#trying in vain to find all my old mutuals

[vvanillavveins]

✨️Tumblr account 2 electric boogaloo✨️

So, I accidentally deleted my previous account (@vanillacokeforblood)

And i'm being sensible and mature about it, and i'm totally not at all incredibly angry at myself or anything, no, not in the slightest. Come closer, I am in fact so normal and calm right now

[yanderecrazysie]

I really love your writing especially the angsty one such as the most recent one. Related rant but I hated most movies where the FL(Female lead) would start as cliche “ugly girl” with glasses and Terrible fashion and in the middle of the movie she takes her glasses off and suddenly become the “pretty” girl and then have a whole scene where they do a make over to make her charm the whole school. It just felt superficial and very vain, like the FL was fine the way she was, glasses don’t make you ugly as if paired with right outfit, can make you look actually cute. After all glasses are there to help you see, the fl suddenly gets her vision fix when she has her make over? And its really rubs me the wrong way that you need to have a whole make over, with a pretty dress and everything just to get people to like you. And its also pretty disheartening to see that people won’t like you if you have acne, like it natural to have acne and you shouldn’t be shamed for it.

But unto the actual request itself: can I have yandere Oikawa (or atsumu miya) x reader with this related context in mind: The reader has a crush on oikawa and with the advice of a friend, she stops wearing her glasses and does a whole make up and hair routine just to catch Oikawa’s attention. It works and one thing leads to another and both reader and oikawa start dating. At first Reader is ecstatic to finally the man of her dreams but slowly she starts to become uncomfortable with the way she looks like she no longer recognize herself. The make up starts to feel itchy and unnatural to her skin and she starts bumps into thing due to her not wearing her glasses anymore. Despite reader being miserable she till persevere and try to keep up the facade of “Oilawa’s ideal girl” but as time goes on the need to please Oikawa and the stress of keeping up appearances finally gets to her and she just breaks up with him.

On Oikawa perspective (being an entitled prick) is obviously dismayed as he wanted to have the perfect facade of a power couple. He wanted to shape the reader into his ideal pretty girl. So both reader and him have a mutual break up since both of them are now dissatisfied with the current predicament. But as oikawa sees the reader old self, he starts to fall in love (or obsessed) he finds the reader’s glasses cute and he finds that the reader is even more adorable when she comfortable and happy. Like he finds the reader more attractive when she was being her typical self without the glitz and glam. Like even if the reader has acne and wears dorky glasses, Oikawa finds that strangely attractive.

-Sorry for the mini rant, I just recently watch a movie similar to this and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Like as person with both acne and glasses, I’ve been told by some people that I stop wearing glasses due to it not “suiting me” like I wasn’t wearing it for fun, I wear it cause I need to see. Its even worse when I had acne and my friends told me to hide it with make up only to find out that make up worsens the acne problem. Thanks for listening to me

I totally get what you mean- I always found glasses attractive on guys and adorable on girls (to the point that I tried to pretend I had reading issues as a child to get myself glasses), so it was always sad to see it portrayed as “Now that she’s taken them off, she’s pretty!” I think everyone looks nice in their natural way, no makeup needed, so makeovers have always rubbed me the wrong way a little too! I personally don’t wear any makeup at all, too much of a hassle.

Title: Change

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes

Summary: You don’t like your new look, but it’s gotten you so much attention. Do you really have to choose between your old look and your happiness?

Part 2: here

change

/verb/

make (someone or something) different; alter or modify:

You looked in the mirror, stunned by your reflection. Your glasses were gone, the contacts in your eyes being the only reason you could see that fact in the first place. But besides that, your hair had been swept back in a pretty bun with a braid on either side of your head and just a couple locks of hair fashionably left down. Your skin looked flawless, thanks to the makeup. You could thank the makeup too for the way your face looked so much more mature and alluring.

Your wardrobe had undergone a great change as well. Since your college didn’t have a uniform or strict dress code, you’d put on a short white dress with black stripes and a belt around the waist. A fake diamond necklace laid across your collarbone, perfectly matching the bracelet clasped around your wrist. Even your feet were squeezed into a pair of fashionable black slips.

You turned back to your friend in awe, “You’re a miracle worker!”

Your friend laughed, but it was nothing short of the truth. Before this, your hair was always left down, hanging over your glasses-adorned, lightly pimpled face. You never wore a dab of makeup and your clothes usually amounted to an oversized T-shirt, faded jeans, and ratty sneakers. You didn’t put any care into your appearance. Until now, that is.

“You’ll have to keep this up on your own, now that you know how,” your friend reminded you, wagging a warning finger at you, “But this will totally grab Oikawa’s attention! You’ll be his girlfriend by the end of the week!”

You were turning heads from the moment you walked through the school doors. How could you not? You were a gorgeous girl accentuated with the latest fashions and professionally done makeup. All you had to do was bat your long, fake eyelashes and guys would throw themselves at your feet.

Your friend was right. You’d caught Oikawa’s attention very quickly, and soon enough, he was blowing away the sudden competition by offering to carry your lunch tray and walk you home.

The attention flustered you and made you so happy, but a small part of you felt sad. He’d never noticed you before. But that was the point of this makeover, right? To get him to finally look your way? 

When Oikawa had asked you to meet him by the fountain in the courtyard, you knew exactly what he was going to ask you. You pretended to be surprised anyway, completely shocked and honored by the question.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

From that moment on, you were the school’s power couple. Everyone regarded you with awe or jealousy. “Oikawa and (Y/n)” became synonymous with “popular” and all of his friends, the people you’d looked at with envy not long ago, welcomed you to their table and inner circles.

But as time went on, you felt yourself drifting away. Oikawa always talked about appearances and critiqued you whenever your hair or makeup wasn’t perfectly in place.

It felt fake.

Your makeup, your sense of style, your relationship, everything felt so unbearably fake.

Like you were no longer yourself.

Every time you looked in the mirror, your heart sank. You didn’t even recognize yourself anymore. Being perfect had somehow become something that you despised. 

But whenever you brought up wearing your glasses again or dressing down, Oikawa wouldn’t hear of it. “What would everyone think of that?” “You have to look your best.” “We’re a power couple, sweetheart, we don’t wear things like glasses, okay?”

The stress began to tug at you until you could take it no longer. One look in the mirror on a fateful Monday morning that already hadn’t been going well and you were done.

You had to be true to yourself, even if that meant no longer being “perfect” or popular. Even if it meant losing Oikawa, who didn’t even feel like a boyfriend. More like a costar on a filming set.

That was a good way to put it- your life had become a movie and you were just an actress putting on a show. Caked in makeup and forcing a smile.

Dear Oikawa,

I can’t do this anymore. I want to go back to the way things were before we started dating. I know we already talked about how that won’t work for you, so I understand that means we’re breaking up. I’m sorry, but I think this is best for me.

Love,

(Y/n)

It felt good to undo the bun and braids. It felt even better to slide your glasses up your nose and slip on a simple, comfy T-shirt. Nostalgic might be the best word for what you were feeling, but either way, you were more comfortable than you had been in months. Why had you ever given this up?

You looked in the mirror and smiled. You’d washed off all of the makeup, revealing more than a few blemishes, but you didn’t care. You liked the way you looked and you’d be damned if you went back to drawing on your face every morning.

It was strange walking into school that morning. It was like you’d become invisible. No longer did people turn their heads to look at you, nor did you walk alongside Oikawa. But it didn’t feel lonely. What was the point of having a boyfriend when it was just for appearances? You’d always felt like there were miles between you both- as though you couldn’t reach him even with your fingers intertwined.

Your first class was with Oikawa and you weren’t looking forward to it. He might be mad, after all, that his “power couple girlfriend” dumped him and went back to looking nerdy. You chose your old seat, one near the front of the class, instead of the back row where all the “cool people” sat.

When Oikawa entered the classroom, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at you as though he couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t blame him- you looked completely different than he was used to. You were actually surprised he even noticed you.

He walked closer and you shrank into your seat a little, not looking forward to a confrontation. But to your shock, he slid into the seat next to you, dropping his backpack on the floor and pulling his stuff out of it, settling into the desk as though he’d always sat there.

“What are you doing?” You blurted out.

When Oikawa turned to you, he studied you with great interest, as though you were an art piece in a museum. There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks, something he’d never had when the two of you were dating.

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” Oikawa crooned, reaching a hand out to your face.

You jerked away, startled and confused. What was with this sudden change in behavior?

“You know, you never really officially broke up with me,” Oikawa shrugged, a creepy, possessive grin curling across his lips, “And even if you did…”

He turned to you, eyes dark with something you couldn’t place. Something that chilled you to the bone.

“I wouldn’t accept it.”

[brynnamonroll]

2, 12, 21, 25 for the end of the year asks! (:

Yaaaaay okay! (Mutuals who missed the original post, here you go! Please ask me more of these!)

2. Album of the Year

I mean. Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess was always going to run away with this. One of my cool coworkers told me about her in like, March, so as far as lesbians go I was a bit late to the Chappell Roan party. You have no idea how delighted I am that there's an out and proud lesbian artist that the queer women I hang around with are listening to that makes music that's like, fun? And actually hot? Can you tell that I was not thriving in the King Princess/girl in red era?

Her poppiest songs are a ton of fun and her ballads will rip your heart out and she knows how to energize a crowd. She gives me the same feeling I had when I was 11 and listening to Born This Way singles on the radio. I literally can't wait for her next album so we can get an official version of The Giver. I would go to war for her.

My top three songs on the album... it's really hard to pick three, and they're not the ones I necessarily listened to the most. But... Pink Pony Club, Red Wine Supernova, and Picture You.

Honorable mention goes to Megan thee Stallion. I'm glad she's out of her old deal and she's making music when and how she wants! Top three songs off Megan are Moody Girl, BOA, and Downstairs DJ. (Although Otaku Hot Girl and Mamushi are both great too. I think it's very cute that the second she went indie she made a couple of weeb songs and she's clearly having the time of her life.)

12. New Friends I Made This Year

Hello lovely new mutuals!

I've also gotten out to a lot of poetry readings this year and I've made new friends that way. I tried salsa dancing for a bit. I'm really pleased with how often I'm getting out lately. I might even head to my local queer craft night next month!

People have been very kind to me this year, honestly. I'm happy about that if nothing else.

21. Something new about my space this year

I took up crochet when I was feeling low at the beginning of the year and now I have so many handmade items in my room! My favorite thing I've actually finished is the princess pillow I posted a while back. Hopefully next year I get my own apartment and I can post all kinds of decor instead of staring longingly at furniture websites and pinterest boards...

I've also been to a couple new cafes in my area and I've found some new walking trails with my friends. Both have been especially lovely.

25. New characters I've created this year

Well! I started playing BG3 this year. I've been kinda making up what my Tav is like as I go along, so nothing's super definitive yet. But! I'm in the middle of Act II and here's what I've got so far. (Here's my first drawing of her. I don't love her outfit yet, so I'll probably draw a few more until I get it right. This is also like, not based on any particular in game clothes, and she's the kind of person who would be very particular about her nice outfits.)

So. Her name is Chrysanthe. She's a half-elf storm sorceress with a noble background. (I haven't completely hashed out the details there, but she at least knew of Wyll before meeting him in game. They'd become "raised with the same stupid expectations" besties, though taking them in a romantic direction would probably be cute too.) She's a bit vain and very protective of her little luxuries, but she really works hard to keep everybody happy and try to find solutions that are agreeable to everybody, but it doesn't always work out for her. A lot of her successful wisdom checks are more outgrowths of trying to understand people she's run into since she left her family, rather than being the type to hole up in a library. (I always like to make characters that come from a well-off, sheltered background that then have to learn about the world firsthand on their own and realize that the world is way kinder than they were ever told. I'm a sucker for that kind of story.) Much like her stormy magic, she's a bit prone to mood swings. I'm romancing her and Karlach right now and I think they would really have a good understanding of each other that way. Chrysanthe probably gets more sad than angry, but somehow it all cancels out when she and Karlach are together.

Also! Chrysanthe means golden (it was the first name that Behind the Name gave me) and it's because of the golden central heterochromia that runs in her family. She's not a natural blonde.

... Reading all this back feels a bit funny. This is the most fun I've had creating a character for something since I was in middle school tbh. Can you tell?

