#i think i just get daunted by the fact that its first person. that pov is really hit or miss with me

[silverskye13]

its so crazy how RnS has this obsession with opposites and differences. while it's sometimes very clearly stated, it'll also be subtle, embedded into the text like a message from the subconscious. i think thats what makes me so obsessed w this fic, the attention to detail isn't even for a purpose, it's inherent and instinctual to the text, like it's alive.

that's all to say that as a writer you've done an incredible job landing just on top of the line between prose and narrative. your brain must be so wrinkly

(side tangent, have you ever read a Patrick Rothfuss book? he was my entry into this particular style of writing, though his is much more centered in narrative)

Thank you so much for the kind words! RnS has become my personal study on how to make your prose really fit what you're writing, and choosing words intentionally to set scene. The way I kind of fell into it was actually adapting from horror. I've really enjoyed how horror books tend to describe things with visceral intent. The spire doesn't rise, it shreds the sky. You aren't scared, fear grips you like a dog and shakes you. It's not self preservation, it's the human desire not to be devoured. I feel like horror is a genre that does this a lot [and sometimes gets a lot of flack for its choices if it's too over the top] and I like how playing with that can really submerge you in the writing.

RnS has kinda turned into my playground for leaning into that idea, just without the horror attached. Welsknight speaks like radiance and sun. Helsknight is fiery and wolf-like. Tanguish is cold and crawling. Tango is hot impulsivity. I try to describe them accordingly, and use consistent descriptors for them throughout. It's been a back and forth success. Sometimes I pull it off better than others, and sometimes there are needless contradictions where I prioritize environment or emotions over consistency. But! It's still been fun to experiment with and I'm glad it comes through :D I wish I'd been more mindful when I first started writing. Extending the intentional word choice metaphors to hels/Hermitcraft would have been really fun I think.

And I've never read Rothfuss! Though I've got a few friends who think I'd like Name of the Wind. Though they're the same friends who thought I'd like Wheel of Time, the Genre Defining Fantasy Series, and I, famously [in my friend group], couldn't get into that if my life depended on it.

[morganaspendragonss]

Hey! I absolutely love your "the lovers that went wrong" fic - ive been back to reread it several times now because i think its such a good idea and I love the relationship with TK and his mum - if only the show could give us something as good as that! - I was wondering- only if you were interested, could you write something from Carlos' pov with his parents? maybe they can see that TK is more than a friend and they talk to Carlos about him and TK and why he's feeling insecure? if not np :)

thank you so much anon, that’s so sweet of you!! i love this prompt, too - god knows the show probably won’t show us carlos’s pov. it was my pleasure to write it.

a note on the spanish - technically, i do speak spanish but it’s still very much a word in progress, so if any spanish-speakers want to correct me then please do

ao3 | 1.6k | 2.04 spoilers

Carlos can feel TK's eyes burning holes into the side of his head, but he doesn’t look around. He doesn’t want to see the confusion and hurt he knows TK must be feeling - and if that makes him a coward, then so be it. His parents’ gazes are flicking between them, so Carlos distracts his mom by pulling her into a hug, grateful for the brief opportunity to hide his face. 

Behind them, his dad is shaking TK’s hand, and Carlos’s entire brain is screaming wrongwrongwrong. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Not like this. Not yet.

He’s not ready.

His mom pulls away and Carlos forces a smile back on his face. They stand in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, Carlos feeling like he’s being scrutinised.

Then, TK speaks. “It was great to meet you, Mr Reyes, Mrs Reyes,” he says, “but I should go. I told my dad I’d meet him and I’ll be late if I don’t leave.”

The lie rolls off his tongue, smoother than Carlos’s had, and Carlos dares a glance over. What he sees is so much worse than he imagined; to any other person, TK looks the picture of innocence, smiling kindly, eyes wide and bright. 

But Carlos knows him. He can see the tense set of TK’s shoulders, the way he’s subtly put more distance between them, the hurt hidden deep in his eyes. He feels sick with guilt, but there’s nothing he can do to fix it. Not here.

“I’ll drive you,” he offers, but TK firmly waves him off.

“No,” he says, jaw clenching minutely. “My dad’s place isn’t too far; I can walk.”

“But -”

“It’s fine.” 

Their eyes meet, and Carlos is suddenly hit with the force of what he’s done. Everything he’s been so scared of - TK deciding they’re not working, running away, Carlos getting his heart broken - all of that might happen now after all. 

And it’ll all be Carlos’s fault.

TK’s hand lands on his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Carlos,” he mutters, and then he’s gone, striding back the way they came and taking half of Carlos’s heart with him.

“Is everything okay, mijo?” his mom asks, as Carlos keeps staring after TK even though he can’t see him anymore. 

Carlos doesn’t have an answer to that - the casual way they parted cut deeper than he’d ever thought possible, and he doesn’t know if it was just TK keeping up the act or his way of hurting Carlos the way he’d been hurt. Carlos wants to believe it’s the first one, but his less charitable side can’t help but wonder.

He can’t tell any of this to his mom, though, so he braces himself and turns back around, smiling. “Yeah, of course,” he says, surprised by how steady his voice is. “What are you guys doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly,” his dad remarks, faintly amused, but before Carlos can figure that out, his mom is taking his arm and dragging him along with her.

“I was planning on making my chiles rellenos tonight, but your father forgot the chiles when he went shopping the other day.” She sends a reproachful look behind her, but the effect is offset by her fond smile. “You know they do the best ones here, so out we came. And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Carlos agrees through gritted teeth. He tries to extricate himself from her grip. “Look, mami, I don’t want to keep you. I’ll go, and you can -”

She stops suddenly, planting her hands on her hips. “I don’t see my only son for weeks, and the second we run into him, he wants to escape?” she demands. “No. You’re coming home with us, and you can help me with the food.”

“It’s hardly been weeks, mami,” he says weakly, knowing he’s already lost this argument. When Andrea Reyes makes up her mind, nothing can sway her.

“Psshh, details.” She waves her hand dismissively and takes his arm again, leaving Carlos no choice but to follow her to their car. He directs a wordless plea for help back at his dad, but he just holds his hands up, shaking his head. 

“Your mother’s right, you know,” he says. “We barely see you these days. Give us the afternoon, at least.”

Which is how Carlos ends up in his mother’s kitchen, silently helping her prepare chiles rellenos and trying not to wallow in his grief over TK.

He fails miserably - miserable being the operative word.

His mom is being suspiciously silent, and if Carlos had any energy left, he would call her out on it. He knows they’re going to end up having a discussion at some point, but he’s in no mood to provoke it. Easier just to let her initiate it herself.

“That boy at the market,” she starts eventually, far too casually for Carlos’s liking. “What was his name again?”

“TK.”

She hums. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

He sighs heavily. “We’re friends, mami,” he reminds her wearily, the lie coming easier this time, which is something he really doesn’t want to read in to.

“I never suggested otherwise,” she says. “He seemed nice.”

“He is.”

She sighs, clearly fed up with his reticence, and sets her knife down. “¿Qué pasa, mijo?” she asks, turning to face him.

“Nada, mami, no pasa nada,” he insists, though he’s not entirely sure why he’s still bothering to lie.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Carlos Reyes,” she says sharply, startling him. “Soy tu madre; te conozco. Now, I’ll ask again - what’s going on?”

He meets her gaze, seeing only warmth and concern there, and it nearly breaks him. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

Carlos bites his lip, deciding how best to break the news to her. He’s still not ready, not really, but he’s made his bed. Time to lie in it.

“I’ve met someone,” he hedges, trusting her to fill in the blank of TK’s name. “I’ve known him for a while, but we’ve only been seeing each other for the last four months.”

There’s a brief silence, then, “Why did you not tell us?” she asks, her tone gentle, not at all accusatory. “Is it not serious?”

He hesitates, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I don’t know,” he admits, half-whispering. “I don’t… He… I…”

Carlos shakes his head, giving up on speech. He doesn’t protest when his mom reaches up to draw him into an embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. 

“I’m scared, mami,” he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the tears fall. His mom holds him tight, rubbing comforting circles on his back as he shakes in her arms. 

They stay like that for a while, until she moves her hands to his shoulders and eases him away from her. “Why are you scared?” she asks. Her eyes narrow. “He’s not hurting you, is he?”

Carlos recoils at the thought. “No,” he says, the words bursting out of him in a half-shout. “He would never.”

“Then, what is it?”

He hesitates again, the thought of telling her everything suddenly very daunting. She clearly notices, as she reaches around him to push the half-prepared food away. Carlos’s eyes widen at that; his mom never stops cooking once she’s started. She smiles ruefully, then leads him over to the couch, pulling both of them down onto it. 

“Tell me.”

And Carlos does. He doesn’t divulge all of their long, complicated history, but he tells her enough for her to understand. He talks about TK’s reluctance to start anything, his own determination to try anyway. He talks about those days after TK got shot, and the solar storm, and that night under the stars when they finally agreed to give them a shot.

He talks about his fears that it’s all just a fantasy, that any day now the rose-tinted glasses are going to come off and TK is going to realise that he’s made a mistake, and Carlos will be left behind again. And he talks about his guilt for even thinking it, the way he wants so badly to believe that this is it.

Because, for him at least, Carlos is fairly sure that it is. He just wishes (hopes) the same is true for TK.

When he’s done talking, he glances hesitantly over at his mom. She’s watching him with a small smile on her face, her hand gently squeezing his knee.

“Oh, Carlos,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re in deep, aren’t you?”

He grimaces and nods. “I’ve ruined it all,” he says. “I hurt him, and now he’s never going to trust me again.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” she admonishes. He frowns up at her, only to meet a spectacular frown of her own. “You’re going to go to him, right now, and explain everything like you’ve just done for me. He’ll listen, and if he doesn’t then clearly he’s not good enough for you.”

“He’s good enough, mami,” he says, cracking a small smile. “I don’t know where he is, though; he was lying when he said he had to meet his dad.”

“Then you’re going to go home and wait,” she says, matter-of-fact. “If half of what you’ve said is true, he’s going to want to talk just as much as you do.”

Carlos doubts that, but he supposes it’s as good a plan as any. He could call TK, but he doesn’t want to rush him. Better to let him decide when he wants to talk to Carlos - Carlos had been the one to hurt him, after all.

He leans into his mom’s side, smiling at her. “Thank you, mami.”

She kisses his temple. “Te quiero, my son. Now, go. If this boy is as good as you say, I’ll never forgive you for letting him go, let alone him.”

Carlos laughs, then gets to his feet and leaves his parents’ house, filled with a sudden determination to fix this.

He doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try.

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier  (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research. 

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week. 

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig. 

I’d officially hit rock bottom. 

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop. 

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press. 

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. 

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile. 

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like. 

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers. 

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me. 

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one. 

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project! 

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette. 

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie. 

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to. 

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August. 

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that. 

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying. 

A house don’t fall when the bones are good. 

The bones. 

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so. 

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance? 

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am. 

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about. 

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that. 

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. 

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher. 

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio. 

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary. 

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time. 

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me. 

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway. 

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out. 

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation. 

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.” 

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now. 

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped. 

Valerie. 

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way. 

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was. 

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare. 

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was. 

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.” 

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?” 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...” 

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed. 

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?” 

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.” 

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?” 

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room. 

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive. 

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before. 

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. 

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?” 

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer. 

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.” 

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe. 

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me. 

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body. 

She was so close. 

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there. 

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions. 

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?” 

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again. 

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there. 

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me. 

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass. 

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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[moiraineswife]

Refreshing as a Highstorm - A Stormlight Fic

Hey I inflicted this on my ao3 people last night and forgot about y’all! Inexcusable!! So here we are. 

DO NOT PROCEED IF U HAVE NOT READ RHYTHM OF WAR. 

you’ve read it? okay fabulous - u may proceed? 

you have not? WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? LEAVE. NOW. 

Title: Refreshing as a Highstorm

Summary:  Set some time after Rhythm of War. Jasnah decides it's time to come out as ace to Wit, and she does so in typical Jasnah fashion. He takes it in typical Wit fashion - in stride. They're soft and I'm emotional. Everyone wins. Jasnah POV. Minor warning for mentions of past acephobia. 

Teaser: “Wit,” she said, tone brisk and firm, “We need to talk about sex.”

For a moment she saw surprise tinge his sharp features. Then he blinked and smoothed it away.

“What?” he said, his tone light, “Have I been doing it wrong all these years and no one has thought to tell me until now?”

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters 

Jasnah settled down on Wit’s bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. He did have a heart. The organ, at least.

That had surprised her the first time they had done this. Though in many ways Wit was deeply human, he was also alien.

There was a depth to him, a knowledge that came only from the thousands of years he had been alive, stalking her planet, and more besides.

At times that daunted her. Looking into his eyes could sometimes feel like looking into an abyss that held the weight of more knowledge than could ever be contained in all the books on Roshar.

History, history from a thousand worlds given life. And he was in her bed at this very moment peering down at her with a haze of sleepy pleasure. That gave her a little thrill of pride and excitement.

Alien and ancient or otherwise, he liked to hold her once they had finished. She had the sense that he craved the tenderness and the humanity of it, to end an act that had always seemed so primal to her with a distinctly human, civilised note.

She didn’t protest. Initially she hadn’t wanted it. It had felt like wasted time. The world was ending and she was cuddling? But, more recently, she had come to acknowledge the benefits of a little rest, of time where she was allowed to simply be. To exist, rather than fighting tooth and nail for each breath.

She suspected that was part of why Wit insisted on it. He kept doing things like that. Making excuses to feed her, or force her to take a break and step away from her work for a moment.

A part of her had balked at that at first, seeing it as a subtle way of him trying to control her. She had shut those fears down. It was not about control, it was about care. And she could let herself be cared for. Sometimes.

Wit stroked his fingers idly through her hair, unbound, pooling around her like a swath of night. Then he threaded their fingers together, deliberately choosing her safehand for the purpose.

He often did things like that, trying to entice or excite her. She worried he was beginning to see it as some sort of challenge or game she was luring him into.

She sighed.

The time had come to speak to him about this. In truth, the time had probably long ago. But, well, she was human. She could admit to a little fear.

In the chaos of everything that had happened over the last year, Wit had been a flurry of his own kind. But it was a kind that felt good rather than terrifying and she...Well she did not have an excellent history with romantic partners and she had feared to lose this.

The time had come, however, when not saying something would do more harm, so she pushed herself up, back against the headboard of the bed, drawing her dressing gown more firmly around herself.

Wit shifted lazily, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow to look at her.

“Wit,” she said, tone brisk and firm, “We need to talk about sex.”

For a moment she saw surprise tinge his sharp features. Then he blinked and smoothed it away.

“What?” he said, his tone light, “Have I been doing it wrong all these years and no one has thought to tell me until now?”

She eyed him. Each conversation was like a dance, a fight, testing, seeking, pushing one another. She enjoyed it, normally, but tonight...Tonight she just wanted to be open, and honest. No games.

“No,” she said, simply, “You were perfectly satisfactory.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her and she grimaced slightly. That..was probably not the most tactful thing she’d ever said to a partner.

Fortunately he just laughed and kissed her hand, “Jasnah, my dear, you can be wonderfully refreshing at times,” he said.

“As refreshing as a highstorm, you mean?” she said, bluntly, and he smiled again, eyes twinkling.

“Roshar would not have life without them,” he said, lightly.

She sighed again, more heavily this time, and Wit frowned slightly as she rubbed her temples. His expression shifted, and he sat up straighter.

“Jasnah?” he said, a faint note of worry tinging his words for the first time, “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” she said, waving a vague hand, “It’s still difficult to speak about this. I’ve done it several times in the past, yet it never seems to get any easier. Particularly if one attempts to approach it with any measure of delicacy.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply, taking her hand, “Approach it like the highstorm that you are, Jasnah. I assure you I’ve survived worse.”

She took a deep breath and, not looking at him, said quietly, “I don’t need sex, Wit.”

He frowned slightly, and she braced herself for the quip.

“Don’t need it for what, my dear? For life? Technically none of us needs it, in the basest of terms. We don’t theoretically need wine, either, to survive. But to live? I consider it a necessity.”

“I don’t,” she murmured, and her voice seemed to strangle itself, becoming small.

She hated that, and forced it back to its typical tone and volume with effort as she cleared her throat and continued.

“I don’t need it to feel satisfied with life. I don’t need it to feel satisfied or fulfilled in a relationship. It is not something I have ever found myself wanting, as most other people seem to.”

She drew her knees up to her chest, holding them. A part of her recognised that she did this as a defence mechanism, that it was a very obvious tell that she felt afraid and insecure, which she hated feeling, and hated telegraphing even more. But she couldn’t help it. In that moment, not looking at him, waiting for the storm wall to hit, she needed the comfort it brought her.

