#THIS WAS PROBABLY HER UNIFORM BEFORE SHE GRADUATED AND GOT HER OWN

[dantelionwishes]

heyyy didnt i say turquoise went to a unovan school to study being a trainerrr 😊😊😊😊😊

[scarletmika]

Sunflower : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Mitchell!Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd was head over heels for you from the moment you met. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But Hangman knew just how to get under people's skin, too well sometimes, and sometimes frustration hits a boiling point when the people you don't want to hurt are standing in the way.

Warnings: fluff, some angst, established relationship, language, Hangman acting like an ass, female reader

Word Count: 3,771 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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Pete “Maverick” Mitchell always had one rule for his daughter: no dating any Military men, or ladies, until he was dead. You’d always found the rule dumb, but your dad was firm on it. He knew what those men were like, he used to be one of them himself, part of the reason he ended up with a daughter of his own. Though he’d spend your entire life reminding you that you were the greatest gift the world had ever given him, and that’s why he was so protective with his different rules as you grew up.

You adhered to them for a long time…until Bob Floyd came along.

Maverick had just been called back to Top Gun for the first time in years, and while he was excited and terrified to come back, he was excited at the prospect of seeing you. You’d chosen to attend the University of California at San Diego, and loved the city so much you’d settled in it after graduation and never left. Living in a city, surrounded by Military men at every corner, and through the years you’d obeyed your father’s rule and steered clear of them all.

You could remember the first time you met Bob as if it had been yesterday. A text from Bradley Bradshaw, a man you’d grown up to see as practically your blood brother, telling you to meet him down at the Hard Deck. That was news to you, that he was even back in the States in the first place, but you also knew it meant he was most likely here on a mission.

“There’s my favorite girl!” Bradley had whooped out the second he’d finished his song on the piano, the rest of the bar going back to their own conversations as the jukebox was plugged back in. He’d practically jumped off the piano bench, rushing forward to bring you into a hug, lifting you up with a spin as you laughed, hitting his shoulder lightly. “Would you believe me if I told you you’re my favorite part of coming back to the States?”

“Absolutely not one bit, Brad-”

“Hate to interrupt…but who’s she, Rooster?”

You pulled back from your brother, shooting a friendly smile toward what you could tell by their uniforms were other Navy fighter pilots gathered around the piano, watching you both curiously. Bradley threw an arm over your shoulders, giving it a squeeze.

“This right here is my infamous Sunflower-”

“You eat ONE of those as a child and get a stupid nickname-”

“I’ve told you guys about her before, practically my little sister,” he pointed off at the rest of his friends, listing them off. “That’s Mickey, otherwise known as Fanboy and Reuben, also known as Payback. That right there is Phoenix, but when I talk about her with you I just call her Natasha. We’ve got Jake, more well-known as Bag- sorry, I mean Hangman. And that’s Bob.”

You raised an eyebrow, gaze fixed on Bob questioningly as you realized Bradley wasn’t continuing his introductions.

“Just Bob?”

The man in question seemed to get flustered a bit, trying to speak and not seemingly able to find the words as his cheeks flushed.

“Uh, well, you know-”

“We just use Bob as his callsign too,” it was Hangman that spoke up, clapping a hand on Bob’s shoulder that seemed like it was in mock support. “Baby-On-Board seemed pretty spot-on to call him.”

Your face dropped, already understanding why your best friend seemed to bristle at the entire existence of Jake Seresin. You crossed your arms, shooting the man a pointed look.

“At least babies are cute. They also probably don’t leave their wingmen out to dry, if your own callsign is anything to go off of,”

The howling laughter of the entire group brought a smile to your face, including the look on Hangman’s face that clearly showed he’d been knocked down a peg by your words alone. You took the lapse in conversation to lock eyes with Bob again, sending him a smile and a sly wink.

He wouldn’t admit it, but Bob was head over heels for you from then on.

The team didn’t think they’d be seeing you around that often after that night, until they learned you were Maverick’s daughter. You might not have been on base with them all day, every day, but every second they weren’t on base you were with them all, ingrained with them like one of the family.

Nights at the Hard Deck, beach days learning to work together as a team in preparation for a mission, or the few days some of them managed to get off early enough to swing by and say hello to you at work. You spent all of your time with them, and those Navy fighter pilots had quickly become your best friends.

Many of them, mainly Fanboy and Hangman, had tried to get your number multiple times, to no avail. They were either stopped by Rooster’s protective gaze on you, your own father’s murderous look he’d shoot them, or a simple and polite no from you every single time. Natasha was the only one who got your number.

Bob didn’t think he stood a chance either, having overheard Rooster talking about how your father had a rule for you about dating Military men as it was, so he never tried. That’s why it surprised him so much when you’d walked up behind him at the Hard Deck one night, plucking his phone straight from his hands when no one was looking and typing in your phone number without another word.

Phoenix was the one who noticed more than others, given that Bob was her WSO. How every single time they weren’t up in the air training for the uranium mission, or being lectured back on the ground, he was buried in his phone with a smile and a blush on his cheeks. Or the way he disappeared from the base the second he was allowed to, or how you both seemed to always be around one another now wherever you all were hanging out at.

The bird strike was the first time you’d accepted that maybe you were on the verge of breaking your father’s single rule he had for you your entire life.

Maverick knew how close you’d become with the entire team, and called you the second he could to inform you of the accident. You were already in your car and on your way to the base before your father had told you he’d gotten special permission from Cyclone to let you on base.

You’d practically flew into Natasha’s arms the second you caught sight of her in the medical wing, asking her a thousand times if she was okay and checking her over. Once you’d backed out of her arms and set your sights on Bob, you could feel the overwhelming urge to cry overtake you. You’d stepped into his arms in an instant, burying your head in his neck as you began to cry, and Bob didn’t stop holding you until the tears subsided.

It was right before the Uranium mission where your relationship with Bob changed in an instant.

You were already worried sick, knowing your father was now leading the mission. You’d gotten a text directly after from Rooster informing you that you dad would be leading the mission, followed by one from your father himself to announce it. A bunch of texts streamed in, but you couldn’t bother to answer them as the nauseous feeling inside of you only grew. That pit in your stomach grew bigger as you realized that your father and Bradley’s lives weren’t the only ones you were overly concerned about, but Bob’s too.

You’d sequestered yourself for the rest of the day, ignoring texts from everyone as you realized that what you felt for Bob went entirely past platonic feelings. It was the next day when you’d opened your front door after the doorbell rang to Bob standing there in his Navy dress whites. You didn’t say a word to him, and he didn’t say a word to you either, the pair of you simply colliding in the middle in a kiss that had the rules you’d followed all your life long forgotten.

“Maverick is going to kill me for this,” he’d practically moaned out through kisses as you gripped onto the back of his neck, pulling him back in every time he pulled away for even a second.

“Good, means he’ll keep you alive during the mission to kill you after,” Bob had finally gotten you to stop chasing after his lips, pulling back to see the tears slowly streaming down your face as he gently wiped them away. “Just come back to me…all of you.”

“I promise, Sunflower,”

This wasn’t the first time your father had been on deployment. You’d had plenty of friends over the years in the military, too. This was far from the first time you’d ever dealt with people you care about throwing themselves into the line of fire and risking their lives. But this time, it held a new weight to it.

You were at the forefront of Bob’s mind the entire mission. The moment Maverick called his name alongside Phoenix’s own, his first thought was of you. Of the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on, the girl who had carved out a space in his heart in such a short amount of time, who’d he’d never thought he’d have a chance with, waiting at home for him. For him, her father, and her best friends. He thought of his own family, his parents and his siblings too, but you’d crept right up in there with them at the forefront of his mind.

It was you he thought about as he frantically called out signals for Phoenix when they’d rounded coffin corner. It was the dread he felt of having to tell you that your father and the man you considered your brother were both most likely dead the second the remaining Daggar squad had landed back on the ship. Then, it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders the second they landed back in safety with the rest of the team in that beat of F-14, knowing he could keep his promise to you.

The second the team was back in the states and touching ground on land, you’d been waiting with tears in your eyes for all of them. Maverick’s arms were the first you flew into, your father holding you as tightly as humanly possible, before he let Bradley join in on the group hug too.

“Is the cry fest over here done?” Hangman had called out, the rest of the team joining you all as they smiled at the sight of you wrapped in a bear hug of two of your favorite men. Hangman held out his arms, wiggling his fingertips. “Can’t the rest of the team get hugs here, Sunflower?”

You had pushed your way out of the hug and in Hangman’s direction, but his smirk fell when you’d simply brushed past him and threw yourself into Bob’s arms, tugging his lips back to yours, craving the feeling you’d already become addicted to. Bob could feel his cheeks instantly flush with the heat of the public display of affection, of knowing who was watching, but it was worth it for that moment with you.

Jake, Reuben, Mickey, and Bradley’s jaws all collectively dropped as they watched the interaction before them, while Natasha only held a small smirk on her lips, knowing her suspicions were confirmed. The group had all turned back to Maverick, collectively fearing for Bob’s own safety. They may have been more shocked to see a genuine smile of pure affection and love on the fighter pilot's lips.

That night, surrounded by everyone you’d come to love so dearly in the Hard Deck over well-earned beers, Maverick had quickly bestowed his blessing on the pair of you.

“If she’s going to ignore my lifelong rule and date a Military man…I’m glad it’s you, Floyd,” Maverick had clapped a hand down on his student’s shoulder, giving him a pointed look. “Break her heart, though, and the push-ups are going from 200 to 300. Daily.”

Those moments all seemed like ages ago to you, when in reality they’d only been 10 months ago. They’d led to this moment now, as you stepped into the Hard Deck on a busy Wednesday night later than usual because of work, trying to spot your group of pilots in the distance. Thankfully for you, they’d all been assigned to stay at Top Gun for an extended period of time, still learning more and more from Maverick as Cyclone had determined there was much more his top students could learn. For you, that meant having your best friends around every single day.

“Sunflower! How nice of you to join us!” Natasha had called out with a laugh, handing you one of the beers she’d grabbed for you already. You happily took it, clinking the top of your bottle with her own.

“Phoenix, you’re a lifesaver for this,” you’d thanked her, tipping your head back to gulp the alcoholic beverage. “Work was insane today, for no good reason, too!”

“Your father had us doing 200 push-ups every time we failed the flight simulations today,” Fanboy cut in, walking past quickly as he rounded the pool table in front of you both. “Trust me, most of us would kill for your office job right about now. Bet it’s got air-conditioning.”

“Hey, you guys want to handle company-wide presentations, be my guest. I don’t mind passing that off,” you watched Payback and Fanboy’s pool match for a moment, turning back to Phoenix at your side. “Is my boy hiding around here somewhere? He didn’t answer my text earlier when I said I was on my way.”

“Oh, you mean dark and stormy?” you lifted an eyebrow at her words as Natasha let out a soft laugh. “Hangman was being extra…Hangman today, if you will. Really was digging in on him all day, could hear him grumbling from the backseat of the jet after every comment.”

“Let me guess, Jake is still on his ass even now, after hours?”

“Last I saw, he had him crowded in a booth with Bradley across the room,”

You clinked your bottle with hers one more time before turning on your heel.

“Guess that my queue to go save him!”

Bob Floyd was having the worst day of his life, and it was thanks to Hangman. Don’t get it twisted, he really did love Jake, he was one of his brothers after everything that had gone down on the Uranium mission. This job can bind you wth people for life, and it has for them. Today, though, Hangman was just being so…classic Hangman.

“No, seriously, I think if you’d just given me a little more time I could have had Sunflower wrapped around my finger instead,” Jake commented with a laugh, taking another sip of his beer as he shot a smirk across the table at Bob, seeing his friend’s grip on his own beer bottle tighten. “Oh come on, Baby-On-Board, lighten up! It’s just jokes! Though we’ve got to admit, her and I would be one gorgeous couple.”

“Yeah, so funny,” Bob mumbled to himself as Bradley gripped onto Hangman’s shoulder, shoving him out of the booth and promising Bob he’d go distract him for a bit up at the bar. The second they were gone, Bob was rubbing at his eyes under his glasses, frustration rolling off of him in waves.

He could deal with the Baby-On-Board comments all day long, the snide comments throw his way as he worked his way through Maverick’s 200 push-ups. Hell, he could deal with the four-eyes jokes too. Did they get on his nerves? Absolutely. Was he at his breaking point today? Also yes. What sent him over the edge every time, without fail, was jokes about you.

It didn’t matter that you’d been together almost a year, that you’d been the first one to utter ‘I love you’ to him at three in the morning as you’d laid together in his bed, his insecurities never really went away, they were just satiated for periods. It was when Jake chose to remind him that you were, in fact, way out of his league that they came crawling back to the surface.

“Now, what’s my handsome pilot doing over here all alone?”

It was your voice in his ear suddenly, hands winding around his shoulders and fingers digging into his muscles as you leaned over the back of the booth, hugging him to you. Normally, Bob would be like putty in your hands, falling back into your touch and your words as every ounce of stress left him simply because he was in your presence. Today, though, his shoulders stayed tense as Hangman’s constant jeers and jabs from the last few hours floated around his head.

“Regretting leaving my house,”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the way Bob’s shoulders tensed up instead of relaxing into you, and slid your way around the bench so that you were sitting beside him. You craned your neck to try and get a look at his face, but Bob refused to look at you, the stress of the entire day on the verge of breaking over the surface.

“Come on, baby, what’s wrong-”

“Why don’t you ask Hangman?”

The question caught you absolutely off guard as you pulled away from your boyfriend slightly in confusion.

“Jake? The hell does he have to do with this?” when Bob didn’t answer you, you only continued. “Phoenix said he was giving you shit today, is that what this is about?”

“He thinks if you didn’t end up with me, you’d be with him. You’d be some perfect, gorgeous couple,”

“And what, you believe him?”

