#even though i bought mixed media paper ??

[neolxzr]

i dont ever post my traditional art but i liked this page :3

#quin sketches #invader zim #iz #zim #gir #iz gir #iz zim #?? sufficient #im actually trying to commit to filling a sketchbook wish me luck gamers #i used to fill sketchbooks but it was mostly pencil sketches #even though i bought mixed media paper ?? #wasteful of me tbh #im gonna make this one bulky #i can do it. i believe #anyways hii friends ^_^ how r u

[notyour-valentine]

Because it's there ~ Tommy Shelby One Shot

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

Summary: At one of Ada's parties, Tommy has an interesting conversation. Also Tommy's a bit fruity in this though not necessarily more than canon

Note: Told a few tales about this guy and now I've dreamt about him for three nights in a row now so this is a gratuitous self-serving attempt to get this man out of my system

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Wordcount: 1900 words

Tommy hated everything about this. 

He hated the music that was blaring from a gramophone, some sensory torture they now called music. 

He mistrusted Ada’s guests, a host of flamboyant Bohemians she had plucked off the streets of London. If he had known his sister would open a madhouse for the peculiars in the capitol, he’d have bought her a house between a nunnery and a church, but here he was, surrounded by artists, writers, poets and socialites and he truly doubted any one of them had truly worked a day in their life. 

They were acting like they didn’t, with their newer, more daring styles. 

Some men had let their hair grow long while some women had chopped it short - and others wore trousers and suspenders much to the delight of both men and women gathered. 

But of course this wretched gathering of eccentrics enjoyed it all, the expensive food they gobbled up as if there was no tomorrow, washing it down with that milky green mixture they seemed to brew more than pour. 

Absinth - some fashionable drink that had crossed the channel from Paris and Berlin. 

It was an awful fuss - there was a large basin with four little taps sat on the table and people placed their glasses with a bit of liquor underneath but instead of mixing it with water straight, one had to place a little tray over it, with a sugar cube on top only to have to wait until the water would - not pour - down in an agonisingly slow pace until it dissolved the cube and created that cloudy drink that could fog a mind more than any other. 

Tommy instead, stuck to his whisky. It was less fuss and more reliable. 

But still, he had no intention of getting drunk tonight, although that would make all this more bearable, but Ada had asked him to be here and she was about the only person he would suffer through this for. 

She was having a blast, loudly discussing the role of women with some sharp-nosed brunette. 

She was probably someone important, but Tommy couldn’t place her. 

He was sure he had the names of at least two thirds of these people in the papers, and had skipped half the articles because he had no time to waste on these starlets of the London scene. 

In a moment of being unnoticed he took his glass and snuck outside on the balcony. 

London was a city that never slept, never rested, but even the stinking, smoking air of the city was better than the stuffy haze of shared breath and cigarette smoke had created inside. 

Compared to that, this was almost refreshing. 

With a sigh he placed his glass on the banister and reached inside his jacket to retrieve his cigarette case and lighter. 

As he flicked the flame to life, the reflection caught the glimmer of something metal in the darkness out of the corner of his eye and he turned, realising he wasn’t alone. 

In the moonlight it wasn’t too difficult to make out the outline of another man, one who seemingly didn’t mind the risk of sitting atop the banister, one leg drawn up, the other dangling over the edge. 

“Cities have their advantages, but when it comes to their skies, it’s nothing but a bloody shame.”, he mused, before looking at Tommy for confirmation. 

He remembered the man, recalling he had arrived with the writer Starchey a little later than the others. 

Tommy guessed he was about his own age, give or take a few years, and undoubtedly a handsome man. 

He was taller than he was, with a lanky build, though his limps were strangely harmoniously shaped. There wasn’t much muscle he could see under his clothes, but as far as he could tell not an ounce of fat either. 

He had the kind of hair that looked to have been blonde in his youth and only darkened with age and he had the kind of face that looked as if had been carved from marble. 

He had a shapely nose and didn’t suffer from the English affliction of overly thin lips, but his eyes were the most striking feature - large and pale, like a full moon reflecting on the lake. 

There were the first signs of age on his face, though Tommy wasn’t sure if they made him more or less likely to become a muse of a painter or two back inside the house. Either way, they did nothing to dull the youthfullnes in his eyes, nor the sharpness in his gaze. 

The flame of his lighter, he realised, must’ve reflected off of the man’s watch. 

He was dressed to the nines, in simple colours, but Tommy knew by now the look of expensive clothes, and yet the watch he wore was the standard edition one handed out to every man back in the war. Since he had heard his fair share of illusioned pacifist rhetoric back there, he was more than glad to be in the company of someone who had not only served, but made no attempt to hide the fact, even in present company. 

That instantly made him appreciate the man more than any other he had encountered. 

“True.”, Tommy mumbled under his breath as he retrieved his silver cigarette case once more, holding it out to the man. 

He declined with a smooth shake of the head. 

“I’m more of a pipe man myself.”, he admitted before letting his eyes trail back towards the sky. 

Compared to the country, one didn’t see half as many stars, Tommy thought. 

When he looked back, the other man was looking at him curiously. 

“Everyone’s devlishly curious about you, you know?”, he said. 

Tommy shifted his weight, glancing back at the room. He had never liked attention, and with this crowd - well - the man he was talking to had come with Starchey, and that man had a reputation. He doubted his companion would be any differend. 

“I’m not -ah- like that...”, he admitted, clearing his throught as he brought the cigarette to his lips, wondering just what Ada had told them. 

The man chuckled under his breath. 

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, man.”, he said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “But don’t worry, I don’t have time for anymore distractions in the near future.”

Of all the things Tommy had been called, curses and praise, a distraction was a new one. 

“And that’s not what I meant either.”, the man continued, dropping his leg and shifting so he had on the edge of the banister facing Tommy, his back to nothing but thin air and the darkness behind him. 

“Everything is baffled by the rise - a gypsy boy from Birmingham clawing his way up to, well,”, he waved around, “Primrose Hill in what? Three years?”

Tommy only stared at him, wondering what he was aiming at. He already had a hinting suspicion. 

They might accept Ada, she shared their politics, communism and the like, those ideals that feined interest of the poor but were only truly carried by the rich and privileged, and because a woman. 

At the same time Tommy was only the man who had climbed above his station, and far too high for some. 

His glare only ever made the other man smile. 

“And your sister, well, she thinks you are like a bloodhound, always running after the scent of blood - or in your case - money; never content with what you have, always continuing the chase, always wanting more.”

Tommy scoffed and shook his head. 

He had heard that accusation a thousand times over, from Arthur, and John, from Esme and Polly - and now Ada. Funny how all the people who profited most off of his hard work, and his sacrifice. 

“You’ll get used to it.”, the man said. 

 “What?”, Tommy asked, leaning closer to make sure he heard him correctly. 

“You’ll get used to it.”, he promised. “Them not understanding, them questioning, them doubting.”

His pale eyes met Tommy’s. 

“Most people don’t understand why one can not just want something but work towards it no matter the consequences, no matter the risks, that we need the challenges, the struggles, not to conquer them but to conquer ourselves over and over again.”

He smirked to himself as if he had just told Tommy a secret joke. 

“They don’t understand why we can still desperately want something even if we do not need it, and are willing to do anything to get it just because it’s there for us to take.”

A cloud of smoke escaped his lips and evaporated in the air between them. 

“Who are you?”, Tommy asked, a frown between his brows. 

“Don’t you know?”, the man asked, genuinely surprised. 

He shook his head, and to his surprise, and maybe a little hint of relief, the other man didn’t seem to be insulted. 

“Well you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Will I?”, Tommy asked. “Why?”

He only smiled. 

“You’ll see.”, he promised. 

At that moment there was a shout coming from inside. 

“In a bit!”, the man shouted back, stopping in his tracks to look at Tommy once more, a soft smile on his lips. 

“Do you know what a Sherpa is, Shelby?”

“No.”, he said truthfully. 

“Hm - thought so.”, he said with a smirk. “They’re a peoples, exemplary Darwinists if you’d ask me.”

Tommy hadn’t but that didn’t deter the man. 

“They have live in the mountains for generations now, and so while the rest of us flatlanders are like a bunch of panting dogs at a certain altitude, they hardly feel a thing.”

“Alright.”, Tommy mumbled, not knowing what to do with this information, and not particularly caring about it either. 

“They are adapted, you see? Because that is their world, the world their people have been born into for generations and so they can do with ease what can prove treacherous for most anyone else.”

His eyes met Tommy’s with renewed intensity. 

“Everyone is adapted to the environment they are born into, Shelby, and when you rise above that, the air gets thinner and thinner but only for those not used to it.”

Tommy’s gaze narrowed, watching the moon play tricks on the other man’s face. 

“Are you saying I don’t belong here?”, he asked sharply. “That just because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in me mouth I’d keep to Birmingham and Birmingham only?”

The other man’s face split into a wide smirk. 

“You misunderstand me Shelby, you truly do.”, he said, his voice as light as if they were old pals sharing a joke. 

“I may be one of the very few people here - if not in this entire city who neither resents nor riidicules you for what you’ve done and for what you plan to do. Like I said, you and I are more similar than you’d know.”

He leaned in, so close that Tommy could smell his cologne and the natural, earthy smell of his woolen jumper. 

“So let me give you some advice - hope and will can only carry you a step or two but if you want to truly reach the top you need to learn your own limitations if you want to adapt or overcome them.”

He drew back and met his gaze for a final time. 

“And if you don’t you’ll find yourself in bloody big trouble.”

~

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts! Anyone who figures out who Tommy was talking to gets a big hug and an extra pack of cookies

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight  @lilyevanswhore  @polishcrazyone  @zablife  @just-a-harmless-patato  @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @trixie23

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik @elenavampire21 @evanore @dandelionprints

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby / reader #tommy shelby fluff #thomas shelby fluff #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #tommy shelby angst #thomas shelby angst #peaky blinders angst #because it's there

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Moment's Surprise--Chapter 13

Whether it’s called an accident or the fates of the universe, you and Calum find yourselves taking on the next level of your relationship: parenthood.

Reader (Gender Neutral) X Calum. Multi-chapter Series.

Series Note: Across this series, pregnancy is discussed thoroughly. While I have made this series specifically a reader insert and have done my best to avoid coding for cis women, I am taking this moment to acknowledge that this content may not be suitable for every reader. I want to acknowledge even if I’ve been careful some things (like uteri) are still mentioned and if that causes you discomfort please DO NOT read this. You may keep scrolling (as there is a read more) / skip this series as necessary.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7| Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Epilogue

The first week after the leak, Calum waits every day at the door for you to return home. He reminds you before you leave that he can always call him--that he’s only a phone call away should anything happen. But there is only calm. You don’t know what’s happened on social media--if more videos have popped up, if rumors are circulating. Calum makes a point to keep you off social media when he can. The curiosity festers on some days, wondering if everything has sorted itself out. But it appears the less you worry about it, the less you prod and poke, the more at ease Calum seems too. 

As the second week rolls around, you’re not even focused on the possibility anymore that people are watching. Then a third week rolls. Whatever has passed stays in your rearview mirror. Soon there’s only what’s upcoming and what’s on your present plate. What presents presently is the prizes scarred across the floor of the living room. The baby shower is a few days away and though the games and catering have all been settled, you and Calum have struggled with prizes for the winners. “I’m telling you champagne and chocolates was the way to go,” Calum giggles as he ties up the box around the coasters you two selected as a potential prize. 

“The chocolates weren’t going to last,” you return and stuff the basket with a bathbomb. It was a little selfcare basket that you thought could be fun. But you’re regretting it as you deal with the paper confetti. Duke keeps wanting to get into confetti and you’re trying to keep him out of it. 

Joy settles the bottle of champagne that you two did buy into on top of the paper inside the box to keep it from shattering. “Still got time,” she offers. “Duke, come here. You little rascal.” 

Duke heeds the call and turns in the direction of Joy. He settles at her feet. 

“Mum’s right. I can get an order in for the day before the shower and they should keep alright for the day,” Calum offers. 

“Do you want to add chocolates to the mix?” You finish the self-care basket and move to wrapping one of the candles you bought in some soft blue tissue paper. 

“It’s only a trip,” Calum returns. “I think it might help with our current spread.” 

“Okay, maybe we’ll do that tomorrow. Right now, I want to see what we do have and if it’s going to be enough.”

“Sure thing.” Calum finishes with his first tasks and brings over the bags that contain party favors for all the attendees. “Mum, do you have the finalized guest list with you?”

Joy nods, pulling the folder out from the stack of tissue paper on the dining room table in front of her. She’s careful to step over Duke to hand the folder over to Calum. “It was checked last night. But I think the site might’ve given people a couple more hours to RSVP so you two might want to double check later today again.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll double check this list before going through favors,” he states, glancing down at the first page. 

“Damn it.”

Calum and Joy turn to the swear to find you perched on the edge of the couch trying to reach to the floor but not being able to reach. “Hey, I got it,” Calum laughs. “You can ask for help. It’s an option.”

You sigh. “Thank you.”

He hands you the certificate. “I know, you’re just used to doing things yourself.”

“I’d just like to see my toes again at this point.” You want it to come out humorous, but even to you you can catch just how much truth clings to the statement. Officially only 7 months and a few days pregnant, you’d recently hit a point, where as much as you had a relatively easy pregnancy, your body had new symptoms on what appeared every day. Where previously, you’d had gotten back some of the energy that felt zapped in the beginning, now it was fading all over again. 

Your doctor did warn that the last trimester could be hardest as your baby and your body prepared for delivery, but you hadn’t imagined it to be quite this hard. Maybe you expected too much from yourself, but giving grace to yourself when there still felt like there was so much to do was hard.

“Let me tell you all your toes are intact and lovely,” Calum whispers before squatting down to your eye level. One of his hand drops and you can feel his fingers gently brushing over the top of your foot. “And I’m not really a foot guy so that’s saying a lot.” 

“Oh as often as I ask for foot rubs I’ll make you into a foot guy,” you tease. 

“That I don’t disbelieve. But go easy on yourself, okay?” 

You can only nod. Grace—a concept that felt tangible when it was for others and mystical when it was for you. But you only nod. What is there to say that articulates the sense of unease that creeps up and frustration when you can’t do what you’ve always done before. It’s not that you feel useless, you feel restrained in more senses of the phrase than you’d like to admit. 

Calum brings your head down just a little to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips brush over your skin in gentle caresses as he speaks, “He’s almost done baking. Almost done.”

“If it were anyone else I’d lose it right about now,” you laugh, fingers tracing random lines over Calum’s forearms. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers. “I think you’re allowed to lose it just a little. You know, as a treat,” Calum teases. 

You snicker. “I like the sound of that. We’ll see what happens after I sort through the certificates.”

“I’m going to confirm this guestlist and then make sure you and the certificates survive, sound good?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Almost done baking. The finish is closing in closer and closer. And maybe it was less about the finish line and more about knowing that quicker than you think this chapter will close and the next one will open. 

____________________________________

In the corner, you watch that the cake is settled onto the table by Calum and Ashton. To your right you can hear Joy and Michael laughing as they set up the party favor table. Luke is settled in with Sierra who are both following your detailed and typed instructions on how to arrange and set the tables for the baby shower. 

“What’s next, boss?” Ashton asks with a laugh approaching you. Calum’s lingering behind just a little to make sure that the utensils are set up. 

“I think the last thing is getting the gifts from the games and then setting up the games,” you answer. 

Ashton nods. “And you want all that on the table to the left of the party favors and guestbook or in the back?”

You turn for a moment. “Gifts in the back--where the spare stuff is at. The game supplies can go on the table to the left, but can you hide the black balloons behind the baby bottle guessing game?”

Ashton nods. “Sure, if that’s what you want. But why are their black balloons?”

Calum slips an arm around Ashton’s shoulders. “Just wait and see.” He winks over to you and then the two slink away back to the trucks to grab the gifts and remaining supplies. 

You catch faintly from behind you from Ashton, “What in the hell have you two planned?”

Just as the last of the supplies gets settled, the DJ arrives. Catering dropped off the food and left as it wasn’t anything too extravagant. For the first little bit--an hour or so you’d guess--the music and food seems to hold people’s attention well. Though it’s a lot of attention on you and Calum, there’s an easy flow of conversation as each person comes up to congratulate you and Calum. When they are done, they step along to food and drinks and more guests arrive to the two of you ready to congratulate.  

But there’s a pretty distinct lull and you and Calum, along with Joy’s help, start introducing the games. There’s multiple rounds of a few games, like pinning the diaper on the donkey. Calum handles most of those as you sort through the guesses for how many jellybeans are in the giant baby bottle. Joy bounces between the both of you, helping with the winners of the games and making sure you’re in a good position on the counting. While it feels like so much is happening the laughs and reactions of the crowd let you know that things are going well. 

With the mic in hand, Calum settles the crowd after the last round of a game. “Okay, okay, so--there’s just a couple more things we need to get through. First, I just want to say thanks to everyone who came out to celebrate this moment with us. It really means a lot. Y’all have made today incredible.”

Calum watches you approach with the box of champagne. “It appears we have a winner on the baby bottle.”

You nod. “Yes, lots of counting, lots of fretting, but all the numbers have been crunched.”

“We love crunched numbers. Would you like to do the honors?”

“Goodness, don’t trust me with that.” Your response falls on deaf ears as Calum takes the prize from you and you take the microphone. “So, having this many eyes on me still is unsettling. Anywhoosies. The bottle is holding 1,232 jelly beans.” The crowd erupts--some sounds are cheering, some are groans You can clearly tell that those people who groaned either undershot it or overshot by a mile. “Lots of good guesses, I will say.”

“C’mon!” Michael heckles from the sidelines. “You’re teasing us.”

You laugh into the microphone. “Yes, I am. Now please hold all heckles and blue balls until the end thank you.” Another round of laughter filters around the crowd. 

“Ouch!” Michael returns. “Holding.”

“Without further ado, the winner, the one with the closest guess on how many jellybeans are in the jar,” you pause to give a pointed look to Michael. He holds his hands up in defense. “Is,” you pause again. “The one, the only, Mr. John Feldman,” you cheer. “His exact guess was 1,219 jelly beans.”

Calum had been adamant about inviting John and you were not going to stop him. The applause is immediate and John’s shy as he steps forward to collect the prize. He embraces both you and Calum, giving you another round of congratulations and thanks before slipping back into the group. 

You hand the mic back to Calum. His grin is wide and you think there is something more mischievous about the look but before you can ask, Calum turns back to the room. “If you think that that was the last game of the day, you are sorely mistaken,” Calum starts. “This is a partner activity. Pick your partner and please get consent.”

“Consent? What have you done?” Ashton hollers. 

“The next game will involve partners popping a balloon. The twist,” Calum pauses glancing over to you and then back to Ashton, “is that the goal of each couple is to pop this balloon in a more suggestive position than the couple previously. The crowd will be the judge. So do think about your audience.”

“So, porn?” Michael laughs. 

“No,” you swat at him. “Absolutely not. Unless you think it’ll help you win.” The tease causes a few people to laugh, for those who can hear it. There’s a few murmurs. And Calum clarifies a few more things--there is only one shot per couple, partners only need to be two willing people and that the balloon cannot be on a table or chair and then popped by only one body. It in essence has to be popped between the two people’s bodies.

The first couples are clearly shy in their approach, a hug that turns into a kiss. But as the couples progress more and more positions get more interesting--a squatting position that you’re sure your knees can’t support right now at all. You tilt your head trying to see if you figure out for later exactly how the position is set up. 

Calum nudges you, and when you look up briefly, he says, “I’m taking notes, don’t worry.”

You snort at the retort, but you don’t really expect anything less from him. More and more couples go, the crowd’s cheering grows louder. You know it’s really a ridiculous task and maybe a game that not all want to participate in, but you’re glad that those who have chosen to participate seem to be having fun. The last couple approaches--Ashton and one of your coworkers, Angie. You haven't been keeping close tabs on them; though, now as you watch them you think maybe you should have. 

They talk quietly amongst each other and Angie laughs but she nods. Angie was about a year or older than Ashton but had only been with the company for about a year and half. She was sweet but a little bit reclusive. Though she has a quick wit, she was slower to open up to those around her. You were part of her training team and she seemed to have taken a liking to you as you noticed her messaging you on the side more when she had a question. It didn’t bother you and when you first found out the baby, she started sneaking more and more things onto your desk--certificates, books, extra snacks. 

And now, you watch the quiet Angie find a spot clear of people and settle flat on her back on the floor. She crosses her ankles due to the dress, but it is a long skirt which helps in case of any modesty concerns for Angie. The crowd silences, anticipating what Ashton might be doing. “You’re sure?” he asks again. The silence makes his voice echo even more than usual.

“I’m sure,” Angie nods. She holds the balloon over her pelvis. 

It doesn’t take you long. When Ashton steps closer to Angie staying mostly near her feet, you know. “No way. He’s not,” you whisper. 

Ashton makes a big show stretching out his shoulders. There’s laughter that erupts and right on the cusps of the laughter dying down, Ashton pops up, getting a little bit of air. His arms come out to catch him and brace for the descent. Pop, the sound of the balloon popping between their bodies--specifically pelvis to pelvis-- echoes as Ashton rests his weight directly atop Angie’s body. A moment lingers between Angie and Ashton. They’re both smiling at each other as if the room around them is not erupting loudly into cheers, as if they did not just do what they just did in a room full of people. Ashton’s quick to get up and help Angie up as well, but they still huddled close together. 

The cheering hasn’t quelled. Calum’s voice cuts slightly above the room thanks to the microphone. “I don’t think we even need to vote.”

Joy presents both of them with the gifts--though it looks small, you know the certificates for a day pass at Disney were short of small. Calum insisted on making the gift for this seem deceiving. Ashton and Angie look over to you and Calum before they peer inside the envelope. Their steps bring them closer to you. The crowd’s cheering subsides little bit by little. When Angie peers at the print that beholds her, she immediately shakes her head. “No, I can’t. This is insane,” she returns. 

