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magical-girl-coral · 3 years

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It's Gin's Birthday! Here are some HCs

- He made his own version of "the floor is lave!". In the Seireitei it was "the twelve worked there," while in Hueco Mundo it was "Szayelaporro spilled something here." Both times people would fly to the roof, and in both times, Gin will have a shoe thrown to his face.

- Things Gin is forbidden to touch during his pranks: Aizen's tea, Kaname's kitchen, anything that belongs to Unohana, Yumichika's hair products (a request from Kenpachi because the bitching was awful the last time it happened), anything made by the twelve division, anything made by Szayelaporro, Yachiru's candy, Soi Fon's knives, the ninth's yet to be published articles, Rangiku's makeup, Komamura's shampoo, and Jushiro's medicine (even Gin isn't heartless enough to mess with that).

- Gin's a surprisingly good cook. It makes sense once you remember that one, Kaname was one of the people who raised him, and two, he grew up with Rangiku and had to learn how to cook, or they would have died from food poisoning.

- He's an absolute fashion disaster. He wears the plainest and oversized clothes he can find. If it weren't for Rangiku, he would have the Shinigami equivalent of a closet full of hoodies. Just hoodies.

- Gin was lowkey crushed when he found out Shinji had a tongue piercing. It meant he couldn't have one of his own without people thinking he's copying his old captain.

- He's the only person in the entire world that can bring Orihime's Cain Instinct to activate. If you leave them alone in the same room, she will try to strangle him.

- He and Orihime have a fascinating dynamic because it's a battle between Orihime's ability to lower people's threatening aura and Gin's creepiness rubbing off on people. It's a pure unstoppable force v.s immovable object battle.

- Gin mostly gets sick during summer thanks to his sensitivity to heat. When they were kids, Rangiku only got sick during winter so they joked that they knew they would be screwed at the same time, so their bodies took turns of who gets to be sick this time.

- When Gin was a kid and got sick for the first time, Aizen had to trick him into taking medicine by putting them in dried persimmons. Gin understood the trick immediately and refused to ear dried persimmons whenever he was sick since then. Nowadays, a good chase around the barracks is the only way to make him take his cough drops.

- The reason why Gin refuses to take medicine is that he wants his immune system to get stronger on its own. He's constantly on survivor mod and doesn't want to become too weak and pampered. He doesn't have the same attitude when someone else gets sick though, like the hypocrite that he is.

- Jushiro once did the mistake of unexpectedly hugging a third seat Gin, awakening the latter's fight or flight instincts and Jushiro got a swift kick to the stomach as a result. No one tried to hug him since, at least not without warning.

- He has a really weird grasp on human pop culture. He gets to go to the human world on rare occasions and will try to catch a movie to pass the time if he finished his mission early. References with him are a hit and a miss.

- He also suffers from insomnia and is usually awake from one to three in the morning. He tries to do paperwork or read a book to help him fall back asleep, and takes a nap in is his office to complete some of the missing sleep.

- All of Gin's seater officers were originally from different divisions. His third was from the first, his fifth was from the eleventh and his sixth was from the sixth. They were unhappy with their positions, so Gin gave them promotions to make the transfer faster. It made his betrayal all the more painful.

- Gin is cursed with genre awareness. He knows exactly what kind of story he's in and what his role is. He figured it out around the time he became captain when Aizen was doing a Shounen protagonist version of Build a Bear with Ichigo's parents. He saw Aizen create his own downfall and thought "ah, I see. So this is where I stand." The reason why he gave Ichigo the mantel of taking down Aizen and why his last thoughts were in complete calm was because he knew he was going to fail thanks to his role as a side villain. He didn't quit with his revenge because he believed he was too far gone and understood that if he's going down, he might as well try to take the bastard that started it all with him.

(here are some "if he lived" hcs because I need to get these out of my system)

- Gin return the Gotei 13 is an uncomfortable reminder of how no one is invincible. Every time someone is like "we Shinigamis are too strong to be defeated," Gin lets out an awkward cough. This is also one of the reasons the head captain wanted him back; he knows they need Gin to remember to keep their feet on the ground.

- There are a few people (other than Rangiku and Izuru) that befriended Gin after his return:

Jushiro: Kinda felt bad for knowing Gin as a kid and not knowing how Aizen was slowly turning him into a weapon. Also, he needs more members for the Shiro club.

Shunsui: He usually goes along with whatever Jushiro's doing and this is no expectation. He was always pretty neutral about things anyway.

Nanao: She already felt like she had to give him the benefit of the doubt with how much Rangiku was happy with his comeback. They ended up bonding over picking up their drunk friends from bars.

Kenpachi: He finds Gin funny and Yachiru likes his snacks.

Unohana: They had some weird bonding and mutuals understanding as she healed him. Also, him being a captain again is a huge pain in the ass to the Central 46. That already makes her happy.

- I've already talked before about how if Gin had an inner hollow it would be a Kitsune, so I would like to add that his teeth would sharpen as a result and his hair would become softer, almost fur-like. It's because the stronger the hollow, the more one's body gets affected, almost like a type of mutation.

- Gin only broke the rules once with his restrains, and that was so Kaname could visit Kakyo's grave during her birthday.

- Even after Central 46 banned all interactions with Karakura town, Gin continued in contact with Orihime through secret burner phones. Only Rangiku and Izuru are aware of this.

- After his return, his first prank was dying all of Byakuya's clothes, furniture, and hair seaweed green. Byakuya had said something so goddamn insufferable that it snapped Gin out of his depression and straight into mischief. If Byakuya likes his Wakabe ambassador so much, Gin might as well help to bring it up to a whole new level.

- The wounds left by Aizen were so severe that Gin had to wait five years before he could get his right arm back without damaging something in the process. His prosthetic was overseen by Unohana herself to make sure no one was messing with any of the electronics.

- The first thing he did after his restraints were removed was to visit his old hut. He wanted to see it one last time before letting go of the past for good.

#will this took longer than expected #sorry for not writing a fic for your birthday gin #heres some rambling instead #Bleach #Gin Ichimaru #au rambles

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faecaptainofdreams · 4 years

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(Everyone is sitting together. It doesn't really matter where, but they're all outside and having a great time. Lance, Walter, Marcy, Killian, Eyes, Ears, August, Ramsey, Sky, Felix, Gwynn, Jack, and Hiro. Other friends, such as Joy and Tonya [the security lady], aren't too far away. Lovey, Jeff and Crazy Eyes are present as well, calmly strutting around, being petted by various members of the group.) Walter: I remember when I was six, I went to my mom's room and was watching her put on her makeup for the day. She was kinda used to that, since I followed her everywhere. Well, I told her I liked her makeup, and that she was really good at putting it on. So then I'm like "Hey, what's it like to wear makeup?" And she goes, "I don't know, I'm used to it." And she looked at me, because I think she knew that I was building up to asking if I could wear some. I told her I just wanted to wear what she was wearing, just to know. She had to think about that for a minute, hah! Marcy: This feels like a really important part of your flamboyant origin story. (Everyone laughs, Walter included.) Walter: YES, definitely! So like, she was a little thrown, I think? But then she was like "Yeah, sure, okay, you can try on my makeup," and she had me sit in her little chair in front of the mirror. She was telling me that it was gonna feel funny, that I needed to be still so she wouldn't accidentally poke my eye, all that good stuff. My mom was SUPER attentive whenever she tried new things with me, because of the Asperger's. We really didn't know what could trigger that potential sensory overload or what I might be overwhelmed by, so I think she was more nervous about that than anything. Well... Before she started, I asked her if wearing makeup would make me less of a boy. I said, "Only girls wear makeup, and when boys like girly things, they get made fun of." I was really aware of that. I always SO BADLY wanted to take my Unitee to school, as a comfort object, but I was scared to death of the other kids taking her from me and tearing her up or something. So -- anyway, mom goes, "No, some boys wear makeup," and she said, "Did you know that men wear makeup in other parts of the world?" And she told me about the Egyptians, ancient peoples and how makeup was originally for everybody, all that cool stuff. SHE info-dumped on ME! (They all laugh a little.) Walter: It was just really striking to me how...progressive she was, like there was nothing I could do that she didn't support. I told her I didn't think I wanted to wear makeup all the time, and she said "Good, you're too young for it anyway." (More laughs.) Walter: So I sat there, and she started putting the makeup on me. She put on my eye shadow, then eye liner, then mascara... It was exhausting! How do people wear it ALL THE TIME? (They all nod and chuckle and Marcy raises her hand, drawing attention to herself.) Marcy: It's the way of the woman, Walter. Killian: And the very flamboyant, but no-less-masculine man. Ramsey: I tried on makeup once. Turned my rat face into a rat face with paint on it. (All laughter.) Sky: Hah, okay babe, so what happened next? Walter: *giggles softly* Well, then she put a little blush on just for the fun of it, and then put lipstick on me. We both kept laughing, I think she was laughing at me because I kept pursing my lips out SUPER hard! She was like "Just relax a little!" And I would, and then I would purse really hard again! (Laughs.) Gwynn: That's so cute, hah hah. Walter: We had this really long talk about how boys are not boys because they don't wear makeup, and girls aren't girls because some of them do wear makeup. Same with pants, and dresses. She said that if I am a boy, then that's what I am no matter what I have on. I was like... "If?" (Lots of concerned chuckles and a few laughs roll through the group.) Lance: OH shit, she probably didn't count on that one. Walter: NO, NOT AT ALL. I mean, it wasn't that long ago, but honestly transgender, non-binary and all the LGBT stuff has REALLY just been gaining traction in the past few years. Like I said, she was REALLY progressive. Felix: Did she have to explain that? Walter: *nods* A little. She kept it simple, she was like "Well, sometimes little boys feel like they aren't actually boys, and they feel like they're girls, so they choose to be girls and that's who they really are." I asked her how that's possible, because I have to over-analyze everything, pfft. She said she couldn't really explain it, that it was fine that I didn't understand, that she could tell me later. Yeah -- whenever she couldn't explain a hard topic to me, she was always really good about saying it was okay that I didn't understand it. Living in a world where you're expected to just GET everything, whether it's a hard or an easy concept, that was always nice. Hiro: *nods* Jack: Everyone should be told that, you've got a point there. Sky: I could not STAND when teachers were like "Oh ThiS iS eAsY, eVeRyOnE eLsE gEtS iT" LIKE BITCH, SHUT UP. *claps between words* I'M- NOT- THEM. Lance: RIGHT THOUGH?!

Ears: Rude.

