#and they're always like. “well. she's got a bad temper but so do you.”

[forgotten-daydreamer]

reading about the batsiblings being wholesome and knowing i will never have that with the only sibling i have because we don't get along and never will

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do some headcanons of a Mc reader dating the BB League Elite 4 + Kieran but miraidon gets super jealous.

It gets to the point where they get out of their Pokeball to growl á them.

Amarys

While she isn't too good at expressing emotions herself, she can read the emotions of others quite well.

Apparently this extends to Pokémon, especially after she notices your Miraidon acting rather irate around her. It even got to the point where they kept bursting from their pokeball to growl at her whenever you're together.

"It seems your Agias has suddenly grown a dislike for me, [y/n]." She remarked one day. "But I cannot figure out why..have I done something to upset them recently?"

"Nothing that I know of. Although I think it's worth mentioning that they're actually called Miraidon, not Agias."

"..is that so? Then I will correct this error right away."

Both of you think that after she apologizes, the problem would be resolved...yet it continues, with Miraidon always budging into your conversations, trying to get you on their back and fly/drive off without warning, etc.

All of this happens despite there being no danger present.

Eventually, you chalk up their protective nature to one probable cause: Jealousy.

You were spending more time with Amarys, and perhaps that made your futuristic companion worried you'll spend less with them.

When you brought this up to your gf, she's surprised and isn't too sure how to resolve this..

Considering she's new to relationships, she didn't expect a Pokémon of all things to become so jealous of her.

You end up suggesting that the two bonded (outside of timed flying trials of course) so that they could learn to trust her more.

Despite lacking emotional depth, she still tries her best, knowing this would greatly benefit all three of you in the long run if you were going to continue dating.

Crispin

"Hey uh..your Pokémon is giving me a funny look again.....w-was the sandwich too spicy for them? I can always turn down the heat."

He's straight-up convinced that Miraidon is mad at him because he's making their sandwich the wrong way.

So he keeps changing up the ingredients, hoping to satisfy them (yet it doesn't help when they keep popping out of the pokeball and scaring him).

You've figured out ages ago that they were simply jealous of how much time you were spending with your new bf.

Alas, you're dating a chef who's not only a hothead, but an airhead as well.

"Do you think your Miraidon and Magmortar got into an argument? Because they keep staring at him like they wanna rip him apart..haha.."

"No, honey..it's you, not your Pokémon."

"....ohhh so you're saying I got into an argument with Miraidon! Yeah that makes sense..I did sorta lose my cool with them the other day..."

Sometimes you wonder if a bonk from that frying pan of his would help knock some sense into him....

Instead, though, you just have him sit down in the club room while you explain Miraidon's jealousy in detail.

Crispin finally understands and immediately feels bad (and a little dumb knowing it took him this long to realize it). He's rushing to apologize to your companion, promising to make them the best sandwich possible--hot or not.

He still gets nervous about kissing you/holding your hand when they're nearby, often feeling the need to hide behind the pan.

But you reassure him it's okay.

Drayton

Tbh he kinda relishes in the huffy demeanor your Miraidon has been displaying in recent days.

The way they gnash their teeth, circle around him, make sparks fly, hover over you, and light up their eyes as though preparing to use Electro Drift...

Yep, despite how flashy and futuristic they are...all Drayton sees is another dragon type Pokémon who's throwing temper tantrums.

And being such chill guy around dragons, he has no fear and instead teases them behind your back, getting them riled up.

"Oh c'mon. You don't scare me. I know you've been looking out for [y/n]...and watching them hang out with Kingdra and Archaludon-"

"Agiiaaassss.."

"...there it is." He laughs. "Look, I'm not "stealing" them from ya. So let's just try to get along for their sake, alright?"

"......"

"Right. I knew we'd come to an understandin'."

Somehow, the two are VERY good at hiding this little grudge from you, although you have noticed Miraidon being more protective than usual over you whenever Drayton's around.

But it boils over when they saw you shining his Archaludon's armor while on a picnic date, throwing a fit and almost having a fullblown battle with each other without either of you at the helm.

Luckily, all the other dragons on your team diffused the situation...

You're a little bit outraged (pun not intended) that Drayton never told you of Miraidon's jealousy issues--and that he was taunting them for it.

"C'mon, they know I'm only kidding around."

"...our Pokémon almost broke the damn table."

"I'll pay for the damages."

"I think you're missing the point here, babe.."

Lacey

From the moment she started showing you around the school...she wondered why Miraidon was acting weird.

Her first thought was that they could sense her being a fairy type trainer, but she isn't sure what to do about that, so she keeps quiet.

But after you two started dating, they grew more protective of you and jealous of her..and it's something she notices waaaay before you do.

After it gets to the point of them jumping out of their pokeball to scare her (and quickly go back in without you seeing them), her nerves were shot.

Even so, she doesn't want you to worry. So she keeps trying to be friendly towards them, but it's hard.

Doesn't help that Granbull is being quite sassy towards the electric/dragon type, too, growing just as protective over Lacey as they are over you.

And ofc she has to quell their argument before things turn ugly...and one day, it almost did.

"I'm sorry, but this is NOT right!" She crosses her arms, standing between the two Pokémon. "Granbull, I know you're better than this. And Miraidon, I know you don't trust me, but you need to-"

"What's going on, Lace?"

"!!!"

You were gone for all but two minutes, and you come back to your poor gf trying to stop a Pokémon battle from taking place.

Finally, she admits that Miraidon has been acting extremely jealous and it's made her nervous.

You feel terrible for not realizing this sooner, and promise to speak to your companion about it.

Least to say..you wind up coddling them and giving them treats, reassuring them you'll still pay attention to them--but they had to be nice to Lacey and not antagonize her fairies.

Reluctantly, they agree on the condition of getting a sandwich everyday.

Kieran

Considering Miraidon saved his life, it was definitely strange when that same Pokémon now seemingly hated his guts..

This all happened the moment you and him starting dating, with them popping out of the pokeball (and not because he mentioned sandwiches) and growling before you could share your first kiss.

It was embarrassing for Kieran, and he doesn't know how to earn their trust back.

He just muddles over the fact that he was...definitely less-than-kind to you, their trainer, back before the trip to Area Zero.

He said things to you that he didn't mean, things he regretted saying..and suddenly he wonders if Miraidon could have possibly heard all of that.

If they could hear you both discussing sandwiches, then surely....

It genuinely starts to stress him out, as he's trying so hard to make amends with everyone and not be hated anymore.

And yet he seemed to be forgiven by all...except for Miraidon.

Maybe they even regret saving him

You notice that your bf is starting to cower behind you at their presence, being scared to look them in the eye, etc.

Eventually, you get him to confess that he thinks your companion despises him, and the guilt resurfaces enough to make him cry, kneeling and pleading for their forgiveness.

But you comfort and reassure him that Miraidon's only jealous of you two spending so much time together.

"R-Really? That's all it was...?"

"Yep. I already gave them a stern talking to." You help him stand up. "I'm sorry they keep coming off as aggressive. They just gotta warm up to you a little more, that's all."

"So they don't..hate me?"

"Nope."

After that, Kieran tries his best to earn the dragon type's respect, becoming a bit braver with each interaction.

[annymation]

My Thoughts On Wish Deleted Scenes

Now that we got all the deleted scenes out, I thought it would be fun to share my thoughts on them... Mostly rant, yeah, I might get pretty heated with this heheh but it'll be fun.

Villain Couple

So let's begin with my personal favorite, the villain couple that we could've had

I am literally scared with how I nailed their characterization in my rewrite, like, that's them, that's King Magnus (Magnifico) of Rosas and Amaya (Amable) of Rosas right there. The dramatic, power hungry dude that can barely control his temper + a cunning, calm and collected queen that thinks before acting but is just as vicious as him.

AND THEY CALL EACH OTHER SO MANY PET NAMES! SHE CALLED HIM "GOOD BOY"!!! HE PULLED HER FOR A ROMANTIC DANCE UGHHH DISNEY YOU TOOK THEM FROM MEEEE!!!

Now let's talk about... WHY this was scrapped, according to Mark Kennedy, the head of story in Wish, he says in the Behind the Scenes documentary that the reason they changed this, and I quote:

"We didn't want people to know Magnifico was evil right away, we wanted the people of Rosas to love Magnifico, and have only Asha realize he's not as good as he seems"

... Okay? That's not a reason to not make him SECRETLY evil, just have the rebels be like a group of people who are considered ungrateful weirdos by the people of Rosas, and the king spreads rumors that they're a threat, since they think NO ONE should get their wishes granted. So we have Asha being part of this rebellion, that doesn't fully know what Magnifico does with the wishes, but they know he's doing something bad, so it's up to Asha to find proof and open the eyes of the citizens of Rosas who love Magnifico, easy.

"Also it serve the story better to have Amaya be a good person"

Why? Because she distracted Magnifico and told them about the pulleys they needed to open the castle's ceiling? Just have one of Asha's MANY FRIENDS be a spy of the rebels that became close to the king and queen, maybe the king's apprentice, let's say Safi, and he tells them that info and also distracts them if needed, there, no need for good queen.

This one is the cheery on top, are you guys ready? I don't think you are, but here goes... "Additionally we couldn't really answer the question of why Magnifico wanted a star, and what it would do for him."

............................. I don't know if I can put into words how ENRAGED this make me feel, but I will try.

Mark, my guy, I'm sure you're a lovely person, but I know for a fact that you are lying. Because in a room full of professional screen writers THAT MADE IT TO DISNEY there's absolutely NO WAY no one stepped in and said "Oh but why does the villain want power though?"... THAT'S LIKE ASKING WHY JAFAR WANTED THE LAMP OR WHY URSULA WANTED THE TRIDENT!!!! HE'S A VILLAIN!!! VILLAINS ALWAYS WANT POWER!!!

"Oh buT MaGNiFicO Is DiFfERRenT bEcAuSE He'S A kINg sO He alREadY HaS pOWeR" SO WHAT??? Villains are never satisfied! Magnifico says it himself in the deleted scene

"I can't take it, this wanting that is never satisfied"

THERE! That's your villain motivation, he wants to fill a cup with no bottom, he wants more and more than he already has! Which makes him a PERFECT FOIL to Asha, because Asha wishes for more to her people, because they indeed are struggling, she wants what they need! And she'll fight for it, while Magnifico will only lie, cheat and steal his way into more power! GAAAAH IT WOULD BE SUCH A NEAT CONFLICT I'M GOING FERAL!

Anyway, on to the next one

Wishing Tree

Deleted Sabino my beloved, you only get one scene in my rewrite, Tiana's father style, but I love you so much you sassy old man

I love this concept of the wishing tree so much, because this is actually a tradition here where I'm from, we take colorful ribbons, think of a wish, and tie them on a tree.

Would be lovely if Wish showed many types of different traditions of wishing besides just wishing stars, like blowing dandelions, throwing a coin down a well and soon.

But I digress, Asha has such an inspiring personality here, her writings show how she's fierce, longing for adventure

SHE HAS KNACK FOR SWEARING LMAO

She has an undying hope in her, and she wonders if it'll take Magnifico to DIE for her people to be free to wish, this is amazing, this is what I wrote my Asha into in Kingdom of Wishes

@uva124 joked the other day saying I might secretly be one of the disney writers just pretending to be a fan and sharing the original script, guys I swear that's not the case, they just communicated with me telepathically.

Jokes aside, this scene is so beautiful, Asha had everything to be an amazing protagonist.

Now for what Mark said in the documentary... Oh boy...

"The people of Asha's village keep their wishes a secret, and don't say them out loud, because if they do Magnifico will find their wishes"

Now THIS is very interesting, making Magnifico this almost omnipresent threat that even if you just SAY what you desire he might hear with his magic, maybe with a crystal ball or something Idk but regardless this is a great way to make him aware of who Asha is.

Cause think about it, Asha does make a wish, upon a star, so Magnifico would probably feel that wish, and thus he'd know Asha is the one who summoned a wishing star, so the chase would begin.

Heck, with this concept he could manipulate Asha into giving away star by promising that if she did so all her people would be free and he'd stop eating wishes all together because he wouldn't need more power anymore, obviously that'd be a lie, but it would make Asha have to choose between taking the easy way out and giving away her friend/love interest in exchange of her wish coming true, or risk it all and protecting him at all cost, ya know, a internal conflict.

"We wanted people to love Magnifico, and Asha to be the only one who finds out about his true evil nature, that way, when she tries to tell people, nobody believes her, and that's make fighting him much harder for her"

See Mark, that's a good idea, thing is, that's not what happened... Asha didn't try to tell people, and the times she did tell her family that Magnifico would never grant their wishes, they DID believe her, and Sabino got mad she wanted to tell him his wish. And when she told her friends, they didn't question her much about the fact she challenged the king, Dahlia just rolled with it like it was no big deal...

So yeah it would've been great if Asha tried to spread the truth but people didn't believe her, it really would, but that's not quite what we got

Star and Asha Chase Scene

And there it is, the closest thing we'll ever get of Star Boy, and I love him

Star can take shape of any animal in this version, and that made him too similar to Maui and the genie, well, dear Disney, riddle me this, why didn't you just scrap the idea of him being a shapeshifter? There are many ways for a being to embody magic and creativity that don't involve them turning into animals, maybe have them be- oh I don't know- ANIMATED IN 2D???

"The ability to change into anything made star very powerful"

Here's an idea, make Magnifico MORE powerful than star, by making forbidden magic Star's weakness

"We wanted Asha to be our hero, and we wanted her to solve all her problems by herself, without too much help from star"

Bruh, Walt Disney said himself "You can design and create, and bild the most wonderful place in the world. But it takes people to make that dream a reality" Asha could NOT do this on her own, and that doesn't make her weak or less of a hero, it just means the threat was too big.

And if she was the one who had to make her wish come true, GREAT, just use Blue Fairy logic, she couldn't make Pinocchio a real boy right away, all she did was give him life so he could pursue that himself, same could happen to Asha, star gives her some magical intervention, but he can't do everything for her.

Also let me just say, that interaction between Asha and Star?

"Star we'll have to be very discreet" "Discreet? Got it, sounds like another plan, I'm getting pretty good at this planning stuff" "Uh you know what would help that plan? If you weren't so bright" "Oh-hoho thank you!- oh wait, you mean-" "Shinny, glowy, way too much light, turn it down"

I can SEE KOW!Asha and Aster having this exact same interaction!

And then that scene Star holds her hand under water! Bruh don't tell me they wouldn't be a thing Disney!

And all the sea creatures coming together to make a big spectacle, THAT felt like Disney magic, that WHALE!!!

That would've been so beautiful to see fully animated.

In The Dungeon

Can't believe that I also wrote a scene of the 7 teens and Asha going to the dungeon before this scene came out, like, it's such an specific scenario

Anyway, so once again we see this better version of Asha, that is caring, smart and inspiring.

And Magnifico being a freaking DESPICABLE monster, saying that Dahlia is a burden that no one would miss because of her disability, like DANG that's something I never considered writing because it's so heavy, but they almost did include it, and I think it would've been great to show just how evil he is, and in turn, how amazing Asha is because of what she says next

"He underestimates you, and that's a good thing. When you're underestimated, they don't see your power coming until after it changed the world"

Thank you Wish deleted scenes, I'mma take this line and fit it in my rewrite somehow cause WOW imagine that, the 100th disney princess teaching something very valuable for children of today!

Think of all the disabled kids that would've felt seen in this scene! Instead Dahlia's disability is more of an after thought, and from what I've read, the way she walks doesn't even seem like she's disabled according to some crutch users.

