#HOW DARE I GIVE THIS A COOL NAME BUT WRITE IT SO POORLY

[aggro-my-beloved]

📙 (L, Y, Z) -> Milo, David, James

(if you dont want to do three, then you can do just Milo)

🌷

Thank you so much, Rach! I live your content, honestly. Congratulations on 50 followers!

thank you for the ask, star! <3 hope you’re having a good night and don’t hate me but I haven’t listened to a james audio (yet!) but i will happily write for our precious davey and milo :)

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

L → Milo strives to go above and beyond for children that aren’t even his own. Partly because he feels the need to prove to himself that he is not his father, and to prove to sweetheart that he can be humble and mannered toward more than just his cat. He’s always volunteering to babysit for his unempowered friends, or gets incredibly giddy when they get invited to a baby shower…

“Another already?” Sweetheart reads over the recent invitation to yet another couple’s announcement that they’re expecting.

“Can you believe it? It’s like dominos…” Milo giggles as he winds his arms around their waist.

“Wonder where we fall in line.” His mate murmurs quietly, interlocking the fingers settled on their hip. They turn to stare fiercely at one another, daring for the other to give the go-ahead.

“You know I’d never say no to a little practice, sweetheart.” The way his tongue curls as he speaks their name has them riled up in seconds. No other words needed to be said, after all, their actions that night spoke much louder.

David’s grumpy attitude is rated e for everyone, and children are no exception. Hard as he may try to make it clear, though, young ones gravitate towards him like a magnet. Just last week at their favorite sit-down restaurant, one little boy in particular kept peeking over the booth David was sat in and asking him the most ridiculous questions, followed by more absurd comments. For a majority of the night, the alpha kept his cool until Angel brought their new friend up on the drive home.

“He seemed to be really interested about you.” David only lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Kids never seem to learn when to sit still and stop talking. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.” They lock eyes, and Angel is transported back to their first date, where she admittedly did agitate him with their boundless queries.

“You happen to be fond of this someone you know.” They point out with a smirk.

“I know that, you menace. Who said I wasn’t fond of the former?” This is all the prompting Angel needs to pester their husband the rest of the way home. From names, to nursery themes, it’s all they’re going to be talking about with their mate for the rest of the week. Or until David can finally get a clue.

Y → David doesn’t find a condescending attitude attractive AT ALL. It’s different if someone wants to take the lead, he realizes there’s certain circumstances where he needs to take a step back but having mutual respect in a relationship is everything to him. And if his partner has problems with his pack mates or his friends, he is always quick to cut them off, he’s too loyal for unnecessary drama.

Milo isn’t a fan of tardiness or non-communicative people. The man has abandonment issues, what do you expect? Anytime Sweetheart tells them they’ll be home by 9:00 and 9:02 strikes, he’s having heart palpitations and wondering the worst. Poorly dressed people also get on his nerves, because he doesn’t just look at it as having poor fashion sense but that the person isn’t trying to look good. Not even for themselves.

Z → David snores like a mf TRUCK, so loud angel has to wear earplugs or turn on a noise machine. He always denies it when it’s brought up or he finds Angel asleep on the couch some nights when it’s REALLY bad but deep down he knows it’s true. He probably has a deviated septum but refuses to go to the doctor to let them look and see what options there are. And god help Angel if they manage to drag them there, he’ll probably be debating with the doctor, too.

Milo talks in his sleep. Nothing coherent though, just tiny mumbles here and there or a choked breath that always scares Sweetheart to the point where they cloak themselves out of instinct. Some nights where he dreams vividly, the two can hold a somewhat understandable conversation for a few minutes. He won’t remember it the following morning, but Sweetheart will be hanging on to every word as blackmail for the future. How do you think they get him to play all those horror games?

Join the sleepover!

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

Oh wow I actually managed to write something for @dr-rarepair-week-blog

Soulmates Au, Celeste/Makoto, Soulmates have both the name and first words spoken on one wrist each.

Common Greetings

Makoto could barely concentrate through the introductions, mechanically introducing himself to each person he approached. He knew he was stalling, saving the one he most dreaded and most wanted to talk to for last. Words itched on his wrist, the words that bonded him to his soulmate, 

"Things just keep getting curiouser, and curiouser." The girl in black had said at his introduction, perfectly matching the words on his wrist. The girl who was almost certainly Taeko Yasuhiro, the girl he had wondered his whole life about. 

Did she know? Her face was cool as ice, with no single twitch, a perfect poker face. It was just his luck that the panic of all that was happening had made him use such a plain and average greeting. Surely she had to know either way, though? He had said his name. It would match the name on her other wrist even without him saying something completely recognizable.

Still, if she knew, she really did give nothing away about it. A perfect porcelain yet blank expression stared at him, as if daring him to even think himself able to approach her.

He didn't want Ishimaru to yell at him again for wasting time, though, so he steadied his nerves and walked over to her.

"I do not think we have been introduced, my name is Celestia Ludenberg." She said with a small smile, eyes that had before seemed regal boring into him with an intensity. If daring him to contradict her.

 Feeling caught off foot at the unexpected name, Makoto could only stumble out, "Celestia...Luden....huh?" 

It was true that the threads online had called her that, but he thought it was just an alias. Was he wrong? Was this all just a coincidence? He couldn't be sure; her sleeves puffed around the wrist, making it impossible to glimpse. 

Best to not be caught staring at a woman's wrists, though, that could end poorly.

Her smile turned icier after a beat of thought, tilting her head in a way that made his heart beat faster," Ludenberg. It is my name. But I would prefer for you to call me Celeste. "

Even with her eyes closed in an icy smile, he still felt like he was being challenged. She was a gambler that was for sure. He hadn't been entirely sure; with how tight-lipped and stoic the girl in purple had been, he almost thought her to be the gambler if it weren't for the lack of gothic clothing. Now, though, there could be no doubt.

A part of him wanted to curl away from her like a housecat, but from how his wrists practically itched in her presence. He knew he'd have to assert himself, to play her game.

" Um, you are Japanese right? "He cautiously asked, feeling himself stand up straight to look her in the eye. 

Her eyes opened like a flash of lightning, not quite looking at him, but still managing to seem like she was trying to pry every little detail out of his soul, then judge it unworthy.

" Of course, "Her voice was tight, controlled, and almost natural. He was surprised he could even pick up the slight tension hidden so well. "Why do you ask?"

It felt rude to pry further, like he should just leave this alone if he valued his life, but... If this was his soulmate, he needed to be able to stand strong to her. Soulmates were equal, after all; he had to be able to not bow away from her eyes. 

So, with more confidence than he felt, he asked," If you don't mind...could you tell me your real name? "

Her eyes looked his dead in the eye, silent, before she let out a cold chuckle like she was a queen trying to decide whether to behead one who had slightly inconvenienced her. "I don't know what you're talking about, Celestia Ludenberg is my real name."

Her gaze grew even more intense, leaning slightly closer to him. It took all his effort not to dart his eyes away, uneased by the amount of eye contact. 

"But as I mentioned, I would much rather you call me Celeste."

It was clear that she wouldn't budge, polite in a way that seemed more forceful than a rude dismissal would. However, he knew she had caught her attention from how her eyes never left him. Even if it felt like a mouse catching the attention of a panther. 

"I look forward to getting to know you better." She said, clearly dismissing him even as her eyes stayed on his. The hand on her chin as she chuckled, subtly flashing the metal accessory on her finger. He felt a shiver go down his spine at the clear threat. Could someone so menacing really be his soulmate? 

He wanted to keep pushing, but then Togami spoke, and he found himself losing his chance. Still, even as attention turned away, he could still feel her eyes burrowing into the back of his head.

——

Celeste was no fool; she had seen the recognition in the droll boy's eyes when she first spoke. Makoto Naegi, a common trash name with a common trash greeting meant for a common trash girl. She wasn't Taeko anymore, though; she was more, something greater who had no need for someone so common or basic. 

Still, he had managed to surprise her a little; few would make eye contact with her like that, and even fewer would challenge her words so brazenly. So perhaps he wasn't a completely worthless tool. No F rank like she had wondered he would be. Even if Taeko had certainly been F rank, he was at least a C rank, maybe even B if if he kept this up.

She let out another small chuckle; even if he was the soulmate of a girl long dead, perhaps she could still find at least a bit of entertainment from him. He'd make a decent footman in the future, perhaps, at the very least.

[thornstocutyouwith]

Mun with a muse that has a special title: :D I'm going to be such a cunt about this. My muse is a DOCTOOUR Me, with a muse that doesn't care about titles, just like I don't care about titles on poorly written portrayals: *-Writes my muse calling their muse by their first or last name, excluding the title.-* Other mun: How dare you! My muse worked very hard for that! Me: Your fucking muse is imaginary, and you aren't a doctor, which is very easy to tell because your muse doesn't give me 'I've been studying for years to earn this doctorate' vibes, and my muse doesn't respect your muse, on top of that. So, fuck you, and my muse is not addressing your muse by a title you can't even portray right. Not even remotely, and fuck your muse continually reminding mine, as if they fucking should care. And also fuck you for thinking I should have my imaginary person, address your imaginary person, by a title, neither one of you dorks has earned. Move on. Or don't interact with my muse If you don't like them not addressing yours by their title. My muses never correct anyone for not addressing them by theirs, and I'm fine when they aren't, you and your fucking need to be acknowledged for your muse's fake fucking accomplishments. You wish you were as cool as your muse, and put as much effort as any real doctor did to EARN their title when you can't even fucking put in the effort to convince me your imaginary doctor should be trusted with safety scissors, let alone anywhere near another person. My muse isn't going to pretend your muse is not acting like an incompetent ass, especially when they get pissy over not being addressed by 'dr.' instead of, I don't know. DOING ANYTHING the fuck else, like, maybe their job, they supposedly worked so hard for. You self-aggrandizing, repulsive fucking nerd.

[pen-observing]

eclipsed

synopsis: You’ve been hired from Fontaine to close a new deal. It just so happens that the man you are negotiating with looks too much like a soulmate as he sits across from you.

Diluc x reader word count: 570  warning: legit written in 15 minutes and word vomit because im going through it.

MASTERLIST

Diluc Ragnvidr enters your life in the same way that the sun enters the sky when it dawns; just to claim it’s throne. You suppose it seems rather fitting. Someone of his stature and elegance, someone who would even make the most stubborn stars bow down to them – deserves a throne. Even if he sees the matter of aristocratic families and legacy without honor as a nuisance.  

Are you the stars that bow down before him? Do you bend your knee with grace as he walks past you? Absolutely not.   You have your own pride and mission. You did not come to this town just to bend the knee so weakly. This trip is business. You can leave a starry trail on the roads you pass. You can even leave some stardust on the stairs of his home but you can never leave weakness adjacent to him and his existence. Why? Because finding love in a lover like the sun is not the objective with which you have been sent. You are here to negotiate a new deal for Fontaine.  

Diluc Ragnvidr is surely persistent about not loosening the terms. They told you before you left that it might take a month while you swore that all you need is 3 days at most. How foolish of you.

The simple spec of stardust and a weak gleam will not be enough. So, you are not the stars. The stars would have already been extinguished in his presence. You can’t change fate either. A shame.

In fact, you curse the stars for ever bringing you here. Being so proud of what you managed to accomplish, thinking that nobody could come close to the coercive nature with which you close business deals was not arrogance; it was simply the reputation that followed you. But now, you sit across a man who somehow manages to see through the manipulative attempts with sharp eyes.  

You sit across from the only other person that ever challenged you in such a way. In theory, you should be mad with wounded pride to disguise, but, all you can feel when he crosses his arms and looks your way is admiration.  

If you are not the stars; you are the moon. Him being the sun just means that you’ve finally met an equal. Naturally, you shine in different ways and with varying intensity but nothing else can come close to the two of you.  

It has been a week now and you are sure of it. Diluc Ragnvidr is the closest to a soulmate you’ve ever met. That is the conclusion which forms from the fountain called truth. Yet, it does not feel like the shock of waves hitting you on the shore.   After negotiations are finally over (on which you managed to compromise even if initially you wanted all in your favor) you decide to tell him. You’ve spent a week and a half arguing with this man through fake politeness to uphold expectation and manners. The last you can do right now is be honest with him before departing. If you’ve felt this strongly about someone then surely he must feel the same.

“I think I could fall in love with you.” - is what your voice says.

“Don’t.” - is all that he replies.  

You see, how foolish once again from your side. You two are not soulmates, you are twin flames at most. The stars or the moon do not rival the sun. Even if they did – you are neither. You are just someone who got eclipsed. And it is your fault.

[fang-natic]

Sing, Nightingale (part 1) - keigo tamaki x top!reader

You needed to know what he knew, but he wasn't going to give it up without a fight. Not that that matters. You know exactly what kind of fight to give him.

cw: kidnapping, noncon, bondage, mild knifeplay, orgasm denial, bdsm elements, humiliation, blackmail, drugging, needles, overstimulation, wing kink (is that what we're calling it)

an: i said i'd do it so i did. i dont know why i did it. or why it's so fucking long (gdocs says it's 1.3k, what the fuck). but i read some oneshots and did some limited browsing of the wiki so here you go. if you see something that doesn't make sense with the canon, no you don't <3

now i need to write a part 2 for this where you actually get to fuck him stupid. part 2 will probably establish reader to be amab, but you can read this part one as gn!reader

"So, who are you working with?" Hawk asks, cheeks still pink from where you'd ripped the duct tape off. "The Liberation Front? Some evil-League-offshoot? Or are you rogue?"

