#the only man who can cure art block

[merlinmoth]

Live life well and fully, and waste nothing.

[workingforthewidow]

What is up bitches and hoes. Ya girl is back. And by back I mean my cat brain was able to hyper fixate on something long enough to write for it. Also I’m in my ‘final girl’ ‘slasher fucker’ era. So be prepared for some fucked up shit. I am unhinged and hot for men that wear masks and kill people and people that just kill people in general. So onto the show. This is my first time writing and posting in forever so plz be nice lol

18+

Pairings: Otis Driftwood X Stockholm syndrome!reader (darling is in so deep there’s no coming back). Reader X platonic Firefly family.

She/her pronouns for reader. I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum, did mention pulling readers hair a lot but I mean i pull my husbands hair a lot and he has short hair so yeah.

Warnings: as stated reader is in deep for Otis like so much Stockholm syndrome going on. Slight smut. I think like 1 single use of Daddy in a power play way. Reference to non-con. This is Otis we are talking about so he can be a warning himself. But also OOC Otis. His mood swings will give you whiplash. Blood. Lots of blood. Killing people. Guns used in a sexual way. Knives. If there’s any major i missed please let me know! But yeah- don’t like it don’t read it.

Word count: 4,245

God i am so feral for this man.

Also a big THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU to the person who inspired me to write again go check out their work if you haven’t: @lovely-cryptid

Ugh i am so nervous to post this but imma do it! Link to part 2

She sometimes wondered if her family even knew she was missing or that she had even left. The whole reason she was out on that lonely road was her attempt to leave everything behind, everyone behind. So in a sense she did succeed in that but this was not what she had in mind when she pictured her freedom from her mother and her step-father. She had pictured herself in a big city with a cute little apartment with big windows that looked out over a park or maybe water. She’d have a good job but nothing too fancy. Working in a bookstore maybe or a flower shop. Something where she could be creative. But this wasn’t that magical place. Not even close.

Well you could say that she got to be creative in some sense. If you count being the muse and model for an insane blood thirsty ‘artist’ as creative. Sometimes he did let her pick out some of the smaller details of his work. Like how the hair was styled if it involved a human. But for the most part she was there for him to use when he needed to take out his anger and frustration. “Fucking my pretty little princess always cures the artist block” he would say as he pounded into her without a care for how she felt. All that matter was he got his dick wet. She didn’t mind thought. It kept him happy and she loved him when he was happy. He was kinder.

She could have never imagine this would be her life when she ran out of her mother’s house a year ago. A year, had it really been a year? Was it October already? She couldn’t be too sure. He rarely let her out of his, their, room unless it was to eat at the table as a family. The last time she was able to see a calendar was in August when he took her to the ‘museum’ to give Captain Spaulding the newest exhibit.

She had to beg on her knees for him to let her come along with him. That led to him agreeing with a stipulation of course, “Already on your knees princess might as put that mouth to work. Show me how badly you wanna go.” After giving into his demands she was able to leave the Firefly house and make the trip to see Spaulding. They only stayed a few minutes. Enough time for him to set up his ‘art’ and for her to see that the calendar read “August 17” but looking back what if that was wrong? It didn’t have the year on it, that calendar could have been from 5 years ago for all she knew.

At that point she figured she might as well ask him the date. She had been good the last few weeks. He had even told her that himself. He was being nicer only calling her a slut or a whore when he was fucking her in anger. But now he was calling her sweet things like ‘princess and sweetheart’ he had even called her baby once. But Baby heard him say that and hit the fan mad. Not that Baby didn’t like her. In all fairness her and Baby had become pretty good friends. She would even dare to say best friends. When he was being nice he would let Baby come to the room and talk to her. If he was being really nice and she had been really good for him, he would let her go to Baby’s room. That was the best. Baby would do her hair and makeup and dress her up in pretty outfits. He only let her wear her tiny jean shorts, which she was pretty sure he had cut shorter then when she bought them and a shirt that barely covered her breast. During the winter he had let her wear one of his flannel shirts over her outfit after Mama Firefly got onto him when the poor girl about froze to death. Texas winters could be as brutal as Texas summers if you were in the right place.

“Otis?” She called softly from her place on the bed but then cringed when she realized her mistake. He had been working on a new ‘project’ all morning his back to her and she couldn’t really see what was being created.

“Try again Princess. Get it right or I’ll have to punish you. And you’ve been so good for me for so long.” He didn’t even turn to look at her but she knew he was smirking to himself. He always found pleasure in the little roles he had created for them. But this was no game or play that came to end. This was her life.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” Otis was sure if he hadn’t had been listening for the response it would have been too soft for him to hear. He heard the bed squeak signaling she had moved. In the corner of his eye he could see her kneel next to him and soon felt her hand on his thigh. He looked down to see her staring up at him with her big innocent eyes. His innocent little pretty princess. His naive little sweetheart.

“Good girl, what do you want?” He ran his hand through her hair once before grabbing a fist full at the base of her skull forcing her to stay looking up at him.

“Um, I, I, um. Just was wondering, what’s the date?”

“Tuesday.” Was that all she wanted. Interrupted his work for that.

“No, like what is the date? Like what month is it and the day?”

He tightened his fist in her hair making her whine at the pain “Why the fuck does it matter? Have some place to be? A hot date waiting for you?”

With tears pricking at her eyes she tried to follow his hand to relieve the pressure on her head. “No, no. I only want to be here with you. No where else. With no one else.” She made her eyes wide again trying to get back on his good side with her innocent look. He loved that look.

He loosened his grip on her hair and scratched his chin as if he had to think long and hard about the date.

“It’s October 30. Now why the fuck does it matter? It ain’t your birthday seeing as Baby isn’t fucking around insisting on a party for her little best friend. So what’s so important about today huh?” He had bent down his nose brushing against hers lips barely brushing.

“It’s been a year. A year since you brought me home with you.” She smiled. He may be mean when he’s angry but she did fell at home with him. He did care for her. He did love her. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Didn’t think you’d be so much a little romantic princess. What you want some little anniversary dinner? Think I’m gonna buy you little presents? This is your present sweetheart. You ain’t dead.” He growled in her ear and moved away from her face. “Now get back on the bed and shut your fucking mouth. I’m almost done and if you interrupt again I’ll have Tiny take you down to the basement for the night.”

Her eyes went wide in terror. She hated the basement. Tiny wasn’t bad, they had become pretty good friends. But the basement was not fun. It was dark and cold and damp. Otis had made her stay in the basement when he first brought her to the house after picking her up off the side of road where her car had ‘broken down’ aka where RJ had shot her tires out. It took her a few days to calm down and stop the kicking and screaming. It had only taken a few whips with his belt and the threats of deaths for her to finally listen to him. But she realized once she was being good that he did just want what was best for her. She saw how many girls he brought in and killed. But he chose her. He saved her and kept her safe. Kept her warm and well fed. And as long as she was good for him he was good to her.

“Yes, sir.” She responded quickly as it was a toss up if he wanted her response at all or if that itself would get her to the basement. She crawled back up the bed and laid out on her stomach facing him so she could watch him work. He was painting today.

He turned briefly looking to see if she followed his demand. Which she had, as she always did- his perfect little princess. How lucky he was when he found her. He hadn’t planned originally on keeping her but she was different from the others. She screamed sure but there was something about her eyes. He could tell she was naive but also wouldn’t mind some blood. Her eyes screamed innocence but at the same time he could tell she had seen some of the horrors of this world. He would later learn that horror of hers was from her abusive parents. She didn’t tell him outright but her nightmares usually came along with sleep talking and he had pried a lot of her in her unconscious state.

“Good girl, princess.” He praised her before turning back to his work. She did as she was told and stayed silent for the next hour while he worked. Finally by midnight he was done and she had passed out waiting for him on the bed. He grabbed her hair again and pulled her up, her hands flying up to grab his wrist and looked up at him with now wide awake eyes. “All done princess. You want dinner?”

Oh right they didn’t eat dinner. Odd, Baby normally always came to collect them for dinner when Otis was working. She knew that he would get caught up in his work and forget to feed her little best friend.

She nodded as best she could with his grip on her hair. “Yes please.” She didn’t realize how hungry she was until the thought of dinner crossed her mind.

“Come on then hurry up. Put these on.” He ordered throwing her short skirt and shoes at her. Why was he making wear her shoes? The skirt she knew, even if it barely covered her it was enough to keep Hugo off her a bit. But the shoes? She wasn’t supposed to wear shoes in the house that was one of the rules. “Mama didn’t make enough dinner for us. Seems she forgot about us. Figured I’d be nice and take you somewhere. That’s what you wanted right? Some kinda anniversary dinner?”

“If that’s what you want. I just want to make you happy.” She said slipping on her shoes as ordered.

“Of course you do sweetheart. Come on lets go.” Otis grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the stairs and out to his truck. He threw her into the passenger seat before getting in the driver side. Once the truck was started the radio came on playing her favorite Frank Sinatra song.

She gasped and smiled wide. “I love this song.” She said without thinking before clasping her hand over her mouth. Another one of his rules- Don’t speak unless given permission. She looked up at him with her big eyes. “I’m sorry I was just excited and…”

Otis moved his hand to her thigh gripping the skin so hard she knew she’d have a handprint shaped mark in the morning. She stilled and waiting for his next move.

“Don’t have to apologize for that sweetheart. You’ve been a good girl. Maybe it’s time to change the rules a little, yeah?” He smiled at her with his wicked smile that would send shivers down anyone else’s spine and pulled her closer to him running his hand higher up her thigh. “You be a good girl while we’re out and when we get home. Tomorrow I’ll think about changing your rules.”

She took a breath. He was happy with her. So happy he was going to change her rules. Maybe she would be allowed to leave the room without him. Spend more time with Baby and Tiny. Or even Mama. She loved Mama. Mama was everything she wished her mother had been.

Finally Otis pulled the truck off to a 24 hour roadside dinner. There were only a couple cars, probably belonging to the workers, and a few long haul trucks. Otis got out and pulled her along with him. Once her feet hit the ground he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead, “Be good.” It was a simple command and a simple warning. “Be good” meant not only behave in general but also “don’t you dare tell anyone what happens at home.” He had only taken her out in public once, outside of her trips to Captain Spaulding’s, when he took her to buy her new outfits for her to wear for him. And by outfits of course that means bras that barely hold her tits and panties that barely covered anything. Along with a few short skirts and shorts. He didn’t like when Hugo eyed his woman. But oh how Otis loved to see his princess dressed up for him.

She reached up and kissed him on his cheek. She knew he loved it when she showed him affection. “Of course. Always a good girl for you.” She promised him.

They made it to the door and he was even kind enough to hold the door open for her. The waitress at the counter greeted them and told them to find a seat anywhere. He found them a booth far in the corner away from everyone else and pulled her down in his lap grabbing the menu. He let her trail her fingers over it reading each line and finally pointing out what she wanted. Of course, the sweetest thing on the menu. The waitress made her way over and smiled at them.

“Y’all need a minute or are you ready to order?”

Otis tightened his grip on her waist and she knew that meant stay quiet.

“Water, coffee, bacon and scrambled eggs, and the waffles.” He didn’t even look the waitress in the eye. “Chocolate chips on the waffles.”

She must have been really good if he was letting her have sweet treats.

The waitress nodded, writing down the order, before going to the kitchen.

They sat in silence. His hand drifting up and down her leg as they waited. A few minutes go by and the waitress reappears with a tray holding the drinks and food. “Here ya go darlings. Anything else?” Otis waves her off with a huff and she retreats back to the counter where a few truckers are sitting.

He takes a slice of bacon and chews it loudly in her ear before holding a piece to her mouth. “Eat up princess. I’ve been thinking about this whole anniversary non-sense and I think if I’m being so nice getting you this food then when we get home we will play one of our little games.”

She nodded happily, giggling and wiggling in his lap feel him grow harder under her. Playing games meant he was happy and in a good mood. She let him feed her until the plates were cleared. The waitress returned at that point slapping the bill on the table before turning on her heel walking away. She obviously did not enjoy being waved off earlier.

“Did you like it Princess? Wanna come back?” Was the game already starting? He didn’t normally ask her her preferences. “I didn’t like. I don’t think we’ll be back.”

“It was okay. Not as good as Mama’s cooking.” Mama made the best waffles.

Without a word and without looking at the bill Otis stood up and started walking her to the door.

“Sir you need to pay the bill! Excuse me!” The waitress yelled from behind the counter. Otis smirked down at his girl and chuckled darkly. He then whirled around and pull his gun from his waistband.

“I don’t have to do shit bitch.” He then grabbed her hand and threw her back in the truck speeding away towards home.

He was driving far past the speed limit, as fast as a bat out of hell. She looked up at him with her big eyes then down at the gun in-between them in the seat of the truck. He had never brought it out in front of her. He liked to use his knifes, belts, or even his hands on her. She couldn’t even name a time she had a gun this close outside of being on a police officers hip.

“Not gonna fucking bite you. What the little princess never seen a gun before?” He eyes burned on her. She shook her head. “Well then Princess, why don’t we start the game now?” He grabbed the gun and pressed it against against her temple. “Open those legs pretty girl.” She did as she was told and he moved the gun down her body until it was between her legs. “You fucking get off on this and cum without permission I will blow your brains out. Don’t care how much a pretty fuck you are. Understood?”

She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Yes.”

He slid the barrel of the gun against her folds making her shiver against the cold metal. He kept it up at a steady pace for what felt like hours but he made sure to never reach right where she wanted him. She was looking straight ahead trying to find any landmarks showing they were close to home. Right as she was about to work up the nerve to ask him, he finally hit her sweet spot. She moaned and threw her head back.

“There we go princess. Don’t forget the rules.” He moved faster bringing her close to the edge and pulling away. Finally the light of the house came into view. He stopped the truck but continued playing with her for a few minutes before pulling the gun away from her core.

He looked it over before grabbing her chin, “Open wide sweetheart. You made my gun dirty, now you gotta suck it clean. Be a good girl.” Be a good girl. Yes she is a good girl for him. She opened her mouth sticking out her tongue letting him slide the barrel into her mouth. She began licking and sucking her juices off the shiny metal when she heard a click. She gulped and looked at him to see his wicked smile. “Good girls don’t have to worry if the safety is off. And you’re a good girl right?” She nodded and continued until he finally pulled away wiping her spit off on his shirt. He then got out of the truck pulling her along with him as always. “Good girl, now you have 2 minutes to get that pretty ass upstairs and ready in our room. Wear the white.” Oh he really wanted to play today. He only had her wear a white set if he intended to stain it red. “Timer’s already started Princess I’d hurry if I was you.” He slapped her hard on her ass kicking her into gear. She darted into the house trying to be careful not to knock anything over. She reached the threshold of their room when she heard him slam the front door shut meaning she had about 1 minute left. She ripped off her clothes and threw on the first white lace bra and panties she could find. Once she was dressed she dropped to her knees sitting back on her heels, hands in her lap, looking up and waiting.

Otis finally opened the bedroom door and smirked at the sight before him. She was so pretty like that. Ready and waiting to suck his cock. He walked up to her stripping his clothes as he walked holding his belt in his hands. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? On the bed arms up.”

She followed his orders and laid down arms against the headboard. She knew the drill at this point. He looped the belt around her wrist securing her to the bed. He then tied a blindfold around her eyes. This game was her favorite. She didn’t know why but he always was happier after they played this game.

A drawer opened and she heard the clicks of metal against metal. She then felt an ice cold blade against her throat. “One sound. One single sound and I will gut you like a pig. Got it?” She nodded to the best of her ability. “Good girl now be quiet.” The knife moved across her body slowly. She had yet to feel skin break. He moved up and down her arms and her legs. Around her bellybutton and traced the insides of her thighs. Then the feeling was gone. And she heard the rustling sound of clothes being thrown on and the bedroom door slamming.

This wasn’t part of the game. He was suppose to cut her, carve his name on her and lick the blood. Slice her up with tiny cuts that would bead some bubbles of blood enough for him to paint her in but not enough to kill her or even truly hurt her. But he never left before it was over. He didn’t always stay long afterwards, aftercare is not in his vocabulary but he never left before they were done.

Had he decided he was done with her? Was he going to get RJ and Tiny so they could be ready to take her body when he was done with it? Questions and thoughts started whirling in her head. Fear creeping up on her. She was alone again. She was alone and going to die. Her life with the Firefly’s wasn’t perfect but it was hers and she was enjoying it.

Tears started to slip from her eyes wetting the blindfold that had been tied to her. Maybe he was going to leave her here to starve. Let her have a final meal and then starve her. Her tears soon turned to sobs and before she knew it her breathing was getting shaky. Everything was spinning even though she couldn't see anything. Her brain was spinning it felt like. Her body was shaking violently.

“The fuck is wrong with you girl?” His voice boomed into the room and he removed his belt from her hands pulling her into his lap before taking off the blindfold. He was being oddly kind, like he was worried about her.

