#they love that little twinge of funk..

[guacamoleroll]

𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖘/𝖔 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

from anonymous ⇢ "could you write some hc's about fyodor taking care of a sick s/o? love your work btw!"

content. gn!reader. illnesses (implied pneumonia and influenza), hurt/comfort, dizziness, badly translated russian, cute little headcanons. not proofread. 1.8k+ words.

author's note. thank you for the request! i've been in a bit of a writer's funk lately, so hopefully my little ramblings are good ٩(*•͈ ꇴ •͈*)و ̑̑❀

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. it had been the perfect day for enjoying the sunshine, only for you to succumb to the symptoms of an unknown illness. unluckily for you, fyodor is gone on a mission, so it's time to fend for yourself.

You had been stuck home for weeks, only allowed to leave for groceries and emergencies. Fyodor was away on a dangerous mission inside the city and wanted to ensure that you were safe and sound at home. It was reassuring to receive letters from him since he was close by, but you had started to succumb to cabin fever.

But tomorrow was supposed to be the perfect day.

You took a cursory peek at the weather the night before, pleased to find local climate conditions suitable for finishing your chores while soaking up some sun. It had been either too hot or too rainy for you to leave the house, but tomorrow would provide the prime opportunity to embrace some fresh air.

But it was not meant to be.

"God," you hissed, stretching your disjointed limbs when the sun blinded you as it peeked between the shutters. Weather conditions were perfect, but it seemed your body raised another issue. Your muscles ached with each pop of your joints — strange, but you assumed you had slept wrong. And then your head began to throb. It was small at first but only increased in pressure and annoyance as the day continued. Your throat was the worst of it, an unfluctuating burning sensation aggravating your nerves every time you swallowed.

You originally wrote off these symptoms — the shift of weather probably had a negative effect on your body. It was nothing some good-ol’ fashioned pain medication couldn’t fight off. A minor cold or headache would be manageable as long as you didn’t strain yourself too much, and you refused to dampen such nice weather, so you trekked onward.

The beginning of your day started in the garden, your fingers fast at work toiling with weeds and watering plants. However, the elevated sensation of spasms crawled up the muscles of your arm, making your fingers twitch with every movement. You fussed, massaging your palm with your fingers, and decided that you had enough gardening for the day — there was no way you could continue in this condition. 

So instead, you embraced the brush of air-conditioning against your sweat-slicked skin, sliding the door shut unceremoniously as you trudged your way over to the kitchen counter. A mound of paperwork loomed ahead, awaiting examination and signatures. It seemed like Fyodor reveled in giving you these menial tasks, either to add or to evade your boredom. You shuffled through the top of the stack, carrying a bundle to sit next to the conditioning unit — otherwise, you’d be tempted to stick ice cubes against your skin to relieve the heat-based dizziness that stirred the neurons of your brain.

Tick. Tick.

The clock clicked onward, and you found your hands more cramped and your eyes more and more strained. Even paperwork had become an arduous task, your muscles twinging with pins and needles in the frigid air. So after you signed your name for what seemed like the thousandth time, you placed the pen and papers on the floor and called it a day. You weren’t getting anything else done in this position, and you honestly did not want to be awake for this day any longer.

It seemed to be one of those days, days when the world mocked your misery with its delightful weather, watching in humor as you stumbled over your own feet to crawl away from its intense gaze. You burrowed into the sheets like a rabbit, the cotton comforter cocooning around your body, substituting the presence of your missing lover. The scent of pine permeated from the sheets — you had sprayed the bed each morning with cologne whenever Fyodor was away — as your muscles unwound, eyes fluttering shut as a tiny smile graced your features.

But the nap did not help.

Instead of arising from your bed with a sense of refreshment and relief, the pounding of your skull ran tremors through your body. Your vision had split into blurred shards of light, hands shaking as you guided yourself into the bathroom. You placed a thermometer against your forehead after a quick rummage through your drawers, leaning against the wall as you waited for the beep. Your legs wobbled as you fought back sleep, wincing when the thermometer rang.

102.2°F.

That was pretty damn high.

Body temperature was the most concerning aspect of your condition, and most of your other symptoms would leave if you had taken care of it, so you focused on that first. After waddling into the kitchen, you strained to reach for a cup inside the kitchen cabinet to fill with water. The entire process became more tedious than usual, and the water splashing against your hands only made your fingers cramp. You popped the medication cap open, downing the pills and chugging the water with conviction before slamming the cup onto the counter.

You stumbled your way into the living room., throwing yourself on the couch as your legs gave up underneath you. Your feet toyed with a blanket on the end, flicking it across your body as you struggled to find the proper ratio for the best cooling effect. It became an on-again, off-again struggle before you gave up, groaning into the scratchy decorative pillow under your head.

Each breath was a struggle, the pressure on your chest acting like a lead weight slowly sinking under the water. You braced yourself on your back, feeling the expansion and contraction of your chest with your hands, fearing that if you stopped tracking each breath, you would stop breathing entirely. 

Shit.

The world went hazy, black dots crawling at the edges of your vision.

Creak!

You moaned, clutching onto the pillow as you covered your ears to shield them from the obtrusive sound. The footsteps that began to enter the room paused before someone rushed to your side. That same person seemed to be talking to you — yes, you knew they had to be — a hand guiding you to sit straight and a gentle voice coaxing your eyes open. It was difficult to see who it was, but that velvety Russian accent made it easier.

"F-Fyodor," you mumbled, squinting at him through clouded eyes. He leaned your body against the back of the couch, kissing your forehead to feel for your temperature. His brow furrowed, eyes examining your body as it tremoured with chills. 

If he had known about this, he would’ve returned sooner.

"Я тут, Я тут. Ты не один, любимая . Я тут."

The moment he strides through the doorway and spots your doubled-over body on the couch, he’ll assess the situation and act with precision. He is an intelligent man, which makes his first instinct to address the issues he can and find the fastest way to cool you down. And knowing him, he would be able to identify your specific ailment with around 95% accuracy.

He may not be a medical professional, but he is well-read and has extensive knowledge of human biological makeup and anatomy. He would also have access to your medical records (whether you know it or not) — it makes it easier for him to look after you, but he’ll never tell you that. 

So his first priority is both bringing your temperature down and stabilizing you. He will refresh the sheets inside your bedroom (smirking at the familiar scent of cologne), laying you down with a cool rag on your forehead. Any time you wake up, you are guaranteed to have water situated inches away from your face. Despite your sore throat, he will not allow you to gargle any salt water. He doesn’t want you to get any more dehydrated.

"You need to drink, мышка. You won’t get better if you're dehydrated."

Your entire bedroom will have turned into a cozy den, allowing you to rest without going completely stir-crazy. A heating pad would lie beneath your back, and a humidifier would be adjusted near your face to clear out your lungs — that’s one of the things that worried him the moment he walked through the door. He was concerned you were slowly suffocating, which he knows is one of the worst ways to go.

He would also massage your sore muscles. Enjoy this treatment while it lasts because he wouldn’t normally do this when you were fully cognizant. He is a bit softer to you in this state because it reminds him of the fragility of the human body. He often forgets (more like doesn’t take into consideration) that his own body is weakened due to his anemia, so this is an excellent wake-up call.

You are going to have a rare chance to eat his food! Fyodor is usually too busy to make any meals, so you have the prime opportunity to enjoy some classic Russian dishes — delicious sour rassolnik and hearty solyanka soups, perfect for soothing your throat and filling your stomach.

After all of this, he would force you to take a bath — but at a lukewarm temperature to ensure you wouldn’t worsen your fever. He would want to get rid of any germs as soon as possible, so he’d make sure that every inch of your body is scrubbed down.

And if you aren’t married, he will not get in the tub with you. He is a traditional man (i.e., no sex until after marriage, etc.), and he is already pushing it by helping you bathe in the first place — because as much as this man secretly loves your body, he has to "maintain the sanctity of your relationship." Though the entire experience would make him think twice about waiting to get married.

If you are married, he might get in the tub with you if you insist. He finds that he can’t say no to you as efficiently when you’re in this much pain, and you both enjoy the feeling of being so close to one another. 

He would still sleep in the same bed as you, but he won’t do any sort of cuddling (not that he does it much in the first place). At most, he’ll hold your hand as you fall asleep, letting you know that he’s there. He’d also read to you if you were struggling with sleeping, ensuring that you get a proper night’s rest.

It is rare to see this man taking care of you in a non-discrete way, so revel in it while it lasts. He will maintain a calm composure throughout the duration of your sickness, but he is genuinely worried for your health. He hates seeing you in pain, and he will do anything to ease it.

For the following weeks, he would not allow you to exert yourself until you have fully recovered. If he sees you overworking yourself, you are immediately chastised and sent back to bed.

"Приле́чь, любимая моя. Ты нужда́ешься в о́тдыхе."

He makes sure to set up a system so that he’ll be notified whenever you’re sick, which could be from having a co-worker monitor you (though he doesn’t like the idea of anyone besides himself having eyes on you) or setting up a camera system in your home. He wants to be aware whenever you’re sick so that, at the very least, he can be prepared for when he arrives back home.

"Идти́ спать, мой Дорогая. Я буду здесь, когда ты проснешься."

мышка = mouse я тут, я тут. ты не один, любимая. я тут. = i’m here, i’m here. you’re not alone, my love. i’m here. приле́чь, любимая моя. ты нужда́ешься в о́тдыхе. = lie down, my love. you need rest. идти́ спать, мой дорогая. я буду здесь, когда ты проснешься. = go to bed, my dear. i'll be here when you wake up.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[ahomeganeyatsu]

Photogapher He Tian, who's in a funk and looking for inspiration comes across Momo feeding a cat.

- + - - + -

He Tian's bored. Bored and restless. His skin feels too tight, an itch crawling over his being he can't scratch because he has no idea what it is. All his recent photos look like crap to him. Jian Yi says they're all great, that he's just a goddamned perfectionist. Zhan Zheng Xi tells him he probably needs a break, nothing wrong with giving yourself a proper break, besides you can afford it.

He Tian listens. Somewhat. He can't really turn it off. His eyes are always looking for the perfect moment to capture. He's traveled a lot in the years. Maybe it's time to go home. So he does.

He doesn't tell his family he's back in the country. What's the point when he knows they monitor him? They'll know when his plane touches down.

He tries not to stay in his apartment for too long. There's nothing really in it. It's just a place to sleep in. Sometimes he doesn't even do that, waking up in someone else's bed more often than he would have liked.

He tries to do it this time. They haven't exactly helped him getting out of whatever the hell has him in this state.

One day, as he's walking around. His eye catches something. A curious little red head. He's hunched over himself, hands tucked protectively in his jacket. Like he's hiding something. He's being a bit suspicious and He Tian, piqued, decides to follow him.

He ends up witnessing something quite interesting. Litte Red who has such sharp eyes a single glance could practically kill, face seemingly etched into a permanent scowl, is crouched and feeding a little kitten and talking to it in such a sweet voice.

He Tian barely realizes he's lifted his camera and captures the moment. His shutter goes off and the guy notices him. He expected to be confronted. He's all fire and He Tian was ready to be consumed by it.

But the other man looks so shocked and books it out of there. He Tian's surprised by the response he wasn't even able to give chase.

He looks at the kitten and its big dark eyes blinking at him innocently. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where I can find him?"

It meows at him once and goes back to eating.

He Tian waits but Red doesn't come back.

That night he looks at photos he took just to pick out ones he wants printed or posted on his SNS account.

He feels his breath catch when he finds the one he took of little Red. He hadn't expected it to come out this good.

The lighting lends a surreal feeling to it. The smile on his lips is small but it softens his face. His eyes lit with fondness, and—dare He Tian say it—love. The kitten is looking at him, mouth open in a soundless meow. It makes it look like it's smiling back at the red-head.

There's a feeling rising in chest he can't quite name. His heart racing in a way he's never felt before. An inexplicable twinge he refuses to examine. A familiarity he's not ready to confront.

But He Tian is sure of one thing—he needs to see him again.

[married-2-the-music]

K-pop Discography Deep Dives: 9Muses

A Disclaimer: I was planning, when I first started Tumblr, to be a lurker, but then I began an office job and needed something to listen to to keep myself occupied. And then, I started going through entire K-pop groups’ repertoires, album by album, and jotting down my thoughts. And then, I stumbled into K-pop tumblr and decided, you know what, there’s at least four people on this hell site who would read in depth rants about these discographies and at least five who wouldn’t read it and then get mad because it’s kind of our job as K-pop fans. My lukewarm takes should be taken with an entire silo of salt and the knowledge that this is completely for fun and occupying my very bored, very neurodivergent brain. All this to say, for the love of god, I’m a sleep-deprived student and I don’t have time for internet hate, so don’t kill me. With that being said, enjoy!

Here are my credentials: Very few, this time. I know a few of the members of 9Muses (Sera and Hyuna especially), but since there are / were so many, I don’t know them all. I think I’m too casual to be a casual fan of them, but I do really like the songs I’ve heard and I’m excited to hear more.

9Muses has since disbanded, but as of their last comeback, their members were Hyemi, Sungah, Gyeongree, Sojin, and Keumjo. Their past members were Jaekyung, Bini, Rana, Eunji, Leesem, Euaerin, Minha, and Hyuna, and due to all these lineup changes, they weren’t actually a nine member group for a sizable amount of their career.

They debuted in 2010, near the end of 2nd gen, with No Playboy, which starts with a clippy, pulsing beat that reminds me of Kara’s Lupin. It’s got that identifiable mid-2nd gen sound from the start, and 9Muses’ voices do some great harmonizing. I think that the choice of very little instrumentation during the verses works pretty well, but the choruses feel just a bit too understated when they could’ve been louder as a contrast. I did like this one, and it’s pretty emblematic of where they’d go from here. Ladies, the b-side of this single, has some interesting interpolation of speaking in English and cheering, but the song itself is a pretty standard R & B dance pop one.

Figaro is a song I’d heard before, and I’m honestly surprised how early into their careers it was released since it feels like such a classic. It does exactly what No Playboy doesn’t, expanding on what could be such a simple R & B base by adding funk and a backing section of brass, along with the electronic heartbeat in the back. The hook of “give up, up, tonight” that leads into the chorus is excellent, and always makes me want to dance. I feel like it ends a little fast, but that's a pretty tiny critique for a pretty great song.

News starts with sing-talk, which I wasn’t expecting but I shockingly don’t hate it? I know, bizarre. This one goes right into a more disco-y production, especially as that chorus takes over and I can just imagine a swirling disco ball and a rainbow floor. The sing-talk actually repeats throughout it, but paired with such a knockout of a chorus and such a great background melody line, I think it works pretty well, especially in the outro.

Ticket I had also heard before, and wastes no time getting right into the fray. It continues the trend of very minimalistic verses, this one just punctuated with a hand-clapping effect and light drums, before the incredibly catchy “one way one way one way ticket” (which I knew would get stuck in my head but oh well) hook takes over. This one also includes sing talk, which I hadn’t noticed before, and made me come to the realization that I honestly don’t mind it if it fits the song’s energy, but when it comes out of left field, it interrupts the flow too much for me. The b-side, Why RU, feels brighter and rockier than their previous songs, and I think it’d be a great summer song if it leaned more into that.

Dolls, at first, seems like it’ll go full-on ballad with that twinge of strings, but then of course, the horns come in and we’re treated to a very different song with a swingy guitar and the occasional flash of brass. This time, it’s the opposite of their previous songs, where the instrumentation is really what makes the song great and the vocals themselves are more understated. I prefer the other way around, since I’m a singer after all and I wish the voices were the star, but it’s nice to have a change once in a while. I’m not a fan of the rap here, to be honest, due to the tempo change.

Wild has a lot of layers in its background, between its pulsing heartbeat base, electronic keyboard, and the very interesting high-pitched distortion (which I didn’t catch the first time), and combined with the voices, it gives the song the feeling of never having a moment to slow down. Even the pre-choruses, though slower in tempo, don’t feel like a break, and the several raps add to this rushing forward. Every time it pulls away, it snaps back like a rubberband, stronger and higher than before. I can’t decide if I like this never-ending energy or if it's too tiring for me, since I feel as though on some days I like it more than others.

From Wild, the EP, I loved the excellent disco chorus of Action and its verses’ distortion, and the softer tone that both Paper Scraps and Living Person take, though I preferred the second.

Gun makes the choice to begin with its chorus, announcing itself with a surf rock guitar and 9Muses’ signature horns. When it returns to its verses, the song does have some time to rest and recoup, but not much; twenty seconds and we’re already gearing up for the pre-chorus. I was surprised to find that I still liked the chorus so much after hearing it first, but it’s so catchy and swingy that I couldn’t help it. Though I think the verses and chorus’ tempos don’t quite match, I really liked that bridge and its combination of sing-talk and singing works well in setting up the final moments. As a side note, I loved the dipping dance moves in this last part of the video, though I think that this one, like Figaro, ends a bit too fast.

Prima Donna is a full album, so there’s a lot to talk about. Prima Donna, the song, gives a great intro into Gun, and its hard guitar only made me like the single more. Rumor, meanwhile, has some great dramatic strings that compliment the voices well, A Few Good Men has an excellent guitar riff, Just A Girl ends with a classic fade-out, Miss Agent has a wonderful 60’s-spy-flair, and OMG has a jaunty piano. Overall, this is a very strong and surprisingly cohesive piece, so I’m sad that it’s their only LP.

Glue leans into the funk like Figaro does, though this time pairs it with a calmer guitar in the verses, before it continues into the more electronic-focused verses. There’s also a rap verse here, which I’m not the biggest fan of, I’ll be honest, though I’m not entirely sure why. I do like the choruses, but I feel as though they don’t reach as high as the ones in some of their other songs. In a way, they feel more like pre-choruses, and need a good 15 seconds more to really expand on the great ideas that they have. I like this song,

Drama starts with almost an entire verse of sing-talk, which is…not a choice I agree with, since then it goes right into a surprisingly gently-sung few lines, but then right back to sing-talk. The second sing-talk section fits the song better, but I was already a bit thrown off and felt like I didn't have time to recover before the tempo changed again. The chorus itself is pretty good, and I think that the addition of a post-chorus is an addition that fixes the issue I had with Glue’s too-short choruses. Overall, this one isn’t for me, though, and I don’t think I’ll be relistening to it. From Drama, the EP, I didn’t have a hidden gem, though I really liked the Pilot Episode intro, and wished it was a full song, and September 17th’s talking intro made me smile.

Hurt Locker builds on what Why R U started, going full-force into the happy, bubblier summer idea. It uses its electronic background to support a much more pop-leaning than R & B-leaning beat, and though I’m not mad at it, I feel as though I’ve heard this song many times before. Hurt Locker still has a few 9Muses staples: the great harmonizing, the pulsing electronic beat, the sing-talk mixed in, etc, but feels like a very different group than the one we’ve seen thus far. This is probably a me thing, but I’m a big fan of groups having a signature sound and sticking to it, because there’s just so much k-pop out there and a lot of it sounds similar. I didn’t have a hidden gem for this album.

Sleepless Night is a return to 9Muses’ formula, though in a less overt way than usual. It makes the choice to feature their voices, and take inspiration from a softer, smoother style of R & B than is usual for them, with a distinctive whistling hook. I think that this works pretty well, better than I would have expected, and is a great example of innovating on a formula without sacrificing what makes that formula work. This feels self-assured and confident in an understated way, with a good dash of vulnerability to round it out. Overall, I like this one!

From Lost, the EP, I really loved the b-side Secret, which, between the more ethereal quality of the voices, the combination of subtle strings and piano, and general vibe reminded me a lot of a Gfriend song, but with a more dancy twist that felt more like 9Muses. I also liked Koong Chit Dak Chit.

Lip 2 Lip is definitely the opposite of Sleepless Night, immediately taking off in its synth pop / disco inspired beat. It too takes the idea of not having a lot of time to breathe in the song, never going without some kind of noise for long. Though it has a great beat, it feels slightly more overwhelming than is probably intended, to be honest, and the constant switching back and forth between tempos left me wondering if I liked it or not. Maybe I need a few more listens before I decide. From the EP, Muses’ Diary Part 1, I enjoyed the mix between the classical flourishes and bubbly summer vibes of Shh!.