You merely shrug when she looks at you. “I mean you beyond deserve it!”

Ashton’s slower to look at the certificate but when he does, he laughs just a little and then holds it out to Angie. “Since it was your idea.”

“Wait! It was your idea?” you question Angie. 

She nods, but gently pushes the certificate back into Ashton’s body. “No, you earned it. I couldn’t take it.”

“You could take your sister,” Ashton counters. 

Your brows furrow. Not even you knew Angie had siblings. How did Ashton manage to get that information out of her in just a few hours? Angie stares down at the certificate. “Only if you’ll let me pay for your ticket to join us?”

Ashton sputters for a moment. “I-I-”

“You gotta say yes now. I mean, after what we did,” she teases. 

A shyer smile takes over Ashton’s face. “Yeah, you’re right. Just let me know the day and time.”

You and Calum try to turn away but as you two walk away, you are occasionally looking at each other to make sure what happened was real. “I’m not hallucinating, am I?” Calum asks. 

“If you are, I definitely am,” you snicker. The two of you will have to wrap things up soon but that doesn’t stop you from grabbing another bunch of grapes from the platter. “Both of us need to do recon,” you say around a grape. “Next week, Thursday, we need a status update on what the hell happened in two hours between Angie and Ashton.”

“Oh absolutely,” Calum agrees. He picks a grape from your plate and pops it into his mouth. “We can make a bet to keep things interesting.”

“What’s yours is mine already and what is mine is yours. So I’m not sure why you’re trying that.”

“Hardy har har,” Calum mutters and picks another grape from your plate. “Steal that bunch. These grapes are fucking great.”

“We bought it! The platter is ours. But where’s Joy? She has the tupperware specifically for this.”

Calum kisses your cheek, spotting his mother in conversation with some of your family. “Love my mum. Woman’s god-sent.”

Tagging: @busstop @wonderlandiswhereitsatyo @sunflowercalum @wiiildflowerrr @icelily13 @one-sweet-gubler @markaylafruitcup @fandomfoodiedancer @carma-fanficaddict @rosie-posie08

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood series #calum hood fluff #calum hood imagine #calum hood x gender neutral reader #tw: pregnancy #pregnancy mentions #ashton irwin #michael clifford #luke hemmings #h writes #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 second of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer series #5sos series #boyfriend!cal #dad!cal

[longlistshort]

Lisa McCarthy “Joy Ride”, 2023, mixed media on paper (left) and Georgia Vahue, “Peacock”, 2023, mixed media

(clockwise from upper left) Georgia Vahue “Isn’t it Romantic”, 2022-3 mixed media; Lisa McCarthy “Awkward Attachment”, 2023, mixed media on canvas; Georgia Vahue “Time to Finish My Hand”, 2023, mixed media; Lisa McCarthy “Shot Gun”, 2023, mixed media on paper

Lisa McCarthy “All the books I bought and never read”, 2023, mixed media on paper (left) and Georgia Vahue “Turquoise”, 2023, mixed media and “Las Vegas”, 2023, mixed media

(Clockwise from left- Georgia Vahue’s mixed media works- “Felicitations” 2023, “Travel Log”, 2023 and “Robert Browning”, 2023)

Currently on view at HCCFL’s Gallery 221, located on their Dale Mabry campus, is Leftovers- assemblages by Georgia Vahue and mixed media paintings by Lisa McCarthy.

From the artists about the exhibition-

Things that are “left over” in our lives speak to our priorities. Regardless of their composition, the fact that something remains after a time can elicit strong reactions of nostalgia or urgency. Whether they are collectibles, old books, identities, leftover meals, or simple mementos, these things can be prized just as easily as they can be neglected. Even though tastes and perceptions change over time, we find ourselves drawn to the past for novelties and material to create with something new.

Leftovers are a loaded source, full of possibility and untapped potential. Their hold on us can remain for one second, a minute, an hour, day, or century. As leftover items sit, hide, or are abandoned for whatever reason, they mature into something else. In the context of art, the act of examining these elements closer, again and again, makes the artist aware of qualities one did not see or appreciate beforehand. Only with this careful attention can we help these leftovers transition into the future.

Although very different in medium, the works play off each other well, creating interesting conversations between the pieces. McCarthy has even created drawings on the pedestals based on objects and elements from Vahue’s work.

The closing reception for the exhibition on Thursday (11/30/23) will include an artist talk beginning at 6pm.

Below are additional paintings by McCarthy including the incredibly detailed wall length mural.

Lisa McCarthy's “Enter Here”, 2022, mixed media on mylar

Lisa McCarthy, “Bon Marché”, 2023, mixed media on paper

Lisa McCarthy “Passers by the window”, 2023, oil and acrylic on canvas

#Lisa McCarthy #Georgia Vahue #Gallery221 at HCC #Art #Gallery 221 #Art Shows #Artist Talk #Assemblage #Drawing #Florida Art #Florida Art Shows #Florida Artist #HCC Art Galleries #HCCFL #Mixed Media #Mixed Media Art #Mixed Media Painting #Painting #Tampa Art Shows

[frogsandfries]

Looking forward to a quite important package Monday. Glad I have Monday off work. We've got cover boards, cat food, a cat toy--French press.

Guys!! In my incredibly amateur opinion, French pressing your cold brew is a great method: There's no boiling your water; it's basically one step. Put the water over the grounds, chill, press, drink. No transferring.

Finally!! Between the water filter and the French press--I can make my own coffee again! No need to buy the concentrate if I don't want to.

But I will. The concentrate makes good ice cubes, just mix it with creamer--perfect!

I also really have to remember to buy at least one more cover cloth. Also, I want to have some money put together for my sister's visit, and I need to get my teeth fixed up, ideally before the end of the year. And just as a small treat to myself, there's a million pins on my wishlist, and I want to start taking them off my wishlist and putting them on my pin board. I want to finally expand my collection to the next surface. I'm tempted to put them on my storage cubes....... but cats. And some of my storage cubes are kind of heavy.... Maybe I'll play it safe and just start a new board......

Eventually, I should really get around to purchasing the colored pencils. I bought this big ole 12×12 sketchbook and I am very interested to use it. I'm not even sure what I should illustrate........ Maybe hot air balloons? Like a balloon fest? Maybe some 'mini' posters to put lyrics onto? Maybe some.............book covers? Some draw-this-in-your-style challenges?

Which reminds me of a couple things:

I really want the Polly Pocket air balloon, and I want to make it into one of my, what was supposed to be wimmelbuch Polly Pocket inspired paper "doll houses". I had huge plans for the mermaid storybook. I just don't think I have, like, the necessary spirit for maximalism because even though the illustration is rather detailed, it's not wimmelbuch. I genuinely wonder what it would take for me to make one in analogue media..... And which one would I do?

[jamespotterthefirst]

Your Biggest Fan 6/?

Chapter 6: Collide

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.1 K Warning: Language Series: Your Biggest Fan Series Premise: AU: When he is forced to promote his new book on social media, an insolent stranger points out a mistake in his research.   Chapter Premise: They meet at last, though not as they planned. 

Author’s Note: Did I proofread this? No. Sorry!

The weight for his phone presses insistently against his leg from inside his pocket. Ethan almost scoffs at the notion that even talking about his greatest passion— medicine— is no longer enough to snuff the urge to check it. As he discusses his research in detail for the eager crowd, all he longs for is opening her messages.

For a wild moment, he imagines finally asking her to coffee like he's intended to for days. Ethan decided that morning that he would do just that after the Harvard event was over.

Ringing applause reverberates around the cavernous hall as he concludes his talk. For the first time since he started speaking, he allows himself a quick scan of the crowd. A sea of young, eager faces stare up at him, a mix of adoration and hopefulness mixed in their expressions. Ethan inwardly cringes, remembering exactly why he despised this kind of event.

Everyone always wanted something from him.

“Thank you, Dr. Ramsey,” the moderator says into the microphone. “We will now move forward to the question and answer portion of our time together.”

Ethan grits his teeth at this declaration, not even bothering to paste on a false smile. Somewhere in the crowd, Sharon is watching with disapproval. When his eyes land on the audience again, however, it's not his severe agent he sees.

There, in the front row, is a face he never thought he'd ever see again. The same face he once found so beautiful. The same he longed to kiss at random intervals of the day when he was younger and less cynical than he is now.  

Fiona.

Lilac has seen his picture many times (more times than she would ever admit out loud), but somehow, Ethan Ramsey looks different in person. 

For one, he appears somehow taller, even from Lilac's faraway spot in the crowd. As she watches him speak, cool and collected, she discovers this is mostly due to how easily he commands a room not only with his presence, but with his intellect.

The second thing she notices, despite her efforts to remain focused on his discussion about medicine, is how sharp his jaw is. In fact, as she watches him speak, she takes in all the sharp angles and graceful slopes of his handsome face. Paired with unfair features that could have been carved from the most talented of sculptors, are his eyes—utterly arresting in their icy splendor.

The moderator encourages the audience to queue up at the microphone to ask the guest of honor a question. Dr. Ramsey, for his part, seems less than thrilled by this. In fact, his handsome features are set in a stormy, almost furious expression.

“You should ask him something,” Sienna whispers from beside her.

The mere thought sends her pulse into overdrive.

“No way,” Lilac returns, mortified. “At least not in front of all these people.”

She steals another glance at Dr. Ramsey, looking downright livid, square jaw clenched so tight, the ridge of it glows white under the stage lights. Lilac's hands reflexively clutch the package in her hand—the navy sweater she had bought him, neatly wrapped (by Sienna) in parcel paper.

“Besides, he looks like he hates this part.”

The first person in the queue—a young girl of around their age—asks her question. It's as cliched as Lilac expected and she glances up at Dr. Ramsey for a reaction. There is little change from his thunderous expression. In fact, he appears to not have heard the question because his eyes are fixed on something in the crowd.

“Dr. Ramsey?” the moderator prompts.

“Wow, that guy looks pissed,” Jackie comments as she joins them.

“I think that's just his resting, default expression,” Sienna says.

“Resting bitch face. I can totally relate,” Jackie returns with a nod. Her attention moves to Lilac. “You're going to love me forever.”

“Why?”

“You're supposed to say you already do, weirdo.”

Lilac rolls her eyes with amusement.

“I can get you backstage to Dr. Ramsey.”

There is a pause in which the next question from the audience member echoes behind them.

“Ooh, that makes him sound like a rock star,” Sienna responds with a laugh.

“That'd make Lilac a groupie.”

Lilac allows a small smile at the playful jab, but Sienna looks instantly remorseful of where her joke landed them. Jackie notices nothing and goes on.

“That girl Michelle from the lab works for this place. She said they're using one of the offices backstage as a welcoming room for Dr. Ramsey. She can get you in, if you want.”

Her heartbeat is a hummingbird against her chest as Lilac glances up at the stage where Dr. Ramsey painstakingly answers a question about “his greatest inspiration.” From where she stands, he seems almost untouchable, a far cry from the same Dr. Ramsey who spent a whole evening telling her about his favorite operas. Suddenly, the parcel in her hand feels laughably inadequate. Someone like Dr. Ramsey had more than enough money to purchase his own sweaters, much finer and nicer than what a medical student can afford.

“You're doing that thing,” Jackie says, interrupting her thoughts. “You're overthinking something you really want to do until you discourage yourself from doing it.”

Sienna only responds by squeezing her arm in encouragement.

“If you're going to meet him, backstage is probably the best way,” she says quietly.

Her blood rushes through her body like a torrent, pumped fiercely by a terrified and brave heart.

“Okay,” she hears herself say. “Let's do it.”

As it turns out, “sneaking in” is far too dramatic for what happened ten minutes later. All they had to do was walk up to a beautiful but bored-looking girl blocking the door to the backstage area. With a nod in greeting at Jackie, she lets them through.

“We'll walk around for a while,” Sienna assures her as they stop in front of the oak door of the office Michelle described. “But if you change your mind, we're only a text message away.”

All Lilac can do is nod, her heart beating too powerfully against her throat to allow any speech. With a steadying breath, moves inside the empty office and waits.

Ethan barely hears the applause as the event comes to a conclusion. Come to think of it, he barely heard anything other than the furious roaring at his ears ever since his eyes landed on her. Now, as the crowd disperses, Ethan storms off the stage without much ceremony.

The steady rhythm of heels clicking against the hardwood floor follows him at a steady pace. Meanwhile, Ethan feels frenetic as he moves, despite his best efforts to appear collected. With every step, he feels as though he is running away like a terrified beast.

Even in this, she seems to have all the control. His fists clench at his side against the onslaught of shame and anger.

“Ethan,” she calls calmly from behind him.

He refuses to stop or look back.

“Ethan, don't be so childish.”

This prompts him to halt, every tense muscle in his body protesting and urging him to keep moving.

“What do you want, Dr. Bellington?” he asks coolly, without turning to face her.

Fiona Bellington laughs at the formal mode of address—a chime of a laugh, seemingly sweet but carrying a hidden edge.

“I read your latest book,” she offers, the tiniest hint of approval coating her voice. “I think given my own area of expertise, we would work well together.”

In the deathly silence that follows, Ethan turns to face her.

“You want to use my name to boost your own career.”

Fiona has the decency to look slightly indignant. “That's not how I—”

“What happened to Tobias?”

Now, she truly looks uncomfortable.

“He's not a good fit for what I have in mind.”

“He's not useful to you.”

Finally, her expression betrays some irritation. “Always so dramatic, Ethan. We both know this is an excellent opportunity.”

By now, Ethan is clenching his teeth with such force, he is surprised they haven't cracked. An onslaught of retorts come to mind all at once, most of them reproaching the last time they saw each all those years ago. It is no coincidence to him that she is suddenly back in his life now that he made a name for himself. Now that he is of use to her. An opportunist like Fiona Bellington would never bother otherwise.

Instead, Ethan remains as unmoved as ever.

“Not interested,” he says, turning on his heel before she can protest. “Don’t bother contacting me again.”

They reach the door of the office the University had put him in.

“I don’t give up easily,” she returns just as calmly. “You know that, Ethan.”

He slams the door behind him with so much force, the oak shakes against the frame. Though gratifying, it is not enough to vanish the burning afterimage of Fiona's smirk before the door slammed in her face. A small, startled squeal alerts him to the presence of someone else in the office. A young brunette stares at him with wide eyes, no doubt terrified by his outburst. When the shock seems to pass, she stares at him with a mixture of wonder and dawning admiration—a combination Ethan had seen many times before.

Still reeling from the uninhibited rage of seeing Fiona, Ethan offers no apology or greeting. Instead, he glares at her expectantly. This startles her out of some kind of trance because she shoots to her feet, clutching a small parcel as she moves toward him.

A dark, humorless laugh escapes him. After the day he's had, the only thing he wants is to find refuge in a message thread on a social media app, not deal with another fame-seeking prospective doctor.

“Dr. Ramsey, I—”

Jaw tight, he puts up a single finger in the air.

“Spare me.”

She blinks, confused.

“You think I don’t know who you are?”

The girl goes very still, the color draining from her features.

“Let me guess,” Ethan continues rather callously. “You have an elaborate speech prepared about my past work?”

She says nothing, too stunned to speak.

“For good measure, you’ll mention some of the more esoteric titles, adding a heartfelt footnote about how much they inspired you. All of this in the hopes of enhancing your own resume with a big name?”

“No, I don’t—”

Ethan scoffs.

“Why else would you sneak back here? What else could you be hoping to achieve?”

Her lip quivers and she presses her lips tightly together to quell the reaction.

“I do have to commend you, though. The gift is a nice touch.”

At the exact same time, their eyes fall to the package she clutches with a vice-like grip in trembling hands.

“I—”

“Keep it.”

The delicate tendons of her neck jolt as she tries to regain control of her fast breathing. That wonder and admiration slowly vanish, replaced with something else entirely.

“Keep your compliments. I assure you, I’ve heard them before from far more convincing actors. Nothing you can say, Miss…”

She doesn't reply, instead averting her face away. It occurs to him seconds later that she is trying to hide the unspilled tears that glisten in her eyes.

He continues, unable to stop now. “...Nothing you say can convince me you’re anything other than an opportunist trying to advance her own career.”

She looks up, too furious to care about the silent tears rolling down her cheeks. To Ethan's utter surprise, she lets out a dark, bitter little laugh of her own. 

“I can’t believe I actually thought — ”

She stops abruptly, shaking her head. Then, with quick, angry strides, she makes for the door, furiously wiping her cheeks with her hand as she hurries away. Right when she reaches the door, however, she seems to think of something.

Before Ethan has a chance to figure out what she's doing, she walks up to him until she's only inches away from him. If she were taller, they'd be nose to nose. From this close, he notices her eyes are the prettiest shade of green he has ever seen. In her fury, they look striking, with something new and familiar all at once in their depths. 

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Paper crinkles as she pushes the parcel against his chest with impressive force. Too stunned to respond, Ethan catches it in his hands as it falls.

“Asshole.”

And then she's at the door again.

“Lilac?”

A pair of lively students her age are waiting on the other side of the door. Their smiles vanish instantly when they see their friend's expression.

“What’s wrong?”

Lilac doesn't respond, instead hurrying away from the office with as much dignity as she can summon. Ethan watches her go, unmoving. It's only minutes after she's long gone that he realizes he's still clutching the package she slammed into his grasp.

With a sickening twist of his stomach, his eyes catch the small message scribbled on top:

To: Dr. Ramsey An upgrade from crepe :) From: Rookie

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #My writing

[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 2

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language and Angst!

Author's Note: It's amazing how much one can write when they've got a story to tell, eh? Enjoy! -Thorne

Set Three Years After PT. 1:

Life for her revolved around work in the A.M. and community college in the P.M. If she wasn’t brewing cappuccinos and baking apple turnovers, she was writing research papers and taking physics exams. It was hectic and it was hard, much harder than anything she’d done, but it was her life, and she was going to make the best of it. The money she’d taken from her savings account had only lasted her long enough to get a decent one bedroom one bathroom apartment in a small complex and the rest went towards tuition. The coffee shop two blocks from her building had fortunately been looking for a new hire when she arrived, and she took the chance where it was, not going to look the gift horse in its mouth.

The life she lived now was a complete 180 from her old one. Back then, she didn’t have to work (though she did at a high-end department store in the mall—her father got her the job but at least she had one) and there wasn’t anything she couldn’t get with a swipe of a credit card. Now she was on a budget that consisted of five and ten tips and the last time she actually bought a new pair of shoes over a hundred dollars had been last year when she needed them for an interview, and even then, it cost her a limb.

Everything was so different, but she didn’t want to go back, preferring to be on her own and away from Gotham. From the newspapers and media, her family had convinced the world that she’d taken a few years to go overseas and spend time in Europe. A mental reprieve, they’d called it. Partially true if she was honest, but she wasn’t going to open her mouth about it lest they learned where she was. She didn’t go through all that trouble to be found within three years.

“Melisandre.”

Maybe I should move again?

“Melisandre?”

Moving would take a long time but it would be effective.

“Melisandre!”

Someone grabbed her arm over the counter, and she jerked with a start, eyes widening as she finally realized someone was standing in front of her.

“Barry?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Finally,” he snorted. “I’ve been calling your name for like ten minutes now.”

She felt a flush creep along her cheeks, and she smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. Usual?” she murmured, marking a disposable coffee cup with a marker.

Barry nodded with understanding and handed her a credit card. “I hear you. How’s studying going for that physics exam?” His blue eyes darted to the science book she had sprawled over the counter.

“It’s going,” she muttered and turned, starting to mix together his latte. “I still can’t get the thermodynamic laws down. They’re a bit confusing.”

“Yeah, it’ll take a while. You know if you need my help, all you gotta do is ask, right?”

Shrugging, she glanced at him as she poured. “You’re a busy man, Barry. I can’t have you trying to help me while trying to solve cases too.”

Barry chuckled and accepted the freshly poured latte. “I’m an excellent multitasker, Melisandre. Besides, you don’t have to worry about it messing with my work.” She opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off. “Seriously, shoot me an email about whatever questions you’ve got, and I’ll take a look at ‘em, okay?”

Her eyes narrowed warily, and she inquired, “You’re sure it won’t interfere? I’d hate for you to get in trouble for working on non-work-related things.”

“I promise, Melisandre,” he smiled and accepted a bag of apple turnovers too. He couldn’t help but pull one out and bite into it, letting out a delighted noise. “God, what do you put in these things? They’re phenomenal.”

She giggled and winked as he handed her a twenty. “A baker never reveals her secret, but if you really want to know, I use a little vanilla extract.”

Barry shook his head with a chuckle and started making his way to the door. “See you later, Melisandre!”

Waving at him, she called, “Bye Barry! Take care!”

Just as he opened the door, he stopped and spun around, suddenly asking, “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Blinking, she glanced at the physics book then back to him. “Well, I was going to be studying for the exam…why?”

“My nephew is in town and I wanted to introduce him to you. I’ve already mentioned you a bunch of times and he wants to meet you.”

Her face pinched. “Barry Allen, what did you tell that poor boy?”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “That there’s a lonely college student who has no friends but has the greatest baking abilities in the world.”

“I cannot believe you told him I had no friends! Why!”

“You don’t.”

“Well, yeah! But still! You don’t just tell someone that! It makes me seem like there’s something wrong with me!”

Barry waved a hand. “Relax. Wally’s the least jerky person you’ll meet.” He smiled. “You’ll like him.”

She frowned. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, Barry.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s here to see you and your wife, not come meet the person who feeds your apple turnover addiction.”

The blonde’s cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson and he spluttered, “It is not an addiction!” he spun around and marched through the door. “I’ll send him over tomorrow! Bye!”

And he left before she could even say a word.

