#the mess of scribbles makes sense. to me <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[occasionallysiren]

POINTS SO LOUD!!! AELARS LIL OUTFIT!!!

[motherforthefamicom]

i need to stop making joke ocs cuz i just end up getting way too attached to them

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[platonic-soulmates-gencest]

I am working on my master thesis right now and this idea struck me:

Let's take an AU where Dean follows Sam to Stanford.

Sam has a thesis or project due and because he is Sam, he pulls one all-nighter after the other and has filled their room with post-its and crumbled notes here and there.

Dean snaps on day 3 and goes all mama mode on him. He makes him breakfast and lunch in the morning before going to work. He calls him to remind him to eat. He makes him dinner after work and tries to organize Sam's mess of notes into something resembling coherency. He pretty much force-feeds Sam his dinner and then takes away the laptop at 11pm (because Sam has a curfew all of a sudden) and makes him take a shower and lie down.

Sam realizes that he is more productive now that he gets adequate sleep and proper nutrition. And Dean becomes a master at organizing Sam's notes. So Sam starts bringing three dozen post-its and torn notebook pages and sets them down next to Dean and turns on the puppy eyes and Dean sighs but makes sense out of the hurried scribbles.

At some point, Sam starts talking excitedly about his project to Dean (in the geeky way) and Dean not only nods and acts like he's listening (like he usually does when Sam talks about something Dean doesn't understand) but he replies and makes insightful observations and Sam is looking at him all wide-eyed and confused.

"What? I had to read the notes to put them into order."

Long story short, Dean ends up as a passive law student. Sam is amused, and also super happy because Dean is learning about his special interest.

(Do I want someone to take an interesting in what I am doing for my thesis? Yes. Will I? Probably not. XD)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Late Bloomer 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You look at the grade on your quiz. It’s not the end of the world but it isn’t the best. And this course is negligible in the scheme of your degree, yet, you thought you were really getting this. It’s disappointing and you can do better. You will. 

As class lets out, you head down the centre aisle past the fleeing coeds. Most don’t stick around after the intense lectures. The whiteboard still shows the chaos of formulas as the professor closes his Mac. You approach nervously. 

“Professor Parker,” you greet. 

He turns and knocks over the cup of whiteboard markers. “Ah gee.” 

He rights the cup and you bend to catch the scatter that roll around your feet. He does the same on his side of the table. As you stand and slide them back into their place, he bats away a pesky curl form his forehead. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and gives a sheepish smile. You could cringe. He’s a professor and you just know he’s younger than you. 

“Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“No, no, I was just thinking,” he grabs the cup as he shoves the rest of the markers inside. “How’s it going?” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s good. I was just...” you stop yourself. “I think I forgot your office hours. I was just going to ask for a little help going over my quiz but I don’t want to keep you--” 

“No, it’s fine,” he rattles the cup of markers then makes himself still. “I can help you know.” 

“Oh, okay,” you lay your quiz on the table. “I think I did pretty good but 4a really messed me up,” you flip the page and point.  

He leans to look over your work. He gently pushes aside the pen cup and reaches to his ear. He frees the pen behind it and bends over the table. He puts his weight on one elbow. You loom over him, crouching to watch him. 

He reaches up to pat his hair then pinches the arm of his glasses and chuckles, “already on. Oops.” 

You realise he’d been looking to pull his glasses down to his nose. He reminds you of Cerise sometimes. Come to think of it, she might do with a prescription herself. 

“Okay, I think I see what happened,” he taps with the tip of the pen. “Missed a step here.” You focus on the ink scrawling over in his tight writing. “But you were on the right track.” 

You take in his explanation patiently. When he looks up at you, his brown eyes surprise you. They're almost sparkling. 

“Right, thanks, I get it now,” you say. “Next time I’ll go over my work twice.” 

“Never hurts,” he stands and flips the front page over. He lifts it and hands it over. “You’ll be fine. It’s second year. Got my engineering degree no problem after flunking a course. Just had to put in a summer course.” 

“Oh, I’m not an engineering student,” you say. “But I do need the elective.” 

“No? Pretty good for not an engineering student.” 

“Art,” you supply. 

“Art? Wow. Not what I expected.” He muses. 

“I know. I’m gonna be working at a Starbucks in no time,” you kid. 

“No, that’s not... fair,” he protests. “What kinda art? Like, er, do you paint or whatever?” 

“I like to paint. Sketch... working on clayworks in one of my studios.” You say, “actually, I think you’ll laugh.” 

You bring your bag up and tuck away the quiz as you pull out your notebook. You open it and show him that day’s note. The margins are full of aimless doodles. 

“Oh, wow,” he admires your careless scribbles. “Bet you make all sorts of cool things. I’m not very good at drawing.” He glances over his shoulder at the whiteboard, “don’t know if it’s obvious.” 

His writing is narrow and bit all over but it’s legible. 

“Not that bad,” you assure him as you close up the notebook. “I meant to ask, how’s your leg?” 

“My leg? Oh yeah. It’s healing. Can’t say the same for the khakis. Lost cause,” he sighs. 

“Oh,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “well, I’m glad it wasn’t worse.” 

“I swear, they built this place like a death trap. Too many stairs,” he clucks. 

You chuckle, “yeah, I could go for a bit less... but wouldn’t that be an engineer’s thing?” 

“Architects help...” He says defensively. 

“Alright, alright, I’m just kidding,” you haul your bag onto your shoulder. 

“Hey, I would argue we need some artists to pretty these things up. Buildings are so boring these days. You know, I went to Italy, all those marble columns and statues...” he says. “Not that I’m bragging. Just an observation I made. I went to some museums and saw paintings too. The DiCaprios... No Da Vinci! Oh god!” He slaps his forehead in embarrassment, “my brain is fried, I’m sorry.” 

“All good,” you assure him, “we’re all feeling it, I think.” You step back on your heel, “anyway, I think I’ve kept you long enough. Thanks for the help.” 

“Any time. Everyone else runs away from me,” he says. “I’m still getting used to this ‘Professor’ thing.” 

“Well, you’re a really good teacher,” you assure him, “I should go.” 

“Right, see ya next class,” he says. 

“Sure, see ya then,” you give a tiny wave and retreat.  

You turn and climb the centre stairs to the rear exit. You open the door and glance back. He’s watching you. Caught, he coughs and turns back to the board and searches for the erase. He starts to wipe out the numbers and you leave him to his clean up.  

You have time before you can stop by the studio. Enough to eat something or get a coffee. It’s only week two and you’re wondering how you’re going to get through the rest of it. Especially with your overnight shifts in between. 

[agentstarkid]

AN ETERNAL LOVE BULLSHIT ✦ DR3

Based on this ask

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.7K words (I tried to keep it short, oops)

✦ TRACK LIMITS: angst, self-doubt, crying, feelings of not being enough, heartbreak.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I've had this on my drafts, ruminating on it for days, soooo I hope you guys like it. Vitto, Iza and Chloe are the real MVPs of this chapter! Queens uplifting another Queen 💅🏽💖 This was fun to write! Thank you so much nonnie for this idea! ilysm <3 p.s. can y'all spot the song references? 👀

This is set during Saudade. | Everything between "—" and italized are flashbacks.

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

The end of April in California had days of clear skies, endless blue, and a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The sun shone warmly, casting a golden glow over everything it touched, yet the cheerful weather felt almost mocking to her current state.

Her guitar lay across her lap, repurposed as a makeshift table for the notebook where she hastily scribbled words, each one an attempt to capture the storm of emotions swirling within her. The grass beneath her was cool and grounding, but it did little to tether her to the present. Every line she wrote was a desperate attempt to process the pain, to make sense of the abrupt void he had left behind. 

Life moved on around her with an indifferent rhythm, but her mind was still stuck replaying the scenes in a Bahraini hotel room on a fateful Friday morning in March. She was stuck, a relic in a world that had already moved on, trapped in the shadow of what once was. The ache in her heart was a constant companion, a reminder that she was still right where he left her, struggling to find a way back to herself.

Her pen moved frantically across the pages, as if the act of writing could somehow release the torment inside her. But each word, each lyric, only seemed to root her more firmly in the past. The guitar beneath her fingers, once a source of joy and creativity, now felt like a conduit for her sorrow. She was lost in her own words, hoping that somewhere in the tangled mess of emotions, she might find a way to heal.

But amidst the ache, she found solace in the unwavering support of her friends. 

Since landing in Los Angeles, her friends had been her rock. When days of isolation had left her feeling like a shell of herself, Vitto and Andrew had intervened, offering her refuge in their home outside the city. Their house, tucked away from the relentless glare of cameras and the whirlwind of drama, had become a sanctuary. The quiet of their surroundings was a balm for her frayed nerves.

Baby Iza, their little bundle of joy, at almost 1 year old, was a constant source of comfort. The child's tiny hands and infectious giggles seemed to have an almost magical ability to lift her spirits. It was as if Izabele could sense her sadness and made it her mission to shower her with love and affection. 

With the sun casting gentle rays through the window, the child would toddle into the room with her tiny feet pattering softly on the floor. Her face, a picture of innocent determination, was often lit up by a bright smile. She would clutch a small toy in her chubby hands—a plush animal or a colorful block—and make a beeline for her godmother, as if to say, “Here, play with me. Everything will be okay.”

Sitting down beside her, Iza would arrange her toys with meticulous care, her eyes occasionally glancing up to gauge her mood. They would sit together in quiet companionship, the simple act of play bringing a semblance of peace.

As the night fell and the room grew dim, she would make her way to her aunt's side once more, but this time with a special gesture. She would carry one of her favorite teddy bears, its soft fur worn from countless hugs—she recognized it as the one that Daniel had gifted Iza when she was born. 

Her sleepy eyes would barely stay open, and the pacifier bobbing gently in her mouth gave her a serene, dreamlike appearance. She would approach her aunt with the bear in tow, offering it with the sincerity only a child can muster. The gesture, simple yet profound, was Iza’s way of offering comfort and reassurance. The irony wasn’t lost on her, as the comfort offered by the bear was tied to the person who had broken her heart.

Despite the tangled emotions that the bear represented, she’d accept the gesture with a quiet grace. Each night, she would clutch the teddy bear tightly in her arms as she lay in bed, she would close her eyes and allow the bear’s presence to soothe her. It was a small, ironic comfort, a connection to a past she was still grappling with. She never spoke of it to anyone, keeping this bittersweet detail to herself. 

Vitto and Andrew's kindness, along with Baby Iza’s innocent charm, and Fio and Danna’s constant facetime calls—and impromptu visits—, were her anchors, grounding her in a time of turbulence.