“I don’t hear you denying it,”

That was the moment that Bob decided to finally look at you, and he felt every ounce of frustration leave his body as he was racked with guilt and regret immediately.

“Wow. Okay, Bob,”

“No wait, baby-” he tried to place his hand on yours, but you’d already ducked out of the booth and stood beside it.

“No, you’ve made your point,” you refused to look at him now, and Bob close his eyes for a moment, knowing he’d fucked up. “I get it, Hangman can be a dick, but I chose you, Bob. If I wanted him, I’d have picked him, but I’ve only ever wanted you, and I chose you. I don’t care how much of a dick he was today, insinuating that isn’t cool.”

Bob knew you well enough to know that with the way you went storming out of the Hard Deck, chasing after you right now wouldn’t be the greatest idea in the world. It was at that moment that Jake and Bradley came back to the table, Jake whittling at the sight of you storming away.

“Ooooo, trouble in paradise?”

“For once, Hangman, please shut the fuck up,”

If you thought yesterday was a long day at work, nothing compared to the day after your disastrous Hard Deck night. You hadn’t texted Bob a single time, nor him you, even though you wanted to.

You let out another sigh to yourself as you stood at the copy machine in the office, rubbing at your under eyes. In hindsight, you felt that you had overreacted to the conversation last night, and you weren’t sure how to apologize to Bob for it. He’d had a long day, and so had you, and it simply had all culminated in that moment that anything could’ve set someone off.

“Hey,” you turned your head to see one of your coworkers, Jessica, standing at the doorway of the printer room you were in. She nodded her head in the direction of your office. “Someone is waiting in your office for you, by the way. Navy boy by the looks of it.”

You’d left the project on the printer in front of you, immediately walking back down the hallways in the direction of your office. You knew immediately who it was waiting for you, and it brought a small smile to your face as you turned through the door of the office.

Bob was standing directly by your desk with a small, almost timid smile, a bouquet of flowers in his hands as he took a step toward you, you taking one toward him as well.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” you answered, stepping up to him, just a foot away. You took a glance down, seeing him still decked out in his flight suit, straight from the base. “Aren’t you supposed to be on an F-18 right now?”

“Maverick was nice enough to give me the rest of the day off,” he commented, albeit sheepishly as he looked to the side for a moment. “After…the 300 or so push-ups he made me do.”

“Might be my fault there, he called me this morning once he got to base wanting to know about the ‘Hard Deck’ gossip that Rooster was talking about. Sorry,”

“You don’t have to apologize, I should be the one apologizing,”

You took the moment to glance down at the flowers in his hands, a smile growing. White tulips, a common symbol for apologies. Red roses, of course, representing love.

A single sunflower. The symbol of adoration and loyalty. You took the bouquet from him, inhaling the scent with a grin on your lips that he mirrored.

“They’re beautiful,”

“So are you,” Bob took the bouquet from you, placing it on top of the desk behind you both before taking your face in his hands. “I love you. You are, quite literally, the best thing that had ever happened to me, Sunflower. I shouldn’t have let him get in my head, and I shouldn’t have said what I did last night-”

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” you cut in, hands placed over the top of his own as you gazed up at him. “We were both frustrated, that’s all. You just have to remember that I chose you, because I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he’d simply responded. “I’ll always love you.”

Just like that day he’d shown up on your doorstep in those dress whites, words weren’t needed between you both to simply collide together in a passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of love’d felt for this man since the moment you’d met him into it.

[pensthoughts]

home turf | v.p

pairing: adult!van palmer x reader summary: fresh out of college, you’re stuck in new jersey helping your niece while your sister’s away. taking her to soccer practice is easy—except for the part where her hot coach keeps distracting you.  word count: 2.1k contains: age gap, flirting, soccer coach van

you didn’t think “post-grad” would mean living in your sister’s mansion in new jersey, driving her kid to soccer practice in a mercedes you don’t pay the insurance on, and googling “freelance jobs that don’t suck” from a poolside lounge chair. 

but here you are. 

your sister, madison—42, divorced, high-powered tech exec—got told she was being pulled out to california for work a couple weeks after you graduated. “three months,” she said, breezily, over a glass of wine that cost more than your entire college meal plan. “you get a free place to stay. i get someone i trust with sophia. win-win.”

her mansion feels like a hotel lobby and smells like lemon and linen. every room has a different diffuser. your socks slide on the marble when you forget to walk like you’re rich. 

madison calls it the house, but it’s got seven bedrooms and two staircases and a backyard so big you could lose a child in it. even though she’s not home, she’s still involved. she facetimes like a sitcom mom, with her makeup done and perfect lighting and a voice all sunny and composed. 

you’re not used to it yet. not the house, not the way your niece says “we have a gardener”, not how quiet it gets when she leaves for school and you’re alone with your thoughts and the fridge full of green juice that costs as much as a car. 

but you said yes. because you love your niece. because your sister asked. because you just finished college, and money’s tight, and the rent at home was making you spiral. so now you’re in new jersey. living in your sister’s mansion, figuring out what comes next. 

madison is almost 20 years older than you, and it shows. she was married and pregnant by the time you were in the first grade. you grew up on opposite ends of the same childhood; her with your dad’s first wife in new jersey, and you with the second in a new york city apartment. you only overlapped when she came home for holidays, looking like someone off tv, with a different car and haircut every time. 

she helped raise you when your mom was sick, though. and after the funeral, she paid for the rest of your college like it was nothing. 

you’re not sure if she’s more your sister or your boss. but you owe her. and now you owe her daughter too. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

your niece is a phenom. that’s what the newspaper said. 

freshman starting varsity. number 9. seven goals in her first two games. she’s got madison’s determination and your footwork. you’d say it’s genetics, but mostly she’s just obsessed. wakes up early to train. watches tape. has her cleats lined up like museum pieces in the garage. 

you love her, even when she’s smug. especially when she’s smug. it’s familiar. a little too familiar. 

she looks up to you. you won nationals back in high school, after all. you were supposed to go far—college scholarships, olympic qualifiers, maybe even pro—but injuries happen. life happens. you haven’t played in years, but it’s in your bones. you can still see the angles on the field before anyone else can. you still dream in cleats. 

which is probably why you keep ending up at practice. 

it starts innocently. drop-offs. pick-ups. then she asks you to stay and watch. then she says coach palmer likes when the parents show up, even if you’re technically not a parent, and suddenly you’re in the bleachers four afternoons a week. 

you’d like to say it’s for your niece. but then there’s her. 

van palmer. 

coach palmer, to everyone else. forty-two. red hair always shoved under a hat. lives in sweatpants and track jackets like it’s a uniform. she owns a video store downtown called while you were streaming—yes, it’s real, yes, it somehow stays open—and she only coaches soccer on the side, “for fun” she once said, like running drills and barking from the sidelines is her version of a wine hobby. 

you notice her the first day. how could you not? 

she’s magnetic in that older-lesbian, scruffy-hot, fixes things with duct tape and charm kind of way. her voice carries. she swears under her breath and laughs like she means it and has this way of whistling that makes the whole field snap to attention. 

and she notices you too. 

you’re sitting on the bleachers one afternoon, sunglasses perched on your head, drinking some overpriced juice from madison’s fridge, when she wanders over during a water break. 

“let me guess,” she says, stopping just a few feet from you, hands on hips. “you’re madison’s little sister.”

you blink. “uh… yeah. how’d you—?”

“you’ve got her eyes,” van says. “and you’re not a student. unless they’re letting college grads back in with fake IDs.”

you snort, which is humiliating, but she just smiles wider.

“i’m van. palmer. coach,” she adds, jerking her thumb toward the field like you didn’t just watch her command the team like a general. “i went to school with madison.” 

you smile. “yeah. i’m not a parent. i’m the cool aunt.”

van grins. “ah, the most powerful of all family roles.”

you nod solemnly. “we don’t pay the bills, but we do buy the secret candy stash.”

“i respect that.”

there’s a pause. you both look out at the field, your niece arguing with another girl over who gets to take the next corner.

“she’s good,” van says. 

you smile. “she’s so smug about it.”

“i’d be smug too.”

you glance over. “is that a coach thing? or a former player thing?”

she shrugs. “both. played in high school. team was supposed to go to nationals.” her voice dips there—just slightly—and you catch something in it, like the weight of memory. 

you remember reading something once. a team that never made it. a plane crash. a rumor that felt too big to be real. 

but van’s already switching gears. she taps the bleachers with her knuckles. “you play?”

you pause. “used to.”

van’s eyes cut back to you, curious. “how used to?”

“high school. nationals.” you say, mentioning nationals makes you feel slightly odd, considering what she probably went through because of it.

her eyebrows lift. “damn. you win?”

“yeah. barely.” you smirk. “why, you wanna recruit me?”

she grins, wide and a little wicked. “only if you’ve got four years of eligibility and a fake birth certificate.” 

you laugh—genuinely this time—and van chuckles with you, kicking lightly at the grass with the toe of her sneaker. 

there’s a pause, then she says, “you’re gonna be picking sophia up most days? 

you nod. "until her mom gets back. i’m the live-in aunt-slash-temporary guardian.” 

van whistles, low. “big house for two people.”

you give her a look. “you been creeping on our property?”

“nah,” she says, grinning again. “small town. you can see the gate from the road.”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not my mansion.”

“but you’re staying there?”

“temporarily.”

“hm.” she tilts her head. “so what, you just hang out by the pool all day?”

you shoot her a dry look. “only when i’m not updating my résumé or submitting applications to jobs i’m underqualified for.”

“ah,” she nods sagely. “you’re in your ‘screaming into the void’ phase.”

“exactly.”

van smiles like she knows the feeling a little too well. then someone yells “coach!” and she turns her head.

“duty calls,” she says, “nice meeting you…?”

you give her your name, and she repeats it once, like she’s locking it in. 

“cool,” she says, “try not to distract the team with your whole…” she gestures vaguely toward you, “…vibe.”

you laugh, surprised. “my vibe?”

“i don’t know. you’ve got this sunglasses-and-smoothie energy. it’s very SoCal”

“i’m from new york.”

she whistles. “dangerous combo.”

she then jogs back onto the field without another word. 

you sit there, a little stunned, sipping your smoothie like it didn’t just become the most embarrassing beverage in the world. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

that night, your niece finds you in the kitchen. 

“so,” she says, casual as anything. “coach palmer talked to you today.”

you try to play it cool. “she talks to all the parents.”

“you’re not a parent.”

“i’m parent-adjacent.”

she snorts. “she totally thinks you’re hot.”

you almost choke on your water. “excuse me?”

“she kept looking at you. like looking looking. she never talks to anyone during water breaks.” 

you open your mouth, close it, and point at her. “you are fifteen. you are not allowed to have gaydar yet.”

she just laughs and walks away. 

and you stand there, in your sister’s designer kitchen, heartbeat loud in your ears, trying not to smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

whole foods is somehow both overwhelming and peaceful at nine a.m.

it’s a saturday, and you’re there with your niece, shopping for ingredients for a smoothie she swears by—"it’s what all the girls on the u17 national team drink"—when you turn a corner in the produce aisle and almost ram your cart into another. 

“woah—” comes a voice. “either you’re following me, or you’re trying to run me over.”

you look up. van, standing on the other side of the cart, a bunch of bananas in one hand and a lazy grin on her face.

she’s wearing joggers and a white t-shirt, no hat today, hair slightly messy, like she just rolled out of bed and still managed to look unfairly good. 

“maybe both,” you say, recovering quickly. “you looked like you needed to be humbled.”

“oof,” she says, holding a hand to her chest. “brutal. and here i was gonna compliment your fruit selection.”

you glance down. organic strawberries, overpriced peaches, some kale you regret grabbing. 

“it’s for her,” you say, nodding toward your niece, who’s already halfway down the aisle, pretending not to look but very obviously watching you both. 

“of course it is,” van says. “madison used to make smoothies like that. back in high school, she was the health queen. cheer captain, straight As, SAT tutor. i think she even ran a charity one summer just for fun.”

you laugh. “yep. that sounds about right.”

“you were raised in the city, though, yeah?” she asks, nudging her cart alongside yours as you move toward the bulk granola. “i remember you mentioned it. didn’t your dad move after the divorce?”

“yeah. me and my mom were in the upper west side until—” you cut yourself off, because you don’t usually say it so early in a conversation. but van’s watching you like she actually cares. so you finish, quieter. “until she passed.”

van’s expression softens. “sorry.”

you shrug. “it was a while ago. madison stepped up. she’s kind of intense, but she means well.”

van snorts. “understatement of the decade.”

you grin. “what about you? you grow up around here?”

“born and raised,” she says, grabbing some trail mix. “i left for a while. came back eventually. too many ghosts out west, i guess.”

you glance at her. there’s something under that. but she doesn’t elaborate. and you don’t push. 

“so what brings you to whole foods on a saturday morning?” you ask.

she shrugs. “needed coffee. and peanut butter. and apparently a run-in with a pretty girl in the fruit aisle.”

you freeze for half a second. pretty girl. you.

van meets your gaze, completely unbothered, like she didn’t just casually wreck your brain with a sentence. 

“do you flirt like this with all the aunts?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light.

“only the hot ones,” she says, then winks.

your niece coughs loudly behind you. you whirl around.

“are we done?” she says, way too innocent. 

you nod, quickly. “almost.”

“coach palmer,” she says, smiling sweetly, “you should come over sometime. we’ve got a pool. and a grill.”

van raises an eyebrow. “is that so?”

“yeah. my mom would totally approve. she loves community engagement.”

you stare at her. she stares back, victorious.

“well,” van says, grinning. “i do like a good grill.”

you clear your throat. “okay. we’re gonna check out now.”

“see you at practice,” van says, and her gaze lingers for just a second longer than necessary. 

as you walk away, pushing the cart a little too fast, your niece smirks. 

“what?” you ask, trying to sound stern.

“nothing,” she sing-songs. “just saying…you’ve got game.”

“i do not have game.”

