#cause I have a Homelander playlist too

[teastainedprose]

Homelander x fem!reader

Reader making a mix tape for Homelander and explaining the symbolism of making a mix tape

"You-" Homelander's voice cracks as he holds the cassette up for inspection. "You made this for me?" "Yeah, I just thought you might like some of these songs and I know the cabin has an old cassette player, so I just thought..." You trail off, cheeks turning brighter the longer you stand there. Homelander is staring at the tape, held between forefinger and thumb. He's blinking rapidly. "You don't have to listen to it, or whatever-" You start again, nerves putting a small quaver in your voice. It's stupid, is left unsaid but you think it all the same. Previous partners have said as much. "No, no. This is a cassette tape. You even decorated it." He flips the cassette over, taking in the designs across the label and the extra stickers. Lots of stars and stripes. Campey and cute. "You took the time to use this old tech for me?" Finally, Homelander's eyes settle on your face. "Ah, yeah. I just wanted to make you something. It- It wasn't so hard. There's software that makes mixing tracks easy and transferring it to a cassette only takes the proper wiring," You go on in a rush, eager to explain that tidbit from your hobby now that Homelander is watching you with a bit of wonder. He doesn't say thank you aloud. That's not his way. Instead, Homelander tugs you close to nuzzle his nose against your own before kissing you.

[svn-bangtan]

Seven (Clean version?)

»pairing: Idol!Jungkook x reader

»genre: BTS | 13+ | Fluff

»wc/date: 3.1k | July 2023

» warnings: Based on Seven music video? Mentions of smut? Jungkook being Jungkook.

»Summary: After ending her 7 year relationship Y/n shares that her breakup with Jungkook was partially due to his unrealistic desire for sex seven days a week. If that wasn’t enough, Y/n seemingly keeps seeing Jungkook everywhere. Just know a lot has happened in the seven days they have been apart

» notes: I was thinking about making an explicit version of this, but haven’t decided if I should, so you all should let me know.

»  m.list | Taglist | Thoughts? Comments? Concerns

Seoul's bustling city lights painted a vivid canvas as Y/n and Jimin sat in a secret and quiet area of their favorite restaurant, savoring the delectable flavors of their homeland. The aroma of sizzling Korean delicacies filled the air, adding to the festive atmosphere of the lively eatery.

Jimin couldn't resist his playful nature, and as he took a sip of his tea, he asked with a mischievous grin, "Okay, so let me get this straight, you broke up last week with Jungkook because he wants to fuck you right seven days a week?" His laughter was infectious, causing Y/n to sigh in defeat.

"Seriously, Jimin? Is that all you think about?" Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, unable to hold back a smile. "Yes, that's one of the reasons, but it's not the only one. Our physical relationship became overwhelming, and I didn't expect that to be such a challenge in our relationship."

Jimin couldn't stop laughing, imagining poor Jungkook keeping track of his seven-day schedule. "I can't even imagine! How does he have that much energy? Is he secretly training for the Olympics?"

Y/n chuckled, playing along with Jimin's comedic flair. "You should know, you used to live with him! Maybe he's been doing some intense stamina training behind my back."

Jimin laughed heartily, "Oh, Y/n, you always have the most interesting stories. Who would've thought that 'too much love' could be an issue?"

"Do you think I'm being silly?" Y/n asked, her tone more serious.

Jimin reached out and patted his friend's hand reassuringly. "Not at all! Relationships are complicated, and each one is unique. What matters is how you feel and what you need. Relationships should have a healthy balance of emotional and physical connection. Maybe he didn't fully understand how exhausting it was for you."

"Do you think so?" Y/n asked, hoping for some insight from his ever-entertaining friend.

Jimin nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you know how guys can sometimes get carried away by their 'manly urges.' Perhaps he thought he was auditioning for a K-drama series titled 'Seven Nights of Passion.'"

Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the mental image. "Okay, that's enough pun-ishment for me."

Jimin grinned. "Deal! But in all seriousness, communication is key. Have an open and honest conversation with him about how you feel. If he truly cares about you, he'll understand and find a way to meet you halfway."

Y/n nodded, feeling grateful for his friend's support. "You're right, Jimin. It's time for a serious heart-to-heart. No puns, no innuendos, just a genuine conversation about our needs and expectations."

Jimin raised an eyebrow playfully. "Wait, no puns? Are you sure you're not pun-ishing me too harshly?"

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. "Okay, just one pun. But only if you promise to be serious when I need it."

With a grin, Jimin encouraged Y/n to continue, "Anyways, tell me more, spill the spicy details!"

"Well," Y/n began, "ever since we decided to take a break, I swear I've been seeing Jungkook everywhere. It's like he's haunting me or something."

Jimin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Everywhere? Like how?"

Y/n nodded, looking a bit flustered. "Well..."

-

Y/n sat on the train, her earphones on, listening to her favorite K-pop playlist. The rhythmic beats tried to drown out her thoughts, but memories of Jungkook kept resurfacing. She leaned her head against the window, feeling a mix of emotions from nostalgia to frustration.

As the train pulled to a stop at a station, Y/n glanced up from her reverie and caught a glimpse of something that made her heart skip a beat. There, just outside the window, hanging onto the train was Jungkook, his signature smile plastered on his face. He waved enthusiastically, trying to get her attention.

Y/n blinked, thinking she must be imagining things again. "No way," she mumbled to herself, her eyes widening as she looked again. "This can't be real."

But there he was, unmistakably Jungkook, waving like a happy kid. A shiver ran down Y/n's spine, and she decided to pull out her earphones to make sure she wasn't hearing things too.

The music stopped, and the train's ambient noises filled the void. Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at Jungkook outside the train. "What on earth is going on?" she whispered, her mind racing with disbelief.

She leaned back in her seat, trying to gather her thoughts, hoping that this was all a bizarre coincidence. "Okay, breathe, Y/n. It's probably just someone who looks like him," she said, attempting to reassure herself.

Summoning the courage to face the possibility, Y/n looked up once more, and her jaw dropped. Jungkook was still there, hanging on the outside of the train, waving even more enthusiastically now.

"Y/n, are you alright?" a concerned voice asked from the seat next to her.

She turned to find an elderly woman looking at her with worry in her eyes. "I, uh, I think I just saw someone I know outside the train," Y/n stammered, trying to make sense of it all.

The woman chuckled kindly. "Oh, dear. Must be your mind playing tricks on you. Don't worry too much about it."

Nodding, Y/n closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. "You're right. Maybe I need some sleep or something."

When she opened her eyes again and looked outside, Jungkook was gone. The train had already left the station, and there was no sign of him anywhere.

"Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" the woman asked again, genuine concern in her voice.

Y/n managed a weak smile. "I think I will be. Thank you for checking on me."

-

Jimin chuckled, "That's your mind playing tricks on you, Y/n. It's common after a breakup to see the person you were with in random places."

"It sounds ridiculous, I know!" Y/n chuckled, "But wait, there's more. Another time, when I was walking home in the afternoon, I swear I saw him lying lifeless in the middle of the street. But when the paramedics came, he suddenly got up and chased after me with flowers!"

Jimin couldn't contain his laughter, "This is better than a K-drama! You should write a romantic comedy based on your experiences! Or, you know, since Jungkook is part of the biggest group in the world, not to brag, this could make a very good music video."

Y/n chuckled, "You got jokes Jimin, I know it sounds crazy! But wait, there's more. One stormy night, I was walking home, and he was once again following me, and as the wind picked up, he flew away!"

Jimin's eyes widened with amusement, "Y/n, you've got quite the imagination! Flying ex-boyfriends are a new one for me!"

"And it doesn't end there, I also dreamt of going to his funeral," Y/n continued, "and he wasn't even dead! He used it as an opportunity to finally talk to me. Can you believe it?"

Jimin burst into laughter again, "You are one crazy dreamer, my friend!"

Y/n couldn't help but laugh along with Jimin. "I know, it's ridiculous! I must be losing my mind."

Jimin placed a comforting hand on Y/n's shoulder. "You're not losing your mind, Y/n. Breakups can mess with your emotions and make you see things differently. But you know what? Maybe all these wild experiences are just a way for your subconscious to process the breakup and your feelings for Jungkook."

"Do you think so?" Y/n asked, feeling a bit more reassured.

"Absolutely!" Jimin exclaimed. "But remember, you need to talk to Jungkook honestly about how you feel. Maybe he's been trying to reach out to you and make things right."

Y/n nodded, "You're right, Jimin. I can't keep avoiding him forever. We need to have a sit-down conversation."

Jimin smiled, "That's the spirit! You've got this, Y/n. And no more flying ex-boyfriends, okay?"

Y/n laughed, "Deal! No more wild imaginings. Just a simple, honest conversation."

-

Its Wednesday, and like always the laundromat was bustling with customers, and Y/n found herself in the midst of the chaos, trying to navigate her way through the maze of washing machines. Clutching her laundry basket, she sighed, wondering if she would ever get her laundry done in peace.

Little did she know that lurking behind her, sitting nonchalantly on top of some washing machines, was none other than Jungkook, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He watched her intently, ready to seize any opportunity to talk to her.

As Y/n moved to the next row of washing machines, Jungkook stealthily followed, trying to get her attention. "Y/n, please, just talk to me! You love when I jump right in, I'm offering all of me and I can show you what devotion is, " he implored with puppy dog eyes.

Ignoring him, Y/n pretended not to notice and continued sorting her laundry. She hoped that he would get the message and leave her alone, but Jungkook seemed persistent.

"You wrap around me and you give me life" he insisted, stepping closer to her, "And that's why night after night, I'll be fucking' you right!"

Y/n's patience was wearing thin, and the laundromat's chaos was only adding to her stress. She tried to maintain her cool, but Jungkook's continuous pestering was getting under her skin.

As they stood across from each other, the unthinkable happened – the laundromat started to flood! At first, Y/n didn't pay much attention to it, thinking it was just a minor issue with the machines. But as the water reached ankle-deep, she realized something was seriously wrong.

"Oh great, just what I needed," Y/n muttered, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

But Jungkook continued to love-bomb her, completely oblivious to the fact that they were now standing in knee-deep water. "We can have the most amazing time together!"

The situation was becoming absurd, and Y/n couldn't believe Jungkook's persistence. As they continued to stand across from each other, the water in the laundromat started to rise steadily.

"I can leave you with an afterglow if you just let me." Jungkook pleaded, seemingly oblivious to the rising water.

"Do you not see what's happening?" Y/n exclaimed, gesturing to the water around them. "The place is flooding, and all you can think about is getting back together?"

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I got carried away with my feelings."

"Do you always have to make everything about you?" Y/n snapped, frustration boiling over. "I need space to think, and you're not making it easy."

As the water reached their knees, Jungkook's determination didn't waver. "I'll do anything to make you happy, Y/n. Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

"Do you really think you can fix everything with just words?" Y/n said, shaking her head. "Actions speak louder, you know."

The water continued to rise, reaching their chests now. Y/n couldn't believe the absurdity of the situation. "This is insane. I can't believe I'm standing here, having this conversation with you while we're both drenched!"

Jungkook seemed undeterred by the flood, still trying to get closer to Y/n. "I love you, Y/n, and I'll do anything to prove it."

"Do you even hear yourself?" she exclaimed, exasperated. "This is not romantic; it's just ridiculous."

As the water continued to rise, Y/n decided she'd had enough. Without any warning, she took a deep breath and dived underwater, trying to escape Jungkook's relentless pursuit. To her surprise, Jungkook followed suit, diving after her like a determined swimmer.

Y/n emerged from underneath the water of the flooded laundromat, gasping for breath as she coughed up water. She looked around, expecting to see Jungkook still pursuing her with that playful grin on his face, but to her surprise, there was no trace of him anywhere.

"Did he finally give up?" she wondered aloud, scanning the area. The water had risen considerably, and the laundromat was now a watery mess. Customers were evacuating, and staff members were rushing to address the flooding.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Y/n decided it was time to leave. She waded through the water, heading towards the exit. As she stepped out onto the street, she glanced back at the laundromat one last time, half-expecting Jungkook to pop out from behind a machine or splash around in the water.

But there was still no sign of him.

"What is going on?" She asks herself. Shrugging off her doubts, Y/n decided to focus on more pressing matters – like finding a dry place to change out of her soaking-wet clothes

-

As the rain poured down on the darkened streets, Y/n walked with a heavy heart, her clothes drenched from the unexpected downpour. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and amusement at the reason behind her breakup with Jungkook. Who would've thought that their love would be tested by something as absurd as seven-day-a-week intimacy?

As she trudged along, she heard faint footsteps behind her, and when she turned around, she half-expected to see Jungkook standing there, his smile cheeky as ever. But the street was empty, and she sighed, "Great, now I'm even imagining Jungkook in the rain. I'm officially losing it."

But the footsteps persisted, and to her utter surprise, when she turned back around, there he was – Jungkook, looking as soaked and bedraggled as she felt. He was panting slightly from running to catch up with her.

"Y/n!" Jungkook exclaimed between breaths, "I knew I'd find you. I can't let you walk home alone in this rain."

She blinked in disbelief, unsure if she was hallucinating or not. "You followed me in the rain to apologize for the whole seven-days-a-week thing?"

Jungkook nodded earnestly, water dripping from his hair. "Yes, I need to talk to you. I realized how ridiculous and unfair it was of me to expect that from you. I'm sorry, Y/n."

"Do you have any idea how silly that whole thing was?" she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Jungkook's eyes widened, and he chuckled, "Yeah, I know. It sounds absurd now that I think about it."

"Do you have any idea how tired I would be if we actually attempted that?" Y/n continued, unable to suppress her laughter any longer.

Jungkook grinned sheepishly, "Yeah, it would've been impossible, huh?"

"Absolutely!" she replied, her laughter ringing in the rain-soaked air. "I mean, did you think we were training for an Olympic event or something?"

"I guess I got carried away with my 'manly urges,'" Jungkook admitted with a playful shrug.

Y/n shook her head in amusement, "Well, lesson learned, I hope. Next time, let's not turn our relationship into a K-drama plot."

"I promise," Jungkook said, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. "I won't let something so silly come between us again."

"Do you really expect me to take you back after all this?" she teased, enjoying the moment of lightheartedness.

Jungkook stepped closer, raindrops creating a misty barrier between them. "Yes, I do. Because I realized that I love you, Y/n. And not just for seven days a week, but every single day, no matter the weather."

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she couldn't help but be charmed by his determination and genuine remorse. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for silly boys like you," she said, her lips curling into a playful smile.

"Then does that mean you'll take me back?" Jungkook asked, hope evident in his eyes.

Y/n pretended to ponder for a moment, then stuck out her hand. "Well, since you're already soaked and looking like a lost puppy, I suppose you can walk me home."

Jungkook's face broke into a wide grin as he took her hand, interlocking their fingers. "Deal! And I promise no more crazy demands, just a whole lot of love and laughter."

As they walked side by side in the rain, laughter and joyous banter filling the air, Jungkook couldn't help himself but playfully sing, "I'll be loving you right, seven days a week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday."

"That would be a catchy song," Jungkook remarked, looking pleased with himself.

Y/n's eyes sparkled mischievously as she recalled her conversation with Jimin earlier. "You know," she said, "if you ever decide to make a music video for that song, I have a fun plot idea."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, really? Do tell."

"Well," Y/n began, "imagine this – a guy who's obsessed with the idea of love seven days a week. He tries to make his partner happy with grand gestures, but it's all a bit much for her. She's tired and overwhelmed, just like I was. And the guy, played by you, keeps popping up everywhere she goes, just like you did in my crazy imaginings."

Jungkook laughed, "So, basically a music video version of our ridiculous situation?"

"Exactly!" Y/n grinned. "It would be comedic and lighthearted, showing that love can be wonderful and fun but also overwhelming if taken to the extreme."

"I love it," Jungkook said, nodding appreciatively. "And you know what? We could even do an explicit version of the song, where I say 'fucking' instead of 'loving,' just to make it a clear representation of what we just went through."

Y/n burst into laughter, covering her mouth in amusement. "Oh, Jungkook! Only you would come up with such an idea. It's genius and utterly ridiculous at the same time."

He winked at her, "That's what I do best."

Y/n looked at him, an amused glint in her eyes, and asked, "Were you there on Wednesday at the laundromat when it flooded?"

Jungkook looked confused, "What? No, I wasn't."

With a grin, Y/n confessed, "After we separated, I started seeing you in the most weird situations, like at the laundromat, and I thought I was losing my mind."

Jungkook burst into laughter, "Really? I would love to hear about all the places you found me!"

As they continued their walk in the rain, they couldn't help but be grateful for the silliness and laughter that had brought them back together. The idea of a music video, even if it was just in jest, gave them a sense of comfort and closure.

"I'm glad we can laugh about it now," Y/n said, looking at Jungkook fondly. "It shows how much we've grown together and how we can handle anything that comes our way."

Jungkook smiled warmly, pulling her closer as they walked back home.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

Part 3

*language, mentions of r*pe, kidnapping, mild gaslighting, brief mentions of smeggs, angst*

Butcher POV

You lot didn’t deserve how he’s been treating you lately, pushing you to the brink of exhaustion and then pushing some more. His need for revenge for Lenny caused Kimiko to almost die. No, that was her fault. She shouldn’t have jumped in front of Soldier Boy. Sure, Frenchie could have been killed but still, Kimiko will get better, she always does. At least y/n wasn’t hurt.

Oh y/n. He could list all the reasons as to why he fell hard and fast for you but there’s not enough hours in the day. Where he barked orders to the crew, you were there to keep their spirits up. When he fell victim to his thoughts of self-loathing, you were there to talk him off the ledge. You showed the boys loyalty when you finally got your revenge on the supe that killed your husband after finding out how high the Vought shit ladder went. You were support, humility, loyalty, kindness, knowledge, and compassion. Everything that Butcher wasn’t.

But then you had to go and become the very thing he despised. A fucking supe. In the back of his mind, he knew y/n was forced into becoming enhanced and that he shouldn’t have stormed out, especially after finding out how Homelander violated you. But even in the best of times, Butcher can’t control his anger. Despite how many times you’d tell him he’s not, he’s exactly who his father says he is.

*flashback*

When you were kidnapped by Homelander, Butcher went into beast mode. Anyone who had the smallest bit of information on where you were located was met with brutality that even made the boys nervous to be around him. When Grace told him that you were found and safe with her, he damn near dropped everything to drive as fast as he could to meet you. He had to see that you were alright. He needed to hold you and by doing so, would calm the waves of fury, sadness, and relief that was pulsing through his veins. He had to tell you that he loved you.