[supernovafeather]

A New Start

FO!Poe Dameron x F!FO!Poe Dameron

Summary : After all their adventures together, Poe and Reader try to find a new purpose.

Content : mutual pining, love confession, angst, fluff.

Please reblog if you liked it !

It was all over but at the end, nothing changed. Poe could watch the rain pouring down the muddy roads on his porch for hours and hours and still no change would get noticed. Planets would rotate at the same speed, life and death would keep dancing with each other endlessly, languages and cultures would keep on changing, disappearing and appearing. The Commander felt empty but not exactly sad or melancholic or tired. This war exhausted his mind and body more than he thought it would but it didn't explain that fully. Instead of looking for answers, he watched the rain falling of the skies. He liked it now and felt as if he aged prematurely by a few years only an hour after the official Firsts Orders's victory over the Resistance. His soldiers present on the base danced and sang along in a muffled and chaotic combination of different level of talent and drunkenness.

"Oh look at who's there."

Poe grinned as he stared at a half-destroyed TIE stranded far away and stuck in the mud accumulating around it. He could play the old school Commander scolding you for drinking so much with your male counterparts but it was none of his will. He heard you crashing loudly against a piece of furniture, and let you sat down by his side, a bottle in your hand and your pilot outfit completely soaked.

"What happened to you," he asked as he noticed all the dirt glued to the bottom of your pants. "Uh… fell from a window. I bet I could get on the base roof but it didn't work."

The Commander watched you quietly as you started to drink from your bottle again, needing to rest an arm behind you to hold you still. Despite the alcohol scent following you there was something wild he appreciated with you tonight. Careless, far from the most anxious but also deadly pilot of his squadron. Your growth under his wing had been impressive.

"I see you know how to celebrate," he commented half-heartedly. "Come on sir, you're the first one to know how to have fun come with me."

Slightly disconnected from this moment, he let you grab his hand, get on your knees then try to stand up in vain, falling back onto your buttocks. You groaned of frustration then tried again, unsuccessfully.

"Don't worry," he started to taunt, "tomorrow you'll learn how to walk again." "Great because I need to go back to the party. Oh wait no. I wanted to tell you."

Curious, he watched you kneeling in front of him, your eyes right above his as he waited for your next sentence.

"You're the best. Like… thank you Commander for leading us to victory," you said in a slurred voice, "I thought I'd die dozens of times throughout that stupid war but with you by our side it wouldn't have felt vain. You gave us all a purpose. And Maker, it's beautiful. I left my farm for a great squadron, a great Commander and a great team. So… please go to the party with me you need to have fun."

He smiled a little more, allowing himself to get a closer and tender look at your sleepy face.

"Thank you soldier. I appreciate your honesty. It was an honor to serve with you." "I don't want it to end," you sobbed.

Thanks to his flawless reflexes he grabbed you right before you could hit the floor of his quarters and managed to rest your bottle without spilling too much of its content. Confused by your sudden breakdown he then took the bottle firmly in his hand to put it far away from you, on a table before sitting back down next to your sobbing form.

"Sh, what's going on little one," he whispered with a quick embrace, "what's going on there?"

After the longest series of hiccups he had ever heard he managed to decipher your answer while feeling your arm grabbing his waist in a powerful hug.

"I don't want to leave that family I want to keep on flying with you all." "But the war is over. We won. Our mission is over." "I don't care I don't want it to be over I want it to keep going so I can still defend our squadron."

Despite the few sentences following he was unable to understand, Poe kept you close to him, rocking you back and forth slowly. It was certainly not comfortable for you but your drunkenness allowed this. Lying there face against his chest, your arms weakened.

"We are all alive and well," he commented, "you are safe, uninjured. You are really lucky after all the heart attacks you gave me." "I serve no purpose now."

He froze, looking down at the mop of messy hair ight under his chin as you struggled to find a better position in his arms. You called down but remained in his embrace as he finally got the words on his feelings.

"What do you mean?" "I left my lovely farm for the First Order. I found a purpose by training hard to defend my land that still got destroyed despite my efforts. But I found you and the others. We had a common goal. We killed, scouted and conquered together. Nigel wants to start a shop. Nalem wants to open a garage. Fay'l wants to get rich by selling Resistance objects. I don't know what I want to do. And you ?" "I… don't really have an answer to that," he confessed. "Well that sucks. Well you'll get a higher job I. The First Order, maybe you'll lead the next war. Good for you, you deserve a better salary for what those rebel assholes did to us all. I love it when good people get what they deserve. Money. Fame." "Does loneliness scare you?"

It did scare him now that he put his finger on what caused that uneasiness in him. You sighed, struggled for a while at trying to lift yourself up against him and he put a strand of hair out of your glassy eyes.

"Maker I wish I had your talent so I could lead my own squadron and make you proud and keep my living friends with me because right now I'm scared of everything." "Come here."

He was sobbing too but in silence. Finally someone that understood his own pain. He saw arriving to the first tests with big intimidated eyes to become a deadly weapon after a few months under his command. He felt useful at molding you into something capable of surviving on the frontline and able to feel that camaraderie for your fellow pilots. He wished he could have given the weapons necessary to prepare for the aftermath. But after all himself had no idea he would see the end of this war.

"I'm proud of you for everything you've accomplished," he said as he crossed your gaze, "I only guided you. Determination, motivation, discipline… you did most of it. You were the one shooting. You dodged enough times to survive. You learnt everything in time and protected us all. I do owe you my own life, several times." "But same for me sir and…" "We are a team. And trust me you are not the kind of soldier I would forget anytime soon. And yes I mean it as a compliment."

Your huge smile caused his to reappear. Tears ran down his cheeks in torrents but more because your eyes got smaller.

"Oops. I think I love you now," you whined.

Flattered, he left that warmth spreading in his chest at your words. It felt incredibly good to welcome it instead of ignoring it. I was free to feel.

"Don't talk nonsense please, you drank a lot," he replied with his same smile. "Still. I think I'm in love. Not really professional." "Who cares about professionalism right now?" "Well now that's hot."

Relieved to hear and feel your laugh against his chest, he rubbed your back. He liked to do such a simple thing to support you and also to appreciate the effect he had on you right now. Flirting with random cute girls in cantinas or in the different bases he's been on had never brought him so much joy.

"Are you in love too," you whispered as you looked up at him. "What do you think of it?"

Now feeling as light as if he was capable of walking on clouds, he sent you the most seductive face he could make. Repressing a laugh at your focused features and narrowed eyes to get a clear view of him, he ended up cracking up at the same time as you, his nerves finally erasing all that tensions accumulated for months little by little.

"What? What did I do," he asked. "I don't know, you exist and it's wonderful already." "Oh stop stealing my phrases, I'll have to flirt with more classical lines now." "So… so do you want to flirt with me?" "Maker, as if I could say no to the cutest girl alive. Look at you."

Your uncharacteristic giggle made him proud.

"Stop I'm not as good as I could be at it," you complained with a faint slap on his chest. "Give it a try, believe in yourself. Show me your full potential."

After a few seconds of a confused babbling from you, he finally understood something as your fingers played with your top, staring down.

"If I opened a new farm I'd like it to be with you. I know you're not the kind of guy that would like that kind of lifestyle but… I don't know you would be cute like that." "Well if you think I might be cute then it must be true," he laughed. "I mean you're handsome and hot but cuteness would really suit you on a farm." "And you're beautiful and hot and cuteness suits you."

After a painless punch in his chest he sent you one back, making you laugh as you fell backwards. He had no interest in getting further physically due to your state but taunting you felt great. Amazing even. He will try again tomorrow, but tonight you needed some water, a shower, clean clothes and a good sleep. And after that, a new and fresh start.

- - - -

@queen-of-elves

@qrjung

[mapsofnonexistentplaces]

question for you... top cc divorces?

GOD where do i begin. i think there’s more like divorce than actual maintained relationships throughout the whole thing LOL might as well run through all of them

the fucking. one that’s ruled my mind and heart for the past few months nonstop has been isel and olzhas specifically because their whole dynamic revolves around how much these two care about each other even in spite of like. the loose conceit of a breakup haunting them. they both have this thing about, despite mutually deciding on separation, making exceptions for one another in terms of aiding and even being outright affectionate with one another… they’re still being very tightknit whilst also refusing to let other people pry into these ‘transgressive’ acts that contradict the broadcasted external image of their relationship. they’ve got a very private kind of love between them and their whole divorce is basically just a charade built off a misunderstanding but it’s still this constraining force that just. guilts the both of them out of genuineness. it’s fucked up. it’s my favorite thing in the world. i’m glad everyone else just finds the whole ordeal gormless and i’m glad people like freya and dalisay exist to make fun of these guys for being soooo unbearably facetious

beatrix and marjolaine are also complicated…. with them it’s less a thing of them like. tugging at my heartstrings and more just being like the most twisted fascinating puzzle of codependency LOL. like the two of them met each other whilst they were very young and they were both kind of just like. superficially enthralled with one another. very artistically pretentious pair of wayward fiction writer/famous opera singer which like. slowly lost its spark over the years and like two decades later they’re basically both just tugging on one another. utterly refusing to break things off despite then both obviously only being captivated by the past veneer of their old young love. with beatrix in particular it’s fun because he’s got like. this whole complex about seeming well-put together and accomplished and classy and whatever and he’s basically holding onto marjolaine as a status symbol like “hah look at me i’m an accomplished woman who is MARRIED” and he basically views outright divorce as like. admitting to making a mistake in choosing to marry marjolaine. and him admitting to a mistake would basically like kill him so eh. in the dull relationship he must stay. like something i adore about the whole situation is that beatrix basically DID divorce him and quickly walked back on that for aforementioned prideful reasons which is like. yeah. he’s a bit of a disaster it’s fine. similarly i’m fond of the way marjolaine latches on to beatrix for a similar reason of like. “i already started this marriage and ever since my life’s gone down the drain (especially socially) so i need to keep this flame alive if nothing else” whilst also. only really being half-hearted in her interest of beatrix as an individual. they’re both just very devoted to. not really one another. but the period of time that their inversion represents.

cas and lanuola are like a complete nightmare to explain i’ll do it separately if anyone wants it but like MANNNN they’ve got a mixture of things that kick my ass which is like. a) born arose from very heavy performance-based careers and both never really had profound connections with other people nor managed to really effectively evade the public eye. got to do the latter on the train quite plainly and also got attached to one another quite quickly due to shared experiences. they’re both each other’s “first person to really understand me”. b) they both died trying to protect each other it’s all in vain and it fucked!!!! they turn into weird abstract ghosts and you think it’d be fine BUT c) divorce happens due to a convoluted domino fall of events basically boiling down to “cas is extremely bent on revenge for her early death and exerts it on someone completely unrelated by sending them vague scary visions meant to warn the living of the person who killed her and lanuola finds this completely uncouth and breaks things off for moral purposes. however cas is also conflicted about her actions and is incapable of admitting it. lanuola also misses cas but maintains his morality steadfastly. ahhhhhhhh!” to harken to an old sketch made by my good friend stanley:

there’s like some smaller divorces that don’t quite matter that much. like faris and volkan. latter of whom is literally an absolute speck of dust of a character he literally just exists to be faris’ ex boyfriend who barely even comes up. this dude’s job is to simply get a divorce. it’s not even that dramatic they just cut things off because faris wants to leave for the scary train that’s rumoured to probably just kill people once they get on there and it’s like. amicable enough. faris hardly ever gives him much thought afterward LOL

mazin’s divorce also like vaguely matters but it’s another more metaphorical thing. dude literally just disappears without a word to his wife because he’s just THAT ravenous to leave for the train and sabotage it from within. only ever brings her up to get pity from other people and was never really that attentive to her or anything. he sure is a really lovely guy

the brief rendezvous between olzhas and faris is also funny to me just because these guys have been like. good friends for years and like the first thing olzhas does upon breaking up with isel is go AW SHIT i feel useless and bad on my own are there any other beautiful bears on this train that i can tie myself to. and so e kind of just jumps into a relationship with eir old bestie only for faris to like. no more than a week later. go “yeah i do care for you and i want to see you get better but also i am Not isel and using me as a rebound is bad both for you AND me” and olzhas is kind of just like. “Shit yeah. sorry. let’s go break chairs over each others heads.” and they do. they’re still friends and this whole incident basically means nothing to either of them nowadays but it humors me. the woes of the gay italian man….