***

It had to be hieroglyphics. It was either that or some ancient cuneiform he’d recently taken up interest in, because there was no way whatever he’d written on the paper was English.

She cocked her head to the side, muttering, “Jesus Christ, Barry, did you write this on a caffeine bender? Your writing is like chicken scratch.” She tipped her head to the other side trying to decipher it when someone leaned over her shoulder.

“Which problem do you need help on?” they asked, and she pointed to the sheet.

“I have no idea what that says.” She turned and saw a red-haired stranger. “If you think you can, be my guest.”

He took it and read over it a moment, green eyes scanning over the page then he said, “Let’s see, he wrote first, ‘The third law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of a system at absolute zero is a well-defined constant. This is because a system at zero temperature exists in its ground state, so that its entropy is determined only by the degeneracy of the ground state.’”

Pausing, he scanned it again and added, “Then he marked a note beside it and wrote, ‘In simplistic terms, if an object reaches the absolute zero temp. of (0 K = -273.15C = -459.67°F), its atoms will stop moving. In other words, at absolute zero, the entropy of a perfectly crystalline substance is zero.’”

Glancing at her, he smiled. “Make sense now?”

She huffed and nodded, taking the sheet back. “Yeah, thanks. I don’t even know how you managed to get all that from his writing.”

He nodded. “Yeah, Barry’s handwriting is deplorable.”

Her eyes went wide, and she immediately questioned, “How did you?”

Sticking a hand out, he greeted, “Wally West. I’m Barry’s nephew.”

Shaking his hand, she couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe he actually told you to come up here and meet me.” A smile came across her lips. “I’m Melisandre Hale.”

“That’s a pretty name, Melisandre.”

“Thank you,” she grinned and waved him to one of the bar-stools on the adjacent side of the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll get you something to eat and drink.” As she slid behind the counter, she inquired, “Anything specific?”

Wally stared at the bored, offhandedly mentioning, “Barry said something about apple turnovers that could make you cry with joy, so I’ve gotta have one of those.” His evergreen eyes met hers. “Maybe two if I’m being honest.”

She grunted, but a grin crossed her lips, nevertheless. “Barry exaggerates a lot, Wally. They’re good, but they’re not mind-blowingly good.”

“Then I guess that leaves me to be the judge,” he countered with a smirk. “What should I drink?”

She thought for a moment then offered, “Have any judgments about drinking before five o’clock?”

He let out a startled laugh and shook his head. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

With a grin, she turned and started working her magic and a moment later, she was sliding a plate with two iced apple turnovers over along with a clear steaming mug of dark coffee with cream on top. She leaned her hip on the counter and watched him pick up one of the apple turnovers and take a bite.

Immediately his eyes went wide, and he exclaimed, “Holy shit.” He gaped at her. “This is delicious, Melisandre!”

Despite herself, her cheeks warmed, and she gave him an easy smile. “Thanks, Wally.” She nodded to the crystal mug. “Try the Irish coffee.”

He did so and tossed his head back, letting out an exaggerated groan that had her laughing until her stomach hurt. Wally was on his second turnover and he looked at her.

“You’ve gotta open up a bakery or something, Melisandre. Your pastries are awesome.”

She huffed and took the plate from him as he finished the last bite. “Let me get through college first and then I’ll wonder how to rack up enough to open a shop.”

“What are you studying?”

Pausing, she tossed a quick glance at him. “There’s no specification right now. I’m just doing general studies to get all the basics out of the way.” She put the dish in the sink and started rinsing it. “I’m at the four-C right now.” His brows pulled together, and she added, “Central City Community College.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right! It’s been a while since I went to the four-C.”

Her eyes found his and she curiously asked, “Did you go there?”

“Yeah, a few years back.”

“You don’t look that much older than I am. How old are you, Wally?”

He sipped his coffee and set it down as he replied, “I turned twenty-eight a month ago.”

“Happy belated birthday,” she smiled, and he gave her one in return.

“Thanks. How about you?”

“I turned twenty-one a few months ago.”

“Hmm, happy belated birthday to you as well.” He grinned, quipping, “How’s it feel to finally be able to legally do all the things you were doing before you turned twenty-one?”

She shot him a look. “Shame on you, Wally West, for assuming I was doing illegal things.” He chuckled and she shrugged. “But to answer your question, it feels great, so thanks.”

Wally snorted at that. “My best friend and I got absolutely hammered on our twenty-firsts and swore to never drink hard liquor again after we woke up in the bathroom in our underwear after passing out on the floor.”

A shudder passed over her at her own memory of waking up beside the toilet after her birthday celebration with a bottle of white rum. She cocked a hand up with her water bottle in it. “Here, here,” she toasted and took a sip as Wally raised his coffee and drank too.

She glanced at him. “Are you in school, or are you done?”

“I finished a while ago. I work out of a tower with a group of friends in Manhattan.”

For a moment, her eyes drifted to the simple pair of jeans and graphic shirt he was wearing. She lived in the upper area of Gotham and she knew what uptown Manhattan was like, and it wasn’t jeans and t-shirts.

Evidently, he did too because he scowled, “I have suits and ties, thank you very much.”

She snorted and took the empty mug from him. “I didn’t say anything, Wally.”

“You made a face.”

“Is a face a ground to be hostile?” she grinned. “I was just wondering what type of business in Manhattan ran on flash t-shirts and skinny jeans.” She eyed him. “Tech?”

He shrugged. “It’s…a bit of everything if I’m being honest.” It sounded like he didn’t exactly want to say, and she let it be, rinsing out his cup before setting it to dry.

A buzz sounded and she felt for her phone when he said, “That’s mine.” Wally pulled his phone out, read the message, and stood up. “I’ve gotta go, Melisandre.”

She nodded and took the twenty-dollar bill he handed her, waving her off when she tried to hand back the change. As he started towards the door, she called, “Wally?”

He turned on his heel and waited and she felt foolish for saying it, but she admitted with warmth in her cheeks, “It’s been a while since I had any semblance of a friend…so thanks for this afternoon.”

Wally gave her a pearly white grin. “Barry said you’d say something like that,” he chuckled as she scowled and he added sincerely, “Can never have too many friends, Melisandre…and I hope you’ll become a great one of mine. So far, you already are.”

She smiled, “Same here, Wally.” The bell signaled his exit and she let out a heavy sigh as her heart warmed in her chest at the feeling of a newfound friendship.

***

She was dead on her feet when she finally got through her front door and into her living room, practically collapsing onto the couch. Though it wasn’t far from the truth as she flopped down and toed off her shoes, heaving a long and winded sigh as she stared at the dark ceiling. She wanted to turn on the lamp on the table beside her, but she didn’t want to move. Hell, she barely wanted to get up and take a shower, so she didn’t go to bed sweaty.

Just a moment. She thought. Just a moment to close my eyes and I’ll get up and go shower.

Of course, the second the shut them, she was opening them to her phone telling her it was two A.M. She groaned and picked herself off the couch to shuffle into her bedroom, and when she got there, she peeled off the clothes from her body and let them fall, not caring about the hamper just a foot away. She’d do it tomorrow after class.

The shower was quick, and she crawled into bed a few minutes later, glancing out the window at the stars that were still in the night sky. Even if she tried to avoid thinking about it, she couldn’t, and her mind drifted to when she was a young girl and would stare out the window in her bedroom back in Gotham, watching the spotlight come alive and paint the silhouette of the bat symbol against the night sky.

She missed them. She missed them a lot. Missed eating meals at a full table and the laughter in the manor. Hell, she even missed being ignored, because at least then she could see familiar faces every day. Now, it was wake up, go to work, go to class, then come home. And the process repeated every morning. She was alone in a city where she didn’t know anyone except for one forensic scientist and his wife, going to a college that didn’t even have her real identity. She’d not even said the name “(Y/N) Wayne” out loud for fear that someone with super hearing would hear her and tell her father, instead going by “Melisandre Hale”, a twenty-one-year-old born and raised Central City citizen going to community college. It pained her to admit, that with her decision to grant herself the freedom she desired, it came with a heavy price, and that was the loneliness. And it was worse compared to what it was like back then.

Sighing, she rolled over and pulled the covers up over her head, hoping that when she shut her eyes, she’d stop thinking about what she left behind. Unfortunately, the universe and her mind were never kind, and as she drifted to sleep, she saw the pained faces of her family.

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfam #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #barry allen #the flash #wally west #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #dc #batman #bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #red hood #jason todd #red robin #tim drake #robin #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 11: Playing the Game

AN: I hope y'all enjoy this non-stop flirt-a-thon, chapter count got increased again, so we'll get back to the plot in the next chapter!

At first, Marinette didn’t know how to act. This was the last route she expected Damian to take. The shock of Damian’s lips against hers turned her body rigid; hands splayed out to the sides, unsure of where to touch. After a second of floundering, she gained enough bearing to place her hands firmly on Damian’s arms. Her once still lips hesitantly moving against his. The closed-mouth kiss stayed chaste, but Marinette found herself fluttering her eyes closed, sinking into the warmth.

Damian stood taller than her, bending into the kiss while she craned her neck. Marinette pushed herself upward, arching onto the tips of her toes, and Damian’s hands wrapped tighter around her waist, deepening the kiss. She readjusted her mouth for a second grabbing a quick gasp of air before diving in again with more fervor. Damian responded in kind, pushing her back fully against the wall, one hand migrating from her waist to cup her cheek.

Damn. Damian was a good kisser.

“What the- Hey, customers are not allowed to be in here!”

Oh, right. The employee. That’s why they were kissing.

Why would kissing be helpful in this situation?

Not that Marinette was complaining, but-

Damian pulled away from her, and Marinette held back a pitiful whine when he turned away and faced the employee.

‘Bad thoughts, Marinette,’ she chided herself. ‘Focus on the mission, not Damian, or his lips, or his eyes, or-’

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” said Damian with a bashful smile.

Wait…

Blink.

What?

Marinette dragged herself out of the kiss-induced bliss, focusing on her co-conspirator, and had she been less in control of herself her jaw would have dropped.

Damian’s whole demeanor had markedly changed. His normal sharp posture sunk into a causal slouch; the emotions on his face, generally a mix of sharp observation or practiced disdain, now a mix of charming elegance and, yes, bashfulness. He flashed a wide grin at the oncoming employee, a person in their early twenties, who froze when they saw them.

Or rather, Damian.

Rapidly blinking bright blue eyes gazed at them. “Oh, oh you- you’re-”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know who I am,” said Damian, rubbing the back of his neck. Even the way he spoke changed; careful pronunciation and formality thrown out the window for a lax New Jersian drawl. “What’s your name?” He asked with such a genuine smile, had Marinette not been versed in people lying through their teeth, she would have bought it.

Not for the first time, Marinette wondered how famous Damian’s family was – obviously rich enough, and high profile enough - to be recognized on the spot.

The person paused for a moment, fiddling with a strand of curly blond hair. “I’m- I’m ah… Fey, nice to meet you Mr.-”

Damian cut them off with a laugh. “Oh please, any name with a mister makes me think of my father or my older brother. Call me Dami.” He offered a hand to the flustered Fey. They limply shook it.

“Oh… ah- alright Dami.”

Damian encircled a hand around Marinette’s waist dragging her out of the weirdness induced fugue state she’d fallen into. “And this… well,” he lowered his eyes, catching her attention and winked. “This is my girlfriend Marinette.”

Fuck, this is what he meant by play along.

Fey dropped open their mouth before closing it quickly.

“Oh, I hadn’t read-”

Damian cut the flustered employee off again.

“We’ve kept it quiet.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The papers would devour a story like this,” he said, with a sense of vapid annoyance, although a trace of his normal calculated disdain accented his words.

Note to self; Damian didn’t like the media. Good, Marinette didn’t much like the invasive vultures either.

Fey nodded along, twirling a lock of hair on their finger. “Oh yeah, that totally makes sense.” They paused shaking their head to clear away an emotion… awe? Fear? Marinette couldn’t tell. “But uh, why are you here? Like in the stairwell, not in the store. Because of course celebrities would still shop, right? I mean-” Poor Fey was a stuttering mess. Marinette almost felt bad for them.

She felt like an absolute stuttering mess too, but she would be damned if Damian would carry this lie all by himself.

She was fucking Ladybug; savior of Paris, Guardian of the Miraculous.

She could act like a lovestruck fool.

“It iz so sweet,” she said, emphasizing her accent to add a little more pageantry to this entire scheme. “I just arrived back from Paris, and wanted to decorate my new apartment with ze ah-” she waved her hands around, “Oh, how you Americans put it? Fairy lights?”

Fey nodded quickly. “Yeah, we have a couple of good selections, but-” Marinette continued before they could logic their way out of the made-up cover story.

“I planned to go by myself, but Dami-” at this she moved forward to wrap her arms around his, leaning into his side. The warmth of his body bleeding through his clothes. “He insisted on ‘companying me even though he dozen’t like ze crowds.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. “He gets grumpy,” she divulged with a girlish giggle. Why Damian did a 180 on his personality was a complete mystery, but if he dropped the act, this would make Fey less suspicious.

Fey nodded right along like Marinette’s comment made total sense. “Yeah, I don’t read too many magazines, but damn they must pin you all wrong,” they said to Damian. From Marinette’s position at his side, she felt his body tense the slightest amount. “Gotham’s Ice Prince, yeah right.”

Marinette inwardly quirked an eyebrow. ‘Ice Prince, huh?’ The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d heard it before.

Damian nervously chuckled again, sounding more authentic this time. “Oh no, I’m a grump when it comes to the media, I fully admit. My, ah,” he looked at her again, an apology flashing in his green eyes. “Angel here puts me in a better mood.”

A rushing noise filled Marinette’s ears, and her heart quickened. She vaguely registered a squeal of delight coming from Fey, but it sounded far away compared to her blood pounding at a thunderous level. Heat flushed in her cheeks, and the confident smile she plastered on her face almost dropped at the pet name.

Angel.

He called her angel.

What level of utter insanity had she dropped into?

“A few disguises later,” Damian continued, adjusting the glasses on his face, and oblivious of the turmoil he’d created in Marinette’s mind. “I thought we’d be able to stay under the radar, I just wanted a day out with my girlfriend,” he said with a put-upon sigh. The emotional, charming actions stood in complete opposite to Damian’s normal demeanor.

Marinette found herself desperately torn between breaking down laughing hysterically or clapping at Damian’s masterful performance.

“You got noticed?” asked Fey.

“We got noticed.” Damian sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. Marinette regretted not touching it while she and Damian kissed; was it as fluffy as it looked? “And Marinette, the sweet angel she is, isn’t used to the whole utter insanity of… you know, dating a celebrity.” He glanced at her, teasing her with a fonder smirk than his usual. Marinette wanted to roll her eyes. Damian had no clue she knew very well the consequences of dating a celebrity.

Never mind she’d only dated Adrian a month before they broke up because his dad turned out to be a psychopathic supervillain intent on plunging the whole of France into an apocalyptic hellscape in an attempt to upset the universes’ balance, and was fully okay with killing the both of them to make it happen.

Being friends after that little debacle was the better option. For both their sanities.

‘Focus Marinette.’ She dragged her attention back to the conversation.

“We kinda ducked in here when nobody was paying attention. I want to keep this away from the media as long as possible, for my angel’s privacy.” Marinette wanted to scoff at how Damian leaned into that nickname. He certainly was laying it on thick. Marinette wouldn’t have bought the act, but that was due to her years of lying and deceiving in the name of super-heroics.

Fey, with their eager demeanor and bright blue eyes, didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh, that’s awful people wouldn’t leave you alone. I bet most celebrities would be familiar with the attention, but for you to look out for Marinette too?” They whistled. “Damn girl, he’s a keeper for sure.”

The blush gracing Marinette’s cheeks was 100% real. “Oh, well, ah, zank you. I know.”

“Well, no one will hear a word from me,” Fey promised. They fiddled with their hands and sent a shy smile at Damian. Marinette’s stomach clenched at the sight, and without her permission, her traitorous hands tightened their grip on Damian’s arm. “Without your family’s scholarship, my sister never would have graduated med school. She would kill me if I even thought of ratting you out to the papers.”

“Oh…” said Damian, his outward appearance of shock mirroring Marinette’s own internal emotions.

‘His family is rich enough to fund medical scholarships?’

“Well, that’s not on me directly, you know,” he commented. “All my father’s doing. I hope- ah… I hope she’s doing well?” Although his face portrayed a bashful and relaxed air, his body language screamed uncomfortableness. Marinette released one hand from his arm and brought it to rest on the small of his back, circling her thumb around. He relaxed, slightly, and Marinette smiled.

“Yeah, actually she is,” said Fey beaming. “She’s working at the new pediatric clinic that opened in Crime Alley.”

“Good for her,” said Damian honestly. “We need more people willing to work to make the city a better place. Money can only do so much.”

“Money definitely helps though,” Fey replied, wryly. Marinette agreed. Long-buried memories of her early years arose. Living above her parents’ shop, where every month they spread their bills across the kitchen table and talked in hushed tones while Marinette sat on the steps to her attic room and worried, even if at five and six she didn’t know what she was worried about.

Those days were long gone. Her parents and their creations internationally famous, with three separate locations across the greater Paris metro alone. But that worry never really went away.

Fey shifted on their feet reading their watch. “Well, you guys stay here if you want until whatever crowd out there loses interest.” They gestured to the door Marinette and Damian entered through. “Or you can come with me if you want?” Pointing to the other locked door. “I’m heading out to the atrium to deal with a problem, but you can continue on with your shopping.”

“Zank you so much,” Marinette replied. “We will go with you if you do not mind?”

“Of course not,” said Fey, walking to the door and pulling out a security key. They opened the door, but Damian held it allowing Marinette and Fey to walk through before he followed. Placing a hand once more around Marinette’s waist.

“What problem in the atrium, if you don’t mind me asking?” he prodded, sharing a look with Marinette.

It could be nothing, but it could also have something to do with his brothers.

Considering their luck today, Marinette would be shocked if it wasn’t the latter option.

“Oh, well it started with the children’s center shutting down. Apparently, the kids got it in their minds to start a dodge ball fight with the workers. Which, you know, totally fair,” confided Fey, as they walked through the back corridors. “Sounded like it was a blast to watch. I was such a shit when I was a kid, I would have joined them in a heartbeat. It wrapped up fairly quickly, but they can’t convince the main instigator to descend from the jungle gym. I think they’re still hunting down her parents.”

Marinette pursed her lips trying to hold back a smile. ‘Oh, Abby,’ she thought, ‘you absolute gem.’

“I only heard about it from Lisa when I got back because I was dealing with a security issue in the back lot.” Fey glanced at them nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong, we’re perfectly safe.”

Marinette and Damian shared a look.

Jason.

“Of course,” said Marinette.

Followed by a quick, “Absolutely,” from Damian.

Fey relaxed. “So this is, apparently, a whole bunch of workers on strike? They walked out of the back warehouse and congregated in the atrium, spouting on about living wages and corrupt big business, and the effects of verbal abuse in the workplace.” Fey said with a wave of their arms. “And it’s not like I don’t agree, because I do. Jerry, the warehouse general manager, is an asshole.” Marinette and Damian exchange worried glances at the rotund angry man’s name, who they last saw dragging a singed Tim into an office.

“…but it makes my job hard,” whined Fey, oblivious to their compatriot’s inner panic. “And the Starbucks baristas joined them, so their kiosk closed too.” Fey chuckled, “I would avoid the whole area if I were you, especially if you don’t want anyone finding out you’re together.”

“I wonder how zat ended up happening?” Marinette asked hopefully her high-pitched voice conveyed confusion instead of slowly settling in panic.

“They called in saying some guy lead the charge, he’s worked the crowd into a fervor. I’m there to be the HR rep while security tries to remove him. You know, normally my job involves sitting at a desk all day listening to bitchy customers on the phone. I’ve dealt with more in-store problems today since last Black Friday.” Fey chuckled. “What a day, ya’ know?”

Marinette glanced at Damian, his casual mask still firmly in place, although his left eye twitched, and the hand he wrapped around her waist, tightened at Fey’s words.

Fey finally reached another door, pulling out their pass and lead them out into the store’s main section.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Marinette, Dami,” Fey chirped. “Nobody will hear from me about any of this.” They mimed zipping their lips.

Marinette smiled, hoping the strain wasn’t too noticeable. “It waz nice to meet you too Fey.”

“Good luck with whatever is happening in the atrium,” said Damian. They stood at the door and watched them move out of sight. When Fey finally disappeared around a corner, Damian turned to Marinette his casual persona rippling away as if it never existed at all. His hand slipped off her waist.

She did not, absolutely not, want to grab it and put it back thank you very much.

“How much do you wish to wager on Drake’s involvement in whatever is occurring in the atrium?” he asked. Marinette smiled, reassured at the return of his clipped and formal tone. The informal speech felt wrong coming from Damian’s mouth.

“Oh, I don’t know Dami?” she teased. Then again, she couldn’t let this opportunity pass by her. “I don’t think I have enough money for that bet with you.”

Damian closed his eyes with a grimace and sigh. “Do not call me that.” He opened his eyes, an expression just short of pleading radiated from them “Please.”

“I would rather gag, and it sounds so would you.” Marinette covered her grin with her hand, unable to stop a slight giggle at the man’s long-suffering tone. “You pulled off vapid lovesick celebrity well, but why the need to act at all?”

“I have plenty of reference to draw from,” he grumbled, piquing Marinette’s interest; every half aside comment enticing her to dig further at Damian’s life. “I needed whoever descended those steps on our side and my normal... demeanor tends to put people off.” He folded his hands behind his back, a perfect picture of casualness, but the tightness around his eyes and the twitch of his mouth was all Marinette needed to note his self-consciousness.

“Well, I for one find your usual self charming,” Marinette admitted, pleased when Damian relaxed at her words. “You freaked me out acting that weird.”

