#also i just realized other than what parts are missing i did NOT describe what they look like at all lmfao

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let The Light |7|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Seven: Tis' The Damn Season

Summary: After that eventful night at Tara's apartment, you find yourself pondering on a few things, but your banter with Tara never ceases. There is enough on your plate as it is, so when you bump into a familiar face it catches you completely off guard

Warning(s): Swearing, making out, mentions of drinking & intoxication, r has a case of bad communication, chemistry (like the actual subject 😣), compulsions, & implied anxiety

Notes: I took over a year off to cut you readers some slack, tell a friend to tell a friend - she's baackkk! 🤭 Ik you missed these stubborn little jerks, so did I. Also not this chapter being at like 10k+ words. Even then, there was a bunch more I wanted to add but I figured I'd save it for the next chapter (already plotting) I didn't wanna keep you waiting any longer than I already have

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The box of pizza and plate of wings sat completely abandoned, forgotten, on Charlotte’s coffee table as her hands traveled to your neck. You let your own hands drop to her hips, pulling her in. Her lips felt soft, yet foreign. You ignored that thought and continued to kiss her, slipping in your tongue while she maneuvered her way onto your lap.

Everything felt hot, you could feel your face heat up as she ever so slightly played with the hem of your shirt. When you gave her the silent signal, she slipped a hand under your shirt—not too high of course, but enough to feel your hips. You felt goosebumps at her touch, suddenly feeling nervous. You once again pushed any negative thoughts to the back of your mind, continuing to kiss her. 

That’s when it clicked. Why you got so nervous all of a sudden, your mind was trying to tell you something, warn you.

You separated from her lips. She looked at you, a confused expression on her face. You weren’t meeting her eye line, feeling rather timid at the moment. “Are you okay?” She asked you. You barely heard her with your heartbeat drumming so loudly in your ears. 

“Um…” You cleared your throat, still not meeting her gaze. “Yeah… I just—sorry.” Charlotte’s expression stayed put as you managed to remove yourself from the couch. 

“Did I do something?” She asked, moving to also stand up. She looked at you with what you could only describe as confusion and concern. You couldn’t blame her one bit—one second you’re all over each other, the next you’re pulling back like she stung you.

“No—no, no, no,” you shook your head while gesturing with your right hand. “You did nothing wrong. I um,” you finally looked to meet her gaze, “it’s just been awhile, I guess.” You could only hope she didn’t see through your lame excuse, it wasn’t completely untrue. 

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “…Oh,” she then repeated when she realized what you meant. “Shit, I didn’t push you did I?” 

“I promise you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been in a weird place  …for a while,” you shrugged, not expecting to add that last part, your tone getting lower as you spoke those words.

“I get it,” she mustered an understanding tone. 

A suffocating silence enveloped the room for a few seconds, causing you to look out the nearby window to be met with pitch darkness.

“It’s actually getting pretty late anyways and I’ve got an early shift in the morning…” You said while slowly getting your jacked that hung from the couch. 

“Of course. Call me?” 

“Yeah,” you briefly smiled at her while adjusting the collar of your jacket. “Sorry, again, for making things awkward,” you apologized while grabbing the last of your things.

“No, don’t worry about it. Stuff happens,” she waved you off while managing a reassuring tone. 

You nodded at her before muttering, “thanks,” and finally leaving the apartment. As soon as you walked out into the crisp night air, you exhaled your own pocket of air you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

That’s when it all came crashing down; the awkwardness, stupidness, and cringyness that came from the situation all because you were scared to let your situationship see your scars. 

Nice going.

You repeated words like moron, idiot, and dumbass while you walked to your car—the train of thought never breaking as you drove to your apartment. Manhattan’s late-night traffic didn’t exactly ease your frustration. You were in the middle of cursing out the car in front of you when your phone started to ring.

Still feeling ridiculously stupid, you were going to let it just ring out, but that was before you saw the contact name. 

You answered the phone. “Tara?” You immediately asked with furrowed eyebrows. Why on earth is she calling you so late?

“Y/NN,” you heard her slur over the phone. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel, immediately realizing what you were about to be in for. Before you could get another word out, she interrupted you. “Have I ever told you you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts?” 

Your eyes widened as heat rushed to your face, your hands nearly slipping off the wheel. The tips of your ears suddenly began to feel very warm while your mouth opened and closed a few times before you could get sound to come out.

“I—uh,” you cleared your throat before continuing. “Where are you right now?”

“Hommee. Where else?” Her answer was followed by hiccups.

“I’m coming over,” you said firmly before hanging up. Being distracted any further by her voice was the last thing you needed right now.  You silently hoped nothing drastic was waiting for you at her apartment as you changed your route.

When were you going to stop jinxing things?

—

It had now been a few weeks since the night at Tara’s apartment took place. Not long after you put her to bed, you gave yourself some time to reflect on her words. And ever since that night, you have been repeating them in your head whenever you were with the Carpenter. It seems as though she was able to move on easily, at least, her silence on the topic made it appear that way. On the outside, you gave the impression that you too had moved on from that night, that it had not affected you whatsoever. But on the inside, you were in emotional turmoil. With replaying your memories, that same tightening feeling in your chest that you felt that night reappeared.

There were so many key points of that night to completely crumble over; for starters, the incident with Charlotte. You are beyond embarrassed thanks to your repulsion for emotional intimacy. You knew if she saw your scars questions would ensue, thus putting you in an uncomfortable position to spill your guts out. The last thing you needed was for that to happen, but that alone had you thinking.

You’ve been on over four dates with Charlotte now and you have no idea where you stand with her. She’s just a situation-ship as of right now, and for all you know she could be seeing this as more. But the thought of asking her where you stand with her makes you emotionally grimace and cause your stomach to churn. 

If you can’t even talk to her about your relationship status, should you even continue seeing her? This question had you thinking even further. Maybe you rushed into this relationship, maybe it was far too soon. Was nearly a year too soon? 

That was the last time you were in a relationship, the last time you allowed yourself any form of emotional intimacy with a partner. But that was the result of three years, three years of building trust and connection. It was going to take a lot more than just a few dates with someone you don’t truly know to recreate that. It was going to take effort.

As for the Tara part of that night, you didn’t even know where to begin. Where could you? From her compliments to her insults, the night was certainly an eventful one. And just to think, you had seen her just hours before and there hadn’t seemed to be any issues. 

The coming semester is certainly going to be an interesting one.

—

You and Tara were in your apartment, huffing and groaning could be heard throughout your room. She sat cross legged at the edge of your bed while you were leaned up against the headboard. Papers sprawled all over the bed, pens and pencils scattered—almost imitating what the inside of your mind currently looked like.

“Was the first sheet you gave me—was it nine or seven?!”

You let out a huff, mixed with a long sigh, at Tara’s repeated question. After running a hand down your face, you slid closer beside her to get a better look at her paper. “This is table nine right here,” you emphasized by rapidly tapping your pencil on the spot of the paper you wanted her to focus on.

She rolled her eyes as she mumbled, “Oh my god—” She turned her head to looked at you as she huffed, “Answer my fucking question with a yes or a no; was it a yes—was it a nine or a seven?”

You muttered a few curses under your breath—curses you knew she heard because of your close proximity—before taking your pencil to her paper once again. “Alright, okay so I’m gonna circle this—”

“What the fuck—?!”

“This is—this is nine,” you glanced at her for a moment to make sure she was paying attention. All you were met with was a dumbfounded look.

“But what’s the top??”

“That’s table seven.” 

There were a few seconds of her just staring at the paper and you looking between her and the paper until she said something.

“What?” Her voice indifferent.

“So I’m assuming you don’t get it…”

She turned her gaze from her paper to you, hitting you with a hard glare. “No, asshole. I don’t get it.” She then threw her pencil to the side and got up from the bed. Her arm brushes against yours as she does so but you choose not to pay any mind.

“I’m so tired of chemistry,” she all but whined before dramatically plopping back down on your bed face first.

“You’re the one that said you needed help,” you pointed out while curiously flipping through her notebook. “I remember wanting to stick with routine and work on our history project.” Her doodles are cute.

“So helpful,” she sarcastically remarked, muffled; she was still face planted on your mattress, right beside you. 

“I try,” you reply in a monotone voice; you were still flipping through her notes as you talked.

Tara rolled over on her back, pushing loose strands of her raven hair away from her face. She exhaled before clearing her throat—which didn’t get your attention, so she tried again …and again, after the third time she just settled for throwing a nearby pillow at your head.

You finally turned to look at her with furrowed eyebrows and a hand to the back of your head. “Um, can I help you?”

“Can we just start on the math now?”

“You couldn’t have asked that without the pillow to my head?” You asked incredulously.

“Do you have this, like, mental illness that prevents you from properly answering ‘yes or no’ questions—”

“Get your other notes out before I change my mind.” 

Tara scrambled over to the side of the bed, reaching over to grab her bag that sat beside your bed. She quickly wiped off a giddy smile as she took out her needed papers. You were neatly setting her previous papers to the side as she did so.

“Alright, what do you got for me, Carpenter?” You inquired while she scooted back next to you; you’re both sitting side by side, leaning against your bed’s headboard as you looked at the page of notes she was showing you. 

“This is basically everything that's going to be on my exam next week,” her stress regarding her exams was evident from her tone. “Some topics I’m good with, other’s I’m okay with, and a few I’m struggling with.” She turned to look at you, eyes practically burning holes in the side of your head with a pleading look. Pleading for you to help her.

After a moment of silence—of you intently staring at the paper—you hummed to yourself, nodding, as you finally returned Tara’s gaze before speaking. “I have highlighters; I want you to circle the ones you’re okay with in orange, and the one’s you’re struggling with in red,” you told her while reaching into the drawer of your nightstand for the highlighters. 

All you got was a brief, “Mhm,” while you blindly thrashed your hand around for the highlighters. When you finally got the right colors, you handed them to her before getting up from your bed which earned you a confused look from the other girl.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. Don’t miss me too much,” you couldn't help but smirk at the girl, leaving before she had the chance to counteract. You weren’t sure if you were smirking because of your own remark, or if it was thought Tara was missing you. It definitely left a warm feeling inside of you.

She doesn’t miss you. She wants less of you, remember? Your head reminded you, causing that familiar feeling of your chest tightening. Your breathing was still a bit hollow from the feeling as you finished up in the bathroom and walked back to your bedroom.

“You finished?” You asked Tara while returning to your previous seat beside her. 

“Yes but I have a proposition for you,” Tara responded almost immediately. You stopped your movements, eyeing her with a suspicious look. 

“Lay it on me,” you said.

“We can continue doing all this,” she gestured to her notes, “—but instead we can do it in a place with food.”

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate, please.”

“I want to go to the diner nearby, and finish studying there. I’m tired and starving—and you haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks so I already know there’s not much to find in your fridge.”

“Wait, how do you know the last time I went shopping?”

Tara ignored your question, instead continuing to look at you with those doe eyes of hers as she continued to plead. “Pleeeaaase, Y/N?”

You looked at her, feigning a reluctant look before letting out a sigh. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Thank goodness. My stomach was starting to make noises I’ve never heard before,” she said as she was gathering her papers.

—

“Done!” Tara announced in a cheery tone. You looked up from your book as she slid over the sheet of loose leaf she was just working on. “I put a star next to number three; I was having trouble with that one the most,” she told you before sipping her half drunken milkshake. 

You nodded her way as your eyes skimmed her paper. “All these are correct—including number three. Was there a specific reason you didn’t fully understand it?”

“Mainly the order of the steps,” she answered.

“I see. Well you were correct. But if you continue to have trouble with the memorization stuff, flashcards are great memorization tools. Especially colored ones. I can lend you some of you want,” you offered her while giving her back the piece of paper.

“Oh—yeah. Totally,” she chuckled before loudly clearing her throat and practically shoving the straw in her milkshake into her mouth. There was something that washed over her—possibly embarrassment? You couldn’t be too sure. But why would she be embarrassed? Sometimes you wish you could hear her thoughts, just so you could get some insight on what was going through her head during certain moments.

Tara stared down at her straw, subconsciously refusing to pick up her head until she felt less flushed. That was so embarrassing, she kept thinking to herself. ToTalLy! Goodness, Tara, she just offered you some flash cards—not her hand in marriage. Her cheeks got even warmer at the idea.

“You good, Tar?” You just had to ask with that painfully soft voice you get when you’re concerned. Oh, and why did you have to call her Tar? She still remembers when you called her Tar for the first time—you and her were in her bedroom after the incident at the halloween party. She felt her knees physically grow weak as heat rushed to her ears, and now she’s found herself in that same predicament due to you opening your stupid, occasionally sweet, mouth. 

“Hm? Great!”

“Um,” you let out a short, awkward, and airy laugh. “Okay, good, yeah.” Your eyes subconsciously took a quick scan around the diner due to Tara’s sudden volume change. “So anyways, from the looks of those problems, you’re gonna nail your exam. Just try not to overthink your answers too much.”

Tara hummed before returning to her milkshake just to realize she was all out. Guess she’s going to have to find another thing to distract her eyes from you.

You, on the other hand, were still confused. Did you say something? Why did she seem so timid all of a sudden? Did the flashcards somehow cross a line? If so, in what way did it? Tara was being a little too silent for your liking, which is really saying something considering how much you value your quiet time. 

You were about to do one of the hardest things you have ever done. Attempt small talk.

You cleared your throat, “So. How’s—how are you and uh Chad?” This finally got Tara to look up. She eyed you with a confused expression. “Like, dating and stuff,” you awkwardly added. Your palms were already growing sweaty as your leg began to bounce. 

“Me and Chad? Dating?” That’s when she bursted out laughing, handing over her mouth and everything. You suddenly felt like a total dumbass but you weren’t sure as to why. Were they no longer dating? Well obviously, if you had to take anything from her reaction. But you weren’t doing a lot of laughing when you and your ex-girlfriend broke up.

“Oh—I’m sorry, let me catch my breath for a second.” She literally wiped away a tear from how hard she was laughing before speaking up again. “Y/N, Me and Chad are not together.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. And we never will be, never ever ever.”

“Never ever?” 

“Never ever.”

You couldn’t help the sudden wave of relief that washed over you, but you weren’t sure where it came from.

“But I saw you two kissing at a party,” you told her.

“Right …that. Yeah, I try not to think about that night if I’m being honest. It was honestly super embarrassing; I was completely drunk, so drunk to the point where I thought he was… someone else,” her voice grew a little quieter towards the end as she sank a little in her booth.

“Oh.” Was all you said. You didn’t know what else to say. What could you? That night was a misunderstanding, and judging by Tara’s words and reaction to the accusation of her and Chad dating—that relationship is long from happening. Yet another feeling of relief washed over you as you had that thought. 

“Yeah,” Tara shrugged. That’s when something clicked in her head …she could use this awkward discussion to her advantage. “Since we’re on the topic of dating, how are you and Charlotte? You haven’t mentioned her in a while.” And good riddance for that, she silently thought to herself. 

“I kinda ended that,” you nonchalantly answered before shoving a fry in your mouth. 

“Oh that sucks,” she feigned a sympathetic tone. “It seemed like you two were really hitting it off.”

“I guess.”

Tara wanted to leave it that, really she did, but she just couldn’t help but pry. “Something happened?” She asked you.

“Nope. Just fizzled, I guess. situation-ships do that sometimes, not surprising.”

“Wait, ‘situation-ship’? What do you mean by that?” Her question and her tone of interest had you looking at her with raised eyebrows, utterly confused for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“Like, it wasn’t serious. I wouldn't call her my girlfriend, doubt she’d call me hers. Nothing more than a casual relationship,” you responded, for some reason you felt the need to tread lightly.

“Didn’t you go on like five dates? If you go on multiple dates, that means you’re dating. Thus the word dating being an extension to date,” she sternly replied. 

“Alright, I understand the responsibility of a verb—why are you getting upset over this?”

“I’m not upset.” The pout she wore as she defensively crossed her arms with slumped shoulders told you otherwise. “I just—I don’t know. I want pie.”

“Okay. I’ll get you pie, but could we please switch to a different subject?”

“Fine,” she mumbled; her gaze may have been directed toward her napkin, but it threatened to meet you every second. 

—

“I can’t believe you finally watched it!” You exclaimed to Tara. The both of you were headed back to your apartment; it was dark out as it lightly snowed. You were holding the bag of leftovers, walking on the street-side of the sidewalk as Tara kept her hands firmly placed in her jacket pockets, protecting them from what felt like sub-zero temperature.

“I only avoided it for so long because of you!” She laughed.

“Wow, so you’ve been missing out on one of the greatest shows of all time due to pettiness?”

“Okay, okay—I said it was good, not great.”

“Ah, but you wanna say great. It’s that darn pettiness holding you back, once again,” you said as your smile never broke.

“Did you just say ‘darn’?”

“Yeah, what?” 

Tara only laughed as she shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Oh! You should watch the extended cut—if you thought it was funny before, you're gonna love the superfan episodes.”

“I’ll give them a shot,” she truthfully responded. She would say anything to keep you talking like this. One of the things she loved listening to was you geeking out over something you were passionate about. Maybe it was the sound of your voice, maybe it was how you lit up, maybe it was how animated you were while talking. 

“Definitely do—” You were cut off by a body colliding into you, causing you to drop the bag of leftovers you were carrying. You muttered a “sorry” before crouching down to pick it up. Tara was about to help until your eyes met with the other person’s.

“Y/N?” The stranger asked.

“Olivia?” You mirrored a confused look.

What was your highschool sweetheart from Woodsborro doing in the middle of Manhattan?

“Oh my gosh—it really is you.” Olivia laughed a bit as the realization set in. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit too. 

“Yeah—yeah, and it’s you.” You responded before she came in for a hug. Your movement stuttered for a second before welcoming her hug. She was still as warm as the day you met, her dark hair still holding its shine it did since the last time you saw her.

The hug was understandably awkward, but for once you didn’t mind awkward. “What are you doin’ in New York?” You finally asked her. 

“I’m here for this documentary thing I’m working on,” she said.

“That’s right—your documentaries. I’m glad you’re still doing those,” you told her with a genuine tone.

She grew a smile at the words you spoke. “Thanks… that means a lot.”

“Oh—uh, you remember Tara, right?” You turned and briefly pointed at the Carpenter who slightly waved.

“Yeah, I do. Hey,” Olivia said with no bitterness. She took a few steps and held out her hand to Tara, which the other girl took.

“Hey,” Tara nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“I’m surprised you two are out in public together,” Olivia joked. You and Tara both laughed awkwardly at your dynamic being brought up.

“Me too,” you joked back. “So uh—you staying long?” You asked, purposely deflecting to a different topic.

“It’s currently indefinite, I’m crashing at a friend’s place right now.” There was a glint in your eye that Olivia picked up. “Would you like to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to catch up.”

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” you replied; you were trying your best to hide your eagerness. 

“Awesome,” she grinned at you. “So, see you around?”

“See you around,” you said. You instantly began to cringe at yourself as she started walking away, but she didn’t leave without giving you one last look. As soon as she left ear shot, you let out a long awaited sigh.

“Geez.” The sound of Tara’s voice caused you to flinch, you completely forgot she was standing right there. “That was hard to watch,” she remarked.

“No one asked,” you said with an eye roll as the two of you began to walk again. 

“Someone’s bitter,” she replied. “Hey—” She put the back of her hand on your chest to stop you from walking as she turned to look at you, “Let’s go to my place instead.”

“Why?”

“I wanna finish these leftovers on the roof,” she answered.

“My apartment has a roof,” you told her.

“Not the same.”

“How is it not the same?”

“It's just not. Now come on before our food gets even colder and more destroyed.”

“I guess I’m following you,” you mumbled while trailing behind Tara.

—

You and Tara were sitting on white patio chairs; the same ones you recall from the last few times you’ve been up on the roof. The wind had calmed down since your walkover, snow still lightly falling from the sky. You were eating your fries as Tara was eating what was left of her pie. 

“I’m just saying, I could totally take down a bear.”

“Not in a million years, Tara. You, a 5 foot gremlin, versus a big furry thing with claws that could rip you to shreds? Be serious,” you deadpanned.

“First of all, I’m 5 foot 1, second of all, you’re really underestimating me here. If I can take down a sociopath while crippled—”

Tara didn’t talk about Woodsboro a whole lot, really the only time she’s talked about it—with you at least—was the night it happened, the party at Henry’s house, and just now if that even counted. She never seemed to name-drop anyone connected to that night. But you understood. You don’t remember the last time you said Dewey’s name out loud. 