"Also, Asha already had 7 friends, and we thought adding another one was too many"

I agree Mark, so here's a thought, make ONE OF THE 7 TEENS the apprentice that gets locked up in the dungeon, like Safi for example, and they find him by hearing him sneeze! There, suddenly the character whose only personality is sneezing get's something to do!

Magnifico breaking the wishes of people "No one would miss" is actually a thing in my rewrite, I didn't explore it that much cause it wasn't that important, but I'm glad I also got that right

Star was more useful in this clip than he was in the whole movie

Climax

Not much to say about this one, hot take, but I'm actually glad this one was changed, sure I like Magnifico eating a bunch of the wishes to get more powerful, but personally I'm not a fan of him turning into a giant muscular monster, but I understand if you're into that.

Though, it's still a funny scene, it's silly yeah, but it's definitely entertaining, which is more than what I can say about the movie

Also Valentino is cute here

I like how Magnifico uses the wishes to shine a spotlight on Asha

This face, lmao

"THATS JUST A GOAT!"

The thing about this scene though is that... I can't imagine where they were going with this, like, then what? Magnifico climbs the tower to get star and Star manages to defeat him somehow? If so then yeah no wonder you deleted star for doing all the work for Asha, what's Asha supposed to do now that the king is all powerful???

Star saying "We just need one more ingredient" YALL MAKING A POTION??? This feels weird, a magical being making a potion... Wait hold up, I thought of this in this second, was the last ingredient Asha? Like she goes up there to warn them and it turns out she was what they needed to figure out how to defeat Magnifico?... Probably not but who we will never know.

Wish Worth Making

This made me CRY when I first watched it, like WOW Disney, are you TRYING to make this movie as soulless as possible???

This is such a powerful moment that would make us actually CARE about Sabino, feel what Asha feels, and it's a calm and beautiful moment in this movie that never stops to just BREATHE.

Can you imagine Magnifico showing up after THIS?? It would've been so scary because it was the calm before the storm.

Imagine him breaking not only Sakina's wish but also Sabino's lute!

If I was Sabino's voice actor I'd be pissed to find out they deleted my song but kept the chicken dance song... That was a thing.

Anyway, hope yall had fun with this little rant, let me know YOUR thoughts on these scenes too! See ya next time!

Thank You For Reading!

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

I’m sorry but can you write more stuff about Vox being a gaslighter? I’m actually obsessed with your analysis

Thaaanks I'm obsessed about them too~ 🩵❤️

So, Vox is like the ultimate gaslighter. Manipulation and brainwashing? That's his whole freaking business plan. I mean, come on, the Voxtek slogan is "Trust Us," and somehow, people actually do.

Oh, let's talk about Voxtek - he's the worst, most manipulative boss ever. He's always pulling stuff like withholding essential information for a task someone's supposed to do, then publicly blaming them for screwing up. And he's sneaky about it too, acting all concerned and disappointed instead of just yelling. It makes people feel useless and insecure, so they bust their butts trying to please him and win back their colleagues' respect, never daring to stand up for themselves. Plus, he's a pro at keeping relationships between higher-up managers tense and distrustful by spreading rumors and creating a competitive vibe. And don't get me started on how he's a total hypocrite - Voxtek, like every other company, preaches its values and missions to create this fake sense of safety and purpose, but then he goes and acts against them or lets someone else do so. It leaves people feeling confused and helpless because they can't play the game when the rules keep changing. Let me tell you, Satan might work hard, but Voxtek's HR department works even harder.

And manipulating people on a personal level? Way too easy for him. People who don't know him well enough think he's some kind of genius (bless their hearts), so they give him way too much credibility. It's crucial for him to be seen as competent because that's how he stays in control. That's why he loves to question the competence of his business partners (Not to be that guy, but those numbers don't look great. Are you sure you can handle this? I don't want to waste my money.) or Valentino (Babe, I've got this. We both know you're not great with financial planning.). Thought hardly ever works on Velvette because she's got zero bullshit tolerance.

Now, when it comes to Valentino, Vox has zero remorse about gaslighting him. To him, gaslighting isn't even violence; it's just a way of handling things, all neat and effective. Why bother yelling and arguing when he can just manipulate Val into agreeing with him? It's like what we saw in episode 2. And even when Val has every right to be angry because Vox acted like a jerk, Vox tends to devaluate his emotions (I don't have time to deal with another temper tantrum, Val; You're always so pissy, why can't you just chill?) or tries to make him doubt his own reality (Maybe you'd remember it better if you weren't high all the time.). He hates arguing with Val, but also is unable to admit that he's wrong, so in his mind, undermining Val's ability to call him out on his bad behavior is a way of keeping their relationship healthy. But it's risky because sometimes Val sees through his manipulations, especially when they're about his feelings, and then things get even messier.

I like to think they trust each other when it comes to serious stuff, like protecting each other from outside dangers, but at the same time, it's like Mr. Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss is married to Mr. Manipulate Mansplain Manwhore - you never know if he's being genuinely nice or if he's trying to get you to do something.

[luveline]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve doesn't really like the holidays, but he likes you. So, he makes some concessions. Rainbow lit, tinsel-covered, pine tree-smelling concessions.

6k words, christmas centric, fem!reader who celebrates christmas, mutual pining, gingerbread houses, mistletoe, ugly sweaters, friends to lovers, idiots in love, allusions to s4.

❆

Steve hates Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it and he won't, not when you love it the way that you do — quietly, and yet every movement hints at your excitement. 

Your hands are basically shaking when he lugs the new box onto the desk. It's adorable. 

"Thank you for doing this," you say, meeting his eyes and sending him one of your too-nice smiles. Kind that makes him nervous and sick and excited all at once. 

"I don't know why you're so eager. They're the same cheese-fests this year as last year," he says.

You lean over the counter enough for him to smell your perfume. "That's not true. You said you have The Christmas Star, right?" 

"Ten whole copies." 

He pulls open the cardboard box and digs for your desired tape. The case is cardstock and crisp with newness, and it squeaks as he pulls it up and displays it against his chest. 

You beam. "Yes. How much? Expensive 'cos it's new?" 

"Not with the employee discount," he says, placing the tape down neatly. 

Your smile turns shy. Steve has always thought you were pretty, in the same way he thinks that grass is green and stars shine at night, but lately you've turned to a sweetness that has his teeth aching if he thinks about it, all manner of terrible emotions flooding his idiot brain. Jealousy, protectiveness, and — he shudders — affection. Even now he's tempted to round the desk and make up an excuse to touch your arms, or your hands. Your face. 

"Thanks, Steve," you say softly. 

"Of course. There has to be one pro to working in this dump, right?" 

"Is it a dump? It looks super clean." 

He hesitates. "We had to fix it up. Holiday decorations are coming in tomorrow." 

"Make that today!" 

You both turn to see Robin struggling out of the back room, two boxes held in her arms and hiding her face. She stumbles to the desk and Steve leaps to help her, unveiling her grinning face. There's a meanness to her eyes that Steve abores. 

"Well, yesterday. Keith says they got here last night, which means today is officially the first day of Family Video Christmas." 

"It's November," Steve says, narrowing his eyes. 

"Thirty first!"

Robin pries open one of the huge boxes and thrusts both hands in unafraid, pulling out streams of green and silver tinsel like festive innards. Her eyebrows jump up. "Nice," she says appreciatively. 

"I almost wish I worked here." 

"You can stay and help," Steve says. 

Your laughter makes his chest hurt. "I can't. I have decorating to do all by myself next door." You straighten your Palace Arcade polo and your black, plain skirt. "Do I look okay?" 

Steve has a terrible lapse in judgement wherein he thinks about telling you exactly how you look, lips pressed together ready to make a 'b' sound, but he stops himself in the nick of time. Friends don't really do that. 

"You look fucking adorable," Robin says, having wrapped the tinsel around her neck in a makeshift scarf. She sparkles as she turns to Steve. "Doesn't she?" 

"Adorable," he says tightly. 

You scratch under your ear. "Thank you.” 

You promise to come back at the end of the day for The Christmas Star and escape before Robin can poke fun at your shyness. 

The door closes behind you and Steve buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are hot. 

"That was pretty bad. Better, though," Robin says, an air of genuineness about her that he knows she doesn't truly possess. 

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, temper welled to the surface quick and uncomfortable as usual. He pushes it down and turns away from Robin and the glaringly bright Christmas decorations rather than say something snappy that she doesn't strictly deserve. 

"Maybe by Christmas you'll be able to look her in the eye." 

"Maybe by Christmas I'll have friends I actually like." 

"Points for quickness," she cheers. Steve can feel her moving to stand beside him. "But ultimately weak." 

"It could happen." 

"Could it?"

He rolls his eyes and starts to log The Christmas Star under his name for you. Employees get pretty good privileges, like reduced rates and nulled late fees. You could keep it 'til the 25th, if that's what you want. 

Robin drapes tinsel over his shoulders. "I really, genuinely think that, despite your bad posture, your hair, your clothes," — Steve scoffs — "and your dismal taste in movies, she likes you." 

He's so distracted by her (mostly) joking insults that he doesn't quite hear the end. Then, when it sinks in, his incredulity lends itself to a new target. 

"What?" 

"Steve," Robin says flatly. 

"She likes me?" 

"I think so. She's not coming in here every day for me." 

"How should I know? I'm not exactly a good judge of it." 

Robin taps her foot against his. They're overly familiar if not overly affectionate friends, and he relents in his bad mood, pulling the tinsel from his shoulders with a dejected sigh. 

"I doubt it. She was excited about the new movies." Not me. He doesn’t think you'll be back tomorrow.  

"Why aren't you excited?" Robin asks.

"You know I don't like the holidays." His agitation is clear in his annoyed hand gestures, fingers furling and unfurling. "Weeks of torture. Cranky moms walking around like somebody shoved a candy cane up their-" 

"Steve, that's like, ten percent of the holiday season! There's a bazillion other things to like about Christmas." 

He snorts. "Like what?" 

—

Steve doesn't know how she managed it, but Robin has someone orchestrated the older gaggle of their friends to sit down anywhere but next to him. When you arrive, late and full of abashed apologies, the only seat empty is the chair to his right. 

You collapse beside him and the December chill outside follows you. Cold emanates off of your clothes. You peel out of your black denim jacket and press the back of your hand to his. 

"Cold, huh?" you ask. 

He swallows around nothing. "Cold." 

Your touch lingers. If he were your boyfriend, he'd take your cold hands in both of his and blow on them generously. He'd rub your stiff knuckles until they were loose and your fingers limp. 

Robin opens her arms and a half a dozen boxes clatter into the middle of the table, upside down and on their sides. Steve turns his head to read the font, and then promptly sits up. 

"No," he says. 

"Steve," Robin pleads, already turned away to retrieve a wicker basket full of candy. "Don't be a loser." 

"Too late," Eddie says, painted nails digging into the cardboard flap of his box. 

"You don't want to make one?" you ask Steve. 

"Gingerbread houses are a little elementary school, aren't they?" Steve turns to Jonathan imploringly. "You agree, right?" 

"No," Jonathan says with a laugh. "Me and Will still make them every year. El's getting good at them, too." 

"Will made one with a door that opens last year," Nancy says, pride for her boyfriend's brother clear in her pert smirk. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "That's good for him, and I mean it, but why are we doing this? Tell me there's beer, at least." 

"Yes!" Eddie cheers, slapping his thigh. "Harrington, you're finally saying something I can get behind. I have a little something extra in the van, just say the word." 

"There's beer," Nancy says emphatically. 

Eddie pretends to die in his chair. You giggle like crazy at his dramatics and set about opening your box, fanning gingerbread walls and roof panelling out over the table. 

Steve feels old resentment for Eddie bubble up like it never left. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, all sweet and secret like you're trying not to make a fuss but you just can't help it. The resentment fades when you reach across from him and open a second box, laying supplies out in front of him one by one. 

"I think we should be a team," you tell him. 

"That's not fair," Eddie says.

"Can it, Munson-"

"We can all be teams," Robin says, returning with a blessedly cold six pack, three piping bags, and a handful of metal tips. "You two, me and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan." 

Steve doesn't miss her suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and neither does anybody else. You turn to Steve in confusion. He shakes his head vigorously in a rapid and untrue show of I don't know, arm weaving under yours to bring your attention to the bigger piece of gingerbread. "This is the floor, right?" 

Steve’s surprised by how good of a team you turn out to be. Your gingerbread house takes shape slowly. Steve holds the pieces in place and you apply the icing seams like caulking, smoothing the lines out with your index finger and licking it clean. You’re a picture of happiness, happy jabbering interspersed between singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio and warding off insincere insults sent your way. 

"My grandma can decorate better than that, and she's pushing ninety. She has glaucoma."

“Cut the shit talking, Eddie,” you warn, flicking him with a jellybean. It hits his neck, and his retribution comes in five more aimed at your gingerbread house. 

The sides wobble unsurely.

Steve frosts the roof, assuming it’ll be easy. It isn’t easy at all, and soon any cuteness you’ve made is ruined by his ugly hatching. He winces, then frowns, then glares, eyebrows furrowed in agitation. 

Jonathan and Nancy are the ones to beat. Both nerds, both neat. Jonathan’s an artist and it’s obvious he does this every year, their house made up of pretty white swirls and gem decorated doors and windows. They're bantering quietly, insincere declarations that make Steve jealous — not of Jonathan, exactly, but of their relationship as a whole. They fit together in a way Steve and Nance never had. They’re effortless. 

Robin and Eddie make a good go of it, surprisingly. Steve had expected Eddie to throw the competition before he could lose, and hates to be proven wrong. Dorks combined with too much imagination, their gingerbread house has become a sort of macabre scene with a dead gingerbread man outlined in the snow surrounding, and icing stalagmites rise under the roof’s overhang.

You pull your chair in as close to Steve’s as you can, your knee pressed into his thigh and your elbow glancing off of his bicep every time you place a jellybean.

“There,” you say, pulling back. “That looks awesome, doesn’t it?”

It’s a hot mess. Unbalanced, too much icing on one side of the roof and not enough on the other, you lean back into Steve’s chest, your skin to his skin and your hair smelling of jasmine, appraising the work you’ve made just as it begins to fall apart. The weight of the roof becomes too much and the walls split either side of one another, in both slow motion and fast. Steve sees it happen incrementally, and it’s too quick to stop. 

Your gingerbread house collapses. 

“Fuck,” Steve says. “Fucking fuck.”

You get second place. 

“It looked good when it was actually standing,” Nancy reasons, her lies obvious in her raised pitch, her queasy shifting. 

“It did,” you agree. 

Steve’s self-loathing abates ever so slightly. 

“Pity win,” Eddie says with a cough. 

You laugh like crazy, and Steve decides gingerbread houses are for kids. 

—

After the gingerbread house disappointment, Steve thinks things cannot get worse. He is swiftly proven wrong. 

It's his turn to host a party, Robin's idea, and Christmas crawls ever closer. When he closes his eyes at night he can see the faces of every annoyed mom asking for The Christmas Star. Carols play in his ears unbidden. He finds himself humming songs he hates out of nowhere and clamping his mouth shut hard enough to chip a tooth every time. 

You love decorations, and so he and Robin have spent the last hour making his big empty house something fit for a rom-com, wreaths and tinsels and rainbow flashing lights. You love Christmas music, and so the stereos dialled to a cruel thirty in preparation for your arrival. You love cookies, and so, to Steve's amateurish expense, plates of sugar cookies line the kitchen countertops, along with all the finger foods one could ever desire. 

Though in Steve's case, that's none. He hates Christmas parties, reminded of his parents' misaligned efforts to earn favour with equally pompous parents. He and Tommy would hide out in backyards with stolen booze, and when that got too cold they'd shuffle inside, warm in their chests and numb in their fingers. 