[woohooasbats]

sims tag

Thank you @occultpuppy for the tag! In classic Bats fashion, I am filling this out 4 billion years late.

1. Alpha CC or Maxis Match? I used to be hardcore Maxis Match but I am getting into Maxis Mix these days because of the characterization you can achieve with skin details and eyes. 

2. What’s your favourite sims death? Few deaths are as good as the Mummy’s Curse in Sims 3. Honorable mentions go to pufferfish nigiri and deathl-scented flower arrangements for hot babes that do murder.

3. Do you cheat when your sims gain weight? I’ve had a vain sim buy the insta-lean reward before, but I hated the result so I haven’t used it since. Other than that, no.

4. Do you use move objects? Who doesn’t???

5. Favorite mod? I’ve been playing this game waaaay too long to have just one favorite, lol. If I have to choose just one to feature right now… TOOL, maybe? But the Nraas suite from the Sims 3 days is also a contender. 

6. First expansion/game/stuff pack you got? Of all time, Livin’ Large, of course. I usually get the first expansion for each installment of the series. I got all of the Sims 4 expansions at once, though. 

7. Do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or Living? Live as in alive. Sorry, folks.

8. Have you made a simself? I tried once but it looked nothing like me. I’m not really a simself kind of player. 

9. Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made? Come onnnn don’t ask me thisssss. If we’re talking completely from scratch, I have to say Biagio. I think Luisa is a really good-looking sim, but she’s technically based on her Sims 3 counterpart who was born in-game. 

10. What sim traits do you give yourself? If I have to pick just 3 traits from Sims 4, it’s probably Art Lover, Perfectionist, and Jealous.

11. Which is your favorite EA hair color? Probably platinum blonde? Or possibly the brown and gray for added townie flavor.

12. Favorite EA hair? I really couldn’t tell you. It’s probably a male hair. A lot of CC male hair is a little too K-pop for my taste.

13. Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay? I like a healthy mix of both, but I’m bad at building so it gives me anxiety. That’s when I set the game down and walk away for several months. 🙃

14. Favorite life stage? None! I play on really long lifespans and it’s a joy to watch a sim go through them all. 

15. Are you a CC creator? I’ve recolored things for myself and make my own poses, but I don’t follow any quality control so I don’t share them. 

16. Do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad? Not really. :( Most of my mutuals from the Sims 3 era seem to have retired. Shout out to the people that do consistently interact with my stuff. <3 I’m trying to be more active so I can connect with people again. 

17. What’s your favorite game? (1, 2, 3, or 4)  They’re all special in their own way! If I have to pick, it’s a toss-up between 2 and 3. Sims 2 had some of the last really EXCELLENT writing of the series, and Sims 3 is still undefeated in terms of sandbox gameplay. 

18. Do you have any sims merch? No, lol. I think I had that USB at one point. No idea what happened to that. 

19. Do you have a YouTube for sims? No, but I want one!!

20. How has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing? I used to play strictly one family legacy-style on normal lifespans, trying to get as many generations as possible. Now I like to take more time with my characters to develop them. Now I play extreeeemely long lifespans and rotate between many families. 

21. What’s your Origin ID? 🏴‍☠️

22. Who’s your favorite CC creator? Don’t make me pick, lol. Just scroll my finds blog @batsfinds or my Pinterest.

23. How long have you had a simblr? Since November, 2011 🥲 Fuck, I’m old. 

24. How do you edit your pictures? Gshade + Photoshop/Lightroom

25. What expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next? BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS BANDS

26. What expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far? I really like Vampires and Cottage Living. 

Thanks for reading! Tagging my love, @veryflirtytransportalate and you, dear reader!

[fandomcrysis]

By the vending machines

Make out series

Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x gn! reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Aged up! characters and making out

Summary: You have enough of Megumi refusing to see your advances despite the clearly mutual feelings, so you grab the bull by the horns.

Word count: 1.8k

This is a repost from my old blog under the same name if you followed me on my old blog please consider following me here too <3

A/n: Hey, here’s the second part of the make out series. I ended up with a really fluffy one this time. The next will probably be either Maki or Inumaki, but I will write my collab fic before that. Again special thanks to my lovely friend for proofreading. Enjoy~

Megumi and you have been running around in circles. You like him and it’s more than obvious that he likes you too. This should be easy, right? Well, not with Megumi. You were dropping hints left and right, flirting with him every chance you got. Hell, you even asked him out a few times, but it always ended up as a friendly outing. All your efforts are in vain because the idiot on the other end is as oblivious as humanly possible. You finally decided to take charge, and make sure this time your intentions are clear as day.

The place where the vending machines are is very familiar to everyone who has spent any amount of time at Jujutsu tech. That is the case for you and Megumi too. You are squatting with your back leaning against the wall next to the machines, since this is as close as you get to sitting down without actually touching the ground. It isn’t ideal, but it is way better than standing. The training here is absolutely ridiculous and you have no strength left to stay on your feet.

Like clockwork the familiar sound of heavy footsteps gets your attention. Megumi is here like usual, so you can go ahead with your plan. Your lips curl into a smile, they are soft from the lip balm you applied earlier, and you even took some breath mints. You’ll kiss Megumi and he’s going to like it.

“Hiding from Gojo-sensei?” Fushiguro asks when he reaches you. You look up at him with a pained expression, he gives you a knowing smile, well more appropriately a knowing little movement upwards. Megumi doesn’t give out smiles that easily. You reach out your hand to ask for help, he takes it and pulls you up. When you are on your feet properly, you gather all your courage. Instead of letting him step away you embrace him by locking your hands together behind the nape of his neck.

With your arms around him, his face flares up and his eyes are round and wide from being caught off guard. ‘It’s okay, you can do this, honey. Just go ahead and kiss him, like you planned,’ you encourage yourself. One of your hands wander to his face, it cups his jaw and your thumb runs along his cheekbone softly.

“I’m going to kiss you.” You state, but you don’t sound confident at all. You shyly look up from his lips into his eyes, his expression is the same except his blush is deeper and his eyes are wider. You quirk a brow questioningly to ask for a response.

“Okay,” he says slowly along with a little nod. You let out a little huff, this whole situation is hilariously awkward. You inch closer to him taking your sweet time, you want to give him time to back out of it if he doesn’t actually want to kiss you. You gently peck him on the lips, still giving him every opportunity to change his mind. His arms are still hanging beside him, which doesn’t give you much hope.

You pull back and look at him to get any kind of feedback. He looks down on your lips with the strongest blush you’ve ever seen on him. After a few seconds of you looking at each other he finally moves his arms. His hands find your waist and they bring you closer to him. That’s all that you needed, a small green light to continue.

You kiss him, this time for real, although you are still careful. You feel like you’re trying to keep a shy cat from running away, like any sudden movement could scare him off forever. You waited so long for this, you just want to dive in, yet the fear of this moment slipping away is greater than your need to rush. His hands cling to you desperately, he steps closer to you, making you back against the wall.

After you break apart for some air he takes the lead on the next kiss. He kisses you with so much heat and desire. He’s usually so stoic and cold, this takes you off guard. Looks like you really misjudged how this whole situation would go. He isn’t some shy little butterfly who gets scared away by a kiss, you aren’t entirely sure why you would believe that.

You softly bite his lower lip and then run your tongue over it. His lips part and you press in to deepen the kiss. Your hand moves through his messy hair, which is a lot more soft than the spikes would suggest. Megumi pulls back and groans as a protest to you messing up his hair.

“Aww, it’s not like I can get it messier than it already is, Grumpy,” you giggle as you purposely mess up his hair even more. He glares at you and then grabs your wrists to stop you.

“Behave, you,” he mutters as he lets go of your wrist to pull you back to another kiss. This time he takes the charge trying to execute what you did in the last kiss. Suddenly something clicks for you, so you move away.

“Was this your first kiss?” you ask intrigued with a small smile on your face. He looks taken aback, he flushes and looks down again.

“S-Shut up.” he stutters a bit and turns a little away from you. You chuckle a bit and cup his face to turn it back towards you, his reaction is more than telling. You peck the tip of his nose and smile at him.

“I’m glad. You know what they say, ‘you always remember the first’, and I don’t want you to ever forget.” Your eyes are gentle staring into his as you reassure him. One of your thumbs go to caress his lips, you can’t wait to do the same with your lips again. So you lean in once more, but before you could actually kiss him you hear him murmur “How could I ever forget this?”. You break out in a smile and you bump your nose to his as a sweet sign of affection.

Megumi pecks your lips slowly again and again. You loosely drape your arms around his neck again and lean back against the wall pulling him with you. He has a hand next to you resting on the wall to hold himself up while the other moves under your chin. He tilts your head so he can press his lips against yours once more. He deepens the kiss while his hand shifts to caress your jaw.

“Do you have anything under this?” you ask him tugging on the collar of his jacket to show him what you’re talking about. He flushes again, apparently you can’t go two minutes without making him strawberry red.

“Yes. Why?” He responds as his brows furrow, from the looks of it he has no idea what you want.

“Because I want to unbutton it, the collar is annoyingly high. May I?” You bat your eyelashes at him when you answer. Your hands play with the first button while you’re waiting for his permission. He gives you a small nod and your fingers get to work undoing the buttons. You work swiftly, the years of wearing these uniforms clearly showing on the smooth motions.

He’s now fully leaning on the wall with his palms laying next to your head, his eyes follow your fingers. From the top the asymmetric jacket started to fold down without anything holding it there. When you finally finish and pull it apart it reveals a plain black t-shirt. You push the fabric away and you drag the tip of your finger from the waistband of his pants up to the collar of his shirt. You gently lace your arms around his neck again, with one of them caressing the skin that has been uncovered.

You press small pecks on his neck, gentle kisses to explore and experiment. Megumi lets out a small huff when you get to the side of his neck. He brings his hand to your chin again to raise your head for another kiss and then he pulls you even closer by the waist. You try your luck again by weaving your fingers in his hair, this time he doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if he just realized that trying to stop you is absolutely futile or he simply doesn’t care anymore.

Seeing Megumi this heated doesn’t happen often, so you bask in every second of it. His lips are hot on yours and his hands grip your waist firmly. You’re both lost in each other, whatever you did before this is completely forgotten, wherever you needed to be is completely forgotten. Just the bliss of the first times and discovering more and more about each other’s body.

It’s the small things, the way his breath hitches when your teeth graze his lower lip, or how you get hotter and hotter the lower his kisses go on your neck. The small whine that leaves your lips when he gets to a particularly sensitive spot, he memorizes everything for the next time. Because he desperately hopes that there will be a next time, after this he could never go back to the game of cat and mouse you’ve been playing. Thankfully, neither could you.

“Megumi-chaaan~” Gojo skipps towards the three students who were sitting on the stairs in the garden. You aren’t with them due to a mission with the recently graduated upperclassmen. The mission for which the briefing you skipped to makeout with Megumi. Megumi immediately has a bad feeling about this, the teacher is in a scarily good mood. That always means trouble.

“Say thank you to me, your favorite teacher.~” Gojo is still speaking in a honeyed voice, which unnerves Megumi even more.

“Why would I do that?” Fushiguro is careful, but the second he finishes his sentence the white haired man’s grin grows wider. He was waiting for this question, that much is obvious.

“Because I didn’t disturb you and Y/n while you were eating each other up by the vending machines.” Gojo didn’t even try to be secretive about what he saw. Both Itadori’s and Kugosaki’s jaw hits the ground when they realize with their teacher meant. Fushiguro would love to disappear, he really would. He didn’t share anything about what happened at the vending machines with his friends for a reason.

Both of them made a scene even when he was only giving directions to someone, thinking he’s being flirted with. He can’t imagine what they will do now that they actually have a reason to freak out. He’s even alone in this suffering since you decided to dip, well the higher ups did the deciding, but that’s not here nor there. He just can’t wait for you to come home so at least you can hide from the gremlins together.

Masterlist

[heliads]

Hostage Situation

When Y/N L/N is kidnapped by Peter Pan to serve as a hostage and coerce her kingdom into leaving Neverland alone, she can only laugh. The mutual hatred between her and Pan, however, may lose its fire after a while.

masterlist

Your feet tread methodically around the grounds. You loop around the castle, walking past scraggly bushes and dying trees, eyes occasionally flickering to the large mountains in the distance. Your mother and father keep an impressive castle, but their focus rarely extends to the upkeep of the grounds themselves. Kings and Queens don’t exactly bother themselves with gardening- that will fall to the servants or, when you’ve managed to bore yourself enough, you.