Walter: Exactly! Everyone is different. Not even from an Autistic standpoint, just a HUMAN CHILD standpoint, my mom was really good with helping me be okay with my environment. August: Do you think if you were neurotypical, she would've been just as good, or like, less good or not as...paying attention? Walter: *thinks for a moment* Mmm... I mean, she was really good with me before I was even diagnosed, she was really patient and tried to roll with the fact that I was somehow very different from my peers. But no, I think she probably would've been about the same. Maybe less careful, or less afraid of setting me off somehow, but she DEFINITELY wouldn't have loved me less or had been any less kind. She was just...a great mother, plain and simple. (Gwynn reaches across the table and gently takes his hand, silently offering a bit of love. Walter smiles sadly to her.) Lance: So, what happened with the makeup? Walter: *sits up and takes in a deep breath* I told her it felt weird, aaand she said that was normal... *smiles softly* She told me I was pretty... I asked if I could show grana, so we went and found her in the living room and showed her. Ramsey: Oooh, was granny as progressive as mom? Walter: OH yeah, she was definitely where my mom got it from. She loved it! Marcy: *shaking her head slowly in awe* That is so rare, like WOW. Walter: Mm-hm. Yeah, I actually came out to grana when I was 14. I said, "I think I'm gay," and she looked me dead in the eye and said, "Oh, I knew that!" (They all laugh.) Walter: I was like, "Whaaat??" She told me that her and mom figured that out when I was two. Lance: ...What the hell was you doin' when you were TWO to give that away??? (They all chuckle.) Walter: HAH hah! I asked her that, and she said that my mom was just watching me play. I wasn't doing anything special, I -- she just said "I think my son is gay." And apparently, grana felt the same way? It turns out, big shocker, I am not mysterious. Hahahah! Felix: No, no you are NOT. Gwynn: Your family was really cool, Walter. Walter: Yeah... They were... (He nods his head slowly, eyes becoming a little wet. But he smiles, warm memories, love, and a little sadness filling his heart.) Walter: And now I have this cool family, so... I'm really really l-ucky-- (He wipes his eyes, trying not to cry.) Walter: Nnnaaahhh!! I don't wanna cry, aha hah...! Marcy: *chuckles* It's okay. Walter: Gah, I know. I cry enough though, I can go TEN MINUTES without! (They all chuckle, but there is an expression of care for him in everyone.) Walter: So that's the makeup story. *sniffles and wipes his eye one more time* I ended up not wearing it again after that, until the -- *motions to Jack* the mission! Jack: That was some fun, eh? Heheh! Really, Walter, you did make for a lovely lady! Walter: *laughs* Well thank you!! Hiro: I think it's nuts when people can tell their kids are gay. Killian: Yeh, some people honestly just feel that. I've heard about pregnant women being able to feel their unborn child is a certain way, and then years later they figure out they're right. Mind-boggling. Walter: There really is nothing harder to explain than a mother's instinct! Lance: Yeah, then there's MY mom. When I was like fifteen, my mom caught me dancin' in my room to this really fruity song and some dumbass chick flick was on the TV, and... (Everyone starts laughing.) Lance: *waves it off* So she busts in my room and is like *mocking voice* "Lance, you wanna tell me somethin'? Are you gay?" and I got all defensive and was like "NO MOM" in this really squeaky voice. (The laughter continues, and Lance along with them.) Lance: I knew what bein' gay was, and I knew how people made fun of it -- I made fun of it back then, everyone used it as an insult, there was all this misinformation about it flying around. My mom wasn't even being accusatory, she wasn't like MAD about it or anything, but from then on, ALL the time, if I did somethin' kinda questionable she was like "YoU gAy?!" So I'd try to make my voice deeper, like *makes voice deeper* "NO, MAMA. I LIKE GIRLS." (Laughter) Eyes: Did she try to get you for overcompensating? Lance: *claps and points at her* YES, I was just about to say! So I started gettin' pissed off about the gay thing, right? Well, my mom didn't know that I was listenin' to Afro Man back then. Hiro: What is that? Lance: Look him up, he's hilarious! Best song, Colt 45, hands down.

Ears: It's pretty funny, gotta admit. August: THAT SONG. IS SO. GROSS. Walter: When I was in middle school I heard some of the other kids singing it, I was sooo confused! August: Weren't you like FOUR in middle school? Walter: HAH HAH no, I was seven! August: PFFFT, OKAY, well that's still awful. Walter: *nods* Lance: My mom asked me if I was gay for the last damn time before I brought out my little laptop and started BLASTIN' Colt 45. Marcy: What even is that song?? Lance: It's literally just a rap song about the Afro Man having sex with dozens of women and being real vulgar about it, but not like your normal rap song. August: It's kind of like a parody, but it's not? Marcy: *sits back* Ew. Lance: Heh heh heh, yeah, when she heard that she went OFF on me. She was like "WHERE'D YOU FIND NASTY TRASH LIKE THAT YOU DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW" and started whippin' at my ass with the hand towel! (Laughter) Lance: I was running away cryin', screaming "I WAS JUST TRYIN'A TELL YOU I'M NOT GAY" and she goes "THAT'S WHAT OVERCOMPENSATIN' LOOKS LIKE!" (Their laughter is loud, boisterous, and unapologetic.) Ramsey: You get in trouble?! Lance: BIG TIME. Actually -- HA -- yeah, that's how I got into the military, she said "fuck this child and his stupid gay ass, he's gonna be a marine," stuck me on a plane and shipped me off. (The laughter is settling, but still genuine.) Lance: Nah nah I'm jokin', that's a joke. But yeah, I wasn't allowed on the internet for like three months after that. Walter: Hmhmhm! Did she finally stop asking? Lance: Yeah, yeah finally. I think that was the last straw. Marcy: Hey, where was your dad during all this? Lance: Oh god, you know him, he just kinda...stayed out of it, heh. He's definitely the more submissive one. But that's all right, mama's good to him. Killian: I personally adore your mother. Lance: Yeah, 'cos she showed you my baby pictures. Killian: You had the fattest fuckin' face on any infant I've ever seen. Lance: Whatever! You probably weighed like 18 pounds when you came out, you tank! (Walter unintentionally leads into the group laughing fit with a heavy "PFFT!") Killian: *laughing* I was thin as a rail 'til i was 17! Lance: Nah, you was what took down the Hindenburg, 100%. Killian: Bitch your face WAS the Hindenburg! Those CHEEKS! (The laughter only gets harder. The stories go on, the happiness rolls on forever. Eventually, Joy and Tonya join the group. This really is Walter's family, and it's perfect.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It's a little cheesy, but we could use some of that right now. I had this idea of Walter and Wendy a couple months ago, but never once even spoke of it. I thought i would do art for it sooner, but here we are -- better late than never. I'm glad it took until now, because i wouldn't have shaded it then. Been feeling sentimental lately, and SiD is a huge part of my heart now. This was actually done on the last page of the first sketchpad i used for SiD! Apparently, i abandoned the drawing pad with ONE PAGE LEFT >8U SO DUMB. So with me being emotional, feeling a need for closure and wanting to add one more thing to the book, i decided this was the perfect subject matter. I don't know when i'll draw for this movie again since Marvel has swept me away, but I think i'll always be paying attention to it. I think this is one of those things that just will forever mean the world to me.

#Spies in Disguise #Walter Beckett #Lance Sterling #Marcy Kappel #Joy Jenkins #Eyes and Ears #Spies in Disguise OC #Wendy Beckett #Lovey #Jeff and Crazy Eyes #Killian #Tristan McFord

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #401

“my love is just waiting to turn your tears to roses”

Do you typically do your makeup the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? IF I wear makeup, it's essentially always the same. Who is the last person you were in a room with just the two of you? What were you doing? Yesterday with Mom. We were trying to find the best deal on Eco Earth, a substrate we're getting for Venus. What was the last really good book you read, and what was it about? If we're talking REALLY good book, then The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. In short summary, it's a dystopian future novel where women are now basically just objects used only for repopulation, even having their names stripped from them. They follow very strict rules as society has returned to horrible misogyny. As a woman, the "oh my god, this is possible" aspect of it is terrifying, and it causes such a sense of disgust and urge to ensure women rights always continue to be fought for. Do you feel safe in your country? For the most part, I'd say. I guess. There are places I'd feel safer, though. How many meals do you eat a day? Three. Have you ever performed a solo dance in front of a crowd? No, but I was supposed to my senior year in high school; the seniors at my dance studio were always welcome to do a solo in celebration. Mine was a modern dance to "Coma White" by Marilyn Manson, wanting to tell a story about depression and how being medicated could feel, but I eventually decided like halfway through learning the choreography that I was just too nervous to do a solo. Have you ever sung a solo? No. When you go to McDonalds, what drink do you usually get? Coke. Have you ever had to call and complain about a product you bought? No. Do you own a designer purse? Definitely not. I'm not wasting that much money on something like that. What’s the weirdest rumor you’ve ever heard about yourself? Apparently, Jason and I had a baby in high school even though I was obviously never pregnant. To my knowledge, it was started by his ex. Who is now a good friend of mine lmaooo. Life is funny. What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? Pokemon, of course. Would you ever have an affair? Nope. Would you ever have a one night stand? Nope. Where you present at any major historical events (e.g. 9/11)? No. What are your opinions on marijuana legalization? Legalize it, but treat it similarly to alcohol in that driving under the influence is illegal and punishable, and I believe you should be of a certain age. How about abortion? I am pro-choice. I was pro-life most of my own life, but now I am very firm about a mother being able to choose if she wants to endure a pregnancy or not. Like, that is a MASSIVE life event that almost inevitably changes - and sometimes traumatizes - people. I do believe a fetus is its own body and not part of the mother's, but rather in the mother's, but the belief that a woman decides what she wants in her body is her choice, too. I'm not very fond of people treating abortion as a simple, regular form of birth control, like it's nothing but an "lol whoops," but I still believe it is ultimately her decision, and she should always be free of judgment for doing what is best for her. Do you wear skirts or dresses more often? Neither. I wouldn't dare wear a skirt more so, though. What do you think about tipping at restaurants? There should always be an expected minimum, imo, unless the person was truly, sincerely, genuinely fucking awful. Waiters do not have an easy job, fight me about it, and they're just trying to survive while putting on a happy, jovial face, all the while dealing with hungry people who can be such assholes. I believe the actual tip should relate to actual service, but again, give them something. Would you ever get back together with any of your exes? One, absolutely. The other would take a shitload of consideration and proper communication on his part. Do you have a preferred coffee brand? No, because I don't like coffee. Do you usually befriend your coworkers, or do you prefer to keep work separate from your personal life? IF I had a job, I'd like to build a friendship with those I have to engage with almost every day. What is something you frequently forget? Dates, ages, names, what I was about to do five seconds before I forgot... Pretty much everything. My memory is frightfully poor. Is there any drama currently going on with your family? No. When you take a nap, do you nap in bed or on the couch? In my bed. Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? Both; my parents split when I was somewhere around 17, though, but I'd say there wasn't much more "raising" to do at that age. Have you ever stolen anything? If so, why? No. Have you ever plagiarized someone else's work? Hell no. What's your most-used mode of transportation? My mom's car. Have you ever taught someone else a useful skill? Not to my recollection. Does seeing everyone else's 'perfect lives' posted on social media ever bring you down or affect how you feel about yourself? It actually does, honestly. Not ALWAYS, but if I'm being honest, it does most of the time. I've contemplated deleting Facebook for that reason, but with is also comes things that make me happy, and I think I'd feel even more isolated without it. What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack? This is SO impossible for me to answer. I loooove Hostess and Little Debbie treats. I want to say honeybuns, but I also love those chocolate cupcakes with the white swirls on top, as well as Twinkies. Very few exist that I don't like. Do you/your family buy loafs from the bakery or bagged on the shelf? We just buy bagged bread. What’s the best news you’ve gotten lately? My APAP mask is definitively WORKING!!!!! :') Mom got an app that connects to the machine via Bluetooth that monitors the effectiveness of the mask, evaluating many factors of your sleep, and it's detecting a definite decrease in disruptive behaviors or something like that. It is so, SO encouraging to know that. ^And, the worst? Hm. Oh, probably some news on something serious a good friend is going through, but I don't feel it's my right to disclose what. It's just a very worrying and potentially dangerous issue that I wish I could help her with. Would you rather receive (or give) flowers, chocolates or jewelry? I'd appreciate any, but my fat ass is drawn to the chocolate, ha ha. What *I* would give would vary depending on what the person liked. How do you feel about coconut? Smells lovely, but is otherwise gross. ^ Ever cracked one open? No, but omg I've always wanted to, haha. What’s the best thing about being your gender? I guess the fact it's more "normal" and "accepted" to show our emotions. Fuck that generalization, though. I don't give a shit what your gender is, you experiencing emotions is NORMAL and welcomed to be expressed. ^ And the worst thing? The ability to be raped and impregnated by it. Do you do your part to save the earth? I don't do nearly enough. :/ We recycle, but that's about it. Well, none of us DARE to litter either, but I still don't feel like it's as much as the earth deserves from its denizens. Who do you think should have their portrait on a bill? I don't know or care. Why did you last feel exhausted? Yesterday was my niece's birthday, and I spent essentially ALL day playing with her and her brother. I have a very limited battery when it comes to kids, and I was running on empty for hours. My anxiety was SO high and I really needed a break from them, but they're too young to really understand that Aunt Britt can only socially run for so long before I'm completely burnt out, and TRUST ME, I was there for sure. I didn't want them to think they did something wrong, you know? I just had to keep going. I slept like a baby last night though for sure, haha. Have you ever used emotional blackmail to get your own way? Wow, no. Has anybody ever used emotional blackmail on you? No. Who did you last worry about and why? Sara for health reasons. Are you currently looking for a new place to live? Not actively, but Mom and I definitely want to move. We feel very out-of-place here in the suburbs. Which would you prefer as a view; mountains or the sea? Mountains. Do you have a mouse for your laptop? (Assuming you have a laptop) Yes. I canNOT play games with a trackpad. Do you apologize a lot? Extremely excessively. When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Do you mean like, for the wedding? In that case, probably the venue. Being a photography buff, I want a place I think is really pretty to have pictures taken. What’s something you complain about frequently? My legs hurting, my weight, and being hot. Do you have anything planned for the summer? Nope, and that's fine with me. I'd rather stay inside away from the heat. Who usually makes dinner in your household? My ma. Do you have a blog? Just on Tumblr. Does anyone in your family snore loudly? My mother does because of gerd, and at least when my father still lived with us, he snored super loud, too. Do you want to fix anything with anyone? Yeah, a few people. What shows do you watch? Right now, only Meerkat Manor: Rise of the Dynasty. Whenever The Edge of Sleep comes out, I will 110% be watching that, too, because Mark is a key actor in it. :') Plus the concept seems super cool. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Who was the last person you had a conversation with on the phone? Me mum. Does the song you’re currently listening to remind you of anyone specific? No, given it has like... one lyric, haha. Do you own any TV show soundtracks? No. Last thing you did that made you feel like an adult? I mean I guess sign myself in at the doctor's. What’s your favorite picture of your mom? Dad? Oh my god, there's a candid one I got of Mom laughing when she was posing as my subject for a photography assignment, and I cherish it with ALL my heart. I want to share it with essentially the whole world, but yeah, I'm not gonna put my mom's picture here. As for my dad, I like this one I took of us at Red Lobster for his birthday a year or two back. Last TV show series you finished? Fullmetal Alchemist with Sara. Favorite flavor of cream cheese? Regular. What US state would you like to visit? Alaska. Last meal you made yourself? I put a chicken pesto thing in the microwave earlier for dinner.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''whispers in the dark'' by skillet