He frowns at the memory and wizzes it all away. Tommy was an asshole. Steve was an asshole, he still is. This party isn't for his parents. 

It's for you. 

Not that anyone can ever, ever know. 

"What do you think?" Robin asks, pulling at the edges of the sweater she's changed into. 

It's a movie reference he should understand, but doesn't. "I love it." 

She smiles. Rare for them to operate above dry sarcasm and quick wit. Christmas makes Robin squishy, like she's forgotten how shitty the world is, and Steve wants her to have a good time tonight. This includes being nice (which he should be more often, anyway). 

"Go change. She'll be here soon."

"Who, Nance?" 

Robin tips her head back. "Oh, yeah, Nancy. Definitely who I meant." 

He flips her the finger, putting an end to their Christmas niceties. She's still laughing as he climbs the stairs and barrels into his room. He doesn't bother closing the door even as he hears the doorbell ring. The pizza should be getting here around now. 

Steve doesn't rush. He’d left cash on the countertop. Robin can deal with it. 

He ducks forward and pulls his polo up the length of his back, hair puffed out like a cloud. He'd set aside his ridiculous reindeer sweater on the top shelf of his closet. Or, at least, he'd thought he had. He searches once, twice, and then gives in to his short temper and drops his face into his hands. 

Stupid Christmas. Stupid sweater. Stupid party.  

He hears your inhale like a whisper. Breath caught in your throat. 

"Steve," you say, sounding surprised. 

It's his room. He's not sure what's so surprising. 

You're standing in the doorway looking angelic, all things considered. Your features softened by powder, wearing a white Christmas sweater with dainty beaded snowflakes and a plaid skirt. You look pretty, and Steve's not one for dramatics but he wishes he was dead. 

"You look nice," he says pathetically. 

"You, too," you say. You clear your throat. "I mean. Uh-" 

"You okay?" he asks, pushing hair out of his eyes. 

Your smile falters. You look at his naked chest. Steve worries he's making you uncomfortable and turns as nonchalantly as he can to his closet again, says, "I can't find my sweater. It's…" He lifts a bundle of jeans up. "Horrifying." 

"I can help." 

You step into the room. Each footstep silent, you've already discarded your shoes. He looks down to your stockings and then up again, ignoring the blush that wants to emerge at the sight of your thighs. 

"It's brown, and it has a weird red thing hanging off of it. Rudolph's nose." 

You step close enough that he can feel the heat of your arm and run a hand down the shelves. It takes a couple of seconds at most and you've found it, pulling it from the pile carefully. He loves the way you move, each inch deliberate. 

You press the sweater into his chest. His hands come up, his fingers cover your own. 

When he's with you, Steve feels as though everything — every movement, every moment — is broken down into its finest details. He thinks he could draw your fingerprint if asked, each miniscule line embossed into his skin as you touch him. 

"Steve?" 

But that's ridiculous. 

"Thanks. I think I got tinsel in my eyes or some shit," he mutters, averting his gaze.

"You're welcome. Robin sent me to see what was taking you so long. I'll tell her it was a Rudolph related crisis." 

You stroke his arm. 

He loses his shit internally, hand reaching for your retreating figure as you turn your back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he would’ve kissed you.

"Steve?" you ask, now standing in the doorway. 

He recalibrates, muddled. "Yeah?" 

"Get dressed,” you encourage. You give him a short smile, blinding, and laugh quietly as you leave. 

He's hopped up on hope as he gets dressed, a smile plastered over what had felt to him like a seasonal scowl. He's no idiot; arm-touching, your tinkling laughter. Maybe his crush isn't as hopeless as he'd thought. 

He smooths down his hair for much longer than necessary, listening as the door opens and closes and opens again, friends trickling in with happy hellos and complaints about the weather. It's cold but too wet for snow, and evidence of it trails in from the front door through the hallway where shoes lie discarded in clumsy pairs.

He picks over them and finds his friends, ones he made willing and otherwise, draped over his living room like old throws. Max and Lucas have stolen the couch where they sit laughing, clearly gossiping about something. The rest of the lunch club stick close by, bowls of snacks already claimed and in cross-legged laps. 

"Steve," Jonathan says, "what the fuck is that?" 

"Fucker," Steve says. He's the butt of too many jokes, then, and he glares at Robin even as she plates him some still-warm pizza. 

"Sorry," she mouths. 

You curl up on the couch next to Max. He appreciates the unlikely friendship you've formed, sort of a sistership. You only know her through Steve but he genuinely thinks you'd pick her over him, and that makes him like you more. 

That's all he does, lately. Finds new ways to fall in love with you. 

"That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," Max says.

Fucking Christmas. 

—

Steve's been in a bad mood since he came downstairs, and you're not okay with it. Despite your shameless meltdown in his bedroom at seeing him shirtless, you don't quit. You spend some time with Max on the couch, and when she seems a little less agitated you track him down. 

He's definitely hiding. 

"I think Max's glasses are hurting her nose," you say. 

Steve looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles, the slopes of his face kissed by the open refrigerator light. "They'd hurt anyone. The lenses are like, five inches thick." 

“Poor girl,” you mumble, more to yourself than him. 

He turns back to the fridge and pulls out a two litre of coke. “You want a drink?” 

You shake your head. His hair looks incredibly sweet from this angle, and you don’t mean that in a condescending way. It curls toward the bottom of his neck, that tiny bit too long compared to his usual cut. His neck moves as his head swivels, and there’s ligaments, there’s muscle, the bump of his Adam’s apple, all of it commanding attention. You think about stepping forward to touch him, his neck, to curl your finger around the side of his throat and hold him in place. If there’s one thing about Steve lately, it’s that he’s always fucking moving. He can’t sit still. He looks between you and the empty glass in question, twice, a third time. 

“I don’t read minds,” he says eventually, near pleading. 

You decide some flirtation is in order. 

“I’m glad you can’t,” you say lightly, crossing what’s left of the kitchen tile between you to stop at his side. You pretend that you’d wanted a drink, taking a glass down from one of his cabinets so he can fill it for you. Something he could’ve done himself. You hope that’ll be clear enough for him — the blatant want to be close. 

It isn’t, unsurprisingly. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, I think…” You lower your voice,a private confession. “That sometimes what I’m thinking, it might be- Uh, telling.”

Poor Steve. That hadn’t come out anywhere as smooth as you’d anticipated. It’s harder to tell him now you’re confronted with him, his every detail. And Steve, sweetheart, angel Steve, he misses the mark. Forget different pages, Steve’s reading a separate chapter, and your flirtation reads as a deeply unromantic confession. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asks. 

“No,” you say. “Of course not.”

His eyebrows jump and his forehead crinkles. “You sure?” His protective tone melts into something softer. “Let’s hear it, whatever it is.”

Steve isn’t patient. You know that about him. His temper is short and fierce. You like how hot he runs, love his agitated pouting and his dark-eyed scowls — he’s handsome in every expression. 

He isn’t patient, but he tries. He’s kind, and if you wanted to sit and talk about the hypothetical that isn’t bothering you, he’d listen. 

“I actually wanted to ask if everything was alright with you,” you say gently. 

His hand wobbles, fastening the coke cap. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’ve noticed you don’t really like Christmas.”

He smiles, and soon the smile catches, a shy lip bite that has you fighting with your hands to keep them where they hang at your sides. 

“You got me.”

Steve pushes the twin glasses of coke back and then turns around, resting the small of his back against the countertop. You step in front of him without thinking, head ducked to catch and keep his eyes. They’re such a lovely brown, light and earthy, potted with white dots from the fluorescent kitchen light like falling snow as his eyes slip down. You swear, Steve is looking at your lips. 

“Is there something I can do?” 

It’s a terrible time to ask because you genuinely mean it, you’re not just trying to cop a feel. He doesn’t smirk or laugh as you’d thought he would, he only smiles. 

“Thanks, but I’m good.” He tips his head back, criminal, neck arched and ever-enticing. “Fucking sick of this itchy straight jacket,” he groans, pulling at the collar of his sweater like he’s hot. 

He is hot. You’d both benefit from a sudden winter breeze. 

His head drops, eyes lit with confusion. “What? Something on my face?”

“Something,” you agree. 

You look behind you to check what you’d thought you’d seen was truly there. When it is, you turn back to Steve with a feigned concern. “Here, come step into better light.”

You hurry into the doorway, frowning. 

Steve frowns in turn and follows you. You give the game away without meaning to, looking up at the sprig of mistletoe pinned sloppily above you. 

He sees it. He lights up. The happiest he’s looked all month, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he comes to meet you. Your stomach flips with excitement, because oh shit, he looks like he wants to kiss me. 

“Butler, I’m in need of one of your finest cokes, please.”

Oh, no.

Eddie bounces into view with a certified shit-eating grin, hair decorated with tiny metallic baubles. His sweater is surprisingly normal, a black and white knitted affair with reindeer and snowflakes. 

He comes to a stop beside you. “What’s happening?”

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look-

“Shit, hey! Mistletoe.”

Eddie opens his arms. You sigh, to his delight, and lean in so he can give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You try to look at Steve and find your view blocked by a mass of hair.  

“Wow, sweetheart. And I thought we were friends,” Eddie says good-naturedly. 

You scrunch your hand in his sweater to push him away, not unkindly. Guilt gets the better of you and you pat the place over his heart. “We are.”

He makes a kissy sound and dives in toward your neck. Startled, you squeal, stumbling away from his rabid affection and back into the kitchen. He follows, though he doesn’t try anymore kisses. 

“Harrington! I wasn’t joking about the coke. Can I-“

“Help yourself,” Steve says. 

He sounds miserable. 

—

There isn’t time or opportunity to smooth things over with Steve that night. Actually, a week becomes two, and neither do you kiss nor talk about kissing. You want to explain to him what he probably already knows — you really had been standing there for him, hoping for a kiss, a proper kiss. 

He’d looked crushed. You don’t use the word lightly. Steve looked as though somebody had stepped on his chest and pressed all of their weight against his ribs. Frazzled, unhappy. You can’t get the look out of your head, and Christmas doesn’t feel so cheerful with the gap that yawns between you, an icy crevice. 

You try to explain and things get in the way. At the video store, you show up with a plate of apology cookies hoping for a second chance and suddenly the radio breaks and gets stuck blaring ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ like a storm siren. You meet up for games night with a twig of mistletoe in your purse hoping to be a tad more brazen about it and he sits on the opposite sofa, doesn’t take any pee breaks, effectively foiling your plan with inactivity. You ask him out for hot chocolate over the phone and he can’t come. 

“My parents are flying home. I gotta pick ‘em up from the airport.”

You don’t know whether he’s lying or not. His parents actually being home feels outlandish. If he is lying, he doesn’t want to see you, and if he doesn’t want to see you… 

He doesn’t like you. Not the way you like him. 

You worry you imagined the whole thing, his enthusiasm, his starry eyed smile. 

So you’re giving it one last shot. If it doesn’t work you’ll spend your Christmas heartbroken and sulking, but if it does you might actually get to kiss him. It’s a huge thing, and your hands are shaking with more than the cold as you bump up the small step to Steve’s front door. 

The green wreath hanging below the peep hole jitters as you knock, a fragrant twining of pine and cinnamon sticks. 

The door opens all at once.

“Hi,” you say, biting the tip of your tongue. “Hi, I’m, uh-“

The man who’s answered, who you summarise to be Steve’s father despite never having seen him, looks disinterested. “Steve,” he calls. “One of your friends.”

He walks away with nothing else to say, a dark brown liquid lapping at the sides of his small glass. You pull the wrapped box in hand closer to your chest, shifting from one numbing foot to the other as a small tumbling sound comes from upstairs. A pair of hinges squeal, and Steve is halfway down the stairs before he’s even looked up. 

He slows as he approaches the bottom. 

He’s in pajamas. Sweatpants, nondescript, but his too-tight shirt clearly of the Christmas variety. A snowman smiles over his chest. 

“It’s laundry day,” he says. 

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go out with you-“

“Steve,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is that… for me?”

The box in your hands is wrapped modestly. You hadn’t wanted to shove Christmas down his throat, trading reds and greens for a shiny silver paper pressed with fine glitter snowflakes. 

“Yeah. It’s for you.”

Steve stares at you. You stare back. 

“I’d invite you in, but…” He shakes his head. “Let me get my coat.”

Steve doesn’t close the door, to his father’s annoyance, deep grumbling echoing from the kitchen area. You watch him shove his socked feet into a pair of sneakers and scramble to grab his coat and a scarf. 

“Okay?” he asks, stepping out onto the path and closing the door behind him. 

You don’t answer, distracted by his hands suddenly held up, the scarf thrown neatly around your neck. He does a single knot and tucks it under your jaw. “Awesome,” he says. 

You walk down his street. Hawkins is half woods, and soon you’re weaving between naked trees, no destination in mind, not one unspoken feeling acknowledged between you. 

“Why do you hate Christmas?” 

It’s just dark enough for Steve’s clouded breath to show against the sky. “I don’t,” he says.

Your footsteps break over leaves so frosted they crackle. 

“I mean, I guess I do,” he says. “I don’t know. I think I want it to be better than it is.” He stops under a tree that’s clinging to its last handful of leaves and gives a low-hanging branch a playful shake. “I never enjoyed it, as a kid. Or, I don’t remember. I’m sure I liked it when I was still snot-nosed.”

“So, last year?” 

He chuckles warmly. “Exactly.”

You walk a little further, too awkward to hand him his gift. 

“I don’t hate it. But it’s cold, and everyone’s rushing, and the bad outweighs the good.” He sounds tired. 

He breaks your heart like that. 

You stop walking and Steve takes your cue, the two of you toe-to-toe, your sneakers dirty, his socks odd. One white and one grey. 

“I got you this because… um, I have something to tell you. I don’t think I can say it out loud, but- but I hope it adds something to the scale.” You extend the box slowly, your fingers stiff with the cold. “You deserve some good. You deserve a lot of good.” 

You laugh, flustered, and Steve joins in, chest lifting with it as he accepts his gift. 

He rips off the wrapping paper, at first carefully and then less so, shoving little pieces into his pocket as he goes. You take the bigger scraps from him so he can look at the box itself. 

Your gift is actually multiple gifts contained inside, and the first isn't technically a gift at all. The Family Video copy of The Christmas Star.

"Is this-" 

"I've been meaning to give it back to you. I'm sorry, I know it's not a real gift, I just figured- I mean, you've never seen it. I thought we should watch it, and that you'd like it if you did. Or maybe you'll hate it, and that would be fine too." 

He nods and moves to the next gift, lips twitching with an emotion he won't share. 

"That's your size, hopefully. I asked Robin but she didn't know. I kept the receipt." 

Steve smiles at you. "Would you hold this?" he asks. 

You put your hands out and take the box back, worried, but he's only unzipping his coat. Quick as a flash he's shrugging into the sweater head first. It's a simple thing, red wool, soft to touch. A Christmas sweater, though there's no decoration beside a tiny holly leaf embroidered at the collar in dark green. 

"This is fucking sweet," he says. 

You agree. He looks good. 

A shiver racks his spine. 

"Put your coat back on, you're gonna freeze," you say gently. 

He beams at you. "My dead body will be the best dressed in the morgue." 

"Don't joke about that!" 

He laughs and gets back into his coat, zip right up to his neck. He still looks cold. 

The third present is a gingerbread house kit. The fourth, a sprig of mistletoe. They're obvious now the sweaters in action, and Steve seems mildly confused by them. You leap to explain. 

