#and yeah in fiction nobody ever discusses it not working out

[wind-becomes-lightning]

I have an on-off crush on my best friend and have had so for at least 6-ish years now. Currently it's back on. :(

:C sucks man, I'm sorry I'm the worst person to talk to about this because im veryyyyyy firm believer of "dont date your best friends" so my advice to you would be DONT, just dont! and that I'm very sorry its back on that sucks.

[dduane]

Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

[incarnateirony]

whyyyy do whiny delusional stans keep trying to argue in my anon box, nobody cares about what you tell yourself to sleep at night, how badly you choose to misunderstand someone, et cetera. nobody cares about your opinion carol. not those of us operating in the real world. I'm very sorry you attached your personal identity to a fictional stan narrative but that is a personal problem.

What you seem angriest about, though, is realizing that whatever has changed has put you so beneath me, this is all you've gotten from me since January. Since 2po loves January so much. And then most distinctly since the start of March to the point I've nearly vanished into the aether.

Sure whatever believe what you want lmfao fuck all nobody cares susan currently horny furries are more important to me than your disassociative arguments so take some time to unpack your realistic place in the world and that it does not orbit around your interests or beliefs. Or anyone particularly caring if you're breathing much less opinioning or what those opinions are, karen.

seriously there's some major perspective based psychotherapy that needs done with you lot. I just got a fuckin anon "U SAY UR NOT AN SPN STAN BUT ALL YOU TALK ABOUT IS SPN" [scrolls wall] horny furries, horny furries, fantasy land, GMing, WGA, WGA, WGA, Gotham Knights, video games, kpop, beyonce, all CW tweets, music videos conveniently posted right before those tweets that match them or even in regards to ongoing messaging on almost every social

("Lets Get It", Light It Up/Set the World On Fire/Spell to Burn/Burn It Down/Coming In Hot/3 2 1 BOOM, We're Getting Out, Where Did He Go, We Are The Warriors That Built This Town, Breaking In To Break Out, City Is At War, Revenge, The Hidden Cult, Howdy Business Partner, Keep Your Enemies Closer, This Isn't Walker's Fight Anymore, Nobody Expected This, Never Stop Me Zaddy Dent just turned around and said Don't Stop five minutes later THATS WEIRD, Some People Claim To Be Healers Some Actually Are, Let Go Of The Past, et al and so on ad nauseam),

industry events, paramount, CBS, multiple networks, oh there it is, there's the one SPN post I've been reblogging.

Dude. What you're experiencing is psychosis. By definition. You cannot perceive the world outside of your hyperfixation and determine it is fake and does not exist. You are actually only defining yourself. You can not perceive the underdark roleplay friends talking, you can't perceive other networks, studios, or industry events in discussion. You DEFINITELY won't let yourself fuckin' perceive the song vs CW tweets thing. It is all you understand and talk about, and because you refuse to perceive anything else, you tell yourself your behavior is normal, and scream at others that they must be the same as you.

Get a therapist. You are kings and queens of fictional landscapes in your own head you project onto social media spaces about TV shows. Get out of the way. The real royals are busy GMing for horny furries between shots you don't comprehend. But whether or not you comprehend it, you're the punch lines of the communal joke anyway. It's funny to us, whether or not you get it or how offended or opinionated you get about it.

[Intro: Jaira Burns, Soyeon & Lexie Liu] K/DA Should we show 'em how we do it every day? Yeah, yeah, yeah Na, na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na Let's get 'em

[Verse 1: Soyeon & Lexie Liu] Akali that girl, 'Kali go grr 'Kali don't stop, 'Kali don't skrrt 'Kali got a job, 'Kali go to work 뜨거워 언제나, don't get burnt 넘쳐 흘러 more than a buffet 난 죽여 주잖아 like I'm Buffy 누가 감히 on my Huffy 거- 문열지마 that's a rough day (Woo) I'm givin' you more 'cause I'm greater than 필요없는 시험들, 답은 이미 But all of my numbers are talkin', babe 블루마블 Mrs. 모노폴리 (Ooh) 너는 – 종이 돈이 나는 real money (Hey) 필요 없대 너네들이 많은 돈들 Go get it, go get it, go get it, the mission 눈을못떼 모두 그래 너도 그래 (Oh) 'Cause I got it different

[Pre-Chorus: Madison Beer & Miyeon] All I'll ever know is life up on a throne 시 작 하 면 끝을 보는 거야 You want

[Chorus: All & Miyeon] More Know I got it, so here you go (Let's go) You look like you could use some more (More) Know I got it and never runnin' low (Low) Yeah, I got more than enough, add it up and away (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like bomb-bomb, blow your mind Never givin' less and that's how it'll stay (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like all day, all the time

[Verse 2: Jaira Burns] When I go, it's for gold Yeah, they cool, but I'm cold I don't fit in the mold I'm a rebel I don't do what you say Makin' moves, I don't wait While I smile in your face I got different DNA

[Verse 3: Madison Beer, Miyeon & Jaira Burns] What's higher than the top? That's me (That's me) Come take a look before falling at my feet (Oh) 조용히 몸을 숙, 여 봐 (Yeah, yeah, yeah) So take a look, 나를 기억해 a queen (Oh)

[Pre-Chorus: Madison Beer & Miyeon] All I'll ever know is life up on a throne 시 작 하 면 끝을 보는 거야 You want

[Chorus: All & Miyeon] More Know I got it, so here you go (Let's go) You look like you could use some more (More) Know I got it and never runnin' low (Low) Yeah, I got more than enough, add it up and away (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like bomb-bomb, blow your mind Never givin' less and that's how it'll stay (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like all day, all the time

[Bridge: Lexie Liu] Way out 感觉犹如海浪, on the wave now 不断往前遨游, never weighed down This is how I do it every day, wow, wow 这一路上的奇迹 都记住了你的每一个瞬间 无比的耀眼 I know, I know, you want some more 准备好就一起走 givin' it all

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

Weird dream story:

In this dream my partner and I were I think house-sitting for someone, but in general not currently staying at our house. So I was coming home to check up on things there. And I was in the backyard puttering around when suddenly Eliot wanders by -- Eliot my fully non-fictional cat, not a human person name of Eliot. This is surprising and bad, because he shouldn't be outside at all, but I manage to scoop him up and bring him in the house. Has he been wandering out here for a day or two, since last time I was home? Did I let him out accidentally then?

A few minutes later, he's outside again, and I realize he has some means of escape. I go inside to look around -- inside my house looks totally different from waking life, but that doesn't seem strange to dream-me. I finally find a small window, about head-height in a corner of the living room, that only has a screen, which Eliot has managed to shove out of the frame, and now he can get out. We'll have to replace the window, but that'll take time and it needs to be blocked off somehow right away. The house is sort of oddly empty, but I do find some cardboard, and I text my friend Lacey (who is the handiest person I know in real life, so that was a logical choice) and ask if they can bring me a roll of duct tape.

Now things start getting kind of dream-weird. Lacey comes over and agrees with me about the problem, but somehow we don't fix it. It's starting to rain, and I'm constantly shooing Eliot away from the window; it's not clear if he can get back in by himself, so I basically can't leave until I know the window is fixed. Chalk comes home from work and now we're having people over for dinner, but I'm not focused on the conversation or enjoying anything because all I'm aware of is the rain and this high, broken window.

When the guests leave, Chalk and I are cleaning up and discussing the Window Situation, when we notice Margo (other cat) acting weird, carrying something like she's trying to hide it. We chase her down, and it's a fucking kitten, all wet and scraggly. We check it for injuries and it seems okay. Chalk says, well, I guess we have three cats now, and I say uhhh, he is extremely cute, but are you sure that's a good idea? She says, look, Margo has really taken Kyle in and we shouldn't separate them now, and I'm like, Kyle? We've known this dude for five minutes and you've already named him...Kyle? And she's like, yeah, from South Park -- South Park, a television show that I have not really watched in about 20 years, and that as far as I know Chalk has never watched one time, ever. Even in dreamworld, this strikes me as incredibly weird, and I'm unsettled by the storm and the strangeness of all this, but I feel like I can't say no to this poor kitten that my wife has suddenly adopted (excuse me, to Kyle).

We're doing all this kitten-examining on the kitchen table, and after some commotion in the living room, we go in and find Kyle's wet mom lying on the floor, presumably having barely gotten both of them in through the window. Chalk is immediately like, we should take them both to the vet and starts pulling out a kitty carrier so we can do that, and I'm not sure we're ready to be a four-cat household, but this does seem to be happening, so instead I say, wait, we shouldn't leave until the window is fixed, everyone's getting in and out of the house and that's not good. If we leave it like this, who knows what we'll come back to? I find this thought highly stressful, but Chalk seems to be concerned only about the Kyle and Mother of Kyle situation, so we leave the house with the window broken (somehow between us and Lacey, nobody ever figured out how to block it off, we just gave up on that) and head to the after-hours emergency vet. I think there was a brief bit when we were actually at the animal hospital, but that was pretty much the end of the dream.

I don't know if that's interesting to anyone else, but it was all so vivid and mostly linear, which is unusual -- if I remember dreams at all, it's usually kind of a jumble of images and emotions. Thank you for being my dream journal, happy Ides of March.

[hiccupmistress]

On Fandoms and Discussions Therein

One of my favorite things to do is analyse media and artistic expression, be it TV, film, books, or any of it, and form my own interpretations of it, but then, more importantly, to discuss those interpretations with other people. See how other people read those works, compare and contrast different viewpoints. Unfortunately, fandoms make that hard.

I love Star Trek, so, so much. I want to discuss it with people, I want to share my interpretations of it, both on specific details and on the franchise on the whole. But lately, its been getting harder and harder to do so.

A mutual on Twitter just burned bridges with me over a respectful disagreement about differences between Strange New Worlds and Picard. They accused me of having a “bad faith” argument and trying to force my way of enjoying Star Trek onto them. I try never to do that.

If I ever come across as frustrated or gatekeep-ey in a discussion, that’s never my intent. I want to learn, understand and celebrate other fans’ points of view. If there’s the kind of discussion going on that I disagree with to such an extent that I wouldn’t be able to discuss it calmly, I simply don’t engage with it. If I’m engaging in a discussion about a fandom material, be it Star Trek, Star Wars, Doctor Who or anything else, I’m trying to have an honest to goodness conversation. I might be trying to get across my point of view, sure, but that’s usually for the sake of comparing and contrasting your point of view, that I just want to learn more about.

This isn’t just about Twitter, by the way. I’ve had experiences like this on Reddit and YouTube. From what I’ve seen of Tumblr so far, things are mostly more respectful, despite the site’s reputation as a bit of a nasty fandom space. Maybe Tumblr’s changed over time, or maybe I simply don’t use it enough to see the nasty stuff. Honestly, I’m a little afraid to try and discuss Star Trek on here in any serious manner. That’s why I started this as a gimmick account with parody-esque episode titles and synopses.

It saddens me, because I NEVER want to gatekeep or yuck people’s yums. There are people in every fandom that insist on taking even the best-faith discussions as arguments.

My display name is different for each of these sites, I’m not expecting people to recognise me and go “Oh yeah, that’s the person who only wants good faith discussion, better respect them and them in particular!”. That’s not my point. This isn’t about me or how people interact with me. Its about fandom spaces in general - again, not just Star Trek.

Nobody should have to be called “stupid” for having a specific interpretation of the Narkina prison in Star Wars: Andor

Nobody should be accused of being a “fake fan” for liking Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor over Peter Capaldi’s

Those are things that have been said to me, but its happening in every fandom to tons of genuine, intelligent fans of things.

We don’t have to agree on everything. On the contrary, its talking about our different views that I enjoy. Its about respect. I make no secret about Voyager being my least-favorite aspect of the Star Trek franchise, and I may often share my reasons for disliking it, but I would never dream of trying to take it away from those who do like it. Quite the opposite, I hope that fans of it will engage me in discussion about the aspects I don’t like. Maybe they’ll change my mind, maybe they won’t, but that’s what I want. Discussion, not arguments.

There’s so much great art and fables and works of fiction in the world, we don’t have time in our lifespans to lash at each other’s throats over the shape of a warp nacelle or how the Force works. But we do have time to talk about those things. That’s all I want.

UPDATE: The Twitter mutual reached out and we’ve both made amends. I’m relieved that was able to happen on this particular occasion. There have been many similar occasions where that hasn’t been the case, but this time, its very meaningful that they were willing to talk it out. <3

[sugawarassoulmate]

and i can be needy, way too damn needy

“oh, didn’t like what i had to say?” she must have noticed your reaction, feeding off your palpable anxiety. “both of them feel that way, you know. they only really hang out with you because your mothers are good friends. you think they would give you the time of day if they had a choice?”

atsumu too? no, that couldn’t be true. he’s always been your best friend. yeah, your moms were close and it was easy to go to their house after school while your parents were working, but atsumu’s smile always grew wide whenever you walked through the door. surely all of that had been genuine?

“that’s a lie…” you mumble, wishing for once you could find the strength to stick up for yourself. this doesn’t feel the same as when osamu teases you, that’s something you can navigate. this is uncharted territory. never has anyone else been so callous towards you. usually because one of the boys was there to step in—atsumu to offer a kind word and osamu to throw a punch or two.

but maybe that was the problem. maybe they didn’t want to waste their time saving you anymore.

this really wasn't meant to turn into anything! i've had this doc sitting on my computer for months thinking nothing was gonna come from it, but you guys really liked the snippet i shared so here it is.

if you were expecting a big confrontation between osamu's girlfriend and reader, sorry! my crybaby doesn't play that way but she does get her comeuppance 👀

also there wasn't going to be any smut in this fic but.......osamu's hot LOL

words: 3.8k

cw: fem!reader, insecurity, name-calling, fingering, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity mention, minors dni

disclaimer: on this blog, we discuss and explore toxic relationships/situations/ just because i write about these themes does not mean i condone/support these types of relationships nor do i do them in my own personal life.

these are fictional characters in fictional scenarios and nobody should be taking real-life advice or mirror the actions of the characters in these stories!

You walked into the kitchen expecting to see Osamu with his head in the fridge as usual. Instead, you found something worse, his girlfriend leaning on the counter. A scowl on her face as soon as she locks eyes with you. It’s the first time you’ve ever been alone with her, without Osamu there to make a mean comment at your expense that makes her laugh sweetly, “Baby, you’re being so rude!” she’d say in her shrill voice.

But there’s none of that in her face at the moment. She crosses her arms, eyebrows furrowed as she gets a good look at you. “Of course, you’re here too,” she says, attempting to grumble under her breath but it’s definitely loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t really want to know what she meant, mumbling an apology in her direction before trying to shuffle past her to the stairs. She’s quicker than you, though, blocking your path and almost tripping you in the process. “What the hell are you doing here?” She gets in your face, demanding an answer. It’s only when she’s so close that you take in how pretty she actually is: full, pouty lips, a high arch in her eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, a straight nose.

