#there was one fanfic I loved so so much with them and the only one I saw where they are both old

[notsohumananymore]

While I do not speak much, when I was a fanfic author I stopped checking my acc for this reason. That is, I rarely got any sort of engagement.

I wasn't good by any metric; I was 13 to 19 at the time and relatively unskilled. I want to say I didn't write for engagement or any sort of community. I wrote to get the silly little stories out of my head. But that would be a lie. I have plenty of memories if forming short term friendships through fanfiction. I would engage with other people's stories, tell them how much I loved them, and how often I thought of them.

But when there was no sort of conversation around what I wrote I didn't find much joy or desire in sharing anymore. I have plenty of half finished stories in my google docs that I never shared because- to a 20 year old who had been engaging in fandom for nearly a decade- if there was no conversation around piece of art then it inherently had little value. So I stopped sharing all together. And eventually I began to take a back seat to fandom in general.

This is all to say- if you are engaging with art made for free, that art was created for the love of the art. It was shared for the love of the community. And to not engage with the community is to pretend that community doesn't exist.

That is how fandoms die. Not because people don't enjoy the media. But because people don't engage with it. The artists then feel like there's no point in sharing their art. No one will enjoy it. It has no value beyond their own eyes. That's how fandoms like Danny Phantom still survive. They keep speaking and engaging. And these newer fandoms- built with these new ideas that engagement is pointless or embarrassing- can only survive as long as the media is surrounds is still coming out. Once it ends, the fandom dies.

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[madebycloud]

No Erase

violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: on valentine's day, and you've finally worked up the courage to write a letter to your crush confessing your feelings. unfortunately, your friend accidentally gives the letter to the one person you can't stand. warnings/themes: fluff, one sided enemies, valentines, kissing cam, angry confessions, fast burn ig, mordern au words: 10.9k

You look at the letter in your desk, which you spent at least six hours working on to make sure it's perfect. Not just to make sure the words you're choosing are perfect, though—you want to make sure your handwriting is perfect enough that it doesn't look sloppy.

You grab the letter and read it over one last time… lovey-dovey bullshit, sappy stuff, romantic nonsense, etc.

You cringe at the last words, “Meet me at the bleachers... recess.”

It's so cliché, so stereotypical, and maybe you've had a couple too many cheesy romance movies in the past month. You've probably read a dozen fanfics that start like this.

If it were done by anyone other than yourself, you'd think it was absolutely dumb and corny as hell.

You know you could just message them through snapchat or on insta, or facebook, even just confessing through their email is a good idea… but, no, you just can't do that.

What if you say the wrong thing? what if you just happen to say something extremely cringy in your message? what if they screenshot it and put it on their story for everyone to see? what if they reply with “who is this...?” what if they start ignoring you?

Plus, you love your phone too damn much, and you know you're gonna end up throwing the damn thing because of the absolute panic you're gonna feel when your finger hits that send button.

You probably should have just sent a carrier pigeon or something… at least they could eat that.

Oh wait.

You forgot one thing.

You look around your room, trying to figure out what you left out. Your penmanship is on point, the words are as romantic as they could be, and the grammar is perfect... but what's missing?

The perfume.

The bottle of perfume is on your dresser, hiding behind the jewelry case. You spray it liberally, making sure the paper absorbs the smell of it, before finally folding it up neatly and placing it in the envelope. You seal the envelope with a kiss to the paper and hope it's the ‘special touch’ that it needs.

The smell is nice, just enough to have the paper absorbing it nicely, but not enough to be overwhelming (even if you love the perfume to death). You also want your recipient to be able to read the letter without cringing.

Okay, now it's really done. It's romantic, it smells good, and it's as perfect as you can get it.

Tomorrow's the day, and you finally feel confident. You have everything ready to go, you just have to figure out how to get your friend to deliver it to your crush's locker.

As you get ready for bed, the only thing you can't stop thinking about is how tomorrow will go.

Will they love the letter? will they finally realize the feelings you have for them and confess their own feelings? who knows?

—

“Come on,” you whine, begging Ekko for the fifth time. “Just do me this favor, please?”

Ekko just scoffs and gestures to the table. “I already told you, I have all of these-” he motions to the dozens of letters in front of him, “-that i'm supposed to deliver for girls that are crushing on Caitlyn.” He sighs. “I can't add any more to my to do list.”

“Please?” you beg, waving the envelope at him. “It's really important.”

Ekko groans and slumps forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Why can't you just deliver it yourself?”

“It's kinda.. embarrassing… for me to deliver it myself…” You fidget awkwardly.

“Ugh.” Ekko groans again but gives in. “Fine,” he relents, sitting up straight and grabbing the letter from you.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ekko waves his hand dismissively. He stands up and stretches out, letting out a deep sigh as he does. “Just remind me what locker number it is?” he asks, shoving the letters into his bag.

“Locker number is 13 C,” you reply, watching as Ekko slings his bag over his shoulder and starts walking out of the cafeteria. “It's pretty much right next to Caitlyn's, so you won't be missing it.”

“Got it,” he says, turning around and flashing a grin at you. “See ya later.” He gives you a salute before he disappears. 

Finally.

After months of keeping your feelings quiet, your secret would be revealed. You just have to hope that it doesn't blow up in your face.

—

Ekko walks down the hallway, scanning through the numbers above the lockers until he finds the one he's looking for.

Caitlyn's locker.

He scans the area for any sign of Caitlyn, and luckily for him, the coast is clear.

He pulls out the envelopes from his bag, each one slightly crinkled from being stuffed in there. He counts up the total- ten, no, twelve... wait. Fifteen? that's more than he thought, he could have sworn there were less. He dumps all the letters on top of the locker hole.

He looks down at the remaining letter in his hand. Right, that one isn't for her. He sighs and places the letter next to her locker, just like he was told to do.

He gives the locker one last look but doesn't give it a second thought and starts walking away, whistling as he goes.

But... what Ekko didn't know is that instead of placing it into the locker next to it, he accidentally dumped it into 11C, aka, Vi's locker.

—

You wait at the entrance of your school, impatiently bouncing on your feet. Valentine's day is tomorrow, and you can't wait for your crush to read the letter you poured your heart into.

Then, you spot Ekko, and you're quick to greet him. “Hey!” You throw an arm around his shoulders. “So, did you put it in?”

He nods, gesturing to the school doors. “Yeah, I did.”

You sigh, relieved that the letter is in your crush's locker and will likely be seen by them soon. “Thanks.” You give him a squeeze on the shoulder before letting go of him. “I seriously owe you one for this.”

Ekko just brushes you off. “It's nothing.” He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets as you start walking into the courtyard. “Just doing my good deed of the day.”

“Mhm, hopefully tomorrow goes as planned,” you say, “I just hope they like it…”

—

Tomorrow finally comes, and it's the day you've been patiently waiting for. Valentine's day.

You're in your first class, waiting for your teacher to come in. You're distracted, your mind racing with thoughts about what your crush thinks of the letter.

Then, someone suddenly sits next to you, and you turn to look at-

“What the hell?” you blurt out, looking at Vi as she makes herself comfortable in the chair.

Vi smirks. “Hey,” she greets.

That smirk alone pisses you off.

You still haven't gotten over the fact that because of her, your grades had taken a nosedive. The two of you had been paired together in science class, and she'd somehow managed to blow up the experiment, all because she wasn't paying attention.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you snap, glaring at her.

She simply glances at you, then back at the desk she's sitting on. “What do you think? I'm sitting.”

The audacity? 

“I know that, but why are you sitting next to me?”

“Come on, don't act like you don't know.” She throws in a wink, and your disgust quickly multiplies.

“Excuse me?” you sputter, completely caught off guard by her sudden flirtatious behavior.

“You really gonna act like you don't know?"

“No?”

She scoffs and leans towards you, smirk on her lips. “I mean,” she adds, eyeing you up and down, “I thought you'd be... happy... to see me.”

You're stunned, confused, and quite frankly, grossed out. “Happy to—WHY ON EARTH would I be happy to see you?” you spit out.

She huffs and slumps back into the chair. “Oh wow, thanks for the warm welcome.”

“Well, what did you expect? You haven't exactly been... pleasant to be around.”

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to reply but stops short as the teacher enters the classroom.

She finally shuts up, and you're left wondering what just happened. Why in the world is someone who is a pain in your butt cheeks suddenly flirting with you? is there something wrong with her? or has she lost her damn mind?

—

It's recess, and you're sitting on the bleachers, waiting for your crush to show up.

Your palms are sweating, you're starting to worry that your armpits are going to start smelling, you're probably going to end up throwing up on someone's shoes.

The letter was probably too much. The words were too romantic. The whole cliché “meet me at the bleachers” thing was just cringe. Who wrote that? oh right... you did.

But even if the outcome isn't what you hope for, at least you've got a good story to tell later or maybe a good reason to drown yourself in ice cream and cheesy rom-com movies.

You look around the bleachers once, twice, three times. You try to avoid glancing at your phone, but the urge to check the time only grows stronger.

It doesn't help that a couple of assholes are sitting a few feet away from you, loudly laughing at some video playing on one of their phones.

Recess is almost over, and your crush is still not here. Where the hell are they?

Maybe they could possibly be in the bathroom, having a nervous breakdown like you were? or maybe they're just taking their sweet time, making sure they're looking perfect?

Or maybe they're not coming at all.

And then you hear footsteps coming your way,

THIS IS IT.

Is your hair okay? yes. Are your teeth brushed? yes, dumbass.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms, trying to calm your racing heart. You turn around, ready to see the face of an angel, the face of a goddamn god-

But instead you see the face of someone you'd rather shove into a brick wall.

Vi.

Why the hell is she... smiling at you?

“Damn, you look good from this angle.” 

WHAT?

Why is this goddamn lesbian here with that stupid smile on her face?

“Why are you here?”

“Isn't it obvious? I'm here to see you.” She pulls out an oddly familiar envelope from her pocket and holds it in her hand, and you realize why it's so familiar.

Wait...  that's your letter!

The one you wrote to your crush. The one that's meant to be in their locker, not in her damn hands.

How the hell did it end up with her?

She looks at the envelope, studying the handwriting on it, and then her eyes lock with yours again. “This is yours, right?”

Your hand quickly snatches the envelope from her hand. “How the fuck did you get that?”

Vi quickly snatches the envelope away, holding it out of your reach. “Whoa, woah, wait-”

“Give me that!” You lunge for the envelope, but she sidesteps you.

Vi laughs, holding the envelope away from you. “Isn't this for me?” She opens the envelope and throws it aside, then pulls out the letter and starts reading it aloud. “Dear... what the hell, how do you... whatever. Dear blah, blah, blah, happy valentine's da-”

“-SHUT UP!” You try to snatch the letter again.

“Hey, I'm not done reading it yet! This is my valentine's gift, after all.”

“That letter is meant for someone else!”

“Really? Then why did I find it in my locker?”

“Wait, what? You found it in—you're joking, right?”

She shakes her head, waving the letter in front of you. “Nope, I'm not joking.”

“How did you-”

“Someone put it in my locker.”

“That's impossible! I would never—I mean to you? there's no way that was meant for you.”

Vi squints at the words in the letter, then looks up at you again. “But this is definitely written in your handwriting, right?”

How did it end up in her locker? and how the hell does she even know what your handwriting looks like?

Your eyes dart from the letter in her hands to her face. Yes, it's definitely your handwriting. Yes, it's definitely the same stupid letter you wrote because you're a hopeless romantic.

“Maybe,” you grumble.

“Maybe? so it is yours?”

You avoid her gaze, avoiding her smug look.

She starts reading over the letter again, reading it aloud. “Meet me at the bleachers, how goddamn cliché-”

“STOP READING IT!”

“Damn, I didn't think you could be this corny.”

“Shut up, just-” You try to snatch the letter out of her hand once again, but she pulls her arm away.

“You wrote this much for someone?”

“Why do you care so damn much, anyway? You didn't get a valentine gift or something?” and now you're just being bitchy as well.

“What are you, ten?” she retorts.

“And what are you, an idiot?”

“I'm not an idiot, unlike you.”

“Oh, wow, are we back in sixth grade now?”

She looks down at the letter. “I'm not the one who wrote a heartfelt letter for someone who probably doesn't even like you.”

“And how the hell would you know?”

“Have you even talked to them before?” She lifts her head, her smirk coming back when you didn't answer. “Since whoever the hell you have a crush on doesn't like you-”

“They could still-”

“See, everyone has a valentine. Well, almost everyone, which means your crush probably got one too.”

“Yeah, 'cause you got that letter they were supposed to receive.”

“Maybe I was meant to have it then.”

“You're seriously that sure that the universe wants you to have this?”

“Maybe it's a sign.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you just dumb on purpose?”

She grins. “I'm not doing it on purpose, and maybe it's a sign that I should be your valentine, that the universe is trying to tell you something.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow, so confident. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're actually serious.”

“And what if I am serious?” You look at her blankly as she shrugs. She actually thinks she's funny. “I mean, you don't have a valentine, which does kind of suck, and I don't have one, which is by choice, by the way, so I think the universe is clearly telling us something.”

What the actual hell is wrong with her today? she didn't get enough sleep or something, and now she's acting like... like this? this is weird.

She's being weird. 

“What, is the universe now trying to set us up? really? we're gonna get a movie based off this?”

“Hey, no one said this was a movie, maybe it's just a cute little high school romance,” she argues back. “Plus, you put a lot of work into this letter, and I'd hate for it to go to waste.”

“I'm not in the mood to start a cute little high school romance with you, okay?”

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Look,” she says, holding up a hand to stop you from replying, “it's valentine's day, right? and we both don't have anyone, so it's just... for today, we can, you know... see what happens, and if it doesn't work out, then we can just leave it alone and go back the way we were.”

You blink slowly. “That sounds worse than your whole ‘the universe wants us together’ bullshit.”

“Wow, don't act like the idea of it is so awful. I mean, I'm not that bad, right?”

You're going to disagree with that with every single cell in your body, but you decide not to, instead, you just remain silent.

Vi seems to take your silence as agreement because she gives you this insufferable smirk like she just won something.

She continues. “It makes sense if you think about it. We're both single, you're already in a lovesick mood because of this,” she gestures at the letter, “so if we do, you know... we can get it out of your system, and you won't have to spend the rest of the school year pining over some person who is probably ignoring you anyway.”

Why is she making some sense? no, why is she sounding like... a good option all of a sudden?

“It's just for today,” she reminds you again. “We'll just see where it goes. Who knows, you might actually have some fun with me.”

This feels like you're cheating on your crush for even entertaining this stupid plan. 

“You're basically saying that we're going to spend one day together and then you'll ditch me?” you retort.

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” she corrects you. “I'm saying we're gonna spend one day together, and if it doesn't work out, then we go our separate ways. It's just one day, it can't hurt. It won't be such a big deal.”

“I'm not going to be your one day entertainment.”

“Who said you'd be my entertainment?” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head at you. “You and I both know you have no other options. What're you gonna do instead, go home and cry over this person who doesn't even know you exist, or just spend the day wallowing in self pity while the rest of the school is celebrating love and stuff with their actual valentines?”

