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thefallenbibliophilequote · 3 years

Text

Little Black Dress

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky has had a lot of trigger words throughout his life, but he never thought he would find a new one- until you uttered it.

Word count: 2,938

Warnings: mean girls, language, body insecurities angst, fluff, many alludes to sex, Bucky being a romantic.

A/N: this is for Kas' writing challenge @wkemeup congrats on 10k followers! You are incredible and deserve all the love! My prompt was: A is feeling insecure about how they look. When B asks what's wrong, A attempts to explain but B is genuinely confused because they can't imagine a world in which A is anything but perfect.

A/N2: did I insert Taylor lyrics in between? Maybe… But You Are In Love and Fearless are superior. Also, shit got deep and real here. This is not beta read, sorry!😅

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Masterlist

It all started with a stumble, but then again- doesn't it always?

You were walking down the sunny street, book in hand, with the wind surrounding you as you went forward.

On your right, the door to a bar opened with a thud and you looked up to see two men walking out an elderly man who has been clearly drinking all morning. You heard him when you passed by the bar, turning your head to him.

"Excelsior!" his words were slurred but the sight still made you laugh. You however didn't get the chance to laugh when you stumbled forward, hand shooting forward to block your fall to the ground. Those hands ended up being set on a chest. A very firm chest. You looked up to the man who caught you from falling and were met with beautiful blue eyes.

"Are you okay? He asked and straightened you up, both of his hands on your waist.

You managed to tear your eyes away from him, you quickly nodded.

"Yes, thank you." You smiled shyly at him, blushing when you realized your hands were still on his chest. You quickly moved them away just as he moved his gloved hands away from you.

He bent down to pick up the book that fell out of your hands.

"The Hobbit? Good choice." He winked at you when he handed it back to you.

"Thanks, I've heard great things about it, so I finally decided to buy it and read it." You looked at the book, frowning when you remembered you didn't place a bookmarker in it. You chuckled lightly, looking at him before continuing, "It's great so far, but I didn't bookmark it so now I lost my page."

"You're on page 106," the man racked his hand through his hair and straightened up his red shirt.

"And how do you know that?" feeling amused, you opened the book to the page he said only to find it to be the exact page you were in. You frowned, remembering you shut the book when you felt yourself falling.

"I just have very good eyesight," he once again ruffled his hair as he stuttered, "and memory… sorry if that made it weird." He scrunched his nose and you couldn't help but think of how cute he is.

"It's okay, it's not weird- pretty impressive actually." You held the book in your hands before smiling at him and taking a step back. "Well, I should go… thank you again."

You put a hand on his arm before moving past him and continuing your walk down the street.

Bucky stood in place for a moment after you left, chuckling to himself he walked forward with you still in his thoughts. After all that he has been through, being an assassin and a spy taught him to be calculated, think things through and be confident in his actions.

But he didn't know you, so why did he feel the need to turn around and go to you?

It made no sense, and yet he did just that.

He turned around and ran until he caught up to you and stood in front of you. With surprised eyes and a questioning brow, you looked at him, awaiting for what he has to say.

"Hi," he extended a hand to you with a charming smile that had you melting. "I'm Bucky."

And that's what started it all.

•

It was a few months later that you walked with Bucky back to your apartment after another wonderful date night. He had told you who he is early on and he swore that he fell for you faster after you reacted well to it and reassured him that you still want this- whatever this is. The two of you decided to take things slow, Bucky liked courting you properly and you didn't mind at all, it was obvious that your feelings for him grew and that you were quick to fall in love with him, and it was obvious that he returned the same feelings. Lately the tension felt heavier, the need was stronger, and with every lingering touch and every glance at your lips, you knew that tonight will be it. Your first kiss. Sure enough when Bucky stood at your doorstep you felt it coming, you saw it in his blue eyes, felt it in the air, and heard it in your heart. A million thoughts raced on your head in slow motion, fear clouded them when Bucky turned to look at you. What if he will regret this? What if this is a mistake and he will leave? What if you weren't good enough for him? You looked into his eyes as he pulled you in and it gave you the bravery to push all of those thoughts out and focus on the man in front of you, and so you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in to meet him in the middle. It's the first kiss, it's flawless and you let it take over you, fearless.

Since then, when your relationship got official, things went ever upwards. You learned more about one another, you grew closer; you laughed, you cried; you fought, and you talked; you said I love you, and he always said it back.

•

"Definitely not that one!" you laughed when Bucky pulled a sparkling dress that was sure to blind someone out of the rack. His laugh was music to your ears, booming and made his eyes crinkle, he was gorgeous.

Bucky put the hideous thing back in place and continued walking with you, hand in hand, looking for a perfect dress for Tony's party.

You were looking around when you passed a mannequin wearing a gorgeous little black dress- one that you wish you could wear. You let your eyes linger on it as you passed by it, not looking at Bucky who noted your gaze on the dress, and yet despite that you did not stop to Bucky's surprise.

"Okay how about we divide and conquer? You go find yourself a suit, I will go try to find a decent dress."

"Sounds good, Doll, just don't get lost here." You laughed as he winked and went to the other side of the shop.

You went through the various clothing items when you came across the dress that you saw earlier, it was black, basic and yet so special; on the mannequin it looked perfect and yet you couldn't help but wonder if it would look good at your body, it was a lovely dress but what if you will ruin it by wearing it? It would be so pretty, just not on you.

You went on to try and find dresses that will fit you better.

Bucky was in the men's section where he picked out an outfit when a saleswoman walked up to him with a big smile on her face.

"Hello, would you like any help?" she asked him and he saw the way the woman looked over his body shamelessly. He was about to shake his head when he saw you still picking out dresses.

"Actually-"

"A handsome guy like you deserves the best suits, let me show you some that would flatter you," she put a hand on his bicep.

Across the room you saw the sight and your face fell, you knew Bucky wouldn't do anything but still seeing other girls flirt with him made your blood boil and insecurities rise. You never told Bucky about these feelings, what would be the point? You quickly decided to wrap it up and take the pretty purple dress you found, it's more in your comfort zone, it's probably better.

Bucky laughed nervously before backing away from the girl and looking at her.

"Actually, I was hoping you could save a certain dress for my girlfriend." He smiled when he saw her face fall a bit, stuttering, she only nodded.

Only a few minutes later he met you at the counter, eyeing the dress you picked before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. The girl in from earlier appeared, you saw the way she looked at you when Bucky put his hand around you, Bucky only smiled at you, his arm still around you as you exited the store.

Putting you on his motorcycle, you wrapped your arms around him as he drove you home, but the thoughts would not leave your head.

"Doll, I need to go on a couple of errands before the party, so I'll meet you in the tower before?" you took off your helmet and nodded at him.

"I'll see you there." With a kiss he was gone out of your sight.

•

You stepped into the avengers tower with a bag with your dress and essentials inside it a couple of hours later, going to rest a bit with Bucky before the event starts and you'll both have to get dressed.

You got inside the elevator, sighing as you leaned against the back of the elevator, and then mentally groaning when the elevator doors opened up yet again only one floor later.

"I think it is just rubbish, there is no way." One of the two girls who walked in said to the other.

"I'm telling you, that's what I heard!" the two girls were with their backs towards you, they probably didn't notice you were there at all as they continued to gossip. "Sergeant Barnes has a girlfriend now, I heard Dot talking and apparently she is totally not on his level."

"I bet he is with her because of pity, it will never last," The blonde snickered. "Do you think he will be at the party tonight? Maybe we could talk to him, who knows what might happen."

Her friend nodded and you felt your heart sink down, suddenly this elevator was too crowded for you.

"That bitch will probably run home crying by the end of it." You thanked the gods when the elevator opened at their floor.

Holding the tears back, you quickly pressed the close button so no one else will get into the elevator as you went to Bucky- you had to keep it together, for him. You know he loves you, he will make it all go away.

And when you reached his floor, his smile immediately made your eyes shine as you happily jumped into his embrace.

"What took you so long, Doll?"

•

"Are you sure we have to go?"

"Yes."

"But do we have to? You're a supersoldier, you can protect us!" you giggled when he poked your sides. The two of you were tangled up in bed sheets, too comfortable with each other's presence to move away, your bodies were pressed together with his arms securing you to him and you wished you could stay like this forever.

"I will protect you no matter what, doll, but I promised to come to that stupid party and I can't be there without you," he kissed down your neck slowly, knowing just how to get to you. "Plus, I have a surprise for you."

"Oh? Is that so?" you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Mhm," he kissed up your neck again so he could look at you. "I would love to stay here like this and spend the night worshipping you, but I am really looking forward to this surprise- I promise that I'll worship you afterwards."

"I will hold you to that promise, Sergeant!" you laughed as he got up from the bed and went towards his closet. When he came back you saw that he carried a bag from the same store that you were in today. "What is this?"

"Go on, open it." Hesitantly, you opened the bag and you faltered when you saw what was inside, the little black dress you had your eyes on.

"How did you-"

"I saw you staring at it, so I got it for you." He sat down next to you again and pulled the material out of the bag. "I don't know why you didn't take it, but I would love to see you wear it, give me a show?"

He wiggled his eyebrows and despite your internal struggle you nodded at him as you went to change in the bathroom.

When you came back into the room, Bucky's eyes turned a shade darker, and all he wanted to do was take that dress off of you. You paid no mind to him as you walked over to the full length mirror, moving your hands across your body and assessing yourself as Bucky's gaze followed every move you made.

"Doll, you look-" you barely heard him though when you voiced your thoughts to the mirror.

"I am so ugly, this dress looked beautiful on the mannequin it's a shame I'm ruining it." You said as a matter of fact, "I think I will wear the dress that I picked, it's better."

Bucky's eyes snapped up from your ass to the back of your head as you continued looking at the reflection, taken aback by what you said so calmly.

Bucky has had a lot of trigger words throughout his life as the winter soldier, after getting rid of those he never thought he would find a new one until you uttered the word-

"Ugly." You shrugged, "I could give it to Natasha- she would love it."

"What did you just say?" Bucky rose up from the bed, and at the tone change of his voice you turned around to him.

He just couldn't wrap his head around it. You, his girl, the girl he knew he was going to spend the rest of his life with; the girl who took his heart so quickly he wondered if maybe it was always yours; You, the girl who he is certain must be a goddess, the girl that is so beautiful he is certain he would be distracted in a battlefield by; the girl who smiles at him and takes his breath away; the girl who can shatter any bad day he has only by the smell of her perfume and her words; You, that girl, was right now standing in front of him calling herself things he could never associate with her.

"What do you mean, Bucky?" you got confused at the slight anger in his blue eyes, it wasn't at you, but you still saw it there.

"Don’t you dare call my girl ugly," he said it so strongly you were afraid you would upset him, you didn't mean for your insecurities to slip into his view- you didn't mean to say it in front of him.

"Bucky, but it's true. I know that you love me as I am, but I can't really ignore this, I mean- look at me." You pointed to the mirror behind you with a small nervous chuckle. "It's okay."

"Doll, it's not okay, what are you talking about? You're gorgeous!" you wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed and it was not because of the dress.

"Bucky, I'm not- maybe you just don't see it, but I do. Love can make you blind." You didn't know exactly what to say to make this conversation go away, and from the determined look in Bucky's eyes you knew avoiding and escaping was not an option. You lowered your eyes down.

Bucky sighed, taking a moment to collect himself as he studied your body language before taking a step forward and bringing your chin up so you would look at him, caressing your cheek.

"I'm sorry doll, I didn't mean to attack you- I just can't have you talking like that about my best girl." He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, staying close so you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "Do you always feel this way?"

You only nodded the best you could with his hand holding your chin up.

"Why didn't you talk to me about this?"

"What's there to talk about? You didn't need to see this, this is just the situation, this is just how I see it, this is just a fact." You shrugged.

"Doll, this is not a fact, this is self hatred." Bucky shook his head, he could not imagine a world in which you are anything but perfect, "I know it's hard to accept yourself doll, but I need you to know that you are beautiful and absolutely breathtaking in this dress."

Bucky turned you around towards the mirror, wrapping his arms securely around you before letting his hands roam your body which he spent nights memorizing.

"Don't say that word again, doll give me the chance to show you what I see." With a shuddering breath you nodded at him as he continued to shower you with praise that made your cheeks warm.

"Does that mean we are not going to the party?" you chuckled as a small smile rose on your lips.

"Oh no, we are definitely going to the party," he whispered in your ear. "I am going to show you off to every single person there, point out every guy and girl that stare at you, longing and jealous, and then make sure they all know that you are mine, gorgeous." He sealed that with a soft kiss on your lips. When you tried to kiss him again he pulled away. "Hmm, I just had a great idea."

"What is it?" a mischievous smile grew on his face.

"I think we should angle the mirror towards the bed." If your cheeks weren't hot before, they were burning now.

•

Tags: @callmeluna @sstanbarnes @buckys-other-punk @drabblewithfrannybarnes @easygoingtheatre @that-one-person @justab-eautifulmess @onceupona-happilyeverafter @wipplogg @supraveng @samwilsons-pillowpecs @ayybtch @kitkatd7 @chrissquares @make-me-imagine

#little black dress #my writing #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky angst #insecure reader #fluff #angst #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #bucky imagine #tfatws #marvel #mcu #kas9kwc #writing challenge

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lunamochii · 2 years

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Under the mistletoe with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Oikawa!

Hello! I decided to make this as a sign of gift this coming Christmas! This will have many parts and this is part one! Hope you guys will like this one❤️

reblogs, likes, and feedbacks are highly appreciated🥳

note;

You guys can also comment down the characters you want me to include on the upcoming parts! Have a great day!

Fluff all the way

Bokuto

“Look Y/N! They sell christmas decoration here!”

You look at your side and saw him pointing at a one section, you went to him and his already checking out some decorations

“But we already have tons of decorations in our house, Kou..”

“A little bit more won’t hurt right?”

He wink at you and you only shook your head then let him choose, while minding your own business you felt him tugging at you, turning around you saw him stretching his arm up

“What am I holding, love?”

“Uhh… a mistletoe?”

“And we are lovers! What do they do in movies?”

You blush immediately and look around, some people are looking at the direction where you guys are standing

“Wha— there are lots of people Kou!”

“Hehehe just a peck! I promise!”

He even puckered lips, you got a hold on his scarf and pulled his head down by tugging on it. Placing a quick kiss on his lips

“There! Now let’s g—“

Bokuto grab your waist and capture your lips once again, you couldn’t say anything and when he broke away from the kiss, he look at you smiling warmly

“There’s no way that quick kiss will satisfy me, let’s buy this and go home, shall we?”

You look at him with disbelief but ended up laughing to yourself and softly slap him on the shoulder

“I hate you, Kou”

“I love you too, Y/N”

;

Kuroo

The both of you went out for a quick walk but in the end it turned out a long walk, by the time when you guys got to the bridge, Kuroo suddenly stop, standing under a light pole. His hands stuff on the pocket of his jacket

“What’s wrong, Tetsu?”

You ask and decided to walk back towards him

“May I kiss you?”

His words sent indescribable feeling in to your body, he rarely asks for such things especially the both of you only get to see each other whenever your work or his is not busy

“Yeah you may but you didn’t need to ask y’know..”

“I know but I want to make this different..”

Kuroo pulled out both of his hands from his pocket and place it on your cheeks, he rub his nose on yours earning a giggle from you

“God, I love you so much. I can’t wait to get married to you..”

“Geez you’re so dramatic Tetsu!”

“Hey! I’m being serious here!”

You laugh at him and he only look at you lovingly then he inches towards you again

“We’re currently under a mistletoe, we should kiss.”

You smiled and wrap your arms around him

“Yeah, we should”

;

Oikawa

“Ah it’s been so long! I miss this gym!”

You accompanied him when he told you that he wants to visit his alma mater, you quitely followed him and you enjoyed yourself by admiring the changes of the gym

“Hey, you’re so quiet today sweetheart. Something bothering you?”

“Nope! It’s just that, I wish I could have seen you when you were still in your teens..”

“Hey! I still look the same! Handsome as ever~”

“Yeah yeah, wait— is this you? Oh my, is this Iwaizumi? You guys are so cute!”

Oikawa smiled and reminisce the good old days when he was still with his teammates, they should meet up again. He miss arguing with his best friend

“See? Nothing change~”

You laugh and agreed with him then the both of you decided to leave, he still plans on spending his christmas eve with you, on your way out he noticed the mistletoe placed on the door

“Ah! Look! They put a mistletoe!”

“Oh righ— hm!”

Oikawa sneakily put the ring he supposedly to give you after dinner but his too excited to wait for it, when he broke the kiss his still holding you by your waist

“Merry Christmas!”

You look at your hand and couldn’t help but admire the ring

“Tooru this…”

“Mind spending the rest of your life with me?”

Your vision blurred and throw yourself at him and he catches you with ease, he bury his face on the crook of your neck and hug you tighter

“Ah, let’s just go back.”

“Yeah, it will be such a waste to ruin a precious moment.”

The both of you immediately pulled away from each other and you saw how his eyes widened

“Yo, idiot Oikawa.”

“Hey there captain~”

“WAAAAHHHH EVERYONEEE!!”

You laugh seeing him run up to them and hug his teammates, they look at you and Oikawa motion you to come

“Come on Y/N! Let’s crush this boyfriend of yours!”

Everyone laugh and Oikawa couldn never ask for anything more, contented to have the love of his life and bestfriends close to him.

#hq bokuto #hq kuroo #hq oikawa #hq osamu #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu time skip #haikyu imagines #haikyuu thirsts #osamu haikyuu #haikyuu atsumu #hq ushijima #hq ushiwaka #hq imagines #hq fluff #hq headcanons #haikyuu smut

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

what a lovely dream it is

english major!wanda x english major!fem!reader

summary: who would have thought that wanda, the self proclaimed queen of reading science fiction, would be just as obsessed with shakespeare as you?

warnings: one use of the word “su*cide”. shakespeare. nerds quoting lines. bad writing. (i challenged myself into writing this in an hour and a half). cringey writing (there is a difference)

word count: 4k!

You and Wanda connected at first because you two spoke the same language from different regions. It felt like she spoke British English, and you spoke American English. You were on the same wavelength but not exactly the same individual wave, but it was as close as you had ever gotten with someone who you deemed worth your time.

While everyone else was partying or drinking until they threw up or flaunting around bags with white powder in them, you sat with your back to the wall after studying, reading a classic, knowing that the change of her leaning against the same wall and doing the exact same thing you were was high.

You met her in the library, on your third day at your university. You were trying to find your group of authors, your little nook where you would feel the safest in the entire school. You had stumbled right into the fantasy section, looked around for a second, and then tripped over a brown boot that was just at the start of the science fiction shelf.

“I’m so sorry,” a woman’s voice murmured, and you just shook your head and said that it was okay, much more interested in the way that your hands suffered from the fall on the carpet than the girl. Until you looked up.

It was everything about her that stunned you. The brown hair, the flush of her cheeks, the apologetic look in her pale blue eyes that caressed her features to sit in one beautiful and genuine expression. The moment your eyes landed on her, you swore that your heart stopped and started in the same second, and then took a run for it with all of the parts of your brain that you needed to make a coherent thought.