She didn’t look like the kind of girl Osamu dated, but you figured that wasn’t a fair assumption for you to make. You didn’t really know what kind of girls Osamu liked. Whenever his brother brought the topic up, it usually ended with a punch to the gut.

“Atsumu and I have plans,” you said, hoping she’d leave you alone. She purses her lips, seemingly not satisfied with your response. “Could you—”

“Do you not have friends of your own? You’re always tagging along with the twins, aren’t you embarrassed?” her features twist into a smile, one of ridicule. You’re not sure how to respond, mouth clamping up as you hope for someone to come downstairs and save you. But you’re not that lucky and your silence only pisses her off even more. “Not even going to defend yourself? Samu’s right, you’re hopeless!”

Hopeless? Had Osamu said that about you? He’s said worse things to your face, sure, but never once did you think he spoke about you behind your back. Did he talk about you to her? Complain about you? Of course, you weren’t his favorite person in the world but did he actually feel that way?

You could feel your stomach churning, a bitter taste bubbling in the back of your throat. You had to get out of there, but your legs wouldn’t move. “Oh, didn’t like what I had to say?” she must have noticed your reaction, feeding off your palpable anxiety. “Both of them feel that way, you know. They only really hang out with you because your mothers are good friends. You think they would give you the time of day if they had a choice?”

Atsumu too? No, that couldn’t be true. He’s always been your best friend. Yeah, your moms were close and it was easy to go to their house after school while your parents were working, but Atsumu’s smile always grew wide whenever you walked through the door. Surely all of that had been genuine?

“That’s a lie…” you mumble, wishing for once you could find the strength to stick up for yourself. This doesn’t feel the same as when Osamu teases you, that’s something you can navigate. This is uncharted territory. Never has anyone else been so callous towards you. Usually because one of the boys was there to step in—Atsumu to offer a kind word and Osamu to throw a punch or two.

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe they didn’t want to waste their time saving you anymore.

“Please, do you think they’d say it to your face? To the crybaby that lives next door? They don’t want to hurt your feelings but someone needs to give you a reality check.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you snap back, feeling the tightness in your chest. Even when Osamu was giving you his worst, he never made you feel so small.

She laughs humorlessly, taking a step forward into your personal space and leaning down. It feels so humiliating. “I know enough,” she claims. “Every time I’m with my boyfriend, he never shuts up about you. What makes you so damn special? Maybe he wouldn’t bitch about you so much if you just fucked off and found friends of your own.”

You wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. That you knew more about the twins than she did, but all the energy you had left disappeared. And, in turn, her words started playing in your head over and over. Maybe it was true. Maybe your friendship with the twins had run its course—or rather your friendship with one of them did. Osamu had never been your friend before, had he?

Right on cue, the tears started running down your face. You could imagine how red and distorted your face had become, your nose becoming runny and mouth growing dry. You’re rushing out of the room before she could say anything else, running towards your house and slamming the door behind you. 

It’s only when you’re finally alone that you allow your sobs to get loud, to feel all your insecurities pouring out into the open. And it’s just so pitiful that your first reaction is to run to Atsumu and point out the person who made you feel this way. What’s most surprising is that, for once, it wasn’t his brother who was at fault. Not even Osamu could make you cry this much.

Your phone starts buzzing every few seconds and through tears, you read out the notifications on the screen.

From: ☀️tsumu☀️: did ya get here yet?

From: ☀️tsumu☀️: thought i heard the front door..

You want to reach out to him, to both of them. But you can’t even bother with a reply. Instead, you turn your phone off, and let your tears flow some more.

You’ve never avoided both of the twins before, but you couldn’t face them after that conversation. It was hard at first, having both of the boys blow up your phone for most of the day was pretty normal. The three of you were always together, whether at each other’s houses, going out, or running errands together. If that wasn’t the case, you’d be on the phone with one of them, usually Atsumu, for hours.

But for the first time, you haven’t been giving either of them your attention—you turned off notifications on your phone, started waking up an hour earlier so you wouldn’t have to walk with them, and you told your parents not to answer their calls.

“Did you get into a fight?” your mother had said. “What did Osamu do this time?” But you didn’t really have an explanation, the real story being far more embarrassing than anything else. 

At school, it was harder to steer clear of them. You didn’t share many classes but you ended up moving your seat in the few you did, ducking out of the room as soon as the bell rang to avoid having to talk to them. Thankfully, volleyball kept them busy and limited your interactions.

There was one incident in the cafeteria where you nearly broke your-self isolation.

It was easy for Atsumu to find you in a crowded room, locking eyes with you across the cafeteria. The boys were there with Suna and Ginjima talking amongst themselves and being rowdy as usual. Atsumu waved in your direction, beckoning for you to sit with them and you nearly did. Until you saw her cuddled up to Osamu’s side, a disapproving look on her face.

Osamu’s face didn’t look that pleasant either. “Maybe he wouldn’t bitch about you so much if you just fucked off and found friends of your own…”

Suddenly feeling nauseous, you turned your back on the table. Grabbing your food, you make your way towards the roof and eat there. You could usually be alone up there, without being a bother to anyone else.

“Did Osamu do something to you?” Suna asked one day when you were in the library. It was safe to study there—the boys had been banned in their first year after one too many fights. Suna sat across from you, an unreadable look on his face as he watched you take notes. “You haven’t come to practice in a week.”

You figured there was no use in avoiding him and continued to keep doing work. “Why does everyone think he did something?”

“Something had to have happened. Tweedledee and Tweedledum said you haven’t spoken to them in a while,” he leans back in his chair with his feet up on the table. Even during the worst moments with Osamu, you’d still end up getting dragged to practice somehow. “They’ve been fighting a lot more than usual. Kinda annoying, honestly…”

That didn’t do much to quell your anxiety. It was always nasty when the boys fought but the idea of sitting in the bleachers with her after what she said made you queasy. Maybe it had nothing to do with you. The twins fighting wasn’t out of the ordinary, what made you so special?

“I’m really busy with school, okay?” you motion towards the mess of papers on the table you’re working at. But Suna looks unconvinced, probably thinking back to all the times you’ve either done homework or studied while watching the team practice. “Just don’t tell them that you spoke to me, please?” 

One thing you love about Suna is that he doesn’t pry. If you’re not ready to talk about something, he’ll hold off on asking questions. “Fine,” he sighs, getting up. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ve got it figured out. But do something quick, ‘cause I don’t know how much patience Kita has left.”

You can’t explain the uneasiness in your gut while watching Suna leave the room. He was wrong, you didn’t have it figured out. There wasn’t a plan or an end goal in mind. But you couldn’t face the boys just yet. And, honestly, whatever was going on would figure itself out with or without you.

“No, no, no, no…” you groan to yourself fishing through your backpack for the tenth time, hoping your keys would somehow magically appear. There was a torrential downpour outside and your parents weren’t home or answering their phones. Like an idiot, you forgot your keys and certainly didn’t have an umbrella, your soaked uniform sticking to you, your body freezing and shivering.

The only people who had spare keys were the twins and their mother. “For emergencies,” said your own mother so long ago but they were never actually used for emergencies. All too often, the boys would barge into your home for snacks or drinks, but mostly for you. They’d pluck you from your bedroom—it didn’t matter if you were studying or sleeping, really—and drag you back to their house to watch a movie or settle an argument.

You asked your mother to tell them you weren't home or hid out in the library until it was too late for them to show up at your front door. But now, you were royally fucked and were running out of options. “Please be here…” you cried, wishing for your keys to end up in your hand.

“Are ya stupid? Yer gonna catch yer fuckin’ death out here!” It wasn’t hard to figure out who the voice belonged to. Osamu stormed to the front of your house, pissed off as he shoved you under his umbrella. “The fuck ya standin’ here for? Yer practically blue!”

You didn’t have the energy to argue or come up with some excuse to distance yourself from him. Not when your crybaby tears were threatening to come back again. “I don’t have my keys,” you sobbed, feeling cold and pathetic.

Osamu grabs you by the sleeve and hauled you next door to his house, cursing with every wet stomp of his feet. You’re pushed through the front entrance, already forming a puddle on the floor. The shoes by the door let you know their mother isn’t home either.

“Dude! Ya were right behind me, what took ya so long—” Atsumu stops dead in his tracks when he spots you, an unreadable emotion on his face but he’s quick to go into protective mode, running towards you and his brother. “What—”

“She forgot her fuckin’ keys,” Osamu grouches, sticking the umbrella in a stand near the door. He turns to you, looking as if he wants to bite your head off. “Go upstairs and take a hot shower. We’ll get ya clean clothes.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” her words are in your head again. The twins need to take care of you yet again because you’re too stupid to remember to carry a fucking key. “I just need my—”

“I don’t remember askin’ ya,” Osamu says, pushing you in the direction of their bathroom. “Go.” Your eyes flick to Atsumu but he’s in agreement with his twin. Embarrassed, you start heading upstairs, wishing for all of this to be over.

The boys left clean clothes for you outside the bathroom door after your shower. As expected, the shirt and pajama bottoms were much bigger, completely drowning you. Your wet clothes were thrown in the laundry room to be washed and dried. You’re too nervous to go into the living room and face them, but hiding upstairs would only make the situation worse.

You decide to just rip the band-aid. 

Wringing the rest of the water with your towel, you walk in to see the boys talking amongst themselves. They stop when you enter the room, Atsumu looking apologetic as he leaves room on the couch for you to sit. A cup of tea sits on the coffee table, likely made by Osamu and you’re certain his anger would only get worse if you refuse.

It doesn’t take very long for Osamu to start interrogating you as soon as you sit down. “Why the fuck didn’t ya come here sooner?” he stands in front of you and his brother, grey eyes shooting daggers at yours. 

“I thought I had them,” you lied, letting the cup warm your still cold hands. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“But why would ya think yer a bother?” This time Atsumu spoke, his hand reaching out to rub your shoulder. You appreciated the extra warmth. “Better yet, where have ya been lately? Ya stopped talkin’ to us out of nowhere.” You don’t miss the way his eyes glance over at Osamu. He probably thinks it’s his fault too.

“You think they would give you the time of day if they had a choice?” You’re so fed up at this point that her name falls from your mouth before you could stop yourself. Osamu quirks his brow, probably wondering what she has to do with any of this.

So you tell them—You mention all the nasty things she said to you, the cruel looks she’d shoot your way at school, and how you felt too stupid to tell them because a part of you really wondered if it was true. By the time you’re done, there are a few stray tears running down your face that you didn’t notice at first. A frustrated crybaby to the very end, you’re nothing if not consistent.

They’re both angry now, eyes locked with one another. “Did ya know about this?” Atsumu’s tone was accusatory.

“Of course I fuckin’ didn’t, why didn’t ya tell me?” Osamu asked, looking at you, but his brother is quick to come to your defense.

“It doesn’t matter when she told us, what matters is that it was yer girlfriend that said that shit to her.” He snaps, pulling you closer to his frame to soothe you. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Osamu, tongue poking his cheek. “What’re ya gonna do about it, Samu?”

The younger twin rolls his eyes takes a deep breath and walks out the room, choosing not to start a yelling match for once. Once you are alone, Atsumu wraps you in his arms for a hug.  “Please don’t disappear like that on us again,” he says, refusing to let go. “I won’t be so nice next time.” You can hear the dumb grin on his face. You’ve missed him, both of them. Atsumu makes sure you finish the rest of your tea before walking off to set up the futon for you—he suggested you spend the night and didn’t take no for an answer. 

You’re folding your uniform a few hours later after taking it out of the dryer. It should probably be ironed before you could wear it again but, thankfully, there’s no school tomorrow. While you’re there, you decide to fold the rest of the clean clothes there as well, knowing the boys’ mother would appreciate it.

 The sweet silence was broken with Osamu’s heavy steps coming downstairs, screaming into his phone, unaware that you’re also in the room. “I don’t wanna hear it and don’t even think about comin’ here and gettin’ yer shit,” From all the years of knowing him, you’ve never heard his voice get like that. Even when he and Atsumu were fighting and he’s certainly never yelled at you like that.

“Get one of yer stupid friends to pick it up from Atsumu or Suna or I’m throwin’ it the fuck out. I’m blockin’ yer ass after that. Fuck off.” He hangs up without another word and that’s when he catches you kneeling in front of the dryer with piles of folded clothes. His face doesn’t soften as he gets down on your level, eyes scanning your form. “That’s Tsumu’s shirt…”

Staring down at the much too big shirt, you now realize that he’s right. You hadn’t really considered which of their shirts the boys gave since you were more concerned with having warm clothes than anything else. “I just grabbed whatever was there—” Osamu’s quick movements take you by surprise. Next thing you know, he has you pinned to the floor, hovering over you. It rattles you at first, but Osamu’s always been known to push you around whenever he felt like it. “Samu—”

“Don’t keep secrets from me. Ya should’ve told me as soon as she said that shit.” His knee is between your legs and you wonder if his intentions are pure. All of your clothes were soaked from the storm and all Osamu had to do to get to your more intimate parts was wander his hands just slightly underneath your shirt. It had been a while since he did anything like that. Osamu was loyal to the girls he dated. At least you think. So many times he’s trapped you for a quick kiss when nobody else was in the room, it’s possible that you had overlapped with his relationships a few times. 

Maybe that’s why she hated you so much.

“If any of that bullshit was true,” Osamu continues, noticing the apprehension on your face. “I wouldn’t put up with yer sensitive ass.” 

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled, fingers twisting between the fabric of your shirt. You felt stupid, letting your own insecurities and her words get to your head when you know none of them to be true. With all the years you’ve known them, you should have given the boys more credit. “I missed you.”

Finally, Osamu’s face relaxes. At this point, you wonder if he was actually upset with you this whole time, or with himself since it was his ex-girlfriend who had said caused all this. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It’s overwhelming, like all his kisses and it feels wrong to be so close just moments after he broke up with her, but it doesn’t stop you from deepening it.

“Such a pretty little crybaby, don’t know why I even bother with anyone else,” his voice is thick while his hands tug at your clothes. “Take this off. I’ll give ya my shirt in a bit, just lemme see ya.”

The sensation of your breasts being exposed to the cold laundry room to Osamu’s warm mouth wrapping itself around your nipple. A sharp whine leaves your lips but you stifle it, remembering that Atsumu is still upstairs. Osamu bites down on the sensitive bud, as one of his hands reaches past the sweats you had on, groaning when he realizes you aren’t wearing underwear.