God, he's talkative. His wings are depleted to ragged, feathery stumps and ropes are criss-crossed over his arms and torso. He's on his knees right now, legs spread with shins bound to his thighs, and a bruise forming nicely on his cheek. Despite that, he still has the gall to mouth off.

You respond with another sharp backhand, this time across the other cheek, sending him careening to the side. "That's none of your concern," You drawl. "You're simply here to tell me what you know, and I'm here to learn it. However long that takes is up to you."

He slowly draws himself back up, shaking his head. He spits some blood onto the floor - "Damn, bit my cheek," he mutters - and looks up at you again. Still no fear in those golden eyes. A lazy grin on his abused face. "You get right to the point, huh? Damn, I like you a lot better than the other villains already."

"Then I take it that you'll be cooperative?"

"Ha, fuck no."

You kick him this time. Not hard enough to break his neck, but you catch him upside the chin, and hear the sharp clack of his teeth snapping together. His head almost droops to the floor in pain before he catches himself. "Almost felt that one."

"You're insufferable." You debate kicking him again, but you need his jaw intact so he can actually give you the info you need.

"That's what they all tell me," He laughs around the blood in his mouth. "Don't flatter yourself by thinking you're the first one to catch me. Plenty of other villains have tried the same thing, and none of them have actually made me sing. You're not gonna be very different."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

You crouch down with a knife in hand, and start the process of cutting away his clothes. He shivers as you make quick work of his shirt, and you can feel his heartbeat peak against his skin, though that doesn't actually stop the cocky lilt of his voice.

"Ah, classic, classic. The ol 'strip-and-whip' method. Most people buy me dinner first, but you're hot so I can make the exception-" He stutters a bit as you grab the waistband of his pants, jerking it upwards so you can drag the blade down the seams. "Phew, you're thorough, huh? Though I can't blame you, my ass is to die for-"

"You're rambling," You chide him. He's now entirely naked, save for his underwear and the shreds of his clothes that are still pinned do this body by the ropes. "Are you nervous, Keigo?"

"Hey now," He protests. "We're not on a first name basis. And this isn't my first rodeo, so..." He trails off as you pull at the elastic of his underwear so harshly it rips. "Whoa, okay, buy me dinner first." He laughs, but it's pitched a little higher.

"I know the kind of villains you've dealt with, Keigo." You touch the knife under his chin and tilt him up to meet his eyes. Finally, some reaction - his pupils have gone small with poorly-concealed fear. "The ones that use electricity and knives to try and make you talk. But you're a spy, aren't you? You're trained to deal with pain. I could cut you up bloody and you still wouldn't sing."

Your other hand squeezes his thigh, traveling up to his hip, tracing along the curve of his hipbone. "But I'm not like those other villains," You say, voice low and murmured right into his ear, as you press your palm against his cock, feeling it twitch as he yelps. "You're going to wish I was."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You have him blindfolded now, and still kneeling in the middle of the cold, concrete room. His cock is stiff and drooling against his abdomen, leashed by a ring at the base. Vibrators hum from where they're clipped to his nipples, and stuffed deep into his ass.

His spine jerks as you play idly with the remote, a whine breaking out behind his clenched teeth. You've been at this for a while now, and he'd been mouthy at first, telling you how this was 'a normal Saturday night for him', and 'I don't need a safeword, don't worry' and 'can I call you daddy or is that off the table.' He'd shut up at the half-hour mark when he realized he was wasting his breath, and that you weren't kidding when you said you had no time limit.

Even so, he was handling things impressively. His bottom lip was bitten raw from where he'd tried to keep quiet, and not once has he begged or pleaded. You were going to need to step things up.

You turn the vibrations down, and he relaxes for an instant, before tensing up the moment he hears your footsteps approach. "What, bored already?" He rasps, making a grin that was more like a snarl. "And here I thought I was putting on a good show."

"I'm about to make it a better one, no worries." You pull the ring off his cock in one quick motion, and it bobbles obscenely. When you lift up a corner of the blindfold, a golden, watery eye blinks back. In your other hand, you hold a syringe, courtesy of Dr. Garaki himself (or pilfered from his laboratory, more like), and he darts between looking at you and it, eying the little needle nervously. "Don't worry, little bird. This isn't a Quirk-eraser or anything like that. It's just going to make you feel things." You pause. "Feel everything, in fact."

"Get away from me," He hisses, facade cracking as you bring the needle down near his neck. You fist your hand in his hair and force his head back, exposing the smooth contour of his throat. "Don't you fucking dare-"

"Whoops," You hum, as you inject him. "Too late."

His entire body shudders, and his eyes goes wide, pupil shrinking to a thin slit, and his mouth drops open in a shaky gasp. Garaki really outdid himself with this one, because the moment you release the hero he's curling in on himself, skin already flushing brightly in the cool air.

"What did-" He groans, throat working in a dry swallow. "What did you fucking do?!"

"It's terrible, isn't it?" You watch as he writhes, trying to position himself in a way that won't make him feel the ropes that are cutting into his skin, or the grit on the floor beneath his knees. "Everything that touches you is now amplified. Like so-" And you demonstrate and dragging one finger along the base of his wing, and he shakes like a leaf, a helpless whimper falling out of his throat. "Isn't that overwhelming?"

He growls, and flaps pathetically. "Don't you fucking touch them."

Ah, that's right. You remember he'd mentioned something about that. In some talk show or another; how he could feel things through his feathers, but only the ones at the base, and how he'd sometimes spend his free time combing through them.

You reach out now and grab one of his wings, squeezing and twisting, feeling all those little feathers tickle at your palm. Keigo, on the other hand, screams as if you shot him, and-

He cums just like that. Splatters white across the gray cement and onto his own stomach. His thighs shaking with the force of it, getting rubbed pink and stinging against the floor, and the blindfold darkens around his eyes with tears. He's gasping for breath like he just finished a race.

You can't help but laugh - one rough touch, and he was undone. You reach down and squeeze his softening cock, and he spasms, shaking his head. "Wai wait wait no, too much it hurts I can't-"

"Sure you can," You twist your hand, and he chokes on air. "Or do you want to be a good boy and finally tell me what I want to know?"

His jaw clamps shut at that, and you sigh. "Guess not." You shrug, and you squeeze a little tighter to watch him cry out.

[harpersplay]

Genuine non-troll white woman here - you wrote "So I already knew that Good Girls was a white feminism phantasmagoria...But, jesus fucking christ, y'all are just showing your true colours lately. The way you talk about a MOC in relation to a white woman is disgusting." Not asking you to call out specific people or posts or start any kind of flame war but what would be a general example of what you are talking about? I follow a good chunk of people and I'm not seeing this maybe b/c I'm not following the same people, maybe out of willful blindness, maybe I'm not recognizing it - again, b/c of ignorance, etc. Just trying to understand what you mean - and not do it obviously, if I am doing it.

I apologise for taking a longish time to answer this. Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to get into it. Anyway, I'd first like to say that this is all my opinion. What bothers me might not bother someone else. BIPOC are not a monolith. Even subsections aren't. Not all Mexican trans men are a monolith. Neither are all Japanese lesbians. You get the idea. And that's not even including people like Ben Carson or Caitlyn Jenner—people who support and work for policies that actively harm the marginalised group of which they are a part. Secondly, I know this isn't your intention, but asking POC to tell you what is ok to do and what is not is a slippery slope to "my [blank] friend said this was ok." Finally, the fandom is quite small so it is pretty hard to give general examples. I don't know if it's more trouble to quote specific posts or not, because some will think it is about them anyway. Anything I'm going to mention I've seen on Tumblr, Instagram, Reddit and/or Twitter. But there are definitely popular Tumblr blogs that all push the same narrative. Oh, and one last thing, I haven't seen any of what I'm referring to from people I follow.

Ok, let's go. For a very long time, mainly WOC have pointed out the racial problems within the show and the extremely dismissive attitude about those problems from mainly white women. And while these same women have written thousands (even tens of thousands) or words about Beth (it's always Beth) and her struggles and the amazingness of such a complex female character (ymmv), they brush aside commentary about racism as either nitpicking, not understanding the show is about the 3 women (tell that to all the white men with fleshed-out storylines), or misogyny. The last is especially hostile because they are often talking over Black women and misogynoir is a very real fucking thing that couples the fun of being hated for being a woman with the delight of good old-fashioned racism. They espouse the idea that people having a problem with Beth are all covert & overt misogynists. But talk out the other side of their mouths that they can't possibly be racist even when they support racism in the show or ignore concerns brought up by fans of colour. And that is just the absolute height of hypocrisy. Because by the former they acknowledge that people in a marginalised group (women) can still be anti- that group (a phenomenon with which I agree). But in the latter, suddenly they don't understand that concept.

Specific to the post you are responding to, fans that purport to like Brio write about the relationship in ways that reveal how much of their enjoyment comes from Rio being inferior to Beth. It's all about what he can do for her, how he acts against his best interests for her, how he literally denies himself sexual pleasure for her. Those are all meant to show how in love he is with her. But the show never bothers to tell us why. And, no, this is not because the show is so deep. Other romantic relationships they have scenes that are explicit about the characters' feelings. But Rio, after being shot, after being betrayed, after being mocked, is just so in love with Beth....because. (MYSTERIOUS!) And the Beth stans are more than fine with this because they think everyone should be as obsessed with Beth as they are. But it's bad storytelling. And, in this particular case, it gets into very dicey racist tropes. A white women treating her Latino lover like an afterthought is not the same as a white women treating her white lover like an afterthought. It just isn't. And if some of these fans are as smart as they pretend to be, they know that. They just don't care. Much like the showrunners.

There was so much talk defending the drawn-out Boland marriage because why can't we understand how hard it is for Beth—who is, at various times, claimed to be emotionally abused by Dean or staying with him because it is safe and comfortable—and we don't appreciate how difficult it is for her (I may be one of the few divorced people talking about this show on Tumblr, so this has always made me laugh). Yet there was nothing but glee when Rio flipped on his brousin (who was written as both abusive and safe) for Beth. Where was the empathy for Rio and how hard it was for him? Especially because, unlike Beth, he didn't even have one parent? Hadn't the Beth stans used her very tragical history™️ to explain away her every shitty act? idk, not having any parents and going to jail (as a minor?) and being betrayed by your family seems pretty tragic. But I didn't see them all of a sudden excusing Rio's bad behaviour. Because, feminism or something?

What about Beth's feelings? Last season she spent trying to have him killed. This season she spent looking annoyed by him. Throughout both she talked down to him in a specific white woman way that every BIPOC has experienced, even if some of them are cool with it. There were multiple opportunites for Beth to talk about her feelings with Ruby and/or Annie, but the writers made the deliberate choice to always make it about sex (and god, the immature way they had these three grown women talk was fucking obnoxious). She spent the last 2 seasons also wanting him out of her life to the point that a majority of her actions in S4 were motivated by getting to Nevada with her husband and kids. Beth doesn't care about Rio but Rio needs to put Beth above everything because he's just so in love like he's never been before (which is blatant Marcus & Rhea erasure). And anyone who doesn't think Beth would have just as happily been sitting on that bench plotting how to "run the city" (hahahahaha!) with Nick if the situation worked out differently hasn't been paying attention.

So, what do we have? A white woman who is constantly excused (by the loudest portion of the fandom) for all her ill treatment to her Black BFF & her Black husband, her Asian coworker, her Latina "friend," and Rio (among others) because her life is hard and who is not required to even be nice to her supposed "endgame". And a MOC who is expected to accept being treated poorly by the white woman because he loves her.

And, a last thing, this attitude grossly crossed over into talk about real people when the fans—who self-righteously claimed to be above anon sources or talking about the actors—latched on to the narrative and enjoyed blaming the MOC actor for the cancellation of the show, even dragging his insignificant (in terms of influence) Black wife into it. All while conveniently ignoring that the creator/showrunner is a white woman. The star & producer is a white woman. The people making the decisions at NBCU & Netflix were white women. All white women with so much more power than the Latino actor.

Shit, did I answer your question? I know this is a lot. But I could honestly make mulitple posts on each issue I touched on here. Basically, white people ain't slick, be they content creators or fans. We see how & what y'all talk about. We see that Rio not having a last name is not a big deal to you and we know why that is. So we're fucking tired. And we're over a show that had so much potential crapping all over their POC characters to prop up a white woman. And we're repulsed by the white women in the fandom who use their tears to seem oppressed and who toss around the word misogynist because POC dare call a Karen a Karen.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter One

ao3 - masterpost

back on my bullshit, y'all! as i have chattered about, this is my fix it for acosf. we've established that because acosf ignores canon from the original trilogy and is so poorly edited that emerie has two--count 'em, two--on-page tragic backstories...i am completely at liberty to ignore what I please, and so are you. i'll let you know chapter by chapter what you should keep in mind.

this one's not critically important, but I just want to say it: in acosf, nesta's revealed to be taller than average, and two inches taller than feyre. wrong. nesta's short. feyre's the tallest and she's only 5'6", elain's an inch shorter, and nesta's 5'3" on a good day.

anyway. enjoy!

