#this idea was just not coming together in a regular piece nor could I pick a member so I found this style useful

[sequinsmile-x]

Overture

It’s only when they get level with the picnic tables Jack had told her about that morning, the Capitol building coming into view in the background, that it clicks, when the discomfort she’d felt since they arrived suddenly makes sense. 

This was where she’d met with Ian.

-x-

Hi friends!

This is based on an anon I got asking for a fic where Emily has a panic attack/PTSD attack and Aaron comforts her. I immediately got an idea for this one, so here we are.

I hope you like this <3

-x-

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attack, PTSD

Words: 3.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Before Aaron and Jack, going to the park would never have been Emily’s ideal way of spending a Saturday. 

If she was honest, it still wasn’t. It wasn’t the park that appealed to her, nor the heat of the midday sun beating down on her, but spending time with them. Her Hotchner boys who had helped pull her back together after she thought it was impossible to do so. Their matching smiles she couldn’t say no to and their unending kindness apparently all she’d needed to feel at home again in a place she’d been torn from, her life left in torn-up pieces around her, frayed edges she would have said, not long ago, were impossible to repair. 

It was slow at the start. The ease she felt around them something she’d put down to chance at first. She’d bumped into them at the mall. She’d been there shopping, exposure therapy she was forcing herself through to get used to crowds again, and she’d found them buying shoes for Jack, the little boy going through a seemingly endless growth spurt. She’d found out since that Aaron had sensed her unease, that he’d seen through her carefully constructed facade and fake smile, and he asked her to stay with them, feigning ignorance on what shoes his son needed as he asked for her advice. It gradually became a regular thing. All of her spare time was spent with them, weekends and evenings that had once been full of nothing but anxiety and silence, her eyes fixed on her front door as if a ghost would burst through it and kill her, the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke never far away, now full of them. 

Soccer games she’d watch intently just to see Jack attempt to score. Evening meals that she’d pretend to help with even though in reality she’d sit there with a glass of wine and gently make fun of Aaron. Low-stakes, gentle, family movies that she knows Aaron would pick for them as well as Jack, both of them at their limit for anything more serious once work was done for the day. 

If she was asked, she’d never be able to explain what made her kiss him one evening, why all of a sudden not kissing him seemed impossible. The magnetic pull he’d had on her for longer than she’d care to admit so strong that she could no longer resist it. He hadn’t hesitated in kissing her back, not even a second of no response before he held her closer, as if he’d been waiting for her to make the first move. 

With anyone else, she’s sure it would terrify her that they had moved so quickly. That she’d be struck with fear that she all but lived with Aaron and Jack only a few months since they officially got together, that the fact she’d told Aaron I love you on their first date, and that he’d repeated it back to her immediately, would fill her with anxiety. But it didn’t. It felt right. Like everything she’d been through, every awful thing she thought she wouldn’t survive, had been leading to this. To them. 

So, even if her choice would have been to stay snuggled up in bed with her boyfriend, Jack tucked up in between them as they slept for a little longer, she dragged herself out of bed because it was what the little boy wanted. She’d slathered her boys in sunscreen, her eyes narrowed at Aaron as he made a joke that he’d never met someone who took sun protection so seriously, and let them pick the park they were going to spend the morning in.

Jack told her that he liked this one. That it had the best swings, and a picnic area with big round tables, a glint in his eyes that Aaron said hadn’t existed before when he mentioned the ice cream truck that was nearby. 

She can’t explain it, but as they get closer to the park she starts to feel uneasy. A familiar tightness builds in her chest that she doesn’t understand as Aaron parks the car. Jack releases himself from his seat and is out of the car only seconds after Aaron turns off the engine. Aaron chuckles, shaking his head at his son as he opens his door.

“Jack, no running off,” he says sternly, and Jack nods, standing perfectly still as he waits for them. Aaron turns back to Emily and frowns, picking up on the tension rolling off his girlfriend like a bitter perfume, “Sweetheart,” he says, placing his hand on her knee, his concern only deepening when she jumps and looks at him, “Are you okay?” 

She nods, because she doesn’t know why she isn’t, doesn’t know how to explain that she feels like her body is remembering something she doesn’t. She smiles and leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling as she pulls back, “Let’s go get your son before he explodes with excitement.”

Emily climbs out of the car and stands by Jack’s side, offering her hand to him and smiling as he immediately grabs it, his hand warm in hers. Aaron joins them, walking alongside them as Jack talks at her, reciting facts he’d told her a hundred times and that she’d happily listen to a hundred more. 

It’s only when they get level with the picnic tables Jack had told her about that morning, the Capitol building coming into view in the background, that it clicks, when the discomfort she’d felt since they arrived suddenly makes sense. 

This was where she’d met with Ian. Where he’d threatened the team, the man she’d one day love and his son who she loved as her own. 

Suddenly, she can’t feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, or Jack’s clammy hand in hers. She’s cold, chilled to the bone as if winter was on the horizon and not several months away. She’s frozen on the spot, the pull of her arm as Jack continues to move forward barely registering as her eyes remain fixed on the metal round table in front of her, two abandoned to-go coffee cups staring back at her, almost mocking her in the way they tip over in the light summer breeze, as empty as her chest feels as she struggles to breathe. She isn’t aware of anything around her, her body numb as she feels like she’s freezing from the inside out, the phantom of the cold, hard plastic of her glock pressed into her skin, making her palm itch. 

The faint smell of sunscreen that had lingered on Jack’s skin disappears, it’s replaced by whiskey and smoke, something that had long since meant danger and fear to her. She’s stuck there, reliving the moment when her life had changed forever again and again as she’s unable to pull herself out of it, her eyes still fixed on the empty coffee cups on the table where she’d once sat opposite the man who had killed her. 

She’s snapped out of it. Her lungs immediately fill as she gasps, sucking in air as she feels a warm palm on her cheek, her body tense as her eyes lock with Aaron’s. She tries to breathe in again but can’t, her chest aching as she can’t exhale, her lungs so full she thinks they might burst. 

“Emily, sweetheart,” he says, sounding much calmer than he feels, his other hand reaching for one of hers and placing it on his chest, purposely exaggerating his own breathing to try and encourage hers, “I’ve got you. Just try and breathe with me, okay?” He says and she nods, closing her eyes as she rests her forehead on his, “Good, don’t worry about anything else. It’s just you and me.” 

She swallows thickly, the feeling painful and sharp as she tries to push down her fear but she can’t. Instead, she focuses on Aaron. On his hand wrapped tightly around hers as he holds her palm to his chest, the smell of him and his cologne. How warm his skin is even through his polo shirt. Balmy and comforting and safe. She slowly comes back to herself, the sound of the park filtering back in, children’s laughter as they play washing over her, a reminder from the universe that good things still exist. She grasps at Aaron’s polo shirt, fisting it in her palm as she pulls him closer, sinking into his embrace as he pulls her into a hug. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing the top of her head as he gathers her to his chest, “Do you want to go home?”

She pulls back to look at him, “Jack was excited about this,” she croaks out, her voice not sounding like her own, “He was looking forward to this.” 

If she hadn’t just had a panic attack right in front of him, her entire body frozen in spot whilst she saw something he couldn’t, he’d laugh. Her constant need to put others ahead of herself one of the many things he loved about her. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “Jack understands,” he says, looking back at his son who steps closer and nods, a look of concern on his face that matches his father’s which makes her ache. Guild and love mixing in her belly to make her nauseous, “Right, buddy?” 

Jack nods, “If you’re sick Emily we should go home.” 

She grasps at Aaron again, wondering what she’d missed during her panic attack, what conversation between father and son that she hadn’t heard despite being right there. She looks back at the table for a second before she looks back at them, her present and her future so much more important than her past. 

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat when her voice shakes, “I’d like to go home please.” 

It didn’t occur to her until much later that home meant wherever the two of them were. 

___

He gives her space. 

It’s the last thing he wants to do, fighting against every instinct in his body as he sends her to bed alone, giving her the space he knows she needs. He tries not to think of how she goes without argument, a sure sign she wasn’t feeling herself, or how she’d shivered in the car all the way home despite the warm weather and the sweater of his he’d pulled from his go-bag in the trunk. 

He spends time with Jack, and explains to him that something, although he didn’t know what, had scared Emily, telling him in terms that the young boy would understand what had happened. He compares it to how loud noises can sometimes still spook Jack, reminding him of what he’d heard as he lay quietly in the trunk in Aaron’s old office all those years ago. 

Aaron swears his heart breaks as Jack gently asks if they can find out what had scared Emily to make sure they protected her from it in the future, his wide eyes concerned as he thought of the woman who was so often the place they found their strength. 

Jessica picks Jack up early in the afternoon, a plan they’d had for weeks so Jack could spend the evening with her and Roy whilst Emily and Aaron had some time alone. Aaron convinces his son to go, assuring him that Emily will be fine, and that he’ll look after her, and he does a few chores once Jack is gone. 

Eventually, he walks towards his bedroom, making sure his steps are slow and steady, announcing his arrival long before he knocks on the door. 

“Sweetheart,” he says gently as he pushes the door open slightly and looks at his girlfriend, his heart aching as he sees her lying on the bed, her arms wrapped around his pillow, his sweater still hanging loose around her shoulders, “Do you need anything? I could cook whatever you want.” 

She shakes her head and smiles at him, feeling the shake to it as she clears her throat, “No, thank you,” she says, the idea of eating anything turning her stomach. She sits up and she looks at him. His hand is tight on the door handle, his shoulders tense as he purposely holds himself back, and she untucks one of her arms from around his pillow, “Come sit with me for a bit?” 

He doesn’t wait for her to change her mind or for her to ask again. He’s across the room in a second, joining her on the bed. He purposely gives her space, not getting too close to her, but she reaches out for him, linking her fingers through his as she squeezes his hand tightly. 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she says, “I…,” she drifts off again, unsure how to put it into words, how to explain to him what happened, so she settles on the thing she can make sense of, “I’m sorry Jack saw me like that.” 

He wraps his arms around her, grateful that she sinks into him, and he presses a kiss to her forehead, “You have nothing to apologise for, baby,” he assures her, kissing her forehead again, “I spoke to him, he understands what happened.” 

She chuckles bitterly as she pulls away, wiping at her cheeks as she pushes away tears that she’s furious at herself for slipping free. 

“Does he?” she says, shaking her head, “Because I don’t,” she blows out a steady breath and presses her lips into a firm line, “We were at the park, we were meant to have fun and pretend we weren’t going to buy Jack ice cream before lunch,” she wipes away another tear, “But then I…I thought I was better.” 

He knows the feeling, the disappointment that would weigh heavily on his chest when he felt like he had a setback. How a nightmare that would tear him from sleep after months of not having one would make him feel like he was right back where he started, his chest aching and barely held together, blood seeping from his freshly stitched wounds as despair filled his lungs. He’d feel like he’d made no progress, like he was still back in the hospital bed where he’d last seen Haley alive, right up until Emily reached for him. Half asleep and blearily reaching out for him as she pulled him into her embrace, offering him a safe space to come back to himself, to remind himself of what he had now. 

He knew he did the same for her, that their pasts meant they could only truly understand each other. 

“You are better,” he says firmly, his voice full of love as he encourages her to look at him, his hand on her cheek as he guides her back a little, “One day like this doesn’t undo everything else, okay?” He asks, and she nods even though she isn’t sure. He’d never lied to her, and she knows he won’t start now, so she trusts him even though right now she couldn’t trust herself. “Do you know what caused it?” 

She swallows thickly as she nods, blowing out a slow breath as she closes her eyes, “You know I told you that I met with Ian before…before everything went to hell? And he threatened you and Jack and everyone else?” 

Aaron nods, remembering the conversation they’d had back when they were kidding themselves that they were just friends, “Yeah, you met him in a park…”

She watches as it clicks in his head, his words fading as his jaw clenches, irritation at himself burning in his gut.

“Aaron-”

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head at himself, his grip on her tightening, “I should have-”

“You should have what?” She asks, raking her fingers through his hair, smiling softly as it flops back into place, “Known what park I met him in even though I never told you? Scoped out every park to see if my terrorist ex was ever there?” 

He hates that she’s trying to make light of it, as if seeing her frozen in place, so consumed by fear, terrified of a ghost he hadn’t been able to see, hadn’t broken him. 

“Em.”

She smiles sadly and nods and she rests her forehead against his, “I mean it,” she says, softly stamping her lips against his, “You couldn’t have known.” 

He sighs and runs his hand up and down her back, “We’ll never go back there.”

“You and Jack love that park,” she says, kissing his jaw before she pulls back, “You told me that this morning.”

He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “We love you more,” he says, and she smiles in response, her first real one since before they’d left the apartment that morning. It fades as quickly as it blooms, the seeds of it not quite ready to plant or take root yet, the gloom of that morning still in the dark shadows of their eyes, “How can I help?” 

She rests her head on his shoulder and encourages him to wrap his arms around her as tightly as he can.

“Just hold me,” she says, sinking into his embrace as far as she can, letting his warmth replace the chill she still could feel from earlier, “And maybe tell me a story?” 

He chuckles lightly as he lays down and pulls her with him, pulling the covers over them even though he’s slightly too warm for it, “A story?” 

“Distract me,” she says, pressing her face into his neck, “Tell me something good.” 

He runs his hand up and down her arm, thinking for a moment before he smiles, “There was once a prince called Aaron, and a brave knight called Emily-”

She laughs and pulls back to look at him, her eyebrow raised at him, “Seriously?” 

“My son is six,” he says, “Fairytales are the best I can do.” 

She presses her lips together to suppress her smile and lays her head back down, “At least I’m the brave knight, I guess.” 

“You could never be anything else,” he says, kissing her forehead, “Now are you going to listen or are you going to interrupt again?”

“I’m listening,” she promises, closing her eyes, and letting him take over all of her senses. 

“Good,” he says, kissing her one more time, “There was once a prince called Aaron, and a brave knight called Emily…”

She listens as he tells a diluted version of their story. A version where the bad guys never win, not even for a moment, and the good guys always prevail no matter what. 

She falls asleep, content and safe in his arms, happy in the knowledge that her story was nowhere near its end, but just at its beginning. 

-x-

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[absentcaryatid]

ATEEZ Reaction to Your Chest Being Uneven

A gender neutral fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

The reader has been hiding from their romantic partner the fact that their chest is more developed on one side than the other. I present one way the members of ATEEZ might react. This is not smut but instead written to be reassuring from someone who has the experience of visible asymmetry and it has never been an issue.

432 words, Content note: some are lightly suggestive but still rated safe for all tumblr using ages

~

Hongjoong would deliver a chaste kiss above each side when you confess your anxiety about being uneven to him. Hongjoong then would promptly fall asleep on your chest and much later wake up, happy to be there no matter how great your disparity.

Seonghwa would insist he is not with you for your body but for your personality. “No matter what, I still I think you are perfect just as you are.” As you stare into his flawless eyes, you understand completely.

Yunho would respect your emotional impact from being lopsided. “I am not going to tell you how to feel about your chest and will support you if you wish to have cosmetic reduction on one side or enlargement on the other. Please know though, that I find your appearance charming. You don't love me any less for my uneven smile and I feel exactly the same way about you.”

Yeosang would be over the moon and have a lot to say. “You are warning me because you are going to let me see your chest? How could I have any complaints about that step in our relationship?” Ever the scientist, Yeosang would also be a researcher and come back to you with facts. “Now that I have read up on the subject, I learned it is common to be asymmetrical. Estimates vary, but one doctor cited 90% of people with developed breasts have at least a 15-20% difference in volume, and truly if your measurement is precise enough nobody is actually identical. A mismatch can happen to any gender if muscles get a regular workout on one side more than the other. The difference may be more noticeable on you than others, but it is very normal and nothing to feel bad about.”

San would pointedly tell you some of his stuffed animals are small and others are large, but they are all equally loved and worth cuddling.

Mingi would have nothing to say if you draw it to his attention, merely joyfully diving back in to shower you with snuggly affection. Despite wanting to be supportive, Mingi would probably never even notice the size difference between sides of your chest.

Woooyoung's delighted and overly loud proclamation that a variety pack is a plus would be overheard by the whole dorm. Then comes the shared laughter as he discovers, “Look at this. I can make my hand look big or small depending which side I hold it over!”

Jongho would be warmly reassuring with the confirmation, “I love everything about you. How could I not love your chest as well?”

~

Masterlist of stories

[drakenology]

𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  ♡  𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : smut!, daddy kink, violence & mentions of blood, established relationship, dumbification, face slapping (politely), dirty talk, degradation, a pinch of knife play (he just cuts your panties open), exhibitionism, breeding kink, cum, fingering, swearing and size kink if you get a magnifying glass. 

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hey sexy bitches. This one’s for my Vice City event. I scrapped so many ideas to get here which is why I extended the due date for it.. Anyways! Enjoy, sluts. Daichi supremacy. 

He sat at the bar; tall, dark and handsome. He had this roughness to him, his hands riddled with scars and his face rocking one just above his eyebrow. He was one of your most handsome regulars. He always came in around 12 am on Friday, all blooded up and battered from god knows what. Tonight was no different. You sigh, taking in his strong arm that was now covered in bandage wrapping. You strut over to him, pulling your top up a bit to push up your breasts. 

“What can I get ya, handsome?” You ask charmingly. He looks up from his empty glass, his deep brown eyes soaking in your form. 

“Whiskey, neat.” He replied, smoky tone of voice vibrating against your ears as you bit your lip. 

“Comin’ right up” as you turn and walk away, adjusting your shorts after bending down to get his drink ready. His eyes trailed to your hips where your g-string sat snugly on those hips he often watched sway as you walked by to serve your patrons. Were you always this sexy? He never stopped looking at you as you poured him a drink, leaning over the bar to ask him something. 

“I swear every time you come in here you show up with a new injury. This is a bar, not a hospital. What the hell were you doin’?” You question, reaching a soft hand up to his brow as if to try and heal it with your touch. He didn’t even flinch either, almost leaning into your hand like a touch-starved puppy. You grab some napkins and wipe some blood from his leaking nose, tsk-ing at him as he sighed. He knew you’d give him shit.

“Got into this nasty scrap with some gang. One of ‘em tried robbing me.. I showed him why he shouldn’t have. His boys came after me and they caught me off guard. One of ‘em had a knife.” He admits. You flinch, looking at him in awe. What’s this guy into? 

“Be careful, Lui Kang.” You tease, sliding a glass of ice over to him from one end of the bar while you took some orders. 

Not even a few moments later, someone came up to you at the bar. This sleazy looking man with his hair gelled back so thickly it didn’t move as he craned his head to look you up and down. 

“Hey, sweetface. Get me a drink, will ya?” His voice like a natural irritant. You turn to him and take his order, your protective regular watching him closely as he sipped his drink. He hardly knew you; just some girl who worked at the sleazy bar he always finds himself licking his wounds in after a scrap. Still, you were always so nice to him; greeting him with a pretty smile, a cold drink and a conversation. He was just so used to violence, fighting for everything he has. He was grateful to have just one ray of sunshine. Vice City, nor his life had ever granted him that luxury. 

As you serve the man his drink, he takes a sip and makes this repugnant face. 

“Women. Not even good for making a man a fuckin’ decent drink.” He snaps, tossing the drink towards your direction; the glass almost hitting you. You scream as the glass shatters against the wall, your regular standing from his stool to give him a piece of his mind. 

“Fuck’s your problem, tough guy?” He spits at him, grunting when a fist suddenly meets the bridge of his nose. The thud causes you to jump, staring at the scene with wide eyes as your heart slammed against your chest. Of course you were no stranger to bar fights, but this? How could one man make violence look so tempting. You gasp as you watch him pick that grease ball up by his shirt and practically toss him out the doors of the pub. 

“Fuck off home, before I decide to kill you.” 

 He takes his seat back at the bar to find you cleaning up the mess, noticing your startled and clumsy movements from shock. 

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. You nod. As tough as you try to front to be, you were scared shitless. Though this wouldn’t be the first nor last asshole to grace your bar. 

“I can handle myself, ya know?”, putting up a front that you didn’t need his help. You were grateful. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Remind me not to interfere, miss independent.” You stare into his deep chocolate brown eyes and lean closer to him. 

“What, am I supposed to thank you now?” You tease, taking a cherry and sticking it in your mouth. 

“It’d be nice.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow at you. You giggle, leaning over to give him an innocent kiss on the cheek as a token of gratitude. 

“Thanks.” 

After that fateful day, you and Daichi were attached at the hip. He brought you everywhere with him as if his scene was safe and tidy. Most nights consisted of dressing his wounds after watching him roughhouse at his fight club. You never minded caring for him since you know he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. 

The life he lived, the way he made his money just to get by was terrifying and... exciting. You always came with him for his matches whenever someone had bet big money on him or if some assholes wanna settle a score. You always stood in the loud crowd as they watched, beer bottles and cigarettes littering the concrete ground. Daichi told you to always wear his name chain so that the guys knew who you belonged to, those dudes can get real handsy and Daichi would hate to have to hurt a friend. God, you were such a distraction. Daichi stared at you almost too long; dodging a swing of a knife as he took his opponent down with his bare hands. The crowd smashed more glass against any nearby surface to celebrate, the other half of the crowd booing and hissing. 

After he was declared the winner, he got his cut of the bet in cold hard cash; about a nice $200,000. Boy was he frisky after that. His big hands stayed planted right on your ass as he walked you both out and onto the streets to walk home. Your walks were always so peaceful after the boisterous and rowdy night. But tonight, Daichi wanted to claim the second part of his prize. He swiftly scooped you up in his arms, sitting you atop a car parked on the side of the steady street. He pulled his knife out from his back pocket, spreading your legs with his palm. 