Rumors had started circulating about Daniel moving on with Heidi, emerging just two weeks after their breakup. As she heard whispers and saw the headlines, she felt a deep internal conflict. One part of her mind tried to dismiss the rumors, knowing all too well how the business thrived on gossip and sensationalism. She had been in this world long enough to recognize how quickly false narratives could spread and how little they sometimes reflected the truth.

Yet, another part of her, the part that had been wounded by every argument they’d ever had about their future, couldn’t silence the inner voice that screamed she was a fool. It was the same voice that had questioned every promise, every declaration of eternal love Daniel had made. How could someone profess to love her, to call her the love of their life—a million times—, to talk about rings and cradles, and then, almost as soon as it was over, move on to someone new?

But a single text changed her entire world.

The moment she received confirmation from Chloe that the rumors were true, a wave of crushing disappointment and pain washed over her. It felt as if the ground beneath her had given way, leaving her in a freefall of disbelief and heartache. The confirmation struck her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs and leaving her feeling hollow inside.

The betrayal was sharper than she could have ever imagined. Daniel, the person she had known better than herself, had indeed moved on after only two weeks. The image she had clung to, the person she had given the benefit of the doubt, shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. How could someone who had claimed to love her so deeply and had spoken of a future together move on so swiftly? The realization was a bitter, choking pill to swallow.

Her heart ached with a profound sense of loss, not just of the relationship but of the person she thought Daniel was. The trust she had placed in him, the dreams they had shared, all felt like a cruel joke. She felt duped, as if she had been sold a "get-love-quick" scheme by someone who never intended to follow through on his promises. The sense of being deceived cut deeply, leaving a wound that seemed impossible to heal.

She sat there, gripping her pen tightly, her mind swirling with the betrayal she felt so deeply. Without a moment’s pause, her pen began to race across the pages of her notebook, pouring out the raw, unfiltered emotions she could no longer contain. The lyrics flowed from her as if they were the only way to make sense of the chaos within:

And ain't it funny

How you ran to her the second that we called it quits? 

And ain't it funny how you said you were friends? 

Now it sure as hell don't look like it 

You betrayed me 

And I know that you'll never feel sorry 

For the way I hurt, yeah 

You'd talk to her 

When we were together 

Loved you at your worst 

But that didn't matter 

It took you two weeks 

To go off and date her 

Guess you didn't cheat 

But you're still a traitor

With each line, she felt the searing pain of his betrayal more acutely. How could he have moved on so quickly? The words “two weeks” echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat, reminding her of how little time it had taken for him to replace her. The sense of being betrayed, of having her trust shattered, was almost unbearable. She had loved him at his worst, given him everything, and yet it had taken him mere days to discard their love and move on to someone new.

The realization that she was right, that he had been talking to her while they were still together added salt to the wound. It made every moment they had shared feel tainted, every promise he had made feel like a lie. The anger and hurt intertwined, fueling the lyrics that poured out of her. He might not have cheated in the traditional sense, but the emotional betrayal was just as devastating, if not more so. To her, he was a traitor, someone who had violated the sacred trust of their relationship.

The pen in her hand paused for the first time in days, the words unable to flow as freely as before. The grief was too raw, too overwhelming to articulate. She felt an intense, suffocating sadness, mixed with anger and a sense of foolishness for believing in him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her chest tightened with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Her phone storage has been filled with voice notes for the past weeks, but the number has elevated exponentially since the news had hit. Her chat with her producer has been overflowing with “What do you think of this?”, demos shared between them back and forth. 

For moments, she was consumed by raw anger, her pen becoming a weapon as she furiously wrote songs that painted him as the villain he had become in her eyes. She felt the fierce determination to make him know—and if his treacherous heart allowed, to feel—her pain.

Each line dripped with venom and sorrow, a raw portrayal of the anguish he had inflicted upon her. The thought of him reading her words and realizing the depth of her suffering provided a fleeting sense of power and justice.

But after the anger came a deep, suffocating depression. The reality of his betrayal settled over her like a heavy, oppressive fog. Each day felt like a battle to simply get out of bed, and her once vibrant spirit seemed to wither under the weight of her grief. She found herself crying at the smallest things, her emotions a raw, open wound that refused to heal.

—

One night Vitto found her in bed, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red and swollen, looking every bit as miserable as she felt inside. Without a word, Vitto quickly gathered her in her arms, holding her tightly as the heart-shattering sobs began anew. The weight of her friend’s pain pressed heavily on Vitto’s heart, but she held her close, whispering kind and reassuring words, trying to contain the pieces of her shattered glass heart.

In a voice barely above a whisper, filled with desperation and heartbreak, she asked the questions that had been gnawing at her soul. “Why can't it be me for once, Vitto? Why can't someone choose me?” Her voice cracked with the weight of the pain she felt. “Is it so hard to love me? What's so wrong with me that no one has the will to stay?”

Vitto's heart ached at the sight of her friend so broken, so lost in her despair. She tightened her hold, pulling her closer as if she could shield her from the cruel thoughts that plagued her mind. “There's nothing wrong with you,” Vitto whispered back, her voice gentle but firm. “You are so easy to love, fofinha, and anyone who doesn't see that is a fool.” She prayed that her friend would see the truth in her words. “You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are and who will never let you go.”

Vitto rocked her gently, smoothing her hair and murmuring softly. “You’re strong,” she whispered. “Stronger than you know. You’ll get through this, one step at a time. You have us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

That night, after the tears had subsided, she found herself sitting on the windowsill, staring out into the vast, indifferent sky. The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest as she gazed at the stars, feeling more alone than ever. 

In the quiet darkness, she whispered her desperate plea to any entity that might be listening. She wasn’t asking for fame or fortune, but for something much simpler and infinitely more precious: love. A love that wasn’t for the artist she became on stage or the persona she put on for the cameras, but for her—the real her, with all her flaws, insecurities, and hidden depths.

She was on her knees, metaphorically, begging for someone to change her fate, to alter the prophecy that seemed to doom her to be always left behind. Why couldn’t someone love her as fiercely as she loved them—or even harder?. 

The question lingered in the air, a painful echo of her deepest fears. She longed for someone who would choose her, who wouldn’t toss her aside once the initial novelty wore off and someone else, shiny and new, came along.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the burning ache inside her. She closed her eyes, letting the silent tears fall, each one a small release of the pain she carried. 

She wasn’t asking for much, just someone who would love her, not for what she represented, but for who she truly was. Someone who would see her, really see her, and still choose to stay. The silence of the night offered no answers, but she hoped—prayed—that somewhere, someone would hear her and bring her the love she so desperately craved. The stars offered no answers, but in the quiet of the night, she found a sliver of solace in the act of voicing her deepest wish.

—

The phone rang late in the evening, its sound piercing the quiet of the room. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the screen. Chloe's name flashed across it, and a part of her almost didn’t want to pick up. But Chloe had been there for her in ways she hadn’t expected, turning from an acquaintance into one of her closest friends. With a deep breath, she answered.

“Hey,” she said softly, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

“Hey, you,” Chloe replied, her tone gentle, almost cautious. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?”

There was a brief silence, the kind that stretches out when you’re trying to find the right words to explain a pain that feels impossible to describe. “I’m… surviving, I guess. It’s been hard,” she admitted, her voice wavering.

Chloe sighed on the other end, a mix of empathy and frustration evident in her breath. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. And I hate that I had to be the one to confirm it. You deserve so much better.” 

Her heart ached at the sincerity in Chloe’s words. “I don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that he moved on so quickly, or that I still can’t hate him for it. I feel like such an idiot, holding on to the person I thought he was.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Chloe reassured her. “You loved him, and you believed in him. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you have to remember that this isn’t about you, it’s about him and his inability to recognize what he had.”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you. It’s just… I keep asking myself how someone can move on so quickly. I thought what we had was real. We talked about a future, Chloe. The farm, rings, babies, all of it. And then, two weeks after we break up, he’s with someone else? It just… it doesn’t make sense.” she said, her voice cracking. “How could he say all those things to me, make all those promises, and then just... move on? Like I never mattered.”

Chloe hesitated, knowing that what she had to say might sting, but also feeling that honesty was necessary. “I know, and I wish I had the right words to make it better. I don’t understand it either. But people… they’re complicated, and sometimes they don’t even realize the damage they’re causing until it’s too late. Sometimes-” she let out a sigh, “Sometimes people make decisions that don’t make any sense, that hurt the ones they’re supposed to care about the most. But that’s on him, not you. You’re allowed to grieve, to be angry, to feel everything you’re feeling.”

“Do you think he ever really loved me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had haunted her since the confirmation of Daniel’s new relationship, and now it hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded with vulnerability.

Chloe paused, her heart aching for her friend. “I think… I think he loved you in the way he knew how, but maybe that wasn’t the way you deserved to be loved. And that’s not your fault. It’s his loss, really. You gave him everything, and he’s the one who couldn’t appreciate it.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back. “It just hurts so much, you know? I keep thinking that if I had done something differently, if I had been better, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Chloe said firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You were yourself, and that should have been enough. He’s the one who couldn’t see what he had in front of him. But I see you, and so do the people who really care about you. You’re not alone in this.”

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat, grateful for Chloe’s words, for her friendship. “Thank you, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you, no matter what,” Chloe replied warmly. 

As the conversation between the girl and Chloe lingered, an uncomfortable question bubbled up within her. She hesitated, biting her lip before finally asking, “Chloe, how is Heidi? Is she… nice? She looks like she is.”

Chloe paused on the other end, considering her words carefully. “She is nice,” she admitted softly. “She’s kind and sweet, and she seems like a good person.”

The girl swallowed hard, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “I figured as much,” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet resignation. “At the beginning, I wanted to tear her apart, you know? I wanted to pick out every flaw she had, convince myself she wasn’t good enough. But I couldn’t do that… because she just looks so nice and kind. It’s almost like it made everything worse, knowing that I couldn’t even hate her.”

Chloe sighed, understanding the conflict in her friend’s heart. “It’s natural to feel that way, to want to protect yourself by finding reasons to dislike her. But you’re also showing so much strength by acknowledging that she’s not the enemy. It’s okay to feel conflicted.”

The girl nodded, though her throat tightened. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much, Chloe. I wish I could be happy for him, for them. But it’s hard when it feels like I’ve been discarded, replaced by someone who seems perfect in every way.”

“Listen,” Chloe said, her voice firm yet gentle, “you’re human, and it’s okay to feel hurt and conflicted. But don’t let those feelings define you. You’re more than what he made you feel, and you deserve someone who will see all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between”

“I know,” she whispered, though the knowledge didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. “It’s just hard to accept sometimes.”

“It is,” Chloe agreed. “But you’ll get there. One step at a time. And remember, just because she’s nice doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. You’re allowed to grieve what you’ve lost, even if it’s complicated.”