Grace refused to tell him your exact location, per your request. You should have just spit in his face, it would have the same effect. When the two of you were reunited, all the ill feelings dissipated as he finally got to embrace you. She’s fine, she’s here, my y/n.

“Where ya been dove, what took you so long?”

“Sorry, I wanted to stay longer to train.”

“You let some other cunt train ya? I coulda done it.”

The calm went as quickly as it came once new information came to light on how to take Vought down. Butcher never got the chance to confess his feelings.

While on missions together, Butcher wanted to but never breached the topic of what happened while you were kidnapped. He wanted you to trust him and tell him in your own time, as he did with you about Lenny. He was attentive to whatever needs you had; you did not want for nothing. As time progressed, he noticed subtle differences. You were quick to catch things falling off the kitchen table, you were finally able to open that jar of pickles you always asked Butcher to open, he purposely tightened it each time to make sure you’d come to him for help. One night you cut yourself with a paring knife while mincing garlic and the next morning,

“Hey, how’s the finger?”

“What about it?”

“Ya cut it last night making dinner.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did, I patched you up.”

“I think you dreamed that, Billy. See?” Butcher looks at your finger, “My finger is fine.”

��Huh, guess I did dream it.”

“Looks like we’ve been hanging out too much, you’re starting to dream about me dicing my fingers off.” Y/n was also increasingly jumpy around him even though he was as gentle as possible around her.

In hindsight, this should have been a red flag, but he's always been blinded when it comes to you. Now, piecing it all together it makes sense after you told him you were a supe.

“Hello, Earth to Butcher.” Maeve snapped her fingers. He came back to the task at hand, the Temp- V. Frenchie and Kimiko were at the hospital, MM quit the mission and went back to his apartment and tasked Hughie and y/n with finding Soldier Boy after he blew up a small building in New York.

“Did you even hear a word I said, Butcher?” Maeve asked. He shrugged,

“No.” Maeve scoffed.

“You should apologize to her.”

“To who?”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got no business talking to me about y/n. How bout you just give me the Temp-V and fuck off?”

“Come one I know the two of you are fighting right now. She’s your friend and if you just tell her-“

“Who the fuck is telling you all this, eh?”

“Starlight.”

“Well, that cunt doesn’t know everything. I’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’ve done nothing wrong.” That’s fucking lie. Maeve threw the packet of vials on the couch.

“Fine, don’t take my advice. What do I know?” Just before Maeve left, Butcher stood up and offered her a drink of vodka.

“I’m 4 months sober you asshole.”

“Oh... Starlight never told me.”

“Like you said that bitch doesn’t know everything.” Maeve looks at the bottle and back to Butcher, she grabs the class and plops herself onto the couch. As the evening sky turned black, Butcher and Maeve busied themselves fucking on MM’s desk in the corner of the hideout.

“You know what Butcher? You’re a real piece of shit.”

Yeah, yeah, he was.

[rokuhoku]

"beloved."

Pairing: Namor x Filipino!Reader

Rating: General Audiences, Comedy

Summary: You ask your... "sorta" friend what the meaning of his other name is. His answers break your heart, so you take matters into your own hands.

Word Count: 2,516

Content Warning: Mentions of colonialization

Disclaimer: Again, as mentioned before, Namor is slightly cold towards the reader! He isnt hateful or anything, just has his guard up bc of surface world resentment. Though, that guard can be taken back down sometimes ;)

__________

Reminder: This fic is part of a Namor x Filipino!Reader miniseries, but can be read on its own! Miniseries fic(s):

a piece of your history. / "beloved."

__________

The soft tune of a Filipino song played in the air, its melody dancing along with the sounds of the waves hitting the sand. Namor could only make out a few words within the song as he remembered the few phrases you had taught him. The melody was nice and eased his nerves, though he would never admit that to your face.

“What did they call you again?”

Namor blinked, processing your sudden question for a few seconds. Before you had suddenly asked him a question, you were both simply by the shore of the beach you frequented, with him in the water and you in the dry sand as usual, reading to him aloud a book that had come across your interests.

He looked at you questioningly, causing you to sputter over your words. “Oh! I meant what the Spaniards had called you when they…” You trailed off, fearing that you may have crossed a line with him this time. You knew how sore the topic was already, despite not knowing the full details as Namor refused to show any hint of vulnerability with you (or so you thought).

“What I mean is…” You cleared your throat, already bracing yourself for his reaction. 

“.... Why do certain people have to call you ‘Namor’?” You finished, closing the book, shifting to fully turning to him, indicating that you were paying special attention. The cogs clicked in place in Namor’s head as he finally understood your question. He noticed that you had said ‘certain people’ instead of enemies, likely the reason being you two weren’t exactly enemies nor friends in both of your books. 

“Uhm, you don’t have to answer if it’s too… y’know….” You quickly added, waving your hands in a dismissive manner. Namor’s eyebrows raised at you, causing your face to heat up. “I mean… alam naman natin na gago sila…” You quickly mumbled the last part. 

Namor seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, before he shook his head and chuckled. “No, I can answer if you would like me to.” 

Namor ran his fingers through the water, clearly contemplating on how he should approach your question. He smiled bitterly at you as he remembered the hateful memory. Your hands immediately went to your phone, turning the volume down on the classic OPM playlist you were playing.

“When my mother died, she asked to be buried in her homeland,” He started, playing with the wet sand underneath the water. Namor smiled, a loving look overtook his bitter expression.

“She wanted to show me the surface world and its beauty.” Her soft and caring smile flashed in his mind, it was as if he could still remember the days where she hugged him with such care. His mother was always so gentle, so sweet with him. 

The prolonged gentle expression on Namor’s face was an unfamiliar one, as it was often hardened or practically deadpanned at you. You were only used to the occasional soft glimpses in his eyes.

A small part of you wished you could see this type of his face more, but that was crossing the line in your book.

“But, when I arrived…” Namor’s expression soon darkened. “They were here.” You winced, knowing exactly who he was talking about. He grit his teeth.

“They called me… ‘El Niño sin Amor’.” 

He looked back at the sea, feeling that if he stared at you, you would see nothing more than hate and anger burn in his eyes, a look that would most likely scare you away. You don’t know if it helped, but you nodded understandingly, almost as if implying that he can feel if he wants to.

Namor could remember the look of fear and hatred in the man’s eyes, as if the Spaniards didn’t force him and his people to retreat in the ocean due to the illness inflicted upon them by the colonizers, before enslaving those who remained on land. 

“The child without love, as they boasted.” Namor spoke in a rather biting sarcastic tone. Though he was smiling, the grin on his face was one of anger, holding no genuine joy or happiness in it.

“I took Namor from that, because I have no-” His eyes locked with you for a brief second before he averted his gaze. “-love for the surface.”

Your fingers played with the cover of the book you were holding, as you frowned even more and stared at him in disbelief. 

“Luh? So bale, you were called a loveless child,” You began, a startled impression on your face, “just because you killed the colonizers after they basically enslaved and killed your people?” You asked for clarification, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion. Namor nodded, a rather grim smile on his face.

“Aba, ang kakapal ng mukha nila ah…” You grumbled, before muttering something about how hypocritical and barbaric they were. Namor smiled gratefully at you, knowing you shared the same sentiment. 

He sighed, as if tired of having to relive the same memory over and over again. Namor looked back at the sea, a subtle slouch in his posture now. 

For a moment, you both sat there in silence, contemplating the lives of those who lived before (at least in your case) you. So many of Namor’s people were enslaved and forced by the Spaniards, yet they dare to call him the loveless child?

You pursed your lips, your eyes looking over Namor.

He wasn’t a child without love. His mother had loved him so, it was obvious by the way his voice would hush into a gentle baritone each time she was brought up.

His people loved him so, or at least, that’s what you can make up from his stories. You’ve only ever been able to gaze at them from afar in the sea, whenever they occasionally came to check up on him. Though with the way they addressed him you could easily see the fondness.

An idea popped into your head, though you were a bit hesitant to actually do it. 

“Hey,” You called out, scooting closer to him, the waves licking at your feet. Namor rose an eyebrow at you, though your invasion of his personal space did not deter him.

Finally, you sat in the water next to him, perhaps this was one of the very few times you were both less than three feet apart. Namor’s mouth opened, about to tell you off that your clothes were getting wet and rather quite see-through.

You snickered, a mischievous look overtaking your eyes, a look that Namor was quite familiar with. Too familiar with it, he adds to himself. 

You pointed at his face, before your pointer finger came into contact with the scrunch between his eyebrows.

Namor’s brain went blank, processing exactly what you had done to him. Before he can even make a reaction, you cut him off.

“Iniirog.” 

You started slowly, gauging for his reaction. Namor’s eyes narrowed at you, confused but not offended. Your smile soon went into a toothy grin. 

“Sinisinta.” 

Namor grabbed your wrist and pulled away from your finger, clearly puzzled. The soft, cool touch of his damp fingers sent goosebumps up your back, but you continued nevertheless.

“Kinagigiliwan.” 

You were practically giggling at this point, leaning your body towards him, as if to tease him about the words you were uttering, completely dismissing that he had not understood what you were saying.

Hesitantly, your hand went to reach for his, causing him to flinch. You took Namor’s hand between both of yours, softly tracing the palm lines on it. 

“Minamahal.”

His senses were being overloaded, the low volume of the OPM Playlist still playing in the background, though it felt as if it was echoing rather loudly in his ears.

Namor’s eyes met yours, he remembers what the word “mahal” means. But that couldn’t possibly be what you’re saying, right? Were you instead perhaps meaning another thing? (He was sure that mahal meant expensive as well, were you just messing with him and calling him expensive?)

One of your hands stopped playing with his and reached towards his face, caressing his cheek softly. You contemplated running a hand on his pointy ears. However, you decided you wanted to keep your hand intact with your body.

Namor could do nothing but stare at you, his free hand coming up to hold yours that was on his cheek, though he made no move to remove your hand. If you were to look closer, it was as if he was leaning into your touch. 

Your thumb softly grazed his upper cheek.

“Nagmamahal.”

With the way Namor talked fondly about his people, you couldn’t help but notice the love and adoration in his eyes. He truly loved his people and protected them with his whole heart. 

Even if Namor couldn’t fully understand what you were saying to him, he could still somewhat comprehend what you were trying to say.

Namor was not a child without love, he has loved and has been loved. He will continue to love and he will continue to be loved, you were sure of that.

To your and his surprise, his eyes fluttered close as he leaned into the warm touch of your hand against his damp cheek. The feeling was scorching against his cool skin, yet it brought comfort to him even so. 

A part of him wanted this moment to never end, the soft tunes of your mother tongue playing in the background, as you practically showered him with affection that you two had an unspoken agreement about.

Soon, however, you couldn’t help yourself.

The hand on his face traced his cheek softly, before it came and pinched it rather aggressively. 

Namor’s eyes snapped open as he suddenly experienced a rather painful pinch to the cheek. Your ninangs would be proud of you if they saw the red mark on his skin right now. You snickered, making kissy-faces at him.

“Bebeluvs~” He deadpanned at you, fully knowing the sound of your rather trickster voice.

“My sexy, sexy love!” You finished, laughing so much your stomach hurt. You knew that Namor probably wouldn’t get the reference, but you couldn’t help yourself from quoting none other than the queen herself, Kathryn Bernardo. 

You were still laughing, peeving Namor a bit. This caused him to pull away from your touch and some distance between the two of you. The laughter soon died in your throat, as you instantly sort of regretted the fact that you ruined the moment. Shet, maybe you should’ve maintained the wholesome moment just a bit longer.

You fully expected him to stand up and leave you there in the water again, already used to him doing it with the many, many times you’ve tried to trick him into saying rather comically funny words in your language. Namor could always figure you out, though it may be because of the way you haven’t been able to stop yourself from laughing each time.

To your surprise, he simply stayed there, a contemplative look on his face as he looked down at the water he was in. 

You cleared your throat, scooting closer to him once again. You opened and closed your mouth, unsure of what to say next now that you have feared you may have offended him. Namor’s voice soon filled the one-sided awkward silence left in the air.

“Your words… What did they mean?”

You beamed at him, jumping at the chance to answer. “They can all actually mean different things! ‘Iniirog’ for example can mea-” A single stare from Namor shut you up from overcomplicating the answer, though it did not stop you from grumbling about the complex meanings of the words.

“Uhm, well, generally, they all kinda mean…” You whispered the last part, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed that you had even started all of this. 

Namor sighed heavily, staring at you in dismay by your sudden bashfulness that always seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Ka a'alé, speak up.” His body turned towards you more as he leaned his head down in order to listen more carefully.

You shakily let out a breath, fully preparing to face his rageful wrath yet again. 

(You were exaggerating, the most he’s ever done is splash water directly into your face. Though it did go straight to your eyes once, you never forgave him for that.)

“Uhm, what I meant to say was…” You were stalling again, nervously fiddling with your fingers on your lap, flexing them under the water. 

Namor sighed. “If you can’t say them to my face, why say them at a-”

“THEY ALL MEAN ‘BELOVED’!” 

You practically shouted at him, shocking him to his core. You swore you could feel the water suddenly shift. Oh no, what if the Talokanil have been watching you all this time and you just shouted at their king?! 

“Or… Haha… Other things as well.” 

At this point, you were just trying to fill in the rather thick silence in the air. “But uhm, they could all also mean beloved.”

Meanwhile, Namor stayed silent at your confession. Have you been whispering to him such intimate words of affection all this time?

“All those words… were you calling me ‘beloved’?” At this, you shook your head slowly, confusing him even more.

“.... Actually, the last part means something else.” You felt like you were hyperventilating at this point. Perhaps you’ve ruined your favorite OPM playlist forever, as you will always associate it with this moment.

“The… The last part means ‘loving’...” You weakly replied, not daring to meet his eyes. You feel like you’ve royally screwed up, banished from the ocean even. Goodbye, night swimming, you will be dearly missed.

You slowly looked, bracing yourself for his reaction. The scene made your jaw drop, and Namor’s face would have been priceless to you if the situation hadn’t called for it. 

The flusteredness on his face would’ve caught anyone off-guard. The way his eyebrows raised as the corner of his eyes pinched at the corners. His lips were slightly open, as if to say that he was too shocked to even close his mouth. 

Soon, however, Namor finally came to his senses. He finally realized what you had been trying to say to him all this time.

They had called him “the child without love” in their spitting, hateful language.

And you had called him such loving words in your native language, as if to imply that they were wrong.

When you scooted closer to him once more, he didn't flinch or pull away this time. You blinked at his movements, noting the way he slightly leaned onto you again.

“... Niib'oolal." was the only thing Namor said after a few minutes.

You’ve talked to him enough to know what that means.

You gleefully smiled at him, before clearing your throat and relaxing your posture.

“Psh, ako pa? Wala lang yun, K’uk’ulkan.”

The soft tunes of the OPM playlist from your phone continued playing in the air, and the cold feeling of the water soon came to feel like a warm embrace instead.

[hughiecampbelle]

hello hello!! hope you're doing well <3 so i saw ships were open again... and i did get one as an anon a while ago, but the format has changed for the 10k so back i am for your amazing writing <3

i'd love to be shipped with someone from the boys!! (i do feel bad requesting for specific characters even though it's incredibly easy to see who i want to smooch in this show. i love them all though and above all love to see authors get creative. go crazy go bonkers. ok with any character but the deep, homelander, stormfront, and firecracker.)

i'm a bi & ace jewish brazilian girl, 1.72m tall, with long, straight, brown hair (that i've always thought about dying but always chickened out of). no tattoos, even though i have a list of which ones i'd get and what do they mean. i'm from brazil but currently go to college in new york, majoring in theatre and minoring in translation. i'm fluent in portuguese and english, learning french, and have the life objective of becoming a polyglot.

i'm in love with theatre, literary analysis, linguistics, music, writing, and art in general — will absolutely ramble about anything i am interested in, and also might have strong opinions on stuff that maybe i didn't need to have a strong opinion on 💀 i can get a bit combative about that at times... i definitely take as my biggest skill, besides singing and acting which are quite literally my intended job (i want to be a musical theatre actress), eloquence and just my way with words (toxic trait is believing i'd talk my way out of a murder fr fr). friends that know me more recently would even say i'm an extrovert because of that, but honestly i am a pile of nerves of an introvert with social anxiety that simply loves yapping and putting on a show. most notable quirk/habit might be how precise i always am with finding the right words because i simply cannot leave an opening for misinterpretation (and that's on anxiety and a suspicion of undiagnosed adhd oops); that might lead me to be a bit picky (for the lack of a better word), specific, and/or literal with the words other people use as well.

other tidbits: i can't cook for shit, i love cats (i have a rescue named lily) but also like dogs a lot, i love kids and have been told i'm good with them. i'm crazy lucky for some reason and i love crime comedy movies. i'm almost always writing or thinking about writing but i can't ever finish a project (and you may have realized by now i write too much). i love arts & crafts & other manual activities, i do knot friendship bracelets to de-stress. my default hangout with anyone ever is grabbing coffee. i'm also pretty proud of my music taste — from alt rock to 40s-50s music, love curating the vibes and i'm a bit of a playlist freak. also i would 100% show brazilian music (mostly rock and mpb, brazilian popular music) to whoever i'm paired with 💥🇧🇷

when it comes to love life oh boy i am a disaster — the two situations i have ever gotten myself into were the objective hottest girl i know and the weirdest guy i've ever come across (and both are my good friends atm). for me doing something creative, like a project together, is the quickest way to bond; and being in cahoots with someone is the deepest form of connection. let's ramble about our interests, be weird together, cause a diplomatic crisis, watch a movie, write something, idk.

this was LOOONG but i hope it's not too much and it gives you plenty of material to write with!! thank you so much for carrying the the boys fandom on your back enna <3

Annie is actually blown away by both your love of and intelligence with languages. She's always trying to learn both Portuguese and French sayings (mostly nicknames/"I love you") to surprise you. She loves the look of joy on your face when you realize what she's trying to say. Her pronunciation could use some work, but it's still very adorable

It melts Annie's heart when she sees you around children. She knows it can be a lot, with kids and their parents running up to her, asking her for pictures, showing off their Starlight costumes. She would understand it got a little exhausting. But you have never minded, instead you ask them questions and make them laugh, telling them they're little superheroes, too

Annie feels like she can truly be herself around you. After all those years with the religious conventions and the time she spent with Vought, she was never allowed to be herself. She couldn't show off her real laugh that's squeaky and high-pitched. She couldn't swear as a teenager or say all the crude jokes she thought of. With you, though, she can let loose. She doesn't have to uphold this image like she's had to her whole life

You and Annie are as equally terrible at cooking. You make a plan to cook together, learning recipes and measurements. Sometimes the food gets burned, or worse, under cooked, and a few times you've had to split it out, wondering where you went wrong? But, overall, it builds your skills together and it makes you feel better about your lack of skills

Annie comes to every show you're in at least three times. She'll bring Hughie and Kimiko first, then M.M. and Frenchie, and the third time she goes along, wanting to see you in your glory, feeling like this moment belongs to her. She shows up with flowers every time and tells you parts and songs she's loved as if you hadn't spent weeks practicing lines and songs with her. She's so proud of you, she can't contain herself. She definitely happy cries at the end when you take your bows!