“A sociopath? Yes. But last I checked, the said sociopath didn’t have the same physical traits as a bear—therefore, your argument holds no power.” You shoved a few fries in your mouth before silently offering her some, in which she accepted.

You glanced over at her to see her expression—she looked kind of disappointed. You sighed, thinking for a moment, before speaking again. “Okay, I’m not saying you have no chance. You’d still do some damage—and I guess it’s not impossible to beat a bear.” You hated the instant flip in your stomach from seeing the way she lit up, it was subtle but you’re grateful you noticed.

She smiled, almost grinning but she resisted. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jump on its back, put it in a headlock,” you added with your own little smile.

“Exactly. You get me,” she absentmindedly said right before taking another bite of her pie.

“What a mad world we live in,” you joked while reaching beside your chair for your milkshake. Tara wasn’t sure what you meant by that, but she just decided to ignore it rather than dwell on it—at least for the moment. She looked over to see you sipping your milkshake and a sly smile appeared on her face as she began to lean closer to you, her elbows resting on her chair’s armrest and expression never faltering.

“You want something, Tar?” 

“That’s an awfully tasty looking milkshake you have there,” she commented; she feigned an innocent tone.

You glanced at her from your peripheral vision—she was on your left side—as you played with the straw in your milkshake. “Tara…” You all but sang. She hummed in response, her position still the same. “Would you like my milkshake?” You asked, but your tone hinted that you already knew what her answer was going to be.

“Well, I guess since you’re offering. Who would I be to pass up a perfectly good milkshake?”

“You’re a piece of work,” you remarked with a broad smile that Tara could describe as gleaming. 

“You’re the sucker who gave me her milkshake,” she sneered before taking a sip from said milkshake.

“I’d watch my tone if I were you, ‘cause this sucker could easily take it back,” you threatened, lightly laughing along with the other girl. 

She scoffed and waved her free hand, “Yeah right. I’d like to see you try.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You get up from your chair, eyes never leaving Tara. “I bet I could take it back from you, no sweat.” 

A smirk grew on Tara’s face as she also got up from her chair. “Okay, okay, you’re on then. Winner takes all—all being the milkshake.” 

“You got yourself a deal.”

“Okay then let’s do this, come on bring it,” Tara’s grin was just too strong to fight off as she lifted up her elbows; one, to use as a shield for her milkshake, and two, to use as her weapon. 

You let out a laugh when you saw a defense mechanism. “That’s pathetic,” you quipped.

“Oh, really?” She said with raised eyebrows. She then shoved her elbows towards you, both of you laughing during all this. 

“Oh!” You took that as a chance to grab her from behind and wrap your arms around her waist, holding her in place as she attempted to break loose; in her defense, it wasn’t as easy to do so while she was flushed against you, her face heating up from both the action and her ceaseless laughter. 

The milkshake dropped to the floor, but neither of you paid any mind. You lifted her up a bit as you spoke, “Not much of a fighter now, huh?” You quipped in a smug tone. 

“You are so playing dirty right now!” She said; her shirt rose a little bit and her hands were loosely holding onto your forearms.

“I don’t remember seeing a rule book. Just surrender and I’ll put you down,” you told her as if it was the simplest thing ever; for anyone else, it would have been.

“No way!” At her response you lifted her higher at which she started rapidly patting arm. 

“You finally surrender?”

“Never in a bazillion years!” Just as Tara said that, she felt a drop of water on her forehead. She furrowed her eyebrows, glancing up at the night sky. “Shit—I think it’s raining.”

“Yeah right, you just don’t wanna be the one to surrender,” you accused while adjusting your hold on Tara.

“I actually felt—” Before Tara could finish her sentence, a loud grumble could be heard as it started to abruptly pour. “I told you!”

“Shit,” you cursed as you put Tara down.

“We need to get inside.”

“Incredible observation. Thought of being a detective?” You quipped.

“Shut up. It’s freezing, let’s just get inside.” Tara was visibly shivering, wrapping her arms around each other while hugging them close to her torso. 

“Okay, come on.” 

Tara barely let you finish speaking as she started rushing towards the door. “Wait—! Tara, don't run! You could slip!” You tried to match her speed without breaking your neck in the process. You nearly sighed in relief when she slowed down. 

She looked at you with an inpatient look as she waited for you to catch up. You were in the process of taking off your jacket as you caught up to her. “If you’re going to slow me down, at least walk a little faster. I’m getting drenched, and this outfit isn’t exactly water resistant—I’m not water resistant!”

“Geez, alright. Quit complaining.” You caught up to her, trailing behind her as you wrapped your jacket around her. “Stop looking at me funny, just open the door,” you said in response to the lost expression she gave you.

She mumbled something incoherent while reaching for the door’s handle and turning. 

As soon as you stepped inside, you let out a long exhale while rubbing your hands together. You looked beside you to see Tara attempting to shake off the water she was drenched in; of course, as a result, she ended up spraying you in the process. “Do you have to do that near me?”

“Where else am I doing it?” She tightened your jacket around her, holding it impossibly close to keep herself warm.

“Whatever, I gotta get home anyway. Picked up a few extra shifts,” you said while double checking your phone’s dryness.

“I thought the cafe gave you off on Saturdays.”

“Uh, yeah. I do. I’m—covering for a coworker, I owe them so,” you trailed off with a shrug; you batted your eyes away from Tara, suddenly finding your drenched jeans very interesting. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, see you,” Tara responded; you made your way down the stairs but not before sparing a small smile.

—

It was the next day, 8:52 am on a Saturday. You had woken up around 4:00 since you had to get in around 7:00 to help set up and open at 8:00. Exhaustion was hitting you back and forth, the only thing that was keeping you awake, barely, was your few hours old coffee you had brought from home. Staying out late with Tara was really biting you in the ass, but you were usually tired these days so it wasn’t much of a difference.

Although it was slow since the day had just begun for many, you still found yourself dealing with incompetence so early in the morning. Truly, it was too early for this. If one more person asked about Halloween stuff, Thanksgiving stuff—any other thing they should’ve gotten months prior, you are going to bash your head into a wall.

Why are people asking their barista about stupid out of season decorations? It’s simple, the cafe wasn’t paying you enough; attending college and living off campus wasn’t getting any cheaper and you needed a reliable job. So when you saw that Target was hiring, you applied. That’s how you came to balance two jobs and some of the most insufferable customers you have ever had the displeasure of conversing with.

“I’m sorry miss, but we stopped selling that after October. But if you’d like, I can show you to the candy aisle—”

“No, listen to me, these are what I want,” she snarled while shoving her phone in your face; her phone showed a picture of the Halloween candy she wanted. “I don’t want regular sour patch, I don't want regular m&m’s, I don’t want regular reese’s pieces—I want Hal-lo-ween candy.” 

“I know that, but miss—”

“Can you just go check in the back? Please? My son has been driving me insane and I need to at least do this one thing right,” she begged.

You let out a silent sigh, “Of course. I’ll go check in the back to see if we have anything left.”

“See, now that wasn’t so hard,” she said as you made your way to the storage room. You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore her statement. It really was too early for this.

You went into the storage and sat down on a nearby box; you just stared at the ceiling, zoning out for about a minute before heading back.

“I apologize, we don’t have what you're looking for. Is there anything else I can help with?”

She scoffed at you, clutching her purse as she did so. “No, I do not need your help because clearly it is no use. Your manager will be hearing from me,” she angrily said before strutting away.

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” you remark out loud to yourself. Once she’s out of your eye line, you let out an aggravated sigh. Working in retail is not for the weak.

You walked back to the end of the aisle and began to restock the shelves again, the thing you were previously doing before being interrupted. You picked up one of the boxes of cereal when your hand accidentally knocked something out of your pocket. It fell by your feet, you glanced at it for a moment before looking back at the shelf—but that’s when it registered what it was. You immediately placed down the box then kneeled down to pick up what you dropped. 

It was a folded piece of paper. You slightly furrowed your eyebrows as you unfolded it before you traded your confusion for a smile. You looked at the doodles that covered the paper, the doodles drawn by Tara. Her name was even signed at the corner; sometimes she draws her name in different fonts to pass the time. Over the years, you noticed her favorite font to draw is graffiti lettering. You were now standing up, still smiling down at the piece of paper. You always admired the way she wrote—

—Suddenly somebody clears their throat. You jumped, blinking rapidly while attempting to shove the paper back into your pocket. You turn your head around to see your co-worker, Avery, crossing her arms while giving you a look you couldn’t quite read. “Secret admirer?” She remarked with a smirk.

“No, it’s just—it’s nothing. Scraps, really if you could even call it that,” you stammered while trying to nonchalantly lean against the shelves. It wasn’t a total failure, you guess.  

“...Right,” she narrowed her eyes at her, clearly not believing your crappy save, but dropped it nevertheless. “Anyways, me, Vicky and a few of the others are gonna go out for a drink tonight; can I count you in?” 

You stopped leaning on the shelves as you thought for a moment. You usually weren’t one for going out, but it’s been a long few months. With that thought, everything that’s happened in the past year flashes through your mind. It’s been nothing but motion sickness, and maybe you could go for a drink or two. 

“You know what—yeah, I’m in,” you nodded at her before returning to the boxes of cereals that sat in the cart beside you. 

“Wait, really? You never wanna come to these things …damn it, I owe Vicky like 20 bucks,” Avery silently moped as she walked away. You laughed a bit at her comment as you continued stocking the shelves.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

—

When you got home that day, you made sure to take a nap before it was time to leave for the bar. When you got there, you stood at the doorway for a few seconds, honestly not sure what your next move was but luckily you caught Avery’s eye and she waved you over. You walked over to where she and the others sat at—the bar—you sat down on the stool beside Avery who was sat next to Vicky. You were surprised they weren’t sitting on the same stool with how tangled with each other they were.

“You made it!!” Avery shouted in a cheery voice that made you wince as she pumped her fists in the air. “Look, Vicky! Y/N’s here!”  Vicky nodded at the girl while trying to subtly ground her by rubbing her lower back.

She looked over at you with an apologetic look. “Sorry, she gets kinda loud and hyper when she’s drunk.”

You chuckled a little, giving her a reassuring shake with your head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a pretty embarrassing drunk anyways so I couldn’t talk. Probably why I don’t do it much,” you told her while your arms rested on the table. 

“Gosh, I can’t wait to see you drunk,” she said while adjusting her arm as Avery was now resting her head on Vicky’s shoulder.

“That’s never gonna happen—just a club soda for me. At most I’ll do some watered down beer, but that’s really it,” you said. 

“Wow.”

“I know, I’m a party animal,” you quipped with sarcasm laced in your voice.

“Total rebel,” she added as you both laughed. “So, other than the fact that you’re a total bad boy—how are you liking New York?” She asked with Avery still wrapped around her who had snuggled up closer to her.

“It’s fine. Hasn’t changed much since the last time I lived here.”

“Yeah? Did you live in Manhattan before or someplace else?” 

“Brooklyn. I was born there, and lived there until …I didn’t,” you answered with your train of thought trailing off with your answer. So much has changed since you moved. What if you didn’t move? What if you never moved back? What if you lived in Woodsboro first? What if—

“—Did your family  move around a lot?” She asked another question out of pure curiosity.

“Uh…” You picked at the wood surface in front of you, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. “ No. Just one time.” 

“Cool, my family moved around a few times. It’s a pretty hard thing to go through, even if it’s just once,” she said in an understanding tone. She looked back to Avery, smiling to herself as she stared admirably at the half-a-sleep girl nuzzled up against her. 

You glanced over at the adorable site before asking, “How long have you two been dating?”

“A couple months, but we’ve known each other for ten years,” she responded while pushing back loose strands of hair that covered Avery’s eyes.

“That’s a long time,” was all you could think to say. 

“Yeah, she’s literally my other half. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” After letting herself stare at Avery for another moment, Vicky turned her gaze back to you. “How about you—you seeing anyone?”

“Eh.”

“Eh?”

“I was uh, sort of seeing someone? But broke that off recently. Too close for comfort,” you elaborated for her while silently deciding if you should drink tonight.

“Your casual relationship get too intimate?” She raised an eyebrow before you responded with a tiny nod, she probably would have missed it if she blinked in the same moment. “Yeah, I used to be like that before Avery.” 

“Guess I just gotta wait for my Avery,” you half-joked, earning a laugh from Vicky. 

“I hope you do, she’s definitely a keeper,” she said fondly. She looked at you—your head now resting on your folded arms—and saw the distraught expression you wore, it looked as if you were silently having a debate with yourself. 

“Something up?”

You did a double-take at her, lifting up your head before sparing her a meek smile. “Just thinking, you know?”

Vicky nodded before adding on. “You need advice? I’ve always been told I give great advice.” Her voice was kind and held nothing but honesty.

“Sure…” You were hesitant to accept but you were also on the verge of digging yourself into a hole just to avoid decision making. To be fair, you often think about barricading yourself to avoid dealing with your problems—and oftentimes, you have actually done it. “So last night I bumped into my ex,” you reluctantly began, “and we briefly talked, and she mentioned meeting up sometime to catch up.”

“I’m assuming you’re nervous about the catching up part?” 

You confirmed with a hum.

“Are you nervous about being the first to reach out, the catching up part overall, or both?”

“Yes.”

She let out a tiny laugh, not unkindly, before telling you that advice she told you about not long ago. “This was all last night, right? I say, wait a couple more days, then reach out if you’re up to it, and then once you get that part out of the way the rest will build itself.”

“You really think so?”

“Promise, I really don’t think you should stress too much on this. And listen, if you’re really not ready to meet up with her yet, I think she’d understand. Either way, it’s your choice,” she told you before sipping her drink.

“That’s… really good advice. Thank you,” you complimented.

“You’re welcome, anytime. I did mention that I give great advice.”

“I said good, not great,” you said in a tone that hinted you were just teasing.

“Yeah, okay whatever.” Vicky playfully rolled her eyes as you smiled at your own taunting.

Maybe this was not as bad as you were making it out to be, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up.

—

Things were awful. You could never have been so wrong in your life. It was one thing after another. First with the text; you had to just hope Olivia didn’t change her number as you looked for her contact—which you had to look for by number since your removed her name and photo right after your breakup out of pure pettiness—and it took you about half an hour to think of the right words to send, and as soon as you sent them you immediately regretted it.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Next was when she actually responded. 

Y/N (4:42 pm) Hey, it’s Y/N. Catching up sounds cool, so if the offer still stands I’d love to take you up on it

(XXX) XXX-XXXX (4:56 pm) Hi, yeah offer still stands. I’m actually free tonight if that works? I know that’s short notice so I completely understand if you’re unable to

You were in the middle of revising your notes at the kitchen counter when you heard the ding from the couch. Your head immediately shot up, and as soon as it processed what that ding was—you ran to it, hopping over the back of the couch and grabbing your phone. 

You read the message over to yourself exactly seven times before impulsively reacting to her message with a thumbs up. After your response, you got another text from Olivia and the two of you made a decision of when and where to meet. 

Oh, how deeply you regretted your impulsiveness as you stared at the same outfit over and over again. That’s what came right after the communication part; what exactly you were going to wear. You felt ridiculous, you’re usually not like this—but that happens to be a reminder of all the different things Olivia brings out in you. Good and bad. It was like you were 17 again.

Eventually you decided on something comfortable, casual, it’s not like you were going someplace fancy. The air in your apartment suddenly grew to be suffocating the closer it got to the time you had to leave. You gathered your belongings; you gathered your wallet, keys, phone, headphones, and lighter, shoving a few of them into your pockets. Just before leaving you stood still for a second.

What could I be missing? There has to be something. There has to be something. Damn it, there has to be something! 

Your eyes wandered around your apartment for a good minute before you called it in. You patted yourself down while muttering the names of the items you felt in your pockets before finally leaving. You locked up behind you and let out a long sigh as you ran your hand down your face. 

When you got to the bakery, your heart was beating in your ears and you felt your ears warm up when you made eye contact with Olivia from just a few tables away. She waved at you and you waved back as you subtly gulped. On the way towards the table, you silently hoped she didn’t pick up on the urge you had to perish right then and there.

“Hey,” you said. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to hug her or shake her hand, something, so you just stuck with sending a small but simple smile her way.

“Hi,” she responded. She returned your smile as she looked you up and down. “You look good—I mean, you look yeah,” she awkwardly laughed, flustered from her stammering.

You returned a short laugh, feeling a tiny bit of the tension beginning to ease but not entirely, “You look good too,” your smile grew softer as you spoke. You noticed her eyes still wandering. “Didn’t get a good look last time?” You quipped in a teasing tone.

She shook her head as she tried to fight off the bright smile that painted her face. “I see you haven’t changed much,” she said.

“Well, me and change have never mixed well.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” she made her tone less monotone to ease the weight of her words. But that didn’t make you oblivious to their meaning.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your posture while you folded your hands and dropped them to your lap. “So, how’s the documentary going?”

“Just fine,” she said positively. “Still in the early stages, and you know how that can be.” You nodded along to her words.  It suddenly became awkwardly quiet. 

You picked at your cuticles, pressing harder and harder for that sweet sensation you craved, your gaze everywhere but at Olivia. That tension you felt before started to settle in your chest again, and you didn’t know how to cope. You just wanted out. You regretted agreeing to this. You wish you never bumped into her. You wish you never agreed to dinner with Tara because then this wouldn't be happening. 

Of course it goes back to Tara. It always seems to.

“You still do that thing with your fingers?” She asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at your lap to where your hands rested. 

“I don’t have to look to know. We dated for three years, Y/N,” she said.

“Oh.”

“And I can hear you picking at them from under the table.”

You suddenly felt small, slumping in your chair, and continuing to avoid eye contact with the woman who sat across from you. However, Olivia did not return this treatment. She sat up in her chair, placing her own hands on the table before turning them over to expose her palms. “Let me see your hands.” 

“What?”

“Show. Me. Your. Hands.”

 It didn’t seem like she was asking. There was definitely not a question mark in there. You rolled your eyes, letting out a small sigh that held aggravation. Reluctantly, you complied with her commands. She took your hands in hers and began to examine them, her fingers tracing down and softly rubbing against yours—you forgot how soft her hands were. As soon as her hands made contact with yours, you felt your joints grow weak and your cheeks felt too warm. You don’t remember the last time you held hands with her but it was certainly having an affect on you.

“Have you been using these as a chew toy?” She rhetorically asked, referring to your fingers whilst still examining them.

“Okay, they’re not that bad.”

“Yes. Yes they are,” she said with no hesitation.

She finally stopped looking at your fingers and instead at you. When you saw the worried expression that painted her face, you knew a line of questioning was approaching. “Are you okay?” She inquired in an unbearably gentle voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Which means you’re not fine.”

“Putting words into my mouth, as always,” you said in a low tone as you pulled your hands away from her.

“You really want to go there?” She let out a short exasperated laugh with her question, raising her eyebrows as she spoke.

“When I say I’m fine—I’m fine,” you said while leaning in and emphasizing your words by pressing on the table with your index finger; you leaned back against your chair when you finished speaking.

“Oh my God. You are literally so unbelievable—do you even hear yourself?” She looked at you with pure disbelief which only confused you further.

“What are you even talking about? All I said is that when I say I’m fine, I mean those words. How am I wrong here? I genuinely don’t understand,” you expressed in both frustration and genuine confusion.

“And what I am trying to say is you’re still the exact same person I was arguing with right before we broke up.”

“What?”

“You never want to talk! Listen, baby, I get you’re grieving—but you can’t just shut me out like this. It’s apparent that you need help! You don’t have to rush into it, but eventually—”

“Whether I talk or not is my choice! And I’m not seeing some stupid grief counselor, okay? Just because I don’t wanna talk to you about certain things, doesn’t mean I’m shutting you out—and I don’t need help! I’m fine. I’m just—damn it, I’m just processing. Can’t you let me do that at least?”

“You have been ‘processing’ for months! It’s time to—”

“Time to what? Move one?”

“That’s not what I was going to say!”

“But you’re thinking it. You’re thinking it just like everyone else is; my mom, my brothers, everyone at school—just leave me alone, all right!”

“Y/N, nobody is—”

“No! Everyone is thinking! Just stop, okay! I don’t need your bullshit sweet nothings, I don’t need some therapist, I don't need to talk about it—I’m fine!”

You and her could not even go five minutes without your conversation, or lack of, forming into an argument. And it was your fault. You were the problem. You couldn’t answer a simple question. Maybe you were hiding behind the fact that you didn’t know how to answer that question, or that you're trying to hide the answer from others. Either way, you always find yourself forming emotional barricades around you, no one in and no one out. 

