#this also might turn into a tuesday problem

[baekuras]

nothing like leaving your broken shower curtain to be a problem for later/the next day because after almost flooding your bathroom you didn’t want to deal with that as well only to come back to it halfspread across the room at 3am after having completely forgotten about that disaster

oops?

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea. 

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

-

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[greycaelum]

My shoujo ass cant stop thinking of kenma and masaki wit my baby sai...................

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { First Princess }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Genre: fluff, domestic life, parenthood

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.7k)—/overprotective Dad Satoru, he's having a girl dad dilemma, lovey-dovey moments, fluff, overall domestic life, 3rd munchkins cameo, slight mention of jujutsu society, childhood friends—/

𑁍 A/N: Trick or Treat! And Satoru got the treat from his Baby Cat! In exchange for a stomachache~

Gojo Satoru... never in his life thought he would die this early...

He can't believe time has passed so much that his bones are starting to hurt when he moves or that his already white hair can get any whiter... or that—

"Love... I have never once doubted where our kids got their drama skills." You sighed, interrupting his monologue.

"Baby!" Your husband whined from the couch and stomped his feet. "She's just 13!"

"Exactly... Calm down 'Toru." You sighed and wiped your hands on your apron. You could see Kouki watching over his two younger siblings in the backyard... Satoru, on the other hand, is having a midlife crisis because of his first daughter.

Barefooted, he trudged to the kitchen and hugged you from the back, a petulant pout on his lips.

"I should have taught her to kick harder as a kid. Maybe I should enroll our daughters in an all-girls school instead. It's not too late y—"

You stuff his mouth with the mochi you're making, effectively shutting him up and, at the same time, calming him down. His ranting turned to munching, and his chattering mouth soon turned to a chin resting on your shoulder while you make snacks for the kids with a husband stuck to your back, hugging you like a teddy bear, asking for bites of what you're making.

You wiped your hand after putting the new batch of brownies you made in the oven.

"You know Saika would never intentionally do anything to make you disappointed. But she's a growing girl, a very good girl at that. Barring her from exploring will not solve the problem." You sighed and turned around to stare at your husband's pouting lips. Gosh, he never grew up from the pouting phase. "If we try to stop her from exploring, she might tend to be sneaky instead. How can we give her guidance if she doesn't feel accepted?" You smiled at Satoru, washing off his worries with your words.

"I know... It's just that..." Satoru blew out a frustrated sigh. "I don't want her to get hurt. She's too young for this, y'know..." He hugged you, burying his face in your neck.

You inhale a large breath and pat his back, empathizing with your husband and his dilemma for being a girl dad. You wonder if you'll ever feel this too with your sons... Or if your husband is simply just being the sensitive big teddy bear he is.

"Y'know, Love..." You trailed and took his face in your hands. "I hate to break it to you like this, but..." You chuckled. "Saika is just with her classmates doing a school project."

Saika has been telling you for one week straight how she's so excited to go over to her friend's house for the first time and do their project, something about some baking activity in home economics, which you agreed with delight. Satoru was also happy about it... until he asked who was her group partners.

"Masaki and Kenma and Iori, and..."

The rest of her partners were ignored the second Satoru heard familiar names.

"Masaki... Kenma?"

"Still! Did you see how that Chiba boy dared come to my doorstep every Tuesday morning to pick up my Cat? That brat, when he grows up, I swear when he grows u—"

You poked his cheeks with your fingers, stopping his plans.

"Baby, you see that?" You pointed to your eldest son, making flower crowns for his youngest sister while his younger brother kept climbing on his back. "You and Kouki have been watching over her since she was born. Do you think your son will be this calm if he doesn't trust Saika's friends? We both know how protective he is of her sister, and he knows Masaki because he goes to school with him almost daily."

You kissed Satoru's frowning brow, easing his temples while his arms remained around your waist, still with the bit of pout on his lips but not as hysterical as earlier.

"Can you blame me? I'm clingy with my first princess." Satoru sighed. "She was so tiny when I first held her. I was so scared if I breathed too deep, she would cry. She's so precious and fragile that I can't handle it. If she cries, it would crush me..." Satoru's words were muffled as he sank into your arms.  

"Mnnn... I know. Must prepare our youngest girl if you suddenly bawl out when she finally gets a boyfriend two decades later.

You didn't have to pull his face up to your eyes to know how Satoru turned several shades paler and sucked a nervous gasp against your collarbone. You saw your two youngest munchkins run to the front yard and the famous single-double tone of knock on your doorsteps.

He left you as quick as a bullet train and ran to the door where, as expected, his Cat was, holding a basket of sweets, and behind her... was someone Satoru would pronounce as his mortal enemy years from now.

Maybe because Masaki is the one he often sees, Satoru never really paid attention to Kenma. That was a long time ago. Saika was just a toddler back then, oblivious to what a 'boyfriend' meant, and took it too literally as a male friend.

"Papa! Look, I made mochi for you!" Saika's eyes lit up, and excitedly enumerated the sweet he brought home for everyone.

"Hey Princess, did you make all these? Lemme have this one~" Satoru looked in the basket and got a cheese stick, then praised his daughter for making them very good... that's a lie, it tastes like the Baumkuchen you threw out coz it was three days expired. But he can't possibly say that in front of his precious daughter, who will probably cause him to go in and out of the toilet later.

"Sir, good afternoon."

A serious voice greeted Satoru.

In his straight stance, hands behind his back and feet against each other, Masaki bowed to Satoru. Saika was used to this. Masaki would greet her Papa, and her Papa would grunt with the same constipated look he always had every time Masaki came into their home.

"Masaki-kun, thank you for bringing Saika home safely." You appeared behind Satoru with a smile. The kid looked up and greeted you formally as well.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/n..." The young boy visibly softened his stance at your sight, but when he saw Satoru watching him like a hawk, Masaki instantly straightened up again like a soldier under his supervisor's stern glare.

"How about you come inside for tea, Masaki-kun? I made some baklava." You warmly invited, patting Satoru's shoulder in silent warning. Saika already went inside, calling her siblings.

"I... I'd love to, Lady Y/n, but my mother told me to be home by 3 in the afternoon." The boy looked a bit somber as he turned down your offer. You know his parents are stricter than others, so you cannot find fault in such an answer.

"Then next time, I'll make some milk pan. Saika loves those." You didn't miss how his eyes sparkled at your offer and the subtle scoff of Satoru on the side.

The kid waved goodbye, but just then, a rushing Saika almost collided with you in the hallway. She ran past you and Satoru towards Masaki, who was already at the gate.

You couldn't hear what they were saying, but based on the cellophane-wrapped baklava your daughter was handing towards Masaki, you could only chuckle and hold down the hand of your seething husband, dragging him a little more inside the house, just enough so the two of you can spy on the kids.

Your husband silently huffs and walks into the house, holding the basket of sweets Saika brought home, calling the kids to share the treat. Though you didn't miss how he ordered his men to watch over Masaki to make sure the boy reached the Chiba Estate safely.

Later that night, you saw Satoru talking to Saika over an ice cream, the two of them huddled up on the couch, playing some Mario Kart.

"Papa doesn't like Masaki, Mama?" Kouki, in his pajamas, walked closer to you, asking you to dry his long hair from the shower.

"You know your Papa, you'd never hear the end of it if it comes to boys." You carefully wring out the excess water from his artic tresses while he hummed and stared at his sister and father fighting over the last spoon of the ice cream.

"Masaki is better," Kouki said with a long look.

"Why so?" Oh? You quirk a brow at your eldest's remark.

"His family is a branch of the Gojo Clan, though the Chiba clan is a minor family, at least that lessens the complexity of explaining about normal citizens and sorcerers." Kouki huffs.

"Since when did my son start thinking of this stuff? Sweetheart? Is that all?" You chuckled and hugged your eldest, pinching his nose. 

"Of course, it also makes it easier to hunt him down if he hurts Cat's feelings," Kouki grumbled with a pout. Just like his father, thankfully, your youngest son is just a toddler, or else you don't know how to keep your three boys from guarding their sister like an apparition against other men.

"Mama! That's unfair. You didn't comb my hair tonight." Saika called from the living room as she saw her brother all fluffy and well-groomed from your hands.

"I can comb it for you, Cat!" Satoru added. Kouki soon joined the huddle, poking fun at his sister.

Needless to say, whoever tries to ask for your daughter's hand, they'll have to go through a lot. She is, after all, the first princess of the most important boys in her life... Just like that, you can't help but wish that if ever... she did find the man of her life, he would treat her as precious as you all have treasured her... Just like how her father has cherished you, or maybe even more.

Satoru chuckled and put down the comb.

"See, my Little Treasure is as pretty as ever!"

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan

[minispidey]

02: Barbie's Dreamhouse.

Joel Miller x f!bimbo!reader. previous. series masterlist. next.

02. Strawberry Lemonade.

warnings: reader stares at joel a lot and finds him hot as hell, reader is dramatic as hell (might be annoying to some), explicit thoughts, suggestive, sarah is alive and 12 years old here, reader thinks she's a homewrecker, not beta read.

summary: you just can't help but gawk at your hot contractor who's working for free, thank god the view is free too. but a revelation makes you question if you're lusting for a married man.

reader's outfit is the blue one of the dolls from the barbie movie (this one under)

You had settled on the couch on the second-floor balcony with a glass and pitcher of cold lemonade and a few snacks, while Joel was up on the roof, using a ladder to climb up to the edges.

There was no mistaking his experience— he made little noise at all, moving around the structure as if it were just another Tuesday. Despite his hardass appearance, he was a very skilled worker.

He eventually climbed down from the roof and headed inside, taking a second to catch his breath before spotting you upstairs.

He was immediately thrown off by the adorable dress— especially the heart detail. But he knew it was rude to stare, so he did his best to keep his eyes on yours.

"That… was actually a lot quicker than I thought it would be," Joel said, clearly pleased. "I should have the rest of the replacement shingles put on in no time at all…"

"Are they pink?" you giggled.

"They're white but I painted over the roof last time, I'll just paint over em' some other day."

"I got some snacks for us. I tested the fridge and it was working too." you poured him a glass of lemonade. "Here, cool off."

Joel took the drink. The cool liquid was very much appreciated after all of that hard work. He took a few swigs from his glass before he looked you over again.

"Thank you…" He nodded, clearly still unable to tear his eyes away from your dress. "Where'd you stay last night?"

"I found a nearby bed and breakfast beside a gasoline station. At least they didn't question why I was all dirty when I checked in." you giggled. "So, what's next?"

"Hmm… the plumbin'. I’m assuming it hasn’t been fixed." Joel's brow furrowed slightly. “The main shutoff doesn’t work very well, so if there’s a leak, you won’t be able to do anything about it. That’s pretty much a priority.”

"Oh, right. Um... so what do we do?"

"Well, we’ve got to find the shutoff for now," Joel said as he set his drink down. It was clear he hadn’t done much plumbing in his life, but from the times he had worked on it, it was also clear he was quite skillful when it came to repairs.

"Follow me. The main one should be in the basement, from what I remember."

"Alright! Lead the way."

You follow Joel as he headed down the stairs into the basement— it was pretty cluttered down there, with lots of old junk strewn around. As he made his way across the room to the back wall, he grabbed an old flashlight and turned it on.

"Hopefully, the shutoff valve ain't coated in any rust," he muttered. "But if it is, might be tougher than expected…"

Sure enough, he found the right valve, but it was covered in that awful orange rust and was completely stuck. He frowned as he studied it.

"Oh… that ain't good. This could be a problem…"

"Oh no... what do we do?"

He looked at you and shrugged.

"We could apply some WD-40 to it and hope that loosens it up. But that’s a long shot. In all honesty, I think we’re gon' need to hire a professional plumber to come in and see what can be done about this."

"Well, uh..." you trailed off. Joel watched as you fidgeted with your fingers as your body grew stiff.

Joel could tell that you were trying your best not to worry, but he really couldn’t come up with any alternative. As much as he hated to ask, he really didn’t think there was another way around it.

"I'll cover it. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Joel." you put your hands behind your back and smiled cheekily at him.

In the course of the next few weeks, Joel hired workers from an electrician to install the chandelier and fix the wiring, to plumbers to fix the plumbing issue. With his own money, nonetheless.

"Thank you, seriously, Joel..." You stared up at the pink jewels dangling off the chandelier in awe.

Joel chuckled softly and was about to respond, but he paused, realizing just how many times he’s heard those same words in just a few weeks.

"You don't have to thank me so much, you know. This was nothing"

"I mean, giving thanks is always a basic human thing." you smiled and placed both of your hands on your hips. "Appreciation can do amazing things."

There was another pause. He shrugged and smirked. "I mean… are you always this appreciative?" he asked, trying to hide his smile.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno, I've just never known anyone who can be this appreciative, you know? It’s definitely not something I'm used to hearing…"

There was another pause as he was contemplating what to say.

"It’s just that… you're never gonna make me feel bad for it or anything, right?"

Your shoulders dropped and you tilted your head to the side. "Why would I?"

He sighed.

"I dunno. It's just that most people I know like to take advantage of or make me feel bad for what I do for them. You know, like always makin' me feel like I should do more just because I'm helpin' in the first place. But you don't ever act like that, and… well, I dunno. I guess I haven't been used to it."