“you had her blushing. coach palmer. blushing.”

you roll your eyes, but your face is warm.

and later, as you’re unpacking the groceries in the massive lemon-scented kitchen, you realize you can’t stop smiling. 

you kind of want her to come over. 

you kind of want her to stay.

[susagnon]

Kyouka: Friendzoned and friendzoning

So. Jirou seems to be the female classmate who the majority of 1-A's guys are most comfortable with.

However, contrary to my headcanon about the most popular 1-A guys, I feel like most of them aren't romantically interested in her.

It might sound a bit sad, but I headcanon that her miffedness about Mineta not naming her among those female classmateds that he wanted to perv on, is not entirely unwarranted... although, having Mineta salivating over you, is probably not something that anyone with self-respect should desire.

I can see her having gained some male admirers outside of the hero students, after the cultural festival.

At first sight, it might seem that Hagakure and Ashido are the most romance-focused girls in 1-A. However, supplemental and canon materials have depicted the tomboyish Jirou as being conscious about the male gender, the most:

During 1-A's practice match against Togata, she was the only girl who completely freaked out over his nudity.

In one of the drama CD stories, she made a big deal inside her head about holding onto the hem of Tokoyami's uniform, when they visited a haunted house together.

In one of the gag comics, she thought that Bakugou was self-conscious about holding her a girl's hands, when he wasn't actually. She basically just self-projected onto him.

In several of the gag comics, Jirou has been depicted as being self-conscious around Kirishima: One example has her perving on him in his costume. Another one, that retold 1-A's trip to the mall before Deku got accosted by Shigaraki, has Jirou imagining being on a date with Kirishima, when the kids paired up to look for Deku... and be pissed, when Kirishima dropped her at the first sight of Bakugou.

Ironically enough, she displays none of that awareness around guys who were hinted as having some interest in her: Kaminari (and I think, I've read something somewhere about Kouda liking her since their practical exams?)

Oh Jirou. You're definitely among those 1-A kids, who have the most growing up to do in the romantic department.

...

I just noticed that, except for Togata, all of the examples above include guys with whom Kaminari is explicitly friends with.

And now I headcanon poor Kaminari getting friendzoned by Jirou until at least until graduation.

The irony of 1-A’s resident flirt being canonically the first one out of all of 1-A’s boys who recognizes that he had fallen for someone: The girl, who just goes through successively crushing on all of his close friends... Now who's the flighty one, huh?

Yes, I imagine the unrequited love switcheroo trope, where Jirou won’t be able to recognize and acknowledge her own feelings for Kaminari for a while. She starts to consciously takes notice of him as a romantic prospect - juuust right when he's about to move on from his own feelings for her.

Drama ensues.

[jooyas-oatmeal]

Project Emberwake Chapter 2.

Cold air hissed through the wooden slats in the hull, swirling inside and bringing an unpleasant chill that seeped through every crack. Above, the balloon’s fabric snapped and strained in the wind. The airship groaned under its own weight, as if resentful of being forced into flight.

Soren sat atop her oversized, vintage suitcase, more like a massive briefcase than practical luggage, wedged awkwardly in the cramped corner of the inner hull. Her jacket was buttoned tightly up to her neck, and a heavy duffel bag pressed uncomfortably against her lap. She leaned forward onto it, eyes closed, desperately trying to sleep through the nauseating sway of the outdated vessel.

The cargo bay was cluttered with crates from the Schnee Dust Company, Cloudbreaker Trade shipments, and even a couple pallets of Pumpkin Pete’s cereal.

A sudden thud jerked her out of her daze. Her pocket felt lighter. Irritated, she realized her scroll had slipped free, skittering across the uneven floorboards. She groaned and retrieved it, squinting down at the paused introduction video.

Frozen on-screen was Penelope Pale, Haven’s current student counselor and allegedly one of Beacon Academy’s top graduates. Ethereal and cold, she looked like she’d forgotten how to smile years ago. Platinum-blonde hair shimmered faintly silver-blue, cascading neatly over her shoulder blades. Ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through the lens. She wore a long white coat embroidered with silver over a fitted combat suit, reinforced at the shoulders and cuffs. She radiated excellence and made Soren feel smaller by comparison.

With a sigh, Soren exited the video and pulled up her playlists instead, adjusting her earbud. "What a marvel of outdated engineering," she muttered, eyeing the ship’s worn hull. "Nothing screams ‘elite academy’ like a deathtrap held together by rope and nostalgia."

The airship lurched again, and Soren swallowed hard against the queasy churn in her stomach. Her body wasn’t built for buoyancy, she preferred gears to wind. She was either still and planning or moving too fast for doubt. This in-between was agony. She curled in tighter, music drowning the groans of the vessel.

Forge Academy would never ship students like cargo. Atlas probably used Dust-powered hovercrafts. But Forge had rejected her. Haven took her in, no explanation, no ceremony. Just this. “Maybe wooden balloons and sharp-eyed counselors were part of the deal.” She shut her eyes and breathed through clenched teeth.

The airship hissed as it settled onto a skyport, not at the summit where Haven gleamed like a temple, and not in the slums far below. Just suspended somewhere in the middle.

Through the porthole, Soren got her first clear look at High Mistral, a city built in terraces, rooftops sloped like puzzle pieces, footbridges and cable lifts threading between towers. The higher you went, the cleaner it looked. At the very top, Haven pierced the sky.

Soren slung her duffel over one shoulder, gripping her suitcase as she followed the others off the ship. Cold wind bit through her coat, tinged with incense and stone. Mistral’s chill wasn’t harsh, it was proud, oppressive.

Signs with elegant calligraphy welcomed them to Haven Academy. Uniformed Huntsmen and scholars stood stiffly by, family crests embroidered on their coats. No one smiled. This was a place where tradition didn’t bend.

A Faunus child with their hood pulled low, a sickly man slumped by a pillar, ignored. She muttered, "A city proud enough to polish the brass, but not touch the rust." Adjusting her grip, she added, "It’s not Forge, but I’ll make it work. City of scholars, do your worst."

She took two steps, barely registering the chaos ahead, porters barking orders, metal carts clanging against the deck, luggage hoisted in every direction, before someone yanked her duffel.

"Hey! That’s mine!"

A team of porters and upper-classmen, some wearing long coats with silver Haven crests and polished steel clasps, were loading luggage onto a platform lift. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped in her way.

His tone was flat. "Step back. It’s going to Haven."

Soren scowled. "A warning would've been nice."

She reached for her bag again, but the fourth-year shifted smoothly to block her. "What don’t you understand? It’s going."

"I need my wallet. Side pocket. Security won’t let me through without it."

With an annoyed sigh, he unzipped the bag and tossed her the wallet. "That it?"

"Yeah, whatever. I still don’t see why I couldn’t carry it myself." She bit down on the words before she could say more, feeling like a kid being scolded in a place that had already decided what kind of student she’d be.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Now carrying only what she wore, Sunflare and Moonfall on her belts and bitterness in her chest, Soren entered Capital.

The streets tangled in every direction, split by color, sound, and motion. Vendors shouted in sharp Mistrali accents, hawking Dust charms and hot bread.

Above, bridges laced the skyline. Charms, meats, ribbons, incense smoke, music, movement everywhere and it was only 8:30.

She didn’t know where Haven’s gate was, but walked like she did. Every axle, every lift, every stone joint was a system. Machines were easier than people.

"Same chain, new oil," she mumbled. "I got this."

She stepped deliberately into the march of students.

Haven blues, Beacon reds, Shade tans, Forge whites. Signal and Crucible patches clung to worn jackets. Teens fresh out of the youth academies, some with weapons that looked too large for them to carry. Transfer students with eyes like cracked glass, resentment for being the ambassador for their school.

Dust scholars with gleaming gloves, students with dueling scars, and slow-moving exosuits that clicked like clocks.

She passed Faunus of every kind, horns, fur, scales and even Grimm-Borne, unmistakable with bone-like markings and crimson eyes. Automata with wood, brass, and steel faces. Soren stared, in the back of her mind wanting to dismantle one and discover how it worked.

The plaza was like a census come alive. It almost made Mistral look diverse. Almost.

She didn’t realize she’d synced to the rhythm of the crowd.

For once, she let herself breathe.

And then a hand brushed her coat. A flick. A tug. She felt her jacket pockets just to make sure, to reassure herself that no-one would steal from her in broad daylight… But her scroll was gone.

By the time she turned, all she saw was a blur of green, a cloak snapping behind a tall figure slipping through the crowd. Reddish-blond hair with ears. And a whipping rust-colored fox tail.

“Hey!” she shouted. “What’s your damage?!” People turned. She felt her face redden.

Her boots hit wood hard as she gave chase. Her legs were driven by pure rage and desperation, her face hot and her eyes watering. Panic surged through her chest like a pressure spike. She shoved her way through, fighting the current of the crowd, her wings smacking other students.

Her scroll. Her files. Her schematics. Her contacts. Pictures of Dad. Her entire life. Gone in an instant.

The thief moved like smoke, slipping between carts, vaulting a bench, never looking back. Soren ran harder, wings tucked tight as her shoulders tensed, her breath jagged, her legs burning.

She wasn’t a Huntress yet. Not even close. A thief beating a huntress in training... She wasn’t trained for this. But she couldn't stop, not when that tail mocked her.

The rage gave her something else. Some momentum, just enough... He turned a sharp corner. She skidded, boots scraping. Too fast.

She hit something at full force... No, someone. Shoulder-first, and now on the ground scrambling up. The impact knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled, "Crap I always forget how top heavy these stupid wings are..." she cursed herself.

When a hand caught her by the arm, the chill of the metal on skin brought Soren back to herself, away from distractions, back to the chase…

“Are you alright?”

The voice was calm, formal—but laced with something like... hesitation. The girl standing before her looked like she’d walked out of a fever dream. Pale silver skin, porcelain-smooth, too perfect to be human. Hair cut in a choppy ash-brown bob, streaked faintly purple. Her scarf flared as she moved, catching the light like silk.

Her eyes, lavender and softly glowing, flicked between the street, the sky, the buildings, the crowd. Rapid, restless, overstimulated. One hand rubbed the seam of her scarf in a repetitive motion. The other gently steadied Soren.

She moved like a teenager, but Soren’s brain struggled to align what she was seeing. This girl was... an automaton. But she sounded, blinked, breathed—she looked too real.

“He went that way,” Soren wheezed. “Cloak. Bow. Tail. He took my scroll.”

“I saw,” the girl said, her voice steady but quick. “Do you want help?”

“Yes,” Soren said, still staring. “Definitely yes.” "Can’t say no, can I?" she thought.

The girl turned and sprinted, ahead of Soren. She was fast, but there was something mechanical in the way she ran, as if she calculated every footfall before committing to it. Not elegant. Just precise reaction chains.

Soren followed as close behind the strange girl as she could. Her scarf fluttered, and her chakram yo-yo twitched on one wrist like a stimming reflex.

They bolted down a cramped alley. The thief vaulted a market stand ahead, landed cleanly, and loosed an arrow from his hip. It thudded into a wooden beam, trailing a line behind it. He grabbed the rope, swung wide, and vanished, sliding down into the levels below like a ghost.

Soren skidded to a halt at the edge, breath heaving. Her hands trembled. Her scroll was gone. Not lost. Stolen. And with it, everything that made her feel in control.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her shoulders down. “Okay,” she whispered, “okay. It’s fine. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. I always do.”

The automaton girl approached quietly, her head tilted. Her expression shifted into something close to concern, exaggerated slightly, like she was trying to sell an award winning performance. Her fingers fidgeted at the edge of her scarf again.

"You look very stressed… when I get stressed I ask for a hug…?"

Soren stared at her. "What?"

Cora didn’t move, just kept her tone gentle. "I thought that if I like hugs when I'm feeling sad… that you would… like a hug?"

Soren hesitated. She felt her breath stutter, caught between pride and need. She blinked. Looked the girl up and down, and blinked again, finally looking at the stranger who helped her. Those lavender eyes that blinked too realistically. That silver skin. That uncanny warmth in her voice. Everything in Soren's gut screamed this should feel wrong. But it didn’t. Cora felt more human than half the people Soren had grown up around.

There was something too smooth in her stance, too balanced in her limbs, but the girl stood still, expectant, open, like someone who genuinely wanted to be useful. Her face, artificial but expressive, held more earnestness than most real ones. Her chest-core glowed softly violet, pulsing with what looked like nervous anticipation. The scarf, lavender silk, it rose and settled with each carefully simulated breath, as if trying to imitate calm. Her fingers, platinum-plated and delicately painted, didn’t shake. They waited. Perfect. Precise. Still.

Even her voice, just like any other teen... perfectly enunciated, without a single misplaced word, felt like it had been grown in a lab to calm people down. But it wasn't flat. It was... hopeful.

Then, without a word, she gave a small nod.

Cora stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Soren, not too tightly, but weirdly warmly, and surprisingly steady. Her plating felt cool through the fabric, but not cold. Soren stood still, fists still clenched, and let herself breathe. The scarf unintentionally tickled.

After a moment, Cora spoke again. "Would you like to use my scroll? It is configured for shared access. Or... you can come with me to Haven. If you are a student too, we could walk together."

Soren pulled back slowly, eyes scanning the city layers where the thief had vanished. "Yeah... yeah, okay… I wanted to grab breakfast before I got to the school…"

Cora beamed. It wasn’t a mimic of a smile, it was real in its intent, even if the programming behind it was synthetic. She bounced slightly on her heels, her chakram spinning again in an idle loop.

"I'm Cora, by the way… and I’d like breakfast too…"

"Soren." Soren rubbed her temples. "This whole place is new… and not as easy as I thought it would be…"

"Then we can be new together." Cora replied, flicking her wrist, playing with the cable linked to her chakram.

Soren let out a short, tired laugh. "Sure. Why not."