Want to request a ship?

My love!!!! I hope you like it!!!! :D Xoxoxo💜💜💜💜

[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER FIVE: A Worthwhile Endeavor

Leaving the premises that was now the makeshift hospital and refuge was harder than I thought it’d be. The damage leftover across the streets and roads made getting a cab or an uber extremely difficult. The rubble being cleared out by an influx of construction workers made the usual city noise much worse. I drop myself like a dead heap inside a cab three blocks away from the refuge. I let out a sigh of relief. The aching in my head and my left leg was my souvenir of all chaos that took place today.

The disgusting itch in the back of my mind did not let Stan Edgar escape my thoughts. I can’t believe Stan Edgar maneuvered out of the bad press with a little hero worship! It’s beyond disgusting. Thought I would never say that saving lives was disgusting–but using it to dig yourself out of this press nightmare screams villainous. The only good thing I can even think to come out of this was the possibility of my plan coming to fruition.

The city continued its usual song no matter how horrifically recent these events occurred on the streets. No, the city continues to dance to its own tune unwilling to bend to anyone. That’s one thing I like about living here, the scars are covered up by its gaudy beauty—even the fresh ones.

The night sky is overcast and the bright city lights are too much for my eyes as I’m stumbling into my dingy apartment building. The mix of medical concoctions were definitely causing me to trip over the squeaky steps up my floor; making it difficult to move in a straight line. The constant noise from the outside world fades as I finally enter my apartment. The warm twinkling lights--my new and improved set up is only dampened slightly by the reminder of my parents.

I can’t touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

Instead of focusing on my own issues I push myself towards the kitchen and get out my large pots and pasta maker. I grab flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt to start on the dough. Setting everything to make the dough on the side I turn on the oven top. I place my well loved and beaten gigantic pot onto the oven, and start throwing in my homegrown rooftop canned tomatoes. The garden I created on the rooftop was steady and strong every summer, something I started in secret the first year I moved in. It was also rarely visited by any of my neighbors, so it is safe in comparison to most places.

I grab a small pan and begin to sauté my fresh minced garlic while I’m mashing my tomatoes in the large pot. I grab my remote quickly into the process and turn on one of my favorite childhood films for background noise, The Wizard of Oz . It was something I would watch with my family every time I had to stay home from school when I was sick. Either a cold or my powers, it didn't matter; they were always there for me. My headache from my powers and wound throbs as a painful reminder of what happened earlier today.

I wish I could call Marie but she didn’t have a phone and they were so strict about curfews at Red River Institute. The kids that lived there could not take calls after the curfew, and that meant I couldn’t ask Marie how she was. I have to make sure to call her in the morning. She may have been my hero but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t affected by what happened in front of us. She is no hardened superhero; she’s just a kid. 

I add the dried oregano and sauteed garlic into the simmering pot of smooth tomato sauce that will match perfectly with the tortellini. The smell was amazing at this stage and the first batch of many to come was almost ready to be put in the large Tupperware. As it simmers I limp slowly to my small terrace to open the small glass door. The heat from the cooking was only going to get worse from here, so fresh air was mandatory. The soft melody of Over The Rainbow from Judy Garland’s sweet somber voice hummed across my apartment and out the door like the heat itself. Hopefully none of my neighbors mind the volume level. 

Hobbling back I crush fresh basil–that is also from my rooftop garden–and mix the herbs into the sauce as its final touch. I heave with all my might with the pot fills to the brim with tomato sauce and try to pour with as little mess as possible. I’m successful this round, but I have a feeling this kitchen will be quite messy by the end of this endeavor. I put that Tupperware into the fridge ready to be transported for later. I get the next Tupperware in line and repeat the process, starting to sauté more garlic and make another batch of tomato sauce. As the second batch starts to simmer and cook I begin my favorite part. Making pasta from scratch.

I grab the bag of flour in my wobbling arms and am pouring just enough to start the process. What I didn’t expect was an American flag shaped person to drift into my apartment like a cold breeze. I drop the bag of flour jumping in the air with fright and the poof sound that came with the explosion of white powder would be comical, if it wasn’t me in the center of this mess. Flour covered all of my clothes but nothing got in my face and hair, luckily.

“Didn’t mean to barge in, but the door was open so…” He couldn’t hold in his laughter as he burst into full blown hysterics. The crease in at his eyes showing genuine reaction and the laugh lines that came with a brilliant smile almost froze me to my spot. A real smile.

“You know, you cause a lot of trouble for just one person, Homelander.” I sigh, blowing a stray curl out of my face. I start to sweep the flour into the dustpan and into my garbage bin. I’m pointedly cleaning and not keeping watch of the obvious predator in my apartment. I invited him this time so, it’s on me. 

“Well, I thought you knew that with the whole mind reading thing.” Homelander snarks, but the meanness that was usually there was now vacant. He almost sounds relaxed, even his tornado of an aura felt calm, for him.

“You seem more relaxed after our last conversation.” I gently edge closer in on his personal space, trying to peer into his now cold flat expression. 

“You're doing that thing again.”

“No, I’m not, Homelander. I can read body language just like anyone else and I can see with my own two eyes that you’re more relaxed. Are you feeling better after getting some distance from the news press?” I ask as I turn to the pot and start mashing tomato chunks. 

“Oh, I just flew around and visited an old friend of mine. That’s it, really.” He shrugs nonchalantly avoiding my questioning stare. Unusual for him. He wouldn’t give more details no matter how much I pressed. I should be grateful he came here in the first place, if anything. I let him win this and change the subject for his benefit.

“Well, if you are here to make pasta with me you’re going to have to change out of your fancy suit.” I turn to him, giving him my full attention, expecting a battle of wills to commence.

“Whose clothes? Yours?” He couldn’t help but mock striding around the kitchen as if he owned everything in his vicinity. The sweep of his cape follows behind him like a star-spangled shadow.

“No, my Dad left a few spare outfits for whenever he decides to visit, usually, my mom in tow.” I shrug trying to push thoughts of my parents out of my head.

“How sweet.” He bites out, grinding his teeth, not able to contain the bitterness dripping from his voice. I ignore the disdain and instead run to grab said clothes from my closet. A black tee shirt and black jogger sweatpants. Simple and black. The things my dad wore in a nutshell. 

“Here you go!” I spring up from the closet and unabashedly smile, handing him the clothes with too much pep from the way he's looking at me. Like a two headed snake ready to bit him. “They're a good brand too so the material shouldn’t irritate your skin.” Oddly, that is what makes him grab the pajamas from my outstretched and waiting hands. His face contorts and flickers into an array of ever changing emotions like a flickering old film screen.

He leaves, closing the bathroom door behind him to change. I continue to multitask by setting up my next batch of tomato sauce and kneading the dough on my counter. Dorothy’s now stumbled into the Land of Oz and the song Follow The Yellow Brick Road chanted around my apartment walls. The familiarity of actions and the movie playing in the background lulls me into a calm state. The jitters and nerves melting away to the sound of me repeatedly kneading the dough, the nostalgia of the action melted into my bones and left me feeling bittersweet.

The creaking of my bathroom door opening as Homelander shyly walks out, his confident air now gone in wake of the de-costuming. He was less intimidating–and well big–without his suit padding accentuating his muscles. He looked more normal, even approachable. His aura was twisting and turning chaotically and the continued silence between us only exacerbated it. He finally meets my eyes with a furious glare, baiting me to say something cruel, I expect.

“Well, what are you doing standing there? Come over here and help me make the tortellini.” I wave him over turning my gaze away from him, his held breath releases and his aura stills from its inner destruction. His stiff gate showcases his unease as he crosses the apartment floor. 

“I don’t know how to make tortellini.” He grumbles annoyance obvious in his posture. Stiff and unyielding he juts his chin out and crosses his arms like he was protesting the dough itself.

“That’s why I’m here, so don’t fret.” I grab his arm pushing him to the center of the kitchen island, he scuffs at my bravado. The fabric of my dad's shirt hung loosely against his waist. The urge to feed him began to itch at the back of my brain at the sight.

The dough is laid out and flat after running it through the pasta maker a few times. I create perfect squares across the flat sheet of dough feeling a calm settling over me once again. Getting into the zone from one of my favorite pastimes. Sharing this part of me with Homelander feels like lying down and baring my neck to a predator hot on my trail. Blood rushes to my head and I feel goosebumps trail down my arms and neck. I ignore the chills wracking through me and begin my cooking lesson instead.

“First we fill each of the squares in the center with the filling.” Said squares took over the whole countertop, except for the bowl with the filling laid. It contains ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan to name just a few ingredients for my Nona’s secret recipe. The recipe has been passed down multiple generations on my father’s side. His family tree was so far back rooted in Italy we call it an ancient Italian olive tree. A family joke that was only funny to the family.

“Nona?”

“It means grandma in Italian.” I grab two tea spoons, putting one in his stiff hands, not taking no for an answer. I start filling the center of the forty squares of dough I have cut. “Now we just fill each square, see.” I plop a small dollop of the filling with my teaspoon in the center of a square. He tries to seen uninterested, crossing his arms and letting out a huff, but he doesn’t look away from my hands. “Here, I have one for you so we can do it at the same time. We will get a lot more done doing it together.” I push a teaspoon into his hand not wasting time or pussyfooting around it. 

“Now, why in the hell would I do that?” His anger that was simmering inside his cold blue eyes became a furious forest fire spreading across his emotional wavelength. “I’m here because you said you had a plan to make my numbers go up. Were you lying?” His eyebrows scrunched forward shadowing his eyes from my view, only making his figure more intimidating. Even without his suit he can still be just as much a threat. He’s not like everyone else. I need to handle this situation with soft hands.

“Homelander, I didn’t lie. What we're doing is a part of the plan.” To make a point I take his hand–too cold for anyone in good health–and scoop the filling with his teaspoon. “That’s a good amount. You can place it in whichever one you wish.” He springs away from me cradling his hand as if burned. I try to mask my reaction afraid I might provoke him into a full on attack, with words or powers I don’t know. 

His once relaxed aura–well, relaxed for him–turns and twists picking up speed. His eyes become clouded and dark, like a stormy sky on the horizon, his mind toils over things I cannot begin to guess at. His tight white knuckle grip on the teaspoon left it with a dented imprint of his hand.

“You still haven’t told me shit Daphne. How is this supposed Martha Stewart nonsense going to help me ?” I’m frozen still at him saying my name; I don’t think he’s addressed me by my name before, only ever called me doctor sarcastically. I don't notice the shift in the air as I’m too far gone inside my head. 

In a step and a blink he is looming over me like the skyscrapers just outside of my apartment. His closeness brought his aura with him. The red desert sand of his twisting aura scrapes against my psyche. I flinch back in pain hitting my hip against the island counter. I ignore my hip pain in favor of the throbbing painful reverb residing in my skull, which pounds to a beat I can’t stop.

“Are you trying to get in my head?” He’s one notch away from yelling, gripping my right wrist as quickly as a rattlesnake’ strike. 

“N-No, Homelander I’m not! I wouldn’t do that–”

“Unless you had a reason to!”

“How can I make you see that I’m here to help The Seven . I’m not some mole to unravel Vought from inside out and I’m not Stan Edgar’s whipping boy hired to tattle. I’m a therapist. I’m your therapist. Did you sense me lying just now?” I hold my head up high, meeting him directly in the eyes, not looking away even as my nose starts to bleed.

“No, none of what you said was a lie. Or you're an amazing liar, which you're not.” As fast as his anger comes it swoops right out of him. His shoulders once tense like granite now settles and his eyes lose their stormy disposition. His combustible aura shrinks within itself, calming to a normal degree. “You're bleeding.” He points to my nose still close enough for me to feel his breath on my face. A dose of adrenaline pulses through my bloodstream keeping me on high alert. I’m the prey stuck frozen at the attention of its predator.

“O-oh sorry!” I quickly grab a towel to hold to my nose. “Just all the stress and bodily injuries I’ve gotten today.” I huff out a sad laugh. I go to my cabinet and get a bright orange teaspoon. “Here you can use this one instead.” I put another into his open hands, his eyes widening at the gesture.

“You're just going to give me another after I destroyed the last one?”

“Well, are you going to destroy this one too?” I ask as if talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“...Maybe?”

“Lucky for you I have a few sets of measuring spoons, so it's no worries.” He guffaws, sounding like he’s choking mid swallow. I continue to put the filling on the pasta squares as if nothing has happened at all. From the corner of my eyes I watch patiently; a flicker of conflicting emotions crosses his face like an old film screen. He robotically, as if waiting to be struck by lightning if caught, starts to put the filling on the pasta squares one by one. “So, my plan revolves around what happened today. As you know, Stormfront and Stan Edgar made this terrorist attack into an opportunity. To not only standstill the journalists but win Stormfront and Vought—”

“Yes, I know this already! Cunt Stormfront takes my win right from under my nose and now your idea of helping me is just rubbing it in. Just wow, good for you.” He grumbles out a snort of derision blowing straight out through his nose. He continues filling the squares at a calm and steady pace, for now.

“R-Right, so this whole thing can easily flip against them. If you were not aware they held that little press shoot in the middle of the refuge! Not only that almost no hero but Starlight was handing out supplies for the newly Homeless. If analyzed for even a moment the facade cracks beneath the weight eventually shattering their illusion.” 

“The illusion being?”

“That they care! That’s where you come in, of course. You will be there tomorrow morning with enough to feed all of the newly homeless from the terrorist attack with our homemade food.” I stop to grab my phone taking pictures with both of our hands in the shot putting the filling on the pasta squares. It looks very The Kitchen - esque. “With a few shots like these,” I show off the photos to Homelander who looks nonplussed by everything. “And a coworker of mine will help shoot everything so we can pull the rug right out from underneath Mr. Edgar and Stormfront. Boosting your numbers in the process—you being in the limelight in their steed. They will see you as the one superhero people can actually look up to, to be good. ” 

“Like good, good? Starlight’s sparkly reputation level good?”

“Well, Homelander, all you can do is try.” I shrug at his disbelieving stare.

“I have been trying at this for years.” He grits out, sounding in pain, struggling to push those words out of his tight lips.

“Maybe allowing people to see more of you is a good thing.”

“More of me! Hah! They see me everywhere. I’m on every billboard and have a blockbuster hit coming out every year. How can I not be the most popular member? It's insane! It’s insane…” His frustration is leaking out of him in waves as he angrily throws the filling into each pasta square to each angry word he speaks.

“I mean you . Not the version of Homelander Vought writes in their scripts. I want you to be able to bring the version of you, you want to be and no one else's.” 

“No script?”

“No, of course not.”

“How are we going to pull this off, exactly? Give me the step by step as if you're talking to The Deep.” 

“Okay, you and I will bring in the food and things should be set up at the refugee by the time we get there. I’ve been texting Priscilla since I got home and she’s on board with setting up the camera crew and volunteers.”

“Real volunteers or actors?”

“Homelander! God, no, real volunteers.” I can’t help but burst out into giggles at his audacious response. I try to cover my face with my hands but I inadvertently smear flour across my nose. “Oh, dangit!” Homelander cracks a smile before a quick chuckle escapes his lips. 

Unaware of my own body, my hands drop limply to my sides, ignoring the bubbling pot behind me I’m gaping at his aura like a fool. It's just a hint of the forest from a memory, a smell of pine, and the flavor of lavender invading my senses. The sincerity of his emotions makes me feel warm and tingly all over, like I’m dancing on a cloud.

He’s up close taking over my personal space, but not as a threat, like earlier. This time it's different. His bright smile is gone and his usual flat expression is back in place. His eyes look over my face, as if he was examining me for a lie within my soul. Too close for me I start to feel a red blush spreading across my body. The unnecessary embarrassment only heightened by his now encroaching wolfish grin that took over his face. 

“You're bleeding again, here.” He grabs my discarded cloth and grips my jaw in his other hand. I freeze as if caught in a trap, ready to spring. He’s so hyper focused on roughly wiping the blood off my face he doesn’t notice me tensing up still like a statue. 

A memory of mine flashes behind my mind's eye; me, as a small child being helped up by my father. He was cleaning up my scraped knees and scratched up face because I fell down on favorite a hill to rollerblade on. The feeling of him urgently and roughly wiping the blood off with his handkerchief has a nostalgic warmth buried inside my heart. He would be so rough and silent but he was always so worried. He banned me from playing on that hill ever again. As if that would stop me from getting injured. 

I can’t stop smiling at Homelander’s exact replication of the behavior. The warmth that I feel comes from my own aura. The glowing orbs that resemble a family of fireflies gently touch Homelander’s red storm clouds, instantaneously they converge into one aura, in just a blink. Like two colors put together to make something new my powers begin to untwine and welcome the invasion like a new skin. As if waiting for this very moment my heart settles into a calm rhythm for once in what feels like a long time. 

He steps back not noticing a thing. The towel now covered in blood he throws it in the sink without faltering to ask why. I appreciate it even if that isn’t really a good sign considering his lack of empathy. Or maybe just not expressing it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. I can’t pinpoint which one with him.

“Thanks, now that we have the first batch filled, let's start the best part!” I grab his arm, steering him back to the island counter. I gently handle the pasta square with the dollop of my grandmother’s recipe filling in the center. "So, first we have to wet the edges of the dough squares with a brush of water, and then fold the dough over to make a triangle. Second step is to pinch the sides together to seal the ricotta stuffing inside of the dough. Now, we have to take the two bottom points of the triangle and fold them underneath into each other and pinch together to seal and form your tortellini.” I do this with meticulous ease. My ability to make perfect tortellini coming from time and annual family dinners. His eyes are shining with awe and his mouth is left slightly agape.

“I’m not some cook, Daphne. How'd you expect me to do that?” He  spits out, taking a few steps towards the projector in a huff, seeming to give up on cooking all-together.

“You just have to try. I don’t expect anything other than that you try, okay. Or are you afraid?”

“Afraid of pasta? Hah, I’m the motherfucking Homelander. I’m afraid of nothing.” Acting comedically confident he strides back towards the counter ready to impress. His hands frozen midair not remembering the steps, I presume. Without any prompt-to I start to make another tortellini with slow precision. He watches closely, but when I catch his eyes he looks away immediately, as if his hand was caught in the cookie jar. A little involuntary smile quirks up at the corner of my lips.

