#“i think their favourite colour’s blue” “ACTUALLY you’re WRONG it’s GREEN you IDIOT” and then it’s not confirmed in canon like girl shut up

[little-red-fool]

Seen a lot of stuff lately of people just berating others for having takes on characters that they don’t agree with or that don’t align with their take, like girl it’s a fictional character they’re not real, and especially if it’s a fictional character who’s backstory/lore is quite vague, let people believe what they want it’s not that serious, I’ve got certain views on characters that don’t line up with how other people see them and vice versa, that doesn’t mean anybody’s right or wrong, even if it’s less canon-compliant, literally who cares. It’s a silly little made up person with a silly little made up backstory and we’re just making silly little headcanons, like bro it’s not that deep, and I’m tired of people getting so pissy with others about “issues” like this.

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 11

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader (Best Friend) Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 1531

Warnings: Language, Bullying Themes

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

Eyup my Loves! so it’s been a while since I last added to the story, I tried my best to keep my writing similar to my previous chapters, let me know what you all think! any advice or constructive criticism is welcome :) I’ll shush now, enjoy!

(This is what I Imagine Annetta to look like :) )

So, in case you were all wondering, the day didn’t get any better. I mean I kinda knew that kids my age could be massive A holes to each other, but I didn’t really expect to see it literally the flipping second I ‘walked’ through the doors. And by walked I mean dragged by the duo known as my own personal demons, or Steve and Bucky to the rest of the population.  A crowd of kids were all gathered around a row of lockers, loads of the shitheads were cheering and encouraging whatever the hell was goin’ on, and as I was about to find out it wasn’t a surprise performance by Frank Sinatra. Safe to say that was a bigger disappointment that diet coke. Anyway, what was I saying ? oh yeah, stood at the front of the crowd were a bunch of lasses that couldn’t of been older than 16, in their hands was a bunch of eggs and flour. At the bottom of their feet, on the floor, was a kid around the same age as me, her glasses were snapped in half and the bottom of to shirt was ripped, but what disgusted me the most was the fact she was begging for help as these girls smashed egg after egg into her face. You know how bulls lose their shit when they see somethin’ red? Yeah imagine that but 10x worse, the lads didn’t have time to stop me as I tore through the crowd ready to beat the ever-loving shit outta these pricks.

“‘OI! WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT ARE YOU DOIN’”  the crowd fell silent as the girls turned to me with what one can only assume was supposed to be a ‘threatening’ glare, if I’m being completely honest it looked like they’d all simultaneously crapped em self’s. One of the girls stepped forwards, she was only a tad taller than me, her hair was a bright red, her green eyes were narrowed at me like she couldn’t believe someone was actually talking back to her. I think this is the part where I yell surprise right ? no? okay then. “Not that I care, but who the hell do you think you are? You got any idea who I am?” she sneered at me, oh my god! I’ve found someone with a bigger ego than Bucky. How in the hell is that possible. “well from first glance I’da said Santa Clause’s ex-wife but I reckon he’d have a better taste in girls now I’ve seen you up close”. And que the outraged gasps from her minions in 3,2,1…. I could hear a few people laughin’ and if I weren’t mistaken a very loud “Oh Jesus wept” from barney boy. Oooh yeah that’s when I know I’m doing my job right.

“YOU BITCH!” she screamed at me, her grubby little hands started swinging towards me in such an exaggerated way it was almost funny, I mean come on anyone coulda seen that comin’ from a mile off. And like the genius I am, I literally just side stepped her as she lunged forward,  an’ from the look on her face she weren’t expecting that, it was like the world slowed down as she surged forward unable to stop herself. Well that was till she landed head -first in the bin. I’d be a big fat liar if I said I wasn’t on the floor dying from laughter. Her legs were flailing above her head as she struggled to pull herself outta there, her cronies tried to help by grabbing her legs but that ended with one of em sporting one heck of a shiner on her right eye. A small sniffle pulled my attention away from the rather hilarious sight, glancing behind me I saw the young lass still on the ground, holdin’ her glasses which were in half with tears rolling down her cheeks. “hey, it’s okay now, they’ve gone. Here take my hand, lets get ya cleaned up eh? Reckon they’re be a bathroom round here somewhere”. The lass didn’t say anything to me, only looking at me with apprehension before taking my outstretched hand and leading us to the bathroom, the sound of the crowd growing quieter as we moved further away from it. “Thanks for saving me from Monica, she’s been bullying me since we were 11, nobody’s ever stood up for me before.” Her voice was so quiet, it shook from the effort it took her to hold back her tears, and I admired her strength, not a lotta girls woulda gone this long and not tell a teacher. “Don’t worry about it mate, I’m sorry it took so long for someone to defend ya, my names y/n by the way, don’t think we’ve met” her brown eyes met mine, as a small smile spread across her face, I couldn’t really tell what colour her hair was but I’m guessing it’s a shade a brown,  other than that she looked like a completely normal person. “My names Annetta, you’re right we ain’t met yet but I’m glad we did”.

-Later that day

It took us ‘bout 30 minutes to get all the egg off Annetta, best we could do was wash it off and cover up the stains with the cardigan I leant her, but what really put the icing on the cake was the teacher in period 1 yellin’ at us for being so late. The temptation to yeet my shoe at someone had never been as strong as it was in that moment, fortunately for the overgrown turnip of a teacher I had to settle for a mean ass side eye. And man was it a mean one.

Apart from that the day had gone by with no more incidents, well unless you count me chasing Bucky round the canteen with a carton of milk for stealin’ half my lunch, much to Annetta’s entertainment and Steve’s embarrassment. I mean the butthole deserved it, nobody and I mean NOBODY messes with my lunch. Even blue-eyed boys with a smile that could charm the devil….what am I sayin’?!

ANYWAYS it’s now what? 4th period I think, which meant English with Annetta, and maybe my favourite boys in the world. Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. Bet ya thought I were gonna say Steve and Bucky right? Well they’re currently sat behind me debating who’d win in a fight, Popeye, or Bugs Bunny. I’m surrounded by idiots. Thankfully, the teacher walked into the classroom and saved me, Mrs Davis seemed like a nice woman, she had a friendly smile and roundish face, her hair tied back into a neat bun as she took a seat. Now I’ll save you the boring bits, she started the lesson with a pop quiz which was just plain rude, about halfway through it the door burst open and there stood my best friend in the entire world. Monica. I have to say I loved her new style, the schools P.E kit really brought out the judgement in her eyes, did you detect my sarcasm yet?.

You wanna know what made her entrance even more dramatic ? the lovely aroma of gone off milk and rotted banana skins that followed her around the room,  I could help the smirk on my face as everyone around me started gagging at the smell. If you ask me I reckon it’s an improvement, I mean she certainly captures the attention of everyone in the room. Monica’s face started to match her hair, quickly racing over to Mrs Davis to give her the tardy slip before taking her seat which just had to be across from me, whoopee for me. Eventually Mrs Davis got the attention back to her, carrying on with her lesson, which moved onto matching up the famous English literature quotes with the character and book. To be fair this was actually a load of fun for me, even if Steve butchered a line from Romeo and Juliet, I don’t remember Shakespeare saying, ‘ A rose by any other name would smell as bad’. The way I banged my head on the table made Annetta think I broke my neck. Fun times people.

Of course, my reaction didn’t escape Mrs Davis’s attention, just my luck eh?. “Miss y/n, seeing as you seem to know everything, answer me this. Elizabeth Bennet is a main character in a well-known book, she’s known for the quote ‘I am a no bird and no net ensnares me. I am a free human being with an independent will’. The question is who is the author of this book is it A) Charles Dickens B) Jane Austen or C) Arthur Conan Doyle ?”. Is she being for real right now?. “Miss? With no disrespect the question itself is wrong, that wasn’t said by Elizabeth Bennet from pride and Prejudice, but said by Jane Eyre, and it was written by Charlotte Brontë”. A small smile spread across her face, which was confusing as all heck and a tad creepy to be honest, “very well-done Miss y/n, that’s the first time a student has gotten that question correct.”……

What in the name of ever-loving fluff just happened?….

So our girl is back and kicking butt! hopefully it’s not as bad as I think it is, and again I want to thank you all again for being so patient with me, good news is I’ve got the rest of the book written already! I’ll be posting them at least once a week.

Lots of love,

Rose xxx

[parkeraul]

→ boyfriend  •  1 | t.h. & s.m.

prologue | part 1

author’s note — hello, girlfriends. first of all, i really wanna apologise for the lack of writings lately & for this shitty moodboard. plus, i wanna give the hugest shoutout to @itrocksmysocks who’s been sending me pictures and stuff to help me get inspiration to write this series [thank u so much, latina neighbour!]. for now, i’m gonna update this series once in a week, then the next i’m gonna reserve the next one to write, then update on the following week and it’ll go on and on. enjoy!

pairing: tom holland x shawn mendes x reader college!tom | college!shawn

masterlist ┊add yourself to my taglists ┊give me feedbacks.

words — 3,4k; warnings — flirting, cursing, mentions of alcoholic drinks.

“People on the very back: Listen!” Mrs. Edwards shouts, banging against the board twice with her pen. “This graphic is very simple, okay? If you keep on talking and talking, it’ll become your worst nightmare and there will be no help during the final test.”

The white board had been completely taken over by lists of informations, numbers, theories  and graphics in at least 3 different colours. It’s been an hour or almost two since she started crossing the entire board with red, green, blue & black and Tom feels amazed by how well she manages to understand the entire system she’s been writing for so many time. As a class he signed for just to have some more complementary hours, he can straight tell you he’s not exactly caring about it that much. It’s way too fast and too mathematic for his mind.

All the people sitting around him in the classroom are already letting the tiredness consume them. Some are sighing and dropping their pencils; some are rubbing their faces repeatedly; some others are actually paying attention and probably trying hard not to freak out. Considering the white walls with white tables and chairs, if no one said that this is a math class, people would probably walk in and think it’s a sanatorium. All faces exhausted and it’s clear to see that at least 90% of the class can’t wait for the summer break to rescue them all — the 10% left is filled with the boys that have been sleeping for the past 30 minutes.

“Next class we’ll get back to the basic analysis to freshen up a bit, I recommend you to bring one or two books to do some research as well—“

“Hey, dude,” Jacob whispers close to Tom, sitting on the chair in front of him as he turns his head — far enough to see Tom leaning in through his peripheral, but not far enough to lose sight of Mrs. Edwards giving further endorsements. “Match tomorrow at 5?” “Sure,” Tom agrees, keeping his ‘attentive’ on the teacher in front of the class. “Have you guys picked the entire team already?” He says nonchalantly. It’s typical: In Fridays, after everyone’s last class, friendly football match with the boys from the athletic team of the Empshire University.

“Ian, Ryan, Heather and Matthew: You guys cannot miss the next class at all. You guys have been bailing for a long time and one more skip it’s deadline for the four of you—“

“Same thing,” Jacob says and Tom starts to close his books, pulling his backpack up to tuck them inside of it haphazardly. “But we’ll add John Mayer to it because Kevin’s not coming.” “You don’t have to say John Mayer, his gang’s not here,” They both look around the classroom, failing at being discreet as they search for any friends of… Well… ’John Mayer’.  Tom zips his bag close and Jacob turns around to do the same while everyone else’s already prompting themselves up to leave. “And you better put him in the defenders, far away from the frontline.” “I knew you’d say this!” They laugh under their breaths, also getting up to finally inspire some fresh air outside.

“See you next Thursday.” Mrs. Edwards says almost quietly, arranging her stuff while the room starts to get empty.

The corridor had never felt this comfy before. It’s crowded and a little bit loud but a lot better than Classroom number 9. As students from all courses starts talking to each other, Tom takes a look across the wall and spots new posters.

This wall is known as The Great Wall of Empshire —or Wall–E for the intimates. The Wall–E is a large blue wall that stands out from the regular white & grey ones of the building. Also, is where students pin folders and posters to warn the whole college about whatever seems to be relevant. It mostly holds notices of people looking for roommates, lost & found stuff, a special space painted in red for teacher’s announcements and messages from the secretariat of the university. As the results of the finals and classes stuff starts to fade away, the posters to summer parties slowly take over the big blue rectangle in the exact middle of the corridor to one of the two buildings that build the Empshire University.

Coming closer, Tom watches Missy climbing tiny–trembling stairs to glue a folder about Musical Theatre auditions. She’s sure struggling and, although he feels bad, he laughs in anyways as low as he can. Obviously, he doesn’t come out as subtle as he planned and gets a very–stressed Missy Langford slicing his entire being in two with the mad look in her blue eyes.

“You’re being very helpful by laughing,” She huffs, tapping the big poster repetitively to make sure it won’t fall for the next week. “Asshole.” “Oh, Miss, come on,” He teases, smirking like the asshole she just called him. “I thought we were over that part. Asshole! – Idiot! – Douche! Get outta here! You know? Last summer’s business, love,” Tom brings up a memory they both shared some time ago, knowing how pissed she’d get with the dialogue all over Tom’s charming accent in a playful tone, which sure has nothing to do with the atmosphere of the moment itself. “I swear to God that if this thing was any stronger, I’d jump onto your face right now.” After rolling her eyes, Missy spits at Tom and sees his smile widening stupidly. “Anyways,” Crossing arms, Tom steps closer to the Wall–E and leans against a blank space. “What’s that?” “We’re doing Hairspray,” She answers flatly. “Not that you’re allowed to subscribe, of course.” “Who said?” Tom frowns and squeaks way louder than usual. What now? Is she going to forbid him to audition to an open–invitation? “Jesus.”   Tom’s jaw falls dramatically, “Oh! Swearing to God… Talking to Jesus, apparently,” He quirks an eyebrow, faking surprise. “Didn’t know you had friends outside college.” “Will you shut the fuck up and help me get down?” Missy gives the poster one last strong tap — probably thinking about slapping Tom’s face instead — and stretches an arm towards him. “Not that you deserve it, but–“

Tom goes silent at the moment he gets his back off the wall to help Missy, noticing Jacob coming closer suddenly with someone else.

