#so I presume I picked up the speaking of english pretty quick

[aethersea]

Wait you portuguese??

nope, american! but I speak it, my parents taught me as a baby right alongside english. allegedly I didn't actually speak any english until I went to preschool, and even then all I knew how to say was "where is the bathroom"

[nat-20s]

Part 5 of Wonderful! Au. *boyband voice* banter’s back alright!

Also on AO3

~*~

Jon: Hello everyone, and welcome back to our regular format. If my husband being horribly soppy-

Martin:-hey!-

Jon: -turned you off the how, this should be a refreshing return to formula, though I can’t guarantee there won’t be further horrible soppiness-

Martin, performatively under his breath: -most people thought it was charming-

Jon: -as that tends to happen when one is recording with the love of their life. If last week’s episode is the only one that you like, too bad, I’m back in full form, and should be at least through the rest of the season.

Martin: This show doesn’t have seasons? Due to the whole lack of a narrative thing?

Jon: I was referring to spring.

Martin: Oh, right.

[A beat passes.]

Martin, flatly: Oh. Great goof hon.

Jon, smug: Thank you.

Jon, sincere: Also, before we get properly started, I did want to actually thank everyone who sent well wishes.

M artin: Yes! We got positively inundated with lovely messages, it definitely brightened both of our days. I would even say it was wonderful.

[Jon groans.]

Jon: I am..not proud of the energy we’ve created for this episode so far, and we haven’t even hit the small wonders. Speaking of, do you have a small wonder this week?

Martin: Mine’s bad action movies.

Jon: Really? I had no idea you even liked them, let alone consider them wonderful.

Martin: Okay, so, saying I like them is a bit of a misnomer? It’s more that I like what they can do more than the movies themselves?

Jon: Elaborate?

Martin: It probably comes as a surprise to no one that I’ve tried my hand at a fair amount of mindfulness and mediation techniques. I’ve found poetry and journaling have been helpful for actually processing life events and whatnot, but when it comes to giving your brain a hard wipe and reset, nothing is half as quick and effective as a shitty shoot-em-up. Somethings about 2 hours of cartoonish, pg-13 violence held together with the absolute loosest of plots brings me to a state of mental blankness that would make a monk jealous.

Jon: How have I never witnessed you doing this? When are you sneaking off to go see Micheal Tarantino or who ever films?

M artin: That’s definitely not the right name.

Jon: Martin, dear, I don’t care. And you’re dodging the question.

Martin, fond: I’m not dodging anything. Since apparently we’re getting into it, you haven’t caught me cavorting with a movie involving more explosions than character development lately because I haven’t been. Haven’t needed it, in recent years. Turns out when you’re not crushingly lonely and working a literal nightmare of job, there’s less of a drive to try and escape your own thoughts. Shocker, I know. Still, to anyone out there that feels like their brain is on fire, go try watching a fast and furious. Any of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Or even better, Chronicles of Riddick. I can’t remember a single goddamn detail of that movie, which makes it perfect for what I’m talking about.

Jon: I have the strong feeling that th is is a “mileage may vary” scenario.

Martin: Well, yeah, that’s this whole podcast. Plus, I imagine that movies like this would cause more stress to someone who cares about, say, world-building or rules consistency.

Jon: I wonder who you could possibly be referring to.

Martin: It’s a purely hypothetical person, love, don’t worry about it. Any small wonders?

Jon: Yes! Particularly relevant to the last week, my small wonder is stripping the sheets from your bed when it’s been too long between washes.

Martin: How very specific. M ost people would just say ‘clean sheets’.

Jon: Well, for one, I’m fairly certain that we’ve already covered clean sheets-

Martin: Shit, have we? Thank god other people keep track of this, otherwise this show would be unbearably repetitive.

Jon: Christ, yes. I typically check the website a good three times while prepping, and every about one out of those three times I find I’m trying to do an topic we did 30 episodes again. Anyway, um, it’s just nice, I think. When you’ve been too busy or sick or away for awhile, tossing the sheets in the wash makes a room instantly seem nicer. Of all the chores out there, this one, at least for me, has the highest reward to effort ratio.

Martin: Hard agree. Especially when the y have that slight funk of having been around to long, getting rid of that is such a relief. Speaking of, we need to change our sheets soon.

Jon: We can do it after the episode. Who goes first this week?

Martin: Considering last week was only me talking, I’m gonna say it’s you.

Jon: Alright, then. My first thing this week is Martin K. Blackwood.

Martin: Absolutely not!

Jon: Oh, you can do a whole episode on me, but I can’t do one little segment on my husband, whom I love very dearly?

Martin: Not while I’m sat here, no!

Jon: So you’re saying you don’t want me to tell the internet that your resolve to be kind even in the face of indescribable cruelty is one of the mot breathtaking things I’ve ever witnessed, or how I find it incredibly endearing when you get so emotional that your voice comes out as a squeak, or even that, on a more base level, you’re very physically attractive, and I could lose entire days thinking about your arms alone?

Martin, audibly blushing, voice the aforementioned squeak: Oh my god, Jon!

Jon, laughing: Then it’s probably for the best that my actual first thing is best friends.

Martin, peaking the audio levels: Oh you absolute bastard! Do you enjoy this? Do you get some sort of perverse sense of entertainment from riling me up?

Jon: Oh, don’t you start. As if you’re not as bad as I am. Maybe even worse.

Martin: That’s not…

Jon: Yes?

Martin: Okay. Maybe it’s slightly true. Really, what is romance for if not flustering your partner with compliments?

Jon, teasing: I certainly can’t think of anything.

Martin: Hush, you.

Jon: No, I don’t think I will.

Martin: Fine. I suppose you can tell our delightful audience about the power of friendship or whatever.

Jon: I would’ve assumed more enthusiasm, considering this segment is still, indirectly, about you.

Martin: In what way?

Jon: In the way that, to the shock of all, you’re my best friend.

Martin, pleased: Oh, is that what I am?

Jon, exasperated: Yes, dearest husband, I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. Though, upon reflection, I knew you were my best friend before I knew I held romantic feelings for you.

Martin: When was that?

Jon, letting out a breath that vibrates his lips: God it was...2016? I think it might’ve literally been the day after you told me about your CV.

Martin: That early? Huh. I wonder if that’s what people were picking up when they said they we were close.

Jon: What people?

Martin: I don’t know specifically, that’s just what Daisy told me.

Jon: Daisy? When the hell-?

Martin: It...was when she was interrogating me? And, because sometimes I have to be a parody of myself, pretty much my only take away from that interrogation was “people think me and Jon are close”.

Jon: Well then. It’s not like they were wrong.

Martin, smug: No, no they weren’t.

Martin, sincere: And you’re my best friend, too.

Jon: I was certainly hoping that you’re in this relationship for more than my good looks and incredible fortune, both in the monetary and luck sense.

Martin: You say that as if you aren’t good looking, which we all know is patently untrue.

Jon: You’re biased. You’d say I was good looking if I were nothing more than some primordial ooze with thoughts about its station.

Martin: I’m being completely objective. If you were primordial ooze with thoughts above its station, you’d be the cutest ooze of them all. That’s just scientific fact.

Jon: I’m starting to think we might be insufferable.

Martin: Starting to? Might be?

Jon:…

[Jon clears his throat]

Jon: What I find wonderful about the concept of best friends is, to me, they’re the closest thing real life has to soulmates. I don’t personally believe that there’s some..grand mystic force that drives people to be tied together in the manner that narrative typical soulmates are, and if there was I don’t think it would necessarily be the kind of emotional, heartfelt bond one would hope for, but I do believe that there’s individuals that get to know one another, and because of that knowledge, they chose to stick with one another. It doesn’t have to be a romantic, which is why I say best friend rather than specifically ‘spouse’, but I would argue that the basis of a strong romance like you and I have, is very much rooted in that connection. A true best friendship is an equal partnership, and there’s a sense of..matched sensibilities and understanding that can be utterly incandescent when it happens.

I also think that having one or more best friends makes living life on a day to day basis both better and just flat easier. The dark times aren’t as dark, and the bright times shine even more. I know from my own personal experience there are events that I..that I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you. Hell, last week my..recovery period would’ve taken much longer if you hadn’t been there.

It’s an amazing thing to have someone to share things with, both triumphs and burdens. Um, also, according to Dictionary.com, the term best friends in English has been around since the 1200s. Something about that delights me, like, yes, we’ve had this casual way of referring to a Favorite Person for roughly 800 years. That makes it a hold-out from early Middle English. I dunno, it’s one of those things that make me feel overall very charmed by humanity.

Martin, audibly smiling: No, yeah, hard agree.

Jon: What’s that look for?

Martin: Nothing. Just. I love you a whole lot, you know that?

Jon, voice soft: I may have heard you say that once or twice. Per hour.

Martin: Only that often? I really need to be more diligent about that.

[There’s a bet of silence, presumably where they’re making doe eyes at each other.]

Jon: What’s your first thing?

Martin: Oh, um, right. Rats!

Jon: The expression or the animal?

Martin: Jon, have you ever once heard me say “rats” as an expression? Obviously I’m referring to the animal.

Jon: Ah. Should’ve known, considering that what, a third?, of all your segments have been on animals.

Martin: Yeah? And? You got a problem with critters? With creatures? With lil guys?

Jon, laughing: No, no, it’s very sweet. I’m just surprised you never became a vet.

Martin: Oh believe me, I wanted to. But then I learned that it was not, in fact, a job composed entirely of getting paid to play with other people’s pets.

Jon: You had that job, though, didn’t you? I thought I remembered you mentioning a month long stint at a doggie day care.

Martin, sighing dreamily: Best job I ever had. Too bad that place was shut down after it was revealed to be a money laundering front.

Jon: Good lord.

Jon: Martin did you...did you know it was a money laundering front at the time?

Martin:

Martin: Would it make you feel better if I said no?

Jon: Martin!

Martin: I figured it out like a week in, but, like, who cares? The pay was decent and the floor was super easy to clean, which is very much a plus for even a front of a doggie day care.

Jon: That’s...rather a lot. How about instead of getting into that any further, you tell me about rodents.

Martin: I would love to. But first, we have a shoutout!

Jon: Ooo, a shoutout. Does it specify who should read?

Martin: Let me check. It...does...not…..

...

Jon: Martin?

[A beat.]

Martin: Right! Sorry, um. This week’s shoutout is from Tim, to Danny. It says, “Danny! My favorite person who shares genetic material with me! I wanted to say thank you for your podcast obsession from 4 months ago, and specifically for telling me about these marrieds. They’ve gotten me through many a dull hour at the publishing house. Also, with this shoutout, I’ve officially gotten ahead on the Superior [Last Name Redacted] Brother scoreboard, so suck it. Love you lots, and looking forward to your visit next month, Tim.”

Jon: Oh.

Jon: Um. That’s very..sweet? I think? Mostly?

Martin: Yeah, I’d say so. Uh. We have to take a quick break because, uh, someone is..at our front door! Be back with you all in, from your side of things, just a moment.

[babymetaldoll]

The morning after (Spilling drinks on my settee part 2) Spencer Reid/Reader

Requested: Yes! it’s my first request! thank you, anon!! 

Prompt: Hungover Spencer has to face Reader after she caught him drunk, puking outside her house. He also has to face Morgan’s teasing after he confessed he was in love with Reader.

Pairing: Spencer/Reader 

Warnings: none 

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1,9K 

Part one here

Masterlist 

.

If it had been up to Spencer, he would have never left his bed that day. As soon as he opened his eyes, the headache that hit him made him realize that was going to be a long day. A long and shitty day. 

He sat on his bed slowly ‘cos the whole room was spinning. He was still fully dressed, why? There was puke on his shoes and pants… and a Gatorade on his nightstand? He was confused, he didn’t leave that there, right? no… maybe? he didn’t really remember. Why was he still dressed? he didn’t remember. How did he get home? he didn’t remember

- “Shit!”

Until he did. 

There was a flash of embarrassment, guilt, and nausea on his face, suddenly it was all coming back. 

- “Shit!”

That was the only word Spencer could use. He had gotten drunk, confessed to Morgan he was in love with (Y/N), he had actually tried to…

- “Shit!”

Maybe alcohol had managed to unplug a part of Reid’s brain, ‘cos apparently, “shit” was the only thing he was able to pronounce, at least for a few minutes.  

All the embarrassing memories of the night before kept coming back to his mind, they were fragments of someone else’s life he was watching from outside. It was all too humiliating. (Y/N) saw him puking outside her house. He was outside her house ‘cos he wanted to know why she had been out on a date with a guy from a dating website. He had told Morgan he loved her, and nearly cried. 

Spencer Walter Reid was doomed, and he knew it. It was going to take a lot of courage, patience, and Gatorade to go through that day. 

His cellphone kept buzzing, but once he realized it wasn’t a case, but (Y/N) and Morgan trying to reach him, he ignored it the whole subway ride to work. He couldn’t even read, his brain wasn’t working, he couldn’t concentrate at all. He just wanted to disappear forever. What had he done? how could he ever face (Y/N) after what happened? And what if Morgan had already told everyone what happened? of course he had, Reid thought, and his red cheeks were now purple. 

Humiliation was written across his face and his stomach tightened as he set foot into the bullpen. He took a quick look around and sighed relieved. Apparently, there was no one else there yet, the whole place seemed empty, although there was a fresh cup of coffee with extra sugar on his desk, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles. 

That could only mean one thing. 

- “Hey, how are you feeling this morning?”- Spencer froze in panic and turned around very, very slowly. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure (Y/N) could listen to it. She was waving at him with a shy smile on her face. She didn’t look mad, or uncomfortable. She looked… worried. 

- “H… he… hey, (Y/N)-” he stuttered and waved. He knew he had to say something- anything- but nothing seemed to come to mind. He was literally speechless. 

- “How are you feeling?”

- “G… g… good, I’m good, I’m ok”- Spencer wanted to slap himself. He was humiliated already, but his behavior wasn’t making it any better. He had to put his shit together somehow.

- “I’m glad”- she sighed relieved, rubbing his arm sweetly, and her touch made him shiver right away. He tried to smile at her, but he was left speechless again. It was a painful scene to see. 

- “I was worried sick, you didn’t pick up your phone earlier”- Reid just nodded and looked down.

- “I got you the best recipe to cure your hangover, coffee of course, and I filled half the cup with sugar, just the way you like it”- the way (Y/N) stuck out her tongue and giggled, hypnotized him.

- “I made you a grilled cheese sandwich, I don't know how many times you've woken up feeling like shit after a party, but I'm pretty sure I’ve got a lot more experience than you, and greasy food always helps me coming back to life.”

Spencer nodded, trying to follow the conversation, but his brain was still malfunctioning and his head was pounding sharp and heavy. 

- “And your favorite donut 'cos you need extra sugar”

- “Thanks”- his voice was a sweet whisper. (Y/N) looked at him worried and rubbed a hand on his arm gently again.

- “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck happened last night?”- the painful grimace on Spencer's face was enough.

- “I'm just worried something bad happened to you “

- “No, no, no”- he shook his head frenetically and regretted the movement immediately. His head was killing him- “I just couldn't handle my drinks, that's all.”

- “Are you sure?”- lying to profilers could be the hardest thing on earth.

- “Yeah, yeah”

- “Good, I was worried you were going to call in sick…”- there was a short silence between them, they just stared at each other and sighed. 

(Y/N) couldn’t stop thinking he had called her “Buttercup” and didn’t know how to ask him to do it again, and again, every day. And Reid had no idea what to do next. So he just said the first thing that came to mind.  

- “Did you know hangovers are estimated to cost $148 billion each year due to hangover individuals calling in sick to work or performing poorly on the job.”  

- “Pretty boy!!”

Derek’s voice walking over them made Spencer’s heart stop in fear, he just waved at his friend with his less expressive smile - the one (Y/N) called “frog face”- and just prayed to whatever god that might exist, that Morgan wouldn’t embarrass him more than he was already. 

- “How are you feeling today, kid?”

- “I’m ok, thanks” 

- “You are lucky there’s no case, yet”- Dr. Reid nodded and looked around, trying to find a way to run away from Morgan and (Y/N). 

- “Nice breakfast”

- “I thought he was going to need extra energy today”- the young woman smiled proudly- “And when are you going to explain to me what happened last night? why did you let him get that drunk?”

Morgan knew (Y/N) was going to be mad at him, so he just looked at Spencer and waited to see if he had made up any lie already 

- “I… I told you, I just couldn’t keep up with Derek”

- “Yeah”- his friend immediately supported his lie. Which wasn’t a complete lie- “I pushed Reid to drink at my pace, and I guess pretty boy ain’t ready to drink like a man.”

On a regular day, Spencer would have hated that last comment, ‘cos he was sick and tired of his friend treating him like a toddler. But under those circumstances, he just nodded and tried to stay calm. 

- “And why were you outside my house?” 

- “We were looking for a cab, started walking… and Reid remembered you live close to the bar”- Spencer’s eyes opened wide at those words- “And he wanted to stop by.”

- “No I didn’t”- Reid knew he would lose in a fight with Derek, but he was willing to give it a try and punch him if that successfully stopped him from talking.  

- “Kid, you were drunk, you don’t remember, but you wanted to stop by and see (Y/N)”- the girl looked at Reid and bit her lips

- “Is that so? you got drunk and started thinking of me?”

Spencer couldn’t speak. He felt his hands shaking, so he hid them in his pockets and tried to come up with anything, literally anything to say. But he had nothing.  

- “Yes, pretty boy wanted to see you…”- Morgan just smiled, tapped on Spencer’s back, and walked away chuckling. He knew Reid needed a push to open up to (Y/N). Maybe this was what he needed. 

- “Why did you think of me?”- (Y/N) was now intrigued and excited. Drunk Reid was a whole new side of her friend, and the fact he had dragged Derek to her house when he was intoxicated gave her a little hope. Maybe he liked her too, the way she was head over feet for him.

- “I…”- Spencer was chocking with words, he turned around, grabbed the coffee, and took a sip of it. 

- “You?”

- “I don’t remember”- disappointment was written all over (Y/N)’s face. They just stared. Spencer drank his coffee and the girl simply sighed. 

- “I see”- he could read there was something there, but he didn’t want to get his hopes high. He was sure (Y/N) could never feel the same way he did. Right?

- “Can I ask you something?”- he whispered- “Why didn’t you tell me about the dating website?”

Now (Y/N) was embarrassed. She couldn’t take her eyes from her friend’s as she kept thinking about what to say. How to lie? 

- “It wasn’t important, Prentiss forced me, I didn’t want to do it”- she simply confessed and smiled- “Why?” 

- “I don’t know, it was weird, I thought… well…”

- “You know I tell you everything important”- (Y/N) wanted to make sure Spencer understood that the date had meant nothing. 

- “And… are you planning to do it again?”

- “Never”- the smile on her lips was so honest, Spencer’s heart was relieved- “So, tomorrow’s Saturday, got any plan?”- those words, they were music for his ears. 

- “Actually, there is a Russian horror movie festival tomorrow night, they’ll be showing Solaris, Viy, and Lyumi”

- “Original Russian, I presume”

- “But this time I’m pretty sure there will be subtitles”- (Y/N) pouted disappointed.

- “Bummer, I like when you have to translate the whole movie for me”- and she meant it, having Reid whispering every word in her ear for two hours was the closest she had been to heaven in her entire life. The young doctor chuckled with a huge grin and turned to his desk again. 

- “Usually, translation doesn’t represent the intention behind the dialog…”- Reid was full of it and he knew it, but he had nothing to lose and lot to win- “So if you want, I can still whisper the English version for you”.

Those last words left his lips as quickly as possible, ‘cos he was embarrassed. 

- “Then it’s a date”- her smile was bigger than imagined when she turned around and started walking to her desk. 

Was it a date? why did she say that? Reid tried to stay cool and not overthink everything, but it was Reid, which meant it was hard, nearly impossible. Overthinking was his thing. 

He wanted to go out on a date with (Y/N), but… was that actually a date? what if he brought flowers for her and she didn’t mean “date” as a date but just as two friends going out together? that would be mortifying. 

(Y/N) didn’t know if Spencer had thought she wanted it to be a real date. She did, she just didn’t know if she was asking or if he had or… 

Yes, they were both excellent overthinkers. 

- “Hey, honey”- if she was already embarrassed and anxious about using the word “date”, she could always make it worst.

Spencer turned to look at her he took a bite of his sandwich. 

- “It was really sweet last night when you called me Buttercup”- Reid nearly choked. He had completely forgotten about it, and suddenly he felt the urge to run and hide. But he couldn’t even move. He couldn’t even swallow the food he was chewing 

- “You had never called me by a nickname before…”- she bit her lips and took a deep breath- “I loved it… in case you want to use it again.”

Spencer nodded and watched his best friend walk away to get herself a coffee. He could feel someone else’s eyes on him from across the office. Morgan winked at him and nodded. 

- “Nice, kid”

.

[wexhappyxfew]

The Nightingales of Fortune Favors the Brave

A Band of Brothers Fanfic Coming Fall 2021 (or presumably whenever Landslide finishes up!) 

HELLO!! If you’re reading this, then as you can see, I’ve finally created a master post with all my Nightingales (well, not really mine THE PUBLIC’S but you’ve all gifted them to me ever so graciously, and it honestly, it means the world to me). Just to see the excitement and reception I’ve gotten from so many people in the fandom involving a female group of Pathfinders - an area of war, I have wanted to cover ever since nearly over 2 years ago I got involved in the fandom. All OC’s will have their creators name listed beside them - I did not create any of these OC’s, all credit goes to the lovely people who crafted and gifted them to me for FFTB!