You promised yourself in that moment that you would never forget the way the woman in front of you looked. And despite seeing hundreds of more faces throughout your self-tour, you never truly did forget it. If you didn’t know any better, if you were perhaps any younger and less exposed to the cruelty of the world and fate and its way of not giving you what you wanted, you would have been certain that the universe had finally given you the contemporary meet cute that you yearned for.

But then, you saw which aisle she was in. You looked at the books and recognized the authors just to be sure, and then you turned to look at her. “You’re into science fiction?”

Her apologetic look fell completely into a look of pure surprise, and then excitement, almost as if she thought that she found someone else who liked the genre she did. “Well, it’s the best genre that was ever written.”

“Wow, how wrong,” you found yourself saying, and somehow, you knew that the look of offense on her face was all for fun. “It’s definitely gothic literature.” The look she gave you was one that you would never forget.

A week later, you ran into her in the cafeteria, holding a copy of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, your beat up one from home that you would put your life on the line for. The cover was torn up a bit and the pages were dog eared, from a time where you hadn’t discovered the way that bookmarks changed lives. It was the copy your cousin got you, and it was your favorite gift to date.

She was holding The Martian Chronicles. You nearly gagged.

At first, you thought she hadn’t seen you, or hadn’t recognized you, which was even worse. You sighed under your breath and said, “at least it’s not Nineteen Eighty Four,” and watched in complete horror as she turned around.

She locked eyes with you immediately, and her own eyes widened when she saw you, and then she grinned when she undoubtedly recognized you and your disdain for science fiction. “No, it’s even better than Nineteen Eighty Four.”

“Anything is better than that,” you said, swallowing down your nerves at speaking to the girl again, kicking yourself for being so nervous despite not even knowing her name.

She gave you that same “offended” look she gave you during your first interaction, and you cracked a small smile. “Um, don’t you voluntarily go into the gothic section?”

The smile dropped. “The most valid section in the library? Sure do.”

She smiled too, a genuine grin as she took a step forward and extended her hand. For a second, you just looked at it, the calmness that came with the discussion of literature suddenly washed away so far back into your mind that you panicked for a moment, not reaching for her hand until you saw it shake in just the slightest, like she was regretting even doing it.

You nearly bumped your elbow on the table trying to stand up and shake her hand. Your hands connected and you grinned so wide it felt like your face had split open. You told her your name and she repeated it to make sure she had heard you loud and clear, and then, she smiled even brighter.

“Nice to meet you, Dracula. I’m Wanda.” And that was where it started.

As your library meetups started to become more intentional than not, you learned that not only was Wanda a student that stayed in the dorms, but the student who was next door to you. You learned that she pretty much kept to herself for the most part besides a few other people at the university, and that she kept a small circle. You learned that her favorite book was Brave New World. You learned that she would rather shy away from classic romance novels, even though you didn’t mind them, and that she hated gothic literature. You loved it. Your favorite book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, for god's sake. So, you hated each other’s favorite genres.

But you both loved symbolism. And you were both English majors. And for some very odd, very coincidental reason, you both met in what was nowhere near the middle- Shakespearean plays.

Now, that was something that you were always made fun of for as a child. No one wanted to hang out with the girl who quoted Shakespeare, especially if it wasn’t even from Romeo and Juliet. Reading normal books just made you look “smart”, but you knew that genuinely enjoying plays would make you look pretentious. So you had always kept it to yourself when you left your hometown. Until Wanda came along.

Wanda came along, and suddenly, you found yourself quoting tragedies and getting the correct response back. Sometimes, she would even start it first. You would do nerdy things like halfway reenact scenes because even you guys weren’t that nerdy… you supposed.

One morning, you and Wanda were in a study group (that was hardly productive because it was just Wanda’s little circle that was actually astoundingly close), and she looked over your shoulder to see your computer, where you were hardly typing an essay about the importance of the establishment of places for higher education. She put her chin against your shoulder, sat there for a minute, and then turned her head to whisper in your ear, “nothing will come of nothing.” It was embarrassing, the way your eyes lit up at hearing her voice, and even more so when Natasha, Wanda’s extremely perceptive friend, picked up on what you were feeling. The red head shot you the widest grin ever known to man.

“C’mere, Frankenstein,” Wanda said one night, already looking over at you while you tried to finish your work for the day.

You held back the smile on your face as you sat on your bed, one leg over it while you typed. “I’m right here.”

“No, here,” she emphasized, and then she was patting the spot on the small couch in your room, the same look in her eyes that always came with when she asked for any kind of physical contact.

That was by far the worst thing about Wanda, and it hardly had anything to do with her. She was touch starved, and touch was your love language. Her asking you to hold her on the couch used to mean nothing to you, because at one point, you just thought she was pretty. But now, holding her hand on top of the table while you both were submerged in your respective worlds felt like a promise ring. Letting her rest her head on your shoulder and in your neck felt like giving your vulnerability over to her, and feeling her hand rub against your back felt like she was taking it and guarding it. But you knew she didn’t feel the same way, not at all.

She was straight.

But it did you no good when she quoted back some of your favorite lines. It didn’t help when she said all of the romantic lines towards you at the drop of a hat, almost like she didn’t even realize what she was saying. She didn’t understand the way your heart died and was revived every time she said something like that, something that was so dear and vulnerable to you. And she certainly never would, because you would never tell her.

Now that you thought about it, allowing yourself to fall for her was the dumbest and most destructive thing you could have ever done. The first bookworm who didn’t make fun of you for your knowledge and love of old plays was the one that took hold of your heart, and now you were paying for being such an idiot. Now you would have to sit through three more years of school with her being your friend, just your friend, while you pined over her. It was going to be hell.

And was it. You had to sit through her saying the most romantic of Shakespearean quotes every day and act like she wasn’t making your heart shake. You had to listen to her speaking the language that you two shared and pretend that you just wanted to be her friend. You were so attached to her and everything that you two had established together, and you couldn’t ruin it by giving her googly eyes. She was way too important for that. Because now, she was way more than a person who you could talk to about old plays. She was the person that you could talk to about anything, without a doubt. Anything but the intense crush that you were harboring for her, and the way that she made your heart sing and your soul ascend whenever you smelled her perfume or saw her smile. Anything but that.

§§

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” You looked up from your book only to see Wanda looking over at you, lying down on the blanket and just watching you. You swore later on when you were alone that you imagined it, but for a moment you could have sworn that you saw a flash of adoration in her eyes. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

You were choking on the inside. Your face was blank, but your mind was going haywire, and you couldn't think of anhytnign besides holding back the urge to say something that you had no chance of taking back. “You’re in a sonnet mood today, aren’t you?”

“And what mood are you in today, Jekyll?”

“I’m in the mood to finish this book,” you teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“What if I’m in the mood to sit and watch a movie?”

“Then you should do it,” you said, going the way your heart clenched at the thought of her cutting your friendly outing short. “I’ll follow you in an hour or two.”

She gave you a look. “You know I don’t go anywhere without you.”

“You can go watch a movie, Wands.” You sighed out, closing your book and wedging your pointer finger between the pages so that you wouldn't get lost.

“I’ll wait,” she said, and you shook your head at her.

“I don’t want to hold you back from getting in time with your favorite sci fi movies.”

“Can I go forward when my heart is here?”

You were hit with such a wave of longing that you had to shut your eyes for a moment, but it looked like it was simply a long blink. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I want to hear one,” Wanda said, leaning on her elbows as she stared up at you, and your heart pounded. She looked celestial, glowing under the sunlight with growing grass around her and a sweet smile budding on her face. “You never quote any back to me anymore, you know?”

You knew, for sure. It was on purpose that you didn’t quote back. If you were to continue the conversation in romantic quotes, it was going to feel way too real to you. You could handle Wanda and her touches, but you were not going to be able to handle quoting Romeo and Juliet to her. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled softly, and then you heard her make a sound with her tongue, a displeased clicking noise.

You looked up at her and lost your breath again, and your mental footing. There she was, looking up at you with her pretty eyes, giving you a look more intense than she had ever given you before. She was… it was almost like she was waiting for something, like she knew something. She was staring up at you and leaning on her hand in a way that was so oddly domestic in your mind, and you could almost see in your mind the way that she would do that if you woke up in the same bed, like she was waiting for you to wake up and trying to memorize your face. It made you warm on the inside, and just like she always managed to do, your brain turned to mush.

“Conscience doth make cowards of us all,” you blurt, and you saw her brows pull in for a second. You blinked.

“Huh?”

You were panicking on the inside. There were plenty of ways that she could have taken the quote that you had chosen, but you knew exactly what it sounded like. A half assed love confession. “You know, from Hamlet,”

“Of course I know it’s from Hamlet, Jekyll.” She shook her head at you and sat up, crossing her legs without breaking eye contact. “But why that quote? You know so many, and you chose the one about death.”

Unfortunately, it’s death by silence in this context, not by swords. “You said you wanted to hear a line,” you said, shrugging as you opened your book, trying to get rid of the embarrassment that you knew would stick to you for hours and hours.

“What a line,” she said, and then she rolled over to look up at the sky. Minutes later, you heard her sigh. “What a line.”

§§

Romeo + Juliet was a classic for your movie night. At first, Wanda showed it to you after you boycotted it for years, despite your male celebrity crush being one of the main characters in it. You had always avoided watching because of the modernism, but one Wanda made you sit down and watch it, you actually found good things about it. For instance, the party scene.

“It was done wonderfully,” Wanda would always say from beside you after your extremely predictable comment of the scene being a masterpiece.

Like always, there were a few moments of silence as you two watched the movie together, shoulder to shoulder on the small couch in your dorm while your roommate was off getting high. You watched the rest of it in near silence, halfway focused on the movie while the other part of your mind was split in two; feeling blessed that Wanda was even there with you, soclose, and feeling cursed that she was so close but so far. It was the perfect moment to hold her close like you wanted to so badly, but the timing wasn’t right. And that killed you.

“Do you ever think about how they fell in love so fast?” Wanda asked, and you shrugged your shoulders. “I’d say that they were encroaching on soulmate territory.”

“Soulmates, or foolish teenagers?”

“I hardly know of any teenagers who would die for each other, even if they thought they were in love,” Wanda pointed out, and you rolled your eyes at her. “Don’t give me that face. I’m right, and you know it.”

“I’ll always let you believe it, sci fi.”

“But, really, don’t you ever want something like that?”

You turned your face from the screen and looked at her incredulously, like she had gone mad while completing the process of growing three heads. “A suicide pact?”

She groaned and threw her head back. “No. A love like that. Take away the death and violence, and look at what they had.”

“It bloomed too quickly to have much potential later in life,” you countered. “That was infatuation, and that never lasts long.”

“You think that they both died for infatuation?”

“I think that they were young, and it’s hard to tell the difference between love and infatuation at any age, let alone as a teenager. I think they thought they loved each other to the ends of the earth, but I guess they’ll never know.”

“You’re so cynical. Just like a person whose favorite is gothic literature.” You laughed, leaning forward towards her without even noticing what you were doing. “Do you believe in love?”

“Of course I do,” you answered, giving her a look. “I’m just saying, Romeo and Juliet were not in true love. They were confused.”

Then, the playful air that the conversation was flowing on changed so quickly that you nearly got whiplash and your heart started racing. The way Wanda was looking at you sent a chill down your spine, and in that moment, you were worried. “Are you confused?”

You took in a breath. “About what?”

“About anything,” she said slowly, almost like she felt like she was walking on thin ice with skates on. “Books, people, love, food, sexuality,” she ignored the way that you choked, “writing a paper, how to get a strike in bowling. Or how to realize that Romeo and Juliet were definitely in love.”

“You’re so intent on proving that they were to me,” you said, a laugh bubbling over and into your words. “Why are you suddenly so passionate about them now?”

“The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.”

Your heart jumped out of your chest again, and your hands clenched into weak fists as you tried to will yourself into not assuming that she was talking about you. And then, white hot panic struck you at the thought of her being in love with someone else. “Speak low if you speak of love.”

“Why should I?” Wands asked, shifting from her position on the couch to put a hand under her chin and watch you, her kind eyes afire with something that you had yet to see in them yet. “Really, Jekyll. Why?”

You hardly waited a full second before responding as truthfully as you ever would. “I’m afraid.” Before she could get a word in, you shook your head and finally loosened your lips, letting all of your worries and fears slide right through your teeth. “I’m afraid that I’ve fallen in love with someone who can never love me back. I’m scared to admit that I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I’m afraid that you aren’t into girls.” You saw her make a face, almost like she couldn't believe that you were even suggesting the things that you were. “I don’t quote Shakespeare to you anymore because it feels too real to have you say lines like that back to me. I think that I’ve latched onto you without even meaning to, and now I don’t know if I can ever let you go.”

Wanda was silent. She was watching you, as quietly as the sun hovered over the earth while she shone her light. Your heart had never beat so fast before as you watched her watch you with a face so blank that you were sure that she hadn’t retained a damn thing that you pulled from the depths of your heart. Then, the daunting thought that she had heard and understood everything but chose not to act swallowed you whole, and your hands started to shake. You gave a humorless laugh and finally looked away from the woman who had raised your spirits and crushed them all within five minutes. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

“I’m so sorry.” You repeated, shaking your head and closing your eyes for a second as hot tears burned in them. When they opened, a fat tear sappetered onto your hand. I’m such an idiot. You looked to the screen, and then saw Romeo screaming, on the ground, and you could hear the words even though your ears were rushing with blood. I defy you, stars. “You don't have to say anything back, I know you don’t feel the same.” Your eyes pulled away from the screen. “I can leave- wait, um, this is my dorm. I-”

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” Wanda started slowly, and your brows furrowed as you heard the words fall from her lips. Fuck. You knew what this ended with, and still, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. “Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

Your eyes were wide by the end of it, watery and fixed on her. “W-what?”

“How could you not have known?” Wanda asked softly, and you but your lip to stop from bursting into tears.

“I thought you were straight!” You accused, and to your surprise, she laughed.

“No, sweetheart.” Your heart stuttered. “I’m not.”

Your breathing was still slightly heavy as you tried to get a grip on everything that was happening. “You… you feel the same way?”

“Of course I do, Jekyll.” She said, and you found yourself falling for her expressive eyes all over again as she stared up at you. You reached your hand out experimentally, like she did the second time you ever met, and you waited that torturous moment for her to take your hand in a way that was much different than all the other times you shared a touch. This touch was the moment of truth.

She took your hand, kissed your knuckles, and put your palm on her cheek.

“The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.”

“This can’t be anything but a dream,” you murmured, feeling her cheek in your hand and the way they were warm and flushed. The softness was bringing you in and out of your head, and every time you went back to reality, you were thrusted into a little sliver of paradise.

“Well, what a lovely dream it is, then.” Her lips found yours. The movie played on, the clock kept its incessant ticking, and your leg was starting to tingle from sitting on it in the same position for so long. But to you, time absolutely stopped. And as long as a particular science fiction nerd was in front of you, nothing that ticked or clicked or buzzed was ever going to matter.

*******

i said i wasn’t going to post this, but i did it anyway!! hope you guys enjoyed this fic!! it was a lot of fun to write but it also made me mad nervous LMAO let’s hope this wasn’t absolute dogshit

@teenwonder i know you said you wanted a tag on my stuff so here it is, love!! 💕💕

#marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #my fics #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader #lgbt marvel #english major!wanda

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

The Traveling T-Shirt

No Pairings

No Warnings

It's just Morgan's t-shirt traveling through the BAU one person and story at a time

It starts with a coffee spill in Seattle. With Aaron, startlingly enough.

Six days in the rain and it seemed even their cleanest, driest clothing was damp with the chill from the constant downpour. Though, six days on their feet with clothing they’d already worn at least twice that week on their backs, they looked more and more “rag-tag” as the hours bore on. Even Hotch had lost his cookie-cutter charm. His white t-shirt crumpled where it was typically pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair wouldn’t stay gelled into the style he liked it in, leaving it fluffy and soft on the top of his head. He looked significantly less like SSA Aaron Hotchner and a lot more like Aaron.

Maybe he had lost SSA Hotchner somewhere along the days and victims because SSA Hotchner would never spill coffee on himself. But Aaron would and Aaron did.

Derek watched the whole thing take place, unable to take his eyes off of Hotch since the second that he walked in. Something about his tired zombie-like lurches just couldn’t break Derek’s curiosity and he had to know what would come out of Hotch’s current state. Despite the far-away look in Hotch’s gaze, the tired bags of discoloration under his eyes, Derek would not have predicted this as the outcome. Hotch is so out of it that all he can do is stare at the mess he’s created, glaring at the mess of coffee grounds across his less than pristine white dress shirt.

“Here,” Derek shakes his head, has to manually clear the fog occupying his brain. He pulls at the loose clump of napkins someone had left atop the coffee table for this exact situation, presses the mass into Hotch’s stomach. It feels akin to something else, distinctly deja-vu. Like he’s pressing into a wound, holding him together with nothing more than cheap napkins.

The physical contact brings Hotch back to the Earth and with a few blinks of his blood-shot eyes he sighs irritably and mumbles, “I don’t have any more clean shirts.”

Derek would argue the one he’s currently wearing is not clean either. It’s got a few dots of red expo marker on the left elbow where Reid bumped into him, rambling quickly about his map and the geographical profile. On the cuff of his right sleeve, there’s something brown or black which could be something from a pen or an expo marker or something else he’s just stuck his hand in. God knows what else is on this shirt.

Hotch puts his hand over Derek’s, holds the napkins himself. Derek pats his shoulder, “it’s alright, man. I’ll get you a shirt.”

They could go just about anywhere and just buy him a shirt. It could be some looney graphic t-shirt from the boy’s sections of some store down the street or another white dress shirt to replace the one he’s wearing but Derek just gets one of his. It’s a light grey, the color worn down by how frequently Derek wears it. Where it fits Derek snugly, hugs his chest and back tightly, it fits Hotch oddly. Displays to them all just how right they were in the assumptions they have held about how his recent divorce is affecting him.

He’s lost weight.

Too much.

One thin grey Hanes t-shirt can’t fight off the chill and overtop it, covering his visible bones, Dave throws him a sweater. He stays buried in that sweater and shirt all day, long into the night as they go hunting out in the streets with flashlights. Rain comes down heavy and thick.

Dave gets his sweater back. Folded neatly and smelling of the distinct fabric softener Hotch uses, it makes his whole office smell nice and Dave nearly can’t bring himself to wear the thing again. Doesn’t want the scent to fade, every inch of that sweater is now stitched together with something more.

The t-shirt gets left at the bottom of a drawer, to be discovered months from now.

Emily finds it six nights after Foyet left Hotch in Saint Sebastion’s hospital held together by sugrical staples and the stubborn will to live. All of his clothing has been hunted through, his shirt drawer is nearly empty. JJ and Penelope had undertaken the job of finding Hotch clothing for the hospital -- anything that he could just slip his arms into without having to lift them above his head. The only things left in his drawers are regular t-shirts and jeans, meaning Emily doesn’t have a whole lot to pick through right now.