“Is it here?” The person with Jacob asks, holding a big orange poster. “Yep,” He confirms. “We call it Wall–E!” The answer to his information is just a laughter that makes Tom immediately forget about giving Missy a hand, bringing him to step closer to the conversation. “Hey man, where were you?” At the moment Tom asks, Jacob instantly gets what he’s trying to do. Not that Tom wasn’t kinda nosy sometimes, but they’ve been hanging out enough for his moves to look predictable. Way too predictable. Jacob says nothing, only squints his eyes and the silence suiting the four of them is slightly uncomfortable. “Uhm… I asked him for help as he was waiting for people to open some space so we… Could… Walk until here.” The voice is hesitant and sweet, although, while Missy eyes the person — The person looks at Tom, then looks down — Tom looks back & Jacob watches Tom prepare a whole scene inside his mind. “There’s some tape upon that tiny cabinet that you can use,” Jacob points to the front, past Tom and Missy Langford, “And if you can put it wherever you want as long as it’s in the blue area.” “Thank you so much! I’ll help myself with anything, don’t wanna take more of your time.” “No worries,” Giving a smile, Jacob walks to the side and then to Tom, offering his hand to a high–five. “I think you’ll be okay.”

As he feels the deep gaze of his friend as he passes by, Tom understands the second intentions of the phrase as if Jacob had just said “very smooth, my friend, shoot your shot” and left. It’s not that Tom Holland is a complete womanizer — the term Prince Charming fits him better, he says —but everyone who knows him decently is aware of the fact that he has no time for bullshit. No ceremony, no playing around. If Tom Holland likes someone, he’ll sure let this person know and try a move. If it goes right then awesome! And if it goes wrong he won’t go bitter about it longer than two or three seconds. He’ll eventually forget even though he doesn’t want to.

The british boy watches another struggle. Tiptoeing, the other person lifts the poster to see if it’ll fit in the only larger space left on The Great Wall as Missy climbs down the stairs by herself, analyzing the entire scene with squinted eyes.

“Here, luv,” Tom gently moves closer and takes the poster in his hands. He tiptoes as well and reaches the blank spot easier. “I think it’ll fit, don’t ya?” “It sure will!” The answer comes out in a chuckle. “I don’t believe we met, actually,” With feet back on the floor, he holds the banner while he looks directly to the owner. There’s this stupid beautiful smile adorning his face kind of shyly, but surely threatening to widen more as his fingers run through his brown hair. “I’m sorry. I’m Y/N,” She says, smiling back at him and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and Tom notices the delicate pair of earrings shining through the locks. “Beautiful! Beautiful name,” His brows frown quickly, listening to her voice like his favourite band’s singing his favourite song of all time. His mouth wants to say ‘beautiful face too’ with ‘beautiful lips’ and a ‘beautiful eyes’, but his brain works harder to keep his dignity safe somehow. “And your name is?” Suddenly, his throat goes dry. He tries to clear it, eyes blinking rapidly and he stretches an arm to find support on the wall. The jeans on his legs goes tighter, the white t-shirt for summer weather feels hotter than a thousand coats and the backpack on his shoulder heavens like he’s carrying a bag filled with rocks. What the heck? “My name?” “No, idiot,” Missy says behind Tom. “My name.” Rolling eyes, Tom slightly turns around and clenches his jaw, looking at Missy Langford’s sarcastic face with everything but appreciation. “Will you shut the fuck up?” He mumbles through gritted teeth. “I’m tryna get lucky in here,” And this time who rolls eyes is Missy, fixing her yellow shirt and putting it back inside her blue jeans. “I’m Thomas, darlin’. You can call me Tom.”

Or future ex–boyfriend, Missy thinks to herself feeling a tiny bit of heartache annoying her chest. It’s been around four months since she argued with Tom, which led to their break–up. Well, Missy calls it a break–up. For Tom, nothing’s been broken up because what they had was just a thing, a sudden meeting of feverish hormones boiling through their bodies. No one ever kneeled down and asked gently, no one ever posted pictures online or introduced the other to their parents. He notices the way she’s still bitter about it, but after a thousand conversations and discussions, Tom had just decided to let her be until the ache goes away eventually, since his words were apparently not helping at all.

“Tom,” Y/N confirms, nodding along and looking at him. He reacts with a smile, coffee eyes drinking her in. “Thank you, Tom! I should probably go find that cabinet where the tape might be at—“ “I’ll show you!” Tom interrupts, prompting up his body and fixing his shirt. “By the way, what are you announcing? Do you need a place to stay or share?” “Oh, no! Not at all,” Y/N warns as soon as she drinks in the way Tom’s tone of voice fell worried. The boy looks down at the poster, trying to find the main information of the paper. “It’s just a party. You’re both invited, actually! It’s gonna be at my place… Tomorrow afternoon.”

Tom says nothing, just removes his eyes from the folder to look at Y/N’s charming smile. He didn’t need any more reasons to say something rather than yes — the other words slipping out of her mouth were soundless to him, his eyes were too hypnotized by the way her lips were moving; hypnotized in a way his ears stopped working for a moment but his head managed to nod along to whatever she proposed. Yes, yes and yes. A thousand times yes to whatever she just proposed.

“Well, I’ll find the tape to hang it on,” She comments, eyeing the couple as her feet start to plan their way to the middle of the corridor. “I hope you can make it.”

Her sweet smile makes it hard for Tom to think twice — not that he even considered doing this, but it’s new to him how the entire surrounding seems to slow down the pace and noise when Y/N simply breathes and smiles sweetly. This is not right, not one bit, he thinks. His heart never raced this fast before; his mouth never craved other lips as it’s doing at the moment but one thing is certain: this party’s going to ease down his thirst one way or another. Tom only realizes that Y/N went away when the frame in front of him becomes Missy. She’s got a smirk on her face and two of her fingers travel across his collarbone, right next to where his white shirt ends. She feels the warmth of his chest increasing underneath the pad of her index and middle fingers, eyes traveling across his softened expression.

“Pick me up at 2 o’clock tomorrow?” She asks rhetorically, melting slightly when he takes her hand to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

By the hand, he drags her body closer so he can murmur next to her ear the same word he’s been saying repeatedly for these past months.

“No.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you were going to ditch us for that party tomorrow, you bitch!”

Shawn rolls his eyes, smiling widely as he manages to carry his backpack, water bottle and guitar case towards his car. Brian, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like smiling back.

“Answer me!”

“Dude?!” Shawn stops, putting down his case to grab the keys inside his pocket. “It’s just a football match, we do this every fucking week.”

“Exactly! We do this every fucking week—“

“Man, Y/N’s gonna be there,” He smiles again, pressing the button to unlock the doors. “You know how much I’ve been waiting for this day to come over.”

“Wasn’t she in London?” The redhead asks, walking beside his best friend as he bends down to get the guitar case once again.

Things are heavy in Shawn’s hands and back, but the thought of finally seeing Y/N again after a semester of torture shots a wave of numbness through his nerves. The blue shirt feels hotter and the black jeans are surely tighter, but the way his heart floats around his chest makes him feel light like a feather.

He misses her.

Misses her smile, her eyes, the sound of her voice and her laugh when he first talked about his feelings for her. Shawn noticed that she didn’t believe him at all, but that impression didn’t last long in his mind — the way Y/N got close to his lips to mumble sweet nothings had sent him to cloud 9. Then his trip flew down to hell just as quickly when she pulled away to walk past the door, leaving Shawn’s pout kissing the air and the side of his bed empty. Next thing he knew, Y/N was on a plane ready to spend half of the year exploring the british airs of South West London. The song he wrote about her ended up staying inside of his second drawer, but the long-sleeved jersey of his favourite Hockey team went away with her — making Shawn’s hand itch to find home on that body, taking back what’s his and what he wants to be his.

“Exactly,” He imitates Brian’s words. “Was.”

Brian says nothing, feeling defeated. His brows only lift while his eyes close, knowing that he can’t fight Shawn when he’s like this. Obsessed.

“You should come too,” He invites, putting the tip of his bottle inside his mouth to hold it while he pushes the door open. “Heard–Djulia–iths–gonha–be–ther’.”

His guitar case flies to the backseat along with his backpack, Shawn stepping to the side so Brian can tuck his stuff into the car too.

“I have no fucking idea of what you just said,” Brian tosses his bag while pointing one finger to Shawn. “But I’m not leaving my mates behind because of some girl.”

This time, the one to lift eyebrows is Shawn. His gaze narrows Brian as he hangs the driver’s door open.

“First, you know she’s not some girl,” He corrects. “Second, Julia is gonna be there. It’s a pool party, dumbass.”

While Brian walks to the passenger’s door, it’s like magic. Julia is out there, walking–dancing outside the campus with her friends around her, singing whatever song that was. His blue eyes can’t drift away from her until she’s disappearing behind the cars parked.

“Pool party?” He asks distractedly. “See, that’s the part I hadn’t understood before. I mean, I love football but you know I never say no to a party.”

Message from +44 20…: Hi!! You left before I could even ask for your number…

Y/N gets out of the shower to immediately find her phone buzzing and ringing. The screen doesn’t show the entire text, but she doesn’t need to think that much to figure it out. Opening the app, she finds a second message popping up right after.

+44 20…: I got it from the party poster, I hope you don’t mind

Her bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth, a stupid smiling drawing her face as the profile photo loads. There he is. Messy damp curls atop of a babyface, glasses in front of those chocolate eyes and bare chest. Whew. Typing, feeling like a teenager as her stomach gets butterflies, she can notice the way her breathing goes unpatterned.

You: hey, london boy. there’s no problem! i’m glad you did 😇

It’s fun to Y/N how the text got instantly seen, the ‘typing…’ showing up below the new saved contact’s name in seconds.

Tom (Empshire): 👀👀👀 Hahaha That’s good to know. I’m really looking forward to your party tomorrow

You: you’re gonna make it? that’s perfect 💓

Tom (Empshire): Of course I am! Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling

Unconsciously, Y/N’s legs clench together just to the imagination of his accent speaking these words loud and clear to her. Even with the dripping hair and body wrapped by just a towel, she jumps on her bed before she falls to the floor.

Tom (Empshire): Do I need to bring something?? Like beers and stuff

You: not really. unless u wanna drink something specific but as long as you’re here… just don’t forget your suit, darling 😛

If she only knew that Tom was exactly how she was picturing… Bare chest, wearing glasses, damp hair and thrown onto the sofa with a boyish grin. Tom honestly couldn’t think about smooth ways to flirt with her, he felt too intimidated — almost like Tom wasn’t Tom. Who would’ve guessed that Tom Holland could watch his moves to talk with a girl?

Tom (Empshire): I won’t haha

Then he couldn’t resist.

Tom (Empshire): Anyways, can’t wait to see you again… It was lovely to meet you earlier today. Good night, pretty one!

With burning cheeks and racing heart, Y/N twists in bed as she holds her phone for dear life. Coming back to the Empshire University fell flat at first, but with the taste of London still stuck in her life somehow, this looks as interesting as being in the United Kingdom itself — with a summertime way more catching than the winter. Her limbs couldn’t stop pulsing and the anticipation ran along her most sensitive spots mercilessly, making her thighs tighten even harder with a big smile tilting up the corners of her swollen lips from all the biting.

You: good night, t. can’t way to see you too. it’ll be awesome.

taglist of girlfriends: @lostinspidey – @goldenmndes – @shawnsunflower​ – @jawnjendes​ – @itrocksmysocks​ – @emilyxkate​ – @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ – @particularnervous​ – @grayxzabdixfer – @shawnssongs​ – @arypesanchez​ – @shawnmendes-s – @shawnsheaven​ – @mylifeisafxingmess​ – @perfectywrong​ – @whysparker​ – @blairscott​

tagging mutuals [if you wanna be untagged, please sorry in advance & let me know]: @mcuspidey​ – @devilmendes​ – @snowflakeparker​ – @strangertingle – @honeyrosemuffins​.

[kimabutch]

The One Who Will Remember Everything

The sun has set, risen, and set again by the time that Cicero stops, points to a fancy-looking house on a hill, and says something she can vaguely understand. Sasha barely nods back. Her legs have long since stopped hurting and are now simply numb, and her entire being is working to keep herself upright.

She doesn’t remember collapsing halfway up the hill, nor Cicero running for help to carry her the rest of the way.

--

Sasha’s gotten used to waking up with a start, ready to fight, but this time, she wakes slowly, becoming gradually conscious of the warm blankets wrapped around her and the sunlight behind her eyelids. It’s only when she starts vaguely listening for the familiar sounds of Hamid’s soft snores and hears birdsong instead that her eyes snap open. She’s lying on a colourful, soft bed in a large room, lit by several windows. Her clothes and shoes are still all on.

Instinctually, Sasha checks for all her daggers, counting them quickly. All there but the ice dagger, which — she looks down at her hand and the blue scars that jolt like lightning across her skin, and suddenly it all comes back like a punch to the stomach. Letting go of Azu. Grizzop’s limp body in her arms. Corpses, burned alive.