"Why would they do such a thing?" you looked offended, furrowing your brows.

"I've always just been surrounded by assholes. I guess it's what's really normal for me. But with you… I mean, the difference is staggerin', isn't it? I guess I'm just now realizin' just how shitty most people that I've known actually are."

You smiled and walked towards him. "And how many people did you offer to fix their house for free?"

He laughed as he thought about it.

"Never before have I offered something like that. Usually, it's more like helpin' 'em fix their car or somethin' like that. So honestly, this is new territory for both of us. Though, even then, you're still much more appreciative than just about anyone I’ve ever come across."

"But I do promise," you held out your pinky finger with a wide smile. "I will pay you back soon."

For some reason, the pinky finger was funny to him. Maybe it was just that you were so genuinely innocent in your promise, or the contrast between how serious of a situation this could potentially be and you being so playful. He took your pinky finger and wrapped his own around yours. He looked you over.

"Do you swear? Because if you don't, there's about to be hell to pay. I take pinky promises quite seriously."

"That's so fun! I always keep my promises."

"I know you will. So this right here is a sign of a promise. And I trust that you will be able to keep that promise, so I don't need you to repay me right away."

"I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die."

He laughed and nodded, his smile growing as he squeezed slightly harder around your pinky. "Okay then. Just remember, you break this pinky promise, and I won't hesitate to let you know just how disappointed I am."

You let out a giggle after letting go of his pinky "Ooooh, I'm so scared."

He laughed as well.

"I think you should be! I'm not usually one to joke around when it comes to stuff like this." he chuckled again. "But just so you know, even though I'd be pretty angry, I really wouldn't have it in me to stay mad at you. You know that by now, right?"

"Why?" you batted your eyelashes at him "Is it because I'm preeeeetty?"

He was trying really hard to suppress his smile and hold back from laughing.

"It is indeed because I think you are pretty…. But I can't deny the fact that you've also become really good at pushin' out my buttons. Even if I really should be furious 'bout all the money I spent on this house, you make it tough not to just smile back at 'cha and forgive ya."

"I know, I'm sorryyyy..." you clasped your hands together and dramatically knelt down in front of him.

He chuckled. "Well, I really mean it. Your personality is one of the most refreshin' personalities I've ever come across in a long time. And I never would have even met you if it weren't for this house and Mags. That has to count for somethin', right?"

"Sentimental value?"

"Yeah, exactly. It's like the universe knew I needed someone like you in my life. Who knew a house could actually lead to a meaningful relationship… I definitely didn't see that comin'."

"The world works in mysterious ways." you shrugged. "Keep up, old man."

Joel laughed louder. There was something about you calling him an old man that he loved, even though he should be offended.

"Watch it, before you start makin' this old man feel his age. My body is just now startin' to fall apart on me, don't give it a reason to start fallin' apart faster than it already is!"

The both of you laughed. You got up from the floor and fixed your dress "So, is there anything else the house needs?"

Joel thought for a moment, finally coming to the realization that the house was probably good for now. It'd definitely need some more work on the interior in time, but at the least, it was liveable.

"Honestly? No, I don't believe there is. I think this house is good for now. I'll keep doin' my check-ins every few weeks or so to make sure that everythin' is alright with the house, but besides that, there's really nothin' more we need to do here."

"So..." you fiddled with your fingers. "What do we do now?"

Joel shrugged. "I'm not sure. I guess we just have ourselves a nice, long moment of standin' here and being proud of the fact that we've both survived the experience of trying to renovate this damn house. It’s a miracle either of us has our sanity still intact."

He laughed as he leaned up against the wall of the dining room.

"You know, you've spent a lot of time here. I've never even seen the inside of your house." you giggled.

"You know you're not wrong, I was here almost every day for weeks on end." his eyes trailed off as he thought and sighed. "I guess I should invite you over sometime then, right? It's not nearly as interesting as this house, but I'm sure you'd love it."

"My house is pink. Big deal." you rolled your eyes and walked towards him, leaning against the kitchen wall "You know every nook and cranny of my house, of course, I deserve to know yours."

"It's only fair."

"Indeed."

You kept staring at Joel. He had some beads of sweat falling from his scalp to his face, and god did he look hotter than hell. You felt like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle.

"Are you single-" your question got muffled by the sound of the doorbell, and turn your head towards the door "Coming!" you said.

You walked towards the door and swung it open, greeted by a young girl. "Hi, is my dad here?"

Your brows furrowed. "Dad?" who could possibly-

"Sarah," Joel said from behind you. Your head immediately snapped towards him and your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. "Have you met my daughter?" he asked you.

You blinked twice. "I-I don't think I have."

You really had no idea he even was a father... or even considered, married.

Sarah looked around the room in awe, her eyes trailing all across the furniture and her expression changing several times as she looked.

"Did you fix this house all by yourself?" she asked Joel, her eyes wide.

Joel cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah. I rebuilt this whole house pretty much myself— minus the plumbin' and electrician work, which I had hired some guys for. We still have to go through planning on each room, but it's almost done." he pointed towards you. "She's still thinkin' about what to do with all these rooms."

Sarah's facial expression changed to a small smile as she giggled. She turned her head towards you. "Daddy tells me a lot about you. He says you're so nice. The nicest lady he's ever met. Was it all true?”

You were still in a shocked state but you shook your head a bit and gave her a smile. "Why don't you be the judge of that?"

"You're really pretty..." Sarah stared in awe at you.

"Hey, didn't you say you gotta pick up your Girl Scout cookies today?" Joel looked at his wristwatch. "We gotta hurry if you wanna start sellin' 'em tomorrow."

"Oh, right!"

Joel and Sarah waved goodbye to you as they walked out of your house, and you stood there on your porch questioning everything.

"He's... married?" you closed the front door and walked up the stairs, slowly and dramatically. You tried to think of the signs that he was married. Ring? You didn't even notice! Well, not counting the times you stared at his large fingers and imagined them inside of you...

"Oh, god..." the realization hit you. You entered the main bedroom and you fell to your knees. "I'm a homewrecker!" you cried out.

tags: @danaispunk @buckybarnessweetheart @skysmiller @joelsflannel @sweetenerobert @clownd1ck @jhiddles03 @schwytie @femmeanonymelives @redemie @pedropascal-whore @hello-shirousa @survivingandenduring @sk-e-le-ton-s @urbrazysimp @amyispxnk @clownd1ck @livingdeadmaria @joeldjarin @blood-suckerxoxo @reallylovereading

(tags are open! just reply to be added. reblogs are appreciated!)

[bomberqueen17]

stencils

ah i did the stencils on tuesday and i forgot to post about it! i have been Out Of Sorts lately and also i remembered how to post on instagram so i put it there and then forgot i had not put it here.

BEHOLD

[image description: a teal wall with yellow-orange trim, stenciled with a tiled pattern of metallic gold stars over the entire surface]

I bought this stencil and some metallic gold "stencil creme" paint, and a stencil brush, and just spent an entire day doing it.

Yeah I should've started at the top left and worked over, but I started at the middle right and worked out instead. i might go back and add points to the top border and circles to the left border. Not sure. Not urgent either way.

The directions they give you on the website mention that a dry brush is critical to stenciling success, and this is a thing I did already know; i have stenciled mostly t-shirts in my time, with dumb bullshit stencils I cut out of manila folders. But they tell you to load up the brush and then take most of the paint off the brush with paper towels, and let me tell you my stencil creme pot barely covered this wall and would not have if I'd put most of the paint onto perfectly good paper towels. So what I did instead is, I went to the grocery store and I got a cannoli, and then I washed out the container it came in, and then I cut the container at the hinges and made myself two paint trays, and one of them I used as a pallette to mix the paints for the outlet covers, and the other half I used as a roller tray to paint the windowsill, then rinsed and used for this. I had that plastic tray nice and dry and I loaded up the brush and then worked that brush around on the plastic, and it was good and dry and then when I came back I could pick up the paint I'd offloaded onto that plastic, and use almost all of it. And later in the process I added a few drops of water to that pallette, and I was able to thin the paint just a tiny bit, just enough to get it to flow a little better but not so much it went under the edges of the stencil.

[image description: a white-stained clear plastic tray with a pot of gold paint sitting in it, a stencil brush propped on the edge, faint traces and blobs of gold paint swirled around it.] when I added a few drops of water they'd collect in the fluted bits around the edges, so if I wanted them I could go swipe the brush there, and if I didn't they stayed out of the way.

I could have been more exacting and precise in my stencil placement, but I knew I had to just do it, so I just did it. Used a level, discovered that the level disagreed with the ceiling and the floor, remembered that this house like all houses is in fact handmade, and so my imperfections would just have to harmonize with the imperfections built in by the builders and the 75 years of settling and whatnot. So I was Zen about it and it worked out.

[image description: a wide shot of the kitchen showing gray cabinets and unadorned blue wall: the stencil is spotless, taped up with blue painter's tape, a stepladder beneath it with a yellow level sitting on it.]

I used painter's tape. The tutorials say you can spray the back of the stencil with spray adhesive to keep it tight against the wall and reduce bleed at the edges. I own spray adhesive, and I know it's sticky as hell and gets on everything. No thanks, I figured I didn't need it, and I don't regret that, I had no problems. I have, as it happens, stenciled a lot of things in my life.

I should make some more stupid stenciled t-shirts, they've been fun.

[image source: two repeats of the stencil have been applied to the wall, and now the plastic stencil template is taped sideways at the bottom of the wall.]

It's a well-designed stencil, and the way you lined it up is that some of the elements are designed to repeat so you just plop them over the previous version. I hadn't premeditated or measured this, but it turned out the last repeat, I could just turn it sideways and it tiled beautifully that way too. No problems. Worked great. The stencil creme paint dried fast enough that there was no problem overlaying it like this either, though I did make a point of doing the ones I was going to overlap first so they'd have the longest to dry. I doubt that mattered.

[image description: the stencil template laid over the edge of a previous repeat, showing a blue edge where the previous repeat doesn't quite align with the new placement.]

This is where me not doing math was maybe a problem. I was not perfectionist about this, I just sometimes accepted that the template had shifted slightly on the previous repeat, and while it lined up perfectly in one spot, it would not quite line up in another. I gambled that this would not matter, and in fact took this photo to check. After I removed the template this time, I went back to photograph this spot to see how the misalignment looked, and... couldn't find it. Could not tell, even though I knew where it had been. So obviously it did not matter. (In these cases, I did not touch up the edges of the misaligned bits, I left them as they'd originally been stenciled. The other elements were not far enough off the anticipated alignment for it to be noticeable. A touch-up would have been more noticeable, an element becoming oversized or slightly misshapen or having a visible edge of layered pigment in it.)

[image description: the stencil template crammed against the edge of the wall, bent and roughly taped in place, and the light switch, plate removed, poking through one of the holes at the right.]

This was the trickiest bit. I just held one hand against wherever I was working, flattening that bit of the stencil to the wall as I worked, and then I'd let go and put my hand on the next bit, and maybe they weren't perfectly in alignment with the previous bits but as long as the stencil was touching the wall well right where I was working, it was a good enough result. The light switch was a bit of a problem and i should properly have removed it but I wasn't about to do that so I didn't. I did the inward-facing points of the leftmost stars, and then did not try to do the upward-downward points or the circles, because it was too hard to get the stencil flat right there. I could go back and add them now, and I might yet, using the very edge of the template, We'll see if I do. It looks fine as it is.

[image description: a plain blue wall with a double outlet plate in it, and the points of the eight-pointed star are around it, protruding from behind the lightswitch plate.]

I had always intended to stencil an element behind the light switch plates on the plain walls, because I felt they don't stand out enough against the teal. I did one, and then realized it was impossible to center it and hard not to get paint on other bits of the walls, since the stencil template is so huge and was covered in paint from doing the whole wall. I realized then that it's just points and I could freehand those. So I did, this is me freehand faux-stenciling the star around this outlet plate, LOL.

[image description: the darkened kitchen early in the morning, under-cabinet lights on but the room dim, and in the distance the wall is shining]

anyway so the next morning i went out and was sitting at the window and turned around and was like "this looks amazing" so I am well pleased with how it turned out, really and truly.

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 11

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday (i know it's tuesday that's my bad 💀). every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

and if you're warm, then you can't relate to me by remrose

They get stuck outside from a 3AM fire alarm. “I call it the ten-pound-quilt.” Will winked like it was a secret, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “I lent it to one of my siblings once and he said it was like being suffocated by a wet cement pancake. I love it."

will 'problem causer and embarrassed about it' solace so so real. this fic is also stellar bc nico is lowkey aware how much will likes him. that is how the dynamic should be i think.

2. Those walls I built didn't even put up a fight by @sazandorable

"Is it morally okay to stab a medic with their own scissors?" Nico asked Cecil. (Not that he usually cared about morally okay, as Octavian might demonstrate.) Nico's three days in the infirmary go by faster than he'd thought, and Will just won't stop flirting.

bruh this fic made me LAUGH. it wholly deserves the nearly quarter million hits it has jfc. i 100% clicked for the 'jason is a very embarrassing and very supportive ally' tag and it TOTALLY lived up and it was hilarious. he is. will's characterization was SO SO good and the whole fic just had me giggling!!