Viewing where I currently am in my life, I’m going to going to college this year! I got accepted into the school I wanted, the program I wanted, even a scholarship! And I’m beyond excited. I really wanted to have something there for me when college does finally, you know, HAPPEN, and so Fortune Favors the Brave was the only way to go! To have a wonderful group of Nightingales, of female Pathfinders in the Band of Brothers fandom, seemed to be the way to go. Updates and such will definitely be different - I’m picking up more work hours this year, probably even summer classes, night classes, weekend classes - whatever I can do to benefit my degree and myself, I’m taking the opportunity. 

And so, updates will presumably be quite different, depending on a variety of things, but...this will be my college story! No matter how many years it takes to complete and update and write, this will be the thing I have with me through it all for when I need a mental break from school! And I am beyond excited for when I do finally get to share this story more than anything! 

We have such a great group of OCs here - different backgrounds, different reasons for joining, different creators who gifted them to me, different friendships, relationships and abundances of sisterhood and brotherhood moments. I’m truly beyond excited to showcase the Pathfinders side of the war in the light of 16 female OCs, whose stories will be told through their viewpoints based on different episodes whether whole or split! 

So thank you ALL!! These past 2 years have been a joy in the fandom and let’s hope for another few more! I’ve managed 3 fics and 4 books total and I’m excited to bring, presumably, my FINAL Band of Brothers fic in the fandom to you all in the near future. Thank you!! <3

THE NIGHTINGALES 

Team C DZ C for 506th PIR, 501st PIR 

-> 2/506 PIR (Stick 2/Plane #4) 

-- TOCCOA VETERANS --

Team Leader 

Captain Eleanor Graham - @basilone

Eleanor Graham had never met a challenge she couldn’t conquer - the eldest of four and a farmer’s daughter, teamwork and diligence were drilled into her mind like clockwork, along with being as much of a leader in the eyes of her family as she could. There was more to life than a farmer’s wife for her future though, no matter how much she adored the farm her family had grown to craft from the ground up. Iowa brought no opportunity except the farm life deemed fit for her, so upon seeing the advertisement “ It’s Your Fight Too “, OCS had never seemed like a better choice in her eyes. Because it was all their fights - man, woman, child, anyone - it was a World War, a fight for all their lives, for human lives. And with the capability to obtain Captain just before leaving for Camp Toccoa, it solidified her position for not only leading in Easy Company, but leading the Nightinagles - the first stick of female Pathfinders.

Assistant Team Leader

Lieutenant Florence Godfrey - @pxpeyewynn

A British lady and an artist at heart, from the little town of Avebury, set inside Wiltshire of Great Britain, her father made it big in New York just as the war that swarmed throughout Europe, erupted into spitfire. And suddenly thrust into the world of an America before war, was unsettling. Her country fought while America remained neutral. Yet, when the advertisement flooded throughout New York City - she couldn’t help but take it as her only way to get into war. OCS was beyond enough challenges, but walking in as a Lieutenant for Easy and for the Pathfinders, she was no longer the little girl who prayed at night to whomever was above to end the people’s suffering, or avoided interaction to instead draw in her notebook. She was a Lieutenant, and she was a woman at war - yet what was she even fighting for? 

Eureka Operators (each equipped with a Eureka Transponder each)

Sergeant (NCO) Marie Reynal - @thoughpoppiesblow

Grandmère Reynal always held her at night, under the dark night sky and sang in her soulful Cajun French, the words flowing from her lips and remaining an ever-present comfort in times where food was hardly ever on the table, or when she had to watch the other girls at school get the latest Mary-Janes and she was stuck with her old ones. Her grandmère taught her to appreciate the small things in life. But when the “It’s Your Fight Too” poster came out in the papers, Marie Reynal knew there were larger things in life than the newest Mary-Janes at school. Packing up what she could, Marie headed out to Camp Toccoa, equipped with nothing but some clothes and her fiddle. 

Corporal Edith Lockner - @mercurygray

Remember to look up - her mother would always tell her that. Especially when things on their little farm got hard in Stanford, Illinois where the only thing that occurred there was the wagering price of corn that fluctuated with the ever-changing times. So...she figured that’s why she always tended to look to the stars when her mother would tell her that before bed each night, looking out the wooden window under her quilt as a cold draft blew in. She always imagined herself up there, amongst the stars and for once seeing what the stars saw. But to be up with those stars and to get to study them, she’d need a lot more money than what ever amount the corn tended to bring in. And the Airborne with a fantastic pay grade, along with the Pathfinders and their earnings -- it seemed her ticket out. Maybe there won’t be stars - but anything’s got to be better than here. 

Wireman 

Corporal Chiyoko ‘Luna’ Omori - @papersergeant-pencilsoldier

Know your place. Eyes down, mouth shut. And most importantly, honor your family. Chiyoko Omori has never been one to step out of line, nor has she been one to speak when otherwise not spoken too. Trained in the art of kendo, the Japanese martial arts that her ancestors trained in, she leads with discipline and integrity amongst the group of Nightingales training as Pathfinders, as the solo wireman of the group. Her intelligence, more than once, has saved her and in war might just save her again and again. Her father’s garage had always been home to a multitude of repairs and many she had learned to do herself. But there she had been Chiyoko. But for war, she must forget who Chiyoko is and embody the only other name besides her family name that she will ever know - Luna. 

Lightmen (each equipped with 2 Halophane Lamps each) 

Staff-Sergeant (Senior NonCom) Sarah Prowse - @junojelli

For once in her life Sarah Prowse would not have her twin brother by her side. He hadn’t been by her side for years after he went back home to fight with the English and lost his life at Dunkirk. But this was real, this was happening - and the Pathfinders withheld the opportunity to prove to herself that Edmund had died with valor and courage. And he would not have died in vain. The nannies had always said they were inseparable but they weren’t those kids anymore. This was real life. And in real life, there was love and loss and pain. And sometimes the only way to get through it all was to do the thing to distract you most from it all. Some days she wished her family could’ve just stayed in England - maybe Mum would still be here. With her sharp mind, and the ability to read people like an open book, rising to the rank Staff-Sergeant had come easily - reading the field and reading people were pretty similar...right? 

Corporal Jean Dawson - @tvserie-s-world

Life in Louisville, Kentucky had always been a sort of cozy-comfort that Jean Doxon had always enjoyed. The weekend fairgrounds filled to the brim with people enjoying the night life it offered, early summers filled with watching her father race horses around the tracks sprinkled throughout the town and nights by her boyfriend, Glenn Hartley, where the sky seemed to stretch forever into the night. That is before the war sent him away to the Pacific. And their only form of communication was reduced to letters, with pressed flowers and the hint of rose perfume. Jean refused to mope about, when she knew this war was hardly far from over. Quick-thinking on her feet, and a town champion for knot-tying in her days in elementary, she packed what she could and left for Georgia the second she was able to take the first train out. The Airborne had much to offer, but more importantly so did the Pathfinders. 

Corporal Mercy Codonoa - @whoahersheybars

Mercy Codona always been a traveler, never staying in one place and always on the move to somewhere new that she might've never quite been before. This meant new neighbors, new friends and a new way of life. Something the United States readily offered. Each new town in a new state had a different way of life than the next. She figured that's why she was so quick to adapt to her surroundings - nothing was ever permanent, nor set in stone. Neither was family. Orphaned by 17 and left to fend for herself, left in the care of her mother's estranged sister, Mercy took the liberty by herself to do what she could to support herself. Taking up odd jobs in each town she traveled to and managing what she could to feed herself. But she was proud of her Romani-Croat heritage and what her ancestors had done in their past lives. She intended on continuing what their stories had not finished. If only she could continue to support herself. It was only when the "It's Your Fight Too" showed up newly on the Fort Wayne clipboard by the post office in April 1942 and then and there in that moment did she decided - with the extra money the Airborne offered, along with that of the Pathfinders, she'd be able to support herself in the future as well as possibly find people with the same dreams as herself for their futures, and for once finally belong.

Private Kennedy Rutlidge - MINE

Kennedy Docherty had always had quite a wild and exciting mind, always having a new idea, or a new method on selling the most recent paper that got her a few cents an hour. All through her schooling years and even up to her senior year, she took to the busiest corner on Lake Ave and Lyell Ave, calling out to sell her papers, before heading home for the night and running her normal routine the very next day. She spent summers at Lake Ontario, in her grandmother's home on the lake, where some of her fondest memories of her youth had been born. She always believed that's why she was always fascinated with flying, like one of the birds or hawks that flew out across the lake in the early morning. What she'd give to get that feeling just once in her life, away from school and away from the constant need to make as much money as she could to help with the family. The words "It's Your Fight Too" scrawled across the paper in early April had caught her eye within a second and left her running home just that night to break the news that she was signing up. And almost a week later, she found herself packed on a train towards Camp Toccoa, Georgia, bright eyes and the last bit of innocence fading from sight.

Security Personnel  

Sergeant (NCO) Alexandra Calypso - @iilovemusic12us

A Boston girl who grew up with her proud Jewish faith, with a Greek mother, knew hard work and sometimes it was pushing yourself to the very limit beyond what the human body could handle sometimes. So that meant falling, scrapping your knee a few times, sucking up the tears, sending a quick prayer to God and moving on with your life. Life had always been like that - they weren’t the richest, nor the poorest, but there wasn’t ever enough food on the table or enough money to fix the roof, or even to keep the mortgage paid. But her parents never stopped working. And she supposed what drove her to the Airborne and to the Pathfinders was seeing how hard they worked. And they paid well she had heard. She could work with it. And if anything, the Pathfinders were more accepting than any school in Boston she’d been to. 

Sergeant Nellie Shaw - @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

Hailing from a small, coastal town in Maine, the proud Scot wanted more than anything to stay out of war when it finally came knocking on America’s doorstep. But Nellie Shaw, loyal as saint, knew that there was one thing she could do for this country and that was fight. Give her a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of gin, and she’d go in swinging for the war effort, even with her grumpy morning attitude that slowly became infamous in her elementary school days among the school children. She had no purpose on a farm on a mountain side anymore, rather destined to do what part of the fight she could. Taking Greer Riddell under her wing, the fellow Scot befriended the least likely person to enjoy her company and yet Nellie’s easy-going companionship slowly became integral to the entirety of Easy Company and the Nightingales. 

Private Greer Riddell - @leighinthesky

Schruz, Nevada was home for 21 years and by the looks of it, home for the rest of her life. A bee farm in a tiny town wasn’t idle for the rest of her life, but if she never got the money for college to get out of the small town, she feared she wouldn’t ever leave. And knowing the military had offered 16 women a stick of a plane to get their shot at becoming Pathfinders for the Army was her ticket straight to Toccoa, Georgia for training. The pay could send her not only to college, but could get her out of that tiny town which had confined her to nothing but her family and a cute little bee farm where hard work always paid off. Don’t be fooled by her subdue and withdrawn nature, the second her hands touched the rifle - the field was hers and yet so was the valley.

Codebreaker [Betchley Park Member]

Sergeant Laverne Robinson - @vintagelavenderskies

For her 23 years of life, Laverne Robinson had known just about every spot in London where you could catch a smoke break and not get caught by one of the older women and get scolded for doing so. She blamed her older brother, he blamed her. It was a mutual thing. But that had been the only thing to fear in London - until war struck, which sent every eligible man off to fight for the effort. Her brother included, leaving her staring out the rain speckled window all alone as the smell of her mother's soup wafted past her nose. Yet, like many women of the time, she wanted to fight too. Fluent in French and German and skilled in mathematics and code-work, Bletchley Park seemed the best fit. Working on codes, both sculpting and breaking them inside the building, keeping her lips shut and going on about her normal day when not inside the institution, life didn't seem as dreary as she had anticipated. Because she knew she was apart of the effort to end this war. That was until, she was called upon in late March 1944 to join up with the 101st Airborne with the first female stick of 12 pathfinders to make the jump into Normandy and assist them in anyway possible. Laverne knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and if her brother were there, he would've told her to run with it. Becoming a professor of mathematics would have to wait.

REPLACEMENTS

Corporal Alessandra Lisi - @tvserie-s-world

Alessandra Lisi had never known her parents. She was always told that sickness had taken them when she was just a child. Her brothers had been older than her and had tried to protect her from the sight of her parents dying. And so when their Nonna had taken them into her home without hesitation, Alessandra grew to look to her Nonna as the other parental figure she’d ever had. Of course, her brothers were always there for her, protective as they were, they never let her get into any sort of trouble without hearing about it first. Alessandra grew to adore her Italian heritage, cooking with Nonna on Sunday’s, inviting family over to enjoy the meals and even getting to stir the sauce as Nonna dropped in fresh, cut tomatoes. That was life and it had always been life as such. But when war sent her 3 brothers away, she knew she would not go down without a fight either. Upon receiving the paper in November 1943, she noticed the cover page withheld the picture of 12 women, adorned in jump wings as well as military grade goggles and scarves standing with wide smiles and bright eyes in front of a C-47, the title 'The Nightingales', lying just underneath. Female Pathfinders. If her parents were here, they would've been telling her what Nonna would've been telling her now. Fight for what you believe in, because while there's life, there's hope.

Private First Class Bettie Smith - @sgtxliptons86

Brooklyn, New York had it all - the kids in the streets, the shops on the corners where you could get a piece of candy for as little as 5 cents, even the corner stores in the summer where you could get ice cream for a dime. And as Bettie Smith grew older, running the streets of Brooklyn became like a weekend job - checking in on the younger kids of friends, riding bikes past the floral shops and picking up flowers for her sister, getting a bag of charcoal for her father. Even throwing some curses towards the boys who would heckle her for the way she wore her hair or the old shoes laced on her feet. Her older sister wasn’t too pleased with it all, but ever since Ma had passed, she seemed to let it slide - it was an escape for Bettie. So when war came knocking on the Smith’s door, anger, yet pride for their country filled the home, as well as the streets of New York, as more men and women began signing up for the cause. More friends left to join the effort, leaving Bettie there on the concrete doorstep. So when Bettie received the daily paper in November 1943, showcasing the 12 female pathfinders of the 101st Airborne, front and center for all to see, Bettie took it in quite large strides and took the first train of December 1943 to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Private Annie Laine - @wereinadell

Annie Laine, the daughter of Finnish immigrants, had always dreamed of leaving the quiet countryside her parents had always preferred for their family for the big cities of the Midwest - maybe she’d go to Chicago and study theater, or maybe she’d go and finally attend college in Milwaukee. Anything to get out of the small town she currently resided in. But the countryside had brought alone its perks - orienteering and hunting were big in the Laine family and every child, her 3 brothers, her and her sister, had all been taught the noble art. Swimming the streams, fishing in the lakes, taking hikes through the forests and coming back with a deer for dinner - life had always been quite peaceful Annie felt. But she could always hope that one day it changed. And it seemed war rung those bells quite early on. Annie was tired of structured life and if anything, she knew that the start of structured life in the military would fall quite nearly to shambles once they hit war. The November 1943 issue of the daily newspaper brought upon not only sudden interest in the military, but in that of the female pathfinders who were paving their way in all of military history to be the first stick to jump into continental occupied-Europe. All it took was what cash she had saved for college and a small suitcase to get her on the way to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Private Marla Hughes - @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

Lafayette, Louisiana had been home all her life - Baton Rouge just to the East and New Orleans just a little further. It had always been home for as long as she could remember. With the fancy parties her father always allotted for the family to attend, talking with the men in pristine suits, or the women with the big hats, some days Marla Hughes just wished to be able to go outside and enjoy nature instead of suffocating amongst the people who seemed to live in a world that didn’t even seem like real life. She supposed that was when she had hit her breaking point and joined the Airborne in Fort Benning, Georgia. She was tired of the life that did absolutely nothing for her. There was more to this world, so much more and yet she was confined to a party dress and an expensive glass of wine that tasted bitter when it rushed down the throat. There were small bars, where the music played, and you could dance until your feet grew tired, there were beer bottles awaiting to be clinked together with friends and there were people beside the stuck-up society she was forced into. The Airborne accepted anyone far and wide - and maybe she could strip of the posh life given to her and finally be set free.

THESE ARE THE NIGHTINGALES!!!

> if you have any questions, feel free to send them in! if not, it’s all good! these are our 16 nightingales! :) thank you to all of you who sent them in back in early December! It’s been an honor to craft these wonderful OC’s!

[kafka-ish]

coward | s.u.

y/n, bold and beautiful, is now second guessing herself when she finds herself skinny dipping with stan uris 

word count: 2.5k

warnings/included: fluff, steamy-ish, exhibitionism, fem!reader

request: (from anon) “could i have a request where the reader is v v v flirty with stan and one day he says something really dirty even richie's shocked. it’s fine if not.” 

a/n: i accidentally changed it bc i misread ur request im so so sorry !!! also if u noticed i haven’t written in awhile it’s bc my classes started up again so fics may take more time to write/post -- hope u understand <3

-

What came out of y/n’s mouth next truly shocked Stanley.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” It wasn’t far off from whatever usually spewed from her mouth that she and the rest of the Losers had a hard time controlling.

His mind flashed to all the times y/n’s hand grazed his: the light touches, the silent stares, the whispers that tickled his ears and kissed his brain.

“Next year for Halloween, you should be Stan without a shirt.”  

The hearts she drew on his notebook when he wasn’t looking, the hand she held in hers, the what-are-we’s before giggling in his wonderstruck face that she was joking; it was all a sign of want that he’d been too dense to see before.

“You’re great, you know. Great at being an asshole.”

Sweet, mischievous y/n; always blunt, always careless of what others thought of her. It never occurred to Stan of what she thought of him.

Richie was the first to speak up, Stan still having to catch his breath from the promiscuous words that left her mouth seconds ago. “Sure, toots, I’d love to see what’s under that suit of yours. God, you don’t know how much I hate that thing.” He laughed and Stan wanted to beat the shit-eating grin off his shit-eating friend. His jaw, pronounced and square, tightened and Richie saw. “On second thought, I think someone else would enjoy the view way more.”

Another laugh came from the group, but it wasn’t from Richie. It was y/n’s. The soft giggle leaving her luscious lips did nothing to calm Stan.

“Are you jealous, Stanley?” She asked. A smirk sat on her lips. She only called him by his full name when she teased him.

He definitely felt like he was being thrown a bone only to find out the pitcher never threw one right now.

“Of course not.” Stan gave her the side-eye, readjusting his position from the rock he sat on while doing so. “I can’t think of any situation where I’d be jealous of Richie.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie challenged and Stan squinted at him.

“Yeah.”

“I can think of one—multiple, actually.” Richie wore the same smirk as y/n—only his was less digestible. Maybe it was because y/n was less insufferable to be around, or because she didn’t take a crack at his religion every chance she had, or because her hair was soft and shiny on her head and something Stan wished he could run his hands through. Maybe it was because y/n was a girl, or because she was pretty and the way she batted her eyelashes made him see stars even in the sunlight.

“When?”

Richie leaned in and whispered something that was totally vulgar and jarring to Stan’s ears.

Stan flinched—unsurprised that his friend was ballsy enough to say such a thing, but because what if he had actually thought about doing such a thing?

“Gross, Ruh-Ruh-Richie!” Bill yelled from across the quarry, already knowing what his friend would say.

“Yeah. You’re disgusting,” Eddie said from next to him while he looked up at Bill.

“Ruh-lax. It’s not like it’s something I’m gonna do.” Richie opened a new can of Keystone Light next to his already half-drunken one. “I got freedom of thoughts though, right?” He winked and Ben rolled his eyes.

“If you already have a drink open you should finish it,” Stan instructed, ignoring the subject at hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” y/n sounded closer than she was before. Her arm brushed up against his and he thought she was about to hold his hand until her fingers grazed just past his to grab his can of beer. She took a sip. “Besides, it all ends up somewhere.”

She could be so careless with her actions. But this was the same girl who made sure paper and plastic went to recycling, the total opposite of Stan, a total enigma.

“I just think, if you want another one, you should finish the one you already have.” Stan explained himself clearly and concisely. It was something y/n always admired. She never got tired of hearing him talk—she could listen to him talk for hours on end.

“Whatever.” Her eyes rolled so far he’d thought they’d get stuck. “I’m going home. “Later, Losers.”

“Wuh-what about the sk-skinny dipping?” Bill asked and Ben elbowed him. He wasn’t yet comfortable in his body, though he had been on Derry High’s track team for a year and a half and lost a fair amount of weight (twenty-two pounds), he still wasn’t comfortable in his own skin (he didn’t think he’d ever be)—even around his best friends—friends he considered family.

“We can do it tomorrow.” y/n shrugged. “Sound good to you, Stanley?” Her eyes were only focused on him and Stan knew that. They glowered under the sun’s harsh rays and fixated on his figure.

“I don’t know.” Stan tried to sound as monotone as possible. “Maybe you should be asking Richie instead.”

At that, y/n smiled, leaving the rest of the group confused as she walked away.

“Duh-dude!” What wuh-was that?” Bill wondered aloud, astounded how y/n had him wrapped around her finger—or maybe it was the other way around.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Stan said, holding the same shock in his voice.