Two of Osamu’s fingers plunge into your cunt without warning. It gets harder and harder to muffle your noises, eyes welling up with tears. “Wanna hear yer pretty noises, dummy. Been hidin’ from me too fuckin’ long. I deserve ‘em,” he growls, biting down hard on your breast just to force a high-pitched cry from you.

You pray that Atsumu is in his room. The thought of anyone seeing you in such a compromising position—half-naked and humping against Osamu’s hand—would be so humiliating but it has you whining and moaning even more.

“Can feel yer pussy clenchin’ around my fingers. Gonna make ya cum on the fuckin’ floor like a slut,” You can hear how wet you are, juices flowing down Osamu’s hand and it’s becoming too much. His thumb circles your clit as his fingers speed up. You pull him in for a kiss, burying your cries into his mouth. “Cum fer me, stupid girl. Missed this pretty pussy, need ya to cum.”

By the time he adds a third finger, you’re already too far gone. With a final, exasperated sob, you cum around Osamu’s hand. He stares, mesmerized by how sensitive your cunt is when he pulls his fingers out, your essence catching the light. 

Your brain is too fuzzy to notice Osamu wiping his hand with Atsumu’s shirt, too busy trying to stop your legs from twitching. “Samu…”

“Don’t start yer whinin’, I’ll clean ya up,” he warns, grabbing a clean t-shirt to put on you. It’s one of his, of course. “Much better.”

“Don’t mind her, y/n,” Suna says after following your line of vision. The two of you were sitting at your regular lunch table a few days later when you felt someone staring daggers at you. Sure enough, there was Osamu’s ex looking back. Her usually pretty face now red and puffy. As horrible as she was, you still feel bad.

“Don’t mind who?” Atsumu asks as he and his brother join you after getting their food. Osamu feels your body tense up and is swift to see the reason why. Watching his eyes meet with hers brings back that unpleasant sinking feeling in your stomach for some reason.

But Osamu is quick to look away, an arm wrapping around his waist as he offers you some of his food. You sneak a brief glance back at her, just in time to see her storm out of the cafeteria.

It shouldn’t make you smile, but it does.

©sugawarassoulmate 2022 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[annemiek19]

Drunk Text Me - Jay Halstead

Based on the song Drunk Text Me by Lexi Jayde

Ever since you and your boyfriend Jay Halstead broke up, he has vanished. You haven't spoken to him for three months. Nobody has seen him. Not even his brother Will. All he knows is that he had to leave for work. Will doesn't know where Jay went, how long he will be gone for, and why he's gone. Maybe for you, it was for the better. You weren't too ready to face him at work. The break-up was hard on you. At work, you kept it together as if nothing happened, but as soon as you were home, that was where the trouble started. You would open a bottle of wine and just sit on your balcony, watching over the city of Chicago. You barely spoke to your friends. You had no idea what was happening in the world besides your own. You were miserable, and nobody even knew.

For the last few days, it felt like your guitar has been staring at you. You used to write a lot of music. It was therapy for you. You would play for Jay, and that were one of your happiest memories. And ever since he broke up with you, you couldn't pick up your guitar again until now. You had the sudden urge to play and sing. You sat down your glass of wine and grabbed the guitar, just playing some small tunes. Before you knew it, lyrics were coming to your mind, and you started singing to the music you played. After half an hour, you had an entire song. It was loosely based on your relationship with Jay but also fictional enough that people still had to guess whether it was true.

You decided to go to Molly's. Hermann and Gabbie were standing behind the bar, greeting you with the biggest smile.

"Look who we have here! Haven't seen you in a while," Hermann smiled as he put your regular in front of you.

"Yeah, rough couple of months." You took a sip of your wine. The truth was that you were scared to run into Jay or Will. You had your first kiss in this bar. It was just too painful.

"I can imagine. Haven't heard anything?" Gabbie joined the conversation.

You just shook your head.

"But we're not going to speak about him," Gabbie looked at you with a reassuring look. She could tell you didn't want to talk about it. "Now you're here, Hermann has been meaning to ask you something."

"Oh yeah?" The two look at each other before Hermann knows what Gabbie is talking about. "That's right! We are going to have a fundraiser here in the bar tomorrow to support a local kids home that burned down. We were wondering if you wanted to play some songs. Just a few, no pressure."

You had briefly worked on the case. A kids home burned down, and one of the kids died. The whole house burned to the ground. You couldn't turn this down. "Alright, I'll be here." You discussed some details for tomorrow before you want back home, having enough for the night.

The next night you were standing on a little stage they had built. Someone else went before you, and now it was up to you to sing some songs. You had your guitar in your hand, feeling a little nervous. You normally didn't play in front of crowds. The word got out that you were signing, so a lot of people from the district showed up. You even spotted Will in the crowd. You started with a cover of Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. Next was another cover; as of last, you would do the song you wrote yesterday.

"So, this next song is my own. I wrote it yesterday when I maybe had a little too much wine," you laughed. The crowd laughed along.

"Go, Y/N!" Antonio yelled.

You looked shyly down at your guitar and closed your eyes. You started to play like you were alone in your apartment.

Shouldn't you be sad right now?

Said you never liked big crowds

Acting like you like them now

Without me

'Cause you're with your friends all proud

At some shitty bar downtown

Do you taste me on her mouth

Or just whiskey?

Hooking up instead of healing

Wanna know just what you're feeling now

What are you feeling now?

You looked up. The crowd was completely silent. But what you weren't expecting was seeing him standing by the door.

I want you to drunk text me

Saying you still need me

Tell me I'm not like her

I made you happier

I want you to drunk text me

Just empty it all out, please

Tell me you fucked this up

Tell me you're still in love with me

He did not move for the entire song. You never looked away from him. The song wasn't about what happened between the two of you, but part of the song was true. You would pick up the phone if he called, you still wanted him, you were still in love with him. When he was gone, it was easy to say you were over him because you didn't have to see him. But now that he was right there, every memory the two you had, hit you like a train.

When the song was done, everyone started clapping. Jay just turned around and left Molly's. You didn't think for a second and ran after him. Getting through the crowd took you long enough to notice that Jay's car wasn't parked anywhere near the bar. You cursed under your breath. Your hands reached for your phone, wanting to search for his number, but the battery was dead.

"Y/N, you okay?"

You turned around, and Will stepped out of the bar.

"He was here, Will. He was here."

Will scanned your face, not knowing what he needed to say. "What do you need?"

"I..." what did you need? "I need to talk to him."

"Alright, I'll give you a ride. My car is just around the corner."

You walked over to his car, putting your guitar in the backseat, and Will drove to Jay's place.

"Should I wait?" Will asked when he stopped in front of the apartment building.

You shook your head as you grabbed your guitar. "Thanks, Will, but I think I got it from here." You gave him a quick hug before you stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. You rang the bell. It took a moment for you to hear Jay's voice.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," was the only thing you said. The next thing you knew, the door was being buzzed open. You quickly walked in and made your way to Jay's apartment. The door was already cracked open a little. You pushed it further open. Nothing changed. Everything was still the same from the last time you were there.

Jay was standing in the middle of the room, with his hands in his pockets.

"Hi," you mumbled and placed your guitar next to the door.

"Hi," Jay said back as you closed the door.

From a distance, you looked at him. His beard had grown. He looked tired, and his eye was black.

"What happened?" You quietly asked.

"An undercover operation. It's nothing serious. I heard your song at Molly's."

"Yeah..." For the first time, it was awkward between the two of you.

"Is..." Jay cleared his throat. "Is it about us?"

"Some of it is," you honestly answered his question.

"Which part?" He took a step closer to you.

"Bits and pieces."

"Tell me."

You looked at the ground. "That I want you to say to you still need me, that you fucked this up and that you're still in love with me. If you regret it if you care. I would still pick up the phone if you called, That I'm close to closure. That I'm over you. I still miss you, I want you, and I still love you."

It was silent, and that said enough.

You turned around.

"Y/N..."

"It's okay, Jay." You picked your guitar up from the ground. Just as you went to open the door, Jay started talking.

"I want to give us another chance. I really do because I asked Will to get me something before I left."

You slowly turned around. Jay was holding a little red box.

"I'm not going to propose right now because I want to do that right. I want to do right by us. Because I did fuck up. I left because it got too much. We fought, and we basically broke up. And then I got an offer to go undercover, so I went. I needed some time to think. I knew it was stupid, and I shouldn't have left like that, especially not when all I wanted to do was propose and say how much I love you. I should've been back within a week, but the assignment took longer than expected, and by the time I got back, I was scared to call or even text. So I didn't tell anyone I was back until today when I heard about the fundraiser. When I saw you on that stage, I... It made me realize how much I missed you and how much I fucked up. Because I love you, Y/N. I love you so much and feel like I don't deserve you. You're so good for this world and... and sometimes it makes me wonder why you're in my life. Because I'm messed up.”

You looked at Jay, shaking your head. "You may be messed up, but so am I. I haven't even told you everything about what's messed up in my life, and neither have you. But that's alright. Nobody is perfect. But what I do know is that you make my life better. This is going to sound cliche as hell, but you make me happier, see the world in more vibrant colours, and feel what it's like to be loved. I love you."

"I love you too." Jay walked over to you and smashed his lips against yours.

"Oh, and by the way," you said, pulling back. "Even if you were going to propose now, I would've said yes," you smiled before kissing him again.

[alltooreid]

I Think He Knows

Y/N has a huge crush on Spencer Reid, so huge she embarrasses herself every time she tries to talk to him. She is convinced he is aware to all her pathetic attempts at flirting and just chooses to ignore it, but turns out Spencer may be a little more clueless than she thought.

A/N: Hope yall enjoy this cute fluffy fic! I’ve been having a rough couple of days so writing a fun fluff like this was really comforting :) yes it is inspired by the t swift song, but you don’t need to know the song to read and enjoy! also my requests are open so let me know what you want to see! (also sorry if this is kind of short, but i’ve been super busy and wanted to put something out :)))

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: a cute pining fluff fic

Word Count: 2.3K

Content Warnings: mentions of alcohol, otherwise none.

“He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands No one understands”

“He has to know Penelope, I’m not exactly subtle.”

You and Penelope spent the majority of your lunch breaks in her office, discussing anything and everything. Recently however, the point of contention had been a certain young genius. One who you had a huge crush on.

“Spencer Reid may be a genius, and one of the best profilers I have ever seen but he most certainly does not know,” she said, as she drizzled more dressing on her salad.

“He has to, it feels like everyone knows. . . Do you think everyone knows?”

She shrugged, “They might, I know my Chocolate Thunder hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

“You haven’t told him? It’s already been a week since I’ve told you! How did you keep it a secret for so long?”

“You asked me very nicely not to tell anyone! Plus this one seems really important to you. I don’t want to go around telling people and for Reid to hear it in office gossip.”

You smiled, “Well you Penelope Garcia are the best, best friend ever.”

“You know it, now I know you desperately want to repay me for my services, and you can by giving me those exact ranch packets you have in your bag,” she said.

“They’re all yours, now let’s discuss something other than my pathetic schoolgirl crush. Like how stupid Kevin’s sweater was today.”

“Kevin? The other internal affairs technical analyst? Yeah what the heck was he wearing?”

“You know, I’m tired of having to carry the weight of the brains, looks and fashion sense out of the two of us,” you said. “Though, that is a good way to gather attention . . . I wonder if Spencer would actually hold a conversation with me if I wore something as ugly as that.”

She laughed, “You know I think that might send you backwards.”

You stabbed your lettuce, “At this point I’ll try anything.”

Before Penelope could respond, someone interrupted your lunch, your only other friend on the BAU team, Emily Prentiss.

“Oh hi Y/N! How are you!”

“I’m good Emily, what kind of gross things are you here to deliver today?” you and Emily joined the FBI at around the same time, and found comfort in the fact that you were both total try-hards. Emily was going to eat lunch with you and your fast friend Penelope, at least on days when she was in the office for lunch, but you and her both agreed that she should eat lunch with the team so that they can get used to having her around.

“Just some paperwork, no cases yet, knock on wood. Also I just wanted to say hello! What are you guys eating?” she asked, pulling up a chair.

“Some salads from that takeout veggie place PG is always talking about. I told you I was going vegetarian right?” “You did not! That’s great Y/N! We need to talk more, like we used to when we first started here,” she sighed, then perked up, “We should have girls night! Remember how fun it was that night at the bar? With Brad the real FBI agent?”

“Yes! We should! You know, Gideon’s replacement comes tomorrow, we should celebrate!” Garcia said.

“You know, I don’t know if the best way to celebrate a new agent is by drinking without them, but I’m down. We’ll toast our girls night to agent Rossi. Someone ask JJ if she’s busy.”

JJ was not busy, but when you and Emily asked, Morgan overheard.

“So am I not invited to the party?”

“Well it was supposed to be girls night . . . but I think PG would throw a fit if I turned down her 2nd favorite person in this building, so I guess you can come,” you teased. “You should come too Spencer!”

“I don’t know, that’s not really my thing . . “

“Oh come on! I know I would love to see you there,” you then realized that you were embarrassing yourself being so forward. “And I’m sure everyone else would too!”

“Alright, I’ll come, but I’m not drinking.” he said firmly. 

Before you could respond, Penelope magically appeared. “Good, you can be completely sober when Y/N gets wasted and embarrasses herself,” she said.

“PENELOPE! I’m not the light weight here! you’ll see Spencer, she’s actually awful. Two shots in and she’ll be on the floor,” this was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Spencer grimaced. “But it’ll be so much fun! You have to be there! You already said yes!”

“I just don’t know if seeing all of my coworkers get drunk while I watch is my idea of a fun evening. . .”

“Trust me! I’ll even stay sober with you, so we can judge them together. It’ll be a blast.”

“Ok, I’ll be there . . . but for now I need more coffee,” he pulled his chair out and walked towards the office kitchen. You silently cheered, forgetting how people were still standing around you.

“Well,” you awkwardly laughed, “um, I guess I better be getting back to my neck of the woods. I’m not a hot shot profiler like the rest of you guys . . . so see you all later!” You tried to escape before anyone interrogated you about your conversation with Spencer. However, a certain profiler followed quickly behind you. 

“So. . . you and pretty boy huh?”

“Shut it Morgan.”

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

You stayed true to your word that night, Spencer stuck to water and you enjoyed a diet soda. The bartender, who you had grown fairly used to seeing on your many nights out, was shocked to hear you didn’t want any alcohol in it. 

It’s probably a good thing that you didn’t drink, you already embarrassed yourself enough in front of Spencer fully sober.

“So Spencer, you know that new bookstore you said you were going to go to after work a couple weeks ago?”

“New bookstore . . .? Oh yeah! What about it?”