“Hey, come back,” Olivia’s voice rang. You were pulled from your thoughts, blinking rapidly as if it would wipe away the memories you tried so hard to erase. She leaned in, her irritated expression replaced with a comforting one. “I know how mean that voice in your head can be, I know what it does to you—but I just want you to be okay.”

You met her gaze, your expression equivalent to the look of a lost puppy. “Thank you, Olivia,” you simply said. It was not much, but it still weighed in emotion. 

 The rest of the night was less intense. She asked about Blackmore and how it’s going, which inevitably opened the door to her questioning you about seeing you with Tara the other night, and you found out more about her documentary. The night was long and tiring, but as much as you hate to admit it, you’re glad you agreed to catch up with Olivia. And you would be a bold faced liar if you said you didn’t miss her. The wound is still arguably fresh, but it’s beginning to heal. 

You walked into the apartment, looking forward to changing into a pair of pajamas and binge watching some TV on the couch until you passed out. You have been studying non-stop for exams for the past four weeks, so why not give yourself a treat? Plus, this upcoming school week, you will officially be exactly one week from exams so you will be locked in. What does that mean? You do what you usually do but multiply that by a million, anyone who has known you long enough knows they’re going to hear less and less from you the closer you get to exams. It’s as if you completely shut down from the outside—actually, that’s exactly what happens.

As you walked inside, you yawned and rubbed your tired eyes. But as they begin to focus again, you notice a few blobs sitting in your living room. When your eyes are fully focused, that’s when you see them.

“Are you shitting me,” you expressed in a monotone voice while turning the locks on the door before throwing your keys to the side.

“No—no whining!” Anika immediately said. “You knew they were coming over.”

“I thought you canceled,” you said.

“Uncanceled.”

“What a miracle,” you remarked as you took off your jacket.

“How come whenever I have people over you have a problem with it as if this isn't a shared apartment?” 

“Y/N being an inconsiderate jackass? What a revolation,” Tara pitched in with a smirk. You looked over to deadpan at her and she was already staring back at you.

“Says the woman who still owes me a milkshake,” you wiggled a finger at her. You both smiled at each other before you turned back around to kick off your shoes. “You know what, Nik, it’s fine. I’m just kind of grumpy right now.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry for not giving you an update,” she said, matching your own apoplectic tone. “You wanna join us? We were gonna play some Uno then watch a movie.”

“Uh, I don’t know—”

“Yeah, probably 'cause you’re gonna get all embarrassed when I wipe the floor with your ass in Uno,” the younger Carpenter knowingly instigated.

“Oh, excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m the reigning champ in my family—don’t start something you can’t finish, princess,” you instigated back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Alright,” your gaze stayed on Tara for a moment before switching back to Anika, “I’ll join you.”

—

“Tara is totally looking at my cards!” Chad shouted while shoving his cards to his chest like an elderly woman clutching her pearls.

“I am not! You’re the one who keeps leaning on my side!” Tara whined back with just as much passion, if not more.

“Okay—no one looks at anyone's cards!” Anika cut in. “Alright, babe, it’s your turn.”

Mindy wore a devious smirk, slowly picking a card from her deck for dramatic effect. 

“Boom, suck on that!” Everyone leaned in to look at the plus four Mindy slammed down on the pile of cards. Chad instantly groaned, immediately feeling a sense of regret for wasting his last plus four. He sulked while taking four more cards.

Now it was your turn. Tara was right after you, you had the chance to make her life a living hell. All you had to do was place the three plus four from your deck and you would double Tara’s deck in size and be one more card away from Uno.

You made a decision.

“Plus four,” you gloated regarding the single plus four you placed down.

“Damn it!” Tara made sure to glare at you while she picked up her four cards. “Just wait, you’ll see. I’m going to make my comeback.” 

“Whatever you say,” you said in a doubtful tone. As Tara silently cursed to herself while flipping through her deck in frustration, you couldn’t help but stare fondly at the girl. She always had a competitiveness to her that you couldn’t help but respect. It was kind of cute.

After another seven minutes, it came down to just two people; you and Tara. You sat from across each other, debating your next play while one taunted the other.

“You know you’re going down, right?”

Tara laughed at your words. “You have at least ten cards, I just have two more turns and I’ll be following through with wiping the floor with your ass.”

“Oh, yeah?” You said, unintentionally with a come hither voice. You leaned in, your voice lowering but the tone still the same as you spoke to her. “You keep that energy, Carpenter.”

Tara's face suddenly grew warm, her stomach enveloping with butterflies as your voice crashed against her ears. You leaned back against the couch, looking at your own cards as it was Tara’s turn now. 

Shit, you were in her head now. You totally did that on purpose, you had to. And what a dick you were for that, you knew what you were doing—again, you had to be aware of your actions. You must know the stupid feeling you give her, the way her stomach flips, how her legs turn to jello when you call for her. No. Focus. Come on, Tara. Lock in. Wipe the floor.

She cleared her throat, blinking down at her cards while processing them. It took a moment for it to click before she tapped back into her competitiveness and slammed down a card. “Uno! Plus four—suck on that!” Now she had just one card remaining in her hand, just one more turn and she would be victorious.

You smiled at her, your head tilted a bit as your eyes lit at the sign of her celebrating. She calmed herself down, feigning a calm demeanor. “Alright, it's your turn.”

You sighed. Well it was fun while it lasted, you enjoyed playing with Tara. It was entertaining. It’s nice playing with someone who can handle your competitiveness. “Uno, uno out,” you said while putting down your entire deck. You sat in your spot, looking at Tara with a shit-eating smirk with your hands folded together as Tara sat there dumbfounded.

“That’s—what, no, wait,” she furrowed her eyebrows as she rummaged through the cards you just placed. They were all green sevens. All of them. “How’d you—”

“Chin up, honey,” you teased, winking at her

“Oh you’re a real piece of work.” She shot up from her seat as she rushed over to a nearby closet. Your eyes followed her movements as you raised your eyebrows at her sudden actions. 

“You two finally finished?” Mindy asked but was ignored by the other girl. “What are you doing with that—can you like stop ignoring me?” Tara returned with a box of Jenga in her hand and the others trailing behind her. 

“I’m too tired to play Jenga,” Chad said.

“Good thing you’re not.” She now looked to address you, “You, me, Jenga—now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” was all you said as she immediately began setting everything up.

“What’s this about?” Anika asked you.

“Oh, I beat her ass in Uno—graciously so—and she’s being petty about it,” you shrugged.

“I am not being petty, I am unsatisfied. Seriously—how do you win with all green sevens?! Ugh, never mind that. We’re playing this and I’m going to hold out on my promise.”

“Of wiping the floor with my ass?”

“Exactly.”

“Woman of her word,” you say while getting comfortable in your spot.

Mindy, Anika, and Chad watched from the sidelines as you and Tara went at it in Jenga. There were many, many close calls, and few times where the other nearly flipped a table. You both tried to get into the other’s head while the other was sliding out their pieces, but so far no mistakes. But the tower was growing wobbly, it was getting late, and it was only a matter of time before that tower fell over. Now, it was simply a matter of who would make it come to that.

It was Tara’s turn, and there were not many places left for her to take from so she was forced to resort to an incredibly risky spot. You took this as another opportunity to mess with her. “Hey, Tar?”

“Kind of busy here,” she said—the block just halfway out. 

“Will you marry me?” You casually inquired.

Tara’s eyes widened and her eyebrows jumped in surprise. Her hand immediately faltered, dropping her piece as the tower came crashing down. Her mouth opened and closed, her stare averting back and forth from you and the fallen tower; she didn't even know where to begin. 

The others just remained on the sidelines, completely entertained by what was unfolding in front of them.

“Is that… a no?” Your eyes were almost pleading as you continued to taunt the girl, your millionth smirk that night threatened to show itself. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Tara responded as she squeezed her eyes shut, still processing what just happened.

“Not before the honeymoon,” you quipped. Chad, Mindy, and Anika could now be heard laughing, no longer able to hold it in.

“You can’t just—” She shut her mouth out of frustration, settling for narrowing her eyes at you.

“I can’t just what, sweetie? Come on, use your words.” Oh, this was fun. 

Suddenly you got a pillow to the face which only made it funnier, to you at least. “You owe me a rematch, cheater!” 

“Excuse me, I didn’t cheat. You messed up on your own devices,” you said while patting down the pillow and putting it to the side.

“You know what you did,” she said with bitterness laced in her voice. 

“I don’t, so how about you tell me? Tell me how exactly my words affected you; you know, so I can prevent myself from accidentally cheating next time.” You never broke eye contact with Tara; you enjoyed how much she was squirming thanks to you, maybe you enjoyed it a little too much.

“Next time?” 

“You wanna rematch, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do.” This whole interaction had Tara blushing; she needed to leave, like right now. “How about I get back to you in 5-7 business days? Sounds good? Cool. Well, it’s late and Chad’s my ride so we should probably head home, right Chad?” Her words were rushed which made you raise an eyebrow at the sudden change. 

“Hm? Oh sure, I’ll just get my keys and stuff and we can go,” Chad said before going to get his belongings.

“So, I’ll see you around—buddy,” she awkwardly punched your arm in a playful manner.

“Um, yeah, buddy. See you around,” you chuckled at her awkwardness.

“I’m still expecting an answer though!” You called out as she made her way to the front door.

“5-7 business days!” She repeated back to you.

“I’m holding you to that!”

-----------

A/N: well that escalated, gosh, keep it in your pants R! 😦

Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax@andsoigotabutterfly @ajortga

#let the light in au #tara carpenter #tara x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter x fem!reader #scream x you #scream x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #scream fanfic

[hilsoncrater]

"i'm not gonna say anything. i'm just gonna walk into her office and i'm gonna kiss her"

now why tf did house look down at his desk and start stammering and blushing after wilson said that 🤨 "cuddy likes bold" but he does too ??? arguably more than her ???

wait no pause. actually. that entire conversation he's soooooo hyperfocused on what wilson would do. almost as if he's envisioning himself in cuddy's shoes. he also like. keeps looking at the table, looking at wilson, looking at the table, looking at wilson with an expression that's expectant. he thinks wilson will connect the dots. holy shit.

he wants wilson to connect the dots. but he can't...he can't admit it to himself. so he role plays as cuddy. he hides behind this made-up, fabricated version of reality where wilson's got a crush on cuddy. it's perfect because the only other likely person wilson would go see that play with is cuddy.

after the play, house asks for the dirty details yet 1) gets frustrated at wilson for not sticking to house's own script of Going On A Date To A Play = Sex. and then 2) gets jealous at the thought of wilson having sex after the play with the real cuddy instead of him.

there's mixed, complex feelings written all over the wall here. on one hand, house wants wilson to fall into bed with cuddy because that means that by extension from fabricating this entire thing, wilson is actually falling into bed with house who is merely role-playing as cuddy. fantasy gaga. "i'll miss you. you were a good friend." = the nature of our relationship has changed.

HOWEVER on the other hand, house can't stand the thought of wilson falling into bed with cuddy because it'd be Too Real, Too Literal. it'd be wilson having real sex with the real cuddy and — because this is wilson here — it'd be wilson having a real romantic relationship with the real cuddy. notably not with house. it'd completely fuck the fantasy up.

but house is too far gone and also likes to fuck around and find out. he knows wilson's a hopeless romantic, so he sends wilson flowers in cuddy's name. wilson interprets this as cuddy being sexually interested, which pleases house because he is sexually interested in his boy best friend.

house is overly invested in hearing what wilson's plan is to ask cuddy out after wilson says he doesn't know what "being straight" is. they're on two different wavelengths where house thinks wilson's read between the lines to figure out it was house, not cuddy, this whole time. ergo to him, wilson's "i don't know what that [being straight] is" = i'm interested in you too and i recognize that cuddy is a metaphor; i'm now knowingly playing into it.

meanwhile wilson is literally talking about the real cuddy.

house becomes clearly aroused flustered at the thought of wilson barging into cuddy's office to wordlessly kiss her. house enjoys the way wilson approaches sex & romance differently than him. i think a part of him wants a grand romantic gesture like what wilson described. "i can't stop thinking about her" / "maybe she's right. maybe...maybe this is worth exploring."

and the funny thing is, is that the office wilson does barge right into is house's office.

"you sent those flowers to me!" "yes, because you took her to a play. because actually you do want to march down there and kiss her." "no! i don't!" "yes, you do."

it's just a prank, right? it's just a retaliation, right? calling it a prank or retaliation is a rationalization to deny away how house's attraction is boiling over. he wants to explore things with wilson, wants to get rid of the "good friend" label, but he's way! too! repressed! at least to initiate it outright. so he concocts this convoluted thing just to get wilson to make the first move because, historically, wilson holds the reins in their relationship. they also, historically, work their boundaries out through pranks. why should this situation be any different?

and wilson has this look of slow, frustrated realization before he says, "you're right" because he knows house. wilson is now in on the metaphor, so he admits that he does want to kiss metaphor cuddy.

but when house's face falls, "seriously?" wilson goes right back into The Status Quo "no" because as soon as the metaphor became Too Real, Too Literal, it shook house out of it thanks to his jealousy. that, and maybe wilson — Dr. Comphet himself — got cold feet, too.

they're ships in the night. when one of them is in on the metaphor, the other isn't. house knows how to woo wilson, wilson knows how to woo house. and yet they can't!!! ever!!!! admit it at the same time!!!! house pulls on a push door; wilson pushes on a pull door; the door doesn't open

#i'm gonna tear out my hair the comphet & internalized homophobia goes stupid goes crazy #i was FULLY expecting wilson to barge into house's office to kiss house after he left the second time #i knew it was not happening and yet i still held out themeatic hope fml #hilson #house md

[lyomeii]

a darling not loving him anymore

->warnings: yandere themes, death mention, reader is at first blind loving this man, angst, comfort(?)

-> request by anon! We don't get enough of Claude(From WMMAP) so here's the scenario I've been thinking for awhile. Reader is someone that's a daughter from a high positioned noble who wanted his love more than anything. (This happened after diana died) The reader doesn't care that he killed someone, she just wanted his love! But after seeing that Claude hated her guts, she left and found a sweet and loving fiancé. Now when she left, Claude felt something, Emptiness.. Now his obsession kinda grew..

->a/n: uhhhhhhhh! love that idea anon ;) seeing this type of tropes always bring myself up and not to mention how satisfactory is too see the male character fall in love with the mc after she leave him! AHHH! sorry, just to anxious and happily to write it ;) also no more posting til Monday since i be doing tests and then playing overwatch

-> the news of the emperor getting married reach the nobles and public ears, both surprised of such event since his lovers death years ago, so that made many people curious to find out who is the luck person to marry the emperor

-> and that person is you, a daughter one of the greatest general the empire, know as a sweet woman who deeply care about everyone and is often seen helping those in need, a unexpected but perfect match to Claude, yet he doesn’t see that way

-> he only married you for two obviously reason, your father asked him to do that in order to protect his precious daughter from older men praying in you and the other one is the amount of the people irritating him to get married to a noble lady, so yeah, he doesn’t see you in the same way you see him

-> the way your eyes almost become a heart shaped when he is in your view, your hugs when you are both alone, the beautiful robes you gave him in honor to his first love and spending time with his daughter to get know them better

-> to the servants at the palace is easily noticeable how deep is your love toward Claude and Anathasia, yet they also noticed how the emperor doesn’t really care about your presence at the palace, in fact, in recently times, he start to avoid you all costs

-> when you are taking care of Anathasia and asked to a nearby servant to ask Claude to play with his daughter with you, they quickly answer that the emperor is busy with his works, at first, you seem to believe them

-> however, as times goes, you start noticing how you stop seeing your husband anywhere and in those rare cases you manage to catch a glimpse of him, Claude is far away and playing with your stepdaughter, you felt a mixed of feelings

-> at first, you are happy that he is finally spending time with his daughter and he looks joyful! Yet, you feel sad to not be part of it and as much you want to talk about it with your husband, he still ignoring you everyday, and not even letting you spending time with Anathasia anymore

-> without much option to do, you ask Felix about your husband’s actions in the past few days and well, it did open your eyes to realize how Claude feel about you, the knight tried his best to use better words to describe what the emperor feel about you, but the damage was done, you realize that you were nothing to Claude and that will never change

-> feeling horrible, you decided to go into a divorce, as much that sound a terrible end to a noble lady married to the emperor, you finally felt happy, knowing that maybe one day someone will truly love you the same way you loved Claude

-> the last time you had a proper conversation with your ex-husband was the day he signed the divorce and let you go back home with your belonging, speaking how much Anathasia missed you and asked him what will happen to you if you left her

-> even loving the little girl, you said goodbye to the palace, promising to never return to this place and finally going back home, where you cried to yourself to sleep for being such idiot to think that Claude loved you

-> the gossips about the divorce was quickly spread by the commoner, yet many didn’t seem to be angry at the previous empress, some of them told many others how the emperor coldly treat his wife during her time at the palace, others spoken how he ignore her every moment and treated her as a stranger

-> yet, the gossips about the divorce of their emperor were stopped after months when they receive a new that made them happy, the sweet woman, once the empress has finally engaged a man who is consider her the gorgeous woman in the world, the lucky man is none than Rogers Alpheus

-> once again, the empire become festive knowing that the poor noblewoman has finally find her true love, not suffering more pain coming from the cold emperor

-> in the other hand, Claude felt emptiness, with you away from the palace, he though he would become happier with Anathasia, yet he miss your presence

-> your hugs, laughs and smiles, those were what brought joy inside the cold palace, and his daughter was happier when you were live with them, but he only noticed it too late and now you are gone from their life

-> the servants notice his attitude change and all of them knew the reason why, he was invited to you wedding with Duke Alpheus, Rogers gave the invitation himself as a respect, but asked to the blonde not coming since that will bring down your joyful behavior

-> and Claude agreed with the Duke, when the wedding happened, he didn’t participate but he waited in the shadows to see your face after you left the cathedral and was worth it

-> you dressed in the most elegant white dress with a bouquet full of beautiful flowers, and how your expression only show happiness with your new husband standing next to you while the guest congratulate the new couple

-> that’s the opposite of your previous wedding with him, the only person present was the priest who made you two married, the dress you wore was simple and he was wearing his usual clothes, still you were so happy to married him, but now you are marry to that man

-> not for long though, Claude will find his way to the top and bring you back home, where you will spend your life with his and your sweet daughter

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere headcanon #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere who made me a princess #claude de alger obelia x you #claude de alger obelia x reader #yandere Claude de Alger Obelia #who made me a princess x reader #who made me a princess #yandere manhwa

[juyeonszn]

PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER (PT. 2)

PAIRING kevin moon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 5.60k

GENRES angst ﹒little bit of fluff ﹒little bit of smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader is better than me cause i would not let kevin do all the shit he’s done 😭, ANYWAY i digress, this part is very reader-centric — whereas part one is very kevin-centric, inner turmoil goes absolutely crazy, most of this fic is reader putting kevin in his place and him realizing how big of an asshole he truly is, mentions of injury (past tense), mentions of insecurity, lots of arguing, reader cries at one point or another, the smut places a very minimal role in this, but unprotected sex, public sex (the auditorium dressing room), no foreplay but wtv we fall like soldiers in battle, pussy job lowkey (high key…), creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

SUMMARY it wasn’t like you and kevin hated each other. in fact, you quite admired him despite his somewhat indifferent attitude toward you. well, now that you’re paired up for the last dance of the year, you guess it’s the perfect time to find out why.

MORE oh my god. it’s finally fucking here. A MONTH, 2 SICKNESSES AND MANY MANY STRESSFUL NIGHTS LATER— part two of princess and the pauper is here!!! i’m so sorry to those of u who have been itching and waiting on me to get ‘er done,,, it’s been an ordeal to say the least, and while it’s nearing the two month mark since the black out or back out collab was announced, SHE FINALLY FINISHED!!! for once i saw something through omg i can sleep peacefully and work on my other wips without guilt now… 😭 ALSO THANK U SO MUCH MAYA @/kimsohn FOR PUSHING ME THROUGH THIS and for making me thug it out bc without u it definitely would’ve taken much longer to finish 💔 please dont forget to read part one and the other fics in the series if u haven’t!! both are linked below! and as always, pls reblog if u enjoyed <3

PART ONE | SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr @sunwooverse @kimsohn

TAGLIST @millksea @deobibbang @deobi0412

Never in your life have you felt so… Confused.