He hesitates before finally grabbing a pasta square himself, trying to mimic my instructions. His hands are large unlike mine, making it a little more difficult to achieve pretty results. His eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration and one of his sharper than normal canines bites at his lip in anticipation. I make twelve tortellini at my usual pace while he concentrates on his one. 

“Ah!” He murmurs out, surprising himself with a completed tortellini gently lying in his palms. His smile is small, he can't wipe it off his face fast enough before I have a glimpse of it. The tortellini is too big on one side and the folds aren’t correctly made into a triangle, but it's an amazing start.

“Wow! That’s really good, definitely put that one to the side so we can eat it tonight.”

“You're making them for us too?”

“ We're making enough food for a whole refuge. We might as well make ourselves dinner while we're at it.” I shrug, not minding the extra work. Cooking is one of the few things that help me not spiral over my own problems. It's like a form of meditation for me. I give him a thousand watt smile, trying with all my might to be encouraging. “I’m going to make my special butter sauce for only us, though.” I whisper trying to act conspiratorially with a finger to my lips. That reminder has me putting in the next pot of tomato sauce. Turning away Homelander continues to make more pasta, more assured than the last time, but he kept his expressions minimal. 

“But I could change my habits

Never more be scared of rabbits

If I only had the nerve.

I'm afraid there's no denying

I'm just an awful dandy-lion

A fate I don't deserve.”

“Wizard of Oz, now? I thought people your age liked John Wick and Barbie .” The sardonic tone coming off his timber voice surprises me from my cooking stupor.

“I like those too. Hey, you know, I never mention your age when we talk!” I turn back to make more tortellini, and to admonish him, of course. 

“You're just surprisingly old fashioned for someone so young, it's actually refreshing.” His praise almost sounds like an insult, but I choose to ignore that, in favor of being the bigger person. His shiny white smile and blue eyes sparkling with amusement doesn't faze me. Ignoring the bubbling frustration and embarrassment is probably the best choice of action anyways.

I grab more pasta squares and start folding it into tortellini as if it's my second language. He watches me close like a hawk viewing a mouse struggling beneath its sharp claws. Fascination sparkling in his stormy eyes makes me audibly gulp, nerves sparking across my body. 

“They’re so perfect.” He’s hypnotized as he watches me make five tortellini in quick succession and to absolute perfection.

“Well, they’re only perfect because I’ve been making them since I was a kid. My grandmother who we visited in Venice taught me how to make them. My mother tried to keep up the tradition for my father’s sake but she’s a better baker than a cook. You should have seen my first tortellini, it looked like a monstrosity and my grandmother told me just that,” I burst into giggles at the memory. “Your tortellini are a great start! You’ll be a professional chef in no time.” I motion to the five other tortellini he’s finished laying on a platter. They were lumpy and misshapen but they were perfect. 

“Is this your grandmother’s recipe?” Homelander asks, ignoring my pointed staring. I’m completely baffled at him continuing the nice conversation.

“Yes, actually. Most of the recipes I make are my family's. I have a whole recipe book passed down to me on my father’s side. The instructions on how to bake tiramisu cakes all the way to Lamb Ragu are inside that family treasure. It's pretty much an heirloom at this point.”

“All for a bunch of useless recipes. I don’t understand what the big deal is.” He scuffs pointedly glaring at his misshapen tortellini.  

“You haven’t tried them yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind once you have.”

“Food has never changed my mind about anything.” He states with a dull condescending tone I can’t help but roll my eyes at.

“Look, wait and till you try it. Okay?”

“Fine.” He scuffs with a huff only a celebrity or a toddler could replicate. I sigh back at him, it is almost endearing if his attitude wasn’t so exasperating.

Somehow, we stumble into a comfortable silence as the Wizard of Oz plays in the background. As I get into a rhythm of making dozens at a time I start to boil a batch for just us. Including Homelander’s few lumpy tortellini into the boiling pot. I continue to simmer the butter sauce in a small pan to the side. Finally, after finishing the last batch of tomato sauce I put the last tub into the fridge. I throw the dirty pot into the sink to deal with at a later point in time.

I work around Homelander’s unsettlingly invasive presence by dancing around him in my small kitchen space to set up my coffee table. I quickly grab two of my favorite plates–roses with vines decorated on the trim–and place them at the table with my silverware. I can feel Homelander’s eyes following my trail the whole time. 

I gently fish out the pasta with my slotted spoon placing the finished tortellini in a large ceramic bowl. I put the next batch of raw tortellini into the boiling pot without missing a beat. I place the bowl in the center of the coffee table grabbing the sauce and fresh parmesan to sprinkle on top. Homelander walks cautiously over to the coffee table as in the kitchen rushing to grab the basil. He sits on the couch looking vacantly at the bowls and plates in complete silence. 

I stumble and almost fall flat on my face as I hurry to serve Homelander. He sits silently at my couch of all places. No where else to really eat in my small apartment so he’ll have to make do, sadly. Like a normal commoner such as myself. I shave the fresh parmesan over the hot pasta adding the sauce lightly on top. I gently place a few basil leaves over each of our plates as the final step to a perfect dish.

His clumsily made but full of potential tortellini shimmered on top of the bowl proudly. I make sure to put his few tortellini on my plate. 

“Enjoy!” I sit beside him with a chirp of excitement I can’t extinguish. He doesn’t dig in first so I take the first huge bite, stuffing my mouth full. He watches with a small twist of his lips he can’t cover up with his hands fast enough. “Delicious.” I say with a mouth full; my Nona would have thrown a shoe at me for that misbehavior. He takes a few bites at a calm and polite pace versus my obnoxious gusto.

“It’s really good.” He whispers, so quiet I barely catch before the draft steals it away. He continues to eat as if he said nothing in the first place, now putting all his attention towards the movie. I can’t help it when my smile spreads into a wide goofy grin. He glances back up at me and the smile he gives back looks painful, but it's a positive, nonetheless. 

“Worthy of family heirloom status, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it qualifies.” He settles into the couch, relaxing around my presence since the first time I met him. He continues to eat with grace I can’t replicate. The theme of Over the Rainbow starts to gently play, the beat of the symphony swelling with Dorothy’s final words in the film.

“Then Toto’s safe. You hear that,

Toto? We’re both safe. And we’re

home. Home! And you’re all here.

And I’m never going to leave here

ever, ever again, because I love you

all. And… oh, Auntie Em, there

really is no place like home!!”

The film goes to credits as the theme continues to play it out, a classic film with a message that has always been dear to my heart. But the idea of home now left me feeling confused and the deep pit in my stomach I’ve been ignoring swells. No, don’t think about it.

“I keep making you watch all my favorite films. It feels unfair. Next time you come over, it's your pick. What’d you say?” I push the bad thoughts away to focus on something brighter, oddly enough that happy thought is attached to Homelander.

“You’d want to watch Taxi Driver with me?”

“ Taxi Driver ? Ah, well if you want to. I always saw it as kind of a sad story, but if you want I’m game.” 

“You think Taxi Driver is sad? It's revolutionary for men all over the world. That we take control of the world with our own two hands, and not be pushed by everyone that can diminish you. It's inspiring.”

“Wow, I guess I’ll have to watch it again. Maybe I’ll see it with a second viewing.” I finish my plate quickly. John is barely on his third bite as I run to the kitchen to finish the rest of the tortellini. The next movie is already in queue, not surprisingly one of my favorite Disney films, Robin Hood starts. 

The strumming of Oo-De-Lally fills the silence. I put the second batch of tortellini in tupperware ready for travel. I begin the next batch of dough to repeat the process all over again. In my steady rhythm of cooking I forget about Homlander’s existence, going into a trance as I roll the dough.

“I will see you tomorrow at the refuge with the camera crew. It’ll have to be at nine-thirty because I have a commercial to shoot at seven, but I assume you already know that?” He quirks his eyebrow up, testing me.

“Yes, Homelander, I told Perscilla to be there at nine to set up. I’ll be there to help and get the food prepared before the camera crew arrives.” I pipe up loud and clear like a sweating cadet under the scrutiny of their commanding officer.  

“Hmm,” He stares down at me with an eerily steely stare that gives nothing away. The tension was so thick in the air that I was choking on the smog that was his aura.

He pats me on the head gently and steady, my blond curls bounce with each pat. His presence brings the images of a flowing current in the middle on the mountain side, not too far from here. I meet his ironclad stare and it feels like lightning struck my body.  His too wide smile only makes his sharp fangs look more deadly. I gulp down my nerves with a wobbly smile he won’t find fault with.

“Good. Don’t disappoint me, now. I’ll see you in the morning.” He makes for his suit, turning himself away from prying eyes. His aura that was calm now begins to reawaken, the sharp cutting sands whispering in my mind. 

“You can keep those, if you want.” I stop him before he can make for the bathroom. “I don’t think my dad will mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, Homelander. Have a good night.” I approached him slowly, as if he was a rabid animal that could attack at any moment. No matter how good tonight is for him, the aura tells me a disaster is always waiting in the rafters, ready to strike at any time. His response to that is to fly out of the terrace with his suit in hand and my Dad’s pajamas as his attire.

He’s gone and it feels like the electricity in the air has finally dissipated back to its usual setting. The disturbance in the environment rectified with his tense passing. That feeling that settles over me is not numbness, no, it's a feeling of cold sharpness sleeking through my veins. Like breathing in air so cold it hurts going down your lungs. The foreboding feeling of being exactly what I didn’t want to be, a Superhero's lapdog. I gulp down the guilt and return to the cooking, willing those thoughts out of my head. 

It’s 3am by the time I’m done with the last batch of tortellini and I’m thoroughly exhausted. My wounds and meds are now taking its full blow on my mental state, but I still force myself to clean everything up, and I do so in a zombie-like state. Done with that by 4am I settle into my bed to get three blissful hours of rest. 

My alarms blares at me in my ear as if I just closed my eyes for sleep a minute ago. Oh, today is going to be a long day, isn’t it? My head throbs with a dull ache, a flash of pain reminding me to call for a Doctor’s appointment. Also, I need to call Perscilla to see how everything is going on her end. So many things to do with so little time. And on very little sleep. 

I run to the bathroom rushing to take my gross bandages off my head. The thin scar encroaching my hairline was pink but thin, not too noticeable thankfully. I get into the shower making it cold to get my blood pumping and my mind alert. I throw on a cute summer dress that’s eggshell white and slam my feet into my favorite white kitten heels. I grab for my white scrunchie throwing my wild curls into a high ponytail, annoyingly, my hair still reaches down to my waist even put up. I need to get a haircut before I’m called Cousin It at work. I sigh as a few baby curls escape to frame my face. I quickly put on a pink lip-gloss, lightly dust blush across my cheeks, and dab mascara over my eyelashes to complete the look. Getting ready in under thirty minutes is my new record! 

I stumble around my apartment as I’m scrambling to get everything I need to bring to the refuge. Six tubs of tomato sauce and tortellini may be heavier than planned for my noodle arms, but with my determination and grit I open my apartment door with all in tow. My heart is running a mile a minute as I’m balancing everything as gracefully as possible down the creaky stairs. 

“Do you need help with that, dear?” My father’s booming voice intimidates most, but to me his gruffness always felt like coming home. Until now.  His sudden appearance and tall shadow was completely blocked by my comically tall stack of Tupperware blocking my line of sight. It's a miracle I didn’t drop the food with his surprise appearance.  

“I-If you don’t mind.” I mumble out, breathless. He grabs for all but one Tupperware handling it with ease. We walk out of my apartment building in unison, I stay silent not knowing what to say.

“You haven’t answered any of our calls since…” His warm deep timber was gruffer than usual; his aura practically oozing sadness I couldn't ignore. The saltiness of tears swarm my taste buds like a bad thought that wouldn’t go away. 

“Since the news broke out that superpowered people were not born, but made. Yeah, I haven’t felt charitable enough to give you guys my time right now. If you haven’t noticed, I'm kind of busy.” I bite out, closest to yelling at my father I’ve ever been in my life. My bitterness leaking from my aura like a bad infection, and though I want to lash out, I know that won’t get me anywhere. I’m in this situation because of my own dumb actions, and they are under constant threat of it because of me. 

So, I just need space. To think over my feelings, and it's for the best I try to keep them at an arm's length. It would keep them safer if I do so. I take in one deep breath, and then let it go.

“I need to be somewhere dad. So, why’d you come?” I decide being direct is the best course of action when it comes to my father. 

“I want you to have this.” His hands are trembling as he passes me a manilla folder with the words Sage Grove Center stamped in bold black ink across it. “We wanted you to know everything before you started looking into it yourself. When you’ve read it, come see us and we will tell you more. Please, honey, promise me you will come home after reading the file!” He stares me down with a dark blackness that pins me in place.  I’ve never heard him sound so distressed before. I can’t stop myself from saying it.

“I promise, dad.” I gulp down the cold warning feeling dinging inside my brain. He sighs out of relief, looking less haggard with my verbal confirmation. He gently steers me to a taxi helping me put the Tupperware in the trunk, safely securing it so it doesn’t splatter everywhere. I instinctively hug him goodbye, but I don’t smile.

“I love you, Daph.” His hug tightens to almost a painful degree, as if I was going to melt away like sugar being pelted with rain.

“I’ll see you soon dad.” I mutter out before running into the cab, not able to say I love you back. My dad’s eyebrows twist up and tears were being held back as he weakly wave me goodbye as the cab drives off. This fills my heart with deep pain that continues to needle at me as the drive progresses. As the taxi gets stuck in traffic I make a doctor’s appointment for the next morning. I don’t need an unknown head injury plaguing me when I’m already stressed enough as it is. 

Checking my email I can see Starlight’s schedule being changed early this morning. Apparently, she had to visit her cousin in North Carolina and wouldn’t be at any functions for a couple of days. I need to call in and check on her then, or would that be too invasive? She is on vacation, so does that mean no work calls? I’m not a work call, I'm her therapist. I quickly press her name in my contacts before I can doubt myself for a second longer.

“Hey, it’s Annie, if you want to reach me leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you when I can.” Her sweet voice comes through the phone in a dull monotone that’s grating to the ear. I left a quick voicemail asking her how she’s doing and how I just wanted to check in. Before I’m done with the voicemail my cab driver is helping me out of the car with my Tupperware in tow. 

I walk through the construction site and into the refuge building as quickly and gracefully as I muster. Dodging moving bodies from every corner, barely keeping the Tupperware in my arms by the time I reach the kitchens. 

Volunteers with Vought branding on their shirts were scrambling about preparing for food to be served out. People in not so obvious Vought branding were prepping some camera men that were standing at the fringes of the entrance. Perscilla Jones stood center of the chaos with her immaculate hair shining bright like a beacon of hope. Her aura flares with life and vigor like a fresh and steady campfire. She was in her element and the perfect person for this job.

I drop my containers onto the kitchen counters and find myself being swarmed. The volunteers take action immediately grabbing Tupperware after Tupperware prepping it to be served to the refugees. Like a unit of soldier ants they all work in unison, it's inspiring if a little scary. Not needing anymore help with that, I walk towards Perscilla to see if there’s anything else that needs to be done.

“Hey Perscilla! Do you need—” A forceful breeze passes the room and that is the only warning the normal person has before Homelander’s dramatic entrance. 

“Hello, everyone! So, how can I help?” His voice is booming for everyone to hear. His perfect posture and calm smile that looks practiced. His exact verbiage feels like it was ripped right from Dawn of the Seven . I told him he didn’t have to act like there was a script…but maybe that’s his autopilot. Interesting.

The camera crew that hovered at the entrance of the makeshift cafeteria enters the scene the moment they realize their star has arrived. The volunteer workers are grabbing bins of the food and setting up buffet- lines for people to serve themselves. Volunteers would be posted at that station so they can help out if needed. The volunteers all gapped at Homelander’s sudden arrival, all stopping together like the ripple of a stilling wave.

Perscilla Jones' quick steps towards me are annoyingly loud with each point heel tap and her humongous bright white smile is nearly blinding. She grabs me by my shoulders, wrinkling the large puffs of my sundress. I can’t help but see the predator on the horizon blazing a trail towards us, my heartbeat grew erratic at the sight . I’m frozen to my spot, instinct of a prey animal, the prey animal being me.

“You have to introduce me to Homelander, Daphne. I’m so excited for how good this is going to do on Instagram and Twitter.”

“And how good it’ll be for the people who recently lost their homes.” I add in quickly–Perscilla giggles at that, like I was joking, giving me a shrug as a response. 

Her glowing bright sherbet aura bursts into a bright orange sweet flavor of excitement that took over all of my senses. She was too happy right now to even think about the reason why she’s here. Only that the opportunity has landed on her lap and she’s going to take full advantage of it. Happiness stemming from something like this is not surprising, but I can still feel the bitter disappointment lingering in the back of my thoughts. 

“Do you need anything else from me, Perscilla. I could help the volunteers if not–”

“No, you’ll be helping me, remember?” Homelander’s sardonically cold voice would be chilling if I wasn’t preparing myself for it beforehand. He maneuvers around Perscilla, completely ignoring her, like walking by a bug on the subway. Perscilla perceptively decides to step out of Homelander’s way, letting me go from her too tight grasp. I absently rub at them, feeling the eventual bruises growing on my already wounded body. “I thought we talked about this last night.” His sharp blues eyes not only glare daggers down at me as he steps a little too close, but his scowl is pointed directly at Perscilla. 

“R-right! Um, Perscilla I have these photos I sent to your email of Homelander cooking the food being served. I think it’d be a great addition to this event for the social media campaign.” Perscialla nods to every word I say as she starts going through emails on her pristine phone. 

“That’s perfect! It’ll round out the whole photoshoot, great idea, Daphne.” Perscilla’s sweet excitement now felt more brown-nosey since Homelander came into the picture. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable and the slow crawl of goosebumps traveling down my arms didn’t help. 

“T-thanks–”

“Now that’s settled, let's get to it.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, showing us as a united front that Perscilla ate up, but it felt more threatening than friendly to me. She steers us to the serving tables where the volunteers prep the food. Every utensil and decoration had Vought’s logo covered all over them, it made my skin crawl.

“Okay, Homelander just pose behind the serving table and we will composit the photos with the ones of the volunteers.” Perscilla says this as if listing off her grocery list, not even glancing up at us as she continues to tap at her phone. The ringing in my ear speared itself through my brain and I couldn’t get it out. 

 “W-what? No, n-no Homelander is serving them with the volunteers.” I step forward out of Homelander’s grasp trying to gain Perscilla’s full attention. “We’re both here to participate in helping the refugees; no pretending, no lying.” 