She continued to shake and sob for a minute before finally calming down enough to look at him. “You, you, you left. You never leave until the game is finished. Left me alone again.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Someone wondered up the property Princess. Had to make sure the cops weren’t showing up. Don’t need the pigs here when I have a pretty little runaway in my bed.” Then in a rare moment, a very rare moment that had only happened once when he was drunk but she counted it because it was the only time it happened; he kissed her. Like a real kiss from someone you love not a power play. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to you Princess. I promise.”

She wiped her eyes and looked up at him like he was the center of her whole universe, “You won’t abandon me, right?” It was barely a whisper almost as if she was unsure if she could ask.

Otis brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, “You’re mine forever silly girl. I love you.”

Those three words. The three little words he knew would hook her right in again. He didn’t have to worry about anything as long as he dangled that little carrot in front of her face once every couple weeks. He wasn’t sure if he even meant it. In the beginning he knew he didn’t but now as time had gone on he wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe this pretty little princess from the other side of Texas was changing him.

“I love you too.” She sighed kissing his neck before snuggling into him. There would be no wicked game for a few hours. He would be kind. He would let her sleep next to him. Let her snuggle up on his chest while he played with her hair. Let her have a few hours where they played like they were a normal couple, just a man and his girl sleeping the night away.

But Otis Driftwood was anything but just a man. He was different and he knew it. But she was different too. Maybe she was meant to be here. Meant to be his girl forever. But that was a problem for another day. A day when he was 7 beers deep and didn't have to think too hard.

“Goodnight Princess you can sleep now. I ain't going anywhere. And when you wake up, I’ll let you go to Baby’s room.” He kissed her hair again and moved them down on the bed throwing the blanket over them.

[themculibrary]

Marvel Siblings Masterlist

fics in which siblings are the spotlight such as thor+loki, pietro+wanda, etc.

Bucky & Rebecca

Frayed Ties (ao3) - Erica45, snarkymuch G, 2k

Summary: Bucky never went looking for his family, afraid of what he'd find or what they'd think of him. He thought if they were out there, they would be better off without him. It wasn't until a little boy who shared his name ducked into the coffee shop to hide from a fight that his feelings changed.

new york is the ocean (and the ocean is bleedin' salt) (ao3) - defcontwo rebecca/peggy, steve/bucky M, 3k

Summary: It is 1970, and ten minutes and however many blocks ago, Rebecca Barnes looked across the street and out of the corner of her eye, saw a man ascending from the U-Bahn and set off down the street. He had on a dark coat and he walked with a deep, heavy weight to his gait, a swagger with no joy in it, and for all that he walked with his head down, she saw enough to be sure, in that moment so completely dead certain, that he wore her brother's face.

The trouble is, James Buchanan Barnes has been dead for twenty-six years.

Protective Big Brothers (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor rebecca/sam, steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Sam is taking Rebecca out on their first date, he has the pleasure of meeting her big brother, Bucky.

Unlike Bucky (ao3) - 107th (FeelsVomit) G, 622

Summary: In 2016, Bucky was not the only Barnes alive. Rebecca Barnes was still living in New York City.

Bucky goes to visit Rebecca, and she recognises him.

Sam & Sarah

'cause with a love like this (ao3) - philthestone G, 3k

Summary: “I am so proud of you, Sam Wilson,” Sarah says, and means it, so very much.

Static in the Dark (ao3) - thefatedthoughtofyou sam/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Prompt from abc-easy-as-123 on tumblr:

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

summer's end (ao3) - junipermoss sam/bucky n/r, 5k

Summary: When Sam shows up to Sarah's house with an injured Bucky, she expects them to hate each other.

They don't.

the smile that's on my mouth (it's hiding the words that don't come out) (ao3) - the_crown_jules G, 1k

Summary: Six months ago Sam walked back into the Wilson family house for the first time in two years. Except it hadn’t been two years, it had been seven.

Sam tries to find his footing.

Thor & Loki

Castles in the Air (ao3) - cosmic_medusa T, 182k

Summary: Loki’s first act as King is to collect his banished brother to aid his regency, however brief. Thor discovers that the political landscape is far from what it seemed, and that the lies of Odin have resulted in the threat of both his sons’ safety and sanity. Drama, angst, double-crosses, butchering of folklore and history, and the epic bromance of Asgard’s Princes ensues.

Fevered Memories (ao3) - Storyteller_of_the_Forest G, 31k

Summary: Being trapped in one’s own mind is a terrible fate. When the past and the present start blurring together, how does one tell them apart?

With most of the healers out of town, the Odinsons struggle to find an answer to a mysterious illness before it’s too late. The answer may lie in the past. However, the destruction of Asgard meant the destruction of most of their remedies. If the illness is from Asgard, the cure may no longer exist.

The Art of Spinning (ao3) - gaslightgallows (hearts_blood) T, 12k

Summary: Following Malekith’s attack on Asgard, Frigga survives, but the only thing holding her to life is Loki. Desperate to save his wife, Odin alters Loki's sentence, imprisoning him instead in Frigga's sickroom. Alone with his ill and unconscious mother, Loki helps Thor and Jane escape Asgard as best he can, and then must confront both the damage he's caused and the damage his family has inflicted, on himself and on others.

Will to Live (ao3) - Lise T, 60k

Summary: Thanos is dead and the war is over, but the universe hasn't seen fit to give Thor anything back. When he finds out that there might be a way to return at least one person to life...how can he not take the chance?

Unfortunately, everything has a price.

Gamora & Nebula

Bad Habits (ao3) - Sholio T, 3k

Summary: It looks like Nebula might be developing a bad habit of helping Gamora out of trouble. Set post-GotG 2.

Certainty of Tides (ao3) - MyresLight T, 3k

Summary: At every opportunity, Thanos pairs Nebula with Gamora.

Be it for competition, training, or war, the sisters are disciplined and appraised as a matching item.

They are two halves of a whole. A weary, broken machine.

A look at Nebula growing up under Thanos, and her relationship with Gamora.

Circulate (ao3) - interabang T, 2k

Summary: With the exception of Gamora, Nebula couldn’t care less about what happened to the Guardians. Not even a little bit.

Things Never Stay the Way They Were (ao3) - Rekall T, 1k

Summary: It has been a year since Gamora was taken in by Thanos. As she trains to be his assassin, she finds herself drawn towards the new girl who recently arrived.

pietro & wanda

Open Mind, Metal Heart (ao3) - Huntressride13 wanda/vision T, 80k

Summary: For the first time in her life, Wanda Maximoff is alone. Even with the chance of Pietro's return she cannot linger on the past, but must focus on her future as a new member of the Avengers. Somehow she never considered the possibility that the Vision would be such a large part of that future.

pietro and wanda. (ao3) - pyroallerdyce G, 1k

Summary: when they were children, their mother and father had encouraged their closeness.

[dicktat]

okay so i've fallen into the huuuuge pit that is dl2 obsession hell and recently i found your blog and omg, it's been feeding the brainworms so well. your tags are very relatable & i find myself checking your blog in the mornings like it's my newspaper

also. your art. MAN it makes me wanna get back into writing, even though it's been years (and even then i never really finished anything) but thank u for the copious amounts of inspo hehe :)

Sir (gender neutral) I’m literally about to tear the fuck up you’ve single handedly made my whole week. Depression? Cured. Pores? Unclogged. Dishes? Cleaned/dried themselves. Fucking honored to feed your brainworms 🪱 welcome down to the worm farm we provided nourishments for your little creatures. Yeah my tag game is unreal I’m hilarious (slash j). However I DO need to apologize for my mess of a blog. Sorry for all the shitposting if you’re here for my DL content you kinda need to dig through the trash a bit maybe you’ll find something to eat.

I’m so glad somebody’s enjoying my art. Been suffering artist block and currently my mental stability is only held together by Washi tape. Thankfully your message arrived and I’m ready to 🏃✍️. Also extremely swayed emotionally I’m the one who encouraged you to pick up your writing. Happy to help. If you need inspo from my blog feel free to use them. I’d love to see what you come up with. And I’m for real supportive of you.

Also why are you incognito😭😭🔥bruh I can hug you right now. My beloved anonymous showering me with serotonin wish you can show yourself. Fucking slay king.

[cyberstatic-fox]

Honestly the fact that a giant part of FNAF's audience are kids is a bit... Disheartening, considering that made the content more child-friendly too. Well, as much as game like this can be haha... A lot of dancing around things and only implying it sometimes, even in language.

Says I, who's been a fan for years and is only turning 20 this year.

Hopefully I'll figure it out soon enough lol.

That said, man do I feel ya on this whole "creativity" thing. I'm writing my own fnaf sb fic, just for my own personal entertainment and not for posting, and I've only written the first chapter and a chapter set quite far into the future cuz I had an idea for it. Cuz I'm still trying to figure out what exactly I actually wanna do. I've got NO idea what I'm doing and how to take the plot where I want it, and what to stuff inbetween. Hard to think of the finer parts in the story and the interactions.

Hopefully I'll figure this out soon lol.

And then there's an additional problem of "I don't feel like drawing", which is a huge deal when it's your job.

All that is to say, take your time! It's really no problem to wait, I understand how it feels, and I'm sure everyone else does too. I don't think there's any need to rush, I'm sure you'll get out of this funk soon enough.

Sorry if I made any typos it's 5 AM and I don't pay attention :D

yeah it's really funny as a newer fan cuz like. half the fandom is tired college students which is pretty standard, and then half is 13yo children talking abt going to high school soon. it blows my mind lmfao this is the most bizarre fandom ive been in yet

(esp considering im mid-20s lmfao i feel like an old fart next to all these fans who literally grew up on fnaf)

it's also funny how ive been able to draw lately but not write considering ive had art block for the past forever lmfao as it turns out the cure to stagnation is to embrace your inner cringe, who knew

[roughly6500bees]

hey girlies i have been working on. a horror oc............

tw: body horror, bugs, trypophobia, fire, self harm, death

we follow my guy Mark Warren, who was mercilessly haunted by this mysterious figure as a kid- a walking corpse, full of squirming maggots and centipedes, falling apart, voice a gasp of wet, raspy breathing. whatever it would touch would become infected with this decay, to which the only cure would be to burn the rot out.

this childhood haunting eventually ended with him setting the figure itself on fire, putting it to rest.

(the first drawing of Mark Warren)

now we find him as an adult, married, living a fairly normal life, having mostly tried to block out his childhood encounter with The Bug Man. His mother dies, so he goes back to his childhood home to help pack her stuff and prepare for her funeral. while he’s there, he finds a box of his old stuff, full of charred clothes and singed stuffed animals. and at the bottom of the box, a dead fly. nothing unusual.

this is a very rough concept, very early in development, but basically he starts to find himself transported to what seems to be an alternate version of reality, where his home is full of the same rot and infestations he was haunted by as a child, where he finds versions of his wife mangled and half eaten, rotting but still somehow partially alive, where he finds himself eaten away at while explores the impossible twisting corridors of this ruined house, a distortion of what should have been a comfortable and safe place. other than husks of his loved ones, he is completely alone in this reality, save for a voice that sometimes whispers to him through the flies and cockroaches.

(body horror concept art. corruption avatar looking mf)

the time he spends in the real world is not much kinder. flashes of this other reality seep into what should be his normal life. he’s not sure who he can trust, he’s not quite sure what’s real or not. when he wakes from the other world, he finds himself places he wasn’t before, out in the woods or even just doing something in his house. he always finds himself clutching his lighter, often holding it to his own skin in an attempt to burn out the rot.

at the same time, when he does actually get to sleep, he finds himself in his childhood home, watching his child self go through the first haunt. it doesn’t take long, however, to realize that the creature he had been fighting against all those years ago was him, now. he was the monster in his closet, the creature in the corner of his room. which means that he is the thing that gets burned in the end.

(me playing around with textures and brushes during a concept sketch of Mark’s nightmares)

i really don’t know how ill conclude the story yet. there is. a lot to work on. if i were to break down the concept to purely allegorical parts, i’d say its about how childhood trauma and mental illness can carry on to adult life and you kind of HAVE to deal with it. also in a way about how like. you often make your own memories worse by dwelling on them without trying to resolve and sort of. adding to them in your head. #mentally ill

anyway thanks for readying ♥

[tsotc]

i think your rendering is magnificent. the lore in tags intrigue me, may i hear more about the oc in the wip and eros? - 🩰

aww ty!! i'm in a really horrendous art block atm and somehow asmo always. Gets Me Out of Them. I answered a little about eros and asmodeus in the previous ask bc I did Not See This One. but i can elaborate more on some things here for a bit bc im procrstinating on figuring out how the fuck the scholasticate coat should be rendered because what the fuck is this collar. AUGH

anyway i mentioned that asmo (like 27) is a fucking freak. i need to blend hym up i need to. Hy currently is working on hys end goal of stabalsing aether in such a way that a living thing cannot possibly die - extremely reminscent to what charon attained and what eros was so desperate to recreate. Hy will never succeed because a) hys own aether is fucking abysmal and b) to presume such control over aether is a folly of man and can only result in death and tragedy.

Asmo has a few people working for hym, namely Oleander (Daniel oc) who hy is freakishly in love with and wants to be with more than anything. Oleander is a botanist and loves deadly plants (hence the name) and ough i need this man i need this stupid purple fucking elg so badly. Anyway they are together and make each other horrificly worse.

Another person is Clemence Boucher, hys secretary and general workhand. Ae's a very amicable and sweet person (Genuinely) who happnes to have something wrong with aem. he was one of the first people asmo cured of the disease hy had made and clemence reveres hym as a god figure because of it, going so far as to gauge out an eye to show loyalty because asmo asked aem to. Asmodeus is a fucked up little guy (5'8) and enjoys testing hys employees by only allowing them to work for hym if they sacrifice something in exchange for hys employment. For clemence, hy asked aem to kill aeir cousin lucieus, who would eventually go on to be possesed by the ascian Erebus and as such nobody Really Noticed That Anything Had Happened. As pennance for this (why is he still walking around. Hello? Hello??), clemence took his eye and offered it to be used as research in exchange for letting aem stay. He's a really nice guy, occasionally eats human flesh, obsessed with asmo's piano tutor, gets sent to deal with horrendous shit like body disposal and grave digging to get more bodies for asmo to work with.

I got distracted but uhhh EROS. RIGHT

Eros as i mentioned was an incredibly driven man, as are hys shards. once hy found out about the research that was destroyed and the magicks at the heart of the words hy had dedicated hys life and work and time to hy increasingly resembled a man possessed. i havent really thought of much tbh most of this is shit i made up Today (re: eros and the tree) but i like it so im keeping it. eros and charon had a single interaction but since nbody can remember charon of halmarut it wasn't evident to eros that this is what it was. the meeting was essentially like

charon: i bid you to stop your research. the siren song's allure of scientific discovery will bring you to death's door prematurely, far faster than what you are destined for. eros: if i die in pursuit of my goals then so be it. If there is a great dark at the heart of this living body, these words in which i live and breathe, then i want it to absorb me too that i might become the research i so idolise. charon: im going to hit you with a fucking car if you don't stop eros: what the fuck is a car

shrugging. it's a lot. there's a lot. i like hym though i'll see if i can draw hym at some point

[felikatze]

give me the a brainworms i am deeply invested in this man

(0) (2) (3) (4)

okay first of all you asked for this. second of all if i am a little off track from the game that is explained by me just building thoughts like building blocks without looking back. third i was supposed to be studying for an exam but this counts as practice right? it's character analysis anyway lmao.

buckle the fuck up, my dearest anon, because I have sub headings.

1. A as the Player Character

Let me begin with why I am obsessed with this horrid little guy in the first place: he's a silent protagonist. I am always obsessed with protagonists. It's a law of nature. I love taking hollow characters and dissecting them for scraps. It's a long standing practice of mine.

Being a silent protagonist, A, as X, does not have a set personality. However, there are patterns. Firstly, as any semi-silent protagonist, A is a reactive character. He does not start incidents, he only responds to situations, presented by the Sephirah, as they arise. He does not actively seek out new information, merely going about the routine of expanding departments, but expresses curiosity when information is presented to him.

I'm aware fandom likes to characterize X and A differently, likely because they are initially presented as different characters. I, on the other hand, would like to pose the theory that they are more similar than expected.

I believe that A is also a reactive character, rather than active. Despite the fandom wiki describing him as stubborn, the goal A pursues with such fervor, the completion of the Seed of Light, is not actually a goal he set for himself. Carmen is the one who set this goal for him by leaving him her legacy.

Throughout the backstory we get relating to the Cogito Project, A is Carmen's assistant, whereas Carmen is the driving researcher. This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be; going with the flow of goals set for them by superiors. Yes I will get into his attachment to Carmen later.

The above is not to say A isn't stubborn. Once he has accepted a goal as his own, he will pursue it at all costs, as is obvious from any and all flashbacks leading to horrible deaths. But the point isn't his pursuit of the goal, but where that goal comes from. Even Lobcorp itself supports this, despite what Hokma may say; A as X follows the "simple" task of managing the Corp's day to day activities, and executes any mission given to him by the Sephirah. He outranks them, and doesn't actually need to do their missions, but does so anyway. Players are driven by the reward offered by those missions, of course, and A might be the same in that regard. Nonetheless, at no point in gameplay do you do anything somebody else hasn't told you to.