You wince at her harsh words because...  she's got a point.

You don't have anyone to spend this day with, and the person you'd want to spend it with will probably spend it with someone else... so yeah, you have no plans, and yeah, you're probably going to just go home and wallow in self pity, wishing that today was over already.

What would happen, actually? if you go along with her stupid plan. You could finally have an escape from pining over your stupid crush who probably doesn't even notice you.

“Fine.” You snatch the letter back from her.

“Wait, what? really?” She's actually surprised. No wonder, she's the one who came up with this stupid plan in the first place.

“I am,” you say, “you don't want me to?”

She huffs out a laugh. “No, no, of course not. I just… didn't expect you to actually agree.”

“And why is that?”

“I don't know, I figured you'd still have a little bit of decency left in you.”

What a backhanded compliment. “I have plenty of decency left in me, it's you who I'd question, and besides... it's just for today.” You fold the letter and shove it into your pocket.

Vi hums, not taking that offense to your comment. “Just today,” she repeats. “Then tomorrow, boom, everything goes back to normal.”

You nod. “Back to normal.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Whoa woah woah. Calm down. “Ew, what?”

“I didn't say I will kiss you,” she points out, “I said I could.”

You could say something mean to her words, you could try to change the subject or you could just walk away and forget this conversation ever happened.

But what you actually say is, “What's stopping you then?”

You hate how that sounds so casual. It wasn't meant to come out like that. What the hell?

You're not entirely sure, but something is definitely encouraging you to keep this going. Is it because you find everything she does annoying or that you've been pent-up over your stupid crush lately and you need to get it out of your system?

Vi raises an eyebrow at your words. “You want me to kiss you?” The words drip out of her mouth, like honey on a spoon.

“No,” you reply on instinct, because of course not.

But you can't stop the way your eyes flicker down to look at her lips. You look back at her face, and you know damn well she saw you look down at her lips, but she doesn't say anything about it.

“So now that it's official... you're my valentine, and today, we're going to have the shittiest, most awesome date-” she coughs, “-i mean hangout, that you'll ever have.”

“I doubt it.”

“Hey,” she says, “don't underestimate me, okay? I know how to have a good time,” and then she, god help you, she winks at you.

She looks like she's about to say something more, but she stops when the bell rings.

“Meet me at the parking lot after class?” she asks.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, sure.” You look at the field for a second and then look back, just so you can catch her reaction—and it's not at all what you were expecting. She's...  blushing?

It's subtle, more subtle than you'd think, but her cheeks are definitely red, and when she realizes you notice her, she looks away.

She looks embarrassed.

She's embarrassed?

“Anyway, see you there... valentine.” She doesn't look at you. “Try not to miss me too much.”

What? miss her? She sounds like she's trying to joke about it, but something about the way she says it sounds sincere? What the fuck?

She starts to walk away. You're pretty sure you see another smile on her face, and if you didn't like her so much, you'd probably like how she looks when she does.

But you remind yourself, this is Vi.

The same Vi you've known for years, the same Vi who made your grades worse because of a stupid experiment, the same Vi who you'd probably love to throw out the nearest window if you could, and the same Vi you can't stand.

You force yourself to turn away, and you start to walk back to the school building. You try to push the image of her stupid blushing face and her stupid pretty smile out of your brain because you are not... going to make the mistake of being attracted to her.

—

Time passes by more slowly than a snail.

What's the saying...? ‘A watched pot never boils?’ You're pretty sure you could watch paint dry, and it would move at a faster pace.

Why is time passing so slowly today?

You're not sure if it's because you have this... ‘hangout’ to expect at the end of the day or if it's because you keep getting distracted by the thoughts of what is going to happen later.

What you do know is that you end up spacing out way too much more than a person should.

Thankfully, you don't have any homework, but your notes for the day are just absolutely horrible, a mindless mess of scribbles and pointless words. You're definitely going to regret this later.

The last bell mercifully rings just as you're in the middle of doodling a small sketch of Vi's face in the corner of your notes.

You quickly shut your notebook and stuffed everything into your bag.

You need to find your goddamn common sense first, but it seems to have left the room before you could.

The hallway is a goddamn mess.

Kids are running everywhere in the halls, screaming loud as hell, some girl is trying to stuff her locker to the point where it's going to explode, and some kid has got a goddamn boombox and is blasting music from it. There's the hallway drama that everyone loves listening to even though they should be minding their own business.

Seriously, it feels like you're in the middle of a goddamn jungle with the amount of people screaming.

Walking to the parking lot takes longer than it usually would. When you get there, you see a familiar head of pink hair leaning against a red motor, scrolling through something on her phone.

She hasn't noticed you yet, and you find yourself unable to move your feet for a second.

She's just leaning back against the motorcycle, lazily swiping through something on her phone. She's even biting her lower lip slightly, and for some reason, you really don't know why that's such a good look on her.

Okay, what?

You need to stop letting your brain run away with these thoughts.

You are not going to act like a middle school idiot who just got caught looking at her crush or something. You're an intelligent, mature human being. You're definitely not some dumb kid with an embarrassing crush either. Definitely not.

The sunlight makes her glow, and when she looks up from her phone, you feel you're hit with a wave of goddamn sun poisoning because the sunlight hitting her eyes makes them shine.

She looks over and sees you, shoving her phone into her pocket. She gestures you over with a slight jerk of her head.

You force your feet to start cooperating and get your ass over there.

“Glad you came.” 

What kind of response would even be the right one for that? “Me too” would sound too enthusiastic. “Yep” sounds so disinterested, like you'd rather be anywhere else than here, when that might be partially true, but you're not trying to sound like a dick. “Same here” sounds like such a sarcastic tone, and “Of course I'm here, you're the one who forced me into this” would sound too rude.

Instead, you just say nothing, which she notices, of course.

“What, no smart shits today?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you mutter as you turn your attention to the red motor behind her. You notice the scuffed up leather seat and the worn tires.

You then glance around the parking lot, wondering how many times you've seen this before. The motorcyclist who's always late to class, the seniors who smoke too much and are always ditching school, the students with cars who love to show off the brand new car their parents gave them, and the popular girls gossiping about some poor girl who can't afford nice clothes.

The sound of a motorcycle engine starting snaps you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see Vi getting onto the motorcycle

She pats the back seat behind her. “You getting on or what?”

“...is it like fast?”

“Is it like fast?"” she mimics in a childish tone before rolling her eyes. “Yeah, it's fast. Get on it and find out.”

“I just asked a question, no need to be a dick.”

“Are you always this bitchy?” she asks, then throws you a helmet. “Put this on.”

You catch the helmet, and you put it on. “Only around you.” You approach the motor and try not to comment on the poor condition and instead climb on behind her.

You have no idea what to do with your legs, so for a few seconds, you just awkwardly sit behind her, trying to position yourself like riding a horse.

“Are you gonna hold on?” Vi calls out.

“Hold on to what?”

“Me, dumbass. Grab my waist.”

“Hell no.”

“It's for your own safety.”

“I'm fine,” you shift around, trying to find a comfortable position.

Vi seems to start losing her patience with you. “If you want to fall off the bike mid ride and splatter onto someone's yard like a squashed bug, be my guest.”

That gets you to hold onto her waist out of pure spite.

“Just don't squeeze my abs too tight. I still need air.”

You scoff. “Who the hell is so narcissistic that they think something as simple as that would affect me?”

She huffs, amused by your snark, and puts on her own helmet. “It's not narcissism. It's just a joke,” she retorts. 

You scoff again, but your hand tightens around her waist reflexively.

She chuckles. “Knew you couldn't resist.”

You pinch her waist. “Just shut up and drive.”

She snorts. “Touchy, aren't we?”

“Yeah, I am,” you reply sarcastically, pinching her waist again.

“Hey!” she exclaims, then sighs. “Okay, fine. I'll stop, just stop it.”

She starts the motor, and the hum of the engine vibrates throughout your body. It's louder being sat on top of the thing compared to how it sounds when you're on the ground. You feel this rumble throughout your chest, and you really want to comment on the poor thing making that much noise.

“Just hold on tight.”

—

“FUCK YEAH! WOOO!” you shout, punching the air with your fist and standing up. It's hockey, but who cares? you're not a fan, not in the slightest, but you're still screaming and cheering, all in a bid to support the team.

Vi is right beside you, shouting as well, while she eats a hot dog and washes it down with soda. “I thought you hated hockey!” she shouts over the crowd's cheers.

You shrug, but it's impossible to respond. You can't hear each other over the sound of the audience's cheers.

A few of the people sitting in the same section as you give you some weird looks, like you suddenly went insane. Well, can you really blame them? it probably looks like you have the sudden urge to yell random things for no reason.

Vi is the only one who doesn't look at you like you're some lunatic, her gaze is focused on the game, all while cheering, and occasionally making comments about the players.

It's different compared to watching it on TV. You're actually there, in person, surrounded by people who share your excitement and are as loud as you or louder.

You're also next to the most annoying person ever, but you don't want to dwell on that.

You drop down, back into your seat, and lean back, stretching your legs out. Your thighs and legs are starting to feel like jelly from all that screaming and standing. “Damn,” you tell her, shaking your legs. “I think I just strained a muscle or something.”

Vi laughs and sits down on her seat. “You know, I've been around here for years now. I probably know some people here.” She glances around the crowd of people, scanning them like she's trying to find someone in particular.

“Oh yeah? who's that in the third row then?”

She follows the direction of your finger and immediately points at a random person. “That's Fred! I once went to elementary with him.”

You have no idea if she's making that up or not. “And what about the guy next to him with the big hat?”

Vi squints at the section you pointed at. “That's George.” She then points at a girl with a black jacket. “That's Sneha,” she pauses, her eyes catching someone in the distance, “and oh-” her hand abruptly changes direction, pointing forward, “-that's Jenny,” she says, waving her hand. “Yo, Jen!”

The old lady turns around and nods her greeting. “Hi sweetheart, how's it going?”

“Doing good, gramps. Just watching the game with this one.” She nudges at you.

The old lady turns to look at you, her face taking the form of a smile. “Ah, a girlfriend, I see.”

Girlfriend? What's she talking about? “Um, no. Just a friend.”

Vi's eyebrows rise as her whole mouth goes ajar. “Friend?” she repeats, “We're friends now?”

“Only for today. Don't get used to the idea.”

The old lady, Melinda, hums. “Is that so? well, enjoy the game, children.”

“Yeah, yeah, we will,” Vi responds to the old lady, and once the lady turns back to watch the game, she leans in close, bumping her shoulder into yours. “That's Jen. She's basically the team's grandma,” Vi explains. “She's been here for years, goes to almost every game.”

You watch the lady continue to watch the game. “So she's like a regular here.”

“Yeah, sometimes she talks about how things were better in ‘her day.’”

“You two seem close though,” you point out.

“She's old and friendly,” she says, scratching her cheek. “Plus, old ladies are always fond of me. I helped her one time with her groceries after one game, and now she thinks I'm a sweetheart.” Vi shrugs, taking another bite of her hotdog. “She's also a nice lady. Always has candy and stuff to give out to everyone.”

“Candy, huh?”

“Yep,” she swallows and smacks her lips to get any food out from her mouth. “She always has peppermint discs, peppermint sticks, and chocolate sticks in her bag.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Why does she have candy anyway?”

Vi takes another bite. “Just something she likes to give out,” she says, between chews, then points at the old lady's lap. “That blue thing she's knitting is actually a hat. She likes to give that out too.”

“Really?”

Vi shrugs again, eating yet another mouthful of her food, still somehow managing to speak at the same time. “Yeah, and don't be fooled by the knitting and the candy. She could beat you in a game of arm wrestling. She's still really buff.”

You nod silently, impressed with this old lady.

When Vi swallows the last bit of her hotdog, she pulls out her phone and points it at you. “I'm gonna take a picture of you... and put it on Tinder.” The second the camera's click sounds off, it takes everything in you to not grab her phone and throw it across the goddamn stadium.

She continues taking pictures, each time saying something different, like, “Look at this one,” or “This one's really good.” She holds up the phone, showing you a picture that's... actually not half bad.  But you know giving her that reaction would just fuel her to do more, so instead, you scoff.

You turn your attention back to the stadium, trying to ignore whatever she's doing beside you. You look around. There are a surprising amount of men, guys, dudes, bros, etc. It's like they outnumber the women.

“There's a lot of dudes in here,” you comment. “Is it a testosterone fest over here, or what?”

Vi looks around as well. “Yep.”

“Do you think any of these guys like girls who love sports?”

Vi snorts. “Nah,” she replies, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “They're more interested in a girl who looks good in a jersey and knows how to bring them a cold beer.”

“So… basically they're only interested if we look cute and we don't open our mouths?”

“Pretty much.”

You groan. “I hate guys like that.”

“Hey, some guys aren't that bad,” she remarks.

“Yeah, and they're the ones in relationships.”

She thinks about it for a moment. “You know… I'm surprised you're not in a relationship.”

You give her a weird look. “Why?”

“Well, you're... y'know… cute.”

Is that a compliment or a fact? you are cute, you're aware of that, but still, it's weird how she said it and... did it look like there was a hint of something else in her tone of voice when she said that?

You force a smile, trying to brush it off. “Thanks.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, a silence you really want to fill with literally anything else than this weird awkwardness.

Just when the awkward silence couldn't possibly get more awkward, a sudden cheer from the crowd interrupts your thoughts. They're all looking up at something on top of the stadium. You furrow your brows before looking up, trying to see what it is they're looking at.

Your eyes land on the huge TV that's attached to the ceiling, and you see the words ‘KISSING CAM’ flashing in bright letters. The camera pans through the crowd, searching for a couple, and it lands on a couple who's sitting not too far from you.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!” You look over at Vi and see her cupping her hands over her mouth. She's standing up and shouting at the couple to kiss.

You watch as the girl looks up and sees the camera pointed towards her and her boyfriend. She whispers something to him, and it doesn't take a genius to know what she just said. The guy grins and leans in, giving his girlfriend a sloppy, wet kiss.

The crowd goes crazy, cheering and whistling. The couple pulls away from each other, both of them smiling.

You look at Vi again, who's still standing up. She seems to be enjoying this a lot more than you are, and you can see hearts in her eyes.

Once it seems like the camera has recorded enough footage, it moves to the next couple.

It goes to a couple sitting not too far away from you. The guy looks uncomfortable, but his girlfriend is completely eager to show some public affection. She grabs his chin and kisses him, but it’s only a quick, chaste kiss.

Vi yells out, “Come on, put some effort into it!” and then she sits down, leaning back in the chair.

The camera pans through the crowd again, skipping over several couples until finally landing on a group of guys. They look like they're having the time of their life, yelling at the camera and making rude gestures.

“Ah, boys…” an older man next to you sighs.

The camera captures the guys for a while, they're all laughing and having a good time.

The camera moves away from the group of guys and lands on Vi and a girl sitting right next to her. 

Vi immediately makes some hand gestures, shaking her head and probably saying no. “We're not-” but before she can finish, the camera moves away from them, unsatisfied with this answer, and lands on the other girl sitting next to Vi.

You.

Fuck.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!” you hear someone, it sounds like the same person who cheered on the other couples.