“Well after I heard you talking about it I decided to check it out . . . It’s really nice there! I go like every other night now! We should totally go together sometime.” Luckily, you were sober enough to keep a secret: the fact you were only going so much in the hopes of running into him.

“Oh really? If I’m being honest I wasn’t super impressed with their selection, it was mostly contemporary fiction. And all in English . . . Not really my thing,” when he saw the way your face dropped he quickly changed his tone, “but it’s great if that’s your thing!”

This. Is. Humiliating. The amount of times you had gone and bought books from the bookstore, you were there almost every night hoping to run into him after work and start a conversation. You felt stupid, of course he wouldn’t want to go on a book store date with you. If Spencer Reid didn’t like you so much that he wouldn’t even go to a bookstore with you, there’s no chance at a relationship.

“Oh haha, yeah you’re right it’s totally lame. . .”

“Didn’t you just say you went there all the time?”

“No! When did I say that? You must be drinking Dr. Reid,” you said, quickly hopping off your bar stool, and running towards Morgan and Garcia, not turning around to see how confused Spencer was, but only being able to imagine him as relieved. Relieved he didn’t have to make conversation with you anymore.

“I’m blowing this PG, he totally hates me.”

Morgan laughed, “Y/N, you’re acting silly, this isn’t high school, we aren’t seventeen, stop dancing around it and just go ask him out.”

“Morgan, he doesn’t want to go to a bookstore with me, no way he’s agreeing to a date.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, maybe he’s just not in the mood to go?”

“You go ask him then, 20 bucks he says yes.”

“You’re on Y/N/N.”

7 minutes later Morgan returned and without a word pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and deposited it into your hand. “Sorry, Y/N.”

Penelope then piped up, “I’m telling you Y/N, he just doesn’t know. That boy is clueless.”

You scoffed, “I think he knows Penelope. I’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Have you told him?”

You were thrown off, “Um, no but-”

“Well then you haven’t made it clear enough, have you sugar?”

You almost said something, but you couldn’t really think of a good rebuttal for the argument. So instead, you downed Penelope’s half dranken frozen margarita, and headed back over to Spencer.

“Hey!” he said as you made your way back over, “I was wondering where you went, after you left Derek came over and asked to go to that bookstore with me, isn’t that extraordinary. . .”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” you blurted out.

“What?”

You sighed, “I’ve had a crush on you since like, forever, and I keep planning all these ways to ask you subtly but it’s just not working so I’m asking now. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“You like me? I didn’t know that . . .”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not, I thought you were just being nice. You’re nice to everyone and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

You smirked, “Get your hopes up? Does that mean you’re obsessed with me too Dr. Reid?”

He laughed in response, “Yeah, you could definitely say that.”

You dug through your purse and pulled out your keys, “Ok, then let’s get out of here.”

He paled, “And do what?”

“We’re going on our first date.”

He smiled, and you both got up off your bar stools and headed out the door, ignoring Morgan’s snide remarks as you passed. 

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

You couldn’t help but smile as you drove. Every couple of seconds you couldn’t help but look over at Spencer, getting lost in his brownish hazel eyes, which looked indigo in the night. He would smile, the kind of smile people write silly little romance songs about and spend verses to describe, and tell you to pay attention to the road before you run off of it. You would laugh, tell him to calm down. Although originally you had an idea of where you were going, now you just wanted to drive in circles, to bask in this memory. 

“So where are we going?” he asked.

“Think about it Doctor Reid . . .” you replied, teasing him in the way you’ve imagined since you met him. 

You pulled up to that little bookstore on 16th avenue, the one you couldn’t stop going to out of the sheer chance Spencer might be there, the one that was obviously closed this late at night, but was too perfect not to spend your first date at. 

“Although this is beautifully symbolic, it’s almost 2 in the morning, this place closes at 8. We’re 5 hours, 49 minutes and 17 seconds late.”

You smiled and pulled out your ring of keys, “You know, when I spent hours a night hanging around here after work, hoping that you would happen to come shop for books and see me here too, the woman who owns this store got pretty curious. So I told her why I was here, and after she got done laughing at me she offered me a key, so that if I ever had the guts to ask you out, I could take you here no matter what.” You turned the key and swung the door open, gesturing him inside and locking the door behind you, “but we have to keep the lights off, so no one comes by and tries to get in.”

You and Spencer sit in the non-fiction section, and enjoy the silence for a few seconds before you have an idea, “Read me something Reid.”

He reached up, pulling a book off of the shelf without looking, “Are you sure, A Brief History of 1491: Life in America Before Columbus, is first date material?”

“Although that book is anything but brief, anything you read to me will sound stunning coming from your pretty mouth.”

So he begins to read, attempting to slow down to a reasonable pace but still going abnormally fast. You didn’t care though, more than you listened to the history of the late fifteenth century you watched Spencer’s hands. They’re really nice hands.

His right followed the words as he read aloud and his left helped hold the book. He wiggled the fingers on his left hand unconsciously as he spoke, getting into the words of the book. 

After about 25 pages he glanced over at you, and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head. After a second he went back to the page, and continued reading. You didn’t think anything of it until a couple minutes later, when his hand made its way to your left thigh.

He held it and you leaned into him, and you both stayed like that until you fell asleep hours later, with his head resting on top of yours. 

At 8:30 Mrs. Betts, the owner of the bookstore, found you and Spencer, arms around each other, the book thrown aside. She smiled, glad to know you had taken her up on her offer. She went to go wake you up but glanced at her watch. She didn’t have to officially open until 10. 

She could definitely spare a couple of minutes. 

“I want you, bless my soul I ain't gotta tell him I think he knows”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

ATR’s tiny taglist: @reidingmelodies​

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Maeve//i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Request: Could you please do something else with Maeve? Perhaps something where reader works with Maeve on an English project and she's surprised that they have so much in common. She realizes she has feelings for her somehow after that? Sorry that's sort of rubbish, have a swell day/night.

hey! what’s up everybody! i hope everyone is well, and i hope you like this!! title is from ‘the lakes’ by taylor swift! 

- English projects are never fun 

- I mean, who finds constant stress and a deadline that’s always far too close fun?

- Nobody

- That’s who

- Well apart from Mrs Jones

- Your year 9 English teacher who made every minute of her classes a living hell

- And who mysteriously went missing half way through the year after having a screaming match with a fellow English teacher

- When she was supposed to be teaching you Romeo & Juliet. 

- One day she was accusing Miss Newman of being a terrible teacher and purposefully bumping up students grades so she looked better 

- And the next day both her and Miss Newman were gone 

- And you only got a replacement teacher when you moved into year 10

- Right now though 

- Its seems Miss Sands is going through some stuff 

- Because not only did she give you an assignment on Friday with a deadline of Monday 

- She also chose your partners instead of letting you choose your own

- Which is why you’re stood outside of Maeve’s in the pouring rain

- On a frankly miserable Saturday morning 

- It seems the weather knew exactly what sort of weekend you were facing 

- And decided to make it even worse. 

- By the third knock 

- You’re about to give up 

- The curtains are still drawn 

- And you’ve seen more movement in a graveyard 

- Plus

- You kind of already assumed you would be doing the project alone 

- Maeve Wiley was known for being very...

- ...independant 

- And group projects are no different 

- You actually think she may be more independent during group projects

- So as soon as Miss Sands paired you together 

- You knew 

- You were 99% sure that 

- You’d do your thing

- She’d do hers 

- And then five minutes before the presentation 

- You would figure out a way to connect the two.

- Anywayyyy

- While daydreaming about a time when you won’t have any assignments 

- And making awkward, accidental eye contact with Maeve’s neighbours 

- The door in front of you opens 

- Simultaneously giving you a fright and almost knocking you out

- She yawns and scratches the top of her head 

- ‘what are you doing here?’ 

- She sounds both tired and annoyed and you blink at her a few times before answering 

- ‘er - i - the project. for english.’ 

- It takes her a few seconds to process what you’ve said 

- But when she does 

- She looks even more miserable than she did five seconds ago

- And you brace yourself for a long weekend 

- She sighs and rolls her eyes 

- Before slowly opening the door properly and letting you in

- You feel slightly nervous as you walk in 

- But you really have no idea why

- It’s not like she’s a complete stranger 

- But then again 

- She’s not exactly a friend 

- ‘don’t worry, i’ve hidden the drugs. i don’t really like to share anyway.’ 

- ‘what?’ you ask confused and she rolls her eyes again 

- She huffs and crosses her arms before nodding to the slightly messy living room

- ‘i get it. we’re a bunch of benefit fraud chavs that do nothing but drink and smoke all day.’ 

- ‘that’s not what i was thinkin-’ 

- ‘sure it wasn’t.’ she rolls her eyes and you stare down at the floor. ‘i need to get changed so make yourself at home I suppose.’ 

- She walks into what you assume is her bedroom and slams the door behind her 

- Leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room

- It’s small and slightly cramped 

- And most people would say that all the stuff makes it look busy 

- But to you 

- It’s wonderful 

- It’s filled with stories and memories 

- Some self explanatory 

- Some slightly more bizarre 

- Like the wonky blue and yellow clay swan living on the coffee table 

- You really want to know the story behind it 

- But decide it might be a little early in your partnership to start asking about her attachment to a half swan, half moth looking ornament

- So instead you pick up a pile of books on the dining table and move them onto the floor 

- You can hear Maeve opening and closing drawers while humming a familiar tune 

- And you feel yourself relax slightly as you place your laptop and books where the books were previously sat 

- Even if it does feel like you’re using all of your braincells to try and figure out where you’ve heard it before 

- ‘wow, do you actually trust me around that?’ 

- ‘what?’ you stop humming and look up at her 

- She looks between you and the laptop, staring at you expectantly 

- ‘oh no. i mean of course i do.’ you blush and she shakes her head before sitting opposite you 

- ‘so what do we know about women in fiction?’ 

- ‘historically they are written as either a femme fatalle type or some sort of innocent angelic being.’ 

- ‘they still are’ 

- ‘true’ you agree and flick through your textbook

- ‘why don’t we write about that then?’ 

- ‘what? how we’re still depressingly far back in the equality movement, despite being told otherwise?’ 

- She stares at you for a few seconds 

- A mixture of shock and surprise 

- Before nodding 

- And smiling 

- An actual genuine smile 

- You didn’t even know she could do that 

- Well you did 

- Of course you did 

- But you just haven’t seen it a lot 

- Usually when you see Maeve 

- She’s either mad, grumpy or very, very, very angry

- But her smiling 

- Puts a smile on your face 

- And this was definitely not where you thought this was going 

- ‘yeah...that’ 

- ‘okay.’ you shrug. ‘you can do classic literature because i know you prefer them and i’ll cover modern works.’

- ‘how do you know i prefer classics?’ 

- ‘the pile of books’ you nod towards the floor and she follows your gaze, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘they’re all ripped and folded. you either love them or really, really hate them’ 

- ‘okay’ she eyes you suspiciously as you focus on your laptop 

- And you can feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze 

- However as quickly as they were there 

- They disappear 

- And the two of you fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence. 

- After about half an hour 

- Maeve stops what she’s doing to stretch 

- ‘is it okay if i play some music?’ 

- ‘sure, it’s your place. do what you want...as long as its not awful’ 

- ‘and what constitutes as awful?’ she asks, a smirk playing on her lips

- ‘well’ 

- And with that one question 

- Your entire day disappears in front of you 

- Laptops and books are closed and long forgotten 

- And instead you talk about music and movies 

- Books and plays 

- Characters that you love and hate 

- And the fact that her favourite character is the one you hate the most 

- She makes you lunch while you debate between movies and books and which adaptations are good

- And which ones should never have been made

- And you clean up and apologise profusely after a stray cushion (possibly thrown by you) ends up knocking the pan over 

- Surprisingly 

- She finds it quite funny 

- And you let out a relieved sigh

- Soon the sun goes down on another day 

- And you’ve barely written two paragraphs done between you

- ‘do you want to stay?’ she asks while your putting your jacket on

- If she’d asked you that this morning 

- You would have thought she had lost it 

- But now it feels almost inevitable 

- And you feel genuinely lucky to be asked 

- Not many people get to know Maeve 

- The real her 

- And that last person she told all of this to broke her heart 

- Very publicly 

- And she told herself she would never let herself be that vulnerable with someone ever again

- But this just feels right 

- For some reason you feel right 

- She feels safe with you 

- And part of her hates herself for it 

- But then again 

- She hates herself for not getting to know you sooner

- She feels far too attached to you 

- And it’s barely been twelve hours 

- You of course agree to stay 

- Shocking yourself and her 

- And while she sorts to sofa out 

- You excuse yourself to the bathroom 

- Under the pretences of telling your parents where you are 

- It takes two seconds to text them 

- And the other 28 to ask yourself 

- What the fuck are you doing? 

- Why are you agreeing to this? 

- Why do you feel like this? 

- What are you feeling?

- Who knows?

- Not you 

- Great 

- Now you’ve been in the bathroom for a suspicious amount of time 

- Just get it together, Y/n

- It’s just a study sleepover 

- Maeve gives you a questioning look as you leave 

- ‘you know how mums are. always worrying about where you are and what you’re doing’ 

- ‘i wouldn’t actually’ she shrugs and your eyes widen 

- ‘oh shit, sorry. i’m so sorry. god, i’m an idiot.’

- ‘it’s fine’ she forces a laugh and you wince. ‘i got you an extra duvet and little women is ready to watch so i can show you that the book is better’ 

- ‘that’s not what i said and you know it’ 

- ‘i’m sorry. i can’t hear you over the sound of me being 100% right and you being 100% wrong.’ 

- ‘you may be good at english, but you suck at maths’ 

- The next day you wake up to the sun shining through the curtains 

- And a clump of Maeve’s hair in your mouth 

- You splutter and cough and wake her up quickly 

- And she jumps away from you and smacks her head of the table 

- The two of you ended up moving the blankets to the floor while watching Pride and Prejudice 

- And neither of you bothered to move back 

- Maeve yawns and scratches her head

- Exposing a small part of her stomach and you feel yourself become a little breathless 

- ‘are you okay?’ 