“Of course, Dr. Bennett, I understand. This is just usually how things are shot for social media, but if that’s what you want. Thank you again for this opportunity Daphne.” Perscilla calls for the camera crew to set up, walking off and grabbing a volunteer by the shoulder to boot. 

“I like how you tell people what to do.” Homelander’s voice is closer than expected, I jump up high in the air in response. I blow a curl out of my face deciding facing Homelander head on is always the safest bet, meeting his stare directly.

“That just wasn’t the plan. You’ll see. It’ll be better if it's organic. Like food.”

“How do you know more about marketing than a marketing manager?” Sarcasm is evident in the quirks of his lips and the swathy tone in his voice.

“I know people better. I don’t understand social media but I know for a fact people will see your interactions with them. That will be what has the biggest impact on your ratings. More than you could imagine.” I put all my soul into what I’m saying, seizing his hands to hold in mine. 

“Alright, alright.” He nods with a sigh. He lets go of my hands walking to the serving area as if the various utensils would obey him with a single look. “This plan of yours better go as planned or we know your job here isn’t going to quite work out. Come on then, Daphne. Help me with this since this was your brilliant idea.” He gripes bitterly, scowling into all the hot pots with tortellini and sauce filled to the brim. He flinches away from the simmering pot of sauce, double checking his cape to see if any got on it. I can’t stop from smiling at his antics and he looks up to see I’ve caught him in the act. He glares at me as his only form of comment.

“Don’t give me all the credit Homelander. You did inspire me to do this after all.” I say loudly and clearly, the on coming flux of people entering the cafeteria can hear my words clearly. As well as the now recording cameras. His singular left eyebrows quirks up as if accusing and questioning at the same time. “You are the one after all who wanted to do more for the refugees when we were last here. You wanted to change things, and now we're trying to change things.” I steer him now to face the growing line of people waiting to be served. 

The volunteers all hover around us, smiling wide and bright for the cameras, but all the nerves frazzle at the edge of my brain like static shock. I inadvertently move to the sauce station, right next to Homelander, and serve the first person in line. A small boy with wild curly brown hair and a wide toothy smile that brought the taste of fruit loop cereal on my lips and the memories of blowing bubbles out the windowsill. The ache in my heart soothes over the gaping bloody wound ever so slightly when I fill his bowl to the top. 

“Thank you, miss!” His smile widens across his cherub face and his dimples appear. So cute.

“You're welcome little mister.” He runs off ahead, settling at a cafeteria table where a woman waited with a patient smile and a warm embrace. I check to my side to see Homelander hasn’t self combusted by being left to his own devices. No but the volunteers seem to be fumbling around him like slobbering idiots, not focused at all on actually helping. 

“Thank you so much Homelander for all that you’ve done for us!” A young woman with her hair wrapped in a beautiful Hijab states before taking the bowl of tortellini. 

“I appreciate what you guys are doing here. It really is helping my family and everyone else here.” A large gruff man who had rad patches all over his skin–probably burns from the look of them, voices to each volunteer he sees.

As each person passes us people are in better spirits than they were when they entered the cafeteria. The atmosphere has shifted to a hopeful tune inspired by the smiling faces all around us. Surprisingly, Homelander’s stiff posturing eases with each smile and adoring comment that comes his way. The line slows to nothing and the whole cafeteria is filled with people eating their home cooked tortellini. The smell was almost as good as it was in my kitchen, making my stomach growl at the thought. 

A boy who could be either ten or twelve who was shyly hiding behind his mother bravely steps forward as the camera men start taking their equipment out of the building. Looking closer the child wore a well worn shirt that had Homelander’s insignia plastered across it. 

“Could I have an a-autograph, p-please? You're my favorite hero in the world!” The smile is so bright and so full of awe it could make anyone drop to their knees and go aww. Homelander gets down to his level and signs his photo and the shirt he is wearing, making the boy squeal with delight. “Thanks so much Homelander!” He runs back to his mom sitting at the cafeteria table in the back corner. 

“You really made that kid’s day, Homelander. He’ll probably remember that for his whole life.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, of course. Those interactions are what make people love you. I thought you knew that?” I ask dumbfounded. No wonder he’s been trying at this for years and not getting any results. He’s like a calf without his mother to guide him from bad decisions, it would be endearing if it wasn’t so sad. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grimaces glaring at me, as if knowing what I’m thinking. Shouldn’t it be the reverse? “He looks kind of like my son, Ryan.” He murmurs under his breath barely able to admit it.

“Well, I’m really good with kids, if you ever want to introduce me. I was actually a child’s therapist before I was hired on for The Seven, so I have some understanding of kids . ” I shrug trying to show any emotions in the admission. Bringing up my old job only made me feel painfully nostalgic, and some bitter madness needled at me, reminding me I failed my attempts to understand my powers at every turn. This job being the final stage in my failure. I push that thought away focusing back on Homelander.

“Let’s see how this goes. You’ll be lucky this doesn’t become a failure and I don’t fire you.” He threatens under his breath, so only the two of us could hear. The volunteers all sat at a table eating their own share of tortellini ignoring us for now. The idea of being fired seems enticing, but impractical at best. A danger to my family at its worst.

“I think this could be really good for you.” I say bringing my hand up to touch his arm, but stop before I make contact. The need to be close to people was something I didn’t feel often, but Homelander felt like a flame and I was the moth that just needed to be a little closer. Before I burn up in flames, of course. He takes my hand in his own, making me flinch from my stupor. 

“I have a meeting with Ashley soon. I’ll need to get over there before ten thirty.” We both glance at the clock on the wall to see it flash ten fifteen at us like a warning. The tick of the small ticking clock grates my migraine. “Do you want me to fly you there?” 

“No, no that’s okay. I’ll help clean up here and I’ll be at Vought in a half an hour. My schedule isn’t filled to the brim like yours is.”

“Didn’t you know?” He couldn’t help the wide smirk growing across his face.

“Know what?”

“You have to be at all of the press junkets with us, not just movie sets and premiers. Looks like your schedule is busier than mine, I’m afraid.” Like the cat getting its cream, Homelander looks too satisfied informing me of this. My little migraine turns into a full blown migraine now. I could feel the mind splitting pressure terrorize itself behind my eyes. 

“Oh, well I’ll be at Vought soon. I promise.” I give his shoulder a squeeze with assurance. The word promise striking into Homelander his aura’s once calm now springs to life once again. Ever turning and hurting those in his vicinity.

“Right, you better Daphne.” He grits out before leaving the cafeteria with a flashy smile towards the refugees. A few people stop him on his way out asking for autographs, he obliges not batting an eyelash at the continuous requests. Finally leaving the scene it feels like I’m not walking on a tightrope anymore, and my heart could rest for a moment.

“You guys look cute together.” Perscilla crones in a too sweet voice for me to stomach. I jump again, surprised for what feels like the millionth time today.

“What! You can’t say that Perscilla. Just implying it would cost me my reputation and license as a therapist. Probably my job too, honestly.”

“Well it's only trending on this one measly subreddit. Nothing to fret over Daphne.”

“O-okay, good. N-nothing to worry about then.” I grit out trying to believe it myself. Nothing to worry about clangors in my head like a bell toll, ringing over and over to a deadly hymn. The cold sweat running down my body and the throbbing headache wouldn’t stop reminding me about the traumatizing events that only happened yesterday. Being in the center of it all didn’t bode well to me in the least. The feelings of foreboding chilled my neck, as if Death himself trails his bony fingers down my back. 

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If you want to support this fic try checking it out on AO3!

[batgirlsay]

Safe and Sound

An Obiyuki Week 2022 Day 4 Playlist (for @snowwhite-andtheknight)

Used some leftover Obi themed songs that didn’t quite fit into the other two playlists for the week and created another “home” themed playlist for the free day! (It’s similar to my previous playlist Found at Last, but with more lyrics about “feeling safe together.”) In the first few songs Obi has his usual doubts and is wishing for a safe place to be and then he finds his new home with Shirayuki after “You With Me.” 

Shooting Star- MUNA Unsafe Safe- The Hush Sound You With Me- Jimmy Eat World That’s Where I Am- Maggie Rogers Underneath the Sycamore- Death Cab for Cutie You Are My Home- The Hush Sound Shelter- Eisley

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

Shooting Star- MUNA

I’m laughing 'cause I know I only just met you But you're already spanning skylines inside my mind

And tonight when I closed that door, I wanted to turn back But when I see a shooting star, I stay out of its path And that's what you are, you're so bright You burn my eyes and you move too fast So I say “Goodnight, make it home" like I’m making a wish On you, from afar You, my shooting star

I know what you wanted because I wanted it too To be in your light, consumed and erased But your light doesn't stay, you take it away too soon Then leave me hung over the moon stranded in space

I wish I may, and I think I might regret this either way If I let you in my heart or keep you in the dark So I'll love you from afar

Unsafe Safe- The Hush Sound

Don't open the safe is unsafe No, you won't disarm my heart

The dial was rusted, vintagely constructed To carry out thoughts of a small scale destruction I saw this one coming, there's no use in running

Safe in the distance, ignorantly witnessing Everyone scatter as I had a vision A regret, you might say A worry, you might say

You With Me- Jimmy Eat World

I don't stand a chance Against the glow of answers

It's all been happening Like they said it might Am I weak if I want to fight?

What makes our love so hard to be? Is it you? Or is that you with me? For just the possibility I'd have given anything

We play along, we sell But only so much we can tell ourselves Is it you? Or is it that you with me?

Pull like magnets Cloud of static The air between is punishing, but nothing happens

Scared to say it Even to yourself Am I weak if I want to help?

Wrong I'm certain And it's sad to think of Expecting different outcomes with a better question

Fear and comfort Are both one the same Am I weak if I want to wait?

That’s Where I Am- Maggie Rogers

I found a reason to wake up Coffee in my cup, start a new day Wish we could do this forever And never remember mistakes that we made

I told you I loved you when we were just friends You kept me waiting and I hated you then

It all works out in the end Wherever you go, that's whеre I am Boulders turn into sand Wherеver you go, that's where I am

No, I'll never find another, no one else can do it better All I ever really wanted was you

Underneath the Sycamore- Death Cab for Cutie

Lying in a field of glass Underneath the overpass

Searching everywhere for a homeland And now we are under the same sun Feel it through the leaves, let it heal us

We were both broken in our own ways Sifting through the rubble for the wrong things

And this is where we find our peace Oh, this is where we are at least

We are the same, we are both safe Underneath the sycamore

You Are My Home- The Hush Sound

Please will you wake up Open your eyes It's the first day of a new life, you'll see

Why so hard to let me in? You're the one I want to be

Trailing in the train rails Going where the wind blows You are young, you are wild, you are free Sleeping by a green lake

Shelter- Eisley

Seventeen days with no breath at all You fall off a ledge and your world dissolves And no one listens to the sounds you make And no one listens to you when you say Save me from pain

Love, you are my shelter and Love, you are my home And one day I will be safe But for now, love, you are my shelter

Diving like a crane into Rapid water I've been in the deep

Nowhere feels like somewhere When I'm in your arms

[mokuhchi-manuscripts]

Spring Troupe with an S/O Who Shares the Same Hobby

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing these. Hope y’all enjoy! I’ll eventually write these for the other troupe’s as well :)

CW(s): none

❀ Sakuya Sakuma - Theatre

Sakuya absolutely adores the fact you love theatre, as it’s such a huge passion of his

He’ll definitely ask for your help when rehearsing and memorizing lines or when practicing blocking by himself. He’ll look to you for advice at times as well whenever he’s a bit stuck.

If you’re also in theatre productions, he’ll always offer to help you with the same things and will try to give constructive criticism to you too if you ask for it

He will definitely show up to all of your performances, his theatre schedule permitting, whenever you are in a show. Doesn’t matter if you’re ensemble or the lead, he’s so incredibly proud of you and wants to cheer you on

Whenever you go to his performances he’s so grateful and swears up and down he’s performances are always a little bit better when you’re there.

Be prepared to go on theatre dates; if there’s a performance he wants to see, he’ll be sure to invite you and he hopes you’ll do the same

Sakuya looked over at you, excitement written plainly on his face. You couldn’t help but smile in response. The two of you were waiting in line to see a new theatre performance that was set to premiere that day, and you were both vibrating with excitement. Sakuya squeezed your hand and smiled at you again.

“Excited?”

“Extremely.” The line moved forward and the two of you made your way inside. As soon as you sat down and the lights began to dim, Sakuya squeezed your hand again and placed a soft kiss on the side of your face.

“Thank you for coming with me.” he whispered.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

The fact that he can do something he loves, with someone he loves, means the absolute world to him

❀ Masumi Usui - Music

Masumi has a passion for music and the fact you do too is just another reason he loves you

He’ll definitely share his favorite CDs with you, and even make you playlists! He’ll also create special music CDs for music he recommends or just songs that remind him of you

He starts to carry earbuds on his person so you two can listen to music together no matter where you are, and if he forgets his pair he knows you most likely have your pair on you

Sometimes, when you’re spending time together, the two of you just listen to music and bask in each others presence

He’ll share a lot of alternative rock with you as it’s his favorite genre, but he’ll listen to almost anything

Even if your favorite genre isn’t his favorite, he’ll still listen to and appreciate every song you send to him

‘Hey babe!’ you texted Masumi, ‘this song reminded me of you ♡ it’s called Same Boat by LizzyMcAlpine! It’s not your usual genre but I hope you like it anyways! (Ɔ ˘⌣˘)♥(˘⌣˘ C) ‘

Masumi read the text message in his dorm, smiling to himself. He opened YouTube and typed in the title and quickly clicked a lyric video. You were right, the song was incredibly far from his favorite genre. The song was slow and soft, but somewhat pretty nonetheless.

As the song ended he opened up your text chat again. ‘I am in the same boat ♡ love you so much’ he typed out.

‘Love you too, Masumi!’ He couldn’t help but smile at his phone once more, absolutely enamored with you.

Masumi just adores the fact he share his hobby with you, and you can understand where he’s coming from when it comes to his love for music

❀ Tsuzuru Minagi - Writing

Tsuzuru finds it incredibly helpful that you also like to write, no matter if it’s script writing, poetry, non-fiction, or stories

If you do more creative writing he’ll definitely bounce ideas off of you and have you peer review some of his work to make sure it makes sense -especially since he writes a lot of his work while practically dead-. If you write more nonfiction, he may ask for help with research whenever he’s writing a historical play or anything of that such.

If you ask him to, he’ll peer edit and review your work as well. He may not always do the best job, especially if he just finished a script

Remind him to sleep and rest! You especially understand what it’s like to overwork yourself so your reminders almost mean more to him. He’ll also remind you to rest, which is quite hypocritical but he does it because he cares about you.

You were working on the final draft of your writing project when you received a phone call. The name on the screen read, ‘Tsuzuru’. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your boyfriend's name.

You answered the phone. “Hey Tsuzuru!’

“Hey! I know you’ve been working on that project lately so I just wanted to remind you to go to sleep. The project will still be there in the morning and you’ll be able to work on it better after you rest.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Tsuzuru, you’re working on a script right now, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll listen to your words only if you heed your own advice. You can finish the script in the morning and you’ll do better after you rest. ‘Kay?”

Tsuzuru laughed then. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Then I’ll try as well. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

He also always hypes up your writing! He adores it so much and thinks you’re incredibly talented

❀ Itaru Chigasaki - Video Games

One of the reasons Itaru originally decided to pursue a relationship with you was because of your love for video games

He loves to recommend you games, and he’ll play any and all of the games you recommend him

You can bet you’ll have video game dates. Whether this means you backseat gaming as he uses the controller or vice versa or even playing multiplayer depends on the day.

“You have to go down!”

“No, the extra bonus isn’t here, it’s further down.”

“No no, trust me, Itaru, it’s here I’ve played this game like a bajillion times.”

“And I’ve played it a bajillion and one times.” you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, although he couldn’t see it. He was lying on his back on the couch, and you cuddled on top of him with his arms around you as he held the controller.

“Please just at least look?” you asked.

“Fine.” You watched the playable character move out of the screen as the game faded to black. Once the game faded back in, you could see the bonus chest in the hidden room. “See! I told you!” you yelled, laughing the entire time.

“I can’t believe you proved me wrong.” he laughed too, although there was a hint of frustration in his voice. You craned your neck to kiss Itaru on the jaw.

“It’s okay, it was more of a lucky guess. Also I played this game before coming over so I could see where the hidden items were.”

Itaru will go with you to gaming stores, and will definitely use you as an excuse for being there in case he runs into a coworker. But it’s alright, as he’ll give you an apology kiss afterwards.

If you ever need help beating a game, he’ll always be there to help and give advice. And if you play gacha, he may help donate to the cause of you pulling your best boy or girl

❀ Citron - Learning New Words

Citron loves to learn new words, and if you do as well, then he’d love to learn new words with you!

He’ll definitely just flip through a dictionary with you, learning how to pronounce new words and learning their definitions

The two of you were lying on the floor of Citron’s dorm on your bellies next to each other. Between you was a dictionary.

“Letter?” you asked.

“F.”

“Alright.” You found the ‘F’ section in the dictionary and flipped to a random page, closing your eyes and pointing to a random spot.

“Fas-mill?” Citron sounded confused.

You looked at the pronunciation key. “I think it’s fac-SIH-muh-lee.”

“Oh! That makes sense. Facsimile. What does the word mean?”

“It says it means ‘an exact copy or reproduction, as of a document’. So I guess, like, whenever the director makes a copy of Tsuzuru’s scripts for you guys to memorize it’s a facsimile.”

“Oh! That makes a lot of sense. Thank you!” Citron gave you a kiss on the cheek after he finished speaking.

Sometimes your dates just consist of flipping through a dictionary and learning new words. The two of you have a lot of fun, even if others may find it odd

Sometimes he’ll tell you stories from his homeland using the new words you learned even if he doesn’t always use them correctly

❀ Chikage Utsuki - Spicy Food

Chikage is so happy someone else finally loves spicy food close to as much as he does

He may ask you for help when writing his reviews, as getting a second opinion can definitely help him at times

He’ll take you to his favorite spicy food restaurants for dates and will ask if he can order for you as he’s eaten at these restaurants so many times, he practically has their menus memorized. Because of this, he has an idea of what is good and what isn’t and you’re most likely to like

Chikage had asked if he could order your meal for you and you and you had agreed, trusting him to get you something you’d like.

A plate was soon placed in front of you and you promptly decided it looked absolutely delicious. You took a bite.

“So? How is it?”

“It��s amazing, oh my god.” you responded, your mouth still somewhat full of food.

“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry,” you replied, but your mouth still had food in it. Chikage shook his head.

“Well, I’m glad you like it. I figured you would.”

