#sorry i keep grabbing things from twitter to save here but this is my beloved scrapbook

[septembersghost]

in case this hasn’t made it to the eblr ecosystem yet, several people on twt have noted this is the same pattern on the guitar strap and i am not okay 😭🥹🖤

[thesolferino]

Favor

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: angst, fluff

⤷ word count: 8.4k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: dream asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a day. things only seem to go downhill from there.

It started as a favor.

On a quiet night in your apartment when you stared at your phone for way longer than your eyes could physically take and rolled around on the bed, talking to one of your best internet friends, Dream, he asked you for a favor. His voice was muffled through the mic on his phone, the one connected to his computer way cleaner, but neither of you could bother getting off FaceTime and call on Discord instead - yet you still heard him loud and clear, because you burst out laughing right after.

“What the hell did you just say?” you laughed, turning on your stomach and opening the call, now entirely focused on the timer that counted every second you spent talking to him instead of your Twitter timeline.

“It’s embarrassing, don’t make me repeat it!” And for that sole reason, you wanted him to repeat it, loud and clear.

“Is this why you were so insistent on me coming down to Florida? So I could pretend to be your girlfriend at your cousin’s wedding so your family doesn’t think you’re a loser?” you laughed, finding the situation entirely absurd as he sputtered, words mashing together, trying to defend himself.

“No! No, I wanted you to come here because we’re friends and I-I wanna meet you, this is just a… benefit, of sorts.” he replied, and you couldn’t help but laugh even harder at his poor attempt of trying to save face.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” you chuckle. “What’s in it for me?”

“Whatever you want.” he responded, much too quick. Your eyebrows raised.

“Whatever I want?” you parroted.

“Yes.” he confirmed. “I’ll buy you something, if you want; I’ll even pay you-”

“Pay me?! I’m not a whore, Dream!” 

“That is not AT ALL what I was saying!” he cut in, yelling as you burst into a new fit of laughter. “It’s just… I sort of already told them I have a girlfriend and I was just hoping you’d say yes ‘cause it’s gonna be very awkward if I show up without the girlfriend in question.” 

You put your head in your hands and he sort of dryly laughed at himself when he heard your palm hit your forehead. “What is wrong with you, man?” 

“Listen, it’s not gonna be so bad! Just stay by my side for a bit, look pretty, we’ll get some drinks, and then dip. That’s it, I promise.” he reasoned.

“And here I thought we were gonna make out in front of everyone. What’s a fake relationship if we don’t make a show out of it?” you sarcastically snickered, and could practically see his eyeroll from miles away.

“If that’s what you want, then we’ll do it, by all means.” he replied and you laughed, shaking your head in mild disbelief.

“Alright, well, if you already told them, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” you huffed, pretending to be way more bummed out about it than you really were. “I’ll do it.” 

“Thank you so much, oh my God.” he replied and you chuckled at the sheer relief in his voice.

A few seconds of silence pass. “What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“How do you want me to publicly embarrass myself in exchange for this favor?”

“Personally, I think that forcing you to tweet that tweet about pissing yourself in bed again and also tweeting that everyone should subscribe to me isn’t “publicly embarrassing” at all.” 

“Maybe I should’ve picked a different fake girlfriend.”

“Sucks to suck, pissbaby.”

The weeks leading up to your meetup felt like years, with every treacherous minute of you two talking over muffled mics and shitty webcams feeling longer than it should, your empty apartment feeling emptier and emptier by the day. Was it even possible to miss a person you hadn’t even met yet? 

It turns out that it very much was, because as soon as the painfully long weeks were up and you were finally metres away from him, you jumped in his arms like a woman finally seeing her soldier husband after the war, standing on your tiptoes while he bent down the best he could to hug you back. His chest rumbled with a warm laugh when you turned your head ever so slightly towards his ear.

“Hello, boyfriend.” And just like that, the warm turned into a groan of faux annoyance while you burst into laughter and he pulled away, scanning your face with an equally annoyed look.

“I should’ve never asked you for that. You’re never letting it go, are you?” Yeah, you were kind of annoying with the amount of corny boyfriend jokes you threw his way - you had to give him that. But then again, he crafted his own fate and now he must accept the consequences.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise your majesty wasn’t appreciating the work I’m doing! I just won’t show up at that wedding, how about that?” you bit back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re such an idiot.” he laughed. “Give me those bags.”

A blissful week had passed, and he hadn’t pissed you off in real life nearly as much as you thought he would. It took a bit of getting used to to his family calling him Clay instead of his beloved internet username, and you did get a couple of suggestive looks from his mother the first few times she visited - you had a couple of “eye conversations” in which she never exactly asked if you were his girlfriend, and you never exactly denied it, but you knew both of you felt the weight of the unspoken words yet you had to keep everything secret and ambiguous. Or at least you thought you did, before he revealed to you that he told his mom the two of you were dating already. Seems like the glances were knowing and not questioning. Maybe you weren’t as good at eye conversation as previously thought.

Living with him was fine, mostly because he had godly air conditioning and a house that was probably way too big for him, and also a very cute cat that followed you everywhere and made living with a man for a full two weeks way more bearable. Finding out that he can’t cook was one of the most bizarre revelations about him that you’d had in the years of your friendship, and you demanded he watched as you made chicken wraps. You complained about how he was 21 and couldn’t cook for himself, he complained about how it’s 2021 and he can just order from Chipotle or something, dude.

A week of goofing around and trying to hide the fact the two of you temporarily lived together from the internet had passed quicker than it should’ve, and for the first time in seven days, Netflix was turned off and the two of you were dressing up for the wedding, ready to set off with his parents and younger sister. He spent ages trying to convince you to match with him, which was quite literally impossible because he wore a black suit and you brought a red dress, which resulted in the two of you roaming around a local mall at 10 am, half asleep, looking for a reasonably formal black dress, because of course Dream always got his way.

An hour of arguing and your fashion tastes clashing later, you picked an off shoulder black dress with a high slit, along with a pair of pumps, both of which you forced him to pay for, and went back home, ready to glam both of you up as much as humanly possible because you were not ready to let him show up in some horrendous pair of shoes and claim to be your boyfriend. 

“Is this okay?” you questioned, turning from the mirror to face him and let him be the judge of your shimmery black and white eyelids, spending way too much time on a makeup look for a wedding of someone whose name you didn’t even know. He blinked at you as his judging gaze washed over you like a wave, scanning you up and down while you nervously cocked your head, leg tapping in faux impatient annoyance to cover up the fact that you felt like prey under his eyes. 

“It’s… yeah, it is. You look good.” Dream confirmed, nodding his head at you in a movement that was way too quick and snappy and you turn back to the mirror with a huff, watching him stare right back at you. 

“Too much, right? I should try something else.” You say, grabbing your makeup remover wipes, but he cuts in before you can even wipe a single smudge.

“No, no, it looks good, I promise. Really good. Don’t touch it.” Something way too sincere in his voice makes the air tense, more tense than usual, but you drop it, deciding to just take the compliment with a tight lipped smile.

“Okay. You ready?” you ask, and he nods, nervously straightening out his suit before looking back at you with an anxious grin.

“Yeah, I think so. Do I look fine?” 

He did. He looked more than fine. You’d never seen him actually dress up for something and put proper care into his looks - he was practically forced into doing it by you this time as well - so seeing him in an actual black suit, all formal and expensive looking, messy dirty blond hair properly combed for the first time in ages, made you gulp and look away. You sort of never understood the argument that women and men can’t be friends because you were never attracted to one of your male friends, ever. Dream was born to be an exception to every rule, it seemed. 

Realising that you abruptly looked away, you attempted to awkwardly clear your throat and smile at him.

“Yeah, you do. Let’s go.”

During the ride there, his mother seemed to finally explode and the words that have clearly wanted to pour out of her mouth for ages finally came out. You supposed it was better for the poor woman, and did your best to suppress a laugh when Dream dramatically sighed and leaned against the window when she nosily spoke up. 

“So… since when have you and Clay been together? He’s told us absolutely nothing!” She spoke up from the passenger seat, shifting to look at you, excited smile plastered on her face and you politely smiled back, mentally noting that you’d have to bully the shit out of him for acting like his mom is embarrassing him in front of his 8th grade crush.

“Ah, we’ve been friends for a long while, but we only started dating a month or so ago, because it’s hard doing long distance and all that.” you said, hoping it would sound believable enough because the two of you rehearsed this a few days ago, writing out a whole backstory from how you started dating to what exact words he used when he asked you out. There were a couple of arguments here and there, such as the fact you refused to say you confessed you’ve been in love with him for years and he refused to say he admitted he’s been your “bottom bitch” for 3 years but in the end, you somehow managed to agree on a cohesive timeline of events.

“Oh, does that mean you’re going to move here?” she questioned, and that one didn’t surprise you either, Dream having prepared a full list of answers to questions that people might ask in your notes app. He was a perfectionist to the point it got on your nerves, but that had its own perks.

“No, but I’ll definitely visit more often, and if it goes well, I might as well move here.” you smiled back at her and she nodded, going back to staring through the windshield. You and Dream exchange a relieved glance that you hope his younger sister doesn’t notice.