Technically, you should be back in the castle. You are a princess, after all, and princesses rarely roam about the grounds in dirty, faded boots that have walked more miles than the most experienced of messengers. This being said, you’re not sure anyone will spare you enough thought to care. You may be a princess, but only in blood and title. Anything else must be fought for, and you’ve given up such pastimes long ago.

You suppose you’re still musing over this, which is why you don’t see the shadow swooping down over you until it’s too late. By the time you feel the uncanny stillness, or notice that an unusual darkness has swarmed around you, the shadow’s eerily human arms have wrapped around you, and your feet are already lifting from the ground. You struggle, but it is in vain, and soon you’re watching trees and rivers pass miles below you. You lock eyes with the shadow being, but its glowing white gaze betrays nothing but an emotionless urge to complete orders. Wherever you’re going, someone is waiting for you, someone who is controlling this shadow.

This realization troubles you more than you like. You don’t much like the idea of being taken somewhere, and you’re not about to just sit around and let it happen. You wait until the shadow swoops low over a rolling set of hills, and begin to fight back with renewed vigor. Although your blows tend to sink through the only somewhat corporeal shadow, you manage to stun it enough that it drops you. You fall through the air, catching yourself in the boughs of trees and scrambling down. 

Your feet pound on the dirt as you sprint away from the shadow, but even this effort is useless. It appears out of nowhere in front of you, and as you skid to a stop it raises its hands and a wave of shadow rushes from it. The darkness pools around you like ink, rising to swallow you whole. You can only see one last thing before the darkness engulfs you completely: the white beacons of light that are the shadow’s eyes. Then there is nothing to see at all, and you can feel yourself falling to the ground.

When you wake up again, you find yourself lying down. You’ve been propped up against a tree, and when you open your eyes, you realize you’re in the middle of a forest. It’s a different forest than the one you were just in, and at a different time of day. The shadow must have continued the journey while you were still unconscious. You shiver slightly at the thought- wherever you are, it won’t be good. You move to sit up, but a wave of dizziness yawns open in your stomach and you lean back once more. You go to steady yourself, but your hands don’t move- they’ve been tied together with rough rope.

You had done your best to stay silent, but it’s not like you’re alone. Across the clearing, about a dozen or more boys dressed in robes of faded brown dance around a campfire. An almost maniacal glee spreads across each of their faces as they whirl and jump around, dancing to the haunting sound of a flute. The music stops after a second, but the boys continue dancing. You shiver slightly, then straighten up as a new boy approaches you. This one is dressed not in the russet tones of the others, but instead a dark, forest green. He must be their leader.

He crouches down in front of you, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Welcome, princess.” You raise an eyebrow at his tone. “An interesting welcome, sure. Nothing says fun like ropes and a kidnapping.” The boy just chuckles. “It wasn’t like you made it easy for us.” You shrug, eyes wandering away from the boy to skim the trees surrounding you. An idea is starting to click into place in your head. There’s a story you heard once, from a traveling merchant. There was an island deep in the ocean, full of boys who never seemed to grow old. They were led by one in particular, one boy who could make grown men shiver in their boots.

Your attention snaps back to the boy. Now you really look at him, at his knife-sharp grin and the cool confidence he wears like a glove. His smirk widens as if he can read your mind. “Do you know where you are, love?” You sigh, leaning your head back against the tree in exasperation. “Let me guess, I’m on Neverland.” The boy spread his hands as if in pride, and you resist the urge to groan.

If this is Neverland, then the boy in front of you must be Peter Pan. And you have heard enough about Peter Pan to know that any hour spent with this devil of a boy will be absolute hell.

Pan notices the realization sink into the girl’s eyes. She must have heard of him, he assumes, or she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. However, unlike the other visitors, there isn’t a shred of fear in her gaze. No, she just looks like she’s been dealt an unfortunate round of cards, rather annoyed instead of outright afraid. Pan’s not sure how he feels about that.

Y/N considers the rope tying her wrists. “Well, Peter, are you going to untie me or just let me stew here for a while?” Pan frowns. “It’s Pan. And no, you may be a princess but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to bow to you whenever you ask. There’s only one monarch in Neverland, and I’m afraid that title belongs to me. You’ll have to sit tight until they find out you’re missing.” Y/N scoffs, and then her eyes grow alight with suppressed laughter. “Wait- I think I know why I’m here. You’re trying to use me as a hostage.”

Y/N laughs even harder now, and Pan frowns. “I’m not sure why that’s funny. Your kingdom has been infringing upon my waters for a long time now. I intend to stop them.” Y/N shakes her head, doing her best to bite back a grin. “No, I get it. Great motive, but I’m afraid you chose the wrong hostage.” She fixes him with a cool look, finally keeping her laughter in check. “I’ve been kidnapped a couple of times before. Trust me, they won’t come for me. Not the guards, not my parents. I’m not useful to them.”

Pan frowns, curious despite himself. “What do you mean, you’re not useful to them?” Y/N shrugs. “The reason my parents became the King and Queen is because they were able to channel the power of my ancestors. Every monarch in my kingdom uses some magical artifact to gain increased strength, life, wisdom, you name it. The only problem is that it doesn’t work with me, so I’ve ceased to be a worry to them. I can’t use magic at all- not for them, not for you. You can hold me on this island for as long as you want, but it won’t work. They’re not coming after me.”

The words are light, spoken with the last traces of a laugh, but Pan still feels his stomach clench with some unnameable emotion. Maybe Y/N is meant to be a Lost Girl, maybe she’s more lost than any of them. This though alone fills him with loathing. If she’s a Lost Girl, then she’s supposed to stay on the island, even beyond her sentence as a hostage. Pan, however, is fairly sure that he doesn’t want to see this girl longer than a second. She had better be wrong about her parents, because Pan is certain that he’s going to end up killing her before the guards arrive on the shores of Neverland to rescue her.

You wake early, just before dawn begins to stain the tops of the trees with the light of morning. You stand up, stretching, and glance around the clearing. The Lost Boys appear to have gone to sleep, Pan included. They’ve left you alone for now, but you have no doubt that they’re still watching. Besides, it’s not like it would matter anyway- there’s nowhere for you to go. You’re on an island, after all, and there’s no way you could swim far enough to reach another nation’s shores.

Careful not to make a sound, you meander over to the campfire. Your hopes are proven correct when you spy a knife lying abandoned in the dirt. You pick it up, beginning to saw away at your ropes as you walk out of the clearing. You toss the cut ropes behind you, tucking the knife into your boot just in case. On an island like this, you never know when you might need a weapon.

You end up walking for about ten minutes before you get the feeling that you’re being watched. You roll your eyes. “I know you’re there, you can come out now.” One second you’re alone, and the next you’re being shoved up against a tree, an arm against your throat to stop you from moving. “You know, I’m fairly sure escaping prisoners aren’t supposed to call out to their jailers.” You scoff, pushing Pan’s arm away from you. “I appreciate the concern, Peter, but I’m not trying to escape. I’m just having a good time exploring the forest.”

You can see Pan’s eyes darken when you use his first name, but he ignores the jibe. “Who said I care about your wellbeing? I’m just making sure that you aren’t getting any ideas about an escape.” You give him a look, continuing on along the trails of the forest. “Anyone stuck on an island with you would think about escape.” He just chuckles, walking alongside you. “Tell that to my Lost Boys. They’ve chosen to leave the world behind to live on Neverland.” You smirk at him. “And what a sorry, sorry choice they’ve made.” He glares at you, but you just grin.

If you’re going to have to stay on this accursed island, you at least intend to enjoy yourself. 

Y/N wakes up every morning to walk the island. Pan’s not sure why she bothers- there’s nowhere for her to go. Yet every dawn she wakes like clockwork, opening her eyes and beginning her wanderings. Pan has wondered if she’s awoken by nightmares, and that’s why she gets up so early, but if she’s plagued by night terrors Y/N is very good at hiding it. She doesn’t seem concerned at all, just keen to see the forest. Pan’s long since given up on the binding ropes- she just finds some way to remove them. 

Pan’s watching his Lost Boys practice fighting when he senses another pair of eyes watching the sparring boys. He glances up to see Y/N, half hidden among the trees. Her gaze is glued to the boys, and he can almost picture her dissecting every move. There was an opening, when John stumbled, there was an opportunity, when Devin swung too low. Pan’s never heard of a princess that could fight, but if there ever was one, he’s sure that it would be her. Y/N lacks many of the key characteristics of a princess- charm being one of them. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hold her own in a fight.

After the match ends with a triumphant Devin raising his fists to the sky, Pan steps forward. Instantly, the eyes of the Lost Boys all flash to him, including Y/N’s. He doesn’t speak that often, usually allowing Felix to lead classes. When he does have something to say, the Lost Boys tend to listen. Pan gestures for Y/N to step out of the grove of trees. “Well, princess, care to join the ring? Or are you all talk as we thought?”

She laughs, but Pan can see the glint of a challenge rising in her eyes. Y/N steps forward, and Pan points out a Lost Boy to act as her opponent. “Nick, I’d usually tell you to not rough her up too bad, but to be honest, I think we all want to see her get punched.” Y/N smirks. “If that’s true, why don’t you come down here and fight me yourself?” It’s a challenge, certainly, but Pan speaks before it can gain traction with the Lost Boys. “I’d never dirty my hands fighting someone like you.” Y/N, wisely, says no more, and shifts into a fighting stance opposite Nick.

To be honest, Pan does have to feel bad for the guy. No matter what he tries, Y/N throws him away like he’s nothing. She blocks his attacks, she punches and kicks and basically tears the guy to shreds. It would be humiliating were it not for the fact that Y/N is so obviously better than anyone on this island except for Pan and maybe Felix. Y/N flashes Pan a grin, extending a hand lightly coated in blood that does not belong to her. “Want to send another Lost Boy into the ring, or have you accepted the fact that I’m not going down easily?” Pan returns her smile. “I think I’m good.” And maybe, he just might be okay with all of this.

You’re relaxing by the campfire in the morning when you first hear the sounds of running footsteps. After that fight with Nick (although fight isn’t exactly the right word for it, maybe instead you could call it a bloodbath), the other Lost Boys accepted you immediately. Even Peter seems to approve of you now, and you catch him smiling softly at you across a clearing when he thinks you can’t see. You’re not sure why you notice, or why you keep thinking about it, but you’re fairly sure he shouldn’t linger behind your eyes as long as he does.

You look up at the swiftly approaching pair of Lost Boys, expecting to see them collapse in laughter, but the boys instead look worried, faces drawn with anxiety. You stand up, suddenly tense. What could make these boys look so nervous? They run over to Peter, practically tripping over themselves in an attempt to make it to their leader. Even from here, you can hear their words. “Guards- a ship full- the king and queen- they’re attacking us.”

You can see Peter’s face freeze. He speaks to them quickly. “They were flying the flags of Y/N’s kingdom? You’re sure of it?” They nod. “They’re pouring down the beaches now. They’ll be here any second.” Peter curses under his breath, calling to the rest of the boys to grab weapons and defend the camp. You race over to him. “I can fight. Give me a weapon.” Peter stares at you. “You’d fight against your parents?” You nod. “They’re not here for me, they’re here for the magic on the island. Trust me, they wouldn’t come all this way if they didn’t think they could get something out of it.”

Peter’s brow furrows as he realizes what you’re saying. “You think that’s why they’re here?” You nod. “There’s no other reason. I’ve been kidnapped before, they never came. They’re not here for me.” You repeat, and Peter’s jaw clenches. “Get a sword, you can fight with the others.” He starts to move away, then steps back to you. “And Y/N? Stay safe.” You nod, returning the assurance of safety. Then the two of you run your separate ways, each desperate to save the island that’s somehow become your home in a matter of weeks.

You pull on a hooded cloak so the guards can’t recognize you. You can’t take the chance that they’d try to bring you back to the ship, not when you’re supposed to be fighting for Neverland. Your sword moves in a never-stopping arc, cutting through armor and slicing the soldiers like the warriors of old. At last, you pause for a second, noting that the situation on the beach has cleared. Yet you don’t see your parents, even though the Lost Boys said they were here. A chill rises in your throat as you realize what must be happening, and you turn and race back to the camp. Back to Peter.