---

There's nothing quite like stepping into Feyre's beautiful new home to remind Nesta just how truly ugly she is. The literary part of her, dulled by the wine from last night and the downward spiral of the past year, appreciates the contrast. Sometimes she still likes to narrate her life in her head as though it were a book. What would she write here? The woman curves her foot inside her boot, as if that would stop her from dirtying the marble. That's a nice line, isn't it? A good hook. But she isn't a woman anymore, so it wouldn't work.

"This way," Cassian says, unnecessarily waving his hand behind him.

It's probably supposed to be insulting, that Feyre has sent him to fetch her. But she doesn't care. Feyre can do what she likes. Just as Nesta will do what she likes. She'll sit through this scolding, turn down the invitation to stay for lunch, go home and sleep until she wakes up and has another night like last.

Although perhaps she'll spend less this time. If only to avoid this headache again.

"They're waiting in here," he says, stopping in front of one of the doors. How many rooms are there in this mansion, anyway? Feyre might've mentioned it on the tour, but she doesn't remember. Only remembers that decorating the walls are dozens, maybe hundreds of pictures of Feyre and Rhysand and Morrigan and Cassian and Azriel and Amren and Elain and their father, and none of Nesta. Or their mother, for that matter. She remembers that very well.

"Wait," Cassian blurts out as she lays a hand on the doorknob.

Nesta angles her head slightly. Not a full turn, not to look at him.

"Do you want your tea?"

Rolling her eyes, Nesta opens the door and shuts it--pointedly, she hopes--behind her.

Her sisters look up from the couch where they sit, heads close together. Little cakes and sandwiches and tea are arranged prettily on the glass table.

"Nesta!" Elain says, leaping up."You're here early!"

Nesta bites her tongue to keep from answering Five whole minutes. No use snapping at Elain before they've even begun, is there?

"Let me take your coat," Feyre says, standing up too.

Ah. So this would be this sort of meeting, then. These...luncheons, that they sometimes try to have with her. But it's nine in the morning.

It pulls at her heart, that they still try. And makes her sick to her stomach. She winces as she feels it. Too much alcohol and not enough food to add any extra queasiness. This will not be easy for her.

"Heard you had quite the night," Feyre says, voice bright and cheery in a way that does not quite match her eyes. "Sit down, sit down."

She does, opposite them. They take note.

"Do you want to try these macarons, Nesta? Raspberry. I made them."

"We got this new cinnamon tea...from the Continent. I think you'll like it."

Her sisters try again a few times, and eventually she says, "I'll take tea."

"I'll pour it," Feyre says quickly.

Great. Wonderful.

This isn't so bad, though, she thinks as she sipped her tea. She'll get through this...whatever it is. Force herself to make some conversation, say Feyre's newest art project is pretty, force down half a cookie and tell Elain it tastes good. Then she'll agree to see them for lunch in a week. And that will be all.

How long can they possibly keep her for? An hour? Two hours? She can do that.

And then Feyre clears her throat. "Nesta," she begins. "Elain and I...have something we want to say to you."

Here it is. She should've known better. Tea and macarons, at nine in the morning? Of course not.

"And we're only saying this because we care about you," Elain adds quickly.

"Yes. Yes, right. We are. And...well...what we want to say is..." Feyre looks to Elain, who nods encouragingly.

Good grief. Will this never end?

"We know that...all of this...has been...difficult...for you to adjust to."

Nesta's heart stutters. They wouldn't. This--this isn't happening.

She keeps it off her face, though. She is cool, impassive. Blank. Nothing.

It doesn't make Feyre give up, but it does make her duck her head. "We...understand. But we think...we know that because we love you we can't allow this to go on any longer." Feyre clamps her mouth shut as she finishes, appearing to be holding her breath.

Nesta only raises an eyebrow slightly. Inside, she is not nearly as calm.

"All of the...drinking, Nesta," Elain says, lips beginning to tremble. Oh, no, not this. Anything but this. "And the m-males." She cringes as she said the words.

The color leachees from her face. She wants to die. There is no Mother, she knows, because if there were any being with mercy, they would surely split the earth beneath her feet and take her down.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Feyre says, now the one hurrying to add on to the other. Elain nods, but she looks sick. "Just that--you hadn't really...there was Tomas, but other than that--"

Nesta flinches violently when Feyre says his name. She still isn't making eye contact, though, so she doesn't notice, and continues.

"--so the--switch. From not being with anyone, and then...and these males don't care about you. And I wouldn't--I would never judge you, Nesta, really, but it doesn't appear as though you're...enjoying...yourself." She shrinks back.

"So then," Nesta says, proud of herself for keeping her voice even, "you are judging me."

"We're just noting facts," Elain says.

"And...all right, let's take a step back," Feyre says, swallowing. "We're not here to criticize you. We only want to offer a solution."

"A solution," Nesta repeats flatly. To her problem. To her.

"A--not a solution. Help. We want to help."

Elain clenches her hands into fists in front of her. Feyre stills as she visibly holds her breath.

"Well?" Nesta says after half a minute of this, voice still deadly calm. "What is your solution?"

Who will be the one to say it, she wonders? Elain, frightened as a mouse already, or Feyre, ill at the sight of her?

It's Feyre. Perhaps being High Lady makes her feel responsible. But she exhales sharply, picks up her head, and says, "We think it would be beneficial for you to spend some time in the library."

Nesta blinks. A library? That...doesn't sound--

And then she realizes. Not a library. The library. The one off the side of that mountain, where Hybern had attacked...where Bryaxis had lived...where all those priestesses...those priestesses...

"Are you out of your mind?" she blurts out, losing grip on her faux calm completely. "You want me to go to that library? Are you insane? How is that possibly supposed to help?"

"Nesta--"

"With those--those sycophants? Who worship that thing?" The thundering of her heart blocks the sounds from her sisters' protests. "Is that what you want me to be? Some acolyte of that--you want me to pray to that--how can--how dare--"

"Nesta, please!" Feyre cries, hands thrown up in front of her.

"We don't mean that at all!" Elain says, tears in her eyes.

Nesta's chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath, her mind too full of that...Cauldron. That thing they all worship--that thing that did this to her--to Elain--to Father--

"Please hear us out," Feyre says. "Sit back down, please."

Nesta falters. She hadn't even realized she had jumped up. She fights to keep her cheeks from reddening in shame. Stupid--she shouldn't have lost control like that--and what if something had happened? Shattered a window, shattered one of her sisters' bones?

"Thank you," Feyre says as she sits. "What we mean is...to spend time at the library during the day...working on entirely secular things. Nothing to do with any worship at all. Not reading those books, not participating in any prayer, not even wearing their robes."

"We would never suggest you do that, Nesta." Elain's voice is tight. Feyre reaches out and holds her hand.

"Just during the day," Feyre continues, "and then at night staying in the House of Wind."

"So you don't even have to share a room with any of them," Elain is quick to clarify. "Or eat with them. And you could go to that private library, too, remember?" She still fights back tears, but her voice takes a hopeful turn upwards.

Nesta latches onto everything inside her and holds it down tightly. "What would I even be doing there?"

Elain and Feyre exchange a look. Was that excitement? They probably take it as her willingness to go. That is not what this is.

"So, day to day, it would involve librarian duties. Reshelving books and such. And over time, if you find something you're interested in, aiding a senior librarian with her research. Or perhaps doing some of your own, if you'd like. But...the real purpose, Nesta..." Feyre sneaks another look at Elain before saying to her, "is for you to heal."

"We're not saying there's anything the matter with you," Elain says, jumping in before she can respond. "Just that...you've been hurt. And w-we take responsibility for not being by your side all this time. That was obviously wrong. We thought...well...we know you've always preferred to be on your own. But you're--you're hurting yourself too much. We can't just let you do that anymore. We love you," she finishes, choking back a sob. Her tears start falling from her eyes, but she does her best to keep quiet.

Feyre squeezes her hand, but doesn't turn to look at her. She keeps her eyes focused on Nesta. "Look, we know...it'd be a big change. But just...give it a few weeks. Get a feel for it. And if it's really not working...and you don't like it..."

"Then what?" Nesta asks, hollow.

"Don't worry about that," Feyre answers, firm. "We'll think of something else."

She's going to be sick right here. She cannot handle this...concern. Their trying. It's too much.

And now she has to say no. And Elain will cry--maybe Feyre, too. And then she'll have the rest of them upon her; Rhysand leading them to storm down her apartment, probably. It'll drive her down further, and perhaps be the last snip needed to finally sever the frayed, sole remaining string tied between herself and her sisters. Goodness knows she has ripped apart the tie between her and Amren, had stomped out the one between her and Cassian before it even had a chance to be something--

"Hey," Feyre says, placing a hand on her knee. "Stay with us, please."

"We know it's not easy." Elain speaks slowly, breathing deeply and fighting back her sobs. "But...don't think of it as a big thing. Just one step. One change. And w-we're not abandoning you to do this alone."

Feyre stands up and moves to sit by Nesta's side. Elain takes her other.

"I know how you feel," Feyre says, quiet and calm, squeezing her knee. "I've felt the same. If you can't do this for yourself...that's fine. Just please, please. Do it for us. Please."

Nesta narrows her eyes on Feyre's hand. She doesn't open her mouth for fear of what might come out. She won't give this voice--can't--

"I killed two innocents," Feyre says in that same voice, and suddenly, Nesta forgets her own thoughts as she turns to face her.

"It was my third trial," she continues, meeting Nesta's gaze, "Under the Mountain. Amarantha made me. I could've killed myself...and I was going to. But then it all ended and she died and Tamlin took me back to Spring. And I..." Only now does a tear slide down Feyre's cheek. But she just wipes it away and musters a small smile. "I promise I know how you feel. Please do this for me."

There are some truths Nesta knows. That she is not worth anyone's effort because of who she is, what she is. Which is defiled. And rotted. And small. And ugly. And these are the reasons why people give up; why she deserves that.

And yet, here her sisters sit, quietly crying, begging, beside her, and they are not giving up.

It's not exactly seeing the chance, rather...knowing it's there. In her periphery. Out of reach from where she is now, but...perhaps she can get there.

And Nesta realizes that there is a small, nearly insignificant--except it's the most important, isn't it?--part of her that throughout this whole drowning tempest, remembers what it is like to breathe. And it wants to breathe.

The girl who gave everything she could against the Cauldron may be buried, but she's not dead yet.

So she nods once.

Elain gasps and throws her palm against her mouth. Feyre squeezes her leg so hard she thinks she might draw blood.

"Thank you," Elain chokes out, crashing her head onto Nesta's shoulder.

Feyre doesn't say anything; only leans onto her other side.

Nesta doesn't relax. She sits there stiff and unmoving. But that distant, minuscule thing inside her flickers and breathes.

[palimpsessed]

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

[azucanela]

hitoshi hates birthdays [shinsou hitoshi x reader]

SUMMARY: shinsou hates birthdays, a lot. and he respects his mom, until she exposes to Y/N that it is in fact, his birthday.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: crack, kissing, mild pining, tik tok references, 

A/N: i peer pressured myself into writing shinsou because it is bb’s bday. so have this poorly written thing haha <3 pls forgive me 

Shinsou didn’t like birthdays. He never had, mostly because he was the kid who would throw a part just for no one to show up. Making friends had never been easy, even when his quirk had yet to manifest, along side the fear from those around him. Which is why, when it turned out his birthday was coming up, he just didn’t tell anyone. 

Birthdays sucked.

Of course, Shinsou needed to do something to keep his mom from lecturing him on how he had to start talking to people, fix his social life, especially now that he was going to such a prestigious school. The school was filled with pretentious dirtbags, that still thought bullying would do anything for their extremely fragile egos and self-esteem issues. 

Y/N had made that ‘prestigious’ school, a little more bearable, so naturally he made plans with her. The girl who punched someone in the face for him even though they didn’t know each other at all, at the time at least. Now, it seemed Shinsou couldn’t avoid the girl, not that he minded her company. Initially, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was a prank. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d been asked out as a dare when he was in middle school.

Was it wrong that he expected the pattern to continue? 

It didn’t continue, of course. Y/N had stuck around, and she had yet to ask him out, much to Shinsou’s dismay. He’d found himself attracted to her ‘sunny’ disposition and constant cursing, he was also concerned for her well-being seeing as she could barely take care of herself. The fact that she was one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen was a bonus.

Now, Shinsou couldn’t help but smile at the girl as they exited the movie theatre. She was beaming as she spoke about how she felt about the movie, the plot, that one character she really liked. Yeah, this is how he wanted to spend his birthday. 

“Honestly, can you believe he did that?” Y/N exclaimed, her gaze falling onto Shinsou as she expressed her shock, hands gesturing vividly around them. He found himself worrying that she would accidentally hit someone in the face int he midst of her rant.

Though he simply hummed in response, thinking for a moment, “yeah. I can.” 

She through her hands up, and Shinsou found himself gently bringing a hand to her arm to guide her away from a child she nearly elbowed. “How could he just leave her? The love of his life!” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes, “the audacity.”