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lifesizehysteria · 4 years

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Charming | An AdamsFoster Fic

Fandom: The Fosters/AdamsFoster Rating: M Summary: Stef and Lena’s lazy morning heats up when Stef wants to try something new.

A/N: Prompt #2 from this list of kiss prompts: “lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up” A/N: I owe a HUGE thank you to @momqueer for helping get this fic on its feet. An offer to cowrite turned into me just taking the whole thing over but they totally jumpstarted my inspiration for this when I was completely stuck. There’s even a couple lines that they wrote still in here because they were lovely and perfectly suited for the story. Thanks for helping me out and being the most awesome! 💖

A/N: This one really got away from me. It was supposed to just be a nice romantic morning but Stef gave Lena one nice compliment (okay, two) and all bets were off. We ran head first into smut and it was all Lena’s doing. I had no say in the matter. And just for fun, we threw in some character growth because why the heck not? Anyway, enjoy.

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Sunlight, pastel and warm, painted Lena’s face. It draped along the curve of her shoulder and across her bare chest. Flat on her back, her legs were splayed out, encroaching on Stef’s side of the bed. Her arm rested over her head, her face turned, buried in a cloud of curly black hair. Her mouth was relaxed into a gentle pout so serene and inviting that, as Stef watched her, it was all she could do to resist it. Stef had always marveled at the way her wife looked when she slept. With her usual polish and poise stripped away, her natural grace morphed into something soft yet just a little wild.

She watched her in awe, playing with the end of a single curl until her eyelashes, glowing like tiny gold flames in the sun, flickered. Her eyelids twitched and fluttered open then snapped back shut, her furrowed eyebrows accompanied by a groan of protest.

Stef chuckled as she leaned down and brushed the faintest kiss over Lena’s pouting lips.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice hushed and gentle.

“Mhmm,” Lena croaked back. Her bleary eyes squinted up at Stef’s face.

Neither of them was quite used to these kinds of mornings yet. No morning rush, no alarms, no kids. Since Jude had left for college, though, they happened more and more often. Almost every weekend, and Stef was beginning to wonder how she’d ever lived without this early morning peace.

She sat back up but Lena grunted her objection and fumbled trying to grab her arm so Stef leaned back down and kissed her again, this time eliciting a contented sigh.

When she pulled back, Lena arched her back in a full-body stretch, the blanket sliding down around her ribs before she relaxed back down into the mattress. She sucked the roof of her mouth and cleared her throat and Stef watched her with an expression full of affection and wonder.

“What?” Lena asked, eyebrows arched high to help keep her eyelids open.

“Nothing.” Stef smiled down into her dark, sleep-heavy eyes. “I was just thinking...” She plucked at a curl by Lena’s temple. “I think you are your most beautiful just like this. No makeup, no jewelry, wearing nothing but the early morning sun.” She swept an appreciative gaze down over Lena’s body before settling on her eyes again. “You, my love, are perfection.” She brushed the curl away from her face, then drew her hand down her neck and across her sun-kissed shoulder.

A sleepy smile curved Lena’s lips. “You know, you’re very charming when you want to be.”

“Am I?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, I’d ask if I charmed your pants off but you’re not wearing any.” Smirking, she settled down on her side facing her wife.

Lena laughed. “You know what? I changed my mind.”

“Oh, come on! One crude joke and I lose all my charm?”

Shaking her head, still laughing, Lena rolled over onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, hmm?” Tipping her chin up, Stef regarded her from beneath raised eyebrows, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“You’re not charming when you want to be. You’re funny when you want to be. And silly. Sweet. But you’re charming when you’re not trying to be. You just say whatever’s on your mind in a way that is so genuine and so honest that I have no choice but to believe you.”

A blush bloomed in Stef’s cheeks as she considered her wife’s observation. After a moment, she shrugged her shoulder. “What can I say? You deserve to know how often I’m completely blown away by how incredible you are.” She traced her fingers down Lena’s side, pushing beneath the edge of the blanket toward her hip. Lena’s eyes dropped down for a moment as she bit back a smile. “Besides. I have to make up for all the times my big mouth gets me in trouble.” She winked at her and grinned.

There was a moment of silence, weighty and pulsing, when Lena’s gaze slid down to her mouth and Stef felt the shift before she even saw her eyes darken. Her heartbeat quickened as Lena leaned over and captured her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Her fingers grazed over Stef’s ribs and down her bare stomach. “I’d like to see just how much trouble that mouth can get into,” Lena said, her throaty suggestion sending a delicious jolt down Stef’s spine.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Stef grinned up at her. “You know how much I love a challenge.” She pulled Lena in to kiss her again while laying back at her urging. The blanket slipped down off of Lena’s hips as she leaned over her and Stef took full advantage, sliding a hand down her back to grab her ass, still kissing her perfect lips.

As they kissed and their hands wandered, finding delightful little spots to tease and play, Stef marveled at being able to go from early morning tenderness to sex without having to rush to keep from being interrupted. It was exhilarating to be able to just follow their own whims and desires because for the first time in their almost twenty years together, they could have sex when they wanted, where they wanted, and how they wanted. And she certainly knew how she wanted to right now.

Lena began making her way down Stef’s body, kissing between her breasts and across her stomach, heading toward the apex of her legs when Stef stopped her.

“Move over a little bit,” she told her.

“Why?” Lena asked, though she did as she was told, scooting toward the middle of bed.

“Because we need more room.”

“For what?” She looked at Stef with an eyebrow raised.

Stef sat up and slid over next to Lena, cupping her jaw and kissing her way up the side of her neck. “You wanted to see what my mouth could do, didn’t you?”

Lena nodded, excited curiosity dancing in her eyes. Stef kissed her with an easy passion, unhurried but brimming with desire, then laid back down and shuffled a bit lower.

“Then come sit down and find out.” A cocky grin tilted her mouth to one side.

Lena’s jaw went slack for a moment at her candor. Stef had to admit, it was a bit out of character for her to be so brazen. She usually preferred more subtlety, or at least to mask her desires behind the safety of a teasing joke, but it seemed the mood of the morning had emboldened her.

When her wife continued to stare at her, Stef reached for her leg, gently tugging at her thigh. “C’mere.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?” She almost laughed.

“As I’ve ever been.” Stef held her gaze steady and Lena’s cheeks darkened with enough color that Stef could actually see it, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. When she hesitated, Stef took her hand and kissed the tops of her knuckles. “Only if you want to,” she assured her.

A blushing smile crept across Lena’s face until she was all teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes, and Stef knew her answer before she nodded and said, “Okay.”

Stef held out her hand and Lena took it, bracing herself with her other hand on the headboard as she swung her leg over Stef’s head. Releasing her hand, Lena held onto the bed and lowered herself until she hovered just over Stef’s face. Stef slid her hands up the backs of her thighs, gripping them as she helped guide her the rest of the way.

When she made contact, Stef felt a wave of desire rush up from her belly, coursing through her like burning waves. She swept her tongue along the length of her and as she began exploring her from this unfamiliar angle, nothing existed but Lena - the taste of her, the smell of her, the weight of her. To be so encompassed by the woman she loved, to be granted such vulnerability by her was both beautiful and arousing in a way she couldn’t have imagined despite how much she’d always wanted to do this.

Her knowledge of Lena’s body acted as her guide and it wasn’t long before she realized it was best to let Lena lead. She followed the pace of her hips, letting her control speed and pressure, happy to do whatever she desired. Her arms were wrapped around Lena’s thighs, her fingertips pressing into her silky brown skin when she felt Lena push her fingers into her hair.

Glancing up, she couldn’t resist the sight above her. She’d never seen her lover quite like this before, the angle odd but as breathtaking as ever. She slid one hand around her hip, up and over the little rolls of her belly toward the curved undersides of her breasts that swayed with the motion of her body. She cupped one, rubbing her thumb over her nipple until Lena moaned and threw her head back, making her neck look impossibly, irresistibly long. One hand was splayed against the headboard, elbow locked, while the fingers of her other hand tugged even harder at Stef’s short blonde hair.

Everything was wet and warm and Stef would have been content to stay right there forever. But Lena was hurtling forward, pulling Stef along with her. Her full weight was on her now as she curled forward, the muscles in her stomach twitching with every heaving breath and rushing sigh. She dropped her head into the crook of her elbow, bringing her other hand back up, clinging to the headboard with both hands, grinding down while Stef held her rocking hips and she rode her toward the crest. Finally, her body tensed, her shaking legs clamping around Stef’s head as her panting, stuttering moans filled the room.