Sure enough, your parents have found him. They’re using all of their magic against him, doing their best to take him down. Peter is strong, far stronger than either of them. Yet the two of them and additional guards against one Lost Boy isn’t a fair fight, even if it’s against Peter. Your heart is pounding in your throat. You’re going to have to make a decision, one you promised yourself you’d never have to make. 

You fling your arms up, and a wall of magic slams into your parents. They crumple to the ground along with the guards and lie there, unmoving. You can tell that they’re still breathing, albeit slowly. Peter’s gaze flashes from the suddenly unconscious guards to you, who stands there still, breathing heavily. Your arms are still raised from the burst of magic, and you lower them slowly. His gaze seems to burn right through you, and you begin to speak quickly, desperate to say something, anything, to stop the cutting look in his eyes.

“They never saw me, their backs were turned. We can get them onto the ships and away. They’ll think it was you, that you were too powerful for them. They won’t return. They won’t know about me.” Peter steps forward, but your feet feel leaden in your boots. You’re not sure you could move if you tried. His voice is quiet. “You do have magic.” You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t want them to know. I knew if they found out they would use me as a weapon, and I didn’t want to live as their blade.”

Understanding begins to dawn in Peter’s eyes. “You didn’t need the artifacts because you already had power of your own. You were smart to hide it from them.” His brow furrows again, confusion sweeping over him. “Why would you show me? Why would you trust me?” You look away. “You let me into your island, into the Lost Boys, without knowing about my powers for a second. I served no use to you, not even as a hostage. You didn’t want me here because of how I could help you, you wanted me here because of who I was. That’s why.”

Peter’s quiet for a second, and you begin to think that you’ve said too much. “They’ll probably find out after a while. I can board another ship, make my way back to the Enchanted Forest. They won’t bother you if I leave.” Peter says nothing, and you almost fear that he won’t say anything at all. That he’ll let you leave without another word, too wounded over this lie. Then his hand is on your cheek, guiding your eyes back to him, and he kisses you.

He kisses you for a second, then breaks away. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot on your cheeks. “I’m not letting them take you. Not now, not ever. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N. You’ve been a Lost Girl since the day you arrived and I can’t let you go because you want to protect us.” A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips. “What happened to there only being one monarch on the island?” Peter laughs quietly. “I’ll make an exception for you.”

[tinyravenfeathers]

Ceremony! By TinyRavenFeathers, your celebrant and ministeroni

Dearly beloved, who are all descended from pirates, we are gathered here today (while wearing colanders on our heads to prove our faith) to join chronicoverachiever and hug-them-trees in the semi-realistic and 45% holy bonds of matrimony under the auspices of Great Big Meatballs Itself, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, may Its Noodly Appendages never whither in vain.

Chronic and Hug, you have come here today of your own free will and, in the presence of your narwhals and space coconuts, have declared your love of Charlie Cox and commitment to this ongoing joke that is now, like, a month old.

As you know in the Pastafarian religion, there’s a beer volcano in heaven.  And you know who else likes a beer volcano?  Matt Murdock! You cannot tell me that Josie's beer wouldn't make an awesome Beer Volcano! And Matt Murdock, who is played by Charlie Cox and coincidentally, was the subject of a gif I added to a comment about keeping one’s temper that…and here’s where it gets weird!  caused these two awesome people to plan this trading of pasta-rings or at least of pixels, would definitely approve.  If that’s not pirate-y enough for you, chomp on this:  Beer Volcano Matt Murdock.  Bam.  You see what I’m cooking here?  It’s like the Flying Spaghetti Monster dripped marinara all over this!

And that’s what tumblr and Pastafarianism is all about!  It’s the pure serotonin that happens when mutuals get on the same wavelength and keep a bit going for about 100 posts. I don't know if it's actually been 100, I wasn't keeping track. Do you think I type like this all the time? No! No one else will read this, especially that dude from 20 years ago that I had a crush on who insinuated he'd like to read my fanfic and I really hope he doesn't, because it's a mess. There's no way it's going to make a good impression on him. Seriously, just an absolutely directionless three-legged dog of me trying to find myself as a writer. I'm just writing it to make myself happy.

It limps along but you know the thing about dogs? They never feel sorry for themselves. We see a three-legged dog and go 'awwww, poor puppy!' and the dog is like 'hey, I'm still moving and doing my thing, everything's copasetic!' And likewise, no one else has to read my stupid and ill-conceived double-derived drivel. It's mary-sue-esque, half-insert fluff and smut (and thanks for the encouragement in that area @jenksel ! You will be my downfall. Much love!) that probably tells people way too much about me and I'm constantly 20 minutes from nuking my entire online presence from orbit. Kill it with fire!

And hey, speaking of killing things with fire, I really do want to go to Burning Man, where apparently there's a metric ton of skinny people throwing an art show and being wacky in the desert. That's enough for anyone who's ever enjoyed a sammich to eventually have an existential crisis. They ought to fly the Samaritans out there just for moral support and occasional free rub-downs with SPF 80+. And now please notice that this nefarious plan will put elderly British people in the middle of the Nevada desert; if the juxtaposition of Burner culture and Colonizer culture is not comedic gold waiting to happen, I'll eat my stylish pirate hat. I'm hoping for Are You Being Served? but with sunburn.

Seriously though, deserts are dangerous on all levels for humans, which is why most of ancient humanity spent a ton of energy on leaving the freaking desert.

But one thing my extensive research about Burning Man has turned up: You are responsible for your well-being. Eat the strawberries if a tiger is coming for you, babes. Write the words, dance in the moonlight, drink the mead, crush on the person you might have had a chance with, or the ones that will never know your name. Take responsibility for your own happiness.  Whatever you decide to do, the Flying Spaghetti Monster hopes you will maximize your well-being and the well-being of all sentient beings, on this, your 45% of a special day and every day.

Thus, by the powers vested in me by the interwebs, webber-netters, Charlie Cox although he doesn’t know it, Matt Murdock who knows it even less,  AskANinja, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster Itself, I now pronounce you person and other person and maybe Charlie Cox even though he's already married and Catholic to boot, we won't hold that against him. You may now trade pasta-rings if you got them, pixels if you don’t. The shoes and Cadbury eggs are for everybody.

Rock on. R'Amen!

-----

@chronicoverachiever @hug-them-trees

I'm scheduling this for as early as possible on August 13th so it will appear first thing on your dash. Right now it's 11 PM on the 12th for me, so I'm going to bed!

Much love,

Tiny

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Abby Anderson x GN!Reader - Please Don’t Leave Me

Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Please Don’t Leave Me (I’m creative with my titles)

Can be found on AO3 here.

Setting: before Abby leaves to go golfing. Abby and the reader are in an established relationship.

Warning: angst angst angst, excessive usage of the f-bomb and discussions of murder.

(Y/N) replacer safe.

Word count: 1846

Fuck, she’s really doing this.

Every day since Isaac had granted the Salt Lake Crew leave to hunt down Joel Miller, you tried to bargain with Abby, tried to make her see some sense. That killing him won’t take away any of the pain she feels. The grief. The gaping hole in her heart. But she’d always brush you off, distancing herself from you, suppressing her emotions with bicep curls and crunches as per habit.

Each passing hour, a nail was hammered into the coffin of the woman you love. And this morning is the final nail.

The quaint apartment you call home is filled with a cacophony of rustling and pleas as Abby shovels supplies into her backpack, preparing for her hunt. In her mind, Joel’s death warrant is signed, the execution nigh. And God are you desperate, trying to drill some semblance of reality into her stubborn mind one last time before she embarks on a journey she’ll only regret.

“Abby, please just listen to me for one minute—”

“I need to do this.” She heads to your small shared closet, refusing to look at you from your position by the bed. You frantically try to intercept her path, knowing full well she’s much, much stronger and can reposition you with ease. But it’s worth a try.

“This isn’t going to solve anything,” you implore, clutching the wood.

“Move, (Y/N).”

“Abby, this isn’t going to bring him back. You know that.”

“Move.” Her tone is exasperated, utterly focused on packing her shit and promptly leaving. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

“That girl in the hospital. The immune one. She must have been like a daughter to him for Joel to kill a group of innocent people for her,” you plead, feet firmly planted on the floor. Searching for her eyes, those blue irises alight with a maelstrom of hateful determination. They meet yours. “Killing him will just put her through all of this.”

Abby reaches for the closet door and slowly pulls it open, acknowledging your reluctance to move, deciding to disregard it. The wood begins to dig into your back and you’re forced to step aside. “This isn’t going to end, Abby. You fucking know this.” As she folds some spare clothes and places them in her backpack, you fall gracelessly to the bed, needing to sit down. Bile climbs up your oesophagus. Shit, where was her sense of fucking empathy?

“Abby…” Once again, she doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, folding the garments in robotic fashion. “Abby, you said she was a kid. A kid.”

The final shirt is stuffed haphazardly into the bag. She grits her teeth and turns to you. “He killed dozens of Fireflies, (Y/N). Dozens. And that’s all we fucking know of. There could be hundreds of others because he’s a stone cold killer.” Her face flushes with anger, no remnants of the woman you know left behind. “No one person is worth that many fucking lives.”

You let out a breathy laugh in sheer disbelief. “But it’s not about them, is it? Not to you.” The words escaped you in a hiss, one that didn’t go unnoticed. “Never fuckin’ has been.”

Abby rolls her eyes and grabs her maps from the coffee table, iron fist crumpling the papers beyond legibility. “There could have been a cure. A fucking cure to all this.”

On the surface, her words are rational. One life for a cure that would save millions was a worthy sacrifice, that you would be foolish to deny. But the odds of developing this cure were slim, and the girl would have likely died in vain. You knew this. Abby knew this. Jerry knew this.

With a shaky breath, you cradle your arms, never before having felt the urge to cage yourself around Abby. Fingers firmly gripping at your elbows, you let the cards fold. Unadulterated truth.

“You’re in denial, Abigail.”

A tut. “Don’t you fucking ‘Abigail’ me.” Her previous efforts to maintain a steady tone have been vanquished, anger seeping into each progressing word.

She’s gone.

And it’s this precise revelation that fills your eyes with oceans. Throat closing up, nose burning with the urge to spill over, you attempt – attempt – to articulate yourself, to no avail. Seconds later, rivulets trickle from your eyes to your cheeks, and you find yourself sniffling like some stupid kid… No, not a kid. A grieving adult, bereaved by the loss of a lover. Because the other figure in the room is but a husk of the radiant soul you fell for.

“All…” You pause to inhale, deeply: a futile effort to regulate your breathing, to lay rest to the turmoil suffocating your ability to fucking think. “All that’s going to happen is… You’re going to have to—” Hiccupping, you close your eyes, praying no more tears would fall. “To live with the guilt of orphaning a kid.”

Sentence finally out, you surrender to your sorrows, allowing them to wrack your chest with sobs and heaves until it gets too much, salt freely spilling from the floodgates. You can’t…you won’t bring yourself to look at Abby – the machine in her place, one programmed to kill and kill alone.

It’s wholly terrifying.

Distress flickers in her eyes, her frown slackening for a fraction of a second at the sound of your despair. “No one is forcing you to come,” she puts plainly, as if that has anything to do with the issue at hand.

“You know this – isn’t about that. Fuck, even Owen knows this…this is a bad idea.” Too dejected to cry. Too dejected to battle the hitched breaths you take trying to force out the words.

Words that fall upon deaf ears. “That’s not what Owen told me.” She slots a Swiss army knife into her cargo pants’ pocket, headed with a canteen in hand towards the kitchenette. “He was there, (Y/N). He agreed that Joel needs to die.”

“Because he’s fucking scared of you!” We all are, nearly breaks free from your lips, but that’s not what Abby needs to hear right now. Nothing that will push her away. Further away. The reigns you have on your lover are fraying, leaving you grasping at nought but strings. Frenzied, you attempt a softer, less concrete approach. “Baby, it isn’t normal to be so…hellbent on revenge like this.”