“Better not make a fucking sound, baby. ‘Else everyone’s gonna hear how much of a whore you are for your daddy.” He grunts, taking the blade to cut your panties apart by the crotch from under your skirt. Your pussy was now on full display for him and quite possibly the ongoing traffic driving by. You shudder as the cold breeze hits your bare skin, looking at him with doe eyes - only making him want you more. 

“What? Don’t act like you don’t want it like this, babe.” his voice thick with lust as his thick finger reach up to pinch your nipples through your thin top. “God, look at these.” as his hands grope and squeeze the softness of your breasts. You’re moaning into the air as his lips kiss your neck feverishly, taking your top and lifting it up over your breasts. 

“You want my dick don’t you, baby?” He whispers into your ear, your thighs starting to tremble just at the low, brassy tone of his voice. You nod, your cunt fluttering as it starts to drip with slick. Your obedience has him feeling firm, the brunt side of his hard cock starting to grind against you through his jeans. You gasp, Daichi’s hands still pinching and teasing your nipples as his hips grind to make you feel good. You start moving your own hips to follow his movements, Daichi groaning as he watched you try and get yourself off. 

“Look at you humpin’ me like a little bitch in heat.” He spat, a whimper leaving your mouth as you start getting desperate. His hands stop your hips in place, his eyes seemingly dilated with a dark appearance. 

“Take it out since you want it so bad.. yeah, put it in for me. Work for it, slut.” He demands, tapping your cheek to keep your eyes focused on his. He slaps the other side of your face as he snapped his hips, this chubby cock seemingly splitting you open as you cry out. He starts off brutally, as if he weren’t railing you out in public in the middle of the night on some stranger’s car. You weren’t making the scene any more discreet with all your pathetic groans, your hands pulling at his shirt to hold onto something. Your mind became cloudy, panting and sobbing like a real whore. Daichi’s just enjoying the sight of you ruined underneath him, slapping you in the face once more to snap you back from your daydream causing you to gasp. The sting faded as his hand went to stroke the blow with his thumb, the rest of his hand lifting your chin.

“Look at me. Don’t cum until I say so, got it? I feel your greedy cunt sucking me up already.” He says, thumb pressing up against your clit just to make it harder for you to contain yourself. You feel your walls squeeze him, whimpering with every vein of this cock sliding in and out of your walls so addictively. Your hands claw at his back, drooling into his shoulder as you start trying to grind your hips to change the pace. He grunts and holds you still as he slides his thick cock in and out of you slower to tease you, smirking when you start to cry. 

“Pl-Please go faster, Da-Daddy, please, I can’t-” You whine, interrupted by a harsh slap to your outer thigh causing you to yelp.

“You can and you will. Daddy’s almost there, c’mon. You don’t want me to punish you out here, do you?” He coos, opening your mouth by squishing your cheeks together, spitting on your tongue and tapping your chin. You shake your head and try your best to take him for a little while longer, your slick oozing all over the hood of the car you were pinned to. As your eyes roll back, you feel Daichi’s cock start to throb intensely, a sign he was close. Relief was soon to come. 

“G’head and cum for daddy, baby. Want you throbbing for me, c’mon, you wanted to cum so bad.” Daichi urged, swiftly flicking your clit to help you. You cum in a flash, white lights shining behind your eyes as you scream his name. Seconds later he fills you, pumping his hot seed into your pussy before pulling out to watch it spill out onto the cold metal of the car. 

“Sloppy little whore.” He spits, taking his fingers to scoop it up and shove it inside you, pumping his fingers to secure it inside. You pant, your thighs trembling as Daichi hoists you up on his back to carry you the rest of the way home. 

Your eyes close, humming as you lean into his shoulder. A silent “I love you”. The walk was silent and safe, dozing off on Daichi’s shoulder as he trudged through the mean streets of the neighborhood you both lived in. 

[mrs-march-ahs]

Can you please do 26 15 19 with Kit Walker?? Thank you so much and I hope you're having a wonderful day💗💗

Kit Walker’s Nurse at Briarcliffe

15. “Wanna bet?”

19. “You either cum now, or not at all.”

26. “First one to cum is the loser.”

Summary- You’re a nurse at Briarcliffe and you and Kit have fun together. This one instance you leave him hanging so you make it up to him. Twice.

Words- 2.4k

Thank you for all of your requests! They’re so fun to do, please keep them coming! They’re taking me a while but they’re coming! 

As always feedback and requests are super duper appreciated! Also thank you for such a quick solid following! Also thank you @kitwalker02 I’m having a wonderful day and enjoyed doing your request, I hope you like it.

Enjoy:)

-------

You leave room 7 and walk towards your trolley to collect the next set of medicine. You pick up the medicine cup and swirl around the indistinct white pills. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you look down the corridor and notice you only have a few patients left to give medicine to. You drag your finger down your clipboard list of patients and smile noticing that Kit Walker is next. Although working as a nurse in a mental asylum is difficult, it’s sweet and grateful patients like Kit who make the nightmares worth it. You push your key through the door to unlock his room and walk in, greeted by the sight of Kit tied up to his bed, like usual. His eyes wander around the room bored but when they meet yours, they sparkle and his whole face lights up. He smiles at you and you shut his door and walk over to him.

“Morning Walka”, you say mocking his accent. One of the main things about him that make you tingle and melt inside. He playfully rolls his eyes and opens his mouth when you put the medicine cup near his face. You sprinkle the few pills in his mouth, and he swallows them dry. You smile and stay still, standing by his bed. As much as you wish you could sit and spend the whole day with him, there are other patients who need tending to and it’s unfair for them to be neglected just because Kit’s accent makes you wet. You sigh softly and take a few steps towards the door before Kit’s innocent and happy voice stops you.

“Hey nurse, suh-thing to wash it down with?”

You look at him and place the cup on the table besides him. Although every bone in your body knew it was wrong, you did what your heart and lady bits told you to. You lean down to him and look him in his dark brown lustful eyes.

“I have something special you could wash it down with”, you say smirking. Flirting wasn’t particularly your forte, but you hoped he caught your drift. And boy he did. His usual soft and sweet expression was overpowered by hunger and excitement, as he looks down at your lips. A naughty smile creeps up on your face as you carefully climb his bed, hoping to stay quiet. Knowing Kit’s skill, that was almost impossible. You try to keep your trembling legs still as you straddle his chest, about to move up to his face and have a comfortable sit.

“Nurse, could you get me with a problem, while you’re here?”. You look at him worried, before his eyes motion down. It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not in danger, and the problem he’s referring to was the tightness in his underwear. You smirk at him seeing his massive bulge and whisper to him.

“That’s what I’m here for”.

His smile widens as he can’t contain his excitement. You turn around, your ass practically in his face, and you gently slide your skirt up, to reveal your bare ass. You look over your shoulder at Kit sucking in his lips and looking at how dirty you are to not have underwear on. You give him a cheeky wink before you lean down and get on your hands and knees. You lift his gown and look at his paper-thin underwear. You moan softly looking at his massive cock about to rip through and slide down his underwear slowly. His cock springs up and Kit gasps at the cool air hitting him.

“C’mon nurse, we don’t have all day”.

Kit was tied up by his hands and ankles while you had the keys to every room in the asylum. You could throw him in isolation for a week with just one word, but the clear authority you had over him didn’t change the fact that it was him who owned you. You obeyed his daring words and push your ass closer to his face. You lean down until he can reach your soaking pussy and he blows on it, making you shiver. Knowing the powerful effect he had on you, he proposes a deal.

“First one to cum is the loser”.

You bit your lip instinctively at his dirty words and sexy accent and nod.

“Winner gets a treat”.

Kit lets out a chuckle at your addition and gets to work, lapping up your soaking heat. You gasp at his eagerness and tighten your grip on his gown. Within a few seconds you can feel yourself get even wetter in his mouth before you are snapped back to reality (oop there goes gravity) when Kit stops his incredible work.

“Are ya forgettin’ something, nurse?”, you laugh awkwardly before you lean down and stroke his cock. He groans quietly and goes back to licking you. You put the tip of his cock in your mouth and suckle on it, running your tongue around it. How hard he feels in your mouth and hands turns you on even more. You become a part of an incredible cycle, where the occasional harder suck on Kit makes him groan, and the vibration that gives you, makes you moan. Though you both know you had to stay quiet, you couldn’t help but want to scream about how good he makes you feel. With one last powerful suck on your clit, you try your hardest not to moan and instead whimper, releasing into his mouth. Kit licks up everything you give him and continues sucking after you’re clean.

You shakily sit up from his cock and gently get off him, standing on your shaky legs. Kit looks at you and licks his lips, earning a soft laugh out of you.

“Looks like I win”, Kit says cockily. “Can I have my treat now?”. He says thrusting up as best as he can, considering his restraints.

But quiet footsteps coming from the corridor make your eyes widen and your hands immediately straighten out your skirt. You quickly put Kit’s boner back into his underwear and cover him with his gown, giving him an apologetic look as you walk to the door. He throws his head back and sighs. You shut and lock the door behind you, trying to look as calm and regular as possible. You smile warmly at Mary Eunice right outside as she takes the medicine trolley from you and gives you a different task to do. You hesitantly agree to do what she tells you and walk out of that ward. Guilt fills your stomach as you imagine Kit tied up, not being able to help himself. You try to focus on the task at hand, sweeping the common room, and ignore the idea of Kit hot and desperate.

Your sweet spot for that man was reciprocated, and it wasn’t a secret. All the nuns and nurses knew that you were the only one who could get Kit to behave or do things he didn’t want to do. You were the only one who believed in his innocence and the only one who didn’t treat him like a criminal nor a looney. You trained to be a nurse to help people in need but instead your main job at Briarcliffe became being Kit’s nanny.

After what felt like ages, you swept up the whole common room and began cleaning it up in general. You put all the checker pieces back to the box and collected all the magazines from the room to make a pile. But your mind wasn’t on the tedious task, and instead still on the handsome brunette with a raging hard on from half an hour ago. Your legs tingled at the thought of him slurping you up, and just as you close your eyes to try to recollect the feeling, your dirty thoughts are interrupted by the door creaking open. You look over at Mary Eunice, who explains to you that Dr. Arden wishes to do some check ups on some of the patients.

“He’ll get through them all eventually, but it’d be easier for everybody if we got Kit Walker out of the way”, Mary Eunice explained, half rolling her eyes, evident in her voice that he isn’t her favorite.

“Doctor Arden called and said he’d be here in like half an hour, why don’t you go take Walker to his office? He’s less likely to bite you”. The way she talked about him made your chest burn. He was a grown man and not a child or a wild animal that only you could tame. He was a man who expected respect before he gave it back, and she wasn’t willing to give him it. You nod and shove the magazines you collected into her hands, before promptly walking out. It was clear that she wasn’t happy with your attitude, but you didn’t care. Her recent change in character wasn’t on your mind, not when you were minutes away from seeing your Kit again.

You walk to his room and unlock the door. He looks over at you with a blank expression and you force a smile. Without saying anything, you uncuff him from his bed and help him sit up. He looks at you with a puzzled expression, but you stay silent. You cuff his hands together and walk with him to Arden’s office.

When you get there, after a quiet trip, you’re surprised to see his office still locked. You simply unlock it and let yourself in, and lay Kit down on the table. Mary Eunice warned that Dr. Arden wasn’t here yet but on his way, which gave you and Kit some quality time. As you cuff his hands and ankles to the bed, you look at him apologetically. Before you have time to say anything, Kit speaks.

“Listen nurse, you heard Mary, you scrammed, I get it. We woulda got in trouble otherwise.” You smile at him and place your hand on his chest. “I’m not mad at cha, don’t worry”, Kit continued.

“Well… I’m sorry I left you hanging”. You circle your fingers on his chest for a few seconds before confidently walking towards the door and locking it from the inside. Kit looks over at you with his eyebrows furrowed and you lean close to him.

“I’ll make it up to ya”. You say, once again mocking his accent. You leave a tender kiss on his lips and he happily accepts. You waste no time and slide your hand down his chest to his pants and cup him. You run your fingers along his dick in his pants and he gasps against your lips. Excited once again, you flip his gown up and take out his hardening cock. You give him a few pumps before cupping his now swollen balls. You stroke him and squeeze him and he slowly fills the office with soft moans. The idea of Dr. Arden coming any time soon and you having to stop and leave him hanging once again fills you with dread and you jerk Kit off faster. You look at him to make sure he doesn’t feel rushed and his groans suggest he doesn’t mind your new pace.

“You gotta hurry kitten”.

Kit looks at you and tells you off, “Ain’t this my treat? Don’t rush me”. You look at Kit’s smug expression, him rubbing it in your face that you didn’t last long.

“You either cum now, or not at all”. Kit’s once confident expression softens and he looks at you with pleading eyes and whines again. You look at him sternly.

“Dr. Arden might come soon”. Kit opens his mouth to protest, “But-”, but doesn’t finish his sentence. Your eyes widen realizing the mess he might make, and you quickly bend down and wrap your wet lips around his tip and suck on him harshly. He groans and gets harder in your hand.

“Not if I cum first”, he moans.

He groans and wriggles against his restrains before releasing his load in your mouth. You continue sucking on him, his moans urging you to continue. You slide your mouth down him and start sucking him off properly. He looks down at you confused and tries to make out a coherent sentence despite your mouth working on his sensitive cock.

“But I already- oh fuck, -I already came…I can’t cum again”.

You pull your mouth off him and continue pumping him with your hand. You spit on his cock, your filthy action making Kit gasp.

“Wanna bet?”.

You bend down and suck on his balls, as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes tightly shut. After being denied an orgasm an hour ago, his first orgasm came quickly. And now with you sucking his soul out of his body before he had time to come down from his first high, Kit groans and fights against his cuffs harder and sooner. Feeling him twitch you quickly take your hands off him and take as much of him as you can into your mouth. You slide down on him and in his fight against the cuffs, he thrusts and hits the back of your throat, making him cum instantly. You resist the urge to choke and swallow everything he gives you. He slowly starts to come down from his high and you suck him a little longer, until he whimpers making you stop. You pull your mouth from around him with a satisfying pop sound and wink at him. He tries to catch his breath and looks at you tired. As you lean down to kiss his cheek, you both hear a key going in the door. You look at the door and Kit quickly thrusts and motions to his dick. Your eyes widen and you hurriedly put his now soft cock back in his underwear and pull his gown down. Dr. Arden enters the room the second you finish and only sees you run your hand down his gown straightening it out. He greets you both and walks over to his desk to find Kit’s file. Taking opportunity of him looking away, you imitate holding a clip board and whisper to Kit.

“Willingness to eat pussy?”, you look down at Kit and he smiles and mouths ‘ten out of ten’. You pretend to write it down and whisper one last thing to him, before going back to your regular job as a nurse.

“Ability to ejaculate? Ten out of ten”.

[battle-of-alberta]

Disclaimer: I am not a fashionable or a fashion conscious person and all my ocs suffer for it. You’re all welcome to dress them up better than I can, though I’ll caution that they all tend to fall into the “unfashionable north american” category regardless of how much or little they spend and are probably just a little less helpless than I am anyway haha.

(This ask was sent to my main blog so I actually thought I’d lost it and forgot about it until I remembered to check yesterday oops)

Also: I enjoy making these meme charts lol, they’re a fun challenge and easy to put together.

Some more detail below.

Ed: Is a regular cheapskate when it comes to clothing and is still trying to get use out of stuff that reminds him of better times, even if its nearly half a century ago. He oscillates between denim on denim (aka The Canadian/Western Tuxedo) and thrifted sweaters. Generally, his excuse is that no one cares what he’s wearing under his layers anyway. Ed has about as much aesthetic sense for himself as his downtown architects do (they don’t).

Red: I think she really aspires to getting cute clothes but does have a challenge with her height and also her work schedule, since getting grease out of cute clothes is always an emotional ordeal. I think she would dress more feminine if she thought she could still be taken seriously - maybe she does on the weekends. But I think fashions tend to pass her by once she saves up enough to refresh her wardrobe and that frustrates her a little too.

Mac: Only buys his own clothes out of necessity, if he were a normal human family man he would be utterly helpless and his wife would pick all his clothes. The sunglasses are a stereotype about oilmen but I don’t really know what the appeal is, but it fits into the “utilitarian except for one really lame purchase”. Spends a bit more on his hunting jacket and steel toe boots for work.

Cal: He wouldn’t place himself where I did on the chart partially because he has a very skewed idea of what is fashionable and what is expensive, I think he just think it’s normal to pay a lot for clothes. He has an entire closet just for cowboy boots which usually start around $300 a pair, and his stampede outfits are probably custom made.

Maddie: I don’t think she puts a lot of thought into updating her wardrobe and is just lucky that 1. old people fashion comes back in cycles and 2. she has the twiggy body type that makes anything she wears look like a conscientious fashion choice rather than throwing on the same old thing every morning.

Jo: My impression of Josephine is that she is fashion conscious and does keep up with Big City Trends, but she’s also the sort of person who assembles wild outfits from the sale racks because just having access to department stores is a big deal for her. She can spend what she saved on the outfit on a special accent piece or something custom when she goes down south to bigger cities.

Lil: Would spend less money on clothing if she could and finds shopping an annoying ordeal, but I think she is also somewhat fashion conscious and probably follows some god-fearing influencers spearheading the modesty movement lol. I dress her badly specifically because of her poor flag design choices but I think she is still working out what she would wear if she had access to it and pushing the boundaries of how much black is acceptable for church.

Nor: She’s so out of touch with normal human society that, like Calvin, she doesn’t really understand what the rest think clothes are “supposed” to cost. She’s also the one that people would most likely give stuff to advertise for them, so she might not have an accurate assessment of how pricey her “practical” outdoorsy outfits actually are.

[justmenoworries]

Not Up For Interpretation - An Essay On Nonbinary - Erasure

(Trigger Warning: Misgendering, Transphobia, Nonbinary-phobia)

If you’ve been following me for a while, you probably know this was a long time coming. I’ve made several posts about my frustrations concerning this topic and how much it hurt me just how socially accepted erasing an entire identity still is. While representation marches on and things have become better for nonbinary people as a whole, we still battle with a lot of prejudice - both intentional and unintentional.

In this essay, I want to discuss just how our identities are being erased almost daily, why that is harmful and hurtful and what we all can do to change that.

Chapters:

What does Non-binary mean?

Nonbinary- representation in media

So what’s the problem?

How do we fix it?

1. What Does Non-binary Mean?

Non-binary is actually an umbrella term. It includes pretty much every gender-identity that’s neither one or the other so to speak, for example, agender.

Agender means feeling detachment from the gender spectrum in general. If you’re agender, you most likely feel a distance to the concept of gender as a whole, that it doesn’t define you as a person.

There are many identities that classify under non-binary: There’s gender-fluid (you feel you have a gender, but it’s not one gender specifically and can change), demi-gender (identifying as a gender partially, but not completely) and many others.

Sometimes, multiple non-binary identities can mix and match.

Most non-binary people use they/them pronouns, but like with so many things, it varies.

Some nonbinary-people (like me) go by two pairs of pronouns. I go by both she/her and they/them, because it’s what feels most comfortable at the moment. But who knows, maybe in the future I’ll switch to they/them exclusively or expand to he/him.

There is no one defining non-binary experience. Nb-people are just as varied and different as binary people, who go by one specific gender.

There are non-binary people who choose to go solely by she/her or he/him and that’s okay too. It doesn’t make them any more or less non-binary and their identity is still valid.

If your head’s buzzing a bit by now: That’s okay. It’s a complicated topic and no one expects you to understand all of it in one chapter of one essay.

Just know this: If a person identifies as non-binary, you should respect their decision and use the pronouns they go with.

It’s extremely hurtful to refer to someone who already told you that they use they/them pronouns with she/her or he/him, or use they/them to refer to a person who uses she/her.

Think about it like using a trans-person’s deadname: It’s rude, it’s harmful and it shows complete disrespect for the person.

Non-binary people have existed for a very long time. The concept isn’t new. The idea that there are only two genders, with every other identity being an aberration to the norm, is largely a western idea, spread through colonialism.

The Native American people use “Two-Spirit” to describe someone who identifies neither as a man nor a woman. The term itself is relatively new, but the concept of a third gender is deeply rooted in many Native American cultures.

(Author’s Note: If you are not Native American, please do not use it. That’s cultural appropriation.)

In India, the existence of a third gender has always been acknowledged and there are many terms specifically for people who don’t identify with the gender that was assigned to them at birth.

If you’re interested in learning more about non-binary history and non-binary identities around the world, I’d recommend visiting these websites:

https://nonbinary.wiki/wiki/History_of_nonbinary_gender

https://nonbinary.wiki/wiki/Gender-variant_identities_worldwide

https://thetempest.co/2020/02/01/history/the-history-of-nonbinary-genders-is-longer-than-you-think/

https://www.teenvogue.com/story/gender-variance-around-the-world

Also, maybe consider giving this book a try:

Nonbinary Gender Identities: History, Culture, Resources by Charlie Mcnabb

2. Non-binary Representation In Media

The representation of non-binary people in mainstream media hasn’t been... great, to put it mildly.

Representation, as we all know, is important.

Not only does it give minorities a chance to see themselves in media and feel heard and acknowledged. It also normalizes them.

For example, seeing a black Disney-princess was a huge deal for many black little girls, because they could finally say there was someone there who looked like them. They could see that being white wasn’t a necessity to be a Disney princess.