Wit moved beside her, sitting up straight, facing her, and when she looked up at him she saw that his face was uncharacteristically serious. He reached out and gently took both of her hands in his. She let him, and he seemed deeply relieved by that. Far too relieved in fact.

She frowned at him as he said, in a tone she had never heard from him before, serious and direct, “Jasnah, you haven’t felt as though I’ve ever-”

“No,” she interrupted him quickly, suddenly understanding what he was worried about.

Then she gave him a flat look that clearly said, ‘do you truly think you could pressure me into doing anything like that?’

The tension in his posture broke and he laughed, then, and said, “You are truly wonderful, Jasnah. I don’t think I’ve seen such a fabulous glare for centuries now. I must study it thoroughly at a later date so as to be able to properly master it when needed.”

She smiled again, some of her own tension bleeding away, though not all.

He scooted over to sit beside her, back against the headboard, legs stretched out comfortably in front of him.

She waited for him to settle himself then said, “This isn’t a problem for you? In our relationship?”

“No,” he said, and though his tone was lighter than it had been earlier, it took on that uncharacteristic serious cast once more for her.

“You surprised me, Jasnah Kholin. You were something on this planet I never expected, and have been delightful in many ways. I won’t pretend that I haven’t enjoyed our physical diversions. But you, and indeed this budding partnership, are worth more to me than the pleasure I can derive from our bodies.”

She nodded absently, then frowned as she realised that he seemed to be perfectly content to continue with her, without question or hesitation.

She had been about to assure him that she was perfectly happy to continue having sex with him, for him. She was not repulsed by it, if she had she would certainly never have entertained it with him. But she had expected to make this point in rebuttal of his disappointment or withdrawal. And he hadn’t done either, which momentarily threw her.

She knew her worth. And she knew that her value as a partner was indeed worth more than the use someone might find for her body.

Other partners had not exactly shared that sentiment in the past.

However fond they had been of her, her disinterest in sex had always put them off. Even if they did not react initially poorly, over time they became frustrated and disappointed, as though they had secretly hoped that she might make an exception for them.

They seemed to take it as a personal slight that she didn’t think about having sex with them every waking moment.

She had never had either the time or the patience for that nonsense, and each time she had walked away without regret. But she would have been lying if she claimed that it hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t made her feel lonely, and alien, even broken, when she’d been younger.

Wit was taking this too well, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at him, trying to determine his angle.

He did not seem the type of man who would take it as a personal insult that she did not crave sex with him. He was arrogant, and he had an ego, but it was of an entirely different sort.

Still, she hadn’t expected his reaction to be, so, well, absent. He was looking at her with the same bright eyes he always did, the same thinly veiled eagerness to see what their companionship would bring, the same intensity and hunger that had simmered between them this past year.

Wit seemed to read her confusion and suspicion in her face, for he reached out and took her hand, her free hand, and squeezed it.

“You are not the first person I’ve met who feels this way, Jasnah,” he said gently. “Indeed, you are not the second, third, or fourth person, either. We would have to climb rather high up the number scale, if you wish to truly and accurately plot yourself.”

“Really?” she said, before she could stop herself.

Logically she knew that she couldn’t be the only person who felt this way. Particularly when one factored in the sheer number of people Wit had known in his life. Statistically it was highly likely that he’d met someone else like her before.

The logic, however, did not prevent the sudden rush of warm emotion at hearing, at knowing, that she was not alone.

Wit smiled at her. A different smile than any she had seen before.

This was the smile of a man who knew the importance of knowledge, the emotion it could bring when used to connect, rather than destroy.

The smile of someone who used that knowledge to bring hope and comfort to people; to bring them together, and help them Connect across realms and ages.

The smile of someone who still found simple joy in using the wealth of his vast experience to bring a simple joy to a frightened girl who had spent so long afraid that she was alone and unlovable.

He squeezed her hands and nodded. Absurdly, she felt her throat tighten, and had to raise her other hand to wipe at her eyes as she felt tears bud in them. Some instinct urged her to pull away from Wit, to not let him see her emotion, the power he had over her with the truth he had just given her.

But she was learning to fight those instincts, and so she turned to him, full on, and let him see her tears, let him see her smile, let him see what a gift he had given her today.

Wit smiled back, warm and genuine, and stayed quiet, with obvious effort, allowing her to have her moment.

A gloryspren winked into existence above her head, and for once she let it manifest in the physical realm, smiling up at it.

After a moment she pulled herself together, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes, returning to business.

“Have you ever been in a relationship with someone like me, though?” she asked him, tone direct once more.

“No,” he admitted gently, then added, with typical levity, “But I’ve never been tap dancing with a chull, either, and I’d very much like to try that as well. The ability to continue providing me with new experiences even after all this time is one of the cosmere’s greatest gifts and joys, Jasnah.”

She eyed him, judging his sincerity. Somehow, the man sitting there with a twinkle in his eye, talking about tap dancing chulls, seemed more sincere than the others who had initially told her the same, with serious tones, and sombre expressions, only to accuse her of being cold and inhuman some months later.

She eyed him again and he raised an eyebrow at her.

She sighed and admitted, “You’re taking this too well.”

A faint blush stained her cheeks at that and she turned away. It felt so vulnerable to admit that, to admit that she expected him to hurt her. More vulnerable even than it had felt to admit the thing she expected him to use as a weapon against her.

“Jasnah,” he said, quietly, “I won’t pretend that I haven’t enjoyed that aspect of our relationship. You are a beautiful, alluring woman. And for all that you have no inclination towards it yourself, rather talented."

She smirked a little at that. As with most things, she had felt that if she was going to engage in it she may as well at least attain some competence.

“But it was a means to an end, my dear. Pleasure, indeed, but also intimacy, and closeness with you. That is what I truly want.

“I’ve had plenty of sex in my life, Jasnah, I’m quite sure I can survive a few decades without it for a creature as truly incredible as yourself. You are the unique and wonderful experience Roshar has gifted me with. What a fool I would be to throw that aside for the sake of sex.”

"Others in the past have not been as...discerning," she said drily.

"Well, as you yourself are fond of noting, dearest, other people can often be idiots," he said lightly. "Sex is wonderful. A true masterstroke by the cosmere to encourage us all to keep producing children. But I'm fairly sure its lack won't be added to the list of things that have killed me any time soon."

She studied him, so sincere, so lighthearted, then said, bluntly, “I’m not asking you to become celibate for me, Wit. We can have sex again, if you wish.”

He blinked at her, digesting that, then he said curiously, “Do you enjoy it?”

There were no strings to the question. They did not do that with one another, as was openly established early on in their relationship. Questions were welcomed, by both parties, whatever their content, the intent assumed always to be genuine.

She considered the question, truly considered it.

With him, and with a few others, she had engaged in sex because her partner had desired it, and she had wanted to do something for them.

Rather as she might prepare a meal she was not altogether fond of, but which she knew was their favourite. If she prepared meals.

“Yes,” she said, finally, “It is pleasurable for me, when done correctly,” she added with a frown of irritation.

In her experience, that was certainly not always the case. Wit, for all his flaws, could never be accused of being stingy with the attention he gave her. In every aspect of their relationship.

"As I imagine it can be for most people. Though likely not as intense and consuming as it is for others, I’ve gathered. And then there’s of course the fact that-”

She broke off, actually blushing noticeably for the first time in approximately a decade.

Wit’s face split into a wide, almost wicked grin.

“Come now, Jasnah," he said, waggling a finger at him, "A highstorm does not hold back its rains, you should not hold back your insightful and unique pearls of wisdom on the human condition. Least of all in my presence. I simply won’t have it,” he said, prodding her with a finger in a spot that he knew she was ticklish.

She actually growled at him, and he stopped at once, though he did laugh as he did so. Insufferable bastard.

She sighed and said, “Sex is pleasurable, but it’s not a pleasure that I can’t achieve myself more easily, with much less mess and fuss, and a good deal less complex emotional baggage attached.”

Wit laughed again at that, loud and full, and she found herself smiling in spite of herself.

Knowing he would enjoy it, she continued, layering an analogy onto the idea.

“It’s rather like attending a feast when you’re already full. The food still tastes nice, even if you didn’t particularly want it. But wouldn’t it have been far simpler, faster, and less likely to cause a headache had you simply taken a private meal in your chambers and skipped the fuss?”

As she had hoped, that caused him to laugh harder. Wit enjoyed an apt metaphor, particularly if it was original. Or as original as it could be to someone with his life experience.

He leaned in and gently kissed her temple, “You are a true delight, Jasnah. A highstorm that invests me with such joy and wonder, even as it attempts to bludgeon me with the force of its will.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as he coaxed her back down into a more relaxed posture, the two of them lying down once more, their legs lazily entwined, his fingers in her hair again.

“Too far?” he asked, lightly, as she settled back into place.

Wit liked flowery language, in all areas of life, but particularly in complimenting her.

She'd made the mistake of telling him, flatly, that it was nauseating.

He'd spent a solid month afterwards composing the most outrageous quips and lines of flattery, which had included multiple pieces of poetry sprung on her without warning.

Finally losing patience, she had soulcast all six pages of the final one into crystal and thrown it at him.

He had laughed, and they had come to an agreement regarding a comfortable level of tolerable flirtation and flattery from him.

“You’re a faint breeze away from ending up at the bottom of a chasm,” she told him flatly.

He smiled, “You may need to think of something with more threat to it, my dear,” he said. “You know perfectly well that if a faint breeze did topple my hapless person into a chasm I’d only crawl out of it a day later far more annoying than when I’d plunged in.”

“Hm, with a tap dancing chull in tow, no doubt” she deadpanned in response, resting her head against his chest once more.

She felt the laugh vibrate through his ribs this time. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one.

He sobered again a moment later and said, “I’ll need to leave again, in the next few days. There’s somewhere else I must be. Something that proves even more irresistible than your delicious tongue, my dear.”

She nodded without comment. He did this, disappearing for sometimes weeks at a time. He had done it even when he’d acted as Elhokar’s Wit, and she’d had no illusions at all that she would be able to dissuade him of it. He always came back, typically just before she truly needed him. That was enough. She'd long since given up asking where he went.

She did appreciate that he’d started giving her some warning that he was going to vanish on her, however.

“I would like to discuss this further when I return,” he said, thoughtfully, fingers still carding absently through her hair, “I understand, and appreciate, your willingness to continue experiencing the true wonders my tongue can perform in physical matters, as well as mental,” she rolled her eyes, but he pressed on, apparently without noticing, “But I would like to have an open conversation, establish some rules, some tweaks to our relationship going forwards to allow it to blossom as it may.”

She smiled against him, “That would be wise, and appreciated,” she said slowly.

It still hadn't sunk in that he was so...Accepting of this. People usually had a broad range of reactions to her. Acceptance was rarely one of them.

Then, with more reluctance than she ever thought she would feel doing so, she pushed herself out of his arms and stood.

“I have work that must be attended to tonight, casualty reports from the latest battle, maps I wish to review before the strategy conference in the morning,” she said, adjusting her robe.

Wit propped himself up in bed and eyed her. She knew that he thought she should sleep, that she worked herself too long, and too hard. He had warned her about the dangers of relying on Investiture to push her body beyond its natural capabilities. Indeed, she had chided several of the younger Radiants with similar warnings, and forced them to rest.

But for herself? This had been her burden to bear for almost twenty years, now. She had already given so much of herself to it, and felt that it was still not enough, that this was a piece of advice she found it difficult to take.

He opened his mouth, and she expected him to protest, to urge her to return to bed with him, perhaps with some crass quip. Instead, he said, “How can I help?”

She smiled, and asked if he would fetch her copies of the maps from the room they used for study and preparation.

He pressed a small kiss to her cheek before moving off to do as she’d requested. Watching him go, she felt a faint stir of warmth inside her. Rather like the feeling she had when drawing in Stormlight.

The world was ending. They were embroiled in the midst of a centuries long war with the destructive embodiment of hatred, bent on their capitulation and eventually destruction. But in that moment, she allowed herself to be human, to be vulnerable, and open, and flawed.

In that moment, Jasnah allowed herself to be cared for. She allowed herself to be wanted, in a way she never truly believed she could be. She allowed herself to remember why they fought, why she had given so much of herself to saving this world. She allowed herself to live, for just a moment, before she returned to the fight.

***

A/N: Look I didn’t expect this ship to happen to me either but hey! That’s just how life works in the year of or lord brandon sanderson 2020 so what can you do??????? He makes Jasnah happy and evidently that’s good enough for the rat brain. Except more fic at a later date bc I have 0 self control. 

[samwrights]

I’m sorry but ukai with a breeding kink😳yes PLEASE

I swear I saw another ask that asked for Ukai with an impreg kink

*ahem* anyways—WOW this one was a doozy but holy shit did I have fun writing it. 11k words you guys. 11. K. It is a lot so grab some cocoa or coffee and a blanket because this is a read. It even has to be split into two parts because I hit the fucking text limit, BUT this also means there is no actual smut in this portion. You can find that here.

If you guys need some ear candy, I recommend the following:

Day N Nite (Crooker’s Remix) by Kid Cudi

Pursuit of Happiness (Extended version with Steve Aoki) by Kid Cudi

Breaking Me by Topic

C’Mon by Ke$ha

Flannel by The Cardboard Swords (it has to be sad somewhere)

Magic in the Hamptons by Social House

Fun fact: Ke$ha was actually the primary inspiration for this fic and for DJ!Ukai. God bless her.

Warnings: language, nicotine and alcohol consumption, implied drug use, implied emotionally abusive relationship, breeding/impreg kink, dirty talk, rough sex, risky sex, road head, slight dub-con, praise, multiple smut scenes, 3rd person POV reader-insert—because the word ‘you’ just didn’t seem to fit.

Without further ado, please enjoy the filthy depths of my brain followed by a relatively happy ending that I’ve titled, “Between the Lines’” :-)

“You’ve been more tired lately, and you’re showing up right when practice starts. Is everything okay?” Was the question that Takeda had asked Ukai Keishin that haunted him for years to come. Sure, he had wanted to gain more independence from his parents, wanted to start being more adult-like and take over the mortgage and the bills so his parents could finally rest. At the age of twenty-six, it seemed like a good idea at the time. With four years passing, however, Keishin was so damn tired, but it wasn’t like he could just stop working.

He was still tending to crops every morning, tending to the shop, coaching for Karasuno, but in the four years time, he had adopted one more job on the weekends—Ukai Keishin was a local nightclub DJ. He’d discovered the job opportunity one fateful night that he was out with his friends from the neighborhood association. To this day, he was still unsure of why he was approached with the job, especially considering he didn’t know the first thing about being a DJ, but the woman who had offered him the position had taught him everything he needed to know.

It turned out that he had a natural affinity for the position, seeing as he was still at it years later under the alias Spira. Ukai kept telling himself that he would quit the gig eventually because there was no way he could continue working four jobs—it was inhuman and the money didn’t even really matter to him. Okay, that last one is a lie; his DJ gig has been a substantial contributor to his savings funds to the point where he was even able to afford a newer, larger, (and slightly) used SUV in full compared to his tiny, old yellow beater. Even his mortgage bills were starting to look less daunting with the current cash flow.

Who needs sleep anyway? Ukai survived and thrived off of nicotine and caffeine anyway. Besides, sleep was the last thing on his mind whenever he set foot into the club. It was impossible to think of anything other than the writhing bodies of sweaty, young adults that were already drunk or high or were practically fucking each other with their clothes on. Perhaps that was part of the reason Keishin felt the need to quit this job—he was envious. Envious of the fact that he never got to indulge in his youth like these kids did; he started working and helping his family out right away after college. Sure, he went out here and there, but these twenty-something-year-olds were living their best life, while he was thirty and catering to their whims.

To say he was a bit bitter would be an understatement.

Bitterness aside, however, it did him good to see the youth enjoying exactly that—their youth. They got to do as they pleased between exams and becoming functioning members of society and, while he was jealous, Ukai was proud to be able to contribute to their pleasure.

He’d arrived to the club early, as he often did, to try to grab a drink before he was due for stage time. Ukai was thankful the bartenders knew him enough that he didn’t have to verbally order considering the music was too loud to hear him in the first place. A rum and coke manifests itself in a small, plastic cup that the blonde raises in thanks before weaving and bobbing around the various partygoers. For the most part, he’s successful in dodging the flailing bodies as he mutely notes the very upbeat remix of some female pop artist playing.

But only remotely successful as Keishin attempts to salvage his drink from spilling as he raises it over his head as one of the partygoers is pushed into him. “Hey, careful!” He snaps toward the younger, [hair color]ed woman. She only looks half-offended by the scolding, but otherwise unperturbed. If anything, the dominating expression on her face was confusion.