She hadn’t anticipated this need and as much forethought as she put into staying the night was assuming Hotch would have clothes she could steal. She hadn’t really thought she’d be here tonight but she doesn’t think she can leave him alone. Doesn’t think it would be kind of her as his friend to see him like this and still choose to leave him for the night.

She decides on a thin grey shirt that she finds, turning her nose up to his university t-shirts (as if she’d wear those) and a pair of sweat pants on his floor that she thinks are clean or at least don’t smell bad. It’s not the best but she came unprepared and she’s not going to complain, both are comfortable even if the pants are giant on her.

To her surprise, he’s still fighting off his meds. Hazy brown eyes blink open when she steps back out into the living room, following her as she comes to the couch. She’s careful, even if she does it nonchalantly, as she moves his legs a little so that she can sit down beside him. He’s stretched across the couch, too big so he’s pinched up in places, but he doesn’t want to sleep in his room. Stubborn like a child being asked to take a nap -- “but I’m not tired”.

“T’as not my shirt,” he mumbles into his blanket. He’s got the heating blanket pulled up his nose, wrapped tightly around his shoulders and hands.

Emily looks down at it and frowns. “Well, then who the hell else’s is it?” She reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table, turning it on without waiting for his answer. Clearly, she doesn’t care who’s it is, she’s not taking it off now. His grunt, muffled by the blanket, means he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care enough either to figure out who it is.

He doesn’t last much longer, falls asleep with her squishing him on the couch (though, arguably, he’s squishing her). She’ll brush off his timid embarrassment at having to need her around the next morning, for waking up in the middle of the night having to be held down. Sobbing incoherently about something, neither of them really sure what. Only calming down when she put his head in her lap, stroking his hair back until he fell back asleep. Which is how he wakes up, his head in her lap and his hand holding her’s hostage.

But she shrugs it off and says she only did it for the free shirt, “don’t worry about it.”

She keeps the shirt, uses it several more nights as they graduate from sleeping on the couch to him finally going back to his bed. To being mentally present enough again to fight her about taking meds, to walking her to the front door every night, and watching her leave.

She buries the shirt too. It feels too tight on her skin, wrong. She touches the material and remembers seeing him hysterical, writhing in pain, and unable to be comforted. Can smell the antiseptic from his skin. Can hear the doctor warning her about his heart. That shirt feels like losing her best friend but she can’t bring herself to get rid of it.

JJ uncovers it a year later (before Emily has done the unspeakable, the unimaginable, and died and come back to life). It’s a girls night gone wrong but not impossibly so.

“Just grab one of my shirts,” Emily says, still laughing.

JJ glares back at her. She’s covered in water from the sink -- Emily sprayed her with the faucet. It’s revenge, payback for the pasta sauce JJ swiped down her cheek.

“You two are devious,” Penelope insists, waving her fingers at them. She’s still chopping up mushrooms, trying to size them as best as she can so that they are spread evenly throughout the alfredo sauce. “Behave before you ruin the sauce and I have to tell Dave that I not only shared his recipe but that you two ruined it.”

JJ has to search for a shirt from Emily’s pajama drawer. She doesn’t want any of the old college shirts and certainly doesn’t want any of the dopey graphic t-shirts Emily is so partial to. She ends up on a grey shirt, worn and old and soft.

Emily knows the shirt the second the JJ comes out and it takes her a moment to hide and stifle the anxiety that its presence gives her. Hotch’s health is better, he’s got a routine down with the medication he’ll be taking for the rest of his life because of that attack, but he’s smiling again. It’s harder than it was before to win one out of him but he can do it, they happen.

“Which one-night stand is this?” JJ asks, plucking the shirt with her fingers and raising an eyebrow.

Emily shakes her head, clears her throat of the residual guilt, and smirks, “trust me, you don’t want to know.” Hotch would be mortified at the insinuation but it’s funny and what he doesn’t know (and what they don’t know) can’t hurt him. She’s sad to see the shirt go, it’s a door closed, but relieved of its burden she can breathe again. Feels Foyet leave her completely.

JJ goes unburdened.

That old shirt is a comfort. She nurses Henry through fevers in it. Uses its edge to wipe his tears from his face. It’s always at the top of her laundry basket, the first thing she puts on when she gets home from a rough case. Will isn’t sure where she got it from because he knows it’s not his. It’s not the first time JJ’s stolen someone else’s clothes (he’s picked up enough of them to know that Reid wears a size small, that dark shirts sized medium are Morgan, and that white t-shirts in a medium are Hotch’s). He thinks it’s cute, she’s been stealing his shirts for as long as he’s known her.

In October, the fall of the same year that Emily leaves for Interpol, JJ gets held up in a meeting with Hotch. Something to do the with Department of Justice and all she manages to get out over the phone is that she’s absolutely pissed and Reid can just faintly hear Hotch offering her a coffee before she thanks him and the line goes dead. Will is on night shift and he can’t come home. So Reid fills in, their impromptu babysitter for the night.

It’s fine, calm… for the most part.

Reid lasts about an hour and a half before he finds himself in need of a change of clothes. He’s got pumpkin all over him and his fun little idea to let Henry carve a baby pumpkin was obviously a bad idea. He just didn’t know that in advance. He’s watched Jack enough times to feel fully confident in his skills but the age gap between Henry and Jack is severe. There are a lot of developmental differences in children only two years apart in age, Reid was not prepared for that.

He feels weird about stealing a shirt but his own is soaked in pumpkin guts and Henry’s bathwater.

JJ doesn’t notice the shirt exchange. She just grins at the sight of Spencer and Henry curled up on the couch, Will sitting beside them eating popcorn while “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” plays softly.

Three days later Morgan sees his shirt on the back of the couch. It’s been washed and is waiting to be returned to JJ but he knows damn well that it’s his. “How the hell did you find this?” Morgan asks, lifting it up. Reid had called him over to fix a leaking pipe (Reid is supposed to call his Super who has a mechanic who can do it but he’s too anxious for that) and Morgan was less than prepared to find his missing shirt.

Reid frowns, confused, “that’s JJ’s. I borrowed it Thursday night when I babysat.”

Morgan shakes his head, no this is his shirt. He’s sure of it. It’s been gone for years. He thought the washing machine ate it. He couldn't remember where else it would have gone off to. That or he left it in some hotel but here it is. Grey and worn and soft, it’s his.

He takes it to work in his go-bag and all but rolls his eyes into the back of his head when he watches Garcia stumble and drench herself in cold, left-over tea. He stands from his desk, sighing hard, “it’s alright, baby girl. I’ve got a shirt you can borrow.”

He’s never getting this shirt back.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #dererk morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #penelope garcia

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mariaiscrafting · 3 years

Text

no, you know what, I’m going to stop vague’ing on the dash. my anger is about to get extremely direct and enraged, so fair warning, but I don’t care about anyone’s comfort right now. I’m going to get fucking mad, and you all will fucking deal.

not a single one of us has the right, or should even have the option, to guess about ccs’ sexualities. I’ve kept my mouth shut when it comes to people analyzing george/dream and guessing they’re some kind of queer, but I’m fucking done. I’m going to go into every single reason “truthing” about ccs’ sexualities is just so beyond fucked.

first of all, this is in response specifically to ranboo and tubbo truthing. being a kid and getting thrown into such a massive spotlight, where you will undoubtedly be subject to some fuck shit eventually because the internet is full of thousands upon thousands of people, is already terrifying and anxiety-inducing and damaging enough. but for their own audiencemembers - their own supposed fucking “fans” - to take it one step further and speculate about their sexualities? oh, for the love of god. I can barely believe I even have to explain how fucked that is. it is one thing to be friends with or close to someone in real life and recognize your own queer struggle in them, to approach them with sympathy and support in case they are questioning. it is another thing entirely to speculate about the sexuality of someone you don’t even know, and to then take it a step further and “truth” about your fucking theories. you are not an expert, you are not their friend, and you are not a fucking oracle. you can guess all you want about a cc’s sexuality, you can comment on how their actions or behaviors or words resonate with you when you were questioning or closeted, but to go ahead and take your own speculation as truth is arrogant, presumptous, and damaging as all hell.

I can just imagine what it would’ve been like if I’d grown an online platform that ripped me of my privacy when I was a teenager and trying to figure out my own sexuality. if I had a section of my audience analyzing my every social media post, the inflection in my voice and the nature of my laughs, my every interaction with my best friend, you know what I would’ve done? retreated so far into the closet that I would probably have tricked myself into thinking I was heterosexual. I would’ve been so fucking terrified and felt so stripped of any privacy or control I had over my own goddamn thoughts; do you understand how fucking vile that is? have none of you ever been terrified of giving away your own sexuality through your mannerisms and facial expressions and words, while you were closeted? have none of you ever experienced that utter fucking terror when you notice someone start to question your sexuality, the immediate urge to retreat and back up and act and believe the complete opposite just to prove them wrong and go back to the safety and security of them believing you were straight? for fuck’s sake, now imagine that feeling amplified a hundred fold, applied not just to one instance or one person in your life, but to thousands. do y’all not understand just how a) morally fucked it is to inflict this same kind of practice onto someone you supposedly care about and support, and b) potentially psychologically damaging this could be to ccs who are closeted, especially the fucking minors? oh my fucking god.

that isn’t even to point out why people do this shit - which is to project and find solace and derive some kind of enjoyment out of cc’s. that’s what cc’s are there for; they are entertainers, first and foremost, which continues outside of streams and bleeds into fandom culture and the kind of enjoyment fans can make out of interacting with other fans and creating their own fan content. the problem with this fact is that fans take it too far, like 85% of the time. cc’s aren’t just there for our own enjoyment. they are fucking people, oh my lord. they are real people that we will never know, and while we may have our fun with our little theories and talking to other fans and making and watching cute compilations and writing fanfiction and making fanart, we are just deriving entertainment from the parts of themselves they choose to show us. that persona they put on for the stream, that is not 100% them. they are real, rounded, 3-d, full people who we only ever get the privilege of witnessing a small sliver of. and we need to fucking remember that, because we can’t just keep running with the ideas of ccs that we have in our heads and treating them like they’re malleable characters for our own entertainment.

anyways, specifically about truthing (and mind you, this is the point in the rant where a little of my anger starts to seep out because I’m tired and it’s 1:40 AM and I have class tomorrow): there’s so many things that can be said about gaydar. I’m not here to argue whether or not it exists, or the details of the morality of straight versus non-straight people engaging in the practice of truthing. I’m just here to say that, even if you believe gaydar exists and can be accurate when employed by non-straight people, that still only applies to people you fucking know. what you see of a cc is not “getting to know” them. what you are seeing is one face of a multi-faceted jewel, cut in far more ways that you can ever hope to one day perceive. your theories are just those - theories. whatever you might think of the giggles you heard or the pickup lines you saw uttered or the softness you imagine between x and y, human interaction is far too complex and laced with meaning for some rando on the internet who watches youtube videos and twitch streams to fully grasp from two entertainers working from behind a screen. your gaydar is not going to fucking work through a screen, fuck off with that shit.

another thing that’s fucking bothering me so much is this assumption that comes with being at all open about queerness when you yourself are not queer. ik this is just one of the many factors “truthers” use to justify the findings of their totally infallible, prophetic gaydar, but it’s a factor nonetheless, and it bothers the fuck outta me. someone being willing to express support for lgbt people or donate to lgbt chairities or open to conversations with other lgbt people about lgbt endeavors is not evidence of queerness. to say that it is contributes to the harmful belief that cishets still have that they cannot be any of those things - that is, exceedingly open about and to queerness - without being perceived as queer themselves.

anyways, and now we are at the bottom line, which is that, this entire conversation wouldn’t even have to be had if people just fucking listened to cc boundaries. ranboo and tubbo do not like being shipped. it is that fucking simple. i know that it is tempting to ship two people you think are cute together. i know it is tempting to indulge in a dynamic you find comforting. but idgaf. temptation is not an excuse. find some fictional characters to ship, and kindly fuck off.

#ranboo #mcyt #dream smp #tubbo #look. when it comes to this subject #i am not pulling any punches. i am sorry and ik i was criticized last time for being too harsh w the dream thing #but yk what? im going to be fucking harsh. there are some things i will have civil conversations about no matter how much i disagree #but this is not one of them. this infuriates me beyond belief and im not fucking going to shut up about it #lgbt #lgbtq #/neg #discourse #.txt #100+#500+

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years

Text

Friendship Rekindled

Hello, back for Day 10--single parents. This is the second part of a mini series during canon week. this is continuing off from Day 1--desperately in love. there’s going to be two more parts and i cant wait to get them out there!

i think this could be considered a little angsty, given some of the conversation topics that happen.

cw: brief mention of death and blood loss. mention of an abusive parent. (if i miss any, pls dont hesitate to let me know!)

enjoy! :)

2.9k words (my longest fic yet i believe)

It was nice to be finally out of the house, Aelin decided as she walked up to the nursery, her five month old daughter, Olive, strapped to her chest. After being cooped up for what felt like the last five months, Aelin had decided to liven up her apartment with some plants.

Hardy, un-killable plants, that is. Being a single mother didn't leave her much time to look after other things, so she needed some plants that required minimal water, but also had to be pretty to look at.

It was also a plus that there was a cafe attached to the nursery, and she heard that they served the best scones with homemade strawberry jam and cream in Orynth. All her life she had never come here, but she needed somewhere new to visit. And to reacquaint herself with her home town. Not long after Rowan and Lyria's wedding, Aelin had transferred to Rifthold for work, and had used the miles apart to quietly disappear from their lives.

That was four years ago now, and come back home to be closer to her parents. Aelin had never known her grandparents, and Aelin didn't want to deny her parents the privilege of knowing Olive, so she had transferred back just before she went on maternity leave. Aelin was happy to be back, especially since she hadn't seen Rowan or Lyria. The last she heard was from Elide, who got it from Lorcan, that a year after marriage, they were expecting. She was happy for them, she truly was, but that didn't stop the stab of pain she felt when she heard the news. She had dreamt of her being in Lyria's position for a few weeks after she heard the news, but forced herself to stop. To move on.

Aelin had, in a way. She would always love Rowan, but she needed to move on. It was wrong to consider her daughter a distraction, but she did provide the perfect one. Aelin briefly removed her lemon printed bucket-hat (Aelin wore a matching one) to kiss her head, her golden hair sparse, laughing her perfect baby laugh.

Aelin finally entered the nursery, tugging her nappy bag higher on her shoulder as she took in the hundreds of plants. She had no idea where to start, but started her browse. She slowly walked through the fern section, stopping every now and then to let Olive touch one, making the cute hand grabbing motion when she saw one she liked.

Aelin heard the laughter of a young child behind her, and then a deep and familiar one accompany it.

Aelin froze. It couldn't be. Surely the Gods weren't that cruel. Months she had been here, for the first time in ages she had decided to do something for herself, only to be met by that damned laughter.

Slowly she turned, her sandals making the gravel underneath crunch. She saw a flash of silver and a broad body.

Turning around had been a mistake, because when she did, so did the silver-haired man.

And for the first time in four years, turquoise eyes landed on pine-green ones.

Rowan blinked, and then blinked again as he took her in. His eyes widened as he noticed Olive strapped to her body, her face on display as she took in her surroundings. Her baby had the chocolate brown eyes of her father, but it was clear to anyone that knew Aelin that Olive was hers. Her daughter had Aelin's nose and hair colour, and would likely grow to have more of Aelin's features as the years went by.

Behind Rowan, his cousin Enda was holding the hand of a brown-haired boy. It was difficult to tell his exact age, but he looked to be about three. If Rowan was here with his son, then it was a good chance that Lyria would be here, too. The woman was a flower enthusiast, and was practically a walking encyclopedia when it came to flowers. Any questions anyone had, they went to Lyria.

Aelin really did not want to be here. Did not want to have that conversation of why the hell she had left and dropped all communication with them after the wedding.

Aelin hated it, but she adverted her gaze and started to leave. She would have to come here another day—maybe after she called the office to make sure that there was no silver-haired man in attendance.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, his voice raspy from surprise. Gods, she missed his deep voice and the rolling purr of his accent.

Aelin pretended that she didn't hear and made a beeline for the exit. Rowan called her again, and then a third time. Just as she reached the gate, his warm hand landed on her shoulder gently. His hands were still calloused, his hands always doing some type of manual labour work. She wondered briefly if he was still an auto mechanic.

Turning around, Aelin noted the shock in his dark eyes. She gave him a weak smile, not sure what to say.

“What are you—I mean, how are you? Where have you been?”

“I'm good,” Aelin answered after a moment, not really sure how else to respond. “I've been around. What about you?” Somehow, these questions didn't feel like the right ones to ask. Before Rowan could say anything, Olive made herself known, making grunting sounds that meant she wanted attention, so Aelin kissed her hand and said to Rowan, “This is Olive.”

Rowan's eyes dropped down to Olive. “Is she yours?”

Aelin snorted, a sound she hadn't made in so long. It was something she often did around Rowan—or used to, that is. “No, I bought her from the store. Yes, she's mine.”

Rowan's eyes dropped lower, to her ring finger—her empty ring finger. There had never been a ring there. Aelin's traitorous eyes drifted to Rowan's and her heart stopped when she noticed that his ring finger was bare as well—that there was no tan line to suggest that he had only recently removed it.

“I'm doing this on my own,” Aelin found herself saying after a moment.

“As am I,” Rowan said. Aelin cocked her head to the side, annoyed at herself for being curious. “Lyria...Lyria passed away three years ago.”

Aelin's heart shot up to her throat, choking her. Years ago, Aelin had horribly wished that the ring Rowan had purchased was secretly for her and was heartbroken when it wasn't. In her loneliest moments, she had wished that Rowan and Lyria would break up and somehow find his way to her in Rifthold; but never, never-ever in a million years would she ever have wanted this to happen.

Why the hell hadn't Elide told her? Or anyone else for that matter?

Aelin found her voice after long minutes of just staring at him, processing his words. “Rowan, I am so rutting sorry. I had no idea. Are you...are you okay?”

“I have my good and bad days”. He pointed to the brown-haired boy with Enda, who were both busy inspecting each leaf and flower petal in front of them. “That's Egan, he's a plant lover like his mother.”

Aelin couldn't really see him, but she still said, “He's adorable.”

“He is, and a little terror,” Rowan said, a small smile on his tanned face. After a moment, he turned back to her, and asked, “Are you...doing anything? I'd like to talk, it's been a long time since we have.”

She should say no, but she ended up saying yes.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Rowan back inside the nursery and to the cafe.

X X X X X X

It was turning out to be an ordinary Saturday when Rowan had needed to get out of the house, so he asked Egan if he wanted to go to the nursery and his son had enthusiastically agreed, asking if Uncle Enda could join them. Thankfully, his cousin was free and more than happy to spend time with his nephew.

Never in a million years did he think he would run into Aelin. He had heard the rumours that she transferred back to the publishing house and that was it; there was no mention of her being pregnant. But when Rowan looked up and spotted Aelin, and his eyes immediately dropped to the baby strapped to her chest, his heart had stopped.