3. this is my kingdom come by remrose

Five times Nico and Will pretended they were dating. College AU.

the slow and unnoticeable slide from fake dating to real dating. fucking kills me every time. like oh yeah maybe i do love you. maybe you are everything to me. maybe i do want to spend the rest of my life with you. maybe loving you is this easy. GOD. god. insert seinfield gif her bc it fucking gets to me alright. it gets to me.

4. Days Gone By by @ghostystarr

Everyone was afraid of him, the boy who could talk to ghosts. Will just really wanted to know if his goldfish was haunting him every time he used the bathroom. AU Solangelo.

i am a sucker for childhood friends to lovers alright. and modern au with medium nico is art. so what if it is on the nose. it is amusing. and posting this ghosty ass fic on halloween the year solangelo came out is fucking camp idc this author ate up.

5. Patience and Patients by skyrat

Will Solace didn't mean to get a crush on the most exasperating demigod he'd ever met. But once he started watching Nico di Angelo he couldn't turn away. The lines between intentions and feelings got blurred. But how do you tell if the guy you like feels the same way when he's never around?

will having a crush on nico for a thousand years is literally my favourite trope like i love him actually. his pining ass will never get old! it will never get old. i will never get tired of reading it. also this is unrelated but i read this for the first time the day it was posting, which was the Day after i turned twelve lol time truly flies.

thank you for joining me this saturday tuesday sh don't worry about the actual date friday!! happy reading!!

[topazadine]

Writing Compelling Trauma in Fiction: Dos and Don'ts

Trauma is, quite frankly, a load-bearing weight in the fiction space. We've all done it: thrown in the saddest, most miserable little factoid about our meow-meows so that they feel not just real, but compelling and sympathetic. It helps readers empathize with them and spices up a story.

Very well-done trauma can also be cathartic for readers, especially if the character prevails despite what has happened to them.

The problem is that poorly written trauma can feel exploitative, cheap, and melodramatic. It turns people off, especially those who have been through a similar experience. Now it feels as if someone is using our pain to sell things or get attention, and it is often obvious when someone has not been through that experience, which can make readers feel uncomfortable.

So, here is my opinion on how to write more compelling trauma.

As always, I am not the ultimate authority on writing, I am not telling you exactly what to do with your writing, my opinions are just opinions, I am not perfect, I might be wrong, this might not resonate with you. Take what you like and leave the rest.

There's also not going to explicit descriptions of abuse or trauma in this post.

These are the highlights, and then we'll get more into it under the cut.

Trauma must be transformative

Flashbacks are not little movies

Triggers are not always obvious

Don't give characters every trauma ever

It's not always necessary to show the event

The earlier the trauma happens, the more it changes a character

Characters do not always tell every single person about the trauma

Characters themselves may not be explicit about discussing the trauma

And then we will go through some quick action points about trauma.

Trauma must be transformative

Trauma, by definition, changes someone; otherwise, whatever happened would just be another normal Tuesday and no one would care.

This problem is where we get the concept of "fridging." Something horrible happens to a character and they just kind of shrug it off, or it impels them to do something but doesn't actually change them as a person.

For example, a superhero finds their (typically female) lover dead and it spurs them to fight the villain, but then it just doesn't do anything else. They forget about the dead lover and said lover is never mentioned again. That's shitty writing and also kind of misogynistic.

It doesn't need to change them in bad ways, per se: Batman becomes a crime fighter because his parents died in front of him. We know that and always feel that in his story. But, there must be a change or the trauma doesn't mean anything.

Options for you (not an exhaustive list):

Developing anxiety. This may be a more globalized anxiety, such as agoraphobia, or it may be more specific. Shying away from "unsafe" situations that seem perfectly safe to other people. This is another form of anxiety. Becoming withdrawn and refusing to trust anyone. Clinging to "safe" people; becoming dependent and helpless. They may become codependent and childlike. This is common with childhood abuse, particularly childhood sexual abuse. Their emotional coping skills were stunted after the event and they never developed a healthy sense of self. Growing cold and unemotional; isolating themselves from other people. They may refuse to talk about the event and insist that they are fine. Advocating for others dealing with the same thing. Acting like an emotional "open wound:" intense, trauma vomiting all over other people, failing to self-regulate. Having extreme bursts of rage. This is more common in men, but it can also happen in women. For sexual trauma, becoming hypersexual or having no interest in sex whatsoever. They may become incredibly touch-averse, even getting antsy when someone touches their hand. Making risky decisions that lead to further traumatization. Especially true regarding child abuse; those who were molested as children are far more likely to be revictimized later in life. BTW, this is not victim-blaming: it is still the abuser's fault for hurting them. No one should take advantage of someone's vulnerability like that. Keeping everything surface level and refusing to open up to anyone about anything. They may seem "bland" and uninteresting to the outside observer because everything about them has been stuffed down. As I have mentioned elsewhere, trauma often blunts a person's personality and makes them less interesting.

Again, this isn't an exhaustive list, but it's an idea of what you might be able to work with.

Flashbacks are not little movies

Nothing irks me more than writers who decide that the best possible way to explain someone's trauma is to just go back in time and show it in exhaustive detail because that is not how trauma generally works. You don't just see the whole thing in vivid technicolor most of the time.

Why? Because trauma is ... traumatic. Your brain wants to protect you from that experience and isn't going to force you to relive it over and over again exactly as it happened.

More commonly, flashbacks are small snippets of the event. For example, you might see the person's eyes as they are staring at you, or a very brief image of the worst part of it. You'll see what your eyes were focusing on in the moment, but you're not going to see the whole thing all at once. Sometimes, a flashback is like a still image, or like a GIF. But it's not a little movie.

In other cases, a flashback is just a body sensation with no actual visual images shown. You might feel pain in the place where you were hurt, and you may not even realize it's a flashback.

This can actually make for very compelling writing when done correctly, because you can show small snapshots of the event sprinkled throughout the story so that the reader slowly develops a full understanding of what happened.

So what could you show?

The eyes of the perpetrator

Expressions on a perpetrator's face

A "diorama" of the room/location where it took place

Repeating images of a small section of the event

Physical pain: pelvic pain for assault, tender ribs, old wounds starting to hurt again

Darkness or swirls of motion

Sounds or phrases that were said during the event

The aftermath: what happened right after they were safe or rescued

Sensations: pressure, heat, cold, weightlessness, heaviness, exhaustion, pain

Triggers are not always obvious

A trigger can be anything that reminds you of trauma. Scents, sounds, words, certain brands, the tone of someone's voice, specific locations that just remind you of where it happened, anything. I am sure there are people out there who are triggered by Dolce & Gabbana handbags or certain ice cream flavors.

Sometimes, a trigger is not even obvious to the person who suffered. They may not realize why they shy away from certain experiences, like swinging on a playset or walking through an airport, because they can't remember why that's relevant to what happened.

Don't give a character every trauma ever

Going overboard with trauma is one of the best ways to get people to hate your book. It feels as if you are using trauma as a stand-in for actually developing characters people can resonate with and just using pity points to get people to care.

In fact, I would argue that you need to give characters less trauma than would be feasible for the average person. Of course, many people go through multiple types of trauma over their lifetime, to the point where if someone read a book about them, it would seem unrealistic.

But characters are not people. They are meant to populate a fictional plot. As such, less is more. Using less trauma forces you to dig deeper into those certain events and identify how your character changed.

It's not always necessary to show the event

This is especially true if you are writing about characters who have childhood trauma. Full-on cinematic flashbacks are a cheap way to get out of showing us how the trauma changed them. This is especially true if this is the only flashback in the story, or you are only flashing back to show us increasingly more disturbing examples of their trauma.

The most compelling stories I have read do not show the trauma; they show us the aftermath. We see how the character is haunted by what happened and how they can never go back to who they were before. It makes for deeper and more interesting characterization than just "oh look at this bad thing that happened."

There's also the fact that it's more intriguing to give us hints and subtle references to something. The fear of the unknown is worse than the true, explicit details, because then the reader is filling in the blanks in their own mind and imagining how bad it must have been by seeing what is before them: the traumatized character.

The earlier the trauma happens, the more it changes a character

There is a reason that any therapist will ask you about Adverse Childhood Events (ACEs): because it completely shifts who you are and affects you forever. I won't bore you with the research, but those who went through childhood trauma are more likely to have substance abuse issues, heart disease, mental health problems, social challenges, and much more. The list of things that correlate to child abuse is honestly very depressing and shocking.

This isn't to say that adult abuse isn't going to cause problems, but it won't be quite as deeply rooted and horrifying as childhood trauma. Your character will likely not go through a 180 degree shift because their personality is already well rooted. Children are still having their personality molded by their environment and are going to be more deeply scarred.

Characters do not always tell every single person about the trauma

My greatest annoyance. Characters putting it all out into the open for every single person to know about is just ... unrealistic. Even if it just happened yesterday, not everyone is going to know. Certainly if it was childhood trauma, only a few select people are going to know about it, especially in explicit detail.

For example, the vast majority of people sexually abused as children never disclose the abuse to anyone. Anyone! This makes it incredibly challenging to identify how many people were molested because so many people don't want to share.

There's a lot of shame and vulnerability that comes from disclosing abuse, and everyone, no matter who they are, wants to avoid pain. It's in our nature. There's also the fact that if it was a childhood event, the child was likely threatened with punishment if they disclosed, and that will carry on into adulthood. They will be afraid of repercussions if they share it, even if their abuser is dead or absent.

As such, you need to decide on the circle of trust. Who would your character rely on when wanting to discuss their problems? Maybe a lover, a close friend, or a parent.

One quick note here: it's actually pretty common for people who went through trauma together to not discuss it with one another. Neither wants to trigger their friend/relative/partner/etc by bringing it up, so there may just be an unspoken agreement not to mention it. If they do discuss it, it might be in more vague and referential terms instead of explicit exposition.

Characters themselves may not be explicit when discussing the trauma

It's just not realistic for your character to go through every exhaustive detail of any traumatic event when sharing it with someone. They may say "my dad hit me a lot," or "I saw a car crash," or "I was assaulted," etc. There will be brief sum-up statements, not a gory and intense description of it, for example:

"Something bad happened."

"He hit me."

"I was trapped."

"I was assaulted/raped."

"I fell."

"There was a car crash."

"Someone died in front of me."

"I was there when [x] happened."

"There was a robbery/break-in."

"I was kidnapped."

Or the classic:

"I don't want to talk about that."

Our minds don't want to make us relive it, so we will keep it vague to avoid triggering ourselves. For some people, they dissociated during the event and don't even have those details to share because they weren't consciously encoded.

Think of a bad thing that happened to you. If someone asks you, it's very unlikely that you're going to walk through it step by step for them. More likely, you'll summarize it. Your characters will do the same.

Action points for writing trauma:

Consider when the trauma happened to decide on the impact.

Pick one or two types of trauma (death of a parent, sexual assault, being mugged, getting into a car accident, watching someone die, etc) and then stick with that only.

Identify what a character would have been had they not been traumatized, and then shift that personality based on the kind of trauma.

Decide whether it's necessary to show the abuse.

Focus on sensory details rather than explicit narration when doing. any form of flashback: sights, sounds, smells, textures, how hot or cold it was, pressure, etc.

Sprinkle flashbacks throughout in snippets as they become relevant based on a trigger.

Don't trauma dump the entire experience of past trauma on the reader in one go because the character wouldn't do that themselves.

Remember that people may dissociate during a traumatic event and their own descriptions might be vague and dreamlike.

Look at the scene yourself and consider what might become a trigger. A certain perfume? Cigarette smoke? A birdsong?

Decide who would be told based on relationships with the character. Again, the checkout clerk isn't going to get the details. Maybe a therapist, a partner, a close friend.

People who were traumatized together may avoid any discussion of it.

Characters will typically summarize the experience when talking about it to others unless they have a very, very close relationship.

[kisskissbanggang]

Contention - pt. 4

[6k words/20min. read - Skz! Love Triangle, Non-Idol!AU - Nepo Baby!Hyunjin x Female Reader , Personal Assistant!Seungmin x Female Reader -  NSFW/Smut - Dinner Dates, Vaginal Sex, Expensive Gifts, Security Cameras, Mysterious Letters, d r a m a , Cliffhangers, Tense and Frightening Situations, Someone Might be Lying, Arranged Courting, Doing a Terrible Job of Navigating Feelings, Poor Seungmin, Poor Hyunjin, Poor Everyone tbh, Exorcising my Seungmin and Hyunjin Brain Rot One Fic at a Time]

[Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

Tuesday, 11:15AM Week 10 of 24

Every day that passed felt as though Hyunjin’s penthouse was getting bigger while you were getting smaller, and before too long it would swallow you whole.

To say things had been awkward since Seungmin found you drunkenly kissing Hyunjin would be a massive understatement. When it had happened, Seungmin had rushed over, yanking him off of you. The two grappled immediately, employer versus employee, best friend versus best friend, with Hyunjin trying to take a swing at him. Seungmin attempted to simultaneously steady him and fight back at the same time.