The overarching narrative of the Script would be the most obvious example. Every single person in the game follows the script, whether they know it or not.

Lastly on this note, a phrase we hear attributed to A, "Machines must behave as machines." Now, Angela may be attached to this phrase because it bears significance to herself as a machine, and informs most of A's unjust treatmeant of her. However, what if it doesn't just apply to machines? The phrase reads as such, "Everyone must act according to their own role."

2. A, Carmen, and the disease of the mind

So, A will at any cost pursue goals Carmen set for him. Question is, why? The obvious answer would be saying he's in love with her, which like, true. But also, how did Carmen come to be so precious to him?

Let us return to the comparison, "This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be." We don't really know why exactly most characters joined Carmen, excluding mainly Daniel and Benjamin. But this does not mean we can't have theories.

Carmen's ideal was curing the "disease of the mind." What is the disease? Complete hopelessness. The inability to form aspirations and dreams, to think of a better future. A is a very reactive character who does not set goals for himself. Therefore, I personally conclude, that initially, Carmen's ideology resonated with him because he could identify with the disease.

This is the point where I start rewatching Lobcorp story clips. Dear god.

So, by briefly binging day 27 onward, I've come up with lines that very much support this lil theory of mine:

First, from Carmen, a description of the disease, "People lock away their own potential."

Second, a line from Angela, after the memory synchronization, "You've locked yourself in this prison without bars."

Carmen describes A as humble, and Benjamin thinks he is warm. If I suppose A was one of the diseased initially, Carmen would be the catalyst for this change. Carmen was someone with big aspirations, with plans to heal what is wrong with the City, and it gave him hope. He was one of the diseased, but through time with Carmen, with that relentless optimistic spirit, he may have been cured, for a time. It's not a stretch to say that she was his light.

But lor shows us what happens when the seed of light sprouts wrong, doesn't it? It distorts. A grasped hope for the first time and then it is ruthlessly crushed. Carmen was everything. Yes, A is described as a jack-of-all-trades, as a genius in all pursuits he puts his mind to, but what does that matter in the face of someone who can unite people? Who can give them hope of a better world? Who can inspire them to actually use the talents they have?

And what kind of pressure is it to put the legacy of a messiah in the hands of the diseased?

3. A and the Perception Filter: A is weak to White damage

No, I am serious about that. He's extremely weak mentally. Obviously death of a loved one is a changing experience for absolutely anybody, but Carmen's death destroyed him.

Not only did he refuse to confide this grief to anyone and bottled it up, now everybody looked to him to lead the project, but he just isn't Carmen. He isn't an ambitious person, he doesn't have the same optimism, he can't bring people together, but people expected him to, and he failed. Hard.

While he was without a doubt talented in science, he was also just an average guy.

After her death, A grew to hate humans. He lost trust in them. He refused to confide in anyone, and be confided in by anyone. Thus, the team fell apart.

In both lobcorp and lor, we get interesting tidbits about precations taken to protect the manager.

Firstly, Lobcorp's perception filter. The cartoony art-style of the game is a result of the game being in first person. Through the eyes of the manager, everything is cartoony!

This is a measure undertaken to specifically protect the manager's psyche. Angela tells us that, before it was deployed, the manager would frequently go insane, one notable incident including the manager trying to hang himself. When we first hear this, the previous managers and X are still separate in our minds. However, they're all A! A went insane multiple times without it.

This is understandable, considering that employees also frequently go insane and try to kill both themselves and others. But they're there in action, confronting the Abnormalities directly. Just watching them made the manager go mad. They could not handle the responsibility for the employees' deaths.

In lor, Angela explains why she picked the Rabbit Team from R Corp as their main contractor instead of any other team. One team was simply too big for L Corp's narrow hallways, and the other team... dealt in psychic damage. It was simply too big of a risk for the manager. But the manager is always secure behind the cameras. Would that teams methods just be that brutal visually, or would their attacks have reached the manager?

Combined with his immense grief at all of his friends and coworkers dying in part because of him, A cannot bear to look at death.

4. A's greatest flaw: Avoidance

A common thread during Core Meltdown flashbacks: A refuses to look at suffering. He just can't. Whether it be looking away from Elijah writhing on the floor or hanging up on Daniel's panicked report of death.

This is actually the thing Angela takes the biggest issue with, and what hurt her most. A would never look at her, acknowledge her, and she did not understand why. But I think A did not refuse to look at her out of maliciousness. Rather, it was out of grief over Carmen. He could not look at her without being reminded of what he lost.

Angela's creation came about because A wanted someone to guide him, someone like Carmen. He threw himself into the project to the point it made Benjamin happy that A was passionate about anything again. But as soon as the project he distracted himself with is complete, he is filled with regret. Carmen cannot be replicated, and he breaks again.

Furthermore, tying this back to my first point about A being a reactive person, we see Angela take charge over A. She's the one recruiting employees and leading the business. It was likely a relief for him to be able to step down from the leading position.

But avoiding it made everything worse. He did not act when he saw Elijah's unchecked ambition, he did not act beyond a simple check at Gabriel's decay, he gave Giovanni the same hope he clung to to no avail, et cetera et cetera.

Avoiding his problems is making them worse and sending everything down the drain (including his psyche), so he deals with it the only way he knows how, avoiding them more!

Biggest example of A's big avoidance problem as his psyche crumbles: the memory wipe. A, in perhaps his one singular moment of acknowledging his emotions, recognizes that he is incapable of fulfilling the Script in his current state. His grief is just too much.

By erasing his own memory, he could start fresh without his grief, because he might've really killed himself otherwise. His suffering became bigger and bigger, and he coped by avoiding it.

The memory wipe allowed him to distangle his problems. Through his interactions with the Sephirah (which I will not individually detail for the sake of my sanity and because I dumped all this on a friend on discord already), he can deal with and actually process his issues one at a time.

As the motto describes, only by facing the fear can he build the future. Only by finally facing his grief and acknowleding it, seeing that the past cannot be changed and he has no choice to move forward, can he actually do so.

5. The Sephirah as ghosts

Lobotomy Corporation feels like a ghost story. I've touched upon this in my previous A post.

As you reach the Corp's lower levels, there are less Sephirah. First there are four. They act like normal employees, and do not breach into the story's underbelly until you reach their core supressions and the facade breaks. Second, counting Tiphereth as one, there are three. They still go about their duties, but they know what they are. Third, there are two, and the facade is gone. They know what they are, and they will tell you about the sins of the past.

And finally, you reach Keter, and there is only one.

This gradual decay of the facade is what really gets to me. I said that by interacting with the Sephirah, A deals with his issues one by one, but that's what the Sephirah are, in this case. Representations.

The people the Sephirah used to be are dead, and the Sephirah are their ghosts. The core supression involve putting these ghosts to rest. Doesn't it match the progression of a typical ghost story? Find the ghost, find what they used to be, and help them move on.

So, if everyone is a ghost, then A is alone.

But, behind the scenes, the Sephirah are still there. They are still people, and they have changed for the better, too. As always, A simply does not look.

(Does he even see the good others see in him? Does he look away from praise, too? Did he even realize Benjamin's admiration for him? Will we ever know?)

6. A's end.

A's progression of moving on would be fine and dandy if it did not end as thus: A does kill himself.

A sees himself beyond the point of no return. Everyone is dead. He is alone. Carmen is never coming back. He can't call it quits now, or else everything has been in vain. (Even if the last days show us a part of him wants to just quit, so badly.)

So, there's only one thing left to do: follow the Script to its ending. Fulfill Carmen's legacy at all costs. Death as the ultimate release.

This is the point where I admit I do not like the death as release trope. But the game does a good enough job as presenting it as the only option A had, or the only option he saw himself as having.

However, I've mentioned it before, I'll mention it again: A was not alone. Death was his release, but he left wreckage. In order to end his own suffering, he inflicted the same pain he went through on others.

Throughout the game, he moves on and pushes through. The ending shows that in reality... he didn't.

At least in lor the characters stick together and help each other heal.

This has been most of my thoughts on A, amounting to my longest analysis post ever, having taken me approximately two and a half hours to complete, and clocking in at 2337 words including up to this paragraph.

Thank you anon for giving me the incentive to verbalize all of this, so I can finally be at ease having inflicted my thoughts on everybody else.

[multiplefandomsblog]

“Offer”

request; Can I get an imagine with Kokichi with an artist S/O who wants to paint him but he keeps flustering them with suggestions of a nude painting of him?

warnings; kind of suggestive, mention of nudity, cussing, mutual pining i think, i made it kinda crack fic, reader has an ultimate talent(artist), not edited too well, ended it weird like always, kissing, lowkey making out tho- 

note; wow i wrote way too much- but hey, i still hope you enjoy this!

word count; 1.9k+

You walked around the school, looking for Kokichi to ask him to be your model.

Although you have sketched Kokichi several times before, you felt you needed to ask him face-to-face so he could just stay still in his goddamn chair instead of changing positions every 5 seconds and ruining your half-done sketch. And so, you went off to go find the boy, finding it surprisingly hard to catch him. 

“There you are! I was looking for you-” You puffed out a sigh of relief, clutching your art supplies close to you as you saw your purple-haired classmate. Not a second after he caught sight of your figure jogging towards him, he had started taunting you. 

“Oooooh, hey S/o, you seem mighty happy to see me, hm? I wonder why that is…” He took a funny-looking step towards you, voice laced with an interrogating tone.

He had that strange smirk on his face, and not the one you liked. N-not that you liked his smile! In consequence of staring at him and sketching him constantly without his knowledge—or so you thought—, you have become almost a master of reading his mood and expressions. 

“Don’t get any wrong ideas, I just wanted to ask you if I could paint you.” For a small moment you swore you could see his expression twist into one of shock, before quickly melting back into his shit-eating grin. “Well of course you would! I’m the ultimate supreme leader, after all.” He acted as if he wasn’t just gob-smacked a second ago.

You beamed up at him, you had been in a small art block for a while and the moment you saw Kokichi, you knew he would be the cure to it. And so, you were ecstatic when he said what he said, “So you’ll do it?” You jumped a little too high, and spoke a little too eagerly.

“Mhm! —but with a catch, of course.” Your face dropped, you should’ve known the little fucker would try and get something out of you. “Nishishi!”

Unsure if you even wanted to know, you asked carefully, “W-what’s the catch..?” Your voice laced with caution, brain suddenly being reminded of all the pranks and blackmail he had fucked everyone else over with in the past. Knowing him, it could vary from, ‘Eat a bug.’ to, ‘Survive a knife game against me!’ 

But what he said was definitely worse than the former, and the latter. 

“You have to paint me fully-nude.”

… It was suddenly very quiet, the echo of his insane remark, bouncing off the walls. The silence mostly coming from your side—then again, what did you expect? Painting Kokichi would mean the end of your art block and a painting of Kokichi, like, c’mon, but painting Kokichi nude would mean- Well, you weren’t sure what it meant; hence, the silence.

Impatient and somewhat annoyed by the silence, he poked at your shoulder, “So? Are you gonna paint me naked or not?” You stared at your shoes, too afraid to make eye contact with the boy you were now thinking of... naked. 

“... C-can’t I just paint you normally?” He pouted, a comedically high whine erupting from his throat as he replied, “But that’s no fuuuuuun!” 

“Don’t you want to see your ultimate supreme leader, whipping out his wang?-” You shoved his face away from your warm one, “Y… I mean n-no, no!” Your tone weak before getting loud and defensive as you caught yourself before all hell broke loose. 

You felt your stomach drop as you thought about the possibility of Kokichi knowing you wanted to see him, and I quote, ‘Whipping out his wang’, Kokichi would never let that one go. 

“Aw man, well I guess you don’t wanna paint me theeeen.” He slowly stepped away, a pout on his face as his back faced towards you. He hummed circus music as he teetered on his feet, balancing on one foot at once as he ‘walked’ away from you agonizingly slow, obviously waiting for you to tell him to come back. 

“Koki-” In a flash, Kokichi had been by your side, dragging your hand to god knows where. “You have me convinced! I’ll let you paint me because I’m suuuuuch a nice guy. Nishishi!” Although you should’ve asked where the both of you were going, you felt knowing the catch was more important, “B-but what’s the catch?” 

Kokichi kept at his speedy pace, yet he answered with a voice that still had so much energy in it, “Aww, I’m hurt you think there’s a catch, do you not trust me that much?”

Silence.

“Meanie... but yeah, you were right to suspect me. The catch is.... “ He drum-rolled on your palm, “You just have to kiss me for payment!” He slowed down a bit to send a cheeky smile your way. You almost tripped on your feet as you heard him, “What!? Bu-” 

Kokichi quickly interrupted you, “Uh-uh, don’t try to pretend you don’t wanna. I know you have nooooo problem kissing those little sketches of me when you think no one is looking~” His voice quieted down sinisterly as he spoke, the evil smile spreading across his face once more. Although he had been wearing an extremely thick mask of a smile to hide his true feelings, anyone would’ve noticed that small blush on his upper right cheek. Anyone.

“You saw that?” Kokichi cackled at your agitated and flustered face, “Nishishi! Don’t worry, I’m the only one that knows. After all, no one finds you interesting enough to actually notice that.” You furrowed your brow at the subtle hint he had given you, “But you did-” 

Kokichi put on a teasing smile this time, “That was a lie! I didn’t see anything with my own eyes, I just assumed you have and so you helped me confirm it! Nice job on fucking yourself over, S/o! Nishishi~!” You rolled your eyes, you liked this guy?

Well anyways, it didn’t seem to matter whether you questioned your feelings for the liar, as you finally made it to where Kokichi had been dragging you to. You watched as Kokichi skipped away from you and hopped on the bench, surrounded by moss and other wild plants. 

“Ta-da! When I first saw this place, I immediately thought of you! You know, because you’re a nerd who likes cliché art settings.” He grinned, posing on top of the bench, “How’s this? Nishishi! Don’t answer that, I know this is perfect.”

 ... He looked like an idiot. But a cute idiot.

Suppressing a laugh, you gestured downwards to guide him down from his strange pose, “U-uh, maybe you could just, sit down? Like a normal person, I mean.” He sneered at you, before reluctantly sitting down, “You’re so boring.” The way he sat on the bench reminded you of a child who had just gotten denied candy. 

Smiling in relief, you quickly took a seat on the bench opposite to him, bringing out your supplies excitedly. Despite the pout on Kokichi’s face, and the grudge he wanted to keep, the way you so excitedly took out your canvas made his heart melt as well as his attitude. 

In the corner of your eye, you swore you could see Kokichi’s genuine smile, albeit it was lopsided but it still made you flush. Without thinking, you spoke, tilting your head upwards to look at him better, “You should smile more, you’re really pretty like that.” He… his mind blanked for a second, his façade fading away slightly to reveal a genuine expression of shock.

He quickly gained his composure back, “Um, okay? I always smile, are you blind?” Despite his passive-aggressive reply, you couldn’t find any reason to be mad, although you should’ve been. You smiled fondly and shook your head, diving back into concentration towards your canvas.

--

After an hour of pointless conversation, flirting, and calculated strokes of your brush, you were satisfied with the result. “... Alright, I’m done.” Kokichi sighed exasperatedly as he stood up and stretched, “Finally! I was afraid my limbs were going to freeze forever in that position.” You stared at him accusingly, “You didn’t even stay still the entire time. At one point, you did a fucking cartwheel-” 

Kokichi slid on over you, leaning over your seated figure to peak at the painting of him. “Lemme see!” He reached for the painting with his pale hands, causing you to jerk the painting away from his reach. “It’s not dry yet! Just look, don’t touch.” You scolded, unamused by his pouty expression. “You’re no fun S/o-chan, but okay. I know how much you like to be in charge~” He teased, before finally laying his eyes on the painting he stayed still one whole hour for. 

You felt your anxiety rise at his silence, “... Well, d-do you like it?” Although you were pretty confident in your ultimate talent and skills, for some odd reason, you felt extremely nervous when you showed it to Kokichi. 

You were confused as to why your hands were shaking, you’ve shown your artwork to galleries, museums, the harshest art critics in the world! So why the hell did it matter so much to you if this one boy liked it or not?

“I think it looks super handsome! And by it, I mean me. Nishishi!” He grinned, “I look good in everything after all.” You scoffed, you couldn’t believe you actually expected a genuine compliment from Kokichi, of all people. 

“Hey so, it’s time for your payment you know?” Payment... what? You looked up at him in confusion, big fat crocodile tears sprung out from his eyes, “Waaaah! I can’t believe S/o forgot our deal!” You flushed again as you were suddenly reminded of the kiss. 

You sighed tiredly, “You were serious?” He glared at you, “I’m always serious!” You gave him an accusing look that screamed, ‘You know that’s bullshit.’ But sighed defeatedly for what seemed like the umpteenth time. As you stood up to walk up to him, you set your painting down nearby.