Remember starts only with a single guitar and a single voice, before an equally sparse drumming is added in. It builds an interesting sense of tension to the song that isn’t common in their other singles, and when the chorus takes off with somewhat hauntingly high voices and a more electronic production, it feels earned. The sing-talk’s anger here feels earned, and the minimalism seems to add to the sense of desperation fueling the pre-chorus’ sudden rush forward. It’s unique, both in 9Muses’ discography and in k-pop in general, and I especially loved the harmonizing in the last chorus.

From the EP, Muses’ Diary Part 2: Identity, I enjoyed the chugging dancefloor beat mixed with the softer moments in Pastry and the mournful R & B of the closer Hate Me. I also really liked the intro. This is quite a melancholy work as a whole, I’ll say.

I had assumed that Love City would be a return to the poppy summer sound of Hurt Locker, and though I was kind of correct—at least in the bubblier parts of the verses—the chorus feels like one from one of their older songs like Wild or Figaro. However, this combination of the bubbliness, the chorus, and the oddly intense whispered intro and hook doesn’t quite work for me. It’s a bit like Love Cherry Motion by LOONA: the quick changes are the point, but they make for more of a cool statement than an enjoyable song.

9Muses last song, also called Remember, is a disbandment song written for the fans. As many songs like this do, it’s quite slow and sappy, though it chooses to be more upbeat than an average ballad. I’m happy to hear their voices given the spotlight, but I wish they could’ve had a more interesting showcase for them that would’ve stuck out amongst the dozen other songs like this one. I did really like its louder, more emotional moments, as those felt more personal.

I’m glad I did this! As stated, I did know a little bit about 9Muses, but I’m happy I got the chance to learn more. I found a lot of great songs to add to my dance playlists, and I got to learn about where the vintage influences I love so much in k-pop got their start (at least partly). It was a bit difficult to find an interview, since they disbanded around four years ago, so I settled for watching compilations and behind the scenes, which got me some good laughs. I enjoyed seeing Sera and Hyuna much younger with very different songs from their material now, and overall I don’t have any huge criticisms.

My Top 5 songs were Figaro, News, Remember (#1), Wild, and Rumor, with Action as an honorable mention. 9Muses gets an 8.5 out of 10 from me, because other than a few quibbles, they’re pretty consistent. As mentioned, there weren’t really any songs I disliked. I’m giving them this rating because, despite having a lot of great songs, there weren’t many I personally connected to, or any that had very deep meanings (that I know of) beyond what’s pretty standard for k-pop. This isn’t a flaw in their music, but it does mean that my enjoyment of them is limited.

Next time, we’ll be back with a soloist! See you then, and Tschüss!

[sodafrog13]

thinking about how someone kinassigned my punk!mercs different types of punk and what vaporwave subgenres the vpw!team would be into and and how vpw!medic would definitely be into vapornoise and broken transmission

[13uswntimagines]

Where Do I Fit? (Preath x Little!Reader)

Request: angsty little!reader with Tobin, where Tobin was rs caretaking fir way before Christen(like since college?) and they tell Christen but she isnt okay with it at first but accepts it by gettung r stuffies to apologise?

“It’s not like that Chris,” Tobin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her elbows rested on her knees. The two of you had been trying to explain this for a better part of an hour, and Christen still didn’t understand. 

“Then tell me what it’s like Tobin, because from what you’ve said it sounds like your adult friend pretends to be a toddler, and you give her baths and feed her bottles. Do I need to continue? It’s some kinky shit-...” Christen said exasperated, frustratedly running fingers through her hair. How Tobin thought she would be ok with this? She was at a loss for words. 

Tobin shook her head, blinking up at her girlfriend “It’s not sexual Christen. It just-“  

“What, makes you feel good?” Christen spat, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. 

“Helps me deal with stress and anxiety, in a more positive way,” you mumbled, shifting anxiously on the couch next to Tobin, shivering at the glare Christen sent your way. You weren’t in love with Tobin, actually, you had a girlfriend of your own (who also happened to be little). Tobin was your safety blanket, and you just wished Christen could understand. 

****

Tobin had been your mama since college. An arrangement that had been made after she found you curled up under your dorm room bed, so stressed you didn’t know what day it was much less what stuff you had to get done. Instead of running away, she had pulled you into her arms and rocked you until you were done crying. 

After a little research and some explaining about why you regressed and how long it had been happening on your end, Tobin wholeheartedly embraced the role of Mama. And together you became more comfortable. She made you bottles and helped you keep track of school and soccer. As your best friend she decided it was her duty to protect you, and you were too fucking adorable when you were little to pass up. 

Then your Mama started dating Christen, and after a few months of them being serious, it was decided that you had to tell Chris. That you could propose that she join in your little arrangement. You got along well with the woman, and she was pretty nurturing to you anyway (especially at national team camps) making sure you ate and didn’t stay up at all hours of the night with your girlfriend and the youngins. 

****

Christen paused mid-pace, turning to look her girlfriend in the eye. “I don’t know how I feel about having a third person in our relationship Tobin,” She said calmly, crossing her arms. 

“Baby, I promise you it’s not like that. Y/n may be my baby girl, but I’m not romantically attracted to her. She’s my best friend, and this helps her,” Tobin pleaded, begging for the woman she loved to understand. She didn’t want to lose her and she didn’t want to lose her baby girl. You were a very sensitive little, absolutely petrified of her getting bored and abandoning you one day. She had made so many promises, and she couldn’t bear the thought that she might have to break them. 

“So what, she’ll call you whenever she’s little and you’ll just fucking drop everything to go ‘help’ her?” Christen’s eyebrow quirked up. 

You frowned. You had been hoping that this conversation would end in you having another mommy, so technically you would be calling them, and you were always mindful of overstaying your welcome. 

“I wouldn’t abuse that,” You huffed. 

“But you can’t control when you're little or whatever right? As long as you’re involved in this thing, she will always come first, and that’s not a healthy relationship,”  Christen asked viciously, turning her attention to you for the first time. You sunk into the couch, fighting the natural descent into little space that came with such looks. With looks only Moms could muster. 

You opened your mouth to respond, only for Tobin to jump in first. “Babe, we’ll figure it out. I was act-”

“Well then, I’ll be back when you figure your priorities out,” Christen scoffed, grabbing her keys and her purse and slamming the door behind her. 

Heavy silence stretched across Tobin’s apartment, both of you staring at the door. 

You hadn’t been expecting things to be rainbows and butterflies, but you didn’t think it was going to come down to an ultimatum. Little you or the love of Tobin’s life. It wasn’t a fair choice, but you knew exactly what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt. 

“I was afraid that would happen,” You sighed, staring at the door, gulping to try and stay big. Trying to force yourself to hold back the painful emotions that were rattling in your chest. Someone had to be the mature one. The realistic one. 

“Y/n,” Tobin said softly, her voice ruff with unushered tears.

You shook your head, patting her knee, but never looking in her direction. If you did you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together anymore. You wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. You had promised yourself that you would never get in the way of her love life, and you were about to follow through on that. “It’s fine Tobin. I understand,”

“I love her,” Tobin said, sniffling, and you felt a little piece of your heart crack. Didn't Tobin love little you too? Just not enough. You swallowed hard, again pushing those feelings down. This wasn’t about you, and Tobin deserved to be happy. 

“I know. Go after her, I know how to let myself out. I’ll go to Lindsey’s and text the group chat to see if anyone wants another little,” You shrugged. Lindsey could handle you and your girlfriend for the night, and the group chat was sure to be able to give you good advice, at least until you figured this whole thing out. They hadn’t let you down yet. 

Tobin made a strangled sound at the mention of the group chat. At the idea that one of her friends could ever replace her as your mama. She knew that it was the logical next step (you and little Em were a handful on your own, together you were little terrors), but she couldn’t help the little twinge in her heart. 

“I’m sorry,” She said, bringing her hand over yours and squeezing tightly. She hoped it could convey how badly she felt about this whole situation. She never thought Christen would react so badly. 

You bit your lip, avoiding looking at your mama. “Don’t be. You were the best Mama ever. Now go,” You mumbled, kissing the back of her hand and shooing her towards the door. She didn’t even spare a glance in your direction as she left. 

You stood from the couch, walking to the guest room that always served as your nursery. You collected your little things bag, Roary (you could never leave him behind), and your Batman blanket before heading towards the door. You paused in the doorway, turning to glance over the room one more time, allowing yourself to reminisce for just a second. How you wished this night had gone differently. You sighed, shaking your head and closing the door behind you. You would find a new caregiver, but Tobin would always be your mama. 

****

You were miserable. Completely, totally and utterly miserable. Hovering somewhere between adult you and little you, curled up in the corner of Lindsey’s couch, staring listlessly into space. Even your girlfriend cuddled into your side, running race cars gently over your legs couldn't cheer you up, and Lindsey was starting to get worried. 

“I don’t know what else to do, short of calling Tobin,” Lindsey said quietly, watching you from where her and Kelley were hovering by the door. It was one thing handling her little handful, and a complete other trying to take in both of you at the same time. She didn’t even know where to begin with you, hence why she called in reinforcements. 

You had known Kelley and Alex for almost as long as you had known Tobin. You trusted them, and if anyone could get you out of your funk, your aunt Kelley could. 

“You tried pudding?” Kelley asked, biting her lip. You were curled into the couch, Emily cuddled into your side, sending glances every now and then towards the stuffed triceratops you had left on the other couch. Pudding was little you’s favorite cheat food, and if that didn’t work she wasn’t sure what to do next. By now the entire team was aware of what was going on between you and Tobin, and none of them were surprised that little you wasn’t taking it so well. 

“And ice cream, and hot pretzels and Mac and cheese. I even tried warm milk,” Lindsey nodded. She had seen you upset before, but never this bad. She was literally at her wits end, and Emily wasn’t even being her normally bratty self. 

“Damn,” Kelley sighed, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. How Tobin was going to fix this mess she didn’t know and how she was going to aid your obviously miserable self she wasn’t sure either. 

“Yeah, and she forbade me from calling Tobs,” Lindsey mumbled, patting Kelley’s shoulder. Kelley was known to have a magic touch with littles, but Lindsey was skeptical anyone besides your mama could pull you from this funk. 

“From the text she sent the group chat I’m not surprised. I’ll see what I can do,” Kelley nodded, shooing Lindsey towards the kitchen to heat up some Mac and cheese. She would get you to eat something even if it killed her. 

She slowly made her way over to you, gently patting Emily’s shin when she was close enough. “Hey Emmy, your mama wants to see you in the kitchen please,” 

The blond little blinked up at her, big Emily suddenly very present in her eyes. She didn’t like how much pain you were in, but you both trusted Kelley. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Emily nodded once, seemingly satisfied that Kelley would help. 

Emily leaned up and kissed your cheek before toddling off towards the kitchen. Maybe mama would get her a cookie. 

Kelley took her spot, watching you carefully, as though you were a puzzle she was trying to solve. “How you holding up bug?”

You shrugged in response, tucking your legs tighter underneath you and crossing your arms. 

“Not too good then huh?” Kelley filled in, scooting a little bit closer to you, taking a breath of relief when you didn’t curl into an impossibly tighter ball. 

You nodded once. While big you understood why Tobin couldn’t be your mama, little you was devastated that she had chosen someone over you. That she didn’t love you anymore (big you knew this was just as hard for her). 

Kelley’s eyebrows furrowed. You usually hovered around 2 and a half or three when you were little, but this version of you was far smaller. Small enough for you to go nonverbal. The only person to see you this small was Tobin, and as far as Kelley knew the last time this had happened you were still in college. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but Roary was telling me that his tummy was hurting. Does your tummy hurt?” She asked you softly, holding up your favorite stuffed triceratops and wiggling him in front of your face. 

You shrugged again. Yeah your tummy was a little grumbly, but you were sad and all you wanted was for mama to scoop you up, but she couldn’t. 

“I know you’re upset bug, but not eating isn’t going to make you or Roary feel better, ok? Aunt Lindsey made Mac and cheese and it’ll warm you up ok?” she tried again, nudging your cheek with Roary’s nose. You bit your lip in thought. You did love Mac and cheese, and you didn’t want Roary to turn into a grumpasaurus. 

“Otay,” you mumbled, reaching for the defender (who despite her short stature was still an inch taller than you). She smiled tightly at you, handing you your stuffed Dino and picking you up to head towards the kitchen. At least they were getting you to eat. 

*****

Christen sighed from her place on the couch next to Tobin, glaring at the cellphone that had gotten far more attention than she had tonight. All she wanted was a date night with her girlfriend, and Tobin had spent the whole thing glued to her phone, nervously biting her lip. 

“Alright, who have you been texting all night?” Christen asked, pulling away from Tobin and wrapping the blanket tighter around her. 

The midfielder turned forward blinked and sat back to look carefully at her girlfriend. “Lindsey,” Tobin said, biting her lip. 

Christen’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s up with Linds?” 

Tobin sighed. “Y/n went to stay with her until preseason starts. Emily’s there too and she wanted to hang out with her girlfriend,” 

“So what, why has Lindsey been texting you?” Christen asked. She was usually good at following Tobin’s train of thought, but she was lost. 

Tobin sighed again, shaking her head. “Y/n is having a really hard time, and I know you think it’s just some weird kink or something, but little Y/n doesn’t understand what’s happening. She doesn’t know what she did wrong and Lindsey needs some advice on how to handle her,” 

Christen’s back straightened immediately at the mention of your name. She thought she had made her opinion clear. “How can you say that like Y/n is two people. Like she isn’t manipulating you into doing what she wants?” Christen said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. 

Tobin took a deep breath trying to figure out how to explain it. How to make her girlfriend understand that it was so much more than you pretending to be a kid for a little while. “Y/n isn’t two people, and she isn’t manipulating me. That’s evident considering she forbade Lindsey from calling me,” Tobin started calmly, picking at a stray thread on her pants. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find the right words to explain it. “It’s not a sexual thing for her. It’s about trust. When y/n is little she doesn’t have to worry about everyday things, she can trust that I’ll take care of her. That no matter what happens, someone will be there to protect her. That no one will abandon her…” her voice cracked. 

That’s exactly what she had done, isn’t it? Abandoned her best friend?. 

Christen pulled her into a hug, letting her sob into her shoulder. It was hard to see Tobin this upset, even if she didn’t fully understand why. 

“My relationship with her isn’t like the one I have with you. She loves Emily,” The words were muffled by Christen’s shoulder, but the forward heard them loud and clear. 

Her eyebrows furrowed. She had done some research after Tobin had initially told her, but this was turning out to be way more complicated than the online forum suggested. If Emily was involved too, and you were dating her, then why did you need Tobin? 

“Why can’t Emily be her mama?” She asked softly, honestly trying to understand this mess. 

Tobin leaned back, wiping her eyes. 

“Cause Emily’s little too and that would be dangerous. Lindsey takes care of Em like I take care of Y/n,” 

Christen nodded as she took in the information. That made sense. If you couldn’t necessarily control being little, then it was possible you would both slip at the same time (or one could trigger the other). That did seem like a pretty bad idea for a long term solution. 

But if Lindsey was there, then what was the problem? 

“I just don’t understand how I fit into this whole thing,” Christen said after a few minutes, finally looking Tobin in the eyes, searching for the answer. 

“You don’t have to deal with her when she’s little if you don’t want to. I just didn’t want to hide it from you,” Tobin shrugged, running a hand through her hair (the weight on her chest lifting just a bit now that Christen actually seemed to be willing to talk about this). 

“If she’s here, I’m not just going to ignore her,” Christen scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Tobin’s lips ticked up just a bit. She wasn’t sure if Christen realized she had basically said you were going to be around, but Tobin was pleased with the new development. Maybe Christen just needed to logic it out a little bit more to become more open to the idea, but she wasn’t going to force her into something she wasn’t comfortable with. 

“It’s still the Y/n you know, just a little bit more carefree. A little more silly and cuddly. You don’t have to be around her, but if you wanted to… she was gonna ask if you wanted to see what being a caretaker with me was like,” She said, leaning in and nudging under Christen’s chin with her nose. 

Christen frowned, pouting a little, the real reason she had been so against the idea initially finally rolling from her lips. “She wasn’t trying to take you away from me-“ 

Tobin was shaking her head before Christen even finished her sentence. “No, she was trying to include you,”

You had been open to the idea of being little around Christen (hesitant, but open especially if it meant including the woman your mama was head over heels for. 

The silence stretched between them for a few long seconds, broken only by Christen’s sigh. 

“I fucked up,” She mumbled, pinching the space between her eyes, completely missing Tobin’s blinding smile. 

“We fucked up, now let’s go fix it,” Tobin said, kissing her girlfriend’s cheeks and standing, extending her hand for the woman to take. They would make this right together. 

*****

Kelley would say that you were tolerating dinner. You were reluctantly opening your mouth for the airplanes of Mac and Cheese she was sending your way, glancing longingly at Roary (who was eating his carrots in his very own seat across from you). 

Lindsey had gotten up a few minutes ago to answer the door but had yet to return. That was why you were taking turns having Kelley feed you bites of dinner with Emmy. 

Kelley lifted the next bite up to your lips, but you pulled your head away. “No tank you,” 

Kelley sighed, leaning forward to make eye contact with you. “Baby, you’ve only had two bites. You need to eat a little more for me please,” 

You rapidly shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want to eat the stupid Mac and cheese. You wanted your mama to love you again, but she was off loving Christen. 

“It otay, I eat Mac for you,” Emily said, patting your arm and placing a very sloppy kiss on your cheek. She didn’t like it when you were upset, and if she got more Mac and cheese out of it, then that was fine with her too. 

Kelley glared at the younger defender. You didn’t need any more encouragement to not eat, especially when you were this fussy. “I don’t think it works like that Em”

She looked back into your direction(ignoring your girlfriend’s pout), making her voice soft and sympathetic “Come on Y/n, 5 more bites please,” 

You whined loudly, shaking your head rapidly and kicking your feet a little in displeasure. The tears were now falling heavily down your very red face. “No want it!!”

“Alright bug,” Kelley murmured, pulling you into her lap, and letting you cry it out. You buried your face in her shoulder, heartbreaking sobs wracking through you. Kelley rubbed circles into your back, and carded her fingers through your hair, trying to soothe you. When that didn’t work, she carefully transferred you into a very familiar lap.

*****

You clung to Tobin as though your life depended on it, fisting her sweatshirt like you thought she would disappear at any second. You probably thought she would, Christen noted. 

It was truly a pitiful sight so see, and each little sob from your lips was like a knife in Christen’s chest. She hadn’t known what to expect when Lindsey said you were taking it hard, but it most certainly wasn’t this. It made her apology gift seem incredibly inadequate. 

“No babydoll, I’m never leaving you again. I promise,” Tobin said into your hair, rocking you to try and ease the wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“But you wove Christen,” You said, though your voice was muffled by Tobin’s shoulder and your tears, Christen heard the words loud and clear. She shared a look with Tobin over your head, and she knew that she was the only one who could fix this mess. 

She knelt down next to you, carefully rubbing your back, encouraging you to look at her. You obliged, rubbing your bloodshot eyes as you pulled away from Tobin. 

“Tobin can love both of us darling, and I see that now. I’m sorry that I couldn’t see that before, but if you’re willing, I’d like to try helping your mama take care of you when you’re little,” She said softly. 

“No make me go bye bye?” You asked, sniffling. 

“No little one,” Christen reassured, bringing her thumb up to while away a stray tear. “No I brought a friend, but they don’t have a name yet. Do you think you can help me out?” She said, holding up the stuffed dragon they had picked up for you as an apology. 

You gently grabbed the purple stuffie, holding him very close to your nose, and examining him carefully. “Spike wants ta know if we go home?” You said after a few seconds, poking your tongue out the side of your mouth. Christen and Tobin laughed lightly at your expression. 

“Yeah, let’s go home,” 

[blessedboo]

Pipe Down | Oscar Diaz.

Oscar Diaz x Reader

Summary: You and Oscar broke up. You’ve decided to show off what he’s lost. Things don’t go completely as planned. 

Requested: No

Warnings: None - just a little angst. 

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: Hiii! I’m new to Tumblr, a little new to writing. This is my first post and written work published online, so I apologize if it’s not the best - feel free to give me feedback. With that being said, I love On My Block and I love Oscar “Spooky” Diaz’s character even more. After reading some fanfic and imagines on here, I felt inspired to write my own. Enjoy, my loves!

It had been 2 weeks since your breakup with Oscar, and up until a few days ago, you’ve been pretty miserable. Although you were feeling better, Izzy wanted to help you get out of your funk and take you out to brunch. You’ve been declining any hangouts thrown your way lately, but you did miss your best friend. Besides, food is good for the soul and healing was very much needed.