“Coach Ukai?” He’s surprised to hear both his given name and his title, let alone coming from a club patron, as they all knew him as Spira. Recognition slips his mind entirely—he’s never met this girl in any way that he can remember. Certainly, he would never forget crossing paths with this beauty, even if she was dressed in a similarly juvenile fashion to the other ravers. Tight crop top tee cinched together by a knot at the midriff, with army green high-waisted shorts attempting to cover the bare skin, face painted with makeup, glitter, and sweat; even underneath the garb, she brought forth no recollection. “Uh, d-do you remember me?” It’s a challenge to hear over the music, but she presses forward close enough that her lips are right in Keishin’s ear.

“Can’t say that I do,” he yells right back into hers.

“Karasuno class of twenty-twelve, I was Sugawara’s girlfriend.” Oh.

Oh.

Now he remembered, vaguely, but he doesn’t ever remember her looking like this. The last four years had been incredibly kind to her, in more ways than one. Back in her Karasuno days, [name] had always looked pleasant, for lack of better term. But there was always a lifeless, matted, dull glaze to her eyes that screamed she was searching for something more. While it was still somewhat present, there was a substantial joyous air around her. It looked good on her. However, as much as Ukai wanted to stay and admire, he had to go get set up for the evening. Or rather, that was the excuse he used when he said he would catch her after the show. “[name], did you know who that was?” The woman in question gives a nod, confused at the sudden star struck gawks that her friends held.

“Uh, yeah? My ex-boyfriend’s volleyball coach?”

“No dude, that was the DJ, Spira.”

“What?”

Being the closing act meant a lot of different things to Ukai Keishin. On the negative spectrum, it meant he was going to have to tend to crops as soon as he finished cleaning up his set. That also meant he wasn’t going to get to go to bed until nearly eight in the morning after his shift at the farm. Yet, for him, the positives greatly outweighed the negatives. For Keishin, watching the audience lose themselves in euphoria, albeit probably a drug-induced one, just hit different for him. It was a sense of satisfaction that only came from a select few activities, with coaching volleyball being the other major contributor. There was just something about the way the crowd was overwhelmed and screaming the second underground remixes of old Kid Cudi tracks with his own twists overtook the speakers that granted Keishin a sense of enlightenment.

For him, being a DJ allowed an audience to flow and vibe with the journey of his life and all its constant up and down motions while under the guise of anonymity. As Spira, Ukai opened up the complexity and conflicting feelings of his inner mind and brought it to fruition through his mixes. He felt that in his soul, he’d done his art of storytelling justice. The audience felt it. Hell, his mom at home probably felt it. Perhaps it was one of the main reasons this dingy, hole-in-the-wall club kept asking him to come back every weekend.

His mind wanders further as he clutches an electronic cigarette in his hand, mixing beats on the turntable while taking hits of nicotine in between. He wonders if the girl he had ran into just a few minutes prior had been frequenting here as often as he had. Then, thinking back to what little information she supplied earlier, Ukai’s mind drifts off to the former third-year setter from when he first started coaching. Sugawara was a nice boy with a firm, almost parental, hand that walked dangerously along the lines of being a partner and being a control freak. When it came to his relationship, things had to go his way. And while his girlfriend that came to every tournament was much more outspoken yet easy going, she was opinionated and didn’t shy from confrontation.

Now that the coach had given it more thought, it was a wonder that one tolerated the other at any point in time. If anything, Ukai imagines the two of them would typically be at each other’s throats. From the few times he had interacted with her, she was always more free spirited and couldn’t be weighed down by any one else’s opinion, but seeing her now was different—she was in her element in the dingy, dark club with the glitter on her cheekbones refracting light off of her face. There was laughter and true, unabashed joy on her face. She had a light of her own—like she was ray of sunshine in the center of a storm.

Three hours past midnight when the club closed was always Keishin’s sign to leave, regardless of the countless attempts to attend the after party he’d been invited to. He had to go to work, after all. Sure, a part of him had always been a little green with envy at all the DJs that got to hook up with club patrons after, but after being at this gig for a few years, he figured that the right girl for him would eventually come to him if he continued working on himself. After all, he didn’t want to just have a string of one night stands with a bunch of fresh adults that could barely function after the small drop of Malibu rum—he was too old for that.

“Uh, coach?” [name] felt strange calling him that, but she didn’t feel familiar enough with him to address him otherwise. He was halfway in his car, the blonde ready to leave for the weekend to go back to his regular day-to-day work. “You coming to the after party?” [name] asks when Keishin only looks at her in question, cigarette hanging betwixt his dry lips.

“No, I actually have to go to work right now.”

“Oh,” she doesn’t mean to express her disappointment, but it slips anyway, “guess I’ll catch you later then?”

“Uh, yeah.” A tight lipped hybrid of a pained grin and grimace crosses her wet, gloss covered lips. Without another word, Ukai closes his car door, a little more brusquely than he intended to, before backing out and leaving the young woman to her own devices. His mind wanders once again with him humming absentmindedly to the soft acoustic punk playing over the car radio. His eyes are focused on the passing greenery, the cars that are weaving and bobbing off the freeway—hell he even noticed the way the tendrils of the sun are just barely starting to peak over the horizon because it reminded him of her. A thought he banishes immediately because he feels creepy for even thinking that.

Yet no matter how much scenery flitted through his honey eyes, his mind keeps traveling back to one thing, or rather one person, only.

Goddammit.

On Monday’s practice, Ukai Keishin’s mind is flooding and drowning in memories of his first year as the volleyball club’s coach. It was as if his mind was coercing him to attempt to reach out to the girl that plagued his mind for the last forty-eight hours or so. Though, he had no way of contacting her. Instead, with every step along the wooden floors, he can remember the way she would walk Suga to practice, almost physically seeing her standing in the doorway to kiss the third-year setter goodbye. As if he could see her sitting underneath the third window from the left, quietly doing homework and exchanging small talk and airy laughter with Kiyoko and Daichi. As if he could see the same sunny smile she gave in the audience from Saturday night at the club between the lines of the woodwork in the floorboards.

It was a repeating pattern day in and day out that was beginning to make Ukai question his sanity.

“Hey, man,” his assistant coach and fellow Karasuno alumni, Tsukishima Akiteru, places a hand on his shoulder and looks at him in worry. “Are you okay? You’ve been out of it all week.” In what world did a week translate into three days, the older blonde coach didn’t know.

“I’m fine, just tired,” Keishin all but bites back. He didn’t want to admit his conscious had been running rampant with thoughts of a girl he’d briefly met at a club. It felt almost as disturbing and perverted as it sounded in his mind.

“The team’s worried about you. Why don’t you take an early weekend and get some rest? We’ll see you back on Monday, yeah?” Normally, Ukai would have vehemently refused. However, his circumstances were far from normal and he was gracious for an assistant coach he trusted wholeheartedly to do the work that needed to be done. And so, Ukai heeded Akiteru’s advice and went home before practice even began on Thursday afternoon.

It was slightly disorienting for him to go home and nap, but he was incredibly thankful for the gift. Waking up just before he was technically supposed to start his shift at the shop, Keishin jumps into a cold shower to bring him to life before heading downstairs. A bellowing yawn passes his lips through his teeth as he starts his evening. Maybe his team was right—he really did need a break. Thankfully, he knew that the second the doors to the Sakanoshita were locked, he was done for the evening and wouldn’t need to reawaken until three the following morning. Just a few more hours until then, he thought.

With it being a slower evening as well, Ukai was able to kick his feet up on the counter as he always did, pull open the newspaper from earlier in the morning and casually flip through. Briefly, he considers giving up one of his four jobs because this was something he missed doing. But consideration aside, he was far too in love with the cash flow and the thought of paying off his mortgage to entertain the thought for long. Maybe one day, he would finally sell the Sakanoshita store or quit helping on the farm—

“You still work here?” Huh. Her voice sounds different when it isn’t drowning under the speakers of a nightclub.

“I do own this place, you know.” Ukai snarks at the woman who’d been consuming his brain for the last week. She looks different without glitter reflecting off of her unreal cheekbones or the heavy layers of foundation and eyeshadow. Even more than before, Keishin definitely recognized [name] now. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Shopping,” she snorts as if it were the most obvious thing, “why else would I be at a store?”

“Dunno, maybe you’re just here to see me.” Ukai responds without skipping a beat, turning the page of the paper to play into his guise that he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised at [name]’s presence.

“Uh...actually...” her voice is quiet, prompting the coach to quirk a brow and fold up the paper he was now pretending to read. It wasn’t like he could focus on anything right now outside of the woman standing before him, spearated only by a thin counter. Without talking again, his brown eyes lock with hers, silently goading for her to continue speaking. “I-I just...I don’t know. It was just really weird to see you at the club and then to find out that you’re Spira on top of that. I haven’t seen anyone from Karasuno since I graduated and—“

“Woah, kid, breathe.” Ukai interrupts her before she can continue spewing word vomit at a hundred miles an hour. “So what if I’m Spira? Though, you better not tell anyone that. My stage name is a secret between us, alright?” For a moment she’s quiet, gears turning in her head. The secrecy didn’t make sense to her because, if anything, he should be proud of the fact that he’s rather well known in the underground electronica scene. Or at least, she was in his stead, because [name] would have been proud of Ukai regardless of whatever occupation he held.

She supposed it came with the territory of having an unrequited crush on the coach years ago, that continued well beyond high school and even university, back when she was still dating Sugawara Koushi. It was the reason she had even bothered to come sit in on his practices and partially the reason she would come to his tournaments and matches. Not that she didn’t want to be supportive of her then-boyfriend—it would have been a fight had she not—but seeing the hot older coach was definitely a bonus in her book. “But why?” She offers, not wanting conversation to end despite her not having actually bought anything.

“If the school ever caught wind of me doing that, I could lose my position as the coach. Some shit about Karasuno’s image or whatever.” [name] gives a small nod, fidgeting subconsciously, as an attempt to shake her nerves and anxiety, by sifting through various candy bars that were in front of her before grabbing her favorite. Without a second thought, she peels the wrapper before placing the candy between her lips, the puffy pink skin greatly contrasting the chocolate coating. “Ya gonna pay for that, kid?” Ukai irks, his honey brown eyes steeling over in irritation. The nickname she’s given hits the final nail on the coffin and seals away [name]’s trepidation. Instead, her own sass comes out to join the fun.

“Nah,” she hums playfully, the chocolate-covered wafer cookie crunching between her teeth. “Quit calling me kid, coach. I’m a lady,” the irony isn’t lost on either of them as she speaks with her mouth full.

“Still a kid, kid. And quit calling me coach, I’m not your damn coach.” The familiar, grumpy attitude of his brings [name] back to the Ukai she knew back in high school. In a mix of nostalgia, warmth washes over her as the haughty tone in his voice sent shivers down her spine like it did a few years back.

“Sure thing, coach,” she teases again before tossing the wrapper of the stolen candy bar into the nearest bin. “You’re at the club tomorrow, right?” The question adds a bit of context and confirmation to Ukai—it seems she knew when Spira was performing, meaning she must have been a patron for a decent amount of time. Part of him wonders how she never realized who he was before, another part wonders how he’s never noticed her considering she could make all traffic stop if she stood in the middle of a freeway. At least, that’s what looking at her did to his heart.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe this time, you’ll join us at the after party.” Without another word, [name] pushes herself away from the counter she’d been leaning on while talking to the blonde man. With Akiteru giving him the weekend off, he actually entertained the thought of attending this time. Even if her invitation was rather blasé and indirect, he didn’t see the opportunity of him attending one presenting itself any time soon. He may be old, by his own standard, but there was a unknown allure to the thought of showing up to a wild party with a woman that was so adamant of his attendance.

Or rather, adamant in his mind. Whether she actually wanted his company remained to be seen, but the curiosity was gnawing at him, and was something he would have to unearth sooner rather than later.

Having an entire night, or a day’s worth, of rest was a rather disorienting, yet pleasant feeling for Ukai. After tending to crops and returning home in the early hours of the morning, the blonde coach was able to catch a solid nine hours of sleep before his shift at the Sakanoshita store with another chance to nap before he needed to head to the club. Despite knowing he had the ability to do so before another restless night, his mind felt the need to keep him awake and alert. Even after showering and styling his blonde tresses into their usual mane—mundane acts that usually came to him automatically—he was hyper aware of the slightest unruly flyaways.

Ukai Keishin was nervous.

He didn’t know what to wear or if there was a dress code or if anything he typically wore would be deemed worthy of an after party. A part of him wanted to leave it alone and let him sport his usual white track pants and tight, maroon muscle tank, but that part of him immediately drowns in the ocean of his anxiety. Another string in his brain prompted him to dress up just a little bit to help him look the part—it had nothing to do with impressing a certain club patron, no—he tried to convince himself. A miserable attempt, but still one nonetheless.

Eventually, he settled on crisp, dark-washed jeans that hugged his muscular legs without being suffocating, paired with a vibrant, crimson muscle tee that hugged his biceps all the same. Ukai still felt a little out of place in the attire, as he often had back when he first assumed the alias Spira, but headed out the door of his apartment before his conscious could dispute it.

He was early again, even more so than normal. Desperate for a drink to calm his nerves and replace his blood with liquid courage, Ukai worms his way around to the bar, signaling the attendant for his usual. Rum and coke in hand, the DJ stands off to the side, hiding like a wallflower, while he studied the sweaty, dancing bodies. Did he know why he was looking for her—no. Maybe partially to tell her she owed him for the candy bar, maybe to tell her he was joining in on the after party this time around.

Maybe to just see her.

Keishin banishes the last thought with a shake of his head before skulking off to the attached patio to smoke. Pulling a cigarette from his pack and a lighter from his pocket, the flame torches the end of the filter at the same time the blonde inhales. Forcefully pushing the smoke out past his lips, Ukai takes a hearty sip of his drink until it’s nearly gone. He was going to need something stronger tonight.

“Is it that time already?” The older man’s head snaps to the voice that had been haunting him subconsciously.

Part of him wishes he didn’t look.

As if to play into her question, [name] checks the large, rose gold watch on her right wrist—an incredibly stark contrast to her outfit for the evening. Maybe it was a hunch when Ukai felt that he had been underdressed, as if his intuition knew that she was going to be dressed to the nines in a black skater dress. Even with a modest neckline, the lace cut out detailing on the sides of the dress accentuated her curves impeccably, playing well with the volume of the skirt, while the open back she was sporting dipped dangerously low.

It took everything in Ukai to not throw every milliliter of restraint and inhibition out the window and fuck her right then and there.

Taking a lengthy drag of his cigarette to hold himself back, Keishin inhales deeply, the smoke billowing past his lips emerging densely and grey in color. “I’m a little early—needed an extra drink today.” The man manages to choke out, downing whatever is left in his little plastic cup for added emphasis.

“Need another?” [name] chirps politely; almost too politely as if to deliberately dispute the salacious thoughts flooding the coaches mind.

“I can get—“

“I owe you anyway,” she reminds him, alluding to the candy bar she had eaten without paying for from the previous night. “Pick your poison.”

“Double rum and coke.” He concedes. [name]’s lips twitch upward slightly at the corner before she plucks the empty cup from Ukai’s hand. He doesn’t miss the way the shellac on her nails grazes against his skin, leaving the whispers of contact to run warm. Immediately, the blonde man uses the nearly dead cigarette between his teeth to light a fresh one—heaven or hell knows he needed the nicotine right now.

Given the silence, Keishin takes the opportunity to absorb his surroundings. From the general direction that [name] initially came from, she wasn’t around any of her friends or really anyone that he knew. That was good at least; there wasn’t anybody else that knew of his presence. [name] returns, two clear plastic cups in her hands and surrenders the darker of the two to the man awaiting. “Hold mine for a sec?” Without thinking, Keishin holds his cigarette between his left index and middle fingers, his drink in the same hand, while taking hers. To his surprise, she pulls out her own pack of menthols and a torch lighter, setting the leaves ablaze before taking her obvious vodka cranberry back.

“You took up smoking?” The older of the two asks in surprise, noting the way her lipstick leaves the slightest bit of residue along the brown filter. [name] gives a shrug.

“Surprised you didn’t notice it sooner, coach. I’ve been smoking since second year.” Ukai gives a roll of his eyes at the use of this strange pet name he’s been dubbed by her. But he thinks about it, thinks about how Suga must have felt probably knowing that she did. Thinks how it just added to this strange, sassy yet happy, wild and free exterior she now had. And [name] notices instantly the very same look Ukai had in his face when he was trying to strategize, trying to figure out a way to navigate a conversation with his team about becoming better—she knows what’s coming next. “Yeah, yeah, I know I should quit or whatever. Suga lost that argument a long time ago.”