Squirming underneath his expectant gaze, you leaned in torturously slow until your noses were nearly touching, your eyes were glued to his lips nervously. You kind of just… stood there, waiting. Waiting for him to take initiative, as he usually does. “... You know, You’re kissing me, right? Not the other way around.” His voice was lower, quieter than usual, and you could feel his breath within each word.

He smirked at your awkward shuffle towards him, finding your averting eyes and flushed face extremely endearing. Though Kokichi would never admit it, deep down he was nervous too- But of course, he refused to ever admit that reality. Even to himself. 

“I-I know that! I was just… preparing.” He hummed a skeptical ‘Okay’, standing patiently for the kiss you owed him. Letting out a shaky breath, you quickly pressed your lips on his, before immediately pulling away. Well, you tried pulling away. Kokichi gripped your collar, eagerly going in for more. His lips enveloped yours roughly, he could feel you trying to back away and so he just decided he had to go even harder. 

Once he pulled away, he saw your lips puffy and swollen, and face completely dazed. You wanted to ask him why he stopped but he interrupted you before you could, “You know, I never said you had to kiss my lips, pervert〜” Your eyes widened at his statement, “It seems you’ve been wanting this for a while, huh?” You didn’t say anything, only fuelling his fire. 

“Nishishi! You’re so obsessed with me, it’s adorable~” You took a defensive step back, “I-I am not!” He suddenly leaned his face dangerously close to yours, grinning sadistically as he heard your whimper. “You shouldn’t lie, you know? Especially not to me.” He leaned in next to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth and biting gently. 

“Anyway!” You snapped out your daze as he barked suddenly, “The nude painting offer still stands, you know!” He yelled out, walking away from you, strangely.

[sass-and-suspenders]

Inquiry

GIF from plutoandpersephone

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Chilton x Reader

Author’s Note: In vain I have struggled …with the formatting of this story. Did I use html? Yes. Does it show up correctly when I preview it? Yes. Will it show up correctly when it’s posted? Knowing this website, probably not. I’m posting despite the (possibly) faulty formatting because I will snap like a stale rubber band if I have to fiddle around with it for a minute longer. That said, I hope you enjoy because this was fun to write (but not to format)

Frederick Chilton’s heart was beating far too quickly for something as mundane as writing an email. Normally, he could compose a message in a matter of minutes with little concern for how the recipient would react to his autocratic demands.

This time, however, you were on the receiving end.

And Frederick deeply cared what you thought.

It would have been easier if this was for a work-related matter. As the hospital administrator, Frederick often sent you updates about policy changes or questions regarding your patients. He wrote these emails effortlessly, addressing you like any other member of his staff while ignoring how his heart fluttered whenever your name appeared in his inbox. With the small exception of inquiries about your weekend (something Frederick never did with other employees), his correspondence to you remained strictly professional.

Until now.

It had taken months, but Frederick finally worked up the nerve to ask you on a date. It was non-traditional, asking someone out via email, but Frederick considered asking over the phone or in-person too risky; the chance of rejection was already high, he didn’t need to add to it by stumbling over his words or blushing in your presence like an imbecile. An email allowed Frederick time to organize his thoughts and select the right words to convey just how much you meant to him.

Writing may have been the safest medium, but it wasn’t the fastest. Fifteen minutes had elapsed and Frederick was still struggling with the salutation: ‘My dearest’ seemed too intimate, ‘Good afternoon’ too formal, ‘Ciao’ too pretentious, ‘Ahoy’ too …nautical.

Frederick fiddled with his pen and leaned back in his chair, refusing to acknowledge that he was out of his depth. His love life was preternaturally dormant, yes, but he was a man of science, not to mention a patron of the arts -he could write a simple email. He was just overthinking it, attaching too much significance to every word as if selecting the wrong one would result in rejection.

Sighing, Frederick left his desk to fetch some alcohol, a time-honoured cure for writer’s block. As he poured the amber liquid from the decanter, Frederick reassured himself of his literary prowess: he’d written a myriad of scientific articles, many of which won awards, and there was growing interest in a manuscript he was working on about the Chesapeake Ripper.

He sat back down at his desk with bolstered confidence and a glass of brandy. The opening still eluded him but, rather than dwell on it further, Frederick used a placeholder and began to work on the body of the email.

As he wrote, Frederick likened himself to a suitor in a Jane Austen novel confessing his fervent desire to his beloved. He only hoped that his prose would convince you to give him a chance since, considering the weather in Baltimore, he wouldn’t be strutting out of a lake anytime soon.

Inspired by this little reverie, Frederick soon finished. He took another sip of brandy before looking over what he had written.

To:

From: frederick.chilton@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Inquiry

[Insert salutation]

Ever since we met, I have ardently admired you. Your warmth, beauty, and quick wit are just some of the ways you brighten my day whenever I am graced with your presence. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?

I await your reply with hopeful anticipation.

Yours,

Frederick

Satisfied, Frederick turned his attention to the greeting, lightly tapping his pen against his lips as he thought. It took a few moments, but Frederick finally settled on ‘Dear’, a classic opening. After switching out the salutation placeholder for ‘Dear’ followed by your name, Frederick read over the email one last time. He took a large drink of brandy before selecting your email address and pressing send.

Contrary to his belief, the beating in his chest didn’t slow once the email was dispatched. What if you rejected him? How would he bear to see you at work every day? Worse, what if you never responded, leaving him to perpetually wonder whether it was a silent rejection or a lost email?

The familiar ping of an email notification snapped Frederick out of his self-made purgatory. He took a few deep breaths, a half-hearted attempt to quell his rapid heartbeat, as he wondered whether it was a good sign that you responded so quickly. His eyes flicked to his inbox: there, sitting atop of messages from psychiatry journals and irksome colleagues, was a reply.

Only it wasn’t from you.

Frederick’s brow furrowed. Why was a nurse replying to the email he sent you? It didn’t take long after opening the email to realize his mistake: choosing the hospital’s listserv rather than your email address, effectively sending out his declaration of love to the entire hospital. He let out an almost inaudible whimper, knowing it was too late to retract the message.

Apparently, he could control the content of the message, but not its audience.

To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: angela.ramirez@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Inquiry

Ask them out in-person, you insecure little weenie!

Frederick hastily deleted the email, but two more popped up in its place like some sort of electronic hydra. It didn't take long for the wolves to respond, and Frederick could only stare at the screen in horror as the replies began pouring in. He swore he could hear laughter in the hallway and began debating whether he should move out of the country or just the state. Depending on how widespread knowledge of his blunder became it may even be wise to leave the continent. Vienna was supposed to be nice this time of year.

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: phillipa.canter@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Inquiry

Girl, you can do better!

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: jackson.doyle@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: valentine.anderson@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Please remove me from this list. Thanks

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: kevin.fishburne@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

EVERYONE STOP REPLYING ALL!

 Sent from my iPhone

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: gillian.coverly@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

‘Ardently’? Who does Chilton think he is, Mr. Darcy?

 Gillian Coverly, M.D.

Psychiatry Resident, BSHCI

gillian.coverly@bshci.com

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: jonas.dhavernas@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

More like Mr. Collins, am I right? LOL

 Jonas Dhavernas

Security Services | 555-3193 ext. 0315

Frederick harrumphed (he was definitely not a Mr. Collins) and made a mental note to schedule those two for the night shift for the foreseeable future. However, his indignation quickly gave way to woe as he continued to scroll through the other emails in his inbox.

To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: luis.torres@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

lol desperate much

 Luis Torres, PhD

Director of Forensic Psychiatry

(Tel.) 555-3193 ext. 0583 | (Cell) 555-2391 | (Fax) 555-8942

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: hettienne.moreno@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: ralph.chlumsky@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

I’d like to remind everyone that this listserv is for work-related emails only.

Please be professional.

 Ralph Chlumsky, Patient Care Manager

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: kevin.fishburne@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

SERIOUSLY STOP SENDING EMAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 Sent from my iPhone

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: bryan.dancy@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: judith.mulrooney@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

As a member of HR, I would like to remind you that you are not obligated to say yes to a date just because Dr. Chilton is your superior.

Please let me know if you would like to file a complaint against him for harassment

Sincerely,

 Judith Mulrooney

Senior Human Resources Manager

(Tel.) 555-3193 ext. 3598

 Nothing is impossible. The word itself says ‘I’M POSSIBLE!’ – Audrey Hepburn

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com  

From: it.admin@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Can everyone please stop replying all? Our servers can’t handle the load and might crash if this continues.

Thanks,

Your friendly neighborhood IT Department

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: dennis.abrams@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: alfredo.rohl@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

 Hi, can anyone give me a lift to work tomorrow? I’m in Federal Hill

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: ellen.ostrowski @bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Everyone please stop replying all! It’s not that hard, and IT said our server will crash if we keep on doing it!

 Warmest regards,

 Ellen Ostrowski

Administrative Assistant for Dr. Bryan Dancy

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: shawna.neill@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Ellen, your “everyone stop replying all message” was also a reply all!

Ugh, I work with IDIOTS!

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: ellen.ostrowski@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Shawna, you also used reply all! Frankly, your use of reply all when the server is unstable is just what I’d expect from a lunch thief.

Warmest regards,

 Ellen Ostrowski

Administrative Assistant for Dr. Bryan Dancy

 To: bshci.listserv@bshci.com

From: shawna.neill@bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

FOR THE LAST TIME I DID NOT STEAL YOUR LUNCH!

 A groan escaped Frederick’s lips. How could this have happened? He wasn’t a tech genius, but he kept au courant with the latest gadgets and even implemented smart technology throughout his house. Of course, there had been small mishaps in the past, like when his iPhone autocorrected his last name to ‘Chicken’ and he couldn’t stop it, but nothing of this magnitude. As much as he wanted to blame his snarky colleagues for his misery, he had only himself to blame.

His iPhone was right: he was a chicken.

Frederick was in the middle of researching jobs in Austria, the dramatic part of his brain having overpowered the rational part, when your name appeared in his inbox. His eyes flicked to the now empty glass of brandy on his right before clicking on your reply.

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

I would love to, Frederick. How about Friday?

-Your Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. Judith, no need to get HR involved

Frederick blinked, not quite believing it. Despite his cowardice, and the mortification which ensued, you’d said yes. A smile slowly spread across his face, unaffected by the multitude of emails flooding his inbox in reaction to your answer.

He was still smiling when the hospital’s servers crashed a few moments later.

Tag list: @madpanda75​ @obsessionprofessional​ @madkingcrowley​ @im-like-reallythirsty​ @burningg-red​ @nikkijmorgan​ @misssirenlove​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @mommakat32​ @thatesqcrush​ @southern-magnolia​ @evee87​

[astheroid]

A Friend’s Confession

Randomly generated stories: in which Honi attempts to cure her writer’s block with a random word generator and character wheel.

Plot words: escape, platform, negotiation, trivial, public

Character: Oikawa Tooru

Genre: Fluff (enemies to kind-of lovers)

Word count (not including texts): 2,420

You sighed, head down on your desk. School was a nightmare, and there was a dull throb forming in between your eyes. The asshole behind you wasn’t helping, either.

“Y/N! Y/N, hey.”

You buried your head further into your arms. Luckily, your teacher was too busy playing Candy Crush at his desk to pay attention, so you could get away with slacking off. As of right now, you attempted to escape the hellhole that is 7th period social studies.

“Y/N, I’m being serious. Please.” You lifted your head to glare at the boy behind you.

“Not the right time, Trashykawa.” He grinned.

“When is the right time, considering you’ve told me that every single day since our first year?”

“Never.” You were back to resting your head on your desk, too tired to deal with him.

“Like actually. I talk to one of your friends once and you’re dead-set on hating me.” He said, tapping your desk with his pencil.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re an ass.” He let out a soft huff and you swear you can hear his frown.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Mhm, I don’t care. Please shut up.” His chair creaked.

“Fine.”

You were rudely awoken by the shrill screaming of the school bell. As you sluggishly zipped up your backpack, shoving your half-finished notes into your binder, you felt an irritating presence loom over your shoulder.

“My day’s been shitty already, I don’t need you bothering me right now.” His shadow wilted a bit.

“Kind of rude, don’t you think?” He replied snarkily. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“Why do you need to talk to me?” You were packed and ready to go, but Oikawa was blocking your way.

“I want you to watch our practice. The Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club hasn’t had enough spectators recently.” He grinned. You scoffed.

“Yeah, no. Now get out of my way.” He shook his head. After a few seconds of wondering whether you should punch him or not, you decided to shove him out of the way and continue walking. Right before you could, however, he sighed.

“Look, I really need you to be there. It’s important.” You grimaced.

“Why? I don’t want to watch sweaty man-children hitting a ball back and forth.”

He snorted. “I don’t need to tell you.”

“Ok, then I’m not going.” You tried to side-step him, but he blocked your path once again. You pushed your hair behind your ear with a frustrated sigh.

“Let’s make a deal. Have a negotiation, if you will.” You raised your eyebrows as he continued speaking. “Someone on the team likes you, and I-” he ran a hand through his hair, “am the one assigned to be their wingman. Come to this practice and I’ll tell you who afterwards.”

You considered it. “Are you sure they like me?”

He held up a peace sign. “I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

You shook your head lightly. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go with you.”

He beamed. “Great! You won’t regret it.”

Following him out the door, you grumbled “Of course I won’t…”

As soon as you entered the gym, Oikawa pulled a flustered Iwaizumi to the side and whispered something in his ear. Iwaizumi nodded and shot you a wide-eyed glance before turning to address the rest of the team.

‘Oh. So it’s probably Iwaizumi then, huh. This is… good, actually. Not what I expected, but good.’

You had a few classes with Iwaizumi, but you’d never really spoken to him (save for a few times he’d dropped his pencil under your desk in Language Arts). Sitting on one of the lower bleachers, you examined the boys on the team.

There was Oikawa, of course, with his side-swept hair that looked kind of like a walnut. Despite his snobbish attitude and annoying persistence, he was kind of attractive and his volleyball skills were impressive. You smiled when Iwaizumi hit him in the back with a volleyball. Iwaizumi. In your opinion, he was the best out of all of them. Short, dark hair and muscular arms with a stern attitude. You especially appreciated how he made fun of Oikawa.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa were cool too. You’d seen them around and always thought they were pretty funny. Kyotani was a bit scary, but not too bad-looking. Yahaba was hard to judge, but he seemed pretty nice. You wouldn’t mind if any of them had a crush on you. Except for Oikawa, of course. He was the only one you couldn’t stand.

Time passed quickly with very few interruptions. The most interaction you got with the team was a few side glances and some waves (and Oikawa winking at you, but you returned the favor by glaring at him).

You made idle conversation with the team manager as you waited for them to leave the locker room.

The Great King™ and his entourage arrived shortly, chattering away as they approached. Oikawa smiled and you made a noise of disgust.

“Heyo! Are you down to take a walk around town later?”

“Absolutely not. If you’re not gonna tell me what you promised you would,” you emphasized, “I’m leaving your bitch ass and never talking to you again.” Makki and Mattsun burst out laughing at Oikawa’s offended face.

“Dude-” Makki hiccuped, “you just got completely shut down.” They doubled over wheezing, and Iwaizumi shook his head in disappointment.

Oikawa narrowed his eyes at you. “Well I can’t tell you here,” he said, waving at the gym, “said person is present. If it makes you feel better, Iwa-chan can come too.”

“I never agreed to that.” Iwaizumi said, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh come on, it’s just for like two hours!” Oikawa pleaded, turning to look at his friend. “If you come I’ll do your clean-up two turns in a row..”

Iwaizumi looked at you and then Oikawa, contemplating his options. “Fine.” he grumbled. “You better not make me late for dinner, though.”

You stared at them. “I still haven’t agreed, you know.”

“If you go with us, I’ll tell you and even maybe set you up.” Oikawa wiggled his eyebrows and you groaned.

“Let me think about this first, I need to decide if it’s worth it or not.”

He nodded and you walked out of the gym, glad to be free of the stuffy air.

Sitting down on a bench, you weighed your options carefully.

Agree to go with them and find out who has a crush on you, but be forced to spend time with the one person you genuinely dislike

Or

Deny the offer and have wasted your time at his practice

Your thoughts were interrupted by Oikawa, who was tapping his foot impatiently next to you. “Are you done now?”

You stood up. “Yeah. I guess I’m going with you, but if you cheat me out of my answer or pull anything, I’m punching you and leaving.”

“I won’t, I swear on Iwa-chan’s inevitable beating-of-my-ass.” Oikawa promised, putting his hand over his heart.

“You still haven’t told me what this deal is about…” Iwaizumi muttered, trailing behind you as Oikawa excitedly led the way into town.

It took 30 minutes and an awkward bus ride before you arrived at your desired location. It was a part of town you usually avoided due to the mass amounts of schoolgirls (in your experience, every teenager attracted to men simped for the guy you were currently standing next to). Although quite populated, you had to admit it was nice.

The trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the murmuring of shoppers drowned out Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s trivial bickering. You were led into multiple stores by the boys, trying in vain to switch the topic to your secret admirer. Oikawa dodged the questions and Iwaizumi tuned out of the conversation before disappearing entirely.

You looked around, suddenly all-too aware of Iwaizumi’s lack of presence as Oikawa dragged you into another shop. “Where’s Iwaizumi?”

Oikawa looked at you, and then at your surrounding area. His eyes widened. “Uhhh… I don’t know?” He offered sheepishly. You grimaced.

“We need to look for him.”

“Why? We’re having so much fun.” Oikawa teased. “Iwa-chan’s responsible, he probably just went home.”

“It couldn’t hurt to at least text him. I don’t want to watch Iwaizumi yell at you for losing him in public.”

He shrugged and pulled out his phone. “That would be quite embarrassing.”

He scrolled for a bit and then showed you texts Iwaizumi had sent around fifteen minutes ago, explaining that he was getting bored and went home. “See? Told ya so.” You rolled your eyes.

“Ok, so now that that’s out of the way, can you tell me who has a crush on me?”

“Hmm… maybe later. Let’s keep shopping.” He said with a smile. You weren’t so amused.

“You literally promised to do it after your practice, but you dragged me on an hour-long shopping trip and refuse to tell me. You haven’t even bought anything!”

“All things come with time.” His tone was serious, but the mischievous smile on his face was not. You shook your head and decided to walk away.

“Wait!!” He called after you, speed-walking to catch up. “I’ll tell you, I swear. Just be patient.” You didn’t take this well.

“I’ve been patient for three hours. Tell me or I’m leaving.” You don’t know why you haven’t left already.

“Just do one thing for me, and I’ll tell you, alright?” You glared at him suspiciously.

“What do you want me to do?”

He waved at the shelf behind him, populated with plushies of all kinds. “Pick one!”

You stood there, confusion and suspicion mixing in the pit of your stomach. “What?”

“I said pick one. I’ll pay.”

“Why?”

“It’ll be a nice gift for your secret admirer, don’t ya think?” He beamed, prodding at one that vaguely resembled a duck.

You nodded, still suspicious. After around a minute of browsing, you picked up a small stuffie. He hummed in approval, plucking it from your hands.

“Off to the cash register! Don’t get lost now, you’ve almost discovered my secret.”

You waited in silence as he talked to the cashier cheerily. Despite his demeanor, you noticed his hands shaking when he took the bagged animal. He must have check-out anxiety.

Oikawa reached out to you, looking at you for approval. You shrugged your consent and he patted you on the head while slipping the bag into your hands. “C’mon, let’s get out of the store. I can’t properly confess someone else’s feelings to you in a place with so many people.” You followed him out, noting how he fidgeted with the edge of his shirt.

He led you through an intricate maze of pathways, adorned with soft pink trees and flowering bushes. You made a few snide remarks about how far he was going for someone else’s confession and he replied with teasing gestures of his own. The air, now slightly colder, carried the smell of spring.

At the end of the many paths he had led you down was a small pavilion made of old (slightly musty) wood. The raised platform had a border of carefully carved patterns and a few potted plants on the side. The trees filtered light in an intricate pattern, highlighting the natural themes. There were a few benches near the outside, moss-covered and looking like they had been popped out of a storybook. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), there was no one there but you two. It was the ideal place for a confession.

You stood in the center as Oikawa brushed his hands through his hair and fumbled for words.

“So… you’re probably wondering who’s crushing on you.”

“Yeah, duh. That’s why I’m here.”

“Right.” He muttered meekly. “Anyways, uh… you know what? I’m just gon- I’m just gonna go for it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s me. I like you. I know you kinda hate me and that kinda sucks, but I wanted to prove that maybe I can be okay sometimes. It’s like totally fine if you don’t feel the same way and everything, but do you maybe want to get to know each other better? And you can keep the stuffed animal. That was for you anyways.” He paused at the end of his rant, blushing profusely. “So, yeah. Um. That’s it.” You just stared at him, mouth slightly parted in shock.

This was the last thing you’d expected. Before, when Iwaizumi left, you thought it would be weird for him to avoid the person he liked. Because of that, you figured it was someone else on the team. Or Oikawa was lying to you as some sort of cruel joke. Never in your 18 years of living did you ever think Oikawa Tooru could be attracted to you. And you didn’t think you could ever bring yourself to like him, either.

He was annoying and stubborn and pushed all the wrong buttons, but during his practice you couldn’t help but notice how he gave such specific praise and advice. You’d heard of his infamous rejections, due to him having tons of confessions daily, but he never left his fangirls crying. Despite his playboy attitude, he took the time to let them down easy and encourage them to go for someone else. His sarcasm and jokes were well-planned and rarely had sinister intentions (save for when Ushijima or Kageyama came around, his disdain for them was barely concealed).

All in all, he wasn’t the worst. And he was most definitely the prettiest guy to ever show interest in you. You couldn’t be completely sure of anything, though.

“Do you actually like me?” You asked.

He gasped. “How dare you assume I don’t! Of course I like you, I wouldn’t lie about something this important.” Behind his joking, you could see the glimmers of sincerity peeking through.

“Okay then. Uh, I don’t really know you all that well because… y’know I’ve hated you for a long time, but maybe we could be friends. I want to know you before we like, date and all that stuff.” He nodded eagerly.

“Sure! I kind of expected that, to be honest.” His eyes were lighting up and he bounced back on his heels a little. “Thanks for tolerating me today.” He winked and you sighed, but you couldn’t stop a small smile from making its way onto your face.

“Yeah, yeah. Want to exchange phone numbers so you can convince me you’re not the worst person I’ve ever met?”

“Gladly.”

This was actually really fun OvO my original plan was to write an enemies-to-lovers Oikawa story for my close friend @calicocatwrites (who coincidentally hates Oikawa lmao), but I got stuck on the plot so I used random words to form one :D I think I’ll write some more stories like this eventually. And this is my 100th post, woo!!

[chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay]

// Day 25 //

// Zombie AU //

A splat of clumped goo splashed from the zombie. 

Marinette groaned as the pungent odour expelled, "I can't believe this place was overrun! That's every single lab in this state!" 

Adrien placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Then we move to the next state and the next, and the next. Maybe we'll even find someone from the class." 

"We're in a foreign country, Adrien. This was supposed to be a field trip to New York and it turned into the worst thing I could imagine! The only reason we stayed alive for two years after we got seperated was because we used to be Ladybug and Chat Noir! The others are probably gone or so far away we won't be able to find them."

He tentatively pulled his hand away and took the map out of his bag, "l think we should head to New Jersey. Gotham has a lot of labs and Wayne Enterprises own a lot of them, they're pretty high security so maybe one of them is still functioning." 

She nodded, "Let's go." 

….. 

Making their way to Gotham was easier said than done. They had to figure out the routes with very little traffic to avoid the inevitable pile-up barrier that would block their path. 

Marinette was busy marking out the labs of Gotham in the passenger seat, when their car went over a very squishy speed bump, "Not another zombie? God I really wish we had the Ladybug miraculous, then we'd have a bit more luck." 

Adrien grinned, "Too bad we defeated my dad before the apocalypse." 

….. 

When the duo finally made it to Gotham, they had to make the difficult decision of leaving their car outside the city. 

"We can't risk alerting zombies with the engine." 

They stalked through the streets, weapons at the ready for any unwanted creatures, human or otherwise. 

After about an hour they encountered their first lab, only to find it completely devoid of life and the undead. There wasn't even any supplies they could take. 

"The scientists must have evacuated, the security system was down and there aren't any bodies." 

Adrien nodded, "I think we have power, though." 

He flicked the switch of a lamp that was plugged into the wall, "I remember reading that Wayne Enterprises uses renewable energy from private wind farms and solar panel reserves." 

Marinette nodded, "Good, we can activate the security system and stay here for the night." 

….. 

Meanwhile, across the city, an alert was set off. 

"Bruce, one of the Wayne Enterprises labs just activated the security system. How should we respond?" 

"Investigate. If they're friendly, follow protocol, if not keep an eye on them and make sure they don't find us." 

"Copy." 

….. 

Marinette woke up refreshed, "Maybe, we should stay here. It's safe and we don't have to take turns doing watch." 

Her friend grinned, "I know you're joking, but don't tempt me." 

"So, where's our next lab?" 

"Ten blocks away," He began, "But, I've been scouring through the log and I think they're all either going to be empty or overrun." 

She frowned, taking a look at the device, "Where did you make that conclusion?" 

He pointed it out to her, 'WEHQ, to all Wayne Buildings, Offices and Laboratories: Evacuation procedures are in effect, please evacuate employees and civilians to designated Evac Zone where individuals will be tested for infection. If an individual is healthy they will be moved to a Safe Zone, where they will be allowed to use a database to find any family and friends who made it to a WE Safe Zone. The infected will be given a choice.'

Marinette squinted her eyes, "Choice? What choice?" 

An unfamiliar voice spoke up, "Whether they wanted to be let go or a test subject." 

Both Adrien and Marinette lunged for their weapons and pointed them in the direction the voice came from, where a young man about two years older than them stood. 

He held up his hand in a surrender motion almost amusedly, "Forgot to introduce myself, I'm Tim." 

They kept their weapons pointed at him. 

"I can answer your questions if you put your weapons down."

Nothing happened. 

He sighed, "Okay if it makes you feel better," He pulled a knife out of his boot and a gun out of his holster and tossed them across the room, "Now will you put them down?" 

They looked at each other and came to a silent agreement and lowered their weapons. 

"Okay, now that we're cool with each other, what do you want to know?" 

Marinette spoke up first, "Why would Wayne Enterprises let the infected walk away? They should be put down at best, tested on at worst." 

"Bruce Wayne was very against killing and at the time nobody knew the danger we would be in. That's why one of the options was to be a test subject, so they could find a cure." 

Marinette seemed to accept that answer and Adrien spoke up, "It said civilians would be at the safe zones?" 

"If you're looking for somebody, I can help. Wayne Enterprises has safe zones in every state and I know how to access the database." 

Marinette nodded and let him hold the device. When Tim put his hand in a pocket, Marinette reached for her gun, expecting a weapon, relaxing only when she saw him pull out a USB drive. 

He spent a few more minutes typing before he passed back the device, "I never got your name?" 

"I'm Adrien, this is my friend Marinette." 

She searched up all her old classmates, only finding a few entries.

Alya Césaire, 19, DC Safe Zone, Alive 

Nino Lahiffe, 19, DC Safe Zone, Alive

Alix Kubdel, 20, Montpellier, MIA

Chloé Bourgeois, 19, Montpellier, MIA

Juleka Couffaine, 19, Atlantic City, Alive

Lila Rossi, 20, Manhattan, Dead

The rest of their classmates weren't on the database, but at least Adrien and Marinette knew the status of some of them. Even if Marinette never really got along with Lila she still felt sad over her death. Alix and Chloé could possibly still be alive, but she wasn't going to hold out hope. 

She looked over to Tim, "Thank you. You don't know how much this means." 

….. 

Marinette scrunched her eyebrows, "Wait, so you're telling me that we only met you because we started the security system in your dad's lab?" 

Tim smiled, "Basically. We're almost at the safe zone. There we can log your details and your friends will know where you are." 

Adrien let a crooked smile take over his face, "It will be nice to sleep on something other than the floor for a change." 

"Wait, why are we pulling up to a mansion?" 

Tim shrugged, "It's actually a Manor. And it's the safe zone. Well this and Drake Manor. The Waynes state of the art security makes this place impervious to attackers and zombies. It was always going to be a safe zone for refugees in case of an emergency of this scale." 

"Holy crap." 

….. 

The trio entered the front door, Marinette and Adrien were immediately impressed with the amount of people milling about. 

It was almost as if they were back to normal life. 

"Tim!" 

The group turned to see a tall, muscular man wearing all black. They immediately recognised this man from all the magazine covers he's been on. Bruce Wayne. 

Adrien walked over and smiled sheepishly, "Mr. Wayne! I'd like to thank you for allowing us into your home!" 

The man smiled, "It's my pleasure, I hope my son didn't cause you much trouble." 

Son? 

"None, at all sir," Marinette said, "He's been so kind and patient with us." 

"That's what I like to hear," He patted Tim's shoulder and walked away. 

….. 

"Your father is Bruce Wayne?!" 

Tim shrugged his shoulders, "I thought you knew? I was talking but his lab the whole journey." 

Marinette face palmed, "I thought you meant your dad was a scientist there, not the man who owned it!" 

"Well now you know." 

@timari-month-event

Buy me a coffee?

[enjennie]

The 7Dream café was strange.

It wasn't because of the seven dashing young men that run it, nor was it how the café gave you the weirdest of vibes that kept you coming back but it's that the café seemed to have came out of nowhere.

You lived in a small town, if a new building, more importantly a café, was coming into construction surely it would be the talk of the town. Alas, no noise until its grand opening. Maybe you weren't as updated with the latest news nowadays...

After your best friend practically dragged you to the conjunction, you found yourself at its entrance. Catching a whiff of the freshly baked goodies, freshly brewed coffee and catching sight of the boys that worked the establishment.

Of course, the boys were a major part of the reason why your friend was so persistent in coming.

"I heard that the baristas are such eye candies," she gushes. "But honestly, I've already got my eye on the delivery guy,"

"Jesus, even the delivery guy can't escape you," you chuckled lightly at your friend.

You had found seats near the kitchen area where you could see the bakers at work by the window, piping icing on cakes and taking out new batches of cookies from the oven. A dirty blonde boy looked up from his workspace, catching you looking and giving you a wink.

The sudden gesture took you by surprise, and you widen your eyes. He laughs, averting his eyes back down to the cake he was decorating.

"A-are we ready to order?" You tear your eyes away from the young man and turn to your friend, who held a menu in her hand.

The two of you walk over to the counter. Luckily, it wasn't too packed as you'd chosen a time when the highschool girls would be in school and wouldn't hog the café seats gawking at these boys. Your university was only a few blocks away. How convenient.

At the counter, you're greeted by a boy with a smile that could cure cancer. He leaned against the counter, black hair falling over his forehead looking effortlessly stunning. "Hi, love. Welcome to 7dream Café, what can I get for you?"

"I'll have a Namericano, two shots," you raise two fingers at him, not being able to get over how a man this beautiful can exist. Jaemin, his name tag read. He types the order into the cash register and your total is summed at the screen in front of you.

"Good choice. Cramming tonight?" Jaemin chuckled. You shot him a smile before shaking your head. "Just like my coffee strong,"

"Jeno, a namericano please. Two shots, for the gorgeous lady," Jaemin calls over to the other boy behind him.

The Jeno in question turns his head, looking over at you and flashing you his pearly whites as he laughed, eyes forming crescents as he does so. "Are you sure they don't want a Jenofrappe?" He laughs. "Kidding. Your name?" he grabs a cup and a pen ready to write your name on it.

"Y/N," you replied, a little stunned by his visuals. A defined face with the softest eyes.

"Coming up, Y/N,"

You've heard your name uttered millions of times, but the way Jeno said it was probably your favourite.

You pay up and leave your friend to manage her orders. On your way back to the seats, you come in collision with a man in a suit. He had golden blonde hair and striking eyes.

"I'm so sorry!" The boy apologized profusely. You're quick to wave away his apologies and offer your own. He had a name tag, which means he worked here. God, you were meeting just about everyone on here and you only came for an americano coffee.

"Chenle, you clutz," a boy who had watched things unfold was laughing in a booth just next to you. He was on his laptop, the Photoshop tab open. The café's logo flashed on it. Did all these boys work here?

"It's completely fine," you say. "I wasn't looking at where I was headed,"

"Looking elsewhere, were we?" The boy from the kitchen was now coming towards you, a cookie in hand. He had a round face and full cheeks. Everything about the boy was round from his eyes to his full lips. Of course, another gorgeous man who worked here.

"Chenle, Mark and I made a new batch but we tweaked around with the recipe a little," he extends his arm out to you. "Would you like to try it?"

You thought about how denying would possibly make the situation more awkward than it already was. You take it from his hands and the boy beams. A sun was drawn on it and it looked like an ordinary cookie. You took a bite, it's chewy and sweet. Scrumptious. The three boys were now looking at you, awaiting your judgment.

You raise a thumbs up, "Great!"

The baker balls his fist in success and Chenle laughs, finding his co-worker amusing. "Haechan one, Mark zero,"

When you finally get back to your booth, your friend had just sat back down. The orders would be brought by someone shortly.

"What do you think so far?" You ask, leaning over the counter and resting your chin on the palm of your hand.

"Overhyped," your friend frankly discloses, causing you to burst into fits of giggles. "But the boys are definitely something else," she adds. You agree. They were all a character. The café looked minimalistic, with little decorations and art pieces hung on the walls, but the ambiance they provided made up for it.

A few minutes go by and you hear the ding of a bell before you see another boy walking towards your table. Tall and handsome. A little timid, at first glance. He carried the tray of drinks over as if his life depended on it. He did it in such an adorable manner that you didn't care if it took him a little too long to reach your booth.