"I thought, I mean- I want a do-over." You tilt your cheek toward your shoulder, scared and fond at the same time. "I wanted you to kiss me. I think you wanted to kiss me, and then Eddie," — you laugh loudly, cheeks burning with the cold — "was being himself. And Steve, I brought that stupid plant with me to Robin's house last week hoping we'd be alone, and to work the week before. But you're hard to pin down." 

You take a deep breath before continuing, eyes determined at his collar, "If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay. That's why I brought the gingerbread house, because ours was awesome before it fell apart, and I'm pretty sure Robin gave us a dud on purpose. We made something really cool together, and I think we can do it again." 

"I did want to kiss you. I do." 

You bite the inside of your lip, nose scrunched up in happiness. "You do?" you ask, and there's this feeling in your chest like you could burst, and all the cold shrinks into nothing. You're warm in your arms, your fingers, your fingertips. 

His hand comes up to his face briefly, shielding his eyes. "Am I obvious?" 

"Am I?" 

His exhale tickles your cheeks. "No," he says breathlessly.  "No, you're not." 

He says it like it's a good thing. A great thing. 

"Everybody else knows," you say similarly. 

"I know." 

He brings a hand to your cheek. It's cold, cold as your face, but he still winces and rubs at the apple with his thumb. "You're freezing," he says as he inches forward. 

His lips are warm. More gentle than you'd imagined, hesitant, and the box you're holding stops him from getting as close as you want him to get. He kisses you once, then he pulls away and kisses you again, his lips slightly parted. 

It's better than you'd thought it would be. His palm stroking your cheek, the pressure, the heat. Knowing he wants to kiss you now as he wanted to then. 

"No fucking way," he says, tilting his head back. 

You tip your head back too. Something wet falls in your eyelashes, a drop of rain. 

Not rain. "It's fucking snowing," Steve says. 

It's snowing. Because it's Christmas, and the powers that be are on your side. 

"Happy Christmas, Harrington," you say jovially. 

You're given another kiss in reward. Reward, or to shut you up. You're not sure. 

—

Steve is impartial to Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it but he will, because you love it. 

The snow — the snow, which had fallen thick and fine as powdered sugar, which you adore, and which makes coming to see you in the days leading up to Christmas near impossible. It's something out of a movie, Steve, seriously, and you need to appreciate what's happening. 

The music you play when he comes to see you, records on your record player and cassettes in your tape deck lying on your chest, knee to knee and thigh to thigh with him. Your quiet humming; you won't sing, but the small sounds alone are enough to make him want to kiss you (though everything does now). He can't hate Here Comes Santa Claus when you hum along under your breath, lips skipping over the skin of his bicep, your hand scratching a rhythm into his hair. 

Everybody knows Santa's coming, I don't see why they have to have a whole song about it. 

Are you jealous? I'll write a song about you. Or maybe I can steal one. You ever hear Santa baby? We can make it Stevie baby. 

Christmas music? Not his thing. You calling him baby? Fine, he can get behind it. At least until January. 

Christmas sweaters! He fucking hates them. They're ugly, they're scary, he doesn't wanna walk around with a pom pom on his chest thank you so much, but he has to allow them. Has to. If only so he can watch you get dressed with one eye hidden in your pillow and the other wide open. Thank little baby Jesus in the manger for Christmas sweaters so you have something to tuck into your skirt, so you have a reason to wear a skirt at all, and a reason to take one off. 

Christmas snacks he can get behind. Or, he can get behind this. You on the couch, a needle threaded in your hand. A bowl of popcorn in his lap, and your face as you lean back. 

He throws a kernel and it lands in your open mouth. 

You both holler, twin expressions of unadulterated joy, popcorn spilling over the sides of the bowl. You just look so happy, he climbs on knees to steal a kiss. A smiling kiss, the very best kind. 

"Aren't you supposed to do this stuff before Christmas eve?" he asks. 

"I've been a little busy." 

Steve digs his face into your neck so you won't see him blushing, hands curling around your waist in an impromptu hug. Yes, he supposes you have been. 

You kiss his temple sweetly. 

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He really, really means it. 

❆

thanks for reading! im so out of practice but hopefully this is okay!! i meant to post it yesterday but anyhow, i hope you enjoyed <3

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Four

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ violence, physical injury, but there will be hope

a/n: this is a heavy chapter, i am not going to lie. as always, i have done my best to treat this heavy content with respect and truthfulness. i am not out for shock and horror, but honesty, yes.

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

The burdens that you carry now

Well they're not of your creation

So let's not weep for their evil deeds

But their lack of imagination

Sweetheart Come - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

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

There’s no denying winter now. Fall is always fleeting, and by the end of November, there’s no calling it anything other than cold. Sarah didn’t come home for Thanksgiving this year, a new boyfriend with parents to meet and a promise for Christmas. A small hurt still, tempered by how he and Dolores spent the holiday. No turkey, no stuffing, no stir or stress to any of it. A meal shared, simple as that, like any other day. 

It’s been a slow gift, this new and unfurling closeness. Touch is always cautious, and quietly asked after. Every new okay, allowing for a bit more so that now, some things have become simple comfort instead of anxious and unknown. Like in the evenings, nothing even has to be said, already expected that they will settle down and around each other on the couch, and if she has grace to give, she’ll read aloud to him from whatever book she’s currently working through. Like in the mornings, sleep still making everything small and quiet, it isn’t uncommon for his hand to find the dip of her spine as they pass around each other in their shared routine, and it isn’t uncommon for her to lean into that touch, to pause in his palm. And around noon, whenever he stops into the diner, his hand will often catch hers when she slides his check across the counter, the slow sweep of his thumb over her knuckles. 

“I might be late picking you up today, gotta help John with all the end of the month paperwork. You okay hanging here a little after four?” He tries to ask it casually, but the truth is, he doesn’t feel very okay about it at all. And he has no business feeling that quick curl of worry in his throat all because of the smallest, stupidest deviation from their usual routine. 

“Of course. If it’s easier, Sal can drop me at the station after we close?” He isn’t sure which idea he likes less, her waiting around for him at the diner, or her coming anywhere near the station when she doesn’t have to. But closer to him always feels better these days, so he nods, a reluctant break of his hand from hers. 

The thing about all this closeness is that it has only made that meanness, that hate blossom in their separation. Sometimes all he can think about when she isn’t around, the things he would like to do to husband. She has told him more, quiet in the night, things that make his heart stutter and then clench like a fist, like a jaw snapping shut. And today, moving through the day, he works all the poison over in his mind until John asks him from across the office what he’s scowling about. Oh, nothing. Nothing that anyone else could ever know about.

“Well, you got the last of this under control? I gotta pick up the kids from the bus stop pretty soon here.” Joel nods, working his mouth around civil words, polite words, sighing the instant John closes the door to the station behind him. He isn’t sure if husband has called this month. John hasn’t mentioned it, and Joel doesn’t want to ask. And there’s no point in telling himself that he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t be in the slow spiral of whatever this is with her. Because he is, and all the good of her makes him forget about shouldn’t. But the reality remains. That there is a man in Nebraska who called her his wife. That there is a man in Nebraska that Joel has imagined violence upon. An equal and accounted amount of it. 

“Hello?” Sudden and startling, he nearly jumps in his chair at the sound of someone at the front desk. Not dressed in his uniform, but he’ll have to do, getting up and walking out to the front of the station.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you?” Just passing through, no doubt. Tall man, thin man, wiry and a little worn-looking. A strange time for him to be here, though. One of the extreme types, he figures, cross-country skier or the like. The kind that enjoy pain, probably looking for directions up into the mountains for a novel excursion.

“Are you Officer Davis?”

“No, he just stepped out. Did you speak to him over the phone or something?”

“Oh yeah, a couple of times. I tell you what though, he hasn’t been much help.” Yes, definitely a tourist, probably out from Denver, full of himself and full of shit. Wearing an expensive-looking flannel beneath a puffer jacket, Patagonia, and making some snit, some little tiff about something, calling John like that. 

“Well, what exactly are you needing help with?” 

“Are you a cop?” Said with a raised brow and a once-over, and Joel has to remind himself that yes, this is part of the job, grinding his teeth to hold back a grimace. 

“I’m Officer Miller, yes. Could you tell me what you talked with Officer Davis about so I can see about helping you?” 

“My wife, we talked about my wife.” A strange feeling. A sick feeling. Pinpricked vision and a hard rush in his ears. Not just passing through, not just a tourist, and not from Denver. Suddenly, he’s not sure how he imagined this man, even though he built him in his mind over and over, a piecemeal Frankenstein that’s full flesh and bone and body before him now. 

Smaller and slighter than he imagined. But aren’t all monsters much bigger in our brains? Easier to fight something that looks just as evil as its rotten core. But this is just a man wearing an expensive-looking flannel beneath a puffer jacket, Patagonia. A tired-looking man at that, drawn and dark circles under his eyes. A man that wears glasses. Men that wear glasses aren’t supposed to be the ones beating their wives. Give him someone with tattoos up and down his arms, someone with enough muscle for it to menace, someone with greasy, long hair and a sneered scowl. This man looks like he goes to work everyday from nine to five in a cubicle, this man looks like anyone else, this man looks like someone who would never be suspected, someone who would never be caught. And just like that, it starts to make sense to Joel. 

“Your wife?” His wife, who is going to be dropped off here any minute now.

“Yessir, I’m Charlie Wright? I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened back in June. There was a car, reported stolen around your parts and well–”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. With all due respect,  I’m not sure why you’ve come all this way after five months. Wherever your wife has gone, I can assure you she ain’t here.” At least for a few more minutes, at least enough time for him to get this man far away. No time for fight, not with the fine line of risk he’s currently walking just by having this man in the station. 

“Are you sure of that, officer? Has there been any kind of a search effort for her? I’m sorry, if you could just empathize with me here. I’m only a man who’s trying to bring home his wife.” No, not now to that quick flood of fury threatening up his throat. He clenches his fists behind his back until it feels like the skin over his knuckles may split. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s like I said, after five months, I reckon your wife is long gone from anywhere around here.” Whatever the man says back to him, he doesn’t hear it, eyes flickering over his shoulder to movement in front of the station. 

And what comes next happens so slowly, so stupidly. 

Dolores no longer feels anxious around the station. After five months, a figuring that it’s fine, that there’s nothing to fear or fret over. So when Sal pulls up and drops her off, she is barely even considering the building, idly walking over to it as she reads the back of a book she picked up yesterday from the library, using her shoulder to open the door and step inside. 

“Lori?” 

The rest does not happen slowly. A flash, a bright burst of motion. Something that sounds like a curse, a garbled, grunted you fucking bitch. Her book drops to the ground, spine splayed and cracked open, all the pages getting smeared to the side in an unfortunate crumple. And Joel can’t move. Husband has his hands on her. And Joel can’t move. It’s like husband knew exactly how he was going to move the next time he saw her, fingers closing around her throat, cage and crush as he walks her back until the terrible length of his body is pinning her up against the wall. And Joel can’t move. But husband isn’t just out for fear, a method to the way he takes one hand and clamps it over her nose and mouth while the other stays wrapped around her throat. Husband is looking to take something from her that’s past the point of fear. And Joel can’t move. 

Husband is saying something to her, sneering something to her, though Joel can’t hear it through the pure panic flooding through his brain. His whole body screams to move faster, to get big and mean and loud, but he feels so very small, shocked into a slow, stuttering step that stops just as soon when suddenly husband lets out a curdled scream, his whole body recoiling from her in a tight curl, bent at the waist and clutching at his hand. 

There’s blood, and that’s not right. Not the fact of it, of husband’s blood. The not right comes in how husband’s blood is smeared on her lips and dragging down her chin. In how there is nothing behind her eyes as she slumps back against the wall, a slow slide into a posture that he recognizes, curling in on herself, hands clasped behind her neck and her head ducking between her knees as she comes to sit on the ground. It’s a posture that’s taught to people to take when they’re afraid for their lives, a last hail Mary of protection to all the most vital, soft parts of the body. And Joel finally moves. 

Second drawer from the bottom in the front desk, a pair of cuffs that he’s never been sure why they’re kept there. But now he doesn’t have to think at all about grabbing them, doesn’t have to think about how to pinch the back of husband’s neck in his hand and take him all the way to the ground, a knee pressed between his shoulder blades as he collects his flailing wrists and snaps them together in metal. There’s a fine flood of red dripping down husband’s left hand, perfect punctures on his pointer finger. It looks deep, it looks like it hurts, and Joel is glad for it. 

The station has a single cell, used mostly and infrequently for folks needing to sober up after a particularly miserable night. Husband is still groaning and panting in pain as Joel hauls him down the hallway and behind the bars. All a bit cartoonish, all a bit garish. Lock and key and all that. And he only lets out a breath when the door to the cell is shut behind him. Much more important things that must be tended to. 

His thoughts had been moving so slowly, if there were any thoughts at all, that suddenly it’s like a rubber band snapping back into place, breaking the surface, big gasp and a quick flood of frenzy and fury and fret, needing to make all of this right when he got it so very wrong. She’s still curled into and over herself, the heels of her palms pressed into her ears. And he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch her right now, erring on the side of caution as he kneels down in front of her, calls for her once, twice. Dove, Dovey. It’s enough to get a flicker of her eyes, seeing him, enough for her hands to fall from her ears, though she still stays all tucked up. The blood has already dried, rusted flakes of it on her skin, and he has to tamp down his own want to get it off of her as quickly as possible, settling instead for something slow, a careful coaxing of  it’s okay now, please, let’s clean up, please, let me, please. 

She’s still not quite looking at him, not quite looking at anything, something unfocused in her unblinking stare as he leads her to the bathroom, a small mercy that it’s down the other hall. A hand on her shoulder, an ask that she doesn’t say no to, lets him move her to sit on the edge of the toilet. A hand held on her knee as he fumbles to get a paper towel damp in the sink, still afraid that she will be gone if he doesn’t keep a pulse running to her. 

He kneels down in front of her, and he tells himself that he has to be so careful, so gentle, violence already starting to split all her seams, all that slow stitching, all five months of it. And he can, for her, slow fingers tilting her chin for him. He is meticulous in his work, every last reminder of red until all that’s left is the suggestion of it and the shake in her lip. She doesn’t say a thing, shrugs out from under his touch, all he can do to make space as she stands up and shuffles over to the sink. And it is a shuffle, a limp, something heavy held somewhere in her body that she’s dragging with her. She dips her head under the tap, like prayer, like holy, lets the water run over her turned face until Joel starts to get worried. Pink water in the porcelain when she straightens back up, a slow unfurl of her spine. Still in her uniform, his stomach curls when he sees the spatter on the starched blue collar of it. 

…

“You sure you got this covered for the night?” 

“Not a problem, reckon your wife would have my balls if I kept you here any later.” 

“Well if he gives you any trouble, I’m a phone call away, you know?”

“Yeah, John, I think he’ll be just fine once he sobers himself up.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for taking care of this.”

“Sure thing.”

Joel made two phone calls. The first was to Patty. No explanation needed, not a thing said, already understood when she came and picked up Dolores, a careful arm curled around her shoulders and a murmured promise of home and clean clothes. Only a cursory glance to Joel, an implicit command for a conversation later. 

The second call was to John. And he had been ready to tell him the truth when he got to the station. But husband didn’t say a thing when the officer asked him what the hell happened, just kept his hands tucked between his thighs, a blank look on his face. Drugs, alcohol, drugs and alcohol, enough of an excuse for John to sigh and shake his head and agree that yes, he would have to be held overnight. And Joel is doing him a favor really, by staying overnight to keep an eye on things so he doesn’t have to. Joel is doing him a solid, Joel is a real pal, Joel is a real good guy for letting his partner off the hook like that. And really, Joel doesn’t mind, craning his neck to watch John’s car pull out of the parking lot, no, he doesn’t mind at all. Really, Joel is happy to stay at the station with the man in an expensive-looking flannel and a puffer jacket, Patagonia, getting striped and slanted between metal bars. 