“Can’t really tell you what to do when I’m just as guilty.” Ukai gives a laugh—one that is embedded with bitterness and envy at the mention of the third-year setter—yet is just as vivacious as he is. A sound entirely different than she’d ever heard leave his lungs before. She likes it.

After finishing his smoke, Keishin gulps down a hefty swig of his drink before patting [name] on the shoulder before announcing his departure. “I’ll see you inside,” the girl, woman, calls out thoughtfully as she gives a small wave with her cigarette filter between her fingers. Ukai doesn’t verbalize the same sentiment. He doesn’t want to slip up and admit he’ll be looking for her.

But it’s painfully obvious that he is when he takes over the booth. Unable to hide the fact that with every chance that he looks into the audience, he’s searching for that black skater dress that hugs her all too perfectly, [hair color] locks swaying as she moves in the crowd. Ukai can’t hide it at all—not behind the turn table or new remixes meant to get the crowd moving.

He can’t hide the urgency he feels to find her outside in the crisp evening air, smoking on the back patio of the club after his set. [name] is talking and laughing with her friends while thin grey smoke billows from her open mouth before her eyes land on him. Some of her friends take notice to the tension and their shared gazes, some of them whispering his alias in excitement. But [name] just smiles knowingly, if not a little cocky, because she can see that urgency, that desperation, that Ukai was trying to hide. “Wait, [name], do you know Spira?” A bystander asked. Clearly, they weren’t present the last time this was brought up.

“Yeah, I may have met him once or twice,” the woman in question snickers as she strides over closer and closer to the aforementioned DJ.

“Cute,” Ukai sneers teasingly at her jab before instinctively reaching for the half-gone cigarette she pulls to her stained lips. At first, she thought he was going to put it out, considering their little conversation from a few hours ago. Instead, the volleyball coach puts the filter to his own lips, noting the damp fabric probably from her freshly applied lipgloss, and takes a drag. It tasted like watermelons and mint.

“Cheeky,” [name] returns, plucking her cancer stick back from the blonde man. While her friends are still behind her murmuring about the familiarity between the two of them, Keishin and [name] are lost in their own little world. “So since your set is over, and considering you’re still here, I’m assuming you’re joining me for the after party? Or do you have to go to work again?”

“I told them I’d be out of town this weekend,” Ukai tries to play it off as nonchalantly as he could, ties to swallow it down his nerves with rum and nicotine. It proves rather difficult considering the coy smile on [name]’s face is wearing and cracking through his resolve rather quickly. But at least, to him, he could confirm his mind was not playing tricks on him and [name] was just as adamant about his attendance as he initially thought. Even more so with her next statement.

“Cool. Your car or mine?” It took him a minute to process her words even—lust thickening and constricting the flow to his brain at the vague question. Ukai was getting far too ahead of himself, but goddammit how could he focus when the fabric of her skirt hit her mid-thigh and framed her like a Venetian goddess—“I don’t mind driving there.” She adds to coax him away from his silence.

“Nah, I got it. We’ll take mine.”

“Lead the way,” [name] chimes sweetly as she wraps an arm around the coach’s forearm. The physical touch is everything he’s been fantasizing about for the last few days—hellfire and brimstone and sunlight and goddammit why did he wear jeans that were only getting tighter and tighter?

Ukai opens the passenger door to his SUV, supporting the woman as she clambered in cautiously so as not to stumble from her heels. Getting settled in, the coach surrenders his unlocked phone to allow her the entirety of his music library. The irony of the DJ surrendering DJ rights to the passenger was not lost on either of them. Much to his surprise, [name] put on soft acoustic punk as he usually did on his way home from the club. The kind of softness one would turn on to accompany the fragile pitter-patter of rain against the windshield. “Cardboard Swords?” Ukai asks in surprise, more than familiar with the band.

“Flannel is a favorite of mine. I’m kind of surprised it’s in your library.” She adds after she begins directing him to this evening’s party location. From the corner of his eyes, he can see the way her full lips are moving along each word with expertise. He sees the way her [eye color] orbs soften slightly and he can tell this song hits home for her.

She’ll never say why—she’ll never tell him this was the song that helped her move on from Sugawara Koushi while restoring her inner peace.

But Keishin is no fool. He can tell that this is physically hurting her—crushing her soul into the leather seat of his car and, instinctually, he wraps a large hand around hers that’s resting in her lap. “I came out tonight to have fun with you, so don’t you go getting sad on me.” He means each word with innocent intent, yet he cannot ignore the almost hidden, salacious drip to each syllable and neither can she. How could she when his touch sent volts of electricity through her skin?

“Right, right,” she says in a conceding tone, switching the audio to something much more upbeat and a little flirty. “Why did you agree to go out tonight?” If Ukai had an answer, then it died on his lips as he let go of [name]’s hand to reach for another cigarette. The process of lighting the tube, inhaling, and exhaling bought him an extra minute to come up with an excuse; her doing the same giving him another thirty seconds.

“I don’t know.” It’s a blatant lie—a lie that [name] believes all too easily—but Ukai can’t bring himself to admit the truth. He can’t admit out loud that she’s the only thing that’s been on his mind all week or that he jumped at the opportunity, created one even, to be able to have a one-on-one moment with her. Keishin can’t admit that he can tell there are intricate webs spun in her mind and that all he wants to do is untangle them one by one.

And he certainly can’t tell her that even the mere sight of her sends his brain into overdrive and all he wants to do is repeatedly fill her over and over with his seed until she is entirely his, inside and out in mind, body, and soul. There was no way in the nine circles of hell that Ukai Keishin was going to admit to his sinful thoughts.

“It’s just up here.” [name] points with gaunt fingers, cigarette between them as her voice is half choked from inhaling her own smoke. Mirroring the man’s actions earlier, she indulged in her own nicotine habit to quell the budding disappointment from Ukai’s lackluster response. They drove up a slight winding hill and as the trees pass by, the itch for her truth and her history was gnawing at him. He wanted to know why this rambunctious party girl invited him all week to these elusive after parties. Why Flannel ate away at her insides like it did his. Why did her and Sugawara breakup?

But he decides against it for the moment.

“Where are we?” Ukai asks. There’s cars all lining the sides of the road of varying worth—he felt even more out of place than normal with his older SUV, even if it was an upgrade for him, considering the large number of luxury vehicles.

“Bevelle’s house.” [name] says simply, pointing to an empty space in the streets as she throws the butt of her cigarette into the road. The casual way she name drops the owner of the club makes him gawk, catching flies in his mouth had there been any at the hour. With a satisfied, cheesy grin, she hops out of her seat and walks in the grass to meet Ukai on the other side as he clambers out of the vehicle as well. In familiarity, she grips into his forearm once again as they walk towards the forest mansion.

Keishin wasn’t sure what to expect when the two of them walked in, but a home full of people screaming his pseudonym and her name was not on that list. Younger hordes had surrounded [name], greeting her warmly and telling her how glad they were to see her again for the evening. Others were approaching Ukai, telling them how rare and a momentous occasion that the infamous artist Spira was amongst their midst.

“Glad to see you could join us, Spira.” His boss and club owner, Bevelle, approaches the mismatched couple. Bevelle was an alias used by the middle aged woman, her real name unknown to those that didn’t know her know her, and was once upon a time her stage name. While she had chosen a quiet location in the Miyagi prefecture, Bevelle was quite known in the underground scene. Granted, Ukai didn’t know any of that when he’d taken the job. If anything, it was all thanks to her that he was able to learn for his own success as well as granting him the opportunity to learn in the first place. “Good to see you too, trouble.” Bevelle affectionately goes to muss at [name]’s hair, to which she only replies with a cheeky grin.

“How do you know Bevelle?” Ukai presses his lips towards the ear of the woman still hanging onto him as she expertly leads the way to the kitchen. The car ride left her feeling slightly uncomfortable, ashamed even though she would never admit to that, and she knew she definitely needed a drink after it. Part of her was heavily rebuking herself for trying to pry into his mind by asking why he came along, even more so when she put on the one song that shattered her heart every time she heard it. It just excited her that he had it in his library, that he even knew who The Cardboard Swords were, and that he enjoyed the same obscure taste in music as much as she did.

“She’s a close family friend!” The chirp that [name] gives isn’t entirely convincing, like she isn’t telling the truth. Regardless, Ukai washes down his doubt with the beer he was handed, figuring she probably had her reasons. And as soon as the plastic is in each of their hands, [name] downs the contents immediately, hoping to drown out the nerves ebbing from her stomach with vodka. She should have been ecstatic—her old high school crush, her unrequited crush, was here with her, drinking side by side but she can’t help but feel the tension between them—sexual or otherwise.

Just as the two of them down their second round, a piercing voice cuts through the thicket of the masses, calling out her name and capturing her attention. “It’s your song! Come on!” A shrug and a smile crosses [name]’s features as she’s all but dragged away to a different part of the mansion. Much to his surprise, she grabbed onto Keishin to drag him along as well.

The two of them are presented with a myriad of sweaty, rolling bodies—much more gone than Ukai had ever seen at the club itself. It was oddly...sensual, if it could be called that, to see the fluid movements between party goers. Sensual, intimate, strange—all of them could be used interchangeably at this moment.

[name] is dancing with another woman, mouthing all of the words to the current pop song while bobbing and jumping around excitedly before her eyes lock on his. She’s in her element now. All sunshine and smiles like Ukai had seen from on occasion from years ago or most recently at the club, but they’re directed at him for once as she pulls him closer onto the dance floor. The taunting beats and repetitive call of “come on” and the way [name] loosely wraps her arms around his neck as she dances brings Ukai to the realization that this was the end of the line.

The end of the line, because Keishin can’t hold himself back anymore.

Not with the way her hips are grinding against is and she’s laughing warmly and heartily at his slight discomfort and her teeth are glittering off the lights in the dark room like stars in the night sky. Not with the way her head is thrown back and her dress drops low enough to flaunt the expanse of bare skin of her neck and collar bones that are just begging him to sink his teeth in. Not with the way her [eye color]ed orbs are locked with his as she sings along with the music, oddly enough alluding to some form of confession of her feelings.

He can’t fucking take it anymore.

The large hands he has on her hips move just under her arms to hoist her up, [name] instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist to keep her balance. Their eyes are locked, honed in on each other with the rest of the party melting into the background. With her deepest, most wild high school fantasy driving her actions, she grins. “Hi,” is all she says before Ukai cranes his neck back to cover her lips with his.

His kiss is everything she imagined it would be after years of pining. The smell and taste of smoke and wood floods her senses as his tongue laps at the watermelon lip gloss on her bottom lip before seeking refuge within her mouth. His hands, now wrapped around her thighs give intermittent squeezes, either to keep them grounded in reality or just because he needs something to clutch at—she’s unsure of which. In response, her manicured fingernails tangle into his messy blonde locks. Their kiss pours out their desperation, laying it all out on the table for the both of them to see clear as day.

The only thing that prompts them to break apart is the ending of the song.

“You wanna get out of here?” Ukai asks as he tenderly puts [name] back on the ground. As if he weren’t just making out with her moments ago, the motion is delicate and gingerly and almost loving.

“Not yet,” there’s a knowing, smug lilt in her voice as she turns on her heel and throw herself back into the throng of party people. Or rather, attempts. While she’s attempting to flee, Keishin snatches her wrist, pulling her closer until their chests are flush against each other.

“Nuh uh,” the blonde man tuts, “you’ve been asking me to join you at a party all week, now here I am. The hell makes you think you’re leaving my side tonight?” [name]’s grin only grows wider.

“I’ve waited for years for this opportunity, coach, so if you think I’m not gonna have fun with it, you’re dead wrong.” The word ‘years’ constricts the man’s heart—forces his pupils to blow into dilation with her modest, yet blunt confession.

“Years?”

“Years,” she repeats, “ever since that first practice you stumbled into the Karasuno gym as the temporary coach. Why do you think I came to every single exhibition match and tournament? Or came to study and do homework while you guys had practice?” This girl was grinding at every steel line of self-control that was left in Ukai’s body because every word spilling past her lips added an additional ten volts to the sexual tension between them.

“We’re leaving.” He bites out despite the delicate tone. Wrapping his hand around hers once again, Keishin tugs her along time dodge the party goers that threw the two of them curious glances, wondering why they were quick to leave shortly after their arrival. Just to tease him further, [name] almost wants to offer a rebuttal and tell him that they should stay longer and enjoy the show. However, she knows she’s done enough waiting and if he was taking her home, she wasn’t going to argue.

While urgency and desperation was their game, Keishin didn’t cut corners when it came to presenting himself as a gentleman as he helped [name] back into the car. Hormones be damned—he was still going to help a lady into the passengers seat. “You never did tell me why you finally agreed to come out tonight.” She says quietly, as if the two of them hadn’t been making out and dry humping a few minutes prior. “And it’s clearly not because you knew I had a crush on you all throughout third year—“

“Don’t act like you’re the only one with feelings in this.” Ukai grits out, speeding much faster back home than he did on the way to Bevelle’s house. Paying that no mind, [name]’s ears perk up at his own wayward confession. When she asked for clarity, a rumbling groan shakes his chest as he patted down his pockets in search for his nicotine sticks. “I didn’t recognize you the first night at the club because you look different now. Happiness looks good on you.”

“Happiness?” She echos confusedly, turning to face Ukai fully after lighting her own cigarette.

“You used to always look content back then—just barely content and nothing more. And I can’t stop thinking back to those days because you’re this ball of sunshine, kid, and I can’t stop wondering what the hell Suga did to you to dim your shine that badly. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week.”

[name] is quiet for a moment at his own rendition, his own version, of a confession and she’s stunned. And she can’t tell if she wants to cry or kiss him because this is not that way she ever fantasized this conversation going. It was going better than she dreamed. Better, because the words that Ukai is saying adds an entirely new layer to his amped up personality—he wasn’t just the sexy volleyball coach that she used to pine over. He was a person with deep rooted feelings for justice in the sense of wanting to understand how someone could inflict damage to the innocent and he wanted to rectify said injustices. He wanted to know how someone like Suga could try to dampen her sunlight instead of allowing her to thrive and bloom.

She wants to kiss him, she decides, but since he’s driving, she settles for placing a chaste one on the corner of his mouth. “Serves you right,” she jokes when she pulls away, “it’s been a long four years for me. It’s your turn to suffer.”

“Trust me, this car ride is torture enough.”

[ next ]

[invertedfate]

Random Ask Dump - Anniversary Edition (50+ REALLY OLD ASKS!)

Going through OLD AND CRUSTY ASKS to try and chip away at the inbox. HERE WE GOOOO...

That’s an interesting idea, and I could run it by Cake, but I think it would honestly be a LOT to track from a programming perspective. Especially ‘cause killing Sans is gonna result in a “bad ending,” so to speak.

An attempt was made by Undyne to have all three hang out at the same time. Papyrus was SUPER EAGER. ...but one thing led to another and there were many messy explosions of chemicals and lots of smoke. Alphys had to step in before things got out of hand. It was all very daunting for her. Pap and Undyne are VERY LOUD, VERY AMBITIOUS PEOPLE.

I actually have some ideas of some side comics I may do at some point! :o It’s just that right now there’s a lot going on.

I need to poke Carni about that at some point. He’s just been very busy with other projects!

Clearly he’s standing on the “out to lunch” sign.

I wanna say that it’s very possible in theory. :o It probably affects them differently since monsters’ emotional state affects their magic and their physical state.

I do like little easter eggs like that, though I’m not sure where I’d fit it in atm just ‘cause I already showed Pap’s room, haha.

I made the chase theme for Mad Dummy as well as Mad Mew Mew’s battle theme. @pinewsun​ made the battle theme for Mad Dummy, and @thomasthepencil​ made the Season Dude battle theme and MD’s overworld theme. :o

That’s a really fascinating conundrum! You’re absolutely right- if IF was a standalone game, then from a writing standpoint, having more subtle implications would make sense! The reason I chose a different approach for IF is because it’s set after Flowey’s already known to be evil and I like to give different POVs rather than stick to just Frisk’s.

That’s an interesting thing, actually- both fights lean heavily on the fourth wall. Both are treated as climaxes for their given routes. It’s funny because Asriel’s fight is a lot more straightforward and less meta by comparison.

I agree! The thing with Papyrus is that he’s extremely powerful- he just doesn’t want to kill. But it’s a deliberate choice not to kill- he’s able to force his attacks to do next to no damage. He’s also pretty darn crafty, as he made the Gauntlet himself. It really is just a case of Undyne’s personal biases and concern for him.

That was a deliberate choice. :O Papyrus is very influential toward Frisk. He is best skeleboi.

Papybot loves you, anon! He just wants to feed you WHOLESOME SPAGHETTI!!!