“Are you and y/n like—”

“No!” The sharpness of Stan’s tongue cut Ben off quickly with a harsh glare he’d later apologize for. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want something with y/n. Another lie, that Stan would keep to himself, would be that he didn’t anticipate the events that were to come for tomorrow…

“Hey, stranger!” It was y/n from down below. She was already wading in the water—waiting for him, presumably.

“Hey, y/n/n.” He started for the long way down, not caring to cannon-ball ten feet down from the cliff of the quarry today. “Where’s Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben and—”

“—and Richie?” A beam shot across y/n’s face as soon as Stan met her eye line.

“And Richie,” Stan mumbled. That was the only thing he’d been worried about. Although he knew there was nothing about his trashmouth friend to worry about. But it was always best to stay skeptical.

“I told them not to come.” y/n said this with such nonchalance—such grace as she tilted her head into the water and drifted back, letting the water carry her away as if she were weightless.

“Why,” Stan asked, though it came out as more of a demand.

“Because.” y/n shrugged, but you couldn’t really shrug while you were trying to stay afloat. He noticed that her eyes were closed, and her bathing suit was still on. Maybe she was lying about skinny dipping and he had worked himself up last night over nothing. y/n was like that—making promises she never intended to fulfill. If it weren’t for y/n being, well, y/n, Stan might’ve been annoyed at her antics. But he wasn’t—far from it, even. He was infatuated with her being—clothed or not, enraptured with how sunshine she could be one hour and rain she could be the next.

Math and English were an easy feat—but trying to understand y/n was like trying to learn Mandarin blind and deaf.

Her curves spilled from the bikini bottoms that hugged her butt and the matching top she wore hugged her bust exceptionally. The bikini’s scandalous red color harmonized with y/n’s skin tone well and Stan couldn’t imagine her in anything else at the moment. He didn’t want to imagine her in anything else.

“Are you gonna get in?” Her presence startled him as she was quick to swim up to the rocks. “Or are you scared?” A sly smile splayed across her pink lips and Stan mirrored her.

“I’m scared?” He scoffed. “You were the one who said we were going skinny dipping.” He stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his pale, yet toned, chest. “Guess who’s not undressed.”

“You?” y/n guessed; the innocent tone surprising on her tongue. She had inadvertently licked her lips at the answer and Stan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her mouth due to the action.

“No. You.”

“My bad.” A giggle escaped her bitten lips and y/n began to unclip the back of her bikini. “Is that better now?” The straps fell loose against her arms, but the top stayed covering her breasts.

Stan didn’t say anything.

“What if I…” y/n didn’t finish her sentence. Silently, she fully removed the straps from her arms and the contraption left her bodice.

“Christ,” Stan seethed out, but he wasn’t gentlemen enough to look away from the sight on display before him: y/n treading the shallow water that was crystal clear thanks to Mr. Sun that shone down on this part of town, giving Stan an eyeful.

“Don’t say his name in vain.” She had now slipped the bottoms off and Stan didn’t know what to do with himself. Get undressed, I guess.

His pants were the next to go as Stanley undid his brown leather belt that held his too-big khaki shorts together. His waistline had shrunk due to baseball season’s quick start. And although it was only early March, the heat had picked up fast in this small town they called home and Stan could feel himself already itching to feel the water on his sweat-stricken skin.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n called from below. She was growing impatient, but who could blame her?

Stan stood above her in only his underwear. If the rest of the student body was here, he would’ve been living out his nightmare—stripped to the bone with an audience to gawk at him. But only y/n was here to witness the grey Calvin Kleins that hugged his thighs and rather than a nightmare, this felt more like a daydream.

“Are you shy?” She teased. “C’mon, Stanny, there’s no need to be—”

“Shy my ass,” Stan interjected as he relieved himself of the last piece of clothing and jumped into the water all in a quick movement.

“Glad you could finally make it, slowpoke.” y/n splashed his face, disregarding his lack of clothes—both of their lack of clothes—but Stan couldn’t help but admire y/n’s skin that the water had already kissed and glowed under the flash of the sun.

He’d never seen her in such a state before. In fact, he’d never intended to. But this was worth it—even if it were the only time, he knew he’d have this memory burned into his skull forever the same way the sun would burn his skin the next day because he forgot to apply sunscreen. Since when does Stanley Uris forget to apply sunscreen?

“It’s rude to stare,” y/n deadpanned, but Stan couldn’t help it. How could he not take his eyes off her tan lines from up close and the divot of her collarbone? The way her hair slicked back from the water and the pout of her lips was all too tempting to not want to consume. Stan Uris would be an idiot to not stare. A polite idiot.

“You make it hard.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up and she knew she wasn’t sporting a sunburn. y/n never burned. “Oh. Well, in that case, stare as much as you want.”

“Gladly.”

y/n was quiet now—a rare event, but it gave Stan an opportunity he’d never thought he’d get or go for.

He swam closer, the stroke of his arms creating rifts in the water and y/n shivered at the feeling of the coldness that hit her chest each time he got closer.

It was strange seeing him up close—in such an intimate setting. As big of a crush y/n harbored on the boy, it’s not like she did anything about it. A few remarks there, a few remarks there. This was the furthest they’ve ever gotten. Maybe a little too far now that she was considering it more closely. Since when did first base turn into skinny dipping in the quarry?

Before her thoughts could leave her second-guessing anymore, y/n felt her lips on someone else’s. They were pressed together firmly and tightly. She held her breath as if she were underwater, but her heart prevailed, only picking up at a speed she’d only feel when she caught him looking at her or when he laughed at her jokes.

The kiss was powerful and all she needed. If this were the last time they’d ever see each other again, she wouldn’t care, because she’d have that kiss to cherish. Maybe she’d long for one in the future. Just one more. But this kiss left her knowing that this skinny-dipping idea wasn’t so bad after all.

His lips were soft and tickled as he pulled apart to catch a breath. y/n’s eyes opened to find Stan’s pupils were wide and lustblown. She stood still in the water, amazed that anyone could feel that way about her.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Stan—”

“What?” Stan asked, eager and anxious for the words meant for him.

“This is embarrassing but.. I like you.” The words were bold and packed with courage—not far from the regular way y/n spoke, but this was different. It had a certain bite to it that Stan couldn’t quite taste.

“Are you embarrassed because you like me or are you embarrassed because you’re confessing to me without any clothes on?” Before Stan’s eyes could rake down to y/n’s body once more, a splash of water hit his face—cold and abrupt. His eyelids slammed at the impact and he flinched.

“You’re such a perv.” y/n scoffed as if she had forgotten her deepest secret had just spilled from her lips in front of the boy the secret was about. Secret. Don’t act like it wasn’t as obvious as a fat kid scarfing down their third brownie in the first place—

“You know if it’s any more embarrassing… I like you, too,” Stan said. He felt winded after saying it. His chest felt heavy and his toes dug into the sand in order to keep him from falling headfirst into the water. It was so easy for y/n. Brave, crass y/n who swore like a sailor yet had the face of a doll.

Stan’s train of thought was lost at the feeling of y/n’s body pressed against his. He’d forgotten they were both bare-assed and exposed for all of Derry to see because the warmth of y/n was all too much. His heart jumped out of his chest sixty miles a minute and the muscles under his arms were now stones. Stan didn’t recognize that her lips were on his until her tongue swiped his bottom one for access in which he granted.

Teeth clashed and tongues danced. It was a hot minute until y/n pulled away with a cheeky smile and lingering fingers on his collarbone that made Stan hold his breath.

“That was hot,” he heaved, finally cutting the silence between them. Of course, the birds still chirped and the water around them never stopped flowing. But the world just seemed to stop whenever Stan stepped foot into y/n’s intoxicating proximity.

“Hell yeah, it was.” One arm was still strewn around his neck while her free hand traced code on his shoulder.

Nothing else was said. Nothing had to be said. But Stan was sure of one thing; that y/n was no coward.

[consumedkings-archive]

ii. damage done & damage made ✤ roman sionis/varya astakhova

words: 2.2k

summary: thanks to @starcrier​ for entertaining my daydreams about my favorite murder duo, we now have a oneshot that literally no one asked for: roman and varya, and their babies, in a tea shop. living their perfect crime lives. that’s all.

rating: m for Adult Language and threats of face-tearing

warnings: the aforementioned face-tearing, roman’s mouth (per usual), domestic murder family. babies being cute.

Mark liked his job, a lot. Working a tea shop felt like a step up from the typical entry-level customer service job, and he got a huge discount on all of the products—not to mention, flexible hours while he was balancing school and needing to pay rent, and premium people-watching. Some days, like today, the card machine acted up and he had to ask customers to put their card numbers in manually, but most of them were understanding. All-in-all: he felt pretty lucky.

So when a young couple wandered into the shop one afternoon, it felt like any other kind of afternoon for him. They matched the usual demographic that liked to stop there; well-dressed, usually a little more upper class given the neighborhood. The woman—small and slender, balancing a stylishly dressed infant on her hip—smiled at him charmingly while the man redirected a two-seat stroller to an area less clustered by shelves, slowly rocking it back and forth.

“Good afternoon!” Mark greeted as the woman approached, keeping his voice softer in case the man was trying to rock another infant to sleep. “Can I help you find anything today?”

“Hello! Yes, well—admittedly, I am not as well-versed in teas as I would like to be,” the brunette said sweetly, a little sheepish. The infant babbled happily and clutched the pendant of her necklace in his fingers.

Mark offered her a smile. “No worries. What kinds of flavors do you like? I have quite a few—”

“Varya,” the man said from where he had been pushing the stroller back and forth, “do you have my phone? I need to make a call.”

“Oh, yes. One moment.” She fished a sleek, dark phone from her purse, passing it to the man before turning her eyes back to Mark. The man, presumably her husband, dialed a number and balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder before the call connected and he started talking—his voice low so that Mark could barely hear him over Varya’s attentions. He had gloves on; black, leather, embossed with something in gold; maybe his initials?

Varya said lightly, “Flavors?”

He flushed, quickly diverting his eyes. “Yes, right. Your favorite flavors?”

“Hm. I prefer spiced teas,” she began, eyes scanning the shelves. “My mother used to make a tea with cloves and cinnamon, do you have anything like that?”

“Certainly,” Mark replied brightly. He turned back to the shelves, humming for a moment. She had had a bit of an accent; it sounded Russian, but it was so slight he couldn’t quite be sure. There were plenty of tourists and sightseers coming in and out of the shop that he’d gotten used to skimming for quick details, like accents or nice clothes or expensive jewelry. And if the gigantic rock on the woman’s finger was any indication, they were hitting all of the boxes for the people that usually walked into a boutique tea shop.

Pulling one of the jars off of the shelf, Mark pulled the cap and offered it to her to smell. “This one’s got cinnamon and cloves, but ginger and cardamom, too. I really like to make it with—”

“No, no, no, no,” her husband bit out into the phone, the stroller rolling to a stop as he stilled his attempts at keeping the baby asleep, “you listen to me, you pint-sized fuckhead, when I tell—”

Varya, completely unbothered by her husband’s vicious tone, shifted the infant to her other hip, smelling the looseleaf mixture again. “It smells so good. I think it is the ginger that makes it good. What did you say you like to make it with?”

“Um,” Mark said, trying not to stare at the man in the velvet suit saying, and I’m going to cut your fucking face off, you piece of shit, did you know that? Do you know who I am? That’s right, and I can do whatever I fucking want, and that means cutting your dumb fucking face off and putting it on display in my loft for my dinner guests, “cream?”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” she murmured idly, reading through the list of ingredients again. “Do you have those little—” She gestured with her free hand. “—to steep the mixture with?”

“Y—” Mark swallowed. His gaze flickered back to the glossy brunette, her lips pouted and the baby nestled against her neck, seemingly putting himself to sleep despite the noise. “Yes, of course. Do you prefer the, um...”

“In English, you fucker,” Roman seethed into the phone, “your—yeah, well, your boss is American, I don’t care where you were born. So tell me in English how many fucking guns are being held up in bumfuck-nowhere-Russia, you—”

“This one is nice,” Varya interjected gently, picking up one of the steel ones. “I like the ones that have a finer mesh. Less chance of getting the debris in there, you know?”

He was trying to remember when the last time he’d taken a breath was. It very suddenly all made too much sense—well-dressed couple, twins, the embossed gloves and the accent and oh my God, oh fuck, oh fucking God oh shit oh fuck I have Roman Fucking Sionis and his Russian gun lord wife in the tea shop I’m going to fucking die—

“Mark?” she prompted. The dulcet tone of her voice broke him out of the panic running through his brain. Unfortunately, the sound of her saying his first name only firmly cemented in his brain the fact that he was now assisting the wife of Gotham’s biggest crime lord in picking out a looseleaf tea.

He swallowed thickly. “H—How, um, did you know my name?”

Varya tilted her head inquisitively. “Your nametag, my love.”

“Oh,” he replied, letting out a nervous laugh. “Of course. Um. Right, those do have a finer mesh. I like them better too. It’s similar t-to the um—the kind of mesh you would—you would have in the teapot. You know. If you were going to do it by the pot. And not the cup. Like for more than one cup of tea.”

A smile ticked the corner of her lips upward. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was enjoying his apparent discomfort. “I do like to make more than one cup of tea, on occasion. Do you sell teapots? Can I see those?”

Mark opened his mouth to say that of course, she could see the teapots—did she want his? His personal teapot? He could run home and grab it if she wanted, please don’t shoot me in the face—when the stilling of the stroller’s movements seemed to have distressed the other twin. As soon as she started fussing, Roman threw his free hand up in exasperation.

“Do you hear that, Maxim?” he demanded. “That’s my daughter, crying, because I was so fucking fed up with your idiocy that I stopped rocking her to sleep. What? Do I want to—no, I don’t want your mother’s fucking aromatic recipe for putting infants to sleep, I’m already in a fucking tea shop!”

Varya let out a little sigh. “Excuse me one moment, Mark.”

“Sure,” Mark replied, scratching his forehead. “Sure, no worries, take—um, take your time.”

She swept away from him, returning the happy infant to the stroller and pulling from it the fussy one, bouncing the baby a few times before she said, “Romy, you know Yuli only likes when you bounce her. Trade me.”

Mark watched as Roman’s mouth downturned in a firm frown; he eventually acquiesced, taking the crying baby and offering the phone to Varya, who planted the phone against her ear and pushed the double stroller outside and into fresh air, taking with her the conversation which quickly shifted into a foreign language. For what it was worth, as soon as the little girl was in Roman’s arms, she almost immediately stopped fussing—though he did bounce her and make his way over to Mark, brows furrowed despite his daughter’s happy babbling.

“What one did she like?” he asked, less silken than his better half.

“What?”

“The tea,” Roman answered, squinting. “What tea did she like?”

“Uh,” Mark said, “the—uh, this one. Sir.” He held out the jar, but Roman waved his hand in dismissal.

“Pack some of that up. And the—whatever the fuck this is,” he added, gesturing at the steeper. “That too.”

Mark pulled one of the bags out from the drawer, working quickly despite the tremble in his hands. “Just the steeper? Sir?”

Roman had turned his attention back to the curly-haired baby, waving a gloved finger in her vision to keep her occupied, when Mark had posed his question. “What? Speak up, I’ve got a chatty infant here.”

“She—she wanted to look at the teapots, too.” Mark packed the looseleaf tea into the bag. The scale remained untouched. The idea of taking the time to weigh the tea and charge appropriately had completely fled his mind. “S—Sir.”

“Huh.” Roman squinted at the wall of teapots, seeming to deliberate for a moment. “We’ll take that one. The black and gold. And the steeper, and the tea.”

“Sure. For sure. Good choice. That’s my favorite one,” he added, realizing somewhere in his brain that he was babbling but that he couldn’t stop. “It’s hand-made, so it has—um, it has like...Little flaws, that make it worth a lot, because it was made by a famous—”

Varya returned to the shop, phone tucked away and only their doe-eyed son in her arms again. She gave Roman’s shoulder a squeeze with her free hand and then turned her attention to Mark, smiling prettily. “That’s the one he picked out?”

Mark nodded, hesitated midway through packing the pot. “Yes. Do you like it? Did you want a different one? I have some new ones in the back—”

“It’s perfect,” she assured him. She looked at Roman, glowing, and reached up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love it.”

The blonde looked pleased. “Yes, well, who knows you better than me?” And then: “What did Kuznetsov tell you?”

Hurrying through the packing, Mark managed to get everything rang up amidst the couple’s idle chatter—which consisted of Varya explaining that ten thousand guns were held up in Kazakhstan, which was not Russia, but used to be part of Russia, at which point Roman waved his hand and went ‘whatever’—and ran the man’s heavy, black card through the card machine.

The machine beeped three times in alarm, and Mark felt his stomach plummet. The fucking machine’s broken, he remembered, with despair. Oh my God, oh my God, I’m going to fucking—

“What?” Roman barked out. “What is it?”

“The—the um, the machine is—I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “The machine is broken and I h-have to have you—put in the card number manually—”

The man made the most indignant sound, but before he could attempt to get fired up all over again, Varya said, “Romy, why don’t you load the twins up in the car? Armazd already put the stroller away. I’ll finish up here.”

Roman’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and then he said, “Alright, V,” and accepted the second infant into his other arm, toting them both outside. Varya looked at Mark and smiled sympathetically, holding out her hand for the machine; Mark handed it over, absently pulling at a loose thread on his apron as she started carefully inputting the card number.

“Do you have children, Mark?” she asked conversationally. “A partner?”

“Uh,” he replied very intelligently. “N-No. No ma’am. I mean, miss. No, I don’t have either of those, miss.”

“It is definitely a life change,” she said by way of agreement, pocketing the card and waiting for the machine to process. “Suddenly, your hands are full all the time.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up out of him, and he nodded his head; the seconds ticked by, agonizing as Varya hummed and gathered up the bag until it finally beeped its approval of the transaction.

“Thank you, my darling!” she called over her shoulder. “I am sure I will be back.”

“Welcome,” he replied weakly. He watched her make her way to the door, nearly out; it wasn’t until his shoulders slumped in a bit of relief that she stopped and turned to look at him, a sly little smile on her face.

“Before I forget,” Varya began, “perhaps, if you find yourself thinking about any of the conversation you heard today—you know, about business—it is best to keep it to yourself. It is not particularly confidential, you see, but...Well, I would just hate to feel like I could not bring my business back here because I cannot trust you.”

An unpleasant little chill sprinted down his spine. He shifted on his feet, wetting his lips for a moment as he tried to figure out what it was he wanted to say; how many times could he swear up and down that nothing he heard today about guns or Kazakhstan to assure her that she wouldn’t have to worry about it? That he would literally rather put pencil shavings in his eyes than put the Sionis target on his back?

“Mark,” she said, “all you have to say is that you understand.”

“I do,” he blurted out quickly, “I do understand.”

She smiled brightly. “I knew you were a good boy. Have a lovely afternoon!”

Just like that, she swept out of the shop; he was finally alone. Mark slumped into his chair, passing a hand over his face for a moment—long enough for him to sit up, press his face into the palms of his hands, and say:

“I have to quit my job.”

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain - s1e6: brainania

i’m running on like the barest dregs of energy let’s fucking do this leeroy jenkins

episode summary: brain needs to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he needs a lot of money to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he decides the best way to do this is to.... invent a country and scam the us out of a foreign aid cheque.

hm.

the rundown:

it’s acme labs!

there it is.

as we zoom in a little, we hear pinky laughing maniacally at the very mention of tom ruegger, while a couple of women are dead on the floor.

hm.

SPEAK TO ME, PHYLLIS, SPEAK. as it turns out, things aren’t quite as dire as previously thought, as pinky affirms that brain looks “simply fetching.”

narf.

“these are the only garments i could obtain. and besides, you are no helen of troy yourself.”

ignoring the fact that he chose to wear the hat and the gloves as well, brain moves onto explaining his latest plan--

but not before giving pinky a static-y poke for his crimes.

“to generate global static cling, we shall construct a massive clothes dryer.”

BEHOLD.

THE TITANOCYCLE FOUR THOUSAND, WITH THREE SPEEDS AND AUTOMATIC WRINKLEGUARD. this will surely allow brain to.... trap everyone in their clothes via static cling and. uh. allow him to seize power...... somehow......... by putting everyone in a really big tumbledryer?????

it costs fourteen billion dollars.

“oh, i have it!”

“we build a huge tooth, leave it under a huge pillow, and then fairies will leave us lots of money!”

brain tells pinky to stop eating paint chips. it’s a well deserved response to pinky’s insane, bullshit idea, not nearly as dignified and scientific as Everyone Goes In The Big Tumbly Dryer By Brain Age Two And A Half.

as he heads off to ponder an Equally Sensible idea to get a lot of money, pinky assures brain that he will not “be a bother.”

“brain.”

“if i ate a hundred jelly rolls, would i explode?”

i don’t know why pinky is sticking his ass out. maybe that’s where the jelly rolls go, in the sense that whenever i used to eat cakes around my dad he’d often say something like “a minute on the lips is a lifetime on the hips”. (also? pinky is british, so what he actually means is jelly rolls, and that sounds disgusting.)

so anyway brain gives him a piece of paper and tells him to try origami.

BUT WAIT.