“What to wear? What to wear?” you mumbled to yourself. 

It was summer and you were going to brunch. You had the perfect outfit. You pulled off a white, flowy tie-up top with long bell sleeves from the hanger, paired with your favorite denim shorts and lace-up heels. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, turning from side to side to see if it looked good and it sure as hell did. It was the best you’ve looked in weeks - you looked like sex. The plunging neckline of the top only made it better, showing off just enough cleavage. 

“God, if only Oscar could see me now,” you thought to yourself as you admired your beautiful assets. Which brought up another mischievous idea. Well, maybe he can. But you couldn’t just show up without an excuse. 

You looked around the room and your eyes landed on the pile of Oscar’s clothes you neatly stacked and folded. You meant to give them back to him, but you couldn’t bring it upon yourself.

 Until today.

You grabbed a spare bag and put the clothes in, along with other things you didn’t want anymore, like pictures of you two together. You stared at the polaroid photos one last time before putting them in, using the moment to reminisce. You smiled sadly as you did, maybe you missed him just a little. 

You quickly shook off any bad vibes you were feeling, “No, not today, no sad bitches up in here, Y/N.”

 After glamming yourself up just a tad, you grabbed the bag and gave yourself one last look in the mirror. 

“Let’s do this, baby,” you said, winking at your reflection.

You still had time to kill before Izzy came by to pick you up, so you made your way across the street, striding in full confidence. You didn’t see Oscar on the front lawn, only two other Santos who greeted you by nodding their heads as you smiled back at them. “The rest must be inside,” you thought. You made your way to the front door and knocked. 

You felt your heart beat a little faster in anticipation, the nerves just starting to hit you. As you waited for the door to open, you tried to convince yourself you weren’t nervous. It’s just Oscar, no big deal - okay, big deal. 

You heard the door knob click, quickly tossing your hair back and pushing your breasts closer together. 

Too bad it was Sad Eyes who got the door. 

You cringed at your desperate attempt, but smiled at your friend right after. “Hey,” you greeted as he brought you in for a hug. “Hey Y/N,” he said before his eyes widened, strangely looking back into the room behind him and then back at you.

“Uh, Y/N, If you’re looking for Spooky, now ain’t a good time.” 

You raised your eyebrow at this, “What do you mean?” 

He looked down before looking behind him again, “Uh, he’s ... busy.” Typical, but that didn’t explain why he was acting so weird. 

“Oh, don’t worry I won’t be long, I’m just here to drop off some stuff,” you said before pushing past him and walking in. Your sexy ass had a mission to make Oscar see what he was missing, and you were willing to accomplish it by any means necessary. Sad Eyes tried to grab your arm to stop you, but it was too late. 

As your eyes wandered around the room, you saw a few cholos on the couch laughing, smoking and drinking. Until you caught a sight of him ... with some blonde hyna on his lap, laughing together as well. 

Now you got why he was acting weird. 

You initially felt a slight twinge in your heart, but other than that, you weren’t that fazed - good on you, sis. 

Eventually, all eyes in the room were on you, including Oscar’s. His eyes widened as he gently pushed his new friend off of him and made his way over to you. After pulling you aside, he took you in.

His eyes roaming over you from head to toe, practically undressing you right there and then as he licked his lips and looked back at you. 

“Y/N ... ¿Qué pasa? What are you doing here?” You took your eyes off of him and looked at the chick sat on the couch, who was clearly fuming on the inside, before bringing your attention back to him. You handed him the bag, “This is for you, I figured you’d want this stuff back, I know I don’t,” a trace of attitude in your tone. He slightly opened it to take a peek before closing his eyes for a moment and nodding his head. He looked hurt. 

Why do I feel bad?

“Now that you’re here, can we talk?” He asked, only loud enough for you to hear, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes of his as they softened. You gained back your composure, not giving in.

 “No - 1. I don’t have the time, as you can see I’m dressed nice for a reason, 2. I don’t have anything to say to you and 3. You’ve got company,” you replied quietly, raising your brow and nodding at the lady friend behind him as you crossed your arms over your chest.

This made him look down, taking in the deep plunge of your top as your breasts were slightly exposed after all. He hummed, giving you a small smile as he subtly bit his lip.

“Mm, I do see that. Still looking good, nena,” he whispered, mischief hiding behind those eyes as he stared into yours. You gulped, only now noticing how close you two had been standing as he towered over you. 

“Ahem!” You heard ‘Blondie’ obnoxiously exclaim as you and Oscar both turned your attention to the girl behind him. Oh shit. You realized that you were still in a room with other people and not in your own little world. 

The other cholos knew better than to pry themselves in your and Oscar’s business, but they’d be lying if they said they hadn’t slightly paid attention to the conversation you were having. They noticed you looking at them and quickly turned their heads or continued using their phones. You brought your focus back to Miss Whoeverthefuck. 

“Spooky, baby, who the fuck is this?” She said in disgust as she glanced over to you. You scoffed and looked in the other direction, not wanting to entertain this situation. “None of your business, stay out of it,” Oscar replied, shutting that shit down real quick. You were impressed and tried your best to keep yourself from smiling, which Oscar caught as he turned back to you. Your features hardened coldly as soon as he did.

 Resting bitch face activated. 

“You picked a real catch, hm?” You kissed your teeth. Oscar chuckled quietly, dimple on show and everything. Fuck. 

“You jealous?” He mouthed silently, just for you to read his lips. You rolled your eyes and gave him the middle finger as he turned his head down to the side, visibly trying to contain his laughter. Your lips pulled into a thin line, eyebrows furrowed at his reaction - you weren’t amused one bit, but seeing that signature smile of his again wasn’t the worst sight. 

“What? What’s so funny?” Walmart Eiza González’s bitchy self asked. Jesus Christ. You didn’t want to before, but it looked like it was time to take matters into your own hands. 

Glaring at her, you retaliated. “Listen, sweetie. Our conversation doesn’t concern you, so stay the hell out of it, mkay?” Throwing on a fake smile for extra pizzazz. Oscar watched you while you handled things, clearly amused at your reaction considering the smirk he wore. 

“Yeah? Well I don’t remember asking you, I was talking to my man.” 

You laughed at her remark. “YOUR man, right.” You sighed in laughter before staring her down as you put your hands on your hips, that feistiness that Oscar adored bursting out.

“I’m not going to tell you again - pipe down, puta.”

Blondie’s eyes almost shot out of her head, scoffing loudly. “What did you just call me?” 

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

The face she made was so punchable, but you resisted. 

“P U T A, put-“ you were cut off short as you felt Oscar’s hand cover your mouth and another on your waist, carrying you towards the front door. You mumbled against his hand angrily. 

You looked back at her. She was seething, and also being held back by Sad Eyes before she had the chance to attack. 

“Uh, Spooky?!” She yelled. 

“Cálmate, It’ll only be a minute,” Oscar said as he nodded to Sad Eyes, signaling to calm her down. He lead you out the door with a hand on the small of your back. Annoyed, you slapped his hand away once you both stepped off the porch stairs. He chuckled once again as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“You miss me, admit it.” 

You fake laughed and rolled your eyes at his comment, “Ha ha, as if.” 

His laughter died down and he took a few steps towards you, smiling down at you as he slid one hand down your arm. He sighed, “Well, I miss you Y/N. A lot.” A certain sadness could be heard as he confessed.

On instinct, you stepped closer and looked up at him, lost in thought. He brought a hand up to your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“What’s on your mind, nena? Hm? Dime.” 

You looked at the ground, considering to pour your heart out to him. He always had a way of making you feel safe and comfortable. As your lips parted to speak, you heard a horn blaring behind you. You jumped in shock, turning around to see who was responsible for the obnoxious honking. 

You sighed disappointedly in relief to see Izzy’s face in the driver’s seat. 

“Come on, mama, let’s roll!” She called. 

You turned back to Oscar, his face painted by the pain that hid behind those sad puppy eyes he was looking at you with. You bit your lip, closed your eyes and took a sharp breath in. Stay strong, Y/N. Don’t cave, don’t cave. 

“You’ve moved on, it’s over between us,” you were lying. You knew he hadn’t moved on, he knew it too. That hyna didn’t mean shit. “Have fun with Little Miss Blondie,” you sent another jab at him, anything to distance yourself even further. He glared at you with his mouth open and brows furrowed, confusion and hurt written all over his face.

“Y/N, no, that’s not tr-“

You quickly cut him off, “I really have to get going, Oscar. I’m sorry.” 

You turned on your heel, walking towards the car and hopping in. Hesitantly, you gave him one last glance. His lips were parted as he looked at you in defeat, Izzy driving off when he did.

You slumped in your seat.

Mission accomplished ... or was it?

____________________________________________

Spanish translations - [Correct me if I’m wrong]

¿Qué pasa? - What’s up? / What’s going on?

Puta - Bitch

Cálmate - Chill out / Calm down

Dime - Tell me

[ohpretty-baby]

6,690 miles

⇥ pairing: kim taehyung x reader ; soulmate au

⇥ genre: kind of fluff, mostly angst

⇥ synopsis: meeting your soulmate during vacation wasn’t ideal. especially when he lived on the other side of the world

⇥ warnings: cursing once i think

⇥ word count: 4.6k

this was a request by an anon! thank you for requesting this :) also i know it was supposed to be fluffy but i kind of got carried away with the concept of your request and i added the soulmate aspect to it i made it kind of sad :,) i hope you still enjoy though (if not, feel free to request again!)

i think i’ve just been in kind of a funk so it translated into this aha, i love you guys ! <3

“Excuse me, sir?” You gently tapped on a broad shoulder of the man that had his back turned to you as you spoke, “Would you be able to take a picture of me?”

He turned around, his stature towering over you. The cold Parisian night air flowed through your skirt, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. You pressed it down with your hands, making the long black skirt return to its shape. You tucked a few loose strands behind your ear as you waited for the man’s response eagerly. He stood over you, glass eyes piercing through yours, examining you from head to toe. Pure confusion was painted on his face.

You gulped as you took in his appearance.

His soft brown hair fell slightly over his hooded eyes and they pierced intensely into yours. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his brown trench coat, and he was somewhat slouched in a calm, composed manner. He stood poised and collected and had an elegant air about him. A decorative red scarf was tied neatly around his neck and a pair of black rimmed glasses seemed to sharpen his features even more.

The lights of the Eiffel Tower glossed over his smooth skin, highlighting his handsome face perfectly. His soft lips curved upwards and he nodded in response to your question. You flashed a bright smile as you handed him your phone and backed away from him, getting ready to pose. You fixed yourself, attempting to get rid of the random folds and wrinkles on your clothes so they could accentuate your body nicely.

He crouched down in an attempt to get the best angles possible for the photos. It was a relief that you had chosen a good photographer.

The only thing was that he wasn’t much of a talker.

The silence, save for the chatter of other people, was dense, making you feel awkward under his gaze. It weirded you out, having a silent photoshoot. He payed no attention to it, however, continuing to take what you had hoped were pleasing pictures of you. He was deep in focus, squinting at you and pointing at different spots for you to stand at. You would simply nod in response, complying to his requests.

It was times like these where you wished language barriers didn’t exist.

The man was silent until you unconsciously started looking down at the ground. Behind the camera, he could tell that you were uncomfortable and he frowned slightly.

“Look at me, darling.”

His voice had a soothing, deep timbre that colored every word he spoke. There was a slight gravel to it, catching anyone’s attention quickly. You felt your ears perk up at his words, shivers running down your back.

What was most notable was the strange feeling spreading through your hand.

You gawked up at him when you felt a bright, tingling sensation in your wrist. It then slowly started to burn as you tried to ignore it. Your lips were parted, your arms falling limp to your sides, and you were stiff in your posture.

You couldn’t tell if you were more shocked because of the fact that he could speak English this whole time or the fact that he was your soulmate. Not daring to even try to see what it looked like, your hand was glued to your side.

Right when you were about to ask if you could see his wrist, the man interrupted your thoughts.

“You alright?” He lowered the phone to see your face, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost...”

You decided not to address the tattoo burning on your wrist.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you remembered hearing about some people having a soulmate tattoo with someone that didn’t want anything to do with them. In those cases, the other person didn’t even have a tattoo with their words. Maybe this was the case with you. There was no chance that you were his soulmate, even if he was yours. He lived on the other side of the world. Neither of you had enough time to genuinely learn about each other and fall in love.

Not to mention that you were returning home to America the next day.

You cursed yourself, wishing that you could have met him earlier in your trip. Maybe if you had gone to the Eiffel Tower the first night, this wouldn’t be that big of an issue.

You felt a twinge of pain in your heart. This was nothing like what you expected it to be.

“Oh,” You chuckled awkwardly, running a hand through your hair, “I zoned out for a bit, sorry.”

He clicked a few more photos as you had been smiling naturally. He examined at the photos with a satisfied look on his face, and handed you your phone. You thanked him, gratitude spilling out of your lips.

“Of course,” His hands returned to his pockets, “But I do have to mention one thing.”

“Hm?”

Your heart started beating rapidly, and you tried to hide the fact that your breathing was getting shallower by the minute. You attempted to keep your composure but the curious gleam in your eyes hid nothing.

Time seemed to reach a standstill.

This was it, wasn’t it?

Maybe he got something on his wrist too. Maybe he’d show you and you’d run into his arms. Maybe then the two of you could figure out a way to be together.

You held your breath as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I remember hearing something about it being illegal to take photos of the Eiffel Tower at night.”

With just those few words, you felt your mood drop immensely. Your shoulders drooped down, and you realized that you had been clutching the fabric of your skirt so tightly that your knuckles turned bright white. Your hands relaxed and you opted for fidgeting with the folds of the fabric instead.

“Ah, really?” You kept your eyes on your sneakers as you kicked at pieces of dirt and debris around, “I didn’t know that.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped, though,” He shrugged and rubbed his nose, “It is a tourist attraction after all.”

He stood next to you, and the two of you faced the Eiffel Tower. You stared at the night lights, dread and woe filling your heart. Trying to focus on sightseeing, you averted eye contact with him and you tried to block him out. You also tried to ignore the fact that you were standing next to your soulmate, helpless, as the two of you stare at a famous tourist attraction.

There went your soulmate, right out of your hands.

“I’m Taehyung, by the way,” He whispered, careful as to not disturb the peacefulness of the scenery, “It’s a pleasure to take your photos.”

“I’m Y/N,” You responded just as cautious, eyes fixed on the yellow lights beaming back on you, “It was nice meeting you.”

“Have you been to Paris before?”

“You tell me,” You quipped, earning a rich laugh from Taehyung. You smiled to yourself in satisfaction, your face heating up.

His laughter rang through your ears, muffling any other noise around you, but it was obvious that you didn’t mind. Even though the night was pitch black, save for the bright yellow lights, your world seemed to be colored pink as you found yourself laughing along with him.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes would crinkle up and how his eyes twinkled even more now. Or how his nose and cheeks were dusted a soft red because of the cold air. It was almost as if the world moved in slow motion. You forgot about the rest of the people as you completely soaked in Taehyung’s presence.

“So...” The world resumed as he spoke, your ears perking up at his words, “What’s a pretty girl like you doing at Paris all by herself?”

You giggled at his question.

“I don’t know,” You shrugged, “Just needed a vacation, I guess.”

Before Taehyung could speak, you felt a harsh shove at your side. You yelped as you landed in Taehyung’s arms and you spun around to figure out who had pushed you. Two kids were running around, one of them bumping into you with their elbow rather roughly. Taehyung held you close to him and steadied you, helping you get back on your feet.

Everything was a blur, but all you knew was that you felt safe in his arms. A warmth spread throughout your chest. He smelt of citrus and lemongrass, his scent drowning out the rest of your senses and flooding your nose.

It hurt a little more when he let you out of his grasp, the cold air hitting your skin once again.

Apologies spilled out of your lips every second, almost as if you were in a trance. Taehyung put his hands on your shoulders, bringing you back to earth. He gave a soft smile before reassuring you that you were okay. He asked you if you were alright and you nodded, smiling back at him.

A silence fell over you once more, making you feel stuffy and suffocated even if you were out in public. You checked your phone to see the time, and realized how late it had gotten.

“Ah, well,” You placed your phone in your purse, “I’m quite far away from my hotel. I should be going. Thank you for everything.”

It was like your mouth was speaking for you, your words foreign on your tongue as you heard yourself speak. You wanted nothing more than to show him your wrist, but Taehyung had shown no signs of him having your words on his own wrist. Even now he was so poised, so elegantly relaxed. Like nothing had affected him.

Like nothing had happened.

You imagined what it would be like to see him in his pajamas, what it would be like to wake up next to him. You wondered how he’d look in the morning, how his skin would glow as the sun would filter in through the window and shine on him. You thought about what it would be like to have breakfast with him, how you would crack jokes with him over morning coffee and how he would roll his eyes at you and continue eating.

Your curiosity had gotten the best of you, making you fall in love in seconds with a man you had just met.

And here you were walking away from him and making your way to a taxi.

You felt dumb, becoming heartbroken over someone who had only said one or two sentences to you. Only a few words from him and you were already head over heels. You sighed, getting upset with yourself as you felt tears prick your eyes.

That was when you felt a tug on your hand, making you turn around. You were met with Taehyung’s eyes once more. They looked a little softer, slight desperation peering through. You stared at him, your heart beating rapidly as you waited for him to speak.

His hand was rough and dry against you, the coarse skin surprising you slightly. Your hand fit perfectly in his. Images of you and him holding hands as you walked through the city flashed through your mind and you wanted to curse yourself. Your brain was already coming up instantly with unrealistic scenarios.

But that didn’t matter as you felt Taehyung’s gaze on you, your eyes getting lost in his.

Once he realized what he had just done, he let go of your hand immediately.

“There’s um,” He shoved his hands in his pockets, “There’s quite a bit of pickpockets here...”

Your head cocked to the side as you patiently waited for his next response.

“And my hotel is probably closer than yours...” He scratched the nape of his neck, his voice lowering, “Even then, I still get pickpocketed sometimes.”

“Ah, really?” You frowned, bottom lip jutting out in a small pout, “I should probably be careful on my way back then, right?”

“How about I take you to my room?” Taehyung blinked, face heating up at what he had just said. You stayed quiet, a bit shocked by his boldness.

“I mean, not like... that,” He ran a hand through his hair, averting eye contact with you, “Like, you can stay for the night. Unless you don’t want to. But I’d advise it- Not because I want to get into your pants, but because it’s really not safe! I promise-“

You burst out laughing, making Taehyung shut up rather quickly. He awkwardly chuckled, smiling sheepishly at you. You wheezed, clutching your chest in an attempt to catch your breath.

“Why not?” You responded quietly, and Taehyung perked up at your words.

And that’s how you found yourself in a stranger’s bed, aimlessly clicking through the different channels on the hotel tv. Your hair was slightly damp and you were clad in a soft white robe, waiting for Taehyung, who was in the shower. You felt your heart melt when you heard his lovely singing as he cleaned himself. The sound of water rushing in the bathroom seemed to accentuate his melodies, calming you as you listened to him.

You took the chance to take a look at your wrist, seeing the pretty black ink on written on your skin. You bit your lip, tapping your fingers on the words.

“Look at me, darling.”

You laughed through your nose, air blowing out of your nostrils quietly. Thank goodness his words were pretty. It was a blessing and a curse that his words looked so beautiful on your skin. Even if you were never going to see him after this trip, at least your tattoo was cool.

It would be an interesting story to tell your friends. At least, that’s what you told yourself in order to comfort the fact that you really had no chance of seeing him after this night.

Your heart sank as you realized that the night would soon come to an end.

“You doing alright there, Y/N? Are you comfortable?”

You quickly shoved your hand under the sheets and refocused your attention to the television.

“Yeah,” You said nervously, “I’m good. Great. Wonderful, really.”

Your vision landed on Taehyung’s figure. Your face flushed up and you suddenly wished you hadn’t taken your eyes of the show you were “watching”.

He was clad only in a towel, water droplets covering his whole chest. His whole skin was tanned and his whole body was tone, displaying just how fit he was. You decided not to focus on his chest as you realized that he could probably see you peeping at him. Water dripped from different strands of his hair and fell onto his face.

You tried to keep your cool although your wide eyes and red face showed otherwise. It was obvious that Taehyung could notice this, but you kept up your futile front.

“I ordered champagne,” He said calmly, ignoring that he was half naked in front of a complete stranger, “Let me get changed and I’ll be there with you, yeah?”