Seeing a canonically LGBT+ character in a children’s show teaches kids that love is love, no matter what gender you’re attracted to. At the same time, older LGBT+ viewers will see themselves validated and heard in a movie that features on-screen LGBT+ heroes.

There’s been some huge steps in the right direction in the last few years representation-wise.

Not only do we have more LGBT+ protagonists and characters in general, we’ve also begun to question and call out harmful or bigoted portrayals of the community in media, such as “Bury Your Gays” or the “Depraved Homosexual”.

With that being said: Let’s take a look at how Non-binary representation holds up in comparison, shall we?

This is Double Trouble, from the children’s show “She-Ra And The Princesses Of Power”.

They identify as non-binary and use they/them pronouns. They’re also  a slimy, duplicitous lizard-person who can change their shape at will.

Um, yeah.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Did I mention they’re also the only non-binary character in the entire show? And that they’re working with a genocidal dictator in most of the episodes they’re in?

Yikes.

Let’s look at another example.

These three (in order of appearance) are Stevonnie, Smoky Quartz and Shep. Three characters appearing in the kid’s show “Steven Universe” and it’s epilogue series “Steven Universe: Future”.

All of them identify as non-binary and use they/them as pronouns.

Stevonnie and Smoky Quartz are the result of a boy and a girl being fused together through weird alien magic.

Shep is a regular human, but they only appeared in one episode. In an epilogue series that only hardcore fans actually watched.

Well, I mean...

One out of three isn’t that bad, right?

Maybe we should pick an example from a series for older viewers.

Say hello to Doppelganger, a non-binary superhuman who goes by they/them, from the Amazon-series “The Boys”.

They’re working for a corrupt superhero-agency and use their power of shape-shifting to trick people who pose a threat to said agency into having sex with them. And then blackmail those people with footage of said sex.

....

Do I even need to say it?

If you’ve paid attention during the listing of these examples, you might have noticed a theme.

Namely that characters canonically identifying as non-binary are either

supernatural in some way, shape or form,

barely have a presence in the piece of media they’re in,

both.

Blink-and-you-miss-it-manner of representation aside, the majority of these characters fall squarely under what we call “Othering”.

“Othering” describes the practice of portraying minorities as supernatural creatures or otherwise inhuman. Or to say it bluntly: As “The Other”.

“Othering” is a pretty heinous method. Not only does it portray minorities as inherently abnormal and “different in a bad way”. It also goes directly against what representation is actually for: Normalizing.

As a general rule of thumb: If your piece of media has humans in it, but the only representation of non-white, non-straight people are explicitly inhuman... yeah, that’s bad.

So is there absolutely no positive representation for us out there?

Not quite.

As rare as human non-binary characters in media are to find, they do exist.

Here we have Bloodhound! A non-binary human hunter who uses they/them pronouns, from the game “Apex Legends”.

It’s been confirmed by the devs and the voice actress that they’re non-binary.

Nice!

These are Frisk (bottom) and Chara (top) from the game “Undertale”. While their exact gender identity hasn’t been disclosed, they both canonically use they/them pronouns, so it’s somewhere on the non-binary spectrum.

Two human children who act as the protagonist (Frisk) and antagonist (Chara), depending on how you play the game. (Interpretations vary on the antagonist/protagonist-thing, to say the least.)

Cool!

......

And, yep, that’s it.

As my little demonstration here showed, non-binary representation in media is rare. Good non-binary representation is even rarer.

Which is why those small examples of genuinely good representation are so important to the Non-binary community!

It’s hard enough to have to prove you exist. It’s even harder to prove your existence is not abnormal or unnatural.

If you’d like to further educate yourself on representation, it’s impact on society and why it matters, perhaps take a second to read through these articles:

https://www.criticalhit.net/opinion/representation-media-matters/

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/why-on-screen-representation-matters-according-to-these-teens

https://jperkel.github.io/sciwridiversity2020/

https://www.forbes.com/sites/quora/2019/05/22/why-is-equal-representation-in-media-important/?sh=25f2ccc92a84

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/why-representation-the-media-matters

3. So What’s The Problem?

The problem, as is the case with so many things in the world, is prejudice.

Actually, that’s not true.

There’s not a problem, there are multiple problems. And their names are prejudice, ignorance and bigotry.

Remember how I said human non-binary representation is rare?

Yeah, very often media-fans don’t help.

Let’s take for example, the aforementioned Frisk and Chara from “Undertale”.

Despite the game explicitly using they/them to refer to both characters multiple times, the majority of players somehow got it into their heads that Frisk’s and Chara’s gender was “up for interpretation”.

There is a huge amount of fan art straight-up misgendering both characters and portraying them as binary and using only he/him or she/her pronouns.

The most egregious examples are two massively popular fan-animated web shows: “Glitchtale”, by Camila Cuevas and “Underverse” by Jael Peñaloza.

Both series are very beloved by the Undertale-fanbase and even outside of it. Meaning for many people, those two shows might be their first introduction to “Undertale” and it’s two non-binary human characters.

Take a wild guess what both Camila and Jael did with Frisk and Chara.

Underverse, X-Tale IV:

(Transcript: “Frisk lied to me in the worst possible way... I... I will never forgive him.”)

Underverse, X-Tale V:

(Transcript: “I-It’s Chara... and it’s a BOY.”)

Glitchtale, My Promise:

(Transcript: (Referring to Frisk) “I’m not scared of an angry boy anymore.”)

Glitchtale, Game Over Part 1:

(Transcript: (Referring to Chara) “It’s ok little boy.”)

This... this isn’t okay.

Not only do both of these pieces of fan-art misgender two non-binary characters, the creators knew beforehand that Frisk and Chara use they/them-pronouns, but made the conscious choice to ignore that.

To be fair, in a video discussing “Underverse”, Jael said that only X-Tale Frisk and Chara, the characters you see in the Underverse-examples above, are male, while the characters Frisk and Chara from the main game remained non-binary and used they/them (time-stamp 10:34).

Still, that doesn’t erase the fact that Jael made up alternate versions of two non-binary characters specifically to turn them male. Or that, while addressing the issue, Jael was incredibly dismissive and even mocked the people who felt hurt by her turning two non-binary characters male. Jael also went on to make a fairly non-binary-phobic joke in the video, in which she equated gender identities beyond male and female to identifying as an object.

Jael (translated): “I don’t care if people say the original Frisk and Chara are male, female, helicopters, chairs, dogs or cats, buildings, clouds...”

That’s actually a very common joke among transphobes, if not to say the transphobe-joke:

“Oh, you identify as X? Well then I identify as an attack helicopter!”

If you’re trans, chances are you’ve heard this one, or a variation of it, a million times before.

I certainly have.

I didn’t laugh then and I’m not laughing now.

(Author’s note: I might be angry at both of them for what they did, but I do not, under any circumstances, support the harassment of creators. If you’re thinking about sending either Jael or Camila hate-mail - don’t. It won’t help.)

Jael’s reaction is sadly common in the Undertale fandom. Anyone speaking up against Chara’s and Frisk’s identity being erased is immediately bludgeoned with the “up for interpretation”-argument, despite that not once being the case in the game.

And even with people who do it right and portray Frisk and Chara as they/them, you’ll have dozens of commenters swarming the work with sentences among the lines of “Oh but I think Frisk is a boy/girl! And Chara is a girl/boy!”

By the way, this kind of thing only happens to Frisk and Chara.

Every other character in “Undertale” is referred to and portrayed with their proper pronouns of she/her or he/him.

But not the characters who go by they/them.

Their gender is “up for interpretation”.

Because obviously, their identity couldn’t possibly be canonically non-binary.

Sadly, Frisk and Chara are not alone in this.

Remember Bloodhound?

And how I said they’d been confirmed as non-binary and using they/them pronouns by both the creators and the voice actress?

It seems for many players, that too translated to “up for interpretation”.

(Transcript: “does it matter what they call him? He, her, it, they toaster oven, it doesn’t matter”)

(Transcript: “I’m like 90 % sure Bloodhound is a dude because he could just sound like a girl and by their age that I’m assuming looks around 10-12 because I’ve known many males who have sounded like a female when they were younger”)

(Transcript: “I don’t care it will always be a He. F*ck that non-binary bullsh*t.”)

(Transcript: “Bloodhound is clearly female.”)

(Transcript: “I’m not calling a video game character they/them”)

(Transcript: “exactly. The face was never fully shown neither was the gender so I’d say it means that the player is Bloodhound. So it’s your gender and you refer to “him” as yourself. It’s like a self insertion in my eyes.”)

So, let me get this straight:

If a character, even a player character, uses she/her or he/him, you can accept it, no questions asked.

But when a character uses they/them, suddenly their identity and gender are “up for interpretation”?

This attitude is also widely prevalent in real life.

Many languages only include pronouns for men and women, with no third option available. Non-binary people are often forced to make up their own terms, because their language doesn’t provide one.

Non-binary people often don’t fit within other people’s ideas of gender, so they get excluded altogether. Worse, non-binary people are often the victims of misgendering, denial of their identity or even straight-up violence when coming out.

People will often tell us that we look like a certain gender, so we should only use one set of gendered pronouns. Never mind that that’s not what we want. Never mind that that’s not who we are.

Non-binary people are also largely omitted from legal documentation and studies. We cannot identify as non-binary at our workplace, because using they/them pronouns is considered “unprofessional”. We don’t have our own bathrooms like men and women do. Our gender is seen as less valid than male and female, so even that basic thing is denied to us. I’ve had to use the women’s restroom my entire life, because if I go into a male restroom, I’ll be yelled at or made fun off or simply get told I took the wrong door. It’s extremely uncomfortable for me and I wish I didn’t have to do it.

And since non-binary people aren’t seen as “real transgender-people”, we often don’t receive the medical care we need. This often renders us unable to feel good within our bodies, because the treatment and help we get is wildly inadequate.

It’s especially horrible for intersex people (people who are born with sex characteristics that don’t fit solely into the male/female category) who are often forced to change their bodies to fit within the male/female gender binary.

And you better believe each of those problems is increased ten-fold for non-binary people of color.

We are ignored and dismissed as “confused”, because of who we are.

Representation is a way for Non-binary people to show the world they exist, that they’re here and that they too have stories to tell.

But how can we, when every character that represents us is either othered, barely there or gets taken away from us?

We are not “up for interpretation”.

Neither are the characters in media who share our identity.

And it’s time to stop pretending we ever were.

For more information about Non-Binary Erasure and how harmful it is, you can check out these articles:

https://everydayfeminism.com/2015/08/common-non-binary-erasure/

https://www.dailydot.com/irl/nonbinary-people-racism/

https://nonbinary.wiki/wiki/Nonbinary_erasure

https://traj.openlibhums.org/articles/10.16995/traj.422/

https://medium.com/an-injustice/everyday-acts-of-non-binary-erasure-49ee970654fb

https://medium.com/national-center-for-institutional-diversity/the-invisible-labor-of-liberating-non-binary-identities-in-higher-education-3f75315870ec

https://musingsofanacademicasexual.wordpress.com/2015/05/11/dear-sirmadam-a-commentary-on-non-binary-erasure/

4. How Do We Fix It?

Well, first things first: Stop acting like we don’t exist.

And kindly stop other people from doing it too.

We are a part of the LGBT+ community and we deserve to be acknowledged, no matter what our pronouns are.

Address non-binary people with the right pronouns. Don’t argue with them about their identity, don’t comment on how much you think they look like a boy or a girl. Just accept them and be respectful.

If a non-binary person tells you they have two sets of pronouns, for example he/him and they/them, don’t just use one set of pronouns. That can come off as disingenuous. Alternate between the pronouns, don’t leave one or the other out. It’ll probably be hard at first, but if you keep it up, you’ll get used to it pretty quickly.

If you’re witnessing someone harass a non-binary person over their identity, step in and help them.

And please, don’t partake in non-binary erasure in media fandoms.

Don’t misgender non-binary characters, don’t “speculate” on what you think their gender might be. You already know their gender and it’s non-binary. It costs exactly 0 $ to be a decent human being and accept that.

Support Non-Binary people by educating yourself about them and helping to normalize and integrate their identity.

In fact, here’s a list of petitions, organizations and articles who will help you do just that:

https://www.change.org/p/collegeboard-let-students-use-their-preferred-name-on-collegeboard-9abad81a-0fdf-435c-8fca-fe24a5df6cc7?source_location=topic_page

6 Ways to Support Your Non-Binary Child

7 Non-Negotiables for Supporting Trans & Non-Binary Students in Your Classroom

If Your Partner Just Came Out As Non-Binary, Here’s How To Support Them

How to Support Your Non-Binary Employees, Colleagues and Friends

Ko-fi page for the Nonbinary Wiki

The Sylvia Rivera Project, an organization who aims to give low-income and non-white transgender, intersex and non-binary people a voice

The Anti Violence Project “empowers lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and HIV-affected communities and allies to end all forms of violence through organizing and education, and supports survivors through counseling and advocacy."

The Trans Lifeline, a hotline for transgender people by transgender people

Tl:DR: Non-Binary representation is important. Non-Binary people still suffer from society at large not acknowledging our existence and forcing us to conform. Don’t be part of that problem by taking away what little representation we have. Educate yourself and do better instead. We deserve to be seen and heard.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Could Really Use A Wish Right Now (Mordetwi)

Could Really Use A Wish Right Now

[Mordecai X Twilight Sparkle]

[Warnings: none.]

[AN: I told you I was writing Mordetwi fanfic only I put way too much effort into it and it's 3.6K words long. Read this and enjoy it or I will never forgive you. Also, I’ve never watched Regular Show so like—]

Have you ever met someone in your life that makes you feel so utterly complete? They make your heart sing and the butterflies in your stomach spring to life just by existing in the same space as you.

The purple unicorn called Twilight Sparkle had honestly never believed she was never destined to meet someone who could inspire those things inside of her. When she was a filly learning about the common beauty that is ‘soulmate identifiers,’ she’d been disheartened to learn that she lacked all of them.

“It’s a simple exercise,” Princess Celestia began, watching as her students eyed her with wonder and excitement. “Unicorns have a special ability that allows us to hone in on not only our soulmate identifiers, but others as well,” she explained, her horn lighting up with a beautiful golden aura as it began to spread brighter and brighter. Her eyes closed for but a fraction of a second before a counter appeared over Celestia’s head. “See? Easy as pie,” she smiled.

“What does your counter mean, princess?” Moon Dancer asked, her brows quirking up.

Princess Celestia hummed thoughtfully. “It’s counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until I meet my special somepony,” she answered. “Though, I have a feeling it is not of the romantic nature.”

Another filly looked over, confusion etching his face. “That’s possible?”

Celestia giggled and nodded, magickally willing her counter away. “Not everypony is destined to have a romantic soulmate, nor do they always want one,” the princess started as she walked over to the still confused filly. She stretched one of her wings out, gently draping over him before dipping her head down and explaining further. “Friendship is just as important.”

The young male filly made a loud ‘ohhhhh’ sound before excitedly getting back into the lesson.

Princess Celestia then began to explain how to do the spell, focusing on feelings and intuition more than actual words.

“Have some faith while casting your magick,” Princess Celestia said, watching as her students paired up. “Don’t doubt yourself.”

The words of her princess echoed in Twilight’s head, the young filly bracing herself as her purple aura began to spread over her horn.

“C’mon Twi, I believe in you,” Moon Dancer said, her violet colored eyes sparkling with determination and her own horn igniting with light pink aura.

Twilight grinned at her friend, honing in on her feelings as she and Moon Dancer cast the spell - and she saw it! Moon Dancer was gifted with the first words on her forehoof - it’ll appear when she’s 13.

“Do you see mine?” The red maned pony asked excitedly.

Twilight nodded. “First words at 13,” she answered. “And me?”

“I can’t really-”

“Alright my little ponies, back to your seats please,” Princess Celestia said, her voice like honey and silk. Her voice carried on, oblivious to Twilight’s inner turmoil as she continued on with the lesson, explaining the different types of marks and the most common ones. “Does anypony have any questions?”

“What do you do if you don’t have one?” The young filly asked, her dark purple colored hoof held high in the air as she looked at the regal princess who had paused from her lesson to take questions.

“Excellent question, Twilight,” Princess Celestia’s regal voice complimented, briefly watching as stars that were reminiscent of Twilight’s cutie mark sparkled in her eyes before addressing her. “Perhaps it is an area of study you can go into,” the princess winked.

Twilight raised a brow and cocked her head to the side. “You mean to tell me that no pony in the history of ponies has ever lacked a soulmate identifier?”

Princess Celestia chuckled and nodded, her large, feathery wings fanning out for but a moment to show her amusement before nodding. “There’s always a special somepony for everypony out there, whether it be purely platonic or romantic!” The large white mare explained. Aura flowed from her horn and plucked a piece of chalk up from the chalkboard’s ledge. It floated around her head before she turned back to the board. “We learn about new soulmate identifiers daily,” she explained, writing down the notes.

Twilight shifted awkwardly in her seat before using her own magic to pick up her quill, taking down her teacher’s notes.

“Sometimes, soulmate identifiers come late in life or change depending on our advancements in magick and technology.”

The princess’s voice droned on and Twilight took down her notes diligently, ears flattened against her skull. The feeling of dread pooled deeper in her stomach.

“And sometimes,” Princess Celestia continued, “sometimes they just don’t appear until a certain age. Sixteen seems to be the latest.”

Twilight’s ears perked up. Sixteen, huh? She could wait until then. Maybe there was hope for her after all.

Sixteen came and went and Twilight found herself tearing up on her balcony, stargazing in an attempt to soothe her aching heart. It was just past midnight and she performed that stupid spell again and again with no luck. In the mirror, all she saw was herself, and nothing more.

“Twily? You in here?” A gentle male voice asked, gently knocking on her door.

The unicorn flattened her ears against her head and used her forehoof to wipe away her crystalline tears. “Just about to sleep,” she said, barely hiding her sniffles. She didn’t want to face Shining Armor like this.

The stallion’s voice exhaustedly chuckled. “C’mon, what’s wrong?” He asked.

Twilight sighed deeply and opened her bedroom door with her magick, revealing a white stallion with blue hair.

He looked over the darkness of Twilight’s room before tsking his tongue at seeing the sorry state of his sister. His dark blue hooves tapped quietly along the bedroom floor as he made way to her, his magick opening her balcony doors just enough for him to sit beside her. “What’s on your mind?” He asked, eyes gentle and soft.

Twilight lowered her eyes, unable to look at her brother before biting the bullet and deciding to explain it to him. “I… Am I destined to be alone?” She asked softly, voice cracking ever so slightly.

Shining Armor’s heart softened at the sound of his distraught sister before he wrapped his arm around her. “No, of course not,” he hushed. “You’re going to be just fine,” he cooed, rocking his baby sister back and forth.

“That’s so easy for you to say,” the purple mare said with a growing frown. “You have Cadence-”

“We’re not talking about me right now,” he cut Twilight off sharply. He felt her wince against him. “Sorry, it’s just,” he rested his head on top of hers. “You’re gonna be just fine. You have my word.”

Twilight took in her brother’s warmth, still bitter over the fact he had a soulmate and she didn’t, but spent time in his warm embrace. He’s her BBBFF for a reason.

From then on, and it came in small bouts, Twilight began to think of music in her head. Little songs of things she recognized, some things she didn’t, but music all the same. At first, she assumed it was just her head substituting the liminal spaces in her head with something melodic and pleasant, but over the years, it grew louder.

How curious…

She’d grown a lot since she was sixteen, seven years had passed and the soulmate identifying mark was but a scar on her heart. Though, the music in her head was triggered at the oddest times. She’d learned to tune it out through the years, that and the feelings of her pain over a lack of soulmates.

Her friends had already found theirs.

Pinkie Pie’s was a stallion by the name of Cheese Sandwich. They were bound together by a step counter.

Rainbow Dash’s was Apple Jack, and of course, they were tied together through shared injuries. Rainbow Dash had to apologize for all of Apple Jack’s phantom wing pain.

Fluttershy had a red string of fate connected to Discord.

Rarity had an almost ‘lost to legend’ soulmate identifier, one in which your reflection is actually your soulmate - and it led her to Fancy Pants, who was in every sense, her platonic soulmate.

And Twilight? She liked to say she didn’t care anymore.

Instead, she buried herself into her friendships and focused on her magick, honing in on the skills and abilities she did have and could work on.

It was one of those spells that brought her to him.

“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” Spike asked, his green eyes showing nothing but concern. His clawed hands anxiously grasped at his scaly tail.

Twilight nodded, her magick clasping the book to a close, sending dust flying in the air. She twitched her nose before sneezing slightly. “Yes,” she began. “If I do this right, we’ll peer into another…. Reality? Dimension? Oh goodness, I have no idea!” She giggled, glee dotting her face.

Spike’s eyes fell to the book as Twilight reshelved it. “Do we really need to be looking into other realities?” He questioned, voice still shaky and unsure.

“Of course I am!” Twilight beamed. “This was one of Star Swirl’s greatest spells, it hasn’t been attempted in centuries! If I can, maybe we can learn something and then?”

Spike groaned loudly. “Don’t say it-”

“We can write a research paper!” She giggled, her ears perked up and magick already begin to form around her horn. Twilight honestly pranced like a filly, giggling as she went over the spell in her head.

Spike narrowed his eyes before hiding behind the table and flashing a shaky thumbs up.

Twilight steadied herself before gearing up, the aura on her horn growing brighter and brighter. The violet hue almost became blinding as Twilight grit her teeth at the sheer energy flowing through her body.