You look over at Vi, who's watching you with this stupid smile on her face. You glare at her, she's clearly enjoying this way too much.

You lean over to her, through clenched teeth, you hiss, “This isn't funny.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I think it is.”

“Well, I don't.” 

“It's only a kiss.”

“It’s still embarrassing.”

“Oh come on, it's Valentine's Day!” she replies. “What? are you worried that you'll suck at kissing or something?”

“Excuse me? I am an excellent kisser.”

“Oh yeah?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Then why are you so worried about this? it won't be some gross open mouth kiss, it'll be just a little peck.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Because I don't want to be seen kissing in public, in front of hundreds of people,” you say, lowering your voice, “And I definitely do not want to kiss you.”

“Come on, you don't have to sound so disgusted by the idea of kissing me.”

“Because I am,” you say simply. “I don't want to kiss you anymore than you'd want to kiss me.”

“I never said I didn't want to kiss you.”

That statement takes you by surprise, you had just assumed that she would be grossed out by the thought of kissing you.

The chants start to get louder as more and more people join in. “KISS! KISS! KISS!”

You hear the same guy from before. “Kiss! c'mon! it's just a quick kiss, do it.”

You hear another girl from behind you. “Oh, come on! one little kiss! what's the big deal?”

It's no big deal. 

But at the same time, you're starting to panic. You don't even know how to act right now, are you supposed to play along with this? are you supposed to ignore it? what the hell is happening?!

Your brain is starting to mush into mush because why are so many people chanting? why are they making such a big deal out of this? it's just a kiss, right? right… so why are you so nervous?

You turn your head to see Vi looking at you, her eyes staring into your soul.

“A kiss on the cheek will do,” she says aloud.

You're going to die.

Your heart is going to explode right here, in the middle of the stadium, and then your guts are going to spill out right in front of everybody.

Maybe it's best just to get this over with?

All you have to do is... just a kiss on the cheek. That's it.

You just have to get it over with before this turns into something bigger.

You're not really gonna enjoy this, you'd just get the feeling like you should have brushed your teeth harder in the morning.

Vi's not even attractive in the way that you would want to kiss her cheek, her skin probably sucks from waking up in the mornings, there's no way she remembers to wash her hair at least three times a week. What about her breath? There is no way that she actually brushes her teeth every day. Her breath probably tastes like stale cheetos and mountain dew. There is no way you're gonna get a single bit of pleasure from kissing her cheek.

But you do it anyway.

You press a kiss on her cheek, and it's... warm, and they burn under your lips. The smell of her body spray isn't overwhelming. It's subtle and pleasant. Her hair isn't as greasy as you imagined, and it feels kinda nice when your fingers brush against the side of her face. Her breath doesn't even smell like mountain dew and cheetos, it's actually minty and fresh, like she just ate a pack of gum.

You pull your face away before you let your brain get to you, but you just keep looking at her face because there is this huge grin plastered on her face that makes your heart beat faster. Her cheeks look red, and the tips of her ears are even red too.

The crowd goes nuts. You can barely hear the music or the announcers over the chanting. The kiss had lasted all but a few seconds, but the feeling on your lips linger.

You're both looking at each other like you've just seen each other for the very first time.

She's actually gorgeous.

How is it possible that you only now realized how beautiful she looks?

You look away, but even in your peripheral vision, you can see her looking at you. There's still a stupid grin on her face, and she looks happy.

She's actually happy that you kissed her on the cheek.

—

You and Vi are sitting in the parking lot after the game ends. Vi had bought some $5 pizza, but since the place is packed, you're now sitting in the parking lot with Vi's motorcycle parked behind you.

“I'm gonna be honest,” Vi starts, her face twisted up as she chews on a slice of pizza. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

You hum, nodding along.

Vi takes another bite, a big one, and chews on it, her cheeks stuffed. She swallows and sighs contently. “Man, I should have bought two boxes,” she grumbles, looking down at the one last slice left in the box. Then, she looks up, straight at you, and grins. “You want the last slice?” she offers, holding up the box with the slice still left in it.

You shake your head, and she looks at you with skepticism. “Are you sure you don't want it?”

“I had three slices already, I'm fine.”

Vi looks at the slice of pizza that's still in the box, then at you. She looks like she's considering something, then shrugs and pops the slice into her mouth. “Suit yourself,” she says, the words garbled since her mouth is still full of food.

Something about this moment feels... comfortable. Strangely comfortable.

It's weird. You don't understand why you don't feel threatened or uncomfortable or annoyed or any of those things, even though she's sitting right next to you.

But, oddly enough, you feel safe.

Or maybe that's just because you can't think of anything to say.

Or maybe it's because the silence isn't awkward.

Or maybe it's because you're distracted by the way she seems to enjoy her food.

Because... it's so... weirdly satisfying, watching her chew her food, watching her swallow, watching her use the back of her hand to wipe off the sauce on her chin.

You have no idea why you're paying attention to those little details.

But... you are.

You're not sure when you started paying attention to those.

You're not sure why you feel so comfortable around her right now.

You're not sure of a lot of things, actually.

You're not sure how to feel at the moment, or when your dislike of her had dwindled down to... whatever the hell this is, to whatever this weird, unfamiliar feeling in your chest is.

You're not sure why the corners of your lips keep trying to twitch upwards every time she makes some stupid face.

You're not sure why you're fine sitting in the freezing cold of the parking lot. Not even on the motorcycle, but on the cold ass ground, just sitting behind the motor, back leaned against it.

You're just fine sitting here, and you're just fine knowing that after this, you'll have to go back home and deal with a bunch of bullshit again.

You don't get it.

What changed?

She used to get on your nerves, and you used to get on hers.

She's still the same, isn't she?

And you're still the same.

Everything, suddenly, feels... different.

The air feels different, the atmosphere feels different, the whole world feels different.

The only thing that hasn't changed is her.

Well, no, that’s a lie.

She has changed.

She feels different.

She's not the same girl you can't stand.

And you're not the same girl she can't stand.

Everything is just different.

Maybe the two of you had changed.

But you're not sure how.

You're not even sure when you started noticing it.

But those little details about her, those little behaviors and quirks and habits that you used to find irritating and annoying… they're not bothering you anymore.

She's still a pain in the ass, but she's... well, a tolerable one.

For now.

You don't understand.

Or, rather, you won't allow yourself, at least not yet.

Because you're not sure how to process everything.

And, honestly, you're afraid to even try.

You look at her, still eating on the slice of pizza, and there's a small smear of sauce on the corner of her mouth. “You've got something on your face.”

She tilts her head. “I do? Where?”

Your eyes slowly move down, from her eyes to her nose, and then... her lips. Then, you notice something... freckles. She has freckles. little ones, spread across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, and they're… really cute, really, really-

What in ever loving hell are you thinking?

“Hello? you alive over there?”

You snap out of it. You're not about to let her see you be weak just because she happens to have a pretty face. “You had something right… here,” before she can respond, you raise your hand, reaching for her cheek. You wipe the sauce off the corner of her mouth with your thumb. Your thumb accidentally brushes against her lower lip, and something in your chest twitches. 

Vi freezes, her eyes widening as you touch her lips.

Everything feels... slower.

You can hear the sound of her breathing as she exhales, how it hitches when you brush your thumb along her lower lip.

You don't know how, or when, but you find yourself leaning closer to her, your hand still cupped on her cheek.

Her gaze flicks to your lips, her own parting slightly.

...

Holy shit.

You snatch your hand away, realizing what you just did.

Damn it, what the fuck?

You quickly stand up, trying to regain your composure. “I-” Your voice comes out as a croak. You clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “I should... get home. I think it's getting late.”

Vi is still sitting on the ground, and then she shakes her head, as if waking herself up. “...right. Yeah, it is getting late.” She slowly stands up.

“I... umm…” you start awkwardly. “I should-”

“I'll... drive you home,” she interrupts whatever you were about to say. 

Your head snaps up, surprised by the offer. “What? You don't have to-”

“I want to.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, so you shut your mouth. You don't want to prolong this weird, confusing moment anyway.

—

Vi's motorcycle comes to a stop in front of your house. The engine making that clunky, sputtering sound before it finally dies.

“We're here,” you say, trying to break the awkward silence that has been between the two of you since you got on the motorcycle.

You manage to finally slide off the motorcycle, but unfortunately, you're still attached to the helmet. You attempt to unbuckle the chin strap, but the damn thing seems to be glued to your head.

“Ugh, this piece of crap,” you mutter, struggling with it.

“Here, let me-” she cuts in, reaching for the straps.

“No, I got it,” you insist.

“I know you can, but let me.” 

You glare at her, feeling stubborn, but it's not like you're getting anywhere. “Fine.” You let your hands fall to your sides as she reaches for the straps.

She unbuckles it with ease, finally freeing your head from its confines.

You take the helmet off and give it to her, trying to not make eye contact. “Thanks.”

There's a moment of what could be an awkward silence before you both speak at the same time.

“So-”

“I-”

You cough awkwardly. “Go ahead.”

“No, you can speak first-”

“No, no, I insist. Go ahead-”

“I'm fine-”

“Stop being stubborn-”

“Says you-”

“Yeah, I am stubborn-"

“Shut up-”

“Make me-”

What did she say? Was that... an invitation?

“Are you challenging me-”

She snorts. “Pfft, no, that-”

“Then why would you say something like that?”

“I don't know, thought it'd be funny.”

“It wasn't.”

“It was a little funny.”

“No, it wasn't,” you scoff. “Whatever. You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, shifting on the motorcycle. “I just wanted to say…” Her gaze shifts from you to the side, then back to you. “I just wanted to... say that I had... fun today. Yeah…” She shrugs. “What about you? what were you sayin'?”

Huh. “I guess it wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Wow,” she says, deadpan. “So glad you're not completely miserable being around me.”

“Don't get your hopes up too high, it's just for today, remember?” you remind her.

“Yeah, I remember, I'm not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me,” you retort, and a smirk makes its way to your face.

“Watch it,” she warns, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. “I'm only tolerating you today.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you quip back.

The two of you share a look and then start laughing. You're glad she's starting to loosen up a little.

“Alright alright, truce?” She holds out her fist.

You roll your eyes but bump your fist with hers anyway. “Truce.” 

There's another silence, but it doesn't feel... awkward like the last ones.

Then, she speaks up, “Well... I guess I should go.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess you should.”

“See you at school, then?”

“Unfortunately,” you grumble. You take a step back, getting ready to turn around and head to the front door.

“Hey,” she suddenly says.

You glance back at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Can I…” she starts, then hesitates, “...can I ask you something?”

You shrug. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Just... promise me you won't be mad,” she hedges, not quite looking at you directly.

“I'm not promising anything-”

“Just... humor me.”

“Fine. I promise I won't get mad.”

She takes a deep breath. “Do... do you… do you actually hate me?” You're silent for a moment, trying to find the words, but she starts backpedaling. “Ugh, never mind, I shouldn't have asked, forget it, it doesn't matter-”

“No, no-" you interject, “I don't- I don't hate you.”

“You don't?”

“No... I don't hate you.”

“You sure?” she presses, leaning forward on the motorcycle, resting her arms on the handlebars. “Then why are you always so pissy whenever you're around me?”

“I dont-” you start, then stop. “I'm not-” you start again and stop again. “Remember that time in science lab?”

“When we lit the bunsen burner, the table caught on fire, we got three detentions, and everyone thought we were going to be expelled?” she recalls.

“Yes… that time.”

“Seriously? that was months ago.”

“I never said I was the most forgiving person.”

“It was a mistake,” she points out. “I didn't mean to do it, I was just being stupid.”

“It was still your fault. You didn't look at the instructions.”

“I was distracted,” she counters.

“By what, your big brain? cause you definitely weren't paying attention to the experiment instructions.”

She looks away, shifting uncomfortably on her motorcycle. “Actually, I was distracted by something…” her eyes return to yours, “-someone.”

“You're making it sound like it was a person you were crushing on or something.”

She falls silent, looking away again.

Wait.

Hold on.

What?

“Wait—wait a minute,” you demand, walking closer to her.

“What?”

“You were being distracted because you were crushing on someone during the science lab? That was the reason that whole thing happened? You couldn't keep yourself from being distracted because you were crushing on someone?”

“That's not fair to say,” she protests.

“Not fair to say?” you repeat, scoffing. “I literally got three detentions because you were more interested in staring at someone-”

“Fine! Whatever. Maybe I was distracted, maybe I wasn't paying attention-” she admits defensively “-maybe I was looking at-” she cuts herself off again. “Whatever, I'm going home.” She starts her motorcycle, not glancing at you.

“Hey-” you reach out, grabbing her arm. “Wait.”

“What do you want?”

“What was that person's name?”

“What does it matter?”

“Cause, I have a hunch.”

“Care to share this hunch with me?”

“Uh, Caitlyn Kiramman…?”

She snaps her head to you, eyes tracing up and down. “Are you actually this clueless?” she sneers, then drives away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” you shout. “Seriously, what is your problem?” you call out after her. “We were having a decent conversation, why did you-”

Suddenly, she stops, braking abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk with a quick skid. Before you can say, or think, she has her motorcycle facing you once again. She swings her leg over and hops off, walking up to you with a determined look.

“You want to know my problem?” she asks, coming closer. “I'll tell you my problem.” She grabs your shoulders, forcing you to step back. “My problem is that it's been years. Years, and you still have no idea, do you? you're still just as clueless as always.”

“What are you-” you stumble, struggling to keep your footing. Her hands are tight around your shoulders, holding you in place.

“You keep saying I'm the one who causes trouble, I'm the one who always makes your life harder-” she continues. “But you-”

You manage to find your footing and look at her face.

“-don't seem to get that you're just as guilty of making my life miserable.”

“Vi-” you start, but she doesn't let you finish.

“Every time you smile at me, every time you look at me, every time you talk to me.” She shakes you. “Every time you do something stupid, which is all the goddamn time,” she spits. “You don't seem to get that it drives me insane.” She huffs, letting go of you. “I've been right in front of you this whole damn time, and you just didn't even-”

“Didn't what?”

“You had no idea, did you? You don't understand why I’m so damn irritable whenever I'm with you, you don't get why I'm always trying to pick fights, why I can't just be civil, why I can't just be normal around you… you just think I'm a jerk!”

“Well, maybe you are. You did just grab me like a fucking maniac.”

“Oh, shut up,” Vi snaps. “Just shut up for a second.”

You shut up.

She takes a deep breath. “You think I enjoy this?” she asks, and the question sounds genuine enough that you regret the ‘maybe you are’ comment.

She scoffs. “I don't. I wish more than anything that I could just be calm and civil and… and nice around you. But instead, I'm always getting into your face, I'm always picking at you, I'm always trying to piss you off, because it's the only goddamn way I can get your attention.”

“Any time I try to be normal around you,” she continues, “I get... I get ignored. You act like I'm not even there. But the second I get in your face, the second I do something stupid or obnoxious-” she gestures at herself, “-suddenly, you're right there. You're looking right at me, you're talking to me, for once, you're actually paying attention to me-”

“Why do you even care about my attention?!” You don't mean for it to come out as angry as it does, but the pure confusion you feel causes you to raise your voice.