Sometimes he’ll sneak extra spice into your food- whether it’s as a ‘prank’ or not is really anyone’s guess

Sometimes, as a date, the two of you will order spicy food from a bunch of restaurants and try them all, critiquing them as if you’re professional food reviewers although you could argue Chikage kind of is

· · ─────── · ☆ · ─────── · ·

Masterlists || FaQ || Requesting Rules/Remarks

[duskwood-by-daylight]

Here It Goes Again

When you were feeling a little left out, Thor invited you to visit Asgard with him. Probably should've told somebody you were leaving, though. Part of the Breathe Mercy verse.

Warnings: intoxication, cursing, you and Thor are basically giant children

Word count: 1000ish

A/N: Sorry it's been a hot minute. I'll be adding a playlist to go with this sooner or later. As always, 18+, minors DNI. Don't steal or copy or whatever. Feedback always appreciated.

"Where the hell have you been?" 

So you might have taken a few days off to hang out with Thor and now Tony is waiting in the lounge, arms crossed like an angry father. At the time, everyone else had been gone on missions, leaving you alone. Of course, you weren't forbidden to leave but there really wasn't anywhere to go since you moved into your workplace. Thor dropped by and offered to show you his homeland and of course, I'll go! It sounds so fun! had been the kickoff to three days of partying, Asgard-style. Meeting all of his friends, dancing, and a lot of drinking. A LOT. Thor assured you he let the rest of the team know you were safe and would be home soon. 

You can't be certain, but Tony sounds incredibly pissed, using a tone you've only heard him use to scold Peter. You're too busy focusing on your footsteps and not face planting on the concrete floor to address him. Luckily, Thor is coherent enough to answer, "Ah, hello, friends. We've returned from Asgard. There was a party and Y/N wanted to see my home. I see you've made it safely home from your missions."

"You left three days ago!" Definitely Tony, definitely upset. 

"Well, it was a big party." Drunkenly giggling, you nearly stumble, but Thor lifts you up, carrying you bridal style. You gently pat his recently braided hair. "Thank you, bestie." 

"I still don't fully understand that term, love, but you say it with such endearment that it must be good." He laughs affectionately, adjusting you in his arms. He's so warm and comfy, you could almost fall asleep on him. 

"You should have told us!" Again, Tony going into full Dad mode. He's so loud for such a little person. 

"We did. Did you not get the raven?"

That pushes you over the edge and you both burst into hysterical laughter. As Thor turns around, you catch a glimpse of Bucky and Steve, both looking stern near the doorway. You lean up to whisper not so quietly, "Uh oh, I think we're in trouble, bestie. The old men are upset." 

"It scared me to death when we got back and nobody knew where she was and she just… turns up, completely drunk and happy, days later." Bucky falls back into the chair, running his hand through his lengthening hair. "She's gonna cause me to have a stroke, Steve."

"At least she's okay." Steve sighs, leaning against the table beside him. "It's good for her to get out of this place once in a while. Since she moved in, Bruce and Tony practically keep her under lock and key."

Bucky nods, watching you giggle in Thor's grasp. "I definitely don't want her to feel like a prisoner, but I want her to stay safe."

Steve clamps his hand over Bucky's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "I know, Buck. Don't be too hard on her. She's still new to all of this. I'm gonna talk to Tony."

You manage to squirm enough for Thor to let you down slowly, "Be careful, love. Slow steps."

It only takes one glance at Bucky in the armchair for your drunken animal hindbrain to decide his lap is the perfect seat. You flop down onto him and he wraps an arm across you to keep you from tumbling into the floor. "Buck-eeeeeeeeeeeee," you turn his name into a song that probably sounds a lot better in your head. "Dance with me!"

"There's no music, doll. Plus, I don't think you're coordinated enough right now."

You pout, but accept his logic. He's oddly quiet and you don't like it, not at all. You lightly paw at his arm, "Talk to meeeeee." 

He pretends to be angry, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitch. "Why should I?"

"Because you misssssssed me."

"Did I?" He deadpans, pretending he isn't completely thrilled to have you back. 

"Yes!" You throw your arms around him, nuzzling against his neck. His stubble tickles you a little, but you ignore it. The familiar woodsy scent fills your nose and your brain goes fuzzy. He always smells so pretty. 

"God, doll." He exhales and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes. If you were sober, you would also hear the warmth in his voice. 

"Of course you did. I missed you tons!"

"Well, maybe I missed you a little bit." His deep voice vibrates his chest beneath your hands. Your fingers draw random patterns on his henley, bumping over his dog tags. His shirts are so soft. "But only because I'm so used to you being a pain in my ass everyday."

"You still had Sam here for that."

"Not the same and you know it. You made me worried, sweets. Didn't know when you'd be home or if you were okay."

Teasing, you lift the chain from under his shirt, carefully tracing the metal plates. They're cool beneath your fingertips and you try to follow the pattern of his name on them. "You were worried about me. You like having me around."

He sharply inhales and Steve happens to glance over. Nobody touches Bucky's dog tags without consequence, but then again, nobody typically gets within five feet of him either. There you are, perched on his lap, clinking his tags together beneath tired fingers, face buried against his neck with him looking somewhere between terrified and completely smitten. Steve can't help but chuckle a little.

"I like you sometimes." Bucky attempts to keep his voice level and his breathing calm. Something about the intimacy of the moment is making his heart go wonky.

"You like me all the sometimes, James." Completely resting your head on his shoulder, you cover his dog tags protectively with your hand and let your eyes fall closed. 

He kisses your temple, securing his hold on you as your breathing slows, "you're right, doll. All the sometimes."

The next morning, the stabbing pain behind your eyes wakes you before any alarm can ring. You manage to open your eyes enough to see Bucky sprawled beneath you, still asleep. You fell asleep on his arm and try to gently extricate yourself without waking him, knowing his arm must be completely numb by now. Your first thought is water, but on the nightstand is a bottle of water, ibuprofen, and a sleeve of crackers with a note: Wake me up if you need anything, sweets. "Damn, I love you."

The words tumble out of your mouth before you realize and while there's no way your voice was above a whisper, you feel like you screamed it. Your brain clamors with panic at your sudden declaration and your pre-existing headache. Oh shit.

[halloweenismyfav]

《 Note: I’m sorry to those who follow me for my writing, but I wanted to post this OC that I just made a couple days ago- While I may have Mallory as my MC character, I wanted to make my own Yuu so here we are qwq ~ The picrew is temporary btw 》

“Oh, hello...Why am I so calm about the whole ‘being in another world’ thing? Well, I’ve dealt with worse. This is nothing in comparison.”

Yuume Usotsuki

ドリーム • うそつき

Nicknames:

Atorantisu-chan (Atlantis, a play on Glaucus Atlanticus) - Floyd

Mademoiselle Aigre (Sour Lady) - Rook

Yuu

Pronouns: She/They

Species: Human

Homeland: ???

Age: 16

Birthday: December 31st

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Sexuality: Asexual | Demiromantic

Bloodtype: B+

Unique Magic: N/A

Haircolor: Light Blue

Eyecolor: Lemon Yellow

Height: 172cm | 5′8

Motif Flower: Foxglove (insecurity)

Scars/Birthmarks ect...: A scar just above her left knee

Expression: Blank, not much care

Voice | VA: Hinaki Yano (Momoe Sawaki - Wonder Egg Priority)

Dorm: Ramshackle

Year: 1st Year

Class: 1-A

Occupation: Student

Club: N/A

Best Subject: Alchemy (they’re good with measurements)

Favorite Food: Lemon Bars

Least Favorite Food: Lamington

Likes: Lemons, the paranormal, mystery books, seeing what makes people snap, history

Dislikes: Excessively sweet things, her birthday, overly happy people

Hobbies: Reading

Talents: Keeping a poker face

MBTI: INTJ-T

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Personality:

Yuume is quite a cold person to say the least. Even though this is primarily because of her childhood, she’s always been rather aloof. She could care less about someone crying over something she said (as long as they don’t matter to her too much cause that’s another story). Yuume has a great poker face due to her coldness and because of that she’s a pretty good liar. She’s usually able to get away with lying and no one suspects it. Once she cares about someone enough however, that’s when things change. Yuume then starts wondering what they think about her, she starts to worry about their well-being, and so much more. She hardly had anyone when she was younger, so when someone shows that they genuinely care, it throws her off and she starts to see them a bit differently.

Background:

Yuume’s life was fine from the outside. She had great grades, behaved well in her classes, and she had little to no problematic incidents. Her home life was pretty good too. The thing was that she was quite neglected as a child and it didn’t help that her birthday fell on New Year’s Eve.

While her parents went to parties, Yuume was celebrating her birthday by herself, a single candle in a small cupcake she got from the store. This process started when she was about nine and continued until she ended up at NRC. Because of her parents never really paying attention to her, she ended up quite cold, which then resulted in her having barely any friends. Any friends Yuume did have were fake and so she never had a strong bond with them.

When she ended up at NRC, she expected the same treatment...but it never happened. There were people that actually seemed to care for the first time in a long time.

Playlist:

OC Playlist

Fun Facts:

Her first name Yuume means ‘dream’. Yuume’s last name, Usotsuki, means ‘liar’.

The people that Yuume is closest to is Mallory, Malleus, Jack, Kalim, and Jade. She has a decent relationship with all of the first years (though she does find Sebek to be incredibly annoying at times).

Somehow, despite hating overly happy people, she’s quite close with Kalim. She just finds him oddly comforting for some reason.

Yuume is a compulsive liar because her parents always said ‘a little lie never hurt anyone’ and now because of it, she can’t help but default to lying and hiding her true feelings.

She’s the kind of person that when she’s sad, she listens to music that makes her even more sad.

Yuume isn’t based on anyone in particular, she’s just her own character.

[2nerd4this]

Also, movie night! They both are free (they are on standby from the musical that night) so while the others are performing they have dinner and a movie night and fall asleep on the couch and when the others come home they're like "awww" and take a photo There's a secret album of similar photos that at some point gets gifted to them both :3

Oooh, I love these so much! I decided to combine the two to make it longer, and it’s just a little drabble, but I had a lot of fun, so thank you so much!!!

Just a little note- I know nothing about cooking or dishes from any of those countries, so I kept it pretty vague, but I hope I did it justice!

It wasn’t often, that Cathy and Catalina both had nights off together. Because of how the alternates were organized, they were usually covered by the same girl.

As such, when they looked at their schedules and saw they had a free Thursday together, they had started planning immediately, intent on making the most of the free few hours they would have alone with each other.

In the end, they decided on something fairly simple- dinner and a movie, but for them, it was more than they usually got together. In this house, the only place to get time together was out in public, which was inherently full of other people. 

This was why, then, when the others realized what the two were planning, they decided to leave the house an hour earlier than normal, allowing them as much time as possible together.

So, at 4 in the afternoon, the godmother and goddaughter duo found themselves standing alone in the quiet kitchen.

“So,” Lina started, leaning up against the fridge and smirking at the smaller girl.

“So,” Cathy replied, smiling widely, “Are you finally going to tell me what you’re planning for dinner? Because you better know how to make it, you know how useless I am in the kitchen, except for pasta.”

Catalina chuckled good-naturedly and nodded. “Of course. Give me a sec.”

Cathy smirked, then jumped up and hoisted herself up onto the counter, watching as her godmother turned and dug around in the cabinet above the sink, before pulling out three separate cookbooks and laying them beside the other woman. 

“Take a look.” Catalina nodded towards the books as she opened each of them to a previously bookmarked page. Cathy leaned over and skimmed through each page quickly before her face broke into a smile and she nodded.

“You’re brilliant.”

“You’re just now noticing this, mija?”

“Oh, very funny, Catty. Never heard that one before.”

“Alright, you snarky little brat,” Catalina chuckled, “But seriously, you like this idea?”

“Oh, yeah,” the sixth Queen nodded vehemently, “They’ll love it.”

“Alright then. I’ll get out the ingredients, you choose a Spotify playlist and preheat the oven.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cathy mock-saluted, causing Lina to slap her arm lightly before moving the cookbooks and put an empty mixing bowl in its place. 

.

An hour later, the duo were both covered in dough and flour and leaning over the sink, trying to wash their hands at the same time, with little success. 

“Would you just move?” Lina asked playfully, bumping the smaller woman gently. Cathy smirked and stood her ground, bending her elbow so she could move the faucet towards her side of the sink.

“I have to go take it out of the oven, so let me finish first.”

“I could take it out of the oven.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to have to bend down and get it.”

“Well if it means I get to wash my hands first, then my back will just have to deal.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll sacrifice my clean hands for your poor old lady back.”

Catalina stepped back and gasped dramatically, putting a hand on her heart. “Old lady?!”

“No,” Cathy smirked proudly, “I guess not. But-” she grinned, sliding between the woman and the sink, “you are quite gullible.” 

And with that, Cathy shoved her hands back under the water and finished scrubbing, laughing softly as Catalina’s faux perturbed expression came into view.

“Very tricky, mija. Just know that payback can be cruel.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Cathy shook her hands to dry them, then gestured to the now free sink. “I just saved your back.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. You get that, and I’ll start the next recipe. At this rate, we’ll be done in another hour.”

.

Sure enough, another hour later, the two stood proudly in front of the three cooling pans on the counter, each with a different meal from the foreign Queen’s homeland. 

The first two, for Anne and Anna, were covered in aluminum foil and ready for the freezer, to be brought out as a surprise for the two. The last, which they had made first, was ready to be served. 

“There’s more than enough for us tonight and then for lunch tomorrow.”

“Awesome,” Cathy started, smiling softly. Catalina glanced at her, eyebrows creasing in sudden concern.

“What’s up, mija?”

“Nothing...”

“That didn’t sound very convincing.”

“Sorry, I just...” Cathy shifted awkwardly, twisting her hands roughly. “I had a lot of fun tonight. With you, I mean.”

“Oh, mija,” Catalina smiled dopily, turning to her goddaughter. “I had fun too, but we aren’t done yet. Do you want to go pick out a movie while I dish this up and put them in the freezer.” 

“Yeah, sure, just-” Cathy paused, hesitated for just a moment, then threw her arms around the older woman and squeezed tightly. Catalina froze for just a moment, then reciprocated the gesture, pulling her in close and placing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Love you, mija.”

“I love you too, madrina.”

.

Hours later, long after the show had ended and the movie credits had rolled, the other Queens had yet to return home. Anne had been trying to stall as long as possible, but Jane eventually declared that she was tired and that she would bet money that the women were already asleep anyway, so they might as well head back.

And Jane was rarely wrong about such things.

When Anna pushed the front door open and slipped inside silently, she made it only a few steps into the room before turning to the others and placing a finger to her lips. They all three nodded in understanding, moving as quietly as they could to take their shoes off and shut the door behind them.

On the couch in front of the dark television, under a thick golden blanket, lay Catalina, curly hair splayed out on the throw pillow, eyes shut and breathing even. 

Under her arm, of course, was Cathy, face buried in her godmother’s sweatshirt and body curled in so she was just barely hanging off the cushions. She had a slight smile on her face, and when Kitty tripped over the rug, she shifted slightly and sighed contentedly. 

“Alright, Anne, I give in,” Jane whispered playfully, nudging the woman’s shoulder, “The wait was definitely worth it.”

“Told you. Anna, you’re going to get a photo, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The fourth Queen nodded, already pulling out her phones. “This is front-page material.

“Wait, you’re really making that album you were talking about?” Kitty asked incredulously, causing Jane to shush her immediately. 

“Yeah, why?”

“I have some photos you might appreciate.”

Before Anna could respond, though, Jane covered her mouth with her hand and held a finger to her lips. All four froze in place as Catalina muttered incomprehensibly under her breath, shifting and pulling Cathy closer. 

When she settled again, they breathed a collective sigh of relief and Jane dropped her hand.

“Should we really leave them on the couch all night? That can’t be comfortable.”

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Anne smirked, turning to herd the others upstairs. “Besides, they knew what they were doing. And,” she added, chuckling softly, “They’re reactions in the morning will be totally worth it.”

[anonil88]

Bailentine's Day. Part 1

So this is a random thought after i read some things from jisawriter and one other writer on ao3. I couldn't write anymore wayhaught and It is hella rough as its 4am but a cleaner one will be uploaded on AO3 under nataco. Song is Drake- After Dark and PND- make me.

"Love you down, baby, from the underground, baby

This a uptown, this that west side, best side

This that, fuck the rest side"

The bass was thumping heavy and low from the speaker system in Anissa's bedroom. Party's voice crooned out the lyrics of want me and Anissa Pierce was laying on her bed staring at the ceiling. Tonight wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't big on commercial holidays but it wasn't unlike her to have a date. To have someone in her bed that she cared or didn't care for. She sighed and picked her scrolled through her Facebook feed. There were memes, articles about greenlight babies, and protest event notifications. It usually helped distract her thoughts from whatever was on her mind, but the words "I'm still going going running running coming, There's no fun in always running something" spoke to her. She groaned out loud and went to switch the song. She needed no reminder of the woman who had come back, but chose to leave her on read for the past 12 hours.

Anissa looked back at her message thread with Babe💔. It had been different since grace showed up. The things they never opened up about still hung in the air. Sentences filled with secrets anissa now knew and ones of her own that grace was suspicious of. But when Grace pressed for answers from her Anissa hit her with well where were you. It made things quiet, awkward, and she apologized but Anissa knew something was different. It didnt even have anything to do with the common understanding that they both were metas. Later on in that day when they both dead ended their conversation and grace was in between her legs, Anissa felt different. The usual sexual after bliss was animalistic and raw. Nothing like the soft glowy warmth she started to grow accustomed to.

A) Can i see you again?

G) I don't know nissa, I'm tending and closing the shop all week.

A) Avoiding me...great.

G) It isn't even like that and you know that, that is more your thing.

A) Then what is it like, because it sure seems like you pushed me away.

G) Not you, just the questions.

A) Yours or mine?

G) Both.

Anissa felt a tear drop down her face as remembering the conversation from yesterday. Her phone glowing down on her face.

A) I missed you Grace.

...typing

...typing

.

A) I miss you Babe. Please.

G) When?

A) Tomorrow night, my place.

G) Valentine's Day? I thought you hated it.

A) I do.

Anissa wiped away more tears and sat up on her bed changing the song to a random r&b playlist. It was after 1 and if Grace was coming it would be soon if at all. Her hair was still braided in thunders signature look, which she decided was too big of a give away, and she started to dismantle her hair. Drake was sing rapping:

"Assuming the worst

'cause I haven't heard from you all weekend

Your silence is driving me up the wall, up the wall."

She rolled her eyes at the lyrics while she patterned the hair into regular corn rows. As she did she found herself humming to the beat and finishing the end of the braid.