She closes her eyes and swallows dryly, unsure if she’s holding back puke or sobs, and unwilling to find out. She crawls out of the bed and feels every muscle in her body protest with soreness as she silently walks to the window. By the light of day, no longer wracked by exhaustion, Sasha sees clearly, for the first time, the endless green, rolling fields stretching into the horizon. There’s a weight on Sasha’s chest as she imagines herself standing in them, falling into their infinity, searching desperately for something to hold onto. She tears herself away from the window, her breath short, and leans against the wall, comforted somehow by its solidness.

Calming her breath and avoiding looking out the windows, Sasha makes her way along the wall to the doorway. Muffled voices come from the lower level, so she creeps down the stairs, instinctually stealthy, and wanders until she finds their source: a garden. From the doorway, she can see Cicero in a new toga, talking boisterously to an elderly man, who’s surprisingly calm in the face of Cicero’s forceful personality. Maybe it’s the effect of several successive potions of tongues that she took yesterday, or maybe it’s whatever allowed Bertie to speak French in Paris, but Sasha finds that she can understand their Latin near-perfectly.

“For now, you don’t need to worry,” the old man is saying. “The cow and chickens they left and my garden will be perfectly serviceable until Atticus returns.”

“But you’ve seen her — she’s all skin and bones! She carried me half the way here! She needs something substantial!” Cicero says.

“I assure you, I can take care of her. When she wakes up, I’ll make her a large dinner —”

“Cheers, mate,” Sasha says, coming up behind Cicero, “but I’ve lived on less before. I don’t need anything fancy.”

Cicero turns around in surprise. “Ah, excellent, you’re awake! Let me introduce you to Aulus, the delightful servant of my good friend, Atticus, in whose villa we are currently residing! Unfortunately, Atticus, his family, and his scribes were traveling in Rome when the destruction occurred, but Aulus will provide for us. I’m sure they will find their way back. They’re not as quick as us!”

“The news of Rome came to us a day before you arrived,” Aulus explains. “The rest of Atticus’s servants fled with most of the animals, but I chose to stay. We have large stores of food here, and many fields. We’ll be comfortable until Atticus returns, at which point we’ll make a decision about where to go.

“Yeah… when he returns… from Rome,” Sasha says, unsure whether it’s morally right to support their naive optimism. She doesn’t know that it’ll be four weeks until Aulus and Cicero give up hope. “How long was I asleep?”

“Two and a half days — you must be hungry,” Aulus says, heading towards the door. “What food do you prefer?”

“You, uh… you got any eels?”

Cicero beams. “A delicate palate — delightful!”

--

That evening, Aulus ushers her into the same second-floor bedroom, and Sasha finds herself lying awake on her back. Whenever she closes her eyes, she sees Hamid, Grizzop, and Azu, swears she can hear them calling her name — but whenever she opens them, she feels her gaze drawn to the window overlooking the fields. At the thought of the open space, her chest tightens. She sees herself walking through them, feels her vulnerability from all sides, knows that she’s being watched.

She slips out of bed and makes her way to Aulus’s bedroom, awkwardly knocking.

“Is there, like… a basement? A cellar? Just in case we, uh… if someone comes?”

--

On the fourth day, she wakes up to Cicero calling down to her from the top of the cellar.

“Aulus heard something in the stables! You’re very strong! I hope you can check!” His voice is as booming as always. Sasha unclenches her hand’s white-knuckled grip on her dagger and pulls herself up from the blankets that Aulus insisted she bring down to sleep on. She climbs up the ladder, Cicero chatting constantly.

The stables are a hundred metres or so away from the back entrance to the villa, and the path is thankfully shaded by a handful of trees. She sneaks from tree to tree towards the barn. It’s probably bandits, taking advantage of the chaos, like always. Barretts, the lot of them. She isn’t worried. Still, she stays quiet as she eases the door open and slips into a shadow. Listening for a moment, she can hear faint crying from… the ceiling? Fifteen years in Other London allow her eyes to adjust quickly to the dark, and it only takes a moment for her to spot, curled up with what looks to be riding equipment in the loft, a young boy.

He can’t be more than eight or nine years old. His dark black hair is grey with ash, and his tunic is torn and covered in dark patches — probably blood. Tears are leaving streaks down his dirty face.

Sasha freezes, stilling her breath. It’s the classic set up, which Barrett had occasionally used her for when he couldn’t find chubbier-faced kids. The crying child, poorly hidden, surrounded by a well-hidden gang, ready to take out their victim the moment they let their guard down. Works well on Upper London idiots, but not her.

Glancing around the room in the barn, Sasha takes stock of the places that the fuckers might hide, listening closely for any movement. In only a moment, she finds what she's been looking for: several large amphorae in a shadowy area of the room, behind which two or three small people might hide. She sneaks around to them, sure that she's kept herself well-hidden, and in one swift movement, launches an attack on — nothing. Air. Her knife, perfectly aimed to hit a bandit, loudly cracks an amphora, spilling grain out over the floor. Sasha braces for a second, waiting for the bandits that must be hidden somewhere else to start their attack, but all she hears is the sound of a young child who's trying his very best to stay quiet.

Maybe she was wrong.

Sasha climbs up the ladder to the loft, cringing with every creak of old wood. By the time that she peeks her head to the upper level, the boy is staring right at the ladder, holding with both hands a small knife, like you might use to cut tough meat. He points it towards her shakily, and suddenly she's sure that this isn't a set-up — you'd have to be a stupid gang leader to get someone like this as bait.

"Hey mate," she says in Latin. "Don't think you actually want to fight me. Nice knife, though." The boy tries to press even more of his body into the riding equipment, away from her. Without getting closer to him, Sasha swings on the end of the loft, pulling herself up to the ledge and sitting down, legs hanging off the edge. She sits in silence for a moment, suddenly very aware that she has no idea how to interact with small children, even those wielding weapons. What had she liked at that age?

"You wanna see some of mine? Sasha says. "Knives, I mean." Reaching into her studded leather coat, she pulls out a dagger. From the corner of her eye, she sees the boy flinch. "Hey, nah, it's okay, I won't hurt you, see?" she says, and offers it to him, holding it by the blade. He looks at her with confusion, but doesn't take the blade, so she lays it down carefully on the floor of the loft in front of him.

"Now this one," she says, pulling out her adamantine dagger and admiring its intricate patterns, "this one's my favourite. Well... one of my favourites." She lets him look at it from his place among the riding equipment and then, when she's sure he has his eyes on her, weaves it through her fingers so fast that it looks like water. She throws the dagger in the air, making an arch over her head, then a figure eight, then catching it on one finger, where it spins for a moment. When she looks back at the boy, he's transfixed. Sasha can't stop a small smile from coming to her face as she brings out a third and fourth dagger and continues on with her tricks.

Five minutes later, the boy has pulled up right to her side for a closer look at her fire dagger and the way its flames shift as she runs it over her arms, behind her back, through her fingers. He's holding his meat-knife in one hand and her old dagger in his other, but absent-mindedly, no longer on edge.

Putting out the dagger in one final flourish, she turns to the boy. "Do you wanna stay with me here? Just as long as you want, though," she says quickly. "I won't keep you here if you want to leave. But... we've got food, and a couple of... friends."

At "food," the boy perks up immediately. As if suddenly remembering that he's supposed to be cautious, he gives a shy nod.

"'Name's Sasha... Whosaskinus" Sasha says, and it occurs to her that this might be the first time she's given her name unprompted in her life.

The boy hesitates for a moment. "Maximus," he says. "Cause of my little brothers."

Fourteen years later, when Maximus helps a traveling pregnant woman give birth to a child, the boy will be called 'Little Maximus' in honour of him.

--

It’s Aulus who insists that Sasha take a bath and wash her clothes. They’ve been there ten days by that point, and Sasha’s yet to venture beyond the stables or the garden. She’s more help to Aulus inside, she says, trading her off-the-cuff Other London recipes for Aulus’s high-brow cooking, learning the names of the plants in the garden, and, at one point, climbing into the barn’s rafters to patch a leak. Aulus isn’t so bad: quick with a joke, less pompous than Cicero, and kind to her in a way that still feels a little foreign.

He lets her know, gently at first, that they do have heated baths that are quite pleasant, and wouldn’t she like to change from her leather coat into something more comfortable? And Sasha does like baths (despite her grumbling the first time Eldarion made her take one), and she doesn’t like picking bits of Rome dust in her belt or seeing the stain of black blood on her pants — but it feels so final, doesn’t it, taking her stuff off? As if she’s saying that she’s not leaving. And it’s not like Sasha actually has plans to leave or believes that she could really ever find her way back, but every time she takes off her studded leather jacket, she feels herself telling Hamid and Azu and Bi Ming that she’s not coming back for them.

Eventually, Aulus and Sasha come to complex negotiations, and Sasha agrees to let him wash her other clothes if she can keep the jacket nearby while she’s in the bath, and put it on again right after. She lays out her knives one by one right near the edge of the water, counting them before slipping in. The water is warm, as Aulus promised, and she feels all her muscles relaxing, despite herself. With an ache of nostalgia, she remembers Hamid’s apartment in London, and the bath she took there. It feels like years ago.

She’s dried off, dressed, and is figuring out how to arrange the daggers in her leather-over-tunic outfit when she sees Maximus’s head poking out from the doorway. He’s lightened up considerably in the past few days, and tends to stick around Sasha like glue.

“Oi, privacy!” she says, and Maximus’s face falls as he realizes she’s seen him.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to look, I was just going past and —” Maximus comes running up to her and motions for her to lean down. “You’ve got a bird on your back!” he whispers excitedly in her ear.

“Oh. That’s a scar. This… guy fell on me once and he had lots of bird statues on him.”

“What? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, I… guess so,” Sasha says, confused by his enthusiasm. Gesturing to the burn on her neck, she explains, “This one’s from when I set off a lot of bombs by accident. Bombs are like… they make big explosions. You’d like them.” Maximus looks impressed, so Sasha continues, showing him her cold hand, “This is from when my dagger exploded. It was an ice dagger, like my fire dagger but ice, and I was trying to stab a thing but it went wrong.” She pulls down the collar of her tunic slightly to reveal the autopsy scar on her chest. “And this is from when I died and this evil thing took all my bits out but Zolf put them back…”

“Who’s Zolf?” Maximus asks.

“Oh, he’s, uh… I guess he was a… friend, but he…” Sasha trails off, feeling suddenly untethered. When she sees Maximus staring at her in confusion, she rouses herself. “Go check if Cicero needs help with the cooking, okay? He’s learning, but he’s not good.”

As Maximus scampers off and Sasha finishes placing her daggers, she thinks about how she’s never been good at stories. She can’t make the words come out in the right order and the right time, not like Hamid can. She’s never needed to, not really, when she has her daggers. Can’t hide well if you’re talking all the time.

Now, though — she’s the only one who knows these stories, for the next thousands of years, maybe ever, Azu and Hamid don’t — no. But no one else can talk about the gargoyles in Paris and Cairo, or the time that they killed that snake-hair woman, or the time that Hamid made her eat at a million restaurants in Prague. It feels wrong for her to be the only one who knows about those things, as if they never happened.

But it feels wrong, too, for Sasha to talk about her friends. She doesn’t think she could ever find the words for how she felt that day in the pub that Zolf said he was leaving. Or when Azu had told Eldarion to back off, or the sound of Brock laughing wildly at a joke that she knew wasn’t funny, or Grizzop’s face when he saw her again in Rome, or how Bi Ming’s hands moved so expertly over the clocks he repaired, or the shake in Hamid’s voice whenever he was trying not to cry. They’re important, too, but they’re so important that she doesn’t think she could ever tell them right.

So she won’t, she thinks, as she buttons up her leather jacket.

--

“I’m sorry, you know. About what I said about your friend,” Cicero says as he and Sasha are weeding the garden one day about five weeks after they arrived at the villa. It’s taken almost this long for Cicero and Aulus to admit that Atticus won’t be coming back, and in the meantime, social classes have broken down and Cicero is trying his best to help out around the villa.

“What?” Sasha says.

Cicero continues, his voice unusually subdued. “Your goblin friend, in Rome. I said that it was his fault. It wasn’t. He was trying to do what’s right, and he protected both of us.”

Sasha pauses, fighting off the urge to run away from this awkward conversation. “It’s well, it’s… alright. He was… yeah, he was good. Yeah.”

“Still, I understand if you don’t want to stay because of me. I had always meant for us to stay here until Atticus came back and then reevaluate our options. But he hasn’t, and you’re under no obligation to remain.”

“Cheers, mate, glad to know that you’re okay with me being gone,” Sasha says. Cicero starts to protest, but she interrupts him. “Sorry, that was unfair. It means a lot that… it’s okay if I go. But I don’t really have anywhere to go, do I? And… I couldn’t do that to Maximus. I think… I want to be there for people… who need protection.”

“Oh. That’s good of you,” Cicero says.

“Yeah, I guess. ‘Swhat people did for me.” Sasha says, and continues pulling weeds.

--

Maximus is a smart kid, it turns out. Pretty observant.

Maximus knows that Sasha doesn’t much like being hugged. Knows that if you hug her from behind, she’ll reach for a knife but will stop when she realizes who it is, and if you hug her from the front, she’ll hug you back, but it’ll be all stiff, and sometimes she’ll look like she’s remembering something she won’t say.

But Vibia and Paulla, four- and seven-year-old sisters who arrived two months after Sasha and Cicero, don’t know that. When Paulla, mid-fight, shouts at Vibia about their parents’ deaths, Vibia runs to Sasha and clings to her tight before Sasha can realize what’s happening. Sasha finds herself awkwardly rubbing Vibia’s back, wondering what she’s supposed to do. She tries to remember a time in her life when it was okay to cry or when she might expect anyone to hold her if she did. She pulls the girl in closer as her eyes start to sting.

