ever wanna let you go. I don’t know what I would do without you now, and I don’t ever wanna find out”, he tightened his grip around you as he spoke. “You’re the only one I wanna be greedy with.”

The satisfaction you felt when hearing this was indescribable. “I care about you too Mammon, and I wouldn’t mind that. Not at all.”

“G-Good! Because now that the Great Mammon is blessing you with this opportunity, ya better be grateful about it! It’s not easy to get with me, so count yourself lucky!”

Ah, here’s the old Mammon. Minus the denial.

“Okay, Mammoney.”, you chuckled, getting yourself comfortable. The warmth radiating from his body was making you sleepy, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. “I’m the luckiest person in the world.”

As you mumbled a “goodnight, love you” as you succumbed to sleep, you felt the forgotten covers being brought over you both. Mammon admired you as you snored lightly in his arms, and he couldn’t help but lightly kiss the top of your head. No amount of gambling could ever beat this high that he’s feeling, nothing could.

“I know I count myself the luckiest demon in the world right now.”

He’s already won something better than a prize, and that’s you loving him.

[lxngbottom]

Mute | N.L.

in which the reader doesn’t talk, and neville tries to change that.

warnings: bullying, swearing, mentions of mental illness/anxiety, some angst (let me know if there are more!)

word count: 2,298

thank you for all of the love on my last two one shots!! it means so much ty ty okay now enjoy

—

“trauma, maybe? my dad’s friend who’s a muggle doctor said that trauma can completely change a person.”

there the three boys were again, sitting at the gryffindor table in the great hall, trying to understand the girl who would always sit ways away from everyone else.

“maybe she’s just really shy!” dean quickly replied, shooting down seamus’s suggestion. seamus shrugged, and took a large gulp of his morning pumpkin juice.

“no! longbottom is “shy”, but y/n? i haven’t heard her say one single thing since second year.”

neville listened in on his friend’s conversation, only letting his eyes leave them when he went to take quick glances at the girl of the hour.

y/n was to put it into simple terms... mute. it was very difficult to hear her utter a single vowel, let along a whole statement. everyone at hogwarts knew that she was not just quiet or shy, but completely silent. people wondered how one person could go without speaking for so long. she was a bit jittery, seemingly nervous all the time. if someone shot a single look at her and she noticed, she would look away without even giving the person a chance to smile or wave.

weirdly, she had always been this way. since the first day of first year, she kept to herself, not even attempting on taking the chance of getting to know someone who might become a life long friend. it really got under people’s skin when they asked her a question, and she just simply wouldn’t respond. so, this caused for students to completely avoid her. it seemed that it was a collective agreement among the school that no one should even try speaking to her. and that was because, again, they would never get a reply.

out of these students, neville longbottom seemed to be the most intrigued. he would never forget the first time he heard her speak. it was one day in third year, of course neville was clumsily making his way down the hallway. as he did so, he didn’t notice that y/n was walking straight for him. and of course, she didn’t notice him either until they both crashed into each other’s bodies. neville fell back onto the ground, letting a small huff escape from his lips. surrounding students cackled at the two as they continued walking. when he looked up, he saw the panic in her eyes and the way she quickly reached down to get her books.

“uh—merlin... sorry about that...” he stuttered, reaching down as well to help her. she glanced at him, but quickly looked away when he noticed. of course, she stayed silent. “are you alright?”

she nodded her head, and stood up with the books in her hand. “yeah. thanks.” and with that, she rushed away from him, not even giving him a chance to say one more word.

he would never forget it. the way her voice was so soft and fragile. he had honestly wished he could hear it more.

admittedly, neville felt bad for her. every time he looked at her, something nagged at him about the girl. every time she got called out in class to answer a question, he would panic for her as her face would drop.

she looked so lonely. she would sit in the back of the class always. he had seen her in the library quite often, just reading, sitting all alone at a table. he hated that she seemed so alone.

he wanted to change that.

—

the day was quiet. only the sounds of birds outside and the wind blowing through the trees on the castle grounds. saturdays were always the perfect days for going to the library, studying, or just to read a good book. that was y/n’s plans consisted of most of the time.

y/n made her way through the large halls, waving discreetly to the paintings on the wall. it seemed as if the lively pictures were the only people that ever respected her, told her hello as she walked by.

her fingers were tightly grasped around two books, as she was planning on returning both of them. her face didn’t show it, but she was quite excited to find two more books to add to her reading list. reading had always been considered an easy escape to y/n. pages filled with so many words, but told so many different stories. stories about love, heartbreak, dragons, princesses, noble wizards, y/n enjoyed all of it.

as she daydreamed about her next book, she hadn’t noticed the small group of students exchanging glances and laughing as they saw her approaching. before she knew it, her books were being slapped out of her hand, and hit the ground with a loud noise.

she looked up finally and saw draco malfoy standing right in front of her, hands in his pockets, chuckling with all of his friends from his choice of action against her.

“you gotta be quicker than that, mute!” he teased, and y/n bent down to grab the two books. when she stood up and met eyes with him again, he shook his head at her. “can’t think of a good comeback? or are you just too scared to say anything?”

she held the books tight to her chest, trembling from malfoy’s presence.