“Let me tell you, I was waiting for you two to get together! He always talked about you, I was getting tired of him, you know that?” she giggled and you widened your eyes at Dream who, snapping out of somewhat of a daze, immediately jumped to protest, light blush adorning his pale cheeks. 

“No, I didn’t! I did not, mom, don’t lie to her.” he argued while all she did was laugh.

“Oh come on, it’s not embarrassing now that you’re together!” she kept going, and his younger sister joined in, to make it even worse.

“Yeah, you do talk about her a lot, not gonna lie.” she spoke up and his cold glare directed her way told you everything you needed to know, hanging on by a thread not to burst out laughing. He refused to even look your way, turning back to the window as his cheeks started heating up. You couldn’t help but let out at least a bit of a giggle, placing your hand on his arm in fake comfort.

“It’s okay, you can admit it now.” your tone borderlined on mocking and he knew you’d make fun of him for days to come so he stayed silent while the rest of the car burst into laughter.

The wedding was truly beautifully set up, set in a hotel wedding venue, walls painted in pure innocent white with hints of gold here and there, and you nudged Dream as the two of you observed in awe, asking what sort of money the groom had to be able to afford this sort of expensive venue. Nudging him proved to be way easier now, because you linked arms - you originally made fun of him for suggesting to walk like that instead of holding hands like normal people, telling him you’d look like you were at your high school prom, but he persisted, and you didn’t end up looking as goofy as you thought. 

“He’s a doctor or something, pretty sure.” he replied, quick feet trudging down the long hallways, your own struggling to keep up with him, especially in your heels. He seemed to be in a rush to sit and get it over with as soon as possible so he could avoid any nosy family members, but bad luck followed him everywhere, it seems, because as soon as you two entered the place where the bride and groom would unite, at least three different pairs of eyes locked on you, and you immediately saw a fairly elderly woman get up with open arms, staring at Dream with a grin on her face. You saw him immediately tense up, and almost laughed right then and there.

“There’s my boy! Oh, you’ve grown so much, come here!” The woman looked to be in her fifties and Dream let go of your arm to nervously laugh and fall into her hug, the two rocking from side to side as she kept going on about how it seemed that he grew taller and taller every time she saw him. 

When the two pulled away, her eyes fixed on you, judgingly scanning from head to toe and you suddenly realised why Dream tensed up the way he did - old white women sure had a way to make you anxious. Thankfully, he stepped in. 

“Aunt Bessie, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is aunt Bessie, my mom’s older sister.” he generously offered the explanation you were so obviously lacking and you grinned, as if that information helped you in any way, and stuck out your hand in an offer of a handshake. However, she seemed to have different plans, because as soon as she heard the words “my girlfriend” her face lit up as if she won the lottery and her lips stretched into a smile, opening her arms for you the same way she did for him. 

“Oh my God, you finally got a girlfriend? Come here!” she said, shaking her head at your outstretched hand and gesturing you to return the hug which you quite hesitantly did, politely laughing as she hugged you tighter than you’d deem appropriate. Dream came from a family of huggers - that much was apparent from him, you guess, but you weren’t exactly prepared for this.

Aunt Bessie seemed to be way louder and screechier than expected, because the word “girlfriend” boomed through the room and off the snowy walls, and at least five other family members of his turned around to check who the lucky fellow that finally got a girlfriend was. Another one of his aunts seemed to notice the commotion and suddenly, another older woman with shoulder length, dyed blonde hair, along with her two younger kids, was hurling at you as well. 

“I always complained to him that it was about time he got a girlfriend! He’s a fine young man, no wonder you picked him, honey.” Aunt Bessie shot you a knowing look and you closed your mouth in a tight lipped smile in a feverish attempt to keep down the laugh that threatened to escape you. 

“Oh yeah, he definitely is.” you giggled, looking up at Dream again who looked like he wanted the earth below his feet to open and swallow him whole. Before you could nudge him in the ribs and tease him for hours to come, the other aunt suddenly spoke up.

“Clay! Oh my gosh, is that you?” she exclaimed, shocked grin on her face, and you briefly wondered if Dream ever even visited his family. He nervously smiled, obviously not really sure who this woman even is, but he hugged her back anyway, clearly walking the line between ‘happy to see his family’ and ‘insanely uncomfortable’.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, your dad hasn’t visited since we moved to Toronto! Look at how tall you are, you’re taller than my husband now! You used to be so tiny, whatever happened to you?” Upon hearing the word Toronto he seemed to realise who he was talking to as his eyes softened, and you wondered if he really was so expressive or you could just read him that well.

“I grew up, I guess.” He awkwardly laughed and she laughed harder than she should’ve before turning to you.

“Oh, and who is this?” She said, gaze periodically switching between him and you, a knowing smile on her face which told you she definitely knew who you were.

“Ah, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is… my dad’s cousin, Mabel.” He introduced, large hand landing on your back, and you felt like you were experiencing déjà vu at the way her face lit up at the mention of a girlfriend. 

“Wow, it’s so nice to meet you, Y/N!” She said, energetically shaking your hand, before turning back to Dream. “You never told us you got a girlfriend! You’re finally planning on settling down, huh?” 

Your head snapped in his direction at the speed of light when she mentioned settling down, and you could see him tense up as well as he nervously laughed.

“Yeah, we haven’t visited in a while, so nobody from the family really knew. And, uh… we haven’t really thought of that yet, we’re taking it slow and everything.” He said and you were almost in awe at how good he was at bullshitting. The woman did nothing but laugh.

“Ah, don’t lie to me, I see the way you two look at each other! It’s your wedding we’ll be attending next!” She winked, and just as Dream got ready to fake laugh once again, her family called her over and she excused herself, walking off.

The two of you hurried to your seats as well, sitting down next to his younger sister. 

“Your family is insane, man, holy shit.” You laughed in disbelief, staring at him as he shook his head, clearly as distressed as you were.

“Literally nobody in this family gives a single fuck if I’m single or not except the old aunties. And I seem to have a shit ton of those.” He muttered under his breath. “The way you look at each other - I literally didn’t even look at you properly that whole time!” 

You cackled at that one, hitting his arm. “She’s right, Clay. You’re one fine young man, eh?” You nudged him as he groaned in embarrassment, only turning your way to glare at you. 

You didn’t get to tease him for much longer, though, because the organ started playing and the bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up, the groom standing at his designated place. The bride walked in, arms locked with her father, thin white veil covering her face as she walked down the aisle, looking angelic in her puffy wedding gown. Silky brown hair fell down her shoulders, curled towards the ends, and you could see the hint of blood red lipstick beneath the veil. She looked beautiful - the groom seemed to think so as well, because you could see him tapping the corner of his eye lightly, wiping any stray tears.

She finally made it to the end and stepped to face her soon-to-be husband as her father moved away, sitting back in his chair. The wedding officiant stepped up, and held a speech much longer than it should be, which just led you to zone out. 

One day you’d be beneath that veil, wouldn’t you? One day, you’ll face your fiancé the same way she is, and you’ll let your hearts link with a string that nobody but the two of you could snap. Who would that be, though? Who could you even trust with your heart in their hands? And you’re not aware of how and why and when, but your eyes shot up at Dream, whose eyes also glinted in that way where you knew he wasn’t paying attention, and maybe he was thinking about the same thing as you. Maybe one day, you’ll be attending his wedding, forcing one of your friends to play a fake boyfriend as he wipes his tears, waiting for his bride to get to him. 

It was disheartening, the thought of being a bystander while he locks lips with somebody else. You supposed you just liked being the center of attention, so you let yourself pretend you were his bride in your daydreams. Separating daydreams from rational thoughts was mandatory, because you weren’t sure how you’d explain to yourself that you can’t stand seeing Dream marry someone else. 

Dream, the infamous hopeless romantic, still seemed out of it, maybe even a little emotional, despite not being that close with either of the two. He was probably thinking about his own wedding as well, thinking about his future, the face he’d see when he pulled back the veil.

Just then, his eyes darted to yours, and you realised you were caught staring, snapping your head back to the couple that started reading their vows by now. You started going red from the neck up, cheeks on fire as you could feel his gaze burning into you. He turned back after a few seconds, though, probably assuming you stared at him because you were bored, and neither of you spoke, even though you kind of wish you did. What even is there to say, though? 

By the time you snapped back, the “I do”s were already being said, and her veil was getting lifted, showing her beauty to everyone present, and as they kissed the whole room bursted into cheers and applause in support of the newlyweds. The two exit, teary eyed, their parents follow close behind, and that’s when Dream’s family rushes both of you to your feet, following the two into the reception hall where the actual party would take place. 

From then on, the wedding is the same as any other. The two have their first dance, they give a welcoming speech, and Dream lets you stuff your face with cake and repeatedly refills your wine glass as repayment for dragging you into this whole thing. At some point, he stretches his hand out to you and asks for a dance like a rom-com main character, and you’re not sure exactly why he did that because he’s mostly terrible at dancing, but you had fun letting him twirl you until you got dizzy anyway.