“pinky! are you pondering what i’m pondering?” “i think so brain, but why the bitch stacey foreign aid office is giving chad all the money while i’ve always been a nice guy and showed her a basic level of human respect is beyond me. narf.”

no i’m sorry. he didn’t say that. pinky respects women. also apologies to the residents of the actual country of chad. big ups to all of you. lol. (he actually says “but pantyhose are so uncomfortable in the summertime”, which is wild, considering this episode was aired in november.)

brain doesn’t want to wear the pantyhose.

well, maybe he does, but not right now. instead, he suggests that they form a bogus nation and demand reparations from the united states, which is, of course, easier, saner, and far less work than Really Big Tooth. as he folds the Chad Newspaper into a vague key shape (the Virgin Tabloid never had a chance) pinky points out that, uh

you can’t just invent a country, brain. “won’t people know we’re not a real country?”

“the average american’s grasp of geography is pitiful. they’ll think we’re part of the former soviet union.”

“or canada.”

so they pick a random, tiny island on the label of a Science Chemical and set off on the boat to Being A Coloniser Town.

a long sea voyage awaits us! and at the end, we shall found a nation! and that nation shall be called!

BRAINANIA.

“can’t we call it pinkyland? or eric?”

“don’t vex me, pinky, or i shall turn on you.”

so they get on the S.S FATTY LUMPKIN and bugger off to Island X.

“i haven’t seen anybody yet, brain. i guess we’re alone here.”

“excellent, pinky. it’s time to flesh out the terrain.”

“that volcano will be mount brain.”*

“this clearing will be brain flats,”

“and that water over there--”

“very well.”

“the fjord of pinky.”

and they hoist their adorable, homemade flag, while pinky doots them a little themetune.

(*perhaps when they’re not in the middle of the jungle.)

how lovely!

less lovely.

significantly less lovely. still, it got brain to make the little O:O face, so it’s not all bad.

as the mice are scooped up onto a sphere and presented in front of this presumably-maori gentleman, brain decides to put his White Gay From Los Angeles skills to the test, and reassures pinky that he will communicate with them in the Primitive Argot Of The South Seas.

ME NUMBER ONE FELLA. OTHER FELLA NUMBER TEN. CATCHY ALL SAME SAME. YOU SAVVY?

“good day, mate. d’you speak english?”

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

anyway apparently this has happened often enough that these guys learnt english. from all the times it happened. and then they ate the guy they learnt english from and shrunk his head, but to be honest, i don’t blame them.

this is alan. “hello, alan.” says pinky.

“i would be pinky! and this is prime minister brain.”

“who is IN CHARGE OF THIS ISLAND AND EVERYTHING YOU SEEEE.”

“narf.”

sneaky bastard knows what he’s doing.

alan isn’t too happy with that, because the island belongs to the volcano god, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND HAAARM AND WHAT ALL ELSE.

(i can find no evidence that whanganui is actually a god, as opposed to just A Bit Of New Zealand. if they are, i’m more than happy to go back and edit this as would be religiously considerate.)

this is the face of a man who knows he has fucked up.

still, brain decides yet again that his pride comes before any kind of rational decision, so he decides to tell them that whanganui sent him to the island to rule over them,

as proven by his fire powers.

(ETA: i missed this last time. why is brain carrying a lighter around? that episode isn’t for a good few more seasons yet.)

alan is unimpressed.

I CAN TRAP YOUR SOULS INSIDE THIS GLASS

“i can make bubbles with my spit!”

apparently this is a real talent on the island. who’d have thought. (they do not believe it to be a sign of god. it’s just really cool.)

so brain gets a hand building brainania.

it has everything one could possibly need.

actually pretty much as soon as the airport and the gift shop are built, brain heads to washington, so evidently he holds the strong opinion that this is everything a country could possibly need. odd. still, maybe he plans on adding stuff once he becomes world ruler, or whatever.

so with that established, The Most Exalted ned limpopo gets out of the car. hassan lembeck is also here. he is attempting to make an origami bird out of a newspaper.

no bird for you, mr lembeck. no bird for you.

they wander off to go and see mr bisck, who is currently playing with a little toy plane.

he reacts to the news that the prime minister of brainania is here to see him with “oh great, more moochers,”

and does not seem to take kindly to having tiny mice on his desk, even if they are reasonably exalted.

though a quick database search tells him said mice have no record of financial trouble, or, indeed, a credit rating, so. he tells them to go away.

“go away.”

okay. hassan doesn’t take this well.

as Exalted Ned Limpopo gently tries to persuade mr bisck that he could “harm negotations” between brainania and the us (a lot more politely than he usually explains things to people, may i add) hassan chimes in with a haven’t you people ever heard of bold claim that brainania, if slighted, will INVADE YOUR LANDS

GO BOOM BOOM BOOM

AND MAKE YOU ALL OUR PATHETIC SLAAAAAAAAAAAAVES.

mr bisck does not like this idea, it seems.

as he rushes off to tell the UN, brain informs pinky that he has

“just created an international incident.”

“oh, thank you, brain.”

“in the words of the immortal yogi bear, this is dejavu all over again.”

so the boys turn up on PUNCHLINE, WITH FRED FLUBBLE.

there he is. “perhaps you gentlemen would care to climb up on the desk?”

they make it, just about.

and sing a fun little song about brainania’s war victories, i guess.

WE WILL FIGHT AND NEVER QUIT

FIND ME A ROOFTOP AND I WILL SPIT. NARF

this is not well recieved by the us military.

unfortunately, as the US press secretary points out, the us cannot go to war with a country it can’t find,

(wuss.)

so instead the mice are invited to dinner at the white house.

“in a few short hours, pinky, we shall have our foreign aid loan, and then the world!”

“birdy birdy birdy! narf!”

“i sense much of this historic moment is lost on you.”

at the white house, a very bored looking individual introduces The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo (feat. hassan lembeck), and bill clinton shakes his hand.

“me number one fella. other fellas number ten. catchy all same same. you savvy?”

“i speak fluent english.”

“eyyyy. haha. sure you do.”

“all brainania ever wanted from the US was friendship. friendship, and fourteen billion dollars and fifty nine cents. the friendship i will treasure. the money i will spend on polo ponies and cruise missiles.”

brain has a brief discussion with hilary clinton over the advantages of strontium ninety versus uranium two-thirty-eight,

bill clinton pulls this face and tells them it Sounds Smart,

and the mice bounce merrily back to mr bisck to get their foreign aid check.

“you better not lose it, buster!!! i just erased your records!! you won’t get another one from me!!!!”

HA.

“one should be enough. thanks and farewell, “

“you niggling bureaucrat.”

conclusion:

upon returning back to brainania, The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo finds a letter from alan addressed to him. it’s also mouse sized, which is adorable. apparently, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND WHAT ALL ELSE

is “blinking mad”, and the volcano is going to explode.

brain, obviously, does not believe in whanganui, and is mostly just mad that he’s lost his workforce. still, as pinky points out,

“at least we've still got brainania!”

“i sense life has taken another sardonic twist.”

still, they do, barely, have enough time to reach the shoreline and start swimming away from the imminently exploding volcano. perhaps it should have been, yknow, a pretty decent sign that the natives cleared out. historically, people who live in these places tend to know about them, but what of that when brain is number one guy same same you savvy.

🙄

anyway the karmatic response to all of that previous racism is that a tidal wave sweeps them back onto the volcano,

which then blasts them into space.

(okay not literally space. but they do end up on a little raft in the middle of the ocean. don’t ask me where the raft came from. i have no idea.)

oof.

“mother nature has slammed her unmerciful fist on our fair isle, pinky.”

“do you know what this means?”

“birdy birdy birdy!!!!”

brain does not appreciate Birdy Birdy Birdy.

“blast it, pinky!”

“i said, do you know what this means!!”

“it means you just ripped up our foreign aid cheque.”

one should be enough, huh?

brain: 7 pinky: 7 outside influence: 13

like, i don’t know. maybe pinky shouldn’t have been making oragami birds out of the foreign aid cheque. but, while silly, it’s not like it did any harm. brain.... brain just needs to chill.

“well, aren’t you the tiniest foreigners i’ve had in here all morning. i’m mr appleby, can i help you?”

“yes. we would like to have relations with you. and steal some milk duds.”

“we wish to establish diplomatic relations with the us. i am the prime minister, and this is my minister of finance.”

“brainania--? oh, i remember you. you used to be a.... suburb of prague.”

“can you prove you’re a nation?”

“yes! we have postcards.”

“that’s the fjord of pinky.”

“you foreign folk sure have your own.... queer little ways.”

[tetsuroyaoyaoya]

A Crow Without Wings

 tsukishima kei x reader - part three

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A frustrated sigh passed your lips as you ran a hand over your face. Some part of you couldn’t help but think over Kiyoko’s proposal to be the team’s new manager, and yet the other part of you was still screaming at you to reject it. On one hand, it really would be nice to belong to a team, to go to games, and feel what it was like to be a champion again. Although, you still weren’t sure whether you could manage with the fact that you weren’t the one playing anymore, and it was really beginning to eat you up inside as you continued to think it over.

Feeling someone gently nudge you from your thoughts, your eyes drifted over to Aihara as she pulled up a seat from one of the empty desks and placed it next to yours, sitting down and pulling out her lunch. Aihara and Sasuke had become pretty much your only two girl friends since your transferred to the school – if you didn’t count Kiyoko, that is. After they had approached you on that first day, you all had eaten together pretty much every lunch, the only exceptions being when Sasuke was forced to spend her lunches catching up on homework she had forgotten about, like today. During that time, you had all slowly become closer, and you were glad to have found friends almost straight away.

“Be careful, you might get lost in there.” She knocked her knuckles on the crown of your head and giggled as you winced, a hand reaching up to soothe the spot she had hit. Letting out a whine, you rested your forehead on the desk, your eyes trained to the floor. Aihara placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and you turned your head towards her, keeping it laid on the desk. She gave you a small smile of encouragement, probably having taken an educated guess at what was on your mind. You had told the two girls about Kiyoko’s offer and they had both urged you to take the leap and go for it, but also understood why you were struggling to decide, since they also knew about your injury.

If every step you took wasn’t a reminder enough about what had happened to your knee, then becoming the manager of the team definitely would be. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking that it may be a good thing for you; to finally push yourself and get over it all. It was just so conflicting.

There was a brief knock at the classroom door and each ‘thud’ resonated in your head, alerting you to the oncoming migraine that was brewing. All of this thinking had begun to give you headaches recently.

“Daichi-senpai?” Daichi? Third-year volleyball captain, Daichi? Finally lifting your head from the desk, you looked over to see all three volleyball playing seniors at the door.

And they were all looking at you.

“Rei-chan!” Sugawara sent you one of his unbelievably contagious smiles and you physically couldn’t restrain yourself from giving him one back, even if you had wanted to. They gestured for you to join them out in the hall and you begrudgingly pulled yourself from your seat and walked over, ignoring the many stares from the others in the class.

There was a cool draught in the hallway, and you breathed it in as it helped you relieve some of the tension that had been building up over the past few days.

“You okay?” Asahi looked you over quickly in concern, and your brushed him off with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, I’m doing okay. How about you guys? What brings you here?” They all looked at you and an uneasy feeling settled at the bottom of your stomach. They were up to something, you knew it. They had the same look as Kiyoko had.

“Have you spoken to Shimizu recently?” Letting out a groan, you let your head fall back against the wall you were leant against. They just had to remind you of the one thing that you were trying not to think about.

“I don’t know!” You blurted out while in the midst of your inner conflict with yourself, surprising the boys stood in front of you.

“You… don’t know if you’ve spoken to her?” Looking back at Daichi, he was grinning at you with a concerning amount of cockiness, and you raised an eyebrow, trying to hint as the fact he didn’t want to test you right now.

“Yes, I have spoken to her, but I don’t know how to answer her yet.”

“Well, what did she ask you?” You blinked. Were they being serious, or had you just completely misjudged the situation?

“You don’t know?” All three of them shook their heads.

“Then why are you here?” Honestly, you had grown to love the boys, but you had come to learn that sometimes they were more of less functioning with the same brain, and you had a feeling that now was one of those times.

“Did she ask you to be our manager?” Pausing, your eyes found Sugawara’s. You were fairly certain that they weren’t supposed to know that yet.

“Maybe?” They all sighed in relief and it left you even more confused then you had been before.

“Good,” Daichi smiled at you, “We were going to ask you the same thing, but we didn’t was to spring it on you and scare you away.” Dumbfounded, you just stared at him. Kiyoko had mentioned that the boys liked you, but you didn’t actually think that they would want you to be their manager.

“Really?” They all nodded once again, and you bit your lip anxiously. Knowing that there were more of them that wanted you on the team as their manager was tempting you further, and you had an inkling feeling that you were going to end up giving in.

“I’m thinking about it, I really am. I just need a bit more time to consider. But it’s really nice to know that you all want me there.” You gave them all an actual, genuine smile, which they happily returned.

“Of course, we would. If the other teams knew that even our manager can pull receives like that, it’ll throw them right off.” You giggled as Daichi tried to subtly nudge Asahi to get him to stop speaking.

“You don’t have to decide right now, we just wanted you to know that we would love you to be our manager. It would be a pleasure to have you there.” Feeling a blush rise up on your cheeks at Sugawara’s words, you turned your head away as they began to snicker.

“Oh!” Turning back around, you looked at Daichi expectantly.

“Can we ask a really big favour?”

~~~

It was absolute chaos in the club room. To be honest, chaos wasn’t even the word to describe it. You weren’t sure there even was a word.

“Even a demon’s eyes can fill with…”

“…Iron clubs?” Your head tilted to where the first years had positioned themselves, finding Hinata sat next to your brother with an expression that was way too confident for what you had overheard.

“No.” Making a quick one-eighty, you reached for the clubroom door handle when Daichi gently grabbed your arm at the crook of your elbow. The look in his eyes screamed desperation and you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. Sighing, you gave him a weak nod and let him guide you over.

Tsukishima, as you had come to know the blond boy as, looked as if he was currently grilling your bother, which he probably was, and you found this as a chance to glare at the back of his head. He was unbelievably cold, absolutely emotionless, and quite honestly, a complete and utter ass. Not even just to you, despite every word he had uttered to you thus far being either a backhanded compliment or a straight up insult. If you were anyone besides Yamaguchi, you were more or less nothing but the dirt on the sole of his shoe.

How you would absolutely love to dig the sole of your own shoe into the side of his sour little face.

“Why should Japanese people be able to understand English?” Oh, boy. This was going to be fun.

“Kageyama!” Everyone turned their attention towards Daichi, and subsequently you as you were stood right next to him. Hinata and Yamaguchi looked somewhat relieved to see you, your brother barely spared you a glance, and four-eyes was staring you down in his usually condescending way. Flashing they all a quick smile, you all focused back on the captain.

Said boy began holding up signs with his hand, presumably the ones that they use to communicate during matches, listing them off one by one as Tobio quickly named all of their purposes off the top of his head.

“How long did it take you to memorise those?” All of a sudden, you felt very uneasy about the smile currently adorning Daichi’s face.

“I think it was the day we were taught them?” Ah, yes, prove his point and dig the hole deeper.

“Then I won’t let you use, ‘I can’t memorise the words’ as an excuse.” Even you tensed slightly at his tone and came to understand exactly why he was their captain. He was so nice that it was slightly scary to see him so serious.

“I-I can’t lose to Kageyama!” Rising from his seat, the middle blocker directed his most competitive look at your brother as if he was challenging him, only to get distracted by the second years at the other end of the room.

“I’m not going to lose to them, either!” He only continued to increase in excitement as well as volume, and you had seen enough. Were you really going to tutor these idiots?

“Okay, Shouyou. Calm down.” You placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair slightly before coming to sit in the circle of boys, placing yourself in-between Tobio and Yamaguchi.

“So, what’s the damage?” You gestured for Tsukishima to hand you the pair’s practice exams so you could briefly look them over. Taking one look at their scores, you had your mind made up.

“Absolutely not.” Tobio made a sound as if he was offended and you sighed. Pointing at the top of the paper, you held it up for him to see.

“Did you spell your own fucking name wrong?” There were the beginnings of a word scribbled out where there was a space for a name. He merely stared at you blankly and you resisted the urge to hit him over the head with his paper.

“I’m sorry, Daichi.” You looked up at him, but he wore the same expression as you, and brushed you off with a small wave as if he already knew what you were going to say. Hinata still hadn’t calmed down and you watched on in disappointment as your brother began to pick a fight with him.

“Okay…” Clearing your throat, you focused your attention on Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

“Study session this weekend?” Since you refused to be roped into dumb and dumber’s mess, and Aihara and Sasuke lived too far away, you figured you would try to weasel your way into someone else’s group.

“We already have plans.” Despite Yamaguchi’s delighted look, clearly, Tsukishima still had an agenda against you.

“Oh, come on. The more, the merrier. Plus, I’m a year above so I know more.” He refused to even look at you and you were impressed by his stubbornness.

“Absolutely not.”

~~~

Absolutely yes.

To: yams :)

b there in 5 xo

Yamaguchi had kindly texted you Tsukishima’s address yesterday and you were currently on your way to crash their study session. He had asked you for a bit of extra help since the two of them could only do so much by themselves and of course you had accepted, but you were sure it would be well received by the blond.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the door as waited sheepishly for the owner to come and answer. He eventually did, and you were almost sure he was about to shut it in your face.

And he was.

Until you smiled at him.

“I know I’m being rude, okay? You don’t have to look at me like that.” He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised that you had known what he was thinking. Was he that transparent?

“I brought a peace offering.” You held up the tub of homemade cookies you had brought with you, hoping that it would soften him a bit and convince him to let you stay, and luckily, it did.

“Fine, but you better actually help.” The grin you gave him made it difficult to swallow any other insult he was about to throw at you, and he stepped aside to let you over the threshold before you could notice his hesitation.

“Rei!” Your favourite first year was already set up and in the middle of studying when you walked into Tsukishima’s bedroom, beaming up at you from the floor.

“Yams!” Reaching down, you patted the boy’s head and joined him in front of the low table in the middle of the room. Taking a brief glance around, you noticed that Tsukishima’s bedroom was surprisingly neat, and a lot more minimalistic than you had imagined.

Not that you spent any time imagining his bedroom, of course.

“Shiratorizawa Academy?” Glancing over at Yamaguchi, you noticed his eyes were trained on your hoodie. It was the first one that you had grabbed out of your closet this morning and you figured it wouldn’t harm anyone to wear it every so often.

“Hmm,” Answering his unspoken question, you nodded.

“It was my volleyball hoodie. It even has my number of the back.” Twisting around, you pulled up the hood, displaying ‘Kageyama, 13’ written on your back.

“You played for Shiratorizawa?” Shrugging, you brought your gaze over to the blond boy who had situated himself across the table from you.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” As per usual, you only received a scowl in reply.

“So, do you know Ushijima?” Your smile faltered slightly at the mention of the name, but you fought desperately to keep it on your face so as not to give anything away.

“He’s an old friend, yeah.” Yamaguchi was clearly impressed and seemed to have not noticed your little slip.

“Why’d you stop playing?” There it was.

“Ah, can we talk about that another day? I thought we were meant to be studying?” Yamaguchi pouted, but you distracted yourself by pulling your study materials out of your bag, placing them on the table.

“If you were so great, them why don’t we know you?” You shot Tsukishima a glare but obviously he was determined to push your buttons more than usual today.

“Yeah, Rei. We barely know anything about you.” Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair and began fiddling with the hems of your sleeves.

“I just got tired. It’s so competitive- “

“I bet you weren’t good enough, were you? You got kicked, right?” He wasn’t laughing, but that goddamn smirk he had on his face told you that he wanted to. He was mocking you completely unprovoked and you wanted nothing more than to rip that look off of his face.

“Why do you hate me so much?” It came out as more of a growl than a question, and you sensed Yamaguchi flinch as his eyes darted between you and Tsukishima. Said boy had eased his smirk, his mouth now set into a firm line, but his eyes were still dancing, taunting you.

“Fine.” You stood up abruptly when you received no answer.

“You want to know why I stopped?” Reaching down to the compression sleeve that neither of the boys had even noticed you wearing, you pulled it off, exposing your knee for them both to see.

Yamaguchi let out a soft gasp as he looked it over and you tried your best to hold back the tears as best you could.

“It was the finals. We were about to go to nationals. I was about to start my career on the all-japan national team. I had everything and it was all taken away from me. I can never play again.” You couldn’t breathe, your throat felt so tight and dry. A tear escaped your eye and ran down your cheek as you rushed out of the bedroom.

It couldn’t stay a secret forever, you knew that, but everything was hitting you all at once. It felt just like that day all over again and you couldn’t handle it, no matter how hard you tried.

The kitchen was the first room you saw when you made it downstairs and you slipped inside, hoping it was far enough away to allow you to calm yourself down a little before going back upstairs.

You lent against the counter next to the sink, white blossoming on your knuckles because of how hard you were gripping the edge. Tears dripped down onto the granite, but you couldn’t stop them as you tried to hold in your sobs. Just once, you wished you could be able to think about what happened without feeling like that, or even at least just to not choke up at the first mention of it. You had transferred schools to get a new start and yet every step reminded you of the past.

“Hey,” Flinching at the voice, you knocked off a cup sitting on the counter, the sound of broken glass ringing in your ears.

“Wait, don’t- “

“Shit!” Having crouched down to clean up the mess, you had begun picking up the larger pieces of glass, but one slipped, slicing a cut down the palm of your hand. You froze at the sight of blood, hands still shaking as you stared at it.