Vi looks away, a frown twisting her lips, before she snaps her gaze back to you. She sounds oddly embarrassed when she speaks. “Maybe because I'm completely, miserably, head over heels in love with you, okay?!”

Wait... what the actual fuck?

Vi looks away, the words leaving her in a rush. “I'm in love with you,” she repeats, quieter and slower. “There's no maybe about it. I've literally been in love with you since middle school.”

“So, instead... instead of just telling me,” you start, “you... you decided to be a jerk to me for the past six years?!”

“I was twelve!” Now her attention is fully on you as she gestures at herself. “I was a dumb kid, I didn't know what to do, but I was desperate for you to notice me. Every time I tried being nice, I got ignored, so... I guess I decided that if you weren't going to notice me in a good way, then I was just gonna piss you off and make you notice me in a bad way.”

“And then, I just kept doing it,” she continues, “because then, you would notice me, and you'd talk to me, and at least you weren't ignoring me. It became a habit. It was the same damn cycle every day. So, you know, I'm sorry if I don't suddenly know how to behave like a normal goddamn human being around you.”

She looks at you defiantly, she's expecting a fight, an argument, and the last thing she expects is for you to... laugh

You laugh. You don't laugh because you think it's funny, you laugh because you're so unbelievably shocked and overwhelmed that the only thing you can do is laugh. You try to cover it up, you try to muffle your laugh by bringing your hand to your mouth, but it's too late, you've already laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” she asks. “I'm being serious, okay? this isn't a joke, it's not some sort of prank. I am dead serious—I just confessed to you, and you start laughing? Jesus, you're actually heartless, you-”

You manage to get your laughter under control, your body still shaking with a few silent chuckles, but you manage to speak in between your breaths. “You have the worst-” and another chuckle, “-worst timing, I swear to god.”

“Oh I'm so sorry that my confession didn't please all of your fucking needs,” Vi says sarcastically, “but I've spent god knows how long in love with you, and I just had to take my shot. And what are you doing? You're laughing at me. Because your pride can't stand-”

“Would you shut up for like two seconds?!” you snap, cutting off her rant in an instant. “I'm not laughing because you confessed to me, okay?!”

“Then why are you laughing, huh? why is this so funny to you? because I don't find it very funny-”

“Because-” you sigh, and you're actually surprised by how... nervous you suddenly feel. “I never expected this, okay? I never expected you to actually... feel that type of way about me, and to top that, you're confessing to me in the stupidest way possible.”

“I didn't plan on confessing to you at all!” she protests. “It just... kind of happened. Plus, you've never been too keen on me.”

“I-” you begin because 'not keen on you' feels like an understatement. You've never liked her, or rather you've never let yourself even consider her as an option because your heart was set on one person only. “I just need some time to... process this.”

Vi scoffs, her face looking annoyed again. “You need time to process this? what's there to process? I just told you how I feel about you.”

“Yeah, well, I need to process that! Because you just dumped a lot of information on me, and right now I'm-” You pause, trying to pick just the right word. “...overwhelmed, okay?”

Vi's features soften, not quite fully, but just enough to show a little bit of sympathy. “Overwhelmed,” she repeats.

“Yeah…” you reply, “I mean... you just confessed to me, and I... I've never-” you gulp. “-I've never really thought of you... that way.”

“Never thought of me, or never let yourself think of me?”

Okay, woah, that's... a very accurate question.

She's right, and it's scary that she just pointed that out.

Maybe in the back of your head, you've wondered things, you've had thoughts, but it was all so brief, you've always been quick to brush them away. It never even crossed your mind that maybe you had been missing out on something.

You're not sure how to reply, and it gives Vi a chance to continue talking.

“You never let yourself think of me like that, huh?” she continues, “That's pretty sad, because I've literally been in love with you for the past six years.”

“Don't guilt trip me,” you snap. “It's not like I asked you to fall in love with me, is it?”

“I'm not guilt tripping you. I'm just trying to get you to understand how I feel. I'm just trying to make you see that I...care about you, okay? I'm not trying to—ugh!” She groans, rubbing a hand over her face. “I'm screwing this up, I'm screwing everything up, because apparently I suck at confessing and you… you mess with my head.”

“I mess with your head?” you repeat. “You're the one who's messing with my head! You're the one who's messing with my emotions, you—you just turned my entire life upside down, and you expect me to respond to it perfectly?!”

“Not perfectly!” she retorts. “You're seriously not getting it, are you? All I want is for you to-”

“What do you want then? you want me to say that I feel the same way about you? that I've secretly been in love with you for years and never said anything?”

“No, that's not what I— that's not what I want you to say at all!” She runs her fingers through her hair and pushes it out of her face because the haircut she has gets everywhere. “All I want you to say is that you'll even consider me as an option! I just want you to give me a chance. Is that so much for me to ask for?”

You groan to yourself. “Look, if you like me that much, then maybe you should at least make an effort… and then maybe... I'll give you a chance!” With that, you walk towards the front door.

Vi doesn't respond, not immediately, she just stands there watching you leave, a stunned look on her face. But she manages to shake herself out of that stupor in time to follow you.

“Are you serious...?"

“You want me? You gotta work for it,” you respond without slowing your footsteps.

“Woah woah woah, what? work for it?” she sputters, trying to keep up with you. “What more do you want from me?”

“I want-” You stop in front of the door, suddenly turning around to her. “-I want you to prove how serious you are. Just confessing to me isn't going to change everything, and if you're being serious,” you jab a finger to her chest, “then prove it.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to prove myself, huh? Please, tell me, because I'm really at a loss here.”

“I don't know, figure it out.” You shrug. “You claim to be in love with me, right? and if that really were the case, then you have six whole years worth of feelings inside that-” you point at her “-that heart of yours, and you better damn use it.”

“Fine,” she says, and her tone is determined. “You want me to prove it? I'll prove it. I'll prove it so much, you're going to be drowning in how much I prove it. I'm going to do everything just to win your heart. Just watch.”

That sounds cheesy, but... you'd be lying if you said you weren't intrigued. You scoff, turning around and opening the door, but not before saying, “We'll see about that.”

—

Vi stares at the closed door, her thoughts completely occupied with your words.

Prove it.

She shakes her head, a grin on her face as she walks back to her motor.

You and her have had a rocky past, but she's determined to wipe the slate clean.

Vi swings her leg over her motor. She grips the handles tightly and starts the ignition.

She's going to start from the ground zero with you.

And by god, she will prove herself.

[spideyson-stuff]

If Peter's love language is physical touch, and Tony's is gift giving, but Tony is touch starved, and before he met Peter the only person who REALLY helped him with that was Pepper, because she's the only one who really touched him, Happy and Rhodes rarely touched him, so Tony I was almost going crazy now because since Pepper is CEO she doesn't have much time to fulfill his need for physical touch anymore

I was reading fanfic and then I realize, touch starved people are not hungry for hugs, but also for simpler touches, handshakes, hands on shoulders, or when arms touch, then it made me think

Then Peter came into his life and for the first time in a long time he had someone who touched him willingly and made him comfortable with it, Peter simply gets excited during lab day and would throw himself next to Tony to show him an experiment by making their arms come together

Tony latches onto every little moment where the slightest bit of them exists, Peter grabbing his arm to show him something, or jokingly putting his hands over Tony's eyes and make him guess who is

One day Peter starts to stop doing things like that and Tony is dying inside, he doesn't know how to ask why, and it's driving him crazy

One day, Tony musters all his courage to ask this, but in a sarcastic way so Peter doesn't realize how worried he really is

Peter starts getting nervous and stuttering about how every time he touches Tony he freezes and acts kind of weird, so he figured Tony hated touch, Tony has never regretted his reputation as the "guy who hates physical touch" so much, and for the first time in a long time, he stuttered trying to explain that he didn't actually hate touch

Peter only became even more confused, but at least he understood that Tony didn't hate him, from then on the physical touch became more intense, like occasional hugs, Tony never told him to stop so Peter just assumed he didn't care

Sometimes when Peter stops hugging him, Tony starts buying him gifts to make him understand that he doesn't hate his touch, honestly it must be hilarious to anyone watching from the outside

[simplysamiblog]

The weight of a perfect goodbye

Before I even begin sharing my thoughts, I need to make one very important thing clear: I am a firm believer in the theory that Jayce and Viktor survived the ending of Arcane. As far as I’m concerned, they were teleported through time and space and are now slowly, painstakingly rebuilding their lives. Together, of course.

I’ve read dozens of (amazing) fanfics where this is exactly how their story unfolds, and some are so well-written that I honestly consider them canon.

That said.

I’ve seen several discussions online about this very topic:

"The creators confirmed it: they’re dead."

"The creators don’t know anything, they’re alive."

"Accept it, they were disintegrated by the Rune."

And so on.

But here’s what I think (not that it matters to anyone or carries any weight at all):

We can’t completely dismiss or outright reject the idea that, yes, Jayce and Viktor are, unfortunately, dead. At some level, we need to accept it—to believe it.

But let me explain why.

Not out of respect for the creators, the canon, the fandom, or anything like that. But out of love for the story, for the essence of their narrative.

At the risk of sounding cliché, do you really think Arcane would have been just as special if Jayce and Viktor had survived? Can you picture the scene? The protagonists recover, the fog of war and chaos clears, and there they are—Jayce and Viktor—standing atop the Hexgates, smiling. Ah, what a happy ending. What a good ending.

Sure. Nice. Nothing more.

Or imagine if we had gotten something like: "And they remained like brothers forever." Ugh.

It’s cruel, it’s unfair, it’s heartbreaking—

But it’s perfect.

The chain of events (cough) that led to that moment, the sacrifice that sealed their fate—

The relationship between Jayce and Viktor would never have been as impactful otherwise. Personally, I don’t think I fully grasped the depth of their bond until their foreheads rested against each other. In that moment of resignation, of acceptance.

Their story, their magic, was beautiful precisely because it ended right then, in that instant.

Jayce asked Viktor, "Why did you ever give me this?"

He could have let him die in the storm. Or, if he wanted to be more merciful, he could have simply saved him without giving him the Rune—

The world would have been safe. The world would have been saved.

But…

The world wasn’t as important as the moments they shared. Their friendship, their collaboration, their bond.

Viktor couldn’t deny another Viktor those moments. That brief but immense joy. Those years in which he had truly lived.

They were stronger than everything—stronger than everyone—

Even stronger than death.

And that’s why, in a way, their death is precisely what makes them so wonderful.

Call it cliché or a bit of a stretch, but the first comparison that comes to mind is Romeo and Juliet. Would it really be the most famous love story if they hadn’t met their tragic end?

"Happily ever after."

Or—

"Never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Sure, they might have survived, somewhere. And it’s absolutely valid to believe that.

But if not for that ending, for that terrible, heartbreaking moment, how much would we have missed out on? How many incredible fanfictions wouldn’t exist? How many fanarts, how many works of art would we have been unknowingly deprived of?

We’ll never know, and I don’t want to know.

Because what we have is amazing.

So yes, I accept the idea that they’re dead—because it makes the fantasy that they’re alive and in love so much sweeter.

But most of all, it makes their relationship a game of fate, something they built around each other. A perfect circle, an inseparable chain binding them as one.

Pulling them together, pushing them apart—only to bring them back to each other again.

Over and over.

Forever.

[onceinablueberrymoon]

scavenger hunt | salesman (recruiter) x reporter!reader

scenario: shortly after the korean version of the games ended, reporter!reader assigned to report on the american edition of the games in los angeles. since you would only be gone for a month, you and the recruiter decided to continue your relationship long-distance. unfortunately, that month happened to be february, so you wouldn’t be together for valentine’s day. at least, that’s what you thought. setting: set after the events of season 1; reader and recruiter are dating!; for added context, you can read the previous two parts: special report and (cheers) to the future. word count: 1.4k warnings: pretty suggestive, but no actual smut; fem!reader; salesman is called recruiter here since that’s his official title; second person POV; no use of y/n notes: happy valentine’s day!! ♡ this was a request to write something romantic for valentine’s day with recruiter x reporter!reader. i hope i delivered! also writing salesman/recruiter fanfics has made me learn so much about classical music lmao. please enjoy! border by @enchanthings-a!

“According to the results of the fourth game, 18 players remain. The fourth game, Obstacle Course, will commence tomorrow at 10 a.m. PST. Be sure to place your bets beforehand. Thank you for watching. Good night.”

You flashed a smile towards the camera, and waited until you were clear. You shuffled your papers and put them in your purse. Checking the time on your phone, you noted that it was 6 p.m. 

‘One hour to prepare,’ you thought as you gathered your belongings to leave.

You and the recruiter had been going steady for a couple months now. However, when you had been assigned to report on the American edition of the Games in Los Angeles, you knew you couldn’t pass on this opportunity. The Games were only for a month, you told yourself. So, you had been determined to make your relationship work long-distance, even if it meant losing sleep sometimes. You would call him in the morning before you went to the office, which was late at night for him in Korea. Despite the time difference, you had managed to make it work.

Now, you were racing to get home so you could call him for 7 p.m. your time, which was 12 p.m. the following day in Seoul. It was a special occasion: Valentine’s Day, and your first one together. You were disappointed you couldn’t be together physically, but you both planned to have a nice meal via video chat. You also bought candles with the intention of lighting some to make your background more romantic.

Hopping on the bus, you checked your phone for any messages from the recruiter. Nothing since last night, which wasn’t unusual for him. He wasn’t the most avid texter, but he would check in with you daily to make sure you were alright.

Once you got to your apartment, you unlocked the door and stepped inside. You didn’t have much furniture since you were only here for a month, but you tried to make it somewhat cozy with various knicknacks scattered throughout the apartment.

Dropping your bag on the dining table, something caught your eye. A wicker basket containing three items: a bun, a lottery scratcher, and a small black box with a pink ribbon. 

Your heart raced at the thought of someone breaking into your apartment. You curiously picked up the box and opened it, revealing a card inside.

Let’s play a game, my lovely reporter. There are five clues for you to find. Follow the rules. Clue 1: Bread or lottery? Only one.

You gasped, almost dropping the card. 

The recruiter had been here.

Your mind raced, wondering how he could have gotten in and more importantly, where he was. Reading the card again, a sigh escaped your lips. You had to play his game first.

Knowing the recruiter’s deep hatred for gambling, you picked the bun up from the basket. That didn’t stop you from eyeing the lottery scratcher in the basket though. You felt something behind the bun’s packaging, and found another card attached. 

Well done. Kitchen.

You walked over a few steps to the kitchen but didn’t see anything unusual at first glance. After opening a few cabinets, you found another box with a card inside.

Clue 2: Our soundtrack.

Confused, you wondered what that meant. Then, it clicked. You walked over to your record player, where a card was tucked under a vinyl record that had already been set.

Your favourite.

You placed the needle on the record and music started to play. The tune made you shiver instantly. Moonlight Sonata, a piece which the recruiter reserved solely for your sexual encounters, specifically the ones that involved Russian Roulette. While you wouldn’t say it was your favourite, you couldn’t deny that it triggered something deep within you.

As the song continued to play, you searched the card for any other hints and found another message on the back.