“Well maybe he thought he wasn’t good enough.” Shinsou suggested, and he couldn’t help but relate to the guy from the odd rom-com they’d just watched. 

Allowing Shinsou to move her in the direction of the parking lot, he “Well maybe he should have asked. He was a really nice guy,” Y/N paused, biting her lip as her brows furrowed, “he kinda reminded me of you, actually.”

Shinsou bit back a bitter laugh at this comment, of course he reminded her of the character who didn’t get the girl. That was a great sign, perfect. “So, I’m the loser who fails to get the girl?” He asks, brow raised at her.

Y/N’s cheeks warm as she looks away from him, “no... You’re the nice guy-” She paused, lips pursing together before she sang, “nice guys always finished last should’ve known that.” Shinsou burst into laughter at her outburst, unlocking his car and opening the door for her. “See, you even open doors for the ladies. A true gentleman. Who doesn’t want that?”

You. Shinsou couldn’t help the thought that filled his head as he closed Y/N’s door, shaking his head as he made his way over to the driver’s side. “Anywhere you want me to take you?” He asked, looking to her and noticing she’d yet to put her seatbelt on, distracted by her phone, “and please buckle up. I don’t want to watch you fly head first through the window, as funny as it would be. I can’t afford a new car.”

Y/N laughed at his comment, buckling her seatbelt up nonetheless, “grocery store? I wanna buy some more snacks.”

“Sure, I probably need to buy groceries anyway.” He picked up his phone to text his mom, asking what she needed before throwing it onto the dashboard of the car. 

As Shinsou reaches into the back in search of his school bag, his phone vibrates on the dashboard, nearly slipping off of it had it not been for Y/N. The phone is already on because of the new message, and a picture of her and Shinsou is displayed as the background, bringing a smile to her face. It’s from one of their previous hangouts, alongside a few of her friends. Y/N had introduced them, she’d wanted Shinsou to branch out. Sure, he had friends, but he wasn’t necessarily close with any of them. 

The message from Shinsou’s mom takes this smile off her face pretty fast.

The normal stuff, and a birthday cake! Along with candles, it’s your birthday and we need to celebrate.

“Hey have you seen my-”

“It’s your birthday?” Her voice comes out quiet, she stares at the message for a moment. Wondering how she didn’t know his birthday, did he tell her at some point? Had she forgotten? 

Shinsou freezes for a moment, adjusting himself in the seat to look at her, “yeah.” He brings a hand to the back of his neck, disliking the change in atmosphere as she sighs.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you tell me? Did I forget?” She sounds distressed as she speaks, and Y/N is racking her brain for reasons why she was completely unaware of the date. Did Shinsou even see her as a friend? Was she just some random person he put up with? 

The answer was no, he didn’t see her as a friend, but he happened to like her quite a bit. And now he’s shaking his head, bringing a hand to her arm as frowns at her words, “I never told you. You didn’t forget. It’s fine, really. My birthday doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it matters, Hitoshi!” Y/N cried out, her brows furrowed she speaks. Y/N can feel her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the slight outburst as she looks to him, inhaling deeply. “Give me the keys and get out of the car.”

Shinsou is still reeling from the fact that she’d said his first name, staring at her in shock temporarily, “I’m sorry what?” She didn’t intend to kick him out of his own car, did she?

“You heard me.” Y/N replied, extending her hand expectantly, “we are switching seats, I’m driving. Birthday boy does not drive.” His cheeks flush red, and his brows furrow as she exits the car when he doesn’t hand over the keys immediately, jogging around the to open his door, “keys.”

Tilting his head at her, a small smile on his face, he replies, “I don’t know if I trust your driving skills.” The keys in hand, he steps out of the car, and Y/N raises a brow, extending her hand out once more. Shinsou brings his hand above his head in response.

“You are a jerk, Shinsou.” She mumbles glaring at him as she folds her arms.

He frowns slightly, “I liked it better when you called me Hitoshi.”

Y/N can feel her cheeks warm at his comment, “I didn’t even know your birthday, I don’t think I deserve to be calling you by your first name.” She mumbled in response.

“Well, you know my birthday now.” 

She exhales deeply, “why didn’t you tell me? We were hanging out all day- why did you even wanna hang out with me? I’m sure you have better things to do on your birthday.”

He tilts his head at her, “what’s better than hanging out with you?” Y/N contemplated kicking his shins in that moment as he sighed, bringing his hand back beside him, “I don’t like birthdays.” He looks away from her, “but this was probably the best one by far.”

“Let’s make it even better,” Y/N says, a smile on her face as she looks up at him. “Hitoshi.” She adds on. 

A small laugh escapes him as he grabs her hand, placing the keys into it. And for a moment there’s silence, both of them staring at their joined hands before Y/N looks up to see that he’s already staring at her. Much to his disappointment, she releases his hands and pockets the keys. Shinsou takes this as a sign to head over to the passenger side, moving past her only to be yanked backwards by his sleeves.

Y/N’s hands find their way onto his face as she brings her lips to his, it takes him a moment to understand what’s happening, as they stumble backwards. One hand comes to her back, and the other to the window screen beside her as her back hits the backseat door of his car. Y/N finds herself bringing one hand to his hair to tug on it, earning a grunt from Shinsou when they pull apart.

“Good to know I didn’t completely misread that.” She breathes out. 

And he’s laughing, throwing his head back at her words, as though it wasn’t completely obvious what his feelings for her were. “God, you are such an idiot.” His cheeks are flushed as he brings his lips back to hers, and this kiss is far more gentle than their first. Y/N’s hands are still threaded through his hair as she sighs into the kiss, her thumb caressing his cheek gently.

“Your idiot?” Y/N mumbles when they pull away.

Shinsou can’t find it in himself to believe this is actually happening as he nods, “yeah. My idiot.”

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, Y/N beams up at him, “happy birthday, Hitoshi.” She says, “now let’s go buy some cake mix. Cool kids bake their own birthday cakes.” 

Yeah, this was the best birthday yet. So, maybe birthdays weren’t all that bad. 

A/N: i hate birthdays too hitoshi <3 also im sorry this is bad fahalkshjdf

[kats-baku1999]

Little Lies... Part Four

Warnings: angsty a little bit.

This is also a time jump!! So yeah enjoy :)

part one , part two , part three

Part five

——————————————————-

Working as a summer intern in college was one of the smarter choices that (Y/N) had made. It led to an actual job right out of college, and an easy way for her to help Kirishima pay the rent. The two of them walked through college together, after everything that had happened that night. It was the both of them against the word, or maybe just a bad case of codependency.

Bakugo and Kirishima weren’t together long, but they had chased each other in circles all of high school. The two had always been friends, but Bakugo was always more open than Kirishima. Everyone in school knew that Bakugo wasn’t interested in girls. Kirishima was always a little more nervous to be as open, but when he did finally come out their first year of high school.. Bakugo was the one who helped him through it. For hours on end Kirishima would practically make my ears bleed going on about Bakugo. When they had finally gotten together the summer before their last year of school, Kirishima was on cloud nine. It had taken years of a mutual crush for them to finally admit how they felt. They did it though, and it didn’t take much for Kirishima to believe that he was the one.

I couldn’t lie, I felt a lot of guilt that he had broken up with him because of me. Kirishima promised me that he didn’t blame me at all. He would always go on about how he couldn’t be with someone who would carelessly hurt his best friend. I figured once we moved into our first apartment in college, he would be able to get over Bakugo. I was poorly mistaken when his type became random blond haired boys he met in the bar. He would always treat them with respect, but then would ghost them. Not once committing.

“Anyways, I have to go, Mr. Takami wants me to meet with him about something,” I walked over to Kirishima and kissed his cheek, “Make sure you don't use my coffee for this one,”

Kirishima smiled at me, and blew me a small kiss as I walked out the front door. I walked through the apartment building as quickly as I could. The last thing I wanted was for this to be my first time being late. I had been working for Hawks Publishing Agency for about a year now. The owner Keigo Takami had taken me on as a summer intern my last year of college, and automatically offered me a job. I loved the job, and it was actually a fun place to work. I had actually ended up working with Kaminari, which was cool.

“Hey pretty lady!” Kaminari shouted, waving at the front steps. He had two coffees in his other hand, and of course that bright smile painted across his face.

“Good morning Kami,” I smiled, skipping up the steps towards him. I grabbed the other coffee and began taking a few sips from it. My hands were shaking a little bit, which of course he took notice of.

“Maybe you don’t need the caffeine boost this morning?” He laughed, opening the front door of the building for me. We walked inside, and I gave a small wave to the front desk girl. Mina was a sweet girl, and we had actually gone out together a few times. It turned out that she and Kirishima went to the same middle school.

“Hey, (y/n) Hawks is waiting for you in his office!” Mina smiled, and Kaminari walked over to the front desk to lean against it. He was more than likely going to either wait to flirt with Shinsou, or Jirou. Whatever mood he was in that day, and whatever one rejected him the slowest.

I walked over to the elevator and clicked the top floor. Don’t get me wrong I loved working for Mr. Takami, but he was probably the most over the top person I knew. He made it a point to completely renovate the top floor of this building, to make that his entire office. He also called it the Birds Nest. I think he bought one of the bigger offices on purpose too, just so he could have a higher up office. The elevator doors opened, and I walked down the hall a little bit to his office doors. I tapped on it two times, and it was swung open. I came face to face with Mr. Takami grinning at me like a mad man, and yanking me into his office.

“Uh, good morning sir!” I smiled, and he gave me a look before leaning against his desk.

“(Y/n) cut it out with the formalities, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Hawks?” He sighed, smiling at me with a bright grin, and then handed me a manuscript… Correction, my manuscript.

“Sir, I mean uh Hawks, how did you even get this?” I blushed, looking at the title page. White Lies.

“Your friend Kirishima is a very passionate person, and practically stalked me until I had it in my hands,” Hawks laughed, “The real question is, you have been working for me for two years now, and didn’t tell me that you could write?”

“We usually don’t publish teen tragic love stories,” I laughed, “I mean sure you love romance stories, but you said that you wanted to really focus on the magazine and I-”

“You didn’t want to ask me for a favor did you kid?” Hawks smiled at me, and I slowly nodded my head, “(Y/N) if you tell anyone else this I will deny it, but I think you are probably one of my favorites that work here,”

“Oh, uh, thank you sir,” I blushed a little bit, “Still though I don’t want you to publish this story just because you favor me, the story really isn’t that good,”

“There is a lot of emotion and passion behind this story, it felt like you were coming from a place of knowing what this felt like,” Hawks explained, “You can ask my fiance I couldn’t put it down until I finished it, and I am very picky about what stories we put out,”

“What about the magazine though, I mean we are all focusing so hard on that right now trying to publish-”

“I will personally put together a team for this specific story, and all I will ask of you is that you make sure you claim this story,” Hawks tapped the manuscript in my hands, “My fiancé also informed me that this was definitely a personal experience,”

I froze up a little bit. Sure it was based on a personal experience. A girl falling for her least favorite person in school, all because he asked her to be his tutor. They ended up hanging out with each other more and more. Just when she thinks that they’re going to become something… She finds out she was nothing more than some game for him. What a tragic teenage love story, right?

“Uh, was it that obvious?” I blushed, a little embarrassed I had put so much of my personal emotions into the story. Hawks handed me a picture frame from his desk. He tapped the picture a little bit, and my mouth opened in shock. There he was, smiling with Touya Todoroki.

“You know, when I met Touya, he went by Dabi,” Hawks smiled at the picture, “And he was a real dick, and remained a dick for years to come, so I think the way you portrayed him in this story was perfect,”

I tensed up a little bit. It was obvious I made sure to make Touya seem like the biggest asshole ever. Then again that night I met him, he was.

“Sir, I am sorry, I was only writing what I knew about him-”

“Oh no he agreed that you described him pretty accurately,” Hawks laughed, “That was the night everything turned around for him, he hated what he did to Shoto, and he actually bonded with Shoto that night,”

I looked down at my feet a little bit. So he knew that this story was about his future brother-in-law. It had been years since I had heard Shoto’s name, and I couldn’t help but frown a little bit.

“Can I ask why you want to publish something that is slandering your fiancé’s brother?” I raised a small eyebrow, and Hawks shrugged his shoulder.

“Shoto was a spoiled brat back then, and you don’t use his name,” Hawks smiled at me, “Speaking of my fiancé, I am handing these out to everyone today, so here is yours,”

He handed me a wedding invitation. It was decorated with what looked like blue flames, and beautiful cursive lettering. The date was two weeks away, not a whole lot of notice. Then again, Hawks was never one to be on time.

“Oh, thank you sir!” I smiled, “Do you want me to take those down to everyone else?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I have to start getting things together for your big story,” Hawks smiled, and I traded him the manuscript for the wedding invitations. I gave him a small nod.

“Before you publish anything, I want to think about this okay?” There was a lot I needed to go over, like checking with Kirishima, to see if it was okay that I wrote about him and Bakugo. Also Midoriya and Ochaco were involved too so I needed to double check with them.

“Not to give you some pesky deadline, but how about the night of my reception you give me an answer?” Hawks offered, and I nodded my head. Giving him a small wave and walking out of the office.