They started walking toward the upper pathways, the city’s scent of incense, stone, and spice winding through the air. Cora twirled her weapons as they walked, her steps a little too rehearsed, her gaze too wide, but her presence felt strangely welcome.

For the first time in hours, Soren didn’t feel like she was losing ground.

[seramilla]

I need to write a fic for the human au soon. (Unfortunately my classes are out so I don't even have an excuse for why I don't) But I was thinking since a part of me likes this kind of thing for some background being Sera had a strained with her family who werent great but not overlord au bad when Emily was born while she was in university. Before Emily is a year old both her parents die in car crash and suddenly she is Emily's guardian she could have left Emily in foster care but she didn't want to leave Emily so she took her in but couldn't afford to care for her and do school so she drops out and starts working to support the two of them. She's able to keep her head above water but barely in a position where one accident or sudden expense would he a disaster she couldn't afford. Meanwhile Carmilla is rich she was rich by family and married rich than her husband passed leaving her with a lot of money and a company plus the two girls. They meet at school (Emily got a scholarship thing to go whatevet private school the girls go to and become friends.) Carmilla notices Sera is always stressed about money being one major expense away from disaster and also trying to help her in what way she can. If they get together Carmilla plans to let Sera do whatever go back to school, keep working like she is though hopefully less hours or just stay at home as her sugar baby. Also for ages Carmilla is older than Sera who was 21 when Emily was born and got her at that age Sera is 28 now and Carmilla is currently 32 her late husband passed 4 years ago.

You totally should!

I can see Sera working multiple jobs to take care of Emily, and even if Emily got a scholarship, there'd probably be other expenses like books, uniforms, field trips, or whatever else that she'd have to pay for out of pocket. Maybe Sera tried to go back to school multiple times, took online classes, etc. but she just couldn't keep up with multiple jobs and classes at the same time, so she'd give up after a while. But it's okay, as long as Emily got a good education.

The first time Emily, Odette, and Clara have a play date and Sera comes to pick up Emily, she and Carmilla get into a conversation. Carmilla wants to get to know all the parents of the girls her daughters are friends with. Almost immediately, Carmilla is very attracted to this woman. She's not dressed to the nines or driving a fancy car or wearing really expensive clothes/jewelry like all the other moms and dads Carmilla meets. She's a homely, down-to-earth person probably driving a 20-year-old Honda Civic, wearing a simple blouse and skirt from her day job at some office somewhere, and running really late because traffic was a nightmare.

Carmilla respects her very much for being a single "parent" and trying to raise Emily on her own. She invites her back anytime she wants. Emily is always welcome in her home. Sera starts coming to visit all the time, even though Carmilla orchestrates these encounters very strategically, so she doesn't scare the timid woman away. She wants to make her feel welcome like any of the other parents, but also let her know that she's special and Carmilla fancies her very much.

It takes a while, but when they eventually get together, Carmilla tells Sera she doesn't have to work anymore; she can go back to college full-time if she wants, or just stay home and take care of all the girls. Sera thinks it's very tempting, because she hasn't had the opportunity to think about what she wants for the last 8 years of Emily's life. It's honestly all so overwhelming. She doesn't even know how to be selfish anymore.

Ultimately, Sera decides that she does want to pull her weight and work her way through college. She gets a job on campus part-time, like a work study program, so she can help pay her tuition herself and still have time to take care of the girls in the mornings and afternoons when they get home from school. Eventually she decides she wants to go to graduate school, as well; she gets an assistantship, and by the time Emily is a teenager, Sera's finished with her education and working with Carmilla at her company.

[living-dead-girl7]

montgomery scott (scotty, star trek can be tos or aos) x reader

not proofread, probably typos and errors

The Enterprise engine room buzzes around Scotty’s ears, a white noise to him that he's sure he could fall asleep to if he had the resolve to sleep for once. At the current time, he is idly tinkering away at some long put off project that holds no true significance, but he can’t give himself a moment of rest, fearing something will always happen. The doors adjacent to his office open with a light ‘swoosh,’ and Scotty can hear the light pattering of boots across the floor. He leans back in his chair expecting a red shirt to barge in saying they can't seem to figure out how to fix one of the replicators, and will inevitably find himself hunched over shoving wire back into the right position. He will never deny his love of the ship, but god can she be stubborn. 

A gentle rap in the door frame breaks him from his trance. To his surprise, it's not a red shirt, but his favorite medical officer leaning casually against the frame with a soft smile full of affection, that he finds himself returning. 

‘“Hey lass, what brings you ‘ere?”

The officer in blue pushes herself off from the door and rounds the corner to sit in front of him at his desk. Scotty finds himself, without thought, gently resting his hands on her sides as she is perched at his desk. “Just wanted to see my favorite engineer.”

The Scotsman lets out a heartfelt laugh, it's far from condescending, it's a gut laugh that radiates pure adoration and affection. His hands that rest at your sides soothing find their way to your arms, gently running them up and down the length of them. A tender moment that is hidden from the bustling energy of the ship. With a gentle squeeze and soft peck, Scotty reluctantly lets you go, knowing McCoy would be hollering about his top psychologist being gone for too long. Just before you part ways, Scotty feels a gentle tug at his sleeve, a well rehearsed dance that he finds himself smiling fondly at. 

“Hmm?” Murmurs the Scotsman

“Remember, you are off at 5 today, and so I am…I am expecting my favorite engineer to be cuddled up with me tonight…” The idea makes Scotty smile fondly, 

“Aye.”

With that, the woman in blue parts with him, but not without one last peck to his cheek and and soft goodbye full of what can only be described as a deep set of adoration

Hours pass in a blur and amazingly, at 5:15 Scotty finds himself kicking his boots off in his quarters as his favorite blue shirt waltz’s in, gazing happily at her Scotsman. Uniforms now discarded into the nearest hamper, the two officers are curled up under the covers. Scotty in some sweatpants and an old t-shirt he can’t remember where he got it from, and his medical officer in his old academy shirt and probably some long forgotten pair of shorts he didn't even realize he owned. Scotty sighs contently as her head slots between his shoulder and neck, his arms snaking tightly around her middle to pull her as close as possible, and their legs tangled together, desperately searching for each other's warmth. A soft mumble comes from her mouth, 

“How was your day?” 

The scotsman sighs, and with a grumble in his accent you are so fond of, “It was alright, some new engineers, that I don’t even know how graduated from the academy, can't figure our how to properly wire the replicator and-” 

Scotty stops mid sentence as he realizes his girl is softly sleeping. Her eyelashes resting against her cheek so softly he can't help but smile. The way her lips part slightly as she breathes makes his heart skip a beat. He feels like a teenager again, despite his complaints about his back and knees, feeling like a lovesick puppy at the mere thought of you. He finds solace in you, a breath of fresh air in the stale and artificial atmosphere of the ship. His thoughts wander to why you, a breathtaking, young, smart, and enchanting girl choose him, a grumpy and old redshirt who likes to drink and fiddle with the ship. An odd pair in his opinion, but you will never hear any complaints from him. Jim says that you two are the sun and moon, rain and shine, night and day, two people destined for each other no matter what, without one, the other can’t exist. 

As you sleep soundly for once, a velvet box is tucked away into the nightstand on Scotty's side of the bed. He smiles at the thought of you walking down the aisle on your wedding day, glowing as you smile up at him. One day it will happen, he knows, he loves you too much to not see it through.

[highflyerwings]

Hi!!!! I like your blog! I wanted to ask you about Do Gangjae. What’s his back story and how he ended up in dongcheon. What were his parents like? What was his age when he joined dongcheon and what’s his current age? Did he ever have a girlfriend? Do you think he was jealous of jiwoo? Why didn’t he have a dongcheon tattoo? He was suspicious. Why did he go crazy? Did he want revenge? Did he see mujin as a father when he was in dongcheon? And do you think he would rape her if taeju didn’t find out?

Hi there! Thank you so much for sending this! Honestly, I truly don't think there will ever be a day where I get tired of talking about My Name.

And it's been a minute since I really got to think about it. Especially Gangjae.

As far as his backstory goes, we get a very brief glimpse of it. Young Gangjae bowing down at the feet of Choi Mujin, begging to be let in the club. He's obviously a teen, school uniform and all, with his mates. But I don't get the vibe that he's particularly troubled. Something tells me he was brought up in a good home (whether that was money, or love, either or both, not entirely sure), but I definitely think he was a troublemaker. He was ready to be one of the big boys, a big bad gangster, but he had his sights set high on the classy ones.

Between that flashback and the time he joins Dongcheon to the time we meet him, it's hard to really guess his age. I'd say he joined the club not too long after that flashback. Maybe once he'd graduated. I'd say he's just a few years older than Jiwoo.

I'd say he had a few girlfriends, or what he'd claim were girlfriends. He seems like a flirt. I think anyone he flirted with on the regular (regardless of whether he was serious or not) he'd consider a girlfriend. I bet he had one specific, serious girlfriend though, who he thought about a lot after they broke up. Just because I like a cliche, and unrequited love or the one who got away is always a classic.

I think he was very jealous of Jiwoo. He was jealous of her relationship with Mujin, and suspicious that she would become the favorite he always thought he was going to be.

Didn't Gangjae have the Dongcheon tat??? Why am I just now realizing I can't remember if I'd seen him with it or not. If he didn't, I'd say it's just because he fucked up before he got to become a full time member. Honestly, that has to be the most painful thing for him. He had such big hopes and dreams of his place in the organization, and he was working hard to get there. But then he went and fucked it all up before he even became a legitimate member. LOL. Bruh must have been LIVID.

Which is why he probably turned down the path he did. Drugs, and starting his own business, and making it his life's mission to get revenge on Mujin. Gangjae was tough, and resourceful, but not particularly smart. Or....he was smart, I think, but too reckless. I think he and Mujin were a lot alike in that they were fueled by their emotions, but (maybe it was just due to age, idk), Gangjae was much more reckless. He got carried away in his goal for revenge.

I think Mujin was less like a parental figure for Gangjae, and more like a king he thought he could succeed one day. I truly think Gangjae's final goal was Mujin's throne.

And no, I don't actually think Gangjae would have raped Jiwoo. I think if he really wanted to, he would have tried himself rather than making a boys night out of it and letting Cheolho have a go. It was less about what he was doing to her himself, and what he let happen to her while he watched and enjoyed her pain.

[your-royal-villainess]

Presenting my socially inept non-superhero DC OC, Letrexa Ashton.

In DC Comics style (age may vary depending on the timeline)

Originally, I had thought of her only as a DC Super Hero Girls (2019) OC, but then I decided to expand her existence in other DC universes. Does that make sense? Hopefully you guys are getting it. I’ve tried drawing her in a comic art style before, but I’m more used to cartoons (yay! Cartoons, haha!). I just love how versatile DC characters are.

Speaking truthfully, I don't think she'd be a part of any serious storylines with regards to any of the leading characters (other than just being one of the students who gets to go to school with Bruce Wayne when he was younger, obviously)—because I've probably mentioned this before: as much as possible, I don't want my OC to bend an original storyline just so she could fit in, but I'm aware that's far-fetched for an OC. Let's just see how it goes.

Her GA uniform is a little different in here because I got inspired by a completely unrelated movie, but it just reminded me so much of this character that I had to do it.

KEY DATA

ғᴜʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ: Letrexa Faerlein Ashton

ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇs: Trexa (commonly used by Vicki), Ellefay (her initials coined by Harvey), Ash, Faerlein, Lashes (coined by Bruce for the reason that he observed she has long eyelashes and, well… the letters of her name).

ʜᴏᴍᴇᴛᴏᴡɴ: Coast City, California (Hal Jordan's hometown in the comics, but since I've based it mostly again on DCSHG, I considered it as John Stewart's).

ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ: Chanter ~ Ashton

ʟɪᴋᴇs: (if not forced...) reading, thinking, adequate alone time, philosophizing, poetic things etc.

ᴅɪsʟɪᴋᴇs: crowded places, irrationality, herd mentality, cheesy romance […]

Additional Info:

- Doesn't talk that much might come off as aloof; but she's just really shy and reserved

- The weird youngest sibling

- Likes golf and conspiracy theories

- Member of GA's Equestrian Guild and Theater Club* (during her sophomore year only).

- Oblivious to her own feelings

- Quite fun if you get to know her.

- Born on a Black Friday 1990 (yeah, I meant it like the day after Thanksgiving)

- She was sent to Gotham Academy at age 14 to attend her second year of high school and forth; upon graduating, she was set to return home.

[thegoddessprose]

It's official... Chitarch has some domestic fluff and quality time as a love language.

I'm going a bit out of order here with this one... It's supposed to be post-Mockingjay when Chiasa and Plutarch are in a more established and public relationship. I needed a bit of fluff this month and I'm sure many others do too... Enjoy!

(I know a pinned masterlist is probably needed at this point and I'll pin it soon...)

As always, tagging @plutarchheavensbee

Masterlist Here

A cool, rainy winter day always tended to set the backdrop for a slow afternoon, and such a leisurely time on a weekend had Chiasa rifling through an unpacked box. It had been a few weeks since she'd moved in with Plutarch, but they’d both been so busy, a lot of housekeeping was either neglected or outsourced. Keeping her fashion house afloat and guiding her nephew and his girl Minerva (Yes, Minerva… She was still amazed how the young woman was able to fool her) through the early days of parenthood was hard work. Plutarch's television and democratic guidance filled his schedule as well, and while they found time for each other, be they apparences at his side, his growing attachment to Marcus, and even just evenings… Real days off ought to have ration coupons of their own.

At least now, Chiasa had time to sift through some of her parents’ old things. Even though the new staff was wonderful, it wasn't easy for her to trust practical strangers with such memories. She’d examined a pair of old gloves that belonged to her mother; a bit of wear and tear, but fixable. Tigris did make them, after all. A couple of old polaroids made an appearance as well… The four of them; her mother, father, herself, and her sister before the world got the best of them… Her mother, father, and Tigris at her very first show, how the three always smiled… Herself and Quinta on their first day at the Academy. Eww… The uniforms were absolutely hideous back in the day and she remembered cutting hers up the day she graduated. At least they had the sense to update 20 years ago, so Marcus was never caught in that outmoded monstrosity.