It wasn’t just confusion that settled deep in the pit of your stomach. There was a sharp pain there too, like someone stabbed you and twisted the knife. That was probably the best way to describe what you were feeling. You were bleeding out, and no one was coming to save you.

Kevin wasn’t answering your calls. He wasn’t answering your texts. He ran out of the lecture hall as soon as class was over, never giving you a moment to speak to him. It was making you nervous.

You still had half of a dance to choreograph and a fuck ton of pressure riding on your back. After the last performance you and him did together, you’d have a lot of eyes on you. It most definitely wasn’t your fault that he dropped you. How many people willingly want to acquire a broken ankle? The crutches were a bitch to maneuver around with. But like every single thing that’s happened in the three years you’ve known Kevin Moon, he’s managed to place the blame on you like it was.

It was crucial that you make amends with him even if it was momentarily. Your final grades were dependent on your performance. If he couldn’t get his shit together for at least that, he was a lost cause in your mind. Not even your professor would be able to refute that fact. Actually, nobody would be able to refute that fact.

Your lips form an O as you blow the steam away from your coffee, pulling out your phone to try Kevin’s phone once again. The line rings a few times before going straight to voicemail like it has the past couple weeks. You kiss your teeth, tying your sweater around your waist as you slump in your chair. The baristas at the campus cafe were probably sick of seeing you sitting in the same high-top counter spot since the incident with Kevin in the studio.

“Y/N?”

Ji Changmin appears beside you and you click your phone off, so he wouldn’t see his friend’s contact on the screen. You give the Early Childhood Dev major a weak smile.

“Changmin! What’s up? How are you and your girlfriend?” You hope he can’t recognize the distress written all over your features. You highly doubt it, though. You can feel the wrinkles pulling at your skin.

“We’re good! How’s the showcase performance going with Kev?” He asks like he knows something you don’t. When your lips fall to a thin line, an all too familiar grimace, he sighs a knowing sigh. “Do I have to smack some sense into him?”

“Not gonna lie, yeah, you do. He’s being really fucking difficult and like half of our dance is unfinished. I can’t even get a hold of him, so I’m starting to lose my patience.” You express your annoyance. The border between complacency and free-will was a lot slimmer than one might think. For example; your feelings when it comes to Kevin Moon.

You don’t expect to get a returning call later that night when you’re washing dishes after dinner.

In fact, you don’t even hear it at first, too absorbed in scrubbing the staining out of your bowl. It’s when your roommate yells out to you, that you snap out of your reverie, albeit dazedly. You dry your hands on a nearby tea towel, hitting the green answer button without a second glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your heart catches in your throat. You recognize the owner of the voice practically by the first breath into the receiver alone. It’s actually kind of unhealthy how quickly it took to realize who was on the other end. You swallow heavily, praying he doesn’t hear the gulp.

“In the latter part of the afternoon, I believe. Why?” You try not to sound hopeful. That’s one thing you’ve learned being in the same vicinity as Kevin Moon. You could never be too expecting, because it would only lead to disappointment. And you’d dealt with enough of that the past few years.

“We need to finish this fuck ass choreography,” he grunts, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue. “I’ll meet you in the same studio at 4.”

He doesn’t let you get anything else in, hanging up swiftly. You deflate as you set your phone back on the counter. All you had to do was push through these next couple weeks, like you always have when it came to him.

That should be a piece of cake, right?

Wrong.

“No, that looks stupid.”

You grit your teeth, swiping the back of your hand on your forehead. You’d been inside of this studio maybe 30 minutes tops, and you were on the verge of strangling Kevin. With as long as you’d been putting up with his shit, you thought getting through this wouldn’t be as rough as it’s been. But if there was one thing Kevin Moon had, it was pride.

“We don’t have time for you to nitpick right now. Let’s just finish the choreography and clean it after.” Your hands rest on your hips, nostrils flaring.

“If we clean as we go, we’ll have more time to drill it into our systems and get down muscle memory. It’ll be a stronger performance.” He argues. You roll your eyes as you turn away from him, taking a water break to calm yourself. “Why do you have so much fucking attitude today? You were the one preaching to the choir about me making things difficult. It seems the tables have turned.”

Usually, you were pretty good at keeping your frustration at bay when it came to Kevin’s remarks. You liked to think it was because you were down bad for the guy, despite him always wanting nothing to do with you. But as of late, (Read: Since your performance of Princess and the Pauper) every little comment he’s made has managed to crawl under your skin like a damn parasite. You were beginning to get real sick of it.

“God, you’re so—“ You interrupt yourself to groan, fingers curling into fists. “You’re fucking insufferable. Do you know that? I’ve been bending over backwards to ensure we aren’t kicked out of the goddamn program and you don’t even fucking care. Over what? A kiss that you initiated?”

Kevin is stunned into silence, not at all prepared for you to blow up on him like that. After all, that razor thin line between complacency and free-will had yet to be crossed. And well, it appears that you just crossed it. You whip around toward him, pulling down the collar of your t-shirt to reveal the faintest of bruises that still remains from your impromptu act of intimacy.

“I’ve had to look at this every day for a week and all it’s done is make me feel shitty, ashamed of something I didn’t even start. Now I need you to stop acting like an ass and get it together so we can finish this and perform the best dance this university has ever seen.” Your chest is heaving up and down, similarly to when you made out against the mirrors last week. Except this time isn’t out of breathlessness, but rather anger and exhaustion.

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave the hickey on the base of your throat, something undetectable swimming in them as he stares. You can’t read the emotions swirling rampantly in his irises, a mixture of too many blurring into one another. Honestly, it’s funny. It’s funny that it’s taken you this long to get him to shut his mouth for once.

So you laugh.

It’s a snort at first, an off handed projection of how comical the situation has become to you. But then it metamorphoses into a small giggle, which leads to full scale laughter that has you hunching over your knees and wiping away tears. This whole thing is stupid. Absolutely fucking stupid.

“What are you laughing at?” His eyebrow raises in question, broken from his weird trance.

“I just can’t believe it took three years for me to shut you up,” you shake your head slowly, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm. “You’re always the one who can’t stop talking.”

Kevin deadpans, mouth pulled pin-straight as his expression drops. “You’re so unserious.”

As the height of your laughter reaches a valley, you collapse onto the ground, resting your back against the mirror. You take another long sip of water before sighing. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. Trust me, I know. But, we’ve gotta set aside our differences just this once. Please, for the sake of the department.”

“Fine,” he murmurs, plopping down beside you to stretch his back. “Let’s finish choreographing so we can start cleaning it up.”

It’s a victory in your book, and probably the most obedient the Pisces has ever been. Maybe this wouldn’t end in complete disaster like you assumed it would. It turns out Kevin Moon wasn’t entirely brainless and knew when he was wrong. Sometimes. Maybe. We’ll see.

You shut your eyes and visualize what you’ve choreographed so far, going over the moves in your head to see if the rest will come to you like a prophecy. It’s wishful thinking, but with how much you’ve accomplished since setting foot in the studio, you’re willing to try anything. The track would be nice for elements of hip hop style choreography, but you knew the audience wouldn’t eat it up as much as they would the route you’re currently taking.

Driver roll up the partition, please…

The song plays through the speakers and you watch as Kevin stands to run through everything you have. You’re entranced by his movements, the flow of his body on certain points. It’ll look ten times better once you’re doing it with him, costumed and performing it perfectly in front of a crowd. You can picture it now, the gentle but controlled glide of his hands along your arms when Beyoncé sings “We ain’t even gonna make it to this club”. He was right. You very well might be seduced by your enemy.

“Should we use props?” You suddenly voice, eyes narrowed in thought. He hums.

“That’s… not a half-bad idea, actually,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “What did you have in mind?”

“A chair, maybe,” you look away from him, placing your focus on the way your toes alternate between a tendu and relaxed position. “That could take up a good chunk of the choreo.”

Kevin stalks over to the supply closet in the corner of the studio, pulling out a folding chair. He puts it in the center of the room gently, careful to not scratch up the wooden, lacquered flooring. You spend the next couple of hours brainstorming through numerous versions of the dance. While it was a lot easier than your past practices, there were still the occasional argument over which movements looked good and whatnot.

At a certain point, everything becomes cohesive and the end is near. You gulp down some water as Kevin does some random choreography. It’s then that it comes to you, like a vision from That’s So Raven. You practically drop your water bottle, scrambling to your feet and stopping him. Your breath is heavy from fatigue and you’re slightly afraid of even suggesting this, but it’s exactly what this dance needs. It’s exactly what everyone wants to see from the two of you.

He pauses the music and gestures for you to get on with it. You push down the lump in your throat, scared of rejection. But maybe he was smart and he would agree that this is what you have to do. “What if we did a lift?”

You see the hesitation swirling in his eyes and you raise a finger before he can shut you down entirely. “Nothing crazy like… um— you know— Princess and the Pauper, but something smaller. Something… sexy? Like, Dancing with the Stars type beat.”

When he shrugs instead of outright dismissing your idea, you know you’ve won. He nods slowly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Okay, sure. But we better clean up everything else fast so we can perfect the lift.”

The two of you take another three hours running the entirety of the choreography, ingraining the moves into your brains and muscles. You still had a bit until the actual showcase, but your priority now lies with the lift. If you nailed it, the entire department would very well grovel after you in reparation for all of the slack you got after Kevin dropped you. Hell, the entire university would kiss your feet. This was your redemption. In more ways than one.

You both decide to call it a day at around 9:30 PM. Your hands reach for your belongings and then you halt yourself, a thought coming to mind. While you had him in this weird state of obedience, you figured it was as good a time as any to ask the question that’s been weighing on you for the past few years. Your fingers swipe away the sweat beading around your hairline.

”Kevin,” you start, voice a lot softer than before. “Why do you— what did I do to make you dislike me so much?”

He’s caught completely off guard, eyes widening in surprise. If he was anticipating you to say anything else prior to parting ways tonight, he didn’t think this would be it. He’s actually a little off put that you hadn’t asked him this already in the span of your definitely-one-sided rivalry. He takes a large gulp of water.

”I’d call it indifference, not dislike,” he corrects after a pregnant silence. “It’s really fucking stupid thinking about it in hindsight. I don’t know if you remember this time, way back in our first year, we ran into each other at the campus cafe— literally, might I add— and you spilled your coffee all over this white shirt of mine that Changmin had gotten for me as a birthday gift. I only recently found out that it wasn’t as expensive as he made it out to be.”

You blink at his admission, processing his words as thoroughly as possible. You don’t know what you wanted him to say. You weren’t even sure if there was a concrete reason for him to be so fucking mean to you all this time. And now that you know, you come to the conclusion that Kevin Moon isn’t as smart as you’ve painted him out to be in your head. He’s actually a gigantic idiot. Because who in their right mind goes through these lengths to form a distance between the only other person on par with their talent?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re bursting into another fit of laughter. Kevin falters at your reaction. He was waiting for you to blow up on him, to scream in his face for causing you so much pain and unnecessary drama over something so silly. So when you do none of that, when you start fucking laughing like a damn hyena, he feels dumb. Like his entire college career has been built off of nothing.

”This is so—“ you pause to gather your bearings, wiping away the tears that managed to escape. “We’ve spent so much time going back and forth over some spilled coffee? Surely you’ve realized how insane that is at some point.”

”It took a lengthy argument with Changmin, but yeah, I did,” he nods, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, finally getting your things together. The two of you bid each other an awkward goodbye. Neither of you knew what to make of your relationship now that things had been partially sorted through. There was a fuck ton of baggage that still had to be sifted, but at least you had an answer.

That was enough to push through this showcase performance. You think.

You’re nervous.

Never in your entire life have you ever been this nervous for a performance.

You grew up doing musical theatre and dancing, it’s always been the one constant presence you could rely on. But standing here, backstage at the showcase, you think you’re going to throw up. Your palms are clamming up uncontrollably and your chest feels unbearably heavy as you watch the quartet doing a contemporary piece to some ballad you couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. There were still a couple groups before you.

Not even when you had to perform fuckass Princess and the Pauper were you this anxious. You wince, trying to stop the incessant bouncing of your leg. Your weight keeps shifting from one hip to the other. As a seasoned veteran, you don’t know why you feel this way. Maybe it had to do with all the pressure riding on this very dance. Every single eye in that crowd was going to scrutinize your every move on that stage.

“Calm down,” a voice whispers harshly from beside you. “You’re making me nervous.”

Kevin wraps his fingers around your wrist, stopping the annoying tap-tap-tap your own were doing against your thigh. He gives you a look, and you sigh. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

That’s a lie. Not only was the high expectations from the entire school getting to you, but so was the fear of history repeating itself. He knows this, it was inevitable. After what happened the last time he was tasked with lifting you, it was only natural.

”We’ve drilled this dance hundreds, if not thousands, of times, Y/N. We’ll do just fine.” Kevin assures you.

His hand feels foreign holding yours, like it was illegal for his skin to be touching your own. You feel your lower lip quiver, a sense of trepidation that you’ve never once felt creeping down your spine. Your mind was spiraling, and quite honestly, Kevin being so close was making it worse. All you could think about was him dropping you again, leaving you in the middle of the stage with a broken leg and a broken heart. You release a shaky breath and he turns to face you.

Your eyes widen and he searches your face for any disingenuity. When he finds his answer, he brings the hand that was holding yours up to cup your cheek. He’s cautious, afraid he might break you like he always does. He waits for you to shove him away and to yell at him for being a fucking coward.

You don’t. You stay still, hoping he follows through with what you think he’s about to do. And then he does.

It’s such a featherlight peck of his lips on your own, you almost don’t even register. But sparks shoot from the source all the way to the tips of your fingers. You feel as if you were dealt a static shock of electricity, your whole body buzzing from the small kiss alone.

He pulls away just in time for the stage manager to inform you that you’re next. Kevin rolls his neck jogging over to the wings to patiently await your performance like he hadn’t just kissed you a moment ago. You blink dumbly, two fingers coming up to touch where his lips had been. Sure the nerves were gone now, but the sensation of butterflies swarming about in your stomach easily replaced that. What the fuck was his problem?

“Our last performance is one I’m sure all of you have been waiting for. Kevin Moon and Y/N L/N with Partition!”

Before you know it, you and Kevin are in position, your body squared upstage and his to the crowd. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist and his steady breathing on your nose. The spotlight switches on, the heat of the lighting warm against the side of your face. It’s silent in the auditorium, but it rings in your ears. You could do this.

Let me hear you say ‘Hey Miss Carter’…

You move on reflex, muscle memory kicking in instantaneously. Each circle of your hips, every turn you make— a fouetté here, a pirouette there, a couple coupes, each roll of your body. But what really gets you is the long brushes of Kevin’s skin on your own. You’d practiced with distance between the two of you. There was a tension that had been there for years. Now it’s all coming to a rolling boil, a new uncharted tension that every single member in that audience could see.

And then comes the lift.

You, along with everybody in the auditorium, practically hold your breath when Kevin’s hands grip your hips. He raises you above him with all of his strength, completely focused on you and only you. You shut your eyes and feel the moment, like, really feel it. Your body is relaxed, the Dirty Dancing-esque lift bringing the whole performance together just like you knew it would. The only difference from the movie and real life is the fact that you’re flipped, your backside to Kevin and your chest to the ceiling.

Your eyes flutter open, the spotlight all but blinding you, and you finally feel content. Like everything has fallen into the right place for once in your life. Especially so when Kevin sets you down gently and you finish your dance with the utmost confidence.

The crowd erupts into a roaring chorus of applause, going as far as giving you a standing ovation. Holy shit. You pulled it off. You actually managed to pull it off.

Your face feels like it might split from how big your smile is. You and Kevin bow, walking off stage. You’re entirely too happy right now, a newfound energy overtaking you as you trail behind him.

“We did it!” You cheer as you follow him towards the dressing room where your things are. You’re the only ones left backstage, everyone else filtering out between performances. Kevin doesn’t give you much of a response, just a small nod of acknowledgment. Your smile falters. “What the hell is your problem?”

”Nothing, Y/N, fuck. Can you just mind your own fucking business?” He snaps, turning around to glare at you just as the door slams behind you. You instinctively flinch at both loud noises. His features soften but you take a step back from him.

You aren’t sure why you’re surprised. This isn’t anything new. Kevin has always made it crystal clear that he wasn’t your number one fan. Being neutral for your performance wasn’t enough to repair all the holes in whatever your relationship was, and you should’ve known better. You shouldn’t have let your guard down so easily. You should’ve expected this. Old dogs can never learn new tricks.

But Kevin’s scared. He’s afraid of letting you in after all the mess he’s put you through. The only thing he’s good at doing is hurting you, over and over like there was a prize that came out of it.

”Look…”

”No, you listen to me,” you swallow heavily, tears already tight lining your eyes. “Kevin, I have taken so much shit from you. Over these past few years I have just sat there and let you unload all your fucked up insecurities onto me. Have you ever wondered why? Have you ever thought to stop and think about why I let you be so mean to me without even questioning it?”

He says nothing, just stares with his lips parted. They open and close like a fish out of water, words there at the tip of his tongue but refusing to make their escape. And then one of your tears rolls down your cheeks and he’s directly in front you, his heart on his sleeve for the first time since you’ve met him.

”Why?” The simple question is so quiet, you almost don’t hear him. But his eyes hold so much hurt, so much anguish that you’ve never seen in a person before.

“I’ve had feelings for you for so long, it’s actually starting to ache. You’ve only ever seen me as this thing, this obstacle. And I’m afraid that that’s all I’ll ever be to you, because you won’t let me be anything else. You won’t—“

”That’s not true, Y/N,” Kevin sighs, looking off to the side, away from you. “I just— it’s complicated. It’s more than just being rivals.”

”So help me understand,” you frown. “Let me in, please.”

”My entire life I’ve had to work to get to where I am. I’ve fought tooth and nail to be as good of a performer as I am today. There were so many hoops I had to go through to even get into this program and— and I thought I’d finally become the best I could be. I thought that there was no way anyone could ever be better than me. And then you showed up. You and your pretty smile and your natural ability to be the best at everything you do. It was like you were the real life manifestation of all of my critics, of every challenge I faced to get here. Where I had to practice day and night to perfect something, it just came to you like second nature. During Princess and the Pauper, when I dropped you, it truly was an accident. But we’d spent so much time nailing it, that it— I just made myself feel better by saying it was your fault. ‘How could it have been my fault if I perfected it?’ I was jealous and petty and it was just easier to blame hating— to blame my indifference on you spilling coffee on my stupid shirt. For that, I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what you were waiting to hear, but it wasn’t that. Your tears turn into full on blubbering, because what the fuck? That’s so much burden for someone to carry on their shoulders for three years.

“Why are you— why are you crying?” He flounders, reaching up to swipe away your tears.

“I wish I knew… I wish I could’ve helped you somehow,” you sniffle. “Kev, I’ve always admired you and your work ethic. I hoped one day I’d be half as disciplined as you, half as determined.”

He blinks. You’re both dumb, aren’t you? Too focused on the wrong things. You both could’ve been a lot less hateful, a lot less miserable, had you just spoken your differences out. This entire rivalry has been completely one sided, but also built off of plain stupidity and ignorance. He supposes it’s not too late to make amends if you aren’t running in the opposite direction despite everything he’s put you through.

Kevin leans forward, hand still pressed to your cheek, and connects your lips softly. He’s testing the waters, making sure you’re comfortable before he continues anything. When you don’t back away just yet, he adds more force, deepening the kiss like a man starved. You whine against his lips.

This is what you’ve been wanting from him. More than what he gave you before your performance, but not what happened in the studio a few weeks ago. This desperation isn’t abashed lust, it’s unbridled affection— it’s everything he’s holed inside of himself for years, unwilling to let it see the light of day until now. If you were to label anything as perfection, it wouldn’t be a dance or a moment on stage, it would be this. Just you and Kevin finally bringing yourselves together in the most intimately emotional union.

He pulls you closer to him, hands sliding down to grasp at your waist, bunching up the thin fabric of your leotard. You can’t help but bury your fingers in his hair, tugging when he nips at your lower lip. A gasp permeates the air when his mouth travels south, along your jaw and down the side of your neck. He bites and sucks the tender skin at the base of your throat, ensuring he leaves his mark on you. This time isn’t careless, this time he has purpose. He wants everybody to know that you’re his, that you’re the only person insane enough to put up with him.

Your breathing is shaky when you reach behind you to lock the dressing room, dragging him over to the long vanity adjacent to you. He slots between your legs when you hoist yourself onto the surface. He pecks your lips and pauses his movements, rubbing up and down your thighs. In the dim, yellow lighting of the room, you look so gorgeous. He’s always thought you were beautiful, the most stunning thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, but he’s repressed it for so long. He wants to take his time staring at what he’s avoided.