——————

I burst through the front door of the apartment. Kirishima was sitting on the couch watching TV, and jumped out the sound of our front door swinging open. I slammed it shut and ran over to the couch, grabbing a pillow. Smacking him with it continuously, he let out small screams trying to get me off of him without hurting me.

“(Y/n) get off you rabid animal!” Kirishima laughed, and I gave him one last smacked. I was panting slightly, glaring at him.

“How dare you turn in my manuscript, I let you read that for fun!” I smacked him again, and he ripped the pillow out of my hands.

“It was an amazing story, people deserve to read it, and I think you deserve to have your work put out there for once,” Kirishima took his turn smacking me with the pillow. I held up my hands in defense, glaring at him even more than before.

“I can’t just publish that, it’s personal, for me and you!” I stood up, and paced around the living room a little bit. Kirishima watched me, smiling a bit.

“I give you full permission to exploit Bakugo and I’s tragic love story, and I already talked to Midoriya he said he would not be upset at all if you published it,” Kirishima’s voice was a little softer, “(y/n) I know you wanted to act like that whole situation never bothered you, but after reading this it’s good to know you were hurting too,”

“Kirishima, it was never about me hurting, you-”

“Don’t, don’t write off your own feelings because you felt like you had to take care of me,” Kirishima smiled, standing up to grab me by my shoulders, “I love you (y/n), and I want you to be able to express your emotions, even if it’s been years,”

“Do you think it’s morally okay that I even write this story without his permission?” I frowned, “I mean yeah he was an asshole when we were younger, but it still brings up some personal things about his family,”

“Maybe you could reach out?” Kirishima suggested, “Ask him if he would be okay with it, and let him read it?”

“I don’t even know where I would-” I looked down at my purse that was holding the wedding invitation. The idea hit me, and I hated that I was going to have to ask Hawks for a favor like this.

—————-

I stared down at the phone number that was left scribbled on my desk’s notepad. Hawks was quick to leave that for me. I had just messaged him last night. This felt more personal than just hunting him down on social media. Which wouldn’t have been too hard considering he was some famous model or something now.

“Hey Kaminari, I am going to make a quick phone call. Can you watch my desk?” I smiled across at him, and he gave me a thumbs up.

I had gone down to the lobby, and walked outside. Sitting down on the front steps I stared down at the phone number now displayed on my screen. All I had to do was press the green button, and ask him if it would be okay for me to have a story published about him. Surely that would be fine, considering his name was not used at all. I also made sure no one could connect the dots back to his father either.

“(Y/n)?” I froze up at the sound of a familiar voice. My eyes slowly went up, and I began mentally screaming. What are the chances that he would be here? Now? I quickly shot up to my feet.

“Bakugo?” I questioned, and he just nodded. Smiling at me a little bit.

“Long time no see, weird running into you here?” Bakugo smiled awkwardly. He seemed a little uncomfortable by the entire situation. Which was fair, because I was definitely feeling awkward myself now.

“I actually work here,” I looked him up and down, sliding my phone into my back pocket.

“You work for half and half’s brother in law?” Bakugo looked a little shocked, and I just nodded my head. We both stared at each other, and down at our feet.

“Why don’t you just ask about him you big jerk?” I sighed, rolling my eyes. I knew he was wondering about Kirishima.

“How’s he doing?” Bakugo was quiet about it, and I could tell by the look in his eyes he still thought about him just as much as Kirishima thought about him.

“He is okay, he works as a trainer at a pretty big gym some days, but his main job is physical therapy at a hospital,” I smiled at Bakugo, “And for what you are really curious about, he is still single,”

“I, I wasn’t even going to-”

“I know you weren’t, but I know you were curious about it,” I pulled out my phone to give him Kirishima’s phone number, to help them both out. When I looked at my phone screen though I felt my heart stop for a second. I hadn’t locked it before placing it in my pocket. Which then led to that stupid green button being pressed. I held the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?” I mumbled, and could hear someone’s breath hitch on the other line. Bakugo was staring at me with a confused look, but also a little worried. Judging by how my body felt right now, I am sure I was as pale as a ghost.

“(Y/n)?”

———— that night

I threw back another shot, groaning again. Bakugo and Kirishima were awkwardly sitting across from me. Neither one of them was talking about themselves personally, both of them were just focused on me. After I heard Todoroki’s voice, I panicked a little bit. Maybe a lot. Bakugo had to help me inside the building, trying his best to calm me down. He wasn’t pleased to see Kaminari, but the two of them worked together to get me to calm down. Which led to them having to call Kirishima… Which then led to Bakugo and Kirishima reconnecting.

“And she just hung up?” Kirishima asked for about the fifth time, watching me grab another shot.

“Yup,” Bakugo nodded, an impressed look painted across his face as he watched me throw back the fourth shot of the night.

“Did he get a hold of you?” Kiri asked Bakugo, and the blond nodded his head.

“He will be here in about fifteen minutes,” Bakugo sighed, and I let out another groan. Reaching for the last shot on the tray, but Kirishima grabbed it before I could. I sent him a dirty look, and he just shook his head. Taking the shot himself.

“I didn’t think I would have to see him already,” I whined, feeling a little drunk, okay correction a lot drunk. Bakugo and Kirishima both just kept watching me, Kiri reaching across to pat my hand.

“You’re at least a little intoxicated now, that should make it easier, right?” Kirishima offered a solution, and Bakugo and I shook our heads at the same time.

“I wouldn’t want to be drunk seeing you for the first time in years,” Bakugo offered, and I pointed a finger his way, as a way to say “ya see”.

“You make a fair point, but still, this should make it easier!” Kirishima grinned positively, “I mean after all high school doesn’t matter anymore right?”

Bakugo tensed up noticeably at Kirishima’s words. I gave him a sad look. Mouthing a quick “I’m sorry” his way. He just nodded his head, before looking towards the door. Everyone clearly took notice of whoever it was that just walked in. I could tell by all whispering that seemed to spread throughout the bar. I turned my head towards the entrance, and felt my breath hitch in my throat. My memories instantly flying back to the last day of our third year.

———

“Okay, you got me here, what do you need to say?” I whispered, staring him straight in the eye. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me still hurting over everything that happened at the beginning of the year. I absolutely refused to.

“I think I was starting to fall in love with you,” Todoroki whispered, not making full eye contact, just glancing at me before looking back down at his feet, “Maybe it’s crazy for me to believe, but I think in someway we are meant for each other, I feel so at peace with you (Y/n), and I promise you one day I will get you to forgive me,”

“Todoroki, you’re chasing after an empty dream, I want nothing to do with you,” I sighed, turning around to walk away. My feet moving quickly so he wouldn’t see the tears falling from my eyes. I think in some way I was falling for him too. All of the laughter, those few intimate moments.. They all meant so much to me, but they were nothing but a lie.

————

“Well, if it isn’t half and half himself,” Bakugo smiled, as all three of us stared up at the taller guy. He was looking straight at me, not even paying any mind to his best friend. His bicolored eyes scanned over my face.

“Uh,” I stammered not sure how to react to his prying and eyes, “Good to see you again Todoroki,”

Kirishima shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, so did Bakugo. Both of them trading looks, before looking back at me. He still hadn’t spoken a word, just continued staring at me. After what felt like months, he finally let out a sigh. Smiling at us all brightly.

“I figured I wouldn’t be seeing you guys until Ochaco and Midoriya’s wedding,” He grinned, taking a seat in the empty one next to me.

“Oh yeah, that is coming up soon isn’t it?” Kirishima smiled. Overtime we grew apart from Ochaco, so although we weren’t in the wedding she still wanted us there. Bakugo and Todoroki were still close with Midoriya, he had eventually forgiven them after everything that happened, so they were in the wedding.

“My brother’s wedding is right before theirs, so I figured I should stay in town for an extended amount of time,” Todoroki sighed, he sounded so formal now, it was a little strange.

“Bout time you came back around, Hawks was really starting to piss me off asking me a shit ton of questions about you,” Bakugo laughed, taking a drink, “Miss (y/l/n) over here is working for the bird man now,”

“Touya actually mentioned that to me when we talked on the phone,” Todoroki looked back towards me again, “And that you had a pretty great story to talk to me about?”

My breath hitched. So we were going to do this now? I figured I would have a little more time. To get myself warmed up to the idea of talking to him. Apparently I wouldn’t get that luxury.

“It’s actually based on everything that happened in our last year of school,” I mumbled, and Todoroki tensed up a little bit. His face stayed soft though, he didn’t look angry, “I would like for you to have the chance to read it before I do anything with it,”

“I wouldn’t mind, if you don’t?” Todoroki questioned, and I just nodded my head. Kirishima and Bakugo shared a look before both of them stood up.

“Hey, Todoroki do you mind making sure (Y/n) gets home?” Kirishima looked towards Todoroki, “I am going to go to Bakugo’s apartment for tonight so we can catch up,”

I looked at my best friend in shock, wanting to protest.

“Yeah, it’ll give me a chance to read over your manuscript?” Todoroki suggested, and I just nodded. If Kirishima ever asked me to do his laundry again, I would remind him of this moment.

“Text me when you make it back to Bakugo’s I guess,” I sighed, standing up from my seat, “I’m ready to go if you are?”

Todoroki nodded, walking up to the bar. He left money on the table, and placed his hand on the small of my back. Leading me out of the bar. Kirishima and Bakugo followed us closely. Bakugo walked to his car, and Kirishima paused for a second. He gave me a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

“Behave yourself,” I smirked at him, and he just rolled his eyes. Walking away from me grinning. Bakugo opened his door for him, and gave a small wave to Todoroki and I.

“You behave too!” Kirishima yelled before getting into the car. I blushed a little bit before looking towards Todoroki.

“Well, we can head out?” Todoroki suggested and I just nodded my head. Walking over to his passenger side door.

This was going to be something.

[robin-the-enby]

Okay, Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests at the moment but is it okay that I ask for a lil something? So, I've been looking for Vincent Van Gogh x Readers FOR EVER and can never find any. If I can, can I request a Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High) x Reader? Maybe a clone of a great artist (made up haha) and is struggling with living up to their legacy? Good make for some good Angst/Fluff 😶

I gotchu! It's in my bio if anything 😉 Before I write this, here you have other amazing blogs that have written/are writing for Vin from Clone high:

@tearsofaclonehighfan

@clone-high-imagines

@thesfwwildsophia

Perfect in his eyes

Pairing: Vincent van Gogh x reader

Summary: Your art teacher is a mean prick who definktely shouldn't teach art. When he startd to compare you to the famous artist, which you are a clone of, you can't take it. Luckilly, Vincent won't let you suffer alone.

Warnings: insecurities, panic attack, bullying by teacher

A/N: (O/N) - original person's name, I hope this isn't too long for you 😅

Let happy Vinny bring you comfort 😌

* * * * *

Being an artist was...nice, most of the time. Most of your lessons were pretty chill and you could really use your imagination and come up with new, interesting ideas and test your skills with each new piece.

Yeah, being an artist was pretty cool...

Until you got an assignment that is.

Most of your classmates never had any problems with assignments, some of them even preferred being given a topic for a drawing or a painting, but not you.

You hated being given a track that your piece had to follow. You loved to be creative with what you do and so the mundane topics like 'nature' 'city' 'a portrait' felt more like handcuffs than something to spike inspiration in you.

So naturally, you tried to push these boundaries as far as you could, just to see how much you could deviate from the original task.

The teachers, of course, didn't like that at all.

Another assignment turned in, another time period of waiting for the results. Another art class and yet another scolding...

"I would like for our dear (Y/N) to stand up, but only, of course, if that doesn't restrain their creativity." those were the teasing words of your teacher, dripping eith venom.

Not trying to agitate the man even more, you slowly stood up, looking him right in the eye with defiance. "I don't know how standing up would restrain my creativity." you said lowly, trying to match his venomous tone "But I know a thing that would." you finished with a smirk.

Your teacher sighed, trying to stay calm "As you all know" he adressed the class "the theme of your work was 'lovers'." he turned his attention back to you "Would you be so kind, (Y/N), and explain what is this?!" he held up your piece of three skeletons, dressed in elegant robes, dancing the night away while gazing lovingly at each other. Well...as much as they could...

"Those are lovers who even death didn't do apart." you calmly explained. "And why exactly are there three of them?" your teacher raised his eyebrows. You just shrugged "Why wouldn't there be?"

The man just huffed from the comfort of his chair and shook his head "When I said the theme was 'lovers', I meant it as real lovers. As if a realistic piece! Real people! I'm grading this work an F."

Now that made you angry. Not only did he interrogate you every time you handed in a new piece, but now he wants to grade it poorly even though you worked your ass off to create this? Seriously?? Does he know how many allnighters you had to pull to make it perfect?? "You told us to get creative!" You complained, done with this mans bullshit.

Your teacher looked apalled. How dare you raise your voice at him?! "I didn't mean-" But you wouldn't give him the chance to finish "Like that. You wanted us to get creative, but no, not like that. That's too much. Too creative. You're too close to being original and open minded individuals!" you mocked him, fake fright in your voice.

Your teacher, sensing you had him cornered, but refusing to let a teenager win, tried to blabber out "Well, if I'd let everyone do as they please, I wouldn't have to bother setting a theme!" "And maybe that would be for the better!"