You also realised just how much he did actually need a fake girlfriend, because it seemed like every twenty minutes some sort of relative of his would walk up to the two of you and congratulate him on “finally getting a girlfriend”. You ended up bullying him for that as well, wondering just how long he’s been single for if they’re all this surprised that he’s got a girlfriend, to which he just downed the glass of water he’d been sipping for half an hour and asked you about the weather.

His family took a few pictures with the new couple - you even got to speak to the bride at some point, congratulating her and wishing the two of them well, but in the span of a few hours, the wedding was over and the newlyweds made a great exit, signifying the end of the party. The two of you were driven home by his parents, and you waved them goodbye as you stumbled to the front door, your heels insanely uncomfortable and the red wine in your stomach weighing down on you; you just wanted to get out of this dress and into a pair of pajamas and pass out on his couch in the living room. 

That’s sort of exactly what you did - you half-assed taking your makeup off, wiping down your face a couple of times, deciding that was enough before changing into some worn pajamas and plopping down on the couch next to Dream who already claimed his place and sunk into the cushion while a random movie played on the TV. The two of you basked in the comfortable silence that surrounded you, the exhausted, tired type. You both appreciated the quiet and fell asleep sitting next to each other, wedding already forgotten.

That night, he went from Dream to Clay.

The departure was bittersweet. You left two days after that, your hug at the airport tight, warm, filled with a sugary sweet feeling you couldn’t quite place and sour acid that ate away at you because you didn’t want to leave in the slightest. His arms were warm, inviting, whispering for you to stay but you left anyway, waving him goodbye, setting off to home. 

It seemed like all your problems came and went with him, because a week later, at 3 in the morning while you were up editing a video, you got an all caps message on your Discord from Sapnap.

“YOU’RE DATING DREAM?”

You blinked at your computer screen, white letters blinding you in the dark, brain trying to keep up with why he even thought that. Within 10 seconds, another message, this time from Dream.

“so i told george and sapnap that we’re dating”

“don’t kill me pls” 

Yeah, you weren’t going to kill him, per se, but he definitely made your life a lot harder than it should be. You opened Discord, Premiere Pro and the unedited video abandoned, typing back to Clay quickly.

“WHY”

He responded immediately, as one panicked man does.

“they’ve been making fun of me for being single for ages now :(“

“we already did this fake dating thing before and it went perfectly fine”

“just play along for a month or so”

“pls”

You audibly sighed. And as if he could hear you, he started typing again.

“i’ll promote you on my channel more”

“just pls do it”

“you love me, right” 

Another sigh fell from your lips before you could stop it. Of course you did, because if you didn’t, there’s no way you would be playing into this. You typed back.

“fine”

He messaged back immediately.

“THANK YOU”

“LOVE YOU <333”

With a shake of your head, you mumbled “idiot” with the ghost of a smile flashing on your face, switching back to your video, opting to ignore Sapnap for a little bit. He could wait. 

Fake dating seemed pretty damn easy during the first week - you thought you were killing it by sending corny tweets and staged selfies so he could screenshot them and send them to the groupchat, giggling on call about how oblivious they are and how you’re fooling them so good, both of you opting to ignore the parts where they claimed they knew the two of you were gonna get together eventually. It was fun, lighthearted, and an excuse to flirt with someone you had nothing official with.

As much as all your problems came and went with Clay, though, they came and went with his friends as well, especially that hopeless man Clay called his best friend. 

Because yeah, of course Sapnap was the one to accidentally spill to the public that the two of you were “dating”.

George was streaming at what was apparently a normal time in the UK, not so much for Florida, and Clay was sleeping while you were watching his stream while making some food for yourself. It was going fine, a bit of a chill stream, and you leaned against the fridge as your oven preheated, tired eyes following his Minecraft skin. 

“Sophie, thank you for the dono! ‘Hey George, I love your videos, just wanted to ask if you were speedrunning with Dream today?’” he read out, and you could faintly hear Sapnap join the stream through your headphones. 

“No I’m not, Dream’s… I don’t know what Dream’s doing right now, actually. He’s not responding to me, though. Probably talking to his girlfriend still.” he continued, exaggerating the last part mockingly, still playing into the whiny role of being upset that Clay was ditching the two of them for you. That majorly woke you up, though, as you stood straight on your feet immediately, because oh no, nobody was supposed to know.

You exited out of the Twitch app quickly, letting the stream play in the background as you tried to fish for Sapnap’s profile on Discord and text him as quick as possible, trying to warn him to not let anybody know, but before you could do it, you heard his laughter clear in the stream.

“Yeah, Y/N, his sweetie poo.” Sapnap said, causing George to laugh even louder, before moving onto the next topic, and your heartbeat picked up an insane amount, nails loud and probably damaging your phone screen as you typed as quickly as humanly possible to yell at him because this was not planned, at all.

You heard him go quiet after you shot him a couple of messages over Discord (“SAPNAP” “ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID” “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU” “NOBODY KNOWS YET” “IM GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU”), type something to George who then fell quiet as well for a few seconds, pure horror on his face, and then went back to streaming as if nothing happened while Sapnap profusely apologised to you on his and George’s behalf.

No apology could fix what had already been done, though, and you were left alone with the warzone that was Twitter who had already speculated the two of you were dating long before while Clay peacefully slept somewhere in his house at 4 am in Florida. You bombarded him with messages and waited until he woke up ‘cause what were you even supposed to do?! 

You chose to spend your time finishing the pizza you were originally supposed to make and almost burnt your whole apartment down because you forgot the oven was on for a whole hour while yelling at Clay’s idiotic best friends. You yelled at Sapnap, who kept apologising to you, you yelled at George, who yelled back that it’s not that big of a deal because people were bound to find out anyways, and you yelled at Clay, because he was the guilty one somehow for not being awake during your breakdown. 

He did eventually wake up though, to the shitshow that were his notifications with at least thirty messages from each of you, messages from his other YouTube friends who were fairly surprised, and his entire fanbase going ham on Twitter. He was surprisingly calm about it - calmer than you were, anyways, and sheepishly said over the phone that the fake dating thing may have to go on for a little longer since you couldn’t just date for a month and then break up, and you were sort of okay with that.

And of course, the business side of him awoke at that moment, and he giddily told you about the amount of views the two of you could pull if you did the same shit you do with George and Sapnap anyway, but on livestream. 

You rolled your eyes.

And then agreed anyway. 

And so, the charade began.

His Twitter statement was up shortly, telling the people that you’d been dating for a couple of weeks and weren’t planning to tell anybody yet until a certain someone spilled their guts live, and the fact Dream was dating someone, let alone another popular streamer, took the internet by storm. You expected hate, and you got quite a bit of that, but the people that had shipped the two of you before were certainly more than delighted and a lot of Clay’s fans were supportive. 

Now, both of you had excuses to do chill streams together and just hang out and you took the opportunity and ran with it. 

You’d sit and play Geoguessr or just try and speedrun Minecraft a bunch of times for hours on end, doing stupid bits and things you’d be doing offline anyways, with a little more flirting than usual, because that’s what made it interesting.

“Oh this is France, for sure.” you claimed one night, two or three weeks after the secret was officially out, chewing on the fries you bought for this specific occasion, streaming on his alt to a few thousand people. 

“You think so? It could be Belgium, too.” he responded, humming in thought as he looked around.

“I know so.” you responded.

“How?” 

“I just do. Gamer intuition, babe.” you said, and he wheezed at your response, repeating the words gamer intuition under his breath.

“No, seriously. It is France, I know it is, I’ve seen so many pictures of that place I know it like the back of my hand now. That’s Lyon, or something.” you continued, plopping another french fry into your mouth.

“You have? Why do you know so much about France, that’s so random.” he responded, opening the map and pointing to France, although he keeps looking around, unsure of his decision.

“I dunno, I like it there. I wish I could move there.” you replied.

“Why, though?” 

“It’s pretty and heavily romanticised! Just like me!” you joked and he laughed, before letting you continue. “I dunno, it’s the city of love. Be a little romantic.” 

“The… the city of love is whatever city the two of us are in.” he said, and it took a few seconds for you to process the joke before letting out a fake disappointed sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m dating someone as corny as you.” 

At that, he bursts into wheezes, and you follow along, enjoying the sound of his laughter coursing through your headphones more than you used to a few weeks back. It feels nice, feels right, acting like this. You like calling him your boyfriend more than you think you should. 

A few weeks go by, and it feels all too natural. It feels too natural, talking to him first thing in the morning when you’ve barely even had your coffee, calling him pet names, throwing sweet words at each other publicly like they mean nothing. It feels all too natural, and nice, and all too right, and you don’t even notice when the two of you cross the line between public and private, and you’re stuck making stupid jokes about making out when you first see each other when there’s nobody to witness them except the walls of your rooms, but you don’t like thinking about that, because you know it’ll bring nothing but confusion. The current this that the two of you have is perfect to you, perfectly lighthearted and funny and fun, and you intend on keeping it that way, refusing to think about it in any way past jokes.

That is, until you can’t anymore.