—

Slowly, the depression began to give way to a semblance of acceptance—or something that resembled it. It wasn’t forgiveness, nor was it forgetting, but a grudging acknowledgment that clinging to the pain and anger would only prolong her agony.

She continued to write, but the tone of her lyrics shifted. They were still tinged with sadness and loss, but there was also a hint of desperation and sometimes hope.

We broke up a month ago

Your friends are mine, you know, I know

You've moved on, found someone new

One more girl who brings out the better in you.

[...]

And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean

Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?

And now I'm pickin' her apart

Like cuttin' her down will make you miss my wretched heart

But she's beautiful, she looks kind

She probably gives you butterflies.

[...]

I hope you're happy

I wish you all the best, really

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.

Acceptance came in small, painful increments. It was in the quiet moments when Baby Iza’s tiny hand rested on her cheek, or when Vitto and Andrew’s unwavering support reminded her that she was not alone. It was in the act of writing itself, where she could pour out her heart and begin to untangle the threads of grief and loss.

As she sat on the grass, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows around her, she realized that while Daniel’s betrayal had broken her, it had not destroyed her. She would rebuild herself, piece by piece, word by word, until she was whole again. Despite everything, she was still standing.

Through the anger, the depression, and the acceptance, she learned that she had the strength to endure. The scars from this heartbreak would always be there, but they would also be a testament to her resilience and her capacity to heal. And in those moments of writing, she knew she would emerge from this experience stronger, wiser, and ready to embrace whatever the future held.

[lafleshlumpeater]

can you do an ethan nakamura x reader pls 🥺

If you can't it's okay ❤️

i hope you werent looking for anything specific but this is what i came up with<3

(i tried to make this as gn as possible- lmk if theres anything wrong w it)

Warnings: ethan is a bit (a lot) in love, unbelievably cheesy plot, gn reader

(im sorry for tsitp reference i had to okay- also for the plot we’ll just pretend ethan is the only nemesis child)

ethan nakamura masterlist

To say Ethan was infatuated was an understatement.

The few who knew him well had never seen him like this before. Jaw slack, eyes wide and blind to the rest of the world every time you walked past.

He wanted to talk to you. If only his voice didn’t fail him every time you offered him a courteous smile, asking how he was and if his day was going okay.

He was torn- between wanting to be bold, asking you out with an air of confidence he didn’t care to admit his lack of, and admiring you from a safe distance, sighing wistfully with want.

And one day, the opportunity to be bold was granted to him, although seemingly insignificant-  teasing him, forcing him to make the decision between taking his chance or letting it fly past him.

“Ethan,” you greet, awfully chirpily, Ethan thinks, for a cold Sunday afternoon. He can’t help but love it, though.

“Hey,” he responds, feigning at indifference. Really, his heart rate sped up a notch and he could feel his face grow warmer, and just knowing that fact painted his cheeks a more prominent red. You don’t seem to notice, and he thanks all the gods (bitterly) for your oblivion to his adoration.

Kicking the cabin door shut behind you, you hold a clipboard and a pen in your hands. “Cabin inspection,” you smile smugly, eyes honing in on every detail of the room which made it an utter mess. Ethan cringed.

“That was today?”

“Unfortunately for you.” You smirk. With a facade of innocence, you bat your eyelashes and Ethan’s stomach flips. “I assume someone… forgot?”

He bites his lip, indiscreetly kicking rubbish under the bed. “Uhh…”

You shrug, scribbling on your clipboard. “Cabin Sixteen… stable duties.”

“No!” he exclaims in protest, louder than he meant to. You look up at him through your lashes.

“No?”

“Can- can we forget about this, just for once? For one, there’s no- one else to help me clean, and this is the first time I’ve…” Ethan falters once he realises you’re teasing, lips quirked up into a playful smirk.

“What’ll you give me if I do?”

His racing mind slows.

What?

Was this you flirting with him?

With him? Of all people?

After a tense pause, he slowly rises to his feet, taking a small step towards you, letting out a highly intelligent, well- deliberated: “Huh?”

You giggle coyishly. “I said, ‘what’ll you give me if I do’?”

Ethan swallows.

He’s never been the most outgoing of people.

Taking another step towards you, pauses for a second. His decision could mess everything up, but better to mess everything up rather than to have the regret eating away at him for ages to come, right?

Wetting his lips, Ethan walks slowly to stand in front of you- leaning in slightly. When you don’t pull away, he takes it as encouragement.

With a deep breath, he reaches out, gently tilting your chin to face him and presses his warm, soft lips to yours.

This wasn’t proofread at all so… please lmk if it doesn’t make sense anywhere before i re read it one day and cry <3

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

[maxipad031]

hey girl! i loveee ur account! can we get a best friends to lovers fic please? Shuri and reader are like 20, and reader realises she isn’t straight because she starts crushing on Shuri.<33

i like you silly

synopsis: fluffy and short fic where you start to realise your growing crush on your best friend, shuri. you don’t know where she stands, but she soon lets you know and you begin to understand yourself more.

contains: shuri x black reader, cute crushing, fluff, brief sadness, make out session, best friend to lovers x

and thank you smmm!🥰

novacane by frank ocean blasted in your sony headphones as you bopped your head continuously to the beat, your hand moving rapidly as you scribbled down equations for your calculus homework. it was literally due the next day and you'd forgotten all about it until your friend reminded you like 30 minutes ago through a lengthy text explaining how she lost it. your room was flipping messy, clothes on the floor, on the bed, heaped upon your vanity chair. the curtains were basically closed but there was a peak of natural light as your purple LED lights dominated the room, making it glow a soft lilac. something about purple just put you in a focusing mood, so yes your room had to be covered in it. just as the song was about to change, it stopped abruptly, and you shifted your gaze over to your phone, confused. sighing, you realised a call was coming through and when you saw who it was, your heart leaped in your chest.

my shuri <3

was displayed on the rectangular screen and you hurriedly fumbled everything away to pick up your phone to answer, crunching the papers under your weight in the process. as you clicked the bright green phone button, her breath taking voice came through into your headphones, loud as fuck.

"y/n, are you busy?" she asked softly, waiting patiently for your reply. you glanced at the phone, your homework underneath you and your phone again, "nope!" you answered, maybe way too excitedly.

"ah perfect, can you meet me at café moon in 10?"

"of course shuri, ill be there." you assured, packing away all your papers and into their designated folders, "is everything okay though?" you asked, realising its unusual behaviour for shuri to be calling you randomly since she's always busy with her tech projects.

"oh yeah, i just want to see you, make sure you're okay." she replied, her voice laced with some kind of additive that made you want to hear it all the time.

"okay, see you hunnie buns." she didn't reply straight away, but you cut off the call as you didn't want to hear her reply to your bold action anyways. well, to be honest, it wasn't even that weird because in your....friendship, you called each other lots of things like bae, darling, love, honey. it didn't really mean anything....or so you thought. you disconnected your headset and slipped it off, resting it on your oak desk as you attempted to make your dorm room look at least a little presentable, just in case you both came back here. shuri was used to your room being a mess though, she always says "it adds to your character, " with that silly, cute eye smile she does that makes you want to just give her pecks all over her face.

your mind often wavered like this and at first it was just subtle, cute scenarios you'd imagine before going to bed, but now it's just full blown delusion, things that would never happen between the two of you; i'll leave that up to your imagination.

you'd always identified as a straight individual since all you did were date boys in high school, but after meeting shuri, all of that went straight out the window and you've only been able to look at her: everyone else is blotted out with a black marker pen. she's in the centre of your thoughts, running around in your head rent free. you'd never really had close friends, so you orignally thought it was your clinginess that made you so drawn to her, constantly wanting to be around her at all times. however lately, it didn't make sense that you'd been feeling this way for this long, almost two years now. you usually lost interest in other friends you had but this was different, it was so clear now,

you fucking liked her.

it was a hard pill to swallow, the fact you were probably bisexual...or a lesbian? actually no, because you genuinely had feelings for the guys you dated, so you're probably bi...you think? whatever, labels confuse you and you don't care about them. right now, you're shurisexual and that's all that matters.

you sat up on your bed to look in the illuminating mirror as you ruffled your tangled curls, to the left, to the right, just everywhere until it looked nice and presentable. you were already wearing a large purple hoodie, so you just replaced your booty shorts with baggy ripped jeans. quite motivated to look nice, you picked up your makeup pouch from the vanity table and began to touch up your face, only a little concealer and lip gloss. once that was done, you cleaned your room further, stuffing your disorganized clothes deep inside your closet and kicking any loose objects under the double bed. with a deep sigh, you grabbed your phone and the keys from the drawer before heading out, making sure to lock your door securely. you walked quickly past all the loud kids occupying the dorm hallway, and rushed down the spiral stairs to basically sprint outside. as there were no cars coming at that moment, you crossed the quite busy road and ran down to the café shuri had told you to meet her at.

by the time you arrived, you were huffing and puffing as you tried to catch your breath. you had no idea why you ran but it was probably due to the fact you were so eager to see your best friend again after like two days. the cafe’s large glass windows exposed it’s interior. it wasn’t that busy and looked calm as always, everyone minding their own business studying or talking. as you grabbed the door handle, you eyes flickered to a familiar presence . it was shuri, sitting on a high chair that was facing the window, which faced the street, and seemingly engrossed in something on her phone as she scrolled. you walked in and the bell above the shop door rung at your arrival as shuri’s head whipped in your direction. you adjusted your hair behind your ear shyly and watched as she flashed you a bright smile while you walked over towards her.

“heyy ma, how is my darling.” she greeted, wrapping her long arm around your torso as you hugged each other. her embrace was comforting, you never wanted to let go. unfortunately, you had to depart from her and when you did, you sat down on the high chair next her.

“shuri, you forgot about me for two days, huh.” you scolded jokingly, as you crossed your arms and fake pouted.

“you know that’s not the case y/n.” she laughed at your fake act, taking a sip of coffee that she just ordered, “do you want anything to eat or drink?” she asked in a caring manner as her hands nestled in her lap.

“nah i’m alright, thanks though.” you played with the hem of your hoodie subtly as you grew nervous under her gaze. this was such an unusual feeling, you were normally the one making people shy, not the other way around. she nodded and rested her elbows on the shelf-like table before you both. she stared outside for a minute, her sharp jawline flexing as her eyes travelled. she has recently cut her curly hair and it was shaved at the sides, leaving the top sitting nicely and dropping over her forehead. the day she sent you that selfie pic of her freshly-cut hair, a tear ran down your leg; it was so attractive on her and she definitely knew it. you were beginning to understand that you didn’t wanna be her, you wanted to be with her. she wore a purple tracksuit this day, kimoyo beads wrapped around her slender wrists and her sunglasses propped up the middle of her forehead. she clicked her tongue softly and spun the chair around to face you,

“i have something to say.” she announced. your heart jumped and skipped and hopped before falling back down into your ass. you knew she wasn’t going to say what you thought she was going to say, but it was nerve wracking nontheless.