"Can't offer much more, you've heard it before

That narrative for me isn't changing

I wanna make you a priority

I wanna let you know there's more to me."

Catching the lyrics again she groaned and mumbled, "Of all the songs spotify just had to play".

The doorbell rung loudly from downstairs and she recieved a text notification from postmates. Taking a minute she checked herself once over in the mirror. No hairs out of place and she zipped up her Garfield hoodie over her sports bra. Even if it was just the postmates person she really had no desire to be oogled at almost 2 in the morning. Phone in one pocket and wallet in the other she made her way downstairs.

She heard talking outside the door it sounded like persuasion and resistance. When she opened it Grace was paying the postmates guy and carrying a tote bag with green leaves peaking out and a bottle in her hand.

"Ms. Pierce i am so sorry this woman was already out here and she offered to pay. I wasn't sure if...." A flustered skinny guy wearing a post mates hat rambled making the connection of postmates photo to door respondant.

"Its fine, she my uh, we are dating. Thankyou." Anissa shifted her eyes as she searched for words to explain.

"Ohh okay then, i see well enjoy your valentine's night", he handed her the bag of food and grace followed her inside, closing the door behind her.

Grace was quiet as she placed the bag items on the kitchen counter and gazed around the house. Anissa watched her while putting the bottle of alcohol in the fridge.

"Is this for me?" She smiled looking at the small potted palm plant.

"Yea uh, its from my homeland. I thought you might like one," Graces voice cracked. Anissa could feel her eyes watching how she reacted.

Anissa looked up at the woman who stood there and shuffled until she was directly in front of her.

She trailed her fingers up the thinly covers biceps. There was muscle there she wasn't sure if she missed before. The bass of the speaker quietly echoed from upstairs as she rested her arms on Grace's shoulders slowly. Grace looked nervous but wrapped her own arms around Anissa's waist.

"The food?" Grace mumbled against Anissa's lips . They both swallowed before leaning in for a slow kiss.

Anissa whispered against Graces, "that's what microwaves are for."

Grace pushed for another kiss a bit more which Anissa welcomed. This kiss was heating up quickly with Grace palming her ass and pulling them tight against one another. Anissa almost moaned when Grace gripped tightly and moaned into her mouth. She had her hand deep in Grace's hair while the other had unbuttoned the button up top Grace was wearing. Anissa broke the kiss and grazed the tip of Grace's nose with her own. Pulling Grace's bottom lip between teeth she sighed and let it go. Her own voice dripped and practically sent her knees knockinh when she whispered to her date, "are you strong."

Grace nodded lazily trying to dip in for a kiss which anissa dodged this time.

"How strong?" Anissa pried placing a kiss to Grace's cheek. Grave rolled her eyes and picked anissa up with ease causing anissa to laugh. She wrapped her legs around Grace's waist and cocked her head to the side.

"Hmm how about now," she inhaled through her nose and held it.

Grace's eyes lit up but did not drop Anissa. Breathing out Anissa grinned downward before inhaling again through her mouth and holding her breath. This time she felt Grace adjust her grip on her thighs when she started to slide. Anissa shifted her density further and that is when

Grace chided, "Come on Nissa." Anissa smiled as Grace was smiling for real. That was before her voice was in Anissas ear and she whispered, thankyou for being here and started kissing the now exposed skin on Anissa's neck. Kissing turned into sucking small bruises on her pulse point and Anissa couldn't help but groan letting go of her breath. Making her lighter around Graces waist.

"No fair," she mumble and she was tangling her fingers back into Grace's hair.

There is a part 2

[golden-pickaxe]

Odal - Part 10

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 2138

Warnings: none

[All Parts Here]

A/N: This part wrote itself rather quickly. Enjoy! Also, if I ever make a reference or something you don’t understand, feel free to ask!

[Playlist] - Especially this song for this chapter:  Drømde mik en drøm i nat

This song is the oldest Norse/Germanic song ever found, and currently stuck in my head.

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

Tags: @lightningwitcher @lovelynerdytraveler @everlasting9 @cbouvier23 @hallowed-heathen @twilight-loveer

You had only been a child, just a few years after Thora and Ragnhild had found you at the side of your dying mother, when one warm night in late summer, you were on your way back home. The sun had already set, as the days grew shorter again, and the moon was high in the sky.

During one of your many excursions into the woods surrounding your small farm, you had stumbled upon a large, beautiful apple tree, full of ripe fruit, green and red, ready to be picked.

You had come back to it the next day, spending from morning until dawn climbing the tree, and gathering the most beautiful of the apples in a large basket, you had brought with you.

 You had filled it to the brim, and then carried the large and heavy basket back home, walking over the open fields towards the distant lights of your family’s farm house, sweat covering your forehead. You had not told anyone about the tree, wanting to surprise them, and were very proud of what you had achieved.

 Your arms were aching from the heavy weight of the fruit you were carrying, and your knees and elbows were scraped from falling off the large tree a couple of times. You had to stop every now and so often, breathing and putting down the basket, causing your way home to be way longer than expected.

But you did not give up, picking up your basket every time, walking on further and further, even if you had to stop again to gather your strength.

 You had arrived home, where your worried mothers had stayed up waiting, Thora hugging your tightly while you told her excitedly about the beautiful tree you had found, as tall as Yggdrasil itself, you had said, and showed her all the fruit you had picked.

Your mothers had indeed been very proud of you, even if they scolded you for not telling them where you were going, but brought your harvest into the house, promising you to go back to the tree the next day, to pick the rest of the apples together with your sisters.

 Together with Ragnhild and Hallgrim, you had stored the apples in a secure place in the barn, where they had riped and lasted until Yule, where you had eaten the last of them cooked, with some sweet honey, before your family had made their way to Vestfold, to attend the grand Yuleblót.

 It was a good memory, one of your favourites. It was one of the first things you had truly achieved on your own, without the help of your mothers or your sisters. Yes, you loved them dearly, all of them, but sometimes you needed to do things on your own, to prove yourself, to prove to them, that you were able to be the woman you wanted to be. Strong and not dependant on anyone.

 This, you thought, was just like back then. At least that was what you told yourself, as you walked closely behind Ivar’s chariot, behind the other four princes of Kattegat, a good way in front of your sisters. Of course Hrafna was with Halfdan, who walked a bit behind his own brother, and the rest of the family was with Hrafnkell and his men, who were in turn not all too far behind them. But still, it felt.. odd. You had never walked away from your family while at war.

 They had not been angry with you, when you had told them about Ivar’s request this morning, or rather his demand, but in contrary, seemed to be happy for this great opportunity for you. It was not everyday, of course, that a prince asked you to walk right at the front of his army.

 Though she was happy for you, Asta was still a bit suspicious. She was not sure what to think of the youngest Ragnarsson, who seemed brilliant, yet cruel, and did not really trust him. She too had heard the stories about him, the rumours, and she was not reassured by the thought that he only seemed to want you to fight along side him.

 “Be careful, little one. The princes have a certain reputation, and Boneless has the worst of all of them.” She had said, squeezing your arm once more, before she had departed from you as the great army had started their journey once again, this time towards king Ecbert’s villa.

 Now, a few hours later as you walked onwards, watching the back of Ivar’s head, you were not really sure what to think of him. Yesterday, after your toast, you had resumed to talk with him, mostly about what was ahead of you and what you had seen in England so far. Ivar seemed to detest the Christians even more than you, them and their false preaching of peace, while they killed everyone who disagreed with them.

 It had been.. nice.. to simply talk, and to compare this land to your homeland. Ivar had even taught you a few words of the English language, which was, now that you had heard it like that, not all too different from your own tongue.

 Ivar had also asked about your home, and how you lived, how it came to be that you and your sisters looked nothing alike.

 “Adopted?” he had asked, a bit shocked, when you told him how your two mothers had found each of you, before telling you about Floki’s adopted daughter, whom his wife had kidnapped from a country far, far away.

 “None of us was kidnapped. We were all lost, and Ragnhild and Thora have found us, and given us a home.” You explained with a smile, causing Ivar to tilt his head at you.

 “And you love each other? Though you are not blood?” he frowned.

 “More than anything. I think love by choice, is stronger than love by blood.” You looked down at your empty cup.

 Ivar had not answered to that, only mustering your face.

The anger that was usually burning from his blue eyes had almost vanished, his manner and expression open and so different from what you were used when he was with his brothers. His usual demeaner returned, however, when the rain had finally broken out of the heavy clouds above you, abruptly ending your comfortable conversation.

 Since then, you had not really talked to him, and he seemed to be rather distracted by leading the army, not having any time to deal with you. Which was, quite obviously, completely understandable, but still, you caught yourself missing his attention already.

 His eyes, and his soft voice when he talked to you, were strangely soothing, and despite all the stories and rumours about him, knowing how many of the men around him feared him, you could not bring yourself to be afraid.

 According to the scouts Bjorn had sent forward, you were only a few days travel away from king Ecbert’s villa, and the warriors around you were all very anxious about this one, probably final battle you were to face. Of course, now the thought of what would come after, came up in everyone’s mind, and across the army there were a lot of different opinions about it.

Would you all just go back home, your deed done, vengeance taken? Or would you stay and occupy the English soil, now hat you had killed the kings of the country?

 If you were honest with yourself, now that you had quite literally licked the blood of war and battle, the thought of simply returning home to your little farm was not as pleasing to you as you would have thought it to be. Of course, you missed your mothers, and your home, but on the other hand, having nothing more than the life of a farmer to look forward to, made you want to extend this raid as long as possible.

 Hallgrim, on the other hand, made no secret out of the fact that she wanted to be back at the farm as soon as she could. Seeing to her animals, preparing everything for the winter, and helping with the harvest.. she was not an ambitious woman, she was truly a farmer through and through, and she was happy with that kind of life. Gudrun sometimes said that her Norns were surly dwarves, considering her seemingly boring fate, but got punched by her sister every time she heard it.

 Hrafna had only implied that she intended to stay with Halfdan, whom she seemed to truly love. From what you could see, he was equally infuriated by her, looking at her as if the fierce woman was made out of silver and gold. It felt a bit weird to you, that of all of your sisters it was her who had found love first, and who would be the first one to leave your family, to probably marry and start a life of her own.

She had never been the type of person who would settle down with a family, that was more Gudrun’s dream, who was always dreaming of falling in love, her romantic heart often making up day dreams of a strong hero to steal her away. Asta usually said that she listened to too many sagas.

 Poor Gudrun, you thought, sighing. She did not know what to do. Being without Hrafna, without her sister who always protected her, would be hard, and with that in mind she was not sure if she wanted to just return home without her. Maybe she would stay with Hrafna in Vestfold for a while, she had told you, and then decide what to do.

 Asta and Yeva had talked only little about what they wanted to do, as neither of them saw this journey as such a grand life-changer as you and Hranfa did. They both were of the opinion, to just see what was going to happen, and to see what the leaders of the great army had planned for you. They were fine with raiding, and with returning home.

 “I dreamed a dream last night

of silk and fair furs,

of a pillow so deep and soft,

a peace with no disturbance.”

 A soft, familiar voice behind you pulled you out of your thoughts, causing not only you, but also the princes and the kind to turn their heads, towards its source.

 “And in the dream I saw

as though through a dirty window

the whole ill-fated human race,

a different fear upon each face.”

 Yeva, her golden hair opened and flowing over her shoulders, was walking next to Gudrun, seemingly not aware how her singing had just caught the attention of so many men and woman around her, her beautiful eyes fixed on the cloudy sky above her. She looked like Sif right now, the wife of Thor walking among you.

 “The number of their worries grow

and with them the number of their solutions —

but the answer is often a heavier burden,

even when the question hurts to bear.”

 The idle chatter and low conversations that had filled the air around you slowly died down, as it seemed as more and more of your fellow warriors and shieldmaidens started to listen to your sister’s mesmerising voice, her words apparently hitting soft spots deep in everyone’s heart.

 “As I was able to sleep just as well,

I thought that would be best —

to rest myself here on fine fur,

and forget everyone else.”

 You knew this song, had heard it often over the years, but learned it from Yeva herself. You remembered, when she had sung it for the first time, where she had also told you where she had learned it, when she had just been a little girl, visiting the Danes with her father. A skald had taught it to her, the first song in the Norse tongue she had ever learned to sing.

 “Peace, if it is to be found, is where

one is furthest from the human noise —

and walling oneself around, can have a dream

of silk and fine furs.”

 Ivar in front of you blinked a few times at Yeva, after the song had ended, and when she just continued to hum the familiar melody, before his blue eyes wandered towards you. A small, almost shy smile appeared on his beautiful lips, as he noticed you returning his gaze, once again looking far more boyish than you were used to.

The corners of your own mouth went up too, slightly, and you nodded at him briefly, before he finally turned around once more, facing into the direction his horse was pulling his chariot.

 Whatever would come after you had defeated king Ecbert and his army for good, you thought, you were sure that your fate involved Ivar the Boneless.

[salynn-16]

Musings of a Writer

Written for uni coursework, I actually really enjoyed writing what was a vicarious experience of the writing process XD

---

Sat in the window-seat of their favourite coffee shop, the writer taps a pen on the notebook page in front of them, debating where to start with their latest project. The chatter behind them is enough background noise to allow them to focus, and if it gets too loud, they’ve always got headphones to drown out the worst of the noise. Finally, a spark of inspiration hits them, and they start writing out a scene of their current project. The characters start whispering their secrets, and the dialogue, though messy at first, takes form and becomes the basis for a probably emotional scene later down the line. Just got to get to that point first, after all… There was just something about writing in a café; the fact that you had the smell of coffee and food in the background, mixed in the inspiration-inducing snippets of conversation from other patrons of the coffee shop, made for a great writing session. Slipping on their headphones, the writer grins at hearing their main character’s voice crystal-clear, writing down snippets of dialogue and accompanying description. The seed was planted, and now had to carefully taken care of, so that it would bloom magnificently. But that would take time and effort, pruning any unwanted elements and letting the main idea flourish. Snippets of characters come into their head; an adventurous young prince, a demure young lady, and a stern matron-esque figure. Now, how were these lives intertwined…? The prince had a loud voice inside the writer’s head, liking to demand attention and get the most focus in his scenes. Roughed up in places, he liked to think he knew what the world had to offer—but would soon come to terms with the idea that he was utterly wrong on that front. He had some control over magic, and tended to use it to aid his misadventures. In sharp contrast, the young lady was quiet but wise. She feared the loud-mouth prince, as far as the writer could tell. No sparks just yet, but character development could turn that around. Now, what was the world like…? Looking up, the writer realises they’re out of coffee, and probably had drunk the last 10 minutes ago. Going up to the counter, they kindly ask for another hot beverage, having a conversation about the pains of university work with the lady at the till, trying to fend off the loud-mouth prince in the process in their head. Now was the time for world-building, not for character-building. Brushing back annoying strands of hair that had flopped into their face, the writer sat back down after having ordered their coffee, ready to get the rough concepts down for the prince’s world as he knew it. Was this some isolated little island, separate from the scheming of some nearby world power? And how would all this shape the plot? The young lady and her governess—the matron-figure from earlier—provided some insights that the prince couldn’t possibly provide, being adventuring in other lands. Following their guidance, the world took form—a seemingly just place that had tension bubbling right under the surface. While the prince liked to think his homeland was safe from invasion, the nearby empire had other ideas. And if that empire got their hands on this little country…the peace that the island’s inhabitants enjoyed would soon fall to pieces. -- "Oh prince, your country is in danger" Sung the blind seer, trying to guide the wayward teen before it was too late. -- Oh, is that how they met? The writer wondered, seeing an injured, startled prince turn up on the young lady’s doorstep, clearly needing somewhere to lay low until the initial roughness had passed. Though the governess tried to pry what had happened in the castle out of the prince, nothing came through until a few days after the invasion had passed and the prince felt safer. -- “It just happened so quickly, I barely had time to run. One of the invaders nearly caught me, but I got away with some injuries. No doubt that if they had kept hold of me, I would be like- like Mother and Father, or locked away.” He had whispered, looking towards the shy young maiden, searching for comfort. Before the young maiden could speak a word, her governess summed up the situation the prince was in, “And now I expect you want us to help you escape this island before they find you.” “I’m already thankful that you took me in, I can’t endanger you any more than I already have. I’ll find a way.” “How? You try to leave, their guards will spot you and drag you back!” The young maiden pointed out, “And they’ll certainly have that weird magic-sensing technology, so disguising yourself via magic won’t work.” “With all due respect, Your Highness, your tricks won’t work in this scenario. You need to lay low for a few years until you can then return. No doubt that the citizens of this great country will want the invaders to be forced out. There’s a reason resistance forces tend to work, even in small ways.” “But…” -- Oh. The loud-mouth prince had a hidden insecurity about his ability to lead. Hmm… The writer adjusted their glasses, flipping onto the next page of their notebook. This was getting interesting… Looking at their phone, they vaguely registered that they had been sitting in the window seat for around an hour and should probably be getting back home to do something else. Probably should actually get on with that essay due for next week. Okay then. Thanking the coffee shop workers, the writer left the small coffee shop and set out onto the busy city street, still somehow hearing the shy young maiden and the loud-mouth prince have a gentle conversation. Was young maiden nobility? Why did young maiden seemingly have no parents? They had so many questions for the main cast that would be answered later. Once this annoying critical essay was done. Ugh, why did they have to write about the themes some dead white guy put in his average-at-best novel anyway? Why couldn’t they just, you know, talk about more modern authors who had some interesting views on society as it was? Also, gotta find names for loud-mouth prince and shy maiden, plus a name for strict governess… Their phone made a noise, indicating that someone had messaged them. Checking their phone, the writer smiled, seeing a text from their girlfriend, happy that they would get to see each other after months apart. The writer wondered what their fantasy-loving girlfriend would make of their novel idea, and what they would point out needed to be expanded upon. They just had to plot the novel out properly, instead of having vague details of when things happened… They had a rough timeline of when the antagonists invaded and caused loud-mouth prince to go on the run, but nothing beyond that. Besides… They had so many other characters to have at least a basic design of, for later. Would the runaway prince have to flee his island, hence causing the writer to have rough idea of the surrounding empire and the citizens who lived in said empire? So much to explore… Reaching the door to their shared flat, the writer smiled, finally hearing the shy young maiden convince the loud-mouth prince to leave the writer alone for a few hours. Oh, this was going to be so much fun, developing the relationship between a sheltered young woman and a clueless prince who had so much to learn. But before they could do that, they had to push on with something more important in the present day. Saying hi to a flatmate, the writer popped in the kitchen for another drink, before heading back to their room, ready to work on the essay. Plugging their headphones into their laptop, they found their “essay-writing” playlist of music, grabbed their notes made beforehand on the author they were studying for one of their modules, and started typing away, hoping that the essay would make sense to their module tutor. The writer knew there was some, uh, improvisation in all these essays, especially for essays that were interpreting a creative text that could mean anything, but they could very well try and make something that made sense. Oh well… 

[thedaveandkimmershow]

And so, yesterday, we ended vacation number 2, our Disney vacation, with Linzy's rideshare spiriting her away from our hotel.