“It is not an option I use often,” Damian admitted. “My brothers tend to make big productions of themselves. I prefer a far subtler approach, but this required more theatrics to make it believable.” He glanced at her. “I hope…” he paused. She watched his hand flutter and turn into a fist at his side. “I hope I did not overstep your bounds, that is, I mean violate your...” Damian refused to look at her, his gaze firmly planted on a far wall.

Marinette could let the poor man continue but ended up taking pity on him before he dug an even deeper hole. She placed a hand on his arm. “You were fine. If I didn’t want you… kissing me,” she said the words out loud for the first time, reigning in a pleasurable shudder at the memory. “I would have pushed you off, and if I felt violated, which I didn’t, you would have found yourself on the ground in plenty of pain.”

Damian dragged his gaze back to hers, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “Undoubtedly, yes, you easily could have done so.”

Marinette smirked again, not willing to let the entire debacle slip away quite yet though. “Although I have to ask, where in the world did angel come from? And what on earth made you think it would be a good nickname for our fake relationship?”

Damian lifted his nose haughtily. “It is a perfectly acceptable name of affection for a significant other. What, did you wish for ‘sweetheart’ or ‘doll’?” he asked, drawing out those names with the earlier casual New Jersian accent. Marinette withheld a shiver at his low tone of voice curling those words around his tongue. She may prefer his normal speech, but damn he still sounded unbearably attractive when he dropped that low.

‘Focus, Marinette. FOCUS!’ she inwardly screamed at herself.

“Goodness no,” said Marinette, forcing a pretend shudder. “Something with more class perhaps? Darling, or beloved?”

Damian pursed his lips. “Not beloved. That’s what my mother refers to my father with.” Marinette winced, yeah, that could be awkward. Not that this whole conversation wasn’t a disaster plucked out of a fever dream. Why, why was she debating Damian on the finer points of affectionate nickname giving?

But her mouth continued talking. “Alright, I suppose angel isn’t bad in comparison. Still, it’s a bit cliché. What does that make you? A demon?”

Damian tilted his head with a shrug. “Tt. My brothers do call me that on occasion, yes.” Oh right, Jason called him demon-spawn a few times during their confrontation. With the way Damian rolled his eyes in annoyance, Marinette figured a story lurked behind that particular nickname.

“Regardless, we have strayed dangerously off-topic here. We should head towards the pandemonium in the atrium, yes?” Damian pushed off the wall he’d leaned against, and Marinette followed.

“I thought it was Panic at the Disco?” Marinette teased with a grin.

Damian pointed a finger at her, trying for a stern expression, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “You think yourself terribly clever, don’t you?”

“I think I’m adorable,” she shot back. “But I also think you’re right. It sounds like Tim managed to involve himself. If he’s making a scene, I bet he’ll draw the rest of your brothers there too.”

“You think Grayson will escape the clutches of that ravenous she-wolf?”

Marinette scoffed. “Damian, you’ll insult wolves with that comparison. I thought she resembled more of a hyena myself.” The woman certainly shrieked enough for it. “From what I saw, your brother probably ducked out at the first opportunity available to him.”

“True. Which leaves Todd, and nothing attracts his attention more than a spectacle. Especially when Drake stands chance to make a fool of himself.” Turning a corner they found themselves several yards away from the open-aired atrium. A crowd of people lingered around the railing looking into the courtyard below. Clapping and cheers fill the air.

“Shall we?” asked Marinette, excitement brewing in her chest.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” grumbled Damian. “But I suppose we must.”

Tag List (or you can subscribe and read it here on ao3)

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#the great ikea game #daminette #damian x marinette #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #maribat #damimari #mlb crossover #ml x dc #damianette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Lena Luthor x Reader : Mistakes Were Made

Summary: You really should’ve paid much more attention to the wrapping.

Genre: 18+ Suggestive language, Masturbation, Toys, Implied Smut

Imagine comes from this request: “Reader accidentally gives a lewd gift meant for their long distance GF (or ex-GF) to their friend, Lena.”

Word Count: 2,134

* * * * * *

You really should’ve seen this coming.

In fact you saw it coming, you just didn’t prepare yourself for it.

Now that you’re faced with your mistakes, you’re the most embarrassed and, quite honestly, the dumbest you’ve ever been.

The first mistake started not but six months ago. You were ignorantly blissful in your relationship with your then girlfriend Carly. You were preparing yourself to go on a two month long DEO mission and had bought a gift for her, one that would keep her “occupied” while you couldn’t.

A dildo. You bought her a dildo.

Having experimented with different ways to fulfill your desires while you were gone on missions, the added use of toys during your sexual phone calls was quickly agreed upon.

Your second mistake came the day you planned to give it to her. You’d officially been gone five days and figured the sooner you told her the sooner you both could make good use of it. So you called. And called. And called. Only to be ignored all three times. Then for the fourth call to be answered, on accident. Based on the noises you’d heard it was obvious what was happening, obvious that Carly didn’t need your little gift after all.

You ignored her for the entirety of your mission and promptly confronted her when you got back. She didn’t deny it either, just claimed it was something she never should’ve done and begged for another chance. But you were far from willing to give it to her. So you broke up, went through the motions of moving out and cutting ties.

Third mistake was still checking up on her on her social media. It was clear that her little side piece was more than that, when you saw the very new pictures of them together on your feed.

Your friends were one hundred percent ready to go to war for you. Kara and Alex couldn’t believe that someone would cheat on you, they didn’t understand cheating in general, but to cheat on someone as sweet as you made the least amount of sense.

Nia wanted to find Carly and teach her a lesson. A fact she made abundantly clear.

While Lena, she was pissed and confused and a million other things. The CEO has had a crush on you since before you started dating Carly and her feelings grew over the entirety of your relationship. She saw the way you were with Carly, how attentive, caring, understanding, and overall romantic you were.

All in all they could tell how hurt you were about the whole thing. You weren’t in love with her or anything but you were getting there.

It’s why your friends insisted you spend more time with them after the break up. Alongside your usual hang outs at Al’s and game nights at Kara’s house, the blonde planned a Friend’s Appreciation night.

That’s when your final mistake happened.

You all agreed on celebrating the impromptu holiday and planned on getting each other gifts. You wrapped and tagged every gift but one. When it’d gotten time for you to wrap Lena’s you got distracted as said woman popped by so you shoved her gift at the top of your closet and thought nothing of it till the day of.

In which you excitedly grabbed the wrong damn box.

Everything was going perfect, drinks were flowing, Kara was knee deep in a second helping of potstickers, and gifts were being exchanged.

You’d handed Lena hers with a sweet smile and a,“ I thought of you when I saw it so I had to.”

So imagine the hopeful surprise she felt when she opened the ten inch, fairly realistic looking dildo with a cute little red bow around it.

All the girls had asked what she got, especially since they knew of her feelings for you and figured you had at least a crush on her. But this, she couldn’t and wouldn’t share this with them. No this was to stay between the two of you.

Except you didn’t know that. Well you did but not to the full extent.

Which meant you were oblivious to how sexual her words were when she would text or tell you that she “adored her gift” or “couldn’t get enough of it” or better yet “wanted you to use it with her.”

It was that last one that started to tie things together for you. You weren’t sure how you both would use a diamond jewelry set. So you’d jokingly told her you didn’t think that was possible, to which she said “if you play your cards right it is.”

You figured she was just messing around so you brushed it off. Until you saw her again, stopping into L-Corp just to say hi at lunch.

A frown masked your brows as you sat down across from her, e/c eyes roaming her neck and ears,“ you don’t have my gift.” You pouted.

Lena’s eyes widened and she gave a disbelieving chuckle,“ of course I don’t, I’m at work Y/n.” She looked off,“ though it would definitely come in handy when I’m stressed.”

The last part brought a smile to your face. The thought that your gift brought her comfort. But you didn’t understand the first bit.“ Wh-why wouldn’t you bring it to work. Do you not want people to see it?”

If she wasn’t surprised before she is now. It’s one thing to give her a dildo as an appreciation gift but to now subtly but openly admit to wanting to be semi-public with it was another.

Did you have an exhibitionist kink or something? Did you enjoy the risk of possibly being caught? Or were you just into the idea of her carrying your dildo around with her?

“Y-Y/n I,” her shoulders dropped as she processed your words,“ I’ll do it.”

Leaning forward, you rested a hand on hers,“ good, I’m glad you like it by the way. I wasn’t sure if you even needed something like that but I guess it’s the thought that counts right?”

“Of course.”

The next day, you were more than happy to receive a text from the CEO saying she had your gift with her. You’d replied that “you wanted to see how it looked on her” which made the brunette flush with arousal and embarrassment, unbeknownst to you. But she was curious about how you’d respond.

The second you got the picture you had to do a double take which then led to you dropping your phone.

There your best friend Lena Luthor was, her legs spread beneath her desk, with an all too familiar dildo disappearing into her clearly sopping pussy.

In an instant, you were sprinting back to your bedroom. Throwing your closet door open and snatching the box off the top shelf. Nestled inside on top of tissue paper was the diamond necklace and matching earrings you thought you gave to Lena.

No instead you gave your best friend a goddamn dildo!

“Oh. My. Fuck.” You whispered into the quiet space.

The one thing you’d done in the midst of this entire situation that wasn’t a mistake, was going to Lena about it.

You raced to L-Corp, a million and one thoughts on your mind about it all. Every conversation you had about the gift.

Heat rushed to your face when you remembered one of the first things she told you about it, she couldn’t get enough of it.

How many times had she used it?

If it came from you, did she think of you when using it?

No wonder she told you she didn’t bring it to work. It was a goddamn dildo and not a necklace.

How you managed to be so clueless was lost on you but you had to at least try to clear it up, lest your best friend think you were some type of creep.

Pulling up to the building, you moved just as fast to get inside and up to her office. In the midst of all your panic you didn’t even consider the fact that you just received a picture of her actions.

The sight before you when you entered, stopped you in your tracks.

Lena’s head thrown back, eyes shut, as her arm flexed with her obviously quick and forceful pumps.

She was fucking herself with it, right there.

“L-Lena.” You fumbled, shutting the door before anyone could dare look inside to find their boss in such a compromising and vulnerable position.“ Lena.” You said clearer the second time.

Keeping up with her ministrations, she looked up at you, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. You heard the low moan she gave and at that point you were pretty sure it was because of you more so than the toy between her legs.

Admittedly you didn’t know what to do. Well you did. You should’ve given her the last of her privacy but you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

She was beautiful there’s no denying that, however nothing could be sexier than having seen her like that. Falling apart with each flick of her wrist, knowing you were there.

When she reached her peak she shook, her body overwhelmed and you had no control over yours. Walking across the office, you grabbed her face, and crashed your lips on hers. The long moan she’d let out now swallowed by you.

After she calmed down, you released her, and sat back against the desk. Your gaze followed the action of her pulling the dildo from her, catching how wet it was and nearly dying at the thought of causing that and possibly fixing it.

“I wouldn’t’ve been opposed to you helping me you know?”

“That,” you pointed to the toy,“ was not meant for you.” You blurted out.“ I got you a necklace and mixed up the boxes and I realize how fucked up that sounds but apparently you made good use of it regardless.”

Lena’s eyebrows raised as she dazedly looked at you,“ seriously?”

An embarrassed, nervous, smile took over your face,“ yeah. I can’t even tell you how I mixed up the packages.” You said, setting her intended gift down.

Green eyes flicked down to the box. With an embarrassed blush on her cheeks, she swallowed and threw the toy in an empty drawer. Then scrambling to fix herself.

The realization of the situation settling in her mind and causing that blush to deepen.

“Y-you- I-I’m so sorry,” she stutters out. Her eyes widen and she’s quick to bury her face in her hands.“ All those messages I sent and your replies I thought you-”

She stops and your eyebrow raises. You had a feeling what she intended to say but had to hear it.

“You thought I what?” Slowly her hands lower and her gaze finds yours.“ What Le?”

Taking a deep breath she nearly whispers,“ I thought you may have felt the same about me.”

Do I? You find yourself thinking. Did all those seemingly platonic cuddles mean something? When you kiss her forehead and she kisses your cheek is there something behind that?

Is the love you feel for her more than friendly? Had you just pushed the way you use to feel about her away? Was it that easy?

You’re smart enough to know feelings are never easy. And aware of your emotional state to know that there was always something romantic behind everything you did with and for Lena.

“I do.” Her eyes, that had fallen to the desk, snap up to yours in surprise.“ I’ve always felt something for you Lena.”

“But Carly-”

“Is my ex. And while I’m still dealing with the hurt of that, I’m completely over her.” You raise a hand to gently rest against her cheek.“ I’d like to take you out sometime, maybe explore what we’ve both been feeling?”

She seems to be frozen for a moment. Her eyes clearly search yours for sincerity and she nods upon finding it.“ I’d like that.”

Smiling, you lean down and capture her lips in a sweet kiss. A smile of her own forms into it causing you both to pull away.

Your breath ghosts over her lips as you teasingly whisper,“ and maybe you can call me the next time you use that thing.”

Even though she chuckles disbelievingly and swats your arm, a blush finds its place on her cheeks again, this time purely from arousal instead of embarrassment.

When you go for another kiss, you can’t help but think that maybe your mistakes weren't that bad.

#lena luthor #lena luthor x you #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #dc universe #dcu #dcu imagine #dcu x reader

[eggtoasties]

Chapter One: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

Counter point: Good counterpoint requires two qualities: (1) a meaningful or harmonious relationship between the lines (a “vertical” consideration—i.e., dealing with harmony) and (2) some degree of independence or individuality within the lines themselves (a “horizontal” consideration, dealing with melody).

It was illogical really, Kuroo thought to himself, having to take a mandatory arts class. He was an athlete. He would probably major in STEM or business the next year if he didn’t go pro. But here he was, staring at the course catalogue, deciding between different bands, choirs, art classes, and orchestra. Irritatingly, Kenma had finished his arts requirement last year, taking a video editing class which Kuroo thought was definitely cheating since he figured Kenma already knew the basics. Plus, he not-so-secretly believed that Kenma would benefit from another non-electronic hobby.

Sighing, he assessed each class. He knew he was tone deaf and did not want others listening to him sing. Plus, he’s seen the red cummerbunds and bow ties the choir had to wear for concerts and refused to give his teammates the blackmail fodder even if Yaku thought it looked “refined.”

To be honest, Kuroo didn’t know much about the arts. He only had the vaguest understanding of the differences between Watercolor 101, Figure drawing 101, and Oil Painting 101. While he thought of himself in the studio, palette in hand with an apron tied around him, working intently at the easel on the next generational masterpiece, he remembered when Kenma threw his pencil-drawn mockups of promotional posters in the trash and told him not to show the rest of the team.

While maybe he could try digital media, he couldn’t help but imagine himself against the romanticized backdrop of more traditional arts.

He had to choose between the several band electives and orchestra. He couldn’t do marching band—he wouldn’t be caught dead in those uniforms, wind ensemble had auditions he surely wouldn’t pass, jazz band had mandatory solos, but symphonic band was for rookies. ‘Beginners welcome,’ was typed out with an asterisk under the listing. But, so did orchestra. Doing a quick search to figure out the difference between band and orchestra, Kuroo weighed his options.

He took piano lessons from ages four through ten before finally convincing his parents to let him quit—wearing them down by crying every week and throwing a mini tantrum at daily practice—not that he intentionally did it as an elementary school student. But, even from an early age, he knew volleyball was it for him.

While he wasn’t well acquainted with classical music, he had grown up with it from his parents. Well, when they were irritated with the bickering matches between him and his older sister, their parents would crank up the car radio, drowning their yelling. His mom would tell him she used to play Mozart for him when he was a baby which is why he grew so tall—which he would always say makes no sense—and occasionally, a film score would make the hairs on his arms rise even when he was trying to focus on the scene.

So he decided. He’d enroll in orchestra for the year, make himself unnoticeable in the back, and fulfill his arts requirement so he could graduate high school and maybe apply to university. Plus, he figured, as he ticked the box next to orchestra, he’d finally be able to wear his suit his parents bought him, saying that he’d need it eventually.

Folding the course registration paper and sliding it into an envelope to be sent to Nekoma High, he stood up from his seat at the low dining room table and decided to go to Kenma’s, figuring they could squeeze some volleyball practice before summer vacation ended.

.

The first day of his third year was unextraordinary. He woke up tired, coaxed his bed head into something manageable, and started his commute to school, picking Kenma up on the way. Double and triple checking his course schedule on his phone and reminding his teammates that they all had to help out in advertising the volleyball club—well, maybe except Yaku—he tapped his toes with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

His classes were nothing special, most of them a continuation of the year before or courses he carefully picked with the advice of his seniors. But, walking towards the orchestra room at the far side of the building where all the music classes were, he felt a familiar rush of nervous adrenaline spike—not unlike the nerves before a big match. But this time, he couldn’t be confident in his own skills or rely on a team to back him up. Counting the room numbers until it matched the one on his registration, he found the room with its double doors propped open.

Striding in, the large open space was in various states of organized chaos. Other students were already moving chairs in uniform columns, two to a row, and were pulling instruments out of cases. Unsure of what to do, he immediately found the teacher.

“Hi Jouda-sensei, I’m Kuroo Tetsuro,” he introduced. “I’m new—where should I sit?”

“Hi Tetsuro-kun, it’s nice to meet you,” she said warmly. “Ah, yes I see you enrolled as a beginner.” Flipping through the pages on her clipboard she hummed, “Is there a particular instrument you’d like to play?” sweeping a hand across the room. “We could always use more violas, we have enough cellos, weirdly too many basses, but we could also stick you with the second violins?”

Kuroo didn’t quite know the difference between violas and violins but figured ‘second’ violins implied that there was also a ‘first’ violins group and that he’d be more likely to be able to hide in the back in a bigger group.

“Yeah,” he drawled out confidently, “I actually wanted to learn violin.”

“Okay, perfect. Here—” she motioned another student over. “Tetsuro-kun, meet Daisuke-kun.” Daisuke greeted Kuroo with a shallow bow and Kuroo responded with a head nod, mentally rolling his eyes at Daisuke’s subtle disapproval.

“He’s first chair of the second violins,” Jouda-sensei continued, “he’ll get you set up. Daisuke-kun, have him take one of the rentals and teach him the ropes. Today’s mostly getting people set up if they don’t have their own instruments and playing through potential setlists,” she explained while twirling her pen in her right hand. “Testsuro-kun, you’re our only new violin which means everyone can help you learn—take today to be comfortable with an instrument in your hands and observe your classmates!” she finished, walking away.

“I’m Sato Daisuke, a second year,” Daisuke reintroduced, emphasizing his year.

“Kuroo Tetsuro, third year,” he said smugly.

“Ah—okay,” Daisuke said standing straighter, “Kuroo-san, follow me,” turning towards the back of the room.

Chuckling Kuroo said, “Just Kuroo’s fine—you’re technically my senior here since I’ve never played violin before.”

Stuttering a bit and covering it with a cough, Daisuke nodded once. He stood in front of a wall of neatly labelled cubbies and pulling a black rectangular case out, he handed it to Kuroo. Explaining the rules of the rental and making him sign a form, Daisuke taught Kuroo how to properly tighten the bow, use rosin, clean the instrument, and taught him simple exercises to practice posture.

Fiddling a bit with the shoulder rest as Daisuke excused himself for a second, Kuroo ran through the exercises to get himself acquainted with the feel of the violin under his chin and a bow in his right hand. It was uncomfortable, he noted. His left shoulder wanted to scrunch up towards his face, his left wrist wanted to press towards the neck of the violin, and he couldn’t comfortably hold his bow. For the first time in a while, Kuroo felt out of his element—he felt as though his body couldn’t do what he wanted it to do. He felt awkward and unsure and the back of his neck prickled as he caught other students look his way.

Finally, Daisuke came back. Holding a thin blue book in his hand he explained, “This’ll teach you the basics of reading music. The thickest string on the left is G, followed by D, A, and E. Notes go in order of A through G and it just repeats.” Making sure Kuroo was following along, he continued. “So, If we start on the G string and put a finger down,” he moved over to place Kuroo’s index finger on the first tape, “what note is this?”

“A?”

“Yup, great. Follow the tapes for where you should put your fingers, I taught you how to tune and you need to study and practice every night so you’ll be able to partially follow along in class.”

Head a little dizzy with the new information but also proud to have understood some of the basics, Kuroo nodded. Daisuke took Kuroo to the back of the group, explained to a student who Kuroo was, then took his place towards the front.

Kuroo’s stand partner was a first year—Hayato. He’d been doing orchestra since middle school, didn’t take private lessons like many of the other students, but enjoyed orchestra enough to continue in high school as a hobby. Although a little awkward, Hayato was patient when giving Kuroo a more detailed explanation of reading music, since six years of piano lessons had completely left him, and set him up with basic exercises.

“You need to make sure your left wrist is down and relaxed,” Hayato said, tapping a pencil to Kuroo’s inner wrist. “Also, your bow grip is atrocious, but that’s one of the hardest things for a beginner.” He showed Kuroo how the bow was supposed to be held, stressing how it should look relaxed and curved.

Making small adjustments while Kuroo shakily moved the bow across the strings, Hayato said, “Sensei will probably have you come during study hall to practice, but you need to practice at home too or Sato-san and the concertmaster will probably chew you out.”

Bow stuttering crookedly across the strings, making Sato tut at him, Kuroo paused. “The concertmaster,” he asked disbelievingly. “What is that?” imagining some despotic conductor in long tuxedo trails and a clipboard.

Laughing at his confusion, Hayato explained. “The concertmaster is the first chair violinist. In orchestra they’re like the leader of the group. They tune the group, come out second to last before the conductor during concerts, make decisions on bowings, and everyone kinda follows their lead.”

Nodding to himself Kuroo said, “Okay, so he’s like,” he trailed off, “the captain of the team?”