You nodded, hands fidgeting with the fabric of your robe. You tried to keep up with the show playing on the screen, but you soon gave up since it was all in French. Your head fell onto the bed post as you stared up at the ceiling. Your hand flew to the thin, dainty chain on your neck, and you rolled it in between your thumb and index finger. You let out a sigh, feeling some of the tension leave your body while Taehyung was changing in the bathroom.

A loud knock was on his door, and Taehyung, now clad in sweatpants and a grey hoodie, quickly ran to answer it. He thanked room service, politely grabbing the bottle and glasses and shutting the door. He walked over to you triumphantly, showing of the champagne to you rather proudly. You giggled, feeling the bed shift under his weight. He handed you a glass and placed his own on the nightstand next to the bed.

You felt yourself jump as the cork flew off the bottle with a loud pop!, making Taehyung chuckle at your response. He poured the drink into your hands and then placed some of it into his own.

“Cheers!”

He clinked his glass with yours before taking a large gulp of the champagne. You took a small sip, feeling it bubble down your throat. You licked your lips, savoring the first taste of the drink.

“Who knew I’d be spending my night in Paris with a man I met an hour ago?” You joked, examining the bubbly drink.

“Who knew you’d be drinking with him in his bed?”

“Yeah,” You murmured, “Who knew...”

The two of you spent the night sipping on champagne, the drink making you feel light and giggly. The next few hours were filled with shameless, drunken flirting, but neither of you cared nor were flustered by each other’s words. It’s not like either of you would remember the next day.

In your intoxicated state, you learned that Taehyung was a touchy person. He had his arm wrapped around you snugly as you laid on his chest. He’d often run a hand through your hair, brushing it gently through his fingers. He would drunkenly place soft kisses on your head as the two of you talked, the television playing quietly in the background.

You also learned that he was quite the talker.

From his numerous stories, you discovered that Taehyung was born in Korea. He told countless anecdotes of growing up there, making you laugh at his goofy antics and the problems he got into when he was younger. He complained about how hard it was to learn English and how he envied how you were so fluent, since it took him so long to be able to have a simple conversation with someone.

You imagined what a younger Taehyung looked like, imagined what it would have been like to go to high school with him. While he was talking, you yearned to grow old with him, falling deeper and deeper in love with him as the more time passed with him.

He told you of his friend Jimin, who he had been friends with since high school. He mentioned all the trouble the two of them they got in, and how they still get into trouble now. He said that the two of you would probably get along, but Jimin would get upset at the fact that Taehyung took you to his hotel room after meeting you in one day. As he spoke, you wondered what it would be like to meet his family and to meet his friends. They must all be wonderful if they’re deemed right by Taehyung. You wished for nothing more than to be seen as worthy in Taehyung’s eyes.

“So, what’re your stories?” His words cutely slurred together, “Who exactly is Y/N?”

Once you spoke about yourself, it turned out he was a pretty good listener after all. He listened to everything you said intently, nodding when you said something, laughing when you laughed, and adding little comments or snickers here and there in order to make you laugh or tease you.

That night the two of you shared and confessed many things with each other. You found out that Taehyung used to play the saxophone, and he learned that you couldn’t hold a note for shit. He learned that you had a fear of heights, and you discovered that he had a terrible habit of biting his nails when he was younger. He told you how his mother would yell at him because his habit would make his hands look ugly. You took the time to examine his pretty hands and you told him to thank his mother.

Everything was light and happy in Taehyung’s hotel room. It was apparent that this was the happiest the both of you had felt in a while. To you, everything felt incredibly real. You concluded that Taehyung must have been your soulmate, because you’d never felt such a strong connection with anyone before.

Especially with someone you had just met that night!

So with the champagne giving you sudden courage, you sat up so you could be face to face with Taehyung and prepared to show him your wrist. You had to confirm with him that you were his soulmate first, though.

“Tae,” Your words drawled out slightly, “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“What do you mean?” His head drooped to the side, staring at you, “Of course I do.”

“Do you have one?” You giggled, not noticing how close your face was to his. His breath hitched slightly, but he shook it off quickly.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged, words spoken in a teasing lilt, “Do you?”

“Well, I don’t know either!” You looked at him with curious eyes, giggling once more, “Do you want one?”

“Not really.”

His words sobered you up, almost like you were getting his with freezing cold water. You laid back into the bed, dejectedly staring at the open air. Taehyung noticed this shift in mood, and he nudged you gently, trying to figure out what had changed. When you wouldn’t budge, he wrapped his arm around you again, pulling you close to him. You wanted to punch him as your eyes went blurry with tears.

“...Why don’t you?” Your voice was quiet, trembling. You clutched onto the material of his hoodie tightly, your head pressed against his chest.

If he knew something was strange with your sudden, quite random, questions, he didn’t say anything.

“I guess I’m scared,” His eyes were shut was he rested his head on yours, “What if I’m not good enough for my soulmate?”

“Well, that can’t be true.”

“I guess I’ll know when I find them.”

“I guess so,” You whispered, voice shaky.

It was as if a dagger pierced your heart. You bit your lip, holding back sobs.

Taehyung didn’t respond to your words, opting to place another kiss on your head. You wanted to disappear. Your predictions had come true.

He was your soulmate but you weren’t his.

“I wanna go to bed, Taehyung,” You murmured, words vibrating against his chest.

He nodded, letting you out of his embrace. Your turned your back to him, covering yourself in the sheets. Taehyung stared at your figure, trying to decide whether or not he should hold you again or not. You couldn’t tell if you wanted him to.

All you knew was that he was too good to be true. You fit well in his arms, but you didn’t think he realized that. It was as if you could only acknowledge the fact that your body felt perfect against his.

“Y/N, Can-“

“If you want to,” You responded, already knowing what he was going to say.

Soon enough his arms were around your waist, and you were engulfed by his citrus scent once more. A few moments later you heard soft snores coming from him. Your body felt heavy, like you were going to sink in his bed. Tears quietly rolled down your eyes and onto the pillow, your body slightly trembling. The television was shut off, only your soft cries heard in the silence of the hotel room.

What you hated the most was that Taehyung’s body felt warm and his embrace felt safe. He felt right. You couldn’t describe it enough. Just being in his arms felt right. Even if you felt uncomfortable in his room, being in his arms was enough for you. And you hated that.

You felt your eyelids droop down, and soon enough you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Taehyung woke up alone. The sunlight burned into his eyes, slightly blinding him and waking him up instantly. He rubbed the sleep crusted away in his eyes, and he felt his heart sank when he realized the absence of you.

Memories of the night before flashed into his mind. You resting on his chest, you giggling at his dumb jokes, you cutely turning red from drinking too much alcohol. All he could think of was you. You with your soft eyes and kind smile. Your soft hair and your small figure. He thought about how you felt in his arms, how your body slotted perfectly in his embrace.

Then dread filled his heart as another memory played in his mind.

“Do you want a soulmate, Taehyung?”

“Not really.”

Taehyung wanted to slap himself at his words. Sure, he did truly feel like he wasn’t enough for his soulmate, but your reaction made his own heart break. He realized that he truly wasn’t enough for you. He let his stupid fears get into the way of you being with him.

You left behind nothing. There was no note on his night stand that had your number on it, no note telling him that you had to go, no note telling him that you enjoyed your time with him. You were just gone, without a trace, without a hint of you ever being there, save for your vanilla scent stuck on the sheets and the image of you burned in Taehyung’s mind.

Taehyung grabbed his phone, quickly going to his camera roll. He swiped through numerous photos of you that he had taken on his own phone without you noticing. He smiled sadly, eyes fixated on his screen.

You looked so happy in the pictures, your smile showing how absorbed you were in staring at the lights of the Eiffel Tower. He admired the wonder and twinkle in your eyes as you watched the crowds around the famous tourist attraction. He came across a photo of your back facing him as you kept your focus on the Eiffel Tower. The wind was shifting around your hair and moving it gracefully in the photo. You looked like you came straight out of a movie. He wished for nothing more than to be able rewind and restart everything with you.

He wanted the ending where you ended up with him. Not the one where the two of you never speak again.

Dropping his phone on the bed, he pulled strands at his hair in response to his own stupidity. Why didn’t he show you his tattoo? Why was he so dumb? What was holding him back?

He was terrified. You were so perfect to him, and he couldn’t see himself being enough for you. He was afraid that if you got to know him more, you’d end up losing feelings for him. He wanted nothing more than to have a home with you and see you every single day.

He yearned to have you with him again, falling apart as the seconds passed. He wished he could’ve had the chance to grow up with you, to get married, to take you to all of the places you wanted to go to. He wanted to have kids with you, see what they’d look like and how they’d act. He yearned to feel the happiness he felt when you were around him.

Now the only thing in his mind was the feeling of regret.

You were right in his hands and now you had slipped away from his reach in mere seconds.

Taehyung rolled up his sleeve to look at his wrist. He tapped his fingers onto the black words as smiled sadly, imagining your calming voice in his ears. He imagined that you were in front of him, handing him your phone as you waited expectantly for his response.

“Excuse me, sir? Would you be able to take a picture of me?”

[whittakerjodie]

and it Wasn’t Quite You (13th Doctor X Reader)

Request:  13th x reader request: I was wondering if you could do a hurt/comfort fic? The reader and 13 are in an established relationship. The reader is slightly insecure and during a trip she catches a girl/alien girl kissing the doctor (the doctor not kidding back but it looks like it?) I’m sorry if this a bit confusing and long 😓 Lots of fluff please! Thank you 🙏 :) - from @biscuitfam​

A/N: ooooo i’ve been going through a funk the last few days and this totally regenerated my writing ability! Yay!! Also, might’ve laid the angst on heavier than the fluff whoops. ALSO ALSO it’s important to me that yall know the doctor and the master were in a band. Please know this. please. 

Words: 3k

Warnings: jealousy, insecurity that isn’t true but we all have it, hot alien princess’s making a move on your hot alien girlfriend, obscure Doctor who eu references, 

   Your adventure began as most did; with the Doctor rambling as she ran around the console, describing a planet she’d been wanting to visit. When she first mentioned Princess Osea, you were hardly listening. The Doctor met so many people on so many adventures that you didn’t immediately attach any importance to the Doctor’s story of meeting her. 

   When you stepped out of the TARDIS, quite the crowd was there to greet you. There was a loud fanfare coming from all sides of the crowd.  It was like an entire parade had been arranged just for your arrival. Behind the people stood shining towers, stretching far beyond the limits of your vision. Each one was made out of a golden material, complimenting the light pink sky filled with dozens of other planets. You didn’t realize your mouth had been hanging open for so long before you heard the Doctor giggle softly. Her finger quickly pushed your chin up, a move that made you blush despite how quickly it lasted. 

    It’d only been two months or so since the two of you had decided to make things official. Well, as official as you could make things with a timelord who spent all her time gallivanting around the universe. You didn’t exactly use the term ‘girlfriend’ but your relationship had gotten a little past that point by now. Before you could grab her hand to hold it as you walked, she was raising hers to shake hands with the woman in front of you. 

   You’d been staring at the Doctor so long, you didn’t realize that the five of you had reached the end of the red carpet, where a large golden throne stood. On top of the throne sat one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, save for the Doctor. She was tall- at least, you thought she was, judging by the extremely long, toned legs that were peeking out of her large ruffled orange dress. Her cheeks were a darker blue than the rest of her skin- was she blushing? 

“Doctor,” She drawled. Her arm extended forward to offer the back of her hand to the Doctor, who placed a quick kiss upon it. You didn’t take a lot of notice to this either; travelling with the Doctor for years meant you were fairly accustomed to different cultural expectations and displays. She was simply addressing royalty, right? “It’s so lovely to see you again.” 

“I could say the same, princess Osea. How are things?” 

“Much better, now. I wish we could’ve organized more for your arrival, but it was rather short notice.” You glanced again at the massive crowd that was gathered, complete with streamers and music. This wasn’t enough? 

“Oh it’s wonderful,” The Doctor said. “I did land at the right time, I hope? I’ve been dying to show these four the Omicron Eclipse for ages.” 

“And you’ll be able to. Hello, by the way!” She gave a small wave and a cheeky smile to the four of you before turning back to the Doctor and the Doctor alone. You winced as Osea grabbed both the Doctor’s hands, holding them. The look in her eye was… warm. Loving. You didn’t like that much either. “We’ve prepared a feast for tonight, which will be followed by a performance by the Orchestra-” 

“Oh! Is that the one that uses the Perigosto sticks? Love a perigosto stick, me” The Doctor interrupted cheerfully. Oh, that was an inside thing you didn’t know about. The Princess nodded, grinning even wider. 

“You remembered! I had a few players added just for you.That’s not the only surprise. After the orchestra plays we’ll have a ceremonial wreath burning on Mount Aiq’ans, where we’ll watch the eclipse.” 

   Okay, that did seem rather cool. The Doctor turned back to You and the rest of the fam with two thumbs up. Everyone else answered with their own excited thumbs but you resorted to a hesitant smile. As Osea stood up from her throne you felt your awkwardness increase tenfold. She was tall. Not only that, but the way the sun shined on her as she stood highlighted thousands of sparkling freckles you hadn’t noticed before. She was truly glowing, twirling her flowing black hair in between her fingers. 

   You gulped, half of you intimidated by her beauty and the other really attracted to her. Not the time to gay panic, you thought. To offset the panic you glanced at the Doctor, only to find that she was also staring up at Osea. It wasn’t inherently romantic, but you couldn’t deny that your heart twinged at the long established friendship clearly apparent between the two. Their words were laced with a loving familiarity, and the way they looked at each other made your cheeks burn. Neither of them seemed to notice your gloom as Osea linked her arm with the Doctors and began to lead all of you through a doorway on the right into the castle. 

____________________________________________

“You’re not going to eat anything?” Ryan asked. You stared right past him at the Doctor and Osea, who were laughing as they recounted the last time they’d seen each other. Fingers tightly gripping your glass, you shook your head to answer Ryan. He turned and whispered something to Yaz as you sipped your drink, trying not to be bothered. Just a friend, you reminded yourself. That’s all they are. Friends making up for lost time. 

   Your food had remained untouched- you doubted you’d ever have enough appetite to finish it anyway. The feast was more elaborate than the welcome parade. The tables seemed to stretch for miles, every inch of them covered in platters of different foods. The Doctor must’ve done something really spectacular to warrant this kind of treatment for all of you. Or maybe it was just a regular ceremony they did every time the eclipse happened. Or maybe the princess was just so in love with her- 

“Y/N, you remember that right?” Your head whipped towards the Doctor, who was looking at you expectantly. You hated how beautiful she looked in that moment; eyes shining with tears from laughter, cheeks red with warmth and lips stretched into a smile. How were you supposed to wallow in misery over something small when an angel was addressing you?

“Sorry I um-” Then, your gaze landed on the Princess, who was watching you with a somewhat disdainful look. It wasn’t mean, but it seemed like she was rather irritated at you causing a pause in the conversation. “Sorry, Doctor, I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?” 

“She was asking you if you remembered falling into an Eiccen pit?” Your face warmed even further. You didn’t know the Doctor had been telling that story as well. It was embarrassing; you thought it was funny that the grass felt so wobbly and the next thing you knew you’d fallen ten feet into a pit full of jelly that turned your skin green. And the Doctor was just sharing it with this.. This… goddess sitting next to her?!? 

“You alright, Y/N?” the Doctor asked, her hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly. You blushed even harder, avoiding the princess’ gaze, which you could feel landing on you. You couldn’t let her know that you were embarrassed or weak or less than her. Not when your girlfriend was sitting there. Not when you were getting the feeling that the Princess wanted a little bit more than friendship from said girlfriend. 

“Everything's fine,” You whispered. When the Doctor looked unconvinced, you cleared your throat and spoke up. “Of course I remember it, but I also remember you falling in right after me” The whole table laughed and turned back to the Princess for her next comment. You sighed in relief as the weight was lifted off of you, but you couldn’t quite stop the feeling of being a third wheel pressing back in on you. 

__________________________

   Tears dripped down your cheeks. You didn’t bother wiping them away at this point; every second the orchestra spent playing was a second the music washed over your body, mind, and soul in the most wonderful way. It’d been at least 15 minutes since they started playing, but you couldn’t quite grasp onto any specific thought or measure of time when the hundreds of instruments sounded from the stage. 

  There wasn’t any earthly way to describe the sound that filled the auditorium. It truly was amazing, and did wonders to your spirit after dinner had gone so sourly. 

“You like it?” the Doctor asked. She was standing next to you, eyes taking in your crying face. She wiped your tears away with her sleeve, smiling. “It can be a little overwhelming, but that’s why they’re one of the most famous Orchestras in the 81st century. “ 

“Doctor, I love it,” You whispered with a tremble in your voice. She smiled wider, then pointed to the right of the orchestra. 

“Do you see that, the long stick? That’s a perigosto stick. Used to play one of those when I was a kid.” 

“I thought guitar was more your style” You laughed, remembering how musical her 12th form had been. 

“Oh it is but not when I was at the academy. Used to be in a band, actually.” 

“You’re kidding?!” 

“Never,” She laughed. “Well, sometimes. But not this time. Gallifrey hot five, we called ourselves” 

You shook your head, assuming that she must be joking. Then, when you took in her completely serious face you gasped. “No, you’re serious? The Gallifrey hot five?” 

She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, we were a little cheesy back then. But I did, admittedly, do smashing on the perigosto.” 

“You’ll have to play for us sometime” Your face fell into a frown as you realized Osea was standing to the right of the Doctor. A little too closely, an observation you also made. You tuned out the Doctor promising to do just that, trying to focus back on the music. 

   You felt ridiculous for feeling so jealous, but you couldn’t help it; you were a normal human from earth. You didn’t have sparkling skin or flowing hair or long, beautiful legs. You weren’t a princess. She was so much… more than you, it seemed. The Doctor and her seemed so close. Had they ever-?

    It seemed like in the blink of an eye you were on top of Mount Aiq’ans, facing a wreath larger than a house. Vines and flowers were arranged in an elaborate circle, waiting for fire to consume them. Supposedly, the custom was to look through the ring of fire at the moment the planets eclipsed one another. You’d also heard that there was significance for one of the planet's main religions, but you couldn’t confirm or deny that based on your attention lapses. 

The princess held a long torch in her hand, waiting for the right moment. Suddenly she turned back to the Doctor, grinning. “Doctor, I would love for you to do the honors.” 

The Doctor chuckled nervously, accepting the torch. You took a step back from it’s heat, unable to escape your own, which crept through your veins as the Princess gave the Doctor the highest honor of the evening. “Alright then,” The Doctor said. She stepped forward, the Princess stepping aside to let her through. 

“This is so cool” Ryan murmured. You nodded, not because you believed it but because you wanted to keep up the facade that you did. Really, it’d just been a long day and you were tired of feeling like second best to an alien you’d never even met before. Light assaulted your eyes as the wreath went up in flames, the cheers of everyone present pressing against you from every side. It was all rather overwhelming and you ignored everything and everyone, eyes focusing on the eclipse with a stubbornness you’d never felt before. You shrugged off your jacket to offset the new heat, enjoying the moment for what it was. 

______________________________________

The walk back to the castle had been exhausting. Your legs were tired and everyone else seemed to be having the best time talking and laughing with one another. No matter how hard you tried to keep a hold of the memory of the eclipse, your mind could only hyper-focus on the Princess and the Doctor walking ahead of you. Did it even matter what they were talking about at this point? Clearly they’d known each other for ages and you’d never be as good as- no, stop that, you told yourself as your throat started to tighten. Stop that. 

You set your jacket on the throne as everyone carried out the final conversation for the evening. The TARDIS seemed to be calling your name, as you could feel an oddly warm force drawing you back towards it. You made quick work of saying your goodbye to the Princess, walking back towards the space-time machine with the fam in tow. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yaz asked as soon as the doors shut. You leaned against them, nodding. 

“Yeah, course, I’m perfect.” 

“Well… whatever it is, I hope you had fun tonight at least. Oh- you forgot your jacket.” You looked at your shoulders, noticing that Yaz was right.

“Thanks, Yaz,” She nodded and gave you a quick hug, disappearing into the TARDIS hallway. You smiled at your friend's generous words. The smile dropped off the face of the earth, however, as your eyes took in the scene before you. They were standing far away, but it was all too easy to make out Osea’s hands cupping your girlfriends cheeks, drawing her in for a heated kiss. 