Clue 3: Go get dressed.

You blinked, confused. You were already dressed in your work outfit, and weren’t sure what clothes he wanted you to wear. Even so, you went into your bedroom and found a gorgeous silk dress spread out on the bed. You quickly put it on, marvelling at its smooth texture and how it felt against your skin. You slipped on the accompanying jacket so you weren’t cold. Inside one of the jacket pockets, you found another card.  

Beautiful, as always. Go put on your favourite necklace.

You blushed, moving towards your wooden chest to find your jewellery box. On top of your favourite necklace, you found yet another card. 

Clue 4: Go admire yourself in our favourite room.

‘Our favourite room?’ You wondered, racking your brain for ideas. You already searched the kitchen and main room, so you determined he must have meant the bathroom. It was only when you stepped in and noticed a briefcase on the shower floor that you realized why. You blushed, remembering the many, many times you had made love under the steamy fog of the showerhead in his apartment back in Seoul. You felt your face grow warm at the thought of his lips pressed against your neck.

Another card rested on top of the briefcase.

‘Won’derful. 01003. I trust you not to steal.

Using the code to open the briefcase, you found two ddakji tiles, a stack of won and a small note.

Blue or red? Only one.

You picked up the blue tile, knowing the recruiter’s preference for red. A note was stuck on the backside.

Clue 5: Remember, only one. Focus.

You were puzzled. ‘How is this a clue?’ You thought, checking all sides of the ddakji tile. This was the final clue. Finding nothing, you hesitated, your eyes locked on the red tile sitting in the briefcase. The temptation to take it was high.

‘But he said to only take one,’ you mused. Glancing back at the tile in your hand, you reread the message. 

“Remember, only one… Focus?” You mumbled under your breath as if that would help you understand better. Then, you tried focusing on the words individually. 

“Remember… Only… One… Focus…” 

As if you had a sudden epiphany, you took the first letter from each of the four words. 

“R, O, O, F… Roof?” Your eyes lit up. “Roof! He’s on the roof!”

You scrambled to stand up, the blue ddakji tile still in your hand as you went to get your keys and lock the front door behind you. As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and you pressed the button for the top floor of your apartment building.

Once you exited the elevator, you opened the door to the rooftop terrace. There you saw the recruiter, waiting patiently next to what looked like a picnic. You gasped at the candles surrounding the picnic blanket, as well as the assortment of foods he had prepared. He even got a bouquet of your favourite flowers. 

Just as you were about to start tearing up, he approached you and pulled you into a hug. You buried your face into his chest, trying your best not to cry. You could feel his chest vibrating as he laughed at your reaction.

You lifted your head to look into his eyes. “How did you..?”

“Recruitment is finished for now. The Frontman allowed me to take some time off.” He said casually. You hugged him tighter. He smirked, “Did you enjoy the game?” You nodded.

He whispered in your ear, “Did you follow the rules?” You nodded again. He tsked, nipping at your helix. 

“Then what’s that?” 

You looked down at your hand which still held the ddakji tile. You glanced back at him, confused.

He murmured, “I told you not to steal.” 

Your eyes widened in realization. You stammered, “I-I didn’t… I thought you meant the money!”

The recruiter didn’t listen. He took the ddakji tile from your hand and turned to gesture to the picnic spread in front of you. 

“I prepared all of this for you, and you couldn’t even play fair?” He pouted slightly. You furrowed your eyebrows and prepared to retort when his lips captured yours. 

“Perhaps you could redeem yourself somehow.” His eyes sparkled. 

“Oh, really?” You played along, smirking. “And how would I do that, exactly?”

He chuckled as he leaned in close to brush his lips once more against your ear.

“Let’s play a game.”

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Can you read my mind? (I've been watching you.) 𓆩♡𓆪

DEAN WINCHESTER X CUPID!READER

SUMMARY: Dean and Sam get a little unexpected help with a weird case. 2.3k

WARNINGS: none. first meeting. fem!reader. dean being wary of the supernatural but weak to a pretty face.

NOTES: VERY late valentine's post. I was struck with inspiration at 2 in the morning. Idk if Valentines are a thing or if i made them up but whatever. This is my first time writing for supernatural and my first time writing a fanfic in years pls be nice. Enjoy<3

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” You sigh as you materialize behind the brothers, making them almost jump out of their skin. “Love all over the place.”

You ignore their flabbergasted expressions as you look around the crowded plaza. It was Valentine’s day, and the whole place was decorated with pink and red hearts, the white streamers hanging from the trees moving with the breeze as couples and groups of friends walked around.

“Who are you?” You ignore the shorter one’s question as your gaze focuses on two kids sitting on a bench.

You could feel how much they liked each other, but they sat facing opposite ways, hands on laps and eyes stuck to the ground. You sigh and swiftly move your manicured hand towards them, pink nails shining under the sunlight. You can feel the brothers’ wary eyes on you, but you simply watch as the boy on the bench suddenly gets a notification on his phone.

“I just won two tickets for the My Chem show tonight.” He announces to the girl, voice incredulous. As they both start celebrating, the boy shyly looks up and invites her to go with him. She says yes, and after a few giggles and babbled words, they get up from the bench and leave.

You can’t help the little squeak that comes out of your mouth, your pastel pink wavy hair bouncing as you give a little jump. You immediately turn to the Winchester brothers, covering your mouth with your hand

“Sorry. You would think that after so many years on the job I would get used to it.” You sigh, twirling a lock of your hair with your fingers. “But sometimes it still manages to make me all giddy.”

You turn around just to find a gun being pointed towards you, barrel pressed to your stomach as green eyes bore holes into your head. Who you assumed was Dean Winchester was glaring at you, scowling, while his brother tried to block civilians from noticing the firearm in his hand.

Who would’ve thought green could be so beautiful.

You chuckle, not intimidated at all, which only made the brothers look even more confused.

“What the fuck are you?” Dean asks, the gun digging a little deeper into your skin.

“Are you Cupid?” This time it is Sam, his eyes studying your tiny pink dress, pink hair, and pink boots. But more importantly, the little bow and arrow that hung from your back.

You give the tall guy a cheeky smile.

“You must be Sam, hm? I’ve heard you’re the smart one.” You look back at Dean, delicate hand wrapping around the gun that was still being pressed against you. “Why don’t we put this away before you hurt someone.” You keep your eyes on him as you lower the gun. He lets you, a lost look on his face as to why he is letting you.

You take a step back and smile again, all rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes. “To answer your question, I guess you can call me a cupid, but I’m not the Cupid.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean’s eyes roam up and down your body.

“We’ve met Cupid before.” Comes Sam’s explanation. “So, you work for him? Are you an angel?”

You hum softly, pouty lips pursing. “I don’t work for the Cupid you met, the angel. But you humans also call my boss that.” The brothers’ expressions stay equally clueless. “I work for Eros, the-”

“Greek god of love.” You send Sam a sweet smile for his right answer.

“And desire, yes!”

“So you’re a Goddess.” Dean affirms more than asks, and when you turn back to face him you are struck with his beauty once again. Both brothers were drop-dead gorgeous, but something about the sharpness in the older one’s features made you want to ask if he was in any way related to Lady Aphrodite.

“Oh, no. Gods no.” You shake your head, making the multiple silver jewelry in your ears clink. “We work for Eros. Think about us like a version of Artemis’ hunters.”

“Yeah, because that gives me so much clarity.” Dean’s voice was breathtakingly deep, it reminded you of being in Lord Ares’ presence. (Happened once, never again.)

“Gods are incredibly powerful, but they often need help from mortals to do certain deeds. Artemis’ hunters, Hecate’s priests and priestess, so on and so forth.” You explain quickly. Sam seemed to understand you perfectly, Dean still looked a bit like he wanted to shoot you. “We don’t have an official name like that, but you can call us Valentines.”

“So you, what? Go around making people fall in love?” He asks with skepticism. You sigh. Everyone always had the same wrong idea.

“We don’t make people fall in love, we simply… present them with opportunities.” You chuckle and turn to look around the plaza, teeth biting down on your lower lip as you try to look for an example. You find a blond guy who was messing around with his friends near an ice cream shop. Right behind him, a girl in roller skates was moving his way.

“See those two?” I ask the brothers, pointing towards the pair. “If I didn’t intervene, they would never cross paths. But their auras, they are compatible, and they’re both lonely.” You squint, concentrating. Aura reading wasn’t as easy as fake witches made it seem. “But if I just…” Once again, you move your hand delicately towards them.

Suddenly, Blond Boy's friend's milkshake falls to the ground. It causes Blond Boy to take several steps back, getting right in Roller Skates Girl’s way. She immediately tries to stop, but it makes her lose her balance. Blond Boy’s hands are instantly on her waist, preventing her from falling on her back. They look at each other, eyes lingering, and your job is done.

You turn to the Winchesters with a satisfied smile, your flowy skirt dancing around you as you twirl, and they just stare back at you with wide eyes.

“I can’t tell how I feel about it.” Declares Sam, making you snicker.

“If it makes you feel better, I can assure you I can only influence circumstances.” You sigh, looking back at the two lovebirds. They’re already exchanging numbers. “Whatever happens from here on out is in their hands.”

That seems to do the trick, at least for the younger brother. Dean still looked like he was going to reach for his gun anytime soon. You sigh again.

“Look, I am not here to cause trouble.” You raise your hands in surrender, bracelets sliding down your wrists. “I came to talk.”

“Why would you want to talk to us?” You start to walk down the plaza, a little skip to your step. You stop right on the edge of the plaza where you could look down at the sea, waves hitting against the asphalt in a calming manner. Both brothers share a confused look before following you.

“You two are here for a hunt, right?” You ask walking down the edge of the shoreline, go-go boots click-clacking against the cobblestone. “The deaths that have been happening? People killing people they love?”

“What do you know about it?” You turn around at Dean’s accusatory tone. His gun was back in his hand, and it makes you roll your eyes. His eyebrows raise in surprise.

Looks like there was an edge in between all that sugar-covered whimsy after all.

“You know, everyone says you are distrustful, but damn.” You tsk. Why was it always the cute ones that had the biggest attitude problems? “I wasn’t going to intervene, but when I found out that the Winchesters were in my zone, I had to do something. You two are kind of famous for wiping out any supernatural beings you come in contact with.” You continue to walk down the shoreline. When you get to a light pole, you twirl around it until you’re facing the brothers again. “Any other day, I would’ve just hidden until you finished your job, but it is Valentine’s. The boss likes us to be extra active today.”

It looked like Dean wants to retort, but Sam interrupts him. “What do you know about the case?”

Your smile fades a little, and you let go of the light pole, your shiny eyes dropping to the floor.

“You’re looking for an Anti-Valentine, or that’s what we call them.” Your cheeks blush with shame. “They’re like us, Eros’ followers, but they…”

“Turn evil?” Dean guesses sarcastically, and you nod.

“Why would they want people to kill who they love?” Asks Sam, crossing his arms. “I mean, you look like you love love.”

That makes you giggle. “It is… hard. To do this job.” You lean back into the light pole, looking out at the sea. “There’s only so many times you can make two people who are perfect for each other meet, only for them to cheat or hurt each other before you start to have doubts.” You bite your lip, doe eyes glossing with sadness.

“And that makes them turn evil?”

“Well, most Valentines have had doubts at some point in our lives. But Anti-Valentines, they start to think humans don’t deserve love. They start getting angry and hateful, and it starts to poison them.” You swallow harshly, looking down at the floor before your eyes meet Dean’s green one, and the heavy weight on your chest turns a little lighter. Huh. “Valentines can’t manipulate mortal’s emotions, but Anti-Valentines… They've learned how to blind humans with anger. I think you humans may call it a rage blackout or something.”

The brothers seem to be processing your words. Dean studies you slowly while Sam looks like he’s racking his brain for any information on Valentines. If you hadn’t been so sad, you would totally be flirting with Dean right now. Yes, Eros was the God of love, but everyone seemed to forget he was also the God of desire. You could be a hell of a vixen when you were in the mood.

“So, how do we kill it?” Asks Dean, always ready to fight. It was hot.

“That’s the problem.” You sigh for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour, twirling around the light pole once again, cheeky smile returning to your face. “If I tell you how to kill them, I tell you how to kill me.”

Dean’s eyebrow raises, but his mouth twitches into a half-smirk. He looks you up and down one more time before his tongue runs over his lower lip, earning an incredulous huff from Sam.

“So, what’s the deal?”

“I’ll tell you how to find the Anti-Valentine and how to kill it, and you promise not to come for me after.”

“You got yourself a deal, sweetheart.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Dean was soaked in black blood when you appeared in front of him again.

Sam and he had just finally killed the Anti-Valentine, after being thrown against walls and dodging heart-pointed arrows for what felt like hours. Looks like those little bows aren't only for the aesthetic.

So while Sam and Dean looked a little worse for wear as they tried to catch their breath, there you were, in the middle of a filthy warehouse looking like a literal goddess. Pastel pink hair perfectly styled, shiny lips and shiny eyeshadow, your pink boots not getting dirty at all even as you walked through the dirt on the ground. The worst part was how you were pink everywhere. He wasn’t talking about only your clothes and hair. Your cheeks, your knees, your elbows. The palm of your hands and your pouty lips. Made him wonder, just how many other places were pink too.

“Nice to see you two are as good as they say.” You walk close to where the brothers are leaning against a wall. They were covered in blood and grim, slight cuts all over from when they weren’t quick enough while avoiding the Anti-Valentine’s arrows.

You stand right in front of Dean, and there is a halo of light around you. You were literally glowing. You were just so glad the Anti-Valentine had been taken care of. You would’ve done something about it before the Winchesters got into town, but Valentines couldn’t attack other Valentines, even if they were evil.

“Happy to meet your expectations, sweetheart.” Dean grunts, hand pressing to his side where there was a long gash.

You extend your hand towards him with a grin, palm up and ring-clad fingers waving. “My blade, please and thank you.”

You had given the brothers your celestial bronze dagger to use against the Anti-Valentine with the promise that they would give it back.

“What if we ever need to kill another one of these, hm?” It is impressive how Dean managed to look so hot when he was slowly bleeding out from his side. “Or another Greek creature.”

You smirk, and with a little jump you land in front of him. You lean in, biting your full lower lip and blinking up at Dean, long eyelashes fluttering. “Then I guess you’ll have to give me a call, sweetheart.”

You softly press a hand to Dean’s chest, making his breath hitch. You subtly wrap your hand around your dagger in his jacket’s pocket. When his eyes drop down to your lips, you press your hand harder against his torso. Gods, he was firm.

In less than a second, all injuries in Dean’s body were cured. Even the gash on his side. He looks up at you in surprise, and you swiftly take a step back, dagger in hand. You let out a dreamy giggle, taking a step towards Sam and pressing a finger to the tip of his nose, making a little “boop” sound and curing him instantly too.

You take another little jump back, facing both brothers as you brush your hair behind your shoulder and dangle the dagger between your slender fingers. With one last giggle, you wink at Dean.

“See you later, boys.”

You disappear in a cloud of pastel pink smoke, leaving behind a smell of caramel and red velvet cake.

And you knew you were gonna see them again. After all, you had a soft spot for pretty things.