"Two shots n-namericano and a Hamjji Choco latté" he read from the receipt stuck underneath the drinks. "Ah, and complementary cake from Chenle and Mark," he places two plates of cake slices on the table. It's chocolate cake with orange icing. Like the one the boy was working on behind the glass earlier. You look over at him only to instantly regret it as you catch him looking right back at you.

You and your friends thank the boy and he scurries away, a shy smile on his face.

"Cute," your best friend giggles, taking a sip of her latté. She seldom drank coffee, while you on the other hand, lived off of it.

When you bring the cup up to your lips, you watch as your friend's eyes widen. The coffee had already touched tongue and was going down your throat. Nice and warm. You worriedly halt your actions, freezing up and look back at her equally as panicked. She breaks into a grin.

"Dude, check your cup," she claps her hand over her mouth and you turn the cup around to see.

A series of number was written along with the letters JN and a little smile. Your eyes drift over to the barista who served your drink and your eyes meet. The blonde boy is preparing another drink, but his eyes were on yours. There's a smug smile on his face as he turns around to serve the customer.

"Jeez, Y/N. These boys are really something," your friend continues sipping on her latté.

The cakes were like no other. Moist and fudgy, still a little bit warm and dripped with just enough chocolate on the sides. Your mouth watered thinking about it even as you put your fork down after clearing your plate.

"How's everything? We just opened so we really appreciate any reviews," Chenle came to check on you after you started eating. You thanked him for the cake and extended your compliment to the baker, saying everything was great.

It's only then you realized the word printed on his name tag. Chenle, Manager. You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion once the boy left. Wasn't he way too young to own this? Ah, well. This whole café didn't make sense to begin with. Just a bunch of cute boys who ran a café that came out of nowhere.

You and your friend decide to leave after a while and you carry the cup with you, thinking about what to do about the number on it.

"Thanks for coming to 7Dream Café! Hope to see you again," Jaemin chirped, waving his hand.

Outside, a small flier was posted on the post. You were almost certain it wasn't there when you first entered.

7Dream Café is hiring!

You tear the paper from where it's stuck and pocketed it into your bag. Something tells you that you were gonna be around more often than you thought.

[nomanwalksalone]

ON DECONSTRUCTION

by Alexander Freeling

Ferran Adrià could never be accused of being too straightforward. The celebrated Spanish chef made his name with dishes that were part science experiment, part conceptual art. Familiar dishes made utterly strange by a cocktail of tricksy humor and laboratory technique.

As Silviya Svejenova and colleagues put it, “Adrià’s artistry is in the contrasts (hot–cold, soft–crunchy, solid–liquid, sweet–savory), the concepts (e.g., foams), the techniques (e.g., spherification), and the creative methods (e.g., deconstruction).”

Deconstruction, in this case, means taking a dish and altering its physical properties (texture, appearance, temperature) until it becomes something utterly different. The aim is often to make food that looks alien until the moment you taste it, but then triggers a memory of something entirely familiar. Or you are presented with a total man-bites-dog inversion of the expected that somehow works. A vegetable course comes as a series of glossy gelatin blocks which reveal themselves to the tongue (but not to the eye) as distinct and familiar vegetables. “Kellogg’s paella,” a famous high-concept composition, involves saffron-fried puffed rice, served with a seafood broth to turn the Spanish dish into an imitation of American breakfast.*

The use of humor and disguise in cooking is far from new. Liber Cure Cocorum, a medieval English cookbook, gives instructions for lacquered pork meatballs disguised as apples. Epulario, or The Italian Banquet describes a pie containing live birds that fly out when the crust is broken. Adrià’s signature is the marriage of this playful attitude with serious interest in science and new ideas. He once called his work “stovetop philosophy”; the legendary restaurant el Bulli that he operated until 2011 “was a sort of gastronomic-philosophical media lab.” Inside, everything from memories to raspberries were broken down—deconstructed almost to the molecular level—and then reformed and remixed with cunning, wit, and a helpful chemist.

The heyday of deconstruction in philosophy wasn’t so different, despite the grandiose claims of its cultured despisers and self-appointed champions. It was about taking ideas out of their normal contexts, pulling and pushing them until they no longer fit in their original place and could be used in new ways. And like the cooking, it was accompanied by a love of humor, surprise, and scientific jargon.

When it comes to menswear, the term deconstruction can suggest a few different things. Sometimes it’s a synonym for unstructured: soft jackets, unfused shirt collars, and free-flowing dresses come to mind. But these strategies for casual ease have been around for generations. For the humor, irony, and inversion of culinary deconstruction you have to go from tailoring to streetwear and high fashion. Think ugly sneakers for beautiful people, ultra-rare but mass-produced box logo sweaters, and shockingly expensive clothes imitating commonplace uniforms (perhaps imagine a cobrand between a Parisian fashion house and a German logistics firm). To find comparable scientific prowess, on the other hand, nothing comes close to the specialist world of techwear.

The avant garde needs its workaday partners. Simple, nutritious food. Smart industrial design. Practical clothes. But these things in turn need people who push at their limits. What the ultimate limits are depends on your art. An architect must resist gravity. A chef is constrained by their imagination but also the health codes. (The true peak of avant garde cookery might be something delicious but fatal, a taste that must only be imagined, or else enjoyed but once.) For fashion, the immutable object is the human body, be it corseted or cosseted, built into a bold silhouette or lovingly draped. In that context, deconstruction is really just another word for dress up: playing with contexts, appearances and expectations in an effort to shock and delight.

* NB. not to be confused with this truly challenging recipe for chicken, rice and All-Bran® cereal.

[entertainment]

Entertainment Spotlight: Nyambi Nyambi, The Good Fight

Nyambi Nyambi currently stars as investigator Jay DiPersia in The Good Fight, which is now in its fourth season on CBS All Access. Most notably known for his rendition of sarcastic café owner Samuel in Mike & Molly, Nyambi’s other tv credits include PBS’ Mercy Street, NBC’s Blindspot, and ABC’s American Koko. In theater, Nyambi has performed both on and off-broadway. He will next be seen in the new Billy Crystal movie Here Today. A comic book aficionado and avid gamer, he lent his voice to the Martian Manhunter in the animated features The Death of Superman and Reign of the Supermen. Nyambi is a first-generation Nigerian-American and serves alongside Danai Gurira on the board for Almasi Collaborative Arts, an organization dedicated to developing emerging African artists. Check it out:

You have worked in both the theatre and on screens. How does your work/preparation differ? Do you prefer one over the other?

I love being on set. When I was a ballplayer, I was known as a “gym rat”. Always on a basketball court working on my game. Nowadays, the set is my gym. I’m on set even on my days off because I love seeing the work all come together. However, my roots are in the theater, so the thrill of being on stage in front of a live audience is almost impossible to beat.

Before every scene or play, I write down a list of reminders from advice I’ve received over the years, words that have inspired me: 

BREATHE | LISTEN | IMAGINE with the five senses | GO GET WHAT YOU WANT| SURPRISE YOURSELF | TRUST your partner | the work, IT’S DEEPER | ALL THE PIECES MATTER | NOTHING IS SOMETHING | You know what…F@#% IT | LET GO & PLAY

Be prepared to let go and play. I do a lot of research in my prep to build enough confidence to let go and play. When preparing for a play, the story is all there for the actors to unpack. What isn’t on the page but needed to tell the story will be imagined to further deepen those discoveries. 

When preparing for episodic television, you make strong choices that move you based on what is on the latest version of that script. Still, you have to be flexible with what you’ve imagined because what is on the page the next week can contradict that. I remember when I first got Mike & Molly, I had created this elaborate backstory the same way I would for a play. Every script after that, I’d either discover something new about the character or something that contradicted what I previously imagined for the character. It became a fun game of “who am I this week?” I had to let go and play. So, the immigration episode on The Good Fight was another example of turning my personal imagined backstory on its head. That made the shock of the episode all the more real for me.

Can you take us through a typical day on the set of The Good Fight?

The moment I sit in the passenger seat of the van sent to pick me up is when my day on set begins. It’s my first opportunity to connect with another person, an opportunity to listen. That driver has usually been waiting thirty minutes to an hour before my pick-up time, so the least I could do is say, “thank you for waiting.” Then from there, the conversation goes where it wants to go. I’ve listened to amazing life stories, discovered new music, received invaluable advice on relationships, shared a mutual love for Star Trek: The Next Generation, and learned how to drum from a world-class drummer. All on my way to work.

When I arrive, I make a point to say hello to all I can as a PA ushers me to my dressing room. I write a couple of pages of continuous stream of consciousness on the day’s scenes before I head up to Hair & Make-up. This is where the most fun happens and where I will first see the actors I get to play with that day. The music and joy I experience in HMU, along with the physical transformation, make this an opportunity to let go of the outside world and drop into this blessing that we all get to share in together. We’re making great television. I love the men and women in that room. Once I’m camera ready, I’ll either say, “see you on the ice” or “see you on the court.”

I head back to my dressing room to get into wardrobe while warming up my voice and speech. Once dressed, I get approved by someone from the wardrobe department. Once approved, a PA will let me know when it’s time to go to set for rehearsal. When that time comes, I’ll greet the episode’s director and the other actors, and we’ll go through the scene for lines, then for blocking and then for the crew for marks. We then wait 10-15 minutes for cameras to get into position, which is more time for me to drop in through drawing or music. When they’re ready, we block it for cameras. Once it all looks good, they’ll say, “Last looks,” and hair, Make-up, and Wardrobe will make sure we look right. The actors then get into position before the director yells out, “ACTION!”

As actors, our energy sets the tone, and I think it’s important to be a joy on that set, not a concern.

If you could be any kind of superhero you wished, what would be your ideal superhero combination (title, power, public persona)?

Right now, my ideal superhero combination would be the ability to mutate on a cellular or molecular level. That would enable me to look like any person, but more importantly, to replicate the necessary physiology of an immune body to cure disease. Every-Man. When I’m not Every-Man, I’m a lab technician at Cedars Sinai Hospital.

What advice would you give to young Black actors looking to get their first break in the industry?

That’s why I say I have a thousand mentors. The men and women before you have lived it so they can tell it. Don’t be afraid to ask for their advice. The learning never stops. Keep going, keep growing, and ever-evolving. What’s for you will be yours, and what’s not for you, you celebrate the one it’s for and keep going, trusting your time will come. January 7, 2010, I was negative $300 in my bank account, but I was skipping down the street because a quote a mentor told me over and over again finally became my gospel truth: “This is but a season in my life, it’s not my life. And as the seasons change, so too will this.” The next day was my audition for Mike & Molly.

What’s your favorite comic/comic universe? Why?

My favorite comic depends on the mood I’m in. It can range from J Michael Straczynski’s Supreme Power, Frank Miller’s Batman Year One, or currently, Bitter Root by Chuck Brown, David F. Walker, & Sanford Greene. My favorite comic universe is Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Why, because they’re green. Seriously, the current IDW run is so good. I grew up loving Donatello because he may not have the leadership of a Leonardo, nor the brute strength of Raphael or the Zen charisma of a Michelangelo, but he does have that brain. Plus, a broomstick was the only item in the house that resembled any of their weapons.

What would be your dream role to play? Why?

My dream role would be connected to basketball in some way because it informed such a huge part of my life, playing through college. Otherwise, I’m fascinated by comic book artists such as Denys Cowan, who was one of the founders of Milestone Comics, a phenomenal universe created and owned by African Americans.

Thanks for taking the time, Nyambi! Head on over to Action to check out the rest of our #BlackExcellence365 Spotlights. 

[haliyam]

interim (v)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 4

Hi again! Forgive me for this chapter and the next few ones, guys. I offer you this art I commissioned and an itty bitty happy-for-a-millisecond Zeke/Reader oneshot in the meantime 😪 (Please notice this I am so happy with it)

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 5

“Why are you helping me?”

You grit your teeth, peering over at Zeke as he lets go of your foot. He was helping you stretch, seeing as you’re too fatigued to do it yourself, not to mention you’re covered in a heated blanket and he’s put hot towels over and under your limbs. 

He ignores you, like he’s been ignoring you since he entered your room with all of these items, asking instead whether you wanted help or not. Like he’s been ignoring you since you arrived as a guest at the Yeagers’.

You don’t really like Zeke, and you’re sure he doesn’t like you either. You’re six, after all, with all the confidence the world can offer a child in your position, and he’s twelve, with all the arrogance of a boy already training to become the Beast Titan when the war in the South is over. 

That’s why his help is so strange. And without Mrs. Yeager forcing him into it, too?  It’s suspect, and you’re not even sure you know that word yet.

“Why—”

“Shh,” Zeke hisses, looking very displeased about having to respond in any way while you glare at him. When your brows unfurrow and you continue to stare at him expectantly, he rolls his eyes. Still, he finally speaks again. “Why are you like this, anyway? Aren’t you Magath’s new star would-be candidate?”

You were, until the ideology tests began. You don’t know they’re called that, but you’ve been doing terribly at the written exams which ask why Eldians are the dirt between the toes of  real  humans. Your answers show a well-read knowledge of Marley-sanctioned history, but distinctly lack the Eldian shame that comes naturally to your classmates. 

This is concerning to the program and to command in spite of your potential, so it’s up to your instructors to beat that shame into you by keeping you running for far longer than the others, leaving you out of meals, or shortening your breaks and then making you stay behind so you can do everyone else’s grunt work, especially after you dared to look Captain Magath in the eye the first time your class fell in to formation after the first round of exams. And every other time since, like an idiot. 

“Not anymore,” you answer, struggling to keep his gaze. You don’t really want to talk about this with someone who now must only wait to inherit his Titan. It makes you feel small, and nobody in Marley should have that authority.

Zeke wrinkles his nose. “That’s not an answer. It just seemed like you were doing great… and now you’re a baby that has to be coddled?”

Your glare returns, shame be damned, but the pain that suddenly pulses through your body as surely as your indignation quickly drains it. Your pride and your strength are depleted for the day, and you need to save what remains for tomorrow, when you have to face the instructors again. And besides—Zeke has already seen how weak you are. What’s the point? Tybur pride will do nothing for you now. 

You lower your gaze for once. “Are you going to tell the captain?” 

Zeke stares at you. “No? Why does Magath hate you now, anyway?”

You know why. Because you’re still a Tybur, and you refuse to be nothing. Even if nobody knows it. Even if you feel like nothing right now.

Zeke sighs again—a concession of his own, though that is unknown to you. “Fine. Just... my grandparents will get worried if they hear you crying because you can’t sleep.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you lie. Your body hurts so much that you haven’t been able to stay asleep for very long. You just didn’t think he could hear you crying.

“Sure,” he scoffs. He’s lied, too. It’s difficult to hear much noise inside your rooms from the hall—but you did pass him on the way to the bathroom with those puffy eyes just a little while ago. “Just make sure they don’t see you as pathetic as you look now—they already have enough to worry about. If you have to be pathetic… only do it in front of me. Understand?”

You still want to glare at him, but somehow, his words are almost as much comfort to you as the towels he’s heated for you. You don’t know the last time you let your guard down since the Warrior program began for your class, and you’re so tired. His words, however cold, warm you in your newfound frailty.

“Okay,” you murmur in defeat, relaxing in earnest. Your eyes are slowly starting to close.

“Hey!” he snaps within a whisper, quickly reaching for your shoulder and shaking it. You’re too sleepy to notice his reluctant concern. “Don’t fall asleep wrapped up in all this. It’s just a few more minutes, and then you have to go to the bathroom and put this ointment on your muscles like I told you. Remember?”

You do your best to widen your eyes and shake your head awake. The effort ends with you groaning in pain, but you eventually manage a nod. “I’ll stay awake,” you promise. When he sighs again and pulls the seat out from next to your desk to sit at your bedside, you murmur something else.

He frowns at you. “What was that?”

“I’ll stay awake,” you repeat, “but will you tell me a story?”

--

Are you surprised that Willy is coming to visit? Yes and no. Over the years, Willy has perfected the art of making his presence in your life known while somehow remaining completely absent. The nature of the new Lord Tybur’s existence in your world became immutable the summer after that fateful one, after you came crying to him and to Lara when you could no longer bear the loneliness of ignoring your friends’ letters for an entire year. Willy’s response, as with everything regarding Mila, was to turn away and change the subject. It was Lara who couldn’t resist your tears and confessed it all to you—what father told Willy hours before he became Lord Tybur, and then all she learned when she devoured him.

The new Lord Tybur was furious. It was only the second time in your life you had ever heard your brother so angry—but he never stays that way with you or with Lara for very long, and wouldn’t you have discovered the truth after thirteen years anyway? In true Willy fashion, he only smiled days later and expected you never to mention it again. The fact that you have, many times hence, is part of why your relationship is so frayed.  That and his tendency to appear, shower you with affection, and then shrink at the first sign of trouble. After all, how can anyone expect you to love a man who can’t bring himself to stand up for you?