Stef brought her back down gently until her body collapsed against the headboard. After a moment, she gave her a gentle push on the backs of her thighs and Lena lifted just enough for Stef to extricate herself. Kneeling behind her, she wiped her face clean as best she could before wrapping her arms around her wife’s waist. Pressing a few kisses to her shoulder blade, she drew Lena’s limp body back until they were both sitting with Lena nestled between Stef’s sturdy legs. She rested back against her, eyes closed and head tipped back onto Stef’s shoulder.

Stef dusted kisses along the top of her shoulder and watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. When it began to slow, Lena found Stef’s hand and ran her fingertips along the backs of her fingers before lacing her own between them. With a satisfied hum, Lena turned her face towards Stef’s, brushing her nose against her jawline.

“So...” Stef’s voice was soft, as if trying not to disturb Lena’s current tranquility. “That was, uh...” She cleared her throat. “It was good?”

Lena laughed against her neck. “You really have to ask?”

Stef smiled into her hair. “No, I know it was...” She paused for a moment. “I meant, you liked it? The, uh— The position...?” She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. It seemed her earlier bravado had abandoned her. “Is it something you’d want to, y’know, do again?”

Lena turned slightly and looked up at Stef, her face bright and her eyes playful. “Well, I’m not sure how often my knees are going to allow it but I wouldn’t mind occasionally adding it into the rotation.” She shifted onto her hip so she was facing Stef more easily. “What about you? Was it okay for you? I was worried that it might’ve been hard to breathe.” Her eyebrows raised in that way they always did when she was inviting honesty.

Stef rolled her lips in between her teeth and wet them before nodding and clearing her throat. “I could breathe just fine.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “It was good. It was... Actually it was even better than I’d hoped it would be.”

Lena’s head tilted to one side and Stef felt her lay her hand just above her knee. “Is this something you’ve been wanting to try for a while?”

Stef tucked her chin and her eyes darted down toward her lap. “Yeah... a pretty long time.” Heat burned the tops of her ears and her mouth twitched with anxious energy. “Years, actually.”

Lena’s thumb caressed the side of Stef’s knee, her inquiring eyes seeking out her gaze. “Why are we only just doing it now?”

Stef shrugged. “I mean, it’s not really the kind of thing you can do with kids in the house when you’re trying to get in a quickie between piano lessons, and karate, and homework.”

“Sure,” Lena agreed, her eyebrows drawing together. “But there were opportunities. Date nights, sleepovers, a few getaways without the kids... If it was something you wanted to try, why didn’t you ever ask?”

Stef watched Lena’s thumb slide back and forth against her own pale skin while searching for honesty amidst the excuses she’d always given herself. Taking Lena’s hand from her leg and holding it in her own, she looked back up at her wife with tenderness and vulnerability.

“You know that I’ve struggled with shame about sex and about my sexuality for a long time.” Lena nodded but didn’t interrupt. “And the last couple of years, y’know, I’ve finally been able to work through a lot of those feelings, learning to accept myself and truly embrace who I am for the first time.” Lena smiled and squeezed her hand. “This was something I always felt particularly ashamed of. It made me feel wrong to desire you like that. Dirty— but, not in the fun way.” She gave a half-hearted laugh and swiped her hand through her hair. “But now, looking back, it feels... ridiculous that I let some imagined perception of us, of... of me, dictate our love life and I just...” she paused, searching Lena’s eyes and exhaling a sigh while the tension softened out of her face. “How could I ever feel ashamed of loving and wanting you when it comes more naturally to me than breathing?”

A soft smile tugged at Lena’s mouth, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“Your charm.”

Stef’s mouth twisted into a self-conscious smile as she turned her chin against one shoulder. Lena drew her fingers down her temple to cup her cheek, leaning forward to kiss her with such sweetness Stef felt it ache in her chest.

“I’m glad you finally said something,” she said after pulling back, her hand still on Stef’s cheek. “You know you never have to feel ashamed of anything when you’re with me.”

“I know, love.” She turned her head and kissed Lena’s palm. “With you is where I’ve always felt safest.”

Taking Lena’s hand, she pulled her toward the pillows. They settled together, back under the covers with Stef’s arms wrapped around Lena’s shoulders and Lena’s head nestled beneath Stef’s chin. They both sighed and let the quiet blossom in the hazy sunlight.

“Sometimes it feels like we’re getting a second chance at the honeymoon phase we kind of missed out on, now that we don’t have kids in the house.”

Lena hummed her agreement. “Except it’s better because we know each other so well.”

“Yeah.” A quiet beat passed before Stef spoke again. “I’m glad we’re getting it now.”

“Me too,” Lena said, then laughed through her nose. “Though, I wouldn’t mind having my knees from fifteen years ago.”

Stef let out a bark of laughter and kissed the top of Lena’s head. “Yeah, me too.”

Lena heaved a wistful sigh. “We can’t have it all, I suppose.”

“Speak for yourself,” Stef said and Lena picked her head up, eyebrows arched high. “I’ve got it all, right here.” She winked as she squeezed Lena’s shoulders and grinned when she pursed her lips against an enamored smile.

“Charming.” Lena shook her head and caught her lips. She kissed her softly while they both grinned like fools, too drenched in the warmth of their enduring love to be burdened by the persistence of the rising sun.

#adamsfoster #adamsfosterfic #the fosters #stef adams foster #lena adams foster #otp: adamsfoster #written by lifesizehysteria #fanfiction

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beautifulbuckys · 5 years

Text

Bravo, baby

Request: “Can you do a youtuber reader x steve rogers where They do boyfriend does my make up? :))”

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Fluff? Loooots of fluff, some bad humor

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Youtuber!Reader

You heard your camera give a small beep, it's now or never.

"Hey, guys!" You waved at the camera propped on a stack of books in front of you. "It's Y/N! Today, I'm back with my boyfriend Steve!"

Steved waved at the camera with a bright smile. He was beaming. "Hey, everyone!" He cheered.

You grinned at him. "Alrighty, so here's what we're doing. I get it's 2014, but I wanted to do a 'boyfriend does my makeup' video! I figured it'd be fun, and I actually think Steve will be really good at this!"

Steve let out a chuckle and shook his head playfully. He watched you talk to the camera with such care. You had lots of fun doing these videos. Filming was one of your greatest joys, you always beamed before you did it. However, Steve's favourite part of your job was when you got ideas. You eyes would shine as bright as the stars, and your smile would reach your temples. You'd always bounce out of your seat to grab your small orange notebook and write the idea down. Steve called it your 'notion notebook'.

"Okay!" You said after you finished explaining what was going to be doing. "I bought a few more supplies because it was a coincidence that I was running out,"

You dumped out a bag of a few flashy eye shadow pallets, two beauty blenders and a new highlighter.

Steve immediately grabbed a beauty blender and unpackaged it, shoving it in his mouth. "What is this? A bright pink glamorized marsh mello?" Steve questioned. He knew it was a beauty blender, he's dated you long enough to know. It was all in good fun.

"Steve!" you gasped, playfully slapping on his shoulder.

Steve started sticking his tongue out. "This thing is taking all the moisture out of my mouth!" He announced for you to hear.

You laughed, the sound bouncing off the fairy-light covered walls. Your laugh was always music to Steve's ears, especially you belly laugh. It's the way he could tell that you were having a good time, that you're enjoying yourself.

"Then spit it out, genius!"

Steve spit out the beauty blender.

"I wonder if he's going to stick my bronzer down his throat," You spurt with amusement, making eye contact to the camera.

He looked at you, with a curious glint in his eyes. That comment made him want to prove you wrong.

"Oh no," You mumbled to the camera, "He has his game face on,"

"If I'm going to do it, I'm going to be the best at it!" Steve declared, sounding confident and ready-to-go.

"You heard it here first folks! Steve Rogers is going to be a makeup artist overnight,"

"Okay, where do I start?" Steve questioned, antsy to do something so fun. You never really let him touch your makeup, in the container or on your face. He understood, it took time. Makeup was an art he just didn't understand, so he respected your request. He also understood how expensive makeup was. Whenever you were with Okoye and Nakia, you'd tell them how pricy makeup is. They wore very little, and whenever they saw you, they'd compliment yours. So you always told them about where you shopped. You'd also occasionally bring them gifts from Ulta and Sephora, telling them it was a treat for being so awesome.

"Breaking news, Steve Rogers, self-proclaimed makeup artist, doesn't actually know how to do makeup!"

He laughed, awaiting the real answer. He knew you'd actually tell him, but your viewers needed something to laugh at. You clarified, telling Steve he had freedom. You were no makeup guru, you didn't have a specific routine to follow. He could do whatever he wanted. He was going to have a blast.

Steve's hands almost immediately went to your foundation. He looked up at you for approval, and all you did was nod. He liked that you gave him freedom, he really loved it actually. However, he was still disoriented and overwhelmed. That would not falter his confidence, though.

"That's concealer, baby," You informed him, hoping to settle any confusion.

He playfully scoffed. "I knew that! It says concealer on the bottle!"

"Oh I'm sorry," You retorted with a wide grin on your face. "Who knew, maybe being 101 affected your eyesight a little. I was being a good girlfriend!"

"Ouch, that's cold," Steve growled with playfulness. He'd fake being grumpy sometimes, all for fun. Especially when you'd make fun of his age. He didn't mind, it was just for a joke and he understood the comedy of his age. Not everyone looked thirty even though they lived through the Great Depression. He didn't understand why it was funny at first. But you were the one to sit him down and remind him that he was 99, yet he looked like some 29-year-old male fitness model. Then he got the memo, it was hilarious because it was odd and unnatural.

You giggled as Steve squirted your foundation onto the beauty blender. The colour popped from the aqua applier. He made sure he didn't use the one that was previously in his mouth, that's just disgusting.

He reached up to your face with the bright applier, dabbing it twice on both cheeks and your forehead. Then, he slowly blended it together, going back and applying some extra to your nose. He dabbed and rubbed your face, constantly looking to see how it looked. Once he was satisfied, he reached for a small, brownish looking powder.

"This is," He paused, examining it, "contour?"

You nodded, surprised. "You'd be correct!"

"For an old man, I'm pretty good at guessing what makeup is what," Steve chuckled.

"Oh, so when I call you an old man I'm mean! But when you call yourself an old man you're the funniest man alive,"

Steve laughed.

"Looks like you're dating the funniest man alive!"

For the next fifteen minutes, this is all that happened. Steve would find some makeup, guess what it was, banter with you, and then apply it. He couldn't help but think how entertaining it would be to your wonderful viewers. Not only would the banter be laughable, but his awful attempt at eyeliner would be amusing.

Just like that, Steve was finished. You closed your eyes for Steve to see the damage. Your foundation was well blended, matching your complexion beautifully. The contour he applied made your cheekbones look amazing. He did your eyeshadow with close precision. You had deep blue fading into violet, which faded into a beautiful pink. It looked like a sunset straight out of a nature documentary. Steve also did your lipstick and eyeliner, which was entertaining for you. It was so hard to not laugh the entire time.

Your lipstick matched your eyeshadow. It was a pinkish-purple colour, not quite either. He lined it with a blue eyeliner you had, so it pulled the look together, while still being unique. The weakest point of your look. It was messy and all over the place, but it makes the look original and hard to copy. You loved the imperfection, Steve resented it.

"I'm deciding not to do mascara, for both your safety but also mine," Steve stated, putting down the eyeliner pen he had in his hand.

"How would you be harmed if you did my mascara?" You questioned, curious for his answer.

"I stab your eye, you stab me," He replied, looking directly into the camera like he was on The Office. Goddamn him and the millennial humour that he learned two weeks ago. You haven't heard the end of Office references since he binged the entire show with Natasha and Sharon. He sometimes drops them without even realizing, and this was an example.