It’s late, again, and you’re staring at his contact name on your phone screen, lazily lying on the bed. It reminds you of a night from roughly 3 months ago, when your whole friendship seemed to change in the few seconds it took you to process what he’d asked of you, and it feels weird, but nice.

“My mom really likes you, you know?” Clay breaks the quiet that you’ve learned to appreciate in his presence, and you exhale through your nose, the noise just short of a chuckle.

“Yeah?” You laugh, and he does as well.

“Yeah.” He reaffirms. “She thinks you’re a great girlfriend. Apparently I seem brighter ever since we got together.”

You laugh again. “I am a great girlfriend, to be fair. She’s totally right.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t know that. If you’re as good of a girlfriend as you pretend to be, though, then you’re amazing.” He says, and words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

“Yeah? You wanna find out?” The flirty nature is nothing strange to the two of you, but this time it feels kinda different, it feels like you’re stepping into dangerous territory that there’s no coming back from. You feel like you’ve ruined everything, for some reason.

He laughs, like normal, though. He laughs like nothing happened at all, and you’re so, so grateful for that.

“Sure, let’s do it. You’re about to unpack the full Clay boyfriend experience.” He snickers and you laugh as well. 

“That means I just unlock the dick as well as the personality.” you respond, quick as always, and the wheeze that escapes him is so loud that it makes you laugh too.

“...Unlock the dick…” he repeats through another wheeze and you nod, laughing.

“Yeah! I mean I’m literally experiencing the boyfriend experience without actually having a boyfriend, it’s fuckin’ great.” you say and he hums.

“You could have one, though.” 

The implications are crazy, his words are crazy, he’s crazy and everything that he could mean and couldn’t mean by that is driving you crazy too, brain faltering and heart seeming way too big for your chest to contain it. It’s silent.

“I could, I guess.” 

You choose to say, and he switches the topic naturally, like he never said anything.

Things are never the same again.

It’s not in a bad way. Sure, it is kind of a bad way for the feelings you’re trying to push down inside you, a bad way for hot nights when the unbearable heat forces you to stay up even when you don’t want to and you have no choice but to think about why you feel the way you feel as you melt into the burning sheets below you, a bad way for when he jokes about finding somebody else and you feel your stomach churning. A bad way for realising that this fake dating thing is really getting to you, but not a bad way in general.

Maybe it’s in a good way. Maybe the underlying implications whenever he makes jokes about making the relationship real are good, maybe the way he calls you in the middle of the night when he’s anxious and freaking out and defends himself by saying: “You’re my girlfriend, you’re always there for me, I just figured I could call you.” and you end up wondering if it’s possible to say jokes in such a vulnerable state or if he’s serious is good, maybe the way it’s been a few months and he won’t tell his own best friends that it was a joke the whole time is good, maybe the way you confronted him about it and he said he likes having you as his girlfriend is good. 

Maybe the way the two of you are always walking the line between joking and being serious, between being friends and something more, between lies and pranks and emotional investment and fear of committing, and the way you’re always trying to push the other off, is good. 

The fans love it. The fanart is incredible (serves especially well for those hot nights when you can’t fall asleep and you scroll, watching yourself fall in love with Clay in every universe, tales told by people who observe your story and find it worthy enough to retell in their own words, to take the love you pretend to have and turn it into something real), people love to gush over the compliments he sprinkles in at random times during conversation and the general flirty dynamic is loved by many, pulling in more views and attraction for you. 

And you suppose that’s good too, but at some point, the good warps into bad, bad warps into terrible, and you wonder if this is all even worth the sleepless nights, wondering if he feels the same way.

Those thoughts haunt you more and more often every day. When you wake up, and text him first thing in the morning, your brain acknowledges that the camera is off - nobody’s around, people aren’t listening, so why are you still playing the role of a girlfriend and starting up a conversation with him when you haven’t even brushed your teeth properly? When you’re editing in the middle of the day and he calls to keep you company, making more stupid boyfriend jokes, your stomach flips in a weird way that makes you hate him, hate the way he can joke about these things so freely, like it doesn’t hurt him. Like it doesn’t affect him like it affects you. 

But, as much as you wish you could hate him, you couldn’t bring yourself to, and that was the worst part. Because, in reality, whenever he laughed you’d smile without realising you did, whenever anything exciting happened to you he was the first one you went to, whenever you wanted to laugh or cry or sit in silence for hours or complain you always went to him, the one person who you know would listen. In reality, whenever he made a joke about giving up on the fake dating and making it real, you wished so bad that he was serious this time, that this was what it took and he’d crack and all of your suffering would end.

It eventually happens.

It’s a pretty chilly morning, birds chirp outside and the sun that slowly rises is covering the kitchen floor in a golden hue as you pour milk into your cereal with one hand and hold your phone in the other, letting Clay ramble about whatever it was this time, when he brought it up.

“So, when do you wanna come down to Florida again?” he asks casually, and you almost drop the gallon of milk in your hand. 

“What?” 

“I said, when are you coming down to Florida again? Last time you came was pretty fun.” he says, and an empty silence follows. There’s an unsaid “I miss you” that you don’t hear, and he’s too afraid of saying it. 

“Florida wasn’t exactly on my schedule this month, man.” you say, placing your phone on the counter for a second. Clay sure knew how to surprise a person.

“Well put it down, then.” he jokes, and you hum.

“What, you got another wedding coming up?” you giggle and he groans - you never really stopped making fun of him for that wedding.

“No, I don’t. Can’t a man just miss seeing his beloved girlfriend?” It’s unbelievable how quickly dread can wash over you as soon as he makes one of those jokes. You were convinced the mix of anxiety and butterflies that appears in your stomach was gonna kill you sometime soon.

“He can, he’s just being weirdly insistent.” you argue nonetheless. “But sure, I’ll consider it.”

You do more than consider it - in a few weeks, you’re back at the airport, and falling into his arms has never given you such an adrenaline rush in your whole life. Something about having him wrapped around you, close to you, the warmth of his body radiating into yours sent you spiraling, head clouded with nothing but love and the fact that you wish you could stay there forever. You wished you could press pause and cherish the moment, let yourself bask in that feeling of pure love, pure adoration that you helplessly drowned in. But you couldn’t, and you left his arms feeling oddly empty. 

Hiding the fact that you were unapologetically head over heels for him proved to be a hundred times more difficult when you were right there, next to him, talking to him, when you could just kiss him any second, feel his lips on yours and nobody would stop you - the opportunity was right there, looming over you, the devil on your shoulder taunting you, telling you to do it. 

You got to wake up in the same house as him, watch his hair stick out in different directions and his raspy morning voice as he complained about the smell of your coffee, watch his eyes glint whenever he talked about something he liked and observe as he carried around Patches like a little baby. You got to experience every bit of domestic without the consequences of committing, and you wondered just how far this would go. For how much longer would the two of you blatantly ignore the fact that you were a couple that slapped the title “fake” on it because you were cowards who refused to admit what this truly was. 

Not for long, apparently, because you grew tired, and decided to put an end to everything on one random Thursday night - and if he hated you forever for it, then so be it. 

You were sitting on his couch, watching a random movie together, drowning in one of his Dream hoodies while you chewed the popcorn he made. It was dark outside, just past midnight, and you could see the branches of a tree swaying calmly through one of the nearby windows - the silence while he scrolled through his phone lazily was comforting too, everything was lazy and serene and it would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the constant anxiety that gripped you by the throat whenever you were in his close proximity, the nervousness that killed you, the upset feeling of wanting to cuddle up with him but knowing you can’t because you guys are just friends, and nothing more.

The couple on the screen kiss while a violin plays in the background - how fitting. Maybe that’s what pushes you to the edge, or maybe you were just that sick and tired.

You were exhausted, beyond exhausted. Your eyes were tired, the anxiety was morphing into annoyance and anger and you were ready to give up on it all. If this ended the friendship, at least you two had a good run. Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know, you still owe me a favor in return for pretending to be your girlfriend.” you say, and you sound gone, zoned out, more than you wish you were. You hear his phone turn off with a click.

“Yeah? What do you want?” Clay asks, and you blankly stare at the TV for a few seconds before turning to face him, eyes burning. 

“Kiss me.” 

It’s silent. The characters on screen are arguing. You hear the wind through one of his open windows.

“What?” he asks, voice cracking, and his expression falls. You’ve fucked it. Oh well.

“I want you to kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like someone’s watching and you wanna make it believable.” you say, eyes boring into his, your words having nowhere near as much of an effect on yourself as they do on him. Your eyes sting like they’re being lit on fire, and your throat is sort of closing up, but it’s fine. “Let me have this before I go, because once I leave, I don’t wanna do this anymore, Clay. I can’t pretend like I don’t want you to introduce me as your girlfriend and fully mean it. I can’t lie to your face anymore.” 

Silence. Deafening silence, once again.

“I love you.” he blurts out, and you don’t even register it at first. “I don’t want this shit to be fake either. God, I really don’t. It hasn’t been fake for a while now, at least not on my part. I’m sorry, it’s just- it was easier to keep this bit going than it was to actually admit that I’m… into you.”