Your resignation to this is mostly what keeps you from worrying too much the next morning, when Zeke leaves for HQ and you elect to join the Yeagers for market day. Part of it is guilt—apparently you and Zeke now consume much more than you did as candidates, and you want to make sure that you’re paying your share—and part of it is that you still feel ashamed for letting Zeke see you act the way you did last night. You still have to take care not to groan outwardly when you remember how you shrugged him off when he tried to be a friend, or how much you practically wailed into his chest. Never mind how you hid behind him from Mila when he let you, like the coward you are.

“You’re so pathetic, Lucy,” you mutter to yourself.

Standing not far from you by a vegetable vendor, Dr. Yeager glances over his shoulder. “Hmm? What’s that, Lucy?”

“Er—nothing, Dr. Yeager. I was just thinking to myself,” you smile sheepishly. Drawing closer to avoid getting jostled by the crowd, you search over his selection. “Oh! That’s… a lot of potatoes. You don’t need to avoid other items on my account. I’m happy to pay for my share.”

Dr. Yeager chuckles. “No, no. You know how much Zeke likes them. And don’t worry, Lucy, I can carry them.”

“No,” you say slowly, exchanging a look with the vendor when Dr. Yeager gives his smaller basket a faithful pat. You reach for it instead, tugging a little when he stubbornly refuses. “I’m taking these. You can carry some of the fish, but I’ll be taking most of the baskets. Hand them over and I’ll bring these to Mrs. Yeager.”

Dr. Yeager sighs. “Very well, Lucy. But only because I know how much you like carp from our friend down the road.”

You grin, and he lets you take his basket so you can fill your much larger one with (apparently) Zeke’s potatoes. As you part ways so he can go and buy you fish, you set out to find Mrs. Yeager. She should be waiting outside a little cafe not far from the market—Dr. Yeager likes doing most of the groceries nowadays, and Mrs. Yeager’s one very important task is to buy the household’s favorite seasonal dessert: grapes. Unfortunately, the best grapes in the zone market are sold by an old man who has a bit of a crush on her, and he doesn’t like seeing Dr. Yeager if he can help it. Or Zeke. Or you. 

That should be her only task, which is why you’re surprised when you find her with a man and a basket full of cured meats when you arrive. 

The truth is you almost miss her, if not for the sweet sound of her amused chuckle right as you decide to head inside to find her. Walking around the man blocking her from view, you approach. “Mrs. Yeager?”

“Lucy!” she waves. 

Her raised brows tell you she wants you to meet someone; evidently, the man carrying most of her baskets along his arms, wearing an apron over a button-down and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. You turn toward each other at your name, and after a blink or two between the two of you, you realize that the man’s shock is more familiar than you first realized—probably because it’s your second time bumping into each other this weekend. 

“Lucy?” he gawps at you.

You give him the same look. “Kellan? What are you…?”

He follows your gaze to Mrs. Yeager, and the way it dawns on his face is enough for you to trust that this is another funny coincidence. “Oh—” He gestures to her, “I was just helping, er…”

“Mrs. Yeager,” you help him.

“Right, Mrs... You’re Mrs. Yeager?” he asks, glancing at her. It’s clear he’s seen her unmistakable red armband, but it’s not polite to ask which child earned you Honorary Marleyan status. 

Mrs. Yeager is accustomed to his curiosity, which he soon realizes along with his manners with an embarrassed flush that makes you smile. Luckily, she takes over for him with a pat on his arm. “Kellan here was helping me with the meats I bought from his family’s shop. He was just telling me that he’s studying to be a doctor, and I thought, what a coincidence—but it seems you two already know each other! Isn’t he handsome, Lucy?”

Such a pointed question. You and Kellan meet each other’s gazes with mutual embarrassment. 

“You really don’t have to answer that,” Kellan laughs nervously, which helps you snap out of your stupor and look at him. You suppose he is handsome, even with his dark hair mired in sweat and slicked back today. He’s tall, taller than Zeke and maybe even Reiner, with a strong nose and gentle eyes that watch you hopefully in spite of his words.

The Warrior program and boarding school means no one has ever looked at you like that before, and the novelty has excitement blooming in your chest. Maybe a slight pink on your cheeks, too, which you try to hide with a smile. 

“I think so,” you say, his gaze and then his shock making you feel a new kind of brave. “And I have bumped into him a few times. ...Sorry again about yesterday.”

“That’s all right. Bumping into you isn’t so bad,” he says almost smoothly, very nearly matching your courage until he remembers Mrs. Yeager and, as such, his embarrassment. “...You know, because Mrs. Yeager bought so much. I’ve never seen my aunt so thrilled.”

You’ve never been this thrilled either—attractive boys were a constant topic for your peers at boarding school, but then you’ve never had the chance to meet one. You still haven’t. Kellan is an attractive man, a few years your senior and hardly a boy. And you aren’t a liar. He’s very pleasing to look at, especially when his eyes search yours so intently. 

“Of course,” you say, trying not to look nervous when you take a step closer and reach for the baskets he’s holding. “Well, thank you for helping Mrs. Yeager. But I can take those.”

Kellan withdraws the arm holding her basket, giving you a once-over. “What do you mean?”

“Lucy is our guest at home,” says Mrs. Yeager, who looks far too pleased with herself. “Even if she refuses to let us carry our own things.”

“Please,” you feign a sigh. “I haven’t kept up with some training for nothing.” 

Kellan looks confused as he glances between the two of you, but he’s determined when you meet his gaze again. “Lucy,” he begins, “remember that bookstore I mentioned yesterday? I was thinking—did you want to drop by after this so I can show you which books you can start with?”

“Really?” you ask. Perhaps you were hoping to see him again, make a friend or two at campus, but you didn’t think your encounters could actually move past hello and goodbye. But Mrs. Yeager was right. He is handsome, dark-eyed and tall, and the idea of more of those shy smiles is a flattering one. “Well… I’d like that. But I wanted to bring these home first. And aren’t you helping at your aunt’s stall?”

“I can take a break,” he says easily, smile growing just a little more confident. “And I can help you bring these home! You shouldn’t be carrying all these yourself. Er… If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Yeager. And I’d just have to change quickly. Been out here since early this morning.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Yeager answers for you, giving you an openly suggestive look. You pretend not to see it, but stifle a smile yourself.

Politely averting his eyes to spare you the embarrassment, Kellan reaches for the basket on your right arm, and for a moment you understand the Dr. Yeager of a little while ago. But you’ve never experienced anyone’s chivalry before, excepting Bertholdt (and he was an angel to just about everybody and he was twelve). You can suffer Kellan’s for now. 

“Thank you,” you say reluctantly. “But only that one. I have my pride to consider, you know.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, readjusting the baskets along his arms. When he shifts them all to just one arm so he can wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his damp hair glistening slightly, you imagine the tales you’ve read of countryside romances at the school library and remember to swoon a little. When he catches you looking and glancing away, Kellan smiles. 

“Where to, ladies?”

--

You find Dr. Yeager with your carp, and he is just as pleased as his wife to have another helper no matter how much he claims he can take another basket of his own. Your fears of Kellan’s talk of med school bringing out unhappy memories in Zeke’s grandfather come to nothing when Dr. Yeager expresses interest in the university system nowadays, and you’re happy to listen to the men converse about Kellan’s plans for specialization on the way home. 

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Yeager says when you arrive, hurrying to unlock the door, and the three of you file into the house while she keeps it open. To everyone’s surprise, the door to the kitchen is already ajar: Zeke and Porco are sitting at the table, poring over folders together in silence. It seems they didn’t hear you come in.

“Good morning, you two,” Dr. Yeager’s surprised remark shatters their deep focus, and both of them spring out of their seats. They immediately turn the folders over and stack them next to a small paper bag.

It’s Zeke who relaxes first. “Grandpa,” he greets, casually nodding at each of you until he spots Kellan coming in from behind you. He doesn’t notice himself straightening up to his full height.

Before he can ask, Mrs. Yeager beams at the sight of Zeke’s guest. “Porco! What a nice surprise. You rarely come to visit.”

Porco’s suspicious brow slackens into a smile for her. It’s almost sheepish, and if that’s the case, is it really Porco? “Sorry, Mrs. Yeager.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Things have been really busy.”

“What are you two doing here?” you ask, rubbing your arms as you set the baskets down by the counter. You join them standing by the table at Dr. Yeager’s urging. “I thought you worked Sundays.”

It is Porco, because he snorts, only a little more politely since the Yeagers are around. “We were supposed to, until our Warchief realized he left work at home.”

Zeke shrugs helplessly. “It slipped my mind. I hardly ever bring home work.”

Porco remembers that you were the one in a hurry to leave HQ two days ago, prompting Zeke to forgo leaving the files in his office when Boy Wonder decided he would accompany you home, which is seriously stupid because you don’t really need any more babysitting. But then the two of you did pass by the family bakery and Mr. Finger—so he decides to stay quiet for now.

On that matter, anyway. He gestures to Kellan, who is quietly helping Mrs. Yeager unload the baskets. “Who’s the guy?”

You shoot him a reproachful, wide-eyed look. “Porco—!”

“This is Kellan. He’s studying to be a doctor, a few years ahead of Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager interrupts. She hardly knows him and she’s already proud of him, it seems, pushing him next to you by the table. He apologizes when the surprising force of her shove has him bumping into you.

“Right.” You steady him with a hand on his upper arm and are unsurprised to find muscle there. “Uh, Kellan helped us bring the groceries home. We’re heading out in a bit so he can show me some textbooks I can study ahead of time, regardless of which professors I get.”

“Textbooks?” Porco repeats with a chuckle. “Since when do you study, Blanchard?”

“Since a while ago, Galliard,” you say pleasantly, even with your teeth gritted, wondering if it’s possible to burn alive with embarrassment while hoping Porco catches alight himself. When the new Jaw only continues to look amused, you sigh. “Kellan, this is Porco, and that’s Zeke.”

You could announce their last names, but everyone in the zone knows who the Warriors are, and Kellan already seems uncomfortable. You hope it’s not because of Porco’s remark and consider throttling the man.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kellan says anyway, politely offering his hand.

You hold back when Porco shakes it. It goes on for a little longer than you expect and their knuckles are paler by the end of it, but you suppose that’s better than nothing, which is exactly what Zeke gives when Kellan extends a hand to him next.

“The pleasure is ours,” Zeke says in lieu of doing anything else. He’s smiling, one hand in the pocket of his uniform while the other holds half the stack of folders. “Kellan, right? You’re pretty persistent, huh?”

Kellan presses his lips together as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Zeke stares at him a little longer before he chuckles. “Nah.”

You’re not surprised. Zeke always takes his time warming to people, if he ever does. When he meets your gaze, his amusement softens into something a little more natural.

You smile back, unsure why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden when Mrs. Yeager comes up from behind you. “All right, Kellan, thank you for accompanying us home. Now, off you two go.”

You survey the kitchen counters with a grimace. The groceries still need sorting. “But Mrs. Yeager—” you and Kellan start in unison, and then exchange glances. His light laughter is a little more than charming.

“Ugh,” Porco mutters, echoing more than just his own sentiments. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Yeager says before you can notice. She rounds the four of you to pat the shoulders of Zeke and Porco. “I’ve found two new helpers in your stead. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you, dears?”

Kellan looks to Dr. Yeager. “But—”

“We can handle it,” Zeke cuts him off, but he’s decidedly ignored the man, waving at you instead. “Do what you need to, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” you beam at him, feeling oddly silly. Like a child playing adult as Kellan opens the door for you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, kids,” Porco calls out. He chuckles when you glance over your shoulder to shoot him a deadpan look, only to find Zeke giving him the exact same one once the front door clicks shut.

“What?”

--

“I’m sorry about that,” you say as soon as you leave the Yeager household and head down the steps toward the street. You glance back at Kellan, waiting for him to follow. “Zeke and Porco are nice when you get to know them. And vice-versa.”

Kellan nods, looking at you. “You seem close.”

“Yeah,” is all you can say. When you don’t say more, he doesn’t pry. 

He asks to drop by the market again so he can pick up his things and an extra shirt, and you walk in relative silence until you reach it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, open palms pressing at the air as if you’ll disappear the moment he leaves. It’s cute from someone so much taller than you.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he does too before diving back into the crowd.

You adjust your armband as you back into a nearby building and watch the coming and going of Eldians through the tightly-packed throng. Long ago, during your first foray into one of the zone’s open air markets, you were disgusted and confused. Only your growing regard for the Yeagers and the thought of Zeke’s sarcastic surprise at the little you knew of the world had kept your mouth shut. 

Over the years you came to accept it as part of this temporary home, and market day a time when Eldians could happily interact with familiar faces and keep one another apprised of their trials amid life in the zone. The strong stench of the place became a reminder of this affection you could only find within a community, one completely nonexistent in the grand, empty gardens of the Tybur estate. 

The first summer after you left showed you that to Eldians outside of Marley, the Liberio internment zone—a place you still consider a prison for people you care about, where stepping outside its gates to look for a pharmacy when those in the zone have nothing more to offer can end in a beating—is paradise. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, but it’s your world. The world that the Tyburs have allowed to flourish. 

Alone with your thoughts, you find yourself nervous. Why is Willy coming here? Only Mila was ever permitted to come and visit you—but that was when father was still alive. 

Perhaps if Willy sees Liberio, the place that raised you...

You find yourself hopeful. Maybe it was father all along. Maybe Willy isn’t a coward after all.

“Sorry about the wait. Lucy?”

Kellan stands before you, hair no longer damp but brushed down a little more properly. The apron has disappeared in favor of a new button-down, the strap of his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. 

His sleeves are still rolled up. You like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile, readjusting the purse at your side. “Ready to go?”

Kellan nods, and is much more talkative now that he feels more presentable around you. He apologizes for his silence earlier—his own scent was bothering him, and he was embarrassed—and he starts to tell you about university as soon as you ask. 

The bookstore he mentioned is a little far from the Yeagers’, but it is useful. Many are secondhand, but the store is vigilant about keeping only those published in the last five years. It regularly gets donations, perhaps from sympathetic Marleyans, though how they would know about it you can only wonder.

Kellan advises you as to the best books when it comes to basic medical subjects, which are what you’ll be taking up in your first year. In spite of Porco’s little joke, you’re eager to get started working toward that degree. General List’s words may hang over your head, but now that Willy is coming to Liberio, you have time to wait to tell him instead of putting off writing Lara about it. 

“Wow,” Kellan remarks, once you’ve bought everything. “You really are serious about this.”

You glance up at him with a frown you can’t help. “You thought I wasn’t?” 

“It’s not that,” he says at once, holding the door open for you as you leave the shop. He offers to take the books off your hands, but you hold the pile to your chest, waiting for his reply. “No, it’s more—I thought I was the only one who did this kind of thing. Study ahead of the year if I can.”

You relax somewhat at his words. “You do this too?”

Kellan nods, and when he reaches again, you let him take half your books. “My friends made fun of me, but I mean to become a physician. There aren’t enough Eldian doctors to attend everyone in the zone, and… I want to help.”

“I see,” you murmur. Suddenly, Kellan seems a lot more charming than he is already. “I bet you’re at the top of your class or something.”

Kellan only smiles, and you blink at him.

“Are you?”

He looks embarrassed about it the way you know most men in your life wouldn’t be. “One of my professors said if I wasn’t Eldian, I might have been offered a scholarship.”

“That’s amazing,” you say, a mix of admiration and pity swirling in your stomach. You wish you could help him. Do more for a man like this. 

“Yeah, well…” Kellan shrugs, but he easily replaces his bitterness with a smile when he looks at you again. “You have a good study ethic yourself. You’ll do great.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like passing the state exams was a fluke.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if it were.” It’s his turn to frown. “None of us Eldians would.”

You wish that were true. Of course, you took the exams as Lucy Blanchard, and for all intents and purposes Willy had nothing to do with your results. You studied ridiculously hard to earn your grades and the state exam score—it’s just difficult not to wonder when Lord Tybur has always known what you were up to.

“Look.” He stops, moving to stand in front of you. “I know we just met, but—I don’t like hearing you say that about yourself. Okay?”

You can only smile. You haven’t known Kellan for half a day, but you don’t feel like challenging him the way you would the others if they said that to you. It feels like he deserves more than that. “Let’s just say I was always the more sports-oriented type. But thank you.”

Kellan looks at you as though he thinks you might say something self-deprecating again and he’s ready to gainsay it. When you don’t, he nods with approval and looks ahead. “Uh, so I was thinking…”

“What is it?”

“My friends study with me nowadays on university grounds. We’re allowed to, and the university library does have some books the store might not. The cafeteria has great food we don’t have in the zone, too.”

He glances over at you, and when you continue to wait for his point, he asks, “Do you want to study with us, maybe tomorrow afternoon? We have lectures to attend this summer, but I can maybe… pick you up afterward? The permit office will let you if you show them that you’ve confirmed your slot. If you want to,” he adds.

His offer is surprising and exciting and daunting in equal measure, because of course someone wanting to spend more time with you is nice, even if you’re ambivalent about meeting new people. Of course, the new people you met at boarding school knew you as Lucy Blanchard, the daughter of some Eldian servant for the Tyburs, and they were Marleyan to boot. Kellan’s friends are Liberio Eldians too. Maybe they’ll be just like him.