“go on.” you said, eyes wide open in anticipation.

“i’m going back to wakanda in two weeks.” shuri replied, playing with her glowing kimoyo beads as her eyes darted around the small cafe, avoiding your eye contact.

“wait what, why?!” the corner of your lip twitched with disappointment.

“my brothers funeral, i must be there.” she said, smiling weakly as an emotion of sadness washed over her eyes simultaneously. seeing her grieve for her brother broke your heart into a million pieces and you wanted to do nothing but comfort her. you slowly reached over her lap to cup her cold hands in yours. you massaged it lightly as you looked up at her, “that’s totally fine shuri, i’ll be here waiting for you.” shuri shifted her gaze to you and you swear for a split second it was a look that said, “i love you so much,” but it also might���ve been your imagination. she gave you another hug, squeezing you so tight, you had to tap her shoulder for her to soften up a little, “you don’t know how much i appreciate you y/n.” she sniffed a bit as she pulled away from you, holding her head up ever so lightly so stop any welling tears from escaping.

“hey, why don’t we go back to mine.” you suggested, pulling her up off the high chair. seeing her upset broke you and you wanted to cheer her up as soon as possible. shuri grabbed her now cold-coffee with her free hand and nodded her head as she obliged. you both stood up to leave and you led her out of the shop. the sun was blazing above and you instantly regretted wearing a big hoodie. shuri seemed to notice your discomfort as you constantly pulled at the neck of the clothing,

“you should come to wakanda, you’d die if you wore something like that outside.” she commented picking up the pace to walk beside you, her infamous eye smile displaying itself and making you melt as you stared at her.

you chuckled before replying, “take me then, i’ve always wanted to go.” you unintentionally held her hand as you crossed the road together. shuri paused and stared down at the interconnection of your hands; she didn’t pull away but held on tighter instead. you didn’t even notice the small act of affection as you scanned the road, careful you both didn’t get hit.