And once again, the room falls into silence, much like it always does whenever the two of you share moments like these.

And then, you burst into laughter.

“So… so you mean to tell me, that both of us have liked each other this whooooole fucking time, and just refused to admit it and ‘pretended to date’ instead?” you burst into giggles, and he looks sort of hesitant to laugh, but he does anyway.

“I mean… yeah? I was waiting for you to call me out for doing all that when nobody was watching! Why did you never call me out?! Don’t blame me, I made it so damn obvious that I wanted you!” he protests, and you almost can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Excuse me? You should’ve just fucking told me instead of making a million and one jokes about how I’m your girlfriend! We’re not in middle school, Clay!” you argue.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d catch on and talk to me about it at some point! You never called me out for anything!”

“So what, I’m supposed to just read your mind now? You’re fucking unbelievable.” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away in annoyance. As soon as a warm hand lands on your shoulder, though, the annoyance melts like wax under fire, leaving nothing behind.

“I still haven’t returned that favor, you know?” he whispers in your ear, breath fanning your neck, closer than he should be. The hairs on your neck stand up as you turn back to Clay, who wore a mischievous grin and a glint in his eyes that suggested no good. 

You suppose bad can be good, sometimes. 

As his lips press onto yours, that theory is proven true, because he sends a flicker of fire burning down your spine, spreading into your limbs, making your fingertips electric as you pulled him in closer, hand snaking up to grip at his hair - the everlasting grin against your own proves, once again, to be no good as his hands slip under your hoodie and grip your sides, but you think you enjoy this sort of bad. 

They sneak up further, and you hear him chuckle into the kiss as your insides melt at his touch. The two of you silently agree that maybe he should ask for favors more often.

[eternityservedcold]

ive been posting about my codex!wendy au on twitter for a couple days now but instead of just copy and pasting what i wrote on there ill actually expand upon it a little. also this post is gonna be really long but theres pictures so i hope that helps

if theres any moment where the timeline splits (not including moments before this that may have had a butterfly effect), it would be william carters train crash in 1904, which.... did not happen in this universe. he, with no small amount of shame, moves in with his rich and successful brother.

wendy and abigail grow up having, essentially, an extra parent, which thankfully means abigail didnt die. with their mother long gone, when jack dies in 1919 (not of magic-y reasons, just like... a heart attack or something), william is left to take care of the twins alone. he tries to find jobs so he could work himself to death and at least save his nieces, but due to his general lack of competence, he isnt finding much that can actually sustain them all.

wendy and abigail, who have noticed this despite williams protests that everything is fine, decide to do the smartest thing they can think of: run away from home so william only needs to take care of himself. im sure you can see why this is a bad idea, even in a universe without the codex umbra, but boy does it get significantly worse for them very quickly.

wendy gets hit by a car. abigail runs for help, but by the time she gets back, wendy is fine. and clutching a strange book.

over the course of the next few weeks, wendy and abigail manage to scrounge up a little money, and between this, wendy shows abigail some neat tricks the codex umbra taught her. abigail suggests, a bit jokingly, that maybe they could become magicians. the codex wendy thinks this is a great idea.

[transcription of text: “THE AMAZING MARY, Performing feats to astound and mystify”]

at the codex umbras suggestion, wendy adopts a stage name, “mary,” and the twins perform their first show. it goes very well, and they make a lot of money, so they decide to keep doing this, and hopefully save enough to go back home and take care of their uncle.

mary and abigail perform many magic shows, and end up becoming beloved around the country. admittedly they do get a bit lost in the sauce, but theyre teenagers, wouldnt you? except, mary often times seems to forget they theyre doing this for their uncle at all. in fact, mary seems all-around real different these days.

mary becomes far colder, more secretive, and will lock herself in her study for days at a time. abigail notices her sisters change in personality, and attributes it to the fame going to her head. unlike charlie, abigail never realized quite how deep mary had gotten into the codex.

mary and abigails final act goes very similarly to maxwell and charlies. theyre going through the routine when something goes horribly wrong, and theyre grabbed by the codex and taken to the constant. mary becomes the queen, and abigail the night monster.

mary rules much like her uncle, and brings most of the same people into her world. the differences are as such:

maxwell is still william carter, who replaces wilson as the “all-around” type. if he was in the game, he would only have slightly lower hunger drain, and otherwise be identical to wilson without a beard

charlie has taken the role of wendy, so to speak... winona died in a factory accident (the very same one that would have taken her to the constant in another life), and charlie keeps her soul in a rose

webber becomes the “canonical” protagonist instead of wilson. i would have made it william, but it is ultimately important that the protagonist is someone uninvolved in the carter relationship chart

wilson is actually a half-decent scientist so he replaces winona, i guess

adventure mode is the same but i wrote some quotes for funsies, here we go:

A Cold Reception

Looks like you found my portal.

Haven’t you learned “curiosity kills the cat?”

Let’s see if I can’t up the stakes a bit.

King of Winter

Oh, you survived, that’s fun.

Just remember, you need to be lucky four more times...

But I only need to be lucky once.

The Game is Afoot

Huh? You’re still alive?

That’s... impressive. I’m interested to see how this will go.

Break a leg out there.

Archipelago

How do you do?

This has been fun. You’re a good playmate.

But I think you should know I had a nasty habit of breaking my toys.

Two Worlds

How do you do?

I know you may not want to make another deal with me, but...

I’ll just give you all of this for free.

Food, gold, pigs, anything you want from this world.

All I want in return is for you to stay put, okay?

Darkness

Go ahead.

Keep going.

I think we both know what will happen.

Epilogue

You found me.

Was it what you hoped for?

Forgive me for not giving you a curtsy.

For what it’s worth, you were a fun playmate.

To me, at least. Maybe not to Them.

Maybe They’ll find you more fun when you’re here.

They’ll show you beautiful, terrifying things.

It’d be best if you didn’t fight it.

I’ve worked so hard to make this world.

I’ve made it so pretty for Them.

I thought I was so smart. So needed.

But even Queens are bound to the board.

In the end, I can’t change the game.

I’m not quite sure what They want.

Perhaps we’re just performing for Them.

Though that may be my mind playing tricks on me.

Hm. What year is it? Time is weird here.

Go ahead, stay as long as you like.

It’s not like I can throw you out.

Or you could put the key in and get it over with.

It’s a lose-lose situation.

That’s life, though, isn’t it?

...I think I’m done for now.

i also drew some disconnected cyclum-ish comics:

[transcript of text:

Mary: "After all I've done, you still help me. Why?"

Webber: "We trust you."

Mary: (offscreen) "I don't understand."

Webber: "If you were gonna do something, you already would have."

Mary: "I just don't understand."

Webber: (offscreen) "It's okay, Mary, you don't have to."]

[transcript of text:

William: "I missed you so much! I was worried sick, I can't even be mad at you..." (rambling)

Mary: "I... I'm sorry, do I know you?"]

im very much still developing this au but thats what i have so far.

[jiminisjamin]

Dairily Beloved Part Seven (Finale)

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

AU: Snow White

Rating: Fluff + Bits of Crack

Warnings for Chapter:

Title: Breath of Life

Word Count: 2,087

  Seokjin’s eyes widen at the large line outside of the store, the dozens of flashing cameras- both from cellphones and the few reporters outside, swallowing roughly as Namjoon rushes forward to double-lock the door and drawing the curtains rapidly. Seokjin’s eyebrows pull together as he looks down at his phone. Seokjin was trending on Twitter, the news of what he looked like spreading like wild fire after it had been kept secret for so long. He swallows roughly and frowns. “Namjoon- I…I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened.” Namjoon shakes his head, holding his hand up.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault- not at all. You had no idea…plus, I mean…I wanted a day off anyways. We can’t really…you know.” Seokjin nods.

“We’ll just be closed for today.” Seokjin sighs, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” He curses. “Do you think y/n saw?”

In another moment of comedically cruel timing in Seokjin’s life, his phone lights up, her name glaring accusingly up at him. His mouth goes dry and he grabs the phone, turning back into the kitchen and leaving Namjoon in the front. He accepts the call, taking a moment before raising the cell to his ear.

“Hello.” Her voice is taught and hoarse, and it breaks his heart. He closes his eyes tight, his breath coming out in a loud sigh.

“Hey, y/n.”

She laughs dryly. “No nicknames now, Fl-” she stops, inhaling sharply. “S-Seokjin.” His eyes flutter shut as the last of his air leaves his lungs.

“This isn’t how I wanted you to know,” he whispers, “and I wanted to tell you. You have to believe me. I wanted to so badly.”

“Why didn’t you?” Her voice is shaky and he turns his gaze up to the ceiling.

“You know why, y/n.”

“No, I don’t think I do, so please enlighten me! Why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell me? I don’t understand- shit, you made this so much harder than it had to be.” Seokjin clenches his jaw.