He had once wished to have that life with Aelin, exploring the world with their child, one that had Aelin's hair and his eyes; but Rowan never told Aelin how he felt because he knew how badly her last relationship ended, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on her if she didn't feel the same way. Didn't want there to be any chance to ruin their friendship.

And so, he had moved on. Had started dating Lyria and came to love her, but not the same way as he loved Aelin. And when Rowan proposed, he had only done it because his parents were getting older and wanted him to get married, wanted him to have a grandchild.

It was cruel irony that they had both died before Lyria had even given birth.

He was bastard, and he hated himself. Lyria was kind, sweet and gentle—and deserved someone better than him, should have been with a man that truly wanted to marry her for her and not because of family pressures. But he never stopped himself from their relationship moving forward.

But he was doing better, thanks to therapy, because while he may have been a bastard, he didn't want his son to know that. Maybe it made him a bastard to hide this part of himself to his son, but his son was gentle like his mother and Rowan loathed the idea of Egan growing up to hate him.

And as Rowan asked Enda to take Egan home, Rowan could see that Enda thought that this lunch was a bad idea—Rowan had confessed his secrets to his cousin long ago, how he loved Aelin even when he was married to Lyria. How he had wanted that life with her instead.

Rowan knew that he was going to be on the end of a scolding conversation when he got back to his house, but he told Enda that it was going to be okay and that he was fine and could handle this.

Enda sighed heavily through his nose and muttered a 'good luck' under his breath. Rowan planted a kiss of Egan's head and told him that he would be home soon. His son was too excited to spend time with his Uncle to really notice.

When Rowan returned to Aelin's side, they soon found a nice spot in the cafe that was away from others.

It was...painfully awkward for a good while. They only spoke to order their food—scones with jam and cream with a side dish of seasonal fruits for Aelin, and a steak sandwich with fries for Rowan—and then lapsed back into silence.

They ate in silence, too, and Rowan wondered if maybe this was a tremendously bad idea when Aelin said, softly but not weakly, “What happened to Lyria?”

Taking a deep breath, Rowan swirled his fries in the mustard on his plate. He hated this part. “She passed away not long after giving birth. She hemorrhaged and bleed out too quickly for anything to be done. Egan never really got to meet her.”

“I'm sorry,” Aelin said, doing her best to speak over the lump in her throat, “that's horrible. I'm so sorry.”

Years later and Rowan still never really knew what to say to that. Needing to distract himself, he asked, “So, what's your story?”

Before she could say anything, Olive started crying, and without a seconds hesitation, Aelin started feeding her. Some people stared in disapproval and Aelin stared right back, unflinching. He knew that if someone said something, she would spit back. It never made sense to Rowan how people frowned upon breastfeeding. A small smile made its way to Rowan's mouth at the steely look in her stunning eyes. That was the Aelin he knew and loved.

When the strangers turned back around, Aelin looked back at him, the steel in her eyes softening. “I briefly dated my high school boyfriend, Sam, for a while back in Rifthold, and well...the condom broke and Olive made her appearance.” Not the most elegant way to describe the situation, but Aelin figured she had years to think of a better way to explain Olive's appearance if her daughter ever asked.

“And he wants no part of it?” He had no right to ask, but the question left his mouth before he could stop it.

Aelin sighed, and finished feeding Olive and cleaning themselves up before responding. “It's complicated...Sam's father, Arobynn, is a cruel man. He's manipulative and sadistic, but knows how to turn on the charm when it suits him. Sam has been scared of him his entire life, and didn't want Olive to know the fear that he did. So, every month Sam sends money, but he's not on the birth certificate—he doesn't want there to be any paper trails leading to Olive's existence. I had to convince him that it was safer to transfer me the money than to send it through the mail. I send him pictures from time to time, but whether he saves them, I have no idea.” Not to mention the miserable length of the conversation of sending money electronically. Sam was so damned paranoid that Arobynn checked his accounts that Aelin had almost told him not to bother to send anything when he relented. Aelin could provide Olive well enough on her own, but it was helpful to have that extra bit of cash—baby things were expensive as hell.

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn't meant to divulge that much, no one knew that, not even her best friends, but she didn't regret it. It felt...like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“That's awful, Aelin, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I just...” She probably shouldn't ask, but out of everyone she knew, none of them were single parents. “Has Egan ever asked about his mother? What do you say to that?”

“He's asked a few times, and I've told him that she passed away when he was little, but I don't think he fully understands what I'm talking about.” Those conversations were the hardest that he ever had to go through, and he knew it would be worst when Egan grew and fully understood what death meant.

“I have no idea what I'll tell Olive when she's older and asks about her dad,” Aelin admitted. “It's not like he's gone, but he is absent and I just...what if she grows up to think he hates her? I think that would kill me if she ever thought that.”

Without thinking, Rowan reached over and too her hand in his. Her hand was soft in his, and he swiped his thumb against her knuckles. “You have a good few years to worry about that. Who knows,” he added, “maybe Sam will be able to get out from his father's shadows and you three can be a family.”

A small smile made its way to Aelin's face. She was more beautiful then he remembered, and he wasn't sure if he should feel guilty for thinking that.

“I like the sound of that, but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'd like to think that I can do this on my own.”

“You can, but if you'd like...if you ever need help with something, if you need someone to look after Olive, I could do that for you.”

Silver lined Aelin's eyes as she watched him. “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“That's what friends are for, aren't they? To help?” And as a single parent himself, he knew how hard it could be raising a child in this hectic world.

Aelin's smile grew. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. And if we're friends, could you help me find some plants? I'm sick of looking at my boring walls.”

“Okay, I know the perfect ones for you to get—ones that are practically impossible to kill.”

“I'm going to ignore that implication that I can't look after a plant.” Although it was true.

Rowan snorted. “Because you can't. I remember that poor aloe Vera plant that you slaughtered.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes, but he could see just a hint of mirth behind the glare. “I did not slaughter that plant, it just didn't like me!”

Rowan laughed and it was the most freeing sound he made in a long time. After he calmed down, he said, “Come on, let's finish here and I'll help you to liven up your place.”

“Fine, but I better not hear anything about my poor gardening skills or I'll let down your tires.” And she would, he knew, but Rowan just smiled even more.

“It's a deal.”

The conversation moved much more smoothly and Rowan realised how much he missed her. And Aelin realised how much she missed him, too.

Maybe things wouldn't be too bad after-all. It would be nice to have Rowan in her life again, even as a friend, even if she still loved him and knew it could never be, not after everything.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work

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illyaana · 3 years

Text

Tags: Angst (like a lot), Fluff (like a lot), Kaminari Denki x Reader (shoulder-length hair pls, tq), Binaural

Synopsis: You and Denki are childhood friends. When you were young, you two found this little meadow filled with wildflowers. Who'd thought your safe haven would bring back such painful feelings?

Word Count: 2812

Dont forget to check out the main masterlist of the event hosted by @kuroos-babygirl over here!

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The meadow you both crouched on glowed a gold hue as your fingers grazed the soft petals of the tall wildflowers, its stems rubbing against your sides. You eyed how the soft colour dusted itself on the peach skin of the boy before you, his entranced gaze stuck on the yellow and black-coloured butterfly fluttering its wings on the white-coloured flower. You enjoyed the bright smile adorned on the innocent male as he saw the now flying butterfly dance in the pale blue sky.

When’s the last time you both did this? - just walking around this little haven you both found together a year back?

Your six-year-old self reflected on all the memories they made with the seven-year-old in front of them.

It all began here - this little prairie.

Your first friend, your first wound, your first fight, your first day-out; it all took place in this land of vast greenery dusted yellow by blackeyed susans, corn marigold and bird's-foot trefoil.

It is all thanks to the adventurous, little blonde boy in front of you.

“Why are you staring, Y/N?” Denki said, nudging you.

“Just looking at the flowers, that’s all.”

A good lie, Y/N - a skilful lie.

He looked at your finger, eyeing it. Soon your hands were in his, the soft pad of his fingers trailing on the small lines of your hands. Each crevice was examined by that soft gaze of his, playing with your soft skin. His finger stopped at the scar painted on the fleshy part of your palm, a sulk forming on his lips.

“Was this from that time I dared you to jump from that tree?” He asked, guilt laced in his whispers.

It was, but you didn’t want him to know.

“Don’t worry, Denks - it wasn’t from that dare,” you say as you take your hands away from his grip, “I picked up a rock and there was a sharp end and it cut through my skin.”

He pulled your hand back into his, stretching the skin around the scar. He tried looking for clues to make sure you weren’t lying, a stressed look evident on his face.

You chuckled, gripping the side of his cheek and pinching it.

He looked at your radiant smile and all his worries washed away.

He let go of your hand and gripped your cheek in his left hand. His thumb began to rub small circles on your cheek, admiring how you leaned into his touch.

He loved how you were so at peace and calm when you were with him. You had no qualms in wasting hours listening to his dreams and aspirations, intervening once in a while to expand on his little ideas.

But you - right now, like this - is his favourite of it all.

You looked like an angel, the light from the Sun lighting your soft skin. The flowers and the very ends of your hair softly swished against the wind, forming such beautiful scenery as he took in the view unravelling in front of him.

He wondered how those flowers would look against your fingers, your hair, your ears…

He wondered how you’d look dripping in flowers.

“Sit down.”

Denki eyed the ground beneath him, looking for flowers that reminded him of you. The softness you brought, the light mood you formed whenever you were around him, the warmth you radiated whenever you were with him - he kept it all in his head as he saw the flowerbeds filled with flowers of different species.

His eyes stopped at the Black-eyed Susans that swished with the wind.

He instantly grabbed handfuls of the dainty-looking flower, hoping he had enough for the idea he had in his head.

Using his long nails, he cut the stem of the flower right down in the middle. He split one of the sections again, making three strips out of a stem. He then slowly began to braid the stems together, weaving them into a long strip.

“Stick your ring finger out, Y/N.”

You let him wrap that small strap around your finger, a determined gaze focused on the base of it.

He then inserted the end of the weaved strip into a section of the strip, securing its shape.

He took the rest of the flowers he collected and put them in his pocket as he walked behind you.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Let me do this! I have an idea,” he said, happiness lacing his words.

In a huff of annoyance, you agreed.

He began to braid the two front pieces of your hair, slowly adding the flowers he collected. He made sure that the stems were hidden behind your luscious hair. Once he finished braiding them both, he brought them to the back of your head, tying them together with the hair tie on your wrist.

“Are you finally done?” You ask, turning to face him.

You stared at his eyes focused on you, a small blush dusting his cheeks.

Angel.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me do this, Y/N,” he replied, covering his cheeks with his arm.

You looked like an angel to him. The way your eyes twinkled, your soft lips, your cute nose, your soft skin, your gaze - it was all so perfect to him.

“Y/N,” he started, “Promise me when we get older, we’ll marry each other?”

Your eyes widen as you quickly stand up in shock.

“The hell, Denki?!” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks, “You just can’t say that!”

“I think you’re the only one that can handle me - after all, you’re still here,” he says as he rubs his chin.

“Denki, life doesn’t work like that.”

“And you know how my life is going to work? Knowing me, I’d be single until I’m 23-years old if we don’t make this promise. I’d most probably have a sugar baby-”

“Stop,” you say, holding back your laughter, “Is that your plan if you don’t get into a relationship by 23?”

“...maybe.”

You began laughing, clutching onto your stomach as you stared at him.

“Stop laughing, okay!” he says, annoyed.

“Well, at least you have goals-”

“Y/N!” He says, hitting your back.

You take a deep breath as you recollect your thoughts.

Maybe a life with him won’t be so bad.

“If I can prevent you from thinking of being a sugar daddy that early in life, then sure; we can get married.”

He smiled, grabbing your hands.

“Thank you, Y/N!”

You both hold hands as you walk out of the meadow.

“I’m picturing you with a college girl at 65-year-”

“Stop.”

“You’re finally back!” said Denki as he jumped into your arms.

“Yeah, I am.”

You looked at the now pro-hero in your hands. You chuckled when you felt his small grip on the back of your loosely fit university hoodie. He pressed his head against your chest, nuzzling into the soft cotton. A small hum left his lips as you ruffled his blonde hair - signalling how comfortable he felt in your hands.

God, you missed him - it felt so wrong to leave him right after graduating from UA.

However, you have become a skilled inventor - no one could doubt that. Thanks to the guidance of David Shield, you’ve made your name in the inventing world. You came back to Mustafu to build your brand - hopefully alongside your childhood friend.

“So, Chargebolt,” you teased, “Congrats on getting into the top 10 of the Hero chart! I was shocked when I found out that you - of all people - got in.”

“Hey,” He hit the back of your head, “I’m a good hero, okay?”

“I sense favouritism but okay,” you teased again.

“Not very good of you as an up and coming inventor to tease a pro-hero.”

“So the friend label is gone? Understood, sir. Have a great day,” you say as you push him off of you.

“Fine, fine, fine. Come in.”

You walk into Denki’s new apartment and a flush of memories come.

You eyed the small pictures he hung on the wall, the little trinkets he kept on his coffee table and the way he arranged his kitchen. It all reminded you of his former home - the home near that little meadow.

You miss it - you both did.

You took out the little flower ring he made all those years ago and placed it in his hands.

“Remember this?” You ask.

“You kept it?” He said, smiling, “I can’t believe you did!”

“Yeah. I book-pressed it the minute I went back,” you say, chuckling, “Y’know, I still think about that little promise we made in that meadow from now and then.”

“What promise?”

You eyed the metal band around his ring finger.

He remembers - he definitely remembers. After all, he was the one who made you agree to it.

“You didn’t tell me we were having guests, Denki.”

Your eyes fell to Jirou walking out of a room and wrapping her arms around his waist from the back. She pressed her head against his neck, her hair brushing against it. He smiled, leaning into the newfound warmth she gave.

You saw the same metal ring around her left ring finger. The same gem, the same design, the same shape - everything.

“I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? I’m engaged to Jirou! - We’re getting married later this year.”

Of course, he forgot. It was just a simple promise you both made when you were kids. It meant nothing - nothing at all.

“I’m happy for you, Denki - I really am.”

You really were.

You are happy that he finally met someone who loved him despite seeing all his flaws.

You are happy Jirou managed to see what you saw in Denki - a loveable, amazing soul with a heart of gold.

You just wished you didn’t hold onto that promise.

You wish you threw away that rotting ring when you had the chance.

You wish you never went to that meadow.

You wish you never met Denki - not like that.

You wish you never fell in love with him.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Denki said as he hugged you again.

You don’t want him to hug you.

You wanted distance - you wanted to go back to I-Island.

You don’t want to be here.

You tried to pry Denki off of you, but you couldn’t - his grip on you was too strong.

“Denki, you’re choking me,” you say whilst fake-laughing.

You looked at Jirou who smiled at his display of affection towards you.

She trusts you - she knows how much you mean to him.

You don’t deserve it - her trust is wasted on you.

You are in love with her future husband - the very person who is hugging you as tight as they can.

“Denki, they look so uncomfortable - get off,” she said, patting her shoulder.

You want to get out of here.

You need to.

“I think I’ll head to my hotel room, Denks,” you say as you grab your bags.

“But-”

“Denki,” you say as you push him off of you angrily, “I need to go, ok?”

You look at his torn expression and guilt hits you.

But it was his fault - all of this was.

He isn’t meant to cry - you are.

And here he is, tearing just at the sight of your angry expression.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did something happen? You seemed okay when you came earlier…”

Stop crying, Denki.

“There’s nothing wrong, Kaminari. I just need to check into my hotel room, that’s all.”

Kaminari.

“Do you want me to drive you there? I-”

“It’s okay, Kaminari. I’ll get a cab.”

Kaminari.

“Y/N, we’re good, right?”

“Why would you think we aren’t, Kaminari?”

Kaminari.

You walked out of their apartment, tears trailing down your eyes.

You stood in the meadow you met Kaminari, eyes closed. You took in the fresh air brushing against your skin as the smell of fresh flowers invades your nose. Your now long hair felt weightless as the wind lifted it, giving you wings.

“How do I look, Y/N?”

You stared at Denki in his black tux and smiled.

He looked amazing, as usual.

His skin looked amazing against the obsidian-coloured suit. The sunlight hit his skin so well it looked like it was glowing. His hair was tousled, giving you a full view of his undercut. You chuckled when you saw the black streak of his hair hidden under his natural yellow hair - it looked as if he was trying to hide his foolish mistakes when he was a kid. You looked at his small piercing now adorned with a purple gem, reminding you of his fiance.

He’s finally getting married.

He’s getting married in the meadow where you both spent your younger years.

He’s getting married to someone else in the meadow where you both spent your younger years.

“You look good, Kaminari.”

“Why are you calling me Kaminari? Call me Denki.”

“I can’t, Kaminari.”

It would bring back too many memories.

Painful memories.

“I don’t know why you can’t, though?”

“It doesn’t feel right…”

“You’ve been calling me Denki or Denks ever since we were kids, Y/N! Hearing you call me Kaminari sounds wrong…”

“Leave it, Kaminari,” you say, hiding your feelings behind a laugh.

“No, I won’t. Call me Denks, Y/N.”

Stop.

“Later, Kaminari.”

“Not Kaminari - Denki.”

Stop.

“I promise I’ll call you that later, now go get ready.”

“I am not leaving until you call me Denki.”

Stop.

“Kaminari, just go.”

“I don’t know why you stopped calling me Denki ever since you saw Jirou that day - it doesn’t make sense. You were my first friend that called me Denks, you made that nickname - Why are you calling me by the nickname you made?”

Stop talking about it, please.

“Please, Kaminari - let it go.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards him.

“I won’t until you tell me why. Did I do something wrong? Just tell me, Y/N. You know I won’t hate you no matter what happens.”

“Just drop it, ok?” You say, anger lacing your words.

“Oh my god, Y/N! Just tell me-”

“Fine.”

You forced your wrist out of his grip, making him fall on the couch.

“You wanna know why? It’s because I thought you remembered the promise we made as kids. I hoped you felt the way I did about it; I hoped you knew why I never got into a relationship.”

You gripped your phone tightly, not wanting to lash out at him anymore.

Why did you do that? Why today?

He’s supposed to be happy today.

“What promise, Y/N?”

A dark smile graced your lips.

What were you thinking? Shouting at him won’t make him remember.

Tears began to fall from your eyes as you lifted your face to see his worried face.

“It’s okay, Kaminari - don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not? You’re crying in front of me,” he said, tears forming in his eyes, “You weren’t meant to cry today.”

You weren’t either, Denki.

He got off the couch and began to hug you tightly. He pressed your head against his shoulder as he rubbed your back.

“Please don’t cry, Y/N.”

You gently push Denki and cup his face in your hands. You rub the tears from his eyes as he pressed his cheek onto your left hand.

“You okay, Denks?”

Just for today, you’ll give what he wants.

Just today.

“There it is!” He said, jumping on you, “Don’t you dare call me anything but Denks again.”

“Mhmm.”

You hugged him one last time before heading to your seat, waiting for the ceremony to commence.

You saw how happy he stood at the altar with Kirishima by his side. You chuckled as you looked at the small banter happening between the two of them, pissing off the priest slightly. Bakugo snapped at the two of them very often, telling them to keep quiet.