Maximus knows that Sasha doesn’t like going in the fields. She’ll go in the garden and she’ll teach him how to climb the biggest and best trees, swinging from their highest branches with a huge smile on her face, but she’ll never look out from the top at the rolling hills, which are now yellow with the winter. And she’ll almost never walk in the fields, except for that one time that Cicero accidentally let the cow go and Sasha was the quickest to go run after it. She came back from that looking annoyed and mildly sick, and locked herself in the cellar for hours.

But Vibia and Paulla don’t know about Sasha’s fear. Paulla loves playing in the fields and in the clearings, where she’s drawn the circles in the dirt for a game of ball. She explains that you need at least three people to play the game right, and Vibia is too small and Aulus is too old and Cicero is too stuffy, so she needs Sasha to play with her and Maximus. After weeks of Paulla’s begging and Maximus promising that they can go back inside after just one round, Sasha finally relents, trying to calm her breathing and not look around too much as she lets Paulla drag her by the hand to a clearing right beside a clump of trees. By the time that they’ve been playing for ten minutes, Sasha’s competitiveness has distracted her from the wide fields around them.

Maximus knows that Sasha will tell stories if he asks, but that she won’t talk much about the other people in the stories and goes quiet when he asks about them. He’s heard about the time that she crossed a great big sea in a little boat during a storm, but never about that guy who pulled her out of the water or why they were on the boat in the first place. He loves the one about the time she snuck into a bunch of buildings with giant monsters guarding them, but he always wants to know more about the person who blew up the main building with magic. Sasha always says she’ll tell him about that guy some other time. Eventually, he stops asking. 

But Vibia and Paulla don’t know about the people Sasha won’t mention. A month after they came to the villa, they’re sitting with Sasha on a couch. Paulla’s at her feet and Vibia’s running her fingers through Sasha’s hair, which she’d allowed Aulus to crop short using one of her knives. Vibia has always been fascinated by the shock of white in Sasha’s hair.

“You’re a girl, right?” Vibia says. Her sister shoots her a reproachful look, but says nothing.

“Uh… sure,” Sasha says. “Why?”

“‘Cause of your hair. And cause Max calls you Sasha Whosaskin-US. But if you’re a girl, it should be Whosaskin-A,” Vibia says proudly. From the room next door, Sasha hears Cicero laugh.

“I dunno what to tell you, mate,” Sasha says. “I just made it up one day.”

“You can make up your name?” Vibia says in shock, spinning herself down so she’s sitting on Sasha’s lap. “Did you have a different name before?”

“I had… yes. It was someone else’s name, but it wasn’t important. He wasn’t important. My other name is… I guess it’s important.”

“Who was the person who wasn’t —” Vibia starts, but Paulla cuts her off, recognizing the distance in Sasha’s voice.

“Who’s the most important person you know?” Paulla asks, in an attempt to redirect the conversation.

For a moment, Sasha considers talking about Apophis, but while she’s never asked the kids directly about how they ended up at the villa, she suspects dragons are a sore subject. “I knew this guy. He was a bit of a dick but he wasn’t a bad person, I guess. He sort of… paid me. And watched over me and my… friends. And this one time when I was… very sick, he went up to the most powerful person around and he told him to give over this thing to make me better and he said some… really nice things about me. And the powerful person did give us the thing and I got better. Though the guy, the important guy, he did say some awful things about me being sick, but I think he was mostly just really tired…”

Sasha looks up from her rambling and is surprised to see that Vibia and Paulla are wide-eyed, waiting on her every word. A flush of embarrassment runs through her — as does a feeling of deep relief, as if she’d be waiting for forever to talk about Wilde, to admit how much it meant that he’d cared about her, to bring his memory to this distant place. She hopes that wherever he is, he’s managed to get some rest.

“Also,” Sasha continues, “one time my friend punched him in the balls.”

--

One morning at breakfast, Aulus announces that they need to start preparing the fields for seeding. Sasha is surprised, because it’s as cold as it’s been for the past several months, but Tertia and Fausta nod sagely at Aulus’s decision. They’re a young couple who recently moved into the villa after their home was raided by some of the bandits. The robbers have increased in numbers in the area, but have left the villa alone since a couple of them met the end of Sasha’s knives. Aulus is relieved that Tertia and Fausta are here and can help with the farm, and even though he insists Sasha can stay in the villa, she knows that she should help, too. 

So that’s how Sasha finds herself surrounded on all sides by open fields, dizzied as she stares at the distance between her and the nearest clump of trees, leaning on the rake she’s been using to till. She doesn’t hear Maximus running up behind her and barely registers him asking if she’s okay, or his yells for someone to help. She’s trying to say that she’s alright by the time that Fausta has come to her side. 

“You need to get inside,” Fausta says over Sasha’s protests. “You’re no help like this.” 

“It’s the sun, I’m hot, I don’t need —” Sasha mutters, but Fausta cuts her off.

“Sasha Whosaskinus, it’s incredibly cold out here. You’re not overheating.” Fausta sees Sasha’s expression, and her voice softens, “It’s okay. There will be other days. You can do a bit every day.”

And that’s what she does, at first working to the fields closest to the villa and the trees and gradually going further and further into the farm. She suspects that Aulus is responsible for getting the kids to swarm around her, keeping her distracted, but she’ll never complain. 

A month later, when they’re watering the fields, Tertia nudges Sasha and directs her gaze towards Cicero, who’s working twenty feet away. He has, for some reason, decided to wear a nice toga even while doing manual labour, and it’s getting helplessly muddied. Cicero is now attempting to stealthily wash off his toga using the water intented for the plants, but, as he keeps dropping the toga, he's just making things much worse. As Sasha doubles over with laughter alongside Tertia, she barely notices the open space between them. 

--

It’s a warm day in late spring when Hostus goes missing. He’s a tall, skinny preteen boy whom Sasha found had been stealing their food and sleeping in an unused servant’s room for several days before anyone noticed. In the weeks since Sasha told him that he could stay without sneaking around everywhere, he’s still not quite learned to trust the other residents of the villa: he jumps at the smallest noise, and she once saw him pull a knife on Fausta when she got too close. Sasha feels like a bit of a hypocrite for chiding him.

After the boy misses both breakfast and lunch and it’s almost time for supper, Sasha searches for Hostus. He’s not in that clump of trees next to the clearing, where Hostus likes to climb and watch them play ball. He’s not in the old servant’s room, where he’d insisted on sleeping even after Aulus invited him to stay closer to everyone else. He’s not trying to scare the chickens in the barn. Sasha is almost ready to admit that Hostus has simply left in the way that she’s told all of the children they can when Sasha hears faint movement from the roof. She kicks herself for forgetting her old favourite place to hide from Eldarion.

Climbing through the window in the bedroom she’d stayed her first night, Sasha pulls herself up towards the roof a little less quickly than she might have six months ago: the manual labour has made her stronger and she still throws her knives every day, but she’s out of practice scaling buildings. When she reaches the top, it only takes a moment to spot Hostus curled up in a nook of the roof, knees tucked into his chest, looking down at the courtyard below. Neither Sasha nor Hostus speak as she approaches, but when he turns his head towards her, she can see his eyes are puffy and red, but his face is locked in an expression of anger. Sasha silently takes a seat a few feet away from him. Together, they watch the courtyard, where Cicero is unsuccessfully trying to repair a couch whose leg has fallen off.

A thought strikes Sasha as she remembers another rooftop in a far-away place and time, and she roots around on the roof for a pebble. She shows the stone to a confused Hostus before sending it flying at Cicero — it bounces off the top of the head with a satisfying sound. Cicero grabs his head, looking around wildly, not noticing the pair on the roof. Hostus smiles despite himself and accepts the next pebble that Sasha offers him. He’s not so good a shot as her, but together they manage to get five or six good hits in before Cicero starts carefully searching the skyline while making bombastic threats against his attackers, and Sasha and Hostus collapse with giggles on the other side of the roof.

For a while, they lie there, staring up at the sky. The late-afternoon skies are clear and the air is warm enough for Sasha to have her leather jacket open loosely over her toga.

“There was this one time I ran away,” Sasha says, surprising herself with the words coming out of her mouth, “and my friends came looking for me.”

“Must be nice, having friends like that,” Hostus says, and Sasha recognizes from herself the prickly tone, halfway between sarcasm and longing.

“Yeah, it was. Really was,” she says.

Hostus, thrown by her sincere response, falls quiet. After a moment, he sighs and sits up. “What were your friends like?” he asks. “Max says you’re good at stories.”

Sasha pulls herself up beside Hostus. From her position on the roof, she can see the endless rolling fields, budding with new growth under a slowly redenning sky. It strikes her that no part of her finds fear in this view anymore.

“There was Grizzop,” Sasha says, “and he was a goblin, but they weren’t bad like everyone says. He was brave and fast and funny, even when he was trying to be serious. He wanted to use every moment of his life to help people, and he did. I don’t think I got it back then, but… I think I do now.

“There was Azu. She was so big and she had this magical camel and one time, the time they came looking for me ‘cause I ran away, she got on the camel and put Grizzop on her shoulders and they went around town getting drunk and starting a fight.” Sasha laughs at the memory. “But she was kind. She didn’t always… understand things, she didn’t always know how to help, but she always tried so hard, even when you felt like you didn’t deserve it.

“There was Hamid. He was small, smaller than Grizzop even, and very posh, and he wanted so much to be a hero. He’d done things that hurt others and he wanted to make it better and… sometimes that meant that he was an idiot and hurt himself. He cared so much about things that he’d cry, but… it wasn’t a bad thing. He cared.”

Sasha pauses, trying to find the words. “And there was Zolf. He… he saved me for no reason, when I was running away from people who wanted to hurt me. He always just wanted to protect us. For us to… save ourselves while he died, but we never wanted to leave him. And he said he’d heal me when I got… sick, but then he left and he didn’t. And… I think I was mad at him for a while, ‘cause it hurt? But I reckon… I reckon he was hurting, too, and he needed to find something to heal him. Tell him he could protect himself, too.”

Hostus, who’s been staring at his feet, looks up at Sasha. “Did he ever find it?”

“The thing to heal him? I dunno. I never saw him again after he left. I hope he did.”

“Me too,” Hostus says quietly.

In the silence between them, Sasha can hear the sounds of the villa’s family below: Tertia and Fausta gently teasing Cicero about the mysterious pebbles on his head; Vibia helping Aulus prepare dinner; Paulla and Maximus playing knucklebones.

Sasha smiles and watches the sun set over her home.

[riarushi]

mark as your badminton partner.

❥ genre- fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, idk sports?

❥ word count- 3.3k

I've wanted to do this for so long :') I play badminton myself and have been training for 2 years, so when I started stanning NCT and saw that Mark liked badminton I was super happy. I know this is my second Mark piece but anyways, please enjoy it! ~Ness

ミ☆ 

You got partnered with Mark at the beginning of the season.

You coach wanted to try rearranging the lineup, so he put his favourite singles players together as a mixed doubles team.

So now you and Mark are partners.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know him, though.

There were times when you warmed up with him.

From those, you picked up a bit of his playing style.

He was a little bit playful and ambitious, preferring quick attacks like smashes and kills.

Although his judgement wasn’t always the best.

Sometimes, he would hit the net and laugh nervously as he went to pick up the birdie.

You, on the other hand, were a little more cautious.

Every move you made was calculated in some way.

The angle of your birdie, the position of your opponent, you position, etc.

There was always something that determined your next move.

That contrast made you and Mark the perfect mixed doubles team.

However, the first few practices didn’t reflect that.

Neither of you were used to having another person on court.

You would constantly bump into him at the center.

He even hit you with his racket a few times.

“Sorry! Sorry! I forgot to look in front of me, haha...”

Mark massages the back of your head, handing you your water bottle with his free hand.

You smile, and take the water as Mark removes his hand from your head.

“It’s fine, we’re still getting used to this.”

The two of you return to the court after hearing your coach shouting.

You definitely weren’t as skilled as the previous mixed doubles team.

After playing with them for a while, you and Mark couldn’t even score 10 points.

They each came to give their tips and to their respective opponent.

“It’s not that you two aren’t a good pair, in fact your play styles are matched perfectly,” the girl previously in your position explained.

“My net shots aren’t as good as yours.” You laughed tapping your racket against the side of your leg.

“Oh, it’s not that! You guys just need to bond a little. Makes the teamwork better, ya feel?”

You nodded.

“I hung out with that idiot a whole bunch once we were partnered.” She pointed at the guy currently joking around with Mark. “If I didn’t I think playing badminton with him would’ve been way too awkward.”

ミ☆

Taking your predecessor’s advice, you ask your partner to join you for dinner after practice.

“Mark, do you wanna grab something to eat?”

He looks up from his bag, eyes staring into yours.

“Sure, if you want. I don’t have anything to do anyways.”

You settle for a small restaurant.

Nothing fancy, but a place where you can sit and chat comfortably. 

You learn quite a lot about him that you never knew before.

He had a passion for music, he disliked sciences, and he had a huge friend group that he shared a house with.

In return, you told him lots about yourself.

Your interests, your friends and family, and some funny life stories.

When the food arrived and you couldn’t finish, he helped you eat the rest.

He’s a growing boy still.

By the end of the night, it felt like you had already become pretty close.

“So that’s why your racket grips are always green?” you ask, laughing as he bounces his bag higher onto his shoulders.

“Look, my friends are ridiculous. I can never buy rackets myself ‘cause they know I’ll try to get a different colour!” he whines.

“It’s kinda cute that you guys have a squad colour, though~”

“Nooo, I want a blue grip or something! Anything other than green! It’s so embarrassing when they come to tournaments..”