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and she eyes you suspiciously 

- ‘whatever’ she shrugs and starts making breakfast 

- You watch as she pours to bowls of cereal

- Giving you the last of the milk 

- And for a second you’re a little worried as to how she knew you liked it 

- But then you remember that she also likes it and you had a whole discussion about the best and worst types of cereal at 2am 

- And half way through breakfast 

- You remember the original reason you’re here 

- And both of you curse loudly 

- Before rushing to finish eating 

-You get half way through your project 

- When Maeve asks if you want to go out for a bit 

- And well 

- She doesn’t need to ask you twice 

- And by the time you come back 

- The feeling you had last night returns 

- And has settled in your stomach 

- For the foreseeable future it seems 

- It makes you feel both light and heavy at the same time 

- And when you look at her 

- You feel dizzy 

- So you rush to finish the project 

- So you can go home and pretend nothing has changed 

- And yeah 

- With the need to leave 

- You get the rest of the assignment done fairly quickly 

- But you end up leaving feeling more confused about Maeve as you did when you started this 

- Maybe Miss Sands was right about a weekend project 

- Any longer and you would have gone insane trying to figure out whatever the hell this is 

- You just have to get through tomorrow and then you’ll be okay 

- Everything will go back to normal 

- You and Maeve can go back to being neutral to each other

- And you won’t have to deal with all of these confusing feelings that have decided to make an appearance for some reason 

- Wellll

- Turns out Miss Sands was wrong 

- A weekend is not enough time 

- And the first few presentations are awful 

- To put it nicely 

- So you spend the next week in a permanent confused state 

- Confused as to why you start looking for Maeve whenever you enter a room

- Confused as to why your heart skips a beat whenever you hear her laugh 

- Confused as to why you never want her stop talking in class 

- Even if the bell has rung and it’s lunch 

- Confused to why you keep looking for excuses to go over to see her 

- Despite your assignment being long done 

- And even more confused as to why you feel anxious when you’re waiting for her to answer the door

- The next Monday rolls around both painfully slowly and far too quickly 

- And while you wait for Ola and Danny to finish their presentation 

- Your hands shake with anxiety while your grip your papers 

- Maeve reaches over the table and gives them a reassuring squeeze 

- But it just makes them shake more and she slowly pulls back 

- Your turn can’t come quick enough 

- But then it’s over far too quickly 

- And you slump back down in your seat disappointed 

- Despite Miss Sands’ praise 

- Because it’s over 

- You no longer have an excuse to hang out with her 

- You never talked before 

- So why do you care about after 

- But there’s so much about her that you want to know

- Like the weird swan/moth hybrid 

- And the ugly plate that sits on top of the bookshelf 

- You want to be part of these stories 

- You want to be able to point to these things and say

- ‘yeah, i know exactly why that is special to you’ 

- You want to be the reason to add to this random collection of stuff 

- You want her to smile when she looks at them because they’ll remind her of you 

- You want her to smile when she looks at you 

- ‘y/n? are you okay?’ she asks making you jump 

- The classroom is now empty and you didn’t even notice the bell go 

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and grab your bag

- ‘are you sure?’ she grabs your arm forcing you turn around 

- ‘whats the weird swan thing on your coffee table?’ you ask and she furrows her eyebrows at you. ‘it’s just i saw it when i first came over and i really want to know the story behind it’ 

- ‘oh. aimee went through a pottery phase last year and that was the only thing she made that didn’t have a hole in it.’

- ‘and the plate?’ 

- ‘birthday present from my neighbours’ 

- ‘they got you a plate?’ 

- ‘yeah, they don’t have any kids’ 

- ‘clearly’ 

- Silence fills the room and you stare at the peeling posters behind her head 

- You can feel Maeve move closer to you and your breath hitches when she stops a few centimetres in front of you 

- She grabs your hand and squeezes it again 

- And your heartbeat increases 

- ‘y/n?’ 

- ‘yeah?’ 

- ‘i’m really, really confused right now. like more confused that i have ever been in my life. but what i do know, is that if i watch you walk out of that door without saying anything first, then i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i’ve only ever felt like this about boys before, but now i feel this and more about you and i have no idea where it’s come from or what i need to do, but i do know i need to tell you. because otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair for either of us’ she whispers and you stare at her wide eyed 

- ‘can i kiss you?’ she asks and you nod your head quickly 

- Slowly she leans in

- Her eye flutter closed and you follow 

- Your lips brush over hers 

- Her hands wrap around you waist to pull you close

- And then your lips connect 

- And you feel everything change 

- She kisses you slowly 

- And when you pull away you both feel breathless 

- Her cheeks are bright red 

- And there’s a shy smile playing on her lips as she looks at you bashfully

- And all of a sudden you feel really grateful for Miss Sands and her personal issues 

- Although you really hope they are resolved now 

- For your sake as well as hers

support my writing! if you want! 

[borhap-au]

Your villain. Rami Malek au

You really tried to keep your cool, but the sexual tension between you two was undeniable. It was the scene where you stood in a room of an old castle, and he circled around you, saying his monologue. With every step, he got a bit closer and closer to you. You took a few deep breaths to contain yourself and not kiss him right there and then, in front of everyone.

You never saw a hotter villain. He was dressed in all black, his hair was styled in a fancy way and he had that smirk on his face that just screamed “trouble!” You, on the other hand, were dressed in a long green dress. Your hair was curly and loose, with a simple tiara keeping it all together. It was a fantasy movie, but that kind which was not suitable for young audiences. Rami’s character was ruthless and cruel, and your character had to do anything in her power to stop him. But in truth, if it was up to you, you would just stop him by keeping him in your bedroom, tied to your bed.

You both had supernatural powers. You were like light and darkness and because of him, you really wanted to join the dark side. You heard the word “cut!” and the main lights went back on. Everyone loosened up and Rami finally smiled his natural, heartwarming smile.

“I think it was quite good, don’t you think? It really worked this time.” He said, approaching you.

“Oh, yes, absolutely. I think it was our best shot so far. I totally felt it.” You agreed. He smiled, being proud of both of you.

“I hope the director will think the same.” He added, and you chuckled quietly.

“If not, tell him to discuss that matter with your Oscar.” You advised him, and he chuckled as well.

Thankfully, the director liked the scene as well, so after lunch, you could move on to a different sequence. This time it was after you both had been fighting with each other, and now you were on him, holding his hands down with all the supernatural energy power you had, disabling him from using his sword. You were both breathing heavily because the fight sequence was really difficult, it was almost like a very energetic dance routine. You held his hands down with all your strength, trying to make it look believable. You leaned over him and you were supposed to say your lines right to his face, but the longer you looked into his eyes, the further your lines escaped from your mind. You looked down at his mouth. He looked at your lips as well. None of the lines mattered to either of you anymore. You knew Rami thought the same, you felt it. You started lining forward…

“You’re going to like it in hell!” Someone shouted your line to you, to help you out. But at that moment, it was no help at all. It was a simple distraction. You moved your head back, suddenly very aware of yourself and your surroundings. And all the people around you. You felt stupid for doing that, so you asked for a little break, and the director granted it to you, but also warned you to better rehearse your lines. You nodded and went back to your trailer.

You closed your eyes and leaned on the wall. What were you even thinking? And around all those people… You sighed, mad at yourself for your lack of discretion, but you weren’t left alone with your thoughts for long. You heard knocking on your trailer door and rolled your eyes. Of course, somebody wanted something from you. You couldn’t have a minute of freedom in this damn-

“Oh, hey, Rami…” You gave him a fainted smile. He asked if he could come in. “Sure,” you opened the door wider so that he could get in. When he walked right next to you, your heartbeat started to rise. You closed to the door behind him.

“So, I was thinking whether you’d like to practice a few lines from that next scene,” he suggested, and you smiled apologetically in return.

“I’m sorry, I know I was completely rubbish out there, but I promise, I learned my lines. I just… They just… Poof,” you tried to explain, but he shook his head.

“I meant that I had trouble learning my own lines and I’d like to practice so that we don’t have to take another break and piss the director off,” he smiled and you chuckled quietly.

“Yeah, no problem,” you nodded your head and took your script to check your lines for the last time. After that, you began the scene. You pretended to fight, but in a very calm way, so more like showing each other what you would do rather than actually doing it. You didn’t want to break anything in the trailer and get tired during the break that was supposed to serve as a moment to take a breath.

“You’re going to like it in hell,” you said, and it sounded exactly like you wanted it to sound – as if you two were fighting for years and this time it finally came to an end. You sounded as if you were exhausted from trying to bring him to justice; as if that was the only thing you thought about since you started doing witchcraft and after today, you could finally rest. Even Rami was impressed with how you managed to squeeze so much meaning into a single sentence.

“I’m sure I will, after all, I’ve always liked a good company, and you, my dear, are certainly a company worth keeping,” he pretended to break free from you as well as put a knife through your heart and you, with your last breath cumulated all the power to destroy him. And in that last scene, you died, embraced, after years of fighting. You were finally free, not the way your character anticipated, but free nevertheless.

It was weird how easy everything was around Rami when it was just the two of you having fun. When there were no cameras and no eyes judging your every movement.

“Well, if we do it like this, on your next movie people will discuss their artistic differences with your Oscar,” he praised you, and you immediately blushed, because nobody’s compliments counted like his. Thankfully, due to your heavy make-up and bad lighting, he didn’t really see that.

“Thank you. It means a lot,” you admitted, and he smiled at you, at which you smiled back. He looked at your lips again and you involuntarily checked his. Your heart started racing. He leaned forward and… The break was over, as your director shouted through a megaphone.

“Oh, um… Thank you so much for your help with the lines,” you added before you both left your trailer.

“No problem. You were a huge help as well,” he smiled at you, and you loved his smile more every time you saw it.

You did the scene and you did it fantastically. You even got a standing ovation from the crowd around you. After that, you were almost done for the day, you just had to repeat one scene, because the director hoped for such intense emotions as he saw in this last scene. So you did the other scene one last time.

It was your first scene together in the movie, where you two meet for the first time after a long time. He’s heard stories about you being gone, killed fighting evil so he was sure he’s safe from you. You, on the other hand, heard only stories about his atrocities, but him being very much alive, so you decided to come and change that. He spoke your fictional name and you felt shivers going down your spine.

“What an unpleasant surprise,” his character admitted, and your character, technically still a newbie in her profession, held her breath, because for the first time in her life she had to face evil on her own. You looked him directly in the eyes, and he grabbed you by your shirt, initially to shout his character’s opinion of your character’s kind in your face, but this time, it was different and you were surprised with yourself that you didn’t notice it immediately while he planned it.

After he grabbed you by your shirt, for which you were prepared, because that was in the script, came something unexpected, but much more pleasant. He kissed you. Finally, after weeks of you praying for his lips to touch yours, it really happened. Despite none of it being in the script, the director didn’t stop you. He allowed for it, because everybody on set felt the sexual tension rising between the two of you and it was rather annoying, so everybody hoped you could resolve it somehow. The screenwriter considered even making changes to the script to make you lovers in the past, so you can have that kissing scene you two needed so much.

When his lips touched yours, you immediately kissed him back. You put your hands on his cheeks, bringing him closer and he put his hands around you and did the same. The world around you two didn’t matter, because it didn’t exist at that moment. You focused on the kiss and the amazing taste of his lips, how soft and sweet they were. It was passionate, and it finally let some of the tension between the two of you go away, leaving only a nice, warm feeling of happiness. When you unwillingly let go of each other, he smiled at you, petting your cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you, for being the best partner I ever had the pleasure to work with,” he said, and you replied with a smile.

“Thank you for making this movie the nicest adventure I’ve ever been on.”

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling the Mystery

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Length: Short Story

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: I have been sitting on this idea, for a while. It's taken forever to get it just right, what can I say? I can't get away from these folks.

Henry Cavill Master List

Sitting in the backseat of the car, Ivan huffed. Arms across his chest, Kal laying quietly beside him, his head on the boy's lap. He was not amused by his parent's Saturday excursion. In the front seat, Nell checked her phone, looking at emails and appointments for the upcoming week. Henry had his eyes on the road, navigating through the small city with expert care and attention.

Saturdays spent as a family were supposed to be fun. Ivan wasn't exactly having fun. Grumpy all morning, he hadn't turned his scowl upside down once. Whatever. His parents didn't seem to notice or care that he was in a pissy mood. Why should they?

When they'd left home, Henry had mentioned going to the next town over, but didn't really say why. Nell had been too worried looking for paperwork. Ivan wasn't stupid, he'd heard them in the office last night. They thought he had gone to bed, which he had, but they didn't know their son had gone back down stairs for a drink. Walking by the door, he'd stopped, originally to say “good night”, again but decided to hold out.

Ivan laid his head back on the seat, Kal nestling in for the remainder of the ride. How could his parents do this to him? The bits of conversation had replayed in his mind all night.

"But if we adopt, then we know it's a girl." Sighing, Nell rubbed her eyes. "I am outnumbered."

"Yes, but what if we can't find the right girl?"

Ivan furrowed his brow, listening through the cracked door. His parents were clearly discussing something that would be a huge part of their family, yet chose to leave him out? 

Standing quietly for a few seconds, trying to peep around the office door, he saw Kal sprawled out on the floor. Sleeping soundly. At least his position wasn't going to be given away. 

"And we will need to take him. I don't want to bring him home a sister, to find out he's pissed off." Henry continued. 

Gee, thanks dad. Ivan rolled his eyes, tears stinging. 

Inside of the office his mother's chair scraped the floor. Time to move along. Quietly rushing to get upstairs, before he was caught. 

They were adopting and didn't even bother to ask how he felt? What if he didn't want a sibling? What if he was content being an only child? Nobody had bothered to ask him and it hurt.

“Almost there,” Henry announced. Ivan huffed, Nell hummed, and Kal sighed. “Not the response that I was expecting, but okay.”

“I'm excited, I'm busy is all.” Nell glanced at her husband with a warm smile. “Someone has to keep you in costume and Ivan on track.”

“Whatever.” Ivan muttered, rolling his eyes. So now they pretend to care.

“When we're finished, do you want to go for a walk and grab something to eat?”

Leaning around in her seat to see Ivan; Nell smiled. “What do you think wild boy? Should we grab something to eat after? I hear they have a great sushi place just around the corner.”

“Whatever.”

“Is that all you can say today?” Nell raised her brow.

Ivan shrugged.

“Well, then. I guess you don't have an opinion, then we will go wherever we see fit.”

“Why ask me where I want to eat, you didn't care to ask me if I even wanted to come.”

“We thought that you'd enjoy an afternoon out.” Henry answered, checking that he was clear to make the right hand turn. Pulling into an empty space, he killed the engine. “We're here.”

“I'm excited.”

“I'm not.” Grumbled Ivan in reply to his mother's enthusiasm.

Leaning over, Henry was the one turned to face his sullen son. “Okay, before we go in. Care to tell me what's going on?”

In the back seat, Ivan tried his best not to allow his tears to fall. If they began then they may never stop. Dramatic? A little. He couldn't hold it in any longer, his parents had truly hurt his feelings and trust. Why had they not trusted him to tell him the truth? If he hadn't heard them talking, would they have simply brought another child home and told him to deal with it?

Sniffling, he wiped his hand across his cheeks. How silly did he look?

“Ivan?” Henry prompted, gently reaching out to his son.