She flattened her ears against her skull as she put more of her power into the spell. “I can barely hold it!” She cried out, hooves digging into the wood of her library floor. She tensed the muscles in her legs.

“It’s not gonna hold!” Spike shouted, bracing for an explosion.

“Yes it will-!” Twilight yelled back, exhausting her power as her horn heated up past boiling. Her horn was practically sparkling now, growing hotter and brighter, sparks flying as she poured more and more of herself into it. She hissed in pain as the sheer force of magick sent her flying back to her shelves, sending books and precious knowledge all over the place.

“Twilight! Are you okay?” Spike asked once it was safe to come out, uncomfortable with the heavy heat that lingered in the air. He rushed over to the dizzy unicorn, watching as she shook the books off.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice a little hazy as Spike took her forehoof into his hands, helping her up. “I just need to try again. Maybe I missed something?” She rhetorically asked, rubbing at her temple in an attempt to shove off her physical pain that cracked over her body like glass at its breaking point. Her hooves clacked against the floor as she shakily steadied herself, her magick grabbing the book from its place.

“Don’t you think that you’ve exhausted yourself today?” Spike asked, his voice soft and low. “You need to rest, maybe get some hay fries?” He suggested.

Twilight continued to page through the book, eyes scanning it faster and faster for any hint on what to do. Nothing. She groaned and angrily shoved it back into its place. “You’re right, let’s get something to eat,” she sighed, picking Spike up with her magick and placing him on her back.

Spike mentally sighed in relief as the purple unicorn trotted out of the library, his stomach growling the entire way.

Twilight now stands in the middle of some field in the late afternoon verging on evening, songs in her head keeping her attention bright eyed and bushy tailed. Spike was back home, sleeping, of course. She had all the time she needed to practice her spell, and she’d keep going until she got it right.

She powers up the spell again, the breeze sending her pretty mane flying and thankfully, out of her face as her aura grows. The purple color fizzles at first, almost as if it was asking her to not do so - to give up, but she grit her teeth and powers through it.

“Come on,” she growls, putting more and more of her power into the spell, her brain attempting to focus on anything other than the songs that were permeating her skull. Twilight steadies herself, hooves digging into the earth and kicking up some of the grass, the light emitting from her horn beginning to sparkle almost brilliantly. Twilight feels a smidge of hope, a smile blooming on her face before it falls.

She feels dashed!

“No!” She cries out, wondering why it was failing.

It flickers and sends sparks flying everywhere, and then it stops. It’s almost pitiful, seeing the magick drip from her horn pathetically like when you attempt to carefully pour something carefully and it dribbles out instead.

She angrily stomps her hoof on the earth, thoughts running out from her head until the music grows louder. She’d tried so many spells throughout her time to in a cain attempt to stop it, but still it persisted.

“You want me to listen to you? Fine! Fine!” She exclaims in frustration, voice rife with anger as she allows the song to overtake her thoughts. On pure intuition when the music is blasting through her thoughts, she attempts the spell again.

Twilight closes her eyes, attempting to hone in and completely misses how her magick takes on a different form. It bounces and swirls around her and rises and falls with the swells in the music. It bounces, small specks of the magick flow from the waving strands and begin to pool, slowly building up to a portal that swirls, growing brighter and brighter with a violet hue.

She’s mentally cursing herself for the energy she’s expending here, but at the same time, the spell is so close to its conclusion, she can feel it in her bones! She focuses on the lyrics of the song, taking in the sweet words. Is it a love song? She really can’t tell.

Remaining sunlight dances across her closed eyelids and Twilight can tell she’s used up all her power. She pants, coat covered in a foamy sheen as she shakes herself with the oncoming breeze. That was absolutely exhausting. She finds herself collapsing to the soft grass, taking in the scent of the earth and listens to the way the breeze shuffles through it. A long sigh escapes her lips before she opens her eyes.

Twilight lets out a yelp, jumping back several yards as she looks at the very confused creature standing with a pop can in front of her. “What the-, who the- what?” She begins to incoherently babble, her eyes wide with shock.

The creature in front of her almost drops his pop can before blinking. “What the- who are you?” Voice is male - must be a guy-

“Who are you?” Twilight asks, slowly standing on wobbly legs to the bird-like creature.

“I-I asked first?” He says, one of his eyes narrowing in confusion as he leans forward.

Twilight snorts and slowly walks up to the portal. “My name is Twilight Sparkle,” she answers hesitantly.

“M-Mordecai,” he replies just as hesitantly. “Why did you open a portal in my living room?” He questions as his beaked face draws closer and closer to the portal.

“I was trying to finish a spell, wait-” Twilight then pauses, her expression of hesitance turning to excitement. “I did it!” She cries out happily, beginning to hop up and down. “I really did it, I opened a portal to another reality!” She laughs, horn shooting off fireworks as a further expression of her joy.

Mordecai looks at the prancing purple unicorn with even more confusion. He hates to interrupt her, but he needs answers. “Why don’t you uh, take a seat and we can figure this out together?” He suggests, slowly backing up to sit on his couch.

Twilight stops prancing and blushes slightly before reeling herself back in, awkwardly trotting back to the portal’s edge. She places her hoof on it, watching as it ripples. She tries to step into it, displeased with seeing that it only dips in before bouncing back, sending her hoof flying back at her. She frowns. “Well, there’s this wizard named Star Swirl,” she starts, magick plucking his book up from her saddle bag.

The ended up talking late into the night, the light of the moon being the only thing that lit up their visages. Twilight had explained so much to Mordecai, and Mordecai to Twilight.

They were… Surprisingly more compatible than either of them had originally expected. However, nothing could prepare Twilight or Mordecai for what was about to happen next.

“Something about me that nopony knows?” Twilight hums. “I hear songs, a lot.”

“Oh dude, me too,” Mordecai seriously nodded. “But like, I’ve never heard the songs before? I can’t tell if my head is making them up or not,” he chuckles before his large wings crush his fifth pop can.

“What kind of songs?”

“There was this one about the Hokey Pokey, I think?” He began to list off. “And then another about the history of some group called the WonderBolts? But the one that stuck out the most was this one was about smiling,” he awkwardly laughs before rolling his eyes. “Weird, right?”

Twilight honestly can’t believe what she’s hearing. Those are all songs she’s sung at one point or another, with and without Pinkie Pie - that’s when she realizes it.

“You’re my soulmate.”

“What?”

“That’s-That’s our soulmate tie,” she continues, voice seldom higher than a whisper before light begins to sparkle in her eyes.

Mordecai’s eyes are wide. Soulmates? He was always under the impression he didn’t have one! He leaps up from his couch, not even caring about the emptied cans he’s sending to the floor.

The two laugh, feathers and hooves pressing against each other on the portal as they rest their foreheads in the same place.

“I’ve waited my whole life to meet you,” Mordecai wisps out, his voice soft and innocent. “Who knew all it took as a portal,” he chuckles breathily. “Eyes like stars and hair that falls so perfectly,” he compliments, wishing so badly that he could hold her.

Twilight hums and presses against the portal just a little tighter. “I’m so happy to have met you,” she whispers. He makes butterflies flutter in her stomach and her heart stop and race all at the same time. Is this what being in love feels like?

She honestly wished this moment could last forever. He was so close, yet so far…

There are so many more things they want to say to each other when the portal begins to glitch, the sparkles that made it gradually deconstructing and coming back to Twilight’s horn.

She gasps. “No, no, no!” She cries out, attempting once again to perform the spell.

“Twilight? What’s happening?” Mordecai questions, voice growing more and more panicky.

Twilight continually attempts the spell. “I don’t know! Nothing in Star Swirl’s journal-!” She uses her magick to pick up Star Swirl’s journal and looks through it, wondering if there’s any notes she can paw through. Anything, anything at all!

The portal disintegrates faster.

Mordecai bangs his fists against it, calling out for the purple unicorn. “Twilight! Twilight!” He calls out. There’s tears welling in his eyes.

Twilight begins to blink back tears as she reads the section in barely legible ink. It’s faded away with time, but it tells her exactly what she doesn’t want to hear.

‘The reality you open can only be opened once, never to be opened again by you or any other magick caster.’

It’s such an awful rule and almost too convenient, but she lets out a groan of frustration and flings the book back, attempting again and again to save the portal. It’s no use, the magick comes back to her faster than she can build it back up.

Her hooves grasp for Mordecai, attempting to hold onto him through the veil, tears wetting her fur. “Please, please don’t go!” She cries out.

Mordecai continues to claw helplessly at the portal as they stand on tiphooves and toes to see the remaining glimpses of each other, eyes now red and puffy.

“Don’t forget about me!” Twilight exclaims, voice cracked and broken.

“Don’t go, please don’t go!” Mordecai cries back, watching as the last of Twilight’s magick closes the portal, her cries still fresh in his ears.

The field is silent now and the moon hangs brightly in the sky. Stars dot the bluish black and Twilight can’t bring herself to move. Instead, she grips at herself, gazing up, and wistfully at that.

In another reality, Mordecai quietly floats outside, tears wetting his feathers and staining them as he gazes up at the full moon. The stars hang in the sky and alongside them, so too do airplanes. He watches their flickering yellow and red lights and brokenly chuckles to himself. He begins to hum, sending this one out to Twilight.

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?”

Twilight’s ears twitch as Mordecai sings in the back of her head, her face tilting upwards to be bathed in the light of the moon. More crystalline tears fall from her eyes and water the earth. She sniffles and wipes away some more of her tears with her forehoof.

“I-I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now…”

Separated by realities, the symphony plays on. It’s a cruel reminder of what could have been should they have lived on the same plane of existence.

[daydream-believin]

Flowers Have Feelings

summary: it's valentines and you're making some gifts for your good pal douxie,,, also confessing

warnings: swearing probably, no proofread cause tired

word count: 2659

a/n: i've been struggling with writers block. i guess. i've returned to this only to write like, a paragraph so many times. which is bad cause like cheese designed the bouqeut and this should have been done ages ago. idk idk bon appetit

tags: @yagirlcheesely, is for you

image below: sketch of the bouquet

You jumped out of bed and slammed your alarm. Today was the day. You had to get everything ready today. Tonight would be the presentation. The night you finally do it. The night you confessed to your closest friend and crush, Douxie. Also happened to be Valentine’s day.

Your friends may have told you: “Just be patient. Drop hints. If he likes you, he’ll let you know.” But you weren’t about that passive love life. You liked to grab that strawberry cow by the horns. Subtly was boring and took far too long. You were in love with your friend and you were gonna let him know frankly if it killed you. It probably would, to be honest.

As confident as this makes you sound, you were aware of the possibility of him not liking you back, and that was okay. Sure, your heart would be shattered and you might not be very peachy for, say, a month or six, but you accepted that. At first, you had resigned yourself to just adoring him secretly. But you quickly grew impatient with that. What were you afraid of, really? Him letting you down gently, and ushering you two into an era of awkwardness? Okay so maybe that was worth considering. But not really. You wouldn’t let it come to that. Even if he did turn you down, you weren’t about to let that fact taint your friendship like that. You two were very close, and Douxie wasn’t the kind of guy to suddenly treat you differently after such a thing. Just a few weeks of awkwardness at most before all was forgotten (on his end at least). Only a problem for you. But, boy, it would be really, really nice, and not awkward, if he reciprocated.

You and Douxie were thick as thieves. There wasn’t a thing you hadn’t told each other. Not a secret between a pair of buddies as close as you. Oh, one thing, you know. The fact that you had caught feelings, that was definitely something you had kept secret from him. As eager as you were to do so, you couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that at any old time. That’s why you chose today of all days to confess; a little extra luck from St. Valentine. A little magic to give you a boost, placebo or not. This was going to happen. This was going to work.

You strapped on your helmet, safety first, before heading out on your bike. You cleared your schedule for the day cause you weren’t really sure if everything would work out or not. You could have everything done and ended wrapped up neatly in a few hours, or you could have a complete disaster on your hands, which could take up all your time. Time you would happily give, since you were determined for everything to be perfect. It was also nice to know you didn’t have to come in to work later,, lest you spend the whole night, crying your eyes out. You shuddered at the possibility. You were gonna stop thinking about that now. Yeah, only confidence now.

You may be a teensy bit sleep deprived. Only a teensy bit. You chugged a monster this morning, you’ll be fine. It wasn’t your fault you were up all night researching flower language. There were so many flowers, and those flowers had so many feelings. Eventually though, you managed to settle on a bouquet of roses, daisies, and dandelions. Fern leaves for greenery too. Greenery was important for flower arrangements. It tied the whole thing together. While it wouldn’t be the most on theme color scheme, the yellows, whites, reds, and greens, would mix together prettily. You definitely didn’t have to go as far as this, and you were banking on the fact that Douxie even knew flower language, but it was sweet, it was romantic. And you were going to be romantic about this, dammit.

Daisies, for friendship. It was really important that you communicate just how much you valued Douxie’s friendship and how nothing would change between you two if he were to not return your feelings. Red, red roses, classic romance. There was a reason the blooms were so strongly associated with the valentines holiday itself; no one sees a red rose and thinks of anything other than love and romance. A clear message to your beloved. And well, the dandelions? Cheery, beautiful, resilient, common weeds, never to be approved of, finding the strength to bloom despite assholes like Merlin’s best efforts. Dandelions were Douxie’s favorite flower.

Too bad the florist didn’t even consider them to be anything but said common weed. You had included them in your order when you called it in and you could hear the florist laugh, but muffled as if he put his hand over the receiver, before returning to the phone to inform you that you would have to add them yourself. Pretty rude, if you say so. No matter, hand-picked dandelions would be romantic, anyways. Even if no one else knew about it but you.

You placed the bouquet neatly into the basket of your bike. You’d pick the dandelions to complete it later, right before the big confession, in order to keep them fresh. But as of now, the bouquet peaked out of your basket, the floral fragrance wafting up to your face as you made your way to the next store.

Last week, you had seen such an adorable little box of chocolates. It had chocolates shaped like little skulls, flowers, and ghost cats, and the box had a silly pun about death. Goth chocolate, def. It would have been perfect for the edgy wizard in your life, but alas, it was way too fucking expensive. Like obscenely expensive. But no matter, you’d just steal the idea. How hard could making chocolate be anyway?

You left the grocery store with your haul safe in your skull-patterned reusable shopping bag. Wizard-chic and eco-friendly, it was your favorite bag. The contents of the much-loved bag? Melting chocolates, a jar of marmalade, a jar of raspberry jam, a jar of strawberry jam, and a new roll of wax paper, since you were out. Now you weren’t as ambitious as to make your own jam here. This was a failsafe. There are only so many ways to ruin chocolates if you did not make the chocolate nor the filling yourself. Now just a quick run in the stationary shop on your way home for a cute box, and you were all ready to start your chocolatier career.

 * * *

Douxie was getting antsy. Not many patrons had paid a visit to his bookstore this afternoon. Which was strange for valentine’s. and it left him with nothing but his thoughts to entertain his anxious mind. Doux had a lot to worry about. His band had a gig in a new town, so he wasn’t sure how they would be received. He was waiting on a shipment of books that was supposed to show up days ago. It may have gotten lost. That Lake kid was getting himself into more and more trouble these days and it was starting to become hard to help out without overstepping his vaguely imposed bounds. But most of all, at the very moment, he was worried about you.

You had asked him to meet up for dinner tonight. Okay, pretty normal for a Sunday night. Not that the weekend meant anything to either of you, but you normally set aside Sunday for dinner hangout. So nothing to abnormal. But then. Then, you said, something… Douxie actually can’t recall what you said, per se, just that it was along the lines of “we need to talk.” And that your tone sounded nervous. He did not like that one bit, nope nope. He had spent a great part of the day just revisiting every interaction the two of you had had in the last month or so, desperate to figure out if he did something wrong. But he was coming up blank, for all his efforts. Across the room, the clock ticked on. It would be closing time soon enough, and then he’d no longer have to wonder just what he did wrong, as you would be there to tell him directly. Fuzzbuckets, he couldn’t wait.

* * *

You wiped the goopy chocolate off of your cheek with the back of your hand. So far this wasn’t a total disaster. You had at least seven chocolate skulls filled and drying in the molds. The white chocolate seemed to have melted smoother than the regular chocolate? The regular chocolate ones looked kind of lumpy. You hoped they came out of the molds okay. Not to mention the ones you already messed up. A little mountain of chocolate pieces and jam had started rising from your table top corner.

It had been lots of fun at the start. melting the chocolates with a double boil, planning out which molds would be which flavors. But actually filling those molds? A messy, messy ordeal. You had chocolate and jam all over your kitchen, up to your exposed elbows, and even a little in your hair. But that was okay. You’d clean the kitchen later. With the molds in the freezer to set, your priority now was cleaning yourself up rather than the kitchen.

And you cleaned up nice, if you did say so yourself. You got the chocolate out of your hair, and had on a fresh outfit, taking a little time to put effort into your style. You looked snazzy, but not too fancy. You needed to stay casual. Something that you hoped would make Douxie be like ‘wow they look pretty okay’ but not freak him out with formality. Yeah. This was good.

Your watch beeped. Okay, you needed to get out of here, no more dilly dallying. You pulled the candies you made out of the freezer. Moment of truth. Thank the stars, all of the chocolates came out of the molds smoothly without breaking. You arranged them in the cute circular box you set up earlier and folded the tissue paper over them. They all fit in perfectly. The cheesy valentine card, the most important part, didn’t quite fit on top of the candies, you’d have to put it with the bouquet. You slid the lid onto the box and fastened a bow around it with a blue ribbon. Maybe this was a bit overkill, but Douxie knew how to appreciate the dramatic. He’d love it, you were sure.

Last but not least, you headed to the greenspace across the street from your apartment for the final ingredient in your Douxie wooing, dandelions. You were lucky that the empty lot had recently bloomed an entire garden’s worth of the yellow things. The chilly breeze mussed up your newly-fixed hair as you danced about gathering the tiny flowers, adding to the bouquet until you felt like it was enough. Which took longer than you had hoped. You definitely could have kept adding in more dandelions but your watch beeped once again and you had no choice but to make peace with the level of yellow and book it to the bookstore where you and Douxie were supposed to meet before heading out for the night.

* * *

Hearing the ding of the door chime, Douxie turned around to kindly inform the customer who came in that he wasn’t open, but the words caught in his throat when he was met with your smile. There you were, standing in the shop with a box in one hand and flowers in the other. You looked cute. Really cute. But Douxie chased that thought away. He fumbled with the book he had been re-shelving. It fell out of his hand unceremoniously, landing with a thud.

“Hey,” Doux managed to get out. “What’s all-”

“These are for you!” you shoved the presents into his now empty hands. That courage you had earlier? Gone. Your resolve? Dissolving as we speak. You had to get this over with before you chickened out. He was just so good, okay. And why did you think this was a good idea. Douxie looked down at the gifts in his hands confused, before blushing. If he could have reached a hand behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck he would have.

“I didn’t know we were doing Valentine’s, uh. I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh! Don’t be. I just,, felt like doing something nice for you and uh, special,” Douxie tilted his head. You took the box, freeing up his hand. “These are chocolates I made, like, like you’re supposed to do.” You waltzed over to the counter to place them out of the way. “The bouquet is the real star here, uh, I picked them out very carefully.” You tucked your arms behind your back. “I, uh- I brushed up on flower language, and I hope I got it right.”

Now Douxie may have been a Victorian once upon a time but he had barely any surviving memory of the frilly flower language people socialized through in those days. But thankfully, the blooms in the bouquet in front of him were straight forward enough that he did in fact get the message without taking too much gear turning in that noggin of his. Although, the friendly daisies with the red roses were kind of sending him some mixed signals. He knew what he wanted them to mean, but he could just be misinterpreting. You seemed to notice his hesitation.

“Um, there’s a card too. In the flowers somewhere. That. Probably explains what I’m trying to say a little clearer.” You carded your fingers through your hair. You had anticipated not being able to really speak with your voice, as you barely could now, so you’d written it all out on the card as backup. But damn, that card had everything on it. You maybe got a little carried away. There wasn’t going to be any going back from this.

Douxie dug out the card from amidst the blooms. It was handmade, with a cheesy little drawing on the front complete with a pun. And then he opened it. It was almost solid black with ink. Yeah, you had written that much in there. Both sides. And a little on the back. Wow. Doux tried his best to keep up a poker face while reading it but failed quickly as the first few lines alone left him flushed. It was true, everything was on it. From how much you adored Douxie as a person, to how much you valued his friendship, to how pretty you thought he was, to how you longed for something more, with him? Douxie felt like his hands were getting the card all sweaty.

It was nerve wracking watching him read that card. It seemed like he was finished, since his eyes stopped raking through it, but now he was staring intensely at the words written on the pages, in a trance. He broke focus, looking to the bouquet, back to the card, and then finally settled on you.

“Wow.”

“… is that a good wow?”

Douxie caught you by surprise. He pulled into a hug. “Yeah, a good wow.”

You and Douxie’s first non-platonic hug? Yes please. You didn’t even mind the flowers pressing into your back. Okay so a few rose thorns were poking you but that was fine. Douxie smelled like something you couldn’t name, but it was spicy, and cozy. He let you go sooner than you were ready to, but he grinned at you as he left to rummage through his things in the back for a vase. He turned to you as he proudly displayed them on the store’s counter, right where he could look at them all workday,

“So, where are we going tonight? For our first date?” Doux chuckled, “and, technically, our first Valentine’s day too.”