You nod your head with a smirk.

"Yeah, seems about right. Good call, Stevie," You reply.

"Alright guys, I'm no artist, but please tell me how I did in the comments. I'll read them and reply to them with my obvious appreciation of any constructive criticism, this obviously isn't my field."

"I think you did pretty good, baby. You're an artist, I think it shows," You objected.

Steve blushed at you. Sure, he was an artist, but he was used to big canvasses and paintbrushes. You only have your face and tiny brushes for your colourful powers and liquids you apply to your face liquid.

"Alright guys, I have one more thing I want to do before I end this video!"

"Oh God, I think she's gonna kill me! It was nice knowing you all!" Steve joked.

"Steve!" You blurted.

"Sorry baby, as you were saying?"

Y/N took your blue eyeliner pen in your hand. You took the cap off with a pop and looked at Steve. You saw the fear deep in his ocean coloured eyes.

"You're going to do my eyeliner?" Steve asked with worry, he bet you could do it better than him, but he was also scared because that thing is pointy.

You shook your head and turned his face to see his cheek. You put your hand underneath his jaw to stabilize and started writing on Steve's cheek. He tried to stay as still as possible. You let him do your entire face, the least he could do is deal with a blue message on his cheek. You wrote for a few minutes, occasionally messing up and wiping it off. It was either a spelling mistake, or you didn't like how the handwriting looked. He was almost certain it was because of the handwriting.

You tapped on his cheek to show you were done and looked at him with a wide smile plastered on your face. He tried to see what the message was in your camera's viewfinder, but it was too small.

"Want a mirror, babe?"

"Yes, please!"

You handed him a small mirror that you used to apply your makeup in the room you two shared. He placed it on the desk in front of you and bent down, leaning into the mirror. He read the message written on his cheek, trying not to smudge it.

You're going to be a Daddy!

Tears dripped down Steve's cheeks and shock flooded over him. He looked at you, and you nodded. You were also crying, smiling as you were doing so.

"Y/N...are you serious?" He asked, joy obvious in his question. He could barely contain his excitement.

"Completely," You responded, hugging him.

Once he escaped your warm, comfortable hug, he looked into the camera again. He shared his thoughts, raving about how excited he was to have a baby with his girl.

"When did you find out?!" Steve had so many questions. Some of them were not to be asked on camera. He thought that your viewers might want to track with you, so he thought that would be a good question to ask on camera. Heck, it's probably the only question he would ask on camera. You two needed your privacy from the internet. Luckily, your viewers understood.

"A month ago," You squealed. "This is how I planned on telling you,"

He grabbed your face, placing a huge kiss on your lips. He would keep going, but there was a gremlin in the back of his head reminding him that there was a camera. It was a bonus that the camera was recording.

"Oh my God, I'm so happy!" Steve shouted.

You looked at the camera, with the biggest, goofiest smile. "You guys can't feel it, but he's literally shaking in his stool. He is a phone on vibration mode,"

"That's an odd metaphor," Steve expressed.

"Leave me alone, I'm pregnant," You laugh.

Steve looked at you, his eyes hinting he was ready for this video to be over. You got the signal. Turning back to the camera, you waved. "Alright, that wraps up this weeks video! Leave a comment below about how you think Steve did! Please like and subscribe down below, it's much appreciated and makes me strive to produce more content. Alrighty, that's all! Peace out, babes!"

"Bravo babe, now tell me about this baby,"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@musiclover1263

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crowdedimagines · 5 years

Text

Buzz - David Dobrik

word count: 1964 summary// imagine that David Dm’s Y/n (david’s celeb crush) like he DMed Lana Del Ray during the Allure interview an: italics are the messages exchanged between Y/n and David back and forth.

New direct message from David Dobrik!

The notification caught you off guard. The name held a certain familiarity so I tapped on the notification.

Hey super busy today, but would love to maybe grab a drink this weekend If not that’s fine No no let’s do it But again totally up to you

Attached with the messages was a selfie of presumably on the set of what looks like an interview. I can’t help but smile before responding.

Love to. When and where?

I turn off my phone and continue on with my day. I have a few more meetings to discuss my filming schedule. On my way home I finally get to look up David to figure out where I know the name from.

I scroll through his channel filled with videos. One catches my eye that has John Stamos featured. John and I worked together on set of Grandfathered with him and Josh Peck. I was a supporting role, this really was before my career took off. I left the show and shortly after the show was canceled anyway.

I kept in contact with John pretty well, he sort of became a step in father figure in Los Angeles. I’m sure that he’s mentioned David at some point.

I go back on Instagram to see that David responded a while ago.

Holy shit! I never thought that you would actually respond to this. Do you actually want to meet up??????

I think for a few seconds and decide to call John. It rings twice before his welcome voice picks up.

“Hey, I have a random question.” I laugh.

“Oh boy, what is it?”

I can practically see him roll his eyes as he says it.

“Who’s David Dobrik?” I laugh while asking it.

“He’s a great kid. Funny, kinda crazy. Why?”

“He sent me a message earlier and wants to meet up.” I open the door to my home with one hand while the other presses the phone to my face. “He isn’t going to like murder me or anything?”

“No, you’re fine with animals right?” He laughs.

“You’re joking.”

“Eh, kinda.”

“Oh, god.” I kick off my heels and take a seat at my counter.

“No no, he really is a good kid. He has a healthy obsession with you, just to let you know.” John explains.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty well known online too. He has quite the following on social media. He watches like all of your stuff, he’s been a fan for a while.”

“Awe, that’s kinda sweet.” I smile.

“Yeah, he’s a good kid. If he’s crap let me know, I’ll teach him a lesson.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

We both hang up the phone and I go back to Instagram.

I’m definitely down. Tonight too soon? Kinda want to get out of my house.

Coming home to an empty house really gets to me sometimes. I was so happy once I made it ‘big’ to buy a home but now I wish I had a roommate. Or at least a dog. My family isn’t too close so that makes things lonely sometimes here.

Never too soon for you;) Can I pick you up?

Sure. [Address] What are we doing?

Dinner?

Sounds great! I’m starving

Do you care if I film? I don’t know if you know but, I have a youtube channel

Yeah that’s fine, John told me lol

John Stamos?

Yep

Uh oh, haha he didn’t say anything bad about me did he?

Only that you’re obsessed with me

I’m going to kill him.

Haha it’s cute. Six o clock?

See you then

I decide to change into something a little more comfortable than my outfit from meetings today. I settle on a very simple outfit that looks cute. I actually take off a bit of makeup that I was wearing earlier.

Sometimes heavy makeup can too much for first meeting someone. I settle on curling my lashes and a swipe of mascara. Before I know it, it’s six and my doorbell goes off signaling that someone is here.

I walk over and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I swing the door open to reveal David, smiling like an adorable idiot.

“Hi!” I grin.

“Oh my god, hi! Can I give you a hug?” He laughs.

“Of course.” I open my arms to welcome into a hug. He holds me tightly in a comforting way. We both pull away after a few seconds.

“Let me just grab my purse.” I turn back and walk back in the house, “You can come in.”

I shout the last part over my shoulder as I run back upstairs to my room to grab my bag. I come back downstairs and notice David is standing in the hallway looking at the pictures on my wall.

“Whatcha looking at?” I tease, walking over.

“Oh, just you.” He blushes, “Your house is amazing by the way.”

“Thank you.”

We both leave and get into David’s Tesla which is impressive. Kind of make me want one. We make small talk as he pulls out of my driveway. He explains how he was in an interview when they asked him to message his celebrity crush.

“So what do you want?” He asks, glancing over at me taking his eyes off the road every few seconds.

“I don’t care.” I shrug, trying to be polite.

“That’s such a lie.” He calls me out with a laugh.

“Okay, I kind of care!” I admit with a chuckle, “What about getting something to go and then I know this spot where we can go. I made the plans, now you have to pick the food.”

“Fine, I think I know a good pizza place not too far from here.” He makes a turn and we head in towards the city. At some point David puts his camera on the dash.

“Do you guys see who I’m with right now?” He yells at the camera freaking out a little bit making me laugh, “You guys, I messaged her today randomly and now we’re on a date!”

He smiles and looks like a kid on Christmas.

“Who said this was a date?” I tease, his face pales for a second. I reach out to his shoulder, “I’m totally kidding.”

“Oh my god, my heart just stopped for a second.” He huffs out a breath of air. “You just scared me so bad.”

“Okay now Mr. David Dobrik, you seem to know an awful lot about me and I don’t know much about you.” I turn in my seat slightly to face him. The camera is long forgotten for both of us. “What’s your favorite color?”

“That’s your big question?” He smirks, glancing over to me.

“Do you know what mine is?” I smirk right back, trying to prove my point that he knowns significantly more about me than I do about him.

“Yeah, its Y/fc.” He rolls his eyes, “My favorite color is red.”

“How long have you been making youtube videos?”

“Um a few years now, I started right around when I moved out to L.A. I started after vine died.”

We continue to talk until we make it to the pizza place was talking about. We both order a slice of pizza and David pays which I try to object to.

“Okay, now where to?” He asks after putting our boxes in the backseat.

I give him the general directions until we make it to a lookout spot. It’s beautiful here, I come here to think a lot. I haven’t really brought anyone here with me before.

“Wow, it’s beautiful here.” He admires, putting the car in park.

The sun is setting perfectly over the San Fernando Valley.

“C’mon.” I take off my seatbelt and reach behind his seat to grab the pizza. I open the door while balancing the pizza with one hand. I hop up on the hood of David’s car, setting his box next to me. David takes a few seconds to come out, but joins me on the car.

“Oh my god, this is bigger than my head.” I laugh holding up my piece of pizza.

We talk for a long time about everything we can think of. The pizza is gone with any hint of orange in the sky. It’s gotten colder as the sun disappeared, I lean in closer to David. He scoots closer too.

“This has been really nice.” I whisper, it’s as if I spoke too loudly it would ruin the bubble we’re in.

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” He turns to look at me with a grin.

We both lean back and look up at the stars, still shoulder to shoulder. I can’t fight the shiver that runs through my spine.

“Cold?” He asks, turning his head to face me.

“Mhm, just a little bit.” I turn to look at him too, “But I don’t want to go yet.”

“Good.” He smirks, leaning even closer now. “Wait, I think I have something!”

He quickly hops off the car and runs around to the trunk. I sit up a little wondering what could have been worth ruining our little moment. He comes back with a black sweatshirt and a proud smile.

“You can wear this!” He hands it to me, I sit up and hold it out to look at it.

“Is this your merch?” I ask with a laugh. The sweatshirt is plastered with his name.

“Yeah, it’s the only thing I have with me.”

I slip the sweatshirt on and lean back into David’s side. We’re closer now that we were before. I can’t tell if the sweatshirt is warming me up or the close contact is.

“Only the first date and you’re already trying to give me your name.” I tease.

“Hey!” He reaches out and starts mercilessly tickling me. I can’t hold back my laughter and he’s laughing too.

“Okay okay!” I push him off, struggling to regain my breath. I push him back down so we can snuggle once again, his arm wrapped around my neck to pull me close.

We stay that way for a while, only talking a little. The silence is welcomed, until all too soon it’s late. We both reluctantly untangle our limbs before getting back in the Tesla. David drive slower than he did earlier to drop me off now. It doesn’t take long and he’s already walking me to my door.

“I had a really good time.” I bite my bottom lip in a smile.

“Me too. This was unreal.” He shakes his head.

“Well have a good night.” I take a step into my house.

“You too.” David grins taking a few steps backwards.