It is possible to whistle through teeth. ...alternatively, magic. As for the music, Undertale implies that the music is heard! Maybe it’s just... a thing that exists in this world. Or it’s just meant to be a silly meta joke. I try to keep it somewhat ambiguous other than occasional nods to it. Chara’s pants are lighter because I just... felt like it, I guess? Haha. I wanted their feet and pants to stand out more from each other, so they have khaki pants. As for the Undyne fight being animated, well, this ask is old by now, but Sparks was the one who was down for it.

Well, the teaser’s been out for a long time now, but that’s the idea! It’s also why this has been in production for so long. The Determinator has some really over the top attacks (that weren’t even shown in the teaser), and Sparks animated in Photoshop. That’s how hardcore he is.

Shhhhh. Don’t give me ideas. I’m already slacking on Tem Village. :P

Sometimes I do have slumps and burnouts (see Antipode’s lengthy hiatus), but breaks lead to me being refreshed and coming back with even more enthusiasm than before!

Oh, there are a lot of these throughout the comic. For instance...

Flowey appears in a few background shots in the Ruins!

When Sans says “or maybe...” he looks at the empty flower pot. This was one of the earliest bits of foreshadowing about who created Flowey, and nobody noticed it at the time!

The MTT vending machines initially look like this but have helpful items.

And then they look like this, with an angry face and pose- Mad Dummy has possessed them!

As of Part 38, it’s been revealed that he did first meet Asgore as “Santa.” As for whether or not he knows the truth, time will tell. :o

Oh, these are excellent suggestions for calls! I’ll try to keep these in mind.

So, I believe Glyde uses the Mysterious Door motif. Jerry uses the motif in its battle theme- I believe it’s a mix of original motif and Wrong Number song?

Sans is a master of power napping. He probably gets a decent amount of sleep, though.

There are a lot of ways to interpret Pap’s lack of sleep! In IF, he can get by without it, but he also has a lot of reasons to avoid sleeping. Some reasons include productivity but also due to a looooot of heavy baggage. More on that later.

I think sleep can definitely make monsters healthier. Rest = better mental health as well as physical health, and with how important mental and emotional help is for monsters, that’s very important!

They just really like socks. Socks are warm. Socks are slinky. And googly eyes are the best. So they took on the form of a really eccentric sock puppet and sock collector. Scandalous.

It also has Alphys’ motif, as the two are the leaders of the royal guard!

I would say the lack of Asgore as an influence has left Undyne slightly less grounded? Like, she had Toriel and Gerson in her life, but her relationship with Toriel is... definitely not quite as close? Like, Toriel by that point kept people at an arm’s length due to losing multiple children (including one from old age). So, while they were on friendly terms until the aftermath of the DT experiments and the tapes’ release, it was more like mutual respect and a sorta professional relationship with Undyne admiring Toriel and wanting to spare her from more heartache.

That is a really interesting idea. While that didn’t happen, I do need to maybe revisit the grumpy dog at some point or another. He’s still a lil’ salty.

I think in terms of layout it won’t change much, but there will be new/different content for sure. :O

Mad Dummy’s base design is mostly original, but she has a wig + headband from DIO from Jojo Part 3! Fun fact: While MTT has Kamina shades, Papyrus’ goggles are loosely based on Simon from Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann in terms of color. :O

So basically, when Asriel defeated Frisk, he had the power over the timeline to reset it as he pleased- in theory. However, that power was overwhelming for him, and due his lack of understanding OF said power and one last ditch attempt at resisting from Chara, things went wrong.

There is a track that takes some inspiration from Rage Awakened. It’s not released, and it’s not exact, but it won’t be released for a WHILE. Like until the part comes out.

I think it’s just the fact that tacos are so random. Like, my biggest beef in that regard was that OG Underswap had a lot of arbitrary replacements for things in UT and not all of them made sense. Like, if Sans was to make a foreign food, ramen would’ve made more sense due to Alphys being weeb trash, haha.

Okay, so the rough timeline iiiis... Falling: - Cyan - Green - Orange - Blue - Purple - Yellow Dying: - Cyan - Orange - Blue - Purple - Yellow - Green

You know, it’s funny because this ask is super old, but that’s basically sorta what happened. :O It became a beach-themed resort.

Never forget MTT fangirl Temmie’s pool escapades.

I think Forgespring for me because I had to make the tileset myself (it took a few months, I think?), but Aquarius was definitely in the works for a while. But once I had the tileset from Fours, the rooms were very easy to design!

That woulda been pretty rad! Maybe I can find another spot for it one day, haha.

I think for Dohj, I’d have to check with Fours, but I’m certainly not opposed at some point? Right now, the following chars can take questions: - Frisk - Papyrus - Sans - Undyne - Alphys - Napstablook - Mettaton - Asgore - Chara - Flowey

Cyan appears in Part 45! :O No answer about orange for now, tho.

I do have vague ideas for Tem village. I just haven’t had time to go back and do it.

Stay tuned and you may find out! :O

Hmmmm... I had a lot of fun with MTT SPIRAL and the Determinator, tbh. They were both very time consuming, but I love how they came out! Also, buff Jerry.

Turnabout Storm. :)

It’s a really awesome fan crossover that works way better than it should. :P

None taken! We know that with headcanons, everyone is gonna have their own interpretations. These are just the voices we liked for Fireglobe Production, but everyone has their right to their favored interpretations!

Yeah, Knight Knight is one of the coolest CORE mercs in the original game. It was fun to repurpose them for Inverted Fate as royal guards. :o It made room for unique encounters in the CORE in the form of them robots- as Undyne would rather use machines than other monsters to do her work.

Personally, I see it as an Asriel motif, but I also acknowledge that at one point it WAS gonna be an Asgore motif. Toby has a habit of just using whatever music works for a scene (see sans. at the snail farm.)

I do have a few ideas, though I won’t say for what yet. :o

He’s likely made blueprints for that train. :P

It probably would just have different flavor text/progression!

So basically, I treat the starting motif for BAaTH/Power of NEO is just a “true hero” motif.

MTT is definitely major in IF! As for whether or not he’ll have a hangout, time will tell. There’s definitely more to resolve with him, though.

I’m gonna remake at least a few of the older tracks, including Regret. My goal is just to bring the OST to a similar standard of quality.

So, animated parts coming up: Part 47, Part 49, Part 50. There may be some other parts, but we’re gonna wanna scale things back for a little bit for the sake of all our sanities.

I go with both. ;)

Honestly, probably fairly similar to the bully fight in the Ruins- which is why I ultimately decided not to do one. Both fill similar archetypes, though I think if I did do a battle, I woulda still had Flowey interrupt at the end and scare them off.

It’s a very emotional scene. Far more tragic than her geno death, IMO.

Well, the main goal in that regard is the remasters (Part 9 is in progress). Otherwise, I do think these hiatuses are good for working ahead. I’ve still gotta do more work, though, because my buffer this time around is a lot smaller from the trial-hiatus buffer. Alas!

Honestly, the website is the best thing to happen to IF. It’s allowed us to do so much with the comic’s presentation that would be impossible with imgur. NORIX IS THE BEST...

[theartfuldodger26]

For the prompt I'll be predictable: Harry Potter, Bellamort and Bellatrix 😁

Thanks for the prompts, @bellamort1993! Feel free to answer the same :) 

001 | Send me a fandom and I will tell you my:

Favorite character:

 Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort.

 Bella is the closest to my heart, but apparently I waste the most         brainmatter on Tom/Voldemort, so *shrugs*

Harry is my favourite light character, he’s an admirable person.

Least Favorite character:

Umbridge, as is universally accepted.

Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):

Bellamort (which is canon, bitches)

Delphi/Harry (it will become canon, you just wait for TCC part3)

Tomarry but not Harrymort (nearly counts as canon judging by how often Harry gushes over handsome Tom’s face)

Drarry (I’m human and susceptible to fandom mainstream, plus there’s some fantastic fics out there)

Delphi/Victoire (cause two pretty, hot-headed ladies are my cup of tea any day)

Character I find most attractive:

Bellatrix, hands down. Then Voldemort can do things to me too, but Bella would be my first choice.it’s so nice being bi, isn’t it.

Character I would marry:

No one, I’m happy by myself.

Delphi can be my angsty fuck buddy with whom we meet every once in a while, bitch, get drunk, cry and fuck.

Character I’d be friends with:

Harry, tho I’m not the best of friends and he does bring an unappealing high mortality rate to any occasion. It’s fiiine. 

a random thought:

The wizarding world makes zero sense in so many places. They haven’t had an Industrial Revolution, meaning they haven’t known first hand the new ideas that came with it, and they seem to be stuck in the Middle Ages in many ways, even if they dont seem extremely Christian as these times actually were. We know little about the political system and their beliefs are so random. It’s really confusing.

An unpopular opinion:

Idk what’s unpopular these days. Aside from Albus’ name, I actually liked the Epilogue.

It showed what we needed to know: that Harry and the rest made it out okay. They found the courage to face their destroyed community and rebuild, even though they had gone through enough during the war. I think JKR said it herself in an interview how important rebuilding is after a catastrophe, how it can daunt even the bravest people. The miracles of Japan and Germany bouncing back and better after WWII are relevant real-life examples here. 

A married Harry, enthusiastic about hugging his kids goodbye on their first day of school, a day that to him symbolises a new beginning, is the greatest gift and it does not erase the pain he might feel every day for going through hell in his early life. In fact, it’s this snipet of normalcy what he craved as a boy and refused to daydream about because its weight would be too much,and now he gets to have it. Along with the nightmares and the PTSD and the new challenges yes, but now, in this moment, as he waves to the new generation that he helped create, he’s safe, loved and happy. He deserves it. 

Second unpopular opinion: I don’t give a damn if McGonagall’s timeline is screwed up by bringing her to life in the 20′s. Didn’t really matter to the story before and she’s a freaking badass and comic relief, which is the best combo ever. Is it fan-bating or whatever it was called? Sure. But if she makes the story better with her presense I give minus two fucks about when JKR originally said she was born (also, newsflash: people have the right to change HC’s, especially people who don’t shit about maths, like our dear creator) 

My Canon OTP:

           BELLAMORT

Seriously, I have screenshoted the details of TCC where it shows they’re canon.

My Non-canon OTP:

            Harry/Delphi

I know, I’m sick, it’s fine. *insert dog sipping coffee in the flaming house meme here*

Most Badass Character:

Bellatrix, handsdown.

McGonagall for good people.

Most Epic Villain:

Voldemort, we’d have no books without him. He can be dumb, but it’s cute. 

Pairing I’m not a fan of:

I’m not huge on non-canon Hermione ships, and anything with Snape is gross.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):

…Snape? Not his character, but the positive light she gave him by naming Harry’s kid after him. It appeared she was clear on him not being an admirable person, but then he’s the bravest bloke ever? No, ma’am.

On a Fantastic Beasts note, I do hope they handle the backstories of all characters well. We’ll surely get back to this after the FB series are over.

 Favourite Friendship:

The Golden Trio, they work as a three-man-group better, I won’t devide them. Also, as a part-time writer I have to admire how the writing and dynamics were handled, it’s so hard to think as more than one person, not to mention three!

Character I most identify with:

PostAzkaban!Bellatrix feels she’s letting her master and herself down, and so do I. I keep looking for my former self. Who wasn’t much after all, but had some qualities I should recultivate.

Character I wish I could be:

… I’d like to have some Bellamort qualities that I lack, but in general I’m fine working on myself.  

002 | Send me a ship and I will tell you:

When I started shipping them:

After I finished the books, so that’s since 2007. 12 cool, angsty years. 

My thoughts:

I love them, they’re my evil babies. In fact, I don’t even have reasons for loving them, as most shippers do, I’d just die for them, end of reasoning.

What makes me happy about them:

That they’re complicately made for each other in their unique goth way. And that in the end they had a kid, which I think helped Voldemort out a lot with his issues with intimacy and emotions.

What makes me sad about them:

That they died *sobs hysterically*.

Also in the books they have like two scenes together. (HE SCREAMED THO)

Things done in fanfic that annoys me:

Seeing Bella’s character butchered down to a snivelling, slavish idiot, though these aren’t Bellamort fics usually.

In Bellamort fics, it feels like a cheat when it says Bellamort but it’s just Bella pining and Voldemort really not caring. I don’t have a problem with the POV, but it needs to be tagged as unrequited. Otherwise I’m open to perspectives.

Things I look for in fanfic:

Good writing, mostly.

I’m also a huge fan of Muggle!AU’s, so if you have that, I’ll read it, no questions asked XD

My wishlist:

On Amazon? :P Fine, I’ll show myself out

I presume this means wishlist on fics/art with these two, but do correct me if I’m wrong. I dont have one, since I write myself, so whatever I want to read, I write. Right now I’m eager to finish the following Bellamort fics:

1. Harry finds out about Bellamort via looking through Voldy’s stuff.

2. BellaDiesButVoldyWins!AU

3. Voldemort discovers his breastfeeding kink

4. A therewasonlyonebed!fic 

5. Tomarry turns Bellamort in Easter setting, Muggle!AU, Harry wets himself in the process

In general I’d say I’d like to see more classic, tropy fanfics with these two, lighter ones, you know. Angst is great, but let us enjoy the coffeeshop!AU too.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Alone and miserable.

I guess Bella would have been okay with Rodolphus, had Tom/Voldemort never been born.

And Voldemort/Tom would have been fine too with some nameless pretty woman he did not love but had to marry to keep face.

But I think that they would have never been truly happy with anyone else. especially Tom, he’d never be really comfortable with anyone.

My happily ever after for them:

VoldemortWins!AU, they conquer Europe, Bella is Minister for War, Voldemort the Emperor. Maybe they have a kid, maybe a couple more or none at all, who cares, the point is they live and fulfull their dreams of revolutionising the Wizarding Wolrd.

I also have a sappy afterlife!AU where for a while Bella is imprisoned at the family castle for having a halfblood little bastard, goes half-insane as Voldemort seacrhes for her (they had a spat right after they got there), and Delphi kills herself and goes to find her dad in small-child form. They finally get tgether and live deathly ever after in some Norwegian fjord in the frozen tundra. (it’s also my personal happy ending, only it’s cats and snakes)

003 | Give me a character & I will tell you:

How I feel about this character:

I love Bella. She’s a bitch and a sadist, but I love her.

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character:

The one and only, his majesty the Dark Lord himself.

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character:

Rodolphus, he’s her only friend.

Also, sad HC: Bella was very close to Andromeda until she got too involved with Voldemort and his cause, and they drifted apart. No one wept harder than Bella after Andy left, and it was her who spent days banging on the Tonks’ door to let them speak to her. Voldy could squeeze tears out of his shirt after she fell asleep on him crying about it.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Again, not sure about what’s unpopular.

I believe she suffers from genuine mental illness that tortures her a lot and makes her life (and her shared life with Voldemort too) very hard. Also I find her more self-doubting and reserved than most authors, hard working and largely indifferent to people who aren’t Voldemort.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

Actual romantic scene would have been nice, but HE SCREAMED after all. Let’s not ask for too much.

Favorite friendship for this character:

Rodolphus and Andromeda. Recently I’ve started Brotp-ing Sirius with Bella too, before they parted ways.

My crossover ship:

I don’t really have any other fandoms, sorry.

Well, that was fun! Thanks again!

[captainchrisfics]

The Book

About: A first person pov narrator released a book about S.H.I.E.L.D. and let’s just say she didn’t give it a stellar review after Natasha released all of the records. It struck a chord with Steve so he tries to confront the author, but ultimately she ends up comforting him instead.

Word Count: 2,901

“One of the best contemporary attempts at grappling with the unfortunate truth that even our heroes are human. This book is a triumph for unraveling and understanding the honest history of America.” -The New York Times

I leaned back in my office chair for support, absolutely astonished that my work had received such a positive review. My book about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s, for lack of a better word, shit-stained history was just recently released into the world. It was my first and I’d been working on it forever, although when Black Widow released all of their classified files it made my job a hell of a lot easier. Still, it felt like baring my soul to the whole world and allowing them to judge me, giving everyone with an opinion the opportunity to pick me apart. Much to my relief, most of the feedback was praise.

Publishing this book was more nerve-wracking and all-consuming than I could ever even start to explain- it’s taken years, but thankfully the countless late nights I spent typing away at my laptop paid off. After receiving my post as a history professor at NYU, I felt like I’ve been playing catch up constantly. It’s not that I’m under-qualified. Just that most of my colleagues were much older and more established than myself, which has been entirely daunting. But the success of my book has given me the leg up I needed to stop second-guessing if I belong at this desk.