We began vacation number three, our peace-out days, by returning to our room and lazing away a few hours.

Around three in the afternoon, we called in a rideshare to Blizzard Beach.

This time our driver was a former banker from Venezuela who moved here three years ago with their family. We asked if any other family members were able to move here and they told us their parents couldn't get visas.

They're definitely not in love with their former homeland's government.

And glad to be here in this country.

We arrived at Blizzard Beach just shy of 3:30 and the very first thing we did was indulge a round of miniature golf right outside the entrance to the water park. I managed to document (ish) all 18 holes in a YouTube playlist called Winter Summerland Miniature Golf with Kimmer. :-)

We finish a little after 4:30 and, by the time we slip into a pair of those lovely, lovely floating chairs at Blizzard Beach, it’s about 5.

Now I don't know when this happened, but it was still full-on sunny 'n hot when we finished our round of miniature golf. So I'm pretty sure it was still sunny when we used the dressing rooms.

After that?

No idea. The sun was also lower in the sky. For sure at some point while we were floating effortlessly on the river we both realized the outdoor temperature was probably not enough to air-dry us once we got out. For sure I knew the day had turned overcast when I looked up into the trees somewhere after we went through the mountain to spot the owl we were told was perched up in those trees.

And yeah.

It was totally up there.

A real, live owl.

Rotated its head and everything.

Okay, a coupla songs I wanna draw your attention to because they fit so perfectly with the experience of floating a lazy river. They played occasionally on outdoor speakers during each of our four visits:

"Kokomo" by The Beach Boys and

"Don't Worry" by Bob Marley.

They defined the experience.

And now for a plot twist. 

Shortly after seeing the owl, coming up on quarter to six, we hear the unmistakable rumblings of thunder.

Shortly after that, one of the lifeguards tells us they probably have us get out of the river soon.

And on the heels of that statement, a crack of lightning with almost simultaneous thunder.

At which point the guards basically say Get out of the river...

Now.

So we hustle to the nearest exit point and get out.

More lightning, as we head to the front of the park.

More thunder... but farther away.

And then. 

And then as we're coming within sight of the dressing rooms... two bolts of lightning race to the ground somewhere in front of us outside the park. Two bolts, racing each other, separated by maybe a mile. At the same time, the crackle of thunder and a vibration we can all feel beneath our feet.

It’s unnerving.

Absolutely.

Unnerving.

There are a lot of scared kids right about now, too.

By the time we get to our locker and dressing rooms, everything in the park's shut down tight. Including the place you go to get towels. You know, to dry off?

Because here's the thing: we just got out of the river. Now we've gotta throw on our clothes and hustle out of the park. And for me, I'm wearing the only shirt I brought with me. The one Kimmer got me that surfers use.

So there you go. We get dressed. We're still wet. And when we exit the park and get on the bus... the air conditioning on the bus is going full throttle.

And now we're freezing.

Free...

Zing.

The bus driver's cool, though... he shuts it off for us.

Once the bus is on the road a few minutes later, we get to talking with a mother and her son who are sitting across from us.

New York's their hometown and they’re both concerned about hurricane Henry that's predicted to make landfall along the New York coast on Monday.

The day they both fly home.

We felt anxious for them.

I really hope they make it home safe.

Now, we had a plan before this fire drill happened. We were maybe going to have dinner at the Animal Kingdom Lodge. Kimmer had a better idea, though. The Rainforest Cafe at Disney's Animal Kingdom park. Now, I only ever saw an entrance to the restaurant inside the park... but it turns out there's an entrance after the security check point, before the park entrance, off to the left.

Go figure.

Inside The Rainforest Cafe, indulging an appetizer plate and ciders, it's incredibly amusing to watch their indoor rainstorm complete with lightning and thunder outside. Amusing because it’s soooo much more catastrophic and straight up scary outside.

Speaking of outside, this is definitely not the Pacific Northwest. Because when it rains back home, it's cold and wet. Here, it's just hot and humid no matter what. So because it was hot all day... the concrete absorbed all that heat from the sun and continued to be hot both during the rain and after. Causing steam to rise off the pavement even after it stopped raining.

It's a very. Cool look.

So all around there's steam rising from the ground. And even though it's been pouring rain this last hour or so, and even though it's now full-blown nighttime... it's still quite warm out. With the occasional flash of lightning far, far away inside the clouds.

Here’s a little more of the lightning show if you wanna see more...

Finally, our ride shows up and we're on our way home.

This ride, however, turns out to be a blunt reminder that there are people so in over their heads... it breaks your heart. Or maybe they're fighting a losing battle. Or maybe…

They're simply running out of steam.

And I'm not even talking about people suffering from anything. I'm talking about the people, friends, family, who are valiantly trying to help those who are suffering. Whether that suffering's self-inflicted, the result of abuse, or the product of collateral damage.

They can't.

Keep.

This up.

For their friends or for their family.

They can't sustain the good fight. No matter how hard they try.

And yet.

They hear someone in pain tell them "I wanna stop. But I can't get it out of my head." And they still wanna help.

They see someone get arrested. And they wanna help.

They fully experience the weight of someone they love losing their life to meth, to heroin, to molly, to any number of addictions.

And they wanna help.

It's a tough conversation to be part of. At the end of it, though, Kimmer offers a pair of resources that help family and friends keep their heads above water:

Never Alone Recovery...

and Alanon.

And then we're home. And our day ends.

Okay so this morning we're up at 7-ish 'cause we've gotta check out by noon. And we don't need that process to be a fire drill.

So we ease into the day out on the balcony for the last time. We make and have the last omelet of our trip (mushrooms, rosemary ham, parisian cheese, and sun dried tomatoes) and savor it before beginning the process of packing our bags once again, cleaning out the refrigerator of all that Trader Joe's food we put in there and packing it for home, running the dishwasher, stripping the beds, and taking the last few photographs and a video of this place because it's worthy of such remembering.

By ten minutes after noon we're out the door and to the elevator where we meet a gentleman who's also checking out. When the elevator arrives, we get to talking and, when the doors open again, we exit into the hallway only to realize this is only the fourth floor. As in we've only traveled one floor down and here we are again.

Waiting for the elevator.

It takes awhile. And when it does arrive... it's packed with other travelers checking out. So we let that one go.

At some point, I'm not sure how or when, Kimmer 'n I both notice a luggage cart that's literally parked right next to/behind us. So we load all of our bags onto it and continue the wait and the conversation with our fellow traveler from Georgia who was triple checking his room before joining his family downstairs..

By ‘n by, actually just when he's about to give up and take the stairs... the elevator arrives.

We get on, now with a luggage cart in tow, the door closes, we go down, the door opens, we exit the elevator...

And now we're on the third floor.

This is definitely not going well. It also doesn't say much for our attention to, you know, detail.

Eventually our fellow traveler does take the stairs after we bid each other safe travels (he and his family have a six hour drive home ahead of them). And for the next few minutes we consider how poorly our attempt to leave this hotel is going.

When the elevator finally does arrive (again) we get in and observe very carefully that it travels the full distance to the ground floor.

And yes, a process that should've taken us thirty seconds just took us about fifteen minutes.

We are not proud of that achievement.

Neither is it going on our resumes.

By 12:30 we're checked out and we check our luggage in with the hotel to store for us whilst we enjoy that lazy river at Blizzard Beach one more time. It's actually the last of our "plus" visits including the miniature golf we played yesterday. So we're feeling good about buying the Disney Park Hopper Plus package.

At the gate, though, the biometric doesn't recognize any of my fingers... so the attendants call for Emily who scans my pass which somehow causes the biometric to recognize me, and thus...

Save the day.

Oh sure, it wasn't dramatic as all that. But it is a heckuva thing to be told I'm not who I've been this whole time while they were letting me into the park.

Anyway, they've only been using the device again since a couple days ago, Friday, so...

Yay Emily!!! 😁

Once inside the park, we're already wearing our swim suits so a few minutes later, around one, we're in the river. Not so lucky this time around with the floating chairs, we float the river on tubes instead until an elderly couple ahead of us at some point give theirs up as they exit the water. And then later I score one of those cool clear plastic ones with the green handles for Kimmer 'cause they're her favorite.

Aside from the musical tubes, it's a peaceful, super relaxing way to end our vacation floating around the edge of the park staring alternately up through the trees to the twinkling sunlight above. Not a care in the world right then. Just the two of us. 🙂♥️♥️♥️

A little over an hour later, about 2:15, Kimmer calls it 'cause we still need a little time to air-dry ourselves before heading back to the dressing rooms.

We kill that time with a grape fruit hefeweizen that the bartender not only loves herself... but she got her parents to try it and now they're big fans, too.

Three o'clock comes and goes and, five minutes later, we're in another rideshare talking Covid with the driver who's had it now twice. Who's had both injections. Whose former employer wouldn't allow employees to wear masks. Who was among a bunch of employees who got Covid early on that first time. Whose immune system's having a hard time. Who's undergoing a ton of medical tests. Whose lungs still haven't returned to full capacity. Who's frustrated and anxious, and worried about their future.

Now we're back at the hotel for a quick turnaround. All we've gotta do is grab our luggage from the hotel's storage and hail a rideshare. All of which we manage to do quickly, unlike our earlier attempted elevator ride prior to checkout.

It's a little after 330 by now and we're picked up by Manuel, a Hispanic gentleman from Queens. We only spend about 20 minutes with him... but it's a packed 20 minutes starting with our marriage and then how he married his high school sweetheart. I think they met in the early 80s (or before) so they're going on 40 years married.

Rideshare is a small part of what Manuel does, he's an accountant by trade. It's something he realized was his calling or strength when he was 18 or 19, eventually doing the books for local businesses and making sure they were right with the city regarding paperwork. It was during one of his visits to the city, filing some paperwork on-person, that he met a supervisor at city hall who was from Cuba... which opened his eyes to his own possibilities. Eventually, he went to work for the city himself.

Education is important to Manuel. Even if I didn't know that, what I would know about the man, what I would recognize in him... is a confidence born of expertise and wisdom. Someone with a command of life. Someone refined.

We spend our last minutes talking about our kids, the education we all sought out for them, and the education they received. Right up to the moment we’re pulling up to the curb in front of Southwest Airlines. 

We end our time here in the company of a true gentleman.

After that?

Well, it’s just the trip home which is pretty anticlimactic. 

We waited a bunch. Walked a bunch. Took a picture or two in front of the hotel where we stayed that one time we were treated to a Disney Cruise...

...and then walked a bunch more.

And then waited a bunch more until, eventually, we were on a plane and then we were on another plane... and that plane landed at Sea-Tac around 2AM, the next morning. Monday morning. And we got home around 3. With both of us scheduled to work first thing the same morning.

Yeah.

Not totally ideal.

The way I’d like to end this tale, though, is in the sky above Phoenix, Arizone.

You see the first leg of our journey home was Orlando to Phoenix. And, as we approached Phoenix, I noticed the dramatic shapes of the clouds in the glow of a sun that had already set.

If you haven’t noticed it before, next time you’re somewhere not home, look up into the sky. It seems the sky isn’t the same wherever we go. It takes on different personalities. Florida was like that for sure. And, it turns out, Phoenix.

It was glorious. It was brilliant. 

It was a perfect “The End”.

If you’d like to see a little more of what we saw in these final moments, click here.

And enjoy!

🙂

[lumaxmayclair]

100 questions

Tagged by @janes-mike and @mileven-and-contemplation (who tagged me as I’m answering this lol) thank youu for the tag!

1. What is your nickname? Zi

2. How old are you? 22

3. What is your birth month? April

4. What is your zodiac sign? Aries

5. What is your favorite color? Idk I cant think of one right now

6. What’s your lucky number? I love the number 7 but I’m not sure if it’s lucky

7. Do you have any pets? Nope. I wish I do though. Would love to have a cat..

8. Where are you from? Indonesia!

9. How tall are you? Probably like 168cm or something? Idk it’s been literally months since I last measure it and I can’t remember what it was.

10. What shoe size are you? 43, I just checked

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Just one.

12. Are you random? Randomly yeah. Sometimes I’m randomly random.

13. Last person you texted? Strictly texting: a friend, I told her I might be late cause I just woke up. Any chat-based app: My mom, asking her if she told my other friend that I’m sick.

14. Are you psychic in any way? Nah I don’t think so. Pretty sure I’m as clueless as one can be.

15. Last TV show watched? NCIS, an old classic.

16. Favorite movie? Black Panther!

17. Favorite show from your childhood? Hmm, I’m not sure. Probably Justice League Unlimited? Idk I forgot what I used to watch lol. Wait no I just remember: Avatar: The Last Airbender! The best animated show there ever was.

18. Do you want children? Haven’t really thought about it. Why not though?

19. Do you want a church wedding? Not church but yeah a religious one would be great.

20. What is your religion? Muslim and proud!

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? A few times yeah.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nope. And hopefully never.

23. How is life? Could be better.

24. Baths or showers? Showers

25. What color socks are you wearing? White exclusively.

26. Have you ever been famous? Nah never.

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Why not? As long as I get to keep my privacy. I think there’s a lot of things I can do having a big influence.

28. What type of music do you like? Songs that are in my playlist.

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Nope.

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? Three. I’m a hugger.

31. What position do you usually sleep in? Whichever that’s comfortable for me that night.

32. How big is your house? I’m only a student living with two housemates so.. not big.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Define breakfast.

34. Have you ever left the country? Currently studying abroad so yeah lol.

35. Have you ever tried archery? Nope. I’m kinda curious tho. Maybe one day..

36. Do you like anyone? Yep.

37. Favorite swear word? O shit.

38. When do you fall asleep? When I shouldn’t be.

39. Do you have any scars? Nah.

40. Sexual orientation? Bi.

41. Are you a good liar? I think so yeah. I try to never lie so that when I do, no one thinks I’m lying.

42. What languages would you like to learn? Spanish and/or ASL. Gotta finish Portugese first though.

43. Top 10 songs? Umm

Nervous - Shawn Mendes

My Mother’s Eyes - Alec Benjamin

The Majestic Tale (Of A Madman In A Box) - Murray Gold

Wakanda - Ludwig Göransson ft. Baaba Maal

I’m Yours - Jason Mraz

Memories - Shawn Mendes

Avengers Infinity War : Musical Tribute (Marvel Mashup) ft. 14 Marvel Music Artists

The Shepherd’s Boy - Murray Gold

Can I Have This Dance - High School Musical

I Don’t Dance or as we know it the gay hsm song - High School Musical

Bonus, cause I’m indecisive as fuck:  Avatar State and Series Finale by Jeremy Zuckerman

44. Do you like your country? Yeah even with all her imperfections I will always love my homeland.

45. Do you have friends from the web? I hope so. I’m just so bad at conversations that I never asked lol.

46. What is your personality type? Introvert

47. Hogwarts House? Ravenpuff!

48. Can you curl your tongue? Yeah.

49. Pick one fictional character you can relate to? Online: Stan Uris. Irl: Jonah Beck.

50. Left or right handed? Right.

51. Are you scared of spiders? As far as we’re not touching I’m good.

52. Favorite food? Probably rendang.

53. Favorite foreign food? Asian: sushi. European: spaghetti/pizza. African: wish I knew more.

54. Are you a clean or messy person? Messy.

55. If you could switch your gender for a day, what would you do? Hug them titties.

56. What color underwear? Black, grey, dark blue.

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 20 minutes when I’m not in a hurry, 5 when I am.

58. Do you have much of an ego? Unfortunately proabably yeah..

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Bite. I’m too impatient lmaoo.

60. Do you talk to yourself? Yeah who doesn’t?

61. Do you sing to yourself? Yep.

62. Are you a good singer? I’ll leave it up to the judges.

63. Biggest Fears? Being thought of as annoying or selfish.

64. Are you a gossip? I don’t gossip, but when there’s drama I just have to know more lol.

65. Are you a grammar nazi? Yeah unfortunately.

66. Do you have long or short hair? Short. It’s currently longer than usual though.

67. Can you name all 50 states of America? I used to, thanks to this game but I didn’t keep it up.

68. Favorite school subject? Math and english.

69. Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert ftw.

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nope.

71. What makes you nervous? Interacting with people.

72. Are you scared of the dark? Sometimes.

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Nah I’m not confident enough.

74. Are you ticklish? Maaaybe..

75. Have you ever started a rumor? Nope.

76. Have you ever been out of your home country? Currently living out of my home country.

77. Have you ever drank underage? Nope, I don’t drink.

78. Have you ever done drugs? Nope, I don’t ever plan on doing drugs.

79. What do you fantasize about? Being able to concentrate for long enough to actually do something productive.

80. How many piercings do you have? None I don’t really like piercings.

81. Can you roll your R’s? Yep that’s how we do it in my native language. (bonus I also can do the english R’s, obviously, as well as the french ones.)

82. How fast can you type? I’d say average.

83. How fast can you run? I’d say less than average. I can sprint pretty fast but no more than a minute lol.

84. What color is your hair? Black.

85. What color are your eyes? Also black. I think.

86. What are you allergic to? Discourse and dust.

87. Do you keep a journal? I wish lmaoo. I tried a few times but I always forgot to write in it after a few weeks.

88. Are you depressed about anything? Probably.

89. Do you like your age? Meh I’m indifferent.

90. What makes you angry? I’m not sure.. Maybe wasting time.

91. Do you like your own name? Meh I’m indifferent.

92. Did you ever get a foreign object up your nose? Almost said never but then I remembered I got a crayon up there once…

93. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child? Meh I’m indifferent.

94. What talents do you have? Procrastinating. I’ve even mastered procrastinating procrastination.

95. Sun or moon? Moon cause my first girfriend turned into the moon.

96. How did you get your name? It’s from this guy! Also my middle name can mean The Nightcomer and I was born just as the sun was set, according to my mom.

97. Are you religious? Yep.

98. Have you ever been to a therapist? Nah I haven’t.

99. Color of your bedspread? Just plain white.

100. Color of your room? Pastel yellow.

Whew finally done. Tagging: @dontfanficanddrivefolks @oioioioioiland @urdearestmom @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @gay-for-roxane @breakthestrutura @ask-the-deadman @willel or @kirabook @sunsetozier @el-and-hop

I didn’t check so sorry if you’ve done this before!