[fandom-collective-writers]

Love letters (Victor x MC)

Fandom: MLQC

Pairing: Victor x MC

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1262

Author: @rikumorimachisgirl

A/N: Thank you, @voltage-vixen for the vote of confidence and for reading through this first.

Disclaimer: I do not own MLQC or its characters, but I own the idea for this fic.

Victor Li 

CEO

Loveland Financial Group

February 14th

Dear Mr. 27-year-old CEO, 

Please consider this as my intent to resign as a business partner. I no longer wish to produce shows under your portfolio nor do I require your financial assistance to fund my company effective immediately. Now, before you start rolling your eyes and call me an dummy (which I resent, by the way), I'd like to tell you that I've thought this over, and I'm positive that this is for the best. 

You are the worst person I've ever partnered with - you ask me to work under tight deadlines, only to order me to rest and take it easy after working me into a frenzy in the first place. You also don’t even spend five minutes reviewing the reports I spent days writing only to nitpick the most minute of flaws. On top of everything, you are always waking up at odd hours of the night to hear my voice, then turn around and insist I fall back to sleep….how do you honestly expect me to fall back to sleep after being woken up by you?  

You have no respect for privacy - you grab my notes without permission, read through my diary, and even check my emails when you think I don't notice. Thanks to that, you now know my favorite restaurants, my dream destinations, and my honest opinion of your work ethic. So much for secrecy!

You have no concept of work-life balance - you send me emails and ask for reports even while you're supposed to be off work, you join my conference calls while you're with your family, and you sometimes drag me to have dinner with them just so we could continue talking about work. 

In the last twelve months, I have worked more hours than five regular employees in your company have. I have foregone days off in favor of accompanying you on your trips and scouting for possible locations to shoot for new episodes to meet your ridiculous deadlines. I have also blurred the lines between work and personal time so I can anticipate your calls, which could happen anytime between the time I step out of your line of sight to the time I make my morning coffee. I am exhausted from a lack of rest and sleep as you invade my every thought. 

Yes, my every thought. Day and night!

I'm not even sure when it started, but somewhere between you walking me home in the rain, teaching me how to dance, and cooking for me at Souvenir, my heart started to feel funny. At first, I thought it was just a case of nerves because I always get nervous when you boss me around; however, the feeling I've been getting lately is far different from that. It happened a lot more frequently after - when you held me in your arms in the dark hotel room to keep me safe while the rain raged outside, and that time you picked me up at the airport because there was a snowstorm and you knew I had nowhere to sleep, and the skillful way you dove after me when I slipped and fell in the pool because of my drunkenness. You've made my heart pound faster and harder than it should more times than I can count, but I think the worst incident of all was when you invited me to your aunt's wedding rehearsal, not as a guest, but as a bride. Your bride. I bet you had no idea how breathtaking you looked in your three-piece suit, or how hard my heart pounded when you reached out to me that my whole body shook. I'm positive you had no idea how you've kept me up all night after the rehearsal, replaying everything that happened in my head - from the way you held me like I was a delicate piece of China, to the way you looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl you've ever laid eyes on. I also realized after that incident that I simply can't start or end my day without seeing you - or even hearing from you at the very least. I have come to look forward to waking up to your calls or text messages and find that I can't sleep without hearing your voice, too. I realize that I have fallen in love with you, and that, for me, is a big problem. 

I can't continue to work with you in the light of these new circumstances. I maintain a strong work ethic and believe that it is impossible and improper to mix business and pleasure. Having said that, I'd like you to please accept my resignation as your business partner effective immediately. And once you've approved of my resignation, please accept my invitation to go out on a date this Valentine's day. 

Yours truly, 

(Y/N)

--------

(Y/N)

Miracle Finder Producer

February 14th

Dear Dummy, 

I'm writing this in response to the letter that Goldman handed to me right before I stepped into the boardroom for the Quarterly Business Review. I had intended to read it after the meeting, however, my assistant wore a cheeky smirk on his face that meant your letter was probably worth spending a minute or two to read. And while I was hoping to be entertained by whatever was written on your note, I certainly wasn't expecting you'd be so bold as to confess your feelings on paper. Your courage, I feel, should be rewarded, which is why you're receiving this note. 

I have to admit that you have given me a ton of headache since we first met. I knew, right when I laid eyes on you again after, that you would be nothing but trouble. I was hoping to be wrong about my intuition for once, but the more we spend time together, the more I knew I was right. 

You have all the right attributes for someone in the wrong field of expertise - you are too kind-hearted, too considerate, too trusting, and too easy-going for your good. It's hard for me to understand how you could be so forgiving, and how you always choose to see the good in other people even when they have the meanest intentions towards you. You always barely meet the deadline, and your reports are always poorly written despite my constant corrections and advice, it's a wonder your own company hasn't fired you yet. Your decision-making skills are highly questionable, I would've been bankrupt if I relied on you to call the shots. 

Yet, despite all these, I couldn't take my eyes away from you even for a minute. I know when you're nearby and I scan the room the minute I step in to find you. Your smile is so silly, I find myself smiling at you when you're not looking. Your messages are often nonsensical, yet I don't mind receiving and reading them over and over. I close my eyes and picture the rest of my life, and I see you in it - with me. 

That said, I can't accept your resignation as my business partner. I feel you've still got a lot to learn about me and LFG, since I intend to keep this within the family. And if you get my meaning, I'd like to also say that I accept your invitation to go out tonight and would like to ask you to bring a change of clothes with you. After all, it seems we've got a lot of time to get to know each other better tonight. 

Yours always,

Victor

[princess-of-riviaa]

Secrets

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: Superman saves you on the darkest night of your life. A year later, your best friend and colleague Clark Kent makes a confession.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of depression, attempted suicide

Warning(s): angst(ish), oral (m receiving)

Word Count: 3,170

Your mind is silent, empty. All you can think about is the ground below you, growing ever closer with each passing second. Your instinct is to scream, but the way your stomach is in your throat and the wind burns your lungs, you have no air to scream out. This is it. This is how it ends. Your arms flail around you desperately, your body determined to stop the fall, but you keep moving towards the ground anyways. The ground is twenty feet away. Ten feet. Five-- 

Something wraps around you. You can’t see what it is, nor can your brain move fast enough to process what’s happening, but suddenly you’re moving up, up, up--back to the roof you jumped off of.

You struggle to breathe as you’re set down on the roof, your heart beating so fast that your head is spinning. You were seconds away from dying. You should be dead right now.

Why aren’t you dead right now?

You look in front of you. A red cape waves in the wind. You recognize the man in the blue suit the way anyone would. Superman.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes scanning your body with protective worry. “Did you slip? What are you doing on the roof?”

You put your hands on your knees, struggling to calm your breathing. Every muscle inside of you is tensed. Your brain still can’t process the fact that you’re not dead right now. You should be.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” you scream at him. Tears pour down your face faster than you can stop them.

“You were about to die,” the hero in blue tights tells you, like you’re an idiot who has yet to realize that.

“That’s the point!” you cry out. “I didn’t slip!” Nothing about this was accidental.

His face falls when he realizes your meaning. The look he gives you… it’s too vulnerable a look for a stranger to give.

“Don’t look at me like that. Someone else probably needs saving. Go somewhere you’re wanted.” You don’t mean to be a bitch, but you’d worked so hard to get to this point. To come to terms with your death, to plan it all out, even to act it out. And at the very last second it all went crashing down.

“I’m not leaving until I know you won’t try to do this again,” he says.

You want to scream in his face. He’s ruined everything!

He steps towards you, but you take two steps back. He holds his hands up, showing you he’s not going to try anything, and says, “Let me take you to the ground, and then I’ll leave.”

You’d much rather punch him than let him carry you to safety. But the look on his face is stubborn and you know he’s not about to leave you alone until you agree. So you huff and nod your head.

He closes the distance between you. Something about him feels familiar, almost… safe. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him so he won’t lose his grip, and only then do you realize how strong he is. You feel his biceps dance against your back as he adjusts you in his arms. It almost takes your breath away. If you were someone else--if you had enough hope to think about these things--you’d be attracted to him. There’s something about how his black waves of hair resembles the night sky, while his bright blue eyes look like the sky at high noon, that pulls you in.

Superman picks you up easily, lifting you like you weigh no more than a feather. His grip is tight around you as he slowly lowers the both of you to the ground. It’s breathtaking--his flight, his strength. As soon as your feet touch the ground of the parking lot, he lets go of you and moves a respectful distance away.

“What’s your name?” you find yourself wondering.

He smiles at you. “Superman.”

You shake your head. “No, I mean your real name. Who are you?”

All he says is, “I’m just a man that believes, wholeheartedly, that the world is better off with you in it.”

“You don’t even know me--” you begin, but he’s already gone, a shooting star in the night sky.

…

ONE YEAR LATER

The sound of your glasses clinking is drowned out by the noisy chatter of the restaurant around you. You take a long sip of your wine, feeling Clark’s gaze on you as you do.

“Rough day?” he jokes.

You shake your head and set your glass down, returning to your food. “Just the opposite. This article is going to put us on the map. Your writing is going to make us famous, Clark Kent.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Clark insists humbly. “We’re a team.”

Your cheeks begin to burn with how much you’ve been smiling. It’s mind blowing to think how much your life has changed in just eleven months. A year ago you were lost, fighting against your depression and losing, and now you’re a successful woman living in the city. You run a yoga class on weeknights and buy a new book for your collection every paycheck. You’ve really learned how to take care of yourself.

“Can I say something, as a friend? I don’t want it to come across as weird,” Clark says, playing with his fork nervously.

Your stomach knots. “Uh, yeah. Go ahead.”

“It makes me really happy to see you like this,” he confesses. “You’re always smiling lately, you really brighten up the office.”

You feel your cheeks burn. You’d been expecting him to say something bad. But of course he didn’t; this is Clark. He’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met. You’re very happy you’re friends with him.

“I am happy,” you admit. “Things have really turned around for me this year.” You hesitate, wanting to tell him the one thing you’ve never told anyone, but you’re afraid. He won’t look at you the same after you tell him. No one ever does when you mention depression.

“What is it?” Clark, ever the mind-reader, notices that you’re holding back from him. “You look like you want to say something.” He reaches across the small table and holds your hand. A spark of heat shoots up your arm, making your heart race.

You’ve had feelings for Clark for a while, but you’ve forced yourself to keep things professional. You work together on a lot of investigative pieces. You can’t afford to have a fling, end it poorly, and then lose a coworker. But that doesn’t mean that every time you two take the elevator in the morning, you don’t feel a heat between him and you; or that every time his hand accidentally brushes yours, the touch doesn’t register in your core, making you ache for more.

“It’s me,” Clark says, giving you that smile that always makes you give in to him. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

You hesitate. “It’s just… nothing. Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

But he shakes his head insistently. “If it’s bothering you this much, it’s clearly not nothing.”

So you tell him. About your failed suicide attempt. About your run in with Superman. About how you held a grudge against the beloved hero for several months because for such a long time, you regretted not dying. You regretted staying alive. And then, when you finally got the help you needed through regular therapy sessions, you felt like you could breathe again. Like this entire time you’d been drowning under ten-foot waves and you can finally come up for air again. And now you feel like you owe Superman everything, if only you knew who he was.

Clark doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time you talk. His touch manages to soothe you enough to make you tell him everything. He waits until you’ve gotten everything out before saying anything.

“You really want to know who Superman is?” he wonders.

You nod. “I want to pay him back. Or thank him at the very least.”

He hesitates. “Can I show you something?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“It’s at my apartment,” he warns. “Are you comfortable with me taking you there?”

You’ve known Clark long enough to know he’s not trying to trick you into anything. And even if he was, you wouldn’t object, not that you’d ever tell him that. But you nod.

Clark pays for the meal and you walk to his car. As you turn to grab your seat belt, though, your skirt rises up. You tense. A sliver of your black underwear is revealed and you look up to see Clark’s eyes locked on your legs. He’s silent as he swallows and suddenly the air between you is heated, stiff. You quickly pull your skirt back down and do your best to laugh it off, though it just comes out breathy and tense. Clark doesn’t mention it though, much to your relief.

His apartment is a quick seven minute drive from the Italian restaurant you’d just finished eating at. You’re both quiet throughout the drive, the walk to the elevator, and the ride up to his floor. But it’s an easy silence, one only people who are very close can experience.

Clark hesitates outside his apartment door. “What I’m about to show you… it’s an important secret. I trust you enough to show you, and I think you need to know this, but I ask that you don’t tell anyone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you showing me your prized Pokemon collection?”

But he doesn’t laugh like you’d expected him to. He’s very serious about this, you realize.

You nod. “Of course, Clark. You don’t have to worry about me saying anything. But now you’ve got me dying of curiosity, so please open the door.”

He does. You’ve been to his place before--when your deadlines have crept up on you and you magically had to pull one-thousand words out of your ass by midnight, Clark’s place became the place to be--and you know your way around to know that he’s leading you to his bedroom. You grow a little uneasy, if only because this is very much starting to feel like a trap. But Clark walks right past his queen-sized bed and towards his closet.

“I just… try not to freak out,” Clark says as he pulls something out.

You frown as he turns to face you with a folded shirt in his hands. It’s a deep blue and made of what looks like latex. You’d have no idea what is or what importance it holds--if it weren’t for the red-and-gold S engraved in the middle. But you still struggle to comprehend what he’s showing you.

“So you’re… a secret Superman fanatic?” you guess.

Clark laughs. “Not exactly.”

You refuse to believe what he’s trying to tell you. “Clark, I need you to spell it out for me.”

You watch him take off his glasses and hold the outfit up to his body. It’s… off-putting is the first word that comes to mind. He looks exactly like Superman. But that’s impossible. If Clark were Superman, you would’ve figured it out by now. You’re not an idiot, nor are you blind. But he looks like a different person without those glasses. And with that costume held up to his body…

“Clark…” you manage to get out, still refusing to believe what’s right in front of your eyes.

“You know what I’m trying to tell you,” he insists.

Part of you doesn’t want to believe it. Clark is your partner-in-crime, your friend… Superman is some stranger that ran into you on the worst night of your life. You don’t want to combine the two. You want to keep Clark--who practically embodies everything good about your present life--as far away from the reminder of the broken thing you used to be.

But you have to ask… “Who are you?”

Clark just smiles and says, “I’m just a man that believes, wholeheartedly, that the world is better off with you in it.” The same words Superman had spoken to you eleven months ago.

Your legs cave in on you. Luckily you land on the edge of Clark’s bed. You’re silent as your brain finally begins to accept all of this. Clark watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. He finally moves to sit beside you. Though his thigh brushes against yours, sending heat to your core, his presence is friendly.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” he says.

“You’ve known,” you finally get out. “You’ve known this whole time--you’ve known since before I started working at the Daily Planet. Everything I told you tonight… you knew this whole time! And you lied about it!”

You rise to your feet and move to the corner of the room, suddenly needing to put as much distance between you as possible. You’re mad at him--no, you’re livid. He’s been lying to you since the day you met him. You try to push back angry, hot tears from rising to the surface but they come anyways.

“Y/N…” Clark says, his voice breaking in a heartbreaking sound. He moves towards you.

You back up until your back hits the wall. “You’re a liar!”

“I never denied finding you that night,” he says, still continuing to move towards you. He moves slow, though, treating you like a scared animal. “I didn’t lie about it.”

“You deceived me!” you argue through your tears.

Pain flashes through his eyes as you yell at him, and though your instinct is to hug him and tell him whatever he needs to hear to feel better, you ignore it. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t have you knowing--”

“I was pissed at you!” You’re unable to stop your voice from rising with every word, growing desperately louder. “I was mad at you for saving me for so long! I hated you! Don’t you get that?” You move towards him and shove his shoulders. He stumbles back, surprised that your anger has turned violent. “How could you do this to me?!” You shove him again but this time he expects it. His feet are planted firmly on the ground and you don’t even make him move an inch. When you go to hit him for the third time, he grabs your wrists and holds them against his chest. You can feel the warmth radiating through his shirt, feel the solidness of his chest.

“Do you hate me?” he asks, looking deeply in your eyes.

“Y-yes,” you sob out.

But he knows that you’re lying. “Do you hate me, Y/N?” He enunciates each word slowly this time.

You step towards him again, but instead of hitting him you just rest your head on his chest. The only person you want to talk to when you feel this upset is Clark; he’s always the one to talk you off the ledge, to get you thinking logically instead of emotionally. So you don’t know what to do when he’s the one making you feel like this.

He brings one hand to the back of your head, cradling you against his chest, while his other begins to rub your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you. But no one can know who I am.”

“Then why me?” you sob into his chest.

“Because…” he begins, then pauses.

You lift your head up just enough to meet his gaze. Only then do you become aware that there’s no distance between you. Your bodies are pressed tight against each other, your mouths inches apart. His breath tickles your face, sending shivers down your spine.

“Because what?” you force yourself to ask, struggling to find your voice.

He answers by kissing you. You freeze. Never in a million years would you have seen this coming. There’s no way Clark is as attracted to you as you are him. And yet here you stand, being kissed like you’re oxygen and he’s craving a fresh breath of air. As soon as the shock fades, you kiss him back. Your hands tug on his flannel, pulling him even tighter against him. When he pulls away from you, you’re both breathless.

“Because I love you,” he admits.

Love. That’s what he feels for you. It’s not just lust, not just a crush. Your heart races when he says those words. You must be dreaming. There’s no way this is happening.

“I’m sorry if that ruins things between us,” he says, “but I needed you to know. I’m good at keeping secrets, but I didn’t want to keep that one.”

You kiss him again. His hands tug at your hips, pressing your body tight against his. You gasp when you feel his erection press into you. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you bring a hand to his growing erection and palm him over his jeans. He groans into your mouth and the sound registers deep inside of you, making you drip with arousal.

You pull away from him and fall to your knees. His lustful gaze is locked on yours as you undo his jeans and pull them down enough to reveal his aching member. You practically gasp at his girth and length. There’s no way you can fit all of him in your mouth. But you try anyways, first with teasing licks up the length of his shaft and a few sucks on his balls. He groans as you open your mouth and take him deep inside of you. His cock brushes against the back of your throat and you gag but resist the urge to pull away from him. With the way he’s looking at you right now and the sounds he’s making, you’d happily gag on his cock. You place your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as he places a hand on the back of your head and begins to fuck your mouth.

Clark has never been anything but sweet and gentle. But right now, with how he’s fisting your hair and shoving his cock deeper inside of you, you feel like his own personal whore. And you love every second of it.

“Fuck,” he groans out. The sounds he makes has your toes curling and your heart racing when you remember that you’re the one making him fall apart. You feel powerful, beautiful, even as he uses you like this. “I’m gonna come soon… you gotta stop or I’m… gonna come down your throat.”

You moan at the thought. The vibrations of your voice register deep within him and two thrusts later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow all of it, loving the salty, bitter taste.

“I think that’s the best blowjob I’ve ever had,” he admits, his cheeks a light pink from his orgasm.

You smirk up at him and get off the floor.

Clark nods to the bed. “Mind if I return the favor?”

***

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[harryspet]

rogue angel [2] bucky barnes

[Warnings] darky bucky barnes x reader, noncon forced aged regression, daddy bucky, dd lg dynamic, ab dl dynamic, very light bondage, drugging, angst

A/N: I got a wayyy better response on the first chapter than I expected! Thank you all so much for reading! I guess I would call this chapter more of a filler with the reader just adjusting to her new life.

In which someone actually starts to care for you. 

series masterlist

word count: 2.9k

You were strapped to a table, serums of their making pumping into your body, a contraption attached to your head designed to send electric waves through your skin. You screamed for hours. Why didn’t you stop screaming? It never helped. It never made them stop the pain. Perhaps it was because your mind was so empty. 

You sat up straight, startled, at the memory. That’s when you realized Bucky’s hands were undoing the gag around your mouth, “I’ve got ya, angel,” You heard him say, finally able to close your lips together. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d carried you upstairs and ran a bath for you until you were actually sitting in the tub. 

It wasn’t the being naked that frightened you, it was the soothing hand on your back and fingers rubbing soap into your skin. The traumatizing memory had taken you away for a moment but now you were back in reality, where something even worse was happening. 

You had wet yourself in front of him and, like you were a child, he had cleaned you up. You couldn’t remember what it was like to be a child, you only knew what they had taught you about youth. In your opinion, the milestones seemed a bit boring, something you didn’t mind skipping. What use would pink overalls and bubble baths be to Hydra?

It wasn’t like you had much choice when Bucky brought the washcloth between your legs, you had much control over them as a baby doe. 

“Is your arm waterproof?” You asked, your curiosity striking you. 

Bucky chuckled, “For the most part, yes, but I try not to shower with it.” You nodded and had a feeling that Bucky was just happy that you were interacting with him in any capacity. 

“What … what are you going to do to me here?” There had to be other reasons why he was keeping you in the middle of nowhere. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.”

That wouldn’t be your name. No matter how much he said it, it would never belong to you. 

“But you want to turn me against them? Like Steve Rogers did to you?” Bucky pressed the cloth against your shoulder, swiping down your arm. The soap smelled like warm vanilla and, you wouldn’t admit it, but you liked it. 

“Steve and I already had an emotional connection, we were friends. That’s what helped me realize their lies. You don’t have any ties so I thought I could help build you one, with me.”

With him. As your Daddy. 

Maybe you could pretend, you thought. As soon as his guard was down, you could make a move, “I’ve never needed anyone.”

“It’s not a bad thing to need someone,” Bucky spoke earnestly but you only rolled your eyes. 