“I see how it is!” Seungmin had shouted at him. “You’re going to ignore her for weeks and then force yourself on her when things aren’t going well for you?!”

“He’s not forcing anything!” you’d slurred back. You had gotten back to your feet by then, teetering with how much champagne was still sloshing around in your system. The bubbles were practically fogging your brain, but you were still able to shove your way in between both men. Seungmin had stared hard at you, first realizing that you were hammered, and then processing the fact that you were actually defending your actions. “And you’re one to talk,” you’d scolded him stubbornly. “You ignore me all week and this is the first I see or hear of you?!”

“I was only trying to help,” Seungmin argued.

You were on the cusp of saying something when Hyunjin had elbowed you aside. 

“She doesn’t need help.”

Seungmin had turned to leave then, clearly hurt. The feeling was mutual.

So you let him leave.

The only problem was now Hyunjin was avoiding you, too, even days later. Obviously, Seungmin never came back. Yesterday, Monday, was the first time another human entered the penthouse at all, none were Seungmin. Instead, you noticed more assistants and couriers than usual, coming in his place. For the first encounter, you directed an impatient stranger wearing a suit, having blustered in through the elevator door, and to where you were certain a set of files had been left when Hyunjin had finished reviewing them. The stranger had left just as swiftly. So did the next office runner that arrived, and the next.

You knew it wouldn’t be Seungmin anyway. The way you’d turned him away had been thorough and utterly unfair, no matter how unwanted he’d made you feel, and now this was likely the best option for him: avoiding you until he forgot about you. Honestly, you were ashamed to realize you were never truly right to feel unwanted in the first place. But, as it turned out, now you weren’t even sure what would make you feel wanted at all. Time was blending into itself in Hyunjin’s flat. You read books, or did some sudoku, or played solitaire. Flipped through magazines. Snacked during a two hour-long bath. Sipped on poorly balanced margaritas in the pool in the middle of the night. If you didn’t watch the clock, hours melted together if you also weren’t watching the sun rise and set.

Days shuffled into a heap on top of you. Strangers would come by. Hyunjin, himself, would skitter past, trying his best to maintain distance. It was either that, or he would briskly enter the elevator in the morning and reappear like a phantom later that night. He was clearly torn up about all this, too. All the vitriol he held for his mother, all the spite that he finally put aside in order to properly notice you for the first time… all after Seungmin already noticed you plenty. His own best friend and assistant had gotten to you first, and with his assumed permission, no less, but weren’t you still meant to be his? 

All three of you were embarrassed. All three of you were hurt. All three of you were waiting for someone else to make a move.

And on Thursday, a week and a half after that damn kiss, someone finally did.

Thursday, 5:52PM Week 11 of 24

You happened to walk by the entryway on a familiar path from the living room to the kitchen when the elevator chimed, drawing your attention. Another office runner stepped in, but not with a thick folder of paperwork or a stack of folios or an ominous box or Hyunjin’s dry cleaning or any of those other common items. 

The assistant set a single letter on the entry table and left.

This was odd. All of Hyunjin’s mail was sent to the office, even personal letters. It was risky, but you stepped closer, and then closer, trying to see if you could make out any idea of who’d sent the mysterious message. Only barely, you could see Seungmin’s name on the envelope. Your eyes widened, wondering what this could be. 

You continued to puzzle over this when you realized you were lingering alarmingly close to Hyunjin’s private mail, and at that moment, Hyunjin himself exited his home office. Thoroughly startled, you fumbled into the kitchen, trying to look casual. After a moment, you risked a peek around the corner, trying to get a glimpse of what he would do next.

Your contractual roommate walked up to the letter, where you’d previously been standing, and hesitated before picking it up. His long fingers were almost cautious, slowly tearing open the envelope. The sound of the crisp paper unfolding almost echoed, he and you both were so focused. Hyunjin read over the letter, jaw set hard so as to not betray any emotion despite assuming he was alone before he ultimately, reluctantly grimaced. 

That couldn't be good. 

What was worse was you were lingering again. 

Hyunjin turned, presumably to walk back into his home office, only to catch you spying on him before you had a chance to look nonchalant. You steeled yourself, reluctant to accept however he decided to confront you. Much to your surprise, though, he didn’t become upset. Instead, Hyunjin’s surprised eyebrows eased, his lips tilting into a brave smile.

“It’s been a few days since I've seen you,” his voice lilted, the downplayed observation acting in lieu of a greeting.

You nodded in return. “It has been.”

Now both of you lingered. Seungmin had made a move with his letter, and now it was Hyunjin’s turn.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

The request almost made you stop breathing for a moment. More than two months living together–almost three, really–and you’d never eaten together. You ogled him, dumbstruck, drawing an almost smitten smile out of Hyunjin. Smitten, but something else, too. Probably something to do with the letter from Seungmin. 

Understandable.

He waited. So did you, considering the question. And for whatever reason there was to consider what felt like such a deceptively simple proposition, you had no idea.

“Yes,” you finally nodded. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” Hyunjin grinned, seemingly relieved. “Seven tomorrow, sharp.”

Your roommate did ultimately head back to his room, that same, warily pleased smile still on his face and Seungmin’s letter tucked in his trousers pocket.

Friday, 3:58PM Week 11 of 24

He probably didn’t intend for you to bashfully agonize over this all night and the next day, but you did. It felt like you were a performer, preparing for an audition that kept getting postponed for months on end and it was suddenly opening night, skipping rehearsals and workshops and everything in between. Hyunjin was the reason you were here, and he finally invited you to eat with him.

It just took him drunkenly kissing you and his closest friendship crumbling to dust for it to happen.

This felt sudden and exciting and terrifying all at once, but you did your best to keep your head firmly locked in on your objective: appearing like this didn’t affect you whatsoever. Nonchalance was supposed to be the name of the game, but you kept finding your mind wandering into what your little date would encompass. Thankfully, while you stared at your breakfast the next morning, you’d realized you were being ridiculous. Hyunjin was only a man, and this was only dinner. A wave of relief washed over you, easing the growing tension stiffening your muscles. 

Around four o’clock, on your way to grab your laundry after a long shower, you noticed a blue garment bag hanging on the coat rack by the elevator. You curiously approached and noticed that the bag wasn’t blue, but the dress under the clear plastic was. A note pinned to the hanger confirmed it was meant for you, and when you peeked into the little folded card, it simply read, “It’s only dinner, but I saw this and thought of you.”

Mouth hanging open in quiet astonishment, you lifted the garment bag away from the dress, the rustling plastic like a miniature applause. It was a simple thing, really, the luxury lying in the weight of the fabric and the capability of the construction. Delicate layers of chiffon over top of the whole dress gave it a dreamy effect. On the entry table, a shoebox revealed a pretty pair of heels; nothing crazy in terms of height, but lovely and satiny and coordinating well with the pewter blue dress. 

You attempted to not let all this go to your head while you surveyed your makeup on your vanity. Over the last few weeks, your use of cosmetics had minimized to nearly none. Back when you’d been fooling around with Seungmin, he sheepishly admitted once that he felt guilty about smudging your mascara. You’d begun blotting off your lip gloss before kissing him. Now, with the outfit Hyunjin had picked out for you, it felt almost criminal to not try to do the ensemble justice. A silly amount of pressure for a simple dinner.

With Hyunjin.

Blow dryer in hand, you frantically set about crafting a meticulously casual half up-do, and then fussed for over an hour on a fastidiously effortless-yet-glamorous makeup look. You were practically sweating.

Friday, 7:00PM Week 11 of 24

A soft knock at your bedroom door rattled you just as you finished fussing in the mirror, and you attempted to take a steadying breath. It was only dinner. You thought so, and Hyunjin thought so. It just so happened that you were also wearing an ambiguously expensive outfit that Hyunjin picked out for you, and you had no idea what to expect. When you finally opened the door, you were met with Hyunjin’s chest and looked up, somehow not remembering that he’d still be a good head taller than you. 

Hyunjin grinned and extended a hand, palm up for you to take. He was outfitted nicely but not lavishly, skipping a suit jacket or cardigan with the sleeves of his shirt neatly rolled up. His fingers were warm around yours. The two of you, with Hyunjin taking the lead, took a short stroll back to the kitchen. There were two place settings at the breakfast nook. Truthfully, this was a relief. You’d fretted for a passing second, wondering if you’d have to awkwardly sit at the surprisingly large dinner table in the dining room.

As an extra surprise, Hyunjin pulled on an apron and stepped up to the stove to presumably plate up dinner. You hadn’t seen him use the kitchen in any nominal capacity since you’d arrived.

“You cook?” you bluntly asked.

Hyunjin let out a bright laugh, his eyes wrinkling up in a smile. “Don’t act too surprised,” he pretended to pout. “I’m not a chef by any means. I actually called in a favor to a friend, to be honest. He did all the menu planning and prep. All I really did was put it together.”

A small, easy smile betrayed how you were impressed nonetheless as you sat down. Music was playing in the flat, easygoing and lovely. Instead of sitting beside you, Hyunjin set his plate down across from yours and adjusted his rolled sleeves. You tucked in like this, sitting at the counter while Hyunjin casually stood on the other side. This was almost nonchalant, practically pretending that you’d skipped a night out to hanging out at home afterward.

It was hard not to feel giddy. This was wildly romantic, the evening shaping up to be easy and intimate. Conversation was simple. You learned more about what Hyunjin did for work, and more about what he did when he went out every weekend. He always got help with his spreadsheets, but he always managed to put together good reports. He’d gone through the trouble of learning to golf, but he preferred bowling with friends. Hyunjin didn’t grandstand or applaud himself for pulling together a date like this.

Because this was a date, right? It wasn't really just dinner… Was it?

Your plates were half empty when Hyunjin sighed, as though he had been waiting for a good time to bring up something inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” he earnestly began, “about the whole ordeal a couple weeks ago… kissing you like that. That wasn’t alright.”

“What?” you questioned. “No, Hyunjin, don’t apologize. I understand.”

A silence, heretofore unfamiliar to the conversation, settled in between you both. The formerly pleasant and romantic music felt almost in poor taste for a moment. Worse, that letter in Hyunjin found on the entryway table was plaguing your mind. 

“... Have you heard from Seungmin since then?” you asked stealthily.

Hyunjin sighed again. “I sure have.”

To your surprise, he pulled the letter from his trousers pocket, still in its envelope. Your eyes shifted from the worn paper of the envelope, crinkled from being handled multiple times, to Hyunjin’s conflicted expression. “Is that from him?” you asked, feigning innocence. “What does it say?”

The corners of Hyunjin’s lips almost curved into a frown before he seemingly caught himself. His expression eased again. Calculated. Practiced. You knew he probably learned early on to mask his emotions with a mother like Mrs. Hwang. “It’s, er, difficult,” he curtly stated. “He basically put in his two weeks, backdated to that night after the gala.”

That uncomfortable silence returned, accentuating how hurt Hyunjin clearly was, but he powered through it. He pulled on a resilient grin.

“Hey,” he pivoted, “I’m fine. We’re fine. Aren’t we supposed to be having a good time?”

You nodded, reluctantly for a second but quickly falling back into the swing of this beautiful new development with Hyunjin. Yes, you were heartbroken by Seungmin leaving, just as Hyunjin must’ve been.

If not even more heartbroken than you were. That was his closest friend.

Hyunjin swiftly transitioned to a light dessert and a glass of champagne for each of you, lifting your moods when he brought the conversation back up to speed. He asked you about what you studied in school, what you were doing for work before you moved in. It was surreal, having all his attention, just as you ever wanted. For a moment, you thought you heard the callbox at the entryway of the penthouse chime, but you realized soon enough that it must have been the music Hyunjin was playing. In this moment of peace, you had forgotten that the stereo was on. The conversation had flowed back so naturally that it felt like it was just you, Hyunjin, and your easily shared words.

That, and the damn letter in Hyunjin’s pocket that kept nagging at you.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin gazed at his stereo, seemingly also remembering that he’d been playing an album as well. He hand reached for yours again, palm up like how he had offered to escort you out of your room earlier that evening.

“Dance with me,” he insisted, coming around the breakfast nook and pulling you to your feet. “I picked the dress because I thought you’d look amazing dancing in it.”

Your cheeks heated up from his sweet sentiment, and you found yourself easily pulled along to simply dance in the kitchen with Hyunjin. Weeks ago, you and Seungmin kissed on the floor right where you were currently slow-dancing. 

“Sorry,” Hyunjin apologized once more, stilted and sudden, like it was weighing on him. “I mean–I guess–about Seungmin… again.”

It’s like he knew you were thinking about him. Maybe Hyunjin was, too. You stubbornly shook your head. Something in the back of your mind still desperately clung to your yearning. 

For Seungmin.

For Hyunjin.

For someone to make the first move again.

Maybe it was your turn this time.

“I came here for you, Hyunjin.”

Resolute. 

Firm. 

Hyunjin’s eyes had widened momentarily, but his expression softened back down with a faint swallow you could hear in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing a millimeter. But he didn’t proceed any further. He was waiting for your move. Your assurance hadn’t been enough. Boldly–although it shouldn’t have felt that way–you reached up to cup Hyunjin’s face. His skin was just as warm as his blushing cheeks suggested. 