Suddenly, it stopped as your hands were being held in someone else’s, and they coaxed you up from where you had fallen to your knees. Guiding you across the kitchen, they brought you to sit at a dining table, them taking a seat next to you and beginning to look your hand over.

You were snapped out of it as you felt a finger brush over your cheek, gently brushing away the tears. Looking up, your eyes met with Tsukishima’s and widened. Reflexively tilting your head away, he took the hint and leaned back, moving his hand away from your face. He continued to look at you for a few seconds before carefully letting go of your injured hand and getting up from his chair.

“Stay there,” He mumbled it, but you nodded and stayed put, your eyes following him as he walked back over to the sink, avoiding the broken glass, and retrieved a first aid kit from the cabinet underneath.

“I hope you’re not left-handed.” His voice still carried a teasing tone, but it wasn’t malicious like before, he was just trying to bring some light-heartedness to the situation. He continued to send you worried glances, even as he was taking the things he needed out of the first aid kit.

“Ow!” You hissed as he applied the disinfectant to the cut without warning, and you resisted the urge to swear at him. He merely flit his eyes over to you and continued working on cleaning the wound.

You slowly relaxed and just let him bandage your hand up, meeting his eyes every so often when he looked up to keep a check on how you were faring. He didn’t need you passing out on his kitchen floor.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I’m sorry.” Taken aback at the sudden apology, you tensed as he secured the bandage around your hand.

“I won’t tell anyone. Neither will Tadashi. I’ll make sure- “ You interrupted him, which probably pissed him off, but he really deserved it right now.

“Thank you.” A smile adorned your features, and for the first time, Tsukishima’s lips upturned slightly, smiling back.

~~~

The gym was empty when you arrived, the boys busy getting changed and the coach clearly running a little late. The net was already up, and a basket of volleyballs was positioned just outside of the boundaries of the court. You found yourself wandering over, tentatively picking one up and giving it a spin in your hands.

It had been so long since you had held a volleyball like this, and you had almost forgotten how good it felt. Absentmindedly, you walked over to the back of the court, still spinning the ball.

One serve wouldn’t hurt, right?

You took your signature position; body facing sideways, the volleyball sitting atop the palm of your right hand, pointed to the other end of the court. Taking a deep breath, you calmed your racing heart as best you could, and tossed the ball high into the air.

The run up seemed almost foreign to you now, but it was exhilarating none the less, and you let your instincts take control as you neared the court. Your feet planted themselves firmly on the gym floor as you crouched low, eyes never wavering from the ball. And then, all of a sudden, you were in the air, arm reeled back ready to hit, your legs kicked up behind you.

Whatever urge had led you to this point had not prepared you for what it felt like to see the sight that had awaited you in that moment. Your body was way above the net, giving you the view of the entirety of the opposite side of the court.

No blockers, no libero; just you and the ball.

And then you hit.

It felt as if all of your strength, excitement, and anger was transferred into that one hit, and you smiled as widely as your mouth would allow when you felt the long-lost sting of the ball on your hand. It landed neatly in the back-left corner of the court, rebounding off of the floor and ending up on the balcony level of the gym somewhere.

Making sure to put your right leg down first, you landed gracefully back on the court and stared at your right hand. Red was already tainting your skin, leaving temporary evidence of how hard you had hit the ball.

After almost seven months of feeling hopeless and distraught, you had finally delivered a serve, and it felt amazing.

“Woah,” Your head snapped up to the gym door, where pretty much the majority of the team, including the coach, had crowded and were staring at you in awe. Looking them all over, your eyes landed briefly on Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, who were looking at you in both amazement and concern, until they finally landed on your brother.

He was absolutely furious. You don’t think you had ever seen him so angry in your life and the feeling of guilt began to rise up in your throat.

“Tobio- “

“What the hell were you thinking, Rei?” You looked away from him, hands balling up into fists at your sides as you felt him staring you down from where he was stood at the doors.

“It was just one- “

“It was reckless. Are you stupid?” As you turned to him in shock, he began to approach you, still fuming.

“That could have crippled you, and you know it.” His voice was considerably lower, knowing that you didn’t want anyone to find out just yet. Glaring at him, you huffed, any happiness that the serve had given you now long gone as you fought to repress your anger.

“I won’t do it again.” You rolled your eyes at him before walking off to go and retrieve the ball, leaving the team very confused at the confrontation.

“That was weird, right?” Nishinoya muttered to the rest of them, and some nodded slowly in response, still confused. They began to file into the gym and continued to look between you and your brother warily.

“Just… don’t say anything about it to either of them, okay?” Ukai knew exactly why the spat had happened, and he knew why the both of you had reacted the way you had, but now wasn’t the time to bring anything up and make things worse.

It was clearly a problem you needed to sort out between yourselves.

Despite it, practice continued to run as normally as it usually did, and you sat on the bench with Kiyoko as the team played a few practice matches.

“Are you okay?” Tilting your head slightly, you sighed as you turned to look at her.

“To be honest, not really.” She hummed, her eyes following Tobio as he took his position, ready to serve.

“He doesn’t seem like the type to get angry at you.” Shaking your head, you looked back to the game, keeping your eye on him as well.

“We both lost something that day. His finals were the same day as mine, and that was when he was abandoned by his teammates.” Her mouth formed an ‘o’ as her eyes widened in surprise.

“He feels guilty that he was able to bounce back from that straight away and he’s able to carry on playing and I can’t, so he doesn’t want to see me make it worse.” She nodded in understanding.

“I’m glad he’s here with all of you, though. He’s the happiest I’ve seen him in years. Thank you.”

The practice finally came to an end and the boys were called to gather around Takeda for an announcement. Tobio still seemed on-edge, and you held back from saying anything about what happened earlier.

“So, this is rather sudden, but Ouginshi High School requested a practice match tomorrow, and I accepted. They were very interested after seeing us at the Inter-High prelims.” A buzz of excitement spread throughout the group and you watched as your brother relaxed slightly, allowing himself to put the argument aside for now.

“Don’t forget the regret and bitterness of losing to Seijoh. However, you don’t need to hold on to the feeling of losing. Hurry up and wipe that away!” The team cheered, immediately thrilled at the prospect of playing another school again. As usual, Hinata and Noya were already back to bouncing around and you giggled as some of the other boys scowled at them.

“Actually, sensei? May I say something?” it didn’t take much for the team to calm down and focus on you as you stepped forward. The attention wasn’t unusual, but you still weren’t used to them staring at you the way that they did.

“Go ahead, Kageyama.” Glancing back at Kiyoko, she gave you a thumbs up as she beamed at you, encouraging you.

“Ah… um, I-I’ve been asked by the third years to join the team as a manager, ready for when Kiyoko leaves and I just wanted to ask if anyone objects to that? It would mean that the first years have to deal with a new manager every year but-“ You didn’t get chance to finish as the boys crowded around you and Tanaka swung his arm around your shoulders.

“Yah, Rei-chan. Why would we have a problem with that? We all love you!” They broke out into another cheer and you giggled as Hinata and Noya came bounding up to you, unable to keep still.

“You’re going to manage us, Rei-chan? That’s so cool!” Their reaction was overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop grinning. You could feel the joy begin to build up and you hoped you could stay like this forever, in a team of people that supported you as well as each other, not letting anything bring you down.

The team began packing up and putting the equipment away, leaving you to chat with the coach about a few minor things.

“I would love to have someone like you teach them a few tricks,” he started. “Is your knee healed enough for that though?” So, you were right, he had known who you were.

“Not yet. I’m trying to get cleared for minor practice but at most I’ll only be able to do a few spikes at a time and not all the time.” He nodded and smiled, clearly expecting that kind of response.

“I can help verbally, of course, and stationary receives and tosses would be perfectly fine.” You could see in his eyes that he was already brimming with ideas of how you could help them improve.

“Just take it easy, okay?” He pat your shoulder before walking off towards Takeda.

As the boys were finishing clearing up, you wandered outside for a breath of fresh air. There was a jumble of emotions running through you and you couldn’t decipher any other them. Tilting your head upwards, you gazed at the stars dotting the dark night sky and sighed.

“I don’t know if I should ask if your hand or your knee is okay first.” You jumped at the voice, turning to find Tsukishima stood a few feet away from you, already dressed, ready to leave. Holding your hand up, you showed him your left palm and smiled. It had been a shallow cut, and so had healed a lot quicker than you had anticipated it to, the only remainder being a long, angry, red line across your skin.

“Both are fine. Thank you for asking.” He tutted and looked away, mumbling something you couldn’t hear.

“Hmm?”

“Shimizu-senpai asked me to give you this.” He held out a black jacket, very obviously trying to change the subject, but you took it and unfolded it. It was one of the team’s jackets, except this one had ‘Manager’ printed across the back. You giggled as a feeling of excitement ran through you. Pulling your bag off of your shoulder, you slipped your arms into the jacket and shrugged it on.

Leaving it unzipped, you twisted your torso for a second so Tsukishima could see the back. He was suddenly reminded of just a few days ago, when you had done the same thing to show him your name on the back of your volleyball hoodie.

“How do I look?” His blush was barely visible, even as the lights positioned outside of the gym illuminated the both of you, and he really hoped you hadn’t noticed anything.

“Like your brother.” He deadpanned and you scowled up at him.

“Well, that’s not nice.” A small chuckle erupted in his chest at how childish you looked, despite attempting to intimidate him.

“It suits you.” It was serious this time, and you were slightly taken aback, expecting him to carry on teasing you like he usually did.

“That serve… It was the same as Oikawa’s,” Staring at him in disbelief, you scoffed.

“Wow. I really am out of practice if it’s the same. Has he really gotten that good?” He furrowed his eyebrows and gave you a confused look.

“It’s my serve. I taught it to Oikawa four years ago.”

“And Kageyama?” You laughed. It was funny really, how your brother knew your serve, yet it was taught to him by someone else.

“No. But that’s why his isn’t as good. No matter how much he practiced, Oikawa could never perfect the serve to be exactly the same as mine.” Tsukishima eyed you up and down as if he didn’t believe you, but you just smirked at him.

“You’ll see.” He was about to reply when the other team members began to file out of the gym. You spotted Tobio and couldn’t help but frown at the look he gave you.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re not getting changed?” He had an extremely sour look on his face as he looked between you and Tsukishima, clearly not very happy.

“No.” He began to walk off without you and you found yourself rolling your eyes at him again. He was taking the situation way out of proportion. Nevertheless, you picked up your bag and hauled it over your shoulder once again and started off to catch up with him.

“Bye, Tsukki!” You laughed as you caught the look he gave you as you glanced back over your shoulder, but when you waved to him, he waved back.

Tobio hadn’t gotten that far, and you slowed your pace as you fell into step with him.

“Four eyes? Really?” Glaring at him. You nudged his shoulder as you walked, and he nudged back.

“He has a name.” A huff.

It was silent the majority of the way home, but you felt Tobio release some of the tension and anger he held towards you and finally relaxed properly. You enjoyed the cool breeze as you walked, but it wasn’t long before you arrived outside of your house.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” He stopped as he reached the front door, turning his head to the side as he looked at you through his peripheral.

“Me too.” Entering the house, he left you outside where you stood alone for a few minutes, before you took a deep breath and stepped inside yourself.

For the first time in a very long time, you were content. There would always be that tugging in the back of your mind – the urge to play – but this as the first step to getting over what happened and getting to carry on with your life at least.

Everything felt just right.

~~~

The Rise and Fall of Kageyama Rei:

It’s no secret that Kageyama Rei was close to becoming the greatest female volleyball star of this generation, with the most versatile set of skills shown by any player in years. And yet, she just disappeared.

Find out the real story behind the Shiratorizawa ace and U-18 hopeful in this exclusive interview from our inside source, and be the first to know the truth…

taglist: @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire​, @loreblackthorne​

[where-is-francis]

Boys Don’t Cry

Steve Harrington x Male Reader

Request:

Prompt: “I came by your house late at night for advice and you’re dancing in your bedroom to The Cure and, not gonna lie, it’s pretty amusing.”

A/N: And the slowest writer ever award goes to: me. But ok Boys Don’t Cry is one of my favorite songs to dance to in an over-dramatic fashion while I’m alone in my bedroom. And I figured like. Why not.

TW: underage drinking, Guys Bein’ Dudes™️, slight language, you dated Nancy but the sexuality is never specified.

Cliques were always dangerous. You never really fit in with any specific group. Fellow peers at Hawkins had just kind of dubbed you a wanderer. And for as much as the teachers liked you, you found yourself in detention quite a bit. Not because you actually started fights, but pissing off Steve Harrington was one of your favorite hobbies. And when Billy Hargrove moved to town, your focus simply shifted to tormenting him instead.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the attention. For whatever reason, aggravating each other was the main basis of your friendship.

It was about third period and you’d come in to school late. The secretary noticed you weren’t at roll call for algebra or science, so she called your house. And before you could get to the phone your mother picked up and began screaming at you, whom she just assumed had already left, prompting you to get ready and leave.

The hallways were empty and it was fairly quiet, save for the noises of one of the gym classes going on. Your locker, unfortunately, was in the hall right beside the gym. Squeaks from sneakers and thuds from a dribbling basketball came from behind closed doors. Every time that damned ball hit your head throbbed more, still recovering from the party last night.

Tossing your Walkman inside, you began to grab out one of the books you’d need. English had been boring, but not as laggy as math and science. For a kid who was good with numbers you were surprisingly bad at the two subjects.

A sudden break in your thoughts came when a familiar face spotted yours and began to walk over. You could sense the uneasiness in the way he walked, normally he’d be trying to scare you. With everything in your hands, you nudged the door to your locker closed and waited for him to say something snarky as a greeting.

But he never did.

(E/c) orbs met dark brown ones. The light behind them was gone, now replaced with a sorrowful expression.

“You good?”

“Not really,” he sighed defensively.

“What’s got you—?”

Memories of the party from the night before came back in a blurred montage. Drinking, dancing, smoking, laughing, making out, repeat. You didn’t remember much, but at one point Nancy spilled her drink and went to the bathroom. What seemed like five hours later, Steve was pissed and ended up leaving.

“Oh, shit.” You visibly cringed.

“Look, I’m going to go talk to her.”

“It’s a wasted effort, man.” You reasoned. “Coming from somebody who’s been with her, just trust me.”

He always went to you for advice when it came to her. Nancy Wheeler was a very complex person, but you two dated for a while, and you kind of knew everything. A breakup came after about ten short months when you grew apart, but after a bit of a chat you two decided to stay friends.

The brunette shook his head slightly and glared. Reaching a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, he muttered something about just getting it over with. You opened your mouth to speak just when the secretary stepped out, a less than pleased look on her face.

“(L/n), you better get to class before you end up with another detention. You too, Harrington.”

A small smirk crossed your features. “Aww, that’d be such a shame, huh?”

Steve quickly sauntered off, presumably to talk to Nancy, and you were left with the secretary. The look in her tired eyes that reached your own pleaded for you to just shut up and go to class.

“They aren’t paying me enough for this,” she groaned.

The smirk on your face morphed into a full shit-eating grin, then prompting you to make your way down the hall and into your English class. Just another average day would follow, nothing out of the ordinary.

Later that evening as you got home, you decided it would be best to unwind and listen to music. Nobody else was home, your parents both at work, so that meant you could do pretty much whatever you wanted. Reaching your beat up door, you began to tug your denim jacket off and toss it onto the chair in the corner.

Everything about the room was overdone; posters adorned the off-white walls, the pictures overlapping at times, and stickers thrown onto the closet door. Two large bookshelves were filled to the brim with your music collection, some sketchbooks, and whatever other junk you had that couldn’t be left on the floor.

Nancy always hated your room but that was to be expected. It didn’t bother you much, you’d rather be at her house anyways.

You shut the door and began to change into something a bit more comfortable, wondering what you’d do with yourself for the remainder of the night. Ordering a pizza sounded pretty good, considering nobody was home and you didn’t want to cook. Most nights alone you’d end up watching TV, playing video games, and then crash at about 2 AM. A vicious cycle, one you never grew tired of.

Without thinking, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the receiver and dialed Steve’s number. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the two of you could hang out for a bit without getting yelled at.

Last time he was over, your parents came home earlier than anticipated and found the two of you sat on the couch, drunk, reading through the phone book (for whatever reason), only to just lose your shit whenever you saw a name that sounded even mildly amusing.

The phone rang a few times before eventually being picked up.

A sigh could be heard. “What?”

“Hey, loverboy. I’m ordering pizza tonight. You wanna come over and hang out?”

“Are we going to get our asses ripped this time?” The brunette retorted.

A fake laugh came from you. “That was one time, so are you coming or not?”

There was a minute long pause between you two. No matter how much you annoyed each other, you were one of his weaknesses. And pizza was something that he couldn’t say no to.

“Fine, but—”

“Great! See you in a few.” You chirped and practically smashed your phone back onto the base.

Steve lived only a couple streets down from you. You met back at the beginning of elementary school, both of you riding the same bus. Neither you, nor him, could really remember when you started to consider the other a ‘friend’. But it mainly had something to do with him and Nancy being a couple.

Since she and you dated before and were still close friends, somehow you ended up becoming the marriage counselor along the way.

But hey, the more the merrier, right?

Your mind couldn’t help but drift sometimes. Steve was pretty cute in your eyes, even with his weird hair. Generally the same taste in music, shows, movies, and obviously the same taste in girls. And although he was stupid (sometimes), he was a good dude.

It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the house. In the meantime you decided it would be best to put in the order for the pizzas. A quick call to the nearest shop, and they’d deliver it as soon as it was done.

After scanning through some music, you finally settled on one: a mixtape of your favorite songs from The Cure. You popped it in with no hesitation and set your player to max volume. The intro to Siamese Twins rang out in your bedroom, the beat eventually making all of the furniture thud in perfect time. Glass window panes shook as well, you’d probably have the neighbors complaining in the morning.

Your feet guided you around the house aimlessly as you searched for something to drink, the sound of music becoming more muffled as you entered the kitchen. It reminded you of the party a few nights ago, but far less stuffy. And with better music.

“I chose an eternity of this; like fallen angels, the world disappeared,” you sang slightly to yourself as you rummaged through the cabinets.

Nothing.

Onto the fridge, stocked full of Coke and other stuff you didn’t much care for. Nobody

Meanwhile, down the street, Steve could hear loud music coming from your street. Which was odd, if there was a party he would’ve known about it. Upon further inspection he realized it was coming from your house. The sun was already starting to set behind said abode, nestling itself deeper and deeper into the rows of houses that occupied the area.

The Harrington boy stepped a bit closer and took in the view; your house covered in orange and red tinted leaves, the living room and kitchen lights shining through their respective windows. Your silhouette moved about inside, gracefully, to the beat. Almost like a shadow with perfectly fluid movements.

His focus shifted to the porch lights, then the door, the doorbell, and back again. He only assumed your parents weren’t home but he wasn’t sure, although with as loud as the music was, ringing the doorbell or knocking wouldn’t have done any good anyways. It took him a bit to move, then walking around to the darkened backyard where he counted the windows.

The first one was your parents’ room (he learned the hard way), the second belonged to the bathroom, and finally, the third was the entrance to your bedroom. He glanced down, careful not to step on the flowers, then maneuvered his way around to find a spot where he could see through the gap blinds. What he got was something out of a renaissance painting.

You with your mom’s pearl necklace and matching earrings draped carelessly, your shirt all the way unbuttoned, and a wine glass in your hand. To top it all off, your hair was a mess, but complemented the askew lipstick that painted your lips. Your hips swayed back and forth in a graceful yet drunken manner. Inside, Boys Don’t Cry came on the stereo.

Each step you took was calculated to sync with the beat, the only thing that could’ve made it more amusing was if you would’ve been wearing heels.

“What is that moron doing?”

“I would say I’m sorry

If I thought that it would change your mind

But I know that this time I have said too much,

Been too unkind,”

You sang along, a slurred version not being heard by the other male as he watched from the window. Brown eyes were fixated on your form as you leapt up onto the bed, forcing a bit of a stumble from yourself. After almost toppling over, you continued on.

“I tried to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies

I tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes cause—”

“Boys… don’t cry.” Steve finished.

In the midst of the dancing spree you turned and locked eyes with said boy. The room was swaying about and took a minute to stop, your vision focusing on him. Each step you took closer to the window made your knees feel weaker, but somehow you managed to pull the screen up to let the other boy in.

The room was almost like a time capsule; nothing really moved or touched since the last time he’d been there, the only difference being the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. Sudden weight on the bed caused it to dip behind him. When he turned, your body was draped gracefully across the dark (color) sheets. Almost something out of an erotic painting, the clash of textures and colors alike.

Originally, the plan had been to come to wallow in self pity and ask for advice about Nancy. Now all he could think about was you, tipsy, singing along to music so loud it would rival an actual concert.

“You—you want a sip?” You shouted over the lyrics, somewhat slurred.

Steve thought about it for a minute, taking glances at your extended hand every so often. A slight sigh escaped him, then taking the glass and downing whatever was left. He started coughing and gagging as a result of the cheap liquor hitting, but didn’t care too much to do anything besides wipe his mouth off.

Everything in that moment was fuzzy, and loud, and warm. Time was stopped for you two. Nothing really mattered except the exact moment you were living in. Not some dumb party, not some spoiled suburban girl, and most certainly not being sober.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips. The newfound anxiety on his face made you wonder, but still too afraid to ask.

“Is there more to drink?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen… come on.”