There was one thing that caught her eye, though… An old blue binder filled with lightly aged paper. She took it out and opened it to a recipe written in her father's neat handwriting. So that's where she left this… Back at her old place, she’d kept these in the kitchen, but she must have been feeling nostalgic and sorted it accordingly. She couldn't help but smile as she recalled her father in the kitchen, humming or scat singing as a rock n’ roll or jazz record played and he whipped up another spicy smelling culinary masterpiece. He adored cooking, the way it brought so many people together and was one of the few ways he stayed in touch with his roots. What a time to remember, to be alive then… Hmm…

The chicken cassoulet in the front, while delicious, wouldn't do with the rationing about. Perhaps a yaki dish? Of course! Kare was simple enough, delicious, and she still had some good roux.

Now to recruit some help…

It wasn't surprising to find Plutarch in his library, hunched over an old book with a notebook on the side. Maybe Chiasa should have scolded him for working on a day off, but he looked so damned cute in his reading glasses… Still, she couldn't lean on that doorframe forever, lest she forget her mission. Quietly, she snuck behind his chair and reached over to gently rub his shoulders. Glancing at the familiar pink on her nails, he relaxed and leaned into her touch.

“Dear… Now this is worth getting used to,” he murmured.

She moved beside him and leaned down for a soft kiss.

“This place was always so very you… But this room? If it were any closer, there would be a cozy little fire in that fireplace,” Chiasa remarked, “What would it be… The warmth of your embrace? Your burning passion to light the world?”

“I see you’ve been looking into that poetry I’ve suggested,” he quipped, “But that's not a bad idea… It should be fixed in a few days and I’ve been meaning to replace that rug…”

What an idea, the two of them curled up together on a beautiful night, and maybe eventually lost in each other… Although… was he trying to distract her from his desk work? His chicken scratches and shorthand could be tough to read at times, but the wizened book was clear enough; Chiasa spotted the name “John Locke” on the spine, one of the thinkers he loved talking about.

“As much as I love your dedication, what have we said about all work and no play?” she asked.

“That it makes me a dull boy and you a dull girl… Not to mention our first foundation,” Plutarch replied, squeezing her hand, “But you know… Locke believed that we're not born knowing, but that we have to learn through life and study, like I am now.”

“I can't argue with him there… The world definitely has its ways of delivering life lessons, both beautiful and harsh,” she agreed, “But… Does he say anything about working oneself to death or eating between lessons?”

He thought for a moment. “I think being fed would fall under the “life” part of his life, liberty, and property… As for work, that's a good question to consider, especially with the labor unions popping up in the Districts–”

“Plutarch…”

When he opened his mouth to protest, a growl from his stomach betrayed him.

“I suppose I could take a little break…” he relented, “Perhaps if you join me back here afterwards.”

Not a bad plan… So long as they got to just be human for a while. Chiasa led him to the kitchen and opened the binder on the counter to the curry recipe.

“You know, I’ve told you how I grew up, how food was important to my family… With is settled in and some time on our hands… I love you, and I’d like to bring you into the fold too,” she said.

“I love you too… And I’m honored,” Plutarch replied before studying the recipe, “I think I’m familiar… Marcus really likes this, doesn't he?”

“Oh, his favorite is not for the faint of heart… He likes a ghost pepper roux. I have one on hand that's closer to my dad's original.”

Her darling nephew always had extreme taste buds… Always going for the sour candies and spiciest meals. It could have been worse, he could have liked everything plain. Her father would be turning over in his grave if such a thing happened in their own family.

Chiasa started to gather the ingredients while Plutarch gathered the equipment and utensils. Once the pair donned some aprons, she noticed him looking excited, yet still a bit apprehensive.

“I have to warn you, I'm still a little new at this,” he said.

“I don't think there's much to worry about, I’ve seen you bake bread before,” she replied with a reassuring smile, “And you’ve done it well.”

“True, but that’s baking. Baking is more precise. Cooking, however… There's a lot of experimentation, trial and error… And you eat it rather than look at it or wear it or program it.”

“Cooking is an art for a reason… Some of these are family recipes, but a lot of them came out my my dad's experimenting… But was I ever the willing lab rat,” she recalled, “But hopefully a recipe will have you more comfortable… Why don't you start by slicing the onions while I take care of the meat.”

Chiasa started cutting some chicken into strips and glanced over to see how her partner was doing. Keeping his glasses nearby was smart; an age old trick to stave off the tears. Luckily, he seemed to be a natural. He managed the potatoes with minimal guidance too while she took care of the more complicated carrots. Once she lightly seasoned the meat, she was happy to see everything else ready.

“Great job!” she praised, “I’ll make a sous chef of you yet, Ploot… Now, before we stew, all this needs to be sautéd. I can take care of that, but I’d like you to pay close attention.”

As she turned on the stove, he stepped towards her and cheekily put an arm around her waist.

“Close enough for you?” he teased.

“It's a start…”

Once it was warm enough, Chiasa tossed the onion wedges into the pot and they landed with a satisfying hiss. She gave Plutarch a kiss on the cheek before grabbing a pair of cooking chopsticks to stir. Her father liked to say everything tasted better with them, after all.

“Only stir them occasionally… You want them translucent and a nice brown color,” she instructed.

She felt his head rest against hers, and she couldn't help but blush and chuckle to herself. As she finished, she held herself back from pouting at the thought of him letting go, but he had to learn…

“Honey, why don't you add the garlic and ginger, and I’ll tell you when to add the chicken,” she requested.

Thankfully, he seemed to feel the same, but managed to play off his own disappointment as playful. Once he added the aromatics, she was quick to stir it in, making sure none of the onions missed out on the extra flavor. As the chicken was added, Plutarch took a whiff of the strong aroma and grinned.

“Mmm, that's starting to smell incredible…”

“And we're not even finished yet,” she gushed, “Do remember when we add the broth, it barely covers everything so far.”

The remaining ingredients had to simmer for a few minutes, and even Chiasa had to admit she was getting hungry too. Even so, she was still grateful to finally have time to share this with Plutarch. He really knew how to run himself ragged, but admittedly, she wasn't much better, even before they got together.

“Looks like it's already turning out great… I’ve heard tales of your father's cooking, I’m excited to try something of his,” he said as he gently pulled her close.

“If only you could have tried it in person… I know I try, but I could never live up to it. I guess he had this natural kind of talent,” said Chiasa, “It really is a shame you never met…”

“From what Tigris told me, he was a lot like you… Tender-hearted, passionate, a quiet sort of strength in adversity…” he mused, “I’d like to think we’d get along just fine.”

Chiasa cupped his face and rested her forehead against his. “And I'm sure he’d love you once he knew you… Maybe he might be a little bit shocked at us, but we both know he wasn't much better.”

The couple dissolved into laughter at such a thought… After all, Tigris was still fairly young when she and him started seeing each other. Technically, Plutarch was much older than the catlike stylist was back in the day when he and Chiasa started things up.

Unfortunately, their embrace was interrupted by the ding of the timer. Oh well… All would start again soon. She cleaned out the foam, got out a wooden skewer, and turned to him.

“Pop quiz… How can you tell that it's all cooked?” she asked.

“Hmm… Good question. I’d probably say it's a certain look or smell, but I suppose it has some to do with the skewer in your hand,” he replied.

“Right. If you can stick this all the way through a dense veggie, it's time to add the roux. Wanna try?” she asked.

“I don't see why not.”

He took the skewer from her and carefully stuck it into a potato on top of the mixture. It indeed went all the way through.

“Wonderful,” she praised, taking out a jar filled with brown cubes, “Now for the roux… These were made from scratch a while ago, my dad's traditional way… Cayenne, tumeric, nutmeg, black pepper, thyme… dash of citrus and chili. It's a medium kind of spice, but that was low for him.”

“I can handle it,” he reassured her, “I imagine he hated state dinners and galas…”

“Oh yes… If any of his committees were throwing something, he did his best to get ahead of the catering,” she replied, “If not… He always had a little vial of paprika in his pocket.”

“He would have hated the family dinners I had growing up.”

“From what you’ve told me… It's hard to imagine anyone would.”

Chiasa turned to give Plutarch a brief hug as he stiffened at the memory, then slowly nodded. His stories of his younger years seemed so stiff, orderly, and cold as patrician families could be at times. She recalled him not knowing how to react when she showed him genuine tenderness; hell, even when she started flirting with him, he wondered if she had some ulterior motive.

Even when he couldn't hold his emotions back one night, he was cautious and confused at what she believed was common sense in comforting a loved one. Once she held him, however, he'd melted. He let his tears out on her shoulder and held on tightly, as if he was afraid she’d disappear. She'd realized the poor man was so deprived of unconditional love and any sense of security that she'd nearly teared up herself. Right now, hopefully along with the brave new world, he could start to move on from an isolating past.

Chiasa let go and gently stroked his cheek. “You don't have to go back… I’m here for you. This meal always felt like a warm hug to me too.”

Plutarch shut his eyes and smiled. “Thank you… I suppose by now you know how incredible it feels to hear such a thing… And actually believe it.”

She invited him to dissolve the roux as she held a ladle of broth to speed the process along. The concoction smelled so wonderful as it finally came together; maybe a little strong for some, but comforting for the right people.

“Now, traditionally, this is served with rice, but we don't have any,” Chiasa lamented, “I checked.”

“With all the talk of trial and error, surely we can find something else.”

Plutarch eyed a nearby breadbox and opened it, revealing half a loaf.

“Well… Most stew-like meals are served with bread for dipping, aren't they?” he added.

“Yes, you're right! And homemade too… Perfect!” she gushed, “Really, I’m surprised there's still some left… Yours is just delicious.”

“Hmm… I suppose we have been a little preoccupied this week,” he relented, “I'll slice some for us, you grab some bowls.”

A most unusual suggestion of eating in the library followed. Chiasa was almost skeptical until she saw Plutarch set the old book and notebook safely aside as she set her bowl on one side of the desk. Before she even asked, he was quick to pull up a chair for her to sit in across from him. As they sat, she watched him sniff at his bowl curiously before dipping his bread in for a bite.

“Hmm… Mmm!” he praised, “This is really something… A little bite, but not terribly spicy… Some umami to be expected… Oh! Didn't expect the sweetness. I don't remember adding anything sweet…”

She chuckled a bit at her lover analyzing such a homey dish like a food critic. What an adorable quirk…

“That's in the roux,” she explained, “It's normal to have some secret ingredients with curry, and I’ve told you about the cayenne and black pepper, thyme, nutmeg… But also a bit of honey and cinnamon. Do you taste it, honey?”

They both took another bite at the same time, and Chiasa couldn't help but smile at their results. It certainly wasn't bad for a non-cook, and she couldn't help but warm up inside… And she finally could understand why, the very same reason she looked forward to Tigris’s visits when she was a girl.

Plutarch was a bit more thoughtful in his bite, almost as if he was switching from fine dining to viticulture with his slow, pensive chews.

“Yes… That's it. It's all coming together now,” he replied, “And what about you, dear? I know you're used to it, but surely having it again still brings back some memories.”

“Oh it does… Dare I say, even better, like my whole self has been lifted up.”

“Hmm?”

“Well… I guess there is a reason for it,” said Chiasa, “Of course, food wasn't just a way of keeping my dad's cultures going, but a way of bringing people together. Serving is one thing, but preparing them with someone is different… Sometimes you can taste that bond, and it's all the better.”

“Ah… You're saying it's better because we made it together,” he replied.

“There is that sense of accomplishment, but I got it whenever I helped out, but it wasn't quite the same,” she said, “This… I hadn't had anything like it in many years. Actually, I don't think I’ve experienced it myself. It's a little hard to explain to someone who isn't used to this, but… I guess you could say we added another secret ingredient.”

Plutarch smiled and took her hand across the desk.

“And here I thought ‘made with love’ was another corny saying… But I suppose you’ve been proving most of them right for a while now,” he replied tenderly, “I should have spotted it from the beginning. You were so happy, so excited to share this dish and get me involved. I was a little out of my element, but your ease, your enthusiasm… Just the way you smile and light up when you're in yours… It soothed me immediately.”

It was lucky the couple were fond of those bowls, otherwise Chiasa would have lept over that desk immediately just to get close.

“Oh, Plutarch… That's beautiful.”

“It’s exactly what I think… I love you.”

“I love you too…”

It wasn't long before both were finished and the leftovers and dishes were stowed away. As promised, however, they’d soon returned and Plutarch was in his big chair once again. When Chiasa tried to take her original seat, he shook his head.

“This might get a bit complicated, you should get a little closer to read it with me,” he said.

“Oh? How close?”

He patted his lap with a sly grin and she smirked and sat. Almost immediately, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a deep kiss. That sly bastard… but one of the best traps to fall into.

“You're so damned devious, Ploot,” she murmured against his lips.

“You know I try, Chiasa.”

She pouted when they had to pull away, but the spark in his blue eyes as he opened the book back to its marked passage. As much as she worried about him working himself to death, his dreams for the future always had him hopeful, animated, and so handsome in the light…

They really should invest in that new, softer rug for the fireplace if they were going to spend their off-days trading passions like this. And it was shaping up to be a wonderful way to spend their quality time.

“Darling, go on… What is it that Mr. Locke says that you love so much?” Chiasa asked.

“I said before that knowledge isn't innate, but the rights of life, liberty, and property are, and any government who denies them deserves to be overthrown.”

“But of course… You’ve managed that already. And what's this letter the book is talking about?”

“A Letter Concerning Toleration… It's been a while since I’ve read through it… I remember it being a little dated for our time, but maybe we can apply culture as well as religion to it… Let's go over it together.”