“I’m ready for you to kiss me again.”

You’d said it softly, like you were afraid you’d frighten him away, and for a second there you were convinced he’d run. However, Hyunjin didn’t. Mirroring your gesture, Hyunjin’s hand reached for you. That same palm that’d first accepted your hand earlier in the evening met your cheek, and you barely had a chance to savor it before Hyunjin smoothly leaned down, eyes closed to kiss you.

It was far more chivalrous than your previous kiss, but maybe it was also more reserved. This was almost more methodical, warily searching each other. Your gentle sway to the music stopped. Standing in the same kitchen you’d kissed Seungmin in, now you were kissing Hyunjin. He almost possessively pressed a hand to the small of your back, herding you in closer to him. It was sweet, the way he jolted when he felt you deepen the kiss yourself, growing more brazen in your embrace. Hyunjin’s lips parted slightly for you, accepting your intrepid tongue that was lulling him deeper into becoming more comfortable. This was good. This was better than last time, more ideal. You wouldn’t be interrupted this time. Hyunjin would actually give and receive unfiltered, mutual attention that you’d been dreaming about. Seungmin was just a phase. Maybe you weren’t even that hurt.

This kiss–this series of unending kisses–it felt like you were making up for lost time. At least, it felt that maybe Hyunjin felt that way. While you were preoccupied with your thoughts, it seemed that Hyunjin couldn’t get enough of you. His hands pushed and pulled at you, wisping through your hair or running over the fabric of the dress he’d picked out for you. A hunger laid in his kiss, trying to bring you up to his level and almost impatient as he grew bolder. You tried to follow his lead. He dipped his nose to one side, so you followed so to the other. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, so yours slung around his neck. Hyunjin’s tongue tasted like champagne again, and you were dazed enough to feel like you’d had too many bubbles even though you’d only shared a glass.

“Please,” he finally murmured into your mouth.

Please… what? What did he want more of? More kissing? More romance? More touching?

Sex?

You waited as your kiss lingered, but no clarification came.

However, only an extra moment later, there it was: Hyunjin grabbed your hands in his again, and he took one step in the direction of his bedroom.

What Hyunjin didn’t know, though, was that you hadn’t completed forgiving him yet. He still had to make it up to you for ignoring you for so long.

“Mm,” you interrupted, pulling away from his lips, “we can’t.”

Hyunjin was flabbergasted. “Oh… that’s alright. Why not?”

You teasingly tugged on his hands that held your own. “My roommate is home.”

It seemed your sarcastic joke didn’t quite land. A distinct look of Hyunjin’s bruised ego shaded his expression for a second, and when he squared his shoulders, you were utterly convinced he might even be mad or upset. However, weren’t you right to make such a jab? Hyunjin hardly even acknowledged your existence until he decided to drunkenly change that only a matter of days ago. 

“Roommate?” he wryly asked. “You don’t have a roommate. You have a fiance… or at least that was my impression.”

Your heart pitifully jolted.

Fiance.

The whole, true reason you ever signed this inhumane contract in the first place.

Was Hyunjin coyly dangling this in front of you, or did he truly mean it? You barely had enough time to really think about this before he kissed you again and took yet another step towards his bedroom. It would seem that even though you made your move, it might not have been quite enough. 

Maybe it wasn’t fast enough.

You had to stop getting distracted. By now, Hyunjin had kissed you into the hallway, up against the wall opposite his bedroom door. Weeks ago–ages ago by now–you’d pulled Seungmin into the same position.

You also had to stop thinking of Seungmin. And it could possibly be a little easy to do when Hyunjin’s lips nursed at your pulse below your jaw. 

Instead, you honed in on every single sensation and ascribed each one to Hyunjin. Hyunjin’s hands on your waist. Hyunjin’s rushing tongue in your mouth. Hyunjin kissing you closer and closer to his bedroom before the two of you stumbled inside.

You’d only been in here once before. With Seungmin.

Seungmin.

No. Hyunjin.

Hyunjin tipping you down onto his bed, his arm wrapped around your waist to gently lower you onto the soft duvet.

Hyunjin lifting the hem of the pretty dress he’d picked out for you before you felt the palms of his warm hands slide up your thighs. 

Hyunjin sucking in a breath when you pulled at his shirt buttons. 

You finally caught up with yourself. The buckle of Hyunjin’s belt slid under your fingers, slippery with a thin layer of perspiration. Your supposed fiance’s chest was pale and modestly sculpted, cutting down in a sharp pair of channels at his hips and drawing your eyes further south. However, Hyunjin eased you flat on your back, and you almost wondered why before you felt his lips and tongue teasing your panties. 

He was in such a hurry, almost as if he were afraid he’d have second thoughts if he let himself stop. You practically insisted to yourself that this had to be tested. As much as it felt incredible, you stopped Hyunjin before he could get his tongue on your bare skin. He gasped, less from your fingers in his hair gently pulling him back, and more because you sat up, herding him back to reclining flat on the duvet. You slid off the bed so you could stand back up, easily stepping out of your heels and fumbling with the dainty zipper of your beautiful dress before the pewter blue chiffon piled around your feet on the floor. Hyunjin gazed at you, plush lips agape as he was forced to take it slow for a change of pace. You took your time, unclasping and dropping your bra on the floor as well before you finally slipped off your panties. Hyunjin’s eyes followed each lacy undergarment as they were peeled off of you and he seemed to savor this, taking in the sight of you and committing every inch of your skin to memory. He absently fumbled with the nice belt he had originally stopped you from unbuckling and soon his trousers joined your growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Before you lay Hwang Hyunjin, a stunning vision in only his open dress shirt and a pair of boxer briefs that hugged his slim hips. You’d pined over him for months before you ever even met him in person, and resented him for a decent share of the time that had elapsed since you were finally introduced. And now, he watched you intently, beautiful dark eyes dilated and shiny with desire as you climbed back into bed and sat astride his lap. He almost whimpered when you slid your fingers under the waistband of his underwear and finally held his length bare in your hand. You brushed the soft head of his cock, pretty as the rest of him, against your dripping entrance. This moment was months, weeks in the making. You both held your breath as you ultimately, finally took him inside you.

Time surged forward once again, the headrush settling back into place as Hyunjin groaned with satisfaction, his brows furrowing when he shut his eyes to feel you. Even then, it wasn’t enough. Hyunjin was, as you had gathered early on, ravenous. He quickly set about bouncing you on his hips, searching out a perfect angle to take you in, and when he didn’t find it right away, he eagerly rolled you both over and set about finding the right position from this new vantage point. You found yourself simply laying back and taking it, interested to see his process before Hyunjin settled to slide a pillow under your hips, getting a more comfortable angle for you as he spread you open, expertly slinging one of your legs over his shoulder while he began to rub you to euphoria. 

From that point, seemingly finding the right angle to at least begin with, sleeping with Hyunjin was a whirlwind of sighs and moans. He was playfully rough and gentle in waves, lightly pulling your hair to expose your neck for his lips and teeth, or softly caressing your breasts down to your hips while he slowly thrust deeper into you. Your hands returned his energy in full, your nails digging into his back or sweetly sweeping his hair out of his gorgeous eyes or the sweat off the tip of his perfect nose. Hardly any words were exchanged between you aside from small little pleas and affirmations, tiny pleasantries amidst the pleasure you were giving and receiving. 

Hyunjin kissed you hard and passionately when you reached your climax, swallowing your cries and persisting through his unrelenting thrusts until the spots in your vision faded and you were able to coherently think straight again. However, this left him more vulnerable than he was likely expecting, a thick groan of shock escaping him when you pushed him onto his back once again and resumed mercilessly riding him with a renewed vigor, practically a little act of revenge for snubbing you for so long. Hyunjin was almost begging you to slow down but his grip on your hips said otherwise, and you ground down on his length until he cried out in return, gasping and sighing through a culmination of his own.

It was as easy as that. Hyunjin finally took the time for you and it worked out beautifully for everyone involved. You were embracing Hwang Hyunjin in his bed after passionately making love to him for the first time. In a matter of days, you would forget Seungmin even existed.

Saturday, 12:04AM Week 11 of 24

You only wished that you could fall asleep, like Hyunjin did in a matter of minutes. Myriad thoughts that you hadn’t had the time to properly consider before were swirling around your head like a storm. You crept out of bed to sneak off to the ensuite, taking a second to spruce up and check in on yourself. This was incredible. Hyunjin was incredible. This was everything you wanted.

Except you had to admit that you didn’t exactly know what you wanted anymore, at least not how you wanted to achieve it. The weeks–the months–that Hyunjin ignored you couldn’t be forgiven, not so easily, even if you understood his reasoning. Tip-toeing back to bed, something caught your eye amidst your conjoined pile of clothes. 

Seungmin’s letter was peeking out of the pocket of Hyunjin’s discarded trousers. 

This gave you more pause than it had any right to. The temptation nagged at you, instantly burning through your chest and down to your fingertips. You had to know what Seungmin wrote to Hyunjin, what he possibly could’ve said to make his best friend grimace so deeply upon reading it the other day in the penthouse’s entryway. 

It was as though the letter was glaring at you, denying you any second or rational thoughts. Instead, you kept an eye on Hyunjin, peacefully dozing in bed, as you carefully bent down to grab the envelope as quietly as possible. Unsure of where to read it though, you settled for scampering back into the ensuite. Even in the enclosed space, it felt like the sound was amplified while you carefully opened the paper envelope and unfolded the letter, well worn over the time that Hyunjin had apparently been holding onto it.

Hyunjin,

I’m sorry if you think I’m being dramatic or selfish. All I know is this whole situation was outrageous from the beginning and, although I never intended to get involved in the way that I did, here I am. It may not seem fair to approach you like this, but you were the one who was presented with a living, breathing human that was tasked to live in your house for six months and decided that it would be reasonable, then, to treat her like trash. I’m not sure what I’m more stunned by, that it took you this long to acknowledge how you really had a chance at an amazing human, or that you seemed to only be interested in once I really fell for her. 

I don’t blame you, of course. I never have. If all you’ve ever known is getting your way no matter what, then it makes sense that this is what you would stoop to.

Fine, though. Have her, then, if she really does want you and you’re not just toying with her. I’m nothing if not your best friend. I want you to be happy. However, let her choose. It’s only right, and you know that. If she chooses you, then I think I’m well within my right to ask for a month of paid leave, just to get over this. If you let her choose me, however, consider my two weeks retroactive, back to that night after the stupid gala. You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t even take a severance package. I just want out. 

Forgive the deadline, but I’ll want an answer by the end of Friday. Hope you understand.

Your Friend, Seungmin

You were frozen, stunned at the words you just read. Your eyes pored over each and every word again, two more times. Friday.

Tonight. Or Saturday, really, judging by the time on Hyunjin’s digital clock on his bathroom counter.

Instead of accommodating Seungmin’s request, Hyunjin simply took you for himself. A dizzying sensation of unfiltered confusion washed over you, your emotions pulling you in all directions until you settled on one.

You were livid. The sickening taste of bile coated the back of your throat, you were so infuriated. Seungmin wanted you so badly that he’d give up everything simply so he could move on. On the other hand, Hyunjin wanted you so badly that he could risk destroying your and Seungmin’s trust. All forms of irrational ideas sprang to mind at once, but one lit up, as if strung up in lights: you had to find Seungmin. 

However, the problem was that you turned in your phone and laptop when you moved in. The little old doorman took them from you when you first arrived in the lobby of the building. At no point had Seungmin given you his phone number, because you didn’t need it. His address was unknown to you, because it simply wasn’t necessary before now. You would have to figure out what you were doing in a whole new way. Minutes passed in the ensuite like this before you were able to piece together a plan. 

First things first, you had to leave the bathroom. Thankfully, neither of you had shut Hyunjin’s bedroom door during your tryst, so you were able to tip-toe out. You crept back to your room and threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, before digging out your sneakers and a light hoodie. Dusting off your backpack from weeks previously, you shoved everything you could fit into it and threw it on. The next stop was Hyunjin’s office. You carefully searched, trying hard not to disrupt how Hyunjin had left everything on the desk, before you found your prize. Hyunjin, obviously, kept a couple of Seungmin’s business cards next to his desk phone. This at least gave you Seungmin’s work phone number and email address. Finally, you stopped by the entry table next to the elevator. Hyunjin’s wallet felt heavy in your hands, as if you were trying to stop yourself from stealing, but you had no choice. Mrs. Hwang also had the doorman take your wallet when you first arrived. You had no cash, no credit cards, not even your identification. Surely, this was justified.

The elevator loomed next to you, its hum sounding foreboding in the quiet entryway. You hazarded a glance behind you. No one was catching you escaping. Then again, that would probably change when the elevator chimed. You looked back at the elevator, and the door to the fire escape beside it. Easing open the door, you paused to listen for any alarms before you took off, rushing down the stairs as fast as you humanly could. 

Hyunjin lived on the 21st floor. Each flight you descended became more and more exhausting, but at least you were going down, not climbing up. There was a distinct feeling of perspiration growing on your palms, heightening the smell of the steel comprising the railing, the scent sharp in your nose. Your breath rattled in your chest, and on floor 10, just past halfway, you hazarded a quick breather.