ミ☆

You thought it was an exaggeration, but Mark wasn’t kidding when he said they were embarrassing at tournaments.

The famed Jaehyun, Johnny, and Donghyuck from the stories were all hooting loudly as you two stood on court for your first game together.

You had met them formally prior to the match.

Although they acted polite towards you, you could hear them teasing Mark the second you turned around.

“So when are you guys gonna make it official?”

“Dude, we’re literally just badminton partners.”

“Hey, you never know.”

“It won’t happen!”

You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle as Mark’s friends continued to push the idea.

It really helped relieve the stress you had for your first match.

Here you are, on court with your partner getting ready to serve.

It’s nerve-wracking.

As soon as the birdie goes over the net, your mind switches to game mode.

There are more variables than you’re used to, since two more people had been added to your usual setup.

Not to mention the court was bigger.

Just like in practice, you and Mark bump into each other a few times.

He still wasn’t used to covering you if you went back, either.

Formations a little messy, the two of you lose your first set by quite a bit.

Your coach comes over to give his advice before the next set.

“What do you think went wrong there?”

You and Mark look at each other, unsure of what to say.

“Both of you can do better than that. Your formations were fine last practice, what’s up here?”

When he doesn’t get a response, your coach sighs. “Talk it out with each other.”

He leaves the two of you staring at each other.

“So, um...” Mark starts, spinning his racket in between his fingers.

You let out a little laugh. “I’m just a little nervous, sorry.”

“Don’t be nervous! You were doing great,” he comforted. “Did you see that kill you did near the end? I could never do that.”

“Oh, really? I think that smash you did to the front right was just as good.”

He smiles at your compliment and readies himself for the next set.

Although you lost the game, you and Mark definitely improved during the second set, only losing by 2 points.

You high-fived each other after the last point before returning to Mark’s screaming friends.

“HOW COULD YOU LOSE? YOU WERE USING YOUR LUCKY RACKET!”

“YOU WERE THE ONE WHO CHOSE THIS ONE, I’VE NEVER EVEN PLAYED WITH IT BEFORE.”

ミ☆

Since that tournament, you and Mark have been training more and more.

Your skills have been going up quite quickly, actually.

The two of you never bump into each other, and Mark instinctively covers whatever you can’t.

You’re starting to finally become a solid doubles team :’)

Your friendship has been growing stronger as well.

Both of you always eat dinner together after practice.

Though you’ve eaten at a couple of restaurants with him, the first one you went to remains superior.

Mark agrees.

There’s a lot more that you to about with each other, too.

You two feel more comfortable sharing more personal things, like your opinions on other teams and your friends.

Truly a close bond uwu

Of course, this reflects with your improved teamwork as well.

Your coach is happy that he doesn’t have to keep pointing out mistakes since you two point them out for him.

“Mark! You’re supposed to hit at 45 degrees, not 12!”

I know how to do a clear, okay?! I wasn’t even that late!”

“Oh yeah? Then why did it go to the middle left?”

“Shut up! You can’t even hit a net shot without letting the other person kill!”

Of course, it’s all playful.

You guys have grown to care a lot for each other.

Mark makes sure to also fill your water bottle every time he fills his own.

You bring extra snacks for him in case he gets hungry.

From a distance, you guys look like that one athletic couple™.

Which is friends love teasing him about.

You’ve spent the night over at their house a couple times now.

Since the training center is closer to Mark’s home than yours, it makes getting to morning practices a lot easier.

His friends adore you by the way.

At least three of them can’t stop pinching your cheeks (aka Johnny, Yuta, and Jaemin).

They treat you like royalty as the bully Mark about his friendship with you.

“Are you sure you’re not dating? Because I think I’ll take Y/N if you don’t~” Yukhei teases.

“Stoooooopppppp, leave me alooooonnnneeeee!”

Whenever you stay over, Mark lets  you take his bed while he sleeps on the couch

What a gentleman uwu

His bed is super comfy.

And it smells nice, unlike the sweaty Mark you usually have to be around.

You always fall asleep pretty quickly under his covers.

The next morning, you’re perfectly rested up and ready for practice.

Unlike your partner, who barely got any rest with his roommates walking in and out of the living room all night.

ミ☆

You didn’t tell him yet, and you made sure he couldn’t see it last night.

But you had a little surprise for him this practice.

You tap your partner’s shoulder as he pulls out his gear from his bag.

“Mark! Guess what?”

“Mhm? What is it?”

Unable to keep the smile off your face, you pull out a racket from behind your back.

“I got you something!”

Mark looks at the object, then back at you before taking it from your hands.

“You like it heavier on the head, right?”

He nods, adjusting his grip and doing a couple of small test swings.

“But most importantly...”

You grab his wrist, prying a few of his fingers off the handle.

“The grip isn’t green!”

Mark smiles, admiring the vibrant blue colour you had chosen for him.

“Thank you, Y/N. It’s perfect.”

“Wait! There’s something else I wanna show you, too!”

You run over to your bag, Mark watching as you rummage around in it and pull something out.

“Tada!”

His smile grows wider as you run back, holding another racket in your hand.

“Is that new, too?” he asks.

You nod happily.

“I got it to match with yours, see? Same colours~”

You hold the racket beside Mark’s to let him look at the matching patterns and shades.

“But my racket is balanced, hehe.”

Your partner’s eyes sparkle as he admires your racket while you practice, glancing at his occasionally.

He better hide this one, or his roommates will whine AND tease him.

That’s pretty much overkill.

ミ☆

“Hey, Mark? Can you fill my water bottle again?”

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but he nods and grabs the bottle.

When he returns, you start chugging the water.

“Woah woah woah.” He pushes the bottle down, take it out of your hands. “Why are you drinking so much? You might throw up on court.”

“Sorry, I’m just really nervous..” You closer your eyes and sit down on the bench.

“Don’t be. We’ve gotten pretty good, we even beat the last pair we versed.”

“I know but... this pair is supposed to be super good.”

You remember the previous mixed doubles player warning you about this duo.

They’ve been partners for years, of course their play would be perfected.

You and Mark on the other hand, have only been partners for a little over three months.

“I don’t think we can beat them like coach said..”

You head your partner sigh as he grabs your hand, placing your racket in it.

“We can, okay? Trust me, I got you.”

He places a chaste kiss on your forehead before grabbing his own racket and walking towards the court.

When your eyes open, they immediately gravitate towards Mark and his bright blue racket grip.

The match was more than you were expecting.

Although you weren’t losing terribly, it felt like you couldn’t keep up. 

Every time you tied, something would happen, causing you and Mark to lose the serve.

You ended up losing the first set and just barely winning the second.

The two of you step off the court as the referees call for a quick break.

“We have... a third set to play...” Mark says in between pants.

You nod, setting your water bottle on the bench after downing everything inside.

“We’re so close...”

“And you thought we couldn’t beat them.”

Shoving his racket into his chest, you try to hide a smile.

“Get serious... or else we’re gonna lose.”

He chuckles.

“Okay, okay..”

ミ☆

Please... Please don’t mess this up...

You take a deep breath before serving gently.

They were so close to winning, they had 20 points.

You and Mark were way behind at 11, and were lucky enough to get the serve.

Any mistake and you could lose the game.

With a smash, Mark gets another point.

“Nice one, Mark.” You scoop up the birdie, switching sides and readying your racket again.

You feel a tap on your shoulder just as you’re about to serve.

“Serve high,” your partner whispers.

You turn around, worried. “Isn’t that risky?” you ask quietly.

“Trust me.”

Nodding, you wait for him to get back in position before serving.

The boy in the other pair runs to hit it to your left.

Quickly chasing after it, you toss it just over the net onto the other side of the court.

Surprised, the girl fumbles and misses the birdie.

Another point for you and Mark.

He smiles, spinning his racket in his hands as he walks over to his side of the court.

Making cautious yet accurate attacks, you somehow manage to tie with the other team.

Meaning, you have to play a deuce.

“Just two points, Y/N.. Two more points and we win...”

You can hear the nervousness in Mark’s voice.

“Play safe, be ready.”

Mark walks a little bit closer to the middle of his side, ready to defend.

At your serve, everyone moves around the court, readying for the next move.

The two of you are pushed into defence, returning the bird side by side as your opponents attempt to drive it into the ground.

When the opposing boy drops it to the front, Mark quickly dives to save it.

You move to cover the back, smashing the return onto the other side of the net.

One more point..

“Not bad, Y/N.. Didn’t know you could hit that hard...” Mark pats your back as he passes, mustering the best smile her can.

“I used to be a singles player too, y’know...”

Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself for what you hope is the final serve of the game.

You can feel your partner watching you, and you turn to see the nervousness and excitement in his stance.

He lifts up his pinky, signalling you to serve high again.

“You really need to stop being such a showoff..,” you playfully mock him.

Your partner only smirks at your comment.

The birdie flies to the back, quickly being received by the opposing female.

In response, you aim the birdie to the open spot she leaves in the front.

Unfortunately, she’s quick to get back in time to hit it, allowing her partner to return comfortably to his position in the back.

Her push goes straight to the middle, a perfect place for Mark to attack.

You aren’t exactly sure where he is on court, so you decide to position yourself in the center just in case.

Mark, however, didn’t realize you were trying to attack and collided with you.

“Mark! Hurry! Get back up!!” you shout, panicked.

You aim the birdie aimlessly, allowing the other team to start attacking as Mark tries to push himself off the ground.

“I’m gonna knock you over if you don’t get out of the way!”

“I can’t! They keep hitting here!”

The other team has clearly caught onto a strategy.

By keeping the more aggressive player on the ground, they have a chance to confuse you and gain the serve.

“Just smash! Do something!” your partner yells.

You nod, watching the high receive you were just given.

Trying to hit something that gives Mark time to get up, you gently push the birdie to the front corner of the court.

Mark gets up quickly, only to have nothing to receive.

“Did we just...”

“We just won..”

You turn around to face your partner, who had a smile just as big as yours plastered on his face.

“Mark! We won!!”

Squealing, you drop your racket and run towards him with your arms out.

He lets go of his own and catches you in a hug, letting you wipe your tears of joy all over his sweaty chest.

“I told you we could do it, didn’t I?”

You feel his hand gently stroking your hair, but his quick heartbeat contrasted his calming actions.

Excited from the win and your love TT

Even though your teammates and friends were cheering loudly, all you could hear was the pounding of your partner’s heart.

You were so glad to win with Mark.

ミ☆

“I saw that racket grip! When and how did you change it?!” Donghyuck pouted, hitting Mark’s bag.

Your partner groans. “It’s a gift, okay? I didn’t choose the colour.”

“But you still used it? Just keep using the old one!”

“Clearly,” Johnny chimes in. “You didn’t see Y/N’s racket on the floor.”

He points at the handle sticking out of your bag, causing you to hide it from view.

You could feel your face getting warmer as the older boy laughs at your actions.

“Oh? Are they matching?” Donghyuck wiggles his eyebrows, nudging Mark’s side.

In the dark, you’re unable to notice the blush that had crept onto your partner’s cheeks.

“No response! So they are matching~ I’m so gonna tell Chenle about this one!”

“Hyuck, shut up.”

Johnny chuckles. “Okay, okay. Get in the car kids, it’s getting late and this old man needs rest.”

You whine.

“Johnny, you’re not that much older than us!”

ミ☆

“I still can’t believe that we won.”

Mark smiles at your words, tugging one of his large hoodies over your smaller frame.

“Like, you went woooooossshhhh and then ran after the receive like swiisshhhhhhh...”

He chuckles, watching as you reenact the scene with your sweater paws.

“I know, I honestly shocked myself.”

“What? But you were so cool about it, Mark!”

“Oh, was I?”

You nod. “You were like, ‘Oh, I just hit a shot that was impossible to receive, lemme wipe the sweat off my forehead~’ like it was nothing!”

While describing the event, you dramatically place the back of your hand on your own forehead and throw your head back.

“Okay, you child. Do you wanna watch movies tonight or not?”

You giggle, making your way to the living room.

“Dunno if I’m gonna be able to focus though.”

The two of you watch movies until you start getting sleepy.

With your eyelids getting heavy, you rest your head on Mark’s shoulder.

His arm makes its way around you.

“Wanna go back to your room?” he asks, tucking some loose hair behind your ear.

You nod against him, eyes already shut.

He picks you up and takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the mattress.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Just as he’s about to leave, you grab his sleeve.

“Did you shower today?”

He raises an eyebrow, though you can’t see in the dark room.

“Yeah, of course I did.”

“Hmmm...”

“Don’t tease me now, Y/N..”

You feel the sides of your lips being tugged at when you hear the pout in his voice.

“Sleep here tonight.”

Your words shock yourself, but you try not to move as you wait for Mark’s answer.

After a few moments, you feel his sleeve leave your fingers and the covers move.

“I have to be honest, the couch sucks,” Mark says, his weight causing the mattress to sink a little.

You smile, shuffling closer to Mark to wrap your arms around him.

“Night, Markie..”

Mark presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Night, my little champion...”

[demonsofhunting]

"Bees" or a pretty cute destiel one shot

Summary: Dean and Cas spend a day off, enjoying the nature and being the cute couple they are.♡

Warnings: so much fluff, Cas talking to bees?

Words: about 1200

A/N: Awww, I love writing fluffy things! I am weak for Cas just being the cinnamon roll he is with his obssession for bees. So, there it is! I hope you'll like it, cuz it was so much fun to write! Enjoy!<3

Cas loves watching the bees.

And Dean loves watching him doing that.

This summer, so it comes that they manage to spend a day off - once a week - having a picnic and enjoying the nature. Sometimes Sam is with them, sometimes not. He doesn't want to get between them and is also pretty fine with having the bunker for himself one day.