I was pulled from my thoughts by an angry voice calling my name from down the hall and asking where my office was. I sat straighter, craning my neck to try to get a better look as I listened. “Where is she?” whoever it was repeated again, this time with more urgency and anger. Through the crack of my office door which hung ajar, I saw the silhouette of a man with a frame that made me feel dwarfed just looking at him.

The secretary surrendered once he slammed a hand on her desk, probably scaring the hell out of her. He took a step back from her and apologized profusely for his outburst in a guilt-ridden tone. Then, he stepped toward my door, slowly at first then all at once. I braced myself, trying to swallow every ounce of anxiety trying to burst from my stomach. He knocked on my door, pushing it open with an arm swollen with intimidating muscles, without waiting for my welcome.

He took a seat opposite me at the other side of my desk so quickly I didn’t have time to protest. I noticed he carried a copy of my book, one that was already so worn and filled with post-its popping out from all of its edges, even though it had to be a recent purchase. I thought, maybe he was a curious student at best? A crazed fan at worst? As I tried to rationalize what gave this man any right to storm into my office, all of my questions were answered when he took off his disguise (if you could even call it that, I don’t know how I didn’t recognize him sooner).

Without the raised hood and tinted sunglasses, it was apparent that the person sitting about two feet away from me was none other than Captain America himself. I cleared my throat, trying to sit straighter if it was even possible. Stunned, I closed my mouth and opened it again a few times before stuttering, “Steve Rogers, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I reached across my desk as I extended my hand to him. I watched as it hovered in the air, shaking with my nerves while he stared for too long before finally meeting me in the middle for a handshake. “I wish it was under better circumstances ma’am,” he said in a tone that toed the line between measured and seething.

My eyebrows stitched together in confusion as I gulped down my nerves again. I certainly didn’t want to be on this super hero’s shit list. “I imagine it has something to do with my book,” I said, eyeing the copy in his hand.

“It is a gross assassination of an organization that has done more to protect you and millions of other Americans than you will ever know,” Steve asserted, cracking the spine as he opened the book too harshly. He read a number of my lines to me, followed by the well-worded critiques I assumed he’d scribbled on his notes.

“And this thing you wrote here about when my team and I rescued Bucky from Hydra- that isn’t even how it happened!” Steve went on, tossing a hand up in the air as if it gave his point any more power. He told me the story in a way I’d never heard it in any other account, but it wasn’t fair.

“Can I stop you there?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest with a little huff. Steve paused as he turned the page, the breath he’d sucked in to fuel his next rant sitting idle in his puffed chest. I pushed up my glasses, trying to appear more authoritative in the face of the super soldier. “I’ve dedicated the past few years of my life to following others’ research and doing my own extensively. I understand that you know the truth since you were there, but the rest of us weren’t so you can’t hold historians to your standard as a breathing primary source when we’ve been picking through false narratives and speculation since you crash landed in Antarctica.” I raised my eyebrows at him, inviting him to challenge me.

“With all due respect,” Steve said, though his tone would suggest otherwise. He was all but seething, the muscle tightening with the clench of his jaw gave him away despite his attempt to appear unbothered. “I’ve dedicated the past few years to ensuring you have that freedom and before that it was Peggy. We’re a part of that history and if you’re going to tell our stories then you should be telling the truth. I’m not saying you should know everything, but if you aren’t at least trying then why are you writing this book at all?”

I let Steve’s question hang in the air, familiar with the sharp look on his face. I’ve been teaching long enough to know when someone would always insist they were right. Especially in a field like history, where so much is left to interpretation, there’s so many disagreements and so many people who refuse to accept that they might be wrong. The sureness in his hard, blue eyes and tightness of his jaw told me he wouldn’t accept anything short of being right about this.

In an attempt to remain open to criticism. I sighed, leaning back in my chair as I waved a hand to signify he had the floor. “Go on,” I muttered. I had to give it to Steve, he made some great points. From his perspective, I could see how I hadn’t countered my bias as much as I could have and I was open to considering that I may not have every fact straight.

Some points however, like how he said I criticized Peggy Carter for failing to ensure there weren’t any double agents when that was often impossible especially in an organization as large as S.H.I.E.L.D., were unfounded. Steve went on and on as he vented more than anything, tearing each post it out after he said his piece and tossed them into my recycling bin. The pile was so high I worried they would start an avalanche. He reached a point where he was projecting his frustrations onto my work and misinterpreting what I meant, which was coincidentally when his voice started to raise and the veins on his forehead became more pronounced. Once Steve stopped to take a breath, I seized my opportunity to interject.

“Mr. Rogers, firstly allow me to thank you for your service. I should have earlier, but I was pretty caught off guard by all of this,” I laughed nervously, gesturing between the two of us. He nodded and muttered a quiet thank you, leaning back in the chair he barely fit in between the arms of. “Now,” I continued, not pegging Steve Rogers as the interrupting type. “You of all people should know the destruction S.H.I.E.L.D. caused, all of the damage they were capable of doing. I mean, for decades there were Nazis embedded in the structure of an organization meant to protect us and we were none the wiser,” I said, trying to refrain from using my lecture voice on a guy who could be my grandpa.

Steve cracked a smile, though I didn't get the joke. He was probably thinking about how I didn’t know the half of it- which was partly true. Nothing I could read could compare to his life experience. I had to stop my internal nerd from entirely reveling in the fact that such an important piece of living history was just an arm’s reach away from me. I had to stay on task, especially since I was defending myself and my work.

“I’m a historian first and an American citizen second, in my opinion. I want to pursue the truth, understand it and help others make sense of it, even if it paints my country in a poor light and especially when it is difficult to do so,” I said, gaining confidence with each moment he continued to listen to me. Steve nodded, seeming to find common ground with me on this sentiment at least. After all, he has the reputation of prioritizing his moral compass over the law and order even as a soldier.

“I apologize for any hurt or frustration my book has caused you and I assure you that some of your criticisms were just misunderstandings, maybe due to my presentation.” I bit my lip, always one to have trouble with actually admitting when I was wrong. Even so, Steve had a right to how my book made him feel and I felt an obligation to apologize for it.

I could see the hurt rise in his perfectly blue eyes again once I brought it up. Steve shrunk even more into the chair, looking like a dud firecracker that’d finally fizzled out. “It’s just that-” Steve’s voice caught in his throat, seemingly unsure of how to find its way out. He swallowed and started again. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping any bounds, ma’am. Your book just struck a chord with me. Since Peggy’s death,” his voice cracked, stopping him for a second as he composed himself. “I just miss her so much and…” Steve didn’t finish his thought. As the tears started to escape his eyes, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

It was strange watching a superhero break down. Sure, we always see their victories on every news station and even hear about their shortcomings on occasion. But watching Captain America cry, his shoulders shaking and his lungs gasping as he wept, somehow made me feel weak. Seeing the symbol of America’s strength, someone so intrinsically connected to this country, grieving the loss of Peggy Carter was almost appropriate. It didn’t stop my heart from trying to leap out of my chest or the yearning I had to wrap this stranger up in a hug until he could breathe again. Before I could process what I was feeling, let alone make an attempt to comfort him, Steve sat up straight again. He had a stoic expression and seemed to be begging me to ignore what had just happened with his puffy eyes. I couldn’t.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said softly, reaching across the desk to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. I tried not to notice how his muscle bulged, tightening uncomfortably at my touch. “I can understand how you could take my criticism of her creation as an attack on her character. Honestly, I love Peggy Carter so much,” I gushed, letting a little bit of that nerd loose.

“As a kid with a passion for U.S. history, you can imagine there aren’t many women to look up to. Fewer compare to her strength and courage. She’s such an inspiration to me and so many others, I never meant to speak badly of her.” I tried to maintain a steady tone as I held such intense eye contact with Steve, his eyes welling up with tears again.

Steve chuckled a little, though it was still so sad. “She was a badass huh?” he smiled as he remembered her fondly. Peggy had just died recently. It still must have been so raw for Steve, someone who knew her so well. I always thought their story was so interesting; the way they loved each other to each of their ends was the kind of fascinating story that made history so interesting to me.

That changed when Steve Rogers of all people stormed into my office. They weren’t just characters in my textbook. He was a real person whose strong jaw tightened when he was angry, who defended those he cared about, who cried until he couldn’t catch his breath. She was someone he loved so deeply, and so much more than that.

“Language,” I chastised jokingly. Steve grew tense and apologized, taken aback by my scolding. Watching him squirm only made me laugh harder. Once I reassured him I was only kidding, Steve seemed to think it was pretty funny.

“She definitely was,” I resigned as we grew serious again before launching into a story about how she fought fiercely on behalf of the first woman who was elected to Congress, defending her in the face of every press-concocted scandal. Steve’s eyes lit up as he laughed, saying that the Peggy he knew was no different. He told me about the time she punched some pig-headed soldier so hard he passed out after he’d called her Queen Victoria.

By the end of our meeting, which lasted nearly two hours even though it felt like minutes, we’d swapped so many stories it felt like I knew her. Steve caught his breath from laughing after I told him a particularly funny thing about a time she told off Howard Stark. He cleared his throat before saying, “Thank you for this.” I tried to brush it off and tell him not to worry about it, but Steve cut in. “Really, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like someone gets it.” He reached across my desk and held my hand as if I was anchoring him. It sent sparks up like watching that firecracker reignite with my touch.

I just smiled at him, not quite sure where to go from here. Steve stood and I followed suit. We just looked at each other for what seemed like too long of a moment. I smiled awkwardly, ready to excuse us from this uncomfortable situation with the justification that I had a class soon, which wasn’t a lie. Instead, Steve pulled me close to his chest from across my desk as he wrapped his arms around me. I was immediately enveloped in a comforting safety. Steve seemed to radiate protection, even more so when you’re pressed so tightly against his chest you could almost feel his heartbeat. “Thank you again,” he whispered in my ear, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.

I nodded, feeling so small and feeble in comparison. I felt like that wasn’t good enough though. I mean, I know there’s no instruction manual for handling a superhero who stormed into your office before bursting into tears. Still, it didn’t feel like this was the way we were supposed to end. Steve pulled away, smiling at me so sweetly with a tenderness in those beautiful baby blues I couldn’t ignore.

Before I could think twice, my lips moved almost in muscle memory despite being so out of my depth. “I have to go teach a class soon,” I said too quickly as the words tumbled out of my mouth. I had to ask before I could get in my own way. Steve sighed and nodded slightly, stepping to the side to make room for me to leave. I couldn’t say if it was true, but I thought he looked disappointed with his eyes to the ground and the corners of his mouth drooping ever so slightly. Throughout our conversation, I noticed Steve seemed to be too stoic to read half the time.

Instead of grabbing my briefcase and making my way to the education building a few blocks over, I kept talking. “Would you maybe want to get coffee later? We could keep doing… whatever this is,” I concluded, nervously rocking from my heels to my tiptoes subconsciously. Steve perked up immediately, lifting his head to look at me with this adorable twinkle in his eye. He hid it behind his sunglasses before pulling up his hoodie again, looking nothing like any random guy walking down the street now that I knew he was Captain America. The next thing I’d have to expose S.H.I.E.L.D. for would be their pathetic disguises. Steve’s smile was crooked as he said, “I’d really like that.”

[kaekiro]

Practice 

Pairing: Eren/Mikasa II Rating: K II Words: 1,589II [AO3] Warnings: none A/N: Happy Eremika Week! I chose to do “First Time” for this fic c: This follows Love If We Made It, and is in Mikasa’s POV this au might also get another part but I don’t have all my ideas together for it yet 

The first time he kisses her, both of them shrouded by tall trees and foliage alike, it is unexpected.

It began with the simple choice: help Eren with sparring, or start the list of chores the Captain prepared. Between the two, she much rather preferred the former and was pleasantly surprised that he asked for her help at all. Before Captain Levi could find them, they had walked past the wall of pines just east of headquarters and into a clearing that they decided to use for sparing that late morning. Practicing close combat privately was easier for him apparently, as it minimized distractions and chances of accidentally colliding into and hurting the other pairs who were practicing. She understood in turn, willing to help him any way she could and thankful to be inhaling fresh air instead of pungent cleaning products.

Both of them hadn’t been practicing for very long and she could already see just how much improvement he’s made since the last time they did this. His swings and kicks are more precise now, and carried power that came from concentration rather than frustrated impulse. He used to get so upset when he couldn’t land a single hit and it lapsed his judgment, making him sloppier. But now she’s surprised by the amount of effort on her part to predict his movements, tells him she’s proud of how far he’s come since their cadet days.

“Thanks. Maybe one day I can be as good as you,” he half-jokes, assuming his fighting stance again.

“You’re already better than most people I’ve fought. But there’s always room for improvement.”

He considers that, dropping his hands. “Where do you think I need improvement?”

At his question, she also drops her arms, looking over him thoughtfully. “Maybe speed. More so when you’re on offense. That was something I needed to work on back then. It just boils down to practice.”

“How did you do it?”

“I held weights while practicing. Attaching some to my ankles helped too. Once you do that with weights and then without them, you’ll see how much faster you get and how much lighter you’ll feel.”

He listens attentively, nodding. “I see. That might also help if I’m tossing my opponent over my shoulder, like you do. I’ve only done it a few times, but I usually almost end up straining something,” he admits, cupping the back of his neck.

“Do you want to practice that next?”

He visibly tenses as he meets her eyes. “Practice… tossing? I, uh, I don’t know.”

Concerned, she frowns. “Why do you look worried?”

“Cause I don't know how to do that properly yet.” The tip of his shoe nudges a couple of stones, flipping them. “I don’t want you landing weird and injuring something.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

She suddenly feels his gaze on her right cheek, and this time it’s her who’s gone stiff. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she states as a matter of fact, turning away intentionally. “I’ll show you step by step first, and then you can try, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, she begins to shrug off her jacket and drops it to the side, facing him again and stepping closer as a way of insistence. Despite his obvious reluctance, he mimics her actions, tossing aside his jacket and wiping the sweat collecting at his hairline. She begins showing him a basic way of tossing an opponent, one that she’s rarely used but works if the other person isn’t very skilled in combat. From there they work on timing and even more complex methods, practicing each step slowly before she was positive that he’s got them down at this pace.

“Okay, now you try it on me. Remember, you have to work fast so you don’t end up shouldering your opponent's full weight.”

He fists his hands and relaxes them, taking a breath. “I’ll try my best.”

She moves without warning, throwing lighter punches and kicks for him to block until he takes advantage of the opening she’s giving to him. With his grip tight on her wrist, she's pulled forward with more strength than she expects and, caught off guard, is tossed to the ground before she can break her fall. A cross between a grunt and a cough breaks free from her and it takes quite a bit of convincing to assure him that she’s fine, that he can try again. Though Eren gains a more confidence each round, what she didn’t consider beforehand was the toll that it would take on her. After being flipped numerous times, she began to feel dizzy and nauseous, the sensation nearing an unbearable point but she decided to hold off saying something, mainly for his sake. That was until he had her on the ground again, pausing long enough to notice that something was off.

“Are you okay, Mikasa?”

She was sweating more than usual, hair sticking to her neck and different parts of her face and is a bit dismayed that she can’t open her eyes right away. She puts her hand up to placate him.

“Yes… I just -” she drops the hand on his forearm without meaning to, sucking in air, “need a minute.”

The next few moments are spent focusing on her breathing, leveling it out to ease her nausea. It isn’t until she opens her eyes that she realizes he never moved from his place above her, and both simply stare, breaths audible yet slow and she’s unsure of what to make of the look on his face. Until then it nears hers, his fingers gently pushing the strands sticking to her mouth aside, grazing her lips in the process. At the intimate touch, she becomes lightheaded again, the pain in her stomach quickly devolving into a flutter. He looks at her lips tentatively, his own forming an indecisive grimace and she watches him, captivated by curiosity and the strange tension between them. When the hand at the corner of her mouth moves to cup the base of her head and the ends of his hair starts tickling her skin, she doesn’t doubt his intention, feels herself blushing brightly in comparison to the tinge of color on his face. But he makes a point to stop, looking at her questioningly and giving her the chance to pull away. In a clouded mix of attraction and anticipation, she squeezes his forearm in response and flicks her gaze from his eyes to his lips and back, noting how the color on his face spreads across the bridge of his nose.

“Mikasa,” he murmurs, “close your eyes.”

She does so, barely taking a second to wonder why, to remember how inexperienced and unprepared she is before his nose is flush against the apple of her cheek and he is kissing her in full. Her fingers curl around his forearm again and her eyes close tighter, Eren’s lips on hers an odd yet pleasant sensation that makes her skin hotter and nerves frenzied. He sighs the syllables of her name against her mouth, parting for the briefest of seconds to lean on the arm beside her head and kiss her better. The whys and whats are lost to her, irrelevant, because like earlier, she can feel his confidence grow as well as her own with each gentle movement of lips and hands. She’s almost embarrassed by the sounds they’re making, but his nails lightly raking over her scalp causes her skin to prickle with goosebumps, her hand traveling up and over the muscle in his arm till her palm is at the bulging tendon on the side of his neck. She couldn’t be any less aware of their surroundings, merely craving more of this kind of attention that she’s wanted for a long time. And although the way he deepens his kiss tells her that she isn’t alone in that feeling, reality had already found its way to reel them back in.