“I made this harder?” He can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out. “Do you know how many times you said you hated me? You’d never met me, but you despised me. I use my looks to get by, right? Was that it, y/n?” He bites his tongue, pursing his lips and turning. “No, no. That’s now what I wanted to say…I’m sorry. Y/n, it was so hard for me, and I was so, so scared. I care about you so much.” Seokjin smiles slightly. “I went crazy over that damn pie, you know? I felt so guilty…ah, anyways.” He tilts his head. “I know I should’ve told you. You know…” There’s nothing but silence on the other end for a long time.

“Seokjin,” he closes his eyes at her voice and smiles.

“Y/n,” his voice is a soft whine. “Please, tell me that’s a good ‘Seokjin’,” She pauses.

“I’m…I’m gonna have to get used to calling you that.” She murmurs. “Can I…can I come over?” Seokjin pushes the doors to the kitchen open and peers out.

“Ah, cupcake-” Y/n scoffs.

“Cupcake?” She laughs. “Is that what you’re calling me from now on?” Seokjin shrugs, laughing when he remembers he’s on the phone and stopping suddenly when his gaze meets Namjoon’s.

“Meet me at the bakery.” He whispers. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, see you soon.” Seokjin hangs up and sets his phone down on the counter. He stares at the door, pushing it open slightly.

“How are you planning on getting her in?”

“Namjoon?” Namjoon turns, smiling slightly and gesturing to the door.

“If we let her in they’ll bust through. I can’t believe there’s that many people. It’s really insane…I always figured it would be…shocking. Not…well, not this overwhelming if anyone ever leaked your pictures. People are crazy. Just because of how much we kept it a secret? Bad call on our part, I guess.” Namjoon chuckles, staring at the wall.

“That probably made it worse, didn’t it?” Namjoon nods, a large grin spreading across his face.

“It just made everyone so much more interested. Don’t worry though, I’m sure the hype will die down soon enough, you’re not that attractive anyways.” Seokjin scoffs, making a point to roll his eyes before raising his eyebrows at the loud shouting outside.

“Should we…call the cops?”

“Hm. Maybe.” Seokjin tilts his head, his eyes lighting up. “Or, and stay with me here- you know I don’t like doing things conventionally,” Namjoon raises his eyebrows, “come over here.”

 Y/n frowns at the large line outside the completely closed off bakery, her head tilting when the door rattles and the crowd backs out, and a man steps out. He keeps his head down, a pastel hoodie hanging loose on his body, the hood pulled up and tightened to cover his face, sunglasses on as he quickly pushes past the crowd, bolting straight past her. The crowd turns in an instant and her eyes widen as they begin stampeding towards her. She turns, throwing her hands up in the air. “Hey!” He turns, lowering his sunglasses enough just to wink at her before bolting away.

Y/n frowns, her head tilting as the crowd practically tramples her, shoving her off to the side to get over to the famous baker.

The bell to Wicked Sweets dings and Y/n turns, watching Seokjin peep his head out before stepping out and locking the door, rushing over to her. “Come on,” he grabs her hand and moves in the opposite direction Namjoon went.

“Seokjin, what the hell,” he holds his hand up and then presses his finger to his lips.

“Save your questions for later, cupcake.” Y/n scrunches her face at the nickname, glancing down at his hand that clutches onto hers. Her gaze wanders to the fancy boxy in his hands, Wicked Sweets logo emblazoned boldly on the front with the name in delicate gold lettering.

“What’s that?”

“What did I just say?” He murmurs, he widens his eyes for emphasis when he looks over at her. “Your questions? Save them.” She rolls her eyes but shrugs, looking down at the sidewalk.

“Where are we goi-”

Seokjin bursts out laughing, shaking his head and sighing in-between laughs, “really, cupcake? Again? Let’s revisit my sentence from, oh, a few seconds ago? I feel like a professor. Please, save your questions for the end of the lecture.” Seokjin grins at her slightly sour expression. “Trust me, I have some things I’d like to say, but not here.” Y/n sighs and he bites his lip. “I just know a place that’s perfect. Trust me.” She glances at him, cocking an eyebrow.

 After what seems like hours of walking, Seokjin leads Y/n up to a small, copper iron gate and lets go of his hand to reach into his pocket and fish out a key. Y/n’s gaze wanders to the almost forest like environment around them, the wild flowers growing in the neatly trimmed lawn, an array of bushes lining the small cottage, bursting with differently colored flowers as well. Vines crawl up the brick walls of the home, some ivy plants sitting in pots hung under a window looking into the kitchen. She smiles slightly when Seokjin curses and struggles to unlock the gate while holding the box, and she reaches over and grabs the box from his other hand, holding It carefully. “I won’t peek,” she says, grinning. “Promise.”

Seokjin gets the gate open and takes the box back, making sure to close the gate behind him and lead her up the small cobblestone path to the front door.

“So, is this where you finally kill me?” Y/n asks, stepping up onto the wooden porch and leaning against the house. “Remote house, suspicious box. All of the…well, boxes, are being ticked.” Seokjin grins, unlocking the front door. The two walk inside and Y/n follows him to the kitchen.

“If I really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t I have just poisoned your pie?” Y/n grins.

“Maybe you’re just really bad at poisoning,” she murmurs, “I did get sick after all, maybe you just aren’t up to snuff with your murdering technique.” Seokjin shrugs, setting the box down on the kitchen table and gesturing to it.

“Let’s see if they’re up to snuff now.” Y/n pulls a chair out and sits down while Seokjin disappears briefly and returns with a fork and linen napkin, setting it down next to her. Y/n glances at him.

“Can I ask questions now?”

“That’s a question,” he points at her, and then shakes his head. “So, open the box.” Y/n lifts the top of the box off, glaring suspiciously at the lone slice of pie in it.

“What is this?”

“That’s another question,” he scoffs, “and a pretty obvious one; pie. Apple pie, to be exact. Well, pear-apple pie, to be exactly exact. This one is right. It won’t make you sick. I fixed it.” Seokjin swallows roughly when she stares at him wordlessly. “Well, you see, it’s bothered me a lot. You getting sick from my pie, and, um, I’ve been wanting to fix it. Turn a new leaf and all that. So…this is the piece you should’ve gotten that day. This is the pie you deserve, one that won’t…kill your intestines. I know I screwed up not telling you who I was, but you hated him and you liked me. I was in a weird position, you see, and I was worried…if I told you I was him, that you wouldn’t like me. So, I wanted to fix…his- my mistake before I told you. I wanted to tell you every second I was with you, but…I’d get caught up in the moment and it never felt…right. Whenever he was brought up…you just seemed so angry.” Seokjin sighs.

“It was selfish of me, but I didn’t want to lose you. Now you know. You’re still here, so I must’ve done something right. That or you’re here to finally kill me- and in my own home, frame it as an accident. The headlines would read Tragically Handsome Baker Found Dead in His Own Home.” Y/n cocks an eyebrow and he coughs. “Anyways, this is the one thing that was holding me back from telling you before. So…try it. Please.” Y/n picks up the fork, side-eyeing Seokjin as she stabs a piece of the pie off, spearing it on her utensil.

Y/n chews the bite slowly before setting the fork down, pursing her lips as he stares at her.

“Well?”

“Seokjin…” She sighs, standing up and pushing the box towards him.

“What? What is it?” Seokjin picks up the fork and stabs into it, quickly shoveling the piece into his mouth. Y/n covers her mouth to hide her grin as his eyes pop wide open. “Y/n, I promise you when I made this it was an apple pie. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know…I must’ve grabbed a customers order to-go order? I don’t know, you know what, stay here, I’ll go get the pie and bring it back, just w-” Y/n grabs his hand.

“Seokjin, wait.” His eyebrows furrow.

“What?”

“I mean, if you’re gonna keep screwing this pie thing up…I guess I’m just gonna have no choice but to stick around until you prove to me you can make an apple pie?” Seokjin tilts his head.

“But I ca-”

“Maybe one day you’ll make the pie correctly,” Y/n grins at him, “but until that day, I have no choice but to stay.” He frowns, opening his mouth to tell her he already fixed the pie, but Y/n snakes her arm up his back, her fingers threading through his hair. “Someone has to make sure you can actually make this pie,” she whispers, “and I guess it’s gotta be me, right Flour Boy?” Seokjin blinks slowly, a smile forming on his face.

“I guess I’ll have to take my time to make sure it’s the perfect pie then. Really prove myself.” She nods, grinning as he pulls her closer. “Only the best for you, so it might take a while.”

“Take as long as you need, that’s only fair,” Y/n laughs.

“How long do you think I can take?” He whispers.

Y/n hums, biting her lip and stepping closer. “Forever seems like enough,” she replies.

He grins, resting his forehead on hers. Seokjin tilts his head and kisses her gently, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her body to his.

“Forever it is, then.”

[goodtweetman-blog]

Of a Man Enjoying his Whiskey, and the Contemplation of his Ways and Experiences

If I tried to give you an explanation for this post, it would be a lie. There’s no wisdom behind it. The most reading I’ve done lately is probably a few glances at my phone for Longfellow’s translation of the Inferno by Dante, because I’m nothing if not a cliché. (All the traditionalist gentlemen have a deep fondness for the Divine Comedy).