“Exactly. Except she’s a third year like you and pretty well known in the music scene in our area, y’know.”

Frowning at his assumption he admitted, “Ah, okay so,” he trailed off, “concertmistress? I play volleyball, I don’t really know music.”

Hayato laughed and Kuroo raised a brow. “I mean obviously—you don’t really look like a violinist.”

Affronted Kuroo said, “Oi, what does that mean?”

“Kuroo-san, you’re like, huge,” Hayato squeaked out.

Trying not to preen, Kuroo waved his hand and turned his head towards the front of the class.

Jouda-sensei stood on her podium and tapped her baton on the raised stand in front of her. “Hi everyone, good to see all of you again. We have a few new faces so make sure to welcome them and help them out. I’m super excited for our potential set list this year, but before I pass out the folders, let’s a hear a few words from our concertmistress!”

With scattered applause and stomping, a girl rose to the podium as Jouda-sensei stepped off. Holding her violin and bow in her left hand she beamed at the class. Briefly introducing herself and sharing her excitement for the year to make music with everyone, Jouda-sensei interrupted her return to her seat.

“For the first rehearsal, how about you formally tune us?” Jouda-sensei offered.

“Aw, no it’s okay—some people are beginners and all the section leaders already took care of it right?”

Next to her, her stand partner threw an eraser at the podium making her scowl. “Just do it, her stand partner complained,” drawing laughter from the class.

Giving her partner the finger, hidden from their sensei’s view, she laughed good naturedly and straightened her shoulders.

All of a sudden, Kuroo noted, the atmosphere in the room changed. Students were no longer whispering to each other, playing random tunes, or shuffling in their seats. Everyone’s eyes were on her at the podium. She offered an open palm and nodded towards the back of the room. A single note penetrated the silence.

She swept her hand towards the back and Kuroo was suddenly flooded with the sound of the deep and rich brass section. After a few seconds, she repeated the process and the woodwind instruments close to Kuroo in the back began to tune.

Hayato leaned towards Kuroo. “Before concerts and rehearsals everyone should’ve tuned beforehand. This more for last minute checks and also a show for the audience. The order and how many sections tune at once is usually decided between the concertmaster and the conductor—Kuroo-san, we’ll tune last.”

Nodding in appreciation, Kuroo turned his attention back to the podium. The woodwinds trailed off and after a beat of silence, she nodded once again for the tuning note to be played and she waved her hand towards the cellos and basses at her right. The gravelly resonance of the strings filled Kuroo with a strange sense of full contentment and marveled at the size of the basses, whose strings seemed to be quadruple the thickness of his own.

Finally, the concertmaster gave one last nod and tucked her violin under her chin. Hearing the drone of the pitch, everyone around Kuroo began to tune. Unsure of what to do, he stumbled to mimic Hayato who was adjusting his tuners. Since Sato Daisuke already tuned his instrument, Kuroo just played open strings and waited for the rest of his section to stop. Glancing to his left at Kuroo’s right hand, Hayato whispered sharply, “Keep your pinky curved!”

.

After tuning, folders were passed out to each student, filed with sheet music. Hayato organized the sheets on their stand.

“Since you’re on the inside—the left hand side of the stand—your job is to turn my pages,” he explained. “It’ll be good practice to see if you can follow along even if you can’t read, but no worries if you want to spend today just watching and listening.”

Thanking Hayato and teasing when he fumbled in embarrassment, Kuroo spent the rest of class in awe. Although the group was seeing the pieces for the first time, he couldn’t help the goosebumps on his arms as the orchestra came together. Even when he heard Hayato miss a note, noticed when the conductor would glare at a section, or when they had to stop and regroup, listening to individual instruments try come together as one left Kuroo wanting to be a part of it. From the inside, he watched as bows moved in unison and fingers slid up and down the necks of stringed instruments. He was hyper aware of the instruments behind him providing support to the main melody, and leaned towards them to catch their individual parts.

He set his gaze towards the front of the room and watched the concertmaster. Powerful yet graceful, her bow made sure movements across the strings, fingers moving quickly and accurately. Her body swayed with the music and her face, unlike Hayato’s, was not one of extreme concentration. She seemed focused as she watched the conductor and indicated entrances to her section through her body, but despite the multi-tasking, it was clear to Kuroo that she was having fun.

She trusted her section to follow along, for her stand partner to flip the pages at the right times, and for the rest of the orchestra to do their parts. When Jouda-sensei made the class begin again, she would lean towards her stand partner and share whispered giggles and Kuroo caught the glint of shiny pink polish and traced the way her hair fell across her shoulders.

He knew what being a captain was like—he had been captain since he was voted in at the end of his second year and he wondered how long she’d been playing for, how much she practices, and how she encourages her section. He wondered what the differences and similarities were between leading a team and an orchestra were—the differences and similarities between them, even.

At the end of class Kuroo promised to himself to practice a little every day to be able to play with the group and hold his own. For the rest of the school day, he idly hummed the melodies they had played in class and replayed images of bows and hands moving in unison.

.

In the club room before practice, Kuroo came in with his violin case. Greeting his teammates, he started to change.

Loosening his tie and pulling his sweater over his head, Kuroo heard Lev ask about his case. Swapping his school top for his practice one, Kenma responded.

“Kuroo’s taking orchestra for his arts credit.”

“Why would you take a band credit, you should’ve taken sculpture like I did,” Yamamoto exclaimed proudly.

“Your sculptures were ugly,” Kenma said evenly, over the sounds of his video game.

Before Yamamoto could respond, Fukunaga menacingly shook his water bottle at the two of them causing Kenma to turn his back and hunch defensively over his game.

Narrowing his eyes at Kenma, Yamamoto turned his attention back to Kuroo who was idly flipping through the practice book Daisuke had given him.

“Yeah Kuroo, band classes are so much work when you’ve gotta learn the instrument, why’d you enroll?”

Before Kuroo could respond Yaku jumped to Yamamoto’s side and jabbed him. “Band and orchestra are two different things you uncultured swine!”

Doubled over and grasping his stomach, Yamamoto glared tearfully at his senior, then directed his glare towards Lev who was slapping his knee in laughter.

“Kuroo-san,” Lev shouted, “can you play us something?” he asked excitedly.

Gaining the interest of the rest of the team, everyone crowded around Kuroo, nodding in unison. He rubbed the back of his head in uncertainty.

“I’ve literally just learned how to play. I don’t know if you’d really want me to.”

“We really want you to!” Lev said, encouraging him to open his case.

Begrudgingly, Kuroo went to his violin and briefly explained how to setup and tune, to the amazement of some of his teammates. Even Kenma peered curiously over his video game in the corner. He tucked the instrument under his chin, carefully held his bow and placed the hair on the A string and played. Kuroo focused intently on ensuring that his bow grip was loose, but secure, that his pinky and thumb were curved and that his bow was making straight lines across the string.

As Kuroo looked over to his teammates, he noticed Yaku’s shoulders starting to shake while he pointed a finger at him.

“I-Is that the best you can do?” Yaku nearly screamed, howling in laughter. “You’re not even moving your f-fingers!”

To Kuroo’s embarrassment, the rest of the team tried desperately to hold in their laughter and Lev deadpanned, “That kinda sucked, senpai.”

Stuttering out an indignant scoff, Kuroo’s brow furrowed, “I told you I just learned this today! A-and posture is important you heathens!” shaking his bow at Lev and Yaku.

#kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro drabble #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x you #haikyu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #nekoma high #nekoma haikyuu #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo x y/n

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

hey,,,your thoughts and headcanons on indchuran college au 😳😳😳😳😳(i am very predictable as per usual)

o-o o-o college aus have my heart so thank you for the ask! These turned out as platonic/general hcs but I hope you like them nonetheless! (also this isn’t really associated with any set AU and is separate from the indchuran bros for life AU)

notes: this is based on the little I know about how US colleges/universities work ahahah sorry for any inaccuracies lol

— They’re all in the same year, and China and India got put in a dorm together with Iran next door (oh my god they were roommates ;) )

— They meet when Roshan heard Aditya’s got a copy of a book they wanted, went over to borrow it, and found Aditya trolling Yao with meme songs while the latter was wearing headphones and trying to study (this is kinda half assed and I don’t think it’s funny enough so if you’ve got another meeting scenario please do tell 👀)

— Yao’s fashion is a hot mess, per usual. It’s half lazy college student wear and half blinding eye-strain. Sometimes he still goes edgelord mode and does dark colors and goth attire when he’s particularly annoyed or grumpy (in addition to threatening to evict Aditya/steal all his possessions if he’s bugging Yao); Aditya and Roshan just coo at this. 

— Roshan dresses very eccentrically. I think it’s called the art hoe aesthetic? They dress like an art student but pick even more outlandish outfits. But it’s elegant in an eye-catching way, and it makes them stand out a lot. They like it and also love the attention it gets them :) also Roshan would be an amazing person to ask for clothing opinions, except that they might criticize your current outfits too much hksdfsdf

— As for Aditya, I don’t really have a set image for him really? lol I'd give anything to see him dressed in some kind of academia aesthetic (glasses are a bonus), but I feel like his style is more casual and comfy? just average person casual shirts and hoodies. Still knows how to pick good outfits though, but makes awful decisions when in the wrong headspace (like being Severely sleep deprived)

— Yao either studies a) business b) politics c) game theory d) a mix of all three (overachiever). I think he’d also take some of those like, quantum math classes and stuff just to ~expand his horizons~ and ends up taking enough to get a minor in that. Also absorbs STEM stuff from other people although he never went that route :\

— Roshan studies art history! They’re wicked at math as well though, I think they’d definitely be interested in studying pure mathematics as either a minor or a fun side hobby.

— Aditya minors in literature/creative writing and regularly waxes poetic about life. He also complains about the school cafeteria food in flowery prose. Yao yells at him to just make food himself if it’s so bad, but it’s too much effort 😔 (this is literally me)

I’m still undecided on what he majors in, but for now I’m stealing your hc that it’s biophysics :>

— Yao’s tried dabbling in stocks as part class project and part personal side hobby; one of his professors probably helps him with this, and somehow he gets a lot of money even though he invests in some very questionable things that look like shitpost material

— Courtesy of talking with @luyous, these three competitively study during midterms/finals season. They hardcore compete to get the best grades, even though they’re in different majors, and literally. the temperature heats up a couple degrees in the dorm when they’re revising because they all want to “beat” the other two 😭

— Literally they’re such bookworms but have a thirst for being The Best 😔

— Yao has a shit sleep schedule and both Aditya and Roshan have called him out on this multiple times; Aditya more often because they share a room and it’s kind of annoying when your roommate’s desk lamp is still on at 3 AM while you’re supposed to be sleeping. He eventually bought an eye mask for this but still has to forcibly drag Yao to bed at least once a week.

— Aditya is the resident boomer and tech hoe (although he fools around on the computer more than he does useful stuff) inspiration from you raunak <3

— Roshan and Aditya once tricked Yao into watering a fake plant they bought from Target for a full five months :) They keep a log of the shenanigans on their respective social medias as proof <3

— Roshan has a windowsill with a line of very cute potted plants! It’s very aesthetic and they show them off to anyone who asks. Don’t touch though because the plants are their babies

— Aditya sings very well! Has perfect pitch and all that. Does karaoke nights with friends, drags Yao along even though all he does there is type away on his laptop (and sometimes glances up to simp for Aditya). Often prank calls acquaintances, occasionally with Roshan, because he’s also pretty good at voice acting

— Out of the three, Aditya’s probably the friendliest if you’re a stranger, but it do be hard trying to build a friendship with any of them 😔 yao’s condescending to strangers and it takes some time to crack him if you don’t come off as quick-witted and smart on the first try, Roshan doesn’t really take people they just met super seriously unless they can impress/charm them, Aditya’s flashy but is kinda flaky and sometimes talks down to you and seems to always have something else to do besides hanging out one on one unless you win his respect. They’re good with each other though, occasional spats are mostly misunderstandings unless there’s Too Much miscommunication going on

— They’re all kinda legends for academic achievements. Roshan probably got a paper published in some vaunted journal about idk, changing methods of making pottery in ancient Iran or something; Yao has his stocks (and is also kinda rich in the first place so he’s “famous” before that) and Aditya probably got an internship or opportunity to do lab work for a cutting edge research thing

— they no-homo each other all the time it’s insane. It doesn’t help that they’re in close quarters (Yao and Aditya being roommates and Roshan right next door) so it’s like, accidentally wearing the other’s clothes, stealing snacks, so much touching and closeness lol classic pining material

— Yao jokes at least once a day that Roshan is just a parasite of his and Aditya’s dorm, with the amount of time they spend in there instead of in their own dorm, but they sniff haughtily and say that at least their dorm is much more organized than whatever indchu have going on (it’s true; Yao believes in organized chaos and pretends his organization system is having No Organization; Aditya just does whatever he wants and “anyways I’ll find it when I need it”, Roshan is the only sane one here)

— Roshan drinks tea religiously (all three of them do, but Yao chugs energy drinks sometimes, Aditya binges coffee when needed, whereas Roshan’s solution is tea)

— They’re kinda chaotic but it’s fine they’ll make it through uni :)

#aph china #eugh i need to revamp my Official college au for these guys #yao will still be running a restaurant but he's also doing 230948309 billion side jobs as usual #roshan's gonna be a ta #grad school woohoo #i still don't know where to put india in my very old au; originally he was gonna be a ta and iran was gonna be in grad school but hmmmmmmmm #hws china #musings #aph india #hws persia #aph persia #hws india #headcanon musings #indchuran #aph iran #hetalia #hetalia college au #college au #hws iran #friendly-neighbourhood-desi #ask musings

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 6/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 6: When he wakes up beside you, Zemo remembers the day everything changed.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo’s wife’s name is Heike because of comics. Implied alcoholism by Zemo as a means to deal with his guilt. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

Grief softens, but it never truly leaves.

So when Helmut wakes beside you, he isn’t surprised to find grief there as well. Pain has been a constant companion over the years but today’s grief is nothing but a dull throb in his chest.

He had a dream about his wife again. It wasn’t a sad dream, it didn’t hurt to look upon her face, but his heart ached for her regardless.

In his dream, she was happy, happy to sit and chat in a home that wasn’t quite in Sokovia or Spain, but rather a mix of them both. You were there, too, laughing and smiling alongside her.

She was taking the time to explain something to him, something you already seemed to understand. You both laughed when he failed to get the joke.

With a sigh, Helmut sits up in his bed and turns toward the window.

It’s dawn. The rising sun baths the room in an orangy-pink glow and you sleep soundly beside him. He traces little circles unto your shoulder as he thinks about breakfast, what might he make for you. The answer is obvious, really.

He then turns his thoughts toward his mission, whether or not Sam’s associate would locate Madani soon.

He also thinks about what you may do if he kissed you awake.

He thinks about many things as you sleep beside him.

And as he listens to the steady rhythm of your breath, he thinks that he’s truly happy.

***

You never asked what happened to Vasily Zaev and Helmut didn’t offer.

News of his death never reached any headlines in Spain or any other International News Broadcast for that matter.

There were the occasional rumors of a scandal, many of which were exacerbated by social media, but nothing outside the ordinary.

His demise was attributed to liver failure and he’d given his entire inheritance to a young woman about a quarter of his age. Tragic indeed.

In the weeks that followed that night at the Opera, you took an interest in his work. There would be no more missions like the one with Vasily (none would ever be that easy and he didn’t like to see you so scared,) but there were plenty of opportunities to conduct research.

And on some nights, you’d talk about more than just mission, nights when you shared your hopes and dreams for the future, your past sorrows, and secret anxieties.

He’d sit with you while you worked on your art, bought you flowers when you completed a commissioned project, and asked plenty of questions about some of your more unorthodox means.

Sometimes you’d take breaks together and watch television or read.

It was strange, just like the day you first hugged him, Helmut felt as though the two of you had breached something.

He now knew where you were born, how you became involved in the arts, how you felt the night you met Dominik at Heike’s dinner party, (“I always thought she set us up on purpose, but she always denied that she did.”)

It was those stories, those small, stolen moments that made him see you differently.

So by the time autumn settled and painted the leaves orange, red and brown, you were no longer just a friend his wife had—you weren’t even the wife of a friend that he had.

You were a friend to him as well.

*

“Have you seen this?” You asked one day, sitting right beside him on the couch. You were so close, Helmut could feel the heat of your body pressed up against him.

“See what?” He asked, though he knew what you would say.

“This article.” You slid your phone closer to him, leaned forward so close that the curve of your bosom pressed against his arm for just a moment before you leaned away. For the sake of your pride, he pretended not to notice.

The articles mattered more than creating an awkward situation.

He learned that you found articles about the Avengers to be the most interesting. Each headline would often read something like: ‘Accountability: Who Pays for the Avengers’ Mistakes?’ or ‘Sokovia Six Months Later’ and ‘‘Banning Ironman? One Minister Holds Firm.’

They were engrossing.

“They say the U.N. may get involved.” You said one day. “What do you think would happen if they did?”

“Something I’d like to see.” Was his thoughtful reply. And it was true; because even with your help, even as you grew closer together, the weight of his promise still bore down upon him.

The weight of his failure still haunted his sleep.

So for every moment he spent with you, he worked ten times harder. He worked late into the night to complete his research, learned everything he could about the Avengers and the Winter Soldier to complete his plans.

He had to work; he had no choice. Because every laugh, every smile, every lingering glance, every reprieve from his grief was a betrayal to that promise he made to his family—because happiness, even for a moment, meant that he had forgotten them.

There was no other way to justify his actions. In what other way could he be happy in a world where his family was dead?

He hoped to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle, but scotch, whiskey, brandy, and vodka, couldn’t provide a balm for his soul. Not the way your smile did.

So clearly drinking was his only option, the safest option, because he couldn’t let his thoughts linger on you.

He couldn’t compromise his mission.

But then one day, in mid-November, something changed.

Helmut read the headline for an article he knew would suit your fancy, but you didn’t come down for breakfast to discuss it with him, nor did you open when he knocked on your door.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” you told him—but you never came.

*

You left your room around noon but you barely spoke a word.

Helmut should have been happy for the opportunity to work, the chance to focus without you stealing his gaze, but he couldn’t ignore the lump that formed in the back of his throat when his thoughts drifted to you.

Over the past 7 months, you encouraged him to talk about his feeling, to open up more—but it seemed you weren’t interested in doing the same.

You left the house a word to him.

So Helmut waited for you to return:

He conducted his research and decrypted more files.

He brewed a pot of coffee.

He prepared lunch.

Had a glass of whiskey.

He checked his phone for messages but found nothing from you.

He reorganized your spice cabinets, bringing the most used containers to the front.

He checked his phone again.

Had a glass of whiskey.

And finally, when evening arrived and you still hadn’t come home to him, Helmut went into your room without permission.

He was careful not to disturb your things, (even if he wanted nothing more than to pick your stray socks off the floor,) and looked around the space.

There were books and magazines neatly stacked across every surface, their genres ranged from art and fashion to relationships and grief.

He lingered on that last title before turning his attention to a paper on your nightstand. The page was wrinkled, spotted, and ripped in many places, but he knew what it was before he even held it in his hands.

It was the letter Dominik kept in his pocket, the one he held on to so tightly, the one he had with him when he died.

He frowned, and his eyebrows knit together in concern for you.

You were grieving, and your grief had taken you backward, back to the promise of a simpler time. The letter was filled with the musings of budding love, a love that had grown and flourished before the cruelties of life intervened.

Helmut understood the unpredictable nature of grief, how it came and went without reason or regard, how days or even months could go by before it returned in full force.

So he set the letter down with a sigh and left your room as quickly as he came. You arrived home 20 minutes later.

“Hello,” He greeted you by the door.

“Oh—hi.” You paused by the door, a bag of groceries in hand. He followed you into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked.

“No, I’m… I got it.” You placed the bag on the counter, unloading a bag of flour, eggs, and a box of powdered cocoa.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You said, but then pause when you opened the spice cabinet. Your movements slowed before you stilled completely.

“Helmut? Did you…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just… I…”

Helmut didn’t know it at the time, but Dominik would organize your cabinets when he returned from duty. It was his way of telling you he was home if you weren’t there to greet him.

It was that gesture that broke you.

You placed both your hands over your mouth but even that couldn’t force back your cry. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I’m sorry—I’m ok,” you lied, but it only seemed to make you cry harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Helmut spoke softly. With a hand on your shoulder, he turned you around to face him but you only shook your head. "Let me help you.”

It took a few more moments of coaxing, but once you calmed, you told him everything.

“His… his birthday is next week.” You said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who you were speaking of. “He wanted me to bake a cake.”

You set a yearly reminder to try new recipes a week in advance, a reminder you’d gotten that morning. “Sometimes I look down at my ring and I still can’t believe it. That’s I’m a...that I’m a widow.” Your voice shook around the word and you sniffled again.

Helmut walked you over to the table, helped you sit on a chair, and poured you a glass of Chardonnay.

“… I never wanted to move to Sokovia—did he tell you that?” He did, but Helmut thought it best not to interrupt you. “I wanted to be with him but I never would have considered it before I met Heike… but I loved him, Helmut, I loved him so much and he promised I’d be happy. There are days when I wake up and-” You didn’t finish that sentence, but he thought he knew what you’d say. There were days when you’d wake up and wonder why you were saved, why your loved ones died and you survived. He didn’t know if you remembered, but you told him this before, on the day he first brought you to Spain.

“… He used to wonder if he made a mistake,” Helmut started, “If he’d done you a disservice by asking you to move when his duties kept him away.” He released a bitter laugh at the memory. “He asked me once if he were selfish.”

“What did you say?”

“That he was.” Helmut shrugged, remembering the look of resignation that crossed his friend’s face, a look you then mirrored exactly.

Helmut put his hand on your shoulder.