Everything that happened afterwards became a blur of colors and muffled noises. Almost like going under anesthesia in the hospital, you couldn’t really remember what went on until something triggered it. And from then on you’d spend your time wondering if it was real or not, trying so hard to distinguish a vivid dream from a drugged reality.

One thing happened to stand out. The single thing you could remember.

Not so many hours later, bottles of liquor had been spread across the floor and the lights turned off. The music that once blared and annoyed the neighbors was turned down now, a much softer volume. Melodic hums came from your lips as Steve ranted about Nancy. The party, it was all because of the stupid party.

“— and, I mean, I apologized. Me. Steve fucking Harrington.”

After what seemed like four rounds too many, his speech was slurred.

Steve buried his face in his hands.“I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“You didn’t do any-anything wrong, man. Nancy just... has a stick up her ass, nothing new.” You assured him with a soft shove to the shoulder.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, his hands sliding down the sides of his face. A pitiful laugh found its way from his throat, soon after turning into something far more maniacal. Something about the situation was funny to you as well.

But not what you had said about Nancy, no. What made you laugh was the look on this idiot’s face, perfectly illuminated by the neighbor’s porch lights. How he slid down deeper onto your floor, ribs aching from giggling too hard. Though he was drunk, the smile plastered on his face was genuine.

Two separate roars were only extinguished after a few minutes, but at the time it felt like hours. You attempted to regain your composure but it was hard when his face was right next to yours. Once perfect brown hair was now askew, the result of the perfect night in. Eyes in the color to match brimmed with tears from laughing, something he felt like he hadn’t done in a while. Nearly perfect skin and perfect lips almost begging for some action; it was too amazing.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you wanted to make out with me…”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Even in the dark he could see the red flush rise to your cheeks. You swallowed a bit, hand rising to comb through (h/c) locks anxiously. Harsh shadows covered your (s/c) face but even then Steve could still tell you were biting your lip.

It seemed he had his answer.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, oh,” you mirrored.

Everything happened what felt like hours later, but at the same time, all at once. Your bodies had been forced together, the taste of long forgotten cheap wine playing on your tongues. His hands reached up to tangle gently in your hair, all while yours gripped desperately at the lapels of his denim jacket.

The kiss was soft and messy, but whether it was the alcohol’s fault or the fact he was nervous was anybody’s guess. For whatever reason, Steve expected it to feel different but it didn’t. The kiss was just that; a kiss. Not a kiss with a boy, just a kiss.

Clumsily, he straddled your lap to get a better angle. It still felt the same. The time had come to an end, your lungs begging for air, forcing the two of you to pull back. His shoulders heaved, the room only being filled now with the slight sound of you both panting.

(E/c) hues opened to take in the view. Steve Harrington straddling your lap, breathless, disheveled, only being lit by the light that came through the window. The grip you had on his jacket slowly loosened, only to be stopped by his hand on yours. Red lipstick that once adorned your lips was now shared. The Cure that played in the background had finally come to a complete stop. But the gaze Steve had on your lips didn’t, especially when he began to lean in again.

“Don’t tell Nancy,”

[moniire]

All the classic author asks pls!!!

Okay, I didn’t imagine that someone would reply so quickly, but I suppose I have the time.

Mary Shelley: Were you a goth, prep, nerd, or jock in school?

I’m a nerd, as far as I’m aware. I have a little bit of goth in me, I suppose, but that part rarely rears its head in public.

Zora Neale Hurston: Do you write in your free time? If so, then what do you write?

I don’t write a lot as I’m incredibly fussy and I find it hard to come up with plots or make my writing flow. I do write some drabble occasionally, in the form of very short stories, but they rarely have an actual plot. It would be my dream to actually be able to finish a proper short story.

J.D. Salinger: What was the last movie you watched?

I’m pretty sure it was North by Northwest, but I don’t remember exactly.

Alice Walker: What was the first “adult” book you ever read?

The first properly graphic book I read was, I believe, A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. I was 13 at the time.

Bram Stoker: Do you prefer suspenseful horror movies, gore, or jump scares?

I absolutely hate jumpscares. If you send me anything with jumpscares I will probably cry. But I immensely enjoy suspense and gore has never really phased me (apart from stuff with eyes). Many of my favourite shows and movies have a good mix of them. 

Oscar Wilde: What book have you read more than once?

Oh, hundreds of them. My favourite re-reads are probably the Howl series by Diana Wynne Jones. Childhood classics!

Beatrix Potter: Do you like reading inside or outside?

I’d say inside usually, but it honestly depends on the weather and location. A sunny bench in a quiet park? Sure, I’d go for it. But a rainy, crowded street? Perhaps not.

Ann Radcliffe: What’s something you’re known for among your friends or family?

There are a few things. Firstly, I’d say my height is a big one, at least on my mother’s side of the family. I’m really tall for my age - 6’ or thereabouts - and taller than everyone on my mother’s side. My grandparents on my father’s side have actually been measuring the family’s heights against a wall since the early 2000s. Seeing the progression is pretty cool.

Among my friends, I’d say either my speech patterns or my ability to remember little tidbits of information that I’ve been told years ago. Despite coming from an area with a very distinct, “non-posh” accent, I speak a lot of the time with an enunciated, stereotypically British accent. When I get angry or excited, I tend to speak with a slight Irish accent, and the list goes on. No idea where I picked this up, but it’s apparently very humorous. The latter is a bit of an inside joke, as normally my memory is quite bad. However, I occasionally come out with bits of information that people have no memory of telling me. There have luckily been only a few awkward situations due to this.

Lord Byron: What’s a negative quality that you can admit to having?

I’m very insensitive at times and have had multiple friends call me out on statements that I meant as jokes or constructive criticism, but they found incredibly hurtful. 

Edna St. Vincent Millay: Do you have a favourite poem or one you can recite?

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by Keats, The Orange by Wendy Cope, How Do I Love Thee (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Browning and When You Are Old by Yeats are the ones that spring to mind.

The ones I can recite are La Belle Dame, Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy and most of the Relationships Anthology for GCSE English Lit. 

Jane Austen: Have you ever fallen in love?

That one’s difficult. I fall in love every day with places and things and experiences. With books and artworks and music. 

But I presume this means people. And honestly, I don’t know. I thought I was in love once, with a boy whom I met through a friend. He was beautiful and talented, but what stood out was that he could talk. I was sick of people who seemed to have no wider perspective or opinions, or, if they did, kept it firmly under lock and key. But he would always find a new topic to talk about, without me even needing to start a conversation. Art installations at our local gallery, religious ideology, politics, music. And it was wonderful. 

I spoke with him for maybe 30 minutes a month at most, with the rare exception of protests or marches, but they were bright and intriguing and he made me feel like I’d swallowed a star every time I saw him.

But alas, it came to an end as all good things do. We drifted and, since he didn’t seem to text, we stopped speaking almost altogether.

But was I in love? I still don’t know

Langston Hughes: If you could be part of a literary era, which one?

I feel like this is predictable but the Romantic/Gothic era (1780s - 1830s) because, whilst I’ll admit that women’s rights most definitely were non-existent, it has to be my favourite one literary-wise

Emily Dickinson: What’s the last book you were reading?

Blackhearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken. I wanted something quick and nostalgic for a change.

John William Polidori: What was the last book you finished?

See above answer

Stendhal: Have you ever hid a book you were reading because you were embarrassed? 

When I originally read the ASOIAF series, I, of course, had to read it in school as well, because I wasn’t switching books for school and for home and I obviously needed something to read at lunch. Scared of getting judged by peers or getting the book confiscated by teachers, I hid it in the dust jacket of another book. I can’t remember which, but, surprisingly, it worked.

Charles Dickens: What book are you currently reading?

E. H. Gombrich’s A Little History of the World. Again, written for children, but one I immensely enjoy and very informative on a wide variety of countries. 

Thomas Hardy: Are you a city or country person?

I want to say a mix of both. I love the city I live in and its bustle and shops and life, but I also love the countryside with its greenery and cosy intimacy. I do hate the insects though.

Virginia Woolf: What book has been on your TBR longer than a year?

Pride & Prejudice. I just haven’t gotten around to it, though I’m sure I will soon.

And finally…

Edith Wharton: What’s your favourite season for reading?

Winter, easily. Curling up to read is hard if you’re all sweaty and can’t concentrate on the words because of it. Winter gives me an excuse to pile on the jumpers and blankets, heat up the hot chocolate and just read. Plus, winter often means visits to Ireland to see my grandparents, who have the cosiest living room ever, which doubles as my all-time favourite reading environment. 

That was quite a task. I might have gone off on one in some of these, but I hope this answers it all nicely.

[tartareus]

Do you condone/ship incest? I was reading your rules and got confused about your sentence where you said if people are uncomfortable with fictional consensual incest this isn’t the blog for you. Except Incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction

hi there, friend, how do you do?

while i'm not particularly fond of anons (nex time you'd like to discuss something regarding my rules and/or character portrayal, i strongly encourage you to do so via ims - i don't bite, and if our points of view don't quite match? that's alright, i promise i'll leave you in peace :) ) for various reasons, i'm so glad you've read my rules (that probably makes you one of the few who follow me - at least i presume you do, idk - who has done so, so thank you so much!), i cannot stress enough how important they are to me. if i happen to follow you, rest assured that i have read yours (unless, ofc, i couldn't find one in your blog - in any case, if i happen to accidentally break one of yours, just hmu or gimme a nudge).

considering that you've asked more than one question, i'll answer to you in separate sections - needless to say that while i break it down your questions, the answer might become a little longer than usual (again, i'm sorry). i'll keep this tagged, in case any of my followers don't feel like reading about this. without further ado, let’s dive in.´

“do you condone/ship incest?”

short answer? nope. but that is not a black or white question i’m afraid. no, i – nox, the human behind this blog of fictional characters – personally do not condone incest , never have and never will, and  don’t ship it. i do, however, ship consanguinamory on rare occasions, and when i do happen to write it i never do it in a good light.

for those who are not familiar with the term, here’s a little bit of info about it x && x. in short, the key difference between them is: incest is usually linked abuse (a fictional example that can be used, taking in consideration one of my very own muses, in this case is margot verger – who was sadly abused by her brother in the hannibal books) while consanguinamory (the lannisters, for example, or even the sharpe siblings from crimson peak are examples of consanguineous relationships) is the consensual romantic and/or sexual relationship between members of the same family who are of consenting age.

[ personally, i find both of them gross as fuuck irl but when it comes to fictional works i may get over this first disgust and ponder more on that && take in consideration the characters arch, plot, thoughts and the whole world they are set in. ]

i suppose the turning point here is the consent. i never, never, condone any sort of abuse – not in fiction and neither in real life – and while it’s a subject that bothers me to no end in real life, when it comes to fiction i am less inclined to project into them. i may write dark and toxic relationships, but i obviously do not condone them. that’s the point here – people on this hellsite usually mix the two together (condoning something and shipping/writing it, that is) when in fact they shouldn’t even be in the same box to begin with.

let’s say you write a fictional serial killer – norman bates, tate langdon, hannibal lecter, catherine tramell (that chick from basic instinct), patrick bateman, mrs lovett and sweeney todd, kai anderson, bellatrix, grindelwald and voldemort (the list of plausible examples could go on forever…) – here and ship with them; does it mean that you, the writer, condone every single action and choice your muse does? if writing something purely fictional equals to condoning it in real life, well… the world is even more fucked up than i first thought.

you see, in this little exercise in imagination, you could’ve easily picked a good guy or gal to write, the hero; the goody two shoes. why didn’t you? well, it’s complicated to pin point why some are drawn to darker works of fiction and characters while others are not, i suppose each individual has their own reasons && i can only speak for myself when i say that i am drawn to these sort of fictional works because they the safest way to explore dark topics that pertain to human society. on my side, it’s nothing but raw curiosity.

there’s also the issue of how different cultures see these relationships. in case you haven’t noticed, i am not from the states but actually from brazil. especially in the rural area, it’s not uncommon for second cousins to date or even marry (ew, i know, pretty gross). that’s something that is luckily falling out of practice, but you can easily find it, more so in the poor rural areas that are really far from the cities.

you may have noticed that most of the sources for the terms come from a blog that advocates real life consanguinamory – but make no mistake, i don’t support it. these were the only places i’ve found as sources in a quick look online. i don’t support it irl, but whatever consenting adults are doing amongst themselves is no concern of mine – i have no say on the matter and all in all, i don’t give a damn. i just don’t like it. everything i’ve discussed here is related to fiction, consent and is only ever related to people of consenting age.

“i was reading your rules and got confused about your sentence where you said if people are uncomfortable with fictional consensual incest this isn’t the blog for you. except incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction”

to be honest with you, anon, i couldn’t possibly see how you’ve got confused with this. i thought i was pretty clear with that, but perhaps not. sorry, my english is not perfect. however, with the risk of sounding like a meme, i said what i said. if you personally feel uncomfortable or even triggered with fictional consensual incest otherwise known as consanguinamory, maybe my blog isn’t for you. not because i – as the mun –  condone it, but because i might mention it or even allude to it when i write certain characters. again, consent is the main thing here – you won’t ever see me writing that awful part of margot’s past, but i might mention it on some threads as it is part of her trauma but i will write jaime’s feelings regarding cersei and joanna’s love for tywin – and that should not be overlooked.

“except incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction” 

so far so good, am i to assume that you also believe that “murder is murder, regardless of if it is fiction or not”? should we call the police on, idk, george rr martin for killing....hell knows how many characters...at this point i’m sure not even he knows. leaving my petty comment aside (it’s the arthritis, i’m always annoyed when in pain), i see where you’re coming from; fair enough.  but you missed a big point here – consensual. i do not write abuse, even to the muses who – in the canon source material – have done so    ( like jaime lannister himself – who’s in a consanguinamorous [therefore, falling under the category of fictional consensual incest] relationship with cersei – who abused his sister next to their son’s dead body [ yeah, jaime apologists, i’m out to get y’all...jokes aside, i do not acknowledge people claiming that cersei manipulated him into going to bed with her, while they are both shitty and toxic as fuck people, their relationship is mutually messed up – gag if you must but jaime lannister is far from innocent angel ] )     in the past. i. don’t. write. it. but i do write jaime’s feelings for cersei because they are canon and are also a big part of the character he became.

all of that, of course, has to do with my own position on the “war” between the people who believe fiction has a great power and influence over reality vs the ones who do not believe in that. personally, i find it hard to believe that fiction is a brainwashing tool rewiring people’s brains  - i find the idea itself ludicrous, the ones who strongly stand for that aren’t that different from flat-earthers and people who believe in reverse racism tbh – but i do acknowledge the influence media has on society. its not nearly enough to turn someone to the “dark side” alone by itself – those who claim that videogames, for example, made them violent most likely already had something different and perhaps wrong with them before the games triggered something. i don’t believe that media creates things on people, but brings buried things (fears, feelings, emotions, hopes) back to the surface. it’s all about the stimulus.

if you wanna be scared, watch an horror movie; if you wanna be happy, a comedy video.  wanna feel warm inside and live unrealistic romantic expectations vicariously through fictional characters? read a 50.000 words slow burn fluffy happy fanfic of your otp at 3 am even though you gotta wake up early in the following morning....

point is, they are not creating things, they are bringing forth responses from you that were already there in your brain (everybody has laughed before and felt fear, it’s part of human development). and how you react to certain content is entirely to you and your past. say, if you drowned as a kid on the sea - and had trauma from that - the idea of watching titanic is not so fun, is it?

it’s not my place to decide what you should do, that is entirely your own choice to make, just be aware that, as i’ve stated before countless times, i may write dark topics that may or may not be triggering to some.  i do so because it is my blog, and i don’t react so harshly to this content (in fact, i love horror, thriller and dark fictional stuff – meanwhile i dread the thought of rom coms, hell knows why??) for i am lucky to be able to separate fiction from reality. basically, whilst writing a villain, i myself do not become one in real life – that part remains in fiction only and doesn’t affect me.

that is not a constant, sure. i don’t just write dark shady stuff – there’s plenty of fluffy shit on my blog, but i like to warn people beforehand to make sure we are all on the same page. it’s for your own comfort, i suppose, because i may not understand certain points of view on fiction but i will always defend your right to be comfortable and safe.

so yes, if you aren’t feeling well at that notion, please unfollow and block me if you must – i never wish to cause any discomfort to anyone – however, before you do so (that is, if you do so) i beg you to just send me an im warning me beforehand, please? that way i can block you – and your other blogs as well – so the chances of me running into you again and causing you discomfort will be minimal. that way we’ll both be on own respective lanes and happy about it. i mass follow very often and don’t usually know which blogs belong to whom (uh, did that make sense? my latina ass is not used to using whom in a sentence....), i may follow another blog (or the revamped blog) of someone who has blocked me and never even realise it – that’s not me following you around and stalking like a total creep, that’s probably me not even remembering who you are. again, sorry – i don’t mean for this to come off rude or anything but???? its the truth? you know the drill, big following list, big followers list (well, big for me tbh, i cannot remember the name or alias of 600 people for the life of me, excuse me if my memory doesn’t serve me right), hard to keep track. there will be no witch hunts, at least on my part, because i deem them to be childish and way too dramatic for my taste. if you’d like to speak in private, adult to adult, i’m always game – i dread vague posting, i personally see it as a pathetic and weak trait. 

as long as you’re civil, so am i.

either way, do whatever makes you feel comfortable and safe on your blog – your  mental health is far more important (to me, and hopefully to you as well) than a hobby, than tumblr, rp or whatever fictional stuff someone’s writing or reading; you are responsible for your own online experience, and i am responsible for mine. that’s an empowering thing that should be reminded more often.

i truly hope i’ve managed to answer whatever doubts or questions you had in mind, if not my ims are always open and so is my discord. once again, thank you for reading my rules and stay safe!

edit; my dumb ass forgot to drop my disco handle, since i change often. it currently is   DOCTOR BITCHCRAFT !!! | 𝒏𝒐𝒙#1398

[morelikesin]

Security

Welcome to the first chapter of my self-indulgent kiss fic! My first Apex Legends fic, as well!

This fic has five chapters, including an intro (you’re here!), an ending, and three middle chapters that focus on a specific relationship each within my self-indulgent polyamorous ship of Bloodhound-Octane-Mirage-Caustic. This is like my take on the start of their romantic relationship 💕

I have to put a disclaimer, for I know not too much about the Apex lore, and have been playing for only a little more than four months as of now - so my characterizations and headcanons are purely based on what I think from seeing them in-game. I hope Apex veterans will still like my take (⺣◡⺣)♡* 

For quick reference, not that it truly matters to the reading experience, I wrote this fic with certain character skins in mind - Caustic has his Blackheart skin, Bloodhound has their Flamingo skin, Octane has his Original skin, and Mirage has his Fiber Optics skin.

Sidenote: There’s a lot of language other than English within these chapters, regarding dialogue - Old Norse, Icelandic, Spanish, and French being what they are. I have not included translations, but many of them are able to be understood with context. I also write dialogue based on how they actually speak, rather than readability. Words containing “r’r” represent a roll of the r, and missing letters represent the character skipping over them because of accent or dialect. Everything else should be self-explanatory! Any questions regarding this sidenote can be asked through the notes of any of the relevant chapters.

Below is the chapters in order.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Intro (You are here!)

Chapter 2 - Mirage

Chapter 3 - Octane

Chapter 4 - Caustic

Chapter 5 - Ending

Without further ado, Chapter 1 below the cut!

The dormitories abruptly filled with stumbling footsteps.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Mirage spoke uncomfortably as he eyed the team’s best hunter.

Bloodhound swatted away any hands that came to touch them - not meaning to come off as rude, but rather in their discomfort of general intimacy. The other legends were aware of this, but the natural urge to touch someone’s arm or back in comfort arose stronger now than in previous encounters, despite the hunter’s visible unwillingness to accept such an offer. In the middle of battle, it was often too risky to offer physical forms of affection even for a moment in terms of someone ambushing them, but even when the chance presented itself Bloodhound was always one to dismiss their hurt and assure their other teammate(s) that they were fine.

“Quite,” started the hunter, their ever-so-slightly-shaking fingers fiddling with one of their prominent jacket pockets, “I’ll be fine. Don’t treat this as such a dire issue.”

“Compadre, of course it’s a big issue,” Octane assured Bloodhound with his unwavering hand resting on their arm, much to the latter’s dismay. “Che needs to at least see it-”

The man’s purring voice was cut off by one deeper and more grainy.

Caustic pulled at his sleeves and turned to check the emergency medicine cabinet by the door - giving a bitter “I’m thinking if someone didn’t use an illegal play, then you’d not be wounded. I know a particular subject who despises common etiquette,” referring to Revenant.

Bloodhound gave a reassuring “Don’t tr'rouble yourself finding someone to blame. I’m fine, thank you.”

All three men seemed wanting in terms of disputing how fine Bloodhound really was (not to mention faulting the obvious perpetrator of their wound), but mutually abstained for civility’s sake.

“Cabinet’s bare.”

“Think I got some supplies left in my own stash,” Mirage offered as he hastily turned to go up the stairs to his room.

As he left, the hunter walked to the left side of the kitchen they were all standing in and leaned against the counter - looking down and tapping a hand against the granite. The motion gave the two men with them a quiet sign of how they were trying to ignore the pain.

“Where is it exactly?” Octane questioned as he came to stand in front of them, “Face, neck-?”

“Face,” they confirmed. “The pain feels centered on my right.”