   A gasp left your lips and you quickly threw the doors shut, heart racing. No. No way you’d seen what you’d just seen. Your brain was moving a mile a minute, stomach turning over. Some unknown force-the TARDIS probably, let you know that the Doctor was coming in soon. Scared embarrassed, and seconds from bursting into tears, you sprinted into the hallway and into your room, letting the TARDIS dramatically slam the door for you.  

   Tears started to fall from your eyes again, but not due to an ethereal beauty. These were uncontrollable because of a poisonous, fiery sorrow that you couldn’t understand because you couldn’t understand what you’d just seen. Or maybe you could. Maybe you were right and Osea was so much more than you, so more beautiful, and interesting, and-

“Y/N?” there was a furious knocking on your door, joining the Doctors quick tone. “Y/N, please, I need to explain what just happened.” 

You leaned against the door, letting yourself slide to the floor. You couldn’t face her. Not yet, not like this. “Doctor…” 

You could hear rustling from the other side, like she was copying your position. “Y/N, I had no idea that Osea.. felt that way. I definitely don’t reciprocate it. I made sure she knew that after she kissed me, you have to know that.” 

“You don’t?” You sniffled. “You just seemed… like, you guys knew each other so well and she’s so pretty and-” 

“Yes, she is pretty, by several universal standards. Yes, we know each other well. But she will never be- she never could be- she’s not you, y/n. No one could ever best you.” 

   Temporarily, your breath came to a standstill as you let her words echo through the air. Your hand landed against the hard surface of the door, suddenly longing to disintegrate it so you could instead feel the Doctor’s soft hand in yours. The TARDIS granted your request and the door slid open, sending the two of you into a collision as soon as the support was gone. You shrieked slightly as you fell into her arms and she fell into yours, landing in an odd heap. 

Instead of helping you up, her arms wound around your figure, holding you closer. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume things” You whimpered against her chest. “She’s just so…” 

“Don’t finish that sentence, y/n. Because I know whatever you say isn’t going to be true.” Her lips planted a kiss against your temple, then a second against your cheek. Finally, she pressed her lips to yours. Forehead resting against you, she pulled back and whispered. “I need to know that you know that I love you. Do you know that?” 

   Tear slipping past your eye you nodded, letting her pull you back in for another kiss. Relief was flooding through your system, mixing with love for the Doctor to create a mood a thousand times better than the one that had been plaguing you all day. While she carried you to bed and tucked you in, the Doctor dedicated her breath to informing you of all the reasons why she loved you. You were pretty sure she carried on even after you fell asleep, because when you woke up in the morning her arms were still wrapped around you, mouth hung open like she’d been mid-sentence when sleep claimed her.

[hysteriium]

The Irony of Fate [2]

Gif not mine! 

(A/N): Uhhh this gif kills me holy fuck LOOK AT HIM- UGH. OK, SORRY this took so long lmao, my writing has honestly been so slow lately. I’m trying to fix that but idk I guess it’s a work in process. ALSO!!!! I’m so GRATEFUL for y’all! You’ve all been so kind and supportive with the series, I honestly thought I was going to be swamped with hate! I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it, and love Arthur as much as I do. It’s really made me feel better about my shitty writing. So without further ado, I’ll let you read. Sorry for the monster essay! 

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn’t seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word Count: 3,400

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warnings: None! 

!! SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE !! 

Anxiety coursed through (Y/n) like a turbulent storm, its rage coursing throughout her body, numbing her fingertips. Her mouth was abnormally dry and her attempts at swallowing - to try and lessen the prominence of the drought within, were all in vain. Counting down the seconds in her head silently, her jaw ticked. Large multicoloured drapes burned into her eyes, their bright colours harsh if looked at for too long. As she stood behind them, backstage, the familiar, upbeat music filled her ears, a tune she had known since teenagehood. In person, the arrangement of instruments beyond the curtains sounded different. It was raw. Loud. Unfiltered. The difference was something she found she prefered, it’s authenticity shining through. 

Despite the nostalgia, and the thrill of her dreams coming true, the song was hardly comforting, adding to the growing nausea in her stomach. Solidifying the presence of the knot within.  

The fact she was there was surreal. 

The crowd, in response to the anthem, went wild, clapping on cue, along with the song.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” Murray shouted. His renowned dance moves, which had him swinging to the beat, were perfectly timed. 

Although (Y/n) was shrouded by the massive curtains in front of her, she could practically hear the smirk on his face. Sickly sweet and, dare she say, sickly fake. While she was eternally grateful to be where she was, the disingenuity unsettled her. It rubbed her the wrong way. 

Good ratings meant more money, and more money meant fewer problems. 

“Now, tonight, we’ve got an extra special guest,” he said.

(Y/n) swallowed.

She felt her fingers twitch in anticipation while the majority of the public oohed at Murray’s news.

“She’s a gorgeous woman…” a handful whistled, earning a soft chuckle from the host, “though I must say, she has an even lovelier voice.”

“It’s quite funny actually, I met her on the street the other day. I was blown away when I first heard her performing. And...I usually don’t do this, but I just had to have her on the show. You all know how much I love talent.” 

“However, there was just one thing that left me confused. I asked her, ‘why on the streets?’” Murray gave a quizzical look, “with such a gift, you’d expect her to be in the clubs!” 

“She shrugged her shoulders and told me, ‘you gotta start somewhere’.” 

“Now while I respect that, starting from humble beginnings and all, I told her, ‘honey with a face like that, you don’t gotta go around singing on the streets for money,’ if you know what I mean.” 

The spectators laughed, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes in response. Suddenly, she was glad she was hidden. She wouldn’t want her annoyed expression to give the wrong impression. She didn’t want to be labelled. The last thing she needed was to wake up and read some shitty news article painting her as a ‘diva’ and ‘ungrateful’. Gotham thrived on negativity, so once that was out there, she’d never recover from the defaming blow. Sexist jokes or not, fighting up against one of the most dominant television personalities in Gotham, as well as the media, was a deathwish careerwise. 

“Now that’s enough from me, you’re all probably sick of my face. Please welcome, (Y/n)!” 

Swiftly, the live band played their tunes, signalling her entrance. Murray directed attention to the infamous curtains, his arms stretching, his fingers wiggling towards the material. Screams of joy echoed off the studio walls.

At the sound, her hands raced to her form-fitting black dress, smoothing out the wrinkles before the curtain opened. When they did, they were slow. A cringe formed its way onto her face as the pully system squeaked along. As ready as she’ll ever be, she cemented a smile, hiding the wince, and walked through the drapes, deciding against waiting. 

Feeling a little dramatic, her form hunched over into a bow. A leg darted behind the other, with one hand in front, another resting against her back. Wolf whistles decorated the air at her arrival, though they were promptly replaced with roaring laughter as she made her way towards Murray and planted two firm kisses on both of his cheeks. Eventually, the clacking of her heels signified movement from the older man as she moved to occupy the yellow chair next to Murray’s desk.

Murray made a face after her display of affection, a look although (Y/n) couldn’t see, with his back towards her, she knew it transpired because of the public’s response. She could only imagine the face: one of shock and surprise, or perhaps confidence, as he winked towards them. Either way, both weren’t hard to envision, and the thought made short, distinct, puffs of air release from her nose in amusement.  

Shortly, he followed her lead and took a seat behind his table. 

“You’ve got some flare kid,” Murray chuckled, and (Y/n) could tell a genuine smile had replaced the false one. A twinge of pride wriggled in her chest at the realisation. 

“Are you nervous?” Murray asked suddenly, his eyes flying to the hands in her lap, fidgeting, “you seem nervous.” 

She shot the audience a look, her teeth clenched as her eyebrows flew up. 

“Yeah,” was all she said, her tone coming out high and unsure. 

Laughter. 

“You’re already doing great. This your first time on live television?”  

The reminder that this was live exacerbated her anxiety, her leg threatening to bounce. The pressure was on; if she screwed up, everyone would remember. 

“Pretty much,” a hint of fear wavered her voice, and the laugh that followed was shaky, “this is really surreal.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he flicked his wrist at her, “it’ll be second nature the way you’re headed.”

Her hands flew up to her cheeks, a tinge of pink coating the area while she tittered, “thank you, but I’m not so sure of that.”

“So humble!” 

Murray adjusted himself in his chair, his leg crossing over his other. He leaned forward towards the singer, form angled away from the onlookers. His concentration was solely on her.  

“So (Y/n), what have you got planned for us tonight?” 

A diffident expression crossed the woman’s features as she recalled her song.

“One of my favourites. Put On a Happy Face by Tony Bennett.” 

Murray nodded.

“Interesting choice. But, a classic.” 

His formerly interlocked hands were thrown into the air, giving a signal to the band. At this, (Y/n) stood up from her seat, and headed towards the already arranged set up towards the end of the stage. Once she arrived, she gripped the cylindrical microphone with both hands, its body supported by a stand. The object was cool against her heated fingertips.

The music started, the funk infectious and the woman’s hips began to sway.

---- 

Arthur barely held the gasp within him when he gazed upon (Y/n) ’s form, her flattering black dress a spectacle to behold. Her bow, cute and pure, converted the gasp he was restraining into a lovestruck sigh. 

He was sold, struck by the arrow of the little rascal Cupid himself. 

She looked just as good on TV.

He found it endearing how honest she was, admitting to her nerves. In his eyes, she was genuine, not like the scum that riddled Gotham’s streets; not like those who laughed at him; not like Randall. 

Similar to a child who was urgent to take in his favourite cartoon, he moved himself closer to the screen, a meter away at best, as he sat cross-legged. The tickling sensation of excitement shot throughout his slender body. 

As the music started playing, the overly happy tune seized him. When the camera panned on (Y/n) ’s walking form, he took in every little detail. The sigh she let out when she reached the microphone. The wobbling of her hands, which she tried to hide by clutching the device. The movement of her throat, suggesting a swallow. The jaw that clicked. 

Arthur saw it all.

Then, she started singing. 

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

The spectators interjected, drowning out a portion of the lyrics as they released sounds of support. 

As Arthur leant into his tv screen, he was absolutely convinced nothing could deter his eyes, his hypnosis. Not even the whining of his mum, who had been entirely obstructed from viewing the screen.

He hadn’t even realised she was there, he’d forgotten all about her.  

Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy

It’s not your style

You’ll look so good that you’ll be glad

You decide to smile

Arthur wished he was there in the room with (Y/n). In the crowd. To see her pretty (e/c) eyes glance over him and shoot him a wink. Or perhaps a smile. Anything - like the acknowledgement she gave him days prior. Just something to know that he really existed. That he wasn’t riding through life like a doormat - invisible, stepped on, beaten up and chucked around. No one really noticed the object, nor cared to, as it dejectedly rested below the door. Day after day.

Pick out a pleasant outlook

Stick out that noble chin

Wipe off that “full of doubt” look

Slap on a happy grin

Arthur began to grin when she saw her nerves were starting to leave her. Oh, how badly he wanted to applaud her. Encourage her. 

And spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy face

One hand released the microphone, moving to her face as she traced the outline of her upturned lips, a short, accidental giggle slipping out. It made Arthur’s heart swell! 

The band complemented her style perfectly. Their contrasting deep voices were melodic as they harmonised with her humming. 

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

Arthur found his form lightly swaying to the tune, his grin extending from ear to ear, impossibly deeper.  

She was really into it now, and he could tell she could feel the music rushing through her, now a conduit for the art. When he saw the confidence which had manifested, growing with each passing second, his mind swarmed with joy, his mind conjuring a bundle of soothing words he noiselessly projected through the cubic barrier before them - to her. 

And if you’re feeling cross and bickerish

Don’t sit and whine

Think of banana splits and licorice

And you’ll feel fine

She disconnected the microphone from the stand, bringing it under her chin. Quickly she departed from her spot with a small spin, strutting across the rest of the stage - something that got the fans rowdy; wooing. Her body swung to the beat, shoulders moving with her.

I knew a girl so gloomy

She’d never laugh or sing

She wouldn’t listen to me

Now she’s a mean old thing

Now incredibly expressive - antithetical from when she first began - she accompanied her singing by miming the lyrics. A fist rocked below her eyes imitating tears in a burlesque manner, and a fake frown contorted her features. Though, no matter how sad she pretended to be, Arthur knew just by the twinkle in her eyes that she was bursting with happiness.   

So spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy, happy face

Put on a happy, happy, happy face

During the final verse, she had moved closer to the camera, dragging out the closing note with a high. 

Oh, come on bubby, smile, it’s your birthday!

She made direct eye contact with the lens and winked. 

Arthur’s chest tightened at the action, and he couldn’t help but take it personally; as if the playful act was directly meant to be for him. Him and only him. 

Applause nearly deafened Arthur as it reverberated around the room, projecting shockingly loud for such a small device. Scrambling, his hands tried to lower the volume. Unfortunately, in his rush, his clumsy hands instead knocked up against another button, changing the channel entirely in the process. 

Regrettably for Arthur, the noise emitted only worsened. Although the tv was no longer on the Murray Franklin show, it was now on a channel playing an old war movie. Explosions and the earthshaking noises of artillery filled his crappy apartment, gunfire jolting his poor, unexpecting form. Letting out his shock with a shout, and a string of curses, his hands automatically moved to cover his ears - a reaction he midway stopped; gaining some control, he felt the device vibrate beneath his fingertips when they finally discovered the volume button. When he had readjusted the strength, he returned back to the station, free from the clamour, the show now on commercial break. 

He sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. 

Why was he so fucking clumsy? 

Even the smallest things he couldn’t seem to get right. 

Gentle snoring shifted his awareness from his self-deprecating mental exchange, and when he looked over to the noise, he saw his mother asleep in her chair. Her head was tilted against her shoulder, her mouth open. It was a sight that made him laugh through his nose; something that managed to halt the negativity which began to swarm in his mind, like a vicious cloud of hornets. 

Arthur didn’t know how his mother could one minute be the lightest sleeper on earth, then the next, swing to the other extreme. It was a miracle she slept through his fuck up, but then again, if she were in a deep sleep, he was confident enough to bet she’d sleep through a natural disaster. 

It was honestly impressive.

Emitting a soft groan as his palms pushed himself up from his sitting position, he trailed from one end of his apartment to the other. He opened one of the squeaking cabinets near the bathroom, the small storage space containing miscellaneous items. Though, it mostly harboured their modest collection of towels and blankets. As his eyes skimmed the shelves, from top to bottom, they soon fell onto what he was searching for. On the very bottom, his hands gripped onto an old quilt. It was soft to touch, though when he moved to collect it, he felt small pricks against his flesh as his arms maneuvered to fit its length. 

Feathers. 

The floral pattern, which was a chaotic blend of reds, pinks, whites and cremes was gaudy and straining to look at. Arthur guessed it was a victorian design, and it was quite apparent that it was a style he wasn’t fond of. He didn’t think he ever understood the things his mother liked. It was definitely a selective taste.  

Shaking away his absentmindedness, and the staredown he was giving the blanket in his hand, he moved back to the living room, rounding behind his mother’s chair as he gently placed the cover against her. She was still snoring, some of them morphing into snorts. He honestly did try to contain his giggling, but most of it slipped out. To try and lessen the ache in her neck she was bound to wake up with tomorrow, he lastly righted her position. 

The upbeat music coming from the tv began again, letting Arthur know his favourite show had returned. Hurried, his lips pressed up against his sleeping mother’s forehead before returning back to his spot in front of the tube.  

“Welcome back, everyone! If you’re just tuning in, we have the lovely (Y/n) with us.”

For what was probably the 100th time, the crowd responded to Murray, who was sitting back at his desk, gaze set towards the camera. 

“And I’ve got good news for you, kid!”

(Y/n) looked up at the host from her chair, eyebrows furrowing. 

“What do you-” 

Murray interrupted. 

“I’ve set you up with a few clubs. We can’t let talent like yours go on without reward, it would be a disservice. On behalf of Gotham city, I think we can all agree we need some joy in these troubling times, and your presence just seems to radiate it.”

(Y/n) was evidently stunned. Suddenly, to her, some of his awful jokes had been worth it. 

“This isn’t a prank, right?” she turned to the audience, eyes expanded wholly making the audience explode into chuckles. Arthur found himself joining in. 

“I assure you lovely, we wouldn’t do that to ya.” 

“Your first gigs gonna be at Pogo’s comedy club. And yes, although it is a comedy club, they’ve made an exception. It’s best to start small and work your way up into the bigger names.”

Arthur’s chest constricted. 

He went there all the time! 

He could see her perform!

Talk to her! 

Finally have the chance to introduce himse-

“So what do you say, darling?” Murray piped up, his eyes giving her an encouraging glance.

Arthur leaned forward, nose about to touch the screen in anticipation.

Her hands found her cheeks as she tried to conceal the spreading heat. Even in darkness, she was convinced the crimson flush would be bright enough to light up the room. While Murray had said a few off comments here and there, things she didn’t agree with, he truly had been welcoming to her. She thought maybe, just maybe, she had been too harsh on him.   

“I-I don’t know what to say?!” 

Please say yes - please say yes - please say yes. 

“You could say, yes?” Murray shot her a playful look.  

The woman finally nodded, adrenaline and joy manipulating her quaking frame, “yes! Yes! Thank you so much!” 

Arthur’s fists shook in the air, a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding, released.

(Y/n) got up from her seat, shooting up like a rocket as she made her way behind Murray’s desk. He followed her actions and removed himself from his chair, and accepted the hug she pulled him into with a ‘whoa’.

“Well, there you have it, folks! Pogo’s, Friday night, at seven. Be there or be square!” 

With a little whisper to (Y/n), she was sent off, back to the area with the microphone. 

“Goodnight, tune in next time, and always remember-”

Instantly, the legendary keyboard tune started playing, and (Y/n) prepared herself to sing once more. 

“-that’s life!” Arthur mimicked.

For one final performance, the camera panned away from Murray, setting on (Y/n) as the credits rolled. Arthur relished in the sound, the lyrics hitting his very soul. 

That’s life (that’s life), that’s what people say

You’re riding high in April, shot down in May

But, I know I’m gonna change that tune

When I’m back on top, back on top in June

I said, that’s life, (that’s life), and as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks,

Stompin’ on a dream

But I don’t let it, let it get me down

Cause, this fine old world it keeps spinning around

He sunk into the numbing feeling of the lyrics, forcing himself to close his eyes. He didn’t even realise the song was nearing its end until she reached the final verse.  

My, My!

With the expression of dazed euphoria, Arthur opened his eyes, watching her part from the microphone, the credits now over. 

“Thank you,” was the only thing she said, her beaming expression the last thing Arthur saw. 

The show ended. 

Arthur, who was abandoned by the gentle, radiant hue of the cube before him, was consumed by the darkness. It dwelled within the room as the device had been switched off by his lingering hand. 

He didn’t know how long he sat in silence for. His mother had finally stopped snoring.

He didn’t want to watch television; didn’t feel like it. He wanted to soak in the episode he’d just witnessed - flick through the memorable moments for the rest of the night. 

He wanted to think about what he’d say to (Y/n) when he finally met her officially - he wanted it to be perfect. While the little wave she gave him days ago would have been such an insignificant action to most, it wasn’t to Arthur. It was real.

And the fact that he knew it was, reeled him in like an unsuspecting fish speeding to bait. 

Well and truly, Arthur was bewitched.

The sombre air surrounding him - a mood that always seemed to cling to him - and the dim blue hue which encompassed his apartment, strangely didn’t feel so bad for once. Hell, he didn’t feel so bad for once.

With the image of her smile repeating in his head, he didn’t feel so...

Alone. 

[langdvnshepherd]

I've been in bit of a slump this week and I just need something to boost my spirit. That being said, I was wondering if you could write something were Duncan or micheal comforts the reader and just makes them feel loved and it's wholesome and cute

Ahh sorry you’re not having the best week lil bug :-( lemme cheer you up real quick! 

I’ve already written something sort of similar to this with Michael (here it is if u wanna read x), so I’ll do Duncan! It’s not long, but I put it under a cut because there’s a ton of dialog so it’s super spaced out and I don’t wanna clutter your dash!!

Word Count: 1.2k

Maybe he sensed before he left for work this morning that you were acting kinda off-kilter, so he decided to come home on his lunch break to check on you. He brought bags of your favorite takeout restaurant and a gallon of your favorite ice cream with him as well. He was almost certain that it wasn’t your time of the month, but he came home prepared just in case because that’s the kind of boyfriend Duncan Shepherd is.