The thing about the station is, it is very old and very small, and not very serious at all. Just enough power behind those silver stars to keep things in order over the years. But because the station is very old and very small, there is nothing like a security system, nothing like cameras recording anything. So no one else will get to see. Only him and husband bearing witness when Joel steps into the cell and closes it behind him. 

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” Husband scoffs, tips his head back until his skull rests against the wall, slumped on the paint-peeling bench. 

“You’re gonna get in your car, and you’re gonna go back to Nebraska. And you ain’t ever gonna come looking for her again.” Husband thinks this is a joke, Joel can tell, the way he tilts his head to the side, grimacing up a smile. 

“Like it or not, officer, that’s my wife you’re talking about. And by law, I can drag her sorry ass just about anywhere I want to.” Only him and husband. No one else will get to see how silence falls, only for a flicker, before Joel takes two steps toward husband. And she isn’t here now, so he can get as big and mean and fearfully fast as he wants to. 

Easy, really, anger makes it feel like nothing. Like nothing to get husband back down on the ground, prone and gasping little broken breaths with Joel’s hand clamped around the front of his throat. And he could, right now, he could. Break this man and bring what’s left of him to lay at her feet. He wants to, so very badly, let his hand crush that flutter, that pulse. But just on the heels of that anger is something else. Something small and sodden and sighing. All he can do to let a flame of frustration tamp it down, hauling husband up onto his knees, giving him enough coughed-in oxygen so he can understand what words come next. Speaking slowly, right in his ear. 

“By law, I could show the bruises that will surely be on her throat to any cop in a fifty-mile radius and have you put in jail for a very long time. But I don’t think that’d be enough, do you?” What did Dolores tell him at the bar that night? Once, right here. To temple, that’s right. Where Joel settles the mouth of his gun now. And there is no monster. Something far more pathetic before him now, beneath him now. A blubbering man, a begging man, tears and snot shining up his face. Please, please don’t, please don’t do this. 

Fear feels good, right. Making something right when his finger curls against the trigger. A burst of sound, a sob tearing through husband’s chest as he keels over, breathing hard, relieved and retching all at once. Joel lays a single kick to his stomach, sending him skittering back on the floor.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” A hand gripped tight in husband’s hair to hold his face up, to make sure he is listening so very closely.

“You’re gonna get in your car, and you’re gonna go back to Nebraska. And you ain’t ever gonna come looking for her again. And if you don’t do as I say, that cartridge won’t be empty the next time you and I cross paths.” He lets him go, lets him slump back on the floor, still heaving. 

Not another word is spoken. The door to the cell is left open. By morning, husband is gone.

…

“She didn’t eat anything.” 

“Okay.”

“I don’t know if she slept, I doubt it.” 

“Okay, thanks.” 

“You and I are gonna have a talk.” 

“Okay, Patty, later.”

“Yeah, later.” 

The house is quiet and still when he goes inside, ears pricking to the sound of Patty’s car pulling away. Her door is cracked, the thin light of morning slipping and slivering down the hall. He’s not sure how much of anything is okay right now, silent and standing in the doorway. At the very least, she’s not in her uniform, an old sweatshirt he had offered her when the nights kept getting colder. Not bruised yet, but blooming fast, a smear of dark red across her throat. 

“Is he okay?” It shocks him, startles him. He almost asks who, is who okay? But he knows who she’s asking after, asking for, and it makes him dizzy, makes him sick. 

“He’s gone, Dove. You don’t have to worry about him now.” Her brow pinches and pulls down, a full-tilt crumpling of her expression that forecasts tears, though they don’t come, just that tremble to her lip. 

“I hurt him.” Like confession, like sin, and he can’t stop himself from trying to sweep it away, two big steps to kneel between her legs where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on her knees to hold her where she is and tell her no, you did the right thing, you had to, it wasn’t that, it wasn’t bad or wrong or regretful, do not regret what you did, what you did was right, what you did was escape. And something else too, sorry. Sorry that she had to, because he didn’t, at least not in time. 

“Is he really?”

“He is.”

“Forever?”

“He’s not coming back, I promise.” And this startles him too, the wrecked wail she lets out, head held in shaking hands, shaking shoulders, and shaking ribs that ache with sound and sob. And this isn’t relief, at least not entirely. It’s a mournful sound, it’s a losing sound, it’s a lost, longing sound. 

The thing about a cage is that it becomes comfort once it is familiar. And the thing about monsters is that it doesn’t take much to become one. Just power and presence and taking something that does not belong to him, and never did. Part of her still loves that man, part of her is still kept by that man. And what Joel did, well, a keeping of his own, wasn’t it? A deigning and deciding of his own. 

Something inside of him cracks, fine fissuring lines that splinter and snap, slumping back on his haunches, his hands slipping down to only a weak curl around her ankles as her whole body heaves. The loudest he’s ever heard her, a pure posture of agony in the way her spine snares and snarls up tight. And because of the crush of pain around her throat, the sound is near terrifying, broken and rasped, wounded animal,  and so very not right, big, hot gasps of not right. 

At first, he isn’t sure what it is, maybe just her body acting out some deep desperation in her hands reaching and grabbing onto his coat, still in his coat. Fists in fabric, asking him for something he is afraid to give her, though he does. An awkward contortion, lifting up onto his knees so he can bring his palms to span the shake of her back. She curls over him, into him. And what she says, what warbles up from her chest is an even sharper devastation. She thanks him, quiet and caught between gasps, thank you. Once, twice, his arms tightening around her to steady his own shake now. She thanks him for this undoing he has caused, and it in turn is his own quiet destruction. Because he would do so much more, unasked and unbidden. Dangerous, what he would do. 

There’s no making sense of it, of the strange stir of grief and grace. Eventually, everything slows down, turns silent, and he’s still holding her, and she’s still holding him. 

Nothing is said, not when bodies have already made so much clear. She lets him lead her to the bare light of the window, careful palms tilting her jaw so he can see what must heal. Asks her where it hurts the most and she just makes a dry sound that tries to be a laugh. There have been much worse hurts than this, he knows. 

Maybe mercy, that there is always something that must be done around the fact of the land and the animals. They sniff into the morning cold, silent but close. Bleats turn into puffs of pale air, the flock already beginning their slow wander for the day, snow crunching under foot. 

It’s a leap, a lurch of his heart to take her hand in his. She lets him, unspoken relief. Unspoken, all of it. But staying, both of them.

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

taglist:

@cassiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @pedrostories @pr0ximamidnight

[archangeldyke-all]

So I few days ago I saw this post with the still where Sevika growls at Jinx looking like she is 3 times bigger than her, and I remembered that I'm like, 4cm (1-2 inches?) taller than Jinx and Sevika would look exactly as big if I was there instead of Jinx. Which at first made me think that I'd give Sevika a piece of my mind if she screamed at me like this, but on the second thought...well, I had to be a woman enough and idmit that Sevika'd make me fucking cry.

Which leads me to: Sevika screaming at reader - mb reader is Silco's goon or smtg (preferably with the height dif to make it scarier) and R is on a verge of tears. Sevika is like, "what the fuck..." She doesn't feel bad in the moment, just shocked and lost (you're criminals, who tf would cry) R comes home and gets angry at Sev for treating her like this and gives Sev reality check the next day, which leads to Sev apologising and then being all like "did I just fucking apologise to her what the FUCK I'm the fucking second in command" but she gets so impressed she asks R out after this.

Thank you for your writings, they're genuinely my morning paper (you post when it's nighttime for me and I read your stories in the mornings). Also you honestly impacted my writing - recently I'd write a line, look at it and think, oh, this is Angel's, she'd write something like this, and it so heart-warming to me. 💕

oh my god that is so heartwarming to ME i'm CRYING!!!!! i love this idea, lets do it!!!

men and minors dni

at first, you're just a blip on her radar. a new hire of silco's, just another set of arms to help lug and count and wield vairous weapons.

you catch her eye a few times in your first weeks working for silco. you're always cracking jokes, making other goons chuckle. you make her chuckle a few times, too. she calls you out during a briefing one evening, complimenting you on your hustle at the drop earlier that day. but besides that you're nothing to her.

and then you fuck up.

it's not your fault, not really. it's jinx's. she's got an intense fondness for fire, and you'd forgotten about that fact. so when the thirteen year old asked you for a lighter, you'd shrugged and tossed her one, thinking she was gonna light some firecrackers or experiment with smoking-- normal thirteen year old things. you never thought she'd set the warehouse you're all standing in on fire.

everyone makes it out unscathed, thank god. jinx runs away with a squeak when sevika comes stumbling out of the building, covered in soot and scowling. "jinx, you fuck!" she cries. "who the fuck gave her fire?!"

you meekly hold your hand up, still coughing up the lungfuls of smoke you'd inhaled. sevika growls, then shoves your shoulder, hard. she towers over you, glaring down at you as she seethes.

"you stupid shit-- what the fuck were you thinking? i'd bet nothing at all, since you clearly don't have any fucking brains in your skull--"

sevika cuts herself off, baffled. she coulda sworn she just saw a tear fall down your cheek.

you sniffle, wiping your face quickly. sevika almost laughs. you're... crying? what the fuck?

who the hell does that? you're a goon for fucks sake-- your job description might as well be: fuck up jobs and get yelled at. and now you're crying?

sevika just stares at you, bewildered, then she scoffs, turns around, and walks away.

you think that's the end of it.

for sevika it's only the beginning.

you didn't plan on confronting her, initially. but sevika was so shocked and put-off by your reaction to her yelling, that she's been yelling more and more at you just to see if you'd react the same way.

it's been two days now, and no matter what you seem to do, sevika's two steps behind you, growling and ready to demean you.

you lose your temper when she criticizes the way you're sharpening your knives.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?!" you growl, suddenly, interrupting her mid-rant. "you make me cry and then decide, what, that you've just gotta see it again?!" you ask. she blinks, even more shocked than she was when you burst into tears. "not all of us are tough as fuckin' nails sevika! but if you think crying is crazy, you should see what i'll do to you if you keep fuckin' with me!" you shout.

sevika's never been this shocked, intimidated, and turned on all at once in her life.

she clears her throat, gulps, then speaks. "i... i'm sorry." she says.

you sigh, then nod. "it's fine." you cut her off, before swiftly walking away. she watches you go, more confused than she's ever been in her life.

did she just... fucking apologize to you? her? second in command to silco? apologizing to you? rookie goon who'd only been hired to dig graves and clean blood stains?

and why couldn't she stop thinking about you? why was she suddenly so drawn to you, muffling her laugh at every one of your jokes she overhears, her eyes drawn to you every time you're in the same room?

sevika almost throws up when she realizes she's crushing on you.

she tries to ignore it. but now that she's aware of her attraction to you, it's all she can focus on.

she goes to work, she's thinking about you.

you're in the room, she's trying to subtly get close enough to sniff your shampoo.

she's at home, she's sleeping off a hangover and having wet dreams about you.

she lasts a week before you confront her again.

"are you plotting on killing me?" you ask one evening while you and sevika lug crates of shimmer off an airship. she trips over her own feet, then looks over at you like you're crazy. you just raise an eyebrow at her.

"what makes you thi--"

"i cursed you out and ever since you've been... watching me." you say. sevika cringes. "ran's worried for me. they say it's like 'watching a predator stalk its prey.' i figured if you were gonna kill me you'd've already killed me, but. i thought i'd ask, just in case." you say. sevika chuckles, unable to help herself. you're funny.

"i'm not plotting to kill you."

"then why--"

"i wanna ask you out." she mumbles. it's your turn to trip over your feet.

"what!?" you squawk. sevika huffs.

"i dunno. i don't get it either. but you cried in fronta me-- i don't remember the last time someone i wasn't killing cried in fronta me. i couldn't stop thinkin' about you. and then you yelled at me-- nobody yells at me. not even silco. and i apologized. i think-- fuck... i think you got me hooked." she groans. you're equally shocked, pleased and amused, smiling in shock and awe at sevika's revelation.

"...so?" you ask. sevika scoffs.

"whaddya mean 'so'!?"

"so... whaddya gonna do about it?" you ask, tilting your head to the side. sevika blinks at you, then smirks.

"can i take you to dinner?"

"actual food or just liquor and smokes?"

sevika giggles-- nobody makes fun of her. but you are. and... she likes it?

"actual food. whatever you want, i'm buying." she says. you smile.

"after work tonight?"

"yes." she nods, grinning. you shrug, pretend to consider her offer, then nod.

"alright." you say.

sevika bites her lip to keep in her girlish giggle. but then you dart forward and press a peck to her cheek-- and she can't help but let it out anyways.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[heart4reigns]

Hi! I was requesting a fluff roman fic they are both protective of the other and in a tag team match y/n notices that one of their opponents is trying to sabotage roman and so she gets rid of them and then her and roman with the match tyy! (sorry if this made no sense lol) also your writing is really cool and well written :)

DOUBLE TROUBLE, roman reigns.

warnings: curse words, fights, unwanted flirting

tags: ocs to fit the plot, badass (y/n), personal BEEF IN THIS FIGHT, who's your head of the table now? LET’S SPICE IT UP A BIT WITH SOME BACKSTAGE DRAMA

summary: we all hate that one dude from work

EVER since you were put into a tag-team reign with your boyfriend, you couldn't help but to notice that he was very very protective of you. see, you weren't weak at all, but all the hard hits and impacts? he took them for you. who would've thought that his protectiveness rubbed off on you?

"baby." roman greeted you with a kiss. "what's good baby?" you replied. "creatives called us." you furrowed your brows, clearly confused. "they're gonna talk about our bookings." you followed him to his car. "i'm so excited, i hope we're gonna fight sami and kevin again!" you giggled, taking pictures of him driving. "i hope so too."

to your surprise, you spotted paul heyman sitting in the middle of the room. "paul?" you were still confused. "oh (y/n), roman. you're not gonna like this." his tone was concerning. "we're not gonna like what?" speak of the devil, the office door opened, revealing two people you didn't want to see. "you gotta be shitting me." you muttered under your breath.

mike and ryan, or their tag-team name, the miracle workers, were bad wrestlers. they were ranked the most reckless wrestlers in the current lineup. "look who we have here!" ryan stared at you from head to toe. you hated him. he was a flirt, always trying to get it with you, even though he knew that you were dating the roman reigns. roman tensed up, moving his chair closer to yours.

on the other hand, mike was probably more insufferable than ryan. he was a man of few words, but when he opened his mouth, he'd say the worst thing that someone could ever think of. you really couldn't do anything about this booking. they were pushing you and roman together for being the new upcoming tag-team champions, this match was just another roadblock to success. as soon as you signed the contract, you could tell that ryan was still eyeing you.