Shrinking away, Ivan continued to sniffle. Shaking his head, Ivan opened his mouth to answer, but only a sob came.

“Are you okay? Ivan, you can talk to us.” Encouraging her son, despite her heart clenching, Nell tried to smile.

He had been out of sorts all morning. Taking it as he was annoyed to be woken so early, Nell had ignored his bad mood. She'd figured it would change, when they arrived to meet the puppy. On the seat beside him, Kal laid with his head still on Ivan. Nudging him gently with his nose.

“You didn't even ask me, how-how I felt.” Ivan whispered.

“Felt? About what? Are you not feeling well?” Concern etched Henry's face.

Ivan shook his head. “About adopting. Why? Why would you do that and not talk to me? A sister is a pretty big thing and you didn't even ask, if I wanted one.”

In a second, Henry could nearly feel his heart breaking for his son. Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck. Nell sprang into mom mode. Taking over, giving Ivan a soft smile and passing back a tissue from her bag,

“Oh, wild boy.” Cooing, Nell shook her head. “No, I think you have it wrong.”

“Do I? Oh really?”

“Yeah, we're um...we wanted to keep it a secret, in case Kal didn't get along with her. But then we were so excited, we had to bring you. Ivan, we're here to see about adopting another dog.”

“A dog?” Ivan sat up his interest fully engaged. Henry laughed and nodded. His mood changing faster than a speeding bullet. “A dog? We're getting another dog?”

“Maybe.” It was only fair that Henry laid down the rules now. “If she and Kal get along, then we will take her home. For a week. If they manage well, then she is ours. If they don't, then we have to bring her back. We didn't want to tell you, because we wanted to surprise you.”

“You better like her.” Ivan gently booped Kal's nose. Kal snuffled and yawned.

“I wish you had told us, how you felt. Oh god, I'm sorry.”

Last night, while in the office, Nell had heard a creak outside the door. Assuming it was another feature of the older home, she had ignored it, continuing her conversation with Henry. Shit. Now she felt terrible. How Ivan must have felt, beyond her comprehension. No wonder the poor boy had been in a rotten mood. Assuming his parent were making life decisions and not bothering to inform him.

“It's okay mum.” Ivan shrugged, “I shouldn't have assumed.”

“Wild boy, we would never adopt another child, without talking to you. Honestly.” Nell informed her son, her caring smile growing.

“Unless something changes, drastically, we will never have that conversation. So I think you are safe.”

“But I thought you wanted more kids?” Eyeing his father cautiously, Ivan wiped his nose on the tissue and snuffled once more. His tears dried on his cheeks.

Henry shrugged, glancing at Nell and smiling. “Once upon a time, I would have loved to have a dozen kids. But, I think that time has gone. You're older now and I know that you enjoy being an only child. Besides, your mum and I don't have that energy anymore. Chasing small children, it's too much work.”

“Well, now that we have this cleared up. Shall we go meet the potential, puppy?”

“Yes, please.” Ivan sprung up, grabbing Kal's leash to get the big dog out of the car. Opening the car door, he shuffled out to join his parents, promptly handing Kal to Henry.

A shift in his mood, Ivan could barely contain his excitement, asking his parents all kinds of questions. The short distance from the car to the shelter didn't give them much time to answer, but Nell did her best to fill in any information that Ivan was requesting. They had found the puppy on the website, not really looking for another dog.

Her name was Tilly, she was almost a year old, an energetic doxie pinscher mix. Her mother rescued a few weeks before Tilly and her two brothers were born. Ivan didn't even have to see her, to know she would be the best dog – best small dog – ever. Clearly Kal was the best dog ever. Henry allowed Kal a few minutes outside, while Nell and Ivan went inside to inform the staff that they had arrived.

“Mum,” Ivan whispered standing beside her, in the lobby, waiting for the assistant to join them, “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, wild boy. You have nothing to be sorry for, but the next time come talk to me. I don't like it when you are upset.” Nell wrapped her arm around him, kissing the top of his head.

“Mrs. Cavill?” A tall woman asked walking into the room. Nell nodded and smiled. “Hi, I'm Aly. I'll be hanging out with you today.” She glanced at Ivan and smiled. Carefully looking passed Nell, she shifted. “You mentioned bringing your dog?”

“Yes, he's outside with my husband. It was a bit of a drive up. Can you go let your dad know that he needs to come in?” Nell ruffled Ivan's hair.

Nodding, Ivan did his best to control his excitement, reminding himself to walk towards the door. Calmly, he took a breath. Spotting Henry and Kal on the small patch of grass, he waved opening the door to call his dad. Excitement, contain. Breathe. Ivan straightened his posture before walking back across the office to his mother.

“He's coming.”

“Do you want to follow me in, when he comes in then I can have them sent back?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Following Aly behind a set of doors, Nell and Ivan walked hand in hand. It was not at all what Ivan imagined. There were no rows of barking dogs, instead it was a calm and quiet group of rooms. Each one with large windows and a door. Inside the floors had patches of fake grass, tile flooring, and a few toys.

“The last time that you were here, I know that you and your husband had met Tilly and Anduin.” Holding open a door to one of the rooms, Aly addressed Nell. Ivan raised his brow. So his parents had been here before? “Did you want to bring them both out?”

Slightly blushing, Nell gave the assistant a sheepish smile. “I'm not going to lie, I really adored Tilly. I agreed to bring Anduin out, to humour my husband.”

Ivan giggled. Of course his dad would have wanted to meet Anduin.

“Ah, I understand. Okay, well I am going to get Tilly. You can make yourselves comfortable.”

Ivan sat in one of the plastic office chairs, swinging his legs lightly, his feet not that far from the floor. Nell stood in the corner by the floor to ceiling window, watching for Henry and Kal. Humming contently, Ivan tried to picture what this new dog would look like. She would certainly be smaller than Kal, not even the size of Kal's leg. He giggled at the idea of the little dog bossing the old bear around.

Would Tilly like them?

“What's Anduin like?”

“Huh?” Nell turned her head to look at Ivan, she had been lost in her thoughts of upcoming projects and school sport schedules.

“Anduin, you said that you only saw him because Dad wanted to.”

“Oh, he's a nice dog. But he's big and bouncy, he's still young and they said he had a bit of an aggression problem to work through. I'm sure he'll make someone a great dog, but he's not what we need. Not right now.”

Ivan nodded in understanding. As much as they loved Kal, one big dog was enough. He sat looking around the room, when he and his mom spotted Aly at the same time. Taking a step back from her post, Nell held out an arm to Ivan, indicating she wanted him to join her.

Entering the room, Aly had a small dog in her arms. Licking her face furiously, the dog wagged her tail, excitedly enjoying the interaction.

“Here is Tilly,” bending to sit the puppy on the floor, Aly smiled at Ivan. “Why don't you take a seat and get to know her?”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan tugged on Nell's sleeve. “This is the best surprise.”

“I'm glad you're excited.” Nell kissed the top of his head. “Do you want to play with her? Get to know her a little, before Kal comes in?”

On the other side of the windows, Nell caught sight of Henry and Kal approaching. Kal looked around cautiously, following Henry into the small corridor. Nodding to his wife and giving a slight wave, Henry smiled. He would wait right where he was, until asked to bring Kal in. Kal sat at Henry's side, watching through the window, a slight whine when he saw little Henry playing with the ultra small dog.

Sitting down on the floor, allowing the small brown dog to climb on him, Ivan giggled. Her whole body shook with her tail wag, as she bounced on and off of the boy's lap. Aly smiled, watching the two interact.

“They certainly get on well.”

“Ivan loves dogs.”

When Henry and Nell had come to see the dogs, it had been Henry on the floor giggling like a child, while the puppy had climbed all over him. Nell had joined in, sitting and tossing the ball for both Tilly and Anduin. But Ivan was by far the one in his true element.

“Let's see how Kal does, shall we?”

“Of course.” Nell waved for Henry to bring Kal in.

Opening the door, Henry gave a gentle tug on Kal's leash. The big, black and white dog was hesitant to enter the room with the smaller creature. She was full of the zoomies and her bark was fierce.

“Kal.” Henry called to his companion. “Come on. It's fine.”

Reluctant, Kal shuffled into the room, snuffling and snorting. Making sure to keep Henry, Nell, Ivan, and the strange woman between him and the small fur missile. The small brown dog darted around Nell, between Henry's legs and right up to Kal. Pulling back on his leash, Kal was wide eyed. No! No way! She was growing closer.

Without warning Tilly stopped a few inches from Kal, reaching out she sniffed his foot and took off. Too concerned with her return, Kal was having a hard time relaxing. His fear was soon soothed, when Nell reached down to offer him a biscuit. Oh so now they were buying him off with food? Eh, fair enough.

“Why don't you pick her up, then she's not as bouncy.” Aly smiled at Ivan.

Scooping the puppy into his arms, Ivan smiled when she began to instantly lick his face. “Tilly.” He giggled, holding her out to his dad.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Henry accepted the puppy. She was tiny compared to Kal, even as a baby. Henry smiled holding the wiggly body, trying to control her enough to let Kal get a proper look. “Look Kal, see the baby.”

Kal huffed, sinking down to the floor. His head resting on his paws. How dare they.

“Have a look, bear.” Henry encouraged the older dog. Bending down with the puppy, he laughed when she licked his chin, giving playful bites. “She's okay. Easy fella.” He steadied Kal, who had lifted his head a little. Sniffing towards the puppy, he sat up. His head tilted slightly. Henry eased Tilly closer.

Reaching out, she yipped in Kal's face, but didn't shy when his big nose poked her in the belly. Licking at Kal, she wagged her tail fiercely.

“I know that you love being the only dog, but would a friend be terrible? She's a friend. Not a chew toy.” Nell eyed Kal.

Huffing, Kal sniffed the puppy once more, before scooting back as Henry let her go on the floor. Instantly zooming around the room, Tilly bumped into Kal. Reacting less dramatically, Kal groaned and flopped down onto the floor. His eyes following the puppy, his desire to chase the small creature almost void. He was too old for this shit.

“I think we should take her home, what do you think?” Henry glanced at Ivan.

“Yes, please.” Ivan nodded eagerly. “What about you, Kal? Do you want a sister?”

Kal huffed. He didn't care one way or another.

“I think we will definitely be taking her.” Nell smiled. Stooping to scoop up the puppy, she scratched Tilly's ears and smiled wide.

“Your mum has a new mate,” Henry nudged Ivan in he side, gesturing to Nell snuggling the puppy.

“Maybe this means she won't bother me so much to do things.” Ivan snickered.

“Don't bet on it,” Nell smirked, she'd heard their chat. When would they learn, she heard everything.

Settling the final paperwork, gathering instructions, and all the legal work that went with adopting dog had taken mere minutes. The shelter were efficient, set up, and knew their business. Henry admired that. Nell had been the one to find them, assuring him that they were reputable, reliable, and a decent place to work with. She wanted nothing but the best, when it came to their newest addition.

Thanking Aly, posing for a few photos – as was custom for the shelter, when an animal found a new place, and making sure they had all of their paperwork, instructions in case Tilly needed to come back. Ha! They were on the their way, the five of them.

Kal led the way to the car, he had snacks waiting and needed to finish that nap he'd been taking. Henry opened the door, allowing Kal to get situated, before Ivan and Tilly joined him. Giving the big dog word of encouragement, telling him how fantastic he'd been with the entire thing.

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan bounded towards the car, at his mother's side “I'm sorry for being upset this morning.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, wild boy.” Carrying Tilly; Nell wrapped her other arm around Ivan. “But do me a favour, the next time you want to eves drop, come to us before assuming things.”

Tag List Chat

[kuromichad]

the main thing that bugs me about ao3 discourse is i just. i never see anyone lay out what they actually Want from ao3 besides 'delete everything i think is bad' like theres no. sense of practicality? what exactly do you want added to the tos. what is the exact expected process for reporting fics and evaluating those reports. disclaimer before anyones like 'Oh so youre unilaterally defending them' i do extremely think they should at the least not allow rpf of irl minors. but when it comes to enforcing policies that aren't related to like, laws, i just wonder how you expect it to work... should they just delete anything/anyone who gets reported a lot, like plenty of sites do? then people are gonna exploit that system and get people mass reported over petty shit, just like on twitter. should there be a moderation team instead? who picks that team? who's on that team? what if the team makes decisions you don't like?

especially when you're talking about creating some kind of policy for 'eliminating racist content,' like-- what counts? i'm guessing that like, troll works that are just a wall of slurs already get deleted (if they don't then they should be because that's pretty simple) but like. who decides what's 'bad enough' to merit outright deletion? if it's done by volume of reports, wouldn't that essentially be arbitrary moderation because it depends on a random group of people who potentially all have different problems with a fic and those problems can vary wildly in severity? like, what about when it comes down to nuances of how a character is treated? dramas like we had with finnpoe discourse, where either character topping might invoke different racist tropes, so how does one walk the line and how do you cope with how not everyone who attempts to walk it will be successful?

i saw one post giving the example of a fic that just like, rewrote the events of last year's protests to be set in the transformers universe, and yeah that's tasteless, there's been offensive 'current events' fic happening for a long time and it sucks. but should there be an explicit ban on that genre? how would that clause be worded? does Everyone agree that it's something that's impossible to do tastefully? if a black person does want to work through their feelings on current events through fanfiction, is that still banned because it's presumably impossible to do well, or should it be allowed because they have the right perspective? do they have to meet a certain standard of 'doing it right', and who evaluates that? and how are ao3 moderators supposed to know or believe they have that perspective? (we've already seen people racefaking to get 'permission' to write tacky racist fic just due to social pressures. imagine the lengths people will go to if their work or account is on the line.)

like-- sorry if this is a gauche comparison but since it's something i'm familiar with and able to speak on. what if the next wave of criticism is 'ao3 needs to crack down on transphobic content'? how will you define that, beyond 'delete fake fics that are just slurs'? would entire tags like omegaverse, or 'boypussy' and 'girl!penis', or even 'genderbend' get deleted? what about trans authors using those tags? do we become the only ones allowed because we can do it 'correctly'? how do we deal with the fact that not all trans people agree on what's 'correct'. like i don't think genderbending is inherently transphobic, it's down to individual choices and portrayals. same with omegaverse, same even with 'boypussy/girl!penis', since like. people might take issue with the entire premise of 'characters have this type of body and it just doesn't like, mean anything' as being fetishizing of trans bodies/erasure of trans experience and i sympathize with that. i'm not certain where i fall on the matter either, it's very much a case by case thing.