This was, truth be told, terrifying. Obviously, this was never supposed to happen, but now that it did, you hated Hyunjin and his goddamn mother more and more by the second. Who knew what would happen when they discovered you left? Would Seungmin still want you after you seemingly snubbed him? Would you even be able to afford a lawyer to help you?

The final flights of the building were still difficult, but a little easier to traverse after your brief pause. However, you struggled to manage your panting breath by the time you finally reached the lobby. You burst free from the fire escape, ready to run out the front door and hail a taxi–

When a pale, wrinkled hand snatched the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Miss,” the old doorman greeted you, condescending and pitying, “you seem to be lost. Let’s get you sorted out.”

The thing you weren’t expecting was for the elderly man to be so fucking strong. You thrashed and cried out as he grabbed you and grappled you down a hallway, back into the building, its walls swallowing you back up. He wrenched off your backpack and tossed it under the front desk when he dragged you past it. Even more distressingly, the little old man had a pair of handcuffs that he fished out, and he snapped them on your wrists the moment he was able to wrestle them both behind your back. If you hadn’t insisted on taking the stairs, maybe you would’ve had more strength, but it was no use. You uselessly twisted and kicked as much as you could manage before the old man opened a nondescript door at the end of the back hallway. Inside the room, a bank of security camera monitors formidably stood over a desk of controls and miscellaneous paperwork. The doorman dumped you in a folding chair. You couldn’t hear your frantic breaths over your heartbeat.

On the monitors, you observed a new terrifying layer to this ordeal as they cycled through their different inputs. 

As it turned out, there were cameras apparently stationed all over Hyunjin’s penthouse–the living room, the kitchen, the patio and pool… and Hyunjin’s bedroom. You could see him now, still obliviously dead asleep in bed. 

The cameras cycled again. Your eyes widened, unbelieving at first.

Seungmin, somewhere, was in another holding cell of sorts, tied up and gagged in a folding chair of his own.

“Don’t you worry, Miss,” the doorman facetiously assured you, not looking at you as he grabbed the phone on the desk, “I’ll call Mrs. Hwang and we’ll get this sorted out right away.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

It’s normal for me to sleep for 12-20 hours straight even if I got 9 hours of sleep the night before because A. I’m sick all the time B. I have chronic migraines and C. I’m depressed. These little comas I fall into work out well for me because I usually feel better when I wake up. I headcanon Genesis has the same problem. Do you think he wakes up at 7 PM thinking its 7 AM? Do you think he experiences a minor inconvenience and heads straight for bed? Do you think people open closets and cupboards very carefully because Genesis might be curled up in there taking another one of his 10 hour naps?

I think Genesis made a fuss of his sleep schedule when he was in SOLDIER, prioritizing rest and "beauty sleep" as well as his much needed reset time so he could be wide awake and alert the next day—because goddess forbid he slag behind Sephiroth.

Genesis was also sick a lot growing up, and needed more rest than the average child because his body just didn't cooperate. So he got used to maintaining an immaculate schedule. There were slip ups here and there: out all night partying, pulling an all nighter to finish writing, and those missions that lasted for days and required his full waking attention.

And he always hated how his body reacted afterward, how he couldn't give fighting his 100% because of how exhausted his mind and body were. He felt useless when he got no sleep, so he made sure it didn't happen often.

All of that shifted abruptly when the degradation began. Suddenly his sleep schedule was an endless cycle of either sleeping for several hours, or a brand of insomnia so distinct one might've thought it were limited edition.

The eye bags forming under his eyes, marring his once perfect skin, were suddenly insignificant next to the blackening scar that stretched over his shoulder, crawling onto his neck.

This type of sleep didn't help. They were unlike the restful nights of sleep he got when he was healthy. This sleep knocked him off his feet. He'd go to bed at 8 PM, suffer through a round of nightmares, and wake up at 12 PM the next day with the sun stinging his eyes and shoulder screaming with pain. He would doze off at his desk at 1 PM and awake at 1 AM with Angeal or Sephiroth shaking him.

Suddenly the days began to spiral out of his grasp. Mondays felt like Wednesdays. Fridays felt like Tuesdays. He can't believe it's already Saturday. Wasn't it just Thursday just yesterday? Ah, right. He had spent the larger part of the past two days sleeping.

It would've been just fine if he could blame it all on the degradation, theorizing that the chronic fatigue simply made him sleepier. But deep down he knew that would be a lie—and goddess knows he's had enough of those.

Simply put: Genesis just wanted to sleep. He didn't want to be awake to experience his own body turning against him, or continue to hear the voice in his head screaming for answers, for justice, for a cure. He didn't want what his waking life had to offer, so he succumbed to exhaustion. But it was uncomfortable and unfulfilling.

He then sleeps less when he deserts. This time he wishes he could sleep, or have a guaranteed bed to rest in every night. But there's no time to rest when you're trying not to die.

[humanityinahandbag]

Steddie: Sticker Fic (Part 1)

“Hey, Munson?” Eddie turned and Steve was there, in his space, leaning forward until Eddie was pressed back into the kitchen island. He could smell Steve’s cologne, could see the moles and freckles across his face, could taste the air around him, like honey and butter and frosting. And then Steve reached out and pressed his fingers to Eddie’s chest, drawing back just as quickly, leaving Eddie’s skin warm and tingling. He’d also left something else on Eddie’s shirt. He barely registered what had happened until he was sitting back down, and Dustin's eyes were on him along with the rest of the kids. "No fair!" Dustin pointed, scowling at Eddie's shirt. "How come you got that one!" "Uh," said Eddie and looked down. I Did an Amooooozing Job Today! said a cow in a cowboy hat.

Eddie Munson was doing his best to push down his absolutely tragic crush on Steve Harrington. He'd been doing a pretty good job of it, too.

And then Steve brought out the goddamn stickers.

(or: Steve flirts using stickers. The kids go feral for them. Puns are everywhere and they are terrible. And Eddie is losing his goddamned mind.)

-

The first sticker appeared on a Tuesday.

Hellfire Club had been tentatively invited back into the school as a sort of withering olive branch, most of the school officials and adults shamefaced about the whole almost killing a kid in a jock-led Satanic Panic Mob thing. They’d put on their best faces and tried to appeal to Eddie’s mercy (even Principal Higgins had swallowed down his repulsion to say mistakes were made). 

But in the end it hadn't made much of a difference, and Eddie Munson got to watch each and every one of their faces fall deeper into sticky guilt when he said “no thank you”. 

It wasn't easy. Hellfire had been held in the back of the theater room since he'd started the club. Through bullies, black eyes, and the burning stares of teachers, that room had given Hawkins High at least one space he could be himself without apology. Without danger of being called a fag. Of being too slow to dodge a punch.

It was him, his friends, the stories they crafted.

And giving it up was like leaving a piece of himself behind.

But the fumbled apologies from adults (who should have known better, who'd never liked him, who'd been completely okay throwing words and stones and demanding his head, who suddenly looked to him to absolve their sins) made him feel skeevy. The guilt was warranted, but as his Uncle firmly told him it wasn’t his job to make a bunch of no-good-kid-hunting adults feel better.

"You ain't their priest, son. If they can hunt my boy so easily, then they shouldn't have any problems hunting down someone to listen to their goddamn confession, too."

Eddie had the scars along his body, a chunk of flesh eaten from his thigh, and a missing left nipple to show for their mistake . He had nightmares and flashbacks and nights where he woke up in a cold sweat expecting to see a mob outside his window shouting vile, obscene words to cut him deep or vines crawling across his ceiling to cut him even deeper. 

So he’d said no, even if it meant he might have needed to give up one of his most sacred spaces in the world. 

And then Steve Harrington (with his perfect smile and whiskey eyes and warm touch) had stepped in and said, “why don’t you just have Hellfire at my house?” and that was that. 

Steve Harrington's house provided safety, a giant ass dining room table, from-scratch cookies and cakes that Steve insisted on baking each and every time they met. 

It also provided Steve, who was wonderful and sweet and kind and-

And.

And.

And whatever the reason (that Eddie was definitely not avoiding, not at all), it was enough for Eddie to wind up at the head of Steve's dining room table, leering at the small group from behind his screen.

It was snickerdoodle that day; Jeff's favorite. Eddie had already put back two and was happily considering a third. The rest of Hellfire looked like they were regretting eating any as Eddie hunched forward in the ridiculous oak dining chair. Dustin was green in the face, staring down at his miniature like he might as well have dug a tiny grave right then and there.

"You arrive at a door." Eddie steepled his fingers, resting his chin against the points. "Ancient symbols are carved throughout. Runes from another time, another place." 

"Shit," Gareth murmured. "God, not another fucking door."

"Your only other escape is through the tunnels where you came, but you can already hear the Orc armies clashing their way through. What do you do, oh mighty heroes?"

"We're fucked." Dustin threw up his hands, pressing the heels against his eyes. "Oh Jesus we're so fucked."

"We're not fucked!" Lucas said, even if his face said otherwise. "We need- shit, we need a strategy! Will-?"

"I'm barely hanging on!" Will stared down at his character sheet, scribbling notes down furiously. "We could do an observation check-"

Dustin groaned. "We don't have time for that!" 

"Well then what are we supposed to do, Genius," Erica snapped. "Sit here and die?"

The table erupted into an argument, insults and strategies twisting together through the fray, Eddie watching it all delighted. 

From the corner of his eye he could see Steve leaving the kitchen with a fresh plate of what looked like carrot sticks. He walked carefully and silently through, mostly ignored by the still bickering group as he began to collect the empty cookie plates and gather napkins, stepping from spot to spot to curiously look over shoulders. 

"Enjoying the peace and quiet, Harrington?"

Steve snorted, dropping the plate of carrots by Eddie's elbow. "Oh yeah. Getting in a quick meditation." 

Eddie laughed, glancing back down at his notes to hide the blush already crawling up his collar, scribbling out a quick direction on the paper.

And then-

“What the hell is that?”

-the table fell silent. 

There could have been a million reasons for those words to be said by any one of the Hellfire Club, and so Eddie wasn't much phased by the squawk from the other side of the table beyond the sea of miniatures and D20s. It was only when the other kids began to grumble that he looked up from behind his screen. 

What he found was a scene that didn’t fully belong at the table of dark cloth and menacing figurines and leather clad nerds who were all now staring at Mike Wheeler holding up his character sheet, staring at Steve who had been coming over to grab empty plates from the middle of the miniature battle. 

The character sheet, which was now adorned with a circle just bigger than a quarter. 

Eddie squinted. The circle was a bright, neon green with a star in the middle. And the star was wearing- Huh. He squinted again, and, yup. The star was wearing sunglasses. 

Steve turned back, empty stack of plates in one hand. “It’s a sticker.” 

“No shit, Steve,” said Mike. “What’s it doing here though.” 

Steve shrugged. “I thought your little dude was cool. So.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and held up a roll of stickers. Eddie could see more sunglass wearing stars scattered in between a small galaxy of suns giving them the thumbs up and a moon with a backwards hat.

"We're not babies, Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. Just say thank you.” 

“Whatever,” said Mike, which was as close to thanks as he ever got. “I’m throwing it away.”

“Do what you want,” said Steve. He rolled his eyes and looked down at Eddie. “So ungrateful,” he said, as if Eddie was meant to commiserate somehow with a freshman. 

Then again, Eddie was always happy to play along. “Oh yeah. Kid doesn’t know how good he’s got it. Crowning achievement, that prize.”

“You jealous, Munson?” 

Eddie snorted. “Sure, Harrignton. Whatever you want to tell yourself. Now stop distracting my sheepies. We’ve got stuff to- to…”

He trailed off when Steve leaned closer. His cologne was woodsy and dark and from the angle where he leaned, Eddie could see chest hair poking from the open neck of his polo shirt. He reached out and pressed his fingers against Eddie’s shoulder. His touch was firm and sure and Eddie wanted to sink against it. “Well,” he said, “I’d hate to be a distraction.” And then he leaned back like nothing had happened, getting the kids’ attention with a sharp whistle and a call for pizza orders. 

When Eddie looked down, there was a sticker on his shoulder. 

Eyes on the Prize said a festive looking potato. 

Eddie did his best to scoff, swallowing back the thrumming in his chest. 

.

.

.

Though if he put the stupid thing inside his binder afterwards. Well. That was no one else's business but his own. 

-

Want to read the rest of this fic? This is only a part of chapter 1! The rest of it (as well as the next three chapters) can be found on AO3!

If you want to watch Steve Harrington woo Eddie Munson with stickers, then this might be the right story for you.