“alright.” shuri whispered under her breath, seriously contemplating to take you with her.

~~~

“how dare you plus five me, what the fuck!” you yelled, as shuri aggressively put down a blue +5 card. you two had resorted to playing uno flip and right now, she had you fucked up. she’d never played it until now but boy did she pick up the game fast, she even knew tactics to stop you from winning.

“sorry but i’m not letting you win.” shuri smirked as she watched you reluctantly pick up five cards from the deck when you previously had two cards left. the game resumed and you stared menacingly at her, your competitive side really coming out. shuri had four cards left whilst you ended up with seven from picking some up. she put some reverses, which skipped your turn, but just before she put down the second to last card, you yelled out UNO before she could realise and you cackled maniacally, picking up two cards to give to her. shuri quickly realised her mistake and shook her head, “you didn’t even tell me i had to say uno when i had one card left.”

“yes i did? that’s the point of the game.” you arched your eyebrow.

“you didn’t.”

“wanna fight?” you asked jokingly, putting your cards to the side and pretending to pack up your thick hair.

“like you’d win.” shuri rolled her eyes and cuffed up her sleeves as she put her cards to the side as well.

full on ready to actually wrestle with her, you leaped from your side on the bed to hers and she surprisingly caught you, flipping you over and laughing as she pretended to punch you,

“please please please, let me live, oh mighty black panther please!” you closed your eyes as if you were scared, rubbing your hands together as a sign of mercy. you were the only one here in america that knew she was the black panther by accident, and you’d sworn to never tell a soul.

after you heard nothing, you opened your eyes to peek and saw her doing a funny face. you both then bust out laughing at your silly behavior, forgetting that she was still on top of you. your laughing started to die down before you suddenly realised the position you were both in and instantly start to panic. her face was literally inches away from yours, as her minty breath tickled your nose. completely rapt, you didn’t know what to do so you just lifted your hands up to hold the sides of her small waist. she felt the sudden touch, and looked down at you, also realising how close in proximity you were to each other. you could do nothing but stare at her lips, perfectly two toned, glistening from the lip vaseline she always uses, and slightly parted. the urge to kiss her was so strong and nearly overtook you but your mind started to ramble and it unfortunately transferred into words out loud,

“shuri, i’m so sorry, i know this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but i like you, i really do, i’ve been liking you since i met you, i just didn’t know how to say it, i’m sorry, you probably don’t even feel the same way, but i just felt like i needed to-”

it seemed like shuri had the same thing in mind as your words were interrupted, by the feeling of her soft lips placed upon yours, maybe as a way to indirectly tell you to shut up. your eyes were wide open from shock but you shut them and kissed her back with a more needy approach. it felt like you were in another realm entirely, just you and her, together, nothing else mattered. your lips moved in sync as you held onto her waist tighter, liking the way her body felt on top yours. before you could slip some tongue in, she pulled away licking her lips as her eyes danced around the room, seemingly embarrassed by what just occurred. she gently climbed off of you and sat up, packing away the uno cards. you held yourself upright with your elbows watching her contently.

“shuri.”

she didn’t reply, focused on tidying up the bed.

“shuri!” you held your hand to stop her from her actions and she stared at you blankly before grabbing the sides of your face and pulling you into another kiss.

what in the world was happening right now.

her hands were enveloped in your brown locks and you pulled her closer, putting your hands on her shoulders to deepen the intimate kiss that was being shared by the two of you. shuri seemed like she wanted this for a long time, but so did you and you were going to make every second count. she was the first to slip her tongue in your mouth and you eagerly welcomed it. her muscular arms wrapped around your waist and propped you up onto her lap impatiently. you’d previously taken your hoodie off when you two came back and so you were left in a white tank top. her large hands rubbed against your chest area unintentionally and that riled you up even further. the kiss got hungrier, deeper as you snaked your hands around her neck, fingers laced in her tight coils as you devoured each other.

honestly, if this carried on, it was going to lead to something else and you didn’t think you were fully ready for that right now especially if shuri didn’t feel as deeply for you as well, so you hesitantly parted your lips away from shuri’s, leaving a string of saliva connecting the two of you. shuri breathed heavily as she looked up at you through her chocolate orbs, her lips having grown in size from the fervent make out session. you adjusted your top that had rode up from the touching and carefully got down from shuri’s lap,

“i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, i don’t know what came of over me, i understand if you don’t like me anymore i’m sorry-” shuri blabbered, worried to death that she’d made you feel weird, hence why you stopped.

“no shuri, that was amazing, of course i like you silly, i just told you a whole essay about it.” you giggled, placing your forehead on hers lovingly, “i stopped because i just have a question to ask you.” you said mysteriously, as you sat up against the headboard of your double bed.

“go ahead,” shuri urged you to continue as she followed you, also moving so her back was against the headboard.

“do you want to be my girlfriend?” you inquired bluntly. you didn’t think you’d ever say that to anyone but surprise surprise, here you were.

“i thought you’d never ask.” shuri hugged you for the 30th time that day and you hugged her back, filled with absolute bliss. you were so certain she’d reject you but her feelings for you might’ve been even stronger than yours for her; no that’s impossible. you couldn’t wait for what’s the future held for you two as well as how your relationship would work out. however, not everything was all roses and daisies as you remembered that’s she’s eventually going to leave you soon.

“wait shuri, aren’t you leaving, i’m not going to be able to see you.” you pouted, holding her hands as your head was down in woe.

“well, you said you wanted to come, didn’t you, i can definitely organize that.” shuri replied, lifting your chin up to look at her.

“what!? you don’t mean it...i can go to wakanda?! oh my god, no fucking way, i’ve always wanted to go! shuri, i could literally buy you a lamborghini right now.” you yelled out, full of excitement as you jumped off the bed and ran laps around your small dorm room screaming your head off like a lunatic, almost tripping on the loose objects all over the floor.

shuri laughed wholeheartedly at your thrilled uproar, loving how gorgeous you looked when you were happy. this was going to be a great few weeks for you two.

🫶

[undiscovered-horizon]

Bestie- u didn’t just deliver u served and I’m the greedy gremlin who’s eating this up, that was amazing, he’s so skrunkly I love him 😔Ur gonna kill me here but bestie I need them to meet I can’t 😩

This is the effect of me doing sudokus and crosswords in the ethics lecture... Was listening to Jasmine Thompson's cover of 'Rather Be' while writing this and honestly?? A whole mood

Imagine the Riddler being your secret admirer. - Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 4] [Part 5]

That day felt weirdly long as if hours were stretching out as much as the universe would allow them to. You haven't felt that tired and fed up in quite a while, dreaming about the soft comfort of your own bed during your commute back home.

Home, however, had another surprise in store for you:

"Perfect timing, Eddie," you said to yourself as you tore the envelope off your front door. "Could use a little pick-me-up."

You opened the letter and couldn't help the surprise at the front of the card you were given. For some reason, it said "Invitation" in fancy, glittery writing. Inside, on the left side was another torn-out page from a poetry collection.

Underneath an apple-tree Sat a maiden and her lover; And the thoughts within her he Yearned, in silence, to discover.

Under the piece of a poem were written only two words: "Meet me". Your gaze followed the vague message to the right side of the card where a small map was drawn. It looked like a bird's view of a restaurant or a bar with a question mark drawn over one of the, as you had assumed, tables like the little map was the continuation of the unfinished sentence. On top of the drawing was scribbled an address, a date and an hour. You were supposed to meet him in a week's time.

From that moment on, you could hardly think about anything else and, little did you know, so did he. It was going to be a fateful Wednesday evening.

"That's the place," you whispered to yourself as you checked the GPS on your phone again.

You found yourself standing before a desolate diner that looked like it was taken straight out of Quentin Tarantino's movie. But you had to admit that the Pulp Fiction feel to the locale was charming in some way as if gracefully continuing your dilemma whether you were now the main character of a rom-com or a slash horror film.

"Here goes nothing," you said with a sigh. With each step towards the front door of the diner, your restlessness was only increasing.

The bell near the door chimed cheerfully as you hesitantly entered the building. At first, you couldn't see a soul inside - even the waitress was more of a cryptid as you could only hear her quiet chatter with the cooks coming from the kitchen. They left the door slightly ajar. According to the drawing, the marked table should be the one under the vintage-style graffiti with a pin-up girl holding a tray of apple pie. Your heart stopped for a moment, seeing that the booth was occupied.

Ever since he sat down in that booth, he'd been eyeing the door, waiting for the fateful moment you enter. The muffled laughter of the waitress rung in his ears and Eddie was half-convinced that she was laughing at him. After all, who was he to ever believe that you were actually going to show up? That you would be anything but disgusted with him?

He watched as you checked his little drawing once more. You turned your head towards him and Ed could swear the time actually slowed down if not entirely stopped when your gaze met his. The moment you realized that it was him, a bright smile appeared on your face, making Eddie's palms even sweatier than they already were. He just knew he was going to mess things up - there was no way in Hell that he could impress you. That much was obvious to Eddie.

You were just so... unreal to him. There he was: the loser, the loner, the butt of the joke and there were you, the epitome of grace approaching the table he was sitting at. He couldn't believe his own senses, some anxious beast still gnawing at his thoughts, that you didn't immediately turn around and left once you saw him.

"Hey," you said softly as you sat down across from him.

"H-hi," he nervously stuttered out.

Eddie looked more or less as you expected him to: a quiet, kind of awkward and easy-to-overlook guy who had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Your friends always found it very amusing that you had a thing for underdogs. No matter how strange it might sound to anyone else, you thought there was a certain charm to his awkwardness like an adorable deer caught in headlights.

"You have great taste." You waved the "invitation" card before putting it back into your purse.

"In what?" Eddie asked sheepishly. His mind was fluctuating between blankness and intrusive thoughts, so coherence and reason weren't something he could count on at the moment.

You shrugged. That bright, showstopping smile was still on your face and Eddie felt he wouldn't be able to look away from you even if he wanted to. "Poetry. Flowers," you counted. "Girls."

His chubby cheeks turned crimson red at your words. Your confidence made him even more aware of his incapacitating insecurity. Eddie believed his intrusive thoughts: there was nothing he could delight you with.

"I loved your riddles," you confessed. "You're really good at it."

A flutter of his heart and a ray of lovesick hope.

[spittingbloodandscreaming]

Dwayne Hoover/Cis Male Reader fluff but a smidge(insane amount) of smut would b appreciated

Haii!! :3 I finally did it yippee!! This officially starts the next era of being active

What the Hell are You Doing Here?(Dwayne Hoover x Male reader smut)

EVERYONE IS OF LEGAL AGE PINKY SWEAR

no penetrative sex!! I don't need to explain you'll see it'll make sense

You’re laying in Dwayne’s bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how much shit you’re gonna be in for sneaking into his house. I mean, it’s not your fault you decided to bail halfway through school, right? I mean you couldn’t go home, and you just happened to know where his spare key was kept.

School gets out in about ten minutes, and counting the bus ride and the walk back from the stop, you think you have about twenty minutes until Dwayne’s home. You decide to pass the time by looking through his CD collection. After flipping through about, say, 8,000 niche rock albums you lay back down on a bed you were not invited into.

In the middle of your hardcore ceiling staring you find yourself interrupted by Dwayne opening the door to his own bedroom. Unsurprisingly, he’s just short of mortified to see you given the context. As you’re standing up to not-at-all-creepily shut the door behind him and explain yourself, you wonder briefly if what you’re doing is illegal. By the time you're back in front of him, trying to make your stance say ‘I am not crazy I promise’ as much as possible, he already has his notepad displayed.

“What the fuck are you doing here??”

“I was just about to explain,” you say, hoping your whisper yelling isn't audible outside of the room. “I skipped school, and I couldn't go home, and your house is the only one that I could get into.” God, you sound crazy, don't you?

“You're fucking CRAZY” He's still wide-eyed and pale, even though he always kinda looks like that. You sigh, not thinking there's even a point in explaining yourself anymore. Hey, at least it's not a crime?

“This is illegal.” Dwayne looks at you with a less startled, more confused, and disappointed face now. You sigh.

“Well, I didn't know, okay?” You rub your hands along the sides of your pants, trying to figure out what to say while Dwayne stands awkwardly. Probably the most uncomfortable he's been in his own room. “I can leave if you want, you just have to help me through the window.” You don't want to leave, not really, but you're like 98% sure any sane person would want you to.

But then Dwayne shakes his head, sets down his bag by the door, and sits down on his bed before scribbling something else down again.

“What the hell were you thinking?” God, how does someone's handwriting look disappointed? You shrug. You can't say anything that you haven't already. You sit down next to him on the bed, and after a while of sitting next to each other quietly, you fall back on the bed with a huff.