Silence. The delicate trickle of water sounds from the faucet as Abby fills her canteen. Then, a sigh, one of frustration as opposed to defeat. “If you think calling me ‘baby’ is going to erase four motherfucking years of grief, you are sorely mistaken. You’re smarter than that.”

Patience thinning, you stand up, wading through strewn supplies across the apartment floor towards the kitchenette. “Four years and you still haven’t given yourself time to mourn properly,” you reason, deliberately obstructing her path out of the kitchen with your body again. “Maybe if you had you’d see some fucking sense.”

God, that was a mistake. Shit, shit, shit shit shit the last thing you want to do is piss her off, not with her mind in such a volatile state, devoid of all logic.

“I appreciate you’ve lived a fucking sheltered life since the outbreak,” she seethed. What?

“That’s not true—”

“And you have no fucking idea what it’s like to have someone ripped away from you like that.” Volume rising, words a mantra fuelled by detest. “And you know, maybe, just fucking maybe, this’ll be my one chance to put an end to this shit!” The fist not clutching her backpack clenches. And for the first time ever while alone in her company, you flinch.

“He fucking deserves this, (Y/N)! If I can show him a fraction of the pain he caused me—”

“Abby, you’re scaring me,” you whimper, closing in on yourself. Genuinely afraid she’d raise her hand towards you.

Had you a mirror, you’d know truly how perturbed you look in this very moment. Streamlines drying on your cheeks, eyes reddening and puffy from crying, wide with fear like a doe face-to-face with a moving car. Body subconsciously making itself smaller, reducing its surface area, reducing the likelihood for any incoming swings to hit.

She lowers her guard, colour returning to her knuckles as she unravelled her fist. Knitted brows returning to their natural place above her eyes, mouth parted as the horror of her behaviour settles in.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Even her previously stern voice cracks at this.

It takes tremendous willpower to not fall back as she takes a tentative step towards you.

Drying your eyes with your sleeves – her sleeves…you forgot you’re wearing her old sweater, the notion sour on your tongue – you break your mutual gaze. “You’re not you right now,” you whisper, not trusting your larynx to produce anything above a mouse’s squeak. “This isn’t the Abby I know.”

For the first time this morning, a sentiment other than bloodlust registers in her face. Hurt.

Either unable or unwilling to respond, Abby recommences her packing in solemn silence.

Shit, you have three, perchance five minutes at best to dissuade your girlfriend from leaving and doing something that will haunt her for all eternity. Yet all you can do is brace yourself against the wall and allow a second tsunami of tears to wash over you, pangs of anguish striking your heart. “Abby—”

“I’m going, (Y/N).” Firm, with a shred less conviction, but firm enough.

A violent sob tears through you as you beg, beg, the vessel of the woman you adore, “Please don’t leave me.”

For a fleeting moment, your heart stops as she hesitates in her tracks. A flicker of hope seizes your mind, that perhaps she has reconsidered, that finally some logic has entered her train of thought.

It all crashes down when she reaches for the spare rifle ammunition by the front door.

“Fuck, Abby—”

“I’ll be gone a month at most.”

Hail-Mary.

Hail-Mary.

Please.

Chest shuddering with each sob that wracks through you, you utter through violently trembling lips and hiccups, “You’re so – fucking blinded – by your hatred – right now – that you can’t – fuck, see – this will – kill you—”

The gravity of the situation threatens to make your knees buckle.

Abby plucks her jacket from the coat hanger and wades over to your crippled stance by the kitchen. A hand brushes your salt-slicked cheek as a lock of hair is swept out of your line of sight. “I love you,” she whispers in pained honesty.

“Abby…” You try to take her hand, to ground her, to remind her of the life she’s leaving behind on her relentless pursuit of this warped sense of justice.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).” She squeezes your palm and lets go, zipping up her pack as the front door to the apartment creaks open and slams shut.

Death is a word that isn’t used lightly, especially not after an epidemic takes the world by storm. But part of your spirit certainly died the moment that door closed behind her.

(I’ll leave it up to you whether she has a change of heart or leaves and scores a few hits above par.)

[qqueenofhades]

Hi! I love your writing and adore your Fivan one shots so if your still taking prompts I would love to see one where everyone in the little palace ( Genya, Zoya, The Darling etc ) finds out about Fivans relationship. Please and thank you!

Aha, my request for prompts was quite a while ago, but since I can never resist the opportunity for Shenanigans, especially of the Fivan variety, here you go.

Nadia finds out first. She, in fact, does not even need to be actually told. Fedyor is creeping down the stairs in the early morning with tousled hair and a kefta that has spent all night on the floor of Ivan's bedroom, mind filled with nothing but jumbled images and sensations and oh Saints did that finally really happen?, and as a result, is not paying attention in the least to where he is going. He walks bang into his friend, there is a mutual moment of consternation as they stumble backward and clutch their heads and apologize, and then Nadia gets a good look. Fedyor has tried to arrange his collar to hide the most obvious bites, but it doesn't matter. Her eyes go wide as saucers. "Oh my," she says. "Did it finally happen?"

"Did... what... finally happen?"

"Fedyor Kaminsky, don't even try that." Nadia points a finger at him. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

Fedyor looks at the floor, which doesn't help. A small smile starts to overtake his mouth. This is as good as hiring the entire First Army drum-and-trumpet brigade to parade around announcing the news, he knows, but he can't help it. "Maybe."

"Maybe." Nadia utters a scoff that is twice her size. "That is a question with a yes-or-no answer, you idiot."

Fedyor's lips pull wider. So do Nadia's.

"Oh," she crows, punching the air. "I knew it."

-----

Zoya, Ivan's old nemesis from training and their shared but completely exclusive belief that Kirigan should pay attention only to their advice at all times, also picks it up by inference. In her case, it's because she sees Ivan actually smiling when Fedyor is standing closely next to him, filling him in on some item of Heartrender miscellany, rather than looking as if this is the worst thing to happen in his entire life. When Fedyor touches Ivan's wrist briefly and slips off, Zoya's suspicions are confirmed. She stomps up and demands, "Really?"

Ivan whirls around, sees her, and glares. "Did you need something?"

"Fedyor?" Zoya still hasn't processed. "But he's so nice! Did he hit his head or wake up having forgotten his entire life to this date? I'm having a hard time thinking what else he can possibly see in you."

Ivan crosses his arms across his chest, fixing her with an even greater stare of total death, but she refuses to back down. "I don't know what you're talking about, Nazyalensky," he barks. "If you're not going to train that new cohort of Squallers, then -- "

"Fine." Zoya turns on her heel, then adds over her shoulder, "He's much too good for you, you know."

Ivan stares at her implacably. He does not, however, deny either this fact or the reason for it, and Zoya, smugly, takes that as a win.

------

Genya knows soon too, but then, Genya knows more or less everything that happens in the Little Palace by virtue of her position. The queen and her ladies are very gossipy, and when one of the younger ones starts going on about that Fedyor Kaminsky, he's such a dish, so handsome, what's his situation, Genya feels obliged to speak up and provide some gentle clarification. "I'm afraid he's already taken," she says. "And you won't want to tangle with his partner. It's... well, it's Ivan, the general's right-hand man."

The reactions, of course, are predictable: "Ivan?" spoken in increasingly incredulous tones. "Ivan? Ivan! IVAN. IVAN?!!"

"But he's so...." one of the ladies protests. "So terribly rude."

Genya smothers a wry smile. "Apparently Fedyor doesn't mind."

-------

Kirigan finds out last, and most mortifyingly. Fedyor and Ivan have been together for four months at this point, are returning to the Little Palace from their first separation as a couple and have some making up for lost time to do. They have not managed to make it to a bedroom and are getting started on said actions on the wall of a nearby antechamber, when Kirigan thinks of something he apparently forgot to tell Ivan on the road and pushes the door open imperiously, not bothering to knock. "Ivan! If those Fjerdans were already at Arkesk, then we need to -- "

There is a monumentally panicked scramble as Ivan, the stern, unflappable, terrifying Heartrender captain of the Second Army physically dives away, hits the ground, rolls over and over while frantically trying to lace his trousers up, and Fedyor has lunged with equal dispatch behind a sofa. There he crouches, likewise attempting in vain to restore his clothing, as Kirigan comes to a halt and looks around quizzically. "Ivan?"

"Moi... soverenyi," Ivan pants, climbing to his feet and brushing floor dust off his kefta. "I did not -- I thought you were -- "

"I seem to have interrupted something?" Kirigan arches a sleek dark brow. He catches sight of Fedyor, then shakes his head. "Oh, Ivan. You really could do better."

At the look of pure rage on Ivan's face, a look he has never seen before in relation to him, the Black General blinks, and even he thinks better of picking this fight. "Ah," he says. "My apologies. Congratulations, of course. I hope you two will be very happy."

[kimistorm]

Poetry and Capitalization [Nathaniel X Reader]

It was another normal day at Françoise Dupont High School. Students were slowly trickling into the first class of the day and you were sitting quietly in the back hidden behind a slightly battered copy of your favorite manga. You heard footsteps come your way and you glanced up to see Nathaniel coming back to his seat. You gave him a quick smile (which he returned) before turning back to your book and pushing back up the glasses that had started to slide down your nose. You really needed to get those adjusted. Laying on your side with your glasses on was not the best of ideas.

That was how most mornings went. The two of you silently in the back of the class. Sometimes you wished that you could strike up a conversation with him, so you could get to know each other, unfortunately, you were too nervous to. You might've had a small crush on the red-head next to you. Okay, maybe not small. Try...head over heels in love with him. He was just so pretty, and talented, and you could go on and on. You didn't want to make the mutual 'sitting silently next to each other' feeling awkward. Plus, making a conversation was hard.

The bell rang and Ms. Bustier called the class to attention, "today we'll be working with partners on a project." You inwardly sighed and you heard other students actually sigh. Working with people was such a pain sometimes, and you dearly wished you didn't get partnered up with someone difficult to work with. "Don't be all cranky just yet," she frowned and waved her finger in a scolding fashion, "you'll be working with your table partners." Immediately the class was much happier. You turned to look at Nathaniel next to you and gave a small, somewhat awkward wave. He mirrored it. "Now I want you to analyze and annotate this poem by e. e. cummings. [love is more thicker than forget]" Ms. Bustier explained as she handed out the paper. "You'll have the rest of the class to work on this." She finished and the class bustled with activity.

You cleared your throat and ended up coughing into your hand. Why were you so nervous all of a sudden? This was just a school assignment. That you were working on with a partner. Who happened to be Nathaniel. The boy you were totally head over heels for. Oh. That explains it. "So..."

"Let's read it first, then we'll talk about it." Nathaniel suggested and you readily agreed with his suggestion. The two of you lapsed into silence as you read the poem. When you finished reading, you took out a writing utensil to make notes.

"It's a love poem." You declared once Nathaniel had finished reading. He nodded in agreement. "Well, obviously. He says it straight out in the title."

"He describes it as something that's kind of everywhere." Nathaniel added his own thoughts.

"Yeah, even in the hearts of teens." You muttered under your breath.

"Huh?" Nathaniel squinted at the paper in confusion, "where?"

"Uh nothing!" you answered hastily. You didn't want to make things awkward. Or make him think you're weird. And you definitely didn't want your confession to come out through the poetry of some old man who didn't care about capitalization. "It's everywhere but also it's minuscule. Since he describes how love is lesser than a lot of things."

"I wonder what he means by 'and more it cannot die'?" Nathaniel pondered.

"Maybe it's something like how my love for you won't fade even if you never notice-ah-I mean it's everlasting." You felt your face turn the color of his hair. What was this? First you were coughing over just thinking about talking and now words are spilling out of your mouth without you thinking about it?

"Do you believe love is everlasting?" he seemed to have not noticed your huge slip-up.

"Well yeah, if you find the right person. I think it's hard to do that, even harder to find mutual everlasting love." You nodded, you let out a silent sigh of relief. You didn't spill out your entire heart to him just then.

"What about unreciprocated love?"

"Like how I feel about you?" you clapped your hands over your mouth and stared wide-eyed at Nathaniel. You were certain he caught that. He looked at you in shock. Oh how you wished you could hide behind your manga, glasses weren't very good shields. Maybe you should take a leaf from Nathaniel's book and get bangs to shield your eyes. Or maybe you could wear prescription sunglasses.

"What?"

"Uh nothing!" you mentally cried at how your voice had just jumped a pitch, you were sure everyone in the class could hear you.