[writingpitcheswearingpearls]

I'm trying to figure out why I don't like the way most dp fic writers add Dan to the gang. I'm talking about when he's filling a kind of Knuckles or Red Hood kind of role within the group, as the large, buff reformed dude that becomes a trusted member of the group.

I think I've narrowed it down to a couple of reasons:

1. They almost never address the amount of people he killed in the other timeline and what he attempted to do in the main timeline with any serious accountability. From what I've seen, anything in the form of a redemption arc for Dan is 99% of the time completely happens "off screen" and you never find out how he went from having a decade long evil bender where he had no qualms about killing anyone to being reintegrated into the group and everyone acting like he is safe to be around. It's giving "somehow Palpatine returned" levels of wanting your audience to just accept jarring information without any satisfying explanation.

2. They almost never acknowledge that he was Danny. I mostly see him get treated as just another clone by both the narrative and the characters. Up until the explosion, he had all the same memories as Danny because that was his life too. Most of the time he just gets treated as an entirely different entity, and I bet if someone read one of these fanfics with Dan they would assume he was another one of Vlad's clones that came out wrong. He's not just another guy, he is a sinister reminder of what Danny could have become under less fortunate circumstances because he literally IS Danny under less fortunate circumstances.

3. They usually don't take his pain seriously and take away what makes him interesting. He lost everyone he loved all in one go and it RUINED him. He was so fucked up by his feelings that he destroyed his human half to try to feel less, and when that wasn't enough he absorbed Vlad's ghost half. He's interesting because it's never clearly expressed within the show how much of his mind is Danny and how much is Vlad. Is Dan a fusion of them, or is he mostly Danny with Vlad affecting elements of his personality/emotions/empathy, or did he only absorb his power and that darkness is all Danny? Not only does the man threaten the lives of Danny's loved ones, he also threatens his sense of identity as a heroic person. All of this potential is ruined when he is treated as just a buff clone of Danny that likes fighting.

If you're going to add reformed Dan into your story I BEG you to put some effort into showing how he went through such a dramatic redemption arc to the point where he wants to be good again and that he earns his way back into the group, or at least have him show remorse for what he's done. PLEASE don't just make him the buff violent guy on the team where you're left wondering why any of the characters trust him all of a sudden.

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (1/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 4.1k for this chapter | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3

~

Author's Note: Probably my most insane fanfic project yet. After I successfully probed SOMEONE, aka @spencer-is-someone, into watching a Resident Evil Village gameplay, they fell in love with Ethan Winters but felt he went through too much in the game, prompting the idea "What if Loid went through all that stuff instead". And well, 32 thousand words later, here I am, inflicting this literal horror upon y'all.

I made a post about it, and the absolutely wonderful @buf309 went and made this amazing cover art, and I literally couldn't be more thankful for that. I was so amazed when I saw the first draft sketch that I went like I'M GONNA WAIT TILL IT'S READY TO POST THE FIC. Seriously, words cannot describe how grateful I am, I sincerely hope the fic feels satisfying enough for the work you've done <3

If you know how the Resident Evil Village story goes, this is pretty much the same... yes, in all of its "parts-in-jars" glory (if you know you know, if you don't you will soon), just with Twilight taking the place of Ethan Winters. There will be a few changes from the original story to fit Twilight's character, some to facilitate the adaptation from game narrative to fanfic narrative, some to fit my own tastes, and an actually hopeful ending because we were all left heartbroken after the ending of RE Village so might as well pour some healing juice to put our hearts back together same way Ethan puts his limbs back together and hope for the best.

Do take note of the warnings, please. There is one part of the story I actually had chills while writing (yes, that part for those of you who know, it will be slightly changed but the essence will be the same) and it is based on the story of a horror/survival game, so make sure you're okay to read something as intense as this.

The story is written in full, though I'm still doing small bits of editing here and there. I don't have a posting schedule, but I'm thinking of updating twice a week, or once if I see the editing is taking longer. Chapter titles are taken from track titles of the game's original soundtrack.

So yeah, long intro over, take not of the warnings, I hope you enjoy if you read on!

~

Chapter 1: Bloodthirsty

~

“Anya, don’t sit so close to the TV,” Loid said, not looking up from the counter.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He wouldn’t doubt that she hadn’t even heard him, let alone acknowledged his request.

He picked up a handful of minced meat to mould into a burger steak, deciding to give her another reminder in two minutes from now. Yor had just left to walk Bond, so it was only his direction she had to follow – and she was starting to make clear whose directions she preferred to follow nowadays.

He placed the burger on the pan as his body tensed. A split second later, the door burst open.

He jumped through the opening between the kitchen and the living room, but even that seemed a pointless blessing as thick smoke quickly covered the apartment.

He rushed through it to grab Anya, who trembled against him, but he didn’t have the time to move away from the shots.

Two silenced shots, piercing through his clothes and reaching into the skin of his back.

No blood. But they were pinching his skin, and he immediately felt groggy…

He dropped to his side, unable to move as figures approached him. One of them took Anya.

“PAPA!” she screamed at him.

He feebly raised his hand. “Wait,” was the only thing he could say, before his hand dropped.

More figures approached him, and then his vision went dark.

~

Focus, Twilight.

Don’t open your eyes yet. Don’t alert the enemy yet.

He held his breath for a moment.

He was somewhere cold, outside.

He could feel something soft but freezing underneath him. Snow?

His hair didn’t feel wet, so he mustn’t have been lying there long.

It was quiet. He could only hear distant sounds of wind and crows flying somewhere close.

He couldn’t feel anyone’s presence, so he decided to open one single eye to check.

But then both his eyes shot wide open.

In front of him stood a magnificent gothic mansion. It could be a mansion, or it could be a damn castle. It was surrounded by a thick wall, like a fortress.

He sat up. He was indeed lying on the snow, but it was the least of his concerns right now.

He had apparently been placed on the castle’s garden. Right in the middle of the winter, it was only decorated by a few naked trees as well as three scarecrows.

Those didn’t seem to do their job well enough, he thought, as crows still flew around, some even sitting on them.

He got up, checking himself for injuries. He couldn’t feel any pain or any indication of pierced skin. How had they drugged him?

It was then he realized he was now wearing his jacket.

Had they dressed him for the cold? While taking off his apron and the gloves he wore while preparing food?

What the hell?

Where even was this place?

Why was he brought here?

Where was Anya?

His attention was drawn back to the apparently useless scarecrows, and a chill ran down his spine – unrelated to the cold – when he noticed something eerie about them.

Carefully, he took a few steps towards them.

His breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to notice.

Those weren’t plain scarecrows.

Those were actual, human bodies hanging on wooden crosses.

His breath finally came out shaky, forming a cloud.

What the hell was this place?

Unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer, trying to notice for any details on the bodies, in case he recognized them.

All three seemed to be men, of ages between thirty and fifty, and they couldn’t have been dead for longer than a week or so. The cold might have preserved their bodies, but exposure to the outside would do as much more damage.

He couldn’t recognize any of their faces – or what was left of them.

Well, he didn’t even know where he was, how far away from Berlint or even in Ostania for that matter.

He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, looking around the walls surrounding the castle.

There was a huge metal door blocking the path outside. No climbing the wall; it was too smooth and covered in even more slippery ice. Climbing the trees wouldn’t give him enough height to swing himself out.

Which meant, his only way of getting answers was through the castle.

He must have been placed there for a reason, after all, and if they’d wanted to kill him they would have already done so.

He reached the entrance, and the door swung open easily.

The entrance hall was as luxuriously decorated as the outside hinted at. A lush burgundy carpet went up the few steps, leading to a wall where a painting of three young women hung.

The door closed behind him, and he didn’t miss the definitive clang as metal bars started descending right in front of it.

He turned, and for a few seconds he weighed his options.

He could break the door quickly enough before the bars descended too low, and slip outside.

But then again, they obviously wanted him in there, and again, it didn’t seem that killing him was their priority.

He faced forward, ignoring the sound of the bars trapping him in there.

He might as well play their game.

He walked to the painting. Underneath it was an inscription that wrote “Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra.”

Which one was which?

The women on the painting didn’t seem too different from each other. The painting itself didn’t seem all too enlightening, either; it looked like any common Romantic-style oil painting.

Well, it wasn’t going to give him any answers, would it?

He turned around, walking down a corridor and out into another, larger hall. He noticed how warm the whole building was, despite the freezing weather outside and the apparently old construction of the place.

This hall had hanging, lit candles all over the walls, though they couldn’t be the source of the heating. The lighting was low, but lucky for him, he’d been trained enough in low lighting for that not to be an issue.

He jerked back at the sound of a swarm of flies coming his way, then he sensed someone’s presence.

Flies, he could handle.

But then the flies started gathering together, and within seconds they morphed into three women, dressed in black hooded cloaks.

“Wha—?” he whispered.

“Looking for Anya?” a voice said, and he assumed it’d come from one of the women. Who had just formed from flies.

The absurdity of his situation almost made him forget that she had just mentioned Anya.

Which meant they probably knew where she was.

However, he was too shocked by the sight that he couldn’t move when one of the women, all of whom were cackling, approached him and pushed him backwards.

She swung the scythe she held in her hand, and he pulled his legs away just before she could bury it in his calf.

“Oh, he’s feisty!” the woman said with a wide smile.

Her arm then almost zapped through the air, and his left leg was exploding in pain before he could even register the movement.

He yelped in pain as she leaned closer to him and took a long sniff.

Her mouth and jaw were covered in blood, though her blond hair looked pristine clean.

“Mmm, man-blood,” she said.

She then leaned back and started dragging him, by the scythe embedded in his leg, as he still lay helplessly on the ground.

She was too fast. He flailed around, trying to grab at anything they passed by to make her stop, even though that would mean the scythe would rip his entire leg open, but then another woman reached his other side and buried her scythe in his right leg.

He threw his head back, biting down another yell of pain.

Could he just have one moment?!

The women dragged him down another corridor and into what he quickly realized was a bedroom. They removed their scythes, and he quickly reached to assess the damage, when he heard the blond woman say “Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” as she pointed at him with her hand.

“You are so kind to me, daughters,” came a voice of a woman who sounded older than them.

Older, and bigger.

She was sitting on a massive chair, holding an equally massive glass of red wine. She took a sip from it, then stood up and turned to him, saying, “Now, lets take a look at him.”

He raised his head to look at her.

And then raised it higher.

She had the build of a muscular woman, with curves proportionate to her height, which must have been about three meters tall. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat over her chin-length black hair, and a long white dress that reached down to her feet, though she moved comfortably in it.

“Well, well. Loid Forger,” she said. “Came looking for your daughter, I presume?”

He sat there, frozen.

They knew who he was – or at least pretended to be? And they knew Anya was also taken?

She walked closer to him, smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “For you to think you can waltz right in here—let’s see how special you are,” she nearly purred.

She threw her hands up in a sign for something, and two of the younger women said “Yes, mother,” as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

His first thought was that he was standing up surprisingly well for just having had two scythes ran through his legs.

His second thought was terror as one woman grabbed his hand, and the other produced a very sharp-looking knife.

Before he could jerk back, she sliced his palm open.

He bit back a grunt; it wasn’t a deep cut, but it would be annoying…

His last thought trailed off as the tall woman reached down, grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips… and started sucking.

Now he really was frozen in terror.

What the hell was this nightmare?

The woman pulled her head back, licking at her lips with a blood-soaked tongue.

She threw his hand away. “Hmm,” she said. “Still fresh, but only barely.”

He wrapped his hand into a fist, keeping it close to his chest.

“Then let’s devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!” one of the women said, handing a handkerchief to her.

“But I’m the one who captured him!” the blond woman protested.

“Now, now, daughters,” the tall woman said, patting at her lips with the handkerchief. “First, I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well, there will be enough for everyone.” She threw the handkerchief aside, smiling down at him. “Put him up!”

The young women surrounded him, and though he struggled, they were too strong for him as they put heavy manacles on his wrists.

A thick build, but he could break out of them with little effort.

But then, they secured a chain to them, and the chain started going up. He was lifted off his feet, and started grunting as the full force of his weight fell on his wrists.

Don’t say anything. Don’t let them take a hold of any weaknesses.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his voice from making any sounds as they headed out of the room. The tall woman had to bend to get through that door, and one of the young women – the second one who had stabbed his leg – bent down and picked up the discarded handkerchief, smelling the blood on it and laughing, as she followed them.

Breathing hard, he looked up at the manacles.

The pain was intense but manageable, though he already felt the tingling of numbness in his fingers. By his calculations, he had about fifteen or so minutes before cut blood circulation would start causing permanent damage.

Escape, first. Then you can freak out.

He grabbed the chain and dragged his body up. Though his legs were still bleeding, he brought them up so he could hold the chain between his feet.

He was gasping by the time he managed that, but at least he had less pain on his hands and a better view of the manacles.

They were old and rusty, but seemed to have a fairly standard locking mechanism. Bringing his body closer, he fished the lockpick out from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

Biting his lip, he worked through the lock of the right manacle. Just as it opened, his feet slipped from the chain and dropped down, causing all of his weight to drop onto his injured left hand.

The pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

Think! Think! Pull yourself together!

Taking in a laboured breath, he looked back up.

The lockpick had slipped from his hand and was now too far down for him to get it. His right hand was free, but he didn’t have any other options left.

Reaching up, he wrapped his free hand around his left thumb, and with a sharp pull, he dislocated it.

As his other hand was coated in blood from the cut, his wrist slipped through the manacle as soon as his thumb wasn’t in the way.

He dropped to the ground clumsily, not managing to balance his landing.

Wheezing, he looked at his left hand.

Bleeding, and a dislocated thumb.

He gave himself ten seconds.

Ten seconds to wonder where the hell he had gotten himself into, what that tall woman even was, standing at three meters tall and drinking blood, and what her “daughters” were, emerging from flies and also participating in… blood drinking? Cannibalism?

Ten seconds, and he was back to himself.

Focus, Twilight.

He looked at his legs – they were still bleeding, but he felt confident he could stand on them. Though those scythes looked sharp, they must have split a tendon or two apart.

At the corner of the room stood a vanity table, and on top of it, along with various cosmetics, lay a small green bottle with a cross on the label.

He stood up carefully, glad that his legs weren’t trembling. He picked up the bottle, carefully reading the label.

Medical alcohol.

Not one to trust this place that much, he opened the lid, and sure enough, it smelled like ethyl alcohol.

He sat down with a grunt, pulling his right trouser up. He didn’t have any clean gauze, so his only option was to pour liquid right over the wound.

He braced himself for the sting of pain, but instead, the liquid brought a cool, numbing sensation.

And then, right in front of his eyes, his wound closed then disappeared completely.

He stared at it.

Ten more seconds.

What the hell.

He looked at the bottle again. Medical alcohol, it said. It smelled like it too.

He looked back at his leg, raising his other trouser where the other wound still stood.

What the hell?!

Uncertain, he poured a little less liquid over that wound.

The wound immediately stopped bleeding as new skin seemed to form, though it didn’t heal completely.

He let out a breath. If he were honest with himself, this wasn’t really the weirdest thing to happen in the last few minutes, was it?