Warning: (Slaps story) This baby can hold so many bad puns.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 6/18/2024

might flood today! might not! who knows! i live in the paved over swamp! mackintosh’s main concern is this bowl of grapes

listening

sligo river blues performed by john fahey. part of the point of doing this weekly is when i sit down to draft these, i am occasionally forced to go "ooh. i forgot to listen to music while pacing around last week. maybe that's why i was a tremendous cunt and wanted to claw out of my own skin."

anyway i care about two people on tiktok and one of them is a couple renovating a stunning house in the pacific northwest from a level 5 hoard (DK Dreamhouse), and one is this guy dylanwesch who is i guess music nerd tok? a lot of ambient stuf which i love to click around on the computer to. listened to part of this album while debugging a GIS problem this week

-

reading

i read six books this week, which is really the clearest possible sign i need to up my antidepressants. read the shepherd king duology by rachel gillig (Fine but i had some issues with the authorial style, felt very YA as opposed to NA, did have a very cool magic system, unfortunately i liked the second couple’s banter and relationship Way More than the main couple’s). finished the last three books in the temeraire series, i have not much to say about them except i adored them wholeheartedly. also before i read those i wrote all the below in a fit of pique

the great state of west florida by kent wascom. instagram kept serving me ads for this book and i am once again a little unnerved by meta's advertising.

publishers' weekly synopis

In Wascom’s wacky and wild fourth adventure for the Woolsack clan (after The New Inheritors), lawless gunslingers and reactionary Christian nationalists face off in a divided Florida. The year is 2026 and 13-year-old orphan Rally Woolsack is rescued from the abusive foster family who brought him to Louisiana by his long-lost uncle Rodney, who regularly responds to challenges of mortal combat on the app DU3L. Rally is thrilled to get away from his tormentors and return to Florida, although it turns out Rodney has pulled him from the frying pan into the fire. Troy Yarbrough, a state legislator whose family runs a creepy evangelical Christian college in its mansion on Florida’s panhandle, has introduced a bill calling for the region to secede from the state. Rally, reckoning with the long-running bad blood between his family and the Yarbroughs, derides Troy’s vision as a “Jesus-riddled white ethnostate with a beachside pastel tinge.” With the bill on the floor of the state legislature, and with everyone packing firearms, the Florida Wars begin. Fans of pulpy dark humor will relish the climactic showdown between Yarbrough’s henchmen and those loyal to an elusive figure called the Governor, as right-wing nutjob Troy is saddled by mad cow disease and Rally is rescued by his crush. This high-octane satire feels all too plausible. Agent: Gail Hochman, Brandt & Hochman Literary. (May)

i had some trouble with this one! on its face it seems like the kind of thing i would eat with a spoon. in practice it's more of a coming-of-age than a just-before-the-apocalypse story and i have a lot of trouble relating to a thirteen-year-old boy. even if he is bisexual. in this interview wascom says he's "re-mythologizing the Western" which i can kind of see? it's very pulp and ultra-violent in a spaghetti western kind of way, and seems written in a way easily adaptable to the screen. not quite vaporwave but a lot of anime influence: the author thanks twelve Japanese directors and manga artists at the end of the book.

there's an odd authorial quirk where the thirteen-year-old boy often points out (internally and externally) that the adults in his life are just talking at him about politics. which is a pretty accurate portrayal of childhood, but lampshading it in this way doesn't really make me excited about wascom's authorial chops? this is your fourth book. this book revolved around a couple brutal fight scenes (and one giant setpiece crowd scene, which has vibes and atmosphere in spades), and that's a perfectly fine reason to write a book, but if that's your strength i would be very happy to have you focus on that instead of sections where both the kid and i the reader are bored.

there's a scene with babysitter/babysittee sexual abuse that unlocks how the abused character makes decisions for the rest of his life, but it was extremely graphic and i wasn't really prepared for that. i don't know that i would have read this book if i had that knowledge aforethought.

overall not quite what i wanted it to be: the author in this interview said he's been working on it for over a decade and had to keep throwing out parts coming true during trump's presidency. i picked this pulpy novel up as an escape from the terrible politics of today, which is not what this books is. i don't know if i buy that he was simply too good at predicting the future, but i do like the choice stated in his interview "I abandoned the predictive stuff and tried to tell a story like it was written on an obelisk in the future, like what Denis Johnson did with Fiskadoro, or Joanna Russ with The Female Man". it does feel very much like the narrator from Mad Max 2 telling his story of meeting Max as a feral kid. again, some interesting ideas in here, does deliver on the Southern Gothic doomed political family aspect, as well as the same flavor of heat-wave climate tragedy as JG Ballard's The Drowned World, but i would have liked to focus more on his cool furiosa-like aunt in a white mustang with an anime mech arm. criminally underused character

-

watching

watched The Hunter (2011, dir. Nettheim) because of the Temeraire books! they used an archaic name for Tasmania that made me go “where the Fuck is that” and then i looked at the media mentions section of the wikipedia page. beautiful film in a very spare way. lots of long loving shots of willem defoe in the wilderness enduring various weather conditions.

i don’t know if it stuck the landing quite as well as i would like, but like defoe you fall in love with the land and the family so slowly it’s very startling when you finally do fully realize it. i think i was supposed to cry at the end but didn’t quite manage it. one of my favorite springsteen songs is part of the diagetic score in a way that made me cry, which i also did not expect.

-

playing

shoutout to the Thing Matching genre of phone game. this one is very much watch-ads-to-win but the levels are pretty long and i like shuffling objects around while listening to podcasts and trying to fall asleep

-

making

fallow week

[maleyanderecafe]

Hi! I've been craving some yandere content that's not manga, webtoon, manwa, etc. Do you have recommendations that are movies, tv shows, maybe some kdrama too? Just not manga, anime and the sort.

Sorry this one took a kabillion years to answer. Back in October, Cherry and I basically had a yandere movie month where we would just watch a bunch of movies that were labeled as Male Yandere movies because horror month (which is unfortunate for me because I don't really like horro movies). Anyways, besides the short list here that has some TV shows, here's some stuff we watched. Some of this will be later put in as recommendations, probably on Tuesdays.

Hush Little Baby- we're going to start out with some lifetime movies because they're low calorie and turn off brain fun to watch. About a neighbor kid who comes in to babysit the main character's kid only to cause problems to the entire family.

Swim at Your Own Risk- another lifetime movie. About a swim team girl who has a fling with the swim couch after taking a break with her boyfriend. Things go wrong as the swim couch gets obsessed with her.

You Belong to Me - another lifetime movie. About a lady who finds out that someone is stalking her and tries to figure out who it is after they try to murder her boyfriend.

Addicted/Obsessed- Addicted is the korean movie and Obsessed is the English remake. About twins, one of which is married to the female lead, where they both have an accident. The husband dies, however, the other seems to have been possessed by the husband.

LadyHawke - older movie, but the yandere is the main villain. About a main character who escapes prison and finds a couple who is cursed to turn into a wolf and hawk respectively during the day and night, fated to never be together.

Well Intentioned Love- Chinese drama, though the yandere portion only really shows up in the first season. About a girl who has lukemia and has to have a contract marriage with the only person who can give her a doner bone marrow match. Driver is best character.

Disco Pigs- Pretty surreal movie in some cases. About two childhood friends, Pig and Runt who love each other as Pig becomes more and more obsessed with her as the movie goes on.

Labyrinth - I probably won't write a recommendation for this one because the yandere portion really only shows up in the song, but it's still a fun movie with David Bowie. I even read the comic for it just to check but the yandere portion seems to only show up in the song.

The Boy - I actually watched this with another friend that was obsessed with wallmen, but its a pretty fun movie overall. I think most people know this one though. About a lady who moves in and babysits a doll while trying to escape her abusive ex.

Within - also another movie I watched with my wallmen obsessed friend. About a family that moves into a house that turns out to be haunted in one way or another.

What If…Dr. Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands? - Sorcerer Supreme in general in general seems like a yandere since his entire goal is to just bring back Christine at all costs. He also just generally shows up in other episodes of the What If? Series.

Heathers - I heard the movie version isn't nearly as yandere, but the musical version is for sure.

Phantom of the Opera- I'm kind of cheating with this one because it's like one of the OG male yandere stuff, but hey, if you haven't heard or watched it yet, well you know.

That's about it for now since usually Cherry and I don't watch a ton of movies. Might change after a while, but we'll see. Maybe in February we'll try to have a tv drama month to watch stuff.

[treasure-goblin]

Lu Elementary School AU

Bus Ride pt. 2 (ft. Sky and Wild)

Sky yawned and rubbed his eyes slowly as he trudged towards the buses for the ride home. Sun was at home, sick, so he got to leave early. If it had been a Wednesday, he might go study with Warriors and Legend, but it was only Tuesday, so no such luck.

His stuffed loftwing under his arm, Sky kicked a rock along the sidewalk, not looking forward to the bus ride home without Sun. It was always boring when she wasn't there. Even if he did try to nap the whole ride home, her chatter was always welcome.

The boy was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of sobbing, and what sounded like Mr. Hudson, the bus driver, speaking. Looking up from his rock, Sky winced when he saw little Wild bawling his eyes out, backpack thrown to the ground and clutching his stuffed wolf in a death grip.

“Is he, um, ok?” Sky whispered awkwardly as he approached the two, looking up at the other kids not so subtly watching from the bus windows. Mr. Hudson shook his head with a sigh.

“He won't calm down, pretty sure he misses his brother, but he won't tell me.” The man explained, shaking his head. “I need to get you kids home, but I'm not going to force him onto the bus, and I can't leave him here.”

Sky nodded in understanding, wincing as Wild continued to wail loudly, tears streaming down the younger kids' cheeks. This was a problem. Sky knew Twilight, so he knew the other boy was at soccer right now and couldn't just leave practice to go home with his brother. Thinking quickly, Sky took his little stuffed bird and poked Wild's cheek gently with its beak.

Wild's eyes popped open after a few ‘pecks’, and his wailing subsided to sniffling, although the tears still fell. The little 1st grader looked baffled at the plush bird pecking his face and turned to Sky in bewilderment. Sky took a deep breath and smiled.

“*squawk* Why are you crying, *squawk*” Sky asked in a silly voice, flapping his bird's wings a few times. Wild blinked and wiped his eyes, remaining silent but reaching out to poke the bird.

“Ah! Hey, *squawk*, how rude!” Sky joked, pecking Wild's cheeks again. The little boy giggled weakly, scrubbing his eyes again and holding up his wolf stuffie.

“Woof woof.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Sky's smile softened, and he let Wild have his wolf ‘sniff’ his face. Mr. Hudson had backed away, apparently confident in Sky's ability to help Wild, so the boy decided to tackle the issue at hand.

“*squawk*, Mr. Wolf, do you want to get on the bus?” He asked kindly. Wild's smile fell, but he didn't start crying, at least. His little wolf shook its head slowly. Sky nodded.

“Aaaah, I see. Mr. Wolf, is the bus too scary, *squawk*?” Suprisingly, the wolf shook its head no again. So, Wild wasn't afraid of the bus itself. Sky knew the kid loved Mr. Hudson. He also had a favorite seat, which, from where he was standing, looked unoccupied, as it was the only row that didn't have faces pressed against the windows.

“Hmmmmm, Is it, maybe, because Mr. Wolf needs a friend to sit with?” He asked, lowering his loftwing to look Wild in the eyes. The boy hesitated again but nodded slowly.

That made more sense. It wasn't the bus that was scary. It was riding the bus alone.

“Wild, do you wanna sit with me on the bus?” Sky asked sweetly. “Sun is at home, so I'm all alone, and I don't want to be lonely on the ride home.”

Wild blinked and looked at the bus for a moment before nodding shyly and taking Sky's hand in his own small one. Sky smiled brightly and picked up the other boy's backpack, and the two got into the bus together, ready for the ride home.

Masterlist - Pt. 1

Divider by @/cafekitsune

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Right where you left me

Title from Taylor Swift‘s song Right where you left me🫧

Leon Kennedy x gn! Reader

summary: After breaking up with Leon you never visited the café you guys used to have y‘alls date. What happens when you decide to buy a coffee und see him sitting in the corner you guys used to sit?

Warning: other than heartbreaking and seeing Leon sitting alone and looking at his coffee, none.

not my gif!

It‘s been five months since you and Leon broke up. It was because you guys were having problems with communicating and it got so worse you just had to leave. A part of you hated you because you left the man you truly love but the other part of you is proud of you because for the first time you put yourself first. You told Leon to find you when he is ready to start a new relationship after seeing a therapist. You even gave him the number of a very good therapist in town which your best friend is also visiting.

And now… You’re standing in front of the cafe Leon and you would have your regular date. Every Tuesday at 3 pm. You would sit there for hours and drink y‘alls coffee while enjoying each other’s presence. There were times where none of you would talk. Just looking at each other like some Teenagers. And now… everything is gone.

But you’re really craving for some good coffee after having the most exhausting day at work. You get in without thinking any further and make your way to the cashier.

“Hey! What can I get for you?” the orange haired woman asks you with a kind smile. You feel like you‘ve seen her somewhere but you can’t figure out from where. “Hey. I‘d like to have a double espresso to go.” you tell her. She tabs on the iPad and looks at you again. “Would you like to pay with cash or card?” she asks you and you hand her the cash with tip with a smile “with cash and the rest is tip.”