I decide to take a leap of faith and rely on my courage to close the gap and connect our lips. My hands are in his hair and his hands take a few seconds to find my waist. Once the do, he pulls me closer with a tight grip. I smile against his lips, absolutely loving the feeling.

“Goodnight.” I whisper, hands still on his face.

“Goodnight.” He says, staring in my eyes. He brushes away a loose strand of hair that escaped during our slight makeout.

I have to push myself away from David to finally let him go. I quickly shut the door behind me and immediately lean up against it. I can still feel the buzz on my lips, I haven’t felt that since I was a kid.

All of this over one little DM...

there is a part 2

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 5

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 5,429 for this chapter (21,158 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan has made a lot of very bad decisions with alcohol in his system. Some of them he can laugh about now, like the time he sprained his ankle trying to sing Toxic whilst stood on a table and ended up toppling onto the floor of an Atlanta bar when he'd tried to shimmy. He hasn't been allowed back there since.

"To be fair," Patrick says when Dan voices this memory fondly, "you would have done that sober."

"You know, I probably would," says Dan. He finishes his glass of wine and eyes the hotel room desk thoughtfully. "D'you think -"

"No," says Patrick.

"Oh, go on, let him," Jaime laughs. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I'm not even dignifying that with an answer."

They don't often drink together, because usually they're working, and nothing kills a buzz faster than a 4am wakeup call to get to hair and makeup on time. Plus, Dan doesn't drink as much as he used to. He's nearing thirty, closeted, and clinically depressed, he doesn't need to add alcohol to that fun mix.

But it's Thursday night, they've finished their last interview in London until late next week, and Jaime had pulled a couple of bottles out of her room to celebrate 'nobody falling off a stage yet this year'. So, they're drinking.

They've ended up in Dan's room because he remembered to bring his Switch and he doesn't have dirty pants lying around. Patrick is sprawled across the foot of Dan's bed and Jaime, after a long process of attempting to get comfortable on the armchair, has slid to the floor with Dan. The wine is good and strong and Dan might be a little buzzed.

Dan's phone buzzes with a text from Phil. He can't stop the easy smile from breaking across his face, but Patrick and Jaime are too busy bickering about whether or not Dan breaking his neck would be worth a repeat performance to notice.

Still on for tomorrow? :)

ya!, Dan sends before he can regret showing enthusiasm.

He doesn't need to worry too much, because Phil responds with a Yay!! and that's objectively less cool.

Some of the bad decisions Dan has made when he's drunk are ones that he can't actually laugh about, either because they're horrifically embarrassing - like climbing into bed with his friend's parents - or because they hurt too much to be funny - like ending up with a black eye after he mouthed off to a skinhead at Reading Festival - or because they're, well. The bad decision he's about to make again.

you should come hang out at the hotel, Dan texts Phil, because tipsy Dan is even hornier than regular Dan.

You want me to come over?

Phil is walking that line again, waiting for Dan to be upfront so he doesn't have to be.

The thing is, Dan could say yes, kick his costars out of his room, and make another bad decision in a long line of them, but. He really likes Phil. This isn't the same thing as hitting up a crew member on the downlow.

He still wants to see Phil, though. So he says, yeah me n patrick n jaime are drinking and you should join usssss, makes it clear this isn't some kind of booty call.

Okay! I'd love to meet your friends. What hotel are you at?

Another glass and a half of wine and four rounds of Mario Kart later, Dan is vaguely surprised by a knock at his room's door.

"We aren't being that loud, are we?" Jaime asks, her drawl almost incomprehensible now that she's two sheets to the wind. Patrick shrugs, and then Dan remembers.

"Oh!" he says, wobbling to his feet. "I asked Phil to come hang out with us."

"Who?"

"Dog man!" Jaime exclaims. Dan is laughing as he opens the door, and Jaime repeats herself even louder. "Dog man! Hello!"

"Hi," says Phil, slow and amused.

He looks good. Dan is wondering if he ever doesn't, honestly, but Phil had clearly put some effort in tonight. He's wearing a bright, patterned button-down that's open at the throat, and he's close enough that Dan can smell his cologne.

"You're dog man," Dan tells him unnecessarily. "Come in, we've got wine."

"Oh, I wasn't sure what we were drinking." Phil's body brushes against Dan's in the narrow entryway as he accepts Dan's invitation. Dan cannot, for the life of him, tell if it is intentional or not. "I brought vodka. It's birthday cake flavoured? I have no idea if it's any good, it just looked fun."

"Nice," says Patrick. His head and shoulders are in danger of falling off the foot of Dan's bed as he plays Mario Kart upside down.

"This is Jaime and Patrick," says Dan. Remembering how quickly Phil had decided to call him by a nickname, he adds, "Just Patrick, don't call him Pat or he'll kick you."

"Noted," says Phil. He puts the bottle down on the desk and smiles. "Nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you," Jaime echoes in a terrible English accent. It doesn't even come in the same realm as Phil's dialect. She giggles to herself and pats the piece of carpet beside her. "Phil, right? Come sit with me! Show me pictures of your dog!"

Phil laughs and does as he's told, folding his long limbs up to lean against the dresser with Jaime.

While Phil gets his gallery open and Patrick races against the computer, Dan decides to be a good host and pour them all new drinks. He doesn't know if the flavoured vodka will mix well with his Coke at all, but. That's what he's got, so that's what his friends are getting. He takes little sips to test as he mixes, making sure it's alcoholic enough and isn't too awful.

He looks over at the sound of Jaime's delighted laughter and feels his lips curve upwards. Jaime's deep skin, dark clothes, and bubblegum pink hair that might or might not be a wig are all such a contrast to Phil that seeing them together is almost comical, but they look sweet.

Dan can't help but snap a picture, then another of Patrick, who is still upside down, then a final shot of his concoctions. He adds all three to his Instagram story and tags his friends in them, hoping sober Dan won't hate him too much for it.

"Here you go," Dan says once he's done fucking around on his phone. He holds out two disposable hotel cups to Phil and Jaime, who both beam up at him.

"Thanks," says Jaime.

The smile on Phil's face is enough to make Dan confident that this was a good idea. "Thanks, Dan."

Patrick and Jaime make dramatic 'oooh' noises, like kids when someone gets called to the headteacher's office. Phil looks between them with a bemused sort of expression, and Dan is just trying to keep his blush to a minimum as he sips his drink.

"You gonna let that slide, Daniel?" Patrick asks, emphasising Dan's full name with a bad English accent of his own. Dan imagines that's how Patrick thinks he sounds every time he corrects anyone at work who calls him Dan.

"Yeah," Dan mumbles into his cup. "S'fine."

With a giggle, Jaime leans closer to Phil and stage-whispers, "He doesn't let anyone call him that."

"I let some people," Dan defends himself, although it's true that he hasn't introduced himself as Dan since uni. He's certainly never been okay with people he works with deciding to call him Dan, because it's a forced familiarity he doesn't like.

"Really?" Phil asks. He's got this wary look on his face, like he's not sure if he's the butt of the joke here or not. "I didn't know that. Does it bother you?"

"Not when you say it," Dan says, a little too quickly and too honestly.

Jaime giggles, but Dan is too busy staring at his drink and wondering if it's technically deep enough to drown in to look at her. He doesn't want to look at Phil, either, doesn't want to see whatever's happening behind those big eyes.

"I mean, it makes sense," Jaime says, still in that carrying whisper. "Seeing as Daniel thinks you're cute and all."

"Jaime!" Dan practically gasps. He loses the fight to his blush, feeling his face burn with it.

He turns a glare on her that probably isn't very effective with his lobster cheeks, and she blinks at him for a moment before she grins.

"Oh, sorry," she says. "Was that a secret?"

Patrick laughs like it's a joke, and Jaime joins him, before they start chatting about the cake vodka like Dan isn't standing in the middle of his hotel room, terrified.

It's not like Dan has exactly been subtle - he's sure that Phil knows how he feels. But that's not something he wants to have brought up in the way straight people joke about being attracted to each other, because it's not a joke.

Or... maybe they know that. Maybe his coworkers have caught on to something Dan has tried so hard to keep at the very corners of his mind. Maybe they aren't making the 'haha imagine if you actually thought a guy was cute' joke, but are rather just teasing him for his crush the same way he does to them when they mention a barista is cute or something.

He's not really sure which is worse, to be honest. Does he want them to be assuming he's straight or assuming he's not? He doesn't even know.

What does he want Phil to think?

At the thought, Dan's eyes drift to Phil. Naturally, like they belong there, like he shouldn't be looking anywhere else. His breath hitches in his chest when he sees that Phil was already looking back at him.

There's a moment of sheepishness, where they have to acknowledge that they've been caught staring at each other, but then... Phil smiles.

It's a smile Dan has seen before, on the park bench and on his FaceTime screen and in Phil's living room, and Dan thinks he could look at it forever.

Dan is the first one to break their eye contact, grinning into his hand like Phil won't notice.

"Budge up," Dan tells Patrick, louder than necessary. "I think we should all race. Loser has to take a shot."

"Oh no," Phil says. It occurs to Dan that Phil is still more or less sober, since he hasn't been drinking all evening like they've been. He wonders what Phil is like when he's drunk. "Do you have enough controllers?"

"Yeah, let me just," says Dan.

His friends all get comfortable on the king bed while Dan searches his luggage for his extra joy-cons. He keeps the red and blue ones with him when he travels just in case, but he generally only uses the black ones. They're much more his aesthetic.

Patrick is still lounging like a lord being hand-fed grapes, but Phil and Jaime have both settled against the headboard like normal human beings. There's enough space between them for Dan to sit, and he feels a warmth spread through him that has nothing to do with alcohol or embarrassment. He's just happy that his friends left room for him, are thinking about him.

It's actually kind of pathetic that these three people are the best friends Dan has. After all, two of them are being paid to be friendly with him and he only just met Phil.

Dan gives himself a little shake to physically get rid of the self-deprecating thoughts, because that's never a good road to go down when he's drinking. He should just enjoy having a good time with people he likes.

And he does. He sits close enough to Phil that their shoulders brush and pokes at Patrick with his foot to distract him and lets Jaime's trill of a laugh loosen the knot in his chest until he forgets it's there. He's having fun, honestly, in a way he hasn't let himself in a long time.

Phil loses the first two games and takes the punishment shots with grace, but then he ups the ante.

"Next one to lose has to finish it in one," he declares. There's a little less than three shot's worth in the bottle, and Dan exchanges amused looks with Jaime and Patrick over the idea of Phil chugging that.

Turns out, Phil is either extremely lucky or a fucking grifter. He edges Dan out of first place in the last few seconds of the race and cheers loud enough that Dan is sure they're going to get complaints from neighbouring rooms. Patrick, who ended up in seventh thanks to a well-timed red shell, insists that Phil must have cheated somehow. Still, he takes the vodka from a gloating Phil and finishes it off to the dulcet tones of the three of them chanting, "Chug! Chug!"

Patrick, understandably, excuses himself to go to sleep not long after the alcohol hits his system. He leaves his sandals on Dan's floor and heads down the hall barefoot.

"Why am I responsible for these now?" Dan asks the room at large, idly clearing up the mess they'd left. He doesn't want to wake up in the morning with a cake-flavoured hangover and a bunch of tiny plastic cups laying about.

"You're the team mom, Dan," Jaime coos, poking at his cheek. She's small enough that she has to lean up on her tiptoes to do so.

"Daniel," Dan corrects her automatically.

With a triumphant sort of look over her shoulder, Jaime pats Dan's face with her tiny palm. Dan feels himself blushing again now that he realises what she's teasing him for.