Still the mother of the group.

Soon after, Jirou walked in.

She wore a white dress that tugged on her amazing figure, surrounded by lace. Dandelions surrounded her, flying in the air, encasing her in pure beauty. They danced around her as her orchestra of young kids sang and played instruments for her.

You saw how tears formed in both of their eyes as they stared at each other.

Tears of joy encapsulating how much they’ve dreamed of this moment.

While yours that showed joy hid everlasting longing.

You feel cheated - not by Denki, but the black-eyed Susans that tickled your feet.

You feel cheated by the black-eyed Susans that cleared a path for Jirou to meet her beloved.

You feel cheated by the black-eyed Susans Denki used when he was young to make you that damn ring.

Your tears watered the devilish flowers painted yellow and black that stood beneath you, taking in your pain as a drug.

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miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Text

F’coffee

-.-.-.-.-.-

Honestly. What did Bruce even think would happen? He should have known better.

Tim wasn’t Dick, indoctrinated from a young age to be a good, somewhat (when convenient) obedient son. Tim only went along with Bruce’s shit because, more often than not, it aligned with what he himself wanted. He also wasn’t Damian, so easily manipulable when one knew which buttons to push. And he certainly wasn’t Jason, who would sink his own ship to kill the captain.

So, when Tim and Bruce fought, and his adopted father decided to pull the ‘you live under my roof and work in my company, so I’m the boss all the way through’ card, well…

Yeah. Tim wasn’t going to take that lying down. He had a childhood of zero authority figures to obey and an overabundance of sass, plus a complete lack of fucks to give.

It was bound to go down like this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And, well. Tim had money. Like, an absurd amount of money. Even before being adopted by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, Tim had his own no small fortune stashed away, a couple of properties gathering dust, two trust funds and more antique cars that he knew what to do with. So he could just… burn through that money, or sell the cars, or make a living of renting the buildings he owned, and he would barely even scratch the surface of his deep wealth.

But it wasn’t about being able to live comfortably with minimum effort. Tim was trying to prove a point here. What point, fuck if he knew. But a point.

So here he was, on the other end of the wooden counter, a cute red cap falling over his eye as he looked dead into his friend’s eyes.

“Tim. Tim, you’re rich. Why are you working in a coffee shop?”

Seeing as Kon and Cassie were currently too busy being shocked, Tim shrugged and went back to cleaning the cup in his hands.

It was a plastic cup. It didn’t need cleaning, he could just toss it away. But it was his favorite plastic cup, and he was gonna save it as a family heirloom forever.

(The fact that the pretty customer from the morning shift had drawn cute little doodles all over it had nothing to do with it’s worth.)

“Teenage rebellion”, he finally said, carefully putting his treasure away.

“You are twenty.”

“Time is a social construct and I’m but a slinky falling down an endless flight of stairs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make any sense. How is it so symmetrical? It defies nature.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“What can I get for you?”

“I'll have a mocha caramel latte-chino, made with skim milk, no whipped cream.”

“Bart, no.”

“Please put that in a grande cup”

“I’m begging you, don’t do it.”

“But use the same amount of coffee that you'd put into a tall.”

“I’m warning you, you don’t want to do this.”

“That way there's about an inch of extra room on top.”

“I wish you had an extra inch so I could look straight into your eyes when I murder you.”

“To stir in my own nutmeg without spilling any coffee at all.”

“You’re dead to me. Also, I AM going to make you that drink and you WILL finish it or so help me God.”

“What do you want, Kon?”

“To not be here when Tim’s looking like he’s planning both our unsolved murders.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

When Kon entered the shop, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder bumping against his hip as he rushed in to get his caffeine intake before his evening classes, he wasn’t surprised at the scene.

Cassie being there was a given, since there was always at least one of them there at all times, supporting Tim in this ‘independence’ thing he was dead set on trying. Kon himself had his Tim Shift later that day, after his creative writing course. Bart had probably just left, considering the amount of empty cake platters littering the counter.

Tim being face down in said counter, uncaring about the mess, was also old news. The dude barely ever seemed to leave (Kon was almost completely sure he actually owned the place, since he’d never seen any sort of manager and Tim’s hours seemed to work around his weird sleep patterns all too perfectly), and distraught was his general state of being, so. Normal day as far as he could see.

Still, he had to ask. “What is it today?”

Cassie, eyes never leaving her magazine, chin resting in one hand as the other one scratched at Tim’s scalp, snorted.

“A cute boy started working in the tattoo place next door. He came in for a morning fix, when Tim was barely awake, and he said something stupid, so he’s been having an existencial crisis ever since.”

“I said ‘you too’, Kon. He said ‘thanks for the coffee, I’ll enjoy it!’ and I said ‘you too’. What is wrong with me?”

Kon snorts a little. Tim doesn’t seem to be very interested in doing his actual work, so he just jumps over the counter and starts working the machines himself.

“You know that’s a question you can only ask your therapist, Tim, but if you need to know, I’d say you’re highly sleep deprived and a dysfunctional bi?”

At that, Tim does turn to look at him. There’s some cake frosting clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair is a mess. It looks cute, to be completely honest, and Kon has to leave his unfinished latte on the side so he can hug the little shit.

“Aw, don’t pout, Timbo. I’m sure he thought you were cute. Just try to sleep a bit more tonight, so when he comes back tomorrow you’ll be a little more alert and won’t embarrass yourself.”

“What do you mean, when he comes back?”

“I mean, if he works next door, he’ll probably get his morning coffees here all the time, right?”

That seemed to drive Tim back into the distraught spiral. He smashed his head back into the counter, making dying whale noises until Cassie’s hand returned to his scalp.

Kon privately thinks Tim’s life is starting to sound like fanfiction. He wonders which type of background character he would be, in it.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shop is called F’coffee. That’s why Cassie is convinced Tim is the actual owner; no one else would really think that’s a proper name for a serious establishment. Kon isn’t convinced all the way yet, but with Bart on her side and Tim staying silent on the subject, it is just a matter of time until she convinces him it’s totally okay for him to do his gym routine there. She thinks, with Tim being his own boss, no one would tell him to stop it, and it would help his friend’s business to bloom with new customers.

The place's general aesthetic is exactly what you would expect, with old wooden tables, comfy chairs, potted plants hanging from the walls and tall windows just a little bit stained. The smell is constantly of the strongest brew Tim has, Death Coffee (which he’s actually not legally allowed to sell, so he keeps it for himself), and just setting a foot in makes her feel instantly awake. It's also always warm, and the sweets on display look mouth watering no matter your personal preferences.

In short, it looks like something out of a movie. It’s a tad too perfect for her friend, but she thinks it also fits his obsessive need for perfection.

Except for the board. Oh, the board. Cassie loves it more than life itself.

Tim has divided the drinks in categories. And made up names for all of them.

“Yes, hello! I’d like to order a grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla Latte, with soy milk, but I can’t seem to find it in your menu…”

Tim’s dead eyes turn to Cassie for a second, before facing his customer again.

“You’re probably looking into the Normal People section”, he points out, before raising his hand to signal a bit to the left. “There you have the Pain In The Ass selection. There’s nothing just like you asked, but you have the It’s Britney Bitch beverage, which is almost exactly the same except I’ll add a middle finger drawing in the cup and charge you extra for emotional damages. Also, we’re out of soy milk.”

Or…

“Hey, good morning! I’d like to order…”

Tim raised a hand, stopping the chirpy, good looking young man dead in his tracks.

“Don’t tell me, I know what you need. I’ll just go ahead and prepare it.”

“But you don’t even know what I/”

“You’ll have a Cougar Bait. It has cacao cream, a strawberry pucker and some grenadine seeds. I think it's fitting, for you.”

And also…

“Hey, hum… Sorry, I just have to ask… what’s on the ‘Barista’s heart’ drink?”

“Cacao powder, almond milk and espresso. Also some organic coconut ash, that gives it the blacker-than-night color, that’s just a shade lighter than my soul.”

“...noted.”

Cassie snorts into her cup of Jack it up (coffee that tastes just like a Jack Daniel’s; having Tim working here has opened up her eyes to the possibilities), watching as Tim makes his own usual.

“What’s in that one?” She asks, out of curiosity, when she’s sure there’s no other customer close by.

“Six espresso shots.”

She waits for a second. Tim finishes the drink, carefully handling the dark liquid inside his favorite plastic cup.

“...okay, and?”

“And that 's it.”

“Tim, that-- that would kill you?”

“Duh. Why did you think it was called The Last Sip?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

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thepageofhopes · 3 years

Text

Undertale Multiverse Classpects Part 1/??

It’s inevitable once I get super into something that I do this.

I will most likely do more characters but for now I started with just some of the biggest characters of the multiverse/underverse specifically.

Explanations will be under the cut. Long, long, explanations. (Almost 3k words!)

Error: Bard of Time Ink: Rogue of Space Nightmare: Knight of Doom Dream: Page of Life Cross: Witch of Blood XChara: Prince of Heart XGaster: Thief of Light

Most of this was done using the theories of 0pacfica, whose amazing classpect theory posts can be found on Ao3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960270

Though this was also cross referenced with bladekindeyewear’s older theories (particularly on the roles of the classes and active/passive pairs) and a sprinkling of the extended zodiac.

So this is another classpect where it’s actually easier to do in pairs for a lot of the characters due to how intertwined they are.

Error: Bard of Time

Ink: Rogue of Space

When starting with these two, it really was a giant debate between me and my friends about whether Ink and Error were time and space or hope and rage. It was very hard to move away from Hope/Rage when it represents unchecked creation and destruction which...is pretty much the entire backbone of underverse, but after lots of back and forth we found Time and Space fit better overall.

It’s useful to think of Space as Beginnings and Time as Endings. Ultimately what Ink does is facilitate a bunch of new beginnings. Ink is also all about the growth of the multiverse, which is the closest analogue we really have to Skaia. Hope may be creation, but it is creation as counter to the greater narrative, and often counter to Skaia and the reproduction of the universe. On the flip side, Rage, while being destruction, is generally destruction of anything non-fundamental. Error, by contrast, does not care what is being destroyed. His goal is ultimately the end to the multiverse itself; the end of the narrative. Time and Space are also the main building blocks of the universe and without them sessions become void. Ink and Error ultimately represent the core of the multiverse and are also key in most of the big multiverse spanning stories. As well, there’s really no escaping how similar Error and Caliborn act in both personality and actions.

Finally, looking at the extended zodiac, even their personalities fit decently well, though mostly Ink and Space. While classpect is actually much more about narrative arcs and roles than personalities, it’s still useful to look at the most personality based descriptions of the extended zodiac. Space has the description ‘They are patient, masters of the art of 'wait-and-see', and are inclined to take things as they come. That isn't to say that they're pushovers or willing to let injustice lie-they just choose their battles wisely, understanding that sometimes you have to let something burn to the ground in order to build it back better and stronger than before. To this effect, they tend to be innovators, concerned with creation and redemption.‘ and if that doesn’t describe Ink in underverse at least, then nothing else does. Time is a little less fitting personality wise for Error, but these few bits are pertinent: ‘Their lives are often marked by struggle, not so much because fate has it in for them, but because they are fundamentally incapable of just accepting things as they come.’ ‘At their worst they are ruthless, defensive, and impulsive.‘

So now that Aspect is out of the way, I can explain classes. Let’s start with the easy one first. There’s no way we could have Error as anything other than a destroyer class, so Bard or Prince had to be one of the titles. Then from there it comes down to whether Error is active or passive. While it may be easy to say ‘well he actively destroys things’ it’s useful to remember someone's powers can look very similar even if active or passive. My go to for this is Roxy who despite being a passive void class, ultimately can still actively steal nothingness from concepts.

And I have to ask- does Error really actively use his aspect? Because I don’t think so. There’s a popular fan concept of Error as a ‘Forced god of Destruction’ that I think really cements this. Time as an aspect tends to also represent Fate, and if there’s a character who has been actively fucked over by Fate, it’s Error. Even from his time as Genos, Error has been the butt monkey of terrible circumstances. 0pacifica talks about ‘Student’ classes (Thieves, Seers, and Bards) as one where the aspect changes the player, and if that doesn’t describe Error just.

Also it gives Error a codpiece and isn’t that just fucking perfect.

So onto the harder class to explain- Ink being a Rogue. Unlike the Destroyer class, there’s no ‘Creator’ class to nicely fit Ink into (although some suspect that the Heal class of Sylph and most likely Maid class can double as both Heal and Create) but even then, Ink doesn’t really actively create. Rather he tends to try and inspire creators to create. For Ink it made more sense to use 0pacifica’s chart to lower down the class, and then make sure the powers still fit from there.

To start with, there’s no way Ink is anything but a mutualist class. Both Ink and the multiverse benefit from Ink’s role in the multiverse. But even more telling that Ink is a mutualist class is the line in the flowchart ‘The story is not complete until I have accomplished what I have set out to do or found another way to satisfy my initial impulse.’ From the start of Underverse at least to now (though I also suspect to the end of Underverse) the story has been driven by Ink’s actions and motivations. There wouldn’t be a story without him, for good or ill.

From there using the chart, it was easy to lower it down to Rogue or Knight. Ink really isn’t changed or used by their aspect, unlike Error. So it really comes down to does Ink use his aspect or change his aspect. From here I really like 0pacifica’s one sentence descriptions. Rogue is ‘I change my aspect to a more useful form’ while Knight is ‘I use my aspect like a tool’. Eventually we decided on Rogue because Ink doesn’t really actively use his aspect- he’s much more about inspiration- allowing others to steal his ideas, if you will ;P. He ultimately changes other beginnings in service both to the multiverse and himself- squeezing them for paint so he can keep feeling.

Also Rogue just kind of fits Ink’s aesthetic with that cute little bandit mask

What’s really cool is these two classes are also on opposite ends of the ‘Reinvent/Change’ segment of the class chart.

Hopefully this is the longest segment..

Nightmare: Knight of Doom

Dream: Page of Life

Here’s another pair we really had to decide between Hope/Rage for and Doom/Life. But honestly there wasn’t actually a lot of debate. If Doom is Stasis and Inertia, then that fits Nightmare’s ultimate goal to a T. If Nightmare gets his way, the entire multiverse will be plunged into negativity, and with no contrast, everything would just be mired in the same. In contrast to both Nightmare and in particular, Ink, Dream is all about growth and making things better. Joku has specifically stated that Dream and Ink had a falling out due to this- Dream doesn’t care about creator intentions or their story. If there is someone suffering, Dream wants to fix it.

Another way these two fit is in something 0pacifica observes regarding Doom and Life players- Life players come from ‘the top of the pile’ with every advantage behind them, while Doom players come from the ‘bottom of the heap’ with everything working against them. From their beginnings Dream has always been put upon a pedestal, with the love and adoration of the villagers surrounding them, while Nightmare was always hated, always considered as a problem before he has any type of sway over negativity. In actuality, they were born equal, but the circumstances of which side they happened to represent tilted them in their respective directions.

For the extended zodiac, since Nightmare is such a terrible person, even more so than Error in a lot of ways, means that it’s not as useful. The descriptions ar emeant for people to identify with after all, and no one is gonna self-identify with being told they are a monster. There is a bit of the extended zodiac we can use though, and that’s Nightmare as a commiserator. In underverse he gains Cross’s trust by empathizing (in a way) with his negativity, and he surrounds himself with crew that have been in as bad circumstances as he has been. Life however, has a great section that fits Dream perfectly: ‘ Those bound to the aspect of Life are the universe's healers. They are concerned with the betterment of themselves and those around them, as well as the onward march of positive progress. Deeply empathetic, they have an intuitive understanding of other's suffering and the best way of righting those wrongs.’

When looking at classes, we considered the Commensalist sections for both Dream and Nightmare for a while. But we ultimately decided against that specifically with the line that ‘my accomplishments and failings are purviews of the fringes of the narrative’ which just can’t be true for two beings so fundamental to the multiverse. Indeed, you’ll actually see none of the characters in this post fall under this side specifically because I started with the most ‘important’ characters. We ultimately decided on mutualist for Nightmare- despite his ‘bottom of the heap’ status, he ultimately tends to take control of the narrative, and much of underverse and even a lot of fan works are centered around his actions, much like Ink. Dream, by contrast, is constantly fighting an uphill battle and for most of underverse is more a pawn than any true figure of movement in the story. Parasitic fits quite well for poor Dream who no matter what ending of Joku’s story you go by, always dies.

There really is no other character who quite wields their aspect and powers to their advantage like Nightmare. I really can’t find a lot to add here, it was a pretty unambiguous choice and had very little debate in our classpect talk. All his manipulations are steeped in death and decay and well, negativity, all which fall under Doom. Knight is theorized to be the active Exploit class which fits nicely into 0pacifica’s class descriptions. So, for Dream, looking under parasitism, Dream doesn’t really change his aspect, he’s pretty much defined by Life. This lowered it down to Prince and Page. Dream, unlike Nightmare, isn’t really an active manipulator of his aspect and of his positivity. It’s more a part of him, and thus Page, who in the flowchart literally uses the line ‘I am defined by my aspect’ seemed to be the perfect fit.

Like Ink and Error, these two are also opposites on the ‘manifest’ side of classes, and even better, Knight is the active Exploit class while Page is the passive exploit class.

Thank god this section was actually shorter

Cross: Witch of Blood

XChara: Prince of Heart

While these two characters aren’t opposites in aspect or class, it’s useful to talk about both of these two at once both because of how closely they are tied together, but also because how similar their goals and narrative journeys are in general.

Basically with aspect it came down to Blood and Heart for both of them. The more material aspects really have nothing to do with either of them, both of them are much more focused on narrative meaning. Light/Void is out of the question as when it comes down to it, through all their posturing, they ultimately are much more focused on themselves than any kind of big picture or big over-arching questions on the nature of reality. This also phases out Mind for both of them. And finally, this sentence on Breath is about as anti Cross/XChara as it comes: ‘what’s meaningful and important is discovering something new, expanding that perspective, broadening the meaning-horizon and rising above the mere material of the world until ‘tradition’ is a speck of dust on a marble’.

Ultimately we went with Blood for Cross over Heart. Cross is primarily motivated by the past in a way XChara really isn’t. Hell, one of the main reasons Cross decided to fight against Frisk and XChara in Timeline X was because the timeline they were currently in was a happy place for him and the rest of the monsters. Cross is also shown to utilize bonds- it’s a vision of Cross that stops XChara in his fight against Swap/Blue. XChara, on the other hand, is much more focused on the idea of control and being in control, because they know what’s best better than anyone else. Heart is appropriately labeled as ‘egoism’ in 0pacifica’s chart and if there’s one thing XChara has, it’s an ego. There’s also the line ‘Heart is the reading into and reading out of, the situating of what’s been read in the personal and the familiar, the reshaping and reinterpreting of the text outside of the author’s hands.’ If we see XGaster as an author, then what better describe’s XChara’s role?

Honestly the extended zodiac isn’t really great for these two, once again due to the fact they are largely negative and corrupted characters. Most of what’s there isn’t truly yet in the text but implied in the opening to Underverse Season 2 (Cross being a leader through inspiration) or something that I’ve basically already covered (Heart being self-obsessed). This is long enough already so lets just move on.