Suddenly, a dark look set in his face. Your teacher abruptly stood up and slammed his hands on his desk "I am very dissapointed by your attitude! Do you know where will your disobedience get you? Do you?! Out on the street, that's where!"

His shouting made you flinch. When your teacher saw that, he smiled triumphantly. He was getting to you. With an almost sadistic satisfaction, he decided to push on "What do you think (O/N) would think of you, huh? Just think about how dissapointed she'd be in you. You've been given such a great talent and instead of pursuing (O/N)'s legacy you only do what you want. Do you think that's really necessary (Y/N)?"

You couldn't stand it. The fake honey like tone in his voice, the fake interest in you as a person. How he compared you to (O/N), as if tou weren't your own fucking person, but just a clone.

Your stomach twisted at the feeling of all of your classmates' eyes on you, waiting for a smart rebuttal, but you couldn't form a coherent sentence.

Everybody was still looking at you! Couldn't the teacher just tell you to sit already? Breathing was becoming harder by the second, you could feel cold sweat sprout on you forhead, your throat was dry like a desert and everybody was still. Looking. At. You.

And so you ran.

You bolted out of your seat, forgetting all about your stuff, and rushed out of the classroom.

You couldn't see it, but your teacher had a smile on his face, too drunk on his victory to see the tears streaming down your face or the obvious signs of an oncoming panic attack.

Meanwhile you made it around the corner, before your legs gave up. Luckily, you could fit yourself under the school staircase leading to another floor.

You huddled up next to the wall and hugged your knees to your chest, finally letting the tears freely flow.

You remained in the same position even after the bell rang and the halls were swarmed with students. You managed to calm down a little bit, but the lesson was playing in your head over and over and every time it did, new flow of tears came out.

Before you could start panicking about next lessons and how you were going to mask that you've been crying, let alone face your classmates, a familiar shy voice softly called out to you "Hey, uh, are you ok?" the voice said as you felt a tiny body slide next to you.

You rubbed your eyes to see more clearly over the tears and saw your tiny classmate, Vincent.

He looked worried as he scanned you over with those adorable blue eyes of his, his lips pursed into a thin line, his orange hair sticking out fromhis bandages.

"What are you doing here, Vinc? You'll be late for class." you hiccupped and turned your head away from him, facing the wall.

Vincent only shook his head "Doesn't matter, I just want to make sure you're ok." he searched for more words "That was pretty terrible back there."

As if on cue, at the mention of the incident in class, a new flow of tears made their way out of your eyes. "Please don't talk about it." you croaked, voice choked by your tears. The tiny redhead rapidly shook his head.

For a while, both of you were silent. You were desperately trying not to break down against Vincent and he was wrecking his brain, trying to find a way to soothe you at least a little bit.

"Do you...wanna talk about it?" he asked uncertainly, afraid to worsen your state. You sniffed for a bit and burried your head in your knees "I overreacted I guess..." you sighed "I just...He was right. I'll never be like them. I never was even remotely like them, not personality-wise, not even artistically-wise. I'm really not doing them any justice Vinc." you forced it out of yourself before sobbing again.

You felt the tiny painter lean against you and then he muttered "That doesn't have to be a bad thing, y'know?" You turned your head to look at him, one eyebrow quizzicaly raised. "I mean, look at me." Vincent chuckled and gestured to himself "I'm probably too much like the original van Gogh..." suddenly, Vincent slouched a little "Sometimes I wish I could be someone else. Maybe life wouldn't be as hard as it is."

You couldn't help but hug him. Vincent made a startled sound at that unexpected contact, but relaxed after a second and snuggled more into you. "Don't say shit like that, Vin. You're perfect the way you are. And I wouldn't want you any different." You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

"That applies to you too, y'know?" he mumbled into your chest, looking up at your face.

You giggled, your tearstained cheeks turning apple like red. And at that moment you two decided to ditch school and just stay there.

Just two teens, perfect for each other.

[nineteenninety-six]

Could I request some angst of the Shelby boys coming back from the war only to be told that their baby sister (Finns twin or maybe younger, whichever your prefer) is dying of the Spanish flu

I changed my mind about how this would end about midway through writing it lol

TAG LIST: @futuristicslimemongerbanana @dayna041101 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @sweetgoodangel @shadow-of-wonder

WC:2126

It’s Too Early To Say Goodbye

When Tommy and his brothers stepped off of the train at Small Heath station, they expected to see their aunt and younger siblings, ecstatic to see them after so long but they were only greeted by Ada and Finn, who looked happy to see them but were also weighed down by something. 

They instantly knew something was wrong and they felt out of place as their fellow soldiers reunited with their family, the tears of joy and screams of happiness of the people around them turned into muffled background noise as they approached their brother and sister.

Finn ran ahead and leapt in Arthur’s arms, the eldest Shelby brother easily holding the ten-year-olds weight and Ada ran into John’s arms when they got closer. There wasn’t a dry eye between them as they reunited with each other but eventually, the elephant in the room had to be talked about.

“Ada, where’s Polly and (Y/N)?” Tommy asked

Ada seemed to shudder before she looked around at the crowd around them, “Let’s get out of here first and then I’ll tell you.”

The eldest Shelby brothers looked at each other in confusion but followed as she left the station and to a quiet place around the corner. Finn was back in Arthur’s arms and had buried his head in Arthur’s neck, hands tightly clenching his shirt.

“(Y/N) has the Spanish flu…” Ada quickly began to cry as she talked about her younger sister, “Polly’s with her now, didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Tommy stared at his sister in shock before he suddenly brushed past his siblings and rushed home, not even bothering to wait for them, his mind focused on his little sister.

(Y/N) was closer to a daughter than a sister to Tommy. She and Finn were twins, (Y/N) younger by a few hours and when their mother suddenly died a few years after their birth, Tommy had taken the role of a parent for them. Arthur, with the occasional help from Polly, looked after John and Ada and he and Tommy had to find ways to support their family. Their father was a deadbeat, so it was left to two young men, barely out of their teens to support and provide for the family.

Tommy and (Y/N) had a special bond, and it was no secret they were each other’s favourite sibling but (Y/N) was six when Tommy left and now four years later, Tommy wondered if they were still going to be each other’s favourites since so much had happened and so much time had passed-if (Y/N) survives that is. 

As soon as he opened the door to the house on Watery Lane, Tommy threw his bag to the side, not caring where it landed and thundered up the stairs. Polly met him on the landing and while her eyes watered at the sight of him, she knew it wasn’t the time for a reunion. Tommy’s thoughts were only on (Y/N).

“Don’t get too close, Tommy.” His aunt warned him and Tommy gave her a weak nod in understanding before he slipped past her and into the room.

The sight Tommy was greeted with was the first thing to make him feel sick in over three years. Tommy thought France had desensitised him, he had gotten used to the sight and smell of death, he had walked past countless of dead and dying men, there were even times where he walked over them, in the tunnels in France he no longer feared death and had even expected it but the sight in front of him struck a new fear in him. 

(Y/N) was placed in the middle of the bed, a light blanket was thrown over her so that she didn’t overheat but Tommy could see how she was soaked in sweat. 

Tommy made his way over to her, his heart racing and his mouth dry, the sight of her looking so poorly and helpless made him want to cry and he felt himself tear up as he pulled her hand out from under the blanket and tightly gripped it in his.

(Y/N) stirred from the movement and blinked warily at him, “Aunt Pol…?”

“It’s me, princess. It’s Tommy.” 

(Y/N) merely blinked some more before she drifted back off to sleep.

Tommy could hear the loud stomps from his brothers as they climbed the stairs and moments later the door quietly opened and they shuffled in. He didn’t turn around to face them, only focused on (Y/N), though he heard Arthur’s muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ and John’s whispered ‘Fuck’.  They moved to the end of the bed and looked at their baby sister with sad eyes but they didn’t dare to get any closer.

“I know you this is not what you wanted to come home to and that you probably wanted to celebrate but this has to be brief, I can’t afford anyone else getting sick” Polly told them as she slipped inside with a bowl of water and some rags, “Especially not you John, you need to care for your kids.” 

Arthur and John nodded, giving their baby sister one last pity filled stare before leaving but Tommy remained.

“Tommy-“

“I’m not leaving Polly” Tommy interrupted whatever his aunt was going to say.

Polly sighed, “Then you can help me then. Pat her down and keep her cool with the wet cloth and I’ll make her some soup. Hopefully, she eats.”

Tommy harshly swallowed and nodded, taking the bowl from his aunt and soaking the cloth before ringing it out and dabbing it on (Y/N)’s forehead.

Polly lingered by the door, not yet leaving, “She dips in and out of sleep a lot, you should talk to her. She missed you a lot and I bet your voice will comfort her.”

Tommy nodded but didn’t speak until he heard her going downstairs.

“I missed you, princess” Tommy murmured after a few moments, “I missed you so much but your parts in the letters helped me a lot. I think I can recite all of them from memory now, considering the number of times I re-read them.”  

Tommy continued to cool her down with the rag, brushing it over her arms and chest, “Don’t tell anyone but I missed you the most.”

(Y/N) shifted slightly causing Tommy to freeze in his place but once it was obvious she was still asleep he continued.

“At one point, I was more afraid to come back and have you not recognise or remember me than I was to die.” He confessed, “You were so young when I left, still basically a little kid and I didn’t want to leave you, I hope you know that.”

As Tommy got carried away talking openly and patting her down, he missed how (Y/N) slowly blinked her eyes open and how she tiredly stared at him

“Tom?” She croaked, her throat dry.

Tommy whipped his head up when she said his name and even though he knew he shouldn’t, he climbed onto the bed and pulled the ten-year-old into his arms, pulling her tightly against him. (Y/N) didn’t seem to be bothered that she had been suddenly dragged into an awkward position as she weakly wrapped her arms around Tommy.

Tommy started to cry, too much was happening at once, he was still suffering from the war, he was finally back home and his baby sister is deathly sick and he couldn’t stop the tears. 

“Hello, princess” Tommy pulled back and gently laid her back down in the bed as she wasn’t in the clear yet. 

Tommy helped her sip the water that Polly had left out before he laid down next to her on the bed not wanting to move away even for a bit. He pulled her close to him, frowning at the heat that was radiating from her body before soaking the cloth back up and patting her face with it. 

“I’ve missed you.” (Y/N) murmured.

Tommy smiled at her, “I missed you too and when you get better, we’ll go horseriding, okay?”

(Y/N) smiled back at him, excitement lighting up her eyes before she slumped back down in the bed, still clearly exhausted, “‘m hungry.”

“Polly’s making you some soup, she shouldn’t be long.” Tommy combed his fingers through her hair, something that had always calmed and comforted (Y/N).

“You here for good? Not going back to France?” 

“I’m not going back to France princess, don’t worry” Tommy pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Polly found Tommy cuddled up to (Y/N) in her bed when she returned with her dinner and she sent Tommy a scathing glare, it had been hell trying to look after (Y/N) and she hated the idea of it spreading through the house.

Tommy shrugged apologetically at his aunt before he helped (Y/N) sit up so that she could eat. The room was silent as (Y/N) ate until she finished and complained to her aunt that she was hot and sticky, so when Polly left to get a bath ready for her, Tommy and (Y/N) were left alone again. 

“If I get better…can we go to the fair?” (Y/N) asked

“There’s no if, you are going to get better and when you do, I’ll take you to fair, okay?” Tommy told her.

Polly came in to get (Y/N) for her bath and after Tommy carried her to the bathroom, he let them do what they had to do while he went downstairs to his brothers. Arthur was playing with Finn, who immediately ran over to him as soon as he spotted him and Tommy felt guilty that he had forgotten his youngest brother in favour of their sister.

“Alright, Finn? Did you hold down the fort whilst we were away?” Tommy asked as he lifted his brother up.

Finn nodded, “I’m glad you’re back...too many girls”

Both Arthur and Tommy laughed at his words, Finn had been surrounded by women for the past four years but now his brothers were back.

Tommy spent some more time with Finn until Polly told him that (Y/N) was done with her bath and was asking for him. When he reached her room, he found her tucked up and waiting for him.

“Can you tell me a story?” She asked as soon as he stepped in.

Tommy settled into the seat next to her bed and began to recite a story that he knew off by heart. It was (Y/N)’s favourite story and before the war, she demanded that he read it to her every night and after so long, he no longer needed the book because he remembered every word.

(Y/N) fell asleep quickly, the illness draining so much of her energy and Tommy sat there watching her sleep, his eyes focused on the movements of her chest, making sure she was still breathing. He would forgo sleep every night until she was better if he had to.

He didn’t notice Polly slip in until she spoke up, “She’s a Shelby girl, she’ll beat this.”

“I spent four years in France, digging tunnels day in day out and fighting men so that you were safe over here. Then I come home and I find my baby sister on death’s door.” Tommy’s voice was quiet, “It’s not fucking fair”

“It’s not but she will pull through and I know you will do anything for the little girl. You’ll make sure so that she’s never wanting and you’ll protect her from everything you can.”

“She’s not going to die. I won’t let her.” Tommy declared.

Polly felt her lips pull into a smile in the first time in a while before she left them alone.