At some point, both of you kicked off your shoes and got on the bed properly. You're both lying next to each other, holding hands and not saying anything. This is the way things tend to go when you spend time together now, and you like it. It's a very kind, gentle quiet.

“I love you, you know.” Dwayne smiles when you say it, squeezing your hand.

You get closer together, rather quickly ending up with Dwayne’s face in the back of your neck. His breathing is soft and paced like he's scared he might run out of air. His arms are wrapped around your chest under your arms, hands feeling the sides of your ribs gently. He's so soft with his hands, just absentmindedly feeling you, just because you're there and he can. His hands start to wander down to your lower stomach, and even though he's not doing it on purpose, it is kinda getting a rise out of you. It's no big deal yet, not even when he starts rubbing your hips through your shirt. But rubbing your hips turns into messing with the hem of your shirt, and that turns into his hands underneath your shirt roaming up and down your torso. You know he doesn't mean anything by it. You know.

Something about it drives you crazy though. You try to ignore it, and at first you do. And eventually Dwayne's hands come out from under your shirt, and you let yourself relax back against him. But as the saying goes, when God closes a door, he opens a window. Dwayne moves his hands down to your thighs instead—rubbing up and down the sides and occasionally stopping to press his palms into the softer areas. After a few rounds of this, his hands move towards your inner thigh. He stills there, enjoying how warm you feel. After a few moments, he pulls his hands back up—and in doing so grazes your crotch, which brings both of your attention to the fact that his mindless petting had an unintended effect.

Dwayne pulls away out of shock, and what you assume in your head to be complete and utter disgust. You in turn curl into yourself and hide your face in your hands, trying to remember how one breathes when they aren't drowning in incurable embarrassment.

Dwayne, however, isn't disgusted, just baffled by the situation. Both the one at hand and the fact you broke into his house. But, nonetheless, he brings his arms back around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder and running his fingers over your waistband. He presses a kiss to where your shoulder meets the base of your neck and taps at where your hip bone is placed, like hes asking if he’s allowed in your pants. You nod shakily, trying to breath through the absolute wackadoodle situation you’ve got yourself in. It’s not like you don’t want to partake in homosexual sex with Dwayne, you’ve thought about it plenty of times, but you always ended up all strange and guilty feeling.

And now you feel that way more than ever. And Dwayne can definitely tell. And he pushes his hand under your waistband anyway, because he doesn't care if you're weird and anxious about it, ‘cause he's also very weird and anxious about it. You try really hard to enjoy what's happening, but you can't shut your brain off. Dwayne, though, is taking his sweet time brushing each individual finger over your crotch. You move your hand to rest over his forearm, and he pauses just long enough for you to mutter a reassurance. Dwayne continues, and you keep your hand held tight on his arm. Dwayne eventually shifts his hand up, making his way under the waistband of your underwear.

It takes exactly zero time for the feeling of Dwayne’s hand around your dick to be too much. Your mind does everything short of going white as he gently starts jerking you off. You can tell he's not exactly sure what he's doing. Really, he's just trying out a mix of what he likes and what he thinks is normal. He stops to run his thumb over your tip every once in a while, but he's not so sure about that move. You, on the other hand, are responding a lot better than he thought. Sorta. You're still death gripping his arm, neither of you would be surprised if you had drawn blood by now. Dwayne isn't sure how he's supposed to take your shaky breathing and strange high pitched gasps, and he's entirely trusting you to tell him to stop if you don't like something.

So far, though, there's nothing you don't like. You genuinely could not have envisioned a hadjob to feel this good, and you're honestly embarrassed over how your body is reacting. You're shaking, a lot, and you're not sure how long it's been that way, or how long it's been noticeable, or if it ever was noticeable. You're trying really, really hard not to cum from just this. That's possibly the most embarrassing outcome.

Your hard attempt to last longer stayed a solid attempt. As soon as you let your guard down, let yourself relax, you're suddenly very aware of Dwayne breathing against your neck, and how he's not so subtly grinding against you. That's too much for you. Way too much for you.

You tense up, trying your very best to muffle whatever sounds would come out of you, which just results in more of a long high pitched yowl. You tense up periodically for a few moments, and Dwayne smooths over your hair with his free hand. You both sit that way for a while.

The first one to move is Dwayne. He slides his jizz-covered hand out from your underwear, pausing to think about the decision he's about to make before he does it. And then he wipes his hand on your pants very unceremoniously. You fake scoff and turn on your other side. You almost say something before reiterating to yourself you broke-and-entered today, so you don't. It takes a second before you notice, based on the conveniently placed stain on his pants, that Dwayne also came embarrassingly.

You lean in to kiss Dwayne, lingering for a good count of four. When the two of you separate, he moves in to hug you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burning your head in his chest. You can't help but wonder if that counted as losing your virginity, just for a split second.

[star-gazer101]

Pet Names

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Idia Shroud x Reader

Characters: Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud

Warnings: GN reader, Slight OOC, Uses of the nickname ‘Darling’ despite gender-neutral reader

AN: Just a fun side story, before anything serious happens.

-

Today was just an typically ordinary day. 

An ordinary day to do nothing but laze about in Idia’s dorm.

Ortho paused his current playthrough of farming dancing blobs to gaze at the “potential couple” doing their own thing.

His brother was currently raiding online with his online companion Crimson Muscle, while you were busy playing on a handheld console. You had said something about wanting to help solve puzzles with a “Gentleman traveler and his apprentice” before the new game comes out sometime this year.

Maybe he should be more concerned about his brother’s personality rubbing off on you than the other way around.

On the other hand, you both were now comfortable enough to do whatever, he guess?

Perhaps you missed a step after skipping the confession?  He really doesn’t know.

What exactly comes next?

Please don’t let it be another session of feeding his brother peeled apple slices when he last got sick…

Thankfully, you broke the silence. “Hey, Idia?”

Idia only grunted in response, his eyes fully fixated on his game. However, he was listening.

“I know we’ve been friends for quite a while, well, more than that, but…I was wondering…Would you…Would you be okay with taking our relationship to the next level?”

That…Was so sudden! You really do have no shame! Idia is choking on his drink and everything!

Better calm him down before it gets worse!

“S-sorry if that was too sudden Player 1,” You apologized as you patted his back. “I should’ve waited until you were done drinking.”

“Yeah, you should have!” Idia gasped. “What’s with the sudden sneak attack? Are you trying to send me to an early grave?!”

“Maybe?” You gave a teasing smile and then awkwardly giggled when he glared. “It’s just that…I’ve seen things where the best of friends use special names for each other. Not that I’m against our current nicknames: Player 1 and Player 2. I just want something a little more…intimate y’know?” 

At this Idia groaned as he quietly muttered things like “typical normie stuff”, but the pink in his hair never faded. “I knew I should have never let you watch late-night shojo anime…Too many unrealistic expectations…”

“He’s just shy,” Ortho whispered on the other side, finally giving his two cents on the topic, causing you to giggle.

“We don’t have to, if it’s too much.”

“I-I never said that! And Ortho, stop enabling them!”

“No promises, big bro!”

“You are so cute when you’re flustered, Idia~”

You two were going to be the death of him!

-

It only had been half an hour and Idia has crossed out pages worth of random names. Most of them were just you messing around and coming up with the cringiest of nicknames that even made Ortho flinch with how sugary sweet some of the names were.

Seriously, how can anyone call their friend ‘Schmoopsy Poo’ and keep a straight face?

“I’m sorry, Prefect, but I can’t agree with any of these. And what’s the deal with ‘Smashy-smashy Eggman’? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Sorry. Had a favorite movie back from my world on the brain and just couldn’t help but quote it at least once while I’m here. I’ll tell you all about it after we’re done with all of this.”

Idia sighed. “How about something simple? What kind of name would you want to go by?”

You paused mid-scribble as you pondered on what he suggested. It took about a few minutes before your face burned an alarming red.

‘Quite the reaction there, Prefect. Mind sharing with the rest of us?’

“Well…There is one that I kinda want to try…”

“Oh? What is it, big sib?”

“Idia…Do you remember that one horror game with the little girl and her black cat?”

Ortho had an idea where this was going, but let you continue much to his brother’s embarrassment.

“I…would like to be called one of those names of endearment that the cat called her. I would like to be called ‘darling’ and for you to be called ‘dearest’. Is that okay with you?”

“D-d-darling…D-d-dearest…”

…

“Idia?”

“Brother, are you okay?”

-

“Again, sorry for overheating your brother, Ortho. Didn’t mean to overdue it this time.”

“Don’t worry about it, big sib. He lasted longer than his previous record which is 10% less.”

“That’s quite an achievement. Is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t worry about it too much. I’ll just put some gamer stuff under his nose and he’ll be back up. For now, just head on back to Ramshackle.”

“Alright…thanks again Ortho, for humoring me.”

With you finally out of the room, the younger Shroud could only shake his head as he stared at how pathetic his brother was being. All of that because of a simple pet name…

“They wanted me to call them darling…and me dearest…how cringworthy can they get…how lame..”

“Idia, I can’t take you seriously with that dumb look on your face.”

Only in the Ignihyde dorm would that count as progress. Best of luck to you, Prefect.

[spacenintendogs]

Hi! I love your art and I’m so curious to know what your art process is like!

i've been trying to figure out how to answer this & i've honestly realized that my process is a mess LOLOL i did record myself!!! drawing fishlegs bc he is the fave & easiest for me to draw! i hope everything i explain under the read more makes sense!!

it took me over 44 minutes to draw & the screen recording in the art program i use (autodesk sketchbook) brought it down to about 7 minutes and 25 seconds. i didn't wanna speed it up even more bc it'd be way too fast & jarring i think but!! i've uploaded the video to youtube (with some animal crossing music <3)!! i will still try to explain what i did here tho!!

my initial sketches are EXTREMELY loose! i start with the head by drawing a circle & extending past it for the chin of the character & proceed to do the nose, eyes, & mouth!! hair is next, but if there's a helmet i need to draw, i'll do that before the hair!! then i'll do the body starting from the shoulders & going down!! for the hands i just do circles/a general shape! no details!!

the sketch layer is a layer of black for the brush color with with lower opacity

i immediately do lines on top with the same brush but with black at full opacity on the kayer above!! this time i actually take my time to be more careful with details BUT i am still very sketchy & if smth isn't 100% accurate after i try a few times, i leave it be! hands however...

i almost always end up taking a photo of my hands using the front facing camera set to a 5 second timer on my phone! i also draw using my phone so it's literally having everything i need all in one place lol!! i do trace my own hands but obv i adjust based on what i'm drawing!! fish's hands are def gonna be wider than mine!!

NOW for color i color pick directly from screenshots!! however i use it mostly for flats & then pick my own for shading!! let's focus on the flats for now!! i start with the skin always!! the skin is going to have color layers above and below it, so it's easier for me to see where everything else will go if i've got the skin all settled. here you can see my color layers!! these are ALL flats!!

shading & lighting i don't rlly... focus on being accurate 100% but i try to do it based on where a shadow would absolutely be/to give the appearance of some type of depth (my art is very flat either way tho!) like where his lower hand is cupping i'll shade but leave the top of the upper hand unshaded for the most part! i lay out everything in a multiply layer first (can be any color u want based on the vibe u want!!) & then use a smudge tool to blend it out!! same goes for the lighting layer!!!

my art overall is a lot of scribbling big lines & curves then using the lineart to do the same but slowly make adjustments until it looks acceptable to me. it's SO much erasing & reshaping & i always have sketch lines everywhere but i like how it looks. it looks like i drew it, u know? plus the httyd books art style is a HUGE inspiration to me, at my core. i didn't even realize it was until ppl on here pointed it out :') i also enjoy drawing fast & moving on!! which is just smth i've trained myself to do since my star fox days (the reason i draw in the first place!!)

thank u!!!! i hope this made sense!!

[daydream-the-demon]

my 10 year old friend told me I’m useless for not playing with her at the park, I was drawing and she said “ no one’s seeing it, you don’t post it, you don’t sell it so what’s the point” and she’s right I do post my “art” and not sees it cus it doesn’t look good, I have to except that I am talentless 🫠

No girlypop, you do have talent.

Many can't even draw like you. Many don't even dare to do perspectives. Many aren't good at lines or colors like you. You try hard and you put emotion and soul into your work which is better than some. (*AHEM-* AI "ART"-) Sure you have your weaknesses here and there, but many do. I see you're a beginner who has potential.

I am now a, I don't mean to brag, but I'm decent at art.

Look at my old pieces though, way back from 2022:

Uneven lines and no sense of space. But the colors are good, the concepts are good, the backgrounds aren't bad. You just have to be a little optimistic to find the good.

Now look at where I am now:

I still messed up. The first one? I didn't even care to draw the background, the hairline was wrong, the hands were weird, the hat has perspective problems. The second one has 3 dimensionality problems with the clothes, the hand is bent wrong, the face is disproportionate, I held the pencil too tightly.

Look at the progress. Mistakes happen, yes, but look. Did I ever back down? No. When I was insulted did I stop? No. Now look. I have more to go, much more, but the progress is there.

Also, you don't have to make art for anyone. That's why you have private sketchbooks, that's why you doodle on the homework you know you'll probably lose or never get back, and you do it for fun. You put in and let out feelings and vibes you have. It can wash away like your emotions at the time, but it never leaves your mind. You felt things and wanted to express them.

I remember I made a book cover for something I was writing. I have no idea where it is, or where it went. I think it ended up getting corrupted. Am I a bit sad? Of course. I'm not mad, though. I remember about it. It was a demon x angel romance, it was one of my sparks into having my obsession with demons and angels.

Now look at me, many of my OCs are angels and demons. Hell, I like Hazbin Hotel!

Art always has an influence. It's yours after all.

One last note. Give this to your "friend":

🖕

It's not their job, or anyone's, to put you down like that.

Keep going, I believe in you. Look at what I did, you can also do it. 💋💋💋

You don't need talent either. I have a friend who literally could not write anything without it looking like scribbles. Their art was the same. After practice for months though, their anatomy improved.

There is a reason people say "Practice makes perfect", because it really does. I learned much of my skills from Pinterest, and some from my art tutor. It's possible, I promise.

Make art for yourself, and most importantly have fun with it. It doesn't have to be good. It's just a hobby after all.

[shy-ki-lee]

drabble

a/n: ok ok ok hear me out. I’ve been in a deep hole of watching the originals bc I relate so deeply with the mikaelson characters to the sense it helps me with my family problems. So ofc I had to start writing a book and include a little cute tickle scene (bonus crush tension). Aaaaaand I thought I’d share it with you. I haven’t been writing tickle related stuff for two years so it’s not that well written. I still hope you enjoy it <3 I changed the character’s name to y/n aka you bc I don’t want to reveal the characters name :)

warning: tension, the stage just before getting together, crushing on each other

—————————

at the mikaelson mansion

“I heard the conversation, darling.” 

“You better.” You were relieved. “They shouldn’t achieve what they want. It’s selfish.”

“You think so?” Klaus turned around to look at you.

“Of course.”

Niklaus’ lips turned into a teasy smirk. “You sure?”

”Damn sure.” You spoke crossing your arms, smirking back.

“Reaaalllly?” He pretended to be surprised. You just rolled your eyes.

“Really, Klaus. Now w-“

After the hybrid read the room, reading you, he knew he’d be able to pull the move he was about to pull. Something unexpected happened in your eyes. Whereas you felt the teasy energy in the room, you hadn’t seen the next thing coming. He speeded up to you in vampire speed, standing right in front of you. A second later he was pinning you against the wall with your arms above your head.

“Don’t you think I deserve it? Am I not scary? Bad?” He joked, pretending to be scary.

You gasped at his fast movements. This was the last thing you had expected. Your eyes went up to meet Klaus’s eyes. You felt shy all of the sudden, melting right under him. Why were you so affected by his charm? There’s no way he felt anything for you anyway. You knew he was flirty by nature. “I-“ 

“Hm?” The hybrid smirked, knowing he had the power over you.

You couldn’t look at him so you looked down, blushing madly. “You’re not scary, Klaus.“ 

“Look me in the eye and say that again, darling.” You mentally slapped Klaus for this. You just melted more. 

“I can’t!”

“Why’s that, hm?” Obviously Klaus knew his impact. And he quite enjoyed it to the extent that he wanted to mess with you for a bit. 

“Because-… you’re making me shy!!” You whined, finally looking back into his eyes. Oh, how magnifying they were. Just so pretty and-

“Awwwww, my darling. I’m making you shy?” Klaus smirk increased as his face got closer to yours.

“Shush youuuuuu!!” Not a second you felt uncomfortable or unsafe. Klaus’ promise at the Mikaelson’s Ball was enough for you to trust him. Plus by now you figured out different types of attacks by Klaus. And THAT was definitely not the position he had used before.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to tell me what to do.” His british accent was thick as he spoke. A big weakness in your eyes. “Especially considering I have you trapped.”

“Hmmm, but last time I checked you said you wouldn’t hurt me.” This time it was your time to smirk. Thinking you had a point.

“Oh, my my. What makes you think, I would hurt you? There are other lovely ways to overpower.” Klaus lowered one hand down to your side. The other hand firmly trapping your wrists above your head. “You shouldn’t be so cheeky.“

“Make me.”

“Don’t think I haven’t warned you, my darling.~” With that you felt long skilled fingers scribbling at your side as Klaus’ body pinned yours closer to the wall. His face was inches away from your face. You gasped loud before falling into big fits of laughter. That was definitely something you didn’t expect.

“T-That’s cheating!” You cackled, trying to squirm out of his grip but of course there was no way. Klaus was the strongest person you had ever met. 

“Don’t you think cheating is the wrong word considering I warned you anyway?” Klaus enjoyed the laughter that ringed through the room, his fingers making their way up to your underarm. Your knees went weak, your head tilting back as you laughed.

“Not fair!” 

“Fair square, my love.”He chuckled sweetly, a font smile placed on his lips. This moment made him forget about his responsibilities, the person who he was. “A bit sensitive are we?”

“I surrender!” You gasped, melting into a weak puddle. Your cheeks tinted into a sweet pink as tears rolled down your soft skin from laughing so hard. 

“So fast? What a pity!” Klaus slowly stopped the tickles, respecting your boundaries. He however kept you pinned against the wall. There was not a single inch between you and him. Your laughter died down into small breathless giggles. And when you opened your eyes, you once again met his chocolate brown ones. You gulped in the butterflies that built up, mentally slapping yourself for feeling them. Klaus was more confident though, his face getting closer to yours until your noses touched. 

“What a sweet sound your delightful laughter has, darling.~” With that he went to kiss your cheek. He knew you wanted to save your first kiss for a special moment. You had told him alongside a conversation you had during a family dinner with his siblings. 

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 8: Code Red

Season One | Season Two | Season Three

[Raining Hellfire Season 3]

Word Count: 3021 words

Warnings: swearing, stealing, some awkwardness, a very small and short fight

[A/N: This is literally a chapter about reader being invisible I love that]

Code Red

“This is a Code Red. Can anyone hear me? Code Red!”

You practically yelled into your radio, letting out a frustrated sigh when all you heard back was static.

Great, you thought, everyone is off fighting completely different things and I’m alone. Again.

You sigh, leaning back against your car. It was your own fault. You’d thought that by pushing everyone away, you could somehow keep them out of danger. But that was the funny thing about you and the people you loved. You were just as stubborn as eachother.

You squeeze your eyes shut, panicking. There was another person who could help, one you trusted with your life after they literally saved it. But you may have alienated that option when you told him you didn’t have feelings for him.

Every part of you just wanted to crawl under covers and cry until you didn’t feel anymore. You had lied to so many people and when you finally can open up to someone, the universe divides you. If your fate was to be all alone, it had succeeded.

But, as you said, you were stubborn.

Driving to Starcourt Mall was a daily occurrence for you. It shouldn’t feel so different this time but it was. Because you were about to plead for forgiveness.

You marched straight to Scoops, dead set on grovelling until Steve could help you find a way to stop whatever the hell was going on in the basement of the steelworks factory. He was a natural born leader and the others respected him. You weren’t so sure anyone would listen to you.

Arriving at Scoops was as bone-chilling as it came for you. A crowd of angry customers stood just outside, grumbling about the lack of service. They all started yelling at you once you headed to the employee room and you span around with a frown.

“I don’t fucking work here! There are hundreds of food places, you don’t need ice cream at 8 in the morning!”

A few people swore, some scoffed and left. You couldn’t care less.

Pushing through the door, you muttered your apology under your breath. You hoped it would work.

You enter the room and were met with nothing but empty chairs and a table full of scattered paper.

You frowned.

“What the…” Your eyes drifted to the cover of a vent, discarded on the ground while a chair stood under the opening.

You climbed up, peering through at the tight space and shook your head.

“Okay there’s no way any of them were fitting in there.” You mutter and in an instant, you notice something shiny laying further in the vent. You lean forward, arm extended as you patted around the vent until your fingers clamped over the object and pulled it out.

You frown at your hand.

You were holding a unicorn hair clip.

“Okay…” You couldn’t imagine it belonged to Steve, definitely not Robin. And it didn’t seem Dustin’s style either. There was only one person you knew that actually liked unicorns, a girl you babysat…

Your eyes widened. “Erica.”

Stepping down, you pocket the hair clip and walk over to the piles of paper left on the table.

“I can’t believe they dragged a ten year old into this.” You mutter as you scramble through the mess, trying to find clues. You move a few things when you find a blueprint. You stop, staring down.

The blueprint was scribbled over with red lines, some sort of pathway leading through the vents. It was slowly making sense to you now. They had found the Russian base. That’s what Dustin was trying to tell you.

“Shit.” You breathe, studying the documents. Your fingers traced along, starting from what you assumed was the Scoops vent and it led you all the way to the loading bay.

Maybe they were fine. Maybe they didn’t need help.

The phone suddenly rang, making you jump.

You answer it, unsure how to start. “Uh… hello?”

“Y/n!” Your uncle’s voice blared through the speaker and you relaxed, “I was wondering where you got to. I just got back and didn’t see your car, everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You lie, furrowing your brows, “It’s all good, I’m just… hanging with Steve.”

“I figured.” He chuckled, “Hey, listen. I was thinking we could do a movie night, just you and me.”

“I-” You start but he ignores you, excitement in his voice that made your heart drip with guilt.

“Look, a couple buddies at work promised to take over for me tonight so I can actually spend time with my daughter for once. What do you say?”

You smile at the way he says it with such ease. Mostly because he was definitely more of a father to you then Sam Mayfield had ever been. And you just couldn’t let him down. You glance at the blueprint on the table, gnawing your lip.

“Sure.” You finally agree and he chuckles.

“Thank god, I already rented the movie. Hey, see if Max wants to join us. Oh, and Steve. I’m starting to love that guy.” Jack says and you smile sadly.

“I will.”

“Okay, good. I gotta get back to work but I’ll see you later. Stay safe, kid.”

“You too. Bye.” You set the phone back down and sigh.

You needed to stop making promises you couldn’t keep.

The decision was practically made for you now; you needed to find the ‘true American heroes’, figure out how to stop Billy and be home in time for dinner. It it wasn’t your life, you’d find it funny. But then again, if anything went wrong, you could just call and cancel.

Marching out of the shop, you stop by the desk, slamming a closed sign on top of it before leaving, a series of groans echoing behind you. Ice cream was the least of your worries.

Pushing through the crowds with weak apologies, you headed upwards, hoping to get out onto the roof that overlooked the loading bay. You and Steve had snuck up there a couple of times on his break, practically chatting away about nothing but everything at the same time. You smile at the memory before it was replaced with your lies.

“I don’t feel the same way about you”

Shaking away the thought, you reached the next set of escalators and climbed them, in too much of a rush to stand and wait.

“Hey!”

“Watch it!”

People protested as you pushed past them. You made it to the top, practically stumbling out and turning around to apologise to the people. In doing so, you start walking backwards and, as everyone knows, your back is a major blind spot.

You crash into someone, causing you to stumble but they had quick reflexes, catching you before any permanent damage was done.

“Woah, you okay?” They laughed and your heart stopped.

You look up and the words disappeared from your mouth. Their grin faltered slightly when they noticed it was you but the dimples stayed put, tugging at your heart strings.

“Sorry…” You finally breathe, moving away.

“We need to stop meeting like this.” Eddie smiled and you couldn’t resist smiling back, laughing softly.

“How else would we see eachother if I didn’t almost injure myself?” You offer and he laughed. God, you missed that laugh.

There was a moment of silence before you both suddenly spoke over eachother, causing more laughs.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, you go.”

“No, it’s fine. You go.”

Eddie laughed again, his doe eyes creasing slightly at the edges. “Hi.”

“Hey.” You chuckled, starting again. “I am really sorry for crashing into you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head in amusement, “You seem to be in a rush.”

Your eyes widened as you realise you completely forgot what you were doing.

“Oh, shit, yeah.” You say, frowning. “I should…”

“Right, yeah.” He stepped out of the way despite the fact he was surrounded by empty space for you to walk in. He extended his arm, bowing and you laughed.

“Always so chivalrous.”

“Well, who would I be if I stood in front of a hero with her duties?” He smirked.

You walk a little before turning back with a smile, “It was really good to see you, Eds.”

He grinned as you said his name, nodding shyly, “You too, Queen of the Demogorgons.”

And with that, he continued walking away while you smiled at the nickname, a little sadly. If only he knew.

You stood outside the loading bay, observing the large men walking around with deadly weapons in their hands. You remembered Dustin said they had guns but you assumed he was exaggerating the situation. You look down at the crumpled up note in your pocket, frowning.

It said they switched shifts every hour and you had been stood here for 30 minutes. Any longer, and you’d fall asleep.