She smiles and before she goes to make your order she stops and turns to you leaving you a bit confused. “I have a question.” Now you’re curious. What might her question be? You tilt your head and your eyebrows furrow. “Yes?” you answer. “This might be a weird thing to ask but… did you and your boyfriend break up? Because I didn’t see you guys here in a long time. It was kinda sad not seeing you guys sitting at your regular place with your regular drink. We Were a bit worried since you guys were the locals.” Oh? Of course this was gonna happen. You gulp really loudly and your face sadden. The cashier notices your face change real quick and adds “I- uh I- didn’t really mean to uh… you know. It wasn’t my intention to bring up memories. I‘m really sorry if I hurt you” you can feel the woman being worried about accidentally hurting you and quickly shake your head. “No it’s okay. We are just… yeah we broke up” you whisper the last sentence. It feels like someone is stabbing your heart. Maybe stabbing you won’t hurt you as much as your heart hurts right now. “I‘m sorry to hear that. You guys were so cute. Anyways… before I leave to make your order…uh- He is sitting at your regular place. You know in the corner right back. He never stopped coming here” she tells me before leaving.

He never stopped coming here?

Is it really just for the coffee? A part of you hopes that he still comes here because of you, hoping to see you.

Curiosity wins and you step to the side a bit, trying to get a look at the back of the caffe.

And she was right. He is sitting there, all alone and looking at the coffee. The coffee you always ordered when you were having your dates with him. But you thought that he would never in a million years would drink that. But here he is, drinking it. You can’t figure out how he might feel because his face doesn’t hold any emotions. Should you go and say hi to him? Would that be awkward?

“Here is your order. Have a great day!” the woman says while handing you your coffee. You thank her and take your drink.

And now you’re standing there. Wondering if you should go and say hi.

You want to run to him and kiss him for as long as you can. You want to run to him and hug him and confess that you missed him so much. You want him to know that you spend days crying because you felt bad for leaving him with an opening ending. But you also just want to leave and not look back.

But somehow you feel like your feet is acting on their own and now you’re walking towards him. “I thought you would never drink that?” you speak and he flinches. He turns his head to you and you see how his face lights up. Immediately, he jumps up from his seat and looks at you. “Y/N? Oh my god. Hey!” his voice is still deep and so damn sexy. You remember how he used to praise you with this voice while he was-

Snap out of it.

“Hi Leon. How are you?” you ask him and give him a genuine smile. The corner of his lips curl a bit and you could bet he was trying to hide a smile. Also, you notice that he is pretty nervous because his hands are doing everything but standing still next to him.

“I‘m good. Yeah. Uh…. how are you?” he asks you back. “I‘m good thanks. But since when are you drinking my regular drink?” you ask him and you can feel him getting even more nervous. “Actually it still tastes like shit. I… I honestly don’t know” he stutters. If it still tastes like shit than why is he drinking it? You don’t get the point.

But you decided to not push the topic further as you realize that this question made him pretty nervous because now he started to swing with his body. You guys stay silent for a solid minute before it gets any more awkward you decide to break the silence.

“Okay… Than I should probably get going. Bye Leon” As you were about to turn around you can feel his huge hands wrap around your wrist and stopping you from leaving. Before you can ask hin what’s wrong he interrupts you.

“I really missed you Y/N. Home doesn’t feel like home since you left.” he starts confessing. His voice is heavy, you can hear it. “ I’m going to a therapist and I‘m actually doing great. I‘m making progress. I don’t know why I‘m telling you this. Maybe because I just wanted to you know.”

He did in fact went to see a therapist. Not only because of you but also because of himself. He realized how much he was hurting you without even knowing. He also didn’t realize that he was hurting himself. So he decided to take help from someone professional.

“I didn’t talk to other woman. I mean yes I talked to them but not in that way. I kept rejecting them and told every single one of them that I‘m seeing someone. I want you to know that I still love you. And I think I will love you until I take my last breath. My heart will continue to beat for you until it stops beating. ” now you can feel a tear escaping your eye. It feels like someone is putting weight on your heart. It’s too heavy and your heart can’t take that.

“But please don’t feel bad for leaving me. Actually, I‘m kinda glad you did. Because now I‘m healing and I can be the man you truly deserve. I was being serious about us marrying. And I was about to come and find you again. Asking you for another chance. So please Y/N, can I take you out on a date? Just to talk. Because right now I don’t look good and I want us to have more time to talk.”

His little speech kinda touched you. He did really change. He is changing and he is healing. That’s what you always wanted for him. Not thinking too long you nod and it makes him happy. You can see his smile brighter than the sun.

“Next Tuesday, at 3 pm, here?” he asks you.

“Okay” you agree.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

idk if someone has already asked this but- any ink centric fics? :)

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

For the Forgotten Ones by Im_Sorry_Buddy (Not Rated, Complete)

A great source of despair draws Nightmare to an abandoned AU. There he finds an unfinished Sans with no name, no companions, no purpose, no world, and a soul. Nightmare gives him the option to get out of his abandoned, empty world. He accepts the offer but refuses to destroy anything or hurt people. Instead he finds another purpose. In return the Bad Sanses give him a home, companions, a life, and a name. They call him Ink. Or: Before he can destroy his soul and enter the Doodle Sphere, Ink is recruited by Nightmare. He accepts his role as best he can, even if he sometimes feels like he is meant for something more.

Spilled Ink by Im_Sorry_Buddy (Mature, Incomplete)

It has been one month since fifty AUs were DELETEd without explanation. Ink is summoned to Blue’s AU by an emergency call and fears the worst. When he arrives, the AU is safe and Blue, Core, and Dream convince him to stay for a while. They were not the only ones waiting for him. Ink's brother is so happy to see him. Everyone else? Not so much. S̶͔̄o̵͎͊o̴͉͂n̴͎͒ ̷̠̄ï̷̠t̷̜̊ ̵̳̀ẅ̸̩́i̵̻̊l̵̖͗l̷̹̎ ̷̢̕b̴͓̔e̴̜̽ ̷̳͝ṯ̸̐í̷̹m̷̙̎ě̷̫ ̸͚͒t̸͇̕ǒ̶͜ ̵̻͠b̴̅͜r̸̙͊i̸̪͂n̷̗̂ġ̷̬ ̴̡̒t̵͓̏r̴̢͒u̶̲̒ẻ̶͉ ̶̪̋"̸̢͠j̶̘̃u̷͒͜s̶͍̊t̴̢͘i̶̘̇c̸̗̑e̴͕͘"̵̢̈ ̶̰͝t̷͙̏õ̴̤ ̷͇̀t̷̫̂h̶͚̏ḙ̴͊ ̸͔͂M̸̜͠u̴͚̒l̸̲̈ṫ̶̯i̴̛̪v̷̰̿ē̶̳r̶̮̒s̷͎̍e̶̯̿.̷̮̄

Perseverance by PastelAspirations (Not Rated, Incomplete)

"In this world, perseverance is the most reliable thing you can have." The king wearily laughed. Ink stared at him as he tried to comprehend the words. Perseverance? Although it made sense, it only seemed to contribute to his rising alarm. How could he possibly thrive if perseverance was the most reliable aspect someone could have; an aspect he woefully lacked? (My very own AU idea. I suck at titles. And creativity. Took me forever to finally come up with a title and I'm still unsure about it. I hope you enjoy the story anyway, despite all the problems. Also, I am a veeery slow writer, so please keep in mind updates will be slow. Most of the characters go to their respective owners.)

Where It Began by mazymay12 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

The unexpected always tends to happen. Life's full of twists and turns, constantly surprising us with new found abilities, experiences, problems... The best any of us can do is hope we are prepared for what happens. Ink always thought he'd be ready for anything, but a little mix up with Error and magic proves him very, very wrong. Updates should happen every Tuesday, but there isn't any promises right now.

Guardian Angel by Lunalalune (Mature, Complete)

"Ink sighed long, his back arched while he watched with a dull eye the field of echo flowers in front of him. He was desperate, desperate by his constant fails, his flirting attempts for Error that didn't lead to anything. Seriously, why couldn't the Destructor just accept his advances?" === Error doesn't want Ink, Killer wants to break up with Nightmare, and in this storm of emotions the painter and the guardian agree on one thing: if they're going to be alone, they might as well be together. Errink / NightKiller / InkMare !

[bumbledi]

♡ The road to parenthood ♡

Pairing: time skip! Ushijima Wakatoshi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Your relationship with Wakatoshi through the years and the beginning of a new chapter in it.

Warning: pregnancy (?)

Note: hey! This is my first time writing a haikyuu fic. Also, English is not my first language so hopefully this turned out good. I hope you like it and I would like to read your thoughts :) also, there might be a pt. 2? Idk

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Read the sequel “The road of parenthood”:

Part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Ever since you met Ushijima Wakatoshi in high school you knew he was going to be someone special in your life.

You actually met him by a friend in common, Tendo.

When he found out that you played for the “Shiratorizawa Female volleyball club” after being partners on a protect, he stuck by your side ever since. And it didn’t take him long to introduce you to his incredibly handsome and straightforward friend.

Of course you thought that he was stoic at first, everybody does... But Tendo knew exactly what he was doing.

Your friendly and outgoing personality made it easier for you two to be friends and eventually a couple.

Wakatoshi actually has a very tender personality, of course it took time for you to bond and trust each other but you eventually did and stared dating almos at the end of your second year of high school.

You knew he was a complete volleyball head so yo tried to take him out of his comfort zone the more you could. Going out in dates, taking the train to the city and go to watch a movie, sneaking to his dorm to make out and something a little bit more lewd in your last year of high school, you know, horny teenagers...

♡ ♡

Even tough the first year after you graduated wasn’t easy, you manage to stay together and continue developing your relationship. You moved together, adopted a cat together, traveled together, got engaged and married.

But now, you two are getting ready for a different level challenge, you are expecting your first child together. After talking about it a lot, discussing if you could provide a child without a problem, which you could easily, you both tested your fertility and once you got a green flag, you started trying for a baby.

Ushijima definitely aimed correctly because one month later you got a positive result!

You remember perfectly... it was a Tuesday, your period was 5 days late and you just couldn’t deal with the anticipation, so you took a pregnancy test and as expected, POSITIVE. You cried your eyes out right there, sitting on the edge of the ofuro, so excited to tell Wakatoshi. You also took another test, just to make sure it wasn’t a false positive, spoiler... it wasn’t.

After taking some pictures of the tests, you got your car keys and drove to the closest mall in your area, you got to a baby shop and picked up a little beige onesie with elephants on it, along with a tiny hat.

While you were at the mall, you also got a little gift box and some groceries for you both... You drove back home and prepared the little surprise, the onesie and hat, along with the tests you took and a little Vabo-chan plushie, Wakatoshi gave you a while ago. You left the box on the kitchen counter and continued your day, waiting for your husband’s arrival.

Once he got home from practice that day, you played as cool as posible so he couldn’t figure it out.

“Remember that cool store we saw on downtown the other day?” you asked you husband once he was done changing into more comfortable clothes.

“The one with the cool decor? Yeah...”

“I went there and got something cool after I was done with the groceries! It’s in the white box, over there”

He spotted the box and grabbed it in his hands. You stopped what you were doing and looked at him without even blinking.

He opened the box and after he took a little moment to process, he took the onesie in his hand and looked at you with expecting eyes.

“Are you for real?” You nodded with a smile on your face “Oh my god, (Y/N)...” he walked towards you and embarrassed you in his arms “thank you...”

“We’re going to have a baby” You sobbed in his arm “everyone is gonna lose it” you both laughed...

♡ ♡

You decided to wait past the first trimester for you to tell your friends and family, only to make sure baby was fine and healthy.

You told your mom and sister first, they were over the moon with the news. Then you told Wakatoshi’s parents, even tho his mom is super serious she was extremely happy and greatul for a grand child and you told his dad via face time, he was almost crying with the news.

You told your friends after that, starting with Satori, who was in town visiting from Paris, perfect timing huh?

He screamed and hugged you both, in complete joy for having a niece. And yes, he was sure you’ll be having a little girl.

If you see the big picture, all this was thanks to the old guess monster, he literally matched you up.

You also told your best friend, Akemi, which literally cried of joy. Finally you told the rest of your closest friends. And you shared a little post on a Instagram sharing the news with the world, short to say, everyone went nuts.

Soon enough you house was full with presents from friends, family and a bunch of brands.

You work as a publicly manager for the volleyball association and the company was kind enough to let you work both from home and attending the office.

So you would spend some days at home in company of yours and Wakatoshi’s cat, Mochi.

The first trimester was tough... You were super tired and sleepy which made work difficult and you were picky with the food but at least you weren’t feeling nauseous and throwing up.

But when you were having cravings your husband was ready to satisfied them.

He will arrive home with your favorite foods and dessert and was ready to pamper you all you wanted.

So for the las couple of months you two were super busy debating if you should move to a proper house or if you should stay in your current apartment. You ended up agreeing on staying in the apartments and later in move to a house of your own. So when you decided to stay in your apartment we started preparing baby’s room little by little.

♡ ♡

You were currently starting your 5th month and Wakatoshi has been touchier than ever, not only with the belly but he says he finds you more gorgeous than ever with the pregnancy glow manifesting.

“Mmh...” you growled once again while Wakatoshi tried to hold your belly in the middle of the night “stop it.” You said while taking his hand off of you.

And it didn’t took long until he did it again

“Wakatoshi...” You squirm away from him but he just wouldn’t give up.

And that was for the time when you didn’t want to be all touchy and all... Horny pregnancy season was soon to arrive.

This was only the first phase of the adventure, huh?