“can’t wait to see you in your sexy gear, (y/n)." ryan winked at you. “how many times do i have to tell you that i have a boyfriend and he’s literally sitting in front of you.” you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “i’m just saying you look good in your gear, i can treat you right.” that got into your boyfriend’s nerves as he stood up from his seat, causing you to stand up as well–to prevent things from going downhill. “chill, dude. that was a joke.” ryan panicked for a second. “you better start respecting her or i’m going to actually kick your ass, ryan.”

roman was known for his good temper, but some people got under his nerves. you put your hand on his shoulders. “come on, let’s go.” you said, not wanting to cause a fight. “yeah. we’re just wasting our time here.” paul added. the black-haired male grunted in response, taking your hand and walked out of the room with an annoyed expression plastered on his face. “i swear, we’re going to fucking ruin them next week.”

something riled up inside your boyfriend after the contract signing incident. he was… oddly very excited for the match. he complained about it before but now? he was working his ass off. roman also contributed to the choreography, it was mostly his idea. you saw the moves and you knew that he was trying to get you away from ryan as much as possible, pinning you to your other opponent, mike.

the gym was filled with commotion. "AND ANOTHER SPEAR FROM HER!" solo yelled, acting like the commentator. "SOLO, GET YOUR ASS HERE! YOU'RE A REFEREE NOT A COMMENTATOR!" his brother shouted. "RIGHT." solo immediately jumped into the ring, counting down to 3. before he could reach the third number, you kicked out. "shit, you really are the female version of him." jimmy complained.

you licked your lips in excitement, feeling adrenaline pumping in your blood. "i'd really hate it if i was put inside the ring with you, (y/n)." jimmy stood up, fixing his gloves. "and thank god we're in the same faction!" you grinned, countering his kick with another kick. jimmy was down as you locked his head with your arms. you won again in this practice, "HELL YEAH!" you jumped, falling on you back. "i don't get you sometimes, (y/n). you're clumsy as hell but like you're also fast."

"that's because she's in good hands." your tag-team partner (aka boyfriend) went inside the ring. "you missed my cool kick." you pouted. "i didn't, i was watching from behind the glass." he took off his glasses and started stretching. "you know, i'd love to see you wrestle with your glasses on." you winked at him. "stop flirting and start attacking." jey complained.

thankfully, you came home in one piece, despite having your body thrown from left to right. it was going to be a big fight tomorrow and you hated the bookings. "what are you thinking about, baby?" your thoughts were cut-off by your boyfriend's voice. "how i fucking hate being in the ring with mike and ryan." you sighed. "honestly, you’re right. they need to know their place, i can’t stand seeing you being disrespected." he agreed.

"it's going to be okay, baby. i mean what's the worst thing that could happen to us?"

the day for the match came and you couldn’t wait for it to be over. roman was holding your hand the entire time, not wanting you to slip from his sight. suddenly, his phone rang, he hesitated for a second. “babe, it’s okay. you can go answer the phone, i’ll be in the locker room.” you gave him a reassuring smile. “okay, i’ll be right back.” with that, he left you.

locker room wasn’t empty. you spotted some of your friends gearing up for the show. “hey, (y/n)!” bianca gave you a big hug as soon as she saw you. “hi!” you returned the gesture. “excited for tonight?” she sat down to adjust her outfit. “i never wanted to walk-out of a match so bad.” you complained. “ah yes, mike and ryan.” she cringed at the thought of the miracle workers. “good luck then, beat their asses!”

“damn, told you that you looked good with your gear.” you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “what are you doing here?” you asked. the locker room was empty now and your boyfriend was still on his call with jey. “do you mind?” “i don’t mind talking to you while your bodyguard isn’t here.” he winked. “jesus, drop the entire flirty act, please?” you were very annoyed. “i’m sorry i just can’t help it, you’re too pretty to ignore.”

“and you look too young to get your ass beat by me. move it, ryan.” you sighed in relief as you heard your boyfriend’s voice. “aaand the tribal chief is here, better get going. good luck tonight.” “stick to the script tonight!” he closed the door, avoiding a long lecture from the champion himself. “did he do anything?” roman looked at you with concern written all over his face. “no he didn’t, just his usual shit.” “right, let’s just end this night. we can go home after that and get ice cream.”

the show started for the two of you. “the undisputed tag-team champions, roman reigns and (y/n) (l/n), the bloodline!” the crowd went wild as you walked down to the ring. mike and ryan were already standing inside, ready to attack anytime. people were rising up their fingers in tribute of your championship with roman. as soon as you slid inside the ring, bowing down to the crowd–you could tell this was going to be a messy match.

your heart skipped a beat when the match started, mike and ryan immediately going off script. ryan was continuously trying to get you down, instead of roman. you made eye-contact with roman for a second, knowing how this match was going to be tough. you quickly avoided the punch that ryan was throwing at you. you dropkicked him from behind, causing him to fall on his stomach. now that ryan was down, you just needed to help roman stray mike away. “and a spear from reigns to mike, what will they do after this?” you jumped on the ropes, ready to jump on mike before ryan picked you up.

“ryan is back on his feet, capturing her in his lock.” you breathed for air as you were lifted from the ropes. “ryan, jesus christ!” you mouthed at him. he threw you on the ground, still going off script. oh, someone’s gonna get fired tonight, you thought. it was totally personal for the four of you. the move he made earlier caused you to hurt your shoulders. pain shot up from your shoulders. before he could tackle you again, roman speared him to the barricades. that one was personal.

mike was in the middle of the ring, looking for another attack. you speared him to the barricades, copying your boyfriend’s move. he wasn’t moving. one down, one to go, you thought. while you were with mike, ryan and roman were back inside the ring. you could see ryan was going to throw a punch on one of your boyfriend’s already bruised peck. you ran and slid inside the ring, dragging him into the pole. you were still holding back your punches, still being professional as ever. everyone could tell that you and roman were pissed. even the most gullible fans knew that the two of you were different tonight.

the crowd counted down along with the referee and you were glad that it was over. “and the winners, still the undisputed tag-team champion, the bloodline, roman reigns and (y/n) (l/n)!” you lifted the belts with your boyfriend on your side. “thank you.” he mouthed to you. “anything for you, baby.” you winked at him.

needless to say, you knew the backstage was going to be a mess. the locker room, on the other hand, was impressed with you and roman. “dude, i’d be so fucking pissed. i won’t even hold back my punches.” theory was there, still in his gear, clearly waiting for the two of you to drop some tea. “i just don’t get it why they were so fucking reckless.” you were offered ice by shotzi, she gave you a pity smile.

“what the fuck, reigns?” the miracle workers came back to the locker room. “no, what the fuck, ryan?” you stood up from your seat, clearly angered by his actions. “we told you to stick to the script.” your tone was laced with venom. “and we don’t listen to you fuckers.” mike said. “see, if you complied with us and just be a pretty girl inside the ring… be useless as usual, we might stick to the scri-“ before mike could finish his sentence, you dropped the ice and lunged on him. you had him on headlock, the man was on the ground. “call me useless one more time and you and your flirty friend right there,” you paused for a second to point at ryan who was scared shitless. “are going home with nothing but cut and bruises.”

roman wanted to intervene, but he knew you were capable of protecting yourself. “bro, you’re not gonna do anything?” jimmy nudged him. “nah, i’ll sit back and watch. i love seeing her being aggressive. they deserved it.”

a/n: HIII thank u so much for your request and i really appreciate your comment <333 it made my day!! requests are still open but i'm gonna focus on operation: together (aka a love triangle between roman and cody) check it out <3

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, finals of the minor bracket

Propaganda:

For Root and Shaw:

Canon queers. They start out as enemies (Root even threatens Shaw with a hot iron during their meet cute), they even both kidnap each other at some points, but they end up ready to sacrifice everything for the other. Shaw is a self diagnosed sociopath, who is only on the side of ""good"" because she's bored and they've got a cute dog. She has no qualms about killing or even torturing people. Root is kind of unhinged, torturing and killing people in order to find and then protect a Machine that she thinks is a god. Eventually the Machine teaches her the value of friendship and life (kinda), but she's still a psycho at heart. They work so well together, even if they're like a four alarm fire.

For Lord Hater and Commander Peepers :

Lord Hater is the self-proclaimed "universe's awesomest evil-doer", an immature, attention-seeking manchild with electric powers and a short temper. He rules the Hater Empire with Commander Peepers as his second-in-command (technically third, after his beloved pet spider-xenomorph, but who's counting), however it soon becomes *very* clear that the cunning, remorseless, hardworking Peepers is the *real* brains behind the empire. Peepers might be frustrated at Hater's incompetence at times and isn't above manipulating him to reach an end goal, but he'd never dream of usurping him because, well, he's really gay and in love with him (as much as he can be in an early-10s Disney cartoon, anyways). Hater might take Peepers for granted a lot of times, but as his oldest friend and closest confidante he's the one who Hater is closest to. Whether it's invading other planets or kicking puppies for fun, these two are *delightfully* terrible jerks and the epitome of gay wrongs. 

Commander Peepers is both Lord Hater's right hand man in villainy AND his jilted stay-at-home-wife-guy (Also in villainy. Hater is really good at getting distracted from productive and efficient villaining.) Lord Hater was the greatest villain in the galaxy thanks to how well he and Commander Peepers worked as an evil team to run the Hater Empire!

Lord Hater conquers planets and is such an edgy bastard. Peepers is the actual brains behind the operation. Peepers is often pushed aside by Hater, they are besties and yet Peepers is always pining for this guy who will never notice. Peepers is so horribly gay for him if you watch the show he wants his stupid boss so bad. Peepers is so scared of him season 1 but then starts yelling BACK in season 2 and has to deal with him like a babysitter or something and yet STILL idolizes him and that’s just such a fun dynamic. His password is H8RNP33PRS43VR (Hater and Peepers forever). They are so evil and everyone fears them and they are villains and they are gay and the side of the fandom that draws them as a married couple that needs counseling is absolutely correct. The fanart of Hater openly liking him back is wonderful but I swear you don’t even need that. They are so gay and villain you have to love them they are

Villains that conquer planets and do evil stuff, my favourite characters, not really canon but they are the best :)

[thieves-in-the-palace]

jumps into ur ask box hello. hi. what are ur ng+ time loop thoughtz

god i have. a lot of thoughts about ng+ time loops in general. in relation to this post tho i specifically have Some Thoughts about Akira going through the loops trying to figure out why he's stuck there, how to get out, etc and also having to contend with Akechi dying every time but also like…the inevitable emotional cycles that come with watching the same guy die over and over.

✧ "Who is more unlucky here? The one who will die every time but never remember? Or the one who will live every time and always remember?" –> "Me. I'm the more unlucky one. What's this dude's fucking problem" –> "What's MY fucking problem? Why does this keep happening to me? Why doesn't anyone else remember? Why can't I escape this? Why does Akechi have to die every time??" –> "What's this dude's FUCKING problem–"

✧ does it count as a parasocial relationship if you know the guy irl and also it's based on the weird sense of kinship that comes with being doomed to repeatedly live through the same year over and over while he's doomed to die every time. hand in hand they are BOTH doomed baybee

✧ You know how Akechi is often portrayed as having Death Note-esque internal monologues when interacting with Akira? That but Akira is having his own wildly different internal monologue that sounds a lot like "okay you shit idiot. what's it gonna take to keep you from dying"

✧ The rest of the Thieves are surprised when Akira doesn't seem to react to Akechi's death, but they figure he's trying to keep it together for the sake of the mission. Truly tho Akira is mentally cussing Akechi out and lamenting the fact they're gonna have to fight god again soon. rip lawboy you would've loved fighting ol' yaldy

✧ Futaba hacks Akira's phone (for enrichment) and sees his most recent google search "is it bad to stop feeling bad after the 15th time you watch the same person die or are you allowed to start getting annoyed about it" – maybe he's going through something similar to what she went through w/ her mom? She starts prodding him about his past, but it doesn't really get her anywhere…

(If u want to get even more into Game-Based Reality Nonsense u could even say that Futaba can't find anything on Akira aside from his criminal record. No hospital records, no school info, no nothing. It's like the guy didn't even exist before the day he got arrested. Akira might not have any answers either, which, u know, doesn't help with the mental strain caused by being stuck in a time loop. Does he even exist outside of the loop? If the loop ended, would he disappear with it? etc etc)

✧ At the beginning of each loop, Akira makes a list of things that might break the time loop, updating it as needed. "Akechi survives" is at the top of the list every time bc it's one of the only things that never happens.

✧ Akira just generally having a slightly shorter temper w/ Akechi bc truly. How do u go through this sort of ordeal w/o wanting to rattle him like a maraca after a point. He won't hesitate to call Akechi cringe when the guy leans too heavily on his Pleasant Lawboy™ persona.

They wind up sparring in Mementos more frequently bc this Akira is more willing to entertain Akechi's bloodlust; fighting is a good outlet for Akira's own frustrations. Akechi keeps getting more and more annoyed each time tho bc why tf can this attic trash keep up with him? How is he predicting Akechi's attacks so well? (Akechi's going to start spitting fire if he ever finds out Akira has been holding back during their fights lmao. Akira can easily trounce him in 1v1 since like…3 loops ago?)

✧ Akira spending so much time annoyed and even furious w/ Akechi for not having enough self-preservation to survive even one loop only to ultimately circle right back into The Guilt + Sorrow bc god, all this time and he still can't figure out how to keep this fuckhead alive?

And it IS guilt Akira feels, unfortunately. Makoto and Futaba were both antagonistic towards the Phantom Thieves at first, too. Just spending some time with them was enough to reveal how getting screwed over by adults guided their actions; it doesn't absolve them of threatening the group, but it makes them easier to forgive.

Akira wonders, sometimes, if he's too quick to forgive Akechi. He's killed people, and he claims to be perfectly okay with being a murderer so long as it means he can reach his goals. But Akechi is a liar all the way down, too, because a cold-hearted killer wouldn't sacrifice himself for his enemies. He wouldn't give up his only shot at vengeance so easily after going through years of hell to achieve it. Yet Akechi still dies in that boiler room every time. Akechi never truly hates Akira, and Akira can't quite bring himself to ever truly hate Akechi, either.

But then Akira sees Akechi alive and well and smiling for the camera in the next loop, and he gets the abrupt urge to lay the guy out.

✧ "I want you to live. I also never want to see you again."

✧ And all of this is w/o getting into P5R's third semester hijinks. Akira thinking he's finally escaped the time loop only to realize that something Worse is happening now.

And Akechi is still there, because of fucking course he is–

[well-what-did-you-expect]

hey!! if you’re taking requests, i’d like to request the tmnt 2012 turtles falling for a fem! reader who’s basically like your stereotypical raph. she loves fighting, loves working out, loud asf, short-tempered, blunt, sarcastic, cursed with resting bitch face, all that jazz. but, once you get to know her, she’s actually really funny and sweet. NEVER afraid to speak her mind, so she may come across as rude or sassy at times, but she never really means to be. DEFINITELY has mild adhd and is on the autism spectrum. 🫶

hi! i hope i got what you wanted! sorry if it's not what you hoped for ;-; i don't know if you wanted headcanon or scenario type writing so i went for headcanon style!

notes: fem!reader, pronouns used: you/your and she/her

Turtles Falling For A Raph-Like Fem!Reader

Leonardo "Leo" Hamato

When Leo first met you and saw that you had attitude, his first thought was 'Oh, great, another Raph.'

It took them a while to get past your rough and tough exterior, but once they got to know you better, they started falling, and they fell HARD.

Full on tripping over her words, getting flustered easily, you're the only thing on her mind when she realizes that she likes you.

Definitely talks to Master Splinter about you.

Would never bring his crush on you up to his brothers, especially Raph.

"So when I have an attitude, you hate it, but when she has an attitude, you think it's adorable?!" would be Raph's reaction upon finding out.

Because you are very head-strong, sometimes you and Leo end up butting heads due to your opinions differing.

You would definitely be work out buddies with Raph.

Also when fixating on something, Mikey loves having infodump sessions with you, especially if you both are fixated on something similar/the same thing.

Leo loves when you get along with their brothers.

Raphael "Raph" Hamato

In the beginning, you and Raph are constantly butting heads. You both are very short-tempered and head-strong so when your opinions differ, it's a bull match between you two.