”You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, kissing you again and again and again. “I don’t think I can last long with you.”

“Can we skip the foreplay?” You ask, bottom lip jutted into a pout. “Need you to just fuck me like you mean it.”

Kevin’s forehead falls to your shoulder with a groan. “I don’t deserve you,” God, he’s such an idiot for holding out from this. You should’ve been given the world and so much more. He has a lot of lost time to make up for. He kisses your shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

You don’t waste another second, slipping your arms through the sleeves of your leotard. He has to bite down on his tongue when he sees that you’re braless, fingers going slack as they unbutton the rest of his silk shirt. You shimmy out of the one piece, left in nothing but the fishnet stockings you wore underneath and your lacy panties. Kevin thinks he must’ve done at least something right in a past life to experience this.

Your eyes sparkle as you look up at him, undoing his slacks and kicking them down his legs with your feet. Something takes over him when he rips a bigger hole in your stockings, pushing your underwear to the side. His thumb glides through your folds with ease, your slick providing enough lubricant. He pushes your lower lips apart while you busy yourself shoving his underwear to his ankles.

His cock slips inside of you with less friction than he would’ve thought, but he doesn’t complain, screwing his eyes shut as he acclimates to the feeling of your walls surrounding him. You moan, such a soft sound that he nearly loses his balance.

“You feel so good, baby,” he coos, digging his fingers into your hips as he rocks his own. “You’re so so perfect.”

The praise is too much for you, given the circumstances. Your brain is already cloudy, stuffed with what could only be described as cotton. You watch with half lidded eyes as he begins to piston into you at a faster speed. This all feels like a fever dream, something that was only possible in your craziest fantasies. Even then, it seemed unlikely.

“‘M close, Kev,” you whine, unable to stay still and attempting to match his thrusts.

“Already? We’ve only just started, gorgeous.” He laughs, but it’s breathy, strained from the exertion of his body. You hardly have the strength in you to be embarrassed about it, especially since he’s seen you in much worse situations.

You nod frantically, snaking a hand between you to circle your clit with nimble fingers. Kevin halts you and pulls out momentarily, sliding his cock between your folds like it was your hand. The tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you dizzier than you already were.

He presses back into you with ease, resuming his sloppy but animalistic pace. He uses his thumb to continue your handywork, your cunt fluttering around him needily. You’re both losing your sanity quickly, both going batshit insane over the bare minimum. You’ve just needed this for so long, yearned for this moment for a humiliating amount of time.

Your moans start to rise in pitch and he groans. “Fuck, baby, you can cum for me.”

He could cry, he thinks, when your back arches and your legs shake with your orgasm. It hits you like a freight train, triggering his own release just as fast.

You stay like that for a bit, regaining yourselves and comprehending everything that’s just happened. So much for the whole hating each other narrative.

“What does this mean for us?” You suddenly ask, arms hooked around Kevin’s neck. You’re still connected by your lower halves, but he makes no effort to pull away. Part of you likes it that way, it gives you hope that this isn’t a one time affair.

“It’ll be hard for things to change overnight,” he says, massaging your sides. “We have a lot of unresolved issues and insecurities that we still have to push past. But I’m willing to do that with you. I want to take a chance on us.”

Your lips pull into a smile, an expression you don’t think you’ve worn around him genuinely in the years you’ve known him. “I do, too.”

“It’s kind of ironic that it was a performance that tore us apart and brought us back together, don’t you think?” He laughs.

“And we fucked in the dressing room…” You add, glancing to the top corner where a security camera is stationed.

“Maybe we should get out of here before someone checks the footage,” he suggests. “Tau Beta Zeta is conveniently hosting our end of semester party tonight, do you wanna be my plus one?”

“I would be honored.” You grin, pecking his lips tenderly.

Perhaps happy endings existed after all.

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz kevin #tbz kevin #kevin moon x reader #kevin moon smut #kevin x reader #kevin smut #moon hyungseo #blackoutorbackout🍻 #juyeonszn

[aziraphales-library]

I *love* any fics where Crowley is hurt incredibly bad and Aziraphale must save him or bring him back to health. I also LOVE fics that delve into trauma or mental health which stripes the characters of their mask and they must rely on someone/each other. Do you have any recommendations for fics that are either, or both? Happy endings are a major must for me, but I am open to any suggestions!

You'll want to check our #crowley whump, #hurt crowley, and #protective aziraphale tags for loads of fics like this. Here are some that may or may not have been recommended before, but mind the tags on all of these!...

Where's My Mind? by ebullience24 (T)

See, the thing is: Crowley is tall. His height had caused a few stares back in the days where the tallest man stood at five foot five. And, because of his height, one might be inclined to describe him as slender with spindly fingers and snake-hips. The pun is never intended on that last one but it stands true nonetheless. And Crowley would be likely to agree with these statements: he is tall and slender and spindly and snake-hipped. But what Crowley would be less likely to agree upon is the statement that he, Anthony J Crowley, is underweight. OR: Crowley has an eating disorder. Trigger Warnings now and at the beginning of each chapter.

Safe Haven by McRaider (T)

When Anthony Crowley stepped back into Aziraphale's life for the first time after eight long years missing, it became exceedingly clear with him came a world of trouble and heartache. But Aziraphale never could say no to his beloved Crowley. Can he help Crowley heal after a failed marriage, a gas-lighting ex-wife with an evil plan?

To Speak the Unspoken by ihamtmus (T)

“Uhhhh… Hi,” Crowley started lamely, scrambling to find a way to explain the situation as quickly as possible. His mind was refusing to work properly, thoughts slow as if doused in oil. He hadn’t really thought about what to say on his way here – he’d been too busy focusing on the getting here part before he would collapse. “I was wondering if I could… If I could maybe die in here, if you don’t mind..?” The expression on Aziraphale’s face changed abruptly, telling him that the angel did, in fact, mind. (In which a mortally wounded demon just wants to get somewhere quiet to die but his Adversary will have none of it. A story of how they both learn just how much they care.)

Death in Love by Aspirina_Effervescente & Cyanidechan (M)

After tempting a composer to fame and success, Crowley is cursed by his wife and tormented by her ghost until the end of his days. Aziraphale would do anything to save him, the only problem is that he doesn't know what's going on and, anyway, the problem could be much more complicated than it seems. Inspired by Giuseppe Tartini’s Sonata “the Devil’s trill”

Drops of Sorrow by EdosianOrchids901 (M)

Ten years after the failed Apocalypse, Crowley is captured by Heaven. Gabriel plans to use him as bait to lure Aziraphale into a fight. Can Crowley survive captivity, and will Aziraphale be able to rescue him without walking into the trap?

A Touch of Heaven by IneffableToreshi (E)

A despondent and defeated Crowley has been through the ringer, moreso even than his roommate, Newt, realizes. After a car accident puts him though a number of surgeries and a temporary - but terrifying - few weeks of blindness, the club owner wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed and refuse to move until things return to normal...or as normal as they'll ever be again. Newt - and his cafe-owning girlfriend, Anathema - have other plans. They think that Crowley just needs some care and pampering, so Anathema schedules him a special, off-hours appointment with a friend of hers who is a rather sought-after masseur. Crowley is hesitant and stubborn, but Aziraphale's soothing voice and comforting nature soon win him over, in more ways than one...

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #hurt/comfort #crowley whump #hurt crowley #protective aziraphale #crowley has ptsd #mind the tags #mod d

[luvxiem]

the stars aligned for us

word count ! 【idk】idk【idk】 pairing ! luxiem x gn!reader (separately) genre ! fluff, mild angst on luca's part summary ! different soulmate au tropes w our faves bc i'm weak and love self indulgence 🤭 soulmate aus my beloved cw ! non-explicit violence/injuries on luca's part notes ! this was written on my phone so sorry for the uggy formatting and any typos 😭💔 btw tysm for 100 followers 🥺🫶 i appreciate y'all lots for enjoying my shit LMFAOOO it's just me projecting on here but i'm glad u guys enjoy it anyways when u wanna read a fanfic so bad but it doesn't exist yet so u gotta write it urself also kindred plz don't kill me for calling vox an asshole i meant it endearingly (insert "'i hate him' while putting up his picture" meme here)

.｡.:*☆ IKE EVELAND !

TROPE: SEEING COLORS

ike's world has been black and white for as long as he could remember

his friends have always told him how beautiful everything be came after they made eye contact with their soulmate for the first time

despite them trying their best to describe colors (what does a "warm" color even look like anyway?) it was hard for ike to really care

after all, how can you miss something you never experienced?

but more than seeing colors, the novelist just wanted to meet his soulmate

it wasn't that he was lonely; ike had his fair share of relationships in the past with others like him (those who haven't had the chance to meet their soulmate just yet, but wanted to date anyways)

however being a writer comes with a certain sense of romanticism and a lust for life, and ike was no exception

he's always loved the thought of meeting someone who was perfect for him in every way; a person who he could be his honest self around and love with all his heart

this is why when he suddenly started seeing colors he never could've imagined on a busy sidewalk, he immediately started scanning the crowd for you

he spotted you under the canopy of a nearby cafe. you were looking around with clear awe on your face, mouth slightly agape as you took in the new world around you, not even noticing the grumbles of passerby who narrowly avoided you.

you looked almost ethereal in your (now known as blue) button up, the sunshine leaving your skin in a warm glow. the gentle breeze ruffled your hair just right, and the novelist couldn't tear his gaze away.

as much as ike wanted to admire his new view too, he was more focused on making sure he didn't lose you. he's thought about it countless of times—dreamt of it, even—of somehow meeting his soulmate and losing them right away, never to be seen again. ike's lost enough sleep over it and he was determined to not make his nightmares a reality.

pushing past shoulders with rushed "sorry's" and "excuse me's," ike rushed to get to you as quick as possible; and soon enough, he was now standing face to face with you—the person who would become the love of his life.

your gaze fell onto him and an unspoken realization was met. you could feel it to; the ecstasy blooming in your very core at finally meeting your other half.

"hi," he breathed, a broad smile adorning his face. "i think i'm your soulmate."

.｡.:*☆ LUCA KANESHIRO !

TROPE: MUTUAL PAIN

woe is the soulmate of a certain blonde haired mafia boss

injuries came with the job, unfortunately, but the soft-hearted man couldn't help but feel sorry for his soulmate

luca knew some most of his injuries weren't normal. civilians don't get bullet wounds in their arm or knife slashes to the chest

did his soulmate worry for him? or were they wishing they weren't fated at all? as much as it hurt, luca couldn't find it in himself to blame them if they did

the small pricks he felt on his fingertips from presumably paper cuts can't compare to literally getting stabbed in the back

eventually it came to a point where luca tried to stop going outside altogether

he can't obtain any further injuries if he's always at the base, right?

but that fantasy couldn't last forever.

the one day he had to be escorted to a different location, him and his guards got ambushed

luca was the only one who got away, but not without sustaining a bullet wound to his shoulder

it wasn't as bad as it could've been but it still hurt like a bitch

stumbling into an alleyway, the blonde collapsed next to a dumpster, creating a loud thud that echoed into the night

luca was ready to rip off a piece of his shirt to wrap his shoulder when suddenly a bright light momentarily blinded him

standing a little bit away was you, pointing your phone flashlight on him while gripping your shoulder in your other hand

"so you're a med student?" luca asks, gritting his teeth when you dab at his bullet wound with rubbing alcohol. tossing the cotton ball, you reach into your first aid kit for gauze.

"yeah," you say quietly, starting to wrap his shoulder. the blonde frowns noticing how you refuse to meet his eyes. he opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

"i chose this path because of you." at your words luca's eyebrow raises in question. you finished wrapping him up and now rest your hands in your lap, fiddling with your fingers. "you got so many injuries growing up and i didn't know what to do. i was worried you didn't have anyone to help you so i wanted to learn how," you explain quietly. at this the mafia boss's gaze softens.

"how'd you know? that i'm your soulmate, i mean," he asks. reaching up, you gently grazed the large scar on his abdomen with your fingers.

"i recognized your injuries," you said. luca shivered at your touch, raising his non-injured arm to cover your hand with his.

"i'm glad i ran into you then, soulmate."

.｡.:*☆ MYSTA RIAS !

TROPE: COUNTDOWN TIMER

mysta's known since he was five that he had a soulmate, just like every other five-year-old in his class

but there was one teeny little problem

ok actually it was a major problem

his timer seemed to be broken

instead of the few years or days or months like his friends had, his timer was set to decades

because of how long his timer was set for, mysta was teased mercilessly for "having a soulmate who doesn't even want to meet him"

this followed him for most of his youth until eventually he covered up his wrist and tried to forget about it alltogether

if he wasn't going to meet his soulmate until he was old and gray, why should he even care

that was until he fell through that damned portal and landed in 2022

he noticed it after he got out of the shower, spotting his wrist in the mirror while brushing back his hair

mysta's mouth dropped open in shock, dropping his arm to gently run his fingers over the numbers

the timer that was the bane of his younger self's existence was down to the hours

the detective was antsy, understandably.

a lifetime of thinking he wouldn't ever meet his soulmate suddenly turned into meeting his soulmate in twenty minutes. mysta wasn't sure what to do, how he should act. should he go outside? he should, right? how else would he meet you?

filled with a newfound sense of determination, mysta grabbed his keys and darted into the london night.

there was hardly anyone out this late; maybe his timer really was broken? what were you doing out at one in the morning, don't you know that's dangerous? who knows what kind of dangerous people were prowling outside right now.

mysta started walking briskly toward a more crowded area of the city. if he had to meet you, it would be somewhere safe.

settling on standing in front of a pub he's been to a few times with friends, the detective started counting down the minutes till he would meet you. he kept glancing at his wrist, watching the numbers go down one by one until there was only a minute left on the clock.

mysta tapped his foot impatiently as he glanced left and right down the street until suddenly, he felt the lightest tap on his shoulder. he spun on his heel and low and behold, there you were.

grinning, you spoke.

"nice to finally meet you, soulmate."

and mysta couldn't be happier.

.｡.:*☆ SHU YAMINO !

TROPE: SWITCHING BODIES

in all honesty, shu couldn't care less about having a soulmate

the idea of the universe choosing who he would fall in love with didn't sit right with him

not to mention how frustrating it would be sometimes when the two of you switched bodies at inconvenient times

like in the middle of one of his experiments

or when he's talking to one of his fellow sorcerers

or how about that time he was meditating in a lovely, perfectly quiet room for the first time in ages as a way to destress only to suddenly wake up in your body in the middle of a bustling city

yeah, shu wasn't all too happy about it, but what can he do?

so while all his friends were out actively searching for ways to meet their soulmate in person, shu was directing his energy toward mastering his powers instead

but the thing about having a soulmate is that you can't exactly reject them altogether

they're your soulmate for a reason, after all

so despite his resistance, the purple sorcerer found himself falling for you all the same

he grew antsy at particularly long periods without switching and eventually started leaving notes behind for you for when you would eventually switch

including a bright purple post-it with an address and a time and date

shu sat inside the cafe anxiously, bouncing his leg under the table while sipping his drink. he hoped that his note was obvious enough that you saw it the last time you guys swapped bodies, but how could he know for sure? you didn't leave a reply on his note, and the swap period was rather short that time too.

minutes passed the written time and the pounding in shu's chest grew louder and louder in his ears. he looked up at every tinkle of the bell above the door, hoping that it was you only to be disappointed when it wasn't. he kept glancing out the window rather obsessively, and soon enough his cup was empty too.

after 40 minutes had gone by, the sorcerer had just about given up. letting out a disappointed sigh, he rose from his chair to leave his tray and finished drink on the counter only to pause when the bell jingled one last time. shu looked up on instinct and his breath got caught in his throat.

in the doorway was you, slightly sweaty and definitely out of breath, looking frantically around the cafe before your eyes landed on him. shu was still holding the tray in his hands when you ran up to him, still in shock at seeing you in the flesh for the first time and not just through a mirror.

"h...hi..." you stutter, gripping the strap of your tote bag tightly in your fists. "i'm sorry i'm late. but i'm so glad i found you." shu broke out of his trance and smiled, setting the tray back down on the table.

"i'm glad you found me too."

.｡.:*☆ VOX AKUMA !

TROPE: FIRST WORDS

fitting for a voice demon that the first words his soulmate says to him is permanently printed onto his skin

"you're gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna impress me, pretty boy" decorated his ribs under his right pectoral

now vox knows he's hot

he's well aware of the power he holds fucking asshole and uses his charm and good looks to his advantage

the demon spent most of his early years dropping one liners and introducing himself with various pickup lines in an attempt to find his elusive soulmate

and many have tried to pretend they were his fated one but they never succeeded

after the death of his clan and being transported to the future, it took vox a long time to feel ready to find his soulmate again

slowly he started visiting pubs and parties in an attempt to socialize

it was at one of these parties that he met you

beer in hand, vox pushed past a group laughing with each other in the hallway to slip out onto the balcony. he was hoping to get a chance to breathe and get away from all the sweaty partygoers, but there was already another person out here with him. figuring it wouldn't hurt to say something, the demon let a familiar smirk slip onto his face as he approached you.

sensing his presence, you turned your head to look at him in curiosity, fiddling with the many rings on your fingers.

"why hello there; what's a gorgeous person like you doing out here all alone?" he drawls, sliding up next to you. a breathy laugh escaped your lips, dropping your head to your chest for a moment before you looked back up and meeting his gaze dead on.

"you're gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna impress me, pretty boy."

at your words vox faltered, the smirk falling from his face as his lips parted in surprise. the skin where his soulmate mark was seemed to tingle.

it seems like you figured it out too; your eyes widened and suddenly you were tugging your shirt up to show a matching tattoo on your ribs. you let the fabric fall back down and looked back up at him, a softer smile now gracing your features as vox reached over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"would you look at that," you laughed happily. "guess you really did impress me, pretty boy."

WRITTEN ! 080222

#luvxiem.writing #luxiem x reader #luxiem fluff #ike eveland x reader #luca kaneshiro x reader #mysta rias x reader #shu yamino x reader #vox akuma x reader #ike eveland fluff #luca kaneshiro fluff #mysta rias fluff #shu yamino fluff #vox akuma fluff #ike.txt #luca.txt #mysta.txt #shu.txt #vox.txt #uhhhhh i didn't mean to make luca's that long 😭😭😭😭 #might elaborate on his part in another post tho #mafia boss luca and his innocent med student s/o #kinda cute methinks 😖💓 #ue ue ue

[watchingyoufromthestars]

Finally cleaned this up so here’s my DnDads ultimate ship opinions list. I was waiting until after s2 ended to clean this up in case I had any final opinion changes with the last few episodes. Please don’t bash me for any of these. The DnDads fandom is generally very nice but shipping discourse is something that can get heated no matter the fandom.

Dads

Henry Darryl: very neutral. I understand the ship I just never fully got on the boat

Henry Glenn: absolutely fucking feral about them do not get me started on Glennry

Darryl Glenn: feral in a different way that I don’t know how to describe other than toxic yaoi in the way that they’re damaged but refuse to talk about it so they kiss about it instead

Loveeeeeeee polydads but only as Henry/Glenn/Darryl. Not really a Ron shipper I love him and Samantha too much. Ron and Glenn’s friendship is very important to me though

In terms of Jodie, I don’t really ship him with any of the main dads, ESPECIALLY not Glenn. Even if Jimmy didn’t play Jodie I’d still never ship them. Wish Scamster was real and not completely a scam because they’re literally a crackship become real except it was never a crackship before canon. It’s surprising to me that they weren’t really shipped beforehand

Henry Mercedes: THE T4T OF ALL TIME BABEYYYYY. Absolutely iconic couple, fate was in their favor with how they met they were destined for each other

Darryl Carol: After hearing how Darryl talked about his family in Heaven, I was actually really happy they ended up not getting divorced. They clearly had a rough patch as seen in s1, but they genuinely love each other and I love how devoted to her Darryl is. The little finger puppet he made of her in the time out zone… :,)

Glenn Morgan: GLORGAN!!!!!!!!! Oh my god these two tear me apart. I am feral for Glorgan angst there’s too much to work with. More people need to start calling them Glorgan instead of Morglenn please please please please pretty please indulge me in my silly ship name

Ron Samantha: sobbing. They’re so sweet. The distinction that Samantha is also a little silly is very important to me. They love each other so fucking much

Kiddads

Nicky Sparrow: didn’t realize how much I love them for a good while but when I did oh god I love them so so much. T4T it’s so real to me that they’re both trans

Nicky Lark: used to like it but yall mischaracterize Nicky so much in fics. If yall want toxic yaoi just ship Grant and Lark I’m so serious

Nicky Terry: sobs. They were best friends. I don’t personally ship them but the fact that Terry said he was his best friend… that line rattles around in my brain so often

Nicky Grant: recently learned this might get shipped and has THE coolest ship name. Crossfire I love you but for the ship name alone

Sparrow Terry: I think I’ve seen this shipped a few times but only in the context of Terry/Nicky/Sparrow. Not my personal cup of tea though

Sparrow Grant: I don’t see this shipped too often but they have the worst ship name ever /aff. Wtf is a spant lol. Also I’m too much team transfem Sparrow to feel comfortable shipping this

Lark Terry: do not know the appeal of Gun Control but their ship name is fun

Lark Grant: toxic yaoi central. They both need intense therapy but them both being so fucked up is what makes them interesting not that that’s healthy though

Terry Grant: I see them more in a qpr place than anything romantic. I have one fic of them that’s bookmarked on Safari because I think about a part from it from time to time

Don’t have any poly ships for them

In terms of s2 spouses I so desperately wished we could’ve seen more of them. We barely get to see them

Nicky Cassandra: Telling Taylor his dad was a good man and that she misses him every day makes me think they parted on good terms. But then Nicky disappeared because of FBI shit. In another life maybe they could’ve worked.