There’s no way either of them are anything other than a parasitic class. ‘I could beat myself bloody against the bars of the narrative and still get no closer to the form of success I personally desire’ describes both of their experiences in XTale and Season 1 perfectly. (’All my efforts were for nothing..’) As well, for how much these characters were corrupted and damaged throughout the course of Underverse, what changed them was much more outside forces than anything having to do with their aspect- they both tend to own their aspect.

XChara is pretty definitively a Prince- He is incredibly talented at utilizing his own personal potential and even his own ego to advance his own agenda, even as it actively fucks him over. And how do his overwrite powers manifest? A complete domination of others personalities and identity. He destroys others identities and personal narratives. Cross is a tough one because most of what we’ve seen of his powers and actions have been actively manipulated by XChara whose very aspect dominates identity. But one thing that we very much see in Underverse is how Cross actively forces other people to team up and form bonds to stop him. This forwards the narrative while being actively detrimental to Cross himself. And finally, one of the last moments we see with the new Cross at the end of season 1 is him actively changing his bond/deal with Nightmare to save Dream, which gives Dream the determination and ability to escape to the Omega Timeline with the other survivors. Unfortunately most of what is in the actual text isn’t super concrete but there is enough foreshadowing and implications of where Cross’s character is going to go that Witch just ‘feels’ like the right fit.

Whew I was afraid this was somehow going to be as long/longer than the first segment

XGaster: Thief of Light

This one should hopefully be fairly short as if there was a classpect title there was the least amount of debate and back and forth on, XGaster was it.

There’s no way XGaster isn’t Light. The literal second I saw the sentence of Light that says ‘There is one answer’ there was no way he could be anything else. XGaster’s entire storyline is about finding/creating the one true perfect universe. Essentially, in classpect and narrative terms, his entire narrative is about the Search for truth and meaning. Which is literally the sentence used to describe Light in 0pacifica’s writeup.

In the interest of wrapping. this. shit. up. I’m just gonna post this section from the Light part of the extended zodiac. It feels fairly self explanatory. ‘The Light-bound will go after knowledge with a fierce intensity that others may find distasteful. They aren't overly concerned with laws or norms, either. They often take rules as simple suggestions, instead searching for loopholes or work-arounds.’

Class is where I will probably actually have to explain a little more. I don’t think mutualist is anything I really need to extensively justify- the narrative of Underverse bends to accommodate the goals of Ink and XGaster, basically everything I said about Ink also works with XGaster with how closely they are tied.

The fundamental shift of XGaster’s narrative arc and even personality is all based around knowledge. He learns from Ink that other multiverses exist and in that instant it sets him on a new path. Thieves are all about acquiring more of their aspect to change and benefit themselves, and XGaster literally gathers ideas and knowledge from other universes to create and enrich his own. I know it’s cheeky to not have just one but two canon titles, but they undeniably fit.

Also he sure does have all the irons in the fire *shot*

Aaaaaaaaaaand we’re done! Look how fast that last segment went.

#undertale #utmv #underverse #homestuck #undertale multiverse

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gojoscloset · 3 years

Text

“Hello, I just read your writing d**k appointment and I like it very much. And suddenly, I saw that you open the request NSFW dialogue prompts. Would you please write prompt 60 “Looks like someone wants to be a dad/mom” with Gojo or Megumi please 🥺”

Bahaha omg I’m so sorry I’m late as hell I’ve been busy with a lot mentally cause I have the attention span of a goldfish.

Please please enjoy, thank you so much for requesting lol. I’m back on my bullshit ✨

60. “Looks like someone wants to be a mom/dad”

WARNINGS: N S F W

Reposted from previous account

Smut obvs.

Breeding kink???? (if you squint)

Cream pie

Mentions of Pregnancy

No proofread??

————-

“Looks like someone wants to be a mom.”

You didn’t dare look away from what you thought had to be one of the cutest pairs of baby shoes you have ever laid your eyes on.

“Hmm? What do you mean? I just thought they were cute!” you lifted the pair of shoes up and gave your boyfriend a grin.

But Satoru was no idiot.

You see, these past few months have been filled with nothing but waves of emotions and ideas that you would have never thought you would have contemplated this early in life, but a pregnancy scare earlier in the year shook your world and turned it on its axis.

Of course you had imagined a life with Satoru, possibly married in the later years, and a potential family way wayyy down the line. However, you were content with where you two stood. A strong and healthy relationship, 2 consenting adults in love. But you also had to remember you were 2 powerful sorcerers in love. So even with your line of work, kids at the moment seemed really out of the question. Hell, even being in a relationship with someone like Satoru was a blessing with the lives you two lived. So even the idea of bearing his child seemed like you were asking for a lot from the universe.

When your period came late, all your little fantasies and thoughts of having a family took a step closer to becoming reality, you melted at the idea of becoming a mother and all your fears and doubts were thrown out the window.

But alas, the joy left just as fast as it came you were back on your regular schedule the day before your doctor's appointment. Relieved of course, but things weren’t the same.

Day after day you caught yourself indulging more and more in the idea of what your life would be like with a child. Would your first child be a girl or a boy? Whose features would they take on the most? Oh how you prayed to the gods that they would look more like Satoru than anything.

Would you be a good mother? Would Satoru be a good father? There was no doubt in your mind that he would be.

Don’t even get started on the names.

Your gaze would linger when you would pass up children and their parents at a park. Or when you would pass up baby clothes at the shopping strip, you would stop in your tracks and imagine your future child wearing that outfit.

Secretly you would shop for clothes online just to ‘see what they look like’ Or secretly read first time mom forums on breddit just to ‘See how it feels’ but it was so much more than just a passing curiosity.

And of course, You weren’t the only one who noticed the change.

You and Satoru have been in the love game for a respectable amount of time, and have spent the seconds, hours,days,weeks,months,years, in each other's presence. He would absolutely be able to acknowledge when you’d turn your head in the kids section or when your gaze would linger on the little girls in princess dresses at the market, corners of your lips curling just a little.

Or when a toddler at the grocery store handed him a fake phone,in which he pretended to answer with such enthusiasm you would almost believe he was actually on the phone with someone,he could visibly see how your heart melted at the sight. You looked at him like you wanted to marry him on the spot for the rest of the day. A personal favorite memory of his.

Satoru was a dumbass, but he was not stupid.

You didn’t know how much he loved seeing these little things, the little changes in you. Behind his tinted shades and through his long lashes, he would carefully watch your duality go from powerful sorcerer to something maternal.Something you never did in all the time he has known you until after the scare.

It made him want to jump your bones on the spot and put a baby in you every time, but you never brought up the topic despite seeming to be interested in motherhood, and respectfully he left it alone. But you had been caught red handed almost always.

Satoru held himself back when he had various opportunities to talk about it, do you know how hard that is to do as Satoru?

He wanted to press on. He wanted to pry and ask you all kinds of questions regarding the sudden change, but he knew that there was a time and place for everything, and now was definitely not the time nor location.

“Hey, not bad!” He allowed his glasses to slip off the bridge if his nose ever so slightly to get a better view.

“I would wear these if they came in my size”

He joked, you smacked his arm playfully and laughed.

“Cmon lets g-“

You were about to place the shoes back on the rack but he stopped you before you did. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos of the shoes and tag.

“I was being serious” he stated plainly, earning another laugh from the both of you.

——

The rest of the day went on as normal, for the most part. The little interaction at the store replayed not only in your mind but Satoru’s as well.

‘Did I make it too obvious?’

‘Did I overdo it with the shoes?’

‘Is it time to talk about it?’

—-

‘Toru..’ you whined but that didn’t stop him from continuing to bend you like a pretzel while plowing into you.

“Don’t be shy now, you look so good like this. ...And those faces you make....” he licked his lips reaching out to grab your jaw, thumb running across your lip.

Even though you were whining about the embarrassing positions he kept putting you in, your body was on fire and didn’t want this to end.

With every position he managed to go deeper and deeper, hitting places only he knew how to hit. He utilized the curve of his dick just how you liked it, grazing your favorite spots with every thrust.

The way your walls fluttered and clenched against his made them his favorite spots too.

It was crazy to you how Satoru knew your body like nobody else did. He knew every curve, every dip, every corner. He knew what made you weak in the knees and what you disliked with a passion. He knew what made you cream, what made you wet, what made your back arch and your toes curl.

“You like that Hmm?” He bucked his hips, folding your legs up, pushing your knees as close to your chest as possible.

He gazed into your eyes, watching the way your face wrenched in pleasure. He needed that, he loved that. Being able to see your expression contour and twist because of him, god it got him off.

He looked down at you, his usually spiky hair now flattened with sweat, strands sticking to the side of his face. He bit his lip, and gripped your hips with force, bruises were guaranteed.

He brought you closer, you slowed your breathing to control the ride. You two had been fucking long enough to know the Cues, the way your body twitched and the little sounds you would make when you were close triggered the muscle memory and he moved in the way he knew would push you over the edge.

“D..Don't slow down!” You commanded, throwing your head back into the sheets, the familiar tingling sensation starting at your core, his pace picking up, hands trailing down your abdomen, fingers circling around your clit, wet with its own slick.

He couldn’t help but suck on his own bottom lip watching your body rock in rhythm with his, the way your breast bounced, he couldn’t help but grab a handful.

“That’s right baby….” he spoke softly, voice just above the lewd sounds you two we’re making. The squelching, skin slapping skin, the gasping sounds when he would thrust back into you.

He was getting carried away, letting the words just spill from his lips. “Mmmm fuck yeah baby, you feel so fucking good.” He groaned “fuck around and put a baby in you-“

You had been with this man for many many moons, had been through thick and thin, but nothing had prepared you two for that awkward moment.

All movements ceased the second he stopped talking. Both of you pulled away and just looked at each other, embarrassment demonstrated on both of your faces.

Both of you seemed to think about the Barget incident, and then every other incident which made the dirty talk hit different.

“Sorry” Quickly he spoke, in hopes of somehow saving his ass in case things went south.

“W-what for?” You continued to try and mask your feelings about the situation(s), but nothing could get past his eyes.

He was no idiot, you knew that, but you still tried him, because sometimes he lets your shit slide. But not this time.

“Please y/n, I’ve seen the change in you.”

The air was thick, momentarily, but the smile on his face gave you clarity.

“The lingering looks, the shoes at the store… I’ve noticed” his large hands cupped your face, thumb brushing calming shapes against your cheek.

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

He released you from your position and sat up straight.

“Toru…do you really wanna talk about this now?????” Sheepish under the circumstances

“Don’t give me that. We’ve been together too long for you to try and play this game with me.”

His hands found their way to you once again. Pulling you by the wrists, he sat you up and made you look at him as he continued to speak.

“Communication remember?” He was soft, yet stern.

“You haven’t been the same since the missed period incident.” Your jaw dropped, he was on it even with the timing.

There was no sense in hiding anything anymore, this man knows all, this man sees all.

“I’d be lying if I said you were wrong….you see..” you began to pour your heart out, trying your hardest to keep eye contact with him.

“The pregnancy scare heightened the want for a family with you, Satoru. I envision a lot of things, and you being in my future for a long long time is one of them...”

He held your gaze while looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. He listened intently like you were whispering the secrets of the universe to him.

“But I never brought up the topic of family because we’re-“

“Sorcerers” He finished the sentence for you, the small smile he held earlier now turned into a flat line.

The speed in which he did was almost enough to make you flinch. Bittersweet in a way,at least this confirmed that he too thought about a family with you at one point but considered the circumstances.

A“Exactly..” you continued. “And the scare made me realize what I want in life..with you. But it’s out of reach and it’s not something I wanted to project onto- “

His large hands placed themselves in either side of your face and Satoru showered you with kisses.

“I. Love. You. So. Much.” He spoke in between kisses.

“I love you too, but- AH!!! What are you doing??!”

Satoru pulled you by your ankles, placing himself in between your legs once again.

“Putting a baby in you, that's what.” He gave you such a sweet and loving look, it didn’t match the words that spewed from his lips.

“T-that’s not funny…” Quickly, you covered your entrance before he even thought about it.

“Exactly, because it wasn’t a joke sweetheart.”

“Wait, but what about-”

“We’ll be fine, i’m the strongest, remember?” he gave you a playful wink and grabbed your wrists, playfully prying your hands away, he wasn’t going to do anything though, not without your consent, but seeing how flustered he could make you fed the already enlarged ego he owned.

“Now tell me, do you want a boy or girl? Ooh, what about their names?”

“ Satoru… wait… are you sure? Don’t you wanna think about it a little more?”

He let out a playful laugh and pointed a finger dramatically at you, “Are you sure?”

Without missing a beat you nodded, you wanted this so bad, and by the looks of it, so did he.

“That’s all you had to say, let me take care of you, my pillow princess”

-------------

The sultry night was young.How many times have you came already? It didn’t matter.

His arms were wrapped around your entire body, holding you in place as he bounced you up and down his shaft.

“My pretty girl… my sweet sweet princess.” He whispered against your skin, tongue grazing from your collar bone up to your jaw, tasting your sweat. He wanted to breathe you in, and make you his air. The words replayed in his mind as he fucked you senseless.

“and you being in my future for a long long time is one of them...”

“Toru…” Your breathing hitched,, his praise made your walls twitch around him. He got the hint and immediately went to work. In a swift movement you were beneath his form. His skin glistening with a layer of sweat.

“ How do you want it?” he groaned, draping your leg over his shoulder while grabbing the other one, spreading you wider. You were grateful for the change of position, you have been wanting to touch him for a while now but the grip he had you in earlier was not letting it happen.

Your hands hungrily made his way to his chest and arms.

“As long...as I get it…” you managed to mutter through moans. His thrusts became erratic, a sign that he was coming undone as well.

“Look at me..tell me how you want it....tell me how you need it” he licked his lips with desire. You managed to look at him through half lidded eyes, giving him exactly what he wanted, he always did the same for you.

You lifted your hips up some, grinding harder against him, letting more of him fill you up, you could swear you felt his head kiss your cervix. You did a kegel, walls giving his dick a hug.

The actions earned you a breathy moan, he almost lost his cool, it threw off his pace momentarily but when he picked back up, the speed was doubled.

“You like to play dirty, hmm? “

“The only way I like to play…”

“Very well then” he said through grit teeth, finger moving to where you were connected, rubbing your clit in circles without mercy. You were pushed over the edge quickly, mouth Ajar, and body convulsing against him, his movements did not falter.

“That’s my good girl”

He lowered his body down mouth to cage you between his arms, droplets of sweat falling onto the sheets as he tried to avoid sweat falling into your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He asked once again, not moving an inch until you gave him the go.

You simply stared up at him, goofy grin he always carried on him plastered onto his handsome face.

You gave him the go once again and he bucked his hips.

This particular moment was sweet sweet bliss. Normally Satoru would be careless with his movements when it came to chasing his orgasm, but not this particular one. His touches would linger, fingertips burning themselves into your skin with passion, making their way from your hips to your hands, large fingers filling in the gaps between your own.

His kisses were oh so immaculate. Sweet and soft, but most importantly, abundant.

And the way he spoke your name. Only Satoru could make his words come out like they were coated in honey.

His hips snapped and he gave your hand a squeeze, face in the crook of your neck, the hot breath against your skin forced chills down your spine, with you

“I love you so much…” he groaned into your ear. With a few more bucks of his hips you felt his seed spill into you. You were running on fumes at this point, overkill with the overstim, but that’s how you liked it.

You felt your clit throb, your walls still fluttering against him from your previous climax like they were sucking every last drop of out of him.

He looked down at you silently, but the look on his face, the calm waters in his eyes said everything he needed to say. You couldn’t tear away your gaze, you were already high off the blue dream.

His eyes moved from yours to your lips, they looked needy to him. He bent his head down and planted a kiss, despite the scenario, it was chaste. Innocent. Refreshing.

“I love you.” He repeated, though he had no doubt you felt the same. “I know you do...there is not a single doubt in my mind...and I love you oh so very much, more than I could ever put in words.”

There was another comfortable silence, however, the small smile that was on your face quickly turned into a flustered look when he pulled out of you and spread your legs open, looking at the mess he made inside of you.

“W-what the fuck are you doing?!!”

You laughed nervously and tried closing your legs, but he held them open, too strong for you to try and fight against it.

“I just wanted to see the masterpiece I made. Plus-“ he positioned himself between your legs again

“I’m not done, I want to make sure I get the job done right.”

He gave you a wink, and immediately you knew you were in for a long night.

A very very long night.

#jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru gojō x reader #satoru gojo #Nasty Nept✨

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oldguardhc · 3 years

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Old Guard hc #135

Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Alcoholism, Depression

AN: @sunshineandchemistry wanted hurt inspired by Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) by The Decemberists.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

They have a plan.

They’re supposed to stop healing together. They’re supposed to retire from the action and live out the rest of their days in Malta. They’re supposed to have decades to prepare for the inevitable day. They’re supposed to go together.

Not-not like this.

Joe stares down at his own body. A puddle of blood has formed around it, bright red and barely deep enough to splash if someone were to step in it. His light blue shirt, now a deep maroon, is sticking to his chest and his fingers itch to pull the fabric away before it can dry. His eyes, open and glazed, he wanted to see the stars before this death, pierce through him in a way his reflection never has.

This feels like a joke.

He’s bled ten times more than this and was back in the fight a minute later. When his leg got blown off, he was walking not an hour later. So why the hell is the hole in his chest, barely an inch wide and four inches deep, not closing? This is nothing but a scratch in the long list of injuries his body has sustained.

When he first woke up, he had laughed. He just got killed by a purse-snatcher. A purse-snatcher. They weren’t even smart enough to burglar a house; how the guy got the jump on him was a goddamn mystery, not to mention insulting and mortifying. Booker was never going to let him live this down.

It was only after he sat up and patted his chest, still chuckling to himself at the sheer absurdity of the situation, that he realized something was wrong. That he was wrong.

His hands, normally a warm brown, like wheat just before the summer harvest, were gray and pale, every inch of life snuffed out of them. Joe had stared at them, flipping them over and over, flexing and shaking his fingers to stimulate fresh blood flow, but no matter how much he moved them, how many times he blinked, they remained the same. Cool brown and utterly wrong.

That wasn’t even the worst part.

No, the worst part, the worst fucking part, was when he stood up, ready to shake off this awful day in the comfort of Nicky’s arms, dinner be damned, they’ll just eat another sandwich, and his body remained on the floor, still and bleeding and-and separate.

He freaked out.

He immediately laid back in his body, lining his arms and legs with the body on the floor first, before sitting up. When that didn’t work, he tried picking his body up to drag back home, only his hands had passed through his own arms and chest, like he was nothing more than a cheap light show.

It was then that it sunk in, with his hands buried in his sternum and his own lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He was dead.

He was dead and he wasn’t coming back.

—

Nicky hasn’t eaten in days, not since he shared the small sandwich with Joe.