It’s him who breaks the kiss when he hears something that her ears don’t catch at first, both soon recognizing it as shouts of squad leaders and noises that could only belong to the maneuvering gear.

“Shit.”

Their eyes meet and, in a slight panic, make a mutual decision. Eren stands to his full height, sheepish as he pulls her up and she immediately goes to smooth down her hair, walking over to retrieve her jacket and hating how much her hands are shaking. Talking to him about this proves to be daunting on her end, especially with how abrupt and somewhat awkward it had ended. Everything is burning - her lips, her face, her stomach and perhaps it’s best to talk about it when she isn’t as raw or embarrassed, but then he speaks up.

“Hey, um, thanks. For helping me today.”

Tucking a tangled lock of hair behind her ear, she gives him the most genuine smile she can manage at the moment. “Of course.”

After a stretch of silence, she thinks it okay to start walking back and he jogs to catch up and match her pace. Halfway back to headquarters, she senses his eyes on her and finds them shamelessly trained on her mouth when she faces him. A flicker of desire threatens to ignite a flame that’s destined to consume her, and she struggles to keep her voice neutral and cool when she asks, “What is it?”

“Your lips,” he starts, reaching over to swipe a rough thumb over her bottom one. “They’re so soft.”

[chelinka93]

Building a Nest - Hello, my Name is... - Part 1

Ugh, not happy with this one, its been ages since I’ve done a PoV swap so im... ehhhh... Hope I was able to do Ochaco at least some justice though.

Ochaco Uraraka liked to think she was made of sterner stuff.

Since she was little she had the dream of becoming a hero to help her parents, if she was a popular hero both them and her would could leave their financial troubles behind and they could live a good, easy life.

But before all that, she had to actually become a hero first.

And the best way to do that?

UA.

Since middle school she had kicked it in high gear; training every day to get in shape, both physically and quirk wise. If she wasn’t training, she was nose deep in her books because UA was no slouch when it came to academics either and she needed to be on her toes to excel.

So both mind and body being trained there was the third, and most daunting obstacle: money.

Her parents insisted that if she wanted to go to UA they could pay for it, but she saw that the bags under their eyes got a bit darker during her junior high years.

They were working hard so she could pursue her dream.

She wasn’t going to let them do all the work, this was her dream, she was going to help make a reality any way she could.

So she began to cut back.

She still ate of course, limiting her food intake would only make her weaker and worry her parents, something she really wanted to avoid if she could. She cut back in small ways: having the lights off for as long as she could and refusing to turn up the heat until she had to in order to save on the bills. Reusing old notebooks that were almost full already, (no point in wasting paper!) keeping careful track of her pens and pencils so she wouldn’t have to buy new ones when she lost them. Small things here and there. But the biggest she could do?

The shopping.

Her parents worked so hard, and often late. So Ochaco took it upon herself to do the shopping whenever she could. She did her best to learn what was a good deal and what wasn’t, trying her best to make sure she could save whenever she could.

It was a little hard but now looking back, she considered it all worth it.

She got into UA.

She could afford to go to UA.

She would have to move though, her home with her parents was just too far away to make the commute each day. Something that made both her and her parents sad to think about.

But…

She got into UA!

Departure aside, she was ecstatic and so were parents! They even threw her a ‘Going Away to UA’ party.

And it was a great party.

Even though there were some tears mixed in with the laughter.

So with much excitement, she jumped feet first into her life as UA student. The first day was a little out there; who just has a quirk assessment test with the threat of expulsion throw in there?! (her new home room teacher, apparently.) She did her best to get into it; she’d worked hard for this and wasn’t about to let a second go by and not be thankful for it.

She made friends too! There weren’t many girls in 1A, seven in total including herself, but they all bonded quickly and she was thrilled to be friends with them. She enjoyed hanging out with all of them but she found that she talked most to Mariska (though she said she was okay with Mari).

She found out that Mariska lived on her own like her, so it became a common topic between the two of them to talk about all the ups and downs of living alone and any tricks the other might have learned to make it easier. It was generally simple things like how often one should do laundry, was it a good idea to hide a spare key in case you got locked out, the sort of little things like that.

Then one day, they got into the topic of shopping and Ochaco launched into all the things she learned and when Mari asked where she learned these things, seemed to be impressed that Ochaco taught herself mostly.

“That’s amazing! I tried to learn myself actually but it didn’t work out that way.”

Ochaco furrowed her brow, confused. Does she just order her groceries online? pay someone do it? She asked but Mariska just snorted.

“No, I picked up a shopping teacher, a rather unwilling one at first though.”

“A… Shopping teacher?” Ochaco asked confused again. That was a thing?

Mariska grinned and launched into a tale about one day trying to do her shopping, minding her own business when suddenly a snarky, grumpy looking woman told her she was doing it wrong. And even after the shopping was done, they still met up again and decided (with Mariska’s instance) that it become a regular event.

Mariska told the story with fondness (and more then a slight bit of exasperation in a lot of parts) and Ochaco was both curious about Mariska’s shopping friend, who’s name was Varis apparently, and slightly wary. Mariska didn’t sugar coat Varis’ language and the image Ochaco got of this woman was more then a little scary.

As she thought about Mariska’s possibly (probably) terrifying teacher, she didn’t notice the smirk that had bloomed on Mariska’s face.

“You should come with me next time!”

“Huh?”

“Come with next time I go shopping! I’ll introduce you and you can learn from her too!”

“Well, I don’t want to intrude, this seems like a personal thing. And from what you’ve told me of her, Varis might not like have more people around.”

At this, the smirk grew wider and Ochaco was not ashamed to admit she was kinda worried.

“True, but she owes me! She’ll grumble and probably try to intimate you but she���ll get over it.”

Ochaco hesitated slightly. The fact that Mariska easily admitted that this Varis would openly try to intimidate her did nothing but confirm further her second hand impression that this woman was scary.

She shook her self mentally, what was she thinking? She had gotten this far hadn’t she? Shed made it to UA and was in class 1A! the forerunner in terms of future heroes! She was made of sterner stuff then this! she had a chance to not only spend more time with her new friend but also the opportunity to learn how to shop even more effectively and save more money for her parents.

When she put it that way, it sounded pretty fun actually!

“Well, if its okay with you, I’d love to!”

Mariska beamed, clearly happy that she had agreed to come and faced with that bright smile, Ochaco found herself smiling again too as they both gathered their things and headed out to the train station.

‘Yeah! I’m sure I’m jumping to conclusions about this Varis lady, I’m sure she’s perfectly nice!’

“So you are you gonna let her know I’m coming?”

“I could, but just thinking of the scowl on her face when we show up together is far too good to pass up.”

‘…At least I hope she’s nice.’

 ‘Nice’ it turns out, was not the word to describe Varis in the slightest.

She’d met Mariska at the station near the store she told Ochaco about. and for awhile, the two of them chatted happily about this and that as that as they made their way to the store where Ochaco would get to meet this Varis Mari had talked about.

…the one who didn’t even know she was tagging along.

She did her best to contain her nerves as they made their way inside but her nerves quickly came to a front when she actually caught sight of Varis.

Mariska called her name and a woman near the rice turned, a slight expression of amusement on her face as Mariska made her way toward her with Ochaco in tow.

That expression quickly turned into annoyance when she caught sight of Ochaco.

‘Mari forgot to mention how tall she is.’ Ochaco thought faintly as she tried not squirm as the woman examined her almost like a bug under a microscope. She felt Mari’s arm wrap around her shoulders as she introduced her to her mentor of sorts. Said mentor continuing to unabashedly size her up and Ochaco couldn’t help but stare back.

Tall, gray hair cut in a pixie cut, and she had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows so Ochaco could see toned arms as well.

‘she looks she beat us both up and not even break a sweat.’

Her apparent panic got even worse when Varis casually threw out that she had expect worse for the death threat.

‘A DEATH THREAT?!’ Ochaco began to seriously consider her routes of escape for Mari and her but Mari didn’t even seem phased, even jokingly correcting her on her wording!

She was just thinking she should try to edge toward that particularly heave bag of rice to try to use it as a weapon, when the next words from Mari stopped her.

“She did say those things yes, but she was only worried about me. and when she didn’t get the reaction she wanted, she pouted and stole my newspaper in a tantrum.”

‘…What…?’

Varis seemed to notice Ochaco’s turn of emotions and quickly the menacing aura she felt was gone and this woman, who she had been rather terrified of a minute ago, was now openly pouting.

Ochaco was confused to say the least but wasn’t given time to really think about it when said pouting woman spoke again, this time to her:

“So kid, whatcha know about properly shopping?”

 Ochaco’s head was swimming with new information. While she thought she was a decent shopper Varis had simply listened quietly as she talked about what she knew and was silent for a moment after she finished talking before saying:

“Not bad, for a beginner.”

Nothing more after that, she just spun her cart around and began walking toward the next isle expecting Mari and her to follow.

After that it was a lesson in each isle; Varis explaining certain tricks and explaining ‘traps’ (anything she considered to be a waste of money, usually always something with a sales sticker next to it) that many a shopper fell for. She was curt when Mari or Ochaco asked her anything but didn’t belittle them for it.

“What if I like this brand better?”

“Then cough up the yen to get the biggest tin of it so it last longer.”

Ochaco learned a lot. Which she was kind of thrilled about it, anything to help save money for her parents.

She also learned a bit about Varis too.

While rather curt and blunt with Mari and her, Mari seemed to enjoy the barbed exchange. Often even teasing Varis when she got vehement over certain things.

Like protecting her choice of snacks from Mari.

“I don’t care what you think, brat, I like em and Im gonna get em!”

“I can’t believe you still stomach that crap!”

“I like what I like, stubborn brattling!”

“Stubborn American!” Mari puffed up, and seemed to about ready to go into a rant before Varis leaned over to flick her on the forehead.

“Id rather you not throw one of your Spanish tantrums, especially in front of your friend.” Varis said before leveling a pointed look in Ochaco’s direction.

Realizing that she was being put on the spot, Ochaco tried to think of something.

“O-oh! Weren’t you saying earlier something about a big order for cupcakes coming in at work, Mari? How’s that coming along?”

Looking briefly at Varis, as if attempting to glare holes in the woman, Mari conceded this change of topic and started talking animatedly about a ridiculous number of cupcakes ordered for an equally ridiculous reason.

Relived that the distraction had worked, Ochaco went along with it, listening and chatting with Mari about the idiocies of people with far to much money and time on their hands willing to throw a party for a quarterversiry (whatever that was).

When she looked up briefly, she could have sworn Varis winked at her.

 After that, things were quiet until Mari had to run ahead and grab something she forgot. Leaving Ochaco alone with Varis.

Before she could even think of what to say, (should she say something? or would she prefer silence?) Varis beat her to it.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Earlier, little bird gets in such a snit every time I try to buy any sort of processed baked good, especially snack cakes. It was nice to avoid it this time.”

“Your welcome!” To her horror, her voice squeaked, but Varis didn’t seem to notice as she turned toward her.

“Try to keep your footing with her, hmm? She’s a bit of a whirlwind, try not to let her sweep you away too easily.”

“Uh, I’ll do my best!” She replied, not real sure what say.

“Good on ya kid.”

For a split second, Ochaco thought she saw an actual smile on Varis’ face.

But as soon as it appeared, it vanished just as quickly as Varis began to move forward to meet a grinning Mari, returning triumphantly with item in hand.

No, nice wasn’t the word Ochaco would use to describe Varis.

She tried to smother a giggle as Varis lightly bopped Mari on the head for something.

‘She’s grumpy for sure’ she thinks

‘but…’

‘also a good person’

This was suppose to be short, but apparently Ochaco had a lot to say.

So here we go! its the start of a new Arc, per say. This one I’m going to focus primary on introducing more of the MHA cast. Mostly from Varis’ point of view, but I may switch it up to another PoV if I’m feeling bold. and as always, thanks to @bnha-love-imagines (who’s a v good bean, the sweetest bean) for letting me use her BB Mari, who’s a little shit this time.

And because I love this part, have a preview of the next chapter:

‘This is it, I am in hell. It must be the reason for this.’

One child is already enough, the second one is alright because shes not an ass like the first... but she thought she made her dislike of more tag alongs clear!

...Apparently not because two is now three.

“You seem to be thinking awful hard about something.”

“What I’m thinking is whether or not i should pin you down and smother you with that bag of peanuts!”

[taeguboi]

The Very Hopeful And I: BTS Soulmate!AU [01]

Oh, look at that! I’ve finally written the first chapter for my BTS Soulmate!AU which I headcanoned here like 3 - 4 months ago hahahaha I’m so bad at this writing thing... I’m sorry it’s badly written too, I’m more of a plot person haha

PROLOGUE: MINDFUL // PROLOGUE: YOUTHFUL // PROLOGUE: HOPEFUL

^Read the prologues here^ first and guess which BTS members I’ve decided to feature! [as in, whose POVs do you think are being expressed?]

If you’re still not quite sure which members are being involved with this soulmate!au, perhaps this chapter might give you some insight... [but only some as I’m still not revealing everything just yet!] As each prologue has 3 respective POVs, this contains all 3 in one section.

The Very Hopeful, And I - 01

The middle of the week was always extra daunting and dragging… but hey, I’m living the dream, right?

“Right, Jack, we need you to catch the next flight to cover this story; extreme weather has had massive impact on this area, a typhoon in Busan to be precise.”

“On it” I reply, leaving my office desk and hastily readying myself to leave the building.

It might seem strange that I am referred to as ‘Jack’, being a native Korean and all, but I felt it necessary to go under a new name since becoming more public as a journalist and reporter. My aim is to make a difference in the world with my deliveries of news stories, and those extra years I can get without maturing are precious to me.

One might say that I can’t make much difference through simply reporting natural tragedies such as the one you caught a glimpse of, but it’s still a part of my job that I take seriously. Though my main ambition is to make a difference and help make changes for the better, I find it just as important to stay in tune with the world around me. See this reporting opportunity that I’m catching the next flight to Busan for as something to fill the hours while I think about politics, ethics, the economy, relevant things that affect the modern person.

I suppose I could have gone into law to fight for justices, but there’s only so much someone in that area of work can do in the long term. Yes, they can put criminals behind bars, cutting them off from society, but that isn’t always what people truly pay attention to. As a reporter and journalist, I want to use my words to get through to people before anything too serious or damaging can happen.

I have several causes. I work for charities to help prevent and improve the state of poverty, but I also seek to help citizens of a first world country like ours. I want to improve the treatment of today’s youth, encourage employability, improve mental health, and give people a passion to fulfil in their lives by delivering news; if my voice about, say, the country’s health service is being reported to the nation and a viewer feels engaged and compassionate, then perhaps they will start their own cause.

Which reminds me… I need to grab my laptop from home on the way down there so I can look further into that new vacancy and its applicants. I’m flattered and so pleased that I’ve been handed this responsibility. I can confidently and hopefully pick out someone as enthusiastic as myself in this industry.

***

I can't stop thinking. Thinking about that call, I feel all kinds of things. I'm excited, I'm skeptical, I'm anxious, I'm giddy… This is it! I finally get to meet Y/n, but what if it's coincidence and this person just so happens to have the same name? I've had notice, but what if I set a bad impression and make a fool of myself? Nah, stop fretting Hoseok, it'll be fine, she'll just think you're goofy and cute if you trip over the table leg… again. She'll love you; it's written in the stars. Or rather, my arm.

I feel dizzy… As though I'm drunk, and I have a sore feeling in my throat. It literally feels like I've downed a swig of Jack Daniels. I've never wanted 4 days to pass by so fast; I just need to know. Have I found this person? Do I need to make new plans? Will I have to stick to my original plan?

I'm definitely not thinking straight; I need to clean this place up, give it a good once over. I can't believe that hasn't crossed my mind since finishing that phone call a day ago. Not that I’ve had much time since hanging up the phone yesterday evening up to this evening, what, with work and all that.

Come on Hoseok, there's no rush anyway; stop beating yourself up about it. You have a whole 4 days to pull yourself together. 4 more days to pick up a couple of extra shifts in fact… I guess I should pay since she’ll be helping me out in the long term with rent. But she must know what this meeting means, right? What if she thinks I’m trying too hard?