He smiled, "it's alright to tell me. I won't laugh at you."

"No no no, it's fine. I mean it's nothing. Nothing. Really." You wanted to bash your head on the table. What were you doing? "Have you ever thought about how nearly everyone in this class has some sort of crush or romance?" you died on the inside. You were certain by this point someone had control over your body. You were never like this. "Nevermind. That was a silly thought. Do you think mad could mean angry or insane?"

Nathaniel blinked. He looked like he needed a couple minutes to digest what had just happened, and to be honest, so did you. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked in concern, "you're not normally like this."

Inside you were squealing. He noticed you enough to know what you were normally like? Maybe your love wasn't in vain. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just, I'm not used to talking to my crush." Okay, now you were dead. "I never said that." You whispered and face-desked but immediately regretted that because your glasses started to press uncomfortably on your face.

You felt a piece of paper push its way to your face and you sat back up to look at the paper. On it was a few words written in Nathaniel's scrawl. 'I like you (f/n).' Your face turned into a tomato and you looked at Nathaniel quizzically but he was pointedly ignoring your gaze while an equally bright blush covered his cheeks. "Flip it over." He muttered. You did what he told you to and gasped. It was a drawing of you sitting at your desk with a manga held in your hands.

"Wait what?" you questioned in awe.

"Nevermind it's obvious you don't like me back I thought that maybe you did and maybe it was a good time to show you-" you didn't know his face could get to the exact same shade as his hair.

"Wait no! I do like you! You're an adorable tomato! Wait, that's not a compliment." You guessed that your face was probably the same shade as Nathaniel's hair as well.

The two of you made eye contact and then started to quietly laugh, "so you do like me?"

"Of course!" you affirmed, "I have for a while now." You added quietly.

"Good."

"You owe me twenty bucks!" You heard Rose squeal and you and Nathaniel looked at her mortified. Juleka sighed but handed her the money anyway.

"Were they betting on us getting together?" you whispered.

Nathaniel looked shell-shocked, "I think so."

You turned back to the poem in front of you, "this is still a thing we need to do."

From under the table you felt a hand timidly hold your own and you quickly reciprocated the action, "do you think this was intentional?" Nathaniel wondered as he looked at Ms. Bustier who was busy helping some students at the front of the room.

"I'm not about to give credit of this to a man who doesn't use capitalization."

Masterlist

AN: Okay, a bit of explanation about the capitalization jabs at e. e. cummings (and yes, he often writes his name like that). He commonly doesn't follow normal capitalization rules or even just writing rules. He likes to use the words to create "aesthetic movement" (source) Example.

[idy-ll-ique]

Balisong.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Roommate AU

Requested: by @tom-hlover

Tom Hiddleston x (roommate) reader where reader is harboring a secret crush on Tom, but she thinks that Tom only sees her as a friend, she loves to sing when she's alone, and sends Tom letters through the mailbox making it seem from another place,but in reality the return address is from her friend's address whom is out of the country and lets reader use the address for now, as she is serving as the house's caretaker as well 😅😅 until Tom finds out and also turns out hears reader's singing? And I was thinking of the song "Bali Song" by Rivermaya for that one particularly 😅😅😊😊

Summary: Y/N, who is roommates with Tom Hiddleston (omg they were roommates) has a crush on him and instead of confessing her love like a normal person, she writes him love-letters using a fake identity and address. What happens when Tom finds out, though?

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Hey guys! Special shoutout to @tom-hlover for the prompt, finished writing it under an hour so you have to excuse me if it's crappy. Enjoy!

---

Y/N POV:

"Oh, look, another letter from the secret admirer. I wonder what she wrote this time."

I looked up from where I was tending to the houseplants and gave Tom a quick grin. "Endearing words, as always. She does like you a lot," I professed with a slight chuckle, giving him a small smile and looking away when I felt a blush creeping up on my cheeks.

Tom sat down on the couch and opened the letter. "Dear Tom…" I stopped listening after that, I knew the whole thing to heart anyway. Wondering how? Well, I was the one who wrote it, simple! Let me explain. I'm Y/N Y/L/N and the person I was speaking to? Tom Hiddleston, my roomie.

Yeah we lived together; we had been friends for a long time and I needed a place so Tom offered to keep me at his home until I found another home. Nearly 5 years had passed since that incident and now we sort of just lived together, fallen into a nice, daily routine. I also happened to have a huge, huge, huge crush on him. Knowing how many other people, much better than myself, adored him, I kept my feelings to myself.

Oh and by the way, I paid my share of the rent so don't come at me! "She's so sweet with these, I might just pay her a visit! What is the address?" I looked up, wide-eyed as Tom took the envelope in his hand. "Do you really need to?" I blurted out, turning red when he squinted his eyes at me. "Do you know this person?" he blinked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I don't," I muttered, "You know what? Fine, go meet this person. I just hope they're not, you know, a psychopath." Yes, I knew I was talking about myself but was I wrong, though? Instead of confessing my feelings like a normal person, I was sending letters to my crush like I lived in the Victorian Era, using my best friend's address while she was out living somewhere else.

"I'm sure she's not. Anyway, what are your plans for later?" He let out a yawn, slouching on the couch. "Nothing much, I finish some work and then bam, dinner time." Tom laughed. "I have an interview early tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep early tonight. What do you want for dinner?" I shrugged. "Anything's fine, thanks!" He ruffled my hair and got up, going to the kitchen.

Okay, I see a lot of you are staring in confusion, let me clear things up yet again. I liked Tom for nearly 3 years now, but had no idea how to proceed with my feelings. Did he even like me back? Would he even like me back? That's when my best friend gave me a brilliant idea.

She said she was moving elsewhere and that her previous house was going to be empty but she was still going to be the owner. "Hey, Y/N, maybe you can go live there if you want!" she suggested. And I told her, "Hm, I'll think about it." Ever since then, I was the caretaker of the house, visiting it once a week to see if everything was okay with it.

One day when I was there, looking out the balcony into the garden, I came across the said brilliant idea. Why don't I just send letters to Tom from this address confessing my love?! He didn't know about it, and I technically won't be telling him anything in person. A great way to get the feelings off my chest while not getting the feelings off my chest!

Ever since then, I had started writing letters to him, once a week. Most of them were small, one paragraph long, along the lines of "hey how are you I love you thanks" while in some, I included lovesick quotes from famous authors like William Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, Jane Austen or Anaïs Nin. Tom was a fanatic of classical literature, it only made sense.

With a sigh, I got up and went to my room, getting started with my work only to end up spending all my time on social media until Tom called me over for dinner.

---

Tom POV:

"Ah, yes, this is the address," I said to myself, stopping outside a beautiful estate surrounded by pretty gardens. I parked the car and stepped out, heading to the door. As I was about to knock, I noticed that the door was locked. "Huh?" I whispered, maybe she wasn't home at the time? "Excuse me, sir? I saw your car parked outside…" I turned to see an old man blinking at me.

"Where's the woman who lives here?" I asked him. "Woman? This house has been empty for years, son, the last woman that lived here moved to the colonies 3 years ago." My eyes widened. So all this time, I was getting letters from… a ghost? Or was someone using a false address?

"Are you sure no one comes by, or anything?"

"Well, a fair young lady does stop by every week. Her name is Y/N Y/L/N, very polite and kind, she's like a daughter to me. She looks after the house; she's looking to move in, I guess but I'm not sure. Nice meeting you, young man! If you do want to meet up with the pseudo-owner, Y/N, she will stop by next Sunday at 11 am."

"Oh, I wouldn't need to do that," I muttered, bade him farewell and got back into the car. Well well well, things just got… interesting. I smiled widely as I drove back home. I had no idea Y/N felt the same way! All this time, the one-sided pining was actually mutual pining… it all ends today. Now that I knew she liked me back and my love wasn't in vain, there was nothing that could stop me from confessing.

Upon reaching home, I quietly opened the door only to see that Y/N was in the kitchen, singing a song unknown to me as she cooked. Like a thief, I tiptoed in and quietly closed the door behind me. I walked up to the kitchen, stopping when I heard the lyrics.

To speak or not to, where to begin

A great dilemma I'm finding myself in

For all I know you only see me as a friend

I try to tell myself, "Wake up, fool

This fairytale has got to end"

I leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, finding it strange that she still hadn't taken notice of me. You only see me as a friend? Nonsense, I definitely liked her more than that. For some reason, the lyrics seemed familiar— Oh yes, the song Y/N apparently liked to sing all the time! What was the name, uh…

Never in my life have I been more sure

So come on up to me and close the door

Nobody's made me feel this way before

You're everything I wanted…

When she (amazingly) sang those lines, I decided to make my move. I walked forward and put my arms around her from behind, laughing when she screamed. "Tom! Oh my God, when did you come home?!" I spun her around, trapping her between the kitchen counter and myself. "A few minutes ago. You sing wonderfully, love," I smirked. She visibly gulped. "Uh, what are you—"

"Don't play dumb now. Aren't you the one who writes those letters? Don't lie to me." Her eyes went wide. "How did you find out? I'm sorry, I—" I cut off her trail of words by leaning down, capturing her lips with mine in a magical kiss. She, thankfully, didn't push away, instead wrapping her arms around me.

"I didn't think you'd like me back," she mumbled when we pulled away to breathe. "All that matters is that we're together now." She chuckled and snuggled into my arms. With a content sigh, I pulled her close, running my fingers through her hair as I held her close. "I love you," I said simply, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you too, think that's quite obvious."

We laughed. "How did you find out, though? What gave it away?" She got out of my arms and turned back to her cooking. I leaned against the counter next to her, crossing my arms. "I just visited the address on the letter. The door was locked, then I met an old man who said the person who lived there moved to the USA 3 years ago."

"My best friend, Y/F/N."

"He told me your name, saying how you went there every Sunday to look after the house. How come I didn't know?"

"Oh, Bertram. I always lied about going out on Sundays. I guess we sort of owe our relationship to Bert, don't we?"

I laughed and kissed her on the temple. "For sure, we do. What is that song you sing all the time, you were singing it just now?" She snorted and took out her phone, opening Spotify. She put on the song and turned to me, holding her hand out. "Balisong by Rivermaya. Care for a dance?"

"Don't mind if I do."

---

A/N: Oooh two fics in a row?? leave a like if you enjoyed lol thanks for reading!

[uncontainedhybrid]

tagged in the url / song title game by @incalculablepower ft the lyric that speaks to me most from each song. i made a spotify playlist of all these songs, if we’re a discord or tumblr mutual hmu and i’ll send you the link. 

u: untouched - the veronicas. no lyrics needed, it’s the feeling of screaming the lyrics when you’re just the right level of drunk. iykyk. 

n: new slang by the shins. i’m looking in on the good / i might be doomed to never find

c: come over (again) by crawlers. get her name out of your mouth / you don’t deserve to mourn

o: old lovers in dressing room - keaton henson. did you love me like the way you wrote? 

n: no children - the mountain goats. our friends say it’s darkest before the sun rises / we’re pretty sure they’re all wrong 

t: the deepest sighs, the frankest shadows. but gretta ray’s cover for like a version - god’s gift to mankind. i am grieving the loss of myself with frightening malaise 

a: always gold - radical face. you can blame me when there’s no one left to blame. 

i: invisible - stacey ann. can we just press rewind / go back to a time / when we could say we were alright 

n: northsiders - christian lee hutson. sometimes i imagine us way down the line / getting fat somewhere in the countryside 

e: eulogy for you and me - tanya davis. god this song is such a balm for my anticipatory grief. i wanted to call your bones home but i didn’t get to. 

d: death by a thousand cuts - taylor swift. gave you so much but it wasn’t enough. 

h: hallelujah. the original leonard cohen version. what a genius. how to pick a favourite line? you say i took the name in vain / i don’t even know the name 

y: ya hey - vampire weekend. how fitting ezra koening & leonard cohen sit next to each other. You won’t even say Your name / You say “I am that I am” / but who could every live that way? god i wish i could talk about faith + diaspora the way they do. 

b: brother - matt corby. because as an aussie zillenial what’s a playlist without a song from dance academy? you couldn’t help out your own neighbour / you couldn’t tell it to his face / you were fucked up by the blame 

r: retrograde - maggie rogers. how does maggie make music that is exactly what it feels like to live in this current moment, trying to find joy amongst all the darkness? listening when Stevie says mmm / “come out of the darkness” 

i: i don’t live here anymore - the war on drugs. my memories like waves / is life just dying in slow motion? 

d: daffodil - florence & the machine. a generation soaked in grief / we’re drying out and hanging on by the skin of our teeth 

[razorblade180]

Attitude adjustment

Yang:*bowing* I’m sorry.