“Just a snack!” Joe pleaded, batting his eyelashes with a wide grin. He looked ridiculous, like one of those Bratz dolls that once lined every shelf in the toy section at the supermarket. Nicky was more annoyed than charmed as Joe continued to beg; he was blocking the TV and his voice was getting progressively pitchier the longer Nicky continued to ignore him in favor of watching National Treasure.

Nicky gave in, of course he gave in, if only to get Joe to shut up now that he was reaching dog whistle levels. He went to the kitchen, Joe right on his heels and made the fastest sandwich in history, a ham and cheese sandwich on one slice of bread. After folding it in half, he stuffed as much of the sandwich into his mouth and handed over the rest to Joe. It wasn’t much, barely bigger than the bite-sized sandwiches that are usually out on the buffet tables, but it was better than nothing. He almost choked when he saw the wounded expression on his husband’s face. Joe took the half-sandwich with a pout and spent the next fifteen minutes nibbling on it, savoring each bite like it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. It was cute and charming and Nicky kissed him when he finished, swatting his ass as they broke apart because dinner wasn’t going to get itself.

He should have made a regular sandwich.

He should have just cooked with what they had in the pantry.

He should have gone with Joe.

His stomach twists and Nicky cries.

—

Nicky’s not living. He eats, he sleeps and sometimes he even goes out for a walk, but he’s not living, he’s functioning and that’s enough for Andy and Booker.

They don’t talk much to him; then again, no one talks much these days. It became glaringly obvious early on who initiated the conversations, who had the loudest voice, who kept the discussion flowing from one point to the next.

He doesn’t blame them; they were engulfed in their own grief too, both fresh and scarred.

They’ve become the liquor store’s best customers; between the three of them, they easily put away six bottles of hard liquor every night. It’s the only time they’re together, late at night into the early morning, drinking with a desperate fervency to get lost in their own memories of better times.

“The widow club,” Booker joked one night, mouth curled into a snarl.

“I never wanted to be part of this fucking club,” Nicky spat, taking an aggressive sip from his bottle. It was whiskey that night; it tasted like shit, it always tasted like shit, and Nicky didn’t care. It made him warm and muddled his thoughts and while he was drunk, he could forget, could ignore how empty everything was.

There was a moment of silence and then Andy laughed, sharp and vicious as she raised her bottle to clink with his, “Cheers to fucking that!”

During the day, Nicky sleeps. A lot.

Nicky sleeps, because if he sleeps, he can dream. In his dreams, Joe is still with him, leading him through the world with both hands and promising to never leave his side. In his dreams, Joe is bright and warm, kissing him like he never left, loving him like they had all the time in the world. In his dreams, he can savor the weight of Joe’s loving gaze, anchoring him in this sea of madness.

Most days, he wakes up around three in the afternoon. He stares at the ceiling until his stomach grumbles, and only when the pain becomes unbearable does he get up to get something to eat.

Sometimes, the stupid wind chimes will wake him up before three and those days are always the worst. Joe had loved those wind chimes; he would run his fingers through them every morning just to hear them sing, laughing as the house filled with its tinkling sound.

Nicky hates those fucking wind chimes.

He hates how every time he hears them, he thinks that it’s Joe, gently pushing one tube into another, creating a new song only for their ears. He hates how he turns his head with a sleepy smile towards the chimes, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, only to be splashed with the bitter reality that he’s alone, has been alone for awhile now.

Nicky hates those wind chimes and he wishes he could melt it down into something useful, something quiet, but it was Joe’s and Nicky can’t. He can’t destroy something that Joe loved so dearly.

But God does Nicky loathe them. They weren’t even under a vent and they still made noise.

Other times, the birds will wake him up. They never had this many birds before Joe, but after, Nicky sometimes wakes up to five birds on his windowsill, chirping and chirping and chirping. They’re loud and they arch up into nothing and Nicky hates them almost as much as the wind chimes because Joe would have loved them. Joe would’ve sat in front of the windowsill for hours, sketching and observing the birds, swallows, or were they sparrows, tossing them little seeds to keep them there longer. Hell, Joe would have set up a bird feeder to accommodate their many visitors. To Nicky, those birds are just another reminder that Joe’s gone and he wishes that they would just leave this house of grief alone.

So Nicky sleeps and he drinks, because if he does, he doesn’t have to live in a world that’s constantly screaming Joe’s name.

He’s not living.

It’s not really functioning either.

—

It works.

Joe gasps back to life and he’s in the quiet comfort of Nicky’s arms, just like he wanted that stupid day and everyday since. The weight of his arms, solid and warm across Joe’s chest, it’s enough to make him burst into tears.

“I missed you,” Nicky sobs, pulling him into a tight hug and Joe can’t wrap his arms around Nicky fast enough. He clings to his husband, taking in the twin scents of Irish Spring and cheap cologne, a combination he never thought he would miss; it smells like home.

“I was always there,” Joe whispers, “The birds, the chimes, the damn towel on the floor. I never left.” I never left you.

They’re both shaking apart in each other’s arms, but for the first time in months, it’s ok. It’s ok.

Nicky laughs, it’s choked and brittle, but it’s the first time he’s laughed since that day, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world to Joe’s ears right now. “I hated all those things.”

“I know,” Joe confesses, pulling back just enough to look at Nicky. He wipes away the snot and tears with the back of his hand. Nicky stares at him through red-rimmed eyes, a new kind of desperation shining in them that Joe knows are reflecting from his own. “But it got you out of bed, out of the house, and so I never stopped.”

They have a plan.

They’re going to stop healing together. They’re going to retire from the action and they’re going to live the rest of their days in Malta.

They’re not straying away from it this time.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #kaysanova #hc

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

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the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

Who is the Kitsch Girl?

I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall- with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that. If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on. I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced. One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

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bangchanshehe · 3 years

Text

The Only One pt.3

You and your life long best friend Chanyeol were like the same person. You knew everything about one another, and whatever problems you had you faced it together. But what are you supposed to do when you discover that your best friend loves you so much that only he can be important to you, and would go to great lengths to make sure that he was the only one? Yandere!AU

Chanyeol X OC

Word count: 2.2k

“let’s sit over here!” Jongin said in an upbeat tone as he gestured to a pretty isolated booth.

You followed his lead and sat down comfortably at the table and put your backpack to your side. You were about to ask Jongin a question when he suddenly stood up. You stared up at him with wide eyes wondering what he was doing.

“I’ll go get us something to drink. What do you want?” he asked you.

You glanced behind you over to the drink fountain to go over what different options they had but your eyes were met with a curious Chanyeol instead. He looked at you before he turned his head and looked Jongin up and down as if he were assessing him for something. you tried to make eye contact with him so you could give him a ‘leave it alone’ stare, but he wouldn’t stop staring at Jongin. You shook your head as you looked back over to the drink fountain and smiled when you saw the familiar red logo.

“I’ll just have a coke” you said looking back at Jongin with a smile.

Jongin nodded his head and returned your smile back before he walked away. You watched as he left and as soon as you saw him a safe distance away you pulled out your phone and quickly text Chanyeol.

Me: Stop staring at him like he has a third eye.

You hit send and looked back at Chanyeol to see his face while he read the message. He pulled out his phone and smiled down at the screen before he lifted his eyes to look at you. When you were satisfied that he had seen that you weren’t happy you turned back around just in time for Jongin to return to your table.

“thanks” you said softly as he sat your drink back down in front of you before returning to his seat.

You took a long swig of the drink and let out a nice content sigh as you felt the carbonation go down your throat. Jongin watched you with a smile and you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“what?” you asked, “is there something on my face?” you pat away at the corners of your mouth and your chin, hoping to catch whatever it was that was making Jongin laugh at you that way.

“no, there isn’t anything there. You just looked cute.” He commented before he pulled out a menu and looked it over.

You sat in your seat starstruck and completely frozen. He thinks that I’m cute? You mentally squealed on the inside. You looked down at your phone pretending to be busy while you tried to calm down and wipe the massive grin and blush away from your cheeks. You couldn’t believe that this was happening to you right now… I mean even if Jongin was joking it still made you feel like the prettiest girl in the world in that moment.

“what type of pizza do you normally order?” Jongin asked as he scanned the different pizzas they had on the menu, not bothering to look up at you.

“Usually I order Hawaiian, but I’m honestly okay with whatever type of pizza. I’m not picky about food.” You replied.

Jongin’s eyes snapped up to you when you had mentioned Hawaiian pizza. “you like pineapple on pizza?” he asked with a shocked expression.

“yeah…” you said chuckling nervously “It’s pretty good. Do you not like it?” you asked back

Jongin cocked his head to the side and gave you a questionable look. “I thought that you had pretty good taste… but I guess not.” He said jokingly while laughing lightly.

Your eyes widened and you laughed back with him. “hey! Have you ever tried it though?” you asked back. Jongin fiercely shook his head no and you smiled “I bet you would like it if you tried it!” you said in a challenging voice.

Jongin laughed and pointed at the menu “okay so let’s get a large pizza… half Hawaiian and half pepperoni” he stated making sure that it sounded good to you.

“perfect” you said sweetly giving him confirmation.

“Great. Then I’ll go order really fast.” He said pointing back to the registers before he got up and quickly approached the counter.

As soon as he was away you had received a text message. You pulled it out and saw a string of messages from Chanyeol.

Yeolie: This guy doesn’t like pineapples on pizza? You sure know how to pick em’

Yeolie: Hey! Keep the laughing down over there I’m trying to study over here

Yeolie: if you smile any wider you’re going to start catching flies with your mouth.

You scoffed in disbelief and turned around to glare at Chanyeol. But when you turned back Chanyeol was looking anywhere but at you. You tried to whistle and hiss to catch his attention, but he only smiled and continued to ignore you.

“you unlucky punk. Im going to give it to you later” you angerly whispered underneath your breath as you quickly typed out a text.

Me: if you know what’s good for you you’d better stop.

You huffed out in victory as you sent the message and then immediately turned your phone off to make sure that Chanyeol couldn’t bother you anymore while you were here.

“what’s wrong?” Jongin asked with a serious expression as he cautiously took his seat across from you “did something happen?”

You snapped your head up in surprise and your angry expression was immediately wiped away at the sound of Jongin’s voice. You gave him a small smile and quickly tucked your phone away in your backpack so it wouldn’t bother you anymore.

“nothings wrong” you said sweetly

“good. Im glad” he said nicely back

After a thirty minutes the two of you were thoroughly stuffed and blushing with how awkward and sweet things were going between the two of you. In just this short amount of time you found out that Jongin’s favorite color is blue, he has an older sister, he loves dancing as a hobby and he really likes scary movies. Surprisingly the two of you had more things in common than you were aware of, and you knew deep down that this was just basic information that anyone who would call themselves a friend of his would know but you couldn’t help but think that it was a conversation that made the two of you grow closer.

“since we already ate and relaxed do you want to study for a bit?” he asked as he reached for his bag.

“sure” you responded back noticing that he didn’t wait for you to respond before he already began to change the direction of the conversation and evening.

You pulled out all of your supplies and laid them out in front of yourself. You were a bit of a freak when it came to how you had all of your study supplies laid out. You needed a black, blue and red pen. A highlighter and sticky notes. White-out for any mistakes and tabs to mark which sections you thought were the most important.

When you had everything organized you looked up to see Chanyeol walking by your booth. When he was past Jongin’s line of vision he began making angry faces and making texting motions with hands. You glared at him and cocked your head to the side telling him as best as you could to get lost. Chanyeol glared back at you for a moment and then smiled a sideways grin as if he was in total disbelief before he walked away towards the front counter.

“do you know him?” Jongin asked quietly as to not offend anyone as he looked back at Chanyeol and then to you

You laughed nervously before responding “who? That guy?” you pointed to Chanyeol before waving your hands no.

“are you sure?” he said looking back at Chanyeol once more as he came walking to your table.

You waited for Chanyeol to continue walking past, but he never did. He stopped dead in his tracks and with his hand on the back of his head he smiled at you before half yelling “Y/N! I didn’t see that you were sitting here! How long have you guys been here?” he asked with the least convincing tone ever.

You looked up at him with an evil frown for half a second before you decided to play along with his stupid little game. “oh my god. Chanyeol! We’ve been here for about an hour now. where were you sitting?”

He laughed to himself and then gestured with his head to the booth that was just a few spaces back from you. “just over there. I didn’t realize that it was you since I could only see the back of your head”

“would you like to join us while we study?” Jongin asked politely

You and Chanyeol both turned your heads towards Jongin but with different intent. Chanyeol was grinning like he had just won the lottery and you were giving Jongin a pleading look as if you were begging for him not to allow Chanyeol to stay.

“sure. Let me just bring my things over” Chanyeol said happily before he collected his things from his table and brought them back to yours.

You smiled fakely at Chanyeol’s retreating form and decided to turn on your phone so you could give him a warning text message to go away. But as soon as your phone was unlocked you saw a few new text messages come in from Chanyeol. You rolled your eyes before you opened the message but once you read them your heart sank and you were a bit more hyper aware of everything that was going on around you.

Yeolie: Don’t panic but I think he put something in your drink.

Yeolie: quit drinking damnit!

By the time that reality had sunk in Chanyeol was moving things over on your side of the booth so there would be space for him to sit down next to you. As you watched him get comfortable as single tear fell from the corner of your eye and you tried to remain as straight faced so you wouldn’t look to suspicious to Jongin. But before you could give yourself away Chanyeol turned to you to make sure that you were okay when he saw your tear. His face immediately dropped into sadness with you and he wiped the tear away from your cheek.

“I’m gonna get a refill” Chanyeol said to you quietly “do you want another one?”

You grabbed onto his free hand under then table and gave it a gentle squeeze. “thanks” you said turning away from him so the two of you didn’t look so affectionate.

As Chanyeol grabbed both cups you watched him slip out of the booth and walk to the front counter. He put your cup down on the bar and then reached over for a new cup while no one was watching him. Your heart warmed and you felt so safe in that moment despite sitting across from someone who wanted to potentially do something incredibly bad to you. You were incredibly lucky to have a best friend like Chanyeol and you don’t know what you would do If you didn’t have him around. You sniffled and blinked twice trying to keep your tears at bay and you watched him as he made your drink again for you, unaware that Jongin was staring at you.

“are you okay?” he asked with a look of shock and concern

“I’m fine. I think my eyes are just tired and they keep watering up.” You said unconvincingly, trying your best to make up a lie on the spot.

After Chanyeol had approached your table the three of you immediately began to work diligently on your studies. You and Chanyeol had secretly agreed that if you were feeling bad that he would make up a lie to get you out, and in an hour’s time the two of you would leave no matter what.

“So you guys seem pretty close. Have y’all known each other for a long time or something?” Jongin asked

“childhood friends” Chanyeol said confidently, speaking up for you so you wouldn’t have to reply

Jongin nodded his head but continued to look in between the two of you as if he was trying to solve a puzzle “y’all are just friends? Have you two ever dated?” he asked

You smiled and looked over at Chanyeol just for the excuse to look at his face. “just friends” you said politely and Chanyeol smiled back at you with a similar plain smile. You would be lying if you said that you had never had feelings for Chanyeol that went deeper than just the close friendship. There was a period of time in which you couldn’t look at Chanyeol without blushing and dreaming of holding his hand and calling him your man.

But as the two of you got older then more you realized that you and Chanyeol were destined to be only friends. Anything more would be impossible, because if the two of you date and end on bad terms then you’ve also lost your best friend.

“Not yet but I’m working on it” Chanyeol said straight to Jongin’s face as if it were a challenge.

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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

a date with destiny

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: fate brings you to a... questionable man more than a few times.

warnings: lots of fluff, enemies/strangers to lovers, kind of cringe

a/n: i swear my new thing is poorly writing every played out fanfic trope on the planet, i'm so sorry guys. maybe hallmark can hire me to write a few movies for them

You definitely could’ve avoided this situation if you didn’t wait for the weekend before Christmas to go shopping for your family’s presents.

You had no idea why your time management had to be so bad, but in the midst of working way too many hours in an effort to get promoted, you had completely forgotten about the fact that Christmas was literally right around the corner. And to make it worse, you had a flight tomorrow that you’d also forgotten about.

You sulked to yourself while walking around Nordstrom, waiting for inspiration to strike you for a semi-decent gift for your mother. The whole world seemed to be out that day, and you watched a plethora of shoppers pass you by, with their sour faces and unruly children. After eventually deciding on a black winter sweater for your mom, you went on your way to the candle section, knowing exactly the brand and scent that your sister would love.

This candle was the definition of a non-negotiable for you, and had been the reason you came to a Nordstrom in the first place, and when you found it sitting on a shelf by itself in all of its glory, you had simply become transfixed.

As you walked toward the candle, you didn’t notice that another customer was going for it as well, leading both of your hands to land on the candle, the absurdity of the situation making you blush. This was just your luck.

“Oh, this is awkward,” you played off the encounter, then attempted to subtly pull the candle your way, and away from the man.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” The man whose hand was also placed on the candle said shortly, before attempting to pull the candle his way.

“Hey man, I’m kinda on a tight schedule, and I really need to get this like… right now. I have a flight in like.. An hour,” you exaggerated.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really need this candle too.”

You took a deep breath, only you would find yourself in this kind of situation. “To be fair, I definitely saw this candle first. I’m its rightful buyer,” You attempted.

“Mmm, I definitely had my eyes on it first, so with your logic, I deserve this candle.” The man narrowed his baby blue eyes, and put a hand on his hip.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hoping that maybe if you acted dramatic enough, he’d leave you and your candle alone.

“Sweetheart, can you even afford this kind of thing? I’m sure your friends or family, or whoever the fuck you’re getting this for, would rather you not go into debt over a candle. Just let me have it,” he responded cooly, as if he hadn’t just called you poor to your face.

You looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely shocked at the nerve this man had. “Fuck you, you asshole!” You attempted to yank the candle out from his grip, and you could begin to tell that the man’s resolve was beginning to fall.

“Fine. Take the damn candle. But maybe you could give me a little gift in exchange, and go out with me sometime,” he offered, slipping his now free hand into the pocket of his tan peacoat.

You were honestly shocked by this whole exchange. How did he go from insulting you and calling you poor, to asking you on a date? Men are so weird, you thought to yourself. He really isn’t that bad looking, you also considered. “Eat shit, guy,” you told him before flipping him off, and walking away.

-----

Imagine your surprise when you saw the same man from the store sitting in a local Massachusetts restaurant, with whom you assumed were his family. With your sister sitting across from you, you couldn’t help but be gossipy and point him out.

You scoffed and leaned over to your sister once you saw him, “See that guy over there?” You whispered to her, gesturing your head in his general direction.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are like five guys. Are you talking about the dude with the goatee? That old dude with the grey hair? Y/N! I didn’t know you were a grave robber!” she giggled and poked your side while you rolled your eyes, “Or, are you talking about that sexy beast in the white sweater?”

“The se- the dude in the sweater-”

“Oh yeah, he’s pretty hot. You should go talk to him,” she began to scoot out of her seat.

“No, you idiot!” You whisper shouted to her. “That guy basically attacked me in the store the other day. And then, he had the nerve to ask me out on a date!”

He must’ve felt the two of you’s stare, as he turned around and gave you a brief surprised look, then a twisted smirk.