He turned to his mangled hand. Just how much could that liquid heal?

He poured an equal dosage to it, and was still surprised to see his thumb painlessly slide into its place, as well as the cut close completely.

Well, at least it could be useful.

He didn’t have time to worry over the supernatural. He had to get out of there, and find out where Anya was.

He took the path of unlocked doors, as he didn’t want to waste time and noise trying to break the lock of every locked door he found. Breaking the windows wouldn’t lead him anywhere – each one was sealed shut, and though he wasn’t averse to turning into a hooligan for the sake of escaping, the entire castle seemed to be surrounded by that wall.

He needed to get to a higher floor, but the safest and most silent path led him to the basement, where he found himself walking along piles and piles of dead bodies.

He had to hold his breath as he passed them by; apparently the occupants of the castle had the habit of feasting on the blood of humans, and did it so often that the amount of bodies was too big to act as decoration for their garden.

It was all men, however. As young as twenty-three, from what he could gather with a quick look.

The fly-women seemed to be confident enough in their hunting that they didn’t take away the handgun from one of the more fresh bodies. Twilight couldn’t tell if that was a police officer, a soldier, or a man aware of what he’d been dealing with, but it didn’t matter to him. He undid the holster, as gently as he could out of respect of the deceased man, and he put it on under his jacket.

He checked the magazine. Ten bullets out of sixteen.

He looked at the man. Had he shot those first six bullets right before he was killed?

The man had a shoulder bag on him, and inside was a box of bullets, a total of forty. He slid that too over his own shoulder.

He kept the safety on the gun on, but held it in his hand. He picked up a hunting knife from one of the other bodies and walked on.

As the bodies thinned out, he found a lone skeletal figure draped in a plain canvas cloak. The limbs stood out, bare, emaciated, and rotting. While other bodies were in a similar state of decomposition, they were fully clothed, at most with a few rips in their clothes. This one was the only one so bare.

And it was holding a scythe in its hand, old and rusty in comparison to the women’s scythes, but still sharp enough to do harm.

He approached it carefully, keeping both hands on the gun.

He thanked his training for that, as the figure moved when he passed right by it.

He yelped in shock, moving away from it and raising his gun at it.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t move!”

The creature, whatever that was, didn’t seem like it listened let alone register his words. It stood up, hunched over, then lunged at him with the scythe.

Not finding any alternatives, he shot right at its head.

The creature jerked back as a screech left its mouth.

Twilight held his breath.

His blood froze when he saw it still stand on its legs and try to swing at him again.

He shot again. He was perfectly certain the bullet got through its head.

Yet the creature moved again.

And he shot again.

Only now did the creature finally drop to its knees, but it was still screeching and growling.

Desperate, Twilight took the knife and drove it through the creature’s skull, three times, until he felt it stop moving.

It collapsed on the floor.

Hell knew if it would rise again. It was supposed to be dead already, wasn’t it?

He turned around and ran.

There were more creatures on the way. Some he slashed at with the knife, some he shot at, some he simply ran away from. A few managed to nick him with their scythes, and if he were honest, he was more worried about infections than the injuries themselves.

As he found a quiet corner, he pulled out the alcohol – or whatever that was. It seemed to work on the nicks too, making them close quickly and painlessly.

He supported himself on the wall, forcing his breath to calm down.

He had to get out. Now.

Holding the gun tight to his hand, he moved to leave, but then a buzzing and a voice sounded from behind him.

“Hmm. Warm, bright, red blood.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew it was the blond woman.

He made a run for it as flies swarmed around him, until he found a staircase going up, reaching into what looked like a kitchen area.

“Where are you going, little one?”

The woman appeared right in front of him, cutting off his path. She was smiling at him, surrounded by flies, her face still stained with blood.

“I just want to find Anya,” he managed.

“Aw,” she said. She then pushed him back and he fell on the ground. She lay over him, reaching at his neck and biting.

Yelling, he took the gun and fired twice at her stomach.

She reached up, laughing as fresh blood ran from her lips.

He shot at her head.

“Your bullets cannot harm m—”

Her voice cut off when another of his shots passed through her and hit the window behind her.

The glass cracked, and it quickly shattered as a cold gust of wind blew into the room.

The gust threw the woman’s hood off her head. Twilight tightened his hold on the gun when he spotted a massive, fleshy scar on her temple, a bald spot from her long hair.

The woman shrieked, then growled. Her skin, already pale as it was, seemed to start cracking and turn grey. She looked at her hands, still gasping in pain, and then turned to him, yelling, “You stupid man-thing!”

His mind finally picked up the pace. The cold made her weak?

He stood up, raising his gun at her.

“How dare you bare your teeth at us!” she shouted, then lunged at him with her scythe.

He managed to block her attack, pushing her back, and he shot at her face.

She groaned, still standing, but she said, “What? My body—it’s breaking…”

He kept his gun up. “Just let me go,” he said.

A wild rumble came from her mouth as she turned to attack him again. She reached him, and he could only block her at the last moment, his arms taking the full blow of her scythe. “Give up!” she said, reaching back for another swing of her weapon.

He shot twice at her head, and she yelled again.

The flies seemed to drop in numbers, and her skin cracked more and more. He barely managed to avoid two more of her attacks, and then she fell on him, ready to bite his head off, he supposed in the split second it took him to kick her off of him.

He shot two more times.

“This can’t be,” she said, weakly now, her body swaying.

“Let me go!” he repeated, taking two steps back.

She screamed and reached back with her scythe, and he shot again.

And then a sizzling sound came from her body, as she started swinging wildly, not reaching anything. She groaned and groaned, and her body transformed.

It seemed to calcify into gravel, as she slowly stopped moving, her hand still up in a pose of attack.

And then it broke down.

Whatever it was, it cracked into small pieces, and what started as the form of a woman was now a pile of something on the ground.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back on the wall behind him and slid down to the floor.

His hands were trembling, his feet felt like water.

What the hell was all that?

Were was he?

Why was he brought here?

And where was Anya?

What were those creatures…?

He closed his eyes. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds to freak out.

He just had to get out. Find Anya and…

He opened his eyes, his throat tensing.

Did he really have to find her?

As far as he was concerned, right now she was a liability to him. He had to prioritize his safety first.

It wasn’t like there were piles of bodies of dead girls around, was it?

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood back up. The woman had managed to hurt him a little, but the healing liquid was in short supply and he could handle those injuries up to a point.

The woman. Who was now a pile of ash.

Calm down, Twilight. Get yourself in order and find a way out.

The castle proved massive, and he couldn’t find any viable exit paths even as he seemed to reach what looked like hallways reaching into bedrooms.

Then, a mournful scream sounded from a floor below.

“What have you done to my daughter?!”

His blood chilled. If the “daughter” had been that vicious, he didn’t want to face whatever her mother had in store for him.

[ashes-writing-corner]

Well nevermind I guess I'm updating today yall XD

This is probably my shortest chapter to date but it's like really important and I kinda wanted to be it's own thing. I hope you guys don't mind lore dumps here but...wanted to give some insight to Orlok's backstory here. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, @landlockedmermaid77, @uncensored-aj, @mypackpride, @whisperingwillowe, @sasksdemorg, @emimuart, and @fern-and-bone

If you wanna be added to the taglist let me know! Enjoy!!!! ^-^

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 8

I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending…

He came so close, so close. Too close. Too close to spilling everything. It was so tempting, so damn tempting. But Orlok couldn’t let himself be tempted. He couldn’t let himself face everything. It was pain that led him to this. He would not let that pain infect her too, anymore than it already did.

His pain started all of this. His grief…

No. No it wasn’t his pain. It wasn’t his grief. It was his ambition. Then it was his grief. Then it was pain. An all consuming pain that he couldn’t dare speak of…

He had tried so hard. So hard to defy his own nature, his own being for his beloved Mirela. He loved her, loved her more than power, more than anything in all the worlds. His first true, real love. She loved him as well, but fearing for his well being, she only agreed to marry him if he gave up his sorcerer’s ways.

So he did.

For a time, anyway.

But nobody could defy their nature. Not him, not anyone. Mirela, his sweet, adoring Mirela, fell ill after giving him his greatest treasure: their child, a little girl Ileana. As hard as he tried to defy his nature, to escape his fate, It came back with a fearsome vengeance. Fate, God, whatever the higher powers who cursed him so, denied him his happiness, his future.

Mirela passed of her fever, and Ileana shortly after. Liev Orlok died with them, as he lost himself once more in his drive to find a spell to bring back his lost family. But no spell could resurrect the dead, at least not as they were. No Solomonari could bring the dead back to life. Despite everything, countless nights spent searching and going half mad with exhaustion and pain, all that he was was lost to him forever.

He had loved, and love only brought pain with it. He couldn’t save them. He had no right to mourn them. The rest of his days were spent in cruelty, returning to his previous dark ways in full force in an attempt to drown out that ever so present ache. He left Mirela and Ileana in the past, where they belonged. From their deaths to his own years later, he was only the Count, the Demon…nothing more. Nothing less.

But he couldn’t find his rest or reprieve even in death. His wicked ways, his power preserved what was left of him, and once again he was cursed by whatever higher, or perhaps lower, powers there were. Damned to walk the night eternally, to never see or even hear his loved ones again. It was less than what he felt he deserved but it was punishment enough.

And perhaps that’s what this place was. A place of punishment. A place to be reminded of all that he lost. It made sense, too much sense really. Hell? It may as well be at this point.

Orlok stopped in front of a door, one he never wanted to open again, to a room he never wanted to set foot into again. He was alone, the hounds were still with Ellen. His long fingered hand briskly touched the knob and then pulled back.

No…not today. Not this time. He couldn’t.

The vampire turned away from the door only to stop dead when he heard the soft cries of a baby inside. He knew those cries, reminding him of the fleeting time he had with his daughter. How he had tried to keep her alive and failed. The nights spent with her, trying to keep her little body warm as she suffered from illness. Her short little life had been nothing but pain, and he could do nothing to stop it, to take that pain away. All he could do was endure it with her, hoping his presence offered some sort of cursed comfort to his baby daughter. She passed early in the morning before sunrise, before he woke. He was in the room, but had left her alone. More or less, Ileana had died alone because of him.

Orlok shuddered, visibly shaken. It took a lot to unnerve him. As a solomonari, he had seen, heard of, and done things that would make many brave ones falter. But the voice of his late wife, the cries of his daughter…that was what struck him most.

The constant reminder of his failure was what unnerved him most. The little stuffed bear sat by the door when he looked again, as if attempting to entice him inside. It was slumped innocently, sadly, on the floor. He hadn’t placed it there…at least not that he remembered. Orlok growled at the thing, Not trusting it to be something real, though he’d held it many a time in those moments of weakness.

His daughter’s cries grew louder and the Count tore himself away from the door. He would not falter today.

Not today. Not ever if he could help it.

He was a monster. Monsters, he reminded himself, were not entitled to grief. Pain was their due, and it would suffice him as it had for centuries. It was bitter but it was the least he deserved. He kept walking away, the cries becoming distant in his ears until finally he was far enough away they couldn’t reach him. He breathed hard, closing his eyes tightly. Orlok felt a sharp, tight pain in his chest, and when he looked again, the little stuffed bear was in one of the chairs by the fire, still slumped over, sad and innocent.

“Îmi pare atât de rău iubiera mea…”

Short but kinda heavy! Hope you guys liked. If you enjoy this please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. If you wanna see more of my work please follow ^-^ thank you soooooo much guys ^^

[androcreates]

Byler Fanfic Masterpost

Hey y'all! It's going to be a while until I post my next Byler fic, so I wanted to create this post for easy travel, whether you've read one of my stories or not. If you haven't read them all, I hope they can tide you over for a while. Thanks for reading!

Painting Targets (143,839 words)(Will pov)(Teen+)

“Get ready to have some cabin fever for a season with new twists, new surprises, and all new Houseguests. Summer is here, which can mean only one thing. “Good evening, I’m Julie Chen-Moonves. Welcome to the season premiere of Big Brother. Tonight, 16 new Houseguests begin the most outrageous and challenging three months of their lives. Behind me, the Big Brother house has been transformed into the BB Lodge, where these Houseguests will move in, and compete in an over-the-top, campground-themed Summer. “In the end, one houseguest will be crowned the winner of Big Brother, and claim the $750,000 prize. “But first, we can’t get this Summer started until we meet our new Houseguests. Let’s begin with the first four.” - Or, the Byler x Big Brother fanfic no one asked for.

Ordinary Superstar (78,520 words)(Will pov)(Teen+)

Against better judgment, Will knew he wanted to know more. Wanted to know what was making Mike tick. So he moved steadfast, making his way back to Mike. Will taps Mike on the shoulder and he turns around. There’s already a smile on Mike’s face and Will wants to know why. Mike was an enigma, and Will wasn’t sure if he was someone to be solved, but he wanted to try. In one fell swoop, Will asks, “Can I paint you?” ☆ In his Junior year of high school, Will Byers has found solace in the biographies he reads and the portraits he creates. He has accepted the fact that his life is not at all interesting like those of the famous people he reads about, nor is he worthy of capturing his own likeness in a self portrait. Will has resigned himself to being an ordinary wallflower that moves through life without a strong opinion of what he wants. When Mike Wheeler takes invested interest in him, Will wants to shoot it down, shocked that he can grab someone's attention so much. But as he grows closer to Mike, Will discovers that Mike's inclination to think of him as a superstar isn't a farfetched idea, nor is it farfetched to think of Mike in the same way.

Will Byers' Last Known Existence (18,860 words)(Will pov)(Teen+)

Will sits in silence as their campaign begins to take form. He chews on his lips throughout the entirety of it. Like he hasn’t eaten all day. He avoids breaking skin, the taste of blood would ruin his train of thought. Eddie’s words barely reach him, nothing but garbled sounds that enter one ear and leave the other. Will tries not to make it obvious, but his sight never strays from Mike. ------ Will Byers, a young artist, moves to Indiana before his senior year of high school begins. He lives with a loving sister and mother, and brother who try their best to get him acclimated to his new life, but Will Byers' outlook on life continues to hinder him. As he goes through his senior year, Will finds solace in his friends and family, but soon finds himself in the arms of a boy named Mike Wheeler. Throughout the year, Will learns what it's like to fall in love, both platonically and romantically. His journey will lead him to the point in his life where he can finally be proud of himself and who he his, the impact he has on others and the impact he has on himself.

The Boy from Apartment 512 (5,027 words)(Mike pov)(Teen+)

“I think at this point it’s just pathetic.” Dustin says as he helps Mike put away his groceries. “Keep it coming.” Mike responds flatly. “Not only are you a stuttering mess around him, you quite literally can’t have a normal conversation with him. ‘You have a canvas with you.’ No shit Sherlock, got anything interesting to say? And to top it all off, you lock yourself out of your house.” Dustin is chuckling by this point. “It’s embarrassing at this point.” “Not too much, Dustin. I haven’t forgotten how much of a lovesick puppy you were once you finally dated Suzie.” Mike’s putting away his melted ice cream as Dustin continues. “That’s completely different and you know it. At least I’m actually dating someone. When was the last time someone’s been interested in you?” “I’ll have you know a lot of people are interested in me, I’m just not interested in them.” Dustin’s rolling up the reusable bags as he says, “I’m sure that’s the case.”