Octane went to say something before Mirage had come back down - carrying in his hands a few items of aid.

“Got some antiseptic, some cotton pads, and a thing of g- a thing of- ah- some bandages.”

Octavio was quick - obviously - to take the pack of cotton pads, roll of applicable gauze, and travel-sized bottle of antiseptic. Before Mirage could question it, Octavio purred to Bloodhound, “If you need help with it, compadre, I’ve gotten five star reviews on my medical care.”

“From who, exactly?” Caustic quipped, “Last we were teamed, you could hardly administer a syringe to me without missing the vein two times first.”

“I’m thorough, what can I say?”

Bloodhound slightly reached out a hand to take the supplies, “Thank you for these, Mr. Witt. I think I’ll be fine to administer these myself, really-”

“Oh, it’s no big deal!” Octane assured, pulling open the bag of cotton pads as he spoke, “It’s better when you got someone else to look over your heridas - más cobertura.”

Bloodhound swallowed. The offer was tempting - knowing Octane was right in that - but they’d never taken their mask off in front of anyone in terms of the other legends. They trusted them, of course, but it was still a strong desire of theirs to keep their physical identity hidden. There’s been occasions they’ve seen their hands or their hair, but their face was something they were always careful to hide.

Taking in a sigh, they decided against their better judgement and slowly raised their hands to unclasp the few straps holding their mask in place behind their head.

“Just be quick about it.”

Octane half-expected Bloodhound to decline the offer, take the supplies, and head to their dorm - and yet they didn’t. Blinking, he popped open the cap of the antiseptic bottle and doused a cotton pad, “Sure thing! Sorry if this burns any.”

Bloodhound shook their head a bit, “I assume it will - no need to apologize.”

The next few moments felt so slow - Mirage and Caustic consciously looking elsewhere as to give the hunter a bit of privacy where it was due, Octane setting down the rest of the supplies on the counter beside Bloodhound until he needed them again, and all accompanied by a small clink from them unbuckling their mask.

They visibly hesitated to pull it off, gloved hands grasping the sides of the mask timidly, and had their gaze pointed downwards.

Nothing was said when they fully pulled the cover away and looked up - heterochromatic eyes looking to their left at nothing in particular just to avoid eye contact.

Octane, being the one to have been looking at them the entire time, would have been the first to find that they were so pretty - gorgeous, even. A slightly angled jaw, warm olive skin decorated with scattered beauty marks, blushed lips, a large angled nose, soft brows - not to mention the scars. One dragged from their right to left cheek horizontally, across the bridge of their nose. Another was smaller, and trailed vertical from their right brow to their cheekbone - the same side as their grey, presumably blind, eye. The last was a gnarly horizontal across the fully shaved part of their head - just below where their deep black hair began and trailed much past their shoulders.

Octane figured they wouldn’t want anything to be said about their appearance, which fought with his want to compliment them, but ultimately he went with the former idea. Raising the cotton pad to clean the notable fresh wound, an abrasion scuffing the skin beside their chin and just above their jaw, Octane pressed it against the scrape gently.

Bloodhound made a muted wince.

It was then that, as goes human curiosity, the two other men looked over - finding themselves at the same conclusion as Octane had just seconds ago-

Bloodhound was damn pretty.

It felt rude to stare, but it was hard to look away - Caustic being the first to reluctantly move his gaze towards the floor, followed by Mirage looking down and fiddling with a random pocket on his suit.

Octane tossed the used cotton pad into a nearby bin. Picking up the applicable gauze, he unwrapped it and began to line it up with Bloodhound’s wound.

“I think it’ll heal up just fine,” He assured, “Doesn’t look like anything that’ll leave a scar behind.”

The hunter gave a hushed “Thank you” as Octane pressed the bandage against the wound and made sure it was secure. As the man pulled his hands away, Bloodhound felt the urge to cover their face over once more - though as they’ve already seen it, they simply held the mask in their hands.

“..Þakka fyrir,” they spoke quietly, “All of your concern is appreciated.”

Given they seemed comfortable enough to leave it off, Mirage glanced back over prior to lifting his head up a bit. “It’s nothin’, really. Gotta’ look out for one another, you know?”

Bloodhound gave a nod.

“..I’ll retire to my room. Thank you all, again.”

Caustic gave an assuring “Our pleasure.”

With that, they made their way to the stairs and left - leaving behind a trio of men who suddenly needed time to think.

That was a week ago.

The opportunity to discuss the event came in the form of an early Monday morning - the beginning of the work week regarding games.

Caustic was a known early-riser - him or Lifeline always being the first to brew a pot of coffee in the morning. He and Mirage sat at the dining table making seldom conversation - the scientist drinking his coffee black while Mirage had poured in a concerning amount of his favourite pumpkin-flavoured creamer into his own.

Mirage wasn’t known to wake up quite this early, it being seven, but he wasn’t late to do so either - that title belonged to Octane, an infamous sleeper-till-three-or-four-in-the-afternoon. Considering that, it was a shock to find the man coming down into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Octane quipped prior to yawning and scratching his lower back. Unmasked, his baggy grey sweatpants and violet tank-top looked freshly wrinkled - most likely having just woken up.

Unperturbed by most things at this point, Caustic gave an unwavered “Good morning,” though unlike most days he sounded a little tired. Come to think of it, so did Octane.

Mirage returned the greeting with a playful “Aren’t normally up this early - special occasion?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

Octane took a seat beside Caustic, in front of Mirage - rubbing the back of his head and messing his hair a bit. The silence wasn’t necessarily awkward, but there was an obvious something between them not being said.

Knowing Mirage nor Caustic were going to say anything, Octane felt it his responsibility to break the tension.

“¿Qué pasó? We’re not gonna’ just forget about what happened last Monday, are we?”

Caustic furrowed his brows and hesitated to speak - taking a drink from his mug before responding, “I’m unsure what you mean.”

“I know you know what I mean, Nox,” Octane chortled, “and you aren’t free from this talk either, Elliott.”

Elliot gave a scoff. “I’m.. abstaining.”

“Really - can we talk about it?” Octane leaned back in his seat, putting his hands in his lap. The three of them haven’t been able to talk alone throughout the week, and any conversation with Bloodhound was the same as before that Monday afternoon. Octane continued, “Say what you want, compadres, but I have a feeling we’re all thinking the same thing.”

Octane’s intuition seemed to carry some weight when neither of the other men said anything - Dr. Nox hesitating before taking another drink and looking away while Elliott set his cup down.

The latter ultimately gave in with a sigh. Looking between Dr. Nox and Octane, Elliott spoke a little sheepishly, “Well, I…” He paused, “Look, promise you it’s not new - been.. liking Bloodhound for a while now.”

“How long is a while to you?” Octane teased before being reprehended by Dr. Nox.

“How exactly did you come to the conclusion this was the discussion you wanted to have?” He spoke while lifting the mug to his lips.

Octane scoffed and bore a smile, “I can’t be the only one who felt that tension after they left - I’m not dense.”

When the remark was met with no defense from either of them, Octane felt safe to assume they were now on the same page.

“..For what it’s worth, I’m fine with however we wanna’ go about this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elliott questioned with furrowed brows - though after a moment or two he quickly cleared his throat as the statement clicked. He put his elbow on the table and propped his head up in his hand. “Scratch that. Gotta’ say - would’ve taken you as a jealous type, Octavio.”

The comment earned an amused, short exhale from Dr. Nox.

Octavio spoke with playful surprise in his tone, then put his hand on his chest, “Me? Jealous? Estoy dolido.” He put his hand back in his lap. “Pero, I really don’t mind. I know I’m one of the least serious people here, but I’m talking about it because I’m trying to be for once.”

Dr. Nox set his mug down, his attention assumedly fully taken now.

“I’m just saying I’m interested in them,” Octavio finally confessed in concise terms. “And maybe I’m not as good at reading people as I think I am, but last week I felt something there. And I know nothing about your preferences,” he looked to the scientist, “Pero I wanted to.. how do I say this?”

Elliott looked focused on something, with his eyes narrowed and looking away. When Octavio found himself at a loss on how to convey his thoughts, Elliott spoke up in hopes he got the gist of what he was going for.

“What, like polyamory? I am, if it means anything - but, I’m.. sure you already knew that.”

Octavio gave a snort, “A huevo - yo también.” He then looked back to Dr. Nox and gave a quick nod of his head, “You?”

The man took a moment to answer - almost as though he’d never really thought about it before. Hell, he never expected to be talking about something like this. “..Might be. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“With what I’m proposing,” Octavio wanted to confirm, “You’d be okay with that? All of us having permission to pursue them, I mean.”

“I’ve yet to reject your offer,” Dr. Nox replied with a tinge of surprise in his own statement - definitely never before questioning this about himself.

The discussion seemed over on that note - an odd feeling of mutual relief lie between them. They knew Bloodhound had no obligation to accept any theoretical advances, but the first step was to make sure between themselves that they could do so in the first place. Octavio relaxed a bit and slouched in his seat, finding his once restless mood fading and, for the first time this week, ready for some proper sleep without anxieties occupying his mind. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head as a sort of cushion. Elliott took a quiet sip of his coffee. Dr. Nox kept his gaze elsewhere, in thought, and proceeded to pick his mug back up.

It was silent for a long while - the three  enjoying the company, in a way.

Upstairs, alone in their room, Bloodhound sat on their bed. Their hands clasped together, they couldn’t keep their mind off of something in particular - having kept them up for a few hours now.

Since last week, the hunter had been slowly becoming more comfortable with showing their face around the other legends - albeit for short periods, at times they’d been having a communal meal, but it was still progress. Last week had encouraged them to be a bit more open about the idea of doing so, but something about then still bothered them.

Bloodhound couldn’t tell whether it was fortunate or not that the three people they’d taken their mask off in front of for the first time were the exact three people they’d found themselves attracted to for months now - maybe the circumstances were the Gods’ sense of humor.

[queenofcats17]

Snatcher Fails At Being Human

I’m diving back into writing a story for @teenytinyhatkid because of this. And also this. This too. So here’s Snatcher being a disaster. 

Snatcher didn’t have many friends. He tended to keep to himself most of time, trying to convince himself that it was better that way. Of course, Hat Kid had decided that he needed to get out more, so he’d started getting dragged to the dock to meet with her little friend Bow. That was where he’d seen her, the red-haired woman who sold flowers by the dock. Well, Bow said they were flowers at least. Snatcher had never seen flowers like the one this woman sold. Still, he found himself captivated by her. She was so pretty, with her hair as bright as the coral reefs and the funny scales on her face. Not to mention her sharp tongue and quick wit. Snatcher had no desire to enter any kind of romantic relationship, but he did find himself wanting to be friends with this strange woman.

“You should talk to her!” Hat Kid suggested when he accidentally let slip his thoughts one day. 

“It’s too dangerous, kid,” Snatcher replied almost immediately. “Humans are unpredictable.”

“But Bow’s not unpredictable.” Hat Kid insisted. “Not all humans are bad.”

“We have to be careful.” Snatcher leaned back against a rock and folded his arms, signaling that the conversation was now over. Hat Kid narrowed her eyes, puffing out her cheeks in a pout. 

“You’re no fun.” She huffed.

She continued to bring up the strange flower lady every day since she knew it was possible to wear Snatcher down through sheer perseverance. One day, she brought it up when she and Snatcher were meeting with Bow. 

“You mean Peony?” Bow asked, tilting her head to the side. 

“Do you...know her?” Snatcher tried not to sound too eager. 

“I mean, kind of?” Bow shrugged. “We talk sometimes because we’re both here a lot.”

“Is she...nice?”

“Why are you asking about her?” Bow narrowed her eyes, leaning closer with a suspicious look on her face. 

“He has a crush on her!” Hat Kid proudly proclaimed.

“I do not!” Snatcher sputtered, immediately going bright red. “I just want to pet her hair and sniff her flowers!” Upon realizing he’d said that out loud, he groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

When he finally removed his hands and looked up, both Bow and Hat Kid had giant grins on their faces. He’d known that showing weakness was a bad choice. Now they were never going to let him live it down. Almost immediately, he tried to flee. But Hat Kid caught him by the arm and refused to let go. 

“You need to talk to her!” She tried to drag him back. “Bow can help! She knows humans!”

“And there’s that thing that Moonjumper used to become human to visit me when I was sick,” Bow added. “So you could use that to talk to her as a human!”

“It’ll be great!” Hat Kid insisted. Snatcher stopped trying to escape. He hadn’t considered that. If he made himself human for the duration of his meeting with the florist, she’d never know he was a mer. It would be fine.

“Fine.” He said. “But if this goes south, I’m bailing. Got it?”

“Got it.” Both Hat Kid and Bow did mock salutes.

In retrospect, Bow probably should have known that Snatcher had absolutely no idea how to act human. Moonjumper could blend in better due to his experience with humans, but Snatcher was absolutely clueless. The first thing he did upon being turned human was to just set off toward the dock, completely naked.

“Hey! No!” Bow shrieked, scrambling after him. “You can’t just walk around naked!” Snatcher turned back to her, brow furrowed and head tilted to the side. 

“Why not?”

“Humans don’t do that!” Bow stamped her foot, throwing a pair of pants at his head. 

“That’s stupid,” Snatcher grumbled, but he put on the pants nonetheless. It took a few tries for him to get them on since he wasn’t used to having two legs, (he fell on his face quite a few times during this process) but he finally got them on.

“Happy?” He asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“...Sure.” Bow would have preferred to get a shirt on him too, but she had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She gestured for Snatcher to follow her. He did not do this, instead deciding to wander away from her in order to inspect the dock. The first thing he did was steal a fish from a fisherman’s cart.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” The fisherman bellowed, although Snatcher paid the man no mind and took a big bite of the fish. 

“I’m so sorry.” Bow apologized to the fisherman before rounding on Snatcher. “You can’t just steal from people like that!”

“Was hungry,” Snatcher mumbled through a mouthful of fish guts. Bow tried not to gag at the sight. Unfortunately for her, that wasn’t going to be the last thing Snatcher stole (or tried to steal). He was drawn to every shiny thing on the dock, picking them up and trying to take them before being yelled at by both Bow and whoever he’d tried to steal from. It didn’t help that Snatcher could only really speak broken English. He was clearly frustrated by this, which usually ended with him spitting out whatever human curses he knew and going back to the fish he’d stolen. He also bit people. A lot. 

By the time they reached Peony, Bow was exhausted. Her voice was hoarse from yelling at Snatcher, she’d been apologizing to everyone, and her wallet was considerably lighter because Snatcher had broken quite a few of the objects he’d tried to steal. Peony looked up when Bow entered her periphery.

“You look awful.” She said. “What happened?” Then she noticed Snatcher standing behind Bow. An adult man, shirtless, without shoes, eating a raw fish. An adult shirtless man without shoes eating a raw fish who, upon seeing her, stared at her with what she almost thought was a lovestruck expression. Nope. Not creepy at all. 

“Uh...Who’s your friend?”

“This is Snatcher.” Bow managed a nervous smile. “He’s, um, trying to make new friends.” 

“I...see...” Peony leaned back slightly. “He’s certainly got an...interesting fashion sense.”

“Yeah...” Bow’s smile looked a little forced now as she internally screamed.

“You’re pretty!” Snatcher blurted out, shoving the half-eaten fish toward Peony.

“Why...Why is he holding out a fish to me?” Peony asked. Her eyes were narrowed, both in confusion and slight distrust. 

“Gift,” Snatcher said, smiling. Oooh. His teeth were still all sharp and weird. His smile honestly looked kind of horrifying. But he seemed so proud of himself. Humans liked food, right? Fish was food. She’d be happy to get this food!

“Thaaanks...” Peony grimaced. “But I’m good. I just ate.” Snatcher let his arm drop. He looked like a kicked puppy. 

“I’m sure she appreciates the gift.” Bow assured him. “But huma-, um, people don’t usually eat raw fish.”

“Why?” Snatcher took another bite of the fish. “Fish is good.”

“Not raw it isn’t.” Peony said. “Unless it’s sushi.” She said the last part quietly enough that Snatcher missed it.

"It was a nice gift.” Bow awkwardly patted the small of Snatcher’s back, as it was all she could reach. Snatcher was disappointed that the flower lady hadn’t wanted his fish, but if humans didn’t like raw fish he’d try another route.

“I like...your flowers.” He tried once more. “They’re...pretty.”

“Thanks.” Peony relaxed a bit. “Do you want to buy one?” Snatcher reached out, his hand hovering over a red one that reminded him of Peony’s hair. 

“I’ll pay for it.” Bow sighed heavily, dragging out her wallet. She’d almost burned through all the spending money her mother had given her.

“Well, if you’re the one who’s paying, you get a discount.” Peony gave her a wink. “Can’t be ripping off one of my best customers.” Bow looked up, almost on the verge of tears.

“Thank you.” She squeaked, throwing herself onto Peony. Peony laughed and hugged the little girl, patting her back. While she did this, Snatcher picked up the flower he’d been eyeing and put it in his mouth.

“Whoa!” Peony’s eyes widened. 

“What? What did he do?” Bow whipped around. The stem of the flower was still sticking out of Snatcher’s mouth. There was a petal stuck to his cheek, mixed in with the scales and general....fishiness. 

“We don’t eat flowers!” Bow scolded him. 

“I mean, they’re edible.” Peony shrugged. “It probably doesn’t taste good though.”

“Doesn’t.” Snatcher spat out the stem. Bow sighed heavily, playing with the hem of her sweater in an attempt to assuage her nervousness and general frustration with the mer.

“So, this guy wants to make new friends, huh?” Peony watched as Snatcher went back to looking curiously at the flowers. “So why’d you bring him to me?”

“He wanted to talk to you.” Bow explained. “My friend said he’s been watching you, but he’s been too shy to come actually talk to you.”

“So, what? He’s been stalking me?” Peony raised an eyebrow. 

"He’s just....awkward?” Bow struggled to find the words. “And he said he wants to be friends with you? He’s not interested in a relationship or anything.” She and Peony looked at Snatcher. He was trying to eat the flowers again.

"He seems pretty weird.” Peony said. 

“He’s definitely weird.” Bow started fidgeting with her sweater again. “I’m really sorry.”

“Well, I guess he seems harmless enough.” Peony shrugged. Harmless was not exactly the word Bow would use to describe Snatcher, but at least Peony seemed to kind of like him. Maybe this would get Snatcher to be less weird and isolated. 

“So...Could I bring him back?” Bow asked hopefully. 

“Sure.” Peony said. “But maybe get him a shirt next time.”

“I’ll...see what I can do.” She wasn’t sure how well the suggestion would go down with Snatcher, but she’d give it a try. 

Suddenly, she heard some panicked cawing. Snatcher had discarded his fish and was now trying to wrangle a seagull, presumably to eat. 

“HEY! NO!” Bow ran over. “DON’T DO THAT!”

Peony stifled a laugh. Bow certainly knew how to pick ‘em. She worried about that kid sometimes. Bow always seemed to get in trouble because she was too nice for her own good. At least someone seemed to be looking out for her. Peony remembered that scarred man she’d seen Bow with. He seemed nice.

“SNATCHER! SPIT IT OUT!” Bow shrieked, trying to drag Snatcher back. Peony sighed. She might as well help.

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Iruma-kun 13 - 14 | Somali 1 | Magia Record 1 | BnHA 75 | Eizouken 1 | Idolish7 s2 1

New season...incoming!

Iruma-kun 13

How did Iruma even notice that collar? Geesh, that kid is perceptive…

This “spitting blood” joke is getting old already…

*Kiriwo starts his machine* - Why do I get the feeling something bad’s about to happen…?

Could you possibly call this “rank is the most important thing” a study of class consciousness, to throw some of Anime Feminist’s words? Or maybe this is a fantasy version of technology and it’s extolling the virtues of technology advancement?! *eyes sparkle*

Can Iruma join Kiriwo already? Please?!

Aw, dear darling! (<- I’m not sure if I’ve said that a lot in these notes, but I say that when I get the warm fuzzies and wanna protect a character…basically, platonic love, I guess…? Oh, “moe instinct” - that’s the words I’m looking for.) Iruma, go and live your best life, okay?

Thank you, story! Even though I knew it was being foreshadowed so heavily by being the focus of basically 24 minutes of this show’s runtime (= about 1 ep), I thank you from the bottom of my heart that Iruma went to the right Battler.

Wait, so Ameri is actually Iruma’s senpai by one year?! Hmm? I never realised that and I read some spoilers!

I like this new chibi animation style! Yay!

I never noticed this until now, but Kiriwo has one big horn and one little one.

I think the title, aside from the pronunciation of “Thirteen Dinner”, is meant to mean “The Thirteen Counts’ Gathering” (or some other high rank) or something of the sort. Update: So I checked and the character used, kanmuri/kan, is used to mean “crown” or someone who wears a crown, i.e. a peerless person, so it would be appropriate to translate that using the term for a high rank which is presumably going to be stated in the segment itself.

Turns out Babel…is just makaitou (the demon world tower). I don’t think it’s really Babylonian in any strict sense.

Depending on where you live, the 665th floor could count as the 666th or…well, the 665th. I know in Japanese, the word for the floor on the ground is ikkai (first floor)…I’m not going to tell you what I know it as though…that would reveal my location outside cyberspace, no?

According to the katakana, the guy’s name is Beruzebyuto (hence the translation as “Beelzebuth”). Beelzebub is the Lord of the Flies and a quick google tells me Beelzebul (close enough) was apparently an alternate spelling for him (or something like that…?). Patron demon of gluttony.