“He was selfish, but he didn’t make a mistake… your happiness wasn’t wasted and he’d want you to be happy again.” After all, you didn’t fail Dominik. You hadn’t given him a false sense of security, a promise of safety away from the fighting—Not like he had with his own family.

At first, you looked as though he said something outrageous, something you couldn’t quite believe. But then you nodded, releasing your emotions with a shuddering sigh.

“You’re right… he would want me to, want us both to…”

He sat beside you for the rest of the night. He’d listened to you talk and then when there was nothing left to say, he sat with you in peaceful silence, your head against his shoulder.

And on his birthday, Helmut helped you bake a cake.

You stood in the kitchen together, mixing batter and flouring pans. The sweet scent of your creation spread and the home you shared was filled with joy and warm memories.

By the time you finished, you were exhausted, so he offered to take you to the best restaurant in the city.

It was the least he could do for you.

*

When you arrived, Helmut told the hostess of your reservation—Zemo, a party of two—and she checked his name off a long list that he somehow managed to get ahead of. The hostess noticed your wedding bands, and as she stepped away from the podium, she said,

‘De esta manera, el señor y la señora Zemo.’ Right this way, Mister and Misses Zemo.

Your eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as you turned to him, but he kept his gaze settled on the hostess, his jaw set closed.

It was an honest mistake, one he’s sure others made before, but to hear it said aloud was baffling. He intended to correct the young lady, but she gestured for you to follow before he thought of what to say.

If he said you were friends, others would presume you were having an affair. Normally, the opinions of others wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t want anyone to think badly of you.

“That was weird,” you said. “I forgot people must think we’re…”

“Should I have corrected her?”

“It was an honest mistake, nothing worth embarrassing her over.”

And that was that.

You both agreed to treat it as a joke, to have fun with the idea because the alternative, explaining how you came to be together, was much worse.

And besides, Helmut thought while taking in his second cocktail, it wasn’t exactly hard to feign some level of attraction to you; you looked beautiful that night. He liked the way your formal clothing fit around your curves, and the way your heels gave shape to your legs.

He felt immediately guilty for that, however, and followed that guilt with another sip of his drink.

But that night wasn’t the only time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. Like meeting someone whose face one begins to see everywhere they go, he began to notice it more and more.

When he signed for your packages the delivery person would look at his ring and never bother to ask for familial confirmation. The old woman at the bakery would smile a secret, knowing, smile when he asked for two pastries to take home with him. The list of culprits went on and on. Everywhere he went people saw his ring and they’d assume he had a wife at home—that you were his wife at home.

*

On a gloomy day in January, you convinced him to visit an art gala with you. You made a group of friends around the area but one fell violently ill after a trip to New Jersey. You didn’t want to go alone so he agreed to put his work on hold for the evening.

You lead him to a room of abstract paintings and his attention was torn between the open bar and dizzying array of dark shapes pressed across the underside of a canvas. He couldn’t appreciate the work the same way you did, but he tried.

As he looked for what you described as ‘the emotional turmoil conveyed by the paint strokes,’ you drifted to the next piece and a gentleman approached you.

He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face. The man seemed to recognize you from somewhere and offered his deepest condolences for Sokovia.

“Thank you,” you nodded.

“It was a genuine tragedy, a modern-day Pompeii.” His words gave you a reason to pause, which he seemed to take as permission to wax poetic about Sokovia’s demise in some futile attempt to prove his intellectual prowess.

“Yes, well, thanks for that.” You continued on politely. He didn’t seem to notice the exasperated edge. He opened his mouth to say something else, to perhaps touch you on the shoulder, and Helmut made the immediate decision to ensure that didn’t happen.

“Драга,” Dear, he called as he approached you, placing his hand on your lower back. “I’ve brought you a drink.” Helmut offered you the cocktail from the table, one he was about to drink himself before the man made you uncomfortable. You smiled, a look of relief on your face.

The man was no genuine threat, probably just a lover of art, but something in the way he looked at you, the way his gaze drifted from your face to your wedding band and the instant look of shame that overtook his (admittedly handsome) features, gave his intentions away—and Helmut didn’t like his intentions at all.

“Хвала ти љубави,” Thank you, my love, you replied with the mischievous smile you adopted whenever someone mistook you for being his wife. It was a playful flirtation, one that meant nothing.

Helmut greeted the man with a simple nod, pretending to have been oblivious to his blatant flirting, before guiding you away.

“I never would have thought to compare the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of an Artificial Intelligence to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius near Pompeii. How truly genius.” He said in a mocking tone.

“Stop that,” you nudged him, hushed laughter in your voice.

“I hope that isn’t what passes as flirting these days.”

“Flirting? He wasn’t flirting.”

Helmut struck you with a judgemental look. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“He wasn’t flirting,” you repeat. “It was just weird, that’s not really a topic most people bring up at parties.” You finally slowed your steps and you looked at a statue in the center of the room. It was clearly meant to represent a couple, but their abstract forms created a tangle of limbs that hurt his eyes to look at.

It was then he decided he hated contemporary art.

You took a sip of your drink—his drink—and turned to him. Your eyes met briefly, and you smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Let’s see what’s in the next room, душо,” Honey. You exaggerate.

“Of course, драга, lead the way.” You hooked your arm around his and you explored the rest of the gallery.

Eventually, you reached the main lobby where you set your empty glass on a table with dozens of others. An orchestra played a mix of soft melodies and something he thought to be tunes from an action movie. The music found it’s underscore in the murmurs of the guests who indulged themselves in cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

He watched them for a moment and a dark feeling filled his belly.

This was the life he should have been living—perhaps not at a gaudy contemporary art gallery but something just as fabulous and amazing. This was the life you deserved to live.

Had it not been for Ultron, for the Avengers and others like them, he’d be enjoying this life between missions and military tours.

He might have even retired early, lived his life in bliss.

He felt angry, distraught, and disappointed all at once. So many dangerous thoughts spun around in his head and without even thinking, he looked at you. In his moment of grief and self-pity, he looked toward you to anchor him.

Your eyes landed on the couples swaying back and forth on the polished floor of the gallery. He noticed how close you stood to him, how your arm wrapped around his, the way your hand rested on his forearm.

He took a breath and he made himself smile.

“Would you like to dance, драга?”

“I’ve seen you dance, Helmut. I don’t.”

“You wound me.” He said, pulling you toward the others anyway. “You’ve yet to see me waltz.” (Or perhaps you did, at his wedding or your own, but it wasn’t the time to bring that up.)

He unraveled his arm from your and slid into position, pulling you close.

“You remember the steps, don’t you?” He asked because you had far less practice waltzing than he did. You nodded, but your eyes proved less certain than the gesture implied. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”

And he did.

Helmut led you through the steps of the dance, a simple box step he mastered many years ago.

“I think people are looking at us,” you whispered.

“They can take notes,” he replied. You were the only person in his gaze.

You anchored him; your kindness, your friendship, your playful banter, and your outlandish sense of design. With you he felt like less of a failure, his grief softened and he could see a clear path forward in your eyes—an alternate path if he was strong enough to take it.

But the U.N. taking actions against the Avengers seemed all but inevitable then. Helmut knew he could use their plans to his advantage, but it also meant he was running out of time.

Still, part of him wanted to surrender to your gaze, but the other part, the part that won, held firm. He tried to look away but then somehow ended up noticing the soft curve of your mouth and the fullness of your lips.

When the orchestra stopped playing, your dance slowed to a stop. But you couldn’t stop staring at each other, both cursed with the knowledge that something between you had changed.

***

Thanks for reading! Next time we'll get to see what happens when your flirtation with Helmut is no longer a game.

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think! This was a fun chapter to write.

Tag list:

@actuallyanita @fillechatoyante @viviace @buckyandlokicanhaveme @sapphiredreamer26 @robur-bellicum

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#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #mcu zemo #this was the longest chapter yet #my goodness

[meruz]

Hey I can't find this in your FAQ so sorry if it's been asked before! Your traditional art is so stunning and vibrant, would you happen to have any brand recommendations for people trying to get into painting? Maybe specific gouche paint, brushes, papers etc. Thank you so much and have a nice day!

no one has ever asked me this before because this is like the first time ive started putting traditional art on my blog! LOL umm to be honest I’m very far from pro on this front, most of my knowledge comes from a handful of classes I didn’t pay a lot of attention to and lots of youtube videos but here’s my recommendations:

Paint

A lot of my paints are winsor newton designer’s gouache because this is what my teachers made me buy when I was a freshman at art school LOL. it’s definitely kind of pricey, I think it’s like $10.99 for a tube which I was NOT a fan of as a college student and is still not my favorite thing now. But they’re overall worth the price if you really want solid, high quality opaque paints. Though I’ve heard their student grade winton paints are decent as well?

I’ve heard less good things about brands like reeves and artist loft... but I think turner is alright? m.graham is supposedly great.

I also bought a set of holbein acryla gouache when it was discounted on amazon a while ago and have found it very solid. One thing you have to know about acryla gouache is that it uses a binder more like acrylic paint (hence the name acryla). Paints are made out of pigment + binder and most gouache is essentially watercolor but with extra pigment/chalk to make it opaque - the binder is water soluble so these paints can be reactivated with water. Acryla gouache is NOT water soluble when dry and it dries pretty fast so it’s overall less flexible. But other than that you can pretty much treat it like any other gouache and I find they keep a little better too, less likely to get gunky or stiff.

All paint brands have a handful of starter packs which are slightly discounted but if you want to build your own starting palette I’d say get a warm and cool tint of all the primaries, get a lot of white (working with gouache somehow involves a lot of mixing with white lol), and get a brown, maybe like burnt sienna or raw umber for underpaintings. No need to get a black, mixing darks builds character, looks better, and having one out of the tube can become a crutch. If you find a white watercolor paint tube that’s cheaper you can buy that instead of a gouache white. Again, they have pretty much the same make-up. And white paints are generally opaque enough that the composition between gouache/watercolor shouldn’t matter too much.

I’ve never used a block tray of gouache. Like those paints that come in little blocks in a tray? I know there's a bunch out there but I’ve never used them and I don’t know anyone else who does so I have no opinion on them.

Brushes

I’ve been kind of exploring this myself. I recently bought a cheap set of flat brushes off amazon LOL and I like them a lot?

Theyre probably not The Best or anything but I found flat brushes suit gouache plein air painting really well because its suits the kind of color blocking shapes I want to make. Also these had the right handle length to fit in my painting bag. That’s like the main reason I chose them tbh.

Honestly a lot of my art supplies philosophy is “give it a whirl with whatever you have lying around and when it feels like you're missing something specific keep an eye out for when that stuff goes on sale”

Paper

GOTTA BE HONEST I’m using cheapo paper. Because I’m making these paintings half for study and half to give my parents something to hang in the living room.

You can actually see some of them curling in on themselves here lol. If you’ve seen the sketchbook I’m holding in any of my pics of paintings it’s one of the canson mixed media books.

and its FINE... I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it lol.. I like that the texture is very fine but it doesn’t hold a lot of water and definitely distorts. Also I keep ripping off the surface with painters tape but that might just be on me. Oh buy artist tape. Just because its so satisfying to have clean edges.

I’m using painters tape instead of artist tape because I found it in the basement but if youre buying supplies buy artist tape because it’ll be kinder to your paper. 

SPEAKING OF PAPER.

I guess anything heavyweight for watercolor/mixed media will be fine? some people like a lot of texture but if you’re painting small you might want to avoid it and pick hot press over cold press. Honestly I feel like a lot of this is going to depend on what your specific needs are.. how big do you want the paper to be.. do you want a sketchbook or would you rather carry around loose paper... etc. Maybe go to an art store and touch all their paper. I feel like its easier to understand sizes and texture when you’re seeing it physically.

When I go on a trip, I normally bring a softcover heavyweight stillman & birn sketchbook because I tend to obliterate metal spiral books in my bag LOL. Also I don’t rip any pages out of my travel sketchbooks so I don’t need perforation or anything. Also they go on sale a lot in the art store I go to haha. I havent used gouache extensively in it but it takes inkwash/maker pretty well.

On the higher end, I personally haven’t used it that much but my friends who do traditional illustration professionally swear by arches watercolor paper. It comes in lots of different sizes.

Whatever you use, if you really want it to lie flat you’re gonna want to soak and stretch it on a board but I don’t bother with that because I am lazy.

Palette

You didn’t ask about palette but I’m taking the opportunity to be a shill because I personally use a sta-wet palette and I LOVE it.

One of the biggest frustrations about gouache for me was how quickly it dries after it leaves the tube. And even if you can reawaken it with water its not quite the same? and consistency is SO important when it comes to applying gouache so I don’t want to be over-watering my paint.. ugh. Anyways, I don’t have to worry about that with the sta-wet palette and really its been a game changer for me. sta-wet is a brand name but there are a bunch of other wet palettes not by masterson that I’m sure are just as good. I mean, it’s just a box with a sponge basically, that can’t be hard to replicate.

The only thing - and I personally have not had this issue but I have friends who have - is that if you leave it wet for too long it could grow mold? or a mouldy smell? Just wash your palette with soap and don’t leave it for weeks on end and it should be fine.

If you’re not feeling a palette that’s always moist, the best palette I used in school was a simple glass palette. you can buy one I guess but it’s so easy to DIY, I think the way we did it in school is getting a piece of glass and mdf from the hardware store cut the same size and then duct taped them together on the sides so it wouldn’t be sharp.

costs like nothing.

what else...get a palette knife if you like to mix paints? and like to save paints... mixing with the brush means you lose paint in your brush in the mixing process so a knife is a good way to maximize that process. I don’t use it much but sometime if I have to mix a lot of one color I’ll pull it out of my bag.

I don’t know anything about easels, I sit on the dirty ground like a gremlin when I paint.

Ok yeah that’s all the supplies tips I have. hope some of it was helpful! always try to save money with art supplies, I think. Especially if you’re just starting out - it’s less stressful to use cheap supplies too lol. Good luck! Happy painting!

#Anonymous #traditional art #gouache #one day ill work out a proper way to tag this

[tsuu-mikii]

glued

chapter two

masterlist

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

You spent the next two days avoiding Eren. You knew it was childish, but you were scared of saying something stupid and impulsive. You knew you couldn’t keep it up forever, though. The two of you shared an Oceanography class that took up your general education science requirement. The two of you had picked it together, wanting to share at least one class despite your different majors. You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse now.

As you prepared to leave the room, a sudden knock at the door ripped you from your thoughts. You turned to Sasha, who’d just returned from her 9 am class and was now lounging on her bed using her phone, “Are you expecting anyone?”

She shook her head no as she continued to scroll through what you assumed was a social media app. You got up and made your way to the door. To your surprise, Eren was the one standing there.

You blinked, “Eren? What’s up?”

He gave a hopeful smile, “You answered. I thought you were avoiding me.”

“What? What made you think that?” you replied, tensing up slightly.

You heard Sasha let out a snort from her spot on the bed, and you turned back to glare at her. You had given her the rundown of what had happened, and she’d clowned you the past two days over how freaked out you were.

“You didn’t respond to any of my texts or Facetimes,” her frowned, “I thought I did something dumb while I was drunk and upset you.”

Guilt began to build up in your chest at how hurt he looked, “I’m sorry, I was just really busy. I’m not upset with you or anything. I promise.”

It was mostly true, too. You weren’t necessarily upset with him; it was more so at yourself, for being so beat up about him having feelings for someone else.

He breathed a sigh of relief before smiling, “I’m glad. I really thought you hated me now or something.”

You smiled back, “I could never hate you, Eren.”

“I would hope not. You’re my favorite person, y’know?” he said with a grin.

For some reason, the words stung. You knew soon enough the person he was in love with would take that spot. While it was inevitable, it still hurt.

You grinned back, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you wanna walk to class together? It’s starting soon.” he asked, shifting the topic of conversation.

You simply nodded in response and went to collect your shoes and school bag. As you gathered your things, Sasha gave you a look. You winced, knowing later she’d tease you about your awkwardness.

The two of you walked to class making idle chatter. It was nice, the stress you had built up melting away as you listened to him laugh and crack jokes like he always did.

You entered the lecture hall a bit early, there was a few minutes to spare before the professor arrived. Eren left your side to chat with some fraternity friends while you made your way over to your usual seat.

“Armin, hey!” you slid into the seat next to him, “Good morning!”

He smiled, “Good morning, y/n!”

Armin was a friend to both you and Eren, though he was closer to him than you. He’d been one of Eren’s friends before he transferred schools way back when and had stayed in touch with him ever since. He introduced you to each other when you were in middle school and you’d formed a close bond since then.

“I hate to pry,” he started, face riddled with concern, “but did you and Eren fight or something this weekend? He was all beat up about you not texting him back or responding to his Facetimes.”

You gave a weak smile, “Oh no, of course not! I was just super busy this weekend. We talked it over before we came to class.”

You hated lying to two of your oldest friends, but it wasn’t like you could come out and say ‘ Hey you spilled your guts to me about being in love with someone while you were drunk and now I’m realizing that I might still have feelings for you! ’ or anything.

Armin smiled at your response, “That’s good! He was talking my ear off about it, I swear. He literally had me help him type up an apology in case you were actually mad.”

You laughed at that, you knew how preciously Eren viewed your friendship. Even if he wouldn’t tell you that he liked someone while he was sober.

Suddenly, a thought crossed your mind. Did Armin know? It would make sense, the two of them had been friends since actual diapers, so it was entirely possible he knew something.

“Hey, Armi-” you were cut off by your professor making his way into class and taking his place at the front. You slid down your chair with a sigh. ‘What was I thinking anyway?’ you thought, ‘It was an invasion of privacy. If Eren wanted to tell me, he would. Right?’

And so you tried your hardest to push your thoughts about it away, hoping that he’d talk to you about it without alcohol coursing through his system soon.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*

The rest of the week passed quickly, with Saturday night rolling back around in no time. Eren hadn’t brought up that night again, so you kept quiet on it also. It was better to just let it be than to push and end up causing problems.

You scanned your eyes over the paper you’d just finished one last time before submitting. As you put away your laptop, Sasha burst through the door.

“Nic and his friends are having a party tonight, do you wanna come with me? They’re putting my playlist on the aux.” she grinned.

You scrunched your face, “Who’s gonna be there?”

“No one you’re not cool with. Come on, live a little!” she shook your arm up and down as she spoke, “It’s Saturday night and I know you’re done with your work for the day. Plus, I know you’ve been all messed up about the whole Eren fiasco, you need to de-stress.”

You pondered for a second, you had been a bit on edge recently. You sighed, “Fine, but only for a few hours, okay?”

Sasha pumped her fists in the air, “Yes! Now get ready. The party started like thirty minutes ago and sweats aren’t gonna cut it today, sweetheart.”

You rolled her eyes at her antics and grabbed your shower caddy to go freshen up. After returning to your dorm room you slipped on a black dress that you’d bought ages ago before doing a quick face of makeup and styling your hair.

You rummaged through your shoes to find something suitable before turning to face Sasha. “This ready enough for you?”

“You look hot,” she grinned, “who knows, maybe tonight you’ll pull someone that’ll make you forget about the feeling you may or may not have for our dear friend Mr. Jaeger.”

You laughed, “I’ll settle for a few shots and a good dance. Now let’s go, we’re already late. How are you gonna be late to your own boyfriend’s party?”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, “He’ll live.”

The two of you made your way to the house and got past the person at the door with ease. The party was in full swing, music blared from the speakers and people filled the house with chatter. Sasha’s boyfriend Niccolo was in a different fraternity than Eren, but you still recognized a few guys from the couple of parties you’d been to with him.

Sasha all but bolted when she locked eyes on her boyfriend, leaving you to scan the room for a familiar face. You quickly spotted Connie, Sasha’s best friend, and made your way over to him.

You tapped his shoulder causing him to turn around. When he realized it was you he pulled you into a quick hug before releasing you, “Hey, y/n! Sasha dragged you out the dorm this weekend?”

“She did,” you laughed, “do you know where I can get a drink?”

He pointed to the bar area on the far side of the frat house’s basement, “Over there, see the guy with the blonde hair? He’s playing bartender tonight. He’ll hook you up.”

You thanked him and weaved your way through the crowd, eager to get some alcohol in your system and let loose a little. You shouted for the attention of the bartender as you approached the bar. He turned to face you and smiled. “I take it you’re here for the alcohol?”

“I am indeed,” you returned his smile, “gimme something strong.”

He wasted no time in mixing up some concoction and handing it to you in a cup. You thanked him and turned to leave, ready to drink and dance away some of the stress of the past week. After wandering the dance floor for a bit, you found yet another familiar face.

“Mikasa!” you beamed, tapping the dark haired girl on the shoulder.

“Y/n,” looked back at your voice and smiled, “you got dragged out of your dorm tonight too?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m actually having a good time!” you grabbed her hand, “Dance with me!”

She laughed at your eagerness but complied anyway. Mikasa had known you for just as long as Eren had. She was his next door neighbor when he moved back in elementary, and the two of you had become acquainted when play dates overlapped. She was often the mediator whenever you and Eren would get into it, making sure the two of you got it together at the end of the day.

The two of you danced for a good amount of time, talking idly about your days and laughing. You’d finished your first drink and were on the same track with your second, the fuzzy feeling the alcohol gave you eating away your worries.

“I hate to leave you, but do you know where a bathroom is?” you asked.

She pointed to a hallway a bit past the bar, and you made your way over to it. You approached the door and knocked a few times to prevent walking in on someone. A slew of hushed drunken giggles came from behind the door at your actions and you cringed. You immediately turned to walk away, feeling awkward over disrupting the couple in there’s hookup.

The door opened before you could get away, though.

“How may I help,” a familiar voice started, “...you.”

You locked eyes with the person, the teal green color was one you knew all too well. “Eren. Hey.” you smiled awkwardly. His hair was tousled and there was lip gloss all over his face.

Eren froze, “Y/n, what are you doing here?”