When he returned to his apartment, it appeared that you hadn’t even gotten out of bed. There were no new dishes in the sink apart from the coffee cup and spoon he’d used himself, the blanket was still strewn across the sofa from where you’d left it last night, and the tv wasn’t playing softly in the living room like you liked while you made breakfast each morning. Nothing but silence greeted him upon his arrival as he sat his grocery haul on the kitchen counter and made his way towards the bedroom that you two shared.

“Y/N?” he called out as he peeked his head around the corner of the door.

“Yeah?” you answered, lifting your own head from your pillow from where you were staring at the ceiling.

“Everything alright? You were acting kinda funny this morning, so I thought I’d come back and check on you. I brought food,” Duncan waved his hand towards the direction of the kitchen.

You shrugged back at him, feeling guilty that Duncan was worried about you enough to come all the way home from work to what was the matter.

“Just having a weird day,” you shrugged.

“Aaand why is that?” Duncan asked, pacing his way over to sit beside you on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t know. Just am.”

You wished he wouldn’t prod, but you knew Duncan. He was going to prod.

“Did something happen?”

“No, Duncan,” you retorted, a little snappier than you’d intended to.

“I’m fine. Go back to work.”

“Umm, no. You’re not fine,” he fired back, mocking the same tone you’d just used on him.

“You’re always out of bed before I leave for work. Plus, you’ve haven’t been acting yourself lately anyway.”

Why was he so good at reading you?

You were quiet, turning your attention back to the ceiling you were staring at before Duncan barged in unannounced.

“So I’ll take it that I’m right? Something is bothering you?”

“Duncan, please,” you begged, your voice cracking as tears instinctively welled up in the corners of your eyes.

“Just leave.”

“Ahh, well you see, princess, I’m not going to do that.”

Duncan stood up from the bed, fingers grabbing downward to remove his shoes and socks. He stripped all the way down to just the plain black boxer briefs he’d slipped on after his morning shower, then mosied out of the bedroom and into the long hallway that led to the living room and kitchen.

When Duncan returned, he held the large paper bag of takeout in his arms.

“My girl is sad, and I’m not leaving her side until I know she’s feeling better.”

“Won’t Annette be mad that you’re not coming back?”

“Eh,” he waved her comment away with a flick of his wrist.

“She’ll live. Plus, she owes me for the last 15 times I stayed overtime for her anyway.”

You hummed in response, feeling the bed dip as Duncan climbed under the covers beside you and began divvying out the warm platters of food from the back.

Duncan dug into his meal immediately, not wasting a second as he shoveled the food into his mouth with his fork.

“Are you stare at me all day or are you going to eat something?” Duncan asked, raising a quizzical brow in your direction.

“You don’t eat when you’re sad, and it’s not good for you. So eat. Before I make you.”

His comment earned a chuckle from you, but you felt a twinge in your heart when you realized Duncan even recognized that that was a trait you possessed. How many times had he seen you like this when you thought he didn’t notice? How many times did it take for him to pick up on your self-destructive behaviors?

You headed his warning, breaking your gaze at Duncan to fish around your plate for the perfect bite. It warmed your belly and soothed your soul, and the fact that Duncan knew that it would cheer you up made it taste ten times better.

Duncan stayed in bed with you all day. Literally. When you two were done with your food, he cast the empty containers on the nightstand beside him, noting to take it out with the trash later. He watched all of your favorite reruns and films, and not even the slightest of a complaint fell from his lips when you chose something you knew Duncan despised. 

He tangled his legs with yours, sliding his knee in between your thighs and holding onto your hips loosely. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, forcing his head to nestle perfectly in the valley of skin that laid between your breasts and just over your heart. It was your favorite way to cuddle, and judging by the way Duncan’s nose continuously nuzzled into the fabric of your shirt so he could press tiny, featherlight kisses against your bare breasts, he didn’t mind in the slightest.

After a well-deserved, food coma-induced nap (in which you woke up to Duncan spooning you with both hands in your shirt, fingers barely brushing against the undersides of your breasts), you were both too full to even consider eating dinner, but not too stuffed to crack into the gallon of ice cream Duncan had brought home with him that afternoon. He insisted on hand-feeding you with his own spoon just to hear your laughs echoing throughout the bedroom, and you could admit that the gesture lifted your spirits even more than Duncan already had.

“Feeling any better?” Duncan asked as he tossed the spoon haphazardly into the paper carton.

“Mhmm,” you answered, nodding your head sleepily.

You didn’t know how you were still tired considering you hadn’t gotten out of bed except to use the bathroom, but you felt like you could still endure a solid night’s sleep.

“Thank you for today.”

“Well, damn,” Duncan sarcastically sneered.

“I was kinda hoping you’d say no.”

You snorted at his reaction. Wasn’t the whole reason why he’d ditched work this afternoon to bring you out of the funk you were in?

“Umm, why?”

“I had one more trick up my sleeve to try and cheer you up.”

“Which was?” you asked hesitantly.

A smile erupted on Duncan’s face and he wriggled his eyebrows playfully before answering.

“You know,” he drew out the last syllable, reaching his hands around to give your bum a quick squeeze, then snapped the elastic of your panties down onto your waist.

You laughed out loud again for probably the hundredth time that day. Of course, that was the “trick.”

“Well in that case,” your eyes rolled back towards the ceiling, faking thought.

“Maybe I am still feeling kinda shitty. Why don’t you show me that little trick of yours?”

Duncan growled playfully before pinning you down on the bed, his nose brushing dangerously close against your own.

“It would be my pleasure.”

[sweetcatmintea]

Bitter Chocolate and Night Rain

@inkovert (implicitly) requested a fluff drabble between Whitney and Marcos. I went with a scene that actually comes from the story (I figured it’d be good practice for when it comes up). It ended up kinda,,, angsty <.<;;;; But I’m pretty proud of it and hope you enjoy this scene from A Hare’s Worth. Feedback is appreciated ^u^

Words: 2644 Characters: Marcos, Whitney, Freddy (mentioned), and Mella

The day was long, but eventually, the chittering of the café grew quiet as the patrons shuffled back along their journey, continuing their lives. In one smooth movement, Whitney switched from waving farewell to the final customer to flipping the welcome sign and locking the door to the 6pm Café. Marcos cleared tables as Whitney swept tiles. It was days like these that made her grateful for the evening still. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad had they more help, but with Freddy visiting home and their aunt and uncle surveying a new supplier, the pair had been run off their paws. Marcos ambled towards the kitchen, carefully balancing a stack of plates and mugs, backing through the swinging door. He wasn’t as bothered by the busyness as Whitney, sometimes it was good not to have too much time to think. Not that she was bothered per se, but she would have preferred more time to keep things organised. Just a little would do.

Chocolate and pecans spiced the air, soon to be overtaken by soap and steam. Although the baker had left hours ago, their work lingered. It had been Freddy’s idea to do a promotion each fortnight. A new tea and an arrangement of desserts specifically made to compliment the brew. This time it was an exotic black tea and cocoa blend, resulting in numerous fruity and chocolatey treats for customers to choose from.

Whitney hummed in delight as they cleaned, Marcos washing up and her packaging left over food. “It’s been a good week, don’t you think? I reckon Uncle Antonio will be happy with the sales. The new blend really hit it off with the customers.” Speaking of which… Her palms thumped onto the counter, ears flicking back. “That one woman though. Did you see her? How many times do you have to tell someone you don’t sell burgers at a tea café?! Honestly!” Rant pausing long enough to swipe an errant strand of raw sugar hair out of her eyes, she continued, mimicking the interaction, “’I want  beetroot burger.’ Who even eats beetroot? Do I say that? No, I say ‘Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t sell that here. Can I interest you in a toasted sandwich instead?’ ‘No, it has to be a burger. You sell food, why don’t you just make one?’ Oh, I forgot we apparently had a ~secret menu~. ‘We don’t have the ingredients for that.’” Taptaptaptap. Her foot thwapted the floor in irritation. “Then, then! She says ‘That’s fine, you can just go to the corner store and get some.’ Just go to the corner store and get some? Can you believe the that? The nerve! The entitlement! Ugh!” Letting out a huff, she shoved another cake slice into a box, perhaps more roughly than was necessary.

Marcos hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t look up from the sink. She’d expected him to at least chuckle at the dramatics, (even though she was genuinely annoyed at the woman). At least his advice was still characteristically his.

“People are strange. There’s nothing to be done for it now, why don’t you pick out which dessert you’re bringing back to take your mind off it?” A perk of closing duty – taking home unsellable but still edible foods.

“Hm, that’s true. They’ve been really nice this round. The dark chocolate tarts are as bitter as my soul. I love it.”

“There’s no accounting for taste I guess.” Marcos shrugged, a teasing lilt to his voice. That wasn’t the joke she thought he’d made. That was twice he’d curve-balled her. Usually he’d indulge her rants, laughing along as she spouted ridiculous scenarios she claimed she’d definitely do next the time. She thought for sure that he’d say some dumb thing along the lines of ‘you’re mixing up caramel with chocolate if you want it to match your soul, Cottontail’. Then she’d get mad at him for the silly nickname and they’d banter like usual. She didn’t let the concern reach her face.  

Marcos drained the sink, readying to leave. “I liked the sweet chai from the last lot better.”

Whitney passed him the desserts she’d claimed, taking the remaining boxes herself. “Haha, we could tell. I didn’t think you’d really be able to eat all of the cinnamon buns you grabbed. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

~

Double checking the store was locked securely, they took the excess food around the back. Kids were already waiting. Some skinny and ratty, others better off but not by much. New laws had been passed preventing Whitney or Marcos from giving food, even that which would otherwise go to waste, to beggars – especially Tainted ones. Instead, they carefully discarded the boxed onto a table specifically for storing such waste, happened to mention aloud which ones had gluten and which had been in contact with nuts, then left. They certainly didn’t smile at a raccoon child who thanked them for their kindness before scampering off. They were good, law abiding teenagers after all.

Although it was still relatively early, the sky was already darkening. Heavy storm clouds loomed overhead. Wind rustled through the trees, green with new leaves, sending flower petals skipping along the street. Whitney huddled into her button-up sweater, pulling it tighter over her body.

“I hope the rain holds off a little longer. Might have to take Mella out for a jog instead of a walk.”

“Maybe you should skip today. You don’t want to get caught in a downpour. Who’ll run the shop if you get sick?” Marcos really was trying to match Whitney’s light-hearted energy, but he knew she was onto him. Having her worry about him (or him burden her) over a funk wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“Can’t slack off. As Mella’s proper parent - we don’t count Freddy and you know it. He spoils her rotten - it is my responsibility to make sure she gets what she needs, and what she needs is a walk every day.” She bounced her shoulder against his side, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You could always come with us if you’re worried. I’ll even let you carry me home if I get splashed. Mella too, of course.”

He bounced her back, careful not to topple her over. “Maybe I will.”

“I wasn’t joking about jogging.”

“I know.”

She raised her brow incredulously. “You, jogging?”

“It does happen on occasion.”

~

If Mella, short for Caramel, had her way, her tardy care takers would have been barrelled over by her unrestrained joy the instant they crossed the threshold back into her territory. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for the weary pair, Whitney really was a good dog mum. Mella had been trained well. Nobody was trampled by an ecstatic rottweiler on that day. Minding her manners, but not curtailing her demands, Mella waited “patiently” at the door, tail thumping and lead in mouth.

True to her word, five minutes and Whitney had offloaded her things, swept her long hair into a pony tail and was out the door again. Mella trotted along, enthusiasm shedding years off her face. Marcos kept pace, quiet save the tapping of his claws against the ground. He’d never liked that feeling. His body was there but his mind was somewhere far away. A world Whitney wasn’t privy to.  He’d still smile and nod when she pointed out the funny letter box on Birch Street – ironically a tree had fallen on it leaving it much more squat than it was prior – or when she’d make silly puns out of random objects they passed. She’d have been happier if he meant it.  

The sky grumbled, bemoaning its load. The complaints continued as they moved, increasing in urgency until the clouds could hold off no longer. Hounded by sheets of rain pelting after them, they completed the walk in record time. They piled through the door, back to the safety of their home. Sopping wet, Whitney bolted for the towels. Too late. Mella shook, splattering the rustic, but cosy, wallpaper of the front hallway. Moisture seeped in, greeting the stains that had already made home there. She was never quick enough. Very pleased with herself, Mella ran head first into Whitney’s open arms, allowing her to dry Mella properly.

~

Unassuming hours ticked by. The roaring storm quieted its protests to a murmur of rain. Marcos melted into the armchair, tracing his finger over the vintage bee patterns on the fabric as he listened to the drops peppering the window. He wondered absently if the night creatures had tucked themselves away or if they braved the weather, wagering their lives for food. He wondered if the children waiting behind the café were snug in their beds. He hoped so. He hoped a lot of things. He once believed that was a bad habit. The world needed hope, even a tealight was valuable in the dark. As he blindly gazed out the window, watching the black being overtaken by white condensation forming on the glass, he took the moment to be present. To be aware of where he was – a comfortable home that always smelled of honey and flowers, feet aching and back creaking from a long day. With people he cared for and who cared for him in return. A deep breath to steady his heart, flightful and jittery as ever. The past was behind him. There was nothing he could do for it in this moment. The scars may twinge or open again in a year, a day, even an hour from now, but in this moment, they were okay. He was okay. Another deep breath. What was next? He didn’t know. That was frightening. He felt his hands grow clammy. That was okay. Sadness and pain would be there, that was certain, but they never last forever. One way or another, he would be happy again. He could not change that either. Right now, he was safe. One last deep breath. He opened his eyes, not really knowing when he had closed them.

Whitney lingered at the entrance of the lounge room. Two mugs in one hand, a plate in the other. He smelled the tart and tea before he saw them. The bitterest of chocolate and shy lavender.

“I thought you were going to bed?” His voice was sticky, as though he’d just awoken. How long had he been thinking?

She shrugged the non-liquid bearing shoulder. “I was but I figured you could use some company.” She made her way over to him, ignoring the rest of the furniture.

Marcos took the cups while she slid onto the seat, legs propped over the arm of the chair, bunny tail pressed against his thigh.

“You shouldn’t push yourself. I’ll be headin’ to bed soon.”

She snorted at that, rolling her rose eyes and taking the mug decorated with cute hearts and rabbit ears. “Yeah, and babies come from mail order catalogues. I just brought you some tea. It’s not going to kill me. In fact, it just so happens to be my day job.” She nodded to the tea. “It’s lavender and camomile. It’s supposed to be very calming.

The mug warming Marcos’ hands cheerfully decreed ‘Who’s a sweet potato? I yam!’ He took a sip. She’d added honey and milk – just the way he liked it. “Does it work?”

“It tastes nice.”

“Fair enough.” Either way, he already felt better with her there. She leaned into his chest, taking a thoughtful bite out of her tart. The clink of the silver spoon against ceramic almost inaudible with the rain. For a while, little else filled the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

“Do you want to talk about it?” So Whitney had noticed his funk. Darn.

“About what?”

She pressed her hand into his. “You worry so much about everybody else, let me worry about you for a change.” He made a non-comital noise but didn’t move his hand. Taking it as an invitation to continue, she did. “His birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

He blinked, equal measures surprised and touched. “You remembered?” Her nod bloomed tenderness in his soul.

“He was important to you. Of course I remembered.”

Marcos shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry. I’ll get back to normal soon. I just, I just need a little time.”

“It’s okay to not be okay, y’know. You don’t have to smile and joke all the time. You’re not, you’re not being a burden if you’re hurting.” She squeezed his hand. “I want to help. Do you want to talk?”

“I don’t, but…” Guilt flashed through him. “I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you wanted to talk to me a while… If, uh, if you wanted to… if you’re not too tired that is…”

“’Course.” A gentle smile to tame the wildest of worries. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went to the beach when I was little and I convinced Freddy that the crabs would carry him out to sea if he fell asleep?”

“Not recently.”

“Okay, fantastic. Well, I think we were seven? Maybe eight? No, seven. And we’d been waiting all year to go…”

~

They stayed like that well into the night. Whitney recounted tale after tale of her childhood antics. The time the twins had accidentally locked themselves out of the café (with a customer still inside), the time Freddy smuggled Mella into class in his backpack, a disastrous episode with a fan, fresh paint, and carelessly placed glitter. It didn’t take the pain away, it sat a dull ache in his deepest self, but now, surrounded by the soft fluttering that somebody cares, it wasn’t so raw. The feeling settled over his body, dusting red where it pleased.

Whitney’s stories slowly came to a close as sleep over took her. She was almost finished the cupcake catastrophe that nearly got her banned from the kitchen when her words turned into mumbles, turned into quiet breath falls. Her hair had fallen in her face again, and Marcos’ arm, and shirt for that matter. Sitting as they were, together and peaceful, Marcos felt drawn to rest his head against hers. She still smelled like wet dog. Her strawberry shampoo could not overpower Mella. There was little in this world that could. He sighed. It was comfortable. He’d probably never be able to tell her properly how much her words meant to him. Somehow, he felt like apologising, saying he was sorry she ever had to treat him so kindly. It was a strange thing when your gratitude is so much it begs forgiveness. He’d probably never really try to express the pleasant emptiness she left him with. It was so like her though, to notice another person’s pain and busy herself about fixing it. There was something so special about her willingness to sit through it with him rather than force a laugh track to dampen the atmosphere. There was something so special about her. Though, that’s probably why he loved her. Wait, what did he just think? He – His ears stood to attention. He lo- The realisation hit him like a bus with no brakes. He loved her. A furious blush burnt up his neck to the tips of his ears. Oh Stars, he loved Whitney. What was he going to do? Did he tell her? Could she, could she maybe love hi- no that’s absurd. But it might not be. What if it was? Oh stars, what if it wasn’t? He glanced down at her, horrified to see the blush had reached his hands. At least she was still asleep. She hadn’t seen the mess that he was in the current business of becoming.

Too ensnared by the sudden Emotions, he totally missed the secret smile had crept onto Whitney’s lips. It’s about time you realised you silly hare <3

Tag list 

@inkovert, @snobbysnekboi

[saccharinedanganimagines]

Hello! I loved the zombie apocalypse au, and was hoping that you could write hcs for Hajime, izuru, nagito, chiaki, and mahiru and their s/o surviving in the apocalypse. Thanks!

Hey there! So, I still haven’t gotten the hang of writing for the girl cast for Danganronpa properly (Since I mainly focus on husband material) but I decided to try to write them. They may be a bit OOC!

I feel like the bloody sprites were being underused -so here’s one of them!

~ Mod Ouma

Hajime, Izuru, Nagito, Chiaki, and Mahiru and their s/o surviving in the apocalypse

Help-me Hinata 

He faints the moment they tell you both that the apocalypse is over.

When he wakes up, he’ll scurry to make sure you’re okay.

He’ll go Low-key-Ultimate Counselor Mode and try to hunt for any signs of mental strain or trauma in you.

He’s a natural-born worrier, so it’ll be hard for him tor relax still.

But he visibly seems more relieved even though he’s still attentive to his surrounding.

You two team up to help other survivors who are suffering from PTSD or minimal injuries 

Hajime becomes somewhat of a therapist and a leader, always checking up on others. 

Sometimes he still feels like he’s in the apocalypse whenever he does inventory and welfare checks. 

But, he’ll snap out of his funk when he sees that you’re okay. And still with him.

He feels despair over the past, but hope for a future with you and him in it.

Izuru Calm-u-kura

He gives no reaction.

At least, that’s what he thought he was going to do.

Until he sees a plethora of emotions, your usual face filled with despair turn into hope cross your face.

Being submerged in so much tragedy made him forget it’s counterpart, hope.

… Oddly, he feels a twinge in his of a long forgotten emotion in heart as his expression softens.

He glares at anyone who gets too close for comfort to you two, whether that be other survivors or the military. 

He keeps you as far away from any gore, corpses, or injured people as possibly. 

He’ll distract you if you try to help with the aftermath. So that you won’t have to strain yourself anymore.

“Hey. S/O. Can you braid my hair.”

“S/O. We ran out of fruit loops. Can you help ask around for more.”

He’ll help with the aftermath, so he speeds up the process.

Within a day, he’ll clear a full ward of corpses and danger with minimal help from the military.

It’s a small gesture, but it hugely contrasts his apathy for everything.

Nagito Komaeda

“The hope of a new day… The rise from the calamity of despair… S/O, we made it!”