Principal:Mrs. Xiao Long, this this third time your daughter has been apart of fight at school and I must make it clear there will not be a fourth. Any more incidents and she’ll be-

Yang:Expelled, I know. I just....*sigh* I’m trying everything over here. I worked things out with the other students’ parents where I’ll write apologies out and believe me when I say I am not happy about this whatsoever. All I’m asking is you don’t hold her back a year and give her extra time on the late assignment.

Teacher:And why would we give special treatment to the most problematic child in Menagerie? Surly you don’t believe Veronica Belladonna deserves special treat-

Yang:*claps hands together* Please......

Principal:......

Nine year old Veronica Belladonna sits in chair outside the office, kicking her feet. Her nose crinkles up along with the bandage on it from soreness. Annoying or not, her classmates were heavy handed like nobodies business. Yang finally walked out office, taking Veronica by the arm and dragging her away.

Veronica:Ow! That’s tight!

Yang:Good. Do you like me coming up here? Were daily phone calls from teachers about disruptive behavior not enough? Veronica they want you kicked out.

Veronica:Yeah I heard.

Yang:Then I expect you to act like that’s a big deal and shape up!

Veronica:I don’t give a damn!

Yang:Hey! Watch your fu- oooo don’t swear at me. Don’t swear at all! Work with me here.

Veronica:There’s nothing to work.

Yang:Kid, your attitude needs serious working on. I know that you know that you can not just go around picking fights and hurting people.

Veronica:And if they wanted a fight!?

Yang:Never give it to them. You know that.

Veronica:That’s unfair! It’s all their fault. Mom would understand! I want her right now!

Yang:Blake is working!

Veronica:Uuuuuugggggghhhhh!

Yang:Yeah well the feelings mutual right now. You know what, you’re grounded.

Veronica:For what!?

Yang:*red eyes* Fighting! For a week you will come straight home from school and go right to your room! No tv, free time, grandparents house-

Veronica:But grandpa and grandma were gonna teach me to surf!

Yang:Well I guess you’ll just have to learn another time. Learn to behave like a good girl before anything else.

Veronica:*tearing up*........I hate you.

Yang stopped dead in her tracks. She looked back to see Veronica in tears, her ears folded back and tail rigid. The girl kept tugging and struggling from Yang’s grip, all but flailing as a means to escape. Yang remembered being a kid. She remembered throwing tantrums so violent that it must’ve wore her dad out. She remembered saying she hated him too. Being on the opposite end, that really put things in perspective. Despite her best efforts, Yang could tell she was shedding a few tears.

Veronica stopped her struggles the moment a tear drop hit her hand. Suddenly, the fight in her left. Her ears dropped down with her tail. Now she had another reason to leave. Guilt. Her arm jerked as a reflex. What should’ve been in vain wasn’t. Veronica thought her words had made her mother loosen her grip. That was until she saw her wrist actually pass through Yang’s fingers. In shock, she looked at her mother in equal confusion.

Yang:.....Did you just....?

Veronica:Ma, I.....

Afraid of her own words, Veronica ran. She ran as fast as she could with tears blurring her vision. Yang watched in disbelief for a moment before running after her.

Yang:Veronica!

Veronica:Just leave me alone!

Yang:No! You just used your semblance!

Veronica:So what!?

Yang:We don’t know how it works! You could hurt yourself!

Veronica:Why would you care!? I said that I hated you!

Yang:And!? That’s a one way street. I don’t hate you, and I know you don’t actually hate me; even if you said it.

Veronica:You’re lying! I know you hate me. I’m different from you! Humans hate faunus! It doesn’t matter that I’m your daughter!

Yang:Who told you that!?

Veronica:The students!!!

Veronica wasn’t paying a attention and tripped into the road. Her eyes locked eyes with a cyclist struggling to stop. Veronica braced for impact when she suddenly felt Yang yank her out of the way and into her arms. The little girl was a little shaken. So much in fact that her nails slightly dug into Yang.

Veronica:Ma, I...I-

Yang:What else did they say to you?

Veronica:.......*shivering*

Veronica:Our family would fall apart, and you’d leave me. Because that’s what humans do. We don’t get along; you just pretend to love me. I said they were wrong, but they just kept pointing. Laughing at me. I....I knew they were lying but...I just can’t stop thinking about it! *hugging her* I don’t want you to hate me!

Yang:......

xxxxx

Teacher:*typing*

Yang:*opens door* Teach, let’s talk.

Teacher:Mrs. Xiao Long!? Why are you-

Yang:So is there any good reason when I was here the first time nothing was mentioned about the kids telling my daughter that her family will fall apart because I’m a human and I can’t love my kid?

Teacher:Wh-What!? I...I was unaware of-

Yang:Really!? Are you really about to tell me that in your own classroom, you had no clue what was said? Not a single clue? Because unless my daughter is a liar, which she isn’t, you didn’t do shit about it.

Teacher:That’s ridiculous!

Yang:That’s what I want believe too. Because you know, it’s one thing for a kid to act like a kid and say something stupid. It’s an entire different thing if an adult in charge heard such a thing and didn’t intervene because oh I don’t know, their not particularly fond of humans either?

Teacher:....

Yang:Now I know that can’t be the case since an adult in charge of creating safe spaces wouldn’t actively let their own bias affect children; especially the child of a human. If that adult did have problems then they would no doubt say it to that human’s face and not take out any grievances on a actual child, right? Unless they’re too pathetic and scared to be an actual adult?

Teacher:....Is there anything else you’d like to bring to my attention?

Yang:To you, no. But I’ll be sure to mention this possibility to your boss, and let the parents know I will not be sending apology letters and instead be notifying them on what went on in this classroom. Oh yeah, and I may or may not bring this up later tonight to my wife. You know, the activist?

Teacher:........

Yang:Still nothing to say huh? Fine by me. Actually, it’s also fine if you never speak to me or my daughter ever again; since you’re obviously so good at that. Don’t even bother with the assignments. I’m thinking it would be best if Veronica took a step back and we’ll find a different class for her. Maybe even a school? You just keep worrying about anything else. *walks away*

Teacher:.........This job is all I have.

Yang:Yeah, don’t give a damn. *closes door*

The blonde bruiser took a breath to calm herself down. She looked over to see her child still wiping her face. Without a second thought, Yang put Veronica back in her arms and kept walking

Yang:Did you hear all of that?

Veronica:Maybe.....

Yang:Good. Now you know just how serious I am about you. And look, I didn’t hit her once.

Veronica:You should’ve.

Yang:Oh I wanted to, believe me. But that does nothing but make more problems sometimes. Listen here, those kids were jerks. Still, I need you to try really hard to keep calm and if nobody around feels helpful, just remember you’re coming home to me and mommy. We’re always gonna raise a little hell for you. Hate to break it to you but you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. *kisses her cheek* Never.

Veronica:*sniffles* I’m sorry I made you cry.

Yang:I’m sorry I just got upset without letting you explain yourself. That was bad.

Veronica:We both need working on. Am I still grounded?

Yang:Hmmmmmm noooooo. Gods, I’m too soft. We need to find you a good outlet. How about you spend some time with me after surfing and I’ll teach ya some cool moves. Just in case you actually need to hit something. Sound good.

Veronica:*red* I guess we can spend time together. *purring* If you want to so badly.

Yang:Hehe, I love you.

Veronica:....I love you too.

[imagines-mha]

1-A boys and their toxic traits

this is controversial but SOMEONE had to say it

┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

Deku: bro. i’m so sorry first of all i feel like i need to apologise bc his CAREER is his first love forever. and his mom’s his second. You’re actually lucky to score third on the list lmao he just doesn’t have the TIME for anything but working for his corrupt hero system smh 🤦🏼‍♀️

Bakugo: i. noah fence but do i even have to explain xx. He’s the type of mf to be like “hey btw noone can know about us bc im highkey embarrassed to be seen w you so dont tell anyone”. No fucks given about how you take it. Like ok luv chile lemme just real quick hide under ur bed when ur friends r here smh x

Todoroki: ok if he had to have a toxic trait it’d just be that he finds affection SO hard to understand. Like he’ll smother you for 2 weeks and then go MIA for the other 2 it takes a LOT to teach him so u gotta have patience. Also the WORST at texting back and he replies with K. when he’s not even mad smh

Iida: okay. I know us iida stans love his uptightness- its adorable i know. But SO HELP ME GOD IF IT ISNT ANNOYING IN A RELATIONSHIP. You’ll try kiss him in his room and he’s like “y/n NOT IN THE DORMS YOU HEATHEN!!!!!! YOU IMBECILE!!!!!! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!!” Will still also shout at you for running in the halls lmao you get no special treatment when it comes to his strictness

Kirishima: Ok controversial controversial. He’s the best boyfriend you’ll ever have...once you actually GET THERE. He doesn’t think he deserves you, like at all- so the entire crushing/mutual pining period he’s giving you the maddest mixed signals. Like one night youre ridin him like a shetland pony and the next day ur like “hey kiri youre cute” and he looks at you like youve just broke into his home and licked his bedsheets like wtf

Kaminari: DID SOMEONE SAY UNINTENTIONAL FLIRT. Me i did x. The poor thing he really doesnt mean it in THAT way when he calls jirou beautiful or says that momo’s outfit’s really hot. He just LIKES BEING NICE. Its not HIS FAULT GIRLS GET THE WRONG IDEA WHEN HE HAS A 60 DAY STREAK WITH THEM ON SNAPCHAT AND TAKES THEM OUT MINI GOLFING. He’s so dumb sometimes smh. He is really apologetic tho BUT HE STILL DOESNT UNDERSTAND

sero: he’s such a free spirit but like, not at the same time? He just wants to straight up vibe and have a good time, and if you’re someone who complains a lot/ argues he’s quick to shut you down, and he goes for blood sometimes when he argues like,,, oof. He very rarely loses his temper but he’ll hit you with those cut-deep personal insults and sigh like you’re the bane of his existence smh

Kouda: the only thing is that he kinda expects you to do all the flirting. Like he’s affectionate but he’s like “i get too flustered calling you beautiful so as a result you’ll live forever wondering if i really love you or not xox” like MANNNN. He loves ur attention too so he kinds just basks in the compliments like a happy puppy but like,,, KODA SMH UR NOT A BABY FOREVER GROW UP

ojiro: if you saw him when you needed defended in a fight no you didn’t ❤️. This mf will go MIA. Off the fuckin GRID. The second you’re in an argument with someone. He’s like “i just like keeping peace y/n i never fight with ANYONE love and peace for life 😎✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻” but then the next week you see him arguing with kaminari front and centre in the lounge like a fuckin nativity play? If you need a big strong man to save you from getting beat up, just call kirishima instead save ur time luv

Tokoyami: bro im so sorry sometimes he makes you feel like u have the reading level of a 5 year old he’s like an alt tiktok gatekeeper ekfneidnw. If you don’t own DMs he’s JUDGING YOU. “My darling… i wrote you another poem…” *proceeds to speak with the most COMPLICATED vocabulary he’s like “i will now articulate to you my heart via song” n u just nod and pretend u have a fuckin clue

Sato: lmao what’s a diet??? eat my food or i’ll take it personal. Can’t get it through his head when you tell him youre only not eating every damn cake and muffin he makes because you don’t wanna break out in acne/ get unhealthy. Like this man will give you the most HURT look and be like “b-but y/n...i made them just for you…” he’ll NEVER understand

Aoyama: “look at beautiful specimen in the mirror y/n…” he says, carressing your arms and kissing your temples, “oh- and you’re here too!” smh he has a marvellous time reminding YOU how lucky YOU are to be with him, like you werent the one to save him from his lonely little life and pick all his spirits off the ground,,, he’s so vain ay the worst of times

Shouji: be honest w u he’s not toxic at all the only toxic thing about shouji mezo that’s toxic is the little bitch who cried when they saw his face and made him cover it up forever ugh