You didn’t protest when he lifted you from the tub or when he held your body as he dried every inch of your skin. Your teeth were gritted the entire time but your current plan was to comply and cause him to let his guard down. Even Bucky seemed surprised that you weren’t fighting him. 

He carried you from the bathroom into your “new room” which you didn’t get a chance to fully take in before. The walls and the furniture were both white but everything else seemed to be full of pastels. There was a bed fit with light pink sheets, mint green pillows, and lots of stuffed animals. A toy chest sat beneath the window and a giant, oversized rabbit sat right next to it. 

It was eerily calm in the room and you could see the last shreds of sunlight coming in through the white curtains on the windows. He set you gently on the twin bed and you watched as he crossed the plush white carpet towards a large white armoire. Your eyes widened as it opened, revealing a rainbow assortment of clothes. 

You took a wild guess and assumed they were all in your size. How long had he been planning this?

“What’s your favorite color, angel?” You met his blue eyes and found a soft expression on his face. You thought for a moment before shrugging. You hadn’t thought about it nor did you think it really mattered. He continued, “Hmmm, unicorns or spaceships?”

He held out the options for you to see and you winced, “Why can’t I wear normal clothes?”

“You’re too small for big girl clothes,” He spoke, making the decision for you. Spaceships it was.

“I am a-” You stopped yourself. You could do it, you told yourself. 

You let him slip the onesie over your head which was white and had little planets and spaceships printed on it. He urged you to lay down flat and that was when he reached into a drawer beneath a bed. As soon as you saw it, your plan went out the window, “No, no, I’m not wearing that!” You stared at the pink pull-up he’d grabbed, “I’m not a baby, you fu-”

He pinned your hands down above your head and you desperately tried to move your legs, “What if you have another accident?” He continued, slipping one of your feet into one of the holes.

“Please,” Bucky paused, and even you hadn’t expected the word to leave your mouth, “I won’t have another one.”

“Say ‘Please, Daddy’” You scowled at him, “It’s hard for me to listen when you don’t address me properly, angel.”

You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath before swallowing the small shred of pride you had left, “P-Please … D-Daddy,” You stuttered out.

Bucky smiled, the hand that wasn’t pinning your arm was rubbing your legs soothingly, “Good girl, angel, now ask Daddy for what you want. Use your big girl words.”

“Can I … Can I please wear regular-”

“Big girl panties,” He interjected, correcting you. 

You gritted your teeth, “Can I please wear big girl panties ... “ He waited patiently, knowing the word was on the tip of your tongue, “Daddy?”

Bucky smirked, loving the name on your lips, “How about this, angel?” You struggled as he continued to slide it on you, “If you eat all of your dinner and you keep this dry all night, I’ll let you wear big girl panties. I’ll even let you pick the pair.”

Clearly, he hadn’t completely gotten rid of his sadistic side when he left Hydra. You felt that as soon as he buttoned the onesie closed.

+

You hated him but you had to admit he was smart. You couldn’t refuse to eat or you’d risk further embarrassment tomorrow. Tomorrow. It was starting to sink in that you’d be here for a while. 

After he’d put the clothes on you, he’d brushed out your hair, tying it back for you. His movements were a little clumsy but you could feel his happiness as he accomplished each task. It seemed like he had been practicing. 

He was even more excited to present you with a small, bear plushie that he thought would bring you comfort. 

He brought you down to the living room, setting you on the plush couch before ordering you to sit still while he went to retrieve something. Something he wanted to show you. As he walked out of the room, you looked around, noting the coziness of the room but also the locks on every window. 

You were mapping it out when suddenly heard the subtle sound of nails scratching against the floor. A dog ran into the room, jumping onto the couch and attacking you with a lick to the face, “Y/N, meet Archer,” You were unsure of how to interact with the creature for a moment until you decided to brush behind his ears. The husky dog seemed to like it, nuzzling further into you. 

You couldn’t remember ever petting a dog before and you had no idea they could be so … friendly. Archer seemed to already love you as he continuously lapped at your face. 

Bucky could see you letting your wall down and, deciding not to interrupt that, he left to start on dinner. He figured Archer would keep you busy and also let him know if you tried to escape. 

When dinner was almost read, Bucky walked back into the living room to find you sitting on the living room carpet, playing tug of war with the stuffed animal. Archer easily ripped off the bear’s head and you giggled … Bucky actually heard you giggle. 

“Bad dog, Archie,” He scolded the dog as Archer dropped the bear’s head into Bucky’s hand obediently, “We don’t chew on Y/N’s toys.”

“No, look, he likes it!” You protested, insisting that Archer get to destroy the rest of the toy, handing archer the rest of the bear. You clapped your hands as Archer ran around the living room, shaking it in his mouth.

Bucky sighed, figuring he could try to tame an assassin but he couldn’t stop her from liking to watch things be dismembered. 

“Alright, dinner time,” Bucky lifted you from the carpet, carrying you into the kitchen, Archer in tow. He helped you wash your hands before sitting you down in your seat at the dining table. You were like a little doll, helpless but it didn’t seem like Bucky mined doing every little thing for you.

You and Bucky were eating the same meal but his plate looked vastly different than yours. Your plate was flower printed and was separated into sections. Your steak was cut up into already tiny pieces and your fork was barely sharp enough to pick up your food. And then there was the dreaded sippy cup that he expected you to drink from. 

You held your fork, staring at the plate as Bucky started to cut his own steak, “Big girl panties,” Bucky winked, bringing a piece of steak to his mouth, “Remember? You have to eat all of it. I know you’re starving.”

Whatever leverage Bucky he could get, he used. He had to get her used to eating regularly and not using it as a way to protest. 

You poked at your broccoli before bringing a piece to your mouth, “Good job, angel,” He praised you as you continued to eat. You were starving and this is exactly what your body was craving. You finished your plate faster than either of you expected and Bucky asked, “Do you want more?”

You immediately shook your head even though it was far from the truth. 

Bucky could tell you were lying and you flashed him a look of surprise as he slid the rest of his food onto your plate, cutting up the steak into small pieces for you, “Eat some more,” He told you and you lifted your fork again. 

It confused you, why he even cared about you. No matter how sinister his intentions might be, you found it was strange that he showed you even a little bit of compassion. 

Bucky watched you as you finished the rest of the food and he was satisfied when you cleaned your plate again. Thinking about the condition he found you in, he figured that you hadn’t been eating much since you were forced to abandon Hydra. 

He understood the mental battle you were going through right now and he was expecting it would be a while before you slipped into little space but he’d be patient. 

Bucky watched from the doorway as you played with Archie on the floor of your bedroom. You seemed to already have him better trained than Bucky ever did. Bucky noticed the less he interfered, the more you seemed to slip into things. He even noticed you sipping at your sippy cup and, as your actions grew lazier, he knew the sedative was kicking in. 

He had to get you a sleeping schedule as well. You’d fall into things better with patterns. Consistency was another thing that made humans feel safe. 

Your eyes felt heavy as you laid down on the carpet. Everything in this house was so … soft. Archie pranced over to you, licking at your chin and you pushed him away, a lazy grin on your face. 

You felt Bucky’s arms around you before you even noticed he had approached you, “I think it’s bedtime, princess,” Princess, that was a new one. 

“I’m not tired,” You moaned, sleepily, as he scooped you into his arm, “Archie save me … I’m being taken.”

Bucky chuckled, setting you down into the bed, and pulling a blanket over you, “It’s Archie’s bedtime too,” Bucky spoke softly, “Why don’t you say goodnight?”

You watched as she raised her hand to wave at the dog sitting idly by, “N-Night Archie,” Bucky’s heart warmed at the sight, noting how cute you were when you were tired. Bucky whistled and the dog pranced out of the room, his tail wagging. 

“He’ll be here in the morning,” Bucky assured you, sitting down at the edge of the bed. His hands touched your hair, soothing brushing it back with his fingers. Your eyes were already closed, a stuffed giraffe tucked into you. 

“What … about … you?”

“I’ll be here too, angel,” With that, she seemed to drift off into sleep. 

+

You awoke to sunlight on your face and the sound of birds chirping. For a moment, you looked around and felt safe … until the panic settled in. You started to move your legs, realizing you could finally move them a bit but, as you pulled the blanket off, you saw a cuff wrapped around your right leg. 

You investigated, finding it attached to a chain that seemed to be connected to the bed itself. You pulled at it with all the strength you could muster and nothing. It was a powerful magnet just like that gag he had put on you. 

You had fallen asleep? You couldn’t think about it that long as Bucky appeared, opening the door slowly. Maybe there was some type of camera in here that was tracking your movements for him. You didn’t put it past him. 

“Good morning, princess,” He greeted you and you noted his dark t-shirt and basketball shorts. You didn’t think he’d look normal in clothes typical for relaxing. He walked over, reaching down to undo the restraint but he paused, “Don’t you have something to say to Daddy?”

Great, you thought, sighing, “Good morning, Daddy,” Bucky imagined a point in the future where you spoke words like that enthusiastically. With that small sign of submission, Bucky undid the restraint and you noted he didn’t even use a special key. Maybe it had something to do with his arm?

“Sleep well?” You nodded though you knew that was probably due to whatever he had put in your drink, “It’s nice out so I was thinking we’d go out after breakfast, what do you think?”

“Go where?” You raised an eyebrow. He only narrowed his eyes at you, expecting you to add a formality, “Go where Daddy?” You corrected yourself, a fake smile on your face. 

“Down by the lake, for a picnic,” How romantic, you thought, wanting to roll your eyes, “What would you like to wear, angel?”

“Something normal preferably,” You were long overdue for a spanking, Bucky thought. He had to remind himself that it was only your first day here and there’d probably be lots of punishments in your future.

“I thought you wanted those big girl panties... maybe you’ve gotten used to you little girl ones?” You paused, unwilling to admit that you had forgotten about them. 

A staring contest ensued as he waited for you to back down and, as he expected, you did, “I like the color red … Daddy.”

Bucky was satisfied and you were glad you were getting a little bit of your womanhood back. You hadn’t even noticed how subtle he was with his system of rewards and punishments. With every good thing you did, he praised you and when you made snarky comments he threatened to put the pampers back on you. 

He brought you to the bathroom to relieve yourself, very awkwardly, and to brush your teeth. After, he picked out a red gingham dress whose skirt barely covered your bottom and allowed your bubblegum pink underwear to peak out beneath it. He matched it with a pair of black mary jane shoes and, as a cherry on top, he tied a red bow into your hair. 

You sat on the bathroom counter, watching him as he did his work. Looking at his face, you could tell he liked dressing you up, and, although you didn’t hate the dress, you didn’t like the unfamiliarity of it. You’d never dressed like this before and it made you feel a little insecure which made you even more frustrated. 

You looked back into the mirror and your eyes widened. You had never looked so … feminine. Your face had even gained some color and you had to poke your face to make sure it was real, “You look beautiful, angel,” Bucky’s words took you back. You’d never heard that from someone other than the old men you were forced to flirt with on missions.

You shook your head, embarrassed, but Bucky continued, “You do.”

You looked at him, trying to read his blue eyes, and you froze as he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Never had someone done that either, “You’re heaven-sent, I’m sure of it. You’ve just been lost for a little while, that’s all.”

You felt something foreign, like that thing inside your chest was finally beating.

+

Send me an ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist! If there’s something you want to see in this series, I’m open to ideas, just send me an ask! Hope you enjoyed!

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: purple lilac (shine a little love) 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: usui masumi/gn! reader (not director) 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.3k+ words

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically masumi working up to a confession  𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a normal fic which got combined with a flower fic, hence the alt title. full a/n + dedications at the end of the fic.

It was strange. He was being strange, or at least that was what he thought of himself. Even with his headphones positioned atop his head, blasting one of his favourite songs in the playlist, he found it difficult to block out his thoughts. Specifically, his thoughts of you.

You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life And let me see

Masumi was surprised by himself. When it came to Izumi, he had always been vocal about his adoration for her, romantic or otherwise. Previously, he had little to no issue with bombing her with (ultimately pushed aside) proposals, (not taken seriously) confessions, (failed attempts to give her) gifts on days that weren’t even special occasions;

yet he couldn’t so much as speak up on his growing affection for you.

Having approached him for the pure intention of wanting to be friends, with enough persistence it wasn’t very difficult for you to worm into his heart, different from the rest in the sense that it was something beyond the friendship he’d slowly come to know during his stay in the dorms.

“Family, then?” when he expressed those feelings to you some months ago, you quickly turned away from him, gaze avoidant as you closed your eyes. It was a befuddling reaction, but it seemed like you were just taking your time to think before coming to a conclusion.

“Family…” he repeated those words to you, testing out how it sounded but more importantly, testing out the idea of family with you in the equation.

“Yeah, like siblings or something… oh, nevermind! Guess I won’t be calling you onii-chan~ any time soon.”

He must have cringed visibly, because you were quick to laugh it off and bounce back with a different topic ready at the tip of your tongue.

Family and siblings were an entirely different thing.

Masumi hoped you didn’t take it the wrong way, that you took it as him not liking you enough to be on the same level as the Spring troupe or even the other actors in Mankai Company… he wouldn’t spend so much time talking to you otherwise, but there was no way in hell he could see you in the same light as Sakuya or Tsuzuru, or heaven forbid Chikage or Sakyo. Gross. Just imagining himself being all affectionate with the latter two makes him sick in the stomach.

Remember, tonight We're gonna say, we'll never stop We got a good thing going on

Hours after that conversation and finally in the comfort of his room, he pressed his face against his pillow, finally coming to the realization that he was thrust upon a familiar situation once again, similar and yet all the more scarier.

Masumi wasn’t the type of person to joke around or play with someone’s feelings, you knew that well. The moment he finally articulated into words how he felt for you, then everything would change.

Would you feel the same? Yes or no?

He didn’t want to ruin anything.

So he lets the months pass by and though he remains mostly quiet about it, his actions speak differently. He neither wanted to just sit quietly and wait for his feelings to go away (they weren’t any time soon, by the way things were looking), nor was he about to wait for you to make the first move (you didn’t look like you had any plans to). The nosier guys in the dorm quickly found out and tried to help him, but he’d this time… he’d rather just do things his way.

Making you a playlist of songs he thought you’d like, offering to help you pick out new earphones after you broke your old ones, late night calls and messages.

It wasn’t like there was no pay off either.

Everything he’d do, you’d respond in kind.

A day after he sent you his playlist, you quickly followed up with one of your own, a playlist of songs that made you think of him, apparently, and with your words alone you rendered a blush out of him, not that you were physically there to see it. However, his roommate looked far too amused for his liking.

Then you wanted to test your new earphones by sharing the two pieces between yourselves, and though he was more of a headphones guy there was something heart fluttering about the distance (or lack thereof) between the two of you, shoulders pressed together as you listened to the same song (coincidentally, a song from the playlist he made for you).

And on the nights that he chose to stay up with Tsuzuru as the latter wrote the night away, you’d be there a call away, keeping him company for as long as you could before eventually falling asleep. Your steady and quiet breaths, a telltale sign of your slumber, warming his heart as he lingered for a few more seconds before ending the call.

Even if you somehow got the hint and tried reciprocating, as Muku and Kazunari so often insist, nothing would be official until one of you said something.

I know you've heard it all before But I really need you, darling Every day, I need you more

“Do you know about flower language, Masumi-kun?” Tsumugi asked him, on the way home after doing street acts together all afternoon.

He was being pretty sus. Normally Izumi would decide for them, but Tsumugi had specifically requested for the two of them to be a pair under the guise of having a specific idea for an improv, which while interesting wasn’t exactly groundbreaking.

“Only a little bit.”

Tsumugi hummed in response, and the younger boy couldn’t help but wonder what the Winter troupe leader was up to.

“Not everyone expresses their feelings the same way. Flowers are a good example– it’s indirect and subtle at first glance, but the gesture and meaning of whatever you choose make your feelings clear as day.”

Though his nonchalant tone implied otherwise, wasn’t his small talk actually a disguise for something else?

He’d been pretty doubtful of the “confession techniques” suggested to him by the others, from a poem (he’d rather just straight up confess) to a kabedon (wouldn’t that just confuse you?) to getting down on one knee and– (a proposal?);

Coming from Tsumugi, however, the suggestion didn’t seem that bad. Actually, you might like it– he didn’t doubt that you’d at least appreciate both the aesthetic and thought put behind the present.

“What if they don’t get it?” although the blue haired man’s smile remained perfectly serene, but something hidden within his eyes spoke volumes about his true intentions.

“Then you either, A, explain out loud and confess, B, tell them to look up the flowers online, or C, mix some red roses within the bouquet. Nothing’s more obvious than red roses.”

Tsumugi’s pace slowed to a stop, looking somewhere thoughtfully. Even without glancing back, the flowery scent quickly invaded his senses. Taking this route home… even this much was planned, then?

“Masumi-kun, is it okay if we take a look here before going home?”

Can you understand (yes, I understand) Can you feel it's right (I know it is) Will you be the same (I'll do it all again)

When he presents you the bouquet he’s chosen, you make the same expression you did all those months ago, shut eyes and head turned sideways. The only striking difference being the red patched across your face, matching one of the flowers in the bundle of 12.

The sight gives him more confidence, squashing some of his nervousness and giving him the courage to keep talking.

“The meaning of the red roses should be obvious, but you said you liked purple so I added lilacs to the bouquet, too… I thought you’d find them pretty. Do you like it?”

You peeked at him first, before focusing your gaze on the red and purple ensemble as you stumbled to say yes. Cute… if you keep acting this cute, he’ll just buy you flowers every day, then. Anything to get you this flustered again.

You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life And let me see

“Then, do you like me back?”

“ thank you for your hard work today at the flower shop! here, feel free to take home this purple lilac with you~ ”

【 purple lilac 】 represent the beginning of love or a first love, and are a perfect gift for new couples

“ maybe you’d like some more flowers before heading home? ”

-ˋˏflower series masterlistˎˊ- |  -ˋˏregular fic masterlistˎˊ-

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨: for inspiration I listened to progressive rock bands, and I honestly… really vibed with them. Electric Light Orchestra was one of the bands I liked most. the meaning of this song is different, but I decided to just pick and choose the lyrics that have a more innocent/pure pining connotation, please don’t fight me progressive rock fans ue ue.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i realized that going “hey, this fic is dedicated to xyz” kind of put off people from reading huhu, even though i still made sure it was written to be readable by anyone so i’ll just put all the dedications below huhu. again i apologize if you didn’t get your favourite character huhu

𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: aish, ☔M~, lyd

[neverthrive]

Just gonna leave this old ass fanfic here

Adventuring is a rewarding occupation, providing an abundance of wealth, the respect of peers, and even a fulfilling sense of self worth. Even so, the constant action takes its toll, and every once in a great while an adventurer has to take a step back, breathe in deeply, and just get away from it all. Which is exactly what Jake had been planning for himself and his human brother.

It was a simple idea; take a break from their regular schedule of evil slaying, butt-kickery and all around, nonstop awesomeness. Find some remote location that holds nothing but tranquility in store for the duo to just chillax at for a few days. Just the two of them, a dog and his boy. It was perfect, but like any other well laid plan, there was a monkey wrench destined to find its way into the cogs of said perfection and jam Jake's precise synchronization up something awful. This particular monkey wrench goes by the name of Marceline.

"What are you dweebs up to?" Inquired a melodically cynical voice that belonged to none other than the ancient noirette in question. Marceline stared down ever curiously at the mixed species siblings and their growing mess as she liesurely drifted on the air over their heads. From what she could tell, her mortal friends appeared to be gathering heaps of useless garbage and stowing the junk in their already cramped luggage, for some reason or another.

Finn took a moment to acknowledge the vampire's presence, looking up from his loaded pack to face her. "I'm not actually sure, myself... Jake just told me to start packing my crud, and I guess that's what I'm doing, so does that answer your question?"

"Not in the least." she replied curtly before turning her now suspicious gaze in Jake's direction. The dog paid Marceline no mind as he continued to toss his various and mostly useless possessions into a sack. A rubber duck, a length of rope, a jar of peanuts, a pair of socks... Finally, he stored two empty glass bottles and closed the sack, still oblivious to the vampire's questioning stare. "Jake, what the plum is with all the hullabaloo?"

"Nope." Jake snapped, mildly irritated.

"'Nope'? Nope what?" She pressed him, ignoring the dog's tone.

"No. I'm not gonna tell you because you'll just want to come with us and muck it up. It's s'pose to be just me and mah bro, and you have no part in it. So no, Marceline, you can't come camping with us." Jake retorted in his best attempt at sounding authoritative, but in trying to iterate just how serious he was, the fact that he was suppose to be withholding information had slipped his mind a tad. He soon realized his mistake and growled in frustration. "Forget I said that last part!" But ironically, that last part about ignoring that previous last part was ignored by both teens.

"We're going camping?" Finn and Marceline asked in unison, excitement bubbling up in their throats.

"Yes, Finn, WE are. And no, Marceline, WE are not. Got it?" Jake answered pointedly. "It's camping time with Finn and Jake. I didn't hear Marceline anywhere in there, so step off sister!"

"Well fine! Maybe I didn't want to go on your stupid trip anyway!" Marceline pouted sorely and turned to leave, but Finn, being the model peacekeeper he is, blocked his friend's exit. "Get out of the way, Finn. I'm obviously not wanted here anymore." The vampire queen tried to push the boy aside, but no matter how hard she shoved, the squishy blob of flesh and heroism persisted to keep her from leaving.

"Come on, Jake's just being a butt. You don't have to leave on account o' him bein' a Mr. grumpy pants." Finn gently wrapped a hand around Marceline's forearm and began to lead her back over to his brother so as amends could be made.