“Oh my god, Bea, act natural,” You whispered before turning your head so fast that you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You brought a hand up to your face and rubbed your browline in a fit of embarrassment. You looked down, then began to shovel pasta into your mouth at an ungodly fast rate.

“Oh come on, Y/N, he’s cute. What did he say to you that was so bad that you turned down his hot ass?” She asked, glancing back over at the man who was still occasionally looking over at your table.

“It’s kinda a long story. I’ll tell you later,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat steadily growing on your cheeks.

Beatrice shrugged, and a waiter approached your table.

“Ma’am, the man over there wanted me to give this to you,” he said before awkwardly placing a glass of white wine in front of you, along with a ripped napkin with a note and number.

We started off on the wrong foot, give me a call sometime?

Ransom

XXX-XXX-XXXX

-----

You looked at the note for so long, that it would’ve been better off being tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Just text him, Y/N,” your sister told you, her sentence a bit muffled by the toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“He really seems like a dick,” you groaned, before rolling onto your back and throwing an arm over your eyes. Your sister rinsed out her mouth in the ensuite before returning with some advice.

“Well, he’s hot. Maybe you can bring him as a date to the Holiday party or something,” she stated before sitting down on the foot of your bed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Y/N? If he hurts your feelings, you can throw a hot drink at him and walk away. At best, you get a hot piece of ass to be your boyfriend.” she squeezed your calf reassuringly.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl!” Beatrice cheered, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “‘Night, Y/N,”

“Goodnight,” you mumbled before attempting to fall asleep.

-----

The funny thing about you, is that you were a master procrastinator. So after a day and a half, you’d put Ransom’s number into your phone, but had contemplated so many different opening texts, that you’d just completely given up. Besides, you had your parents’ holiday party to be attending and to be caring about.

You did some final touch ups of your makeup, before heading downstairs, and watching guests arrive from a safe spot in the kitchen.

Sometime after talking to about seven of your childhood friends, you felt a large hand press against the satin material of your short, red, tie-waisted dress.

“No way, girl I see everywhere?” The man who you know knew was Ransom, asked.

“It’s Y/N. Hi, Ransom,” you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh at the absurdity of it all, the fact that he was standing in your parents’ home, the fact that he was literally everywhere you went, and because you’d never in your life been called ‘The girl I see everywhere.’

“Why didn’t you ever call me? I mean, not even a text? Also, why are you following me everywhere?” He inquired, moving to stand in front of you.

“Well, I uh.. I forgot. Sorry, I’m a super busy woman. And I also live here... sometimes.. so if anyone is following anyone else, it’s you following me,” you tried to say this confidently, but something about Ransom really threw you off your game.

“You live here? No way. Is this like your family home?” He asked, and you nodded. “So our parents have been friends this whole time, and we had no idea.” He gestured to a doorway, where your mother and his were talking with flutes of champagne in hand.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Maybe, this is just fate. We’re meant to be together, and that’s why we keep seeing each other everywhere,” you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head when he said that to you, genuinely confused at why those words would come out of his mouth. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just kidding,” he said with a bemused smile.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Ransom.” You told him plainly, trying to act disinterested, though you were rather endeared. He definitely saw right through you, as he gave you a little grin before he began to speak again.

“So tell me about yourself.”

-----

After a few too many drinks, you were walking down the sidewalk, hand and hand with Ransom as you searched for any sort of restaurant that could be open at that hour.

Finally, you found a quaint and rather empty 24-hour diner with its lights on. The two of you sat down in a booth, and struggled to contain giggles as you sipped from mugs of stale, lukewarm coffee. Why you were giggling, you weren’t completely sure.

“You know what, Ransom, once you get over the asshole-ness, you’re not that bad,” you reached out a hand, and set it on top of Ransom’s, that was idly sitting on the table.

“Wow, thanks,” he chuckled, a dark pink dusting his cheeks.

“Why did we even come here?” You groaned, “No offense, but this coffee tastes like ass,” you whined,

“And how do you know what ass tastes like?” Ransom burst out giggling at this.

“Shut up. Are you twelve?” You pretended to be annoyed with him, before giving in and laughing along with him. “Can you take me home?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

Apparently, one for the dramatics, Ransom tossed a $50 bill onto the table, then stood up from his seat at the booth to swoop you up in a bridal style.

“Ohhh my god,” you slurred as he carried you out the door, then eventually set you back down on the pavement once he became tired.

-----

While you walked up to your doorstep, Ransom stood on the sidewalk, watching you contentedly. As you got to your door and turned around, he gave you a big, goofy smile and a wave.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in with me,” you invited. It was safe to say, Ransom happily obliged.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x you #ransom thrombey x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #knives out fanfic #fluff #hey i wrote that lol

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shhhlikeme · 4 years

Text

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #11:

———————————

A/N: welcome to the final post tonight!!!!!! Thanks for staying for this marathon everybody🥱🖤 I told y’all to get ready right? Lehgo:

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

A 1-Year Anniversary For The Books 😳....🎡❄️🌃

over the next 6 months, you and Aone have had a remarkable relationship 💗

He’s beyond caring, attentive and sweet to you: even when you are moody on your period and dont want to talk to him he would drop off a basket at your house filled with a heating pad, your favourite treats, DVDs of your favourite movies and a note that explained how he felt about you

Your sex life was amazing, sex was insanely passionate and few and far between because you were both busy + Aone wanted you to know he wasn’t here for sex, though he loved it, of course

Takanobu listened to every story of yours, filled in at your cheer practices when you needed him, brought your team to competitions whenever some people didn’t have rides, and he attended the popular kids parties with you and let you do your own thing...

In addition, of course he was the best tutor you’ve ever had, letting you know before you started that you weren’t allowed to mess with his hormones to get out of it:

“Y/N. we have to study. No seduction tricks. They’re not fair.”

“Okay—!” You smiled.

“No cute-duction tricks either.”

You pouted.

“Want me to leave?” He asked, getting bold because he knew you were getting clingy, and even though he’d love to be balls deep between your heavenly legs, School came first. He needed you to graduate with him. It wasn’t an option.

“No no no baby please I’m sorry.” You pleaded.

He kissed your cheek. “Good.”

you attended baby’s intense volleyball games, so you saw his losses and it broke your heart

But you knew just how to comfort him: have him lay his head on you as you stroked his hair....give him lots of kisses and go to the pet store and spend hours the turtle section 💕

You got super close to his friends which was obviously incredible to Aone

And he’d been trying to get you to meet his family for a while, but you were too nervous

One day at the movies when Koganegawa was complaining yet again about how much his parents the other 2 members of the iron wall treated him like a baby, you interjected in the line for tickets. Aone had his arms around you from behind, making you feel safe

“Hey, wait a second. If Aone is ‘mom’ and Futakuchi is ‘dad,’ what does that make me???” You whined.

Kanji looked down at you like that was the most obvious question in the world. “You’re the hot side chick that Aone cheated on Futakuchi-senpai with.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me—“

“Wrong.” Aone stated, glaring at Kanji. “Don’t ever associate cheating with me and Y/N. I would NEVER.”

Futakuchi rolled his eyes. “We know. Learn to take a joke,”

You turned around in Aone’s arms and got on your toes straining for a kiss. Aone smiled and leaned down to press his lips on yours. He tried to pull away but you held onto the collar of his hoodie and pulled him down again, prohibiting him from ending the kiss.

“Y/N, you better keep the same energy.” Futakuchi mumbled under his breath, walking forward as the line moved. “If my best friend ends up heartbroken I know someone else’s Cheer captain best friend who can end up being hurt just as bad in return🙃..........” he sung.

Without breaking your fantastic kiss, you stuck out your foot in the direction you knew Kenji was walking, making him trip.

“Ouch, fuck! Why do you invite her, Aone-san?!”

You smiled into the kiss.

Tbh: your relationship was..........perfect💘

........too perfect, you sometimes thought.

It kept you up at night sometimes .... the fact that you couldn’t really pin point anything wrong with him , even months later

How is it possible that while all your friends went through trials and tribulations.....ups and downs in their relationships and crushes ... and weird squares (*cough cough* Kenji, Katana, Koganegawa, Kusa 🤧 *cough cough*....but that’s for another outtake time) while you didn’t have to endure anything

Aone was protecting you from going through any pain . Proving to you his worth

Your boyfriend surprised you everyday making you happier than the last

Not to mention you have an adoptive son named Perdu that you adore 🐢💚

But you couldn’t shake the feeling deep within that told you that you didn’t deserve this

Yes, you have come to love Aone with all of your heart—he is literally an angel

But that conversation that Aone was so reluctant to have 6 months ago about how much he pined after you........it really affected you in various ways....

For one thing, why did someone so beautiful and pure and perfect have to fall for someone like you?

You had faults. You didn’t even notice him for years while he suffered in silence in the background, for God’s sake

It was as if, only after he defended you against the Class Snitch and did something for you, that’s when you noticed him—and then he just jumped at the opportunity

You could’ve played him, used him, and you’re pretty sure that he would let you. 😞

He was Not realizing how selfish the whole thing seemed

And then there’s the whole fact that Aone has liked you for 2 years..... and no one else? Even when you didn’t notice him?

Yeah, you couldn’t even lie about that one to yourself. He really only liked you and only had eyes for you. Even though you hadn’t even known he was even an option for you.

It broke your heart—

Yes, you loved him now.

But that conversation 6 months ago...... it made you understand how much of an amazing, absolutely unbelievable human being he is, even before you two started dating = you haven’t been able to shake this feeling of unfairness....

The feeling that you do not deserve him

Maybe you wanted him for the sex that felt so good it made you cry every time?

Or all the things he does for you because he was so whipped?

Meanwhile he endured relentless cockteasing from you because he tried not to give into his urge so you wouldn’t think he wanted you for that ...always putting you first..... what hormonal male DOES that?

He’s perfect

But Maybe that was the big pull...you know?

perhaps it was just a pull and this isn’t how it is supposed to be

Aone deserves someone as amazing and selfless as him, no?

What if he deserved better? As long as you were in the way he’d only accept you and shut out any girl who could be even better for him.

A girl that wouldn’t have ignored him for 2 years .

When you started expressing your concerns, Katana, your best friend knew this point would come.

“Do not self destruct, Y/N. Just because you get scared when y’all are getting serious. That man is crazy about you.” Katana pleaded with you at your locker one day as you shuffled through your messy locker.

“I’m not self destructing, and I know he is..... but maybe that’s the problem? I get a perfect boyfriend and what does Aone get? I just hope that this is, a fair transaction in the Universe.....”

“You love that man too. I know you do! Besides, everyone can see the way his entire demeanour has lit up and changed since you two got together. He’s like a new person and it’s almost been a whole year.... look at him.”

You found your pencil case and closed your locker, looking over in the direction Katana called your attention to. Aone was talking to Koganegawa and Kusa, laughing loudly...something no one had ever seen him do a year before now. Your heart sunk because you were the cause of that happiness. He was a new man, and he was so happy to be with you. It made your heart hurt.

Aone glanced over in your direction just then, making eye contact with you and instantly smiling brightly. He said some form of goodbye to his friends like he always did when he spotted you, dropping everything to greet you and hold your books.

What made you so special... to deserve such a man?

If you asked Aone, he’d have a list of ways he could answer that question, but, for you, you forced yourself to believe he was just taken away with your looks....and that he just convinced himself he liked you deeper because of how pretty you were. He loves sex but tries not to have it, maybe it’s because you’d catch on to him being like every other guy that just wants you and the rest of the cheerleaders for your bodies? I mean, even his best friend Futakuchi is like that!

No, he was a terrible liar.

Aone is gorgeous, tall, muscular, handsome....... girl after girl check him out and want him. Maybe one of them deserved him more than you do....

Thoughts like that whirled through your mind all the time from summer to winter...

Tonight, on the night of your 1 year anniversary, it was no different. Aone had made it clear for months to his team that he wouldn’t be attending practice on this date

🥺

Instead, he treated you to a luxurious dinner on a yacht and then you both went one of the highest Ferris wheels in the world that gave a great view of the city night lights of Japan:

It was so romantic, and Aone was just the happiest man on earth holding you closer as you leaned into his side because you loved Ferris wheels but you were chilly in this temperature.

Your boyfriend pulled your hat down for you so it was covering your ears

He took your hands in his and blew hot air on them to keep you warm, spreading the heated blanket he’d bought so it covered more of you than him.

“Still cold? Want my jacket?”

“I’m good.” You grinned.

His heart warmed.

“Y/N.”

You looked up at your boyfriend, hearing the sudden change to seriousness in his tone. Aone sported that blush that he had the first time you’d kissed him on the cheek. He was still nervous around you even after an entire year and it had to do with his strong feelings of love toward you. He was sure they’d never go away.

Takanobu dug into his pocket and pulled out two small individually wrapped boxes. One square and one rectangular. The silver boxes were wrapped in little yellow bows, yellow-your favourite colour.

“More gifts, Aone?” You asked softly, you couldn’t help but frown. He was always spoiling you beyond belief. “You promised the dinner was your only gift,”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Happy 1-year anniversary. You make me so happy and I really hope you’ll be so kind as to bless me with more years.”

You took off your mittens and took the boxes from him, your stomach in knots the entire time.

You felt so different. Your heart hurt.

You placed the boxes in your lap and Aone tried not to smile. You delicately untied both bows, removing the lids before gasping.

“Aone..........” you said quietly. “Oh, Aone, they are beautiful.”

Mountain man smiled. “You don’t have to wear them.....I just really wanted to gift them to you because—“

You interrupted him. “You don’t think I’d wear them?” You asked, hurt. Hurt for him because you could tell that he still felt that you were too good to be true.

“Well the promise ring m-might be too flashy, or the turtle might be seen as a little juvenile by your teammates, so—“

That did it.

Your heart broke.

It couldn’t be any more clear now.

You didn’t deserve this man.

“Aone.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You willed yourself not to cry.

But this time it wasn’t tears of joy that almost fell the day he confessed, these were the truest of all types tears..... tears of sorrow.

Aone leaned down and brushed your hair out of your face so he could see your face. “Y/N? What’s wrong? I-I can always return them if you don’t like them.... it-it’s not a problem in the slightest—“

“—We need to break up, Aone.”

Freezing, Takanobu thought he hadn’t heard that.

He paused for a good ten seconds.

“W-what?” He asked, his voice cracking.

You refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you could say without bursting into tears. “I can explain more on a later date, but I’ve thought about it for a while, and that’s my decision.”

Aone’s heart shattered, instantly feeling like the world had been turned upside down on him. I mean sure, Aone thought maybe one day you’d realize you deserved better—but that’s why he spent every day devoting his time to treating you well so maybe you’d choose him.

He guessed he hadn’t been trying hard enough.

“I-is it something I did?” He took a deep breath. “Something I can change? Please,”

You shook your head, feeling the cold breeze of this winter night in your core. “Nothing you did. You’re amazing, Aone-san.“

“The-Then can you please reconsider—“

“No,” you choked. “Can we get off now? Please?”

Always listening to you, Aone shakingly pressed the button that let the Ferris Wheel operator know you wanted one final spin.

Which meant Aone had about 1 minute to change your mind while his whole world fell apart. He felt dizzy. He didn’t even know how he was still functioning, running on pure adrenaline, no doubt. He felt like this was another dream—no, a nightmare.

“If-if it’s something I did, Y/N, I sincerely apologize—“ He felt stupid to think you were actually enjoying yourself in a relationship with him.

You looked out into the skyline, directing your attention to the Japan night lights. The cold air quickly dried the single tear that escaped your eye.

“It’s nothing you did............” yet. Not until you realize you deserve so much better, You wanted to say.

“Then can I have one more chance? Please?”

Your boyfriend....no, ex-boyfriend threw everything he’s every heard from Futakuchi about being cool around his crush and begged for you. You were basically his world, the reason he’s truly lived a life of happiness and not just remained quiet and stoic like he used to be before you entered his life.

Aone stayed silent for a second and raked his brain for things he might have done to upset you. He couldn’t find one, but you wouldn’t do this for no reason, so he hated himself for not figuring it out.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

All too soon, the ride came to an end and you handed the gifts back to him before quickly scrambling out of the Ferris wheel.

Aone took a second to stare at the necklace and ring before stumbling out after you, feeling like there was an extra thousand pounds on his chest as you walked away from him in the dark night. You two were in the empty parking lot of the Ferris wheel.

“Y/N..... at least let me drive you home!” He yelled, dropping the heated blanket and gifts on the snow. He was in so much pain he couldn’t hold onto anything.

“I texted Kusa. She’s coming.” You called back, not daring to turn around because if you did you would just jump into his arms.

Aone couldn’t stop the tears that welled up behind his eyes. He’d never felt this level of pain before. He would choose to endure going through the pain of losing his last volleyball game in 3rd year everyday if it meant he didn’t have to feel what he was feeling now.

Before he started crying—something he hasn’t done since he was maybe 7 years old—Aone ran over to you, stepping in front of you to beg one last time.

“Y/N. Can I at least still be in your life? As fr-friends, even?” He asked heartbrokenly, unable to cope with not being anything to you anymore and going back to loving you from afar. He wouldn’t be able to handle that.

You walked around him, wiping your face of cold tears that luckily blended in with the pelting downfall of snow. “Okay.” You had to say, unable to refuse such a broken man. “Friends.”

The word friend stopped Aone where he stood. It was the last word he heard you say before he confessed to you at the bowling alley exactly a year ago, and now it was the last word he heard you say after you crushed his heart in front of a Ferris Wheel...

You kept walking further and further away from this mountain man that was so internally destroyed, he couldn’t take another step.

❄️ ❄️

It was 40 minutes later when Kenji had reached the empty Ferris Wheel lot. He saw a mountainous figure drenched in snow, its head slung down and shoulders dropped as if he was at a funeral. Kenji ran over and threw a blanket over his best friend’s shoulders, basically pushing him toward his car because he could barely move himself. On the drive, Kenji turned all of the hot air vents toward Aone so that the heat was blasting on him. The shell of a man just stared out the window like he had no purpose. Futakuchi couldn’t help but go in best-friend-protective-mode, tossing questions at him:

“I had to GPS your location after Kusa texted me! What happened?! Did Y/N break up with you, on your anniversary?! Really?! Ughhhh I knew this would happen. Aone, I’m here for you, big guy. Okay? It was me, you and the team before her, and it will be us after her, even though our season is over. I’m here. Okay? Can you please talk to me so that I know you’re okay?”

Aone didn’t answer his best friend that night, and Kenji knew it would be that way. As we all know, he is great at predicting things.

But what Kenji didn’t predict, however, was that it would be two and a half weeks until Aone would speak to anyone.... again.

❄️

———————————

A/N: I cried several times. Would love to hear y’alls thoughts

Taglist: @crushzone @galagcica @chaichai-the-weeb @nairobiisqueen @bisasterrr @juminly

Outtake #12: CLICK HERE

#aone takanobu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu stories #aone takanobu #kenji futakuchi #koganegawa kanji #hq headcanon #hq headcannons #haikyuu headcannons #haikyuu headcanons #aone x reader #aone x y/n #haikyuu boys #haikyuu!!#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuu angst #hq series

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