Sandbox Love (3,024 words)(Mike pov)(Teen+)

“Do you think the sand remembers us?” Will asks suddenly, and with Mike now focused on Will’s lips, he almost doesn’t hear the question posed to him. “I’m sorry?” Will looks at Mike, and he gets to look into Will’s eyes, seeing the beauty of the entire world in them, like two pearls reflecting light just perfectly to catch anybody’s attention. In fact, it was like Will had swallowed the stars, because various points on his face, and in his hair, and on his clothes, and on his teeth and tongue, twinkle and sparkle and shine, beckoning Mike closer, and he does so without a second thought as Will asks, “Like, do you think this is the same sand from when we were children playing in here?” The question makes Mike chuckle, because it’s so quintessential Will, and that’s what Mike loves about him, so when Will asks, “What’s so funny?” with a smile that bared his perfect teeth, Mike responds with the truth, “It’s just that’s what I love about you.” - After a night out, Mike and Will find themselves back at their old elementary school.

[ectospacecadet]

Sorry but yeah, this. I get that some people get into the Danny Phantom fandom by fanfics, fanart and so on, but at least try to watch the show or something. To be a fan of something you should at least watch the original source material and enjoy some of it.

Not saying you can’t enjoy what the Phandom makes etc, but I don’t feel like that makes you a ‘Phan’ since you haven’t seen the show or don’t intend to. That or you watch the show then go “wtf, this entire show isn’t like the fanfics, I’m going to just go back to reading them and pretend this doesn’t exist.” That’s not how it works. Especially when characters in said fanfics act NOTHING like their canon portrayal counterpart. I’m talking emo-Danny or Gotham-Danny.

Danny isn’t scary (he has literally 1 scene where he’s scary), Danny doesn’t dress in all black, Danny’s not edgy. He’s an anxious, stupid and stubborn teenager with anger issues at best, not saying that people can’t portray him as otherwise, just that fanfic Danny isn’t canon Danny.

I hate Sam, canon-in-show Sam, Phandom-improved Sam I like but I don’t pretend her actual character isn’t a terrible person. I acknowledge she had terrible/no character development but I still enjoy the original show and the fanworks with her included.

“Guys, I love The Owl House. Never seen the show, but I read only the fanfics and look through all the fanart and I’m now a weirdo too!”

See how wild that sounds? You aren’t a fan of the show, you’re a fan of the fans, that’s nice and I’m grateful you appreciate the works made by others, but that does NOT make you a fan of the show itself.

This is also why so many Danny Phantom fans are SO sick of the DPxDC tag (or tagless -_-) filling up our feeds because 90% of those fics are more DC-centric with characters who call themselves the same names as DP characters but act nothing like them, and don’t even get me started on DPxDC getting involved in the DP events now, can’t even have the DP events to ourselves anymore.

The DP characters are just there to fill an empty slot that could EASILY be filled with OC’s because that’s pretty much what they are at that point, they only bear the resemblance through name and powers. It feels like there’s zero respect for their source material or that everything that makes the characters THOSE characters is removed and Danny’s basically stripped down to “a teenager with ghost powers” then people tack on a bunch of random stuff that has nothing to do with Danny after that.

At least AU’s and headcanons keep some of their original traits, but the one piece of fan-media I do see that seems to disregard it entirely is DPxDC, and then the people who make it get confused why Danny Phantom fans don’t like it. It’s because it just feels disrespectful and rude to change so much to the point it’s not even the same thing.

I’ve read many DP crossover fics that don’t fail to do their research, that respect both medias that are crossed over with each other: DPxMarvel, DPxGF, DPxB10, DPxTeenTitans(!!!) and more, yet somehow DPxDC just doesn’t manage to do DP as much justice, that’s kind of ironic isn’t it?

Anyway, yeah, sorry but I had to get that out of my system and I don’t care if people get upset with me over being honest about things, I KNOW I am not alone in this.

I will acknowledge that those DPxDC fics are well written, but I feel like the name ‘DPxDC’ doesn’t feel right, it’s “DCxBoy-Who-Happens-To-Be-Called-Danny-Fenton-And-Also-Has-Ghost-Powers”. Just make a DC OC with Ghost Powers at this point ffs -_-

Not to sound like a stupid gay nerd or anything but why the fuck are you guys making fanfiction and AUs for a show you've never, ever watched. You drive me up the fucking wall!

You cannot be a fan of something you've never watched / read, that's like saying you're the worlds biggest fan of spaghetti when you've never eaten a single noodle. And then you go and write a blog post about what you THINK spaghetti tastes like, and how good it'd be with ice cream. Make it make sense guys c'mon

[perksofbeingpoet]

and how lucky is todd, how lucky to have found a home in other people's hearts.

knox comes in without knocking, two t-shirts thrown over one of his arms like a waiter in a posh restaurant, the seams soft and worn. "you said you like this colour", he smiles, sitting down on todd's bed because it's no big deal, because he's comfortable enough, "and i think we have the same size."

they're sitting over a trig assignment, the tips of their hair brushing as they lean in close over the paper. meeks is frowning, exhaustion and frustration pulling at his eyebrows. "maybe it's- it-", todd starts, but the words clump in his throat and he's not that good at maths anyway. meeks smiles, a reassuring warmth in his eyes like dawn fog in summer. "no, go on."

charlie is laughing, laughing in a very big way because that's the only sort of laughter he's capable of - clutching his sides and doubling over, blindly grabbing at a street lamp for support. "you know", he says finally, wiping his eyes, his words slurred from drunken laughter, "you're way funnier than you give yourself credit for."

cameron drags his shirt over his head, already running, and todd is trying to catch up. warm, peagreen grass tickles his feet as he races down the short stretch of hill, throwing his shirt on top of cameron's which is already crumpled up by the peer. cameron yells "first!" and sputters lake water when todd jumps in after him, laughing, wet-haired.

"c'mon, one more sip." todd shuts his eyes and shakes his head, his exasperated chuckle doing nothing to hide the heat in his cheeks. "this is silly, you don't have to do this." pitts rolls his eyes and waves the spoon like a weapon until todd nods and lets pitts feed him another sip. "if this is the only way we'll get some food into you when you're sick, i'm ready to commit. now come on, there's still half a bowl of soup left."

[shapelytimber]

i noticed obimaul isn’t in the “one killed the other” category in your sapphic au character sheet! does obi-wan not kill maul in this au? :0 (btw you’re doing god’s work)

Nope ! I really like Maul's canon death, but alas I love Obimaul so the bitch can stay around a bit longer :)

Didn't really refined the details, but the broad idea is Maul came to tatooine to kill Obi wan but couldn't bring herself to do it, and Obi wan could 't do it either.

Maul after losing everything and years of loneliness not being able to bring herself to kill Obi wan, the most important person in her life.

And Obi wan alone on tatooine, having lost everything and everyone she ever knew can't bring herself to refuse Maul's company. The jedis are dead, and Maul might be a dark side force user but not really a sith lord, why refuse the company of the only one left from her previous life.

Two sad touch starved old ladies living together in the desert <3 oh nooo Obi wan's shack only has one teeny tiny bed, guess we *have* to sleep on top of each other.... Wdym in the 15 years we lived together we could have bought another one >:( shut up

Very much "you are my greatest ennemy my hatred for you kept me alive long enough to realise you are literally the woman of my life" vs "the one night stand that killed my dad and I bisected 20 years ago came back to haunt me. I don't have it in me to keep you away and I've seen enough people I've known die so you can stay. Also if I have you under my roof that's one less potential threat to the skywalker shaped child living 30 minutes away, you did try to run little Anakin over with your shitty little bike once. Keep your loved ones close and your ennemy closer am I right- wait"

By the time the original trilogy rolls around, Maul passed away tho. Peacefully in her sleep, of an anevrism, falling down some stairs idc she just isn't around for Luke Skywalker and co bullshit

(hehehe thank you <3<3)

[cozylittleartblog]

idk if I've said it before, but your portrayals of both Rouxls and Queen are among my favorites, and the way they are when you combine the two is the sole thing that got me to say "yes" to queenkaard. When I first saw it in the game and it started catching on as a ship, I was like "nooo I hc him as gay," but then after seeing your stuff I was like "oh nvm I totally see this now."

i think hearing "i didn't see this ship before, but after your art i understand it and/or even ship it myself" is one of the nicest compliments i get, because it makes me feel like i'm representing something meaningful and sweet about a pairing and having people understand what i think is so great and captivating about them. i've gotten a couple asks like this and sometimes i forget to respond but i always really appreciate them :) thank you very much

[seradyn]

No cause I need to crash out about this a little bit because YOURE SO RIGHT ABOUT THE MISOGYNY 😭😭

I’ve read SO many fics where Sylus is OOC it’s concerning. People can write what they want, I’m a firm believer in that, but it feels like we aren’t even talking about the same character sometimes. I’ve read fics where Sylus calls reader/mc ‘slut’ during intimacy and I physically recoiled because Sylus would rather die a thousand deaths than call us that. Even if you asked him to he’d double and triple check you actually wanted that and still probably wouldn’t be thrilled to.

Like…genuinely, you can write whatever trope/kink/whatever you want, but if you slap Sylus over it then at least tag it OOC. I read a cheater fic that wasn’t tagged and had a vague summary, and I just had to grimace when I realized that’s what the fic was because Sylus would never in a billion years EVER cheat on us. The same goes for the other Lis. They are designed to love us and only us. They would never be so desperate for sex that they would fucking cheat. ESPECIALLY Sylus, who has stated he’s never been with anyone else. Not to mention, this man doesn’t give a fuck about random flings or one night stands. This man makes love, wants more than anything to just be able to make you feel good and show you how much he loves you. Why do you think he asked for consent multiple times before he dove in, in Nightly Rendezvous? Men like that don’t cheat 😭😭

As for the fic you’re mentioning, I’m glad I haven’t seen it, cause that is just…so far from what Sylus would do 😩 That implies a level of emotional immaturity that Sylus has repeatedly shown he is not down with. He literally encourages us to feel our emotions in a healthy way, and wants to be the safe space where we can feel them without judgment. People like that aren’t going to ghost you out of pettiness, that is just so fundamentally incongruent with how he acts and what he says. I could maybe see Rafayel doing something like that, but even then I don’t think he’d ghost us for DAYS, that is just an insane level of childishness.

Speaking of Rafayel, I read fics of him and Xavier too, even though I’m a Sylus main, and this problem is not nearly as common or consistent in how they are misperceived. Rafayel does get mischaracterized, a lot of people tend to forget how dangerous he can be, but even then I don’t see it as often in fics. And Xavier, I’ve only seen one or two fics where he’s OOC, and usually it’s with the same tropes discussed above.

I think a lot of this issue stems from 1. Infold’s marketing team and 2. Sylus first few interactions with the player in the main story. Unfold framed Sylus as the booktok daddy dom alpha male in his trailer, and a lot of people haven’t been able to look past it to the kind of character he actually is. I also know quite a few people write for Sylus without actually playing the game, which is fine, but again, some OOC tags would be nice 😩 And as for the main story, if you don’t bother to dig any deeper, he does seem like some dark romance dom, but if you look into his lore, especially the dragon myth you can see so clearly just how much pain he is in that you don’t remember him. It breaks my heart replaying those parts now because you can just see the anguish in his eyes that the one person who saw him as more than a monster doesn’t remember him. It’s so fucking sad 😭😭

That being said, I do wish the game did more to address the way Sylus treated us at the start. I’ve read some incredible fics that do, specifically this one, and it’s so fucking good. It holds Sylus accountable while acknowledging how actually romantic and loving he is. That first meeting he wears a mask to hide his pain, and this fic gets it so so right.

As someone who has been writing fanfic for years, a lot of time my fics are almost like a character study, diving into how they would react in different situations, what has motivated them to become the character they are. Sometimes I get stuff OOC too, and I’ll often put little explanations in the notes about why I chose to make them act the way I do, how I came to that conclusion about them. That’s different then blatantly writing them to do and say things they would rather die than say or do for the sake of a kink or trope. Cause that’s what it boils down to most of the time.

I also understand we’re talking about a fictional character, and none of this really matters in the grand scheme of things. But as a fic author myself, it’s painful how much Sylus in particular is twisted into something he just fundamentally isn’t. Why not write for another character at that point? 😭

It’s so clearly misogynistic because woman are always expected to cater to the man. Always expected to make room for his emotions and not get that compassion back. I’ve seen it so often in real life, I just want to tell these woman YOU DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER. And the Lis want to be that better for you. As I wrote in my most recent Sylus fic, he would genuinely be so disappointed if you just rolled over and let him treat you like shit. Like, babes, who hurt you? An intimate partner should not be acting like a child with petty games like that 😭 It reminds me of that video of the guy saying “bitch, what’s for dinner?” to his gf, and when she responds meekly, he tells her to slap him if he ever speaks to her like that. That is Sylus. He’d want you to beat the shit out of him if he ever treated you that way. He loves and respects us way too much to let anyone, including himself, get away with that shit.

I’ve been meaning to make my own post about this, so sorry for the long crash out. I just…AHHH I MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM. IVE SEEN THIS IN OTHER FANDOMS TOO IT MAKES ME INSANE

Hi! This is my first ask/time doing one of these but I just wanted to come here and say I ABSOLUTELY agree with practically EVERY word you said about sylus. Honestly BLESS your soul for you saying it because damn did it need to be said.

hihi, thank you for taking the time to send me something!

and thank you!!! i'm not usually one to post my 'hot takes' in public because i usually can't be bothered, but this really frustrated me. ESPECIALLY because i write my own fanfic, characterization is super important to me because if it doesn't feel like the character... what's the point, right? i get that there's a certain level of nuance to each character, and nobody but the creator of said characters is going to get them perfectly correct, but for god's sake sylus was CREATED by infold to love you, to be in love with you. this may just be my take, but having been on the recieving end of that treatment: nobody who truly loves you would ignore you for something so inconsequential to sylus as a buisness meeting or whatever. (i have two specific fics in mind but i don't want to reference them speficially because i'm genuinely not trying to call out anyone in particular)

because like. again, from what my friend has said and from what @bloomfalls and @seradyn have added to my og post in the tags, sylus wants YOU and only YOU. he's not the type of man to leave you wondering, to make you second guess his feelings.

^ direct quote from said friend ily dawg ur the realest

writing fanfic is really hard, esp when it comes to characterization, but i feel like in a game where these guys are SPECIFICALLY love interests it's like... guys the writing is on the walls, the floor, the cieling, and a sticky note duct taped to your forehead. it's so easy. for other fandoms, where it's not focused on love interests it's harder to be like 'x wouldn't act like this', so i will 100% give those people grace. but if i wrote something for sylus, (winkwinknudgenudge) i feel like! it would be pretty easy, given how we are GIVEN A MANUAL ON HOW HE TREATS THE PERSON HE LOVES.

and lastly: as i said, writing sylus so that he expects the reader to come crawling back to him after dogshit treatment and having the reader do exactly that, is misogynistic. i'm sorry, it has to be said.

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….