There’s a glimmer of delirious glee in his eyes as he embraces you.

Anyone would flinch from his behavior, from his insanity. But he always ignored it.

But.. it didn’t seem like you were as optimistic as him.

“Hey. Things.. Will be alright from now on, S/O. We survived, didn’t we?”

He tries really hard not to even mention hope.

What’s important is your state of mind right now. How could trash like him forget that?

He makes sure you’re okay if and when you’re suffering from mental trauma.

He keeps your new home together as neat as possible to maintain a sense of safety and mundanity.

He adapts better than anyone else, and tries to make both of your lives as normal as possible.

But.. Even he will be suffering trauma.

He will maintain the hope you’re feeling. No matter what.

Chiaki No-no-mi

She lets out the longest, most relieved sigh ever.

She tears up a little and clings to you the whole time the military tells you that the apocalypse is over.

No more days where she has to replay the worst-case scenarios in her head.

She doesn’t have to think about the tragic endings of video games she’s played before. 

No more thinking about how those characters with sad endings could be the two of you.

But she won’t allow herself to cry any longer. 

You two confide in each other and try to help out in any way you can with the military.

She’ll also get really desperate if things aren’t going well. She’s willing to do anything to keep everyone happy. You’re going to have to remind her that she should care for herself too, she becomes overly selfless and may even skip meals to feed other people.

She brings a sense of normalcy with her as she nerds out about her favorite video games. 

Whenever the group of survivors become lethargic, you two work to find an activity to get them going.

Somehow, she’ll find really old Nintendo 64 console and a few games to play with everyone.

My-hero Koizumi

She bursts into tears. But she tries to stay strong in her posture as she allows a hopeful and brave smile bloom across her face.

She keeps up the moral among survivors.

She’s like a mother, heartily taking the initiative in a less than upbeat atmosphere. She gets people moving by nagging.

But, she’ll often break down when you two are alone.

She takes a lot of pictures of you two and the survivors.

Progress pictures of newly-rebuilt shelters, of successfully cleaned rooms, or little mundane stuff.

She makes a scrapbook filled with positivity and keeps adding to it. It reminds you both that the apocalypse is behind you guys and that you can only go up from here on out.

She’s the best with children. She distracts them from bad thoughts.

You two become sort of the parent-figures them and run a make-shift daycare in the shelter.

[michael-hearteyes-wheeler]

December 31st, 1984.

As Hopper pulled up to Joyce's house on New Years Eve, he was already regretting every having agreed to this. El practically threw open her passenger side door before even he shut the engine off.

“Whoa whoah whoa, kid slow down! Your friends are going to be in there no matter how quickly you get inside now hold on. We need to go over the rules.”

El groaned and reluctantly closed the door again, crossed her arms over her chest.

“Now remember what I said-” Hopper started, secretly procrastinating going inside for as long as he could.

“Yeah I remember! Be good, no powers.” She huffed.

“And?” Hopper raised an eyebrow at her, she had cleverly forgotten the most important part.

“No kissing at midnight.” She grumbled under her breath with an eye roll. Hopper felt the corners of his mouth tug up, she had really gotten the whole ‘bratty teenager’ thing down.

“That right. Now you go on ahead.” He shut the engine off and before he could even pull his keys out, she was running towards the Byers front door.

Hopper chuckles to himself, lighting a cigarette and following slowly behind his adoptive daughter. When Joyce had suggested throwing a small new years eve party, El nearly jumped out of her skin from excitement. Hopper didn't think it was a good idea, but she was already so over the moon about it that he couldn't say no. So here he was, avoiding going inside and preferring the bitter cold. The holidays were always odd and confusing for him, it made him miss Sarah more than he would like to admit, but watching El get to enjoy them for the first time had softened him. This was her first new years party and despite Hopper hating parties, and crowds, and festive normalcies, she deserved every second of it.

El was greeted at the door by an already red faced Mike. She pulled him into a big hug and together they went inside. All of the boys welcomed her warmly, as well as Max who gave her an awkward half wave and a smile. Joyce ran out from the kitchen, holding two glasses of wine and hugged the small girl.

“Where is Jim?” Joyce asked puzzled.

El rolled her eyes and pointed a thumb out onto the porch. “He is being weird.”

Joyce fished a cigarette from her purse and walked outside, wine in hand.

El looked around the house and marveled at how beautiful the decorations looked. While Hopper had put up a small tree in their living room so El could have the ‘authentic experience’; The Byers tree was huge, and had enough lights to illuminate a small town. El ran her fingers through the silvery tinsel that glinted in the multicolored lights, and smiled at the ‘Happy New Years!’ banner that Will had undoubtedly drawn and hung above the couch.

The boys, El, and Max all sat around the living room, catching up and joking. El was only allowed to see them on special occasions, and she loved hearing all of their stories each time they met up. To the boys it was just school, and chores, and annoying siblings, but to El it was a magical world that she had never been a part of.

El and Mikes hands found each others on the couch, and they tangled together making both kids blush. Hopper said no kissing, but not ‘no hand holding’. Mike told El all about the D&D campaign he was working on, and how excited he was for her to be able to play with them when she was allowed out more. El felt a twinge of pain in her heart, she had waited so long to be able to see them, but she had to wait even longer to be able to spend real time with them.

The hours tickled by and before anyone knew it, it was almost midnight. Joyce turned down the music and ran into the dining room, coming back seconds later with noise makers, and party blowers, and handed them out to everyone. She turned the TV to the station broadcasting the Times Square Ball Drop, and everyone gathered around the living room to watch. They were only about an hour away and anticipation was killing them.

“So what are everyone new year's resolutions?” Max asked now that they were only 15 min from the ball dropping.

“Resolutions?” El asked.

“Yeah it means something new you are going to start doing in the new year. Like a promise you make to yourself.” Mike answered beaming at her.

“Well I want to get a real job this year.” Lucas said proudly.

“Im gonna get my top score in DigDug back!” Dustin said sternly, eyeing Max.

“In your dreams!” She teased, tossing a pillow at him. “I'm gonna finally master the Switch Kickflip. I almost have it down and this year i'm gonna nail it.”

“I think I want to actually finish drawing a comic book this year. I have so many that I started but never finished, and my mom just got me a bunch of new colored pencils for Christmas.” Will said smiling over at his sprawled utensils and drawings that covered the coffee table. “What about you Mike?”

Mike had actually given this a lot of thought over the past few weeks. Knowing that El was back, and that she was okay had pulled him from his nearly year long funk in her absence. He wanted to see her as often as he could, but that wasn't exactly resolution he was willing to share. He wanted to make sure she had the best year of her life, but that wasn't really a personal goal. Ultimately he just wanted everything to be okay, and for El to finally live the life she deserved, but that wasn't really something he could just tell everyone.

“Uh... I guess It would be cool to win the science fair this year.” He said, obviously bluffing.

“That's it?” Lucas asked clearly not buying this excuse for a resolution. Mike just shrugged.

“Well what about you El? Is there anything you want to do in the upcoming year?” He asked changing the subject.

El thought about the question for a moment. There were a lot of things she wanted to do in the new year. She wanted to see her friends, to be able to go outside, to meet new people, to experience new things. She wanted to memorize every word in her dictionary, she wanted to watch all of the movies the boys had told her about, she wanted to finally play D&D with them. She wanted to do anything and everything because it was all so new and exciting, and part of her worried an entire year wouldn't be enough time for her to achieve all of her goals. She looked at Mike, and at her friends who all waited patiently for her answer, and it suddenly became clear to her what she wanted most of all.

“I want everyone to be safe and happy.” She said earnestly, feeling slightly embarrassed. She looked into the expectant eyes of her friends and they all met her gaze with warm adoration.

Mike beamed at her, feeling his heart do flip flops in his chest. After everything she had gone through she just wanted everyone else to be happy? He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Joyce yelling at the TV.

“It's almost time! Everyone get ready!” She grabbed Hoppers hand, pulling him into the living room. Jonathan and Nancy joined too, holding their noise makers at the ready. The party stood up, crowding together and staring at the small TV screen as the shimmering sphere began its descent.

5!.... 4!... 3!... 2!... 1!

The room erupted with the sounds of whistling, cheering, clapping and loud rattling. The crowd on the TV cheered too, sounding like a sea of excitement. Jonathan and Nancy shared a sweet kiss, still spinning their noise makers and breaking away in a fit of excited laughter.

Joyce turned to Hopper and grabbed his face firmly in her hands, planting a kiss halfway between his cheek and his lips. He laughed and pulled her into a warm hug.

Dustin and Will pulled the strings of a confetti cannon, sending colorful paper swirling throughout the room. They cheered loudly, batting at the shimmering paper and hugging each other.

In the commotion, Max turned to Lucas, pulling the party blower from his lips and kissing him firmly through a smile. They broke apart and blushed, and for the first time, Lucas leaned forward and kissed her. Her eyes widened and she punched him arm playfully.

All of the noise had startled El at first, but she quickly gave in to the excitement. She stood mouth agape, staring at the floating confetti, it looked like a snowy rainbow. She turned to watch a particular piece of glitter fall and land in Mikes wavy hair. She giggled to see he had pieces of paper sticking this way and that all over his messy locks. He stepped towards her, closing the little space between them and hugged her tightly, still staring into her eyes. She felt a warmth rush over her cheeks, and it matched the redness growing across Mikes face as well. He smiled crookedly at her and lowered his face to hers.

She knew she wasn't supposed to kiss Mike at midnight, but it was worth getting in trouble over. She closed the gap between them and met him in the middle with a soft kiss. It was the longest one they had shared yet, and after they pulled apart they stayed close together, hugging each other tightly as their friends continued cheering around them.

“Happy New Years, El.” Mike said, smiling warmly at her.

“Happy New Years, Mike.” She whispered. El felt her heart twist at the sight of his grin, freckles back-lit in red blush, and loving gaze. He was so pretty, and she relished the moments like this, when she felt truly safe and happy with him.

Now that she got to feel what it was like to be with him again, she knew she could never let that feeling go. No one was going to stop her from being with her friends, not the goons from the lab, not Papa, not even Hopper; Because no matter how stupid it might be, no matter how dangerous it might get, she never felt more safe than she did now; Standing cheek to cheek with Mike, and laughing along with the people she loved most.

1985 was going to be a good year, El would make sure of it.

[feedit]

How to Fail

Sometimes I see an announcement that a friend or former colleague from back in my working days has gotten a promotion or taken a new position and it makes me stop. These people certainly deserve every success and I wish them well, but then a pang of jealousy gives me a twinge and I feel a little sick and sad and bitter and small.

When I first found out I was pregnant, and throughout my pregnancy, I always thought I’d go back to work. It seemed like what I’d naturally do, as an ambitious, intelligent adult. In fact, a few people were even surprised that I was having a child at all, given my personality and professional drive. This observation struck me as odd since I’d always pictured myself as a parent (someday) and a working person and so I figured I’d just work it out as so many people do.

But then I didn’t go back. There were many reasons, too many to detail here, but the long and short of it was that the opportunity in the role that I left seemed less interesting and less important than the new role I’d taken on as Mother. So I resigned.

That was more than 6 years ago.

This is not the last agency I worked for, but it was pretty great. 

Most days I count myself lucky that it was even possible for us to pull this off. My husband is helpful and involved and has a job that almost always allows him to be home for an early dinner. My kids are healthy and funny and creative and are enrolled in school programs where they are nurtured and encouraged and loved. We have wonderful friends and a lovely home and things could be much, much worse.

I know I’m lucky.  

But then there’s the Path Not Taken. One where I went back into the belly of the beast that was/is advertising and made that role what I wanted it to be. Where I was appropriately rewarded with advancement and new challenges. Where I had to juggle the impossible schedules and guilt that working mothers do while making it all seem effortless in the office. Where I updated my LinkedIn profile regularly with new-and-improved titles and skills and accolades.

Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. As they say.

And just as I’m sliding into a bit of a funk, I realize: I don’t want to be that person.

The person I was more than 6 years ago wanted to be that person, but she isn’t me anymore. I’m not her. It’s like I am upset about losing a race that I quit miles and miles before. Or maybe never even entered. 

Don’t get me wrong – I celebrate the achievements of those who have earned them. I am thrilled for their successes and live a grown up, glamorous life online vicariously through them. I want them to succeed because they are my friends and they want this and so I want for them to get what they want. 

But I realize that I don’t want it. Not anymore.

Famous working mother J.K. Rowling said, “It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

I have chosen this life, happily. It doesn’t make me less driven or intelligent. Old habits are hard to break and that tiny part of me who will always be the ad executive wants to be in the room where it happens, too.

But that’s not the life that I live now.  

In the life that I live now, I will not be the promoted with fanfare and public acclaim. In a world where that’s the definition of success, anything less is obviously a failure. By that standard I have clearly failed.

In the life that I live now, success is a morning without (too much) spilled milk, completing Lego projects and managing sibling diplomatic relations and keeping a house that’s clean enough and remembering which library books are due and field trip chaperoning and creating family dinners where we sing the ABC’s and evenings of books and lullabies and finally quiet exhaustion with the man who loves me. Whom I love.

If I were still in that other world, who knows, perhaps I’d be the one on the cover, in the headline, at the big kids’ table. But in my world, I’m totally winning.

And that’s worth celebrating, too.

[artificialqueens]

Roswell, NM (Sashea) - Stella

A/N: So this is going to be my final fic on AQ. I’ll still continue to post on ao3, so if you want to find my future stuff there I’ll be posting under artificialstella. What’s more fitting than my last fic being a lesbian au? Two friends on a road trip take a stop at the most infamous UFO hotspots in America. Shea wants to be happy, but there’s something weighing heavy on her mind.

It seemed like Shea had been staring out at the same distant mountains for the past two hours of driving. The desert slid by, warm and dry, as their van barreled down the highway. But in the distance, the mountains looked unmoving. It was the same, flat-topped rocks jutting out of the horizon. The land was so even that Shea couldn’t tell how far away they were. They just loomed in the distant, dark against the bright blue sky. That was what Shea loved about driving. America had so many different landscapes, from the grey-water beaches of New England, to the endless corn fields of Middle America, and now her personal favorite. The bright colors and hot, dry air were so different from the dull city.

“Shea?”

Her head lifted from the window, and she turned to face the driver’s side. Sasha was glancing at her through her giant sunglasses. She had been driving for hours now, after switching between the two of them at the gas station. There was a small smile on her lips, one she reserved only Shea. At least Shea liked to think so.

“I’m awake, I promise,” Shea replied. Sasha’s smile only grew, and she put her hand on top of Shea’s in the middle console.

“You didn’t look it. I just wanted to tell you we’re almost there. I didn’t want to disturb you though, you looked so peaceful.”

Her voice was teasing but genuine as she spoke, and it made guilt twinge in Shea’s gut for being so distant during the final leg of their journey. Sasha’s phone was plugged into the AUX cord and playing music softly in the background, but that still didn’t make up for Shea’s silence.

“I wasn’t sleeping boo, I was just admiring New Mexico’s beautiful landscape.”

Sasha hummed, and Shea could see the road in front of them reflected in the lenses of Sasha’s giant sunglasses. The image was warped and the colors were more muted, and Shea was tempted to break out her camera and take an artsy shot.

“We’ll get there in about fifteen minutes, did you want to go downtown first or do you want to go to the campground?”

“Let’s go downtown first, I kinda wanna grab lunch. It feels like forever since we stopped at Denny’s.” Shea rubbed a hand over her stomach, soothing the slight twinge of hunger pains. Sometimes they packed lunch for the longer legs of their journey, but since they were staying in Roswell overnight they didn’t prepare anything.

“We’ll get some food in your darling, don’t worry,” Sasha laughed. “I don’t need you being grumpy all day.”

She paused, before adding: “Do you want to stop at that cool McDonald’s they have? The one shaped like a UFO?”

Roswell was of course known for it’s alien obsession. After the UFO craze in the 1950’s and the Area 51 hype, the town turned into a hotspot of extraterrestrial chasers. Now most of the business in Roswell revolved around UFOs or little green men. McDonald’s was no exception. The building was crafted to look exactly like a flying saucer, bright neon lights and all.

The photo-op might just be worth the questionable food.

“Maybe we could go in and get some fries, and eat more later,” Shea suggested, trying not to let her disgust show. “I know there’s not many vegetarian options there anyway.”

Sasha nodded, her own nose wrinkled at the idea of filling up on greasy burgers, and handed her phone to Shea.

“Put the address in for me babe.”

Shea pulled up the location and put it into the maps app. Thankfully they were close, and within a few minutes they were pulling into the parking lot. Sasha parked the car, and as soon as the engine shut off Shea sprung out of the car. Her legs were stiff from sitting for so long, so she stretched out with a satisfying groan. After shaking her legs loose a bit, she caught up to Sasha in front of the car.

“Hold on, go stand in front of the building. I want to get a picture,” Sasha instructed. She turned right back around and rifled through her bag in the front seat, eventually pulling out her polaroid camera. Sasha had bought it specifically for the trip, and exclusively took pictures of Shea throughout their journey. Sasha claimed she was going to make a scrapbook of the pictures, so she could bring Shea with her when she left. Shea of course went along with it, but whenever Sasha broke her camera out it was always a stark reminder of why exactly they were on this trip, and it made her heart sink every time.

Shea swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat and posed in front of the oddly shaped building. Sasha assumed her dorky photographer stance, and once she lined up the shot to her liking she snapped the picture. As she walked over to Shea, the camera slowly spit out the film, still grey as it developed.

“Alright, let’s go inside.”

They ordered their fries and got back in the car, this time with Shea at the wheel. When they sat down, Sasha was staring down at the picture and grinning.

“This one is my new favorite,” she declared. “It’s so delightfully strange.”

She handed the polaroid to Shea. It was a well composed shot, as Sasha had an eye for that kind of thing. Plus, Shea was no stranger to modeling for the camera, and her modern style contrasted well against the eclectic restaurant. Shea chuckled and handed the picture back to Sasha, who tucked it safely in a folder in her bag with the others.

Shea started the car and continued on towards downtown. Roswell wasn’t impressive from the outside. It looked like a typical Southwestern town with squat, tan buildings and roads perpetually dusted with sand. But the closer they got to the center of town, the more of a tourist trap it became. There were novelty shops that lined the streets, little green men in every single window. Families wandered the sidewalks, most with antenna headbands swaying on their heads and t-shirts that read ‘I Was Abducted At Roswell And All I Got Was This T-shirt’.

Shea spotted a parking spot and quickly pulled in. Every stop they wanted to hit was within walking distance, thankfully. They both hopped out of the van and Sasha pulled out her phone again.

“The black light museum is the next block over, and the museum is a little further. Do you wanna do it in that order?”

“Sounds good,” Shea agreed. They started walking, their pace easily syncing up.

Shea wanted to be more excited to be in Roswell. When they were mapping out their journey at the beginning of the year and the town had come up, both were eager to explore. Shea didn’t believe in aliens herself, but she found it amusing that after all of these years, people were more inclined to believe in visitors from outer space than ignorant civilians from the 1950’s mistaking a military plane for aliens. Sasha seemed more open to the idea, and even joked that Shea was the Scully to her Mulder. Either way, it was a town they had both wanted to explore.

Now, not so much. All Shea could think about was how little time they had left together. Two more days until they reached Las Vegas, and then three days until they flew from there back to New York. When they landed they would part ways, Shea back to Manhattan and Sasha to Brooklyn. Sasha was already packed up, so the next morning she would be back at the airport and flying to Amsterdam, where she’d be obtaining her Masters for the next three years. The closer they got to parting, the harder it was for Shea to stay positive. She was losing her best friend, and no amount of polaroids or facetimes could replace her.

“I think this is it!”

Sasha’s excited voice snapped Shea out of her funk, and she looked up at the building. A big poster advertising the black light museum took up a majority of the front window. It was definitely the right place, but judging by the size of the building, it wasn’t going to be an extensive display.

Sasha pushed inside, and the pair discovered an old man sitting in a chair by the entrance. He greeted them with a smile, missing a few key teeth.

“It’s three bucks a ticket, ladies,” he said as they stepped closer. Shea pulled out a ten from her purse, and after grabbing the change he gestured towards the entrance.

“Don’t get lost,” he teased. “The aliens’ll get ya.”

Together they stepped into the hallway, and the walls lit up with colorful paint. There were scenes of futuristic alien societies, distant planets, and vibrant star systems. The music playing through hidden speakers sounded like a mix of the Stranger Things soundtrack and a theremin.