After some time, it's not as bad as it was, you learn to compromise.

They teach you some stuff as a way of flirting without being obvious.

It takes a while for him to get a crush on you, he's supposed to be the tough guy, he doesn't have time for feelings.

But everytime you remind them that being strong involves being in tune with your feelings, they start to allow themself to fall for you.

He doesn't understand his feelings for you, he's confused. Like 'Why does my stomach feel weird whenever we're training together? Why can't I think straight when I talk to her?'

They don't want to get teased by their brothers so they keep their crush a secret, but everyone knows, except for you.

Donatello "Donnie" Hamato

Similar to Leo, he's not excited that you are basically another Raph. He's not a fan of the short-tempered, sarcastic, loudness that is you.

Being more logical and rational, he clashes with your 'punch first, ask questions later' attitude. But hey, they do say opposites attract.

Once he realizes that he's starting to like you, he tries to avoid you as much as possible. He's had his human-mutant "relationship" experience and it didn't go well. *cough* April *cough*

When you let down your tough exterior is when he falls hard, he basically smacked the floor with how hard he fell.

He's in love with your sense of humor. If you were to crack a joke that had anything to do with science or robotics, he would fall harder than ever.

Michaelangelo "Mikey" Hamato

Being the baby brother, Mikey knows how his hot-headed brother is. He knows that Raph can be caring, despite the rough exterior.

Mikey figures you're the same way. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside.

They fall hard and fast, completely head over heels for you. They're like a lovesick puppy, following at your feet, treating you like a princess.

His crush on you is obvious to everyone, except you. At first, you think it's annoying how he's always bu your side, but over time, he starts to grow on you.

If you were to come into the kitchen when they were cooking and matched his goofy energy, they would break. They love it so much.

Don't even get me started on when you both are hyper together. You two being energetic and chaotic, he loves it! Although the others aren't too happy with all the commotion if they're busy (which they most likely are).

Have a good day/night! :)

[mewtwoandme]

Everytime you post an update with these Mewtwos dealing with their emotions it seems you and mewtwo just can't win

Mewtwo being hard on Newt because of the prepaid asswhooping and her disowning him and it leads to him not wanting her to stay his house? People telling Mewtwo to get over it or saying he should NEVER forgive her ever in life

Mewtwo pointing out that his other sibling fucking bounced after she kept a secret he nearly died for? Now he's a hypocrite and going too far!

This dude can't win at all he must just be happy go lucky 24/7 with his dysfunctional family and they must never grow alongside him, they must always be in the right from newtwo to mew to Lakota even if they hurt him, he must just grin and bear his transgressions

Idk man it sucks to see because you clearly put your all into representating EVERY perspective and EVERY consequence to flesh these characters out and if these ppl had it their way they'd be chucking Mewtwo into the volcano for every little thing. I know you're probably used to it by now but damn. Goddamn. You have my appreciation for creating such a detailed yet simple to follow story. I hope you know that this story you've written is beautiful.

Thank you so very much ^^

When telling a story with multiple characters, it's difficult to portray everyone's individual struggles, emotions, and pov's, but that's exactly why I wanted to do it this way. Normally, with stories, it's always focused more on just one character's pov. And even when there is focus on multiple characters, sometimes each character gets their own individual arc, showing their struggles as a story or series goes on. In my story, everyone is struggling all at the same time and not individualized into separate arcs, because I planned it that way.

With what my characters are going through right now, all they're trying to do is make good decisions in a rather stressful situation, no one is in the right and no one's in the wrong, they're all just trying to do their best amidst their own inner turmoils. But people are so quick to choose who to root for, that there's someone who's more right or wrong or who's more justified in their actions than the other when here, that's not the case at all. I don't see much storytelling that does this, that's why I wanted to do it this way, when it shows where everyone is coming from and what emotions they feel. It is more difficult to do admittedly, because of the fact that the audience's opinions are so divided. Lakota got a lot of hate for supposedly "taking Newtwo's side" in the argument she had with Mewtwo, Newtwo got hate for being discriminatory towards her brother and disowning him. Mewtwo sometimes still gets hate or is disliked because of being too emotional, and Mew got some hate for leaving without telling them when she'd be back. I'm still going down this route regardless because it's necessary to the story I'm trying to tell.

I do have a personal rant I'd like to get off my chest though, so read under the cut if you choose

I've had many people tell me how my Mewtwo is "overly sensitive and/or emotional" trust me, I just roll my eyes at those people. It's not the easiest to portray such a complex character like Mewtwo's but people are so used to how he is portrayed in the anime, cold, distant, ominous, broody, bad tempered, continuously in a state of contemplating and having an existential crisis....that's what he's always been known for. God forbid anyone else wants to take different routes to expand on a character's personality and vulnerability for character growth. I always get things like "What have you done to him? He used to be so strong and badass, now he's just a whiney wimp!" (A petty child's argument in my opinion) and "That's not the Mewtwo I know." Well no shit Sherlock, this is MY interpretation of him. Given everything he's gone through, the vulnerable side of him that involves his trauma was never explored and I wanted to explore it further. It's not like I just make shit up on the whim just for him to start crying or breaking down, I make him go through real and possibly relatable life emotions that people irl experience when they've undergone trauma and Mewtwo has valid reasons for his emotions. Abandonment, the crippling feeling of doubting your self worth or value to others, the feeling of always needing to be independent because no one was there for you to rely on etc. are just a few of the things he still struggles with from time to time. A lot of recent events that have happened in the story have opened up some old wounds and triggered trauma responses. Especially Newtwo disowning him, the feeling of not being worth his own sister's time and love, and Mew, just up and leaving when Mewtwo needed her. Also, regardless if it's been 20+ years since Giovanni, that still lingers with him and what happened with Howard Clifford was more recent and that fucked him up too. You can't simply get over it, as some say. When you're traumatized, it can take years and years to heal. But sometimes you don't heal at all, sometimes the emotional damage is permanent and it changes you as a person, and you have to find ways to manage it in order to function on the daily. And if it sounds like I'm speaking from personal experience, it's because I am. Sometimes trauma...doesn't always make you stronger...

[jadededge]

Tear You Apart | Ch.3

Pairing:  GOT7 x OC

Genre: Demon/Mafia AU, Romance, Smut

Rating: M

Summary: Jaebeom and Yugyeom are "running an errand" when the most delectable scent that he ever smelled hit Yugyeom like a ton of bricks. Yugyeom stops JayB and soon he smells it. They look across the street and see the her. They stalk her for awhile and finally get the chance to manufacture a meet with her.

Wattpad | AO3    (will likely always update these 2 places first)  

Navigation: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Despite their busy and immortal lives, the boys try to have dinner together as often as possible. Gathering around the large oak table in their dining room, they share laughs and stories of the day. Relaxing and unwinding as a family.

"So, maknaes," Jaebeom starts. "I hear you had to provide some backup on Canal. How did that go?"

"We went to see Selah. I'm so sorry," Youngjae immediately folds and bows his head, hoping to be spared.

Bam sucks his teeth. "Youngjae, what the fuck man?"

"You did what?" Jaebeom asks calmly. Too calm.

The sound of silverware hitting plates echoed in the now quiet room.

"Aw shit, boys, why did you do that?" Mark asks.

"We only wanted to see her." Yugyeom adds with a pout. "We didn't even talk to her." He says leaning towards Youngjae.

Jinyoung must've caught that because he immediately followed up. "Bam. What about you?"

"Whatever. I talked to her. And I got her number."

All the older brothers sigh. Jaebeom continues to look. His chin starts to protrude.

"Son, why did you do that when we have her number?" Mark asked.

"I'm sorry, were we going to start texting her and tell her we looked up everything about her beforehand?" He laid it out. "I'm playing the boyfriend game." He leans back, looking proud of himself.

Jaebeom was pissed, but he was trying not to show it. He had a plan, and this... He stands, pushing his chair back to leave. "I'm going out."

"Either you've messed up so badly that he needs to go prepare to send you back or..." Jackson pauses. "Actually, I don't know what else he could be doing. Nice knowing you, Bam. I'll see you in 50 years."

Jinyoung chimes in with a disapproving tone, "You do know Jackson went to meet her as well? What will she think? We're meant to be playing this smart, and you've gone and added another complication to the situation. Yeah, Jaebeom should send you back."

"I fucked up, huh?" Bam says, hanging his head.

Mark, though known for his temper, is actually quite gentle with his brothers. Particularly the younger ones, and tries to comfort them. "Did you fuck up? Yes. But it will be okay. JB won't send you back."

"He might strangle you, though." Jackson says he is taking a bite of his food.

Mark gives him a 'stop that' look.

"What? Bammie, I invited Selah to the club. How do we explain to her that out of pure coincidence, she met both of us on the same day and that we know each other? You might have to miss the opening."

Bam lets out a puff of air ready to protest.

"That's actually not a bad idea." Jinyoung says. "You three will not be at the opening."

The younger ones begin to protest. Jinyoung holds his hand up and says, "Save it. This is perfect. Perhaps Jaebeom won't murder you if we can salvage this."

_____________________________________________________________

The weekend arrives, and everybody is a bundle of nerves. After adjusting plans, the boys feel like they're actually in a better place. Feeling that perhaps it would be easier to introduce her to four of them versus all seven.

The maknaes are on warehouse duty for the night, and they couldn't have been more sour about it.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into going with you. Now look at me." Youngjae pouts, looking into the distance.

Bam rolls his eyes and says, "Well, you hardly put up a fight at a gentle suggestion."

Yugyeom chuckles a bit. "You did come along pretty easily. We should just be happy we didn't get banished."

"Valid point. But I want to meet her now." Youngjae says.

Yugy juts his lip out, "Me too."

"Yeah she's great. Glad I talked to her when I did." Bam says proudly.

The other two side eye him.

_____________________________________________________________

Selah arrives at the club accompanied by her friend Brianca. She's feeling good about how she looks. The little black dress she has on is her favorite among the many in her closet. The tiny straps sit upon her glittering shoulders. The bodice fits tight on her chest with a side split that causes the material to lay nicely over her ass. Matched with a flattering pair of heels that elongate her legs and strap around her ankles is giving her a confidence boost. Not to mention, she smelled amazing.

She's hoping to see Jackson. Bam hasn't texted her. Which made her a bit sad, as she was hoping he would. But she figured she would at least have a good time, get her mind off the week, and look good if for nobody but herself

"Girl, this club is nice!" Brianca says to Selah. "And you said he's the owner?"

"That's what he said. So I'm not sure I'll easily bump into him." Selah responds by surveying the area.

"Let's get a drink!" Brianca suggests.

At the bar, Brianca has already been approached by a couple of guys and is chatting one up. She has a very inviting aura, so it's no surprise she's already deep in conversations.

At one point she leans over to Selah, "omg girl. This is that guy I told you about. That I went out with a couple of weeks ago." "The one with the.." Selah wiggles her brows. 

"Yes him." Brianca exclaims trying not to let him hear.

Selah chuckles, "well it looks like you're in for a wild night."

"Here's hoping." Brianca cheers with her friend and turns back to her presumed date for the evening.

As Selah is enjoying her cocktail, she feels a gentle touch on her shoulder that sends shivers throughout her body. Looking to her left, she sees Jackson. Managing her reaction, she doesn't smile too hard. "Jackson, hi."

"Selah, you made it." He's grinning from ear to ear. He takes a second to look her up and down. Without realizing it, he's licking his lips. "You look amazing."

This causes her to blush hard and look away briefly. "Thank you. You look great yourself, and your club is amazing."

"Thank you. I spotted you and wanted to be sure I had a chance to speak while things were going smoothly."

He needed to get her away from her friend and up to the private room. He can tell she cares about her and won't want to leave her alone or unsafe. But it appears luck was on his side.

"Brianca." Selah is turning to get her friend's attention to introduce her to Jackson. "This is Ja-."

But she's being lead to the dance floor by the guy she was chatting with. She looks back and smiles big at her friend. Quickly surveying the guy next to Selah she gives her a 'go get em' look.

"Well I was going to introduce you but nevermind I guess." She laughs.

Jackson sighs internally with relief, "No worries, we can meet later. She looks like a good time."

"Oh she's a blast in a glass. She'll be entertained for hours."

"In that case, would you like me to show you around?" Jackson asks as he holds his hand out for her.

"Sure. I'd like that, we sort of b-lined to the music, so I haven't seen the rest."

He leads her through the crowd and back toward the foyer. The place is actually quite large with a few different areas. One being the bigger bar and dance floor area they just left. Jackson shows her around the bottom floor. Even showing her a few behind the scene places before leading her into a lounge area. It's decorated in gold, with soft lighting and slow music, this makes for a nice area to chat.

"One of my brothers designed this room. He thought it would be a good idea to add an area that was much less chaotic than the traditional club atmosphere." Jackson explained.

"Oh you have a brother?" Selah asks.

"Yes, six actually." He leads her to the bar to order himself a drink. "Would you like anything?"

"Whatever you're having. Unless it's vodka." She makes a disgusting face.

Jackson chuckles and signals to the bartender, "please send over two glasses of Hennessy and ice. Thanks T."

"You got it boss." The bartender responds.

Jackson turns his attention to Selah, "Come, let's have a seat."

Settling in, Jackson takes this time to get a really good look at her. She's perfect. They begin a back and forth conversation that flows with ease. He asks her questions about herself that he already knows the answers to, but he loves hearing her talk, so this isn't a problem.

She asks about his business endeavors and he explains to her how he owns this a few other nightclubs. He mentions the corporation that his family runs, not the illegal things, obviously.

"So you have 6 brothers. That had to be hectic growing up." Selah comments.

"You could say that again. We're not exactly blood brothers, more very close friends, but we're brothers in just about every other way. We sort of came together at different times but we've been together ever since." She's listening intently. Jackson hasn't even used his gifts to any degree and she's already hooked on his every word. "Three of them are here now. I was hoping to introduce you actually. They've been dying to meet you."

"Oh, you've told them about me?" She's shocked, they only met briefly. "And you want me to meet them?"

He smiles and grabs her hand, gently caressing it. "Of course, we tell each other everything. So when I met a gorgeous woman, I told them immediately."

She was a bit hesitant but the moment Jackson touches her, she gets those same shivers. Being near Jackson, she finds herself alot more willing to go along with just about anything he says. Especially when he touches her.

She blushes, "Okay, sure."

He beams at her, "You're going to love them."

"I should text my friend and let her know."

This irritates Jackson. But he hides his displeasure. "Sure, no problem. "

He needs her alone and he didn't want to manipulate her to do it but this is becoming tedious. How do normal people live like this.

"Oh, she actually messaged to say she left with that guy. I must've missed it. I guess i'm all yours." Selah explains.

"Perfect." Jackson stands and extends his hand to help her up.

_____________________________________________________________

Leading her out of the lounge and through the club to the stairs, Selah feels lightheaded. She feels as if she's walking to another world. The decor is also darker upstairs. The walls are a blood red velvet with black damask patterning. The lighting is low and the music from downstairs is faded and becomes more faint the deeper they walk.

"Continuing the tour," Jackson starts. "This top floor has a few private rooms that special guests can use, as well as the offices."

He stops at a door at the end of the hall and on the other side, Selah knows deep down, everything will change once she steps in. Jackson opens the door and gestures for her to enter.

The room is spacious, continuing the same dark motif, but the colors are a darker green and black with gold accents. There's a full-sized bar and and lounge area with a large window across the way for a view of the entire dance floor from above. 

And scattered about the room are three of the finest men Selah has ever seen, apart from Jackson. It nearly takes her breath away. They are dressed in finely tailored suits, like Jackson, and they have this something about them she can't quite put her finger on. Maybe this was a mistake. She thinks.