“I do want to.”

His uncertain expression immediately lights up. “Great,” he beams. “Will you be at the Yeagers’ tomorrow?” 

“Uh… yeah,” you answer, after some thought. You’ll be at HQ most likely, but you can always leave ahead of Zeke. “Just tell me what time you’ll arrive and I’ll have my permit ready by then.”

“Okay,” he says, pleased. “That works.”

You exchange smiles, and he walks you back to the Yeagers with a more relaxed silence than when you left. He hands you your books once you’ve unlocked the door to the house.

“I really have to get back to my uncle’s, but…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, right? Maybe… four?” 

“Yeah,” you grin. When he waves, disappearing down the street, you hurry back inside toward the dining room. But it’s empty, with everything sorted in the kitchen. The Yeagers have left a note on the dining table about going out on a Sunday date, apparently presuming you would be out all day, but there’s another note from Zeke on the folded paper bag he and Porco brought home earlier. 

Crybabies only, it says. You thought it was part of Warrior work, but you open it and find a few jars of your old favorite fruit jam.

“Tch,” you chuckle, fishing out the jars and storing them, but you take Zeke’s note and bring it upstairs with your books. 

You get started on a simple lunch soon after. You want to re-wrap your new books in time for tomorrow afternoon, and make a note to replace Mrs. Yeager’s roll of plastic entirely since you neglected to buy your own. Once you get your permit for tomorrow, it’s still early enough that you have time to visit Mr. Finger, especially since you forgot to yesterday, and you end up sharing his dinner. You were embarrassed about dropping in when he was cooking, but he’s happy for the company, especially while Pieck is away.

To your relief, there are no guards in plainclothes outside the Yeagers’ when you return, and Mr. and Mrs. Yeager are in the living room chatting quietly between them. You greet them and hurry upstairs before they can ask you about Kellan, and allow yourself to linger in the bath when your reflection on Kellan inevitably leads to Mila and the night before. 

Given how angry she was yesterday, you already know what she would say to you if she found out about any man like him. Not that you have ever considered sharing your life with anyone, but surely she would accuse you of trying to find some way out of your duty again, even when she knows that the family made sure—

The doorknob turning to no avail rattles into your thoughts. It must be Zeke, since you share a bathroom, so you hurry to get out and get dressed into your pajamas again. Once you’ve brought your things to your room, you give his door a knock.

He opens it pretty quickly. It seems he wasn’t expecting you, because he looks surprised to see you still drying your hair with your towel. On his part, he’s still in his uniform—just without the coat and the belt, one side of his shirt unceremoniously tucked out of his pants. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, more pleased than you should be. You feel like you’ve been waiting to see him all day. “Was that you? I’m done with the bathroom.”

“Ah. Thanks. I’m still finishing something anyway,” he nods, and leaves the door open when you don’t immediately turn and go.

You follow him inside, flopping at the edge of his bed while he goes to his desk again. “What are you working on?”

“Warrior stuff.”

Something must have him in a mood, but there’s no use poking him at this stage. “I saw the jam. Thanks for that.”

Zeke turns away from his desk, his serious countenance lingering just a little before it finally falls away for mischief at the reminder of his little gift. “Like my note?”

“No. And only because it means I’ll have to share it with you.”

“Heh. Yeah, sorry—just putting off turning in paperwork I should’ve gotten done before.” He sighs, obviously trying to settle down, at least until he seems to recall something else. He glances back at whatever he was writing, his pen swaying noisily between his fingers as it hits his desk. After a beat, he slides his work a little further away from him and asks, “How was the date?”

You’d almost forgotten about that. “Oh—it wasn’t a date,” you say, and realize how strange it feels to be discussing a boy with Zeke. “Kellan is just helping me study ahead of the semester.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, like a promise. You don’t care to mention that you’ll spend time with Kellan and his friends tomorrow afternoon. That was implied, right?

Zeke shrugs, sitting back against his desk chair. “When did you get so fond of studying, anyway?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “The way you and Porco tell it, it’s like I didn’t know how to read.”

“No,” he laughs, making the denial sound a lot more like affirmation, “I just mean you hated it. Before Bruning knew who you were, you were in the running for either the Jaw or the Armor for a reason.”

You peer at him. When Zeke only lifts a brow, challenging you to deny it, you click your tongue. “I guess. But I didn’t inherit anything, so what was I supposed to do? I was never interested in the varsity teams… not that they would have let me join as Lucy Blanchard. And I wanted to be useful somehow. I mean, actually useful.”

“I know,” Zeke says, watching your fingers lightly pinch at the hem of your pajama top in frustration. It’s almost amusing how your tells haven’t changed a bit, but he can’t deny that it’s endearing.  “Well… I’m glad you’re doing something apart from getting me in trouble for once.”

Your jaw drops. “I never got you into trouble for that long, did I?”

The two of you meet eyes for a moment, knowing the answer to that, but you both choose not to bring it up. He wouldn’t put you through that memory again.

“I don’t know,” he grins. “How long did I stand there getting an earful when you glued Nickel’s belt together?”

You stare at him, genuinely trying to remember—before you burst into laughter, hand over your mouth in sheer horror at the memory, as though you can’t fathom ever having done such a thing. Zeke is shaking his head, trying not to smile, when you finally calm down enough to present your defense. “That—that was Pieck’s idea!”

“No, Pieck said she wanted to do it. You actually did it.”

“But it was funny,” you grin. “And Nickel deserved it. Besides, I paid for that too.” 

“Yeah…” Zeke’s smile falters. He remembers. You had been about this close to being force-fed the glue you used that afternoon, when you found one of Magath’s fellow instructors asleep in his office. “Nickel deserved everything that came to him.”

He remembers what you looked like when they found you, busted lip still stubbornly set in a line, trembling as Pieck shed silent tears when Magath dragged Nickel out of sight. But then your foot nudges his leg, pulling him from his reverie so he remembers what you look like now. Not a bruised or bloody memory that still wakes him at night sometimes, covered in sweat, but Lucy in the flesh, with a knowing expression on your pretty face. Zeke supposes he’s just as easy to read when you know his tells, too. 

“Well... sorry about that anyway,” you say. “Pieck had a name for my brand of stupidity for a reason.”

Zeke knows what you’re doing. He grants it to you with a sigh. “No sense of self-preservation.”

“That. Don’t worry—I’ve developed one since then. Or Pieck’ll really give up on me this time.”

You give him a smile, as if he’s the one who needs comforting when it comes to that night. Why did he have to bring it up? He would put his foot in his mouth if that didn’t remind him of Paradis—of his most recent nightmare. The thought of everything you don’t know makes him feel like an ocean separates the two of you all of a sudden. Like you’re here, and he’s still on that island, a blade jammed into his maw. He shivers. 

You lean a little closer, elbow on the footboard. Of course you’ve noticed. “What’s wrong?” 

Leaving his pen on the desk, Zeke moves over to sit next to you on his bed. If nothing else, he can at least shorten the distance in one way. 

He has a lot to tell you, Paradis foremost of them all. He knows Pieck must have said something, but he’s managed to avoid the topic so far. 

He has a lot to ask, too—what was normal school like? Did you really not have any friends? You seemed to make easy enough friends with that Kellan character.

Zeke looks at you like he wants to say something, and then gets as far as opening his mouth before clearly thinking better of it. 

“It’s Pieck.”

Alarmed at his tone, you inhale sharply. “What about Pieck? Is she all right?”

He was holding his breath himself, but he relaxes with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She’ll be back with the Panzer Unit in less than a week.”

“Oh! Good,” you say, but then stare at him, obviously catching the lie in his old answer now. But he sees it when you shift priorities (Pieck was always one of them)—you’re clearly excited to have her home earlier than she promised, but the why of it is giving you pause. “So soon?”

“Yep.” He shifts away so that he’s moving up his own bed, at least until he catches you giving him a disgusted expression. You can’t stand it when someone still in their  out  clothes wears them to bed, and he knows that very well. That earns you an eyeroll, but you’ve had so many arguments about it at this point, many of which began with well it’s my bed and which ended only because he couldn’t stand hearing you talk any longer, that Zeke only sighs and practically vaults himself off his sheets so he can grab a change of clothes before you can start.

He makes a twirling motion with his finger when you look, and you turn to face the wall. This must be the quickest that Zeke has ever grabbed or changed his clothes outside the rush of Warrior training as a kid. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly conscious with you in the room. It’s just you.

“You know it doesn’t count if you don’t shower, right?” you ask.

Zeke makes a snorting sound as he climbs back onto his bed in a shirt and a pair of pajamas, even if he feels like he’s twelve wearing the whole get-up right now. This time he ignores you until he’s got his back against his pillows and the headboard, legs stretched out over his blanket and his arms crossed over his stomach. “Do you want to know why Pieck is coming back soon or not?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine.” 

Smiling triumphantly, he pulls out one of his pillows and tosses it on the empty space next to him. You wrinkle your nose at him, but he did give you the clean pillow when he’s given you the other before, so you let yourself fall forward on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, both crossed over his pillow. Your hair looks warmer than usual against the light of his lamp as you peer up at him. “So?”

Zeke looks away and shrugs. He shouldn’t be telling you this. But if his room isn’t safe for secrets, then where is? “One reason. Lots of movement in the south these days.”

Between the old Southern borders of Marley and Ulodana lies its new Southern territories, swept off the board by Marley and into its net in years past through the efforts of the Warrior generation before yours. Mr. Ksaver’s, to be exact, before they started training children. You had heard of minor attempts at guerilla warfare within those former nations in their bid for freedom, but little else. After your summer excursion with Mila, you began to distance yourself from news of the world when it came to Marley’s expansion, the Warriors’ activities especially so. Ignorance was better than guilt back then, but Zeke doesn’t know that.

“The South… you quelled a small rebellion there, right?”

“Yeah, but…” One of his hands drums near your pillow, tugging once at its corner as he asks, “You don’t know?”

“The Tyburs aren’t told everything.”

“Fair enough. Between the two of us,” he says, giving you a meaningful look you return with an earnest nod, “a couple of the leaders escaped into the eastern peninsula. Who knows what support they’ve gotten since then?”

You take a deep breath and hum as you exhale. “...That explains why General List reached out to me.”

“List? He’s the one who called the meeting with you?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Didn’t the commander say he was there?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. So have you decided?”

You almost look amused. “You know I can’t move without Willy’s say-so.”

He shrugs. Needless to say he doesn’t care all that much for the new Lord Tybur, who sounds just as absent as your old man was back then. “I meant what do you want?”

When your surprise at his question starts to fade, you lower your gaze at his quirked brow, slouching a little. “I don’t know. List wants me to… ‘be the new face’ of the Foundation. Distance it, myself from the regime so we can build headquarters abroad and bring in intelligence. That way we can bring more Eldians into the safety of the organization, but...”

“What?” Zeke snaps, sitting upright all of a sudden, but all the reasons you shouldn’t do it skid to a halt behind his teeth when you recoil in surprise. He pauses, clearing his throat, and reaches up to scratch behind his ear instead. “...would your brother put you in danger like that? What about Tybur non-involvement?”

You scoff, eyes narrowed at nothing you can see here. “That’s not what the general thought. He only said Willy wouldn’t do it to Mila.” Zeke grunts at her name, and you shake your head. “I mean… maybe it’s moot. She would never give up control of the Foundation.”

“Yeah... Maybe.” Maybe it’s enough that you’re ambivalent. General List is one of General Calvi’s close allies, and he’s well-known in certain circles to get what he wants. But even he can’t change the century-old tradition of Tybur ‘neutrality,’ even if part of Zeke is curious to see if Mila Tybur or Hulbart List would win in a battle of wills.

He sets that aside when he catches a distant look in your eye. He’s only ever seen one reason you’ve looked like this. Or two. “She didn’t drop by again today, did she?”

You shake your head. “She had Foundation business yesterday. She must have gone from the city last night the minute she left here.”

“Then what is it?”

You look at him, and now he knows what it is. “I just… ugh,” your eyes fall to his sheets. “I don’t know. I was so pathetic yesterday. I wish I—I wish that I could have said something to her.” Your voice is quieter when you add, face flush with embarrassment, “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

“This again,” he says at once. It was difficult not to cut you off from the get-go. “Have you forgotten already? If you have to be pathetic…” He reaches over to graze your chin with the curve of his index finger, tilting it forward so that you meet his gaze. “You can be pathetic in front of me. Understand?”

His soft smile is the same as it was in the hallway yesterday. Warm still, like the solid expanse of his chest when you wept in his arms, but suddenly his finger beneath your skin feels hot. Tingles where he touches you. Like your face, now that he’s looking at you like that. 

That’s not right. Zeke is either an annoying jerk who should shut his face forever or all comfort, blankets tucked up to your nose after a grueling day of work and a warm bath; a good night’s rest. Wrapped up in a hot blanket, the murmur of his voice lulling you into a deep and restful sleep. Not standing over a precipice with only the whim of the wind behind you or the rush of blood pounding through your ears without warning. 

This is not the Zeke you’ve wanted back for the past six summers.

His touch scalds you—or maybe the memories you keep closest to your heart, as if any closer, any longer and it might burn them away forever. 

You tremble, but not with pain, and decidedly ignore it as you stare at him, forcing a slight wince on your mouth. You hope he doesn’t notice you gulp. “That was probably more impressive when I was a kid.”

Zeke lets his jaw drop—it must have been a while since anyone denied him their awe—but he only laughs, so deep and hearty you feel his mirth in your own chest, before he flicks a finger at your nose. “You little ingrate. That was supposed to be touching!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grin, a little too widely for your own good. Batting away at his hand, you sit up and slide off his bed. You’re strangely hyperaware of the way you gulp again once your feet find your slippers. When your eyes meet, he’s pretending to be cross with you. Maybe you like it better that way. 

“But thank you,” you say, rubbing an arm. “Really.”

Zeke only nods, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as you head for the door. “Lucy—you still coming to HQ tomorrow?”

You glance back only once you’ve got your hand on the doorknob. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but he looks pleased. “All right, get out. Distracting me from work and then telling me I’m not impressive anymore…”

“Spend more time with the kids. They still think the world of you. Good night!”

Zeke could probably chuck a pillow at you when you give him a little cackle before shutting his bedroom door, but he lets you escape with your dignity intact. 

At any rate, he’s in a much better mood when he gets back to work.

////////

If you're worried about Kellan, you can click the fic list link on my bio for spoilers. (assuming you haven’t already read the other oneshots ahahha) 

The flashback at the start of the chapter (as well as the others in the next few chapters) is something of an edited excerpt from a long-ass oneshot I wrote detailing Lucy’s childhood from before she left the Tybur estate, going through her Warrior training, and until a little after the time Lara inherited the War Hammer which I was/am debating with myself about editing&posting maybe after finishing the sequel fic to this which occurs during the Mid East-Marley War. I wondered if I should keep flashbacks out except for 2 crucial flashbacks toward the end of the story, but I’ve been sad about the dumb leaks post-139, having this feeling of ‘what’s the point of all this then if it all ends in that’ (even if this will be canon divergent), and I decided I would like to show the most important bases for Lucy’s relationships with at least Zeke and Pieck before she left, plus editing this in made me happy, so yeah.

Also! I know Zeke was a sweet little boy... but he was alienated by his classmates when he did poorly at first and burdened with expectation his whole life. No doubt that alienation shifted to sudden praise, admiration, or jealousy as soon as he became a candidate, and my hc is it made him a cynical kid when it came to others his age and even older people. Of course, he does eventually learn to be more charming (or annoying) and does have friends (as much as you can have friends in his position and with his life view), but that to me is why he’s like that at 12. Mr. Ksaver is exempt from this obviously as he completely trusts the man.

Another note: This is tagged zeke x reader because it’s in 2nd person POV, but also zeke x oc because reader or Lucy has a set background and family name. If you've gotten this far in interim I'm sure you already know what that is. XD So... please don’t send me hate or frustrations about why she looks like she does in the commissioned art I linked in the top of this chapter. Her family name necessitates that she’s white, I'm sorry. I hate having to say this but I'm not white either, or white-passing or w/e, but as I said in my note in chapter 1 I want to write a Tybur OC. If you’re going to send hate about me making a Barbie doll to complete Zeke or whatever I’m just going to delete it. Lucy is much more than that, in fact Zeke is not an entirely positive force in her life though they may appear to implicitly understand one another, and I have an entire background story and development for her that I‘m excited to write and share. I’m (not) sorry if me taking the time out from that to commission art that makes me happy grinds your gears. Of course I hope that readers will enjoy what I've written for myself but if you don't like it, just click away please. I won't be responding to complaints about that from here on out.

Anyway, thank you as always for reading! Would love to hear what you think. Of the flashback, of Kellan, of Zeke, of Lucy's blatant denial of certain things (I love and hate this), whichever! (Also can you tell I love Porco? He notices everything. Or almost everything.)