“This is so cool,” Sasha enthused, linking her arm with Shea’s. Her hand felt comforting on Shea’s bicep.

“It’s alright I guess. I did one of these when I was like, twelve, so the effect has kind of worn off.”

Sasha chuckled and flexed her fingers against Shea’s arm.

“You seem so above it all today, are you still grumpy from your nap?” Sasha’s eyes seemed to sparkle mischievously in the blacklight.

“You got me girl,” Shea laughed. Sasha cooed and cuddled into Shea’s side as they continued to walk.

“We can get you a coffee before we go to the museum,” she promised.

“Oh, that does sound good,” Shea agreed.

They continued on through the museum, but it wasn’t that long of an experience. They couldn’t have been in there for more than five minutes before they had reached the end, spilling of course into a gift shop. There was a teenager behind the counter, typing away at their phone.

Shea tugged Sasha over to the wall of t-shirts. They got novelty items at every city they stopped at, but Roswell by far had the coolest trinkets. She picked out one of the shirts, then turned to Sasha.

“You should get one of the antennas,” she suggested. Sasha laughed, loud and throaty, causing the cashier to finally look up from their phone.

“Yeah? Do you think I’d finally make my transformation into a creature not of this earth?” Sasha replied. Shea hummed, so Sasha released her arm to go hunt down the headband. She returned with two green balls gently swaying on thin springs above her head.

“Take me to your leader, earthling.” Sasha’s voice sounded more like Kermit the frog than an alien, making Shea double over with laughter.

“Like you ever want to be in the same room as President Drumpf,” Shea shot back. Sasha’s face immediately curtled with disgust.

“You’re so right,” Shea sighed.

“Aren’t I always?”

After they paid for their trinkets, Sasha kept her word to stop for coffee. They managed to fine a little cafe a few stores down, and the smell of fresh food immediately hit Shea as they opened the door. Her stomach growled softly, reminding her that their snack of fries definitely did not do the trick.

“Look at all of the options,” Sasha mused, her eyes wide as she read the menu. The store looked like it could’ve been ripped out of Brooklyn and dropped into Roswell. Knowing the town, probably by means of UFO. The cafe was minimalist, with an overpriced “organic” menu and coffee drinks with weird puns. It was no restaurant, but the panini’s looked fresh and the scent of roasted espresso beans had her craving a latte.

Shea ended up getting a hefty chicken and pesto panini, a large latte, and another sandwich for later. Sasha got one of the salads and a green tea, as well as a sandwich of her own for later. Now they didn’t have to make anymore stops for food, and could probably go straight to the campground after the museum.

“Wanna sit at the table by the window?” Sasha suggested.

“Lead the way, I’m not picky.”

They sank into worn arm chairs and immediately tore into their lunches. Shea’s sandwich was hot, and the pesto was rich on her tongue. She almost groaned with happiness at getting genuinely good food for the first time in a long time. When on a budget as tight as theirs for the summer, it was rare that anything tasted fresh. Sasha looked content with her salad as well, the leaves dark and glistening with dressing. She stabbed her fork through a crouton and popped it into her mouth, chewing happily.

As Shea ate, her attention flickered from staring out the window to admiring Sasha. The other woman was world’s away, her eyes unfocused as she watched cars go by outside. Sitting together like this, completely at ease, made Shea’s imagination overflow with useless daydreams. Would this be what it was like to be on a date with Sasha? Happy, peaceful, content?

If they were on a date, Shea would’ve nudged her foot under the table, initiating a flirty little game of footsie. Maybe she’d steal Sasha’s fork and feed her a piece of lettuce, or sneak a sip of her tea. She wondered if Sasha would do that snorting laugh Shea loved, or if she would blush and hide behind her curly hair. There were so many things Shea longed for, but she’d never let herself actually indulge in. Especially not now that Sasha was leaving.

“Check out the cutie walking by,” Sasha mumbled slyly, her eyes moving away from the window. Shea snuck a peek to see a young guy with a nicely trimmed beard sauntering by. He was totally Shea’s type, just the right mix of hipster and douche. Sasha was used to scoping out hot guys for Shea. Sasha couldn’t possibly know that Shea’s tastes had wildly evolved in the past month.

“Just what I need, a hot guy in a town I’m leaving in less than twenty-four hours,” Shea joked.

“No harm in looking,” Sasha countered. As she went back to her salad, Shea stole one final glance at her best friend. No, there was no harm in looking. Shea had so little time remaining getting to soak in Sasha’s presence anyway. Why not stare until she committed every facet of her features to memory.

After a long lunch, the pair continued on exploring downtown Roswell. The museum was really the only other major attraction aside from more novelty stores. Museum was a bit of a stretch, really. It was more like an archive of old newspapers, as well as published theories about the 1947 UFO event. Clearly it was a museum put together by love and not a budget. Other than the occasional drawing, it was mostly text upon text of firsthand accounts and interviews. They spent hours pouring over the different exhibits, joking around about their own theories and speculations. Shea was able to forget her troubles, just for a while, and enjoy an afternoon with her best friend. It felt like they were in college again, sitting in the library and joking about their essay topics. It seemed like even as adults, there were some things they wouldn’t grow out of.

There was only so much time they could spend in the small museum, and after checking the time, they both decided they should head to the campground. Roswell had given them everything they had wanted to see, leaving Shea feeling satisfied as they exited the museum.

The sun was starting to set, casting the town in a soft, warm light. Their campground was just outside of the town in a state park, and Sasha insisted on driving.

“There’s somewhere I wanna stop first,” she said. Shea didn’t care, she’d follow Sasha anywhere.

They pulled out of the parking spot, and left downtown Roswell in their rearview mirror. It wasn’t long of a drive, and soon enough they were pulling into Bottomless Lakes State Park. There was a sign pointing towards the campground, but Sasha ignored it. She kept driving until she eventually turned off of the paved road and onto a dirt one. Slowly the ground inclined, and Shea could see the expanse of the park beneath them. Finally Sasha pulled off of the path onto a long expanse of flat earth, overlooking one of the larger lakes in the park. The water looked purplish in the fading light, and endless. Surrounding it was clay-coloured dirt, and with the colorful sunset painting the sky, it was absolutely breathtaking. Sasha put the car in park and grinned.

“The roof?”

“The roof.”

Their van was old school, with enough room in the back for a mattress (which they slept on most of the trip), and a ladder on the back door leading up to the roof. Sometimes they liked to sit on top of the car and stargaze, especially when they were so outside of civilization, where the sky was brimming with light. Shea reached back behind her and grabbed the large pillow with the arms for them to lean on, as well as a couple of smaller blankets. She got out of the car and watched Sasha climb up, then handed her the supplies so she could ascend the ladder as well. Once she was over the edge, she could see Sasha was already in place. She held her arm out to Shea, so Shea settled against her best friend with her back to Sasha’s chest. Sasha’s chin rested gently on the top of Shea’s head, and her arm wrapped around her waist.

It truly was a beautiful moment. The park was silent, and the lake was still as the sun slowly sank beneath the far mountains. Stars were just beginning to emerge, reflecting against the water. The air was finally starting to chill after a blazing day, just comfortable enough that the thin blanket strewn over Shea’s legs was enough. The view, paired with the sensation of Sasha’s body underneath hers, made the whole thing feel like heaven.

Fleeting, temporary heaven.

“I think this is my favorite stop,” Sasha admitted. “I wasn’t expecting it, because you know how much I hate the heat. But there’s something about it.”

Shea hummed in agreement. The whole day had seemed surreal. It was like they had traveled to a place removed from time and history. It just existed with it’s little gimmicks and unending desert. There was no Amsterdam, no home to return to. It was just the two of them.

“I’m going to cherish this summer,” Sasha continued. She had that waver in her voice that she always got when she was emotional. Sasha was such a caring person, she always felt things deeply and sincerely. When it came to being sentimental, she was the queen. Shea was usually her foil. She was the pillar, the one who could swallow her feelings like a bitter pill and put on a smile for the rest of the world. But not today. Over the past few weeks she could feel her pillar chipping and crumbling, ready to collapse into a feeble pile of defeat.

“Me too baby,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. Sasha held her tighter, and Shea felt lips on the crown of her head. That was it, it felt like the beginning of goodbye. Vegas was their last stop, and then they’d be apart for years. Shea could feel her heart sinking, like it was dropping into the center of the bottomless lake. She felt dark, and cold, and wet tears welled in her eyes before she could do anything to stop them.

Shea tried to mask it, casually swiping under her eyes like she was rubbing an itch. But Sasha was too perceptive.

“You make it so hard for me to leave,” Sasha admitted. Her fingers stroked soothingly down Shea’s arm, so Shea reached over with her opposite hand to link their fingers.

“I know you need to go, but it just started to sink in, and there’s so much I want to say but I know it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” Sasha argued.

Shea sat up and turned so she was facing Sasha. Sasha’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and her frizzy blonde hair was falling out of the bun piled on top of her head. She was so beautiful, so familiar, and Shea just wanted to sink into her, lose herself in those wise eyes forever.

“It is,” Shea insisted. “It doesn’t matter what I say. In five days, you’re going to be on a plane to Amsterdam, and I’m not going to see you for years. By the time you come back, things will have changed, we’ll have changed. There’s no use, Sasha.”

Sasha’s lips pursed, and she reached out to cup Shea’s face.

“But won’t you regret it? Not knowing what would happen?”

Shea’s heart stuttered in her chest. Did Sasha know? Shea had barely discovered her feelings, so caught up in her supposed straightness that she didn’t consider Sasha more than just her platonic soulmate. Shea still wasn’t sure what she was, really, she just knew that she was in love with Sasha.

There was no way Sasha could know that, though. Their friendship worked so well because, for both of them, it was platonic. Shea with her endless string of unsatisfactory boyfriends, and Sasha with her beautiful queer lovers. Shea wasn’t anything like the people Sasha was attracted to. And Shea was supposed to be straight, so Sasha wasn’t anything like the douchebags Shea was attracted to.

But here she was, staring into Sasha’s eyes, and the weight of the truth hung silently and heavily in the air between them.

“How can I love you from thousands of miles away?” Shea whispered. As soon as the truth left her lips, it was like an invisible hand was squeezing her lungs, keeping her from breathing as she waited for a reaction. Sasha still met her gaze, unflinching.

“The same way you love me now,” Sasha assured. “The same way that I’ve loved you. Nothing has to change, Shea. We’ve always been so strong, and I know that a little distance won’t change that.”

And there it was. Of course Sasha loved her too, it should’ve been so obvious. If Shea had been in love all of this time, if that had always been the nature of their relationship, then it should’ve made sense that Sasha felt the same way. Their friendship had always bordered on something more. Now Shea knew what that more was. And Shea wanted to believe Sasha. She wanted to believe that this, them, could continue with an ocean between them. There was a fiery confidence in her eyes that warmed Shea’s heart.

Finally, Shea felt hope.

“I believe you,” Shea promised. Sasha smiled, and Shea’s stomach flipped. There was nothing heavy now, it felt like. Now they were among the stars.

Sasha shifted forward, and with her hand still cupping Shea’s cheek, their lips met. The simple act of kissing Sasha assured Shea that this was right, this was what she wanted. It still felt like a goodbye, but like a new beginning as well.

Sasha was wrong, things were going to be different. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Now, with their lips sliding softly together, things were starting to get better. As fingers slipped into Shea’s hair, she knew she had made the right choice.

She wasn’t losing Sasha. They were entering a new chapter.

“I hope it was clear that I love you too,” Sasha added, pulling back. Shea laughed and pressed their foreheads together.

“Yes, it was clear you dork,” she chuckled.

For the first time that entire trip, Shea felt like things were going to be alright.

[howtotechpress-blog]

Ars does Soylent, Day 2: My God, what is this disastrous situation I no longer need to put any substances of any sort into my mouth ever again.

Two days back, Senior Reviews Editor Lee Hutchinson took a promise to spend seven days eating only Soylent, a nutritiously finish feast substitution made by architect and business visionary Rob Rhinehart. He's archiving his flexibility from strong sustenance by day. Perused about Day 1 here.Day 1 recap: Like trench fighting in France

I finished the past passage saying that I would take off running, yet that did not occur. As it got closer to 7pm, I began feeling dismal thunderings in my stomach—the kind that could either be the indication of some safe gas or the harbinger of the poopocalypse. I remained in, rather watching a few scenes of The Wire with my significant other, who had a fine solid supper while I tasted my Soylent with a constantly souring gut. Somewhat after 8pm, the gas began.

It was terrible. These weren't unimportant ha-ha toot sorts of discharges; this was hair-raising. It was room-clearing, horse-slaughtering, World War I mustard gas-sort gas. I moved from space to room in the house like I was surrendering domain to the Kaiser, my face settled in a look of frightfulness as green hellfire vapor trailed behind me, peeling paint and withering plants. My significant other, favor her heart, said nothing. Eventually, I advanced back to the PC and pulled up the email correspondence between Soylent organizer Rob Rhinehart and me.

"Other than a touch of gas at first (a few people's gut microorganisms are not acclimated to the dissolvable fiber) there have been no unfriendly responses," he wrote in light of my question about potential versatile reactions. At that point my eyes begun to water from the gas and I needed to keep running once more into the parlor.

Substance fighting farts aside, I finished off Day 1 with completely zero issues with appetite. Truth be told, other than a couple brief twinges, I didn't feel real for-genuine craving even once. It even felt like there was excessively Soylent in the pitcher—it was a test to eat every last bit of it.

Day 2, 07:30

I woke up with a light migraine, which is surprising for me. I haven't gone off espresso, and it doesn't feel like a caffeine cerebral pain—it's quite recently sort of a scarcely there disturbance. I trundle into the workplace, get up to speed with overnight email and tweets, and consider my breakfast presenting with expanding fear.

My stomach has never been especially responsive to breakfast, and right now we have the most uneasy of détentes going on—any wrong move could start an episode. As I taste espresso, a few Soylent flatulates issue forward and I pull my shirt up over my nose. My better half has somewhat of an icy and dozed in the visitor room the previous evening, and I'm in reality quite thankful. In case I'm as yet gassy now, I was likely gassy throughout the night. Luckily, I was oblivious and did not take note.

The inescapable part where we discuss crap [skip to the following subhead if squeamish]

Consistency has never been an issue for me—even as I push ever assist into my late 30s, I keep on being honored with accuracy guts. My first post-Soylent crap happens ideal about at the typical time—8:30-ish—and it feels like the same old thing: neither a wild splash nor a rough hard press. I'd give it a four on the Bristol scale. From an amount point of view, it was unquestionably less, yet it wasn't especially unique. Perhaps a couple shades lighter than regular, yet at the same time a typical darker.

The lavatory business is joined by quite roused tooting also. I envision my gut microscopic organisms are altogether wired up and moving their little gut microbes hearts out. My digestive organ is murmuring and pounding like a Soylent-filled discotheque.

Day 2, 09:00—Soylent Green

I enjoy my some espresso, putting off the Soylenting to the extent that this would be possible, however as 9am gravitates toward I can put it off no more. I approach the sack and blender gradually, haggling with myself. Only a little glass at the beginning of today, I think, my canyon ascending as I envision bringing down another extensive serving like I had on Day 1.

Once more, the custom: pack in bowl, blend substance. One liter of water in blender, half of powder into blender, half of a vial of oil. This time, I include a capful of vanilla concentrate and a dash of green sustenance shading. I have now gotten roughly nine hundred hillion jillion squintillion remarks, messages, and tweets discussing "SOYLENT GREEN LOL." So on Day 2, my Soylent will surely be green. This time, I utilize super cold water and the most minimal setting on the blender, giving the blend a chance to rest after a couple seconds.Out of the blender and into the pitcher, then rehash with second liter. The pitcher has no foam today, for which I am grateful. Gradually, I pour an espresso mug-sized serving and taste.

The vanilla has a gigantic effect in taste discernment. The strange non-specificity is gone, similar to the yeasty breadiness—in its place, there's essentially an indication of vanilla. The sweetness is a great deal better now as well, feeling like some portion of the light vanilla flavor as opposed to a simulated idea in retrospect. There's very little to be done about the sticking pastiness however, and the dregs coats my mouth like mud in a riverbed. Still, I control through the mug of thick pistachio-green slurry and really feel OK about it.Day 2, 10:00: Second breakfast

This is turning into a standard hold back: I'm not eager, but rather on the off chance that I don't drink the Soylent, I won't complete the pitcher. Since the calories are incorporated with the sustenance, I have to complete the entire day's serving keeping in mind the end goal to get everything my body clearly needs to work.

The green shading isn't especially off-putting—it looks sort of cool, really, similar to it ought to taste of peppermint. My stomach reels at the possibility of peppermint-enhanced Soylent.I don't especially make the most of my second glass. I am drinking it while I work, similar to a quick paced present day kind of fellow, however regardless i'm full from breakfast and the more I drink of the second glass, the heavier I feel. It takes me 30 minutes to traverse the container, and the prospect of that whole pitcher as yet holding up in my ice chest is truly weighing at the forefront of my thoughts. Now, a light lunch of a modest bit of flame broiled chicken sounds appallingly, unpleasantly engaging. No, scratch that—now, not eating for whatever is left of the day sounds shockingly better.

I'm additionally feeling lovely darn uncreative. Morning is generally when I chip away at short news things and reports, and concentrating on a site sufficiently long to peruse something beyond a couple sections sounds like a preposterous measure of work. Reports of Soylent bringing on mental lucidity and enhanced execution and vitality can be discovered somewhere else on the Web, yet I feel the inverse: drowsy. The cerebral pain from today is starting to strengthen.

I pop some ibuprofen to help with the cerebral pain, and the little piece of water to make the pills goes down makes my stomach feel much more full. I attempt to disregard it and compose.

Day 2, 13:30: I am compelled to eat

The migraine has kindly blurred, and all the more reassuringly, I'm really feeling a little, exceptionally black out measure of craving. I'd love to give it a chance to stew longer and check whether it blooms into a real undeniable yearning to eat, however I don't have time. There's around 1.5 liters of green vanilla Soylent that I need to traverse.

The pitcher has stratified significantly less today than it did on Day 1, as well, for which I am thankful. I feel...odd, is the most ideal way I can put it. It's neither a decent odd nor a terrible odd—I simply feel a little off kilter. I get a decent whiff of Soylent as I whisk away its layers and I feel all the while queasy and hungry, however significantly more queasiness than craving. When I begin drinking it, it's not shocking, but rather I'd truly recently begun to shed the overwhelming feeling from breakfast and I'm not especially anticipating jumping again into feeling so weighted down and un-hungry.There's a considerable measure of gut moving as I drink this specific serving, as well—my digestive organs have been for the most part calm since breakfast, however evidently that is not going to last. When I'm finished with the glass, I've completely demolished any sentiments of yearning I may have been feeling and I truly have confidence in my heart that I will never need to put anything sustenance related in my mouth again for whatever is left of my life.

This sounds like overstatement, however man, Saturday is resembling it's a long, long way away.

As I come back to work, I need to accomplish something to consume through the Soylent funk I feel myself falling into. The previous evening's prematurely ended endeavor at running truly annoys me and I frantically need to get retreat there today, yet there won't be a shot in damnation if my gut doesn't quiet down and my mind remains this foggy.

It's conceivable this is a self-propagating cycle I'm in—Soylent's 2400 calories are more than I requirement for my standard "sit in this seat and compose throughout the day" level of action. Perhaps in the event that I get up and accomplish something, the action will jumpstart things and I'll get more empowered.

Running needs to hold up until some other time at night however, in light of the fact that I live in what might as well be called overwhelm hellfire. Furthermore, I have meetings and due dates and things—flying out for two or three hours today truly isn't an alternative. As the evening extends on, my gut cycles into high action, having a craving for seeming like an organization of dump trucks snarling and slipping their way through an Ice Capades execution. It's unsettling.

Day 2, 17:00: Do not need

Shane Snow, composing for Tim Ferris' blog, talks through his two week Soylent travel with mind and talkative, bypassing the days and clearly feeling great through it all. He describes that by Day 2, he's getting the fragrance of sustenance all over the place and envisioning about eating, about gnawing into a brownie.

I don't feel anything like that. Not by any means remotely. Sustenance is terrible. I have an inclination that I need to sew my mouth close. I would prefer not to ever expend anything again. No water, no Soylent, no chicken, no steak, no lager, no nothing. My stomach is finished. I have broken it.