"He doesn't even wear pants, dude." she huffed out in retortion as she let herself be pulled back towards the junk heaps that the magical dog was still busying himself with sorting through and packing into napsacks and suitcases and the like.

"Jake..." Finn verbally nudged his brother to outstretch the olive branch to Marceline, but an apology seemed hesitant in forthcoming. "Come on, man. You know you done bad in yourself bro, and I know you know how to make it right again." Finn's prompt appeared to have worked this time, eliciting a defeated sigh from Jake.

Dropping his bags of assorted and worthless loot, Jake turned to face Marceline who now had her arms crossed over her chest and was avoiding eye contact with him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Marceline untensed a bit at that. "It's not you, It's just that I really wanted to have some bro time with Finn, y'know? To recapture those times we used to share when we was wee pups." Jake inhaled deeply, breathing in the musty scent lingering about from the, until recently, long forgotten contents of that once overstuffed closet in the corner. He had a feeling in his gut that he'd regret this decision later, and his gut was almost never wrong, but he couldn't ignore his guilt and empathy for Marceline. She just wanted to hang with her friends. "So... You want to come with us, then?"

The vampire's sour mood dissipated immediately, her pout rapidly shifting to a grin stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Heck yes I wanna go camping with you guys! So when are we leaving?" Marceline asked almost giddily.

"Well I guess since you're coming with us, we probably shouldn't be heading out 'til just before sundown." Jake answered thoughtfully. Having so much time before they were to depart allowed Jake some spare moments to cool it with all the preparations and freed up his thinkin' schedule a bit. Suddenly, a thought pervaded his mind that the dog rather took a shining to. "If we're bringing guests along now, Lady Rainicorn's coming too!" and with that, Jake took off to go inform his girlfriend of how he'd decided she would be spending the next few days. The matter was entirely non negotiable.

Finn and Marceline stood idly by as Jake hastily absconded out through a nearby window. The young hero turned to his immortal friend "You know, he actually does wear pants..."

"Really?"

"Yup."

A quarter hour before dusk would settle in, the four campers had reached the landing Jake scouted out beforehand. It was a small pocket within the forest, not too far from a river, vacant enough to comfortably fit everyone but with a dense enough canopy to shade any vampire from daylight at high noon. Having acquired a suitable base of operations, the only thing left standing in between Jake and his cherished relaxation was setting up camp. The duties were divied up between two groups.

"So Lady and I are gonna pitch our tent, by ours I mean hers and mine. I don't know what either of you are doing so... Sleep under the stars or whatever. But also, we need a campfire, so you guys should maybe gather some sticks and twigs and stuff, and it'll be math. 'Kay." Jake then spoke something in a language neither Finn nor Marceline could comprehend to Lady, who laughed in response, and the two magical creatures diligently began piecing together the frame of their shared tent. The rainicorn giggled lightly every time Jake slipped a tent pole into the corresponding connector she held.

Marceline narrowed her eyes at the spectacle and made a face. "Gross..." She thought it best to linger around the couple and their disgusting adorableness as little as inhumanly possible and began to head towards the surrounding thickets. Finn soon followed suit, tailing behind his friend into the thick of the forest to gather materials for their fire.

"So like, sticks, huh?" The human remarked as he bent over to scoop a discarded twig from the earth.

Marceline turned to see Finn's pitiful offering. Their fire would need a lot more fuel than some measly green branches. "No man, we need bigger stuff than that." she explained. "And preferably a little more dead." she added.

"Bigger?" Finn thought it over for a moment. "Alright, bigger." Turning to face a tree, the stout teenager grappled the trunk and with all his might attempted to pry the poor unsuspecting eudicot from the soil. "I need your wood, tree! Give it up, yo!" Finn continued his struggle while Marceline cackled at his random act of foolishness.

Seeing no sign of Finn relenting any time soon, his undead friend intervened. "Finn, we don't need a whole tree. And you most def don't gotta yank one out'a the ground. C'mere, ya goober." she beckoned while barely supressing her laughter. Finn looked from Marceline then back to the tree in his grasp, releasing the bark from his grip and gaining nothing from his efforts but sore arms.

"Look," she pointed to a fallen branch that looked as if it'd been laying on the forest floor for a few seasons now. "This is the kind of stuff we're gonna need. Big enough to burn, and not impossible to pick up, got it? Now get it." Finn did as instructed, bending to take the dry, rough chunk of high octane campfire fuel in his arms. "Alright, now just find a lot more like it and we're good to light 'em up."

"How many more?" Finn asked wearily.

"I don't know. Lots, I suppose. Have to keep it going for a while." she replied, venturing deeper into the woods to search for any more decent firewood she might per chance stumble upon. Figuratively, that is, it's hard to sumble when your feet don't touch the ground.

"Bleh..." Despite his contempt for such menial labor, Finn once again followed the vampire to gather what they needed. It was an easy enough job, but way too dang boring for a man of action. Finn needed excitement, and lugging sticks around wasn't providing.

When they'd finished gathering the firewood and the time came to actually light the fire, Finn demanded he be the one to do the deed. And so there they sat across from one another, a neatly arranged pile of dead wood between them. Finn furiously stroked the sticks together in a fruitless attempt to catalyze a spark.

"This usually works! These things must be broken, or something..." Finn pouted and heaved the useless wooden shafts into the nearby shrubbery in frustration.

"Here," Marceline moved herself closer to the bundle and spawned a small flame in the palms of her hands. Touching the flame to the tinder, the pile of miniature lumber and bark ignited almost instantly. Finn stared down at the blazing fire, then glanced up to Marcleline, a smug, toothy smirk plastered across her face.

"You cheated!" he yelped, pointing accusingly at the girl who succeeded so easilly where he so miserably failed.

"Finn, don't be jelly of my totally sweet vampire powers." Marceline replied, her expression never faltering.

"I'm not jelly! Maybe jam, but not jelly. Just admit you cheated! Vampire powers is cheating fo' sure." he insisted.

"Nope." The vampire playfully let her forked tongue slide out from between her fangs, mocking the disgruntled human.

"Whatever..."

"Hey, you guys made the fire! Rad!" Jake exclaimed as he padded his way over to the two from his now fully assembled tent.

"Yeah, we totally did it! 100% group effort here." Marceline chimed almost sarcastically. "So who wants to roast marshmallows?"

"... Then the puppy looked under his bed, and saw two glowing green eyes! The pup was so scared, it almost wee wee'd!" Finn stood over his three friends, the crackling fire below lighting his features in distorted illumination. He raised both hands above his head, digits stretched and curled as claws in the most menacing display the boy could muster. "The nebelung under the bed reached out to the scared little puppy and..." Finn paused, turning to Jake who'd heard the story right along with Finn in their youth and knew what came next. "TICKLED THE PUPPY!" Finn pounced on his brother and poked his wriggling fingers into the dog's soft flanks. Jake snorted and snickered at the human's tickle attack as the two women watched on. Lady found the sight to be quite amusing, adorable even. Marceline just sucked the red from a can of kidney beans in stark indifference.

"If you two are done with your brotherly gropefest yet, maybe I could tell a real ghost story?" Marceline cut their fun short and assumed her position over the campfire as current story teller as the brothers returned to their seats. "This isn't the first time I've been in these parts of the woods. I came through here some years back, how long ago exactly is a little fuzzy. But I wasn't alone. No, I had friends with me, just like I do now, and just like now, there was a dog among my group.

"We were just hiking through, you see, we had no intentions of staying. No, that would be foolish! We knew better, we'd heard the stories of what happens around here after dark. Weird stuff... Spooky happenings, y'know? But the dog, he got lost-"

"Oh no! Not the dog! The dog always dies first!" Jake interrupted with his sudden fearful outburst.

"Well anyway..." Marceline shot him a scornful look, and continued. "The dog must have started straggling, because when we stopped to rest, he was nowhere to be found. Of course we looked for him, we stayed together as a group, we weren't about to split up so we'd all be lost in 'The Forsaken Forest'. But no matter where we searched, there was no sign of the poor lost doggy. It wasn't 'til well after dark when we found him. He was huddled in a bush maybe twenty or so yards from where he was last seen, shaking uncontrollably with his face in his hands.

"He wouldn't show us his face. He just kept on mumbling some nonsense about 'whispering trees' and 'eyeball rockets'. When we finally pried the dog's hands from his face, he had no eyes! Just two gaping sockets where his looking globes used to be! Once we got him to calm down, he told us the whispering trees of the forsaken forest used some hoodoo to turn his eyeballs into jet packs and they flew right off of his face. Wait..." Marceline stiffened and tilted her head to one side as if intently listening to some faint noise off in the distance. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jake squeaked, cowering into his girfriend's embrace. Cuddling with Lady Rainicorn made him feel secure, but it wasn't enough to make him totally forget he was in the alleged 'Foresaken Forest'.

"It sounds like..." she leaned in toward Jake, and with a completely straight face, with a hint of what might pass for something distraught in her tone, answered "Whispering."

That's all Jake needed to hear. He gave his friends a surprise performance of his scream song and tore off to his tent as fast as his four legs would carry him, separating himself from the 'evil' trees outside with a thin layer of nylon. No way in the flippin' Night-o-Sphere was he letting some piney mischief makers steal his precious eyes. Lady chuckled and followed after him, knowing Jake wouldn't be able to sleep alone tonight after that fright.

Finn and Marceline shared a laugh at Jake's expense. When their howling merriment subsided, they realized they were alone once more. Finn fed a few more branches from their dwindling supply into the blaze, stoking the flames.

"So, have you really been out in these woods before?" The boy asked, now feeling uneasy not knowing if the vampire's story was true or not. Finn'd witnessed stranger things, so believing tall tales came easily to him.

"Yeah, I have. But not how you're thinking I did, that story was bogus." Finn was relieved. "Naw, my old man took me camping somewhere around here when I was younger, before that whole 'fry incident' happened. It's one of the more pleasant memories I have from my upbringing." Marceline sighed and watched the flames consume their fresh meal through hazy, half lidded eyes. The age-old young woman contently recalled the time she and her father shared out in this forest so many years ago.

"Is that why you like camping?" Finn pulled her out of her train of thought. "Becuase your dad brought you?"

"Yeah, probably." she admitted. "It's just nice to chill out in the wild, with some friends or family or whatever. It's kind of peaceful. So how 'bout you, Finn? Have you ever been camping?"

"Well, once pop took me, Jake and Jermaine out for a weekend of fishing. Y'know, a father and his boys." Finn still missed his parents, they were such kind old folk. No one else would look twice at the human freak, but they raised him as their own. "But it was actually just the back yard, there was a pond there too, and we were told we couldn't go inside the house 'til the weekend was over. Dad made us some sort of little shelter out of some dead trees and ferns and all we ate was the fish we caught, but Dad made sure to stock the pond with lots of fish beforehand, so we had plenty. It was a pretty good time, even if it wasn't the wilderness like this."

"It's not where you're at, Finn, all that matters is who you're with." Marceline asserted, and felt a certain truth to her words resonate. In her experience, this was an immutable fact, in good company, fond memories could be made anywhere. Finn always seemed like good company, and he'd given the vampire an abundance of fresh memories she hoped would not fade any time soon.

"Yeah," Finn nodded gingerly. "that's deep." The human stretched his arms wide and yawned in deeply. It was getting late, and an adolecsent boy needs his sleep. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

Finn took a few paces away from the campfire and found one of the various packs he'd brought with him on this excursion at the base of a large tree. Opening the zipper, he reached inside and withdrew a very large, very new looking gortex sleeping bag and unrolled the bundle of fluff and warmth, laying it across the ground. The tuckered hero wasted no time before hopping into the over sized, silky feeling cocoon, but before he could drift of to the land of Sweet dreams, he was disturbed by a familiar voice.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" demanded the very abandoned feeling vampire queen.

"You're nocturnal." Finn retorted bluntly before rolling over to face away from the dying fire.

"But I've been up all day!" she protested. "My sleep schedule is wack, and it's pretty much entirely your fault."

"Hey, it's your own choice to pester us during the day. You made your bed, now you gotta sleep in it. Hehe." Finn laughed at the irony of that figure of speech used in this particular instance and noted that he's not exactly one to be clever with irony, and it was mostly just coincidence, but an awesome coincidence at that. "Can't you just like, sleep hangin' from a tree or somethin'? Bats do that all the time."

"No! For one, that's actually an insulting generalization, and two, I don't think I can maintain myself in bat form while I'm sleeping." Marceline explained. It sounded logical enough of a reason to rule out sleeping in trees, and there was no way she was about to sleep atop the cold dirt. "Scootch over, I'm getting in with you." she ordered.

"No way! Why didn't you bring your own sleeping junk?" Finn countered.

"Because I didn't think of it and vampires were never bestowed with the gift of foresight, now make room!"

"You can't!" Finn barked.

"Why can't I?" she challenged.

"Because... You're a girl..." Finn's face brightened with reddish hugh.

"Are you saying you'd rather sleep with a boy?" Marceline asked slyly, raising an eyebrow in playful inquiry.

"Well no... But..." Finn sputtered, "This isn't fair!"

"Life ain't fair, get used to it," the dead girl shot back while making her way to Finn and his comfy looking sleeping bag that he was being oh so greedy trying to keep all to himself. Finn hesitated, but after seeing Marceline was dead set on gettin' all up in his bag, he reluctantly relented his opposition and allowed her entry, slipping in beside him.

Marceline noticed how spacious it was inside, still comfortable enough even with the both of them fully encased up to their necks in the puffy fabric, and she almost couldn't help but to be suspicious that Finn's end game was to share this sleeping bag with someone all along. Silly human, he'd only have to ask, no need for reverse psychology and mind games. But then she realized this was Finn she was thinking about and how his intentions never run any deeper than face value. Marceline couldn't see Finn, the genuine goober he is, devise some elaborate plan entailing sleeping bags and psychological warfare all to result in getting her to sleep with him, speaking only in the most literal sense of the term.

Then Marceline realized something else. She was dreadfully uncomfortably laying in this position. "Finn. I need a pillow." she informed.

Disturbed once more from the verge of slumber, Finn exhaled audibly and cracked his sore and crusty eyes. Scanning about the surrounding darkness for something that might sate the relentless vampire's pestering, Finn peered a fairly large, stout stone not far from where they lay. Removing his arms from the confines of the sleeping bag he was now being forced to share, he grabbed hold of the rock and placed it by Marceline's head with a dull thud. "Use that." he instructed coarsely before returning to his previous position and trying once more to sleep.

Marceline stared at the rock in awe for a long moment before deciding it was a horrible candidate for a pillow. No, she'd need something softer, with some give. Something... Squishy. And per chance, it just so happened that there was something exceedingly squishy laying right beside her. So with no further thought or reasoning, Marceline curled herself around Finn and layed her head on the softest point she could find between his shoulder and chest.

"What the flip are you doing?" The hero questioned when feeling his friend's arms snake around his body.

"Shut up." she hissed, momentarily lifting her head from his chest to make eye contact. "You're lumpin' comfortable, so deal with it. Now lay there and be quiet like a good pillow." And with that, she nuzzled back into the fleshy swells of Finn's torso.

As awkward as this situation was, Finn couldn't deny that it was maybe even a little pleasant. But also mostly uncomfortable, for him at least. So to right this, Finn hauled his arm out from beneath the cuddly vampire and repositioned it around Marceline, so now they were in some ungraceful, and clearly completely platonic embrace. Nope, nothing going on here, just a couple o' bros in a sleeping bag is all. Snuggling? Naw, none of that going on here, bro.

Feeling Finn's arm wrap around her back and rest somewhere near her waist, reciprocating her cuddle, Marceline grinned into the adolescent adventurer's chest. "I know you're enjoying this, probably more than you're letting yourself believe, but don't expect it to happen often." She took a moment to glance back up to meet Finn's embarrassed gaze. "You just so happened to have been the most comfortable place for me to spend the night." Reaching up to play with the ears of Finn's hat, she added "Y'know, you're no Hambo, but you're quite the snuggly little bear."

Finn's face flushed skarlet, or maybe it never stopped being that color, he couldn't tell. But either way, he definitely felt significantly warmer around the collar after that remark. He wasn't too sure he liked being Marceline's 'snuggly bear', he imagined it might be something reminiscent of what Lady Rainicorn would call Jake, if she spoke english. And Finn for sure didn't think he was ready to have with Marceline what Jake had with Lady. But here they were, closer to any other girl than he'd ever been, unburnt by her touch and unscalded by any callous words that carelessly fell from her mouth.

Finn gave some thought to this and realized it wouldn't be so bad to be more than simply friends with Marceline. She was probably the greatest gal he knew, and almost certainly the least complicated, even if that's not saying all too much. But he could easily envision their relationship taking a turn for the romantic. By the time he'd worked up the courage to profess that thought to her, a rather obnoxious snore seized his attention. Finn snapped his eyes down in his bed buddy's direction to find she'd already fallen fast asleep. So, the adventurer, pushing all silly thoughts of relationships aside, closed his eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening and was finally allowed rest.

It wasn't the muted sunlight shining through the leaves overhead, ticking at his eyelids, that woke Finn that morning, nor was it the stirring of the girl still in his arms. It was the earpiercing shriek of utter shock and surprise let loose from his older brother's agape maw. Finn's eyes shot open, sitting up quickly and turning his attention from Jake to Marceline, taking in the situation and how it might look to anyone outside of the sleeping bag.

"This probably isn't what it looks like!" Finn piped up defensively almost without thinking. His brain kicked in and told him that whenever someone says those particular words, it's almost always exactly what it looks like.

"Oh my grawd, dude! You guys didn't... Did you?" Jake gasped, flabbergasted. "Just tell me you kept it PG13, please."

"Dude, what the hey! We're both fully clothed, okay!" Finn stepped out of his sleeping bag to prove he was, in fact, not in the nude. "She just forgot to bring any camping gear, so I shared. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright... I guess I might have been overreacting a bit..." Jake mumbled ashamedly, averting his gaze from his two friends he just so blatently accused of indecency.

"A bit?" Finn chuckled. "It's a'ight man, let's just forget about it." Finn's stomach let out a low growl. "So what's for breakfast, homie?"

Jake felt a mite cheerier now that they'd moved on past that terrible misunderstanding. What an awful, horrible revelation to wake up to first thing in the morning. "Canned food, yo. It's all we got since we pollished off the marshmallows last night."

"Sounds good, man." Finn responded with a nod. He looked back to his vampire friend who was still wrapped in his sleeping bag. She was in a sitting position, watching the two brothers, holding the poofy top of the bag up to under her chin with strangely bare arms. "C'mon Marcie, stop being a lazy butt. It's time to get up." The human coaxed.

"Remember that thing you said about how we're both fully clothed?" she asked with a bashful smile. "If we've learned anything this morning, it's that you guys are great at jumping to conclusions." She motioned with her eyes, directing Finn and Jake's attention toward a pile of her discarded flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

"What the flip, Marceline!" Finn cried out, bordering on the hysterical.

"What, I got hot! Besides, it's not like I'm completely naked. Glob Finn, don't be such a perv!" Marceline huffed indignantly, floated up from the ground sleeping bag and all, snatched the shirt and pair of jeans from where they lay and was gone into the dense forest, presumably to get dressed.

"What in the flip just happened, Jake?" Finn asked flatly as he continued to stare dumbfoundedly out into the woods where he last saw the lunatic who wore his sleeping bag like a toga.

"Sounds like you're having girl troubles, bro." Jake answered, gingerly giving the confused human an empathetic pat on the back.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #4: Baleful

Set roughly twenty-seven years before 2.0. Content warning for allusions to past events involving alcoholism, body horror, child abuse and sexual assault.

"No." Marco was whispering the word before he'd fully woken up, wielding it like a talisman as his mind shook off the last traces of his nightmare. "No. No. No. No."

Wulfric shifted at his back, and only then could Marco recall where he was: inside a worker's hutch in the abandoned mines, with a straw mattress beneath him and enough tripwire strung up around their hiding place to catch a ghost.

"Hey," came Wulfric's voice, still heavy with sleep. "Breathe."

Terse though it was, the command was simple enough to follow. He gulped down lungfuls of warm summer air until some semblance of peace returned to him. Wulfric, too, took quiet and regular breaths until Marco could not be sure he hadn't fallen back asleep until he spoke again.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Marco said at once, before he'd truly given thought to the question. "Just another catacomb dream."

With a heavy sigh, Wulfric heaved himself up from the mattress. At first Marco's heart began to pound again, this time with the fear that Wulfric would leave for someplace less prone to interruption; then he pressed his waterskin into Marco's hand and settled back down beside him. Marco took a single sip gratefully, then set it aside.

"Might be like this for a few more nights," he said. He'd tried to make the statement come off as a matter of fact, something as informative as a shift in a tunnel nearby, but a note of apology crept in somewhere at the end. Wulfric would need more sleep than Marco had given him for the days ahead, once he left for Ala Ghiri to run cargo for the lord of the Marigold Sigil; neither of them knew what that cargo was to be, whether it would require of Wulfric his strength or just to be on his feet for all bells of the day. "It's... coming up on three years, you know."

Wulfric let out a sound halfway between a hum of acknowledgement and a groan of discomfort. "Right." He shifted his weight behind Marco, doubtless rolling over onto his back. "Don't worry about troubling me over the shouting, lad. But if there's anything you want to... well."

His words drifted off into the shadows, and he did not clarify his meaning, but Marco could intuit it from the time they’d spent together. He sat up along the edge of the mattress to roll out his shoulders, shifting here and there to avoid some sharp piece of straw that poked into the backside of his thigh. "Last letter I got from Ashley, he said he doesn't get nightmares anymore."