“Sasha invited me. Unless you mean the bathroom, which, well obviously I needed to go inside, but since you clearly have it occupied I’m just gonna go back-” you rambled, face flushed.

You knew of Eren’s playboy reputation, but you’d never seen him in the act before. A dull ache panged in your chest, things feeling a bit too real all of a sudden.

“Eren, baby, what’s going on?” the girl in the bathroom chimed in, you couldn’t see her, but she had a pretty voice, you thought.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go find Sasha. See you later, I guess.” And with that, you sped away, ignoring Eren’s shout of your name as you retreated down the hall.

You found Sasha relatively quickly, she was sitting on a couch in a corner of the room with her boyfriend and some other friends. You saw that Mikasa had also made her way over during your trip.

“Y/n, hey!” Sasha greeted when she saw you, obviously tipsy, “come do shots with us!”

On a normal day, you would’ve refused. You liked drinking, but not getting drunk. But you don’t really see your best friend who you may or may not have feelings for mid-hookup on a normal day.

“Hell yes,” you replied.

It was fun drinking with Sasha and her friends. They were just as funny as her, and you found yourself laughing harder than you had in a long time.

You reached for another shot, only to be stopped by Mikasa. “No, y/n. I think you’ve had enough.”

“Whaaaat?” you exclaimed, “I barely drank, right Annie?”

Annie, a friend of Sasha’s, snorted, “Don’t drag me into this.”

“I think you should head back, y/n.” Sasha chimed.

“You guys are all so mean!” you pouted.

“Yeah, you’re done for.” Mikasa stood, “Come on, let’s go back.”

“I don’t want to.” you crossed your arms, you came out to de stress and have a good time, who cared if you had a bit too much to drink?

“You can come to my dorm?” Mikasa offered.

You hummed in thought, a sleepover would be nice. “Fine.”

You grabbed your things and stood up, waving bye to Sasha and her friends. You followed Mikasa through the crowd as she held your hand. On your way out, you passed Eren. You felt childish in your drunkenness and stuck your tongue out with a laugh. If the look of confusion he gave you was anything to go by, he didn’t think it was funny.

When you got back to Mikasa’s dorm, she immediately helped you out of your dress and into some pajamas. She had been blessed with a room all to herself, so she laid you on the spare bed.

“Sleep.” she said, covering you with a blanket.

Your adrenaline had run out, and being nuzzled under the warm blanket she’d given you made you realize how tired you actually were. Sleep claimed you relatively quickly, and you drifted off to the sounds of Mikasa shuffling around her room.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･

a/n: hey besties! not much to say since i’m just trying to catch up on cross posting, but hope y’all enjoyed!

#eren x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot fics

[thatgirlwritingficsatnight]

Odi et Amo II

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris? nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior  

Catullus, 85

After a few years of working in the USA for Disney and playing the role of The White Fox in Marvel Cinematic Universe you came back to your motherland - Korea only to be greeted with hatred and contempt. To make things harder for you the universe sends you the most irritating neighbour ™. Will you be able to find your happiness and  accomplish your dream of becoming loved actress in Korea without complying with standards of patriarchal society?

pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

genre: actor au

warnings: angst, foul language (please don’t read it if you’re not old enough)

words: 5764

A/N: It was supposed to be published last week, but I was unhappy with it and ended up rewriting it/adding some things. Sorry! (*_ _)人 P.S Sorry for my grammatical errors! Enjoy!

Chapter I

***

Currently sitting in front of your manager you eyed him. He seemed tired and you felt a pang of conscience it was probably because of your tweets last night and you wouldn’t even think of meeting him if you weren’t in dire need of getaway from the uncomfortable conversation with your neighbor. You didn’t meet in your agency’s building since both of you despised the place even though it was a new and flashy building made out of something that looked like a white marble. Both of you agreed on meeting outside it, so you were sitting in the café nearby while wondering how did your shitty boss manage to rent it. Last time you’ve been here, it was a few rooms in shabby, old building. You shivered while imagining going in, that place had an evil aura even from across the street.

"Where did you get all that money to rent it?" you asked.

"We actually bought it." 

"Well, business goes well then."

"Actually we are only able thanks to your movies. Don’t tell Kim Pd-nim I told you, he thinks you'll become arrogant."

"I already am." You smiled coldly.

"That's what I told him."

Your manager had a sarcastic smirk on. Both of you and hated your CEO and even mentioning him would bring up unpleasant memories. Kim Sanghoon was one of those bosses who wouldn't even think about trying to help idols and stars that were bringing him money. No matter what it was — crazy fans destroying your life, death threats, your collapsing mental health he didn’t care. Once you were attacked by media and netizens you were on your own and if it was too much for the company your contract was terminated. You often wondered when would you become too much for them to handle.

"How do you feel?" Your manager caught you off guard, even though you had known each other for a long time there was an unspoken rule between you not to talk about other things than work.

"Honesty..I'm fine I don't understand why everyone asks me that." You huffed a bit irritated and run fingers through your hair. 

"Well it's just.. I know it was important to you and you worked hard to earn the hearts of your Korean fa..."

"I'm fine." you didn't manage to hide irritation in your voice. You were not used to talking about it and you didn't like it one bit. Besides what were you supposed to say anyway? No one else was as hated as you. Of course there were idols and stars that were occasionally criticized but not one of them was constantly a target of such hatred. Even when you left there were still death threats send from your motherland to you, nothing changed. Not to mention no one else got such welcoming on the day of return to their home. It was unfair, stupid, infuriating and saddening. And yet you couldn’t understand what people were expecting of you? Both Mark and your manager knew you, or so you thought. What were you supposed to do? Cry? You wouldn't cry, that was what weak people do, that would show you actually care about what those assholes think about you. You were just fine. Ok. Neither sad nor happy. You'd endure whatever you had to but you won't conform to their image of idol and woman nor will you show any sign of weakness. You'd rather stay hated than do that. Your manager sighed and it pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Well then. If you're okay then I'm glad. So just as I told you I have this drama for you if you're interested." You weren't the slightest bit. Frankly you'd rather stay in bed for the next three months jobless than play some crazy villain or villainous second female lead. Then again you felt bad about the amount of work he probably had because of you. You looked him in the eyes and answered with a sigh.

"I can't promise anything but I can at least listen what it’s about.." Your manager seemed surprised, but he didn't wait long, perhaps in case you'd change your mind. He took out some papers and handed them to you. You cringed on the sole title "Love is your destiny" — it sounded sappy. 

"So it's a love story between fallen angel and this human..." he started.

"Angels...so who do they want me to play? Satan? Devil? Succubus?" You browsed through pages to find the villain.

"You'd know if you'd let me finish." You sent him a small apologetic smile. "They want you to play the main role." You stared at him confused before you burst with laughter.

"They want me to play cute girl in love with the angel?" The idea of you playing the sweet female lead was absurd, not that you weren’t able to do it, you were a good actress it wouldn’t be a problem for you, if anything it would most likely be a challenge for the audience.

"No, no! You'd play the angel. See this is drama with strong female lead. The origin of your character is fascinating. You had to watch the mistreatment of a woman extremely devoted to god. The lady prayed, but she still got beaten, almost killed even. Moreover, you had to be the guardian angel of her torturer — the aggressive husband. You pleaded to god, you asked him to let you guard her instead, but he didn’t agree and forbade you from intervening. One night when the husband got drunk, he beat her unconscious and you were sure he’d kill her. You decided to save her, you kill her husband and this is the moment when you fell. That's when you became deviant and promised yourself you'd help those who were denied it. You’d protect them and avenge them. Fast-forward a thousand years, and we are in Seoul and you meet a man, a painter..." He was so excited you almost didn't understand some words because of the speed. He was waiting for your response but you were too occupied with reading what he handed you. Once you finished it you looked at him with a mix of surprise and excitement.

"It's like it was made for me.." you said with bewildered tone.

"That's because it was made for you. The screenwriter wrote it with you in mind." You looked like a cartoon character, eyes wide, mouth in a shape of letter "o", once you heard him.

"Me?"

"Yes. She is apparently a big fan."

"And tvN is ok with that?" You furrowed your brows confused.

"Perhaps they aren't. But it is co-production with Netflix, and they pushed for you since you’re popular worldwide." 

Your heart fluttered and the tips of your fingers tingled from excitement as you rummaged through the pages once again, not only it would be showed in TV during the prime-time but also streamed on Netflix weekly.

"The screenwriter and producer kept calling me since yesterday as soon as it was known you came back. They almost cast someone else. They were sure you're staying in the USA. Isn't it amazing?" He was as excited as you were and you felt some remorse for being so rude to him before. You gave him your warmest smile, one you usually used only around Mark and your family.

"It really is. Thank you and I'm sorry for being rude earlier." He was clearly uncomfortable with your apology, red spreading on his cheeks as he waved his hand dismissively.

"Ah don't mention it. Does that mean I can call them and say you are interested." You looked at the pages in front of you once again and smiled broadly before simply saying.

"Yes!"

Jinyoung was still amused you threatened him in his own café. He couldn't focus on the book he had in his hands anymore as he chuckled replying your angered and irritated expressions in his head. It was fun to tease you because you reacted so well. He could tell you could be great friends if you'd let him. He smiled to himself mouthing your own words "bloody Y/N". He was truly shocked that he met you here of all places and found it rather amusing when you yelled in English and caught his attention. He felt some disappointment upon seeing a half naked man talking to you from the screen of your phone but the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came up once your friend ended the call. Jinyoung wouldn't call himself a noisy person, but he found you interesting, and he wanted to know who it was and what kind of relationship you had although he rarely cared for stuff like this... His thoughts were interrupted by his ring-tone, BamBam's face illuminated the screen. He sighed but answered it anyway.

"Skrrrt, skrrt!"

"Ah yes, good morning to you to Bam." Jinyoung said in amused tone.

"Oh, hyung you seem in good mood. What you're up to?"

"Reading, thinking."

"Sounds boring wanna hang out?"

"Actually I wanted to ask you about something." Jinyoung ignored his question once he remembered how obsessed with celebrities and their styles Bam was.

"Shoot."

"Do you know any celebrities under the name Y/N." BamBam laughed wholeheartedly.

"That's very funny hyung."

"What do you mean?"

"OMG you're not joking! Are you living under a rock, hyung? Y/N is like the hottest actress ever. Her style is chic and comfy and artsy it's really cool, and she actually doesn't have a stylist, she does it on her ow..."

"She is an actress?"

"She is the actress! She played the White Fox in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Lol, you call yourself an actor and you don't know the most popular Korean actress abroad."

"You know I don't like those superheroes movies. Besides why didn't I hear about her Korean career if she's so good?"

"You are so old it scares me sometimes. Well you should know her from internet. I think it's national sport to hate her or something. She just came back, and they're already frying her online not to mention the media and dating rumors."

"Dating rumors?"

"Yeah she dated few actors. I think Seojoon hyung dated her and Changwook hyung even almost proposed. The media made her to look like heartless vixen though. I mean they never liked her but her last ex gave a very unfavorable interview to dispatch and after that she became villain number one. She left shortly after."

"Mmmm... I see." Jinyoung only started his career four years ago so it shouldn't be weird you've never met before. He was also the type of person who couldn't care less about internet gossip and gutter press or dispatch. He sighed. Suddenly your angry reaction made much more sense and Jinyoung didn't feel as good about it as he did before. He scolded himself for being too frivolous and selfish. He just wanted to see your reactions - it was cute and funny...

"Why did you ask? OMG you've met her didn't you. I'm so jealous. What was she wearing? Was it Gucci? I heard she likes it."

"Ok Bam. I have to go. Thanks for the talk."

"Wait, so you wanna hang out?"

"Last time when you asked me to hang out I had to shop for 4 hours with you."

"Well... I am your stylist. Besides, it was fun, come on." 

"I think we have different definitions of "fun""

You woke up to no noise pleasantly surprised. It seems that Sunday's were free from renovation and thanks to that you could sleep in. You stretched out and grabbed the phone to check the time. It was already past eleven. You smiled to yourself and fell to bed lazily. Soon you wouldn't have time for lazy days like this as the production team was supposed to finish up casting for the drama by the end of the next week. You thought about picking some groceries, maybe cooking yourself some food and enjoying the day with a book or perhaps some video games. You took shower and put on some comfortable clothes — beige cardigan you stole from Mark clearly too big for you and some black trousers pairing it up with brown coat. You left the apartment and as soon as you did the irritating voice in your head reminded you about your debt. Hesitant at first you shook off the feeling quickly and knocked on the door. This time you were prepared for teasing, you were expecting it even so you wouldn't be caught off guard. At least that's what you were telling yourself. Your neighbor, however, didn't act the way you expected him to. Instead of smirking at you and teasing you or straight up mocking you, he seemed nervous. He had deep purple bags under his usually sparkling eyes. Perhaps he didn’t feel well... you wondered whether you should ask him if he needed some help. You decided it would be extremely awkward and so you cleared your throat and spoke up — softness now somewhere in your voice.

"Is that bad time? I can come later I just wanted to give you back your money.."

"N-No." He started nervously "I mean no. It's fine. I'm actually glad you're here. Would you come in?"

You didn't want to come in and it must have shown on your face since he continued.

"Come on. I don't bite." He smiled warmly and it seemed much more normal than the timid self he showed you seconds ago. And so you came in curiously looking around his own apartment. It was a mirror image of your own in terms of room placements — a hallway leading to living room with opened kitchen. You came into the living room and Jinyoung rushed after you quickly turning the TV off. You didn't pay it any mind since you were looking around and taking in how different was his home compared to yours. It was very modern and yet it kept the homey feeling. Yours on the other hand, well it was raw yet full of stuff? Mark would probably call it unfinished and cluttered. Your neighbor sat on the other side of the couch leaving quite a lot of space between the two of you and run a hand through his hair. He wore a cardigan very similar to yours both in color and style in fact it could be the very same brand and style it’s just neither of you noticed it.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to apologize." He responded quickly and gained a surprised look from you.

"Apologize?"

"Yes about yesterday…I shouldn't have said those things in public I could say I just didn't know about your situation but it’s no excuse. I’m truly sorry." he paused. "You don't have to be stressed about press or rumors though. It is my café and my staff, so they won't talk about it with anyone I took care of it." You took back everything you said, you weren’t prepared for meeting him, especially not getting apologies from him. On top of that he was the owner of your favorite café...

"I… it's fine." You said confused and tried to act as normal as possible while being very aware of your palms spread on your thighs. They were unnaturally clammy. It was a surprise to you, you rarely got any apologies and you were expecting some more teasing not something like that. Your eyes were everywhere except on him and you were screaming at yourself internally to say something, anything, but nothing was coming to your mind. Once again you lost your ability for forming witty sentences around him or in that case any sentences. There was awkward silence between you and you immensely regretted coming to see him today. You weren’t used to this. Somewhere in your belly you could feel as if butterflies - or rather moths — yes, moths of anxiety were fluttering their wings desperately trying to get into your chest. You never felt like this before. You tried to avoid looking at him but your own eyes betrayed you and fell on Jinyoung only to find out he was enjoying your anguish. His brown eyes were glimmering and his lips formed half smirk that he tried to cover with his left hand in a gesture of propping his head up. Immediately irritation came to you burning all the fluttering wings in the pits of your stomach. A frown formed on your face and you send him a glare. Wondering how could you be so stupid and fall for his act.

"You're really cute when you're shy or embarrassed." He chuckled now mocking you openly.

"I can't believe I took your apologies as sincere." He chuckled again clearly pleased with how you responded.

"They were sincere. I just enjoy teasing you."

"Could you stop? That's inappropriate you don't even know me."

"What do you mean we are neighbors and soon to be friends." He smiled broadly and for a second your mind travelled somewhere else simply admiring his beauty. You cursed his handsome face it could blind and charm everyone really. You wanted to leave, no you needed to leave. It was stuffy in here.

"I'm here for a reason." You reminded him, he was watching you with amusement. It felt almost as if a cat was observing you.

"Ah right... money." his tone seemed inattentive somehow. "I don't need it. Let's say it was a part of my apology."

"Just give me your account number and take the money."

"I don't remember it." You were getting more irritated every minute you talked to him.

"You don't remember your account number?" This man was unbelievable. He shrugged.

"You can send it to me through KakaoTalk if you really want." He smiled and took out the phone from the pocket of his pants. 

"Fine. Just give it." Not wanting to spend any second longer here with him, you scanned his qr to add him quickly and transferred the money.

"Done. Now if you excuse me."

"Of course." He smiled again and you felt mocked by the sole action of his lips shooting upwards. He walked you to the door and watched as you slipped on your shoes. You tried to look as cold and dignified as possible but still tripped over the doorstep. He caught your arm firmly and straightened you. Your heart was beating so fast and hard all you could hear was blood pumping in your ears in fact you were sure he could hear it as well. On the other hand whose heart wouldn't when you almost fell face first, right…? Right? It surely wasn't because of his warm breath now tickling the crown of your head, nor the dangerously beautiful eyes... you absolutely regretted coming here today. It was foolish of you to think your cursed neighbor wouldn't shake you up today. And he was still holding you — how awkward is that; and you felt fine with being hold like that — what on earth was wrong with you? You started to think that maybe it would be better if you'd actually fell and hit that stupid head of yours.

Jinyoung was having very dangerous thoughts. The kind he didn't have in a very long time. He wasn't prepared for this kind of proximity. He was already shaken up yesterday by your touch and closeness he only held your hand for a second or two. Maybe he didn't show it but he was. Honestly he wasn't even into PDA or flirting with someone or even thinking of flirting with someone. Yes, he liked teasing, and he teased you but it was in a FRIENDLY manner. Well it was safe to say he didn't have friendshippy type of thoughts right now. Jinyoung reacted automatically upon seeing you fall he just grabbed your arm and pulled you his way. He was still holding your now tensed muscles, but he couldn't let go of you. He was in trance. Your warmth radiating onto him, the way the smell of your shampoo was tingling his nose, your huge doe-like shocked eyes, parted lips, soft pink on the apples of your cheeks. He was wondering how badly would you kill him if he asked to kiss you right now. He was seriously considering it worthy asking even if you were to pull out his tongue like you threatened yesterday. He didn't ask though, the rational part of his brain finally letting go of you. His own feeling were mess, but he did what he knew best — he masked his emotional disarray with some more teasing hoping you wouldn’t notice.

"Falling for me already?" He smirked even though internally he was screaming and already thinking of confiding in Jackson to get himself calmed. He was clearly the one falling and he was panicked. You rolled your eyes on him seemingly gaining the composure while he was getting stunned even by such simple gesture like this.

"You're way below my standards." You seemed annoyed. He smiled again although he wanted you to leave quickly and leave him alone with his feelings, so he can sort this out. Your eyes narrowed at him even more.

"I need to go now."

"Well, have a great day."

"Right, you too." You were so cold Jinyoung almost chuckled at it because it almost wounded him, and yet he liked it. He enjoyed teasing you too much. You were already walking to the elevator, but he couldn't help himself.

"Oh, and try not to fall when I'm not around to catch you, Y/N." He laughed and you were already frowning at him absolutely mad which made his heart skip a beat, you were really too cute when you frowned. Jinyoung closed the door before you could say anything or worse before he did. He realized he was in deep shit. He tried to think reasonably. He probably just had a crush because he spent a whole night watching movies and dramas you were starring in, he might have also accidentally watched all of your interviews and went to sleep at 6 still smiling to himself from that interview where you had to answer questions about your body in preparation for your role in that Marvel movie. The reporter wouldn't stop asking about your body and making comments on it even though you were clearly uninterested in the topic which you finally cut with your own questions. "Are you looking for some weight loss tips? You look great. Seriously what is it about? Are you trying to fit in my suit?" The last question was asked with whole whisper theatrics and Jinyoung laughed at loud at five am hoping he didn't wake you up through the wall. The suit in question was extremely fitting white leather catsuit. It wasn't the only interview in which you showed off your wits, eloquence and badassness, or how Bam would call it "swag". You were also the most attractive actress he had seen. Of course, you were also attractive when you weren't acting but on the screen... you were amazing. So Jinyoung tried to calm himself down rationalizing his earlier thoughts as simply being starstrucked. That’s what fans felt towards their idols, he was simply charmed by his own new idol. Yes that was it — that’s exactly the type of thoughts some fanboys or fangirls would have. He called Jackson anyway, he knew the designer was the right person to talk to in situations like this. 

Twenty minutes later Jinyoung regretted ever calling his best friend.

"OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO IN LOVE WITH HER!" Jackson basically yelled to the phone. Jinyoung groaned and massaged the space between his brows. 

"Were you even listening? I'm just a big fan."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night man. I’m a big fan of Christian Dior and all I can think of is making out with him." 

"Don’t compare it, he is dead!" Jinyoung yelled and his friend filled his ear in response.

 You were regretting not taking the car for shopping. The walk did help with your racing heart, and helped ease off your mind but it turned out the supermarket isn't that close any more when you have to drag home ten bags of food and products. Thankfully a convenience store was on your way so you could make a stop there maybe you'd be lucky enough to see Seoyun, buy her coffee and have a chat. You knew it was stupid, because she could've just feel obliged to say she is your fan but you still wanted to tell her about your new upcoming role. Sadly she wasn't there and so you just made a stop and sat on one of nearby benches. Massaging your palms that had those harsh red lines imprinted in them now thanks to the bags. You could swear you heard the sound of released shutter and so now alarmed you looked around but it seemed you were the only person here. You sighed, how paranoid have you become that you started hearing the cameras when there was none. Then again you were extremely lucky dispatch and paparazzi haven't found you yet. Just before you left to the USA, your ex gave this interview and your life became hell. You didn't have a day without paparazzi running after you or spying on you. The memories came to you not without acrimony and hurt. Your ex, an actor just like you, used you to create scandal and gain some popularity. You could remember how enraged and morose it made you. You didn't date anyone since then even when Mark tried to introduce you to some people. You intended on staying that way. You didn't need anyone, you had Mark, and he was enough for you. Just you and your best friend. You weren't sure how long you stayed like this, deep in your thoughts. You moved only after you fingers became stiff from cold. Somehow you managed to carry the groceries back home. You were so tired that you just counted it as your training today. You checked the time and it was one PM, perfect time to call your bestie.