But anyway, Dean and Cas love spending their free time together. Especially since they admitted their feelings for each other.

Dean is thankful for taking a break between hunts. Besides that, he could watch Cas all day being cute and making his way over the meadow to talk to the bees.

Yes, he really talks to them in his own way, and it makes the angel so happy that Dean's heart grows every time he looks at him doing that.

Before their trip, Dean always goes on a supply run and makes sure that they'll have everything they need - including some delicious pie for the green - eyed hunter, of course. One time Cas even tried his best to bake some, but he kinda screwed up and almost burned down the kitchen.

Sam found him that day...well, he was only a little bit mad.

Since this accident, the younger Winchester insists on Dean buying his pie himself, until he and Cas finally figured out how to bake without making things dangerous.

But that's fine, though.

Things haven't been so good lately and the Winchesters and their favourite angel need some time to rest.

This ritual is something, that gives them hope and keeps them together.

That kinda keeps them sane.

And it's wonderful to forget about the weight, that is on their shoulders, even if it's only for a couple of hours.

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

It's one if these special days of freedom. Sam stays at home this time, researching something for a case.

It's a beautiful summer day.

Dean sighs and closes his eyes, as he lies back on the blanket he and Cas brought with them. He can feel a warm breeze gently sweeping through his hair. Grass tickles his cheeks, and he smiles.

That's it. That's what real life feels like.

Today they made their way on a meadow only a couple of minutes ago - a wide place in the middle of a forest.

The sky is pale and blue, only a few fuzzy clouds in sight. The air is hot and a soft wind is flowing over the land.

It's a damn perfect day. It's almost creepy.

Dean opens his eyes, slowly, and stares at the wide, wide sky above him.

He feels so tiny in that moment, that he turns away, quickly. His gaze is flowing over the field, searching for a little figure in an oversized trenchcoat.

There he is.

Cas sits on the grass, his hair a cute mess. He leans forth, considering a small flower in front of him, carefully. He nods and tilts his head.

Then he stands up, as his gaze follows the bee, that was sitting on the flower before. The small creature flies away, while Cas is looking happy like it just told him its biggest secret a few seconds ago.

He's such a child.

Dean chuckles and sits up, as Cas walks over to him.

"Hello, Dean," he says, his cheeks red,

"I thought you were asleep."

"I almost was," Dean answers, stretching his arms, "I'm so damn tired."

"That's because you were up all night. Again," the angel determines, smiling.

" Yes, I was. But Sam and you, you were with me, watching Netflix. It's not only my fault this time!" Dean says, throwing his hands in the air.

"This Netflix is really interesting. I like it," Cas shrugs, sitting down next to Dean, "And - "

"Yeah, I know. You don't need sleep," the hunter interrupts, "Sometimes I wish I was an angel. I would be more powerful."

"You are powerful, Dean. Don't worry," Cas mutters, "Being an angel is pretty...difficult sometimes."

Dean snorts.

"Yeah, I know that. Your family up there is a big bunch of assholes."

Cas nods, grabbing the other's hand. "Maybe. But that's why I'm here. With you," he says, softly.

Dean kisses him. It's a small and gentle kiss, one that gives a promise.

I will love you forever, until the end of time, if you let me.

They hesitate, and Dean whispers, grinning like an idiot: "Wow, I'm so glad that your relatives are assholes."

Cas chuckles, his hands stroking Dean's cheek. He bites his lip, and it's like he stopped to count all the freckles on the hunter's face.

"What?" Dean laughs. He studies Cas' face, dives into these deep, blue eyes...

"Nothing," Cas answers, shaking his head. It's like he's amused by something only he can understand.

Dean grabs his hand and kisses the fingertips, softly.

"What did the bees say about me?" the hunter asks, looking right into the angels eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

"Are they jealous of you, because you have such a hot boyfriend? Yeah, I bet they are," he adds.

Cas laughs: "No, That's not what they said."

Dean frowns:"Oh."

"Actually, they think you're really pretty. They like the colour of your hair...and the way you smell," Cas chuckles, and winks.

Dean immedaitely makes a face.

What's that supposed to mean?!

"The way I...smell?" he repeats with playful disgust in his voice.

He rubs a hand through his hair, uncomfortably, and shivers.

Cas nods, being completely serious now: "Yes. They say you smell like a mix of honey and flowers."

After a moment of silence, Dean bursts out laughing:"That's...disgusting. How?"

The angel shrugs, grinning.

"I don't know...," he says, and leans forth, sniffing at Dean's hair, carefully.

He frowns.

"What?" the hunter asks.

"Well, I can't confirm what they said," Cas answers, squinting his eyes, "To me you only smell like leather, gunpowder and...alcohol?"

Cas has literally no verbal filter.

"Yeah," Dean shrugs after a couple of heartbeats, licking his lips, "That sounds more like me."

He lies back down, closing his eyes, a small smile on his face.

"If that helps," Cas says, "I like the way you smell. It's unique. And bees have a different sense than angels when it comes to it. Maybe you smell like flowers, we just don't know it. Or - "

"Or what?"

"I need to improve my communication skills. Maybe....maybe I got some words wrong," he continues.

He goes red, and tries to hide his face under the big collar of his trenchcoat.

Dean laughs, and grabs Cas' hand. He pulls the angel down so that he lies besides him on the blanket, face to the sky.

"My apologies, Dean," Cas starts, but he can't finish, because Dean already turns to him and covers his lips with his own.

"No need to apologise, Cas. I love you. I wish I could talk to bees the way you do. It's special and you're doing great. I love it."

Cas gives him another kiss.

"Sure?" he asks, but his eyes are full of love, all the worries are already gone.

"Sure," Dean answers with a wide smile.

"I could teach you, Dean," Cas says, his face turned to the other's as they're lying on the ground, "I could introduce you to the bees. I bet they would love to get to know you better."

Dean smirks, his heart filled with love.

"That would be wonderful, Cas," he tells the angel, softly kissing him again,

"Wanna have some pie?"

And even though the angel knows that he won't taste anything, he chuckles and mutters: "Yes, that would be great."

And that's what true love must feel like.

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

Aaaaand that's it!❤ Thank you so much for reading and if you would like to leave a comment or reblog this shit I will love you forever! <3

Just like last time: feel free to tell me if you found any mistakes, too. I know that this is far from perfect. XD

Tagging those who actually signed up for this mess ( including some new, brave volunteers ) @adoptdontshoppets @thedemoniccow @smodernlife @ablavalba @ignis-glaciesque @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @xsghn @helpmeluci @trenchcoatsandfreckles thank u💕

[fanfics-await-you]

Vibrance (Part 2)

Prompt

Pairing: Cassian Andor x Reader

Summary: Soulmates AU. You are excited about finally finding colour in the world, but unfortunately both Cassian and yourself are idiots when it comes to love.

Tags: here’s that aforementioned angst

Notes: I am Australian, colour has a ‘u’, grey has an ‘e’, and you can fight me. in this universe, you can see colour until you hit puberty and then again when you find your soulmate (just I don’t have to do the ‘wait what is that? blood orange, periwinkle?’ ‘yeah idk dude’). Also, colour doesn’t just appear when you touch/see them, it’s more as you fall in love kinda thing i think. it’s been awhile, ik & soz

Word Count: 1,272

Part 1

Part 3

You take every opportunity you can get to escape outside. Every day more colours are beginning to bloom and you’re remembering what true beauty looks like for the first time in years. Blue remains to be your favourite; the vase of cobalt Astorian blossoms you keep on your bedside table is testament to this. However, as much as you love the sky, you really wish you could figure out who the hell your soulmate is as you’re at an absolute, fucking loss. Cassian keeps hopefully skipping into your thoughts, but you push him aside every time; that was a dangerous road to go down. Ahmed Sol maybe? You mean, he was handsome (very much so) but there was no chemistry so surely not. It could be Alex from Tactical, but you figured that was unlikely given the fact that you two were only newly friends.

Who the fuck could it be?

You blow the hair out of your eyes in frustration before you jolt upright, nearly falling, at the voice calling from the ground below, “Y/N, should I even ask what you’re doing?”

You grasp a tree branch and swing slightly to appraise Cassian before responding, “No. I’m doing exactly what I look like I’m doing.”

“Swinging from a tree like an Endor Howler Monkey? I mean, fair enough.”

You roll your eyes and sit back against the trunk, “Sure buddy, whatever makes you happy.”

He doesn’t respond and you think you’ve pissed him off until the strong rustling of leaves tells you otherwise. You open your eyes and look down to see him just below you.

“Are you going to help me up?”

“No. This branch will break clean off if I pull your ass up here. Find your own.”

He stares up at you for a moment like he’s going to pull you off. You grasp the tree tighter but Cassian then hops slightly and pulls himself up to the branch right of you. Your breath hitches slightly at the strip of bronzed skin that peaks out from underneath his shirt and the muscles of his arms under strain. You quickly find something of immense interest off to your left while you wait for the blood that’s rushed to your face to cool.

“Did I say something to offend you?”

You’re surprised, “No, I thought I saw a f-“

“Not today, just in general Y/N.”

Confusion painted across your features, you turn to Cassian. He is visibly concerned and your heart drops in guilt. In your mess of finding your soulmate, you had been distracted and even avoiding Cassian because he made the whole fiasco even more baffling.

“No, of course not. I’ve just been busy trying to find my s-“

“Soulmate, I know. Was that it? I wasn’t trying to be dismissive, I promise.”

“I know, Cassian. I… I’ve just been busy, you know? Like, this part is supposed to be easy. I’ve found the person, technically, so it should be smooth flying but here we are!” You gesture to the world around you in frustration and sit back.

“So you still haven’t found them?”

You fight the irritation growing in your stomach, “No Cassian, I haven’t - evidently.”

“You’re right, sorry. It’s just… surely you have a guess?”

Your tongue considers his name but mercifully your brain catches on first, “Ahmed Sol? I mean, he’s always finding excuses to walk me places.”

“The fact that he’s handsome doesn’t hurt either, does it?” His words are joking, light, but Cassian’s tone is brittle.

Who do you think you are, Cassian Andor… Two can play this game.

“I mean, you’re not wrong; his lieutenant’s uniform is definitely a bonus… Maybe I should go see him before procedures this evening,” you look off into the distance in what you hope looks like a dreamy fashion.

A minute passes before he responds, “But he would have said something by now surely if he’s as enamoured as you say.”

“I never said ‘enamoured’. What’s your problem, you’re the one who asked me to guess.”

“Yeah, I just never thought you’d say Sol of all people.”

“Oh sorry, your highness. Who would you recommend then?”

The silence is heavy, ugly, and you wonder how everything had gone wrong so quickly.

“… It’s been weeks, Y/N. Surely you should know by now.”

The calm snaps.

“Do you think I’m making this up? Really, Cass?!”

His examination shouldn’t bother you but oh Maker, it really does. Every stabbing little comment is a reminder that it’s not him. Or more to the point, that it was Cassian but he didn’t feel the same. You push yourself from the branch and the thought from your mind. You would not walk that path. Not today, not ever.

“Of course I don’t mean that Y/-“

“Whatever, Cassian,” you land with a quiet thump, “Can we just promise to never talk about this again?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You spin back around and look up so you can stare him down, “Why?! Because you keep making these needling, fucking irritating comments like this has anything to do with you! Cassian, if you spent half the energy you’ve been using on interrogating me on finding your own soulmate, maybe you’d actually have someone.”

The aftertaste of regret is instantaneous and potent. You turn away immediately, trying to blink away the furious tears building in your eyes. What were you thinking?!? Unfortunately, the thud of boots follows only seconds later.

Cassian’s voice calls as clear as day, “Really, Y/N?! I’m only asking because I give a shit. Also, you’re the one who came to me about this! Either way, it doesn’t matter. I do have someone, Y/N, you just never bothered to ask.”

Your tracks stop dead.

No.

He wheels in front of you and crosses his arms as he waits for your response, anger plain across his face. Not that it matters.

You are caving in like a shallow promise under pressure. Your eyes are burning and colours are flashing in and out of focus, mimicking your heartbeat. It feels like there’s nothing left in the world to say but how could I have been so stupid!. It feels like Cassian has taken a knife and cut open your ribs, exposing your lungs to the sunshine. It feels like fire crystals are growing in the pit of your stomach, slowly burning you alive. It feels worse than you thought you were capable of.

So, you articulate these feelings as best as you are currently able.

“Bullshit.”

His expression is incredulous, “Bullshit, really?! You hypocrite! Look, there’s blue, yellow, green.” His hands are erratically pointing around you.

You can’t bring yourself to look, but deep down you know he’s not lying. You shove past Cassian and throw a dismissive hand gesture over your shoulder. You hope this is the end of the conversation, because right now you need to be anywhere he’s not. Unfortunately he has other ideas.

“You don’t get to start this and then just run away, Y/N! Answer me, Y/N: what is your problem with me?!”

Your lightning-quick sorrow has swiftly turned back to anger and you stomp back towards him, stopping mere centimetres from him. His irises are golden chestnut, warm, flecked with amber and intoxicating; had you not already been drowning in anger, you would have been tempted to try in his eyes.

“I’ve already told you my problem, Cassian. I don’t like all your ques-“

“To quote you, Y/N, ‘bullshit’! I know you and that’s not it! What. Is. Your. Problem. With. Me?!”

“I love you, alright! I love you Cassian!”