Wulfric snorted. "Lucky him."

His derision was palpable, and were they both any more removed from sleep, Marco told himself, he might have called Wulfric out on it. "He said he drives himself so hard while he's awake that it's all he can do to crawl back to his bunk at midnight. Knocks himself out until roll call."

"I knew the type," said Wulfric, in that tone he reserved for his memories of his time among the Queensglaive. "Got to be I preferred the ones who drank themselves into oblivion. At least then we had an idea of when they'd snap."

Marco shook his head to rid it of that horrifying possibility - the notion that Ashley of all people might harbor in him something so deeply unhinged. It was a thought he'd returned to more and more of late, having only recently forgiven himself for the violence he'd inflicted as a child on the man who had made his life a living hell. The Undercity was full of damaged people, people who could steal and harm and kill even when they knew better; perhaps what weighed on Marco most, nearly as much as the reality of what he'd seen in the catacombs, and what he'd heard from them for a year or more, was the prospect of the best man he'd ever known being broken by it forever.

He heaved in another shuddering breath, and held it for four, then eight, then twelve, then sixteen heartbeats before letting it all out in a rush of air. "It was fucking awful, Wulf," he said at last. He swallowed, his last-ditch effort to keep it all in. "Whole place stank like death, but it wasn't even from the bodies in the crypts. It was from him. His right hand was rotting off his arm. And he was holding her with it, like-" The images tore through his mind, just like in the dreams. Just like in the times when the earth itself would speak to him. "Had to get her out of there. I had to carry her out, once he was gone."

"By the stars," Wulfric whispered.

"Don't ask me," he interjected, though nothing in Wulfric's tone or the resonance in the air between them had indicated anything so malicious as curiosity. "Don't ask me to tell any more about Sigrid. It's no one's business but her own. I feel dirty just from thinking about it."

Wulfric nodded at once, then he too let out a heavy exhalation. "You were a boy, Marco. It wasn't fair to-"

"Élodie was a girl!" He did not know why he was shouting. "Élodie saw it all too, and she knew-" He could not complete that thought; he did not know what she knew, not really. "Do you know how much it took to see her again? I love her to death and still, for so long, whenever I looked at her I couldn't see anything but the look on her face when it all happened. And she hated Ashley after he left, hated him for leaving us. I don't know if she still gets nightmares, and I've never asked 'cause I can't bring this up to her again. I just know I'll ruin it all if I do."

At last, Wulfric gave a quiet word in his own northern tongue and wrapped his arms around Marco from behind. Only with that surety did Marco at last begin to weep, as if not of his own accord: slowly at first, and then with sobs that racked his entire body.

"You listen to me," said Wulfric. "What happened to you, and to Sigrid, was unfair. It was fucking obscene." He gave Marco a light shake, as if to reinforce the last two of his words. "And that includes the fact that you're the one left picking up the bloody pieces."

As much as Marco had heard it before, whether through his own instinct or from Sigrid herself or from whichever Heart-Seers he'd tried his best to avoid on his usual rounds, it was a relief to hear it from Wulfric. Still, he said nothing; he could only pant as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him, working through the dregs of his old grief.

"I'll cancel the Marigold job," Wulfric said.

"What? No, please don't-"

"I'm not going to let you run yourself ragged like Ashley while you deal with this alone."

The thought had not even occurred to Marco until Wulfric said it, but the fact that it made perfect sense to him was all he needed to concede. "Actually, there's something else I had in mind," he said. "Sali Monastery. That place I went to as a lad. Was going to pay them a visit, maybe help them with the cleaning and washing or something. Anything, just so I'm out of here."

Wulfric nodded. "That's good - a change of scenery, change of pace."

"And then I'll try to reach out to someone. Anyone."

"Reach out to Élodie," Wulfric insisted. "From what I know of her-" Marco hadn't known Wulfric knew her from anything other than their conversations - a fatal miscalculation anywhere else in the Undercity. "-she'll want to hear from you. And trust me, this isn't the sort of thing you'll want to let alone. Otherwise it'll grow, like-"

"Like a chasm." He couldn't remember who had said it to him first. Perhaps Hazal, or someone else who had looked after him once he'd left the quarry. "Yeah. I'll give it a try."

A silence settled over them again, but there would be no hope of sleep for him - nor, he suspected, for Wulfric - and he had no wish to take up some other task and chance his steps with the tripwire in the dark. When he laid back down, it was with the sole intention of watching Wulfric's back, to offer him no more and no less than what he would offer to any friend in the Undercity.

[soyforramen]

Blame @sullypants for this one since weird dreams are a common theme lately:

“Hey, Jug.”

Shaken by some unknown force, Jughead groaned and nestled further into his arms.  

“C’mon, wake up,” Archie said, his voice coming from a universe away.  

Sleep was a dense fog that settled in behind Jughead’s eyelids and he couldn’t muster the energy to push it away.  He’d fallen asleep in school again, that much he could discern from the hard table beneath him.  But at least the desk was a lot more comfortable than the janitor’s closet had been.

“Dude, let’s go,” Reggie said.  

With a hard tug, Jughead was snapped awake.  With a wide yawn he stretched out, his back giving a satisfyingly loud crack.

“What’s up?”

“School’s over, Rip Van Jones,” Reggie said.  With a roll of his eyes, he ran a hand through his already slicked back hair.  “The girls are waiting for us at Pop’s.  Apparently we have to have a set list for Sunday and they wanted to go over it after school.  Or at least we were supposed to before this knucklehead got us detention from Grundy again.”

Jughead blinked, convinced he’d heard Reggie wrong.  Grundy was dead, murdered by the Black Hood.  Even if she had come back to life, what was she doing around high schoolers?

“How was I supposed to know she meant a rhyme scheme from Donna Sweet and not Saweetie,” Archie muttered.  “Besides, if we leave right now we still might make it before they ditch us.”

Wait, sweater vest.  Why was Archie wearing a sweater vest?  And was was Reggie acting so cordial?  

Certain that this was another weird dream, Jughead reached for his Serpent’s jacket and found that the back of his chair was empty.  Serpent’s jacket?  

“I still think that we should ditch Jingle Jangle,” Reggie said as he headed out the door.

“What?  It’s my best work,” Archie said as he followed him out.  

With another yawn, Jughead picked up his books and followed them out into the cool autumn air.  With a start, he realized that it was just a dream, a really weird dream to be exact.  There was no biker gang that gave out jackets to kids like candy.  He and Archie and Reggie had always been a strange sort of friends; and Grundy was never anything more than a septuagenarian determined to drive herself into an early grade by teaching high brow literature to idiot high schoolers.

On the way to Pop’s, Jughead ignored Archie and Reggie’s argument over some girl the next town over and worked to piece together the dream.  It had all been so real that it wasn’t a wonder he’d been confused.  Everything in Riverdale had been the same as it was now, except it was all off just enough to cast a dark shadow across their sleepy little town.  

Hiram Lodge, a well known philanthropist and entrepreneur who tolerated his daughter’s friends was not a corrupt Wall-Street con-man looking to rule the world.  The Coopers, an All American family, was not rife with dark secrets that would eventually tear them apart.  The Blossom’s, while certainly devious and conniving in their own ways, were not ripped from the pages of a gothic horror novel.

And the Jones…

Jughead shuddered at the thought.  Sure, they weren’t the perfect family.  But they loved each other, took care of each other, and were as normal as they could be.  That image of his family brought up a wave of guilt about how his subconscious had portrayed his parents.

(He couldn’t help but grin, however, at the idea that baby Jellybean could not only hold her own, but was a fan of Led Zeppelin.  It was a nice touch.  Maybe he’d roundup his mother’s old records tonight and he’d teach her to appreciate the finer things in life.)

But it wasn’t until they’d walked into Pop’s to find the girls seated at their regular booth that the realization that this Betty - sweet, caring, lovely Betty - wasn’t his that he felt a pang of longing for his dream world.  Despite how horrific that dream had been, Betty was the golden lining in that dark world, a comfort meant only for him.

The feeling passed quickly when Betty’s eyes locked on Archie.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder, though, what if things had been different?

For the rest of the afternoon, the members of The Archie’s debated and argued over the set list, while Jughead did what he did best.  While Archie was arguing for the merits of Sugar, Sugar, Jughead polished off three baskets of fries and a milkshake.  When Veronica demanded to sing Bang-Shang-A-Lang solo, Jughead ate two and a half cheeseburgers and drank half a pot of coffee.  As Reggie was arguing for… well, whatever it was he wanted, Jughead nursed a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries (extra chili cheese, heavy on the onions and cheese, add bacon).

Occasionally he inserted his own opinion - no he would not let Reggie ruin another drum set just so he could show off to Ginger Lopez, nor was it feasible for Veronica to burst out, and ruin, his kick drum at the start of the show.  But even as he played at normalcy, his mind kept coming back to that dream.  Detention with Grundy could never be long enough to contain an entirely parallel universe, and yet it was the most realistic dream he’d ever had.

“Earth to Juggie,” Betty said as she waved her hand in front of his face.  He blinked, his gaze centering on her, and she giggled.   “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He glanced around and found that despite his attempts to stay present, he and Betty were the only two left.

“Veronica roped Archie into installing shelves for her,” Betty explained with an over exaggerated pout.  She then pointed over to where Reggie was chatting a short, dark haired teen.  “And Midge came in without Moose, so you know Reggie’s not going to miss that opportunity.”

Midge.

The world around Jughead spun and he felt lightheaded when he stood.  He walked over to where the pair stood at the counter, and when Midge turned to him Jughead wrapped her in a tight hug, tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

“You alright there, needle nose?” Reggie asked, his eyes filled with concern.  

Apparently Jughead hadn’t been able to play as normal as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, loosening his hold.  He stared at Midge, still trying to comprehend why he felt so relieved that it was all just a dream. “I’m just… happy to see you is all.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Jughead,” Midge said.  She placed the back of her hand across his forehead, the corners of her lips pinched.  “But maybe you should let Betty take you home?”

Jughead nodded as the surreal threatened to overwhelm him.  When he turned, he found Betty behind him, her arms full of their schoolbooks.  She set a hand on his arm and gave an encouraging, if worried, smile.  It was easy enough to let her lead him out of the diner.  That way he could remind himself that the world where Midge had been slaughtered wasn’t real.

“Penny for your thoughts?  Or maybe I should offer a nickel?” Betty asked.  When he didn’t respond, she bumped her hip into his.

The contact, friendly, playing, concerned, burned his side.  It brought up just how touchy they were in his dream world, along with false memories of things he’d never paid any attention to before (especially not about her).  He shivered and quickened his step.  Betty, ever the Teflon personality, matched his stride and slipped her arm through his.  

“Just a strange dream,” he muttered, far too distracted by how much heat she gave out to come up with a good lie.

“Sounds like a pretty intense dream if you’re still thinking about it this much.”

And with that simple statement, the entire thing tumbled out of him.  Nothing was left out, though Jughead did edit some of the more intimate moments they’d spent together in his dream.  He was so wrapped up in making sure to include all the details - the corruption, the ever-burning ember of hope, the rocket - that he almost missed the fact that Betty had guided them through the town square three times as he divulged the dirty laundry about the underground boxing rings and Maple Club.

By the time they’d reached his house it was twilight and he was telling her about the prep school murders and fake FBI stings.  His mother (his real mother, thankfully, and not the drug running mom that had run out on him) brought them out dinner just as he got to his own faked death.  

And for the first time in his life, Jughead’s entire focus wasn’t on getting seconds (and thirds).

When he was finally done with his tale, Betty let out a long whistle.  She pushed around the remaining bits of pie on her plate, lost in thought.  Now that his head was empty of that bizarre dream, Jughead’s appetite came back with a vengeance. He leaned over and snatched the rest of her pie crust and popped it into his mouth.

“Well?” he prompted, curious to get her take on his dream.  

“Do you think the fish Ms. Beezley served today was off?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned at her ability to lighten the mood.   Jughead leaned back and set his elbows against the porch step behind him to look up at the sky.  Betty set her plate down and sat down next to him, primly smoothing out her skirt before she spoke.

“Do you really think we …” she paused.  “My mother?  And your dad?”

Jughead groaned and ran a hand down his face.  “I’d hate to think what Freud would say.”

“Well, he’d definitely agree it wasn’t a pipe,” she snickered.  “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

“Convince Archie that Jingle-Jangle is a terrible song to play to middle schoolers?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

As the world turned around them, they sat in companionable silence.  As curious as Jughead was to know what Betty really thought, it was these quiet moments with her that he felt truly at peace.  Perhaps that’s what the dream had signified.  With all the clamor and turmoil over senior year and applying for colleges, maybe his brain was trying to tell him to slow down and enjoy these little moments more.

Or maybe it was just a sign he shouldn’t shotgun a whole liter of soda before Grundy’s lecture on Dashiell Hammet.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked suddenly.

Without waiting for an answer, she hopped up and pulled Jughead to his feet, the same as they’d done a million times before.  Only this time Betty tugged a little too hard and Jughead stumbled into her.  He was about to apologize when he noticed the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.  To hide his smile, he bent over and tucked his shoulder into her stomach.  Betty shrieked as he lifted her up over her shoulder, precariously balancing the two of them as he picked up her books.

“Put me down Jones,” she said through her laughter, “or I’m telling Ethyl that you’d love to play D&D with her.”

“Dirty pool, Cooper,” he shot back as he casually sauntered down the block to her house.  He ignored the faint whisper of the peaches and cream lotion she used on her skin and the breathless lilt of her voice.  Because no matter how right it felt in the dream, they were only friends here. “And it’s G&G, remember?”

Once back on solid ground, Betty slipped her arm through his and they strolled along under the streetlights.  Just another night in the neighborhood without a care in the world.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad,” she said almost absentmindedly.  When she didn’t elaborate, Jughead’s heart gave a heavy, painful thump.  “I could always use more help with the B&G.”

He snorted and reached up to scratch his forehead to ignore the sudden disappointment.  “Toni does have some strong opinions about the gym’s new paint job.”

Betty stuck her tongue out at him, her face scrunched.  Jughead almost tripped trying not to kiss the tip of her nose.

His mood darkened when they reached her house.  Archie was on the front porch, napping, and the small seed of possibility withered into dust.  But instead of running towards Archie, Betty paused next to him.  Her teeth worked across her lip and she stared, unfocused at him.  Her hand on Jughead’s arm tightened and she shifted almost imperceptibly towards him.

With a small nod, Betty stood up on her toes and kissed Jughead on the cheek.  He flushed as the sun exploded in his chest.  

“Meet me at Pop’s tomorrow after school.  There’s a new French movie at the Bijou, and I’d hate it if Veronica saw it before me.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as goofy as the one’s he made fun of Archie for, but Jughead couldn’t help but wonder at this strange new turn.  For once, he was excited to spend time alone with a girl.  (He was always excited to spend time with Betty Cooper, but this time she wasn’t just Betty.)

His smile lasted all the way home and continued until he settled into bed.  Just as he was falling asleep, his phone rang with a text from Betty.

‘Some of your dream sounded nice enough to try out in real life, don’t you think?’

To say that Jughead had trouble falling asleep for the first time was an understatement.

[vanillann]

picture me this (s.r)

i. ii. iii.

word count: 1.4k

steve rogers x gender neutral!reader

a/n: how do we feel about the new header idea? also i didn’t come up with this idea i’ve seen a few people up here use it!! (i’m just a copycat sorry loves)

steve rogers masterlist

I ran my hands over my eye, going back to hunch over the computer that sat across from me with stupid taxes and bill on full display. The coffee shop I sat in was fairly quiet and the cup I had ordered had been long gone.

I couldn’t quite focus, or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with the bill that I was trying to even out. Budget was a complex thing for something as simple as a piece of paper we gave value.

I rolled my eyes, decided to do so, people watched for a minute before I went back to the silly bills I definitely should be paying as we speak.

The city below was running with people, but the outside deck of the coffee shop seemed calm compared to it. Only a few people sat at the outside table, one was a small family of three, another and man obviously waiting for someone, and last a person with their hood drawn looking down at some paper with a pencil in his hand. He was the closest to where I sat, yet I couldn’t see his face nor whatever he was doing.

The person who was writing on the paper, slipping in careful to keep his chin down and his eye hidden from the world as he stumbled to the back. Must’ve had to use the bathroom. I looked back to where he sat and smiled when I noticed the wind was starting to pick up the paper.

The person who was writing on the paper, slipping in careful to keep his chin down and his eye hidden from the world as he stumbled to the back. Must’ve had to use the bathroom. I looked back to where he sat and smiled when I noticed the wind was starting to pick up the paper.

The person who was writing on the paper, slipping in careful to keep his chin down and his eye hidden from the world as he stumbled to the back. Must’ve had to use the bathroom. I looked back to where he sat and smiled when I noticed the wind was starting to pick up the paper.

An excuse, just want I needed. I stopped up and walked out the glass door behind the older man. I wasn’t worried about my laptop, nobody seemed in the mdoe to steal and I was a regular so someone would fight for it.

I watched the wind rib the paper from under the little rock that was placed on top, most likely to hold it in place and I reached for it right before it was one with the wind to find another stranger to use as an excuse. I went to place the paper in a safe spot, hoping to don’t read whatever he was writing but there was no word, just a drawing.

It was of the coffee shop but it was slightly blurred, the center focus was a person with a bored expression and one hand holding up their head while the other delicately played with the keyboard of a laptop.

It was me, it was the same me that had been complaining about bills while the stranger drew me, I couldn’t figure if it was in a flattering way or a creepy way.

I heard the sound of the bell again and whipping around, the paper clutched in my grasp. It was the person, head still down and walking to where they sat til their eyes landing on my shoes. Slowly their eyes traced up my body until they found my own, suddenly my throat was dry.

Captain America was sitting in a coffee shop drawing me.

I had seen him on TV a million times, maybe even more, and he looked so much different in person. His eyes were bluer than the TV ever told, almost as if you would skinny drip in them, and his jaw could cut through anything.

His eyes were wide as he recognized the paper and then me, he was slowly putting the piece together.

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s fine Captain,” I felt like bowing, do people bow when you meet a superhero?

“It was about to fly off and I came to grab it, didn’t know I was grabbing my self portrait,” I held up the paper, as if he didn’t already know, and pointed to the rock that had been pushed from the table from the wind.

“Oh, thank you.”

I awkwardly modded, holding out the paper from him to take. He took it quickly, slipping around me to his seat and I knew it was time to go back, but I really didn’t want to do my budget.

“You’re really good, at drawing I mean.”

He seemed shocked when I kept talking, his chin still low to hide himself from the world but he looked up from the end of his eyelashes, his look delicate as the softest pillow as he looked at me.

“I-uhm- thank you, been drawing a long time,” he nodded to the drawing and I suddenly realized he didn’t want to talk. It seemed I was going to have to go back to my budget.

“Uhm, have a nice day,” I didn’t wait for a response, slipping back into the much warmer coffee shop and let out a shaky breath. I definitely had a distraction, one I slightly regret because now when I’m close to death and the Avengers are saving everyone Mr. America is going to leave me to die.

Okay, calm down (Y/N), you’re being overdramatic. I just need to sit down and do my bills, beside this would make a wonderful party story.

I met Captain America once, he was drawing me in a coffee shop.

Maybe I could even convince people he was in love with me while drunk and talking nonsense. I moved back to the table and smiled when the laptop sat in the same spot as before, the only difference was the dark screen.

I skipped over to the laptop and did my best to not look out the window, acting like I had forgotten the whole incident already but I don’t think I’d ever forget the time a superhero wanted to draw me.

As I typed around on the laptop but my brain couldn’t focus on anything except the pencil lines and how I was the centerfold of the piece of art. How the coffee shop was smudged, like nothing else mattered but me, as I typed away with something I never cared about. It was myself frozen in time, with my eyebrows in a scolding look at my own life typed across the screen.

He had captured me in a way I never thought possible.

Yeah, I was never forgetting this moment.

I eventually finished the bill and taxes, after almost falling asleep and promising myself not to look up when the bell rang. Once I finally looked up from the laptop I realized how late and I was sure my roommate was worried sick for me.

I hurriedly packed my bag, trying to make sure I had everything when I noticed one of the workers who knew me by name approached.

“Pretty boy left ya something,” she held out a folder, a smirk on her lips and I knew she had looked even if she wasn’t supposed to. I set it on the table, opening the folder and my jaw dropped.

It was more drawings of me, all in the same spot and I didn’t even realize I always sat at this table until now. Some I was laughing on the phone, some I was drinking out of a funny mug, some I was reading, one I looked like I was almost sleeping on the table.

One the inside of the folder where word in a gentle handwriting, even prettier than his art.

Hope this doesn’t come off creepy, just thought you deserved to be held in time. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’ll stop!

Steve Rogers

I probably should have been weirded out, a tall strange man was just sitting around drawing me, but he clearly gave them to me to prove he meant no harm and his words didn’t seem harmful. He just seemed like a nice guy who wanted someone to draw, I just happened to be there. I picked up the drawing from today, flipping in over and pulling a pen out of my bag.

I wrote a short message on the back, leaving my name and number at the bottom and going to the counter once I had everything, including the folder.

“If a pretty boy comes back, give this to him,” I nodded to the paper and the girl simply smiled, nodding and placing it in a safe spot in the cash register.

I ran out the coffee shop, a goofy smile stretched across my face as I clutched my new folder closer to my chest.

I definitely had a party story now, with proof.

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