"Markiee!!" You whined as soon as his face appeared on your screen.

"Y/N-ah. I miss you." He was wearing some blue hoodie this time.

"That's my line. Do you have time to talk?"

"Bruh, for you? Always. What's up?" 

"I am going to star in a drama!"

"What? I thought you hate those." He was genuinely shocked.

"I know, I do. But this one is different. I'm not playing the villain I got female lead, and she isn't some damsel in distress she is a badass character!" You almost screamed and he chuckled.

"Woah. Someone's excited. I'm so proud of you. So who is getting the privilege to be cast with you?"

"I don't know yet. I'm supposed to meet the cast next week." He nodded his head and smiled. "Anyway what are you up to?"

"I was actually thinking of playing Among Us and streaming wanna join?" He grinned.

"Absolutely, prepare to get wrecked Tuan." You used to play together at least once a week when you were in the USA, his fans loved you and shipped you even though you both told them you were just friends — it is some rule in the internet though, to ship close friends.

Few hours later you were once again killed as the first person, this time by Mark.

"YOU GONNA REGRET IT WHEN WE’LL MEET TUAN. I SWEAR I’M GONNA WHOOP YO ASS..." You screamed on top of your lungs and Mark laughed wholeheartedly, while his chat filled up with hundreds of LOL’s and LUL’s.

"You guys she threatens me. Someone make a clip and send it to the police once they find my dead body." He kept laughing and you couldn’t help but laugh as well. His smile and laugh were just too contagious.

"You really put our friendship to test lately Tuan, here I was foolishly trusting you when you killed me in cold blood. " You stretched and your stomach rumbled reminding you that you haven’t eaten yet and it was already around four pm.

" Hey don’t hate the player, hate the game. "   He shrugged and winked, while you rolled your eyes.

"Okay Mark, I gotta go and eat. It’s already afternoon here."

"Sure, chat say bye to Y/N." They did as he asked and it was soon filled with many hearts and goodbyes. "Love you Y/N! Call me soon." He grinned and you smiled warmly.

"Love you too Mark. Bye guys!" With that you logged off the discord, and switched off his stream. You make your way to the kitchen and took out the ingredients for kimchi jjigae you bought before. You carefully read the recipe opened on your phone and began cooking. You had to make anchovy stock first so you grabbed some dried anchovies, kelp and slashed the daikon in cubicles — it looked quite awkward as each cubicle was different size but hey it was you eating it not some kind of culinary critic. You added water and left it to boil deciding to take care of the rest of ingredients. You cut some kimchi and ate some as a snack and reward for not ordering food today, sliced some green onions, cut the pork and the tofu as well. By the time you were done it was time to strain the broth and add the rest of ingredients. It had to cook so you decided to watch some TV in the meantime. You turned it on, it was some kind of reality show where idols were supposed to camp in the wild for a few days. The idols clearly didn’t feel like being there and the fact you knew neither of them didn’t help. You dozed off before you noticed, your eyelids getting as heavy as iron. The smell of burning woke you up. You shot upwards from your couch and rushed to the kitchen, bumping into a coffee table on your way there.

"FFFFFF-UUCK." you hissed, when your shin pulsed with pain. You quickly grabbed the pot with stew to get it off the fire, forgetting it would be hot as well. You hissed in pain and let id drop on your marble floor which was now covered in burned kimchi and some other things. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking shit." You cursed as you tried to navigate to the sink to ease off the burn with some cold water. The cold water did help and you sighed with relief only to later follow it with a sigh of resignation. You had to clean up this mess. It was when your phone barked — a new message. You checked it.

From Unknown number: Are you trying to burn down the whole building?

You furrowed your brows confused, wondering if it was one of those jokes or spam messages you heard about.

To Unknown number: Who’s this?

From Unknown number: Guess.

You huffed in disbelief.

To Unknown number: Ok, enjoy being blocked.

From Unknown number: Wait!

From Unknown number: It’s Jinyoung.

To Unknown number: How did you get my number? Never mind I’m blocking you I’m too busy to deal with you.

With that you put the phone back in your pocket and began cleaning up. You finished in no time now tired out by scrubbing. You sat on the floor and took out your phone to check it out. From Unknown number: Don’t block me what if you need my help one day.

To Unknown number: With what exactly?

From Unknown number: What if you get stuck in your bathroom and need someone to let you out?

You rolled your eyes and saved his contact

To Devil: There is at least 7 billion more people I’d rather ask to help me

From Devil: Ok then what if I get stuck in the bathroom and need your help.

To Devil: I’d leave you there

From Devil: Heartless

To Devil: Better tell me how did you get my phone number

From Devil: You gave it to me when you scanned my kakao code

You were bewildered, was that his plan from the very beginning or were you just paranoid? You were either prejudiced or he was in fact the devil with angel's face.

To Devil: Did you lie about not remembering your account number?

From Devil: Maybe

You couldn’t believe it, the audacity, the smugness. You could feel irritation building inside you but you decide to let it go when your stomach rumbled at you aggressively. After eating you took shower, read a few chapters of The Vegetarian and fell asleep.

Next week passed quickly but in the feeling of anticipation as you were supposed to meet the rest of the cast as well as the scriptwriter and director at the meeting on Friday. You kept calling your manager throughout the week trying to find out who could they be, but he didn’t know anything or didn’t want to tell you. And so you spent the week on training, running, reading and occasionally calling Mark to express your impatience and excitement. You didn’t meet your irritating neighbor even once this week — something you counted as blessing or perhaps a sign that the universe finally turned your karma around. It was finally Friday and you were already sitting in the meeting room waiting for everyone to come in. You smiled at the young man sitting next to you, he was really cute and had this mole under his right eye it added to his charm. He was about to introduce himself, when someone came through the door and greeted everyone cheerfully. You couldn’t believe it. You were cursed, actually cursed.

"YOU?!" was all that left your mouth upon seeing him entering the room.

#jinyoung fanfiction #jinyoung fanfic #jinyoung angst #Actor!Jinyoung #jinyoung x reader #jinyoung x you #jinyoung fic #park jinyoung fanfiction #park jinyoung fanfic #park jinyoung scenarios #park jinyoung imagines #got7 fanfic #GOT7 fanfiction #got7 fic #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #GOT7 #got7 jinyoung #got7 park jinyoung #park jinyoung #jinyoung #jinyoung scenarios #thatgirlsfic

[recurring-polynya]

Oh boy!!! Polynya I have a sudden ferocious hankering for Byakuya and Aizen being viciously passive aggressive to each other. Most of the time you write B he is in the company of his family or his loved ones. So clearly the ultimate way to bring out the knives is an AU in which all the captains are in the same Homeowner's Association. I have no preference for ships; I crave only drama, the pettier the better.

Alopex. Alopex. Why. Why u do this 2 me. You’re my favorite, tho, I cannot refuse you. I hope this is petty enough. I almost made this whole thing an epistolary fanfic that took place over NextDoor, the worst “social media”, but I think it worked better with everyone in person.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🏠     🏠     🏠

“Gosh darnit, the only K-cups left are apple cider and pumpkin spice!”

“Oh, that can’t be right, I know I filled up the carousel just before the meeting! Retsu! Retsu, honey, we’re out of K-cups, and I bought a whole carton at Costco and I just don’t understand--”

Kuchiki Byakuya glanced up from the presentation materials he was reviewing for the six hundredth time. For starters, Byakuya wasn’t really sure anyone should be letting Hitsugaya Toushirou have coffee in the first place. It was 8p.m., and the child couldn’t be more than twelve. Byakuya had never been very clear on a) why the Seireitei Estates Homeowners’ Association let the child attend the meetings in lieu of his father (or possibly step-father?), a doctor who worked late hours, and b) why a young child would want to attend a Homeowners’ Association meeting anyway, but he had more sense than most of the other board members, so Byakuya didn’t ask questions.

Byakuya also wasn’t sure why they had to have “refreshment breaks.” Breaks were for quitters, in Byakuya’s opinion. Granted, the meeting was being held at Unohana’s house this month, which meant that the baked goods were impeccable, but Unohana’s high-strung wife tended to radiate so much nervous energy that Byakuya worried the woman was going to spontaneously combust.

“Oh, sunflower, I’m sure they just got pushed behind the croquembouche,” Unohana purred reassuringly. “I’ll help you look-- oh, excuse me, Mr. Ichimaru.”

As Unohana pushed past that weaselly shyster Ichimaru Gin, she swung her hips, knocking into him. Approximately thirty K-cups tumbled out of the pockets of Gin’s couture tracksuit.

“Oh, there they are!” Unohana sang innocently.

“How did those get in there?” Gin gasped, as though he were genuinely puzzled.

Byakuya shuddered. Ichimaru worked for the second biggest law firm in town, after, of course, Kuchiki and Sons. Byakuya dreaded the day he might find himself across a negotiation table from the man. Not that harbored any doubts about annihilating that idiot in a contest of the law, he just didn’t like being in the same room with him.

“Here you go, dear,” Unohana said, popping a K-cup into the machine and patting little Toushirou on the head. Toushirou was too busy glaring at Gin to notice.

“That looks like some presentation you’re givin' after the break, eh, Kuchiki?” Ichimaru drawled, selecting a bearclaw from the pastry tray. “Or didja bring home the paperwork from the Tsunayashiro merger?”

Byakuya sniffed and shuffled his papers back into their portfolio. “I approach all areas of my life with the same diligence as I do my professional work.”

“What a coinky-dink! I do, too-- I don’t work hard at anything.”

Byakuya had no interest in frittering away his preparation time to small talk with a moron. “I am going to set up,” he said coolly.

“Good luck!” Ichimaru trilled, giving a saucy little finger wave.

Byakuya returned to Unohana’s sitting room, where he had left his easel and poster board near the hideous faux fireplace with its tacky LED candles.

Aizen was sitting at the cardtable he’d set up at the front of the room, fiddling with his chintzy little gavel. “You look very prepared,” he said, in a tone of voice that was almost as insipid as the oatmeal-marl turtleneck sweater he wore. “Do try not to run too long, though. I’m only the substitute president, you know! I want to run a tight ship, ha ha!”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. He was still slightly salty that President Yamamoto had felt the need to take a last minute trip on a “Single Seniors Cruise.” Something something about a flash sale and when you’re old you have to take advantage of the time you have left, etcetera, etcetera, but if there were anyone that Byakuya could count on take his side in the matter, it was that antediluvian rule-enforcer. For that matter, Byakuya wasn’t actually sure whether Yamamoto even cared about clipped hedges and shoveled sidewalks or if he just liked yelling at people and slapping them with fines.

Aizen was also a bit of a stickler for the finer points of home maintenance, but the man had no substance to him, with his floppy hair and his chunky knitwear and his horn-rimmed glasses.

“All right, everyone!” Aizen called in his stupid simpering voice. Byakuya had no idea what the man actually did, but Byakuya figured he was a preschool teacher or an art therapist or something equally touchy-feely. “Please take your seats! The next item on our agenda is a presentation on, uh, ‘A Secret But Important Topic, from our neighbor over at number six, let’s give a big hand for...Byakuya!”

“Hold the applause,” Byakuya said sternly, holding up a hand. “I come to you today to call for-- nay, demand the expulsion of one Zaraki Kenpachi from the Board of this Homeowners Association, and possibly also the entire neighborhood, if that’s possible.”

“We can’t kick people out of the neighborhood,” Aizen stage-whispered to him.

“Is he actually a member of the HOA Board?” Kyouraku asked, scratching his shaggy mane. “I’ve never seen him at one of these meetings.”

Byakuya turned to Tousen, the Board treasurer, who had taken his seat at the front table with Aizen and Ichimaru. “Mr. Tousen, did you happen to look into the dues records, as I requested?”

“I did, yes,” Tousen replied. “It turns out that Mr. Zaraki is excused from paying dues. There was a post-it note in President Yamamoto’s handwriting that said,” Tousen made finger quotes, “‘Zaraki fixed my car, excused from dues.’”

Byakuya scowled. “That doesn’t seem… sufficient… it is of no matter.” He grabbed the bed sheet covering his posterboard, and dramatically swept it away. It would have been more dramatic if the bedsheet weren’t covered in Chappy rabbits, but there was no way he was bringing one of his own 800-thread counts into a house that contained cats.

“I have been closely watching Mr. Zaraki’s residence for the last few months, as his rear yard backs to mine, and I believe he may be operating a fight club in his garden on weekends. They do move into the garage if the weather is unpleasant.”

A hush fell over the room, except for Isane and Ukitake Juushirou, who were discussing the merits of blind-baking pie crusts.

“Er, sorry, did I miss something?” Juushirou asked apologetically, after realizing he was the only person talking.

“Kenpachi seems to be running some sort of fight club,” his scruffy husband supplied, looking deeply confused, as usual.

“Goodness!” Juushirou exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

Byakuya cleared his throat. “Allow me to present the evidence I have gathered.” He picked up two large binders, and handed one to Soi Fon in the front row, and the other to Aizen, who immediately passed his, unopened, to Ichimaru. ���There are about two dozen disreputable personages who are frequently found loitering about the premises. The first page of the binder indexes each of them by a descriptive nickname, including times I have seen them. Photographic evidence follows.”

“They seem to be washing cars in most of these photos,” Soi Fon pointed out, flipping a page back and forth. Or are they fixing the cars? I can’t tell.”

Komamura craned his head over, curiously. “Wow, is that a ‘73 Stingray? Nice.”

“Yes, they also like to get together to maintain and detail their vehicles,” Byakuya snapped. “Usually at ungodly hours of the morning. I am almost positive that many of those cars do not employ catalytic converters. In any case, it is easier to take pictures of them during the day.”

“Looks like they like to spray each other with hoses, too,” Gin noted, waggling his eyebrows. “Why are there so many pictures of this one guy with the red hair and tattoos? He sure doesn’t like to wear a shirt, does he?” Aizen appeared to be leaning to the side, trying to look at the book out of the corner of his eye.

“My dutiful sister did the photographic surveillance! She is very thorough, and I appreciated the help!” All these questions were knocking Byakuya off his game. He smacked his pointer against the poster. “May I direct your attention to Figure A, a bar chart of traffic on his street vs. hours of the day.”

“Tell us more about the fight club,” Soi Fon interrupted, shoving her binder over to Komamura. “Are there weapons involved, blunted or otherwise? How many people usually show up? Is it held regularly, or do you suspect there’s, say, an email list or something?”

“I think it’s some sort of mixed martial arts,” Byakuya said, rubbing his forehead. “There are often up to a dozen of them, but sometimes it’s as few as three or four.”

“You know, I’m looking through the bylaws,” Aizen said, turning pages in the bylaw binder without actually looking at them, “and I’m not exactly clear on whether fight clubs are actually… you know, forbidden.”

“They’re illegal,” Byakuya bit off.

“Per-haaaps,” Aizen drew out. “But what really constitutes… a ‘fight club,’ am I right? I mean, Dr. Unohana teaches kickboxing classes in her basement studio, is that a fight club?”

“No,” Byakuya replied.

“Exactly, and we wouldn’t want her to be painted with the same brush for just trying to teach other women the arts of self-defense, now would we?”

“It’s not for self-defense,” Unohana clarified.

“Or what about having a bunch of friends over and hitting each other with foam swords while you pretend to be werewolves?” Ichimaru broke in cheerfully. “That’s just our rights as citizens, to pretend to be werewolves in our basements with our friends.”

“It’s a tabletop RPG,” Komamura growled. “I am not a LARPer. There are no weapons. Also, you really do not need to bring it up every single board meeting. It is a perfectly normal adult hobby that I do to spend quality time with my friends.”

“Speaking of which,” Gin turned his binder of pictures around, “isn’t this guy in your group? With the sunglasses?”

“Hmm?” Komamura flipped a few pages. “Oh, huh, yeah, that’s Iba.”

“Surely a good friend of yours wouldn’t have anything to do with an illegal fight club, eh, Mr. Komamura?” Aizen suggested.

Komamura made a non-commital grumble. “I mean, I could ask him if it’s a fight club, if you want me to.”

“I have yet to hear any evidence that supports the existence of this so-called ‘fight club,” Tousen broke in.

“That’s because I keep getting interrupted, I have an audio recording and also some several emergency room admission records--”

“Mr. Zaraki is an upstanding citizen of our town and a devoted father,” Tousen continued. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Zaraki is not a responsible parent?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Byakuya mused.

“Juushirou, you and Shunsui babysit for little Yachiru all the time, don’t you?” Aizen asked sweetly. “Have you ever seen any evidence that she isn’t the sweetest little girl in the entire world?”

Toushirou raised his hand. “Excuse me? She is a menace, actually?”

“Oh, no, Yachiru is always a ray of sunshine!” Juushirou beamed. “Very active child.”

“Eats a lot,” Kyouraku added.

The edges of Byakuya’s vision were beginning to bleed into red. “We are not talking about the Zaraki child--who, by the way, buried an entire ham in my prize tulip bed--”

“It sounds like you have a grudge against the entire family, Kuchiki,” Aizen replied mildly. “These board meetings are not a venue for airing your petty grievances.”

“You are not even listening! If you would just turn to page--”

“I think you’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time.” Aizen turned his doe eyes to the audience. “Is there anyone here who wants to invest any more energy listening to Byakuya’s vitriol?”

Byakuya looked out over his audience, looking for an ally. Komamura shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The Kyouraku-Ukitakes refused to make eye contact. Unohana was reading a magazine about decorative wreaths. Toushirou raised his hand again with a helpful smile, but no one actually ever cared what he thought.

“Soi Fon, you’re an actual police officer!” he begged.

“It’s just a fight club,” Soi Fon shrugged.

Byakuya was desperate. “Dr. Kurotsuchi?”

Kurotsuchi looked up from his phone. “Eh?”

“Have you been paying attention to any of this?”

“Of course not, I only come for the snacks.”

Byakuya gritted his teeth. “Zaraki is running a fight club and these fools wish us to turn our heads and look the other way.”

“Well, it’s not a very good fight club,” Kurotsuchi agreed. “I’ve been. They don’t allow poisoned weapons and the beverage selection is quotidian at best.”

“You see! You see, right there, Kurotsuchi has even attended! That’s proof that a) it exists and b) it defames the character of the neighborhood!”

“I’m declaring this issue closed,” Aizen replied breezily. “And Kuchiki, I really think you should try to get along better with Kenpachi. You are neighbors, after all.” He brightened. “Oh, I know! We’ve got the community yard sale coming up in June. Why don’t you go ask him if he wants to join the planning committee?”

“Byakuya… will...ask....Zaraki...to chair…the yard sale planning committee,” Gin read aloud as he wrote it into the minutes.

“I agreed to no such thing!” Byakuya howled.

“Onto the next topic!” Aizen chirped. “Trash pickup happens every Friday at 7am and a few of our neighbors have been leaving their bins out as late as noon.”

Later, after the meeting, as Byakuya was packing up his binders and his posterboard, Aizen walked up to him, munching on a rhubarb scone. “Really nice presentation, Byakuya. Good fonts, well cited, you obviously put a ton of work into it. Also, that Zaraki is a blight on the neighborhood. Ideally, he would be thrown in prison.”

Byakuya stared at Vice-Presiden Aizen, mouth agape. “Then why did you and your cronies ruin my presentation and shut me down at every turn?”

Aizen’s eyes narrowed. His mouth curved into a cold smile. Light glinted off his glasses. “You dared to usurp my rightful place as the winner of the Spring Spirit Most Beautiful Yard competition.”

Byakuya blinked at him blankly. “You cared about that? A man’s lawn is his pride. I keep my yard beautiful as a matter of principle, not for some silly competition.”

“You pay for a lawn service. You shouldn’t have even been eligible.”

Byakuya didn’t even recall entering, he’d just received a letter that he’d won, and a festive yard sign appeared next to his front walk, which he had immediately removed and thrown in the garbage. “The prize was a gift certificate to a miserable chain restaurant. I would give it to you, except that I already gave it to my sister to go out with her hooligan friends. They are perpetually short on funds. I could get you another one, I suppose. The amount was paltry enough, although I was given to understand that the place offers ‘unlimited breadsticks’.”

“It’s too late for that,” Aizen declared. “You have made a powerful enemy. You will feel my revenge in a thousand cuts.”

Byakuya wondered how much of a hassle it would be to just move. He’d heard there were some nice houses over in Karakura Acres.

~end

Shinigami’s Cup: GOLDEN!

“Do you think it would help if I infiltrated the fight club?”

“I appreciate your zeal, Sister, but, no, I do not think it would help.”

“Because I think I might have an in. I feel like I would be really good at going undercover. I could wear a body mic.”

“Rukia, you know I have the utmost faith in you, but are not even five feet tall. I do not, in any way, see how you could realistically ingratiate yourself to an organization populated by large, lumpy men whose raison d’etre is to clobber each other in the face.”

“I have cat-like reflexes! I am really good at dodging and weaving!”

“Rukia.”

“And I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos about muscle cars. Go on, ask me something about Dodge Chargers!”

“Rukia.”

“I even ripped the sleeves of an old t-shirt, I look super tough in it. Please, Byakuya, please can I?”

“All right, fine. But do not drink any alcoholic beverages that have ‘light’ or ‘ice’ in the title. It is against our pride as Kuchiki.”

“Thank you Brother, you’re the best!!”

#my writing #wacky au requests #is this...the first time i have written aizen? #wait i wrote some aizen in a flashback scene of a little in love #i do not write very much aizen #it was...kinda fun #the man is petty as hell and i am here for it