Sparrow Rebecca: more ugly sobbing. I’m unsure on my sparroace thoughts if they’d end up getting divorced post-finale but I know they’re not fully separating or breaking up. They really are in love but it’s unconventional and messy.

Terry Veronica: I think the reveal that Terry is infertile is a nice touch to their relationship. It sounds weird to say and I feel like I might word this all weirdly. Him being unable to have bio kids but finding love in someone who wants to raise a kid with him anyways. Veronica finding new love again after a supposedly abusive relationship. Both of those combined is something I really love.

Grant Marco: Canon gays ftw. The Titanic episode was so generous in letting us get to see their dynamic. Obviously Grant still has a long way to go in finding self love but I’m so happy he found someone who can support him and loves him back like this.

Teens

Normal Scary: ugly sobbing over them I love them so much. Cradling my madomagi and tma aus with them as madohomu and jmart

Normal Taylor: yearning for the early s2 days like when they went to Sonic and made some devious plan off screen I wish they had more silly interactions together. Was truly fed with the kareoke intro and them bonding over costume making for a minute. Tayloak could be so interesting if there was more material to work with

Normal Link: Childhood BFFs to Lovers; I wish they could’ve hung out more as kids but all that happened

Normal Hermie: I get the hype but I have personal reasons for feeling neutral on them that I wish I could get over. Good soup though /ref

Scary Taylor: see them too much as a sibling dynamic to ever ship them

Scary Link: respect to all y’all shippers but I do not gothcleats and will leave it at that forever. I can only accept the finale with my transfem Link hc

Scary Hermie: I love Scene Partners. These stupid kids and reflecting each other /aff

Taylor Link: one that I can’t believe I didn’t ship sooner they’re so silly

Link Hermie: I think this one is very funny (/pos) but not my personal vibe

Love love LOVEEEEEEEE Marloakworthy AUGH. A giant triangle of everyone paralleling each other

Polywagon I love you; cannot believe you’re real and genuinely canon. This is just Homestuck again when Hussie said all ships are canon (DnDads never beating the Homestuck allegations from me)

Scary Erica: wish there were more interactions I love Erica so much but alas she’s a guest NPC. “You awaken a lightness in me” sapphic ass Scary I know what you are

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads s1 #dndads s2 #dndads season 2 #there’s no way I can tag everyone and every ship just pretend that I did #I could barely tag everyone when I did the stained glass art

[blueteller]

So, Let's Talk Themes in TCF!

"Themes" is such a weird topic for me, not gonna lie... I always feel like it's something you're just supposed to know and feel instinctually – like rhythm in dancing. Which, btw, I'm not really good at. So it's difficult to talk about without that background anxiety that I'll totally flop and miss the point, despite my best intentions.

Still, I decided to give it my best shot anyway, and try to decide what "themes" there are in "Trash/Lout of the Count's Family", and why I like them, because that part is subjective and thankfully, I can decide without freaking out over the "correct" answer.

First, let me make one thing clear: I don't believe TCF was written to convey a single theme or idea. It's an adventure story, and it's supposed to be pure fun. Which it is!! But nevertheless, there is a lot of effort and thought behind it, and I believe that thoughtfulness from the author manifests itself clearly in the overall work, so it's definitely worth talking about.

Now, with that lengthy explanation of what I'm going for out of the way: what are the themes in TCF that I noticed (and like)?

Found Family

Beloved Hypocritical Hero

Overcoming Prejudice

Victory in Working Together

What makes Humanity, what makes a Monster

Healing and Moving Forward

Misunderstandings

Found Family is the most obvious theme, overall, so I don't think it requires much explanation. Cale doesn't "find" his new family on purpose as much and trips all over them, on total accident – then proceeds to adopt them all, despite his inner monologue telling the readers over and over that he intends no such thing. It's pure comedy, but it's also incredibly wholesome and heartwarming. Cale has the biggest, softest heart of them all, and he's the only one who doesn't see it. I wanna squish his cheeks and coo over how cute he is most of the time.

Beloved Hypocritical Hero is the second theme, which isn't apparent at the start. Cale's biased inner monologue does his best to convince us that he's totally selfish, and doesn't intend to be a paragon protagonists who selflessly helps others in the slightest! ...However, over the course of the story it becomes clear that Cale is one, big, fat, liar. He is exactly the sort of hero he constantly denies he is. His whole spitting-blood-from-power-overuse act practically became a meme at this point. Still, despite how frustrating Cale's blatant hypocrisy is, we can't help but love him all the more for it. I'd like to say that he gets better overtime, but.... yeah, personally, I don't see much progress on that front. He did promise Raon he won't get hurt one time, and he managed to keep that promise, but then he (spoiler alert) went ahead and stabbed himself right after, so. Yeah. Cale is a hero and a hypocrite and we all love him. That's definitely a major theme in the story.

Overcoming Prejudice is the best way I found to describe the whole plot of "anti-darkness attribute" propaganda in TCF. What I love about it is that the author found a much more interesting way to convey the theme than just make it about "fantasy racism". It isn't just about the Dark Elves, it's about Necromancers too, and all people using dead mana. The best part is that dead mana is, in fact, used by the very higher-ups who spread the prejudice in the first place, proving without a doubt that it's all 100% hypocrisy and there is nothing wrong with dead mana in the first place. It's all propaganda, and it serves a purpose. The true beauty of this plot unfolds when the Sun Twins show up, and Cale brings in Mary to help Hannah with her dead mana poisoning. Jack goes through an entire arc of realizing what "true light" is, and that despite the "voice of the Sun God" constantly ringing in his ears to eradicate all darkness, he comes to his own conclusion that it isn't what the power is, it's about what ones does with the power. It's just, beautiful. I feel like that part of the story doesn't get enough credit. Mary is one of my favorite characters, and Jack and Hannah combo is amazing as well. Definitely one of my favorite plotlines in TCF.

Victory in Working Together is another obvious theme throughout the story. It isn't just reserved for the good guys, either: the bad guys have a ton of alliances, too. The difference is that the good side is based on genuine intent, without stabbing each other in the backs, while the bad guys only pretend as long as they need to, then throw away their "allies" to the wolves when it's convenient. It's portrayed less as a "message" and more of a purely pragmatic fact: to get anywhere, you need to have support. Cale knows this from the start, which is why he manages to make so many allies in such a short time. This theme is simply about being able to overcome the biggest of obstacles, as long as you honestly work together with others and put all your effort into it. It is the simplicity of it makes it so effective, in my opinion.

What makes Humanity, what makes a Monster is an interesting one for sure. In a world full of so many interesting races, the final boss is – always – human. Be it Venion Stan, Redika, Prince Adin, Queen Elisneh, the White Star, or even the Sealed God – all of the main villains are either purely human or started off that way. I think it's very much deliberate, in order to show how what makes these people evil isn't some in-born characteristic; but only their choices. Not to say that non-human characters aren't ever bad, of course not – there is a bunch of evil non-human characters all over the story. But evil, true evil, is always a choice. And thus, non-human characters who choose good are more "human" than the "monsters wearing human skins". I won't call it an allegory, because it isn't even as indirect as that: it's a fundamental truth of life that the only real monsters are people who are rotten on the inside. And since the author put so much effort to make all the fantasy races in TCF feel very much human-like, it only makes sense that their choices is the thing that makes them evil, not their race. Even actual Monsters aren't all pure evil in TCF! I truly appreciate it. It's such a simple concept, but it works extremely well.

Healing and Moving Forward is one of the themes which honestly melts my heart. It doesn't simply apply to Cale; it applies to everyone in the cast. Everyone in Cale's group comes in damaged, scarred, hurt or threatened in some way, and comes out better in the end. From the children, to the adults, the entire group heals through their "Found Family" and their quest to defeat the evil forces threatening their world, in order to achieve a peaceful, happy future. Every time we see the evidence of it – like Cale admitting his life is precious, Eruhaben agreeing to extend his life, Choi Han attribute changing, and so on – it feels like an amazing triumph, and yet completely natural and earned. One could simply call it "good character development" and move on, but I see a commond trend and it deserves to make itself a theme of its own. It's not just about everybody finding their place in the family: it's about them growing as family. And doing so, despite their traumatic pasts. And since I once called Cale a "poster child of trauma", it's no wonder he's the one who has the most of "healing" and "moving forward" to do of them all. I hope it continues all throughout book 2!

And of course, I saved Misunderstandings for last. I think the name speaks for itself. TCF is practically a comedy built upon misunderstandings; except misunderstandings of the BEST kind. The misunderstandings where people look upon Cale – tired, in-denial, clueless Cale – and see whatever they need to see the most in the moment: a saviour, an inspiration, a leader, a friend, a parent, and so on. Many misunderstandings result in people seeing Cale in too-good-to-be-true light, which is always funny (Clopeh instantly comes to mind). The thing is: Cale deserves most of it, even if he doesn't believe so. Because it's not about what Cale actually is that matters in those situations: it's about what others need. Cale inspires just by being, well, himself. And that inspiration is what changes people. It's Cale doing his best and affecting others, that makes all the huge waves of change. In my opinion, there is no better misunderstanding than one which results in inspiration: because even if "truth" was revealed later on, the effects of it were 100% real, and something to be grateful for. Imagine if you had a terrible day, and you suddenly saw someone smile at you, and you felt better. Even if the person wasn't actually looking at you in that moment – that doesn't matter!! What matters to you is that your day DID get better, and that person was to thank for! That's the beauty of TCF's misunderstandings. Cale will never truly comprehend the gratefulness of others, without understanding how he can affect them without even trying. ...Then again, his obliviousness and hypocrisy is one of the many reasons why we love him 😊

Let me know if there are other themes in TCF you like!

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count’s family #tcf meta #themes #story themes #analysis #character analysis #misunderstandings #cale henituse #tcf mary #the sun twins #tcf jack #tcf hannah

[yan-lorkai]

Can I have A, Q and X for Floyd and Jamil?

*･゜ﾟ A/n: Anonie darling, this is the first time I'm writing for Jamil so just a heads up if he's too ooc! Hope u enjoy it!

◟⁠₎ Floyd Leech

*･゜ﾟ Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Floyd… Is aggressive with his affections. He pinches your cheeks, kisses your mouth until it hurts, loves to squeeze you in tight hugs, but that's just how he is. He doesn't realize that he might be hurting you too much when he shows how he feels about you and even if he did, he wouldn't change much. He loves to see your eyes glisten with tears in them.

⠀⠀

*･゜ﾟ Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You are unlikely to escape. And even if you succeed, Floyd has connections and resources he can use to find you and trust me he will absolutely find you and bring you back to your home, watching your every move like a hawk. However, due to his impulsive and aggressive nature it is possible that you will die at his hands during one of his mood swings. He'll probably miss you if this happens.

⠀⠀

*･゜ﾟ Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Worshipping or revering wouldn't be the right word to describe what he feels for his darling. You don't revere or adore a toy you love dearly, instead you play with it until you can't anymore. You are like a perfect toy for him, something he adores, something that can calm him down in a second. And Floyd simply looked in your direction and decided that you would be his. His to love and his to care for - even if his care is questionable.

⠀⠀

◟⁠₎ Jamil Viper

*･゜ﾟ Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He shows his love and affection through his words and gestures mostly, but there are special occasions when he might offer brief hugs, kiss your cheeks, and hold your hand. This all gets more intense as the relationship progresses and he feels free to explore other ways to express how he feels about you.

⠀⠀

*･゜ﾟ Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Well, he can literally hypnotize people so he has the resources to start looking for you if you manage to escape. Also Jamil is smart enough to build traps around and inside your house, so he's surprised if you manage to succeed in your plan. And if you died either because of some punishment or during one of the escapes Jamil would never move on, because he ended up losing a part of himself when you left.

⠀⠀

*･゜ﾟ Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He doesn't adore or revere you, you are on equal footing with him. That's not to say he isn't kinder to you than he is to most people, willing to listen to your problems and offer simple solutions while he keeps you around to get things done while you keep him company.

Jamil is soft with his words and he knows how to get into your mind without needing his power, plus he knows his gestures find their way to your heart. He's always so considerate, so kind to you. Jamil will make you fall in love with him one way or another.

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd #floyd leech #yandere floyd x yuu #yandere floyd x reader #twst floyd #twst floyd leech #twst jamil #twst jamil viper #yandere jamil viper #yandere jamil #yandere jamil x reader #jamil viper x reader

[fatphobiabusters]

Scientific articles and official health websites talk about lactose intolerance the same way they talk about fatness.

This is how the National Institutes of Health describes it: "Lactose intolerance is a clinical syndrome that manifests with characteristic signs and symptoms upon consuming food substances containing lactose, a disaccharide." "Lactose intolerance is a common disease; however, it is rare in children younger than 5. It is most often seen in adolescents and young adults."

It's a syndrome. A disease. A medical problem with symptoms and signs.

And then...

"On average, 65% of the world's population is lactose intolerant. The prevalence of lactose intolerance is variable among different ethnicities. It is most common in African Americans, Hispanics/Latinos, and Asians and least prevalent in people of European descent."

Wait wait wait, hold up. It's in 65% of the world population??? 65% of all humans are lactose intolerant??? 65% of the world is diseased and has such a serious health condition?

Then you start learning more about it outside of these medical articles and organizations. You learn that other animals can't digest lactose past infancy either. Not even cats, even though we all believe they love milk. Animals, including humans, have a special enzyme as infants that allows babies to drink breastmilk. And after a child stops drinking that milk, the enzyme goes away, leaving the child unable to digest milk anymore.

In the 300,000 years that humans have existed, drinking milk past infancy did not start happening until about 10,000 years ago. It wasn't until ancient populations in Europe who were pastoralists, and thus raised cows as livestock, forced their bodies to drink milk and caused it to slowly became a genetic mutation that spread throughout different human populations over thousands of years.

You realize that the ability to drink lactose is not the norm. It's not the default body at all. The ability to digest lactose is a human adaptation that only some humans have, like missing wisdom teeth, blue eyes, and red hair. Lactose intolerance isn't abnormal. It's what human bodies were designed to do in the first place! No wonder it's "rare in children younger than 5." That's when babies still have the ability to drink breastmilk!

And what does such a serious disease as lactose intolerance require?

Not consuming dairy.

That's it.

This "disease" requires avoiding lactose and taking a pill to help you digest it if you need to in a given situation. And if you don't? The awful consequence of this disease is DEATH—oh, wait, that was a typo. I meant diarrhea. Dairy products like butter and some cheese have very low levels of lactose compared to straight up milk and can sometimes even be eaten without any pills for lactose intolerance at all.

So then why do health organizations and scientific articles consider this a "disease" when it's just genetic diversity? Well, you were already given the answer.

The people most able to digest lactose? White people. Europe. America. Canada. Australia. Groups so often considered the default. The quotes I gave are from the American government itself, as described by the organization's website: "Founded in 1887, the National Institutes of Health today is one of the world's foremost medical research centers, and the Federal focal point for medical research in the United States. The NIH, comprising 27 separate Institutes and Centers, is one of eight health agencies of the Public Health Service which, in turn, is part of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services."

It's also important to recognize that the US government extremely subsidizes dairy. There are underground caves of billions of pounds of cheese surplus that the government has stockpiled. Billions upon billions of dollars have been spent on keeping the dairy industry afloat, no pun intended, to the point that everything from those "Got milk?" advertisements to milk in school-provided lunches to Taco Bell's double steak quesadillas were funded by federal tax dollars put into some cheesy goodness propaganda. Federal tax dollars were even used after the 2010 recession to bail out Domino's and keep the cheese uh-flowing.

So in a country where most people can digest lactose, most of the people who can't do so have bodies that are not viewed as the default already, and the government is extremely invested in getting people to eat dairy products, it becomes clear why that country—that government—believes lactose intolerance to be a disease.

Then when you consider:

how fat people are not viewed as the default body either and face immense oppression

how the facts of fatness being incredibly genetic and intentional weight loss not being sustainable in the slightest are kept under the radar from the public

how weight is not actually equal to health when you take all context into account beyond stereotypes and studies with horrendous methodology

how the BMI was created by a statistician (who was never a doctor in the first place and whose work was later used to support eugenics) during the 1800s in order to figure out which body was the average, not the healthiest, in select populations of white European men in the 19th century (and thus which body was the "default," the "norm," superior)

how the population measuring tool that is the BMI, never meant or designed to be used on an individual scale, was not commonly used as a measurement of "health" until insurance companies wanted a way to fabricate reasons for charging people more money

how the weight loss industry makes hundreds of billions of dollars every year off of pretending fatness is inherently bad and selling a "cure" that doesn't work while blaming consumer error to keep people buying said "cure"

and how creating a weight-based social hierarchy benefits the people on top who have power over the rest

...you start to understand why fatness is medicalized.

It's even a common talking point of people and companies obsessed with dieting that humans have evolved to hold onto fat and refuse to lose it in case of potential starvation. In fact, facing starvation even changes your body to want to hold onto body fat even more than it did previously, which includes when you diet since dieting is just self-inflicted starvation. When you face starvation, your descendants are more likely to have genetics that prefer fatness too. And there's evidence of fatness in human populations going back tens of thousands of years despite diet culture wanting people to believe fatness is a new trend due to people's "lifestyle choices." The Venus of Willendorf, an ancient figurine of a fat woman, is estimated to have been created around 30,000 years ago, and there are numerous other Venus figurines of fat women from that era too.

It's human diversity, but people who aren't fat and who pedal diet culture can make so much money and obtain such powerful positions by pretending fatness is abnormal, inhuman, and wrong. Why give up an easy money-making punching bag or admit that your body is not the only "correct" human body when you have no reason not to and so many incentives for keeping the status quo?

As a side note, one of the best examples of diet culture is how you can find countless news articles about whether milk is "good" or "bad" for you despite humans having consumed milk for the past 10,000 years. I think by year one thousand we would have learned if milk was "bad" for us, but the headline "Milk still okay" doesn't get a news website any clicks.

-Mod Worthy

#This posted prematurely while I was working on it agh #fatphobia #medical fatphobia #BMI #history #Mod Worthy

[distort-opia]

are there any examples of batjokes being gentle? i guess? with each other? other than bruce carrying joker bridal style or in TBWL when he held joker after he shot himself

Depends on your definition of "gentle", I suppose. If that includes Bruce saving Joker's life, often in dramatic ways and holding/carrying Joker bridal-style, he's done that a lot-- not just in Batman Who Laughs. But besides that... they do have quieter moments. They're rarer and not necessarily divorced from violence, because (to quote a line from Hannibal), violence is the language they best understand. But they're there.