[steddieyes]

Chapter one - An opportunity

A continuation of my previous Bryce graduation post.

(uploading here before ao3 (@Arloooh), I suggest not looking at my other bryce graduation post if you don't want to be spoilt!!)

-

You see, it all happened almost ten years ago to the day. It was like any normal summers day in school, bright uniforms and freah air, until unique monique and her stupid boyfriend exchanged vows (a fart machine) and became official. Boyfriend and girlfriend. And boy was it a sight to see, no longer was Bryce the main act, but these two losers who hugged like they were happy. /happy/. Something Bryce hasn't felt in years, not since she ripped her own heart out for Bobby only for the boy to empty his lunch all over it. She stormed away that day, stabbing Bobby's dad and stomping on what was left of her now broken heart, in two with glitter spilling out like some stupid analogy she'll get later in life. 

But that was then, and now is now. And today's graduation day. 

God has she had waited years for this. Having her heart ripped out only to have a shittier one put back in by "Dr" Paul from down the street, the /mortician/. But looking across the crowd that was once her playing game, pawns to put into place, she can't help the inkling of pride she feels knowing she won't be just like her mom. That she isn't just anothet high school dropout who swindels cash for a living. She's a top grade student who may have finessed a thing or two to get here, but she's finally here and that's all that matters. Not caring for the people that are around her. Sure, Cindy's a nice girl, pretty hair and straight teeth, but she's just a freind. She's no Bobby. 

Fuck. Bobby. 

It's been almost ten years, and even without her own heart to feel, she still can't get over what she did. What she's done. To the boy who, for a short ammount of time, she truly loved. But she's not sure she can call it that anymore, not sure she deserves to yearn for him after doing something like that. No matter the sleepless nights she's had week after week, or the notebooks full of apologies and dreams she could have lived out with him. With bobby. With... her Bobby.

-

Putting on a practiced smile, she shakes her head and follows the crooked line of soon to be previous classmates. Not bothering to look out for dear ol ma'. She's probably off swindeling princaple Higgans for cash anyways, she can’t keep her eyes off a cash cow when she sees an opportunity like that appear dressed in tight suits. 

There's filtered out chatter and banter around her as she walks in line, the speakers going off shutting down her day dream real quick. "Five minutes till showtime everyone! I hope you've got your disposables ready! And no /flash/, thank you." God. As if that entitled old dustbag has even seen a camera, you can't turn off the flash, prick. Not even that fancy camera mom stole could turn off that damn flash. Whatever, I'm almost up anyways.

Just a couple more people and here I am, shit, that really is alot of people. 

Looking over the crowd of graduates and parents alike, Bryce smiles. Truly smiles. Shes proud of what shes done, dredging her way through school after falling off her high horse all those years ago, but still remaning the powerful women she is now. Scanning the crowd, she looks for her mom, for the sliver of hope that she'll find her looking up and smiling back at her, smiling back with pride. But as she looks across the vast crowd, she spots a fermilliar smile by the bleachers and oh my god- 

Who knew seeing him would cause this rickety old heart to finally fail, ten years did me good huh..

[belevant-candy-corps]

Big boys don’t cry over spilt milk

Takemichi x All

Chapter 3:

My smile faded little by little as he got further away and finally out of my vision, my heart was unusually warm as the thoughts of him lingered in the back of my mind.

I walked back to my apartment and climbed up the stairs. As I unlocked the door I couldn't get my mind off of him. This dude I didn't even know his goddamn name. I loved his piss colored hair, I liked his stupid smile, his skinny but muscular arms, and most of all I loved his green eyes and the glint of playfulness that would appear in his eyes at any excitement.

I opened the door into my parents small apartment, the scent of cigarettes and the even more prominent scent of booze. I checked my phone for the time, 5:20. My mother should've been home by now. One of the major things I can remember from my adolescence was my mother. I remembered the drugs, how she would try to sell me for them, how she would repeat “you ruined my life, the drugs help that. If you had any love for your mother then you would help her fix the mess you made.”

I remember her cold blue eyes every time she would say that, thinking about it, I can still feel her cold hands gripping my skin, pulling me along to meet her newest dealer. Everything about my mother was cold.

I walked further into the hallway towards my own room, paintings hung of my mother and father on the light peach walls. Distant relatives sitting in family pictures were also hung up. Wedding photos and old graduation photos. I hadn't seen any of these pictures since I moved out.

I walked further down the hallway, I continued past the living room to my left and the dining room that was conjoined with the kitchen. Further down the hall, past the first room on my right, the bathroom. I went into my own room across from my parents. Opening the door I was met with the same old neon blue painted walls.

I shut my door behind me, leaning on it for a few moments. I sighed and walked closer to my bed and collapsed on it. I felt like my heart was beating a hundred beats per minute every time I thought of him… I pulled out my phone and opened my messages, I scrolled down to his contact and opened it. The contact name was ‘Chifuyu’. I continued to scroll through contacts, some of them I remembered like my old high-school girlfriend `Hina` who I was still on speaking terms with even though we had broken up a year before graduation. Some names rang a bell but I wasn't completely sure who they were. And others I simply had no clue who they were.

I laid my phone on my chest, it felt so much more heavy than it should've been. I thought of today, meeting with that boy, Chifuyu. I thought about what a fucked up joke this was that God was telling.

All I remember before I woke up was an alleyway, getting out of my car… I remember dying and the gunshot. It was quick at least. What was this? Is this life flashing before your eyes? I thought you weren't in control but, I felt in control…

I checked my phone again, it was almost 5:30. I felt bored, an overwhelming amount now that I was out of the company of Chifuyu. I turned on my side and rested my head properly on the pillow and closed my eyes. I tried to sleep, even tried counting sheep.

I sat up, and looked out my window. Little kids from the apartment complex played around the park and on the streets. I got up from my bed and walked over to a mirror.

My unruly black hair framed my face, I had almost forgotten what I looked like at this age. One thing that obviously caught my eye was the bruises on my neck. Some parts yellow and blue, other parts dark brown. My head hurt thinking about how I might have gotten them but my gut told me it had to do with whatever Chifuyu was apologizing for…

I stared at myself a little longer, I was skinny and boney. I was wearing my old school uniform with altered baggy pants held at my waist with a belt. My shirt was definitely less baggy but still probably a size or two too big. I looked alright I suppose but it was definitely different than what I would've normally picked out as an adult.

`Ding’ I pulled my phone out of my pocket of my pants and flipped it open. It was Chifuyu. It read, ‘ I’ll come to your apartment at 7 and I’ll take you to meet with Mikey and the others.’

Who was Mikey? Why were we meeting him? I drifted my eyes upwards on the screen to check the time. It was hardly even 5:40… I turned off my phone after texting Chifuyu a quick, ‘okay’. I left from where I was standing in front of the mirror and walked over to my bed again. I sat down again once I felt a wave of tiredness overwhelm me. The bed made the smallest creaking sound the more I pressed my butt into it.

‘Cheep ass bed…’ I thought before I adjusted my legs to be straight down and laid my head on the flat and cold pillow. I sighed while the bed continued to creak as I got comfortable. The thought of meeting with Chifuyu made my existing boredom disappear and replaced it with a strong sense of anticipation. I wasn’t sure what we would do once he picked me up but it obviously had to do with Mikey and possibly whatever happened yesterday.

I opened my phone and pressed on the clock icon on the Home Screen. A bright, white, clock appeared on my screen while I selected 6:30 as a good time for an alarm to remind me of Chifuyu.

Before I knew it I had already drifted off to sleep despite not being tired at all just a few minutes before.

[erigold13261]

Dream last night (technically this morning). It's long.

Dream this morning. I don’t know what my dreams were last night or what this dream initially was, but what it did turn into was me on a school bus with my photography class from college. However, the situation was more like coming from an away tennis match, which only happened for me in high school. Also by the end of the dream there was snow on the ground, so either it was early in the tennis season or it just felt like coming home from a tennis game and there wasn’t an actual game.

Anyway, what was happening was we were coming home, we were in either our own city or a neighboring city. Still close to home but not in an immediately recognizable and known area. It was starting to get dark out, probably golden hour, so an hour before sunset. The girls in the bus were all happy, and for some reason they had giant dolls of that yellow squid guy from the Assassination Classroom anime. Two people had costumes of him. I think it was my mind saying we graduated or something because he was in a graduation uniform. I don’t know. It was weird to me in my dream and I was asking, or trying to ask people about it.

Before I could really get any answers (because I was also saying how fucking amazing this bus was, it was so spacious but also really advanced and just a nice bus), we ended up stopping at a red light. One of the girls, Abigail, stopped talking, ran off the bus, and ran into a building close to us. We tried to stop her, but we only called out from the bus, we didn’t actually try to physically stop her. 

The bus driver pulled over into a big parking lot and we went over to the building. We didn’t go in at all, I don’t think we could have at that point because it wouldn’t let us in. None of us tried, but I could feel it wouldn’t let us in. We waited a bit, trying to ask people coming out what this building was, and everyone ignored us or said it was a hospital (it was not, it looked like a corner store that had an upstairs where people lived, or like a corner of a brownstone. Either way it wasn’t an official hospital at all). 

Well, after like an hour of waiting and it getting really dark, for some reason my professor said we couldn’t do anything for Abigail because she is an adult and we had to get home. If she was sick and needed the hospital then we couldn’t really force her out. I felt weird about this whole situation but no one really seemed to care so we all got back on the bus and started to drive off. People were trying to text her or get an answer. I wasn’t at first because I didn’t think we were friends but I think I did end up sending her a message. I never got a message back, but I did get a massive pit in my stomach and knew something was definitely wrong with that place.

When I looked up from my phone, we were back right before the stop light. It was bright and everyone was on the bus again, Abigail included. Right as we stopped, the same thing happened. Abigail went running and no one stopped her, except this time I went after her too. It felt like something was also pulling me into the building, telling me to get in, but I knew for a fact that I needed to stop Abigail from getting in, or to help her get out. 

She got in the door first, the door shut before I could get there but I could open it myself. The inside of the door (standard door with knob handle, no windows or crash bar) was locked while the outside knob was completely turnable. Since 2 kids left, now everyone came running to help. I looked at my class and pleaded with them to keep this door open. Do not let anyone in. To please trust me as I felt something really bad was happening. I think a few other girls had run in before I started begging, but they quickly disappeared once they got in.

Inside was a long bright hallway. Maybe it was all white or beige, idk but it was very bright but it didn’t hurt my eyes. At the end of the hallway was a nursing table with 2 people. One person behind the desk and another leaning against it having fun talking. They both worked there and were looking at me as they spoke. In front of the desk (it was turned so the door saw the side of the desk) was another hallway or a stairway, maybe both. 

I was able to get one of the girls to hold the door open. They trusted me since I never did anything stupid or weird like this. I even got some strangers to turn around. I for some reason asked if they had ever been here before, and they all said no, and I got them to turn away because once they saw the inside of the building, they were sketched out. Even my own Nana with my Aunt came before I went inside and I got them to leave because the person not behind the desk was standing on the counter and laughing and dancing. I asked my family if that looked professional and they agreed it didn’t and left. I told my class they had to keep doing stuff like that and ran off into the building.

My instinct was driving me at this point since I couldn’t follow the girls that came in since I was so behind. The people at the desk welcomed me and told me to go down the stairs for my treatment. When I went in the hallway there was a set of stairs going up and a set going down. My instincts were telling me down and I just hoped that all the girls went down and we didn’t get split up (my reasoning later was that they send people with depression or mental problems down and people who want to party or get idk, like surgery or something, go up). 

As I went down, things got super dark. You could barely see anything at first since you came from a super bright area. Once my eyes adjusted, it was still dark, but now small neon light strips lit up small areas. It was just enough for people to get around without hitting all the machinery that was strewn around. It looked like some kind of sewing factory from the 1800s, with machines crammed together in small spaces. 

You had to follow the narrow path and on the path you were supposed to follow the instructions. Most of these instructions were to put your arm in a machine (they weren’t sewing machines, but they looked like hydraulic presses or sanders and other machines used in stuff like carpentry or other construction careers. Not medical machines). I refused to do that and pushed past the lines of people. Nothing stopped me, and no one cared. They were all too focused on following the rules and honestly seemed more like they were in a trance. 

The pathway snaked around a tiny bit, but then would lead to a new set of stairs and to more machinery. I just followed, sometimes jumping over machines just to make it quicker, and ended up finding some of the other girls, and now some boys, who were with my group (don’t know where the boys came from, but now my mind is basically saying there were some boys on our bus that I must not have seen or something). 

These people were actually following the machinery rules and putting their arms in and getting whatever fucking treatment was being given to them. I had to snap them out of it and told them to not do that! They didn’t want to follow me at first until I said something to change their minds. I think I reminded them about Abigail or something and that brought them back to reason. There was definitely something in the air making people complacent and I felt I could start feeling it too, so I had to be quicker.

We were kinda running through the place now, trying to ignore the instructions to get in machinery or whatever. I think there was a new area we got to, but I can’t remember what that one was. However, I do remember the one after that which was a standard bedroom/master bedroom sized room. We had to jump over some machinery or a table into a hole in the wall to get into this room.

Inside it was like a tanning room. It was still super dark but at least now we had a consistent light source from blacklights. Made everything look neon purple and stuff, it was cool (maybe it was all UV lights instead of blacklights, idk). Anyway, there was a set of double doors that were glass but we couldn’t see out of them. Before going through them though we looked more around the tanning room. The tanning beds were more like those spray tan booths, so standing up, and were embedded into the wall. I think there were 3 or 4 booths, all being used. Not by anyone we knew and no one we knew was in the room so we went onto the next room.

That room was a GIANT ballroom that people were partying in. Still dark, but now with neon lights and glow sticks everywhere. It was loud but silent at the same time. I couldn’t hear anyone but no music was playing in my head, but I could feel the beats of the music and they were starting to make my mind hazy and I almost wanted to just dance to the beat I was feeling.