True to Tommy’s words, (Y/N) didn’t die. Thanks to her aunt’s determined efforts, (Y/N) pushed through the worst of the flu and over the following weeks (Y/N) returned back to full health, she regained the weight she lost and was quickly becoming bored of being confined to bed which had turned her to start trying to convince her brothers to ignore Polly’s instructions but none of them was willing to face a telling off by their aunt. But soon enough, (Y/N) was out of the bed and back to causing mischief with her twin.

Tommy and Polly watched as (Y/N) ran around with Finn, both of them giggling as they chased each other.

“I told you she’ll be fine” Polly told him

“I know.” Tommy gave her a smile before he rounded up his youngest siblings so they could go to the fair as he promised. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Different” (Rated G)

Summary: Sebastian tries to cheer up a melancholy Kurt, heartbroken by all of the changes the pandemic has brought about in their home rink. (1341 words)

Notes: I had plans of writing pandemic fics in all of my verses, so this is the start of that. This one-shot includes a callback at the end to 'Blessing the Ice in Westerville' so if you don't remember that one, you may want to go back and read it first ;)

Part 66 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

"Whatcha thinking?" Sebastian asks, plowing to a stop. He slides onto the bench beside Kurt and gives him the chastest peck in the universe behind his right ear. 

Cockblocked by his mask, it's the best he can do. 

Kurt misses his boyfriend's warm lips on his chill skin, but he smiles because there's something so sweet and dorky about it. Sebastian can tell he's smiling - the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling and the bridge of his nose scrunching. 

But it doesn't make him look happy. 

It's rare as hell to find Kurt sitting it out in the penalty boxes. He loves skating more than life. He needs to go, go, go - moves in the field, practice his routine, help a wall-walker find their way without their hands creeping along the boards. The entire time Sebastian has known Kurt, he's probably seen him sit for a grand total of fifteen minutes.

He's broken that record today.

"You know, almost every time you come to see me, you ask me what I'm thinking," Kurt says, stalling for a moment before he has to come clean. "Am I that much of an enigma?"

"Yes," Sebastian answers accompanied by an exaggerated nod of his head like a trained horse doing math. Kurt giggles. They've joked numerous times about how ridiculous everyone is going to look when they can finally eschew their masks with how vehemently they nod and emote with their eyes. It's going to look like living in an anime for a while until everything returns to normal.

Kurt sighs. 

If it ever does return to normal.

Sebastian rests a hand on Kurt's knee and gives it a squeeze. "Come on, babe. I know there are some deep thinkery things going on in that head of yours. Let it out."

Kurt leans to the side and settles against Sebastian's body but his eyes never leave the ice. It's a relatively busy day at the Westerville Ice-plex, the rink filled to capacity. But because of restrictions, that means there are only twenty people on the ice, including him and Sebastian. On a Thursday afternoon, they would usually see closer to fifty kids and a handful of coaches, EZ skaters and Bobby seals zipping around treacherously like Mario cart vehicles. With the rink packed, the talking and laughter would drown out the music.

"Things are so different," Kurt says. 

"I know," Sebastian agrees.

"We were lucky over quarantine. Me and you and Blaine had your rink to train in every day - rain or shine. Things didn't change for us all that much training-wise. But for everybody else, skating was impossible. It didn't even get cold enough this winter for my pond to freeze over so anyone who was relying on an ODR was SOL." Sebastian snorts and Kurt chuckles, the laugh they share more melancholy than amused. It fades quickly. "So many of our skaters had dreams of going to the Olympics. But they canceled Nationals, and then Worlds, and now... " Kurt's eyes trail the progress of a few freestyle skaters struggling with elements they had mastered six months ago. "It's heartbreaking to see them derailed."

Sebastian puts an arm around his boyfriend and hugs him. "Well, if you're looking for a silver lining," he starts in an iffy tone, "with the number of rinks that got shuttered over lockdown, Beiste is going to be up to her bushy eyebrows with business. This place is never going to close."

"And whereas that's good news for the Ice-plex, think of all the kids who have to give up skating because their rink closed down and they can't travel here."

"Yeah... uh... " Sebastian clears his throat "... I only thought about that after I said it."

"This pandemic changed everyone's forward momentum," Kurt continues, giving his boyfriend a pass. "We have pair skaters that have split up, Disney on Ice canceled auditions so that dream is busted for a few seniors, Blaine told me that the synchro and performance teams at his old rink are both no more... it's not fair."

"No, it's not fair."

"I just wish there was something we could do."

"I know." Sebastian sinks into his boyfriend, mourning the loss of Kurt's hair against his cheek with his mask keeping the two of them apart. He wants nothing more than to fix this for Kurt, bring things back to the way they were and put everyone back on track, but the only thing Sebastian is good at in the way of problem-solving skills is throwing money at things and, ironically, as rich as his family is, they don't have the kind of money necessary to solve this. 

In cruel, corporate terms, the pros do not outweigh the financial risks.

It's not just that missing out on months of steady business dropped rinks into the red. A lot of them were poorly managed. Shutting their doors revealed problems these facilities didn't admit they had - rotting pipes, faulty wiring, cooling systems holding on only because of the ice and grime that had built up inside them. Once the condensers were shut off to conserve energy, whole units fell apart.

And, as it turns out, they cost an arm and a leg to repair, not to mention replace.

If the Westerville Ice-plex was in danger of closing, Sebastian would talk his uncle into handing over a blank check. Unfortunately, they can't do that for everyone.

"I think the best thing we can do is focus on here and now," Sebastian says. "What can we do inside these walls to make things better, even if it's just for the next half hour or so?"

"Do you have any suggestions?" Kurt asks. "Because, for the moment, I'm tapped."

"Well... " Sebastian starts, drawing the word out, hoping brilliance comes to him "... one of the reasons I spent so much time here even though I have a facility of my own was because of my friends. We used to horse around, make up routines, compete with one another, race each other down the ice..."

"Okay, but there are strict rules against horseplay now."

"I'm not talking about roughhousing. I mean the stuff we used to do with the kids in skate school to make it fun. Things that we can do while staying six feet apart. I mean, everyone here loves us... "

Kurt snickers. "Ah, humility. Thy name is Sebastian Smythe."

"I bet you if we get something started, everyone would join in."

"What do you have in mind?" Kurt asks, recalling the things they used to do with the kids when skate school was still running - blowing bubbles, tossing balls, playing Sharks and Swimmers (which is kind of like tag while fully accepting that, if someone falls, they could potentially spear another player in the leg with their blade).

Sebastian tilts his head, going through a similar list in his mind, trying to come up with an activity that would work with their current crowd. There are mainly regulars on the ice - the freestyle kids daring enough to court possible contamination for the chance to get their Axels back. He follows two girls with his eyes, mirroring one another as they make their way down the ice. 

He gets an idea. 

A hilarious idea. 

"Are we expecting Blaine anytime soon?" he asks, shoving his hand in his jacket pocket and fishing around. Kurt looks around Sebastian's body, checking the time on the scoreboard.

"Yeah. Any minute now." Kurt's head snaps up. He peers suspiciously at his boyfriend's eager face. What plan could Sebastian have come up with that would include Blaine specifically? Is he going to tie him to a goal and have the kids take shots at him again? Thank God for foam pucks is all Kurt can say about that genius plan. "Why?"

Sebastian pulls his key tag out of his pocket and dangles it in front of Kurt's eyes. "Because I do believe it's time to bless the rains down in Africa again."

[chaoslordjoe]

#BlackSunWeek2020 Day 2 - Resurfacing

“Fuck this heat…” Nora Valkyrie whined, carrying herself on Yang Xiao Long’s back as Yang took a mental note about how that would’ve been her line.

If escaping Atlas was littered with red tape, then flying (relatively) safely to Vacuo was like duct taping yourself to a revved-up chainsaw. 

There were no AK droids or shell-shocked lumberjack-looking General headasses (seriously James, take your court martial like a man) to drag them into anything they were all just through a month ago into the war.

Still, being escorted to the city by a bunch of Vacuan mercenaries was probably more merciful than whatever haircuts or puffy outfits they were given from their time from being conscripted by Ironwood, probably without authority from the Council (General James “fuck-you-I-have-two-seats-on-the-Council” Ironwood) in the gang’s whole black ops stint.

All things considered, this was a lot more welcoming than being drafted into the “Greatest Kingdom’s” side of the war with how they weren’t so great and hiding how much their leadership sucked at communicating with one another.

Politics. The brass. Martial law. Friendly fire incidents. Good times.

Ruby trudged ahead of the group, with Qrow trying to save the water in his flask while he was surprisingly adamant in pushing forward through the dunes. It was a good thing that he sobered up in time for this trip, knowing how it would be hell on dehydration.

“At least we’re not…Having to face any AK droids for a while.” Weiss thought out loud.

“Come on, Weiss-cream.” Yang grunted. “Maybe we’ll get you a new manicure by the time we arrive at Shade.” She joked.

Weiss shook her head.

“She might need more than a manicure.” Ren interjected.

“No-no, she’s right.” Weiss mentioned. “Heiress or no, I think we could all use a touch-up.” She concluded, wincing at the idea of sand going down her dress.

“I hate sand.” Jaune spoke next. “It’s coarse, rough, irritating and it- -“

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.” Yang warned.

“…And it gets everywhere.” Jaune taunted.

“I’m gonna smash your balls when we get home.” Yang said with a glare to him.

“How do- -How do you know I’m not into that?” Jaune remarked.

“Guys, can we please argue about which trilogy had the worse writing later?” Ruby begged.

“Much as I would like to learn about movies outside of my homestead, Ruby’s right.” Oscar spoke. “We’re almost there, then we can relax before meeting Theodore.” He added.

Qrow looked over, thankful that at least Ozpin insisted that they still act like teenagers in between all the missions and such. One thing he certainly got right.

“Hey, buddy.” Qrow said to the caravan leader. “How much further?”

“Almost dere, Mr. Branwen.” He spoke, inspecting his weapon behind his shades. “Ya don’t wanna get eaten by a mole crab, do ya?”

“Not exactly.” Qrow grunted.

“Den sit tight, we gonna be dere in no time.”

Soon as they arrived, Professor Theodore had granted the group a hotel to stay at before meeting with her on the Shade campus.

A rare sight this type of hotel was in Vacuo. Let alone something with this many accommodations. Soon as the gang arrived, a cold shower was in order followed by orders from Theodore to relax before the big meeting.

QROWBYJNR sat in the hotel’s pool area, finally being able to catch a breather along with some cooling off in the drink. Oscar stood at the corner reading one of Ozpin’s journals away from the group.

Blake decided to accompany him in the reading with a copy of <i>Zaibatsu Unlimited</i> she had meant to continue reading for a while now. Sort of a corporate espionage thriller about a power struggle between Mistral’s corporate elite in a deadly arms race on the stock market.

Ren sat with Weiss and Nora, figuring a tan wouldn’t hurt with how they were gonna be here for a while. Jaune got to work on a game of pool volleyball teaming up with Ruby, while Yang and Qrow played against them.

Oscar looked up with a cocked eyebrow, observing his friends finally being able to relax for the time being. He looked back at the Ozpin journal that he retrieved from the Atlas vault, then back and forth at the gang while he spoke to Oz privately.

Penny for your thoughts. Oscar spoke.

As long as you are all rested for this whole journey. He said.

Oz. How do you feel about reunions after living for so long? The host asked.

You are asking me? The wizard replied. Well, I suppose apart from all the betrayals and twists/turns I’ve been part of lately, I would say that reunions are best saved for when you can savor the moment.

Yeah. Oscar thought. If Theodore is in on it, feels like we gotta make it on our own. Did you miss Theodore?

”Missing” would imply that I would be welcoming to the Headmistress. I am not easily welcoming on the inside, Oscar. Perhaps I am the wrong person to ask about this.

Oscar squinted.

I get that we have to be more careful and not trust anyone, but you could at least act like you care. Your former students could be here too.

I suppose. Ozpin said with a sigh. Perhaps you are better equipped for this since only a select few people know that we are one at this time.

Because I’m a teenager like the others here? He interrogated.

No, I just feel that you are a more appealing individual in your age group. The wizard answered. Just so nobody else is out to kill us.

“Wow.” Oscar scoffed out loud, briefly catching Blake’s attention. Just put an arrow above my head of how cute I’m supposed to be while you’re at it.

Ruby roared, banking the volleyball around Yang. But Qrow briefly shifted into a bird, headbutting the ball right between the team leaders who dodged it.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Jaune barked.

“Oh yeah?” Qrow said as he shifted back into a man. “Well, you’ve got banana hair!” He said as he shrugged at his blonde niece.

Weiss raised her sunglasses, squinting at the Huntsman’s remark while she turned around onto her stomach to tan her back next.

Jaune retaliated, by throwing the ball back in an attempt to get Yang to tilt by punching the ball open. Nora looked up from her seat, seeing her boyfriend meditating as he and her finally got a form of that beach day that she wanted so bad.

“I believe that Qrow has run out of remarks from Mr. Xiao Long’s joke book.” Ren observed.

“Feh.” Nora said with a shrug. “Just let him ramble, Renny.”