The most obvious one is the ending of The Killing Joke, Bruce offering Joker his help and telling him he isn't alone, and then them laughing together while clinging to each other:

-- Batman: The Killing Joke

Another underrated moment that I'm personally very fond of comes from Legends of the Dark Knight (2012), and an arc called "Haunted Arkham". In it, the ghost of a little girl who was killed by the current head psychiatrist at Arkham begins to take over the residents, invoked by the head psychiatrist himself. Bruce realizes what must've happened to the little girl, who (of course) possesses Joker as her main avatar of revenge. She uses Joker to kill her tormentor, and after it happens, Bruce and Joker have this poignant scene:

-- Legends of the Dark Knight (2012) #21

That sock puppet Joker gives Bruce is the shape the little girl had taken to talk to Joker in previous issues, and he just accepts it. Bruce doesn't attack Joker either for killing the guy. They both clearly... felt for the child. (And don't even get me started on the meta aspect of it all, because what Joker's describing here is in many ways his own approach to loving Batman, hurting him so that he'd always pay attention to him and never forget him; which is why the little girl latches onto Batman too, and waits for him through Joker after the murder, because of the implied understanding.)

I'd also count Fool's Errand as a gentler moment. It's the anniversary of Jason Todd's death, and a child is missing (with only Joker having the information needed to save her, because he caused her kidnapping to happen), so you can imagine the kind of projection and grief that Bruce has got going on.

Joker covers it up as another ploy to get under Bruce's skin, but it doesn't entirely read like that. It reads like part of Joker compensates for Jason's death and lets Bruce have this win, this moment where he does manage to get there in time and save the child. ("Why? Just... because." And then he comes up with a reason Bruce would believe.)

-- Detective Comics (1937) #726

Though, maybe one of their most gentle moments is during their amnesiac time. After Batman: Endgame... and does dying together the way they did count as gentle? Either way, the implication of Capullo's unused cover for that last issue is striking:

-- Batman: Endgame

So they die, likely in each other's arms, but are brought back to life without their memories by the dionesium. And then (because the Universe apparently always brings these two together) amnesiac Bruce and Joker meet on a bench and have this iconic moment, in which Joker pretty much asks Bruce not to become Batman again and let them both rest:

-- Batman (2011) #48

The whole issue is beautiful, but my favorite is Joker (the champion of "nothing matters") telling Bruce (the champion of "everything matters") that it's okay for things to not have a point, that being alive and present is enough. Truly tragic that Bruce doesn't remember this.

Then there's a moment during the Rebirth Wedding arc, when Joker finds out about Bruce and Selina being engaged, and goes after them:

-- Batman (2016) #48

It's another instance of a deep understanding between them, an island of quiet within a river of violence.

Man, this got way longer than I thought! I'm sure there's other examples that might qualify, but I'll leave it as it is. Hope this scratched the itch, Anon.

#long post #asks #batman #bruce wayne #joker #batjokes #batjokes meta #my meta

[delimeful]

you can’t go back (9)

Intermission Part 2: Remus

warnings: involuntary drug use, murder (intentional and unintentional), blood & injury, remus POV shenaniganry (specifically mentions of cannibalism, sex, spiders, & gore), tension, and misunderstandings (lmk if i missed any!)

-

It was possible that Remus should have waited until the drugs had worn off a little more before indulging in a blitz through a ship full of aliens.

Unlike what one might expect, the realization wasn’t actually for his own sake. In fact, the drug had left him numb around the edges in a way that was vastly preferable to the bone-deep ache that had slowly seeped into his entire skeleton over the course of his imprisonment.

He was more than fine with delaying that particular feeling, even if it meant dealing with staggering steps and clumsy movements.

The doorways he’d slammed into the edges of probably weren’t as happy with the situation. The aliens that he’d swung at with far less precision than normal were probably even unhappier.

Since they were the ones who had abducted him, he found he didn’t really care about their feelings on the matter.

They should have watched Alien, done a little bit of cultural research on humans. Maybe then they would have had a better idea of what kind of response snooping around on a planet’s surface and picking up passengers would earn them.

Sadly, Remus didn’t have acid blood, but he did have a bile-producing liver and the ability to projectile vomit on command. If these aliens had been even half as badass as Sigourney Weaver, he might have even gotten the chance to try it.

Instead, he’d gotten splattered with alien blood that didn’t so much as sting, and also with his own blood when a lucky swipe had shredded the right straps of his muzzle and the flesh of his cheek alike, and also also with the growing realization that extraterrestrials were far less durable than Star Trek would have led him to believe.

He should have waited for the drug to wear off. His face would be stinging right now, his arm would be even worse, and his fighting style would still have been best described as ‘berserker’, but at least he would have had a better idea of just how much force he was inflicting. Maybe then he wouldn’t still be feeling the sickly pop of organs and bone alike giving way under his knuckles.

Every alien he’d encountered on the ship was down. He wasn’t sure how many were still breathing, and he didn’t particularly want to check.

Well. He knew there was at least one alien onboard that hadn’t gotten their brains bashed out.

Not by him, anyways. With how squishy aliens apparently were, it seemed possible that the guy had slipped and bashed themself right into brain death the moment Remus had walked out the door.

He wouldn’t know until he checked, so he started his way back to his former prison cell, stepping around the limp or twitching bodies as best he could without directly looking at them.

(His imagination filled in the blanks, as always.)

The new guy had caught Remus’s attention from the moment they stepped into his line of sight, because they had familiar crunchy beetle-shell plating in angular, armor-like patterns over their skin.

Just like Tall, Dark, and Spidery. The only alien who hadn’t seemed onboard with the abduction plan, and the one who had been subdued and dragged away right in front of him.

(He’d caught a glimpse of the other cells, during his first escape attempt. They’d been empty.)

There were clear differences between the two, most notably that Spidery was about a foot taller, not even counting the stabby spider-legs on their back, and their plating had been even and symmetrical. Remus remembered how it had gone from charcoal gray to inkwell black, like the plates were full of hundreds of tiny squids, all flushing their ink sacs all at once.

(He’d been pretty thoroughly drugged by that point. Not that thinking about cephalopods was unusual for him.)

Newbie’s plates had been far more translucent, a pearly-gold color, and the ones climbing up the left side of their face were jagged, irregular patches, like a giraffe’s spots. But they had the same glossy glazed-icing shine as Spidery’s plates, a texture that had been promptly wedged between marbles and porcelain in the edible-if-you’re-not-a-coward section of Remus’s brain.

They had the same big, dark eyes, the direction of their gaze only visible by the miniscule movements of the muscles framing it. He’d wondered if they’d known Spidery, and then he’d watched them stare up at the scratches in the ceiling  and he’d been certain that they did.

He hadn’t been planning to move much, hoping that inactivity would keep them from upping the dosage of whatever space-elephant-tranquilizers they’d put him on, and yet he found himself slowly skulking closer to the cell’s front as the muted conversation continued.

Last time, Remus had distracted Spidery at the wrong moment, but Patches had had their back to him. If it turned out that Remus was actually the fly-bait for another spiderguy mugging, he figured he could lunge silently at the barrier and distract the others.

Instead, Patches had revealed their own set of extra limbs, ones that were far less sharp than Spidery’s but turned out to be just as good at stabbing.

At that point, he’d been practically wired with adrenaline, his brain already convinced that Patches was about to be murdered or dragged-off-and-vanished right in front of him. He hadn’t thought twice before lunging through the newly-opened cell door and promptly performing the most lethal headbutt of his life.

In hindsight, maybe inflicting massive blunt force trauma without hesitation wasn’t the way to make friends with new acquaintances that were extremely vulnerable to blunt force trauma.

Sure, Patches had technically started the violent murder streak with their own expert knife-wielding, but Remus had (only somewhat intentionally) continued that streak all the way through the ship. He’d have scared off plenty of humans with his behavior, let alone aliens.

When Remus poked his head back through the doorway to the undersized prison hall, though, he found that Patches hadn’t run for the hills after all.

In fact, they hardly seem to have moved in his absence, despite the open doorway and all the alien screeching and wailing that must have carried down the hall.

(Going by how sore his throat was, he’d probably been screaming too. Maybe they’d thought he was being murdered right back? Or maybe that catchy tagline had been right all along: in space, no one could hear you scream!)

Patches was half-slumped against the wall, their extra arms laying limp against the ground at either side of them, palms up and fingers uncurled. Remus couldn’t see any blood, but his heart still jumped strangely at the sight of the alien so lax and still. The only sign that they were still alive was the barest twitch around their eyes as their gaze flicked over to take in Remus’s arrival.

Their plates slowly deepened to a dark grey, a pale imitation of the sharp flush of pitch-black that had overtaken them while they’d been gutting the boss alien earlier. Remus was guessing it was some kind of reflexive threat display, since he remembered that Spidery had done the same at the mere sight of him.

Patches’ half-hearted attempt was almost funny, except it felt less like they weren’t that scared, and more like they were too resigned to really try, which was much less funny.

“You don’t look too hot,” Remus told them, ignoring the still-dripping gouges on his own face. The broken muzzle was still dangling from one ear, and it swayed slightly as he tilted his head. “In the possibly-dying way, not in a you’re-unattractive way. At least if you do kick the bucket, you’ll still look sexy doing it!”

The alien didn’t respond, which Remus decided to take as an invitation to keep chattering, stepping into the hall and squatting so that they were closer to eye level.

From this close, he could see that the irregular plates along Patches’ left side were still that same shiny gold color, even as the rest of their plates went even darker at Remus’s proximity. He absently wondered if it was some kind of scarring or something they’d been born with.

Did spiderguys even have live birth? Were they hatched? Could they produce webbing? Were there huge insects on their planet?

“Do you bite the heads off your baby daddies after doing the nasty?” Remus asked, still scanning them for visible bumps or bruises. “Or are you the guy getting devoured? Is it like a matriarchy run by huge cannibalistic spider ladies?”

Patches didn’t say anything in response, gaze still locked on him, but a pair of transparent eyelids distinctly swept across their dark eyes, once, twice.

Honestly, those eyes kind of looked like really big boba balls. Would that be a societally appropriate thought to share if they were cannibalistic? Actually, if the cannibalism took place during sex like some Earth spiders, it would probably come across as flirty.

“Your eyes look like boba balls,” Remus told them, because obviously he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to flirt with an alien, recent traumatizing experience or not! “Wait, if it’s just the ladies that eat people, does that mean that spiderdude-on-spiderdude action is the only nonlethal boinking on the planet? Gay guys don’t get to participate in the cannibal dystopia? Tsk, tsk. Hannibal would be so disappointed in—!”

He cut off mid-admonishment as Patches lunged for him with an alarming number of limbs, his whole body twitching sharply as he just barely wrestled down the impulse to lash out. He could still hear the crunch of the last ribcage he’d immolated, and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

Instead of hands on his throat, or possibly even a knife to the torso, he looked down to find Patches had simply grabbed onto his ratty, bloodstained pajama shirt in six different places, stretching the fabric slightly with the force of their grip. Their chin had dipped down slightly, as though bracing for a blow.

The lunge had been violent and startling, but the actual ‘attack’ had been harmless, as though they hadn’t even expected to get that far. As though they’d known the motion was a bad idea and done it anyway, like a spider held in the palm of a hand biting down even though it meant triggering the reflex of the massive, crushing fingers around it.

Except Patches was a lot smarter than a spider, smart enough to know what their movement would provoke, especially when Remus had spent the last half hour displaying exactly what a twitchy, half-drugged human would do when attacked. And they’d done it anyway.

Remus had originally thought that Patches and Spidery were different. That he’d been freed because they saw humans as more than bloodthirsty animals, unlike the aliens who had literally strapped a muzzle on him.

Now, it was looking more like they’d just found out that their goth friend had been disappeared-probably-murdered, proceeded to stab someone to death in an act of furious all-consuming vengeance, and finally set a dangerous feral creature loose in a theatrical murder-suicide attempt.

“That hurts my feelings,” Remus informed them. “I’m a very emotionally complex murderbeast who didn’t ask for any of this, and also it’s hypocritical of you to treat me like a monster when you potentially live in a society that runs on sex-cannibalism.”

Patches lifted their head up to stare at Remus directly and hissed, the single large plate on the right side of their face shifting back so they could properly display a pair of wicked-looking curved fangs. They were translucent enough to show the venom within, shining like liquid gold, and positioned awfully close to his neck.

It was one of the most blatant goading attempts he’d ever seen, and Remus grew up with Roman.

(Remus had spent his childhood doing just about every inadvisable thing he could think of. He had plenty of experience keeping his hands still and gentle while spiders bit him.)

“Do you envenomate your prey?” he asked, leaning back slightly to rest his weight on his hands in a purposefully relaxed manner. “It seems like you’d need a lot of venom for me since I’m so big, but I also don’t know your organ arrangement, your torso could totally be full of venom sacs instead of lungs or something. Hey, if you did melt my insides into a smoothie, would you use a straw or shotgun me like a frat boy with a beer?”

His new friend’s hiss slowly spluttered out, their grip loosening as Remus continued to not tear their head off or punch through their chest or perform any of the reflexive murder they were trying to prompt.

“If you’re not going to drink me like a soup, we will become BFFs,” Remus warned them. “A blood pact will be involved, and also at least three jars of mayo, and also also, semi-regular ritual sacrifices to appease the ancient Earth deity, Hatsune Miku.”

Patches, who had dropped the snarl and withdrawn far enough back to look at Remus properly, jerked back with wide eyes. He had half a second to wonder if the guy could actually understand him after all before there was a stinging impact against his spine, sending a painful paralyzing pulse through him.

His muscles seized for a moment— he wasn’t sure if the weird space-tasers actually used electrical currents, but it sure felt like the time he’d reached up and touched an exposed wire on a shitty theme-park carousel— and he caught a glimpse of Patches diving past him as he listed sloppily to the side.

Nobody new had entered the space, and there was only one body behind him, so there was only one alien it could have been. The tall one that followed the boss alien around everywhere like a bodyguard.

Huh. Guess his headbutt hadn’t one-shotted them, after all.

As annoying as the weapon’s blast was, it wasn’t exactly debilitating until he’d been hit by it like seven times in a row while also trying not to breathe in more drugged air, which was coincidentally how his last escape attempt had gone.

He had more important things to worry about now. Remus forced himself to move through the pain, pushing back up to his knees, and immediately twisted around, ready to come to his new buddy’s aid whether they liked it or not.

His new buddy had knocked the weapon from Bodyguard’s grip and was now shaking them like a ragdoll, tense as a live wire, as though they hadn’t been resignedly waiting to die five minutes ago.

Bodyguard made some truly wretched-sounding noises— probably due in part to losing whatever had splintered to bits under the force of Remus’s skull— and seemed altogether unconcerned about the new knife that Patches was now holding against the underside of their jaw.

(So they did have more knives. Fun!)

Humans that sounded that level of gurgly tended to be in the process of dying, so it made sense that Bodyguard cared about the threat to their life about as much as Patches had while threatening Remus. Being inured to death wasn’t the same as being inured to pain, though, and their nonchalance didn’t hold up against being stabbed through an arm, especially not when Patches twisted the blade like that.

Remus settled back onto his haunches. Going by the interrotorture, Patches probably didn’t need his help with this one. If he’d had access to someone who’d caused Roman’s death, he definitely wouldn’t want someone else elbowing in on his bloody and excruciating vengeance. He’d also be doing much worse, but Patches seemed too focused for this to solely be about revenge.

He could see the moment they got what they needed, their entire frame going stiff with tension at whatever information Bodyguard had just ground out. They headed towards the door, and Remus pushed himself up to his feet to follow.

At the movement, Patches whipped around and scrambled back a few paces at the same time, like a snake rearing back but not quite striking.

At some point, one of their hands must have sneakily scooped the abandoned space-taser weapon off the ground. It was pointed directly at him.

Maybe they’d only just found out that he was the reason Spidery was gone.

“If you’re going to crazy-murder me for not saving them, you should at least do it with a cool knife. I don’t even know if you can murder me with that thing, unless it's got a setting strong enough to induce heart failure.” Except if they didn’t want to murder him, it would eventually work to incapacitate him. Which meant he’d probably be going right back in that cell.

Remus’s hands balled up at his sides, part of him already bracing for the sting. “Come on, I know it’s not as effortless as pulling a trigger but a little stabbing action won’t kill you. I’ll even make my death throes super dramatic and overblown, as an added bonus.”

Remus had spent the last however many days so drugged he couldn’t feel his toes, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way the others had looked at him, the excitement some of them had shown after he’d dragged his nails down an alien’s arm and gouged far deeper than he’d meant to.

He’d mauled one of their own, and they’d liked it. They wanted violence from him, and they didn’t care who he’d be hurting, because it benefited them somehow.

Even back on Earth, they’d thought he was too impulsive, too strange, too violent. He’d tried not to be, and then when that hadn’t changed anything, he’d embraced it, voiced all his gross, gory thoughts until everyone already knew what to expect. Why bother changing himself when it was never quite enough to avoid disappointing them either way?

Out here, they thought he was feral, bloodthirsty, a weapon to be pointed in whatever direction they preferred. How long would it take to convince himself he enjoyed it? How long would it take for him to forget how to be anything else?

Space wasn’t even horrifying in the fun ways. Remus wanted to go home.

Patches was still watching him, not lowering the weapon but not drawing a knife, either. Their extra arms were stretched out on either side of them, hands slowly flexing open and closed as though grasping the air. It kind of looked like the motions a cat made when kneading.

“Hanging out with you was a lot more fun when you were still thinking about liquefying all my flesh into palatable mush,” Remus told them.

Their hands tightened on the gun, and Remus’s whole body scrunched up in anticipation, his eyes slamming closed and his chin ducking against his chest without conscious thought.

“Knowing if you will try to kill me would take less effort if you’d stop thinking strongly about cannibalism,” a dry voice said in slanted but entirely understandable English.

Remus’s head jolted up, and he found that Patches had tucked both the weapon and most of their arms out of sight, and was now watching him with a calmness that was only slightly undercut by their stone-gray plating.

“Did I imagine that or did you just talk to me with human words,” he asked blankly.

“Talk,” Patches echoed, fangs flashing as they shaped the syllables. “That’s the word. Stop talking about cannibalism.”

They’d understood what he’d been saying the whole time.

… Holy shit, that was so funny.

“No can do, boss,” Remus replied, grinning unabashedly. “I’m a romantic at heart. Which, coincidentally, is one of my most edible organs.”

“I do not liquefy organs,” Patches told him haughtily. “And drinking your organs, coincidentally, would give me death throes.”

Remus couldn’t stop smiling, even as he mimed a blow to the chest. “Ouch! You really know how to make a guy swoon.”

Patches ignored his wink, rotating their wrists in what looked kind of like a nervous tic as they formulated their next sentence. “If you’re thinking about crazy-murder me with bite,” they gestured to their own mouth, mimicking Remus’s exposed teeth in a hilarious-looking grimace, “do not.”

The flat delivery was too much for Remus, and a slightly-unhinged cackle slipped out, presumably not helping de-escalate the situation at all.

“Wait, wait, no. I promise I will not crazy-murder you,” he told them, voice pitching high with barely-suppressed hilarity. “You are much cooler and funnier alive.”

Despite the unconvincing delivery, the alien took his promise in stride. “I will not crazy-murder you. I will not envenomate, stab, liquefy, melt, bite,” they made a little encirculating gesture with cupped hands, as though to say ‘and so on, you get the idea,’ “murder, cannibalize you.”

“Boo,” Remus protested, though the mirth was fading. “What do you want from me, then?”

“Lungs,” Patches started, ominously enough. They gestured to their chest and their sides, and inhaled loudly through their mouth. “Do you? To alive?”

“I need my lungs to live, yeah,” Remus told them, nonplussed. “For breathing, and stuff.”

He took a deep breath, his own torso swelling significantly more than theirs had. Patches made a short clicking noise, getting tenser in what seemed like excitement. Was that the spiderguy version of a nod?

“I want to know your breathing– Earth breathing?” they tried, hands returning to that air-kneading gesture as they searched for the right words. “Will it crazy-murder me?”

“Earth breathing? Breathing on Earth? Like… the atmosphere?” Remus puzzled aloud. “Wait, like you want to know if you can breathe on Earth?”

“Breathe on Earth,” Patches echoed immediately. “Alive on Earth?”

Okay, so however they were picking up the language, it wasn’t exactly fluency. They probably hadn’t actually understood everything Remus had said right away. In fact, it was possible they’d spent that entire silent stare down earlier trying to piece together a coherent sentence.

“I mean, you guys have reverse spacesuits for that, right?” Remus replied, miming the blocky helmets he’d seen out in the fields, shortly before receiving what he assumed was the space version of a shovel to the skull. “That’s how they came down and got me in the first place.”

Patches repeated the charade. “Yeah reverse spacesuits for breathing, right? No reverse spacesuits.” They mimed taking the helmet off, and then inhaled again. “I am alive, right? No? Will the atmosphere breathing kill me?”