“thought so. see you around, mute.” he spat her way, but not forgetting to bump into her figure as he walked away, his friends following behind him.

y/n sighed, and turned around to make sure they were completely gone.

she started her journey once again, making her way to her sanctuary that people called the library.

when she arrived, she returned her books to madam prince silently, and this didn’t shock the librarian whatsoever. she was used to y/n coming in, checking out countless books, and checking them out and returning them muted.

as y/n skimmed the aisles, she came to the conclusion that she would once again read one of her favorite books. she had read it about seven times, but she could never get over how beautifully written it was. it was truly the best thing she had ever laid her eyes on, and she knew she would probably read it once more after this time around.

but when she went over the familiar bookshelf, the book in question wasn’t in the place it always was. she furrowed her eyes brows, and checked the rest of the shelves near just to make sure it hadn’t been misplaced. but of course, it was no where to be found.

malfoy had provided her with a sour experience already that day, and now she couldn’t even check out her favorite book? she already knew where this day was going, and she frowned in disappointment at the thought.

y/n had settled on some other fantasy novel that seemed to acquire to her taste. she checked it out, and made her way to the back of the library. she always went where it was secluded, almost no one else but her present. but little did she know, behind all the shelves she was walking by, someone followed her.

she finally found a small table to sit down at, and she did so with relief. it always made her so nervous to think that she might have to actually sit with other people one day. but luckily, that day wasn’t today. or so she thought.

because as a few minutes went by, and her eyes were glued to the book pages in front of her, she heard a chair being pushed. she looked up, and met eyes with neville longbottom. he shot her a small smile before speaking,

“can i sit here? it’s okay if not, everywhere else just feels a bit stuffy.”

she stared at his features for a moment, thinking back to the day when she bumped into him in the hallway. she gave him a single nod, and luckily, he didn’t miss it.

as he sat down in front of her, she gulped heavily. she hated being around others, even in a peaceful place such as a library.

a few minutes went by, the silence filling in the gap between the two. neville would glance at her a few times over his book, and she seemingly seemed lost in her own world. but at some point, she finally did look away from the words on the pages. she looked at the book he was “reading”, and noticed the familiar cover. if she hadn’t caught herself, she would’ve let out an audible gasp.

he had her book.

she seemed to be staring for too long, because neville looked at her.

“have you read this before?” he suddenly asked, snapping her back into reality. “it’s actually pretty good. i’m not big on fantasy, but this isn’t too bad.”

yeah, it’s an amazing book. she knew that very well.

but of course, she didn’t express that into words for neville. she only snapped her eyes back to her book, and neville frowned a bit.

did he say something wrong? he thought for sure that this was her favorite book. i mean, he had seen her with it more times than he could keep track of, so he could only assume.

“what’s that you’re reading? is it good?”

she looked up at him through hooded eyes, still not budging.

“well, anyways... i’m more of a herbology book lover. i love learning new things about plants. i think it’s really cool...”

y/n felt herself becoming confused, and almost bothered. she knew who neville was, but couldn’t understand why he was attempting to spark a conversation with her.

“i noticed that you like to read,” he mentioned, and y/n finally looked at him fully. “i mean—i see you here a lot, and you’re always reading from what i can tell. what’s your favorite genre?”

as neville attempted to get the girl to speak, he closed his book without looking. he realized that was a mistake when the heavy book closed onto his finger, and he let out a loud yelp.

as much as y/n tried, she couldn’t hold in the small giggle that fell from her lips. she covered her mouth in an attempt to hide it, but neville’s ears caught it.

“oh, you think my suffering is funny, huh?” neville joked, smiling out of triumph. she hadn’t spoke, but she laughed. and neville swore it was the most angelic thing he had ever heard.

she shook her head at his question, her cheeks turning a dark red from embarrassment. she had hoped he was okay, but nonetheless, it was funny.

the whole time they were in the library, neville rambled on about random things. he had brought up his interests in plants, making sure not to over explain his love for them. he talked about books, and random things that had happened to him and his friends during his time at hogwarts. he was making it his number one goal to get her to talk at least once.

but as darkness began to fall, and as curfew approached quicker and quicker by the minute, he hadn’t succeeded. he was quite shy at the fact that he had just sat in the library all day rambling to someone who never even spoke back. she had seemed to be listening, which took him by surprise. he had never had someone to listen to him as he spoke, let along not interrupt him in a conversation.

as much as she hated to admit it, y/n had a good time herself. she loved the way neville talked, how he explained things so deeply and with so much detail. he never seemed to miss a beat in a conversation, even if it was practically with himself. it made her realize that she wish she had the strength to speak. she wished she could respond to his questions without feeling her stomach churning.

the two left the library, their bags draped over their shoulders as they walked. y/n still had two books clutched into her hand, as she has checked out a random herbology book before leaving. neville smiled when she did so, feeling giddy inside that he had managed to spark an interest in her.

“that book is really good! it’s all about water plants! which are really cool, by the way. you should read up on gillyweed! it’s this really cool plant that—“ when he went to ramble on once more, he stopped himself. “never mind. i think i’ve talked a bit too much, today. wouldn’t you agree?”

for some reason, y/n wanted him to keep talking. it filled the silence that she considered her serenity, and she enjoyed every last word he spoke.

“well... i think this is where we part ways. do you need me to walk you back?” he asked, secretly hoping that she would say yes. but, she shook her head no. he was greatly dissatisfied, but, he tried his best to understand.

“oh, okay. well... goodnight, y/n. maybe we can hang out in the library some other time.”

he smiled at her, not expecting a word, but only catching a glimpse at the red that rose to the tips of her ears.

neville began to walk away, feeling a bit defeated.

suddenly, something that neville never wouldn’t expected:

“goodnight.”

he stopped in his place, and turned around. she covered her mouth with her books, but neville could tell that she was smiling. he couldn’t believe that the word had left her mouth.

“goodnight, y/n.” he repeated, and she shot him a smile before walking in the other direction. a genuine smile. the first one he had ever seen besides from her giggling.

he wanted to hear that voice, and those giggles more than she could ever have guessed.