so then, how do you moderate that? do we get rid of those tags because someone decided nobody can use them responsibly or should like the premise at all? again, do we appoint moderators to decide when an idea is handled 'correctly' and again, who are the moderators? what happens when they make a decision you don't like? how do you distinguish between fic with a 'wrong' premise and fic with an 'okay' premise that is executed imperfectly and leads to interpretations or implications that upset people, especially when many fic writers are young and amateurs? should someone who made mistakes be punished with deletion just as much as someone who, like, intentionally wrote character-bashing/abuse fic for racist/transphobic/etc reasons?

like, none of what i'm asking here is supposed to be applied to general discussion of these subjects, it's not like i think offensive content should never be taken down, i'm not pulling some kind of 'everything Could be offensive so actually nothing is' or 'if they didn't mean to then it doesn't count' or anything like that. but we aren't talking about interpersonal discussions, or the handling of mass media, or anything like that. we're specifically talking about the concept of 'just delete everything that's offensive and exploitative' and how that would potentially be implemented. because ao3 is not a person who said something tasteless on twitch and can be reasoned with and led to make an apology. ao3 is a website hosting all sorts of ideas from millions of users, specifically in the form of fiction, and the way fiction conveys biases and shapes people's thinking is itself a really fucking complicated subject, and people are trying to demand that they try to tame that massive volume of content from different people in very specific ways, with no suggestion of how to actually go about doing that.

i know you think 'delete the stuff thats obviously bad' is a simple principle but it's literally not because no two people will ever 100% agree on what's 'obviously bad', particularly in this case because people don't consistently agree on whether depiction always equals endorsement AND it's so difficult to reliably tell whether depiction that seems to be endorsed was intended to be endorsed. so again, the primary, most practical options for 'delete things that are bad' are to either delete everything that anyone reports for any reason or to have moderators that make flawed human choices. i just want to feel like any of the people making 'ao3 bad' posts have actually like, considered that, and have some sort of opinion on which one it should be, if theyre gonna fight about this.

and, yknow, if they did have to hire a massive team of additional moderators to actually read every fic and take the time to make subjective decisions about whether it's offensive... they would need to pay those people... and they would still need donations. so lmao.

im not saying like 'youre not allowed to want things to change' like there's definitely room for improvement but. please god. start explaining what you want those changes to be because 'delete everything i personally think is bad' is not a moral imperative or a coherent category or a helpful suggestion in the least, if you think with your brain and not your gut instinct of disgust.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

HSMTMTS 2x10: New and a bit alarming... ok, very alarming

I don't even know at this point if I'm more nervous or excited for this episode. I've done my waiting and, well, whatever lies ahead, good or bad, or a little bit of both, I just can't wait anymore, even though I haven't been so scared to press play since... well, since last week. Guess I should just go for it, then:

Ooh, shady Seb doing the recap! We love to see it. Like, seriously, I'm anxious about the Seblos fight, but shady Seb is kind of my new favourite Seb.

I just... Ashlyn's acting is top tier. Emotional connection to the material? Superb! Chemistry with her co-lead... well, he'd have to be co-leading for any chemistry to be possible. I love Ricky, and I feel for him with all he's been through, but he's just not lead material right now. And it shows. Especially next to Ashlyn, who is killing it!

Miss Jenn is on the verge of a bloody mental breakdown and I just... wish I could do something to make things better. She reminds me of my mum when a deadline approaches for her to submit an article, and I just feel for her right now. Gosh, I'm feeling for everybody today. My empathy seems to be at its peak and I might just burst from all these emotions this episode is making me feel even before the 5-minute mark.

Ok, but Miss Jenn being stressed means Carlos is stressed for two, which means... this is a really bad time for him and Seb to have personal problems. My heart just can't handle it.

Wow... I never thought I'd see the day! The two leads are actually talking to each other! This is a mid-July miracle!

Why does everyone keep pretending their HSM was good? It was a flaming hot mess! A child could see that.

Miss Jenn needs a lot of work on her 'gracious face'. I, like Carlos, have quite some notes. Only mine aren't exactly, how do you say... verbally formulated quite yet.

Did Carlos just refer to Miss Jenn as 'mother'? Because yes.

I've been in a couple of local theatre productions in my day, but none of them had actual physical sets — we relied on the audience's imagination quite a lot — so I wouldn't know what a good set is made of... but even I can tell that plywood and Elmer's glue = not good.

Kourtney is a multi-tasking icon and we love her. I feel like I don't say this enough, but she deserves all the love.

Ooh, shady Seb is... well, shady! 'Quit school and get a job at the pizza shop?' — I mean, you don't see Reddy or Kourtney (or Howie, for that matter) quitting school in order to work at the Slices! Those kids juggle it all and, as someone who's never had to balance school and a job all at once, they have my deepest admiration.

Still, I think they should have thought about 'inventing' something re: transformation earlier than this point. The personal drama has taken up too much of their time.

Why does everyone keep inviting people over to Ashlyn's? I mean, it's not like I've ever heard her complain, but the girl needs some rest! And her house is not a public space.

Oh, so they're making this into a contest? I mean, I have never been a fan of competition, but to each their own. And Redlyn are hosting! This is going to be so beautiful! (You know, unless the boys try to sleep — see my post from yesterday about Reddy's background noise machine)

'I'm not worried. But North High should be!' Ooh, I love this look on Ashlyn! See, there's a lead to take notes from! And Ricky should be the first to do so. Take notes about what a lead acts like, I mean.

Oooooh, Big Red claps back! We love to see it. Although, you know, it stems from the fact that he's nervous about coming up with a solution to the transformation problem. 'I get bossy around the power tools' — Yes, sweetie, and I love that look on you. Maybe you should be around power tools more often, if that helps.

Ughhh, look what the cat brought in! Lily (I wish I knew her last name so I could refer to her by it exclusively, but we'll have to make do). I hate that girl. She reminds me quite exactly of the girl who bullied me in seventh grade to the point where I wished I'd die before having to deal with her at school again. She and Lily both bring out my aggressive side, and I hate that about them.

Ricky — 'so good at being a leading man'? I don't know what Lily is playing at here, but Ricky has not shown himself to be a very good leading man this season. He has the potential to be, but he has not fulfilled it by this point. Sure, he supports his friends and they support him, but that's basic decency. Not yet good leadership. No hate on Ricky, just the truth.

'I vaguely remember him' — please tell me this is setup for Ricky leading Lily on and then slamming the door in her face with the truth. The way I see it, he's been given a chance here. A chance to be the supportive, protective best friend Big Red deserves. I just... have a lot of ideas about this and I don't want it to end badly instead.

'I'm just not well-liked here, and I don't know what to do' — well, of course you aren't well-liked, you little— (ok, ok, calm down, breathe, 10, 9, 8...) whatever. I mean, she hasn't even considered basic decency, as it seems. Must be a new concept to her.

'Don't start with me, Carlos!' Wow. As much as I hate it that my two faves' only interaction in so long is so hostile, I kind of like this side of Big Red. I wonder what other sides of himself he's been hiding.

Listen, I don't like Seb being patronised and babied, but... 'Chip, this is your mother speaking: go call your mother!' made me laugh so hard. They're leaning into the on-stage family dynamic and I live for it.

EJ's idea of using old skateboards for the spinning contraption is... a brilliant callback to the fact that Ricky and Big Red were first characterised as skateboarders... you know, before diving headfirst into the theatre thing. And it feels like it might actually work.

Miss Jenn's excitement at seeing Mr Mazzara ('Benjamin!!!') is perhaps only topped by the fact that he was halfway home, got a text from her and instantly went back to the school. I mean, these two have something that's really big.

Miss Jenn referring to the kids as 'my children', combined with Carlos calling her 'mother' earlier just warms my heart so much! Those guys really are family. I live for it.

Ok, but... as clear as it is that the Wildcats are very far behind NH in terms of budget, rehearsal time and who knows what else, I hate seeing Miss Jenn resigned to them losing. I want to see her have faith in them, talk about how they will win, and, in her own words, 'trust the process'. I mean, I guess it's good that, as a teacher, she wants to prepare her kids for a possible defeat (and I mean really possible if they don't step up their game immediately, especially some of them * cough* Ricky *cough *), but a team that goes out to the field expecting to lose has a very minimal chance of winning.

Despite everything I've been saying again and again about Nini lately, the fact that she just delivered a very different 'No, Seb' has just redeemed her. See, this one wasn't dismissive or patronising — this was like, 'no, Seb, don't put yourself down' and I love that spin on the catchphrase I'd grown to hate. See, many things can be redeemed. And some simply cannot. * cough* Devil's spawn Lily *cough *. Also, Seb being self-conscious about the fact that Carlos 'doesn't have many options' at East Hight is the perfect setup for In a Heartbeat — meaning they will either have a chance to talk about their issue, or they have a telepathic connection, in which case, what kind of soulmate stuff is that?

'You're my sister; he's my cousin' — yeah, Ash, putting it like that makes it sound a lot weirder than it should, but I do get what you're trying to say. This is not a drill! Ashlyn is a Portwell shipper (heck, maybe even the captain of that ship) — but I feel like we already knew that.

'Why'd I never hear about this?' — and there it goes. Within the same scene, Nini was redeemed and then made aggravating again. What does she care if Gina thought Ricky sent her chocolates? He didn't. Because he and Gina can't be anything but very good friends. And I feel like good friends is what Gina needs. Maybe that's why I wanted EJ to be that for her initially (or it was because I'm aroace and don't tend to notice romantic attraction between fictional characters — or real people for that matter — unless it's explicitly stated to be there). But I've been on board of the majestic S.S. Portwell for a few weeks now and it's finally about to set sail.

Yeah, Nini, get a root beer, calm the heck down and get over it!

'Your other clockwise!' — Why does this even need to be said? How many 'clockwise's are there? I absolutely understand why Big Red gets the way he gets around power tools. I'd be on edge too, if the people I was trying to work with didn't know what way clockwise is. Still, I feel like by the time I'm 30, nobody younger than me would have a reason to know what way clockwise is, and I don't know if I feel bad or neutral about it.

Oh, so there's no telepathy involved in Seblos' problem resolution — it's been Redlyn's good communication all along. I might have known.

Ooh, Portwell is being discussed on both sides! PORTWELL NATION HOW WE FEELING

Nini? Why is everything about Nini? There's no way everything is about Nini. In all seriousness, though, EJ's worries about letting the next girl go seem valid in regards to Gina, given that she explicitly stated (though not within earshot of EJ or anyone who could have tipped him off) that she needs someone who will show up and stay. But they'll figure it out. They'll find a way. I know it. They will, or I will riot, and I know I won't be alone in that.

Ooh, Howie is giving Kourtney the original blueprints! Looks like Reddy isn't the only one who has a spy on the inside.

Ahhh, Ricky! Not 'Let You Go' again. I haven't cried to it in three days and I was not ready to break that streak. But... wait, this is where Carlos approaches Ricky to ask him for help with writing a song for Seb, isn't it? I am definitely ready for this.

Oh, is it... is it Ricky who suggests Carlos write a song for Seb? Now that is what a good leading man looks like.

'I'm adjusting to being called bro' — me too, Carlito, me too. But... this scene must have been so emotional for Josh, given that he hadn't come out yet. I remember him crying during The Climb and... all I'm saying is I want Ricky to come out at some point, too.

Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh... they were just talking about love languages and that's when Carlos shows up? Cinematic. Wait, there's Portwell too? This is what dreams are made of.

My oh my oh my! Risotto! For real this time. I might have just teared up. (Full disclosure: I did.) I've only had Portwell for about three weeks, but if anything happens to them, I will... you know how the meme goes. [side note: Wait, when I said 'for real this time', I was not expecting EJ would say it, much less word for word. Am I... writing this show now? It's usually my dad who predicts people's lines in TV shows]

'Not that I know of'... excuse me while I hyperventilate! These two are literal soulmates. They might share a brain, too, for all that I know. Portwell nation you ok guys?

I love that Ricky helped Carlos out with this song and is supporting him through it, but... I just might have preferred for him not to be there. I kind of need Seblos to have this moment to themselves. But, you know, with the way they feel about each other it might as well be like they're alone in the universe, let alone the room.

Ok, but Frankie's voice... brings out feelings in me that I didn't know I was capable of. Make of that what you will. Also, I'm not sobbing my eyes out, you are.

Ahhh Reddy my sunshine my sweet boy I love you but why did you have to cut Seblos' moment short? They were going to kiss, I know it. Oh well, they probably will, later on. Off-screen probably, but who cares? Not everything is for us to see. At least Carlos and Ricky had a moment there... Carlos calling Ricky 'bro' made me more emotional than I expected. It's like Miss Jenn says in s1: 'They're best bros, and that's a sacred thing... for reasons I will never understand'.

Ricky's acting sounds like a cat about to spit up a hairball, and it's so funny... in a scene that is supposed to be arguably the most dramatic of the entire play, that is not a good thing.

Oh my, oh my... you did not! You did not just end the episode with Ricky taking a fall from who knows how high. I was not ready. This episode was entirely too much for me. I will need 10 to 15 business days to recover from this, and we all know there aren't that many. But in the meantime you'll find me obsessively listening to In a Heartbeat for hours on end. Seriously, this episode is too much.

[lesbianlotties]

the only touchstone of truth - I Care A Lot (2020) - Marla x Fran

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives Summary: The American dream. The small business that Marla Grayson built from nothing. And now it's all crumbling down back to... nothing. Marla is left to pick up the pieces of the broken dream, but this time she's determined to start a fire with what she has left. The problem, or rather, the solution, comes in the shape of Fran, a gorgeous woman that, unlikely as it seems, has just as many tricks under her sleeve as Marla. This is how they meet, this is how they fall into each other's dangerous games, and most importantly, this is how they fall in love. Love, the only honest thing about each other, and the most important part of their story.

Chapter 1:

Marla was sitting behind the counter in her shop, wearing a sharp white shirt and her blonde hair falling in soft waves on her shoulders. The place was desolated, only Curtis stood by, idly reorganizing the shelves for maybe the hundredth time. Restlessness disgusted Marla. When she caught herself starting to lazily spin from side to side on her swivel chair she shook herself out of it by planting her feet firmly on the floor and picking up her vape pen. She’d only started using it to become a master of the trade she’s decided to pursue, but she’d grown quickly attached to it. Like an assassins’ favorite knife, it could be used as a weapon, but it brought comfort in unexplainable ways too.

“Curtis,” Marla exhaled, staring at her friend, “What is… the most American thing you can think of?”

The man smiled, an objectively beautiful smile, and said, “Cowboys.”

Instead of laughing, Marla nodded very seriously. That was, indeed, a very American thing. Men proudly resorting to childish ideals of what it is to be a man, hoping to use boyish charm to earn points in a game nobody could possibly win something worthy of. The problem was, Curtis wasn’t like that, not with Marla at least, and his answer was genuine. Besides, the fictional idea of a traditional cowboy was very American indeed. “What would a cowboy do,” Marla wondered slowly, “when facing a god-awful rival?”