“Screw this.” You mutter, peering at the building they were guarding. There seemed to be only one entrance that was activated by a key card. From what you could tell, it was an elevator shaft and your eyes widened.

“Please tell me they have a key card.” You mutter in silent prayer, eyes shifting as a man dressed in a delivery outfit walked to one of the guards, holding a cardboard box. The guard barely glanced at him before motioning further down the building.

Your eyes followed him, needing to move yourself to see where he was going. He walked straight to a panel on the wall, whipping out his key card and soon enough, the space in front of him cracked open and you nodded, impressed. A secret opening.

“Am I really going to do this?” You ask yourself. But you already knew the answer.

Finding a delivery outfit was easy when your friends had their own lockers in the mall. It took very little time to find one unlocked, a spare uniform just sitting right there for anyone to take. It was a little baggy, even over your own clothes, but you hoped the box you were holding was big enough to mask that.

The only problem was the key card.

It needed to be a specific one if you wanted access to the building. You remembered the janitor you had seen by the carousel horse. It had to be one of the Russian spies.

As if by pure dumb luck, the man you were envisioning walked passed you, carting around his cleaning supplies with his head down. You followed him, watching as he approached a door. And then you saw the key card dangling from his back pocket and you twisted your face, pacing a little.

No, that’s not gonna work, you thought, but you were already walking over.

The janitor bent over to grab something from the bottom shelf of his cart and you casually walked by, pulling the card from his pocket and walking away as quickly as you could. You didn’t hear any protests from behind you so you assumed he hadn’t noticed. You hoped he hadn’t noticed.

So, now, you were heading straight to the guard with your hat shielding your face and a box in your arms. You had to admit, it was a whole lot heavier than you hoped.

Your anxiety heightened when you reached the man holding the gun. For a moment, he just stares at you and you think you’ve been found out. But instead, he grunts and nods towards the door. You don’t waste any time, moving quickly.

You thought you might have missed the entrance until you spot the panel, a sigh leaving your lips. You set the box down, grabbing the key card and grimace as you swipe it. The light turns green and the opening cracks open with a hiss. You raise your eyebrows.

Maybe you were more cut out for spy work than you thought.

You grab the box once again and enter the building. The inside was bright, over head lights illuminating room, causing you to stop and blink. Your eyes focused on what you assumed was a storage facility. It didn’t look much like a secret Russian base.

Setting the box down on the floor, you fan yourself. You should have rethought the layers.

You follow the rows of boxes, leading you to three different hallways with signed paths. You squint. They were all in Russian.

“Now this is just cruel.” You mumble, frowning. Your one semester of Russian wasn’t aiding you in this one.

So, you pick at random.

The sign says ‘лестница’ and you shrug, following it. You could already feel yourself getting lost.

The ceiling was covered in pipes as it led you to a staircase, heading down. That had to be good, right? Secret bases were usually underground.

You crept down the stairs and heard a faint buzz, getting louder with each descent. The space around you started changing, walls lined with metal casings and pipes, the over head lights not making it any less creepy.

Peering around the corner, you see a room full of machines and you frown. With a quick sweep of the area, you enter it, happy no one seemed to be down there.

You had no idea what the machines were for, blinking lights everywhere and multiple buttons you reminded yourself never to press. You noticed a speaker and headphones and frowned. Some sort of radio?

A lab coat was discarded in the corner and you peer down at yourself. You doubted delivery men were permitted down here. You unzip the grey suit, stepping out of it before bundling it and stuffing it behind one of the machines. The hat on your head joined the jumpsuit and you slipped on the white lab coat, puffing out air. At least it wasn’t as hot as the jumpsuit.

You walked over to the main panel, glancing at the clipboard laying on top of it. With a shake of your head, you realised you still couldn’t read Russian. Moving your body around the room, there were stairs leading up to another door, a drumming blue light illuminating the other side.

You slowly moved towards it, the small hairs on your arms shifting as goosebumps crept along the skin. There was something important behind that door.

Footsteps suddenly start approaching and in the panic, you grab the clipboard, spinning around to meet a man in a lab coat staring at you. He spoke in Russian, frowning. Fuck.

He let out a sigh, holding out his hand. You stare at it before slowly handing over the clipboard. He snatches it from your hand, muttering something else you couldn’t understand.

Before you could react, he thrust it back into your arms, pointing down a hallway as he said something else.

You had no idea what to do in this situation but he didn’t seem to think you weren’t working here so you followed his action, taking slow steps to make sure. He then sighed yet again, glancing at something on the machine before walking down the same hallway as you except he was much quicker. Probably because he actually knew what he was doing.

Luckily for you, he walked past you without much care, striding towards whatever he needed to get done. Whatever button he had pressed suddenly broadcasted something you recognised, even the familiar tune playing behind it.

The code.

You turn the corner just as a Russian guard approaches you, gun on hip and your throat tightened, gripping the clipboard. He nodded at you and you quickly nodded back, sighing relief when he passed you.

You walked another step before stopping, whipping you head around the strange hallway. You still had no idea where you were going.

Ready to keep moving forward, you heard a loud hum echo through the hallway, back from the way you came. It seemed to grow louder and your eyes widened. It sounded like an elevator.

You quickly walked up ahead, peering around the corner and found no one in the hallways, giving you time to move. You really didn’t want to be caught by whoever came out of that elevator.

You turn another corner and find yourself in an open space, a PA system spurting out Russian words as various guards and people in lab coats walked around. You gulped. You were way in over your head. At this rate, you’d be shot before you ever found the others. You should have just stayed above ground and tried to sort out the Billy situation with the kids.

You shake your head. You swore you were getting dumber with each decision you made.

You glance around to see someone exiting a room and your eyes widened. You caught a glance of the room and shook your head, tightening your lips. It was the room you had found earlier and you had just walked around in circles. You were never getting out of here.

But you remembered the radio and an idea struck your mind. Dustin always carried his around and since you left your radio on the surface, this was your best bet.

You tried to keep a low profile, stopping to observe something when a group of guards passed by. Then, you calmly walked across the space as if you had purpose, finding it surprisingly easy to get across the room undetected. Turns out all those movies were right; holding a clipboard with confidence really will make you invisible.

You get closer, noticing the panel on the door and pull out your key card. You go to swipe it when you can hear some sort of rummaging from the other side of the door.

There’s a faint thump before then it’s silent again and you frown.

“Fuck it.” You whisper, needing the radio.

You swipe the card and slip through the door, closing it behind you.

“AAAAAAH!”

A battle cry sounded behind you and you immediately ducked, someone’s fist making contact with the door and causing them to cry out in pain.

You swing the clipboard above your head to slam down but instantly stop. You’d recognise that hair anywhere.

“Steve?!”

Chapter 8: Code Red Pt II ->

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711/ @eddiesbirdie/ @livasaurasrex/ @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs/ @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever

[sp0il-my-night]

Lego Movie GCBC AU and Headcanons!

Human AU, some messed up content ahead, 18+! Things are trigger warned and I will TW in tags.

-Good Cop's name is Graham "Good Cop" Copp

and Bad Cop's is Blake "Bad Cop" Copp

-Blake gets more frustrated because of his foggy memory when he switches, it can make his outbursts worse (hence his love of throwing chairs and kicking things)

-Blake also loves black coffee, like 3 spoons full of instant coffee ground, no milk, no sugar. Graham has 7 sugar cubes and cream in his coffee.

-Blake struggles to let Graham be in control even though Graham is the "host" because he is their defense mechanism

-technically canon Bad Cop/Good Cop has DID

-Graham developed DID is because he was bullied as a child. He was very joyful and very obviously "going to end up gay" and he was flamboyant and his peers bullied him for it (TW SA) until he got sexually assaulted really badly by an older boy in his secondary school and that triggered it for him.

-GC (Graham) being erased in this AU happens as Lord Business drugs him and forces him into electroshock therapy. The man is fucking loaded and can do what he wants to whoever he wants, which is why Graham technically comes back (scribble cop) but he isn't the same person he was before, he is fucked UP but still the kind, lovely person he was

-they have some facial scarring post-torture

- Lord Business feeds into Blake's substance abuse issues

-GCBC have a clicky jaw because when Blake was fronting on a drug bust, he got his jaw broken by being hit in the face with an old TV, Blake broke the guy's arm in 2 different places and broke his nose whilst arresting him and then put a cigarette out on the guy's neck just to prove that he is the boss

-they also have a huge scar across their hip where he was stabbed and it nicked the bone

- he is a Catholic

— Blake being a horrible sinner and choking a guy out with his rosary. The rosary breaks and the beads scatter across the floor, when he falls back and "switches", Graham starts crying and saying his Hail Marys, desperately trying to scoop up the beads.

-Blake has killed at least once and Lord Business has paid to hide the evidence and shit, super corrupt police force

-Kragle is a drug in this universe btw

-President Business (Charles Bennett-Lloyd) also sexually abuses Graham and uses his religion against him to control him. He knows about his past, knows how to push his buttons.

-good cop is more skilled with a gun than bad cop (good cop is fantastic at non lethal shots and he has a steady hand and good aim. Bad Cop is good at more main-body shots and lethal fire but he is also less self-controlled)

-Ma Cop (Móirín Copp) would be the only person to ever see Blake cry... I like to think Ma cop would be super close to Blake but Blake would struggle to talk to her because he feels so much guilt for everything

-Blake is an insomniac and has a habit of self harming when he is anxious and scratches at his palms until they bleed

- Good Cop being a very terrifying angry person

He is so calm and collected on the surface... Still smiling with that cute glimmer in his eyes but there is a sense of something sinister, deeply unnerving.

"I am gonna give you one last chance to tell me what you did to that girl, buddy, ok?"

"I said I am not saying shit."

"Then I am going to make sure you get put away for a long, long time. You know what they do to guys like you in there? You're as good as dead. I wonder if they will do to you what you did to her..."

"Quit smilin' man- you- you're freaking me the fuck out."

[switches] "THEN TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU DID OR I WILL RIP YOUR TEETH OUT ONE BY ONE YOU PIECE OF SHIT."

You'd rather have violent Bad Cop in your face than an angry Good Cop because he is fucking terrifying!!

-Graham dealing with an abduction case... The kid being found dead and finding DNA on the corpse, Graham is left to question the guy Graham's fists are clenched, white knuckled clenched. He reads out the lists of injuries to the man whose DNA they found on the girl. "So? She was begging for it. It wasn't on me." And Graham stands up, cleans his glasses on his shirt and smiles.

"Are you a religious man, sir?"

"No, why?"

"God has a special place in hell for people like you. They are gonna pass you around like you are nothing, you're going to be put under watch because the second they find out what you did you're going to be gasping with a hole in your neck the size of my fist."

The guy gets let go, Graham is furious, so he hunts him down

Blake fucks his shit up BAD, Graham messes him up so severely he is sick and convulsing. They leave him for dead, he gets found and hospitalised but kills himself whist being treated because what happened was so bad.

Somehow, all the CCTV in the city wasn't working that night...

"I have a lot of respect for your work, Graham."

"Thank you, Sir."

"If you do that again, I don't think I will be able to stop myself from putting you in line, understood?"

"Y-yessir."

-No one believes Graham is capable of such things. The friendly neighborhood police officer who stops to pet dogs, buys ice creams for random people and helps Grandma's cross the road could never... could he?

-Graham getting worse with being terrifying after one horrible night with President Bennett-Lloyd...

Him terrifying some kid being held on minor drug charges... Making the guy so scared he pisses his pants and has a panic attack. Graham leaning forward, his 6'4 frame looming over this 5'5 14 year old who got caught with weed

"How would yer mammy and daddy feel if they knew what you did? If they knew their little boy had been doing drugs, that he is going to ruin his future, end up on the streets, will most likely end up bleeding out on the pavement at age 25 because he just couldn't follow the law?

And when yer daddy ends up turning to alcohol, beating yer mammy senseless because you were stupid enough to use drugs, and when he inevitably dies, potentially killing a family because he couldn't take it anymore, crashes whilst drunk. Who is to blame? Don't cry, buddy. This was all your fault, no use crying now."

"P-please let me c-call my m-mom-"

"Why? Because this may be the last time you ever talk to her?"

"Plea-please stop sir I w-wanna go home I want my mom!"

"Too bad."

Offering the kid a cup of water, the kid drinking it with shaking hands all whilst Graham just smiles, staring dead-eyes at him over the top of his glasses.

Graham goes home that night, walking right to the bathroom and throws up. He hadn't slept at all after President Bennett-Lloyd had raped him the night prior and he took it all out on that poor kid. He showers, sat on the floor just whilst the water runs over him, he then gets into bed and cuddles his plushie and cries his heart out.

I will post more of this stuff if people like hearing it! If you like it please let me know... <3