Remus understood the question. Unfortunately, he didn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know. The air on Earth is oxygen, carbon dioxide, uh, nitrogen I think…,” Remus trailed off, realizing that however they were translating, something as specific as humanity’s periodic table wasn’t going to be easy to convey. “Why? Do you want to go to Earth?”

Patches hesitated for a long moment. “They came down to Earth.”

Remus frowned. “Yeah, I was there for that part.”

“Not…,” they clenched their hands. “Not you. Me, not me. Spiderguy. Chelcerae.”

The last word was too sibilant to be an attempt at imitating one of Remus’s words. “Spiderguy, but not you. Another spiderguy. Your spiderguy? Spidery?”

Remus held his arms up, trying to imitate the shape of Spidery’s long, sharp limbs, and struck down at an invisible opponent a few times. “From before, right? They saw me in the cell, freaked out, got attacked?”

“Yeah, right, yeah,” Patches replied with more of those confirmation clicks. “The spiderguy, Virgil. They came down to Earth with Virgil. He would talk about you in the cell.”

The pieces snapped into place. “So they left Virgil on Earth. Without a spacesuit. To kill him.”

“Will it kill him?” Patches asked, stuck with present tense even though this had already happened. Did he die?

“I don’t know what you breathe!” Remus groaned, finally on the same page and now just as frustrated with the non-answer. “I don’t know, he could be dead. He could not be dead.”

Schrodinger’s Alien.

Patches had clasped their hands together firmly, but Remus could see the way their cape was rippling slightly from the agitated motions of the limbs tucked underneath. “Virgil is dead,” they said, as though trying to convince themself. “Breathing or no breathing, Earth will crazy-murder him.”

“I mean, yeah, probably, but there’s a chance that he’s still alive,” Remus pointed out. “It’s worth checking, right?”

Patches’ right face plate twitched back and forth slightly in agitation. “Earth will crazy-murder me.”

Remus rolled his eyes, a gesture that Patches watched with mild concern. “You were ready to get crazy-murdered by me like ten minutes ago, remember? Besides, I’ll be there. I’m an Earth native, I know all the ways people get crazy-murdered there, and I’ll make sure none of that happens to you.”

All of their fidgeting went still. “...Why?”

“Because I think you’re funnier alive, remember?” Their expectant silence continued, and Remus sighed petulantly. “Because I want to go home. And also because he was the only one who tried to get them to put me back. Unless he just wanted them to kill me, I guess. I didn’t exactly catch what they were saying.”

Patches made a weird kshh sound, and when they spoke, they sounded amused. “No, Virgil is not like that. He is… ‘I’ll make sure none of that happens to you,’ to me and you and little ones and hurt ones. Saving them. He doesn’t need liquefying venom. His insides are a lot mush.”

“A total softie, huh?” Remus snorted. “He’d probably get along with my brother. His brains are mush, too.”

“... You want to go back to him?”

Remus pulled a face on principle, but ultimately nodded. “It’s my solemn duty as his twin. His hubris would grow too strong without me there to mock him, and I can’t exactly vibe check him from off-planet.”

Patches made that whispery noise again, longer this time, and Remus realized it was a laugh.

“To crazy-murder planet, then.”

#sanders sides fic #space au #humans are deathworlders #you cant go back #ycgb #ts janus #ts remus #my writing #writing #i cant believe this intermission ended up being this long. good lord

[ghostphobic]

 ╼ born to die

abby anderson x reader

cw - heavy angst , talks of death , actual death / implications of suicide , implications of anxiety , mention of hyperventilating , not a happy ending in the slightest.

a/n - got hit with another wave of inspiration. most of my writing is heavily influenced by songs im listening to. my favorite type of fics to read are angst with a happy ending, but i’ve always liked writing angst with no happy ending. i’ve just never ventured this far into it, so it’s a little bit experimental on my part. enjoy ! 

(disclaimer) : this has not been proofread 

You were an optimist. Well, as optimistic as one could be living in a world where infection and death lurked at every corner. 

Abby was a pessimist. She looked at things realistically and logically, but negatively. 

The two of you were different, but the balance worked well. She kept you in check, and you kept her in check. Rarely did it ever cause one of you to upset the other, but there was one night when your optimistic outlook struck a nerve in Abby. 

"Sometimes I feel like dying wouldn't be so bad." You had said one night while the two of you were lying next to each other. Her hand, that had been aimlessly playing with your hair, halted its movements. You feel her lean up and then her face comes into view. 

"Where the fuck did that come from?" She asked. Her tone sounded... annoyed? Maybe a little bit angry? You couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, you just knew she wasn't happy. 

"It's nothing, Abs. I was just thinking out loud. I didn't even really mean to say it." 

"No, no." She said, leaning up further to create more distance between the two of you. "It came from somewhere. I want to know what you mean." 

You decided to sit up, realizing this conversation had taken a more serious turn. "I guess I just... God, Abby. I don't know. I wouldn't even know how to describe it. It was just a thought. That's all. 

"Do you feel like you don't have anything to live for?" She asked.

You could tell where she was going with this, and you were quick to try to repair it. "No. Not at all. I have plenty to live for. I have you, and that alone is enough." You sigh, trying to figure out how to word this so you don't hurt or scare her any further. "Me thinking that is just my own way of coping. We face death every day, so if and when my moment comes, I don't want to feel scared. That's all it is. It's just my way of thinking positively, even if it sounds dark. Even if it doesn't make sense." 

She still seems uneasy, so you reach for her and guide her to lay her head on your chest. "I have no plans to leave you, nor do I want to. I love you more than I can put into words. You will have me as long as I'm alive, and you'll have me long after that if I have anything to say about it. It's you and me, Abs. Always." 

Abby had gotten over it quickly, having not thought about it in the several weeks after. But she's thinking about it now. It's playing over and over again in her head, as her eyes flit from your face to the bite mark on your shoulder. It had happened so quickly. Regular patrol had the two of you venturing into a seemingly harmless abandoned building, and briefly separating. You had screamed, Abby had ran towards the noise and shot the infected on top of you. It all happened in the span of, maybe, 10 minutes. All it took was 10 minutes for her worst nightmare to come true. 

"No." She says. "You're fine. You're fine, and we're going to leave here and everything is going to be okay." 

It's irrational and desperate. She knows it. You know it. 

"Abby we're not going anywhere." You say. Your voice is calm and steady, because you're also thinking about that conversation. You realize you feel exactly the way you want to feel. You feel calm. You feel a sense of peace. You also feel a sense of overwhelming sadness, but you're not scared. 

"This can't be happening." 

"Say goodbye to me, Abby." 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She says. Her tone is angry, but you don't miss the way her eyes shine from unshed tears. "You're just gonna give up? You're telling me this is it?" 

"I love you. I'm asking you to make this easy on the both of us." 

She lets out a sharp exhale of breath and presses her hands to her knees in an attempt to calm herself down. You know you have to initiate the goodbye, so you tilt your head up towards the sky and let a few tears slip out. 

"Loving you has been a privilege." You say. "It's been the only thing that's kept me going, and I wouldn't trade that feeling for the world. Say goodbye and leave me. If it were you, you'd be telling me to do the same thing." 

She looks at you, takes a deep breath, then steps towards you. Her hand comes up to you cheek, and you feel how much she's shaking. She presses a kiss to the top of your hairline. "You will never know how much I love you. It's me and you." She says, echoing the words you had said to her in that previous conversation. "Always." 

She steps away from you, making her way out of the abandoned building with her fists clenched tight. 

Once she's out she leans against the building, and harsh breathing turns into hyperventilating. She can't leave you. She won't leave you. She'll stay until she knows you've done it, because she can't leave you alone while you do this. Even if you don't know that she's just outside. 

She's not sure how long it is before she hears it. The gunshot. Her ears ring. Her body goes numb. Bile rises in her throat. She can't move. 

She stays there until morning turns to afternoon, until afternoon turns to night, then until a few of the others come find her. 

She can't speak, the only thing she can think about is you. How much she loved you. How much she misses you. How you took a piece of her with you, and how she'll never get it back.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson / reader #abby tlou #abby anderson ff #abby anderson tlou #tlou 2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou2

[curtsies-from-princess-ashlyn]

"I feel so seen, so understood, and so known"

There are so many great and iconic quotes between Ricky and Gina, but the one that I think encapsulates their relationship perfectly is "But with you, I feel so seen, so understood, and so known." I think you Rinas already know why, but it's worth exploring anyway (maybe there'll be some rogue non-shipper who reads this and gets it).

Ricky was the first and only character to see Gina as more than the scary new girl when she first started at EHS. Even before connecting with her in the car (1x05), he still didn't see her intensity and drive as something to be intimidated by, as everyone else did. In fact, he sees her as exceptionally talented and that her confidence is warranted, as shown in 1x06 when he says she's good at "everything else" (he also becomes her "wow" guy throughout the rest of the series). Even though he acknowledged that others thought she was scary, he never describes her as such in his own words. When he calls her out at Homecoming, he comments that everyone else believes these things about her, but he didn't include himself in that category beforehand. I also think that comment itself is showing that he sees through her half-baked ploy and that she's more than this front she's putting on. Then, their connection really takes root in the coat check scene and they both realize how much they have in common. Throughout the rest of the season and into S2, we see these glimmers of Ricky just getting Gina - when he understands that she tends to push herself beyond her limits, and when he tenderly encourages her to be vulnerable when she's getting emotional in the S2 flashback. Even in S3, we see Ricky give Gina the support and encouragement she was wanting as the lead when the rest of the cast was wrapped up in their own issues. S4 has Gina (and the audience) reflect on how Ricky was the first person who made SLC feel like home to Gina, all through him not only seeing her as she really is, but celebrating the parts of her that she was ashamed of or others found unsavory. He saw and celebrated both the edgier and softer parts of her, and when she found a healthy balance of these qualities, she let herself finally be Gina.

Likewise, Gina served as the character who saw and understood Ricky when no one else did. We see all throughout S1 that Gina was the one character who could not only empathize with what he was going through, but also is capable of helping him work through his feelings in a positive way. An incredible example of this is 1x10, when he's in the hallway and tells her about Todd. Rather than shame him for walking off stage, she successfully encourages to go back to watch the show and support the cast, even if seeing EJ as Troy is understandably bothersome. Also, a really interesting moment of understanding Ricky and Gina share in S2 is Valentine's day that I want to highlight. In 2x01, Ricky opens his gift from Nini (a skateboard), and he has a rather withdrawn response, since it reminds him of his first gift from his mom and that she's not there for Christmas. Nini clearly has sympathy for him, but she doesn't really know what to say so he quickly changes the subject. Contrast this with his scene with Gina in 2x03, where she brings up that she's missing her mom on their special holiday, reminding Ricky that the person who does understand exactly what he's experiencing with his mom is Gina. As it pertained to theater, where Ricky felt inadequate or ashamed of his inexperience, Gina saw someone who could make the show truly special because he was new to it.

This is what makes Ricky and Gina such a special and well written ship, in my opinion. Their stories are so beautifully tied to each other and they help each other become better, and they also see and celebrate the best parts of each other. There's mutual respect, understanding, and an abundance of love and appreciation for who the other truly is.

#hsmtmts #high school musical the musical the series #12daysofrina #day 3 #Rina #Ricky x Gina #Ricky Bowen #Gina Porter

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Ghosts of Our Pasts: 9

DP x DC Crossover

Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne Siblings AU

Ao3

Masterpost Previous Next

Dani: Yo, what's with the massive group chat I just got dropped into?

Dani: I'm assuming you guys have to do with this

Tucker: ....did... did we forget to send you Danny’s new number? 

Dani: he has a NEW one? I just swapped his contact information like 2 weeks ago 

Tucker: it's actually the same number just backwards... present from the Backwards Day Ghost 

Dani: WOW

Tucker: it was miserable 

Dani: I'm sure

Dani: so about the group chat?

Tucker: Danny met his bio-sibling and he had a fraid too, so idk its like fraid inlaws or something? 

Dani: Bio-sibling? Danny's adopted? 

Tucker:Shouldn't you know this?

Dani: Why would I?

Tucker: You're his cousin....

Dani: Oh... I forgot I told you guys that...  

Tucker: ?

Dani: I'm his clone

Tucker: this is gonna be a wild story isn't it

* Dani started a call that lasted 31 minutes *

---

Jazz: Danny why did you just put me in a group chat with like 25 people in it?

Danny: Sibling groupchat 

Jazz: What? 

Jazz: Danny, I'm going to need a bit more explanation than that. 

Jazz: you didn't get cloned again?

Jazz: Did you???

Jazz: Danny?

* 1 missed call from Jazz *

* 2 missed calls from Jazz *

* 3 missed calls from Jazz *

---

Jazz: please tell me Danny lost his phone again and isn't in some kind of trouble. 

Tucker: Oh, it's in his bag... he's out rn...

Jazz: out where?

Jazz: I thought this was supposed to be a 'laying low' vacation? 

Sam: that was before he met his brother 

Jazz: his brother? 

Tucker: yeah! Apparently he's related to the Batman!

Jazz: you left him alone with his brother 

Sam: Yeah...?

Jazz: the brother that killed him?

* multiple people are typing *

---

So yeah, Danny was officially tasting emotions now. He realized as Damian looked him over. The flour-y taste of concern was replaced with a salty-savory pride as he confirmed that, no, Danny hadn't been shot. (Well, he would've been, if he hadn't decided to not be tangible.) Then Bio-dad dropped down, mugger dude gave off another milk-sour wave of fear. Then Bio-dad saw the gun and huh, he didn't think describe how disappointment tasted with human words. But maybe he should be focusing less on what flavors most accurately described his stupid new empath ability and focus more on the situation at hand.

Together Dami and Bio-dad explained the normal process of cuffing criminals in obvious places so the police can find them. It was simple, didn't really require Danny to do anything, so he disassembled the weapon while he listened. Which he probably shouldn't have done, because now he was being asked to hand it over as evidence...

"Uh..." Danny fished the larger pieces back out of his pocket, but their was a lot of little ones, because he might've phased the screws out to take apart the fun little inner bits and he ended up dropping tiny metal parts all over the sidewalk. 

There was a beat of silence, then Damian clicked his tongue with a little "Tt," and Danny flushed. 

"Sorry..." Danny started.

"It's fine," the Bat said. Amusement, it turned out, tasted like raspberries.

-

-

-

Notes

Danny, holding a deadly weapon: "is this a fidget toy?"

Somebody told me once that they didn't see any Canon evidence that Sam and Tucker knew Dani was a clone. And like, their lives are so crazy that peice of information falling into a crack, sure. Where did Danny's concerned about vlad cloning people came from. Like they didn't question it, vlad is weird. They could see him doing it... oh... he did do it? That makes more sense than a sudden semi rational fear.

Also Batman has absolutely noticed some weird things about Danny. But he also knows that Danny has "a weird conglomeration" of Lazarus put side effects, and that Danny said "mood" about being in other dimensions. It might be ooc for him to be patient with answers, but he's in my story so he's gotta play by my rules.

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[myfaveficrecs]

Lavender Haze

Pairing: Jake x Reader

AN: Taylor Swift read that Lavender Haze was a term used in the 50′s when describing love, so I went with that. Thank you @cherrycola27​ for letting me be a part of your celebration!

Word Count: 1,238

Warnings: None, just a fluffy little one shot

You never realize how fast time passes you by until something happens to make you stop in your tracks. You’d never really celebrated much since your family died when you were so young. The only family you ever remember having is your current one. It has gotten smaller and smaller over the years, but it’s still your family.

Jake and his squadron have been in your life for ten years now, give or take a year. You love them all unconditionally and would do anything for them, and you have on more than one occasion. You just loved them differently. Phoenix was the one you went to for advice, Bob was your little brother in every sense of the word. Rooster was the one to tease you constantly, all in affection, of course. Coyote was the surprising one, the one you should not get along with, but you do. Your relationship was built around deep conversations, common interests, and a protectiveness that ran deeply. Your relationship with Jake, on the other hand, was built around passion, shared dreams, and a love that only grows more every day.

Jake loved you; you knew that. You also knew that it wasn’t something he could say often, fearing that the words would be followed by something tragic. You had learned to accept this little fact years ago, and it didn’t bother you like it would most women. Jake showed you through his actions just how much he loved you. Sharing the last of his meal, knowing your moods better than even you did, making sure your favorite snacks were always well stocked in the kitchen and your locker at work…hell, he even let you drive his truck.

Waking up this morning you knew something was off because you woke up alone. You could count on one hand the number of times Jake had left the bed before you were awake, wanting to hold you as long as he possibly could before the real world came crashing down around the both of you. Reaching over you felt the cold sheets and knew he had been up for a while, which only confused you more. You quickly got out of bed, throwing on Jake’s sweater to ward off the chill, and making your way down the halls in search of your missing husband.

Searching in all of the usual places, you still had yet to find him. You didn’t know whether you should be worried or pissed off at this point. What if he was in pain again? It wouldn’t be the first time he hadn’t woken you to tell you about it. Walking back down the hall you passed Coyote in the guest room just as he opened up his door.

“Mornin’ Y/N”

“Good morning, Javy. Have you seen Jake at all this morning? I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Uh, yeah. He ran to the market about an hour ago, should be back soon.”

“The market? This early?” You furrowed your brow in confusion, your voice laced with disbelief. Jake never made runs that early in the morning without you tagging along.

“Yeah. He’ll be back soon, don’t worry.” Giving you the patented smirk, they all seemed to carry, and patting your shoulder, he quickly escaped your questioning gaze, making his way to the kitchen where breakfast sounded wonderful. Shaking your head, you decided to go through with your morning routine, and you would just question Jake when you saw him. First, you needed a bath before you could really start your day.

The bath unfortunately wasn’t as peaceful as you are used to experiencing. No matter what you did you couldn’t stop wondering what Jake was doing and why was he being so sneaky about it. By the time you were finished you didn’t realize how irritated you were becoming until it slammed into you like a freight train while brushing your teeth. Hearing the door creak and slam, you rinsed out your mouth and practically jogged to meet Jake, determined to find out why he was being secretive.

“Woah, hello my love. Where’s the fire?” Jake asked while putting some bags onto the kitchen counter and taking off his jacket.

“Where were you?” He froze at the tone of your voice, analyzing your posture and trying to figure out what exactly had set you off so early. Then it suddenly hit him, you didn’t know what day it was which made him let out a little laugh and quickly embrace you into his strong arms.

“What are you laughing at, Jake?” You fisted your hands into his tshirt, loving the feel of him against you. It was a feeling you didn’t think you would ever grow tired of. His body was firm and soft at the same time, broad and slender, just the perfect enigma.

“I’m laughing at you, my love. Do you know what today is?” The cocky smirk on his face only furthered your frustration and confusion as you mentally ticked through the days, trying to see if you had missed an important appointment or birthday. Taking pity on you, Jake squeezed you tighter against him with one arm and used his other hand to lift your chin, placing a chaste kiss to your pouted lips. “Happy 10 years, my love.”

“10 years?”

“Yes…it’s been 10 years to the day since I grew some balls and made you mine…I know we don’t really celebrate anything but I figure 10 years is a celebratory milestone, so I went out to get some stuff to make you breakfast myself. Eggs, bread, apples, and I got that stupid honey you like to put on your bread.”

You could see the slight unsureness in his eyes, that maybe this had been a bad idea, but it most certainly was not. The idea that Jacob Seresin of all people remembered something as silly as an anniversary with the lives you lead, made you tear up in the best way possible.

“That’s perfect, Jake…thank you.” You quickly pulled his lips down to your own, giving him a passionate kiss and only pulling away when the lack of oxygen became apparent. The glazed look in his eyes were enough to make you let out an uncharacteristic giggle which only made him smile in return at your happiness.

“Well if that’s the thanks I get for breakfast I’m gonna start cooking more often.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from, husband.” You cocked an eyebrow to emphasize your innuendo, loving the way his face lit up at the prospect of getting you in bed sooner rather than later.

“I am counting on it, wife. But first, breakfast!” A quick kiss to your forehead and he was off to the kitchen, eagerly using the ingredients. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at the love of your life cooking for you while humming along to Lavender Haze.

“Jake?” Looking over his shoulder he gave you a quick smile.

“Yes, my love?”

“I love you too.”

With a quick wink and smile, he turned back to the task at hand and your smile widened. You didn’t know what you had done in life to get so lucky but you were thanking your lucky stars for 10 wonderful years. Walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist, you whispered out a wish that you had no doubt would come true, “Here’s to 10 more.”

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#jake x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #tgm #hangman x reader #hangman #top gun taylors version