Astaroth, also a demon (king of rot, I think it was from Blue Exorcist)…interestingly, Beelzebub, Lucifer and Astaroth make up an unholy trio and all of them were referred to by a dude called...Solomon (which does kinda sound like “Sullivan”, if you think about it). There’s the connection between these guys…I like his top, too.

Asmodeus, patron demon of lust. We already knew that demon was represented through Azz-Azz, but now you see a spoiler I’ve been hiding for a while – Azz’s mother.

Amaimon…uh, I don’t remember what kind of demon he is in the demonic canon but I know him from Blue Exorcist.

Behemoth…?

Ooh, Ameri’s father is smokin’ hot! (Dangit, I do not want DILFs…) Azazel, a fallen angel and apparently personification of uncleanliness(…?)

Belial and (Lady) Leviathan, which we already knew existed from initial namedrops.

Who’s Baal? Even I have no idea…Update: Apparently he’s a Middle Eastern equivalent to Zeus, which explains his thunder allegiance.

Paimon kinda looks like Chaika, LOL.

LOL, “lifehack” is certainly the right word for it, Sullivan.

LOL, Belial is so short!

Although it’s kind of awkward to not see Lady Levi take a position of power for herself, it’s nice to see she has spirit!

Aw, this is cute. In much the same way I wanted Iruma to join the magical apparatus Battler, I want Sullivan to be Demon King.

Is Opera perhaps related to Ameri somehow…?

Somali 1

I was hoping to get to Plunderer, but got carried away writing another post and then lost the ability to watch both episode 1 and 2 ahead of schedule. So Somali is the new start of the season, but the last relic of the fact Plunderer was meant to start my season (outside ID: Invaded’s advance premiere) is the visual I have for this season. (Oh yeah, one of the reasons I’m supporting this – aside from it being a mid-ranker on my hype list – is that I heard a French animator, a friend of Thomas Romain, is getting his big start here.)  

“Dad.” – Oh, f***. I have myself an Usagi Drop. I knew I was going to get something of the sort going into this show, but…Usagi Drop’s experiences (or rather, watching the anime knowing the manga has that ending) have left their mark. Not to mention Somali (as this girl will come to be known) has Latina eyes, which annoys me even more since I dropped that on the basis of being scarred by Usagi Drop.

I’m wondering what Crunchyroll was thinking when they decided to coproduce this – sure, it’s probably quite cute and wholesome, but I’m far from the target audience. Did they think, “Is this what Western audiences will like?” Sure, it would hit a niche that likes this surrogate father/daughter stuff, but I don’t think it’s for me (and I’ve been thinking that all through the OP). I’ll give it a bit more to wow me, but it’s doing pretty terrible so far (because note all other anime of this particular reputation I’m more on the “neutral” side than the “like” one). Somali’s voice is probably the biggest factor – it sounds like an adult woman’s voice got pitch-shifted to attempt to be a child, rather than an actual child.

How can this golem talk about sight when he doesn’t even have eyes??? (Kinda like Juzo from NGL.)

Alright, that’s it. I can see when you’re trying to bait me with supposedly “cute” children, show. You’re gone.

Okay, since I have time and the reviews say otherwise, I’m trying again. I don’t expect to be sold to this though…

Was it just me or was there a reduced frame rate when Somali’s cape was the only thing in the frame…?

For some reason the subbers put “Why?” when the word was actually “What?”, which is a bit silly to be honest with you. (Nande?/Doushite? vs. Nani?...it’s kind of similar-sounding, but the sound is distinctly different.)

Still dropping this show. I just have another episode to add to my list now.

Magia Record 1

I heard there’s no Urobutcher this time around, but the first time I encountered the Urobutcher (in ConRevo) he made a particularly weird-feeling (in the context of the show) episode, so…uh…let’s say the Urobutcher is only as good as the material he writes, and leave it at that. Anyways, this topped my list – even before ID: Invaded came to hunt down that top position – so this better be good.

Um, am I just imagining it, or is that Sayaka and Hitomi discussing magical girls (or Madoka?) over the top of Iroha (I know that’s her name already from the synopses floating around the ‘net) and her fellow magical girls fighting?

Letterboxing? Now there’s something I thought I’d never see in Madoka Magica, ever.

One of the books was on organic recipes.

The teacher talks a tad too fast – I can understand what she’s saying, but it’s like she operates on x1.5 speed compared to the x1 speed of everything else…

“Nakama – because we can do it” – I wonder if that will mean something later…? In Madoka Magica, strange details always mean something.

“The only good witch is a dead one!” “Speech is silver, silence is golden.”– The tiny English isn’t particularly subtle, is it?

Uwasa = rumour.

Takarazaki, huh? I’ll make a note of that.

Who’s Ui?

According to the credits, I assume the blue spear girl is Nanami Yachiyo.

This is a respectable re-entry into a universe which I left not too long ago (in 2017). I’m definitely going to be able to stick with it for a season or however long it lasts.

BnHA 75

All this talk about a database…reminds me of the Quirk I designed for the wiki (also called “Database”). I conceived it in 2015, but I don’t remember who was meant to use it before I retrofitted it to fit the BnHA universe. Update: Welp, I found the document. The superpower Database (which was retrofitted to be a Quirk) is for one Itsuki Hatano.

“One blow to the top of the head!”

Iruma-kun 14

(Note: Some notes may be missing because I was busy multitasking while watching this episode.)

Go, Iruma! Live your best life!

Note “speak of the devil” isn’t how it’s said in Japanese. It sounds something like “whisper a rumour and it will come back to you” based on what I heard Kiriwo say (since I heard the word uwasa in there). Update: Apparently the phrase is uwasa wo sureba… (if you spead a rumour…) and then you cut the saying off to finish the rest of the sentence, just like you would in English.

You can’t even see a substantial part of Iruma’s hair when that demon on the phone (<-I know who it is, because I read spoilers, but I’ll keep quiet on that front!) yells for the first time.  

Makura (demon pillow) has that demon pun going on.

Ooh, Kiriwo-senpai is actully kinda sexy with his hair up like that…not that I know the first thing about sex appeal…

So is the ED about the Battler Party, in a sense?

Eizouken 1

I picked this show up because of the rave reviews it was getting.

Very Future Boy Conan, that.

…what? That OP was trippy. Then again, I didn’t mind ConRevo and that was trippy…this negative feeling is probably because I don’t know much about Masaki Yuasa’s quirks, I guess.

Why do people not translate “Eizouken”???? It means “video research club”.

The back is a good spot to sit in a theatre for anime. Why do I know this? I sit in the back of my anime club all the time, that’s why!

“Are those MiBs?” – I laughed pretty hard at that one sentence.

Why does this strawberry milk seem to be a parallel to the milk Asakusa promised Kanamori? (P.S. Asakusa is in Tokyo, IIRC.) Update: Mizusaki means “on top of water” if I understood the kanji right and Kanamori, with the right combo of characters, can mean “forest of gold”...which makes a lot of sense, considering how gold is equated with wealth and currency. Also, here’s proof Asakusa is in Tokyo...not to mention it’s the place from Sarazanmai! Meanwhile, I was thinking there was some sort of anime-related significance to the name, but I was thinking of Asagaya.  Update 2: Mizusaki actually means “water peninsula”. Sorry, wrong saki.

I know there’s a chase scene at the end of this ep, thanks to reading reviews. I want to be wowed by it, which is why I’m (metaphorically) holding my breath.

I like how Asakusa and Mizusaki are bouncing around ideas. That really brings the process to life.

Long skirts and wind but no sexualisation. That’s a good sign!

Whoa, that scene with the comets was AWESOME! I want more!

Idolish7 s2 1

Back with some good boys one season too early…let’s have some fun while these simulcasters can get this stuff fast!

Oh no! (<- self-censored) Nagi’s stupid accent is back! *yells incoherently for a second*

I like the little sound effects that happened whe Nagi’s finger moved around (to suggest “magic”).

I think the joke was something to do with the word gera (?). I don’t quite get it myself.

Misuta- Shimooka, LOL. I love how this s2 isn’t doing any hand-holding, though! I half-expect a flashback to appear and it never does.

Yamato, how are you so-*crying and Yatta! can be heard in the background*Okay, nevvvvvvvvvver mind…

I remember mistakenly saying that Nishiyama was part of Idolish7 (since I looked through some of my old notes lately). Nishiyama is part of ZOOL, so now…I’m not wrong anymore…(That’s not quite relevant to the random announcement of Re:Vale showing up, but it’s on my mind now.)

Hmm…Yamato’s thoughts on Re:Vale…I’ll keep an eye on him.

I think people like Tamaki because he treats them like he would his little sister…a true gentleman. Or maybe that’s all in my head? I haven’t been in the fandom properly, y’know.

This switch to occasional chibi antics…I’m not sure I like it…

Ohmyglob! Another boy to add to my growing list of husbandos! *points at Yuki* I knew he existed, but I haven’t had a proper chance to have a reaction to him ever since I started really “having a thing” for long-haired guys.

Re:Vale are like a comic act (manzai).

Momo has pink nail polish…I just noticed. Update: It’s probably more red than pink.

“Chan-momo” appears to be a variety of modern slang similar to Pig Latin. Apparently Gen from Dr Stone uses it as well.

Yuki has these cute little diamond earrings and Momo has studs. I’ve also never noticed this until now. (I, myself, can’t wear anything past clip-ons because I have a genetic quirk that makes it annoying to get my ears pierced, called beta thalassemia, so I can only fangirl about other people’s earrings.)

What’s the FSC again…?

Kyu-to aidoru!

I think Momo and Yuki are going to reach out to Mitsuki and Tamaki (respectively) most this season…just a feeling, based on their dispositions. Tamaki and Yuki have similar faces, on top of that, so thank goodness we can tell them apart by hairstyle.

Yuki wears this steel blue shade of nail polish…ooh, also cute.

*Riku goes stiff-faced* - *audibly facepalms at Riku’s reaction*

Momo has a black and green earring set on one ear…huh.

Ooh, very nice. It’s a keeper.

Update: Apparently, you pronounce their name “Re:ba-re”, which is a bit different to what I was expecting (essentially “Re: veil”).

[dxmence]

John Silver Bio

ABOUT

On January 3, 1685, a small boy was born in the city of Cádiz in Spain. His mother’s name was Maria. His father called Carlos. The boy was christened Juan Pedro Vazquez. It was a happy occasion and it seemed to mark the start of a happy life. Two years later, Elena Vazquez was born and the family was happy. Or so it seemed. Until July of 1690. The boy doesn’t know what’s happening or why it’s happening but men are in his home. There’s yelling and then there’s blood. So much blood. He hides in the tiniest spot he can find and when it’s quiet, the five year old crawls out. He sees his mother and 3 year old sister, both dead. He barely has time to realize what happens when the door of his home goes up in flames. The fire starts to spread and the boy runs. He manages to crawl out of the window and from the trees, watches his home go up in flames. He can’t even cry. The fear greater than the pain. A smart boy, he runs to the docks and hides himself away. He’s afraid those men will look for him too. Afraid that he’ll be next. He can still hear his mother’s voice when the men had started hacking at the door. “¡correr!” He knew he needed to get away. He spots a ship with English flags. Stealthily, the tiny boy makes his way onboard and hides at the bottom in the darkest part. An old man spots the boy, he takes pity on the boy and watches him but tells him in poor Spanish, when they land, he’s on his own. He can do nothing more for him. In April of 1691, he’s been roaming the streets of London on his own. He still barely speaks English and mostly picks through garbage and or begs avoiding any sort of law enforcement. The almost yearlong streak is broken and he’s caught. He mumbles the only English he knows ‘I am Juan.’ The men misunderstand him and call him John. He’s taken to a home for boys. He’s got no one and no name to them. They give him the last name Silver because he was caught trying to steal a silver plate before he was brought to the home. From that day forward, his name was and would always be, John Silver.

FROM SPANIARD TO ENGLISHMAN

Life in the boys home was…hard. John was small. John was presumed mute because he didn’t speak any English. He didn’t appear to know how to read or write but it was simply…his first language was Spanish. Not English. But he was determined to learn. He’d eavesdrop and draw connections from his place in the corner. The boys all yelling and laughing. Complaining over food. What he knew as carne they called meat. Ropa were called clothes. A camisa was a shirt. He’d stay up and mimic conversations he’d heard while copying their actions and movements. Copying their accents. He was always a quick learner, something his mother had always praised. He was also naturally adept at adaptation. Being smaller than even the average six-year-old, John found himself the target of many, mean older boys. They’d take his food. They’d push him around and make fun of him and John couldn’t fight back. So, he learned to use his words and wits to beat them. He’d entertain some with jokes, spread rumors to divide up their friendships and learned a key lesson that would follow him forever. He learned the value of knowing who to align himself with. He sweet talked the cook and made himself her favorite gaining him an extra treat before meals meaning even if the boys stole his food he wouldn’t go hungry. He aligned himself with those who could protect him and whom he could benefit from. John Silver learned the art of manipulation at the age of six and spent the rest of his life perfecting it. In 1707, he’d managed to sweet talk a pretty girl into getting him a job on her father’s ship. She’d been completely enamored by him and he’d used every bit of that to his advantage. Now 22, there was no way anyone would question who he was or where he came from. He was an Englishman. His birthplace of Spain known only to him. And with the fighting between the two countries, it was probably best to keep it that way. He still spoke Spanish. He’d lie and say he’d taught himself because he never knew when it’d be useful. He might hear something that could help. He never trusted the Spanish and he didn’t like the idea of them talking about him and he couldn’t understand. He learned that showing intense distrust toward something made people more comfortable during these times instead of simply saying he was interested. Give them the lies they want to hear and no one bothers you. He spends the next eight years of his life working on merchant ships, trying to at least live some kind of life.

FROM ENGLISHMAN TO PIRATE

That changes when the ship he’s working on is attacked. Pirates. John is panicked. Fight or die was never his style. Lie or die, that was it. So…he lied. He’d never thought much about pirates except that he didn’t want to be one. Again, fight or die wasn’t his style. He was a liar not a fighter. Hell, he was even a thief but he never engaged in violence. He’d never cared much for that direct of a risk toward his life. But here he was. On a damn pirate ship. And somehow, that life he didn’t want had managed to mold itself around him. He’d found himself a family of sorts and he hadn’t expected that. He’d made friends? Through the lies and the increasing effort to not be a pirate, John Silver had somehow managed to do just that. Making his name a feared one. The lesson he’d learned as a boy once again proving useful. So many men on one island. Align yourself with the right one. And somehow, the right one seemed to be a man named James Flint. Even when he’d tried to align himself to others, the answer remained clear over and over. And over and over he found himself next to the man. But John broke his own unspoken rule. Make as many people like you but never genuinely care for them. Somewhere along the way, between disagreements, fights, survival and even laughs, John Silver began to care for James Flint. And somewhere, he began to think of him as a friend. He’d gone 25 years with worrying only for himself. The barrier around his heart forged in the flames of his burning home. He’d learned early that you can’t get hurt, that you can’t lose it all if you have nothing to lose and no one to hurt you. The desperate need to never feel that fear, anger and pain again had driven him right back to the beginning. And dammit, he wasn’t going to lose it all again. Five year old Juan Vazquez could do nothing as his home burned but 32 year old John Silver certainly could

[sun-flower-children]

It’s You

Peter was sitting on the bleachers again. Ned was becoming tiresome of talking and sitting in the sun and occasionally watching the football players practicing. At one point he told Peter that he wasn't going to sit with hi on the bleachers anymore.

"I don't like when halfway through the conversation you stop and stare at one of the football players. I know you have a crush on him, just go over there and tell him."

But Peter couldn't bring himself to ask his crush out. Every Time they spoke to each other or even barely touched his heart would start pounding so hard he thought he could feel his head pulsing. His face would get red and he would stutter over all of his words. Worst of all, this would make him giggle and show Peter that glorious smile of his, making his face more red and stuttering so much he couldn't form a comprehensible sentence in 2 whole minutes.

(Y/N)  (L/N).

The cause of his red faces, and his tripping over words, his clammyness, his cramped hands, his raging hormones. The older boy was everything that made Peter weak in his knees. One time when Peter was hanging out with MJ, who had caught onto his crush, and began ranting about how perfect and amazing (Y/N) was. Every time he was there watching him at the football practices, Peter would become a mess when ever (Y/N) would take off his short or make eye contact with him. One lucky time he had managed to get a picture of (Y/N) without a shirt on. Sweat gleaming all over his body. (Y/N) was combing back his hair with his hand, making it look like he was a model. His eyes weary with exercise but excited or the challenges the game had. His muscles, dear lord his muscles. Peter would find himself drooling and hard whenever he would look at the pictures at home. The number of times he had imagined (Y/N) kissing him, touching him. Peter couldn't contain himself.

The next day Peter went to school as he would any other day. Walking down the halls he went to his own locker before meeting Ned in their first period class. As he opened his locker something slipped out. A note. Quickly picking it up, he tucked it into one of his notebooks, closed his locker and speed walked to the bathroom. Peter ran into the largest stall at the end of the bathroom and sat down on the lowered toilet lid. He opened it carefully and began reading. There wasn't much.

Hey Peter,

I notice you around during the practices and couldn't help but try to talk to you. Except I can't. I chicken out.

Text me:

   xxx-xxx-xxxx

P.S

   I am sorry I didn't know what to write.

   From the shaky writing he guessed that this person was indeed very nervous.There was no name, so Peter presumed that once he texted the number the letter write would reveal themselves. Without a second thought he pulled out his phone and opened the new contact. Typing in the number as fast as he could without messing it up, he sent a quick text hoping the person would respond before school started. He stood up, putting the letter into his backpack and made for his first period class. His phone was currently being held so tightly that if it has rubs, they would have been broken. As Peter walked into the English class he sat down and looked at his phone one more time before putting it on vibrate mode. The phone now safely in his back pocket he tried his best to focus on the lesson. No matter what he couldn't focus on the subject. He couldn't help but wonder who it was that received his text message.

It was the last period of the day when Peter had felt the notification. Pulling up the messaging app, he saw their text.

'Meet me in front of the locker room after school."

Peter couldn't help but blush. This person hadn't told him who they were but he couldn't help but wonder if it was (Y/N). Why else would it be in front of the locker room. Did anyone else during the football practices look at him? He only remembers the times when (Y/N) had made eye contact with him. Peter sighed, massaging his temple. The day had gone for a twist, a lot more different than how he had planned out. He was going to go hangout with Mj and Ned after school but they wouldn't mind if he ditched them one time to see whoever this person was right?

'I am overthinking this'

Peter thought to himself. He sent a simple text to both Mj and Ned that he simply couldn't make it today, something important had come up. Looking back up to the front of the classroom, he tried again to take notes but failed once again to focus on the Spanish teacher.Nervously looking at the clock, Peter felt his heart beating a little faster every time it was closer to the end of school. When the bell rang, everyone rushed out of the room except Peter who was trying to calm himself by taking his time.

Walking towards that locker rooms, Peter held his backpack straps tightly with both hands. He was pretty sure he was sweating. pausing momentarily to look around and take deep breaths, he thought about this person he was going to meet. ' It can't be that bad right?' Peter was absolutely sure that he was overthinking it now. Resuming his path towards the locker rooms he noticed someone standing in front of the door with their back to Peter.

"H-Hello?"

Peter cursed mentally for stuttering in front of this stranger. The sudden noise seemed to have scared them and they turned around immediately. It was (Y/N).

"Oh! Hey Peter, you got the then I guess."

He blushed and looked towards the ground before speaking again.

" If you didn't get the memo, Peter I like you."

For the last part, (Y/N) looked up and made eye contact with Peter. His gaze seemed to be too much for Peter and he felt sick to the stomach. Not the kind of sick where you need to go to the hospital, but rather the light fluffy feeling when your about to go straight down on a roller coaster ride.

" Peter I like you and I am asking you if you would like to b my boyfriend."

This time (Y/N) said it clearer and with more power. Peter didn't know what to say. The person he had been fawning over and blushing and stuttering about was asking him to be their boyfriend. He was absolutely sure that is face was one of surprise and of happiness.

" y-yeah"

Peter said it so quietly and meekly that (Y/N) had to come closer to hear that Peter had said anything at all.

"Yeah,I would like to be your boyfriend(Y/N)"

(Y/N) let out the cutest ' really ?!' that Peter looked up just in time to see that he was about to be hugged by his brand new boyfriend. That felt nice to hear, even though it was to himself. (Y/N) was his boyfriend now. Peter chuckled, hugging (Y/N) back. They stood there for a while, hugging each other when (Y/N) leaned back to talk to Peter properly. With is hands locked on the small of Peter's back he took a long good look at Peters flustered but adorable face.

" You know, I have practice in a bit, would you mind staying to watch me and the boys train?"

Peter who was still processing that he was being hugged and his hands were on the chest of a guy he could now claim as his. His face plastered with a wide grin, looked up with sparkling eyes when he responded.

"I'd like that."

At this, (Y/N) brought Peter closer in again and kissed the top of his mop of brown curls.

"See you in a bit then babe!"

Peter's heart fluttered. Taking out his phone he changed the unknown id to (Y/N) with a crown emoji. Then he fired a text to Mj about what had just happened. He still couldn't believe it.

Thank for reading!

MASTERLIST

Credit to gif owner