Ruby tried to Petal Burst her way around the net, only to create a cyclone which nearly sucked in Jaune. Qrow’s misfortune kicked in, causing the ball to hit Ruby in the side of her head at whoever tried sending it back.

“Oww, dang it!” Ruby cried out as she regained her footing the water. “Watch where you’re throwing!” She argued.

“Now who threw that?” Weiss inquired, raising her shades, and stopping at the familiar face before her.

Said familiar face had winced at his shot with Qrow attempting (and failing) to casually avoid the scene while Jaune carried Ruby out who rubbed her head.

“Sorry!” The familiar face shouted. “I didn’t mean to- -Sorry, guys!” He spoke.

Blake looked up at the voice, who wore yellow/blue swim trunks and had a noticeable monkey tail. She immediately got up, tackling her former squeeze from behind who yelped.

“Sun!” She cried out in joy.

“Blake!” Sun Wukong had called in return, setting her down and attempting to give his love interest a hug. 

Blake however, used one of her Shadow Clones to fool him and give the Huntsman an actual embrace after being away for some time.

Weiss sat up, greeting Neptune as well. A nervous meeting on her part due to how little they spoke during Vytal. But Nep was more than willing to let bygones be bygones in showing off his red speedo. Weiss blushed in hoping that she would be the one to clear things up.

Blake and Sun let go from their embrace, as she had never been more alive to see him until now.

“I know it hasn’t been that long.” Blake said first. “I know you pointed out that I didn’t need you anymore, but…Well, considering how poorly Atlas went, I kinda needed to see someone like you.” She sheepishly admitted.

“That bad, huh?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Blake sighed. “I know my hair isn’t properly rendered, either.” She muttered.

“Huh?” Sun asked.

“N-Nothing.” Blake retorted. “Though I imagine you’d probably come up with a better name for it than Yang. Called it the “bi bob” or something.”

“It’s a working title!” Yang argued while busy ogling Sage and Neptune.

“Ruby? Jaune?” Coco Adel asked with her teammates on CFVY not far behind. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” She inquired with lowered shades.

“He-hey, Coco.” Jaune said in an attempt to be suave while healing Ruby’s volleyball-shaped bruise. “See, it’s a funny story. We were called here by Theodore to investigate some Grimm trouble. Like you were…I think.” He flatly stated.

“Heh, great to see you guys too.” Coco spoke. Velvet stood by her side with her hands down. “I’m guessing you could use some lessons on team leadership from me and Sun?” She assumed.

“We are 100% fully functional on being team leaders, thank you.” Ruby argued, having just regained her vision.

“Yet you can’t watch your back at volleyball. Not the best aim there, luv.” Velvet joked. “Right, how about your focus on that Zaibatsu copy compared to Sun's arse and muscles, Blake?” She joked to her cat friend.

“Oh, HA-HA!” Sun angrily replied, blushing.

“It was just a kiss on the cheek, Velvet.” Blake retaliated with an eyeroll.

“I believe ya.” The hare said. “Of course, Sun worded it differently.” She fibbed.

“No he didn't, Bun.” Coco said while giving her friend a skeptical glare behind her shades. Had it not been in public with their First Year friends, she would've given Velvet a stern talking to about who pulled that off better.

While the two lovely ladies of Team CFVY bickered as to who would/wouldn’t get the ball gag, Blake grasped her arm anxiously while Sun awaited her response.

“You, um…Wanna get lunch to make up for lost time?” She hesitantly asked.

Sun instantly beamed, knowing how much of a relief they both needed from Remnant going down the tubes.

“Hell yeah!”

[mrs-denton]

Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought. 

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

[rafivadafreddy]

Pretty Little Psycho

A Nevada Ramirez and Nettie Perez Story. Part One.

Summery: Nettie is a girl with a horrible past. After her aunt left her house in her name, Nettie moves to Washington Heights. There she is able to stay low and not get noticed by many people. Until one night Nevada comes into the shop she works to leave a shipment in the back. (Yes another OFC. Only cause I can’t write fics with y/n. I need description! so.. sorry.)

Word Count: 2,019 Warnings: Cursing (surprise!) Panic attack. Talk about drugs. Nevada gets handsy, some spanish in there.

Living in Washington Heights for the past six months had been a nice experience so far. Her last living relative passed away and left a small home for Nettie. One by one, death came for her family members until she was the last one standing. Her grandparents died from natural causes, at least that’s what she was told when younger. Her father was shot, right in front of Little Nettie at the time. She was only 10 years old. Her mother died a few years later, Nettie had been 17, being used as a rag doll most of the time for her mother’s pimps whenever they were over. So, when she came home and saw her mother with a needle in her arm and not moving. Her pimp nowhere to be found, not that that surprised Nettie. She could only guess what had happened. By the time the paramedics arrived. Nettie already knew her mother was gone. Something Nettie felt no remorse over. Living with her mother meant living in a home filled with men, drugs and alcohol. Nettie being smacked around and used as they pleased. Nettie could only think ‘good riddance’ after the funeral.

The only living family left was an aunt who lived in Washington Heights. Nettie lived with the crazy old bat until she went off to college. Getting her degree in dance and fine arts. Taking up self-defense classes as well, needing to protect herself. Nettie could barely go near men without freaking out the slightest. When she graduated, her aunt died and left her house to Nettie. It was paid for and all Nettie would have to do is keep up with the bills.

So, with a heavy heart, the 25-year-old girl headed back a neighborhood in the northern part of Manhattan; Washington Heights. Not that she wanted that, but Nettie figured she would live in the house and work until she could get enough money to leave New York behind and never return.

Even with her degree, Washington Heights didn’t give her lots of options for jobs, meaning that Nettie had to accept whatever crap job that would accept her. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? With nothing to her name but student loans, Nettie accepted a job at a coffee shop where she learned how to brew the perfect coffee and even bake. The owners were a kind older couple who always spoke to Nettie about their grandchildren and children who lived all the way in Miami.

Life was going nicely for the girl she kept her head down and didn’t cause trouble. She never went out, didn’t bother to go to the clubs. If she wanted to drink, she would buy her liquor from the store and drink at home. Nettie wasn’t known to anyone, except those who came by the café and were regulars. Then they knew her name. Just the first, she never dared give out her last name. It was a curse after all.

It was late one night, being asked to close the shop, Nettie assured Camila and Dalvin that she would be alright.

“There are some supplies coming in tonight. Just… let them take the things out back. Okay? Don’t ask questions.” Dalvin told Nettie who was confused but nodded.

“You got it boss, I won’t ask, even if that sounds super suspicious.” She smiled and assured the two she’ll be fine.

They had left since Camila had been feeling some pain in her knees and since Dalvin was the only one around to help his wife. They left and Nettie continued to clean up. Having some pastries as she cleaned. Glad that everything was freshly made and so they wouldn’t mind her eating.

Putting on music, hooking her phone to the stereo and playing her dance playlist. Nettie grinned as Daddy Yankee started to play. Nettie grabbed the broom and danced along to Gasolina, singing along and just getting lost in the music.

“Ella prende la turbina No discrimina No se pierde ni un party de marquesina Se acicala va pa la esquina Luce también que hasta la sombra le combina Asesina, me domina Janguea en carro, motora, y limusina Llena su tanque de adrenalina Cuando escucha Reggaetón en la cocina”

As she danced along with the broom as her partner, doing a simple Merengue step dance. Nettie never heard the door open and people entering the café. To her, she had locked the doors, so she had nothing to worry about. By the time the song was over, and it changed to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. Nettie let out a yelp when someone started to clap.

“Who the fuck are you, puto and how did you get in here?” she demanded, gripping the broom in her hand. Ready to use it as a weapon.

“Now cariño, that’s not very nice of you to say hum… I would hate for something to happen to this…. Cute little place.” The guy in the middle who wore all black said.

That caused Nettie to pale, she looked at the men and took a step back. “I’m sorry… please, just do what you need. I won’t get in your way.” She assured them and quickly went over to turn off her music. Only to be told to keep it on. Leaving it, Nettie took a deep breath before returning to work. Sweeping the floors and starting to wipe down the tables and counters.

“So mami… who are you and why have I never seen you before?” the same man from before asked as he stepped closer to her. Nettie glad she was on the other side of the counter.

“First of all, with all due respect. I’m not your ‘mami’ so stop that.” She eyed him before licking her lips. “My name is Nettie. I mainly stay at home… and to myself.” She added, decided to humor him since she didn’t want anything to happen to the café.

Excusing herself, she quickly returned to her cleaning and grabbed the garbage bags to take out back to the dumpster. It was when she was outside, lifting the bags up did she feel a hand on her shoulder. A masculine hand at that.

Dropping the bag, grabbing the unknown hand and turning around quickly, twisting the man’s arm around harshly and pushing him against the building brick wall.

“AH YOU CRAZY PUTA! LET ME GO! NEVADA!” the guy yelled out, undoubtedly in pain.  The way she held his twisted arm behind his back, Nettie was sure to press down on the pressure point in his hand.

When the back door opened again and the man in black came out with his henchmen. They stared with wide eyes. “Nettie… can you let go of Jose… I sent him out here to help you with the trash bags. Not to get attacked.” The guy she had talked to before had spoken.

“Well, next time. Tell him not to sneak up on a girl!” she said through gritted teeth and let the guys arm go and took a step back. Breathing heavily, Nettie blinked a few times before rolling her eyes. Going back to the trash bags, she threw them into the dumpster.

“Look, do your business. Let me do mine. I don’t need any help.” She eyed the four of them and pushed past to get back inside.

Letting out a breath of air that Nettie didn’t even realize she was holding. She went back to the front of the shore and rubbed at her forehead.

“Mira aquí mami… i don’t know who the fuck you think you are. But what you just pulled? Not fucking cool.” The guy in black said as he came over to where Nettie was seated.

“Yeah well, I’m not here to please you. Sorry, I’m here to work and get my paycheck.” She mumbled and hissed at the pain in her head. Grabbing her purse, Nettie quickly grabbed a bottle of Advil and took one, drowning down the pill with the water in her water bottle.

“Jefe! All done.” The guy she had attacked called out, narrowing his eyes at Nettie who glared back.

“Great! Goodbye, see you next time you decide to do whatever it is you did. Have a nice night!” Nettie jumped up and grabbed the keys to the café and her things.

“I’m going to give you a warning this time, mami because I happen to like Dalvin and Camila… Next time you treat us so poorly, well you’re going to regret messing with Trujillo”

Staring at him, confused. Nettie opened her mouth to say something but shut it. Only to repeat the process a few times. “I- I’m sorry, did you just refer yourself to Trujillo? Rafael Trujillo? Please tell me you didn’t and that’s your name.” she bit down on her lip. Knowing she was probably messing with the wrong people, but Nettie did not have a filter for her mouth. It was probably why her father was killed. Mouthed off the wrong people.

By the looks of the guys henchmen, Nettie knew she was playing with fire.

“Do you have a death wish you crazy puta?” he snapped, stepping closer to her and Nettie visibly tensed up. “Now… the next time we run into each other. I expect you to have better manners… Me entiendes mami?” he spoke lowly as his hand reached up and wrapped themselves around her neck, gripping at the soft skin as he glazed into her eyes.

“Sí… entiendo.” She found herself mumbling as her heart raced in her chest. Her breathing became harder and she was trying not to gasp for air in front of this man. Her chest ached something awful and Nettie didn’t even realize she was crying until the man backed away and stared at her in shock.

Backing away and wrapping her arms around herself, Nettie slid down the wall she found herself up against and she tried to calm down but that just seemed to make it worse. Nettie felt like she was going to be sick and could barely focus on what was going on around her. Her nails digging into her skin and soon someone was in front of her.

“Okay chica… listen to me. You gotta control your breathing.” A voice she didn’t recognize spoke to her. “Come on… breath with me. In. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Now out. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…” he felt doing that while holding her hands until Nettie finally got her breathing back to normal.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” but she could hardly get a sentence out.

“No, none of that.” The man shook his head and quickly got up and grabbed a chocolate from the counter. “Come on. Eat this and you’ll be fine.” He smiled before glancing over at his boss. “My nephew has panic attacks all the time.” He explained and the guy just groaned.

“Fuck…” he mumbled and nodded to her. “Grab her things and let’s get out of here. We’ll drop her home.” He turned on his heel and walked out.

Nettie allowed the guy to help her up and grabbing her bag, they walked out of the shop. Miguel, she leaned was who helped her. He locked up the café and assisted Nettie into the black escalade. Once telling them her address, she closed her eyes and just waited to get home.

“Gracias, I’ll… I’ll make sure to respect you next time Trujillo.” Nettie said in a soft voice as the car was pulling up to her home fifteen minutes later.

“Nevada…” he sighed as he watched her get out. “My name is Nevada Ramirez. Just watch your mouth next time.” He said simply, looking forward again.

Nettie just bit her lip and nodded before bidding them goodnight and walking up to the house and letting herself in. Hearing the car drive off after she locked the door, Nettie dragged her feet to her room and passed out on top of the covers. Never realizing she had left her bag on the floor of the black escalade.

Tagging- @the-baby-bookworm​

Kinda not sure how long this will be. Probably just 5 parts with how I have my ideas written out. I hope you enjoyed. Heart and Re-blog