[fatcatsarecats]

Bossy Boots Strikes Again

Madara & Tobirama  Words: 3,051 A/N: Kid!Tobi is back to serve your daily dose of fluff! Huge thanks to @redhothollyberries​ for giving me hc’s to run with, and beta-ing this fic into shape! Send her all the love :D - Sequel to Bossy Boots -

When Hashirama specified that Tobirama will eventually ‘revert’ back into an adult, he never included an estimation. There’s a reason for that. It turns out, there are no estimates to when Tobirama will eventually become an adult again. Time moves on, and the small group of people Hashirama trusts to look after Tobirama return to the responsibilities they have to attend to.

Their days off hardly ever coincide. The days where everyone happened to be working, Tobirama had stuck to Madara’s side like a leech. Not going to lie, Madara preened a bit.

There’s something sweet about being chosen by Tobirama, time and time again. Even though Tobirama sometimes chooses to sleep with Hashirama at night.

He thought Hashirama would sulk at the idea, but when Madara strode into the office the next morning with Tobirama in his arms, there was an extra table with a high chair beside his Police Chief desk. Tobirama’s glower is still unparalleled. And Madara is shameless about utilising it for theatrical effect.

Thus began one of the strangest games of hot potato between Konoha’s elite, with small, chubby Tobirama being shuffled between the people who happened to have time off for the day.

Surprisingly, this is the most smiling Madara’s seen Tobirama do in years.

-

“Alright, Hikaku,” says Madara as he flicks a folder across the table. “You’re officially the senior officer in this case. Remember that the trainee is your responsibility. Do well, and there might be a promotion in your future. Flop, and, well–”

Tobirama doesn’t blink. “Say goodbye to your career.”

Hikaku, the poor teenager sitting across from him, actually breaks out a sweat. Madara cackles. Tobirama is unmoved, but Madara can see his lips twitching.

Hikaku basically flies to the door when he’s dismissed. Only then, does Tobirama let himself giggle.

Kagami pokes his head through the door. “Should I inform him that you’re kidding, Shishou?”

“Nah, wait till the afternoon.” Madara looks at Tobirama for confirmation. Tobirama nods in approval. “Fear is a good motivator.”

Tobirama goes back to his scribblings. He’s scribbling with such focused intent with the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration, that curiosity tickles Madara. Slowly, he leans over his desk, trying to take a peek at Tobirama’s drawings.

Tobirama slams his drawings blank-side up.

Madara frowns. “C’mon.”

“No.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not ugly.” Tobirama scrunches his nose. “But I can do better. I know I can. It’s just not going the way I want it to.”

“Adult you can do better,” Madara agrees. He’s not known for coddling kids, and it would be a particularly idiot thing to do with a kid as smart as Tobirama. “The you with around twenty years’ worth of extra hand-eye coordination can do better, of course. That skill will come back as this jutsu fades. However, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure your current skills are better than what I can do.”

Ever so helpful, Kagami pokes his head through the door again. “It’s true. Every time Shishou tries to draw, the paper sets itself on fire. It’s a more merciful fate, to be honest.”

“Okay, new rule.” Madara points at Kagami. “Keep opinions to yourself, unless they support my statements.”

That tickles a smile out of Tobirama. “Well,” he says. “I guess if you’re so sure it’s better than Madara’s…”

Being better than him – the usual motivator for most of Tobirama’s actions.

Kagami and Tobirama break off into snickers. Madara levels them with flat stare.

“I’ll be finished when Kagami takes me to lunch,” Tobirama says. “You can flip it over then.”

It’s a good compromise, so Madara agrees.

When lunchtime comes, Tobirama orders to be carried with his customary arms-up. After melting into a puddle (“I can’t believe I’m carrying, sensei!”),  Kagami and Tobirama heads off to fetch his lunch. Madara leans over, and flips the drawing.

His breath hitches.

It’s a drawing of a red and black dragon, curled in the air and breathing fire. It’s a bit more cartoonish than Tobirama’s usual style, but there’s shading in each scale, and the details that differentiate the dragon’s mane.

Guess Madara’s correct about it being better than anything he could produce. Actually, it’s better than anything he could produce with training.

Incidentally, red and black are his favourite colours. He was thinking, just the other day, of how drab his office walls are. Maybe it’s time to decorate a bit.

Madara makes his way to the stationary closet to see if they’ve got some spare frames.

-

Almost two hours later, Kagami strides in carrying a half-comatose Tobirama in a new set of clothes and a bento box. Madara feels his blood pressure rise at least three notches when he spots an Uchiwa sewed on Tobirama’s armband.

“Before you panic,” says Kagami, “this is a food coma. We took a detour to get yakidori, then dango, then a bit of sashimi, and then some rice cakes, and then yakidori again because I underestimated how good it was–”

“Kagami,” Madara interrupts, “do you have any idea how much trouble I will get in for dressing up a prominent Senju member in an Uchiha Police uniform?”

“But sensei insisted on wearing one so he could be part of the team, Shishou,” Kagami emphasises. “Part of the team.”

“Uniforms encourage solidarity,” says Tobirama.

Kagami grins at Tobirama. “Exactly!”

Madara cannot deny that Tobirama looks damn good in Uchiha colours. Still, propriety.

“You should’ve seen what happened when we walked in,” Kagami tells him. “Half of the squad doubled over in pain, like they overdosed on cuteness. The other half is still terrified of sensei, but I can totally feel the morale rising.”

Madara narrows his eyes at Kagami. “We don’t even stock uniforms in a size that small. Did you throw a bunch of our uniforms into the drier?”

Kagami’s face doesn’t twitch. “No comment.”

(Although, in Kagami’s opinion, it’s so worth it.)

Before Madara can groan his frustration, Tobirama’s eyes are drawn to the frame hung on the wall to his left. His eyes brighten. “You like my drawing?” Tobirama asks, half surprised and half sheepish.

Slightly caught off guard, Madara answers, “Of course.”

His eyes crease in a pleased smile. It’s a good thing that Madara’s already sitting down, because his knees feels weak.

Tobirama tilts his head to admire his drawing. “I guess it does look better when it’s framed. You can have your lunch now.”

Squirming, Tobirama slides out of Kagami’s hold, careful not to knock over the bento box. He then tugs the box out of Kagami’s hand and delivers it to Madara, holding it up with a blinding smile that shows how proud he is at such a successful delivery.

Madara is pretty sure Kagami passed out on the spot. Overdosed on cuteness, as he said before. Baby Tobirama is lethal. That smile should really be outlawed, for the sake of Konoha’s constitution.

Accepting the bento box, Madara nods his thanks, and tries his hardest not to follow in his apprentice’s footsteps.

-

Tobirama is slippery at any age. At one point, he went beyond slippery and decided to literally disappear from air by inventing a space-time ninjutsu just to escape from his grasp. It’s debateable, however, if twenty-four year old Tobirama is more slippery than the little child that’s currently leading Izuna on a merry chase across the rooftops of Konoha.

Of course, Tobirama is thinking that this is just one huge game of tag. Izuna is panicking out of his mind.

“Tobirama, come back right now!” he orders. “Don’t you run away from nap time. Get back here and face it like a shinobi! And watch where you’re stepping!”

Ever since child Tobirama became a constant present in their household, they started stocking on caffeine-free green tea, because Tobirama at any age is also a tea and caffeine addict. The sneaky child almost took a sip out of Izuna’s own cup of coffee, but Izuna managed to switch their cups at the last minute. He gave himself a pat on the back at a job well done, and for averting disaster.

Izuna did not realise that he made the tea from the wrong tin.

He regrets making the tea from the wrong tin.

How he’s paying for it now.

Tobirama ignores his yellings, giggling as he zig-zags at impossible speeds. How the hell is he so fast? His legs are literally a quarter of Izuna’s. This is just shameful.

Charging chakra into his feet, Izuna springs into the air. With this much chakra, should be able to land about two steps behind Tobirama–

–only to be jerked back by the back of his collar to meet furious brown eyes.

“Why,” Tōka chews out the words in a way that suggest imminent death, “is my five-year old cousin cartwheeling across dangerous rooftops when he’s supposed to be sleeping?!”

Izuna winces. “I might have…given him the non-kid friendly green tea by accident.”

Tōka is on the verge of shrieking. She grabs his collar with both hands and shakes him with each word.

“You gave my five year old cousin caffeine by accident?!”

“I’m sorry! I made a huge mistake! The caffeine was an accident! And now, he’s so damn slippery! Look at how easily he’s jumping over the roofs. Tobirama’s not a normal kid – he’s already so adept with chakra. The first day he turned, he climbed to the top of Hokage mountain! I was doomed from the start!” Izuna manages between each shake. Although, his head is starting to get woozy. “Please don’t tell Madara.”

“Tobi’s already very active for a five year old! He doesn’t need caffeine to amplify it!”

“But look at how happy he is right now!” Izuna points at the blur of blue and white soaring through the sky. “He’s tiring himself out. I bet he’ll sleep so much better after this.”

Tōka snarls, looking pretty close to ripping his throat out using her bare teeth.

Izuna resigns himself to dying. He’s had a good life. At least he got to die with Toka taking a bite out of him, even though it’s not quite in the way he had wanted it to be.

Evidently, Tobirama realised that Izuna stopped chasing him. He doubles back towards where Toka and Izuna are without them realising. Izuna feels Tobirama tugging on his robe.

To their surprise, Tobirama puts a small hand on Toka’s leg.

“Tag, Tōka-nee!” he says, grinning like crazy. “You’re it!”

A second ticks by. Tōka melts into goo.

“You have to count to ten first because some people,” Tobirama side eyes Izuna, “need all the advantage they can get.”

Izuna squawks in protest.

Stern and solid, Tōka may be, but she is nowhere near invulnerable. Tobirama at five, the first time round, was inquisitive. He used to waddle behind her like a duckling. Tōka was too swamped in her duties to indulge him back then: when she finally earned to luxury to take a breather, Tobirama had long outgrown his habit of following her around.

But this Tobirama – this Tobirama is looking up at her with his huge eyes, and a cheeky grin that makes her feel like she could bench press an entire army. This Tobirama makes her will crumble into debris.

She sighs in defeat and releases Izuna to flop to the ground.  “Alright,” she says. Tōka makes a big show of putting her hands over her eyes and, quite dramatically, takes a huge breath.

Before Tōka could count to one, Tobirama is already fleeing as if the Shinigami is at his heels.

-

It’s not Madara’s turn with Tobirama today, it’s Izuna’s. Yet, his nerves itch away at his concentration.

The silence is his office is stifling.

He taps his fingers in sync with the ticking clock. Then he glances at the empty table beside him, looks at the crayons all in their neat box, before looking at the picture hung on the wall.

It’s silly, Madara thinks. Three days straight with him, and suddenly Madara’s getting separation anxiety.

Madara has no claim to Tobirama, and Tobirama doesn’t belong to him. He might be Tobirama’s favourite, but officially, he’s not Tobirama’s anything.

“It’s silly,” Madara repeats to himself. “You’re being silly. Stop worrying. He’s fine with Izuna – it’s probably his nap time, anyway.”

-

Izuna wishes he was better at de-escalating situations. First it was the great naptime escape, then it was the rooftop tag. Now, he finds himself chasing Tōka and Tobirama through Konoha’s wide, expansive forests in an attempt to supervise their impromptu ‘stroll’.

Their stroll across Konoha’s trees that are substantially taller and more dangerous than any building found in Konoha.

The height would scare any other child, but Tobirama is, as usual, unlike any other child. He’s perched on Tōka’s back, laughing like there’s no tomorrow, impervious to the palpitations of Izuna’s weakened heart.

“I don’t think this is good idea,” yells Izuna, the wind attempting to muffle his voice. “And this is coming from me. You know, the Emperor of Bad Ideas. We should go back and put him to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Tōka calls out. “He’s using chakra to stick on to me, he’ll tire out soon! Hold on tight, Tobi. We’re going to freefall!”

They jump out of a tree that’s at least twenty metres in height, hollering in delight as they plummet through the air.

Somewhere in the village, Izuna is sure that a civilian mother is collapsing from shock.

-

He knows that something is wrong when Tobirama asks if they could skip work and sit on top of the Hokage mountain for a bit. There’s a weariness to Tobirama’s tone, one that indicates his past experiences are causing some confusing emotions. Helpless to anything that would make Tobirama feel better, Madara agrees.

Madara takes a day off – perks of being in charge – and carries Tobirama up to the mountain. It’s that time in the morning where the sky is a mesh of blue and pink. They sit in silence as they watch the first trail of people blink away their bleariness, the village breathing up to life.

“I dreamt about Itama and Kawarama last night,” Tobirama says. “It was – I don’t know, so vivid. I thought I was back in there with them, but I know they aren’t here–I thought I was–”

Tobirama curls into himself, and the action is so painful, Madara draws Tobirama into a hug. He knows what Tobirama means – how Tobirama thought that he had moved on from his grieving. That the feeling of their past and future lost, and the endless missed opportunities had become more bearable throughout the years. He thought he moved past it, only to have the memories smack the hollowness straight into his gut again.

Tobirama buries his face in his chest and takes a shaky breath.

“I miss them,” he finally says. “I wanted to be the best big brother ever. I wanted to be their favourite. The one they’d go to if they were sad or scared. I promised I’d always protect them.”

Madara just holds Tobirama tighter in his arms, and rests his chin on top of his head.

“I don’t know–I don’t know how to feel. This is–” Madara can feel Tobirama frowning, “–confusing.”

The thought of Tobirama trying to decipher something as complex as feelings makes Madara laugh.

“It gets bearable after a while,” Madara says. “Izuna and I, we do things to make it bearable.”

Sniffling, Tobirama peers up. “Like what?”