Jackson places his hand on the small of her back and moves her further into the room, "Selah, these are three of my brothers." He points to one at the bar with a short haircut and a dazzling smile that warms her heart. "This is Mark, the oldest."

"Hello gorgeous, lovely to meet you." He finishes making his drink and comes to settle in a chair next to the couch.

"And this absolute cutie..." pointing to other one with a short haircut. His lips grab her attention and she can't help but stare at them. He chuckles slightly and bites his bottom lip. She had to stop her knees from giving out. Did he do that on purpose. "...is Jinyoung."

He rolls his eyes, "Could you not introduce me that way." He gives her a smile staring directly in her eyes making her melt.

"Why? Is he not adorable Selah?" Jackson turns to ask her. She blushes from being put on the spot. Jackson laughs. "And lastly but certainly not least, this is Jaebeom. He is our leader."

Calling this man gorgeous would be an understatement. With longer hair styled perfectly sitting across his neck. Selah couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to run her fingers through it. She's cursing herself for how hard she is crushing on her crush's brothers.

He nods her direction. "Nice to meet you Selah, you can call me Jay B."

Her head swims. "Nice to meet you all"

"Come let's sit." Jackson moves them to a loveseat next to Jaebeom and across from Mark. Jinyoung has his eyes trained on her.

All four of them are drawing her in, with their confidence and captivating aura. But just beyond that is something tugging at her, whispering danger. She's watching herself wade further into the waters. What is happening...

Tags: @openup-yourmind

[cirrus-ghoulette]

Rats!

A ficlet in which Copia's rats get smuggled onto the tour bus by Cumulus.

Cumulus loved Copia's rats.

She misses them terribly whenever they're touring, just the same as Copia misses them.

Which is why Cumulus sneaked the rats onto the tour bus at the beginning of one of their tours.

Copia had checked the rats before he left, made sure they were happy and in the safe hands of his Rat Keeper Ghoul, Keep. He knew that they'd be just as happy and healthy as always by the time he got back from the tour. Being a Rat Keeper Ghoul was a big responsibility.

Cumulus had been late for the bus, which was out of the ordinary. Normally Cirrus kept her on time. She was the last on, jogging up the steps and running straight to her bunk to deposit something, before running back to the rest of the pack as the bus set off.

Five hours later, while Copia was completing a crossword, trying to figure out what was 'Bad tempered (6)', he heard a squeak. He shrugged it off, putting it down to one of his ghouls' many instinctual noises, and went back to his crossword. After a long moment, he heard another squeak.

"Tortellini?" He stood. Much like a mother being able to recognise their infant's cry in a room full of babies, he knew exactly what his rats sounded like.

As he walked through the bus, his ghouls looked blankly at him, unsure why their Papa had decided to start randomly saying the names of pasta.

"Tortellini?" He called again. He looked down at the ghouls curled in a cuddle puddle over the sofas, then quickly did a headcount. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... He frowned, counted again. The ghouls just blinked up at him. "Where is, eh..." He counted again, going over their names in his mind as he went through. Swiss, Aether, Dewdrop, Mountain, Cirrus, Sunshine, Rain. "Where is Cumulus?"

"She went to lie down, Papa." Rain answered truthfully, his face smushed between Aether's pillowy pectorals. "Won't you join us?"

"Ehh... Maybe later, si?" He stepped past the pile of ghouls, still hearing that squeaking. "Tortellini? Mio piccolo topo, ci sei?"

A squeak.

This time not from a stowaway rat.

Copia walked further into the bunks, checking behind each curtain. Nothing. Finally, he reached the back of the bus, to the bunks closest to his bedroom. The exterior of the bunk had been decorated with string lights, and from inside the bunk came the sound of frantic shushing.

Copia whipped the curtain back.

There was Cumulus, sat cross legged on the bed, a rat cupped in her hands. She looked up at Copia like a deer caught in headlights. "Um."

"Cumulus..." Copia took a deep breath in, then pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed it slowly. "Cumulus." He tried again. "Why are you holding one of my rats?"

"I..." She stared up at her Papa. "I really miss them on tour, and I know you do too, and so does Cir, and I thought, well, maybe we could bring them on tour and they could experience touring instead of being stuck in the ministry all the time. I know I'd get bored if my entire life was stuck in that place."

Copia paused. "'Them'?" He finally asked. He followed Cumulus' gaze down the bed. At the foot of the bunk was the rats' travel cage, normally reserved for vet trips, with Rigatoni scratching around inside. "Oh, Satan below..." He breathed. These ghouls were going to kill him from the stress alone, not from the beheading that was inevitably coming.

Copia reached down, carefully taking Tortellini from Cumulus' hands and letting the rat scramble up his arm. Tortellini perched on his shoulder, letting out happy snuffles, clearly elated to see her Papa again after five whole hours apart.

"Piccolo..." Copia crooned as the rat raised onto her back legs, sniffing the air, her front paws folded in front of her like Copia himself often did. "My beautiful girl, what are you doing here, huh?"

"You always miss them on tour." Cumulus sighed. "You're always video calling Keep to check up on them. Just thought you'd like them to be here with you for once."

"A tour bus is no place for rats." Copia grovelled, sitting down in the bunk opposite. "We need to-" He looked at his watch, then sighed. "We cannot turn back. We are already an hour behind schedule, plus an extra five to bring the bambinos back to the Ministry... Sister Imperator would kill me if the bus arrived back there... Dark Lord preserve us... We will have to stop off at a pet shop and buy some supplies, if they are to tour with us."

"They're going to stay on the bus?" Cumulus perked up.

"I believe so." Copia grumbled, opening the door of the cage and depositing the rat in with their life partner. "You are in my bad books, ghuleh. You had better sing your heart out tomorrow, or it will be straight to the Pit with you." He muttered, though Cumulus knew there was no true malice between the words.

"He said we could keep them!" The ghoulette called, to which there was a celebratory cheer and happy chitters from the common area.

Copia ran a hand over his face. The stress from these ghouls was definitely going to kill him.

Meanwhile, back at the Ministry, Keep had turned Copia's bedroom upside down while on the search for two missing rats. They were sure that they had locked the cage before Copia had left.

[mrssoapmactavish]

fight or flight

"you know what they say about stress responses, right? fight or flight reaction, and all that?" "knowing you, it's fight, flight, or fuck." "you're not too far off."

this will be a multi-part fic, all based in the stranger things universe! my writing style may make some of the characters be a bit... off, but i promise you, i'm trying my best for this!

as always, the only thing i claim to own in this planned series of works is the writing itself. i do not own any of the characers!

consider this basically a prologue, an intro for the whole shebang.

hawkins sounded like a bad idea from the get-go. obviously, she never wanted to leave her home in the first place, but she'd reckoned that leaving with her family would make things feel a bit more palatable. if her family didn't consist of her dad, her step-mom, her brother, and maxine, maybe that would've been true.

her and billy only had a year apart between the two of them, meaning that she's always been close to william hargrove, but they couldn't be any different. billy's been masking his anger with their dad with parties, popularity, and endless drinking and smokes. herself? she drowned out the sounds of shouting and anger with heavy drums, intense guitar solos, and gravelly-voiced singers who screech out prose.

in california, they were called 'bonnie and clyde' as siblings. now, though? she wanted nothing to do with him. the only things they have in common, in her opinion, are their last name, and their drive to drown their daddy issues in tail. on the drive to hawkins high this morning, all she wants to do is open the car door and jump out.

max and billy are bickering– at least max got the family temper, it keeps her on the same level as her and billy– and she's just trying to touch-up her mascara in the side mirror, making sure she looks somewhat presentable.

"keepin' your eyes glued to yourself that long, might as well figure out how you can marry yourself," billy snarks over, looking at his sister who merely glares at him. the boy gives a cheeky grin, knowing his sister like the back of his hand, as if he hadn't just parroted what she'd said to him much earlier before leaving the house, when he had been styling his hair properly.

"oh, please, billy boy," she sighs, scrunching her curled hair to maintain the boisterous volume that she had given it. "you would marry yourself, if you could. you'd need a good divorce lawyer, though, with how much you sleep around." she can feel her brother's glare burning holes in the side of her head, but she knows he won't do anything. it's one of the benefits of looking so much like their mom; pour on the honey-sweet tone, dial up the niceities and he'll be unable to do anything but grumble to himself.

billy, in fact, opens his mouth, ready to retort and snap back at his sister, but they pull up to hawkins high before he can even say a single word. it's already a lot, really; she can close her eyes and picture being back in california, walking into school, hearing the airheaded blondes and the sophomore year-peaking boys who think they're nothing less than gods.

as strange as it is, she misses home. misses the bright warmth and the sun, misses the malls and busy streets. anything to get away from the smell of cow shit, empty plains, and the fall chill that she's definitely needing to adjust to.

before she gets out of her brothers car– max has already slammed the car door, huffing and barking back at billy for telling her to come straight to the car afterschool– she puts on a new layer of her bright red lipgloss, the kind that used to have boys melt and bend at the knee, and would occasionally end up smeared on their cheeks and necks, if they were the lucky ones.

slinging her bag over her shoulder, she finally gets out of the car. she can feel all the envious eyes of girls standing against their boyfriends vehicles already looking at her brother like a piece of meat. it irritates her, even if she knows the men are doing the same, and billy no doubt has the same anger bubbling up inside him.

"keep that skirt on and no hands sneaking under it," her brother grumbles, right before giving the ladies his signature grin, the one that she had always referred to as his 'lure' grin. the one he'll give a girl to drag her home, rock her world, then never talk to her again. the one that leaves a trail of broken hearts and dropped panties in its wake.

"keep your pants on and your fly up, then," she snaps back, already making her way forwards and into the school. she can hear all the wolf-whistles and all the endless chatter from the boys about how short that skirt of hers is, how she'll freeze to death if she doesn't 'huddle up' with them, not to mention how many are already talking about how easy it'd be to creep their way closer to her.

sure, sex is great and all, but something about being trivialized as some trophy is... sickening. so, obviously the girl is keeping her wits about her, ignoring all the comments for now, even if each pair of eyes should be ripped form their heads for looking at her so lowly. she knows her own value; she's been called a goddess in bed before, and that was by some half-drunk loser in california, but it rung true. she is that worthy of praise, worship, devotion.

one set of eyes, however, doesn't go down to her skirt and stay on her legs. it doesn't even stray past the leather jacket on her shoulders– her brothers, she admits, but she'd never been one to even acknowledge her brother being able to have things for himself– and she finds it.. oddly satisfying. rewarding, almost, like there's at least one person in hawkins high not ogling her.

it's an entirely new kind of attention, to be quite honest, and she has no idea how to really react to it. whether she's meant to lash out, cry against the world for being oh, so cruel to her angry, warped soul to have someone eye her with something other than envy or pure want– or if she's meant to fawn, to gravitate towards the only person treating her like a human being, and to get herself involved in some hallmark whirlwind highschool romance.

either way, she sees who the gaze is connected to, and she'd be lying if she said she expected the person to be. he's one of the pretty boy types, she deduces; popular, on some kind of school sports team most definitely the captain, the air-headed kind to ignore between classes and pray she'd never be paired with for an assignment.

though, the soft, big, doe-eyes that seem fixated on her are quite the sight, and the strong jaw, defined nose, the smattering of birth and beauty marks across his face seem to give him this uncharacteristically human trait, compared to the very stereotype she's predicted.

she narrows her brows, giving a cold, hardened gaze; she aims to show she's not socialized, so to speak, that the black and red composition of her outfit reeks of femme fatale, a black widow type, engage at your own risk. but there's no such luck, as the fluffy haired tom cruise type makes his way towards her, confident and quick in his gait, even if there's a lack of spcial awareness reeking of a clumsy demure.

"hey there, little lady," the boy hums, gaze staying on her face, almost as if calculating how she's reacting to him, but he quite obviously doesn't know that she's well-versed from the years of torment and anguish at home to keep her emotions to herself, off of her face. "you're new here, so welcome to hawkins high. you need a tour guide, you just look around for steve harrington, i'll show you all around."

so he can't take a hint.

"mm," is all she responds with, very openly and shamelessly eyeing the man up and down, as if sizing him up to intimidate him. the man shifts from one foot to the other, hip cocked and head quirked; he's not picking up on the fact that she's trying to dismiss him.

"saw you with that guy in the camaro and the red-head, you guys look like quite the family," he continues to talk, prying, to see if she'll do more than just vocalize around her. alas, she just rolls her eyes at him, and he still doesn't seem offended, taken aback, or even remotely disinterested. so, she relents.

"i'll find you if i need you, harrington. name fits that crown of yours," she tells him. the way his brows raise is subtle. he's surprised, but not off-put. another comment about the hair, water off a duck's back, it seems. "i'll be fine figuring it out myself for now."

trained to follow subtle hints in body language from years of cowering, blocking out the sounds of her older brother being treated like no better than a dog, she notes the slight drop in his shoulders. not entirely, a momentary defeat for him, but he still holds out hope.

"yeah, alright," he responds, hands removing themselves from his hips, posture straightening, eyes going over her shoulder to look around, looking for his friends no doubt. "i'll be around–" the pause, an expectant gaze.

ah, right. names, such a fickle things, things she would prefer to not share, like pleasantries, pillowtalk, and whatever cheap shit booze she can sneak from her dad.

"you can stick with hargrove for now." she tells him, and god forbid the smile that graces his face. so that's what he is– a classic soft, popular guy. layers of issues, no doubt, but far too many to point out in particular, at least for now.

with a quirk at his lips into a somewhat playful smirk and a flick of the single coif of hair dropping into his face, he decides to push once more for now. "cherry it is, then. cherry hargrove."

a twinge of anger, at least that's what she can place it as. this man has no idea what he's getting into.

[sessakag]

How did you start shipping naruhinasasu?

Watching the show and seeing how Naruto behaved with both of them is what started my OT3 love🤔what really stood out though, is Naruto's temper when either one was in trouble or hurt. During the episode where team 7 goes to intercept Sasori's spy, Naruto is furious and wants Sasuke back do bad that he ends up losing his temper and transforming due to his rage. The way he chased Sasuke did not give me brotherly vibes fully🤭 Then during the Pain arc, he comes back to the knowledge that his village is destroyed, people close to him are dead and hurt, but it's Hinata getting hurt that has him losing his shit and transforming again. He's always acted differently around her, and the moments they have together are often deep and pivital, like during the chunin exams where Naruto swore on her blood to beat Neji and Hinata cheering him up when he doubted himself. The war arc and The Last speak for themselves I'm sure 🤭

Overall, seeing so many instances of his deep attachment to both Sasuke and Hinata is why I started lowkey shipping them together, and then when I got into fanfiction, I super got into shipping this throuple and it made me think more about SasuHina.

I honestly think Hinata is good for both of them. She's gentle, understanding, sweet, a natural peacemaker and kind, something they both really need, especially Naruto, but in Sasuke's case there's another level of understanding to be found. Both Sasuke and Hinata were passed over by their siblings by their strict fathers, both come from clans that were prestigious and expected excellence, they both had to struggle to gain their father's approval, and because of that, Hinata can fully understand the significance of what Sasuke lost in the massacre. And, more surface level, they both love Naruto and they're both beautiful together.

And speaking on their appearances, they are both Naruto's type, lmao. Dark haired, pale skinned, wear purple and are very reserved/calm🤭I feel like this is not a coincidence, none of this actually. If you ask me, I think Kishimoto was lowkey shipping this OT3 too.

"See beneath the underneath."

Well I see it! And it's the OT3 💕💕💕

🧡💜💙