The matter is that, as I sip on this high-calorie, moderately-priced alcohol, is that I just felt like writing buzzed. Because my hands are too shaky to paint or sculpt (I have been told I have what’s called “essential tremors”, albeit in a minor form), and my musical skills not quite good enough to express well.

Writing because I’m sad. Writing because I’m glad. Contentment and melancholy are emotions that I’ve always found I experience quite close to each other; an enjoyment of life’s fine pleasures and a mourning of life’s difficult pains.

This will likely be my worst writing, and when I say that, I mean it with the deep belief that it will be highly regarded, for I am a man of false humility. My self-loathing is sincere in part, yes, but there is also my fondness for praise and pity for my self-admonishment. Quite frankly, it is easily the most pathetic aspect of me, for I do know I have many traits that are of good value to the world.

Indeed, I could say many things that I think well of myself. I have a great intellect (an intellect that honestly lacks the drive to become truly magnificent but a great one nonetheless). I imagine myself to be a fairly kind and sympathetic soul. My humor does well, and I have a pleasant singing voice. My talents are many.

Yet, I feel a strange disconcertment even saying this, for it strikes me as boastful. And I know a part of me means it with pride, but a part of me also wants to be objective, and a part of me also does not think these things of myself.

I tend to project a very self-deprecatory image on Twitter, and other social media. There is, indeed, a part of me that means it, but there is a part of me that knows it is good humor, and a part of me that means it insincerely.

Honestly, I feel like an idiot even posting this, for it comes across as so many posts we see on this damned thing we call the internet: The douche “intellectual” man, who wants to explore himself, mostly to garner praise, for pride is a terrible beast, and it is really just shameful. But even saying that, I look for praise for noting it, for as I have noted, I am a man of false humility.

This is a most curious aspect of me, I find. For really, this makes me both glad to be praised and yet ashamed of this admission, for it lays bear my true nature, and my truly greatest demon.

Ah, yes, my demons. I speak a good talk on Twitter, don’t I? I have been called a modern Savonarola, “The Golden Boy”, a firebrand, a reactionary. If only I could truly be these things entirely. To my credit, I am somewhat trying, but, oh no, I am a hypocrite

One second, I am going to grab more whiskey. Yes, I did not need to share this with you. But it is a good literary device.

Ah yes, back to writing. Anyways, my demons. I have many.

Initially I was going to lay bear specifically the sins I struggle with. But, now, I am too keen on protecting my reputation, and thus will leave you to figure them out on your own. Shouldn’t be too hard, most of you strike me as smart folks.

The things I tend to cry out against the most tend to be those I struggle against most of all. Now, no, I have not had sex, and have not pushed a woman to get an abortion. But, there is a foundational sin that I struggle with that is of relevance here: Lust.

Ah, see, my writing is getting worse as the night and drink goes on.

But, yes, lust. I am admittedly a very romantic man by my nature, and, when I am not a piece of shit, this actually has been a very good aspect of me. For I do not want to think so despicably of women. I know well that they are not objects, but are beloved children of God.

And, yet, here I am, a man who regularly indulges in such evil thinking as lust. It all seems so nice in the indulgence, you know? Ah, who could it hurt, I won’t actually do anything, of course!

This is the folly I, in my error, accept. There is nothing to excuse it. Oh sure, folks will say, “Ah, it’s normal for men to be this way.” If such be normal, then normality is in error, for error is not a question of normality. Normality is meaningless. It may be normal to wear purple polka dotted orange shirts on the feast of St. Crispin someday. Normality is an easily led fool, whereas Truth, ah, there’s the wise leader. The problem is not the rule, but the refusal to accept the rule. True, it is a difficult matter for men. But, if we are men, we should not look at difficulty as some impassible barrier, something that we shrug our shoulders at and say “Ah, forget it.” After all, traditional beliefs of masculinity suggest we are stubborn sons of bitches, who will gladly ram our skulls against concrete walls to topple them, should they stand in the way of our goals. So, indeed, let us now crack our skulls. Tis better to lose them then think evilly of others.

As I take another sip of my beloved concoction, I recall my other cross: Gluttony. Admittedly, this old foe has slipped a bit in its agedness, and the battle gone more in my favor this past decade, but, credit to the hoary bastard, it still gives me a tussle. Pizza, beer, wings, liquor, steak, cheese, pastries, cookies...I do mean to ask God, in all reverence and kindness someday, should I be of the fortune to get to Heaven, why he couldn’t have cut us slack, and made healthy foods tasty, or, at least, unhealthy foods extremely filling after a few bites. I will, I imagine, be answered with a laugh, and told it is to keep us from looking for pleasure in such vain things, but, hey, gotta ask, yes?

You know, I am committing this comforting, wizened sin right now, really. I am not heavily intoxicated, no, but, I am buzzed, and it is not prudent to keep indulging in the pleasure of alcohol at this point. But, as I noted above, I have a tendency to be a piece of shit, and this is part and parcel of it.

Sloth. Another old frenemy (a terrible slang word, it doesn’t flow well like, say, “bae” or “bromance”, although the concept’s pretty good).

And this damned website keeps throwing my cursor to the end of my writing, even when I am in the midst of editing. Ah, wrath, hello.

Oh and pride, you were mentioned earlier in the false humility section.

Greed and envy, sorry, friends, you aren’t my greater troubles, although, I appreciate that you are working hard.

This is me. This is who I am. And here I am, in my false humility, hoping you think “Ah, how honest of him! What nobility!” Such poor manners I have.

And, yet...I know there are virtues that have been kind to me. Charity, faith, reverence...I am not without my good sides, to be sure. But, my bad sides are many, and they are attributable to me, and only me. No one has influenced me, no one has led me astray, save I, myself, and I myself alone.

But what have I said here, but the ramblings of a fanatic, a hypocrite, a good man, a wise man, a fool, a scoundrel? It would likely be best that I do not share this, for it is folly. And yet, I feel compelled to. Likely the drink, to be sure, but, still.

What can be said of me? What can be said of any of us? I do not know. I just hope that I have come across well to all who have encountered me, and that I have wronged none. But, I know I haven’t, and know I have.

Perhaps I should delete this. Or perhaps, I should now click “post now”.

[kekepuaa]

Ladyblogging, part one

summary: in which marinette realizes that the internet is a lot smarter than she thought and that the only way to protect her identity is to join the ranks. identity reveal. adrienette. notes: this is gonna suck to format. irrelevant bit of info here: in this fic, the ladyblog uses wordpress. --

part one: damoiseau in distress [AO3]

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The Ladyblog Alya C., Paris, France.

Join Date:  2015-09-01

Keeping the world up to date on the latest and greatest news regarding Ladybug and Chat Noir.

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F.A.Q.

1.) How do I report Ladybug & Chat Noir sightings? Click this LINK HERE or tweet me @theladyblogger.

2.) How do I subscribe to your livestream? Subscribe to The Ladyblog and download our app! Once you do, push notifications should be activated.

3.) Are you a LadyNoir shipper? I’m an AlyaBug shipper. Yes.

3.) Do you know Ladybug or Chat Noir’s secret identities? No...not yet :)

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Alya C. @theladyblogger 3,421 Followers//1,094 Following

Alya C. @theladyblogger One of the students at my school says she’s friends with #Ladybug! Deets to come! (And possibly an interview!)

Adrien Agreste and 87 others liked your Tweet LadyNoirShipperxo and 46 others Retweeted your Tweet

N I N O @djxbubbler in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger D U D E. Like, real talk?

@theladyblogger in reply to N I N O @djxbubbler Take a gander at my blog, my dude :-)

--

The Ladyblog Posted: 2016-04-16 

Subject: Could Collège Françoise Dupont’s Newest Arrival’s Be Close Friends With Our Own Ladybug?

[VIDEO]

Lila Rossi, Collège Françoise Dupont’s newest addition, is making quite an impression on her new classmates. A transfer student from Italy, Rossi arrived to our humble educational facility with a rather interesting piece of news: She’s friends with Ladybug. Amazing, right?  

She was kind enough to share a few words with the Ladyblog, mentioning that our beloved masked heroine has saved her on multiple and has even spoken to her on numerous occasions outside mask. Check out the video and drop a line telling us what you think!

I wonder if she knows Chat Noir too...maybe I’ll ask her later. 

But for now, this is Alya, signing off!

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Comments:

No comments have been posted.

--

Marinette Dupain-Cheng would like to think of herself as a very patient girl. Probably a little too patient, given the fact that she had allowed Chloe Bourgeois to flounce around the classroom, running her big mouth and making her fellow classmates feel terrible enough for freaking Hawk Moth to exploit their vulnerabilities. However, for all of Marinette’s self-discipline, there were a grand total of three things that the young girl absolutely could not tolerate in any way, shape, or form.

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Marinette’s Journal Entry Date: 2016-04-16

FILE UNDER: THINGS I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT TOLERATE

I shouldn’t really be venting in my journal since Chloe and Sabrina tried to steal it last September, but whatever, I’m going to do it. (Hopefully it won’t stress Tikki out. Should I keep a separate journal for those events? Maybe...or should I just use codenames? Decisions, decisions...)