“Get rid of them?” the young man replied. That was a certain answer, and the impulse of making it sound like a question at the end was just a consequence of answering to Marla. It was a common thing, he wasn’t immune to it, and she actually relished the fact that she could make people doubt the most obvious things they should be confident in.

“Exactly,”  Marla clicked her teeth and winked, adding a playful gesture as if she’d just shoot him with an invisible gun.

Her friend and employee chuckled fondly at her. “Yeah, sorry, Marla, but I don’t think you can get rid of them.”

Gracefully, Marla stood up from the chair. What she’d been staring at so intently on her computer’s screen was the view from one of the security cameras outside, pointing across the street at the line of people waiting to get in at the bigger and flashier vape shop that recently opened up. “I know,” she said, almost soft enough to hide the venom in the words of acceptance of her downfall. She spread both hands on the counter and stared. It was the beginning of goodbye. She wasn’t an overly emotional person, she didn’t exactly hold a sentimental attachment with the place, not even to the person she had been when she started this journey. But, she had to say goodbye. However, “I won’t go down without a fight,” Marla stated. She walked around the counter and toward the front of the shop.

Personally, Marla had a different idea of what was the most American thing a person could do. Walk away from a suffocating family to the big city, make the most of what the world currently wants and turn it into a business, build it all from the ground up, turn it into an empire, make yourself rich enough to become a challenge to royalty and deities alike. It was a perfect plan as long as nobody warned you of the impossible to overcome obstacles that would appear in your path. Marla had done her work, she had spent the better part of her youth working inconceivable schedules and begging for loans. She had studied the market, the competition, the ins and outs of one smart investment, and it had worked. Until the grand opening of a monstrous shop close enough for it to be humiliating. They sold a brand, and Marla couldn’t compete. She’d done everything right, perhaps it was time to do a little bit of wrong in order to come out as a winner.

Marla had chosen that particular place to set up her shop because it was convenient for her type of business, but she never liked the place very much. That was something she could admit now that she was saying goodbye to it. She was staring out the glass windows and almost grimacing at the view. She’d always wanted an office that would be at least one floor up from the ground, before reaching the highest level of the building, of course. Now she was making herself the promise not to rest until she achieved her real goals and desires, the bigger the better, no space for conformity with accomplishing the bare minimum, not anymore.

“Maybe they can get rid of me,” Marla finally said, much to the confusion of the young man listening to her. She didn’t have just an idea, she’d just come up with an entire plan

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

The police sirens were a perfect soundtrack, just like Marla had imagined it. But they carried, along with the blinking red and blue lights, unexpected effects. It was the perfect background for a few of Marla’s nightmares, and for most of her dreams. If only she didn’t have to hold back for one reason or another. If the men that threatened her ever came to something. If only she listened to that little voice in the back of her head that encouraged her to push further and harder against life. It felt like every “ what if ” of her life ended up with police sirens and red and blue lights at her back. Only one slight movement of her shoes on the broken glass that covered the floor of her shop was enough to pull her out of her deep thoughts. Only of discreet shake of her head to push her hair off her face was enough to bring her back to the conversation at hand.

“I didn’t see it, at first,” she said in a frail tone of someone retelling an awful nightmare, “it wasn’t until Curtis pointed it out that… Christ. It looks bad.”

Marla, her loyal employee, and the police officer were, of course, discussing the broken windows, trashed shelves and, more specifically at that instant, the graffiti painted on the floor of her place, it was the logo of the big store just down the road.

“There are a few options,” the detective mumbled, “Could be the competition, of course, but could be simple, overenthusiastic buyers with an interest in causing trouble. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m positive we’ll catch the people responsible for the attack to your shop, Miss Grayson.” After a pause, she added, “I wonder how far they went. May I look over the office, the storage?”

The blonde looked away with a pained expression, “I don’t think I could,” she forced herself to take a deep and steadying breath and when she looked back at the other women she had a perfectly sweet smile on, “Curtis will accompany you, detective.”

As the two of them walked further inside the store, Marla walked out. She’d left her own car parked out front, so she leaned her back against it and put her vape pen on her lips. Only a couple of seconds later, the second officer that had shown up to the place had joined her.

“That’s not going to work,” was the first thing Fran said to Marla.

“Excuse me?”

“Using that guy as bait.”

Marla blinked, reeling back her slight surprise. “And why is that?” she inquired.

Fran shrugged, staring straight at the broken windows of the shop. “Lou’s my ex,” she mentioned as nonchalantly as she should have introduced herself but instead had only nodded when her partner was the one to remember the protocol, “she’s not gonna fall for your boy’s charm.” She finally turned to look at Marla, as if it were the first time, but knowing that since she arrived at the place she’d been casting furtive glances at the striking and intriguing blonde. “You, on the other hand, give her another one of those smiles of yours,” Fran said, with barely a hint of a smile on her pink lips, “and it might work.”

Along with a breathy and quick chuckle, Marla did smile. She wasn’t used to being so blatantly called out for her strategies. People complained all the time about the way she constantly managed to get what she wanted, but nobody ever seemed to know exactly what about her they were upset about. Then there was this complete stranger that with one look and right from the first sentence she spoke, she caught Marla. And the best part, she didn’t even seem to be complaining about it. Marla would have been lying if she said it didn’t feel strangely good. Partially, because she knew she was good at her games, and if no one played at her level then nobody could actually appreciate her. It was pleasant to be seen. Partially, too, it was just because of the way the other woman was looking at her.

“Not that one, though,” Fran continued. She leaned in closer, talked in conspirative whispers, and for some reason was displeased with Marla’s smile. She was fascinating almost to a point of dizziness. Her presence, to anyone of slightly weaker disposition than Marla, would have brought them to their knees. “That one’s sincere,” she said of the smile they were discussing, “and that’s dangerous.”

This time Marla scoffed. She looked away, hoping that the brunette, without looking into her eyes, wouldn’t be able to read how much Marla was struggling to draw the line between being fed a flirtatious line out of the millions of them, and the shockingly unique feeling of it all, something that she’d only seen in Fran.

“You look too young to be a detective,” Marla said, as a way to change the course of the conversation. Only after she said the words she started thinking about what they meant. What could this woman, with the imperfect ponytail, worn leather jacket, and secretive smile, have done in order to get to where she was in life?

“And you look,” Fran started to say, pausing just long enough for Marla to think that if she dared called her old she would simply walk away and never return to the damned shop, “too smart to own a place like this.”

She wasn’t the first person to point out the fact that simply something about Marla’s eyes revealed that she was meant for things greater than a vape shop. She would’ve laughed, or smiled, but that would’ve made things too easy for Fran. “It’s just business,” the blonde said slowly.

“Is that why you did all this?” Fran nodded toward the broken windows and the mess beyond.

Marla turned to look at her and remained speechless for a moment, even if her cold expression did nothing to reveal the spark of surprise that Fran was fueling with every word she spoke. The silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as expected. Marla quickly figured out that if Fran was smart enough to figure out in a few minutes the complexities of her carefully crafted smile, then it wasn’t all that shocking to see her solve a case that she’d probably even seen before.

“Do you think she’ll notice?” Marla finally asked, talking about Fran’s partner. For some reason, she wasn’t worried in the slightest about Fran being the one to ruin her plans.

The younger woman tilted her head from side to side, genuinely thinking it through. The impulse to talk shit about her ex was strong. But she knew and respected the woman as a professional. Plus, a consequence of being so good at pulling the truth out of unwilling people was that she wasn’t that interested in the effort it took to lie.

“There’s a chance,” she replied at last. “But, really, give her one smile,” Fran continued, “and she’ll probably give you that signature you want to take this to court.”

This time, the two women laughed together. When they made eye contact then, it was completely different. No careful glances, no studying the other one, simply looking for the sake of a beautiful and frightening view. Right from the first night, they came across that feeling of absolute freedom and awe of standing at the edge of a cliff that would paralyze in fear those of faint heart, but that they would eventually come to fondly associate with each other.

“And you?” Marla dropped the smile. If Fran could see her tricks, she could return the favor. It was her turn to lean in closer, whisper, and look just disinterested enough as she asked, “What do you want before you give me what I want?”

Fran looked away for just one instant, but they both knew this game well enough to know that such small action would count as a big win for the blonde. When she looked back up at those striking blue eyes, Fran thought for a moment, about what she wanted, what Marla could give, and how far she could push or pull at this unlikely and tremendously exciting situation so she could get the best deal possible.

“I’ll let you know,” Fran announced, pulling out a presentation card and offering it to Marla with a smile. “Someone might break into your business again. So dangerous,” she playfully shook her head and pulled herself away from the car they’d been leaning against, “Call me when you’ll need me.”

[certifiedceraunophile]

Hiya!! Caroline Forbes for the character game, if you would be so inclined.

I am so so sorry I'm so late to this ask, but I'm hoping better late than never :) [like seriously I’m answering this a month late I am sooooo sorry!!]

First impression

My first impression of Caroline was during that scene at the grill, when she was drunk and like "I try so hard and nobody goes for me, nobody wants me, everything is a competition and I try so hard and NEVER win" to bonnie, and honestly calling myself out here, but I hated her in that moment simply bc I could see wayyyyy too much of myself in her, and I felt sort of vulnerable seeing such a blatant reflection of my deepest insecurities just sitting there in front of my eyes, but at that moment I wasnt looking to self reflect or read into it too deeply [I was there for mindless cheap entertainment] so my first basic impression I believe was to absolutely scoff at her, and I was like, I already dont like this chick, but also I was expecting her to be sort of a watered down regina george character, bc that's how they introduced her in terms of how she behaves w elena, she was supposed to be the shallow passive aggressive vapid bitch who's friendship is performative at best and toxic at worst, the way she treats Bonnie as a convenient sound board and replaceable company did not go unnoticed by me, these parts I can say I did not relate to, however I saw them for what they are, which is the makings of a headbitch mean girl who's imminent “untimely” death will not be mourned so much as alluded to constantly as a warning call and/or a cautionary tale for all the nameless dangers that are lurking in their godforsaken town, basically I expected her to die as a plot-pusher and then her death + the aftermath would've served as a convenient point of mild conflict between stelena to you know add to the "forbideness" of their relationship, so at this point all my first impressions were exactly what the writer's intended and honestly I was just waiting for her to die since it was clearly just a matter of time before that happened, but at the same time, I might not have been completely aware of this during that period of time, but the grill scene struck a chord with me and stayed with me quietly for a very long time, months later after reading several ffs and metas I can pinpoint that I was basically stuck between finding solidarity w Caroline in having the same insecurities as the character, and hating the fact that I had those insecurities at all to begin w and how vividly they were shown to me through Caroline without any restraint or cushioning.

So yeah you could say her character itself left me both vulnerable and seen at the same time so it was an odd mix of finding comfort and empathizing with this fictional character, but predominantly I was feeling.....agitated and hiding away from the truth that she represented to me; these two opposing feelings conflicted with one another constantly leaving me in a place where I mostly did not know if I liked her at all and if I didnt like her was it because she was written to be a mildly irritating side character [that I couldnt be bothered to emotionally invest in] or just because I saw too much of myself, especially the parts of me I dont particularly care for, in her to ever like her.

So yeah on one side I could say I wasnt deeply bothered [in a good or a bad way] by her, and only in passing acknowledged her to be the plot-convenient side character she was in the very beginning, but on the other hand, I somehow latently knew that it was so much more than that, and I am so so glad it was in fact the latter of the two that was true.

Impression now

Listen my impression of her now, cannot be encapsulated into a well thought out explanation of why I think so and so of her and how it affects me, but I think personally right now if you ask me what I think of Caroline, I would say I see her and I think, 

Oh I....know you, I see you everyday when I think about the kind of growth I want to have, I see myself in your past and while you may have grown I havent, but I can see it’s possible, however fictional and non-existent you are, if it’s possible for you, it’s possible for me.

[Also I just wanna add here, that in no way am I, at this moment, referring to canon!caroline directly but I am strictly thinking of the Caroline I have built in my head and the growth I projected onto her when I saw her transition from vapid blonde shallow bitchy human [and here’s the thing she wasnt vapid or shallow even in her human days but the insecurities still made her feel that way] to confident, painfully real, optimistic, loyal and so overflowingly full of love-vampire who has forgiven her past self but also loves her past self because no one thought she was worth that but Caroline Forbes thinks 16 year old Human Caroline Forbes deserves just as much love as Vampire Caroline Forbes and if no one else is brave enough, real enough to give that to her she will give it to her herself, Which to me is beautiful and resonates so deeply with me and that is exactly what I would say is my current impression of her; A girl so full of love and light, even her own shadow self cannot escape it.]

Favorite moment

Every moment she beats up a guy is my favourite moment and every time she insults Klaus with a smile on her face is also my favourite moment.

Idea for a story

Ok so I’ve had this idea brewing in my head for a while and I’m really excited to make it into an extensive multichap work when I do get the time, but you know how in Legacies [gag] there’s this episode where in an alternative universe where Hope doesnt exist at all, Caroline and Klaus are the cutest Enemies of the State couple to ever exist and they both are basically fucking shit up to the point where the humans wanna end the supernatural world as they know it, in legacies the reason behind the supernatural uprising was something unnecessarily sordid and stupid but I am basically thinking of something else but will lead to the same alternate universe we see in legacies, the basic premise rn is that  Klaus and Caroline are the Supreme leaders of the supernatural community and are leading them against the humans in this war that has broken out all over the world in a bid to end the supernatural world altogether, and I kind of have it outlined to take them from However Long it Takes my Last Love to let’s discuss our next strategy to over throw all opposing world governments on this table and then proceed to fuck on it.

So yeah I kinda wanna say stay tuned for that, but I wont cuz seriously I have no faith in myself lmao.

Unpopular opinion

As much as I love to criticize other characters [mostly Elena] for being hypocritical twats regarding Caroline’s choices, Caroline herself is a hypocrite multiple times through out canon, but I myself find that I am ok with that, since I never expected her to be perfect and her hypocrisy only makes her more real in my eyes since every time she is a hypocrite she is called out on it and made to face her own double standard.

Favorite relationship

I wanna say Klaus, like seriously I really really do,  but for me personally the relationship my Vampire!Caroline has with her past human self will always be the most beautiful enriching and hope giving thing.

That and also her relationship with her mom and how it finds this transformation from a place where they constantly hurt each other and are estranged from each other to a place where they try so hard to understand and love each other and finding the other to be an unmovable pillar in their life that strengthens and holds them up also resonates with me deeply.

Favorite headcanon

This one