I kept my group with me, and finally actually called out for Abigail. Something I hadn’t done this whole time because I guess I could feel it would be useless because I could tell she wasn’t in any of the spaces beforehand. She actually answered and was wondering what we were doing here. I told her we were there for her and this place wasn’t okay, it wasn’t safe. Something was very wrong here and we had to leave now, without participating in any more of their games/instructions.

She tried arguing with me, saying how this place is helping her, how she was depressed and sad but here she felt amazing. She went on to explain how she had been overwhelmed and tired of everything moving so fast and chaotically, which was exactly what was happening here. She didn’t realize that this entire place is the exact same thing she was running away from. I told her how this place was crazy chaotic, for her to look around, to see how it looked more like a nightclub than a hospital. 

I said some other stuff, can’t remember, but it pleaded to her as an individual and showed how much I cared and knew about her, which made her cry and break down. She realized she didn’t want to be here at all and wanted to leave. Being snapped out of the trance made it so she was now being hurt by the environment (like hurt because of being overstimulated, the environment wasn’t actually trying to hurt us). People around us were also just staring at us, standing motionless and holding solo cups. They were judging us and would not look away at all. It started to feel dangerous there.

Abigail couldn’t get up on her own so I picked her up and she cried on my shoulder as I ran with her. I told the rest of the group to follow me and don’t follow any of the signs or instructions you are given. I can’t remember if there was another room we had to go through after the ballroom. I do remember a lot of hallways, kinda like the back of a concert hall, just more like a maze, that we were running through. Jumping over fallen boxes and using my instincts to get out instead of following the signs which kept wanting to bring up to the ballroom or other rooms. 

It was also finally light where we were. Not bright by any means, but we could actually see the whole room/hall instead of just parts of the room or highlights of objects.

This brightness continued as we ended up entering a cafeteria. It had lines set up, divided by half walls instead of like those velvet ropes. One entrance said something like Abigail only, the other said No Abigail. Either that or it said one of the other names of the people in our group. 

Well, one of them followed the sign and went into the actual line they were supposed to go and I yelled at them for doing that. I told everyone to just go in that line now so we aren’t separated and I brought Abigail into there as well. I put her down and she was able to walk on her own, but now I had to stop the other people from getting food.

The food was like a stereotypical high school/middle school cafeteria where you slide a lunch tray across a metal railing or whatever and get food. Three people were like, getting food already, and I had to literally drag them from there and tell them to get out of this area. We are so close to the exit and this is just going to ruin our escape or set us back or something. They listened to me and they all went out of the area. 

Also to point out, we were the ONLY people in line. The whole cafeteria was empty and dead silent except for us. Even the cafeteria workers were silent and you couldn’t even see their faces. It was more like they were shadow people and they were calling out to us silently to get some food so we don’t starve. We were gonna starve, we had to eat. Stuff like that to make us panic and follow their rules.

I was able to get us out of there and we somehow made it to the same starting hallway. We got there through double glass doors, which made no sense because they were not there before. It was just the stairs and the hallway before, but whatever, we were basically free. Someone was still holding the door open and we got out. 

I was the last out, making sure everyone got out first, and they all left me. They went back to the bus as I slowly started to stumble and then I collapsed into some snow on the ground in the parking lot. The sun was now going down, we were in there for like only an hour, but it felt like days. The whole time I was mentally fighting whatever thing they were doing to me to try and get people out safely. I felt so sick and tired and just wanted to cry and throw up. 

I held myself as I looked up to see everyone in the bus waiting for me but no one was looking at me. They all just assumed I would be fine and get up eventually (or they couldn’t even process I was on the ground like I was). I just knew something was still wrong, and at this point in the dream I realized I had been here before. Not just in the first part of the dream, where I was here technically and then it all reset. 

No, I had been in that building before and had gone through it the right way a long time ago. I have no idea what happened, but that is why I knew it was bad. It did something to me when I was younger and either I blocked it out, or it was so ingrained into me that I didn’t even notice I had gone through something like that. 

I still don’t know what the bad thing was. I don’t think it was like mind control or something, but it was bad and I didn’t want anyone else to go through that. Pretty sure my dream ended with me looking back at the building and seeing the 2 people from the hallway at the door smiling and waving at me. Basically saying with their faces that I will be back there one way or another.

[starlightsearches]

To the Rescue

Hey all! I got a request a looooooooooong time ago for something where Eddie comforts the reader with a bad home life AND THEN I LOST THE ASK!!! Anyways, I wrote it finally :P Let me know what you think 💖 commenters and rebloggers are all getting a kiss on the cheek or a high five 😚

Requests are always open

Eddie Munson x Femme! Reader

Warnings: it's mostly fluff, some angst, mentions of a bad home situation/shitty parents, language, i think that's it!

Eddie swallows the harsh whisper he was about to let out when he sees you standing there on the faded white steps.

You've got your work uniform on—skirt hem just brushing below your knees, black apron tied tight around your waist. It doesn't put the heat in him—not like watching you sunbathe near the picnic tables in your denim shorts always had, or catching a view of the tight mini-dresses you'd wear on the rare occasion he'd see you out at parties while he was delivering some of his product. Still, his eyes stutter over the camouflaged shape of your hips, and the taut, white buttons on the front of your dress as he makes his way back to your face. His cheeks go red under your gaze.

"Oh, hey," you greet him wide-eyed, like you hadn't expected to see him in his own house, almost as stunned as he is to find you on the other side of the door.

There's a painful silence that follows. Eddie can't remember how to say hello without sounding like a dipshit, can't get it out of his head that if he talks his voice might crack like he's back in seventh grade.

You must not have the patience to wait for him to figure out manners already grasped by most three your olds. "Is- is your uncle here?"

Eddie leans back, finding Wayne in the same place he'd left him—snoring on the pullout with a ratty old blanket thrown over him. The old man sleeps like a rock, but still. Eddie doesn't want to take any chances.

He steps out onto the porch with you—his fingers wrapped around the edge of the door as it swings shut so it doesn't slam.

He's finally remembered how to talk. "He's asleep. Worked the late shift."

"Oh," you say. But it's an 'oh' that sounds more distinctly like a 'fuck.'

Eddie hunches his shoulders, trying to get a good look you, not ignorant to the half-step you take back when he goes to rest a hand on your shoulder. It shouldn't sting. Pretty girls have always avoided him—found him too weird, too intimidating.

He's just never gotten that from you.

"Everything okay?"

You probably don't realize that he's feeling just as intimidated, heart running wild from being so close to you, from having you look at him. It was different than your shy smiles of acknowledgement in the classes you'd shared before your graduation (coincidentally the classes he failed last year), or the little wave you'd send his way whenever he and Wayne were smoking on the porch. His uncle would always graciously wait until you'd passed before cuffing his nephew on the back of the head, bringing his attention back from the shape of your legs and the sway of your hips.

Eddie's been hung up on you since the moment you moved all the way out here to East Hawkins. He's watched you enough, so he's not inclined to believe it when you try to brush away his concern.

"Oh, yeah, no. It's just I was supposed to be at work by now and my car's not starting and I went and checked with Mrs. Mayfield to see if she could give me a ride but she's got a shift at her other job and she mentioned that Wayne was pretty good with cars and—"

You take a deep breath to cut off your rambling. "Anyways, I don't want to bother him if he's sleeping. I'll figure something out."

"Well, hey," Eddie follows you down the steps, brushing the tips of his fingers over your wrist, pulling back with a jolt that travels up his hand, "I can take a look at it if you want."

And maybe he shouldn't—he'd picked up more than a few skills from watching Wayne, and from putting his van back together whenever it started to fall apart—but he's no expert. You'd definitely never talk to him again if he blew up your car . . . but you'd never talked to him much before.

So what's he got to lose?

And he can't regret his decision, not when he sees how immediately you soften towards him, face brightening with a smile. Eddie forgets how his limbs are supposed to work, trying to rest his hands on his hips and missing.

"Really? Would you?"

You've got one of his swinging hands caught in both of yours. He hopes you don't notice how sweaty his palm is.

"Yeah, sure. No problem."

The distance between your trailer and his is short, but the silence stretches on forever, longer than any of the glances he shoots in your direction, although he grows braver with each one—until you look back.

"So," he says, feeling caught, a pink blush climbing his cheeks, "you always work weekends?"

Already this feels like a misstep: he's let it slip that he keeps track of your schedule well enough to know that weekend shifts are the norm. If you think it's strange, you don't say.

The polyester uniform makes a scratchy noise when you shrug. "Tips are better."

He sighs, grateful you're not as willing to point out his flaws as he is. "Kind of a shitty schedule, though."

"It'll be worth it, I hope,"—you look at him with serious, sad eyes. The intensity has him tripping over himself—"I'm saving up for my own place."

"That's cool.” God, you must think he’s such a fucking loser, living with the only family he’s got who isn’t dead sick of him or behind bars. A twinge of guilt nicks at his spine, blaming Wayne for his own failures, even if he says it with a dose of sarcasm. "I don't know how the old man would survive if I left him on his own."

But you're not even thinking of him. Your jaw is set tight, stare hard. Eddie Munson and his uncle must not even be in the same orbit as whatever you're thinking about.

"My parent's don't give a shit about me," you say bitterly, "they'll be glad when I'm gone."

Eddie sees your eyes go wide; you're probably not used to being that honest. He knows your friends wouldn't get it. Nobody in town would—they'd assure you that you're wrong about them, tell you that they have to love you, or would complain about their own parents like the situations were even close to comparable.

If anyone understands the difference between a shitty parent and a good one, it's Eddie.

And he's heard the yelling. Everybody in the neighborhood yelled at sometime or another—trailer walls are too thin to protect anybody's business. Hell, even Wayne raised his voice when Eddie played music too loud or left the stove top on and forgot about it, and he had the patience of a monk. But the yelling from your lot was a different kind, put him on edge, even.

He’d always guessed it was your parents screaming at each other. Eddie can’t imagine how anybody could get mad at somebody as sweet as you.

"I'm sorry," he says. You don't move away this time when he rests a hand on your shoulder.

"S'okay," you sniff.

No it’s not. That's what he wants to say. Wants to hide you away in his arms, pull you away from this shitty-ass trailer park and protect you from your shitty-ass parents. Wants to say to hell with them and show you what a real family looks like.

"If you ever need to get away from it," he says instead, kicking a rock down the path so he can stop thinking about holding you close, "we've gotta a pretty comfy couch. Wayne's no chef, but his pancakes are mostly edible."

That makes you laugh. "You're sweet, Eddie."

Jesus Christ, he wants to hear you say that again. Wants you to whisper it to him when he opens a door for you, after a kiss, every morning when you wake up with his wild hair tickling at your skin.

"This is me," you tell him, gesturing to a beat up four-door parked beside your trailer.

Eddie lifts the hood while you slide into the driver's seat. His heart is still beating a little too quick for his liking, so he recites the parts of an engine under his breath, letting his eyes trace over each piece as they come to mind.

"Go ahead and start her up," he tells you.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief behind the propped hood as soon he recognizes the dead-sputter noise your car makes.

"It just sounds like your car battery is out of juice," he says, brushing some stray dirt off on his jeans. "I've got jumper cables in my van."

He makes quick work of it, even if he'd like to spend more time with you. You let him fill the silence as he hooks up the wires from his van to your car, explaining each step out loud—more for his benefit than yours—just to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

"Okay, and give it a try now," he tells you, leaning past the hood so he can spot you in the driver's seat.

The engine roars to life, and you let out a sigh of relief, leaning your head out the window while Eddie detaches the wires and slams down the hood.

"Oh, thank god. You're seriously a life-saver."

He watches his own hands twist the cords, feeling too big for his skin. "Don't even mention it."

"No, really, Eddie," your hand pets down over his arm; he can't keep his eyes from meeting yours, "I owe you big time."

Anything he wants from you can't be owed. He's about to insist again that it's fine, but you cut him off before he gets a word out.

"Why don't you come by the diner sometime? It gets pretty slow late at night. I'll get you whatever you want, on the house."

Damn it. Eddie could never say no to free food.

"Wayne can come too, if he wants," you tell him, clicking your seat belt into place, "or I can pack something up for him and you can take it back if he has to work."

"Yeah, okay." His heart is already beating harder in his chest thinking about seeing you again, watching you drive off with a wave and a smile.

Eddie's not really sure how he made it back to his trailer—whether or not he left his van parked outside yours or if he drove here and forgot all about it—still in a trance when he steps in the living room, finding Wayne sitting in his favorite chair with a black cup of coffee in his hand.

That shakes Eddie out of his stupor. "How long have you been awake?"

Wayne gives him a cheeky grin. "Since the first knock. Your girl was lookin' pretty distressed when I caught a glimpse of her through the screen."

Jesus Christ. He'd talked with Wayne about girls before, as a concept. His uncle had given him the sex talk when he was still young enough to be scarred by the thought, but no matter how obvious he'd been, Wayne had never said a word about you before.

Eddie hides his blush, stirring spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his coffee until he can hear the scrape of the granules against the bottom of the mug. "You didn't think to answer it, old man?"

"Who you calling old?" Wayne joins him at the table, patting a hand on his head like he used to when Eddie hardly came up to his waist. "Thought you might want to handle this one anyway. So what was the problem?"

"Dead battery. Easy fix."

Wayne hums. Eddie's too jumpy for silence. "She invited me to the diner at the end of her shift—invited us—for some free food."

Wayne smirks into his coffee. "That so?"

"Yeah,"—Eddie pauses, trying to decide which answer he wants to hear, "you gonna go?"

"Ha, not a chance. I've outgrown my third wheeling days."

Eddie flushes again, cheeks almost as warm as the mug in his hands, "It's not a date or anything like that. She just wanted to say thanks."

"Mhhhmm," Wayne says, but he's not buying a cent of what Eddie's selling, "whatever you say, kid. Either way, you'll have to let me know how it goes."