“Like singing, old kid’s games, and eating their favourite food. Our youngest sister loved it when Izuna sang. She’d always clap along to Izuna’s lullabies, which completely defeated the purpose of a lullaby, but she was happy. And Izuna’s quite a skilled singer. You might think that Izuna’s a tenor, what with all his undignified shrieking hitting those high notes, but he actually has a very rich, baritone voice.”

“Oh.”  Tobirama shuffles closer. “Do you sing too?”

Madara squeezes the small bundle in his arms. “Not as good as Izuna, sadly. I like to press flowers. Hanabi and Tsurugi liked to collect them and make flower crowns, so I like the preserve the ones I think they’d like. I try to grow my own, but sometimes I don’t have the time. ”

“Can we do that?” asks Tobirama. “Can we have a Kawarama and Itama day–can we have a siblings day?”

Like he said, he’s helpless to anything that makes Tobirama feel better.

“Anything you want,” Madara tells him.

Honestly, Madara’s just straight out helpless to Tobirama.

-

So Madara digs through their attic for their old card games, falling Buddha blocks and spinning tops. Being a hoarder comes with perks, especially when Tobirama’s face lights up when he sees them.

They spend the better part of their morning playing. The plan is to play till lunchtime before going to a barbecue house, since Tobirama said that’s where his family liked to eat when they were younger. Madara sends a messenger off to Tōka, Izuna and Hashirama to – quite politely, in his opinion – clear their lunch schedule under the threat of amputations and fire and pain and suffering. No threats of death this time. No need to defeat the purpose of Siblings’ Day.

An hour before lunch, a knock rings through Madara’s door.

He opens it to find Hashirama smiling sheepishly.

“I heard we’re having a siblings’ day today,” says Hashirama. “I hope I’m not too early.”

His tri-cone hat is nowhere in sight, and he’s out of the Hokage uniform. Dressed in his casual black robes, Hashirama might have done the impossible. Hashirama might have pulled a miracle; Hashirama has found a sudden substitute for the rest of the afternoon.

Truly, his friend never ceases to amaze.

At hearing Hashirama’s voice, Tobirama comes running to the door, halting himself right in front of Hashirama. He schools his face into a blank expression.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to let him in. He is my brother, after all.” Tobirama sniffs, pretending to be unaffected by Hashirama’s sudden appearance.

They’re not fooled, of course. Tobirama already looks a lot brighter than he did this morning.

Tobirama lets Hashirama through the door. Instead of just entering, Hashirama swoops Tobirama off his feet and hugs him tight to his side. Squeezes him like Tobirama’s the only thing that matters to Hashirama right now.

Tobirama doesn’t pull away like he usually does. Instead, he melts.

 - A/N: The Great Sphinx of Giza is about 20m high. Rip to all those who thought that Tōka was a Responsible Adult™. She’s just as weak to kid!Tobi as the rest of us are. Also, I’ve become very enamoured with the idea of a Konoha/B99 spoof.  

I’m basically Madara with drawing so I’ll stick to writing.

[the-backspin-alchemist]

Madlands Kira. All of em. Do not worry :3c

You fucker, I don’t believe for a SECOND that none of this will come back to bite me in the ass three or four sessions down the line.

1) What is their full name, and does it have any special relevance? Alternatively, what nicknames do they have?

Kira Walker. Her out-of-game nicknames are “Gravity Gal/Girl/Bitch” (the last bit depends on context of discussion and who’s doing the discussing) but I don’t think she has any in-game nicknames yet.

And honestly she’s half-composited between my Numenera version of Kira that I tried to run for like the one session, and street-punk!Nikita from a story of mine (who was basically just kicking the shit out of anyone who bothered her or her friends, and then made rules about who gets the shit kicked out of them and how in order to make it semi-fair). So that’s why in Madlands she’s got the surname Walker.

2) What hobby would they like to be good at?

Playing the ocarina. Granted she hasn’t had one in, like, forever.

3) If they played dnd what race and class would they pick?

She’d probably play an elf ranger or fighter, but characterize them as, like, near-paladin levels of lawful good.

4) If they could go back in time and change one thing, what would they change?

I’m not sure they would try and fix The Nonsense, if only because she was born about a decade and a half after it happened, so she doesn’t know anything other than the world she lives in.

I think she might try to fix the fact that she accidentally smashed her ocarina when she was fourteen.

5) What is their favourite weapon to wield?

Well, she’s trained with guns and in hand-to-hand, but she did just get a badass sword (by which I mean a regular sword that just LOOKS badass) that she’s itching to use.

6) If you could behove them one magical item, what would you give them?

A magical sword like the one that one lady in Fairy Tail has.

Not Erza. The one who wants to kill Jellal that shows up the the big tournament and has blue hair.

7) If they didn’t have to adventure, would they stop?

Maybe? She’s essentially a cop, so she’d probably pick up being a cop again. But she does find adventuring to be an interesting experience, even if the individuals she finds herself to be adventuring with aren’t always the most helpful or the most sane of people.

Then again, sane is a rarity in the Madlands, and Kira knows this. To a degree.

8) What do they look for in a platonic or romantic partner?

Kira would look for someone who has a strong sense of right and wrong in a friend. For a romantic partner, she’d look for someone who’s willing to help her overcome her flaws, or at the very least look past them, and to accept that she’s going to be doing work that will require her to make sacrifices for the greater good, even if that sacrifice might be her own life. Oh, and she’d want them to not be freaked out over her gravity powers.

That last bit is important.

9) Do they trust easily?

Kira lives in the Madlands.

Fuck no, she doesn’t trust easily. Not unless you’re a Paladin. And even then, that just means you’re on less-thin ice than everyone else.

She does try to follow “Innocent/trustworthy until proven guilty/untrustworthy” when it’s feasible/not idiotic, though.

10) What is their favourite colour?

She likes purple. thinks it looks regal.

11) Diplomatic or aggressive?

Can be either, but tries to play the diplomat card when she can.

12) They get arrested, and thrown in jail, how do they escape?

She either waits for the system to clear her, or she tries to make a legal appeal. She’s a cop out of idealism, so she might trust the system a bit more than she should. But if she HAS to break out of prison, well...she has gravity powers. She’ll try to use them.

13) Would they leave their party for any reason?

If they turn out to be a bunch of assholes, than yes, because she doesn’t want to be around bad people.

14) If they could own any creature as a pet, what would they have?

Kira likes cats, but he REAL dream would be to have a falcon as a companion. (She knows that’s basically a pipe dream, though).

15) How have you influenced your characters personality?

She’s got a lot of my sort of weird takes on being lawful-good. She’s also got a lot of my bull-headedness, too.

She also has the whole “trying not to look vain while also trying to look highkey badass” thing going on, but she could probably actually pull it off if she needed to (I cannot look badass for my life. It’s not possible.)

16) Do they have any tattoos? If so what? If not, do you think they would get one in the future?

I’ve been thinking about whether or not she’d have gotten any yet, and I don’t think she has any yet but she’s definitely gonna get some. I think the first one she’s gonna get is a four-leaf clover on the back of her neck. the next one is going to be a hawk across her shoulder blades.

17) Where would they like to be in ten years time?

Still keeping people safe, hopefully.

18) What do they look like? Either description or picture.

Tall-ish (like 5′10), long black hair down below her shoulders (usually tied into a ponytail or kept in one place using minor gravity powers to look all floaty and otherworldy and badass), green eyes, and she walks that fine line of looking almost-slender while also having fairly toned muscles from all the Paladin-ing she does.

Also she’s half-Irish, half-Egyptian in Madlands (the Egyptian thing being another thing she inherits from Nikita being part of this Kira’s composite characterization).

19) What genre of music would they be into?

She’d like rock a lot. And a lot of different variants of it, but the two bog ones are metal and soft rock/alternative.

She’d really like Linkin Park’s One More Light, now that I think about it...

20) What would be the worst thing someone could say to them?

Basically insulting her integrity or questioning her honor.

If you told her she somehow broke a promise she made, or caused the death of a civilian, she’d, like, short-circuit.

Fortunately that hasn’t happened yet.

[violaobanion]

Rules: once tagged, you’re supposed to write 92 truths about yourself. At the end, choose however many people you want to tag!

I was tagged by @burgessinthestreets The Babe™, send her hugs! (she’s sick)

LAST…
 [1] drink: Solo (orange soda) [2] phone call: i called this dude i occasionally hang out with after i missed the buss home, he came to the rescue~~ (sorta) [3] text message: my papa 
[4] song you listened to: Hide And Seek - dePresno 
[5] time you cried: Uhm...??? OH! I nearly cried on monday bc i got so frickin’ angry at my colleague. She was only teasing, but DAMN i was pissed at her for a sec there

HAVE YOU EVER…
 [6] dated someone twice: haha nope. [7] been cheated on: nope. 
[8] kissed someone and regretted it: nope. [9] lost someone special: yes. 
[10] been depressed: yes. 
[11] gotten drunk and thrown up: nope.

LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS:
 [12] orange so intense it makes you want to BURN THEM ALL~~ 
[13] nice and calming green tones 
[14] those 50 shades of grey IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU… 
[15] made new friends: yes 
[16] fallen out of love: have i? nah, don’t think so? 
[17] laughed until you cried: most definitely [18] found out someone was talking about you: they do it all the time *brushes off shoulders* 
[19] met someone who changed you: yes [20] found out who your true friends are: uhm yeah... 
[21] kissed someone on your facebook list: nope.

GENERAL… 
[22] how many of your tumblr friends do you know in real life: 1 
[23] do you have any pets: I HAVE AN IDIOT CAT NAMED HELIUM [24] do you want to change your name: nope, i’m liteally the only person ever to have this name(my real name, not viola) and be under 40. 
[25] what did you do for your last birthday: cake. all over. 
[26] what time did you wake up: depends on the day. if i have no plans i wake ~naturally~ at 9 am-ish [27] what were you doing at midnight last night: sleeping 
[28] name something you cannot wait for: spring to finally arrive [29] when was the last time you saw your mother: oh shit i usually see her at least once a week, but now i haven’t seen her since last sunday 
[30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: the level of social i have been i guess [31] what are you listening to right now: music. on spotify. my lifesaver. 
[32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: no? 
[33] something that is getting on your nerves: people standing in my way/wasting my time [35] elementary: piece of cake [36] high school: been there done that (at least the norwegian version) [37] college: nope. vocational. so far. 
[38] hair colour: some sort of ginger/brown/something 
[39] long or short hair: long 
[40] do you have a crush on someone: maybe. [41] what do you like about yourself?: i like a lot of things about myself, but somehow i only come up with things i hate when these kinds of questions pops up in my life. (why?) [42] piercings: ears only. [43] blood type: you know what? i have no fucking idea. [44] nickname: so many. but i’ve stopped using my real name on tumblr, so i won’t tell you. 
[45] relationship status: single... [46] zodiac sign: Libruh (i am such a loser) [47] pronouns: she/her 
[48] fav tv show: Game Of Thrones, Skam. Don’t make me choose. 
[49] tattoos: no. 
[50] right or left handed: LEFT all the way~~~

  FIRST… 
[51] surgery: this fat lump on my eyebrow when i was like 1 y/o. first and only. 
[52] piercing: ears. 
[53] best friend: Sjur. Kindergarten. Everything was fun and games, but then he moved... 
[55] vacation: idk but probably denmark. or wat, was it that time we were in northern Germany for a change? 
[56] pair of trainers: should i know this? isn’t this the kind of stuff your mom knows?

RIGHT NOW… [57] eating: nothing. [58] drinking: water. [59] I’m about to: hit the hay, as the kids say. 
[60] listening to: Stranger Things soundtracks, such soothing. [61] waiting for: my life to begin. 
[62] want: things to happen 
[63] get married: not at this point, no. 
[64] career: flowers. all over!~

WHICH IS BETTER…
 [65] hugs or kisses: hugs. [66] lips or eyes: eyes. 
[67] shorter or taller: taller. [68] older or younger: older. 
[69] romantic or spontaneous: a nice balance between both. 
[70] nice arms or nice stomach: couldn’t care less.

[71] sensitive or loud: can’t answer seeing as these two aren’t related, generalizing idiot. (this was carla’s answer but it’s so fucking on point imma let it stay)

[72] hook up or relationship: relationship? idk? never experienced either? (perks of a late bloomer) 
[73] troublemaker or hesitant: me? hesitant. others? troublemakers. Make ‘em take aaaaalll the blame and let me lurk in the shadows ;))))

HAVE YOU EVER… 
[74] kissed a stranger? nope 
[75] drank hard liquor? nope, but i’ve smelled it. [76] lost glasses/contact lenses? considering i don’t use them, it’s kinda ard to lose them. 
[77] turned someone down: no? i don’t hope so? i really bad a reading situations sometimes? 
[78] sex on first date? depends. 
[79] broken someone’s heart? not yet. (that i know) 
[80] had your own heart broken? SO MANY TIMES. in so many ways. 
[81] been arrested? no. 
[82] cried when someone died? yes. (and it was my previous cat lmao) [83] fallen for a friend: dude, who hasn’t?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN… 
[84] yourself? all day everyday always like what else is there? 
[85] miracles? weeeeeelllllllll..... it depends. 
[86] love at first sight? nah, but feelings at first sight? yes. 
[87] santa claus? no 
[88] kiss on the first date? if I want to. [89] angels? nope

OTHER… 
[90] current best friend’s name: This is going to sound cheesy, but I don’t like comparing friends like that? I have a few very very good friends who are so good in their own way, and it would be wrong to put one above the other. 
[91] eye colour: blue/green/grey. my passport says blue (LIESSSS) [92] favourite movie: Love Actually

Tagging: @andsoshefollowedthestarshome, @holly-gofightly, @nomdeguerreblogs