Damn, I certainly didn't expect to hear her voice before properly meeting her. I've essentially been given a 5 day warning, if this is the very same girl, that is.

I still just can't seem to shake this dizzy feeling...

***

It was hardly coincidence; his name is written on my wrist after all. There, since birth. I simply read through the ads in the paper to get a place and there it was and the end of one: “Contact Jung Hoseok at…”

I found myself dialling before my brain could decide if it was a good idea. Monday! I finally get to meet him this Monday… I guess there's that possibility of coincidence, but I guess at least it'll make a good story even if my name isn't on his wrist.

As I pour myself a little nightcap, I think how at this point in my life though, it would be nice to meet the remaining names. My mark age is almost 23 and I’ve only stumbled across one of my names in over two decades of living. School became lonely for me, having only met my enemy without my soulmate or ally to support me.

My enemy became particularly relentless upon the observation that I essentially had no one to truly connect with. Honestly, I barely dated or thought about acquiring a school soulmate; I found my studies much more important and getting too emotionally involved with people might have hindered my progress. What other option did I have when my confidence in my ability dropped to an all time low? I had a whole other language to learn with little support; I had my youth to become a fluent speaker for my soulmate, whoever that may turn out to be. Of course this resulted in myself becoming labelled as “nerd”, “dork”, and all the rest generally, but the enemy would always go that extra mile.

Whilst some would simply tell me I'm lame for opting to study over a house party and leave it at that, the enemy would really dig into me how I was a sad loner who tries too hard and would never achieve anything in life. Yes, I had to have therapy for the depression they elicited.

“Wow, do you ever get your nose out of the books?”

“Hey guys! If y/n is in a math class and the teacher offers to give extra help, calculate with of the following y/n’s nose is the furthest in or up: a) the text book, b) the kid sat next to her, or c) the teacher’s ass!”

“What is this trash anyway that you're reading? Why are you learning gibberish?”

“How does y/n even get by without at least a basic make up kit? It’s like she doesn't even wanna get laid…”

“Have you ever seen anything more pathetic?”

“Move over bitch and sit by the trash can where you belong.”

The enemy even ran for student council just to get one over me… Of course, they won, but in hindsight it was down to popularity over actual standards and policies.

I'm sure there's a reason that neither my soulmate nor ally were around to cushion each fall. It was never a shock either though that they remained strangers to me, given that my top two names are in Korean characters called Hangul and I was born and raised in an English speaking country. Transfer students came and went in the high school years, but never any under the names on my wrist. I guess I held some anticipation on, I counted, four occasions on which a Korean student moved over for their studies, but I was always strong enough to handle any disappointment I felt upon learning their names as they stood nervously in front of their new class.

I did however acquire a good friendship with one of the four students, Kim Namjoon, something of a prodigy and already being able to speak fluent English at a young age and having learned mostly through just watching movies and series’. That one year was probably the highlight year of my not so spectacular high school years. We communicated in either language and I could freely express my discomfort without anyone around me knowing what I was saying about them. I guess although his name has never been printed into my skin, I did regard him as an ally; a school ally, I could call it.

Let's hope that my greatest ally can follow in Namjoon’s footsteps and help me out a little.

“I look forward to meeting you for coffee, Jung Hoseok.”

[sangennaro]

REAL HOUSEWIVES OF LA MANCHA

it’s getting dark early again, I guess I better start working on my end of the year list? Puts an old record on the gramophone-- it’s a scratchy field recording of trench warfare. Rifle shots, grenade explosions, the shouts of officers, the moaning of the maimed, and the lamentations fill the air... 1. The biggest fear isn’t the wrong person doing the job, it’s the abolition of the job.  2. When most people think the system is corrupt, the system itself puts that to work to ensure its own survival: “Of course,” says the egregore (whose basso-profundo tones, while of exceptionally high volume, teeter on the edge of audibility), “the system is good, but there is a small group of people who work tirelessly to prevent everyone from enjoying that good. If only those people-- those deliberately, maliciously ignorant people-- were stopped, then the good would (naturally) extend to all...” 

3. And of course, there is no one but Us (good, ordinary people, with the plain kind of morals and ethics one can learn at any time by being reasonable, and listening to the basic inner voice of humane compassion all human beings are born with) to stop them. Alas, if only we were brave enough to call them what they really are-- monsters!-- then maybe we would stop sitting around lamenting our corrupt system and slay the monsters, remove the malignant obstacle to justice, and see the glory of the system uncorrupted, as it is meant to be.

4. A convenient consequence of the Crusader costume is that we circumvent the need (let alone the responsibility) to possess any technical details whatsoever about the way the system functions. “How Society Could Stop Being Broken” is not a question whose answer wants knowledge: you don’t need to waste time trying to comprehend, for instance, how food happens, or how food used to happen, or how banking works, or the etymology of the terms we use to categorize strangers, or take your pick-- no, the thing that is wanting is the courage to stand up and denounce the wrong thing (or the right thing, if you’ve decided to be wrong). Sure, a compact and well-deployed fact is a customary part of crusading, but nobody convinced that their adversary’s error is conscious immorality calls for an increase of her own team’s knowledge... 5. You could say this consequence-- given the swelling complexity of our living arrangement, and the increasing scarcity of our leisure hours-- is particularly fortunate, but I wouldn’t, lest someone mishear and think you were suggesting it is the very daunting nature of the task of Understanding that leads one to a Crusader’s mindset in the first place, and not reason, compassion, common-sense righteousness, etc.  

6. Another fortunate simplifying consequence (with wide-reaching ramifications) is that we (are morally compelled to) eliminate the concept of the unconscious: things that happen, happen because of people’s actions, and the people’s actions happen because of their decisions, and decisions are consciously made. A person must be blamed for the ideology they hold, and that ideology must blamed for the actions it inspires. The system is to be reformed, but not the adversary: the adversary is to be punished. One who has consciously adopted the malignant ideology is not capable of rehabilitation; forgiveness is weakness and appeasement, a trick concept that only pretends to virtue. Anything that might be construed as sympathy for monsters is tantamount to an admission of double-agency.  7. (It’s an arrangement only a true control freak could believe in/wish for, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ve had a co-worker-- or, god forbid, a boss-- of that type: someone whose frustration over a lack of control in some area of their life seems to compel them to act as if every aspect of some other area of their life were controllable?)

8. OK, OK, undermine the fundamental character of people’s well-intentioned efforts to reform the system, any sophist can do that! Is the point just to excuse yourself from the undignified postures of struggle? Do you get to sit and read twelfth-century chansons de geste all day now, and not go on Twitter and stay blissfully ignorant of the specific thing right now that makes everybody with a working human heart furious and frustrated? 

9. Well, it seems distinctly possible to me now that there is no end in sight as long as we’re working the problem strictly from the Heroic POV, the Crusader’s mindset, the belief that triumph in a fight against the Evil One/s is the sole means to salvation. (Truly, if there’s any place to compare the internet to rn, it’s gotta be the island where Högni comes to fight Heðinn!) But how to find another way of framing our crisis? That is a job for the imagination. And the imagination is a muscle, and muscles must be exercised, or else it hurts when you try to use them. So, if you don’t mind...

10. The clamor of the gramophone fades down gently as the Listmaker swallows his pen and raises a copy of de Troyes’ Cliges, its spine bearing the many lamentable stickers of an Ebay power seller. The camera pulls back out of the open window of the Listmaker’s study, revealing the sprawling social media timeline in which it is embedded, and whose own far-more-realistic characteristic clamor soon rises to replace that of the gramophone...

[pets-beaty]

via How Webs

Text Symbols Code and Abbreviation 

text symbols is very easy to understand the SMS symbols. This is how you discover the meaning of the SMS symbols or emoticons as they are called that you receive. However, if you encounter problems, you can consult the following list of SMS symbols. There are many people who are new to texting and chatting online. These people find it very daunting when they receive a text message with smiley faces. They cannot decipher the meanings, especially when typing in: ^ {or: (#).

text symbols

This is a new form of communication that is also called Short Text Messages (SMS). We must use our cell phone to send chat messages to our friends. In addition to texting, we are also addicted to online chats.

Text Symbols History

Smiley Face Symbol The idea and the first use of a smiley with text is credited to Scott Elliott Fahlman, a computer scientist at Carnegie Mellon University. He thought that using smile and frown text symbols would help notice board users to distinguish between serious messages and jokes. The message with details about the use of smiley emoticons was posted in September 1982. In this article, Smiley Lore :-), Fahlman describes why he felt it was necessary to mark messages that contributors did not want to take seriously by others who read it Bulletin board:

Common Text Message Emoticon Symbols

Emoticons are images or faces made of characters on the keyboard of a mobile phone. You can choose to send emoticons to express your mood or add some humor or personality to a message instead of typing a full message.

Other text message Symbol Meaning Sources

The popular symbols and emoticons change daily and new ones are constantly being made. If you don't find any symbols and emoticons on these lists that meet your needs or get confused by a message you've received, look at some online databases with a more extensive list of text symbols, emoticons and other fun text message ideas.

It even becomes embarrassing to ask about their meanings, because it implies that you are not aware of the latest developments in technologically cool languages. You don't have to worry anymore. This Techspirited article covers some of the most commonly used symbols used for texting and chatting. You can refer to the following list of SMS symbols as a dictionary to help resolve your confusion behind the various acronyms and abbreviations.

Read also about symbol meaning

We often hear a new word and hurry to refer a dictionary to its meaning. With new words added to the language every other day, it is difficult to keep track of their meanings. For example, a dictionary appears to be a life saver. As the form of communication changes every other day, we are becoming more addicted to texting. So if you are an avid texter or an instant messaging user, you must have encountered many SMS abbreviations.

What else? You can even send some text symbols that symbolize a word. What do these type of abbreviations, acronyms and short text forms stand for? Which dictionary should you refer to to decrypt the code behind these SMS symbols? This is where we will help you. When typing with your thumbs, save your effort by communicating with as few letters as possible. Consequently, users created SMS symbols as a sort of shorthand to make SMSing easier and faster. Most symbols are logical and have become a mainstay in SMS language.

How to make text symbols a smiley

To create a smiley with text, use standard characters and punctuation in sets that resemble human facial expressions. Smiley face text is all set aside.

"This problem has led some of us (only half seriously) to suggest that it might be a good idea to explicitly highlight messages that should not be taken seriously. After all, when using text-based online communication, we miss the body language or tone-of-voice signals that convey this information when we talk in person or on the phone Several massages about "joke markings" were suggested in the middle of that chat or  discussion it dawned on me that the character sequence :-) an elegant solution - a solution that can be processed by the ASCII-based computer terminals of that day. "

Read also about at sign (@)

When you receive a message with the alphabet 'Y', this simply stands for the word 'why'. If someone says "U8?" Sends, do they actually mean that you ate? The 'U' stands for you and '8' stands for eaten. If you get a text symbol in massage from someone like: "(it simply means that sender is crying. The symbol <3 stands for heart. Vowels in the spelling are usually omitted because it helps to minimize the number of keystrokes. For example," btwn "is in between because and "hndsm" stands for handsome.

With these symbols you not only save time, but you can also send longer texts that contain more personality and emotion. You can also use these text symbols when sending messages on popular social networking sites. If you can't find a symbol or emoticon that meets your needs, create one yourself and teach it to your friends. Who knows? Your symbol or emoticon can become the next trend.

Texting Symbol

Meaning

Texting Symbol

Meaning

:<>

Amazed

((@))-((@))

the Demon Headmaster

o:-)

Angel smiley

:-P

Tongue in cheek

:-ll

Angry

:-amp;

Tongue-tied

(-.-) Zzzz . . .

asleep

: [

unfriendly

:-X

Big Kiss

: - (

unhappy

I - O

bored/yawning

: C

v. unhappy/incredulous

((((((((((O>>>>>>o

cannon firing

:-))

Very Happy

*$gt;) / :O)

clown

:-*

Kiss

%-)

Confused

^_^

"kiki"

d8:)

Cool

-_

Squint

X-(

cross

O.o

Confused

:'-(

Crying

<:O

Upset

:e

Disappointed

<3

Heart

:-&

Disgusted

:v

Pacman

o-&->

Doing nothing

:|]

Robot

:-).....

Drooling face

:)

Happy

:*)

Drunk smiling face

:(

Sad

<:-O

eek!

:P

Tongue

>=-O

frightened

:D

Grin

&:-)

From a person with curly hair

:O

Gasp

#:-)

From a person with matted hair

;)

Wink

\=o-o=/

glasses

8)

Glasses

:-D

very happy, laughing

B)

Sunglasses

:-,

Hmmmm..., smirking

:3

Cute/Cat-like

:- I

hypnotized!

<:(

Grumpy

O-S->

In a hurry

:/

Unsure

ITD

in the dark

:'(

Cry

:-*

Kiss

3:)

Devil

+

knight

O:)

Angel

: ))

laughing

:putnam:

Chris Putnam (Facebook Engineer)

:-D

Laughing

Symbol for Facebook

Meaning

<3

Love Heart

o:-)

Angel smiley

:-S

makes no sense

:-X

Big Kiss

O-Z->

man running (whole body figure)

d8:)

Cool

:o

Ooooh!!shocked

:-).....

Drooling face

8->

person in glasses grinning evilly

:-*

Kiss

O-G->

Pointing to self

<3

Love Heart

: - \

puzzled

@>-->--

red rose

@<--<--

red rose

:-))

Very Happy

:-(

Sad

( '}{' )

Boy and girl kissing

: - O

saying 'Oh!'

:")

Blush

:-@

Screaming

;)

Cheeky wink

: v

shouting

;-)

Flirty

(O->

something fishy here

:-x or :o*

Kiss

SITD

still in the dark

o)

Wink

8-)

Sunglasses face

*^_^*

Huge Wide Grin

:-O

Surprised/shocked

})i({

Butterfly

:-. ssshhh

talking very quietly

:-p

Naughty

<[]I

television/video screen

Text Abbreviation

Text Abbreviation

Meaning

Text Abbreviation

Meaning

?4U

Question for you

IMO

in my opinion

2bctnd

to be continued

J4F

just for fun

2g4u

too good for you

J4K

just for kisses

2l8

Too late

JK

Just Kidding

2MORO

Tomorrow

KC

keep cool

2NITE

Tonight

KIT

keep in touch

2WIMC

too whom it may concern

L8R

Later

4e

Forever

LOL

Laugh Out Loud

4yeo

for your eyes only

LTG

Like to go

AAM

as a matter of fact

LTK

like to come

AB!

Ah Bless!

LYLAS

Love you like a sister

Adctd2uv

addicted to love

A3

Anytime anywhere anyplace

AFAIK

as far as I know

M8

mate

AFK

away from keyboard

MGB

may God bless

AML

all my love

MYOB

mind your own business

AMOF

As a matter of fact

NMH

Not much here

ASAP

as soon as possible

NO1

no one

ASFAIC

As far as I am concerned

NP

No Problem or Nosy Parents

ASL

age, sex, location

NSA

No strings attached

ATW

at the weekend

NVM

Never mind

AYDY

Are you done yet

O4U

only for you

AYS

Are you serious

OIC

Oh I see

B4N

Bye for now

OMG

Oh my God

BCNU

Be Seeing You

OXOX

Hugs and kisses

BFF

Best Friends Forever

PCM

please call me

BRB

Be right back

PLMK

Please let me know

BTW

By The Way

POV

Point of view

C&G

Chuckle and grin

PPL

people

Cm

call me

RBTL

Read between the lines

COS

Because

RMB

ring my bell

CU

see you

ROFL

Rolling on floor laughing

CUL

see you later

SRY

sorry

DQMOT

Don't quote me on this

STATS

your sex and age

DUR?

don't you remember?

STBY

Sucks to be you

EOD

end of discussion

T+

think positive

EOL

end of lecture

T2ul

talk to you later

F2F

face to face

TMB

Text me back

F2T

free to talk

TMI

Too much information

FC

fingers crossed

TTYL

Talk to you later

FYEO

for your eyes only

TYVM

Thank you very much

FYI

for your information

U4E

yours forever

G9

genius

UFB

Unfreakingly believable

GF

Girlfriend

URH

You are hot

BF

Boyfriend

URTO

you are the one

GG

good game

W4U

waiting for you

GMTA

great minds think alike

WAN2

want to

GR8

Great

WEG

Wicked Evil Grin

GTG

Got to go

WRT

with respect to

GTSY

great to see you

WTG

way to go

H&K

hugs and kisses

WUF

where are you from

H8

hate

WWYC

Write when you can

HAGN

have a good night

WYWH

Wish you were here

HAND

have a nice day

Y2K

You are too kind

IC

I see

YBS

you will be sorry

IDK

I don't know

YT

You there

ILY

I love you

ZZZZ

Sleeping or bored

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