Anyway, in this world, there are some things that I can’t deal with. As in, I’m not going to exert energy trying to be compassionate or Hufflepuff-ish about.

1.) Girls who attempt to canoodle with the Love of My Life.

2.) L I A R S. 

3.) Thieves 

Unfortunately, the Liar is all of the above (btw: decided on codenames.) Not too sure what to do about it since it’s kind of dangerous for her to be offering false information liberally...and I can’t really ask Lady Wifi for help...otherwise, she’ll suspect me.

Hm. Updates to come.

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“Marinette, you coming?” 

Marinette snapped her journal shut and stuffed it into her backpack. If she wanted to expose Lila, she had to come up with an excuse and fast. As luck would have it, she had remembered that her mother requested she come to the house around lunch time, as her Uncle Cheng was stopping by for a brief visit and would be gone by the time school dismissed her.

She offered Alya an apologetic smile, “Sorry, Alya. Maman wants me to stop by the house to say hi to my uncle before he goes home.”

“No worries,” Alya shrugged, “I have some major analytics to be checking out with that last interview with Lila.” Marinette almost rolled her eyes at the dreamy sigh that escaped Alya’s lips. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a little crush on the girl,” Marinette commented, a dark brow raised at her best friend. 

Alya scoffed, tucking her cell into her pocket, “Oh God, don’t let Nino hear you say that. We’re supposed to go out to the zoo this weekend to see the panther,” she said, “And besides, he seems pretty taken with Lila too since she apparently knows Steven Spielberg and all these other Hollywood hotshots.” 

God, Marinette shook her head. 

Was it just her or was everyone in this school so incredibly gullible? A little voice in the back of Marinette’s head--a voice that almost suspiciously sounded like Tikki--reminded her that she would probably have believed Lila’s lies had she not been a liar, a thief, and a danger to the Love of Marinette’s Life, Adrien.

Speaking of which.

“Right,” Marinette said, shoving her arms through the loops of her backpack, “Well, I gotta book. Have fun measuring your Twitter analytics, or whatever...”

Alya laughed, “Will do. Oh, grab me pain au chocolat on your way back?”

“Alrighty, I’ll be back in an hour!” 

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Alya C. @theladyblogger  A new hero is on the scene and her name is #VOLPINA! Thoughts?

Simply the Best and 21 others liked your Tweet Nadia Chamack and 11 others Retweeted your Tweet

Chloe Bourgeois in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger Ladybug’s still better than she is.

Bitter Harpy in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger do we really need three heroes? 

Ladybug Trash in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger She’s awesome!! I hope her and LB get to work together more often.

Alya C. @theladyblogger Okay, scratch that, #AKUMAALERT.  [LINK FOR VIDEO STREAM]

Ladybugging TF OUT and 97 others liked your Tweet Nadia Chamack and 104 others Retweeted your Tweet

Chloe Bourgeois in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger Told ya so.

Chronogirl mentioned you in a Tweet @queenbee @theladyblogger shaddup chloe

Alya C. @theladyblogger #BREAKING #AKUMA ALERT: #VOLPINA has taken a hostage

Alya C. in reply to Alya C. #BREAKING #AKUMA ALERT: Adrien Agreste, son of fashion designer @GABRIEL, reported as #Volpina’s hostage

Alya C. in reply to Alya C. #BREAKING #AKUMA ALERT: #Volpina has Agreste hanging from the Eiffel Tower

Alya C. @theladyblogger #AKUMA ALERT: HERE’S THE LIVESTREAM LINK

Petit Papillon and 246 others liked your Tweet You’ve Got to be Kitten Me and 355 others Retweeted your Tweet

N I N O in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger WHERE ARE YOU IS ADRIEN OKAY? 

N I N O in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger ALYA WHY AREN’T YOU PICKING UP YOUR PHONE?

N I N O in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger ALYAAAAAAA

N I N O in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger ALYA. 

N I N O in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger THAT’S IT. I’M COMING OVER.

N I N O in reply to Alya C. @theladyblogger AKUMAS SERIOUSLY SUCK. HANG ON, ADRIEN.

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Chloe Bourgeois @queenbee 687 Followers//996 Following

Chloe Bourgeois @queenbee @adrienagreste ADRIKINS, ARE YOU OKAY??? DON’T BE SCARED, #LADYBUG WILL COME FOR YOU. 

Chloe Bourgeois @queenbee #Volpina’s the worst(tm)

mad max and 12 others liked your Tweet Sabrina Retweeted your Tweet

Sabrina in reply to Chloe Bourgeois  @queenbee Chloe? Should we go to the Eiffel Tower to wait for Adrien?

Chloe Bourgeois in reply to Sabrina @pastelprincess you do it! i forgot i had a hair appointment. tell adrikins to call me when ladybug saves him. 

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Alya C. @theladyblogger #BREAKING #AKUMA ALERT: #Volpina has been purified and Adrien Agreste has been rescued by #Ladybug and #ChatNoir

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The Ladyblog Posted: 2016-04-16

Subject: Saving a Damoiseau in Distress and Outfoxing Foxes

[VIDEO]

Couldn’t snag an interview with the Lady or Alley cat, but here’s some excellent footage from today’s maelstrom. Today’s victim: LB’s “friend” in question, Lila Rossi, who was akumatized into Volpina, a formidable opponent whose abilities are dependent on illusion and deception.

Where does teen model Adrien Agreste fall into all of this? Nobody knows! Yet. 

Luckily, your girl Alya has all the hookups in terms of info. (AKA, I’ll just ask Adrien when I see him in class LOL.) 

As usual, leave all your love (or your conspiracy theories) in the comments below.

This is Alya, signing off!

--

Comments:

Response to Saving a Damoiseau in Distress and Outfoxing Foxes Posted: 2016-04-16 Subject: Love...triangle...?????

CatBug: OK OK JUST LISTEN FOR A SECOND...what if...WHAT IF!!!! There was a love triangle between LB, Volpina, and Adrien Agreste????? Judging by the video footage you took, I’d say that LB is digging some Adrien and so was Volpina, which is why she took him.

Remember Jackady? Look at the footage of LB and Adrien. They seem a little cozy, if you ask me :-) (That or I could be totally delusional.) 

ALSO Volpina used him as leverage against LB so she’d give up her Miraculous WHICH SHE ALMOST DID!!! aksljf;asldfjkas;lj.  

Response to Love...triangle...????? Posted: 2016-04-16 Subject: Bruh...

geek-baits: I’m down with that LOL. Poor Chat...

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Response to Love...triangle...????? Posted: 2016-04-16 Subject: (no subject)

chatblanc: You’re looking into it too much. Why would Ladybug concern herself with an ordinary citizen? The only way that’d make sense is if she knew him irl..............

...wait a minute.

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Response to (no subject) Posted: 2016-04-16 Subject: Duly noted The Ladyblog: WAIT A MINUTE! I think we got ourselves a lead here :D 

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Marinette froze upon reading Alya’s most recent reply to the damning conspirator at the bottom of the page. There was no way she’d believe a stranger on the internet, right?

Okay, yeah, no. This was Alya. She was going to search every lead she could get her hands on. And there was no way that Marinette’d be able to act normally around Adrien, regardless if she was in or out of costume. Luckily, her handsome classmate had always seemed to disappear at the sight of an akuma, but still.

The video now being circulated on the internet was enough to set her best friend on her trail. Marinette could see it now: a full-page spread dedicated to Ladybug’s unmasking, which would inevitably endanger herself, her family, and her friends, but she couldn’t exactly discourage Alya from snooping without coming under investigation herself.

Marinette threw herself back in her chair with a sigh, whirling away from her computer to face her wall, covered in photographs of Adrien. 

Could she act like her heart wasn’t running a marathon when he was close to her while she was Ladybug? No, she could hardly think straight around him when they were in class together.

Could she tell Alya to back off? No, because that would definitely encourage her friend to dig deeper. 

Marinette groaned.

“Why don’t you try to talk to her?” Tikki helpfully suggested. Marinette shook her head, her dark pigtails flying. 

“That’ll make it worse, I’m sure,” Marinette replied, “The only way Alya’d ignore this tip--” this very accurate tip that would absolutely ruin her, “--would be for someone to disprove it, with evidence. And the only way for me to do it without raising suspicion would be...”

Marinette stopped as a lightbulb went off in her head.

Of course, Marinette thought to herself, the idea washing over her like fresh air, why hadn’t I thought of this before? 

Marinette swiveled back to her computer, fingers flying furiously on the keyboard. 

“What are you doing, Marinette?” Tikki asked.

“Ladybug’s gonna be doing some damage control. Tikki! Spots on!”

--

Ladybug Unknown, Paris, France. 

Join date: 2016-04-16

Ladybug’s Official blog. 

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Ladybug Posted: 2016-04-16

Subject: Obligatory ‘hey-how’s-it-going’ Post

[PHOTO]

Hey, it’s Ladybug. Blogging seemed to look like fun, so I figured I’d hang around you all for a bit. 

xo,

Ladybug

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