He's too nervous for music.

Eddie can't remember the last time that happened. Nothing can soothe him like guitar loud enough to rattle the windows, but he drives in almost-silence now, hands drumming against the steering wheel to an imaginary and frenetic beat.

There's a few other cars in the lot besides yours, but it's nowhere near as busy as Eddie's seen it—especially after football games or dances. Inside, most of the booths are wiped down and empty, except a few on the extremities, populated by old men sipping coffee past their big, bushy beards.

"Eddie!" You turn the corner from the kitchen, smiling at him, and he's caught in your gaze like it's a tractor beam and he's about to be taken aboard the mothership.

Although if he had to be probed, he wouldn't mind if you were the one doing it.

"I'm glad you came," you tell him, ushering him closer to where you stand behind the high counter. He slides into place on one of the tall bar stools and you push a menu onto the table in front of him.

"Couldn't say no to free food," Eddie jokes, feeling stupid. It's only been a few hours since you last spoke, but he's already forgotten how pretty you could be—skin glowing and a few hairs falling out of place from where you secured them, brushing against your cheeks. He wants to push them back into place so bad his hands ache.

"Order whatever you want, okay? Sal's sweet on me; he'll make it real nice."

Sal—the middle-aged line cook—must be a whole fucking sugar refinery for you, because Eddie's plate comes back to him stacked practically to the ceiling with golden french fries and the best looking bacon double cheeseburger he's ever seen.

"—and a chocolate shake," you say, setting the glass on the countertop. He swallows hard, staring at the two red straws poking up from the top.

Your eyes go wide, embarrassment flooding your features. Eddie can't help the rush of disappointment he feels when you look away, trying to hide it from him. You're even prettier when you're embarrassed.

"Sorry," you laugh, brushing your hands over your apron, "I don't know why I did that . . . force of habit, I guess."

Eddie just pushes the glass back in your direction, more than a little emboldened by the image he's got in his mind of the two of you drinking from the same milkshake. "Have as much as you want. It's on the house, after all."

It was the right move; you're stopping back for a sip in between refilling mugs of coffee and wiping down booths, staying long enough for Eddie to crack a joke that gets you laughing nice and loud. It's a total turnaround from the morning, when Eddie was still convinced you saw him the same as the dirt beneath your shoes.

He's not sure how you're seeing him now, but he knows it's different.

Eddie waits for you to lock up, to-go box packed with a whole other meal for Wayne in his hands. You turn to him, hands wrapped in front of you shyly, moonlight catching in your eyes.

"Thanks again for helping me with my car, Eddie," you say, "and thanks for hanging out with me."

Eddie stalls, swallowing. There's this weight hanging around him in the air—the shining glow of promise, of something good within his reach.

"If it ever happens again, you know where to find me."

And just as he's about to lean down to do who-the-hell-knows what, you're on your tiptoes, a hand at his shoulder to keep your balance as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your lips are soft, and warm, and a little wet where they meet his skin. Eddie's soul is fucking singing.

"Anyways," you try to brush of your embarrassment again, but Eddie is having none of that. He catches your wrist in his nimble fingers just as you turn away from him, pulling you back.

There may have been softer kisses in the history of the earth, but Eddie is seriously doubting it, feeling your pulse spike against his fingers while he mouths gently at your lips. Without even a moment's pause, you kiss him back. He's not sure how he's ever going to get over that.

And it's just a kiss, but it's not. For Eddie, it's also a promise.

He’s gonna get you out of this rotten town if it kills him.

[frxshblood]

There was a pause, in which Senketsu just looked at him, processing what he had just heard. It… definitely checked out with what he'd seen in humans. With a defeated sigh, he leaned against the table, tousling his short red hair with his hand. Something vulnerable shined through his features, as if answering Yagen's own vulnerability.

"You know, she'd probably hate me saying it, but when I first met Ryuko," he quietly began, half-thinking out loud, "she was all bruised and beaten. Wounded and bleeding. I think she'd been crying before that, too, but I never asked and she'd never admit it. The point is, as soon as she gained a new weapon, me, she went right back to it. That was my first impression of her."

He let his claws slowly morph back into fingers — he could always do it again if still needed.

"And I watched her do it again and again. Falling, getting up. Losing, recovering. Bouncing back a little harder each time. I learned where she was vulnerable, I learned the way she was hurting, yes, but that pattern stayed the same."

"It never even occurred to me to ask: what then? What are you going to do afterwards, when you learn about your father, uncover all the secrets, defeat all the enemies? I just assumed she would… Keep going. I assumed that all her willpower was a given, just because she's, well, Ryuko, and Ryuko is like that. Can you blame me, she was the first and in a way the last human I'd known, and I never got to learn what it's like for people… after the war. And I certainly would never assume that I am the one who would be that important. I was made with one purpose only, and I served it. Done. Nobody should need a battle kamui in a world with no battles! A school uniform after graduation!"

Senketsu looked at Yagen, Ashiya, again, this time a smile on his face, albeit a pained one. Loves him, huh. Does he even know what love is, him, an alien parasite who had barely lived? If that's anything like what Yagen described, then yes. Of course he loves her too. It could never be otherwise.

"And it's not like I, of all people, don't understand. I was created for her. For her to wear, for her to wield, only for her to hear, if that was even intentional. When she left me once, I was stuck without a wearer or anyone to talk to, and could only think of going after her. By the time I started to develop any ability to talk to others I was gone within an hour. Ryuko fought for my autonomy and my right to decide, because of course she did, but for me there was never any other choice but to be by her side."

He pressed his palm to his chest, still in half-disbelief.

"But that's me. Created for her and content with it. She, she's… She is Ryuko. She had a family, a newly found sister, a best friend and a graduation on the horizon. Things to do, places to see, outfits to wear. I never had or saw or wanted a life without her, so sure, she is my reason to live, entirely, but I easily saw her without me, and better off for it."

"Guess at the end of the day kamuis are stupid, too." Catching himself, he cleared his throat. "Apologies for talking your ear off. It's just… a lot to wrap my head around, and I don't… I don't exactly want to bother her with it when I already feel bad for not realizing my own importance and inadvertently causing all that pain."

Yagen has an answer for that, even though he never liked it no matter which way anybody puts it.

"We humans usually have something, or someone, to hold on to. A belief, faith in the higher being, faith in another person, or even the very existence of someone special; it could be a family member, a friend, a loved one. Something that keeps them going in life no matter how many times they chew us up and spit us out."

He trailed off. then slowly continued. "The best way I can describe how human willpower works is...they have an anchor to keep them grounded, but that anchor can also act as something that drives them to keep on living. The will to live, mostly, if I dare say. When one truly loses that willpower to go on with their life, to move on even when they knocked down...most of the time, it's because of a loss..."

For a moment, Yagen, well, he wasn't "Yagen", so to speak. He was briefly Ashiya again, a hooligan from a school up north that used to hurt those who had wronged him in the past. "When you lost someone near and dear to you, sometimes...they're also the reason you held on for so long, and when they're gone..." He sighed slowly.

"We humans are stupid like that, Senketsu-san. Too stupid to let go, and too stupid to realize we sometimes hurt ourselves...and also stupid enough to do worse on ourselves..."

He turned to Senketsu, having that same gaze a younger brother would give to his older brother in delicate moments like these.

"Senketsu-san...Ryuko-nee really loves you. She was this close to giving up, but she knows she can't, even if fate gives her that chance. Call it prolonging the "inevitability", but even when she misses you, she still cherished the times you both went through. And that..."

He didn't even realize the stray tears that was pooling at the corner of his eyes, remembering how Ryuko had screamed in agony and sorrow upon seeing Senketsu again, all those years of mourning and sadness bursting out...

"...that takes enough willpower to even survive, even when you don't want to. The dark calls for her, but she still has the will to say "Fuck you I'm not done yet" to the world."

[stagefoureddiediaz]

What do you think it might mean to have Eddie wearing Buck's blue henley (or a copy of it at least) from 2x01 in the upcoming episode?

Hey Nonnie

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about seeing Eddie in that blue Henley!! For starters it is definitely the same blue Henley Buck wears in 2x01! Eddie just doesn't wear blue all that often (18 times out of 140+ non uniform costumes!) so the fact that we have him wearing blue and not only blue but a blue Henley we've seen before on Buck is an interesting choice and hints at a couple of things. We of course need to remember we have no idea which scene/scenes this Henley is appearing in and who those scenes will be with and that may have an impact on why this particular Henley was chosen.

Firstly we have the scene we saw Buck wearing this blue Henley - in season 2 - he gets home to find Maddie in his shower having mistaken her for Abby, we have Buck cooking for Maddie and having a conversation about lying low/ hiding out before Buck shows her a picture of Abby.

The most interesting and probably important part of the conversation is the 'Eat, Pray, Love'  section. The idea that Abby is out exploring the world, but actually exploring herself and getting in touch with herself on a sexual level. Its especially interesting when we think about Buck comparing himself to Ana in season 5 because; Abby had a serious relationship which didn't end on her terms, she then dated Buck (having been pushed into it by Carla) to get herself back out there before leaving to escape and find herself. its implied that Abby slept around a bit before meeting Sam and finding her happily ever after with him.

Its interesting how that concept kind of ties in pretty well with Eddie's own dating trajectory - his relationship with Shannon didn't end on his terms, he dates Ana to get himself back out there (having been pushed into it by Bobby) and now we've got him going on a few dates as he figures himself and what he wants out, before in theory finding his version of Sam (cough Buck cough) and getting his own happily ever after.

Eddie dating around and actually discovering himself in a romantic and possibly sexual sense - something we've been give enough clues in canon to know hasn't really happened before now. Whatever his dating life is going to look like in the next couple of episodes (cough Marisol cough) its going to be about him exploring rather than settling down in a serious relationship - the settling down comes after the exploring in the same way it did for Abby.

The other side of the coin is the Eddie wearing blue. Like I said, its not a colour we see him in often, In fact we only see him wearing blue (other than his uniform obviously) a few ties - I'm including denim shirts in this 

2x04 - dark denim shirt -Eddie is with Abeula in hospital - Carla comes in with Chris 2x07 - Navy blue suit - touring Durrand School - light blue denim shirt - Shannon comes round to discuss Christophers new school 2x10 - light blue marl tee - Eddie and Shannon have sex and Chris comes home 3x03 - light blue denim shirt - Eddie drops Chris back off at Bucks post tsunami 'Theres no one I trust more with my son than you' scene 3x04 - (more teal than blue but I'm including it) Chris wakes from a nightmare 3x09 - navy blue tee - Therapy with Frank - post fight club 3x12 - dark blue waffle sweater -Eddie gets called to Christophers school - meets Ana 3x18 - light blue button up shirt - Mays graduation party 4x08 - mid blue denim shirt - Eddie introduces Ana to Chris as his girlfriend 4x14 - navy blue tee - Hospital - the Will scene 5x10 - navy blue shirt with dot pattern - Chris wakes from a nightmare 5x14 - light blue/lavender long sleeve tee - dream sequence in kitchen with Chris 5x17 - white henley with a blue shirt over the top - Christophers bedroom - conversation with Buck and then in Texas seeing family 5x18 - navy blue shirt with dot pattern, blue blazer -HenRen vow renewal 6x08 - dark blue distressed tee - Eddie helping Chris get ready for his school dance 6x09 - dark blue shirt - Eddie asleep on his couch 6x13 - Blue check suit for the Poker game

The thing I hope you're picking up from these occurrences is how much they are tied to family. every single one of the scenes when Eddie is wearing blue represents a key moment in Eddie and Christophers family life and how it is developing. Central to it all is Chris as all of the scenes are connected to him in some way even when he isn't present (perhaps especially when he is not present) even the scene in Franks office in season 3 is about Eddie not wanting Chris to end up like him, while the shirt and blazer worn to HenRens vow renewal is very much focused on strong family dynamics - especially his dynamic with Chris as we see in the flash forward/back scene.

However, in season 6 we have started to see the blue break away from being quite so tied to Chris and family dynamics and be a bit more focused on Eddie from 6x09 - its interesting that we see this split happen when Bobbys voiceover is talking about the Santa Anas coming to an end and the city resting before the cycle starts again. Eddies arc in that episode is about Eddie 'separating' himself from Chris - becoming more than just a father (and firefighter) and because the editing ties that scene to Buck and the blue check suit worn to the poker date connecting so heavily to Buck seeing where this next blue shirt is worn is going to be interesting.

Its because of this use of blue on Eddie that I'm inclined to think that the reuse of this Henley is more to do with it being blue and therefore about some key moment in the Diaz family dynamic/ the Buck and Eddie dynamic than it being connected to potential eat pray love experiences, although its entirely possible that both concepts are valid and correct in this case as we do have Eddie wearing Blue in connection with Ana (and with Shannon although she was less of an eat pray love thing!).

Until we know more about which episode its is definitely for and who else is in the scene its impossible for me to parse out meaning as I haven't seen the script and so much of what I glean from the costumes the wardrobe team put the cast in is derived from the text - which is the same way the Costume designer would make the decisions they have about the costumes we see on screen. Without that text for context, I really am only guessing as to the meaning of a costume and I'll always lean more into colour theory than I would anything else which is why if pressed I'm more inclined to think that they are reusing the Henley for the simple reason that its a Henley in blue. Eddie wears a lot of Henley's - its a key part of his wardrobe - and if they needed a blue one, why spend more money when you already have one in stock (I would have different feelings if it was Buck rewearing it rather than Eddie being seen in it for the first time, then it would definitely be about connecting the scenes) especially when Buck doesn't wear Henleys any more, so I am more inclined to lean towards it being worn in a key moment for the Diaz family/ Eddie and Buck's dynamic in some way over the eat pray love connection because of the Eddie in blue of it all.

Sorry I can't really give you a more focused answer than that, I just really have so little context to go on because even the bts gives us no vague context to work with!!!