"You're so cute," she says, pinching at his soft cheek before she settles back down on flat feet with a grin. "I'm gonna head out, too. It was really nice to meet you, Phil! You should come back next week! And bring your dog!"

"I'll see what I can do," says Phil. His voice has gone deeper than usual with the alcohol, and he's propped up on his elbows with his long legs spread out over Dan's bed. He smirks, but if that's at Jaime's request or at the way Dan's mouth has obviously gone dry, Dan can't tell.

He looks at Jaime to see if she's still laughing at him, but Jaime is too busy raking her own eyes down Phil's body. She notices Dan staring and winks at him.

"See you tomorrow," she says, tone laden with implications that Dan isn't sober enough to parse.

She takes Patrick's sandals with her as a joke, tells them to let him think he lost them, and Dan's throat feels thick with some kind of emotion when the door clicks behind her and he's alone with Phil.

"You wanna keep playing?"

Phil is either completely oblivious to the way Dan is aching for him, or he knows and is waiting for Dan to make the first move.

Well, Dan is at least cognizant enough to remember all the reasons why making that move would be a terrible idea. He really ought to tell Phil he's tired and that he should probably head home to Thor, but. He likes the way he feels when he's with Phil. And until one of them decides to voice the question of whatever's happening here, he'll just enjoy it.

"Yeah, if you're ready to get your ass kicked," says Dan. He smirks right back at Phil and sits a respectable distance away on the other side of the bed.

"Big words for a man who got second place last round," says Phil, voice lilting on some of his vowels.

"I don't know how you did that," Dan says, pointing a slightly wobbly finger in Phil's face. Phil acts like he's going to bite at it, and Dan pulls back reflexively. "But I know it was a fucking fluke, okay?"

"It wasn't a fucking fluke. I'll totally, like, annihilate you, Howell."

Hearing Phil swear is still unnervingly sexy, but his trash talk is bad enough that it makes Dan laugh, distracts him from the taut atmosphere.

Dan meets Phil's eyes, which are twinkling in the low light of the television screen and single bedside lamp. "You're on."

When Dan stirs from his weirdly restless dreams, he's got such a pounding headache that he groans dramatically, even though nobody is around to hear him. Every movement is making nausea swell, but he needs to stretch out his sore limbs. He must have slept funny or something.

He starfishes out and jolts fully awake with a stronger wave of nausea when his right hand hits something solid.

Dan yelps, his eyes flying open, and an answering groan from the other side of the bed has him panicking until he recognises the shape of the shoulders and the pattern of the shirt.

"Phil?" he whispers, trying to calm himself down.

"What?"

Phil's sleep-husky voice has heat curling in Dan's stomach that threatens to spread. Luckily, he feels like shit enough for it not to take over his body.

He reaches out again, on purpose this time, and pokes between Phil's shoulder blades. "Uh. Why are you here?"

"Got drunk," Phil grunts. "Fell 'sleep. Go away."

"This is my bed," says Dan.

"Shhh."

"Why am I topless?" Dan asks, mostly to himself. He didn't black out or anything crazy, but the night is kind of blurry around the edges, especially once he and Phil were left alone.

Phil sighs. He rolls over and squints in the general direction of Dan's torso. "You took your shirt off because you said it was too hot."

That does sound like something Dan would do. Although, it also sounds like a tactic he might have used to make Phil distracted enough to lose at Mario Kart. He's kind of glad that he can't remember his thought process behind it.

"Oh," says Dan. "Uh. Hi."

"Hi," says Phil. He yawns and rubs at his eyes. "Glad I brought my contact case. Would have fucking sucked to crash in them."

Phil swearing in such a low, dry voice is almost enough to get Dan's blood flowing south, but then his headache throbs again and reminds it to stay where it is.

"So you can't even see me right now, can you?" Dan laughs, soft. "How bad are your eyes?"

"I can see kind of a light beige blur from here to here," Phil says, gesturing from Dan's face to his tummy. "I'm guessing that's you."

That gets a louder laugh out of Dan, and they both wince.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Don't know about you, Daniel," says Phil, "but I feel like death warmed over right now."

"You can call me Dan, y'know," says Dan. He feels himself blush a bit at the reminder of everything Jaime and Patrick had said in front of Phil. He's glad Phil can't really see him. "Think you know me well enough."

Phil cracks a smile at him and grunts, rubbing more vigorously at his eyes like that'll magically bring his sight back. "Ugh. Need a coffee."

"Coffeemaker's busted," Dan says apologetically. Phil makes a truly pathetic noise, rolling onto his back and putting an arm over his face like a fainting maiden. "Fuck, fine, I'll go get some from the lobby. You needy little shit."

"You're the best, Dan," Phil yawns. "Owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah."

The waves of nausea make Dan move slowly, but they're not so horrible that he thinks he'll actually throw up. He's had a lot of experience with binge drinking until he vomits, and he knows his body well enough to be certain that this and his headache will recede as soon as he eats.

Food is a good idea, actually. Dan picks up his phone to get something greasy delivered to them posthaste.

He's got more activity on Instagram than he expects to, but then he remembers that he'd stupidly posted stories about getting drunk in a hotel room and tagged three semi-famous people in them. He looks at the photos again and decides, well, they're not awful.

A few new unread texts as well, adding to the stack of literally dozens that he keeps meaning to look at, but luckily those are just from his costars.

From Jaime, he gets that was funnnn, and phol is NICE, and hope u used protection xoxoxoox, and yall are sooooo cute omg ur FACE when u look at him, and u dont have to tell me but how long hav yall been datign, and jkdjmmmlllllllll, and sry durjk.

From Patrick, he gets Have you seen my Birkenstocks?

Dan is a little too hungover to deal with a panic attack at this time of day, so he leaves them both on read and orders breakfast for him and Phil.

He looks over at Phil, who's still flat on his back and shielding his eyes. His chest is rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm now, and Dan thinks that he's probably fallen back asleep.

"Lazy oaf," Dan murmurs, fond.

The thing is, Phil looks really good right now. Not the same way he'd looked good last night, when Dan had needed to fight not to jump his bones, but good in a way that makes Dan want to snuggle up next to him. It's a terrifying thought, but Dan thinks he could get used to the sight of Phil, asleep and tangled in Dan's sheets.

His button-down and jeans don't look very comfortable, though. Dan picks his way through his suitcase as quietly as possible and leaves a t-shirt and sweats on the foot of the bed for Phil to put on whenever he wakes up. After a moment's hesitation, he adds clean socks and pants to the pile.

It's not a big deal, he tells himself as he tugs a long sleeved t-shirt over his own head and stuffs his feet into his shoes. He'd do the same for any of his friends. The fact that his heart picks up speed at just the idea of Phil wearing his clothes is totally irrelevant.

So he leaves Phil snoring in his bed to go get them both breakfast. It's a little scary, how he feels like he could do this every single day.

Whatever. He'll deal with that after coffee.

"Last night was fun, actually."

Dan blinks up from his phone at the first full sentence Phil has uttered since he was woken up a second time. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," says Phil. "Even if I do feel like shit, I still had fun. I like your friends."

They're both in loungewear - Dan's loungewear, which is a little tight around Phil's upper arms and hips, god - and their delivered breakfast is long gone. Phil had communicated mostly in grunts and gestures until he'd downed half his boiling coffee in one go. It was very caveman of him. Dan hates that he'd found it hot.

Now they're just scrolling on their own phones, leaned up against the headboard, and Dan can feel his resolve start to crumble.

He's still unsure about himself. It's not like he's totally comfortable with the label he's so scared is the one for him, and he still doesn't know what he's doing with the rest of his life, but. He's not as unsure about wanting Phil to be in his life.

"I like them too," Dan says, bringing his lukewarm coffee to his lips to try and mask his slight blush. "I - well, they're probably my best friends. Other than... you."

Dan half expects Phil to laugh awkwardly or get all uncomfortable, but Phil just smiles at him.

"Y'know, I think you're mine, too," he says. "Is that weird?"

"If that's weird, then at least we're both weird," says Dan. Warmth is spreading through his whole body at the confirmation that Phil thinks of him the way he thinks of Phil. "Like I know we haven't known each other for long, or whatever, but that doesn't really seem to matter."

The smile on Phil's pretty face widens to something so bright and genuine that Dan has to look away. "Yeah, exactly. Feels like we were supposed to meet."

Dan rolls his eyes, trying to cover up the way his heart stutters. "Oh no, you're one of those people who believes in destiny."

"Yep," Phil says cheerfully. "Better get used to it."

Honestly, Dan likes the idea of that. Getting used to Phil's ridiculousness is something he thinks he could happily do. Not for the first time, Dan wishes he never had to leave this city.

"It's a good thing you're funny," Dan says, affecting an air of reluctance. It's probably not as effective when he's smiling into his shirt sleeve.

"And cute, right?" Phil teases.

Somehow, Dan had completely blocked that part of the evening from his memory. He groans and covers his face as the moment comes flooding back. God, he's going to kill Jaime for that. He hears Phil laugh, and then Dan's hands are being pulled away from his face by a cool, loose grip on his wrists.

Phil doesn't let go of him right away, just keeps grinning as he holds Dan's wrists between them on the mattress.

"Jaime's a liar," Dan grumbles. His heart is going fucking crazy. "I didn't - I mean, I didn't say you were cute, okay, she's exaggerating."

"What did you say, then?"

"Well. She said Thor was cute and I thought she meant you. That's all."

Dan regrets how well he's allowed Phil to know him, because Phil laughs and slides his hands down to squeeze both of Dan's in response. His touch doesn't linger. Dan bites back noises of disappointment, but Phil is only picking his phone back up.

"Thor is pretty cute, too. I better check up on him."

"Oh, yeah," says Dan. He's grateful for the topic being changed, but he won't act like he didn't want Phil's hands on his for longer. "He's okay, right? I didn't mean to kidnap you."

"Sure you didn't. It's fine, he's at my brother's. I," says Phil, then he stops. If Dan didn't know any better, he'd say Phil's cheeks are turning pink.

"You?" Dan prompts.

Phil gives him a sheepish sort of grin, and - yes. There's colour above his sharp cheekbones that wasn't there when he was teasing Dan. "I dunno. I kind of... figured I'd be staying over, so I dropped him off on my way here."

Now, Dan doesn't have time to unpack all that. He's not stupid or humble; he already knows that Phil wouldn't exactly complain if Dan were to push things further than they are right now. The issue, of course, is that the more important Phil becomes to Dan, the bigger and more dangerous of a leap it would be to go ahead and push that boundary.

He's leaving for a few days early tomorrow morning and putting some physical space between him and Phil, so. He'll overthink it all then, when he can lie on the floor by himself and let the waves of dread crash over him.

It really wouldn't be fair to their friendship to make a snap decision, and it wouldn't be fair to Phil to lie facedown on the hotel room floor while he's still here.

"Really," Dan says flatly, trying so hard not to tip the conversation into anything serious. Today isn't the day for that. "You brought your contact case and left Thor at Martyn's, but couldn't be bothered to bring a change of clothes? Your story is full of holes, Lester."

Phil laughs, a surprised sort of giggle that Dan wishes he could listen to on a loop.

"You caught me," says Phil. His voice is dry, but his eyes twinkle as he turns his attention back to his phone. "My end goal was stealing your trackies."

That might actually be true. Dan isn't opposed.

"You can," he says with a little shrug, like his heart isn't going wild at the thought. "They're a bit short on me, anyway."

"We're the same height, Dan."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day, Phil."

Another giggle. Phil's tongue pokes out between his teeth this time, and Dan feels the weirdest sense of pride. "Can I keep the shirt, too?"

"The shirt is a favourite, so you'd have to replace it," Dan says. "But if you're that desperate, sure."

"Nice," says Phil. "How much could it be to replace? Fifteen quid?"

Dan blinks and then honks a laugh. "Yeah, no, that's a Yeezy tee."

"Gesundheit," Phil says kindly.

"You might want to give that one back to me before you go," says Dan. "Because you're off by about a hundred dollars."

Phil's eyes widen comically and he looks down at himself.

"Dan. This is a t-shirt."

"It's a Yeezy t-shirt," Dan corrects him.

"Yeah, you can keep it." Phil sounds wary, like he's got a bomb strapped to his chest. "Have you got anything in the fifteen pound range so I don't feel horrible if I get coffee on it?"

"No," says Dan. Take it off if it bothers you so much, he wants to say, but he bites it back.

"Are these hundred-dollar trackies?"

"No, those are from H&M."

"Alright," Phil says with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I'll take them off your hands, then."

"If you insist," Dan laughs. "How's Thor doing?"

The way Phil's whole face lights up at the question makes Dan's brain feel like mush. "He's good! Martyn sent me some pictures, you wanna see?"

"Obviously I want to see," says Dan. He scoots closer to Phil, leaning far enough into his space that he can smell the remainder of Phil's cologne still clinging to his neck. Dan holds back a shiver.

For a little while they stay like that, looking through the photos and videos of Thor that Phil's brother sent him and then moving on to photos and videos of Thor that are already saved to Phil's phone. Dan has no complaints - except, maybe, that the dog isn't here and in his lap right now.

It's deceptively easy to picture. Thor, curled up between them as they drink coffee and scroll through their respective feeds in comfortable silence, showing each other funny things every so often. Scratching behind Thor's ears and smiling over at Phil, unguarded. Happy.

This is going to make Dan crazy if he isn't careful. The domestic fantasies are somehow so much worse than the filthy ones.

"Do you want to do anything today?" Dan asks once Phil has reached puppy pictures and Dan is in very real danger of ugly crying over how tiny the corgi was. "I know we had plans, but I've still got a pretty massive headache."

"Oh, that's okay," says Phil. "I can head home whenever."

"No," Dan says, too quickly. "No, you - you can stay. I just mean I don't feel like, y'know, going anywhere. Let's just watch some movies and veg the fuck out."

"Alright," says Phil. His smile is slow and his voice is deep and his eyes are three different colours and goddamn, Dan is so fucked.

More than anything else that's happened with Phil since they met, this day is the thing making Dan's head spin. It isn't anything to write home about, all in all, since they really do just keep ordering food and watch made-for-tv movies until Phil has to leave, but.

Maybe it's having Phil wrapped up in the blankets of his temporary home, making half of Dan's bed smell like him. Maybe it's the way Phil keeps touching him so casually, a hand on his knee while they talk or rapid taps against his arm when Phil correctly predicts a plot twist. Maybe it's just Dan's internal walls starting to come down, less and less guilt surrounding the craving he has for the sound of Phil's laughter the longer that he's exposed to it.

In any case, Dan has to unpack all of these feelings before he sees Phil again. It's not something he's looking forward to, but maybe having a deadline will help.

Like it ever has in the past. Fuck.

#phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #phan #words words words #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve

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kessielrg · 5 years

Text

[Mighty No 9] Pacemaker

Summary: In which Beck and Lei have a day out together, and ask some rather uncomfortable questions.

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,131

I know I've only met you once or twice, But maybe you can help me out. 'Cause I don't really want some good advice, Just some help to shed my doubts.

-Jaws, Magnet (Even Johansen)

. . .

Beck was not ready for this. He thought he was, and he even looked ready for it, but once he stepped up to the Ladan-Blaise front door, he knew that he was so, so not ready for this. With his hand shaking, Beck reached for the doorbell and gave it a ring. The wait for someone to answer the door seemed like years, although it only took a good three minutes. At first, the person who answered the door only opened it at the tiniest bit.

“Who is it?” the voice asked. Beck immediately recognized it as the voice of Leilani Blaise, 19 year old robotic genius and child convict, now currently under the supervision of SANDA Technologies and Doctor Soichiro Sanda himself.

“I-it's me, Beck.” the little robot said. “I'm here to pick up Leilani Blaise.”

Weighing her options a bit, Leilani stepped out into full view, allowing Beck to see what she was wearing in full; she had on a light blue tunic dress paired with dark washed capri pants. Her hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail, and wore no makeup- the lack of said makeup made her eyes look sunken in and her eyes almost lifeless.

“You look awful.” Beck told her without even considering his words.

“Been fighting a cold.” Leilani mused. “I've been enjoying a cocktail of NyQuil and sleeping pills for the past two weeks.”

“O-oh...” Beck stammered. “That... doesn't seem very… healthy.”

Leilani smirked. “It's not.” she even retorted. With a small chuckle, she started to head back inside the house. “Let me get my shoes. I'm pretty much ready when you are.”

“What about Ray?” Beck questioned, trying to still get a peak at the human as she decided on her footwear by the door.

“Sleeping.” Leilani insisted as she chose a pair of Grecian-style sandals. “Still trying to work on a new energy source that doesn't reject every xel replacement I give her. It's an uphill battle for both of us.”

Beck gave a small nod despite her not being able to see it. Once her shoes were properly on her feet, Leilani came out side- making sure that she locked the door behind her. Awkwardly, Beck gestured for her to go first for the limo waiting for them and the human didn't act twice on the idea.

“Where is Sanda taking me today?” Leilani mused as they left the Ladan-Blaise drivelane.

“No where.” Beck told her, trying to sound bold but only sounding nervous. “I thought it would a be a good idea if we just… spent the day together. I-is that okay?”

Leilani looked at him. “Where are we going?” she then asked- her tone flat and incredibly unamused. Her expression was the most horrifying part; her eyes should have shot daggers right into Beck's artificial heart and killed him right there.

“A-a cafe.” he quickly told her. “It's a little far out from here, b-but I think you'd like it.”

To the bot's relief, Leilani looked away from him to look out the window. She said nothing further to him, and at the moment, Beck believed it was a sign of approval. But it also welcomed a bitter silence between the two of them that the bot couldn't handle. He couldn't help but look over at her before turning away again, because staring was rude, and he really didn't want to step on her toes today. And there was still so many questions that were stuck in his mind that he needed to ask. And what better time to start with them than now? R-right…?

“Do you…” Beck started, faltered, but tried to press on anyway, “Do you think that if we… if we had met before… Before...”

“Before Seismic impaled my mother?” Leilani cut in, saying exactly what Beck didn't want to.

Beck looked down at his toes before agreeing. “Y-yeah. Do you think we would have been… friends?”

Leilani was silent for a long time- making Beck fear that she had shut him out. She hadn't, she was just considering her answer. “I… I don't know.” she finally admitted. “I have no idea Beck.”

The silence returned after that. It felt worse than the first time.

“A part of me wants to say,” Leilani continued, as if she were speaking a thought now, “That as long as Trinity happened, then no. We wouldn't. It just… It just wouldn't have been possible.”

Beck gave a small nod. “I understand.” he agreed. This time, Beck turned to look at Leilani and didn't look away. He was lost in the thought of when he first saw her six years ago; Trinity had already rampaged through the country, so he hadn't even gotten the chance to meet Leilani when she was truly happy. The human girl had been smaller then, while he was still the same. Same height, same voice, same ability to assimilate fellow robots...

“I wish I had the ability to grow up.” Beck spoke in thought, not meaning to have said it out loud, “Or at least be a bit taller.”

That was when Leilani snapped her head around to look at Beck as if he were going insane.

“What did you just say?” she demanded, despite hearing him well enough. Beck didn't answer- her sudden reaction was surprised him, and he would be lying if he said that Leilani didn't look scary when she was scared.

To break the tension, the driver of the limo spoke to them saying, “We have arrived at our destination.”

Neither Beck or Leilani wanted to break the looks they were giving each other, but it was the robot who turned to the driver to say, “Th-thank you.” When Beck turned back, Leilani had already left the limousine. Nervous, Beck did the same and was easily relieved when he saw that the human was waiting for him at the cafe's entrance.

“Are you ready?” Beck asked Leilani when he was close enough to her.

“I assume you're buying?” the human then asked, looking down at him. “Or say you're buying but it's really coming from your creator's bank account?”

Beck threw a hand behind his head as he nervously chuckled. Knowing the truth, Leilani raised an eyebrow at Beck for a moment before giving an amused smirk.

. . .

At this hour, the cafe was all but empty; which was exactly what Beck had hoped for. He was able to find him and Leilani a spot that was still pretty out of the way- just in case someone really loud decided to come in.

“I'll get our food.” Beck offered once he made sure Leilani was comfortable. “What do you want?”

“Hot chocolate- extra cream with half a scoop of mini marshmallows.”

“Anything to eat?”

“Do they have any powdered coffee cakes here?”

Beck nodded.

“Then maybe two of those- it depends on how wide they made them.”

“Got it.” Beck agreed. “I'll be right back.”

It did not take long for Beck to get what Leilani requested and head back to their table. The human did not object to the homemade food, immediately digging in as if she hadn't had anything to eat in weeks. Beck patiently waited for the human to finish before he finally asked the question he had been dying to ask for the past year;

“Why did you take on a pseudonym before Doctor White and Doctor Sanda found you in Maine?”

For a horrifying moment, Leilani sat so still that Beck would have assumed he had taken Cryosphere's unnerving Cabbage Patch doll out for brunch instead of a human.

“Is that why you brought me here?” she then asked in a still, dark voice. “To know why I didn't want to be found after being falsely accused at such a tender age?”

“N-no!” Beck desperately tried to disagree. “I… I just want to know. W-when you were in hiding because Ray had abducted you-”

“Not the word I would have used,” Leilani lightly snickered, “But yeah?”

“When Ray hid you, you used the name Leila Ladan to keep everyone away from you for awhile. Why that name?”

Leilani absently circled her finger around the rim of her cup. She looked Beck in the eye when she told him in an emotionless tone, “Ladan was my mother's maiden name.”

For some reason, that wasn't the explanation Beck had been expected; no, no. This one was worse. He could feel himself shrink as he let out a small, “Oh...”

“And Leila,” Leilani went on, “It's only two letters off from my real name. It's a kinda bad pseudonym in retrospect- but it worked.”

“It was a nice name...” Beck tried to offer.

“Same I'll have no reason to ever need it again.” Leilani agreed with a humored snort.

“Can… can I call you Leila?” the little bot found himself asking. “A-as a nickname of course!”

Leilani cocked an interested eyebrow. “You're a really weird robot, you know that? First you say you want to grow up, and now you want to give me a pet name? If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you had a crush on me.”

There was a solid three seconds from the time the idea was said out loud to when the truth hit her. Color drained from Leilani's face before she marveled, “My god. You do have a crush on me, don't you?”

“Maybe it's guilt...” Beck mumbled, mostly to himself.

“You really don't know?”

Mighty Number Nine refused to look at the heiress of Blaise Factories and Company. Leilani ran a shaking hand through her hair, refusing to look away from the android sitting across from her. It made so much sense- and yet, it made things so, so much worse.

“Every day, I wonder what goes through your creator's head when he designs your AI.” she soon admitted. “And every day I just grow more horrified of what he could do if he actually thought his plans through. I love Raychel -we'd give our lives for each other- but I'm worried. She can lie to herself and I hate knowing that if something went wrong, that she'd… make herself...”

“I don't know if I've ever lied before.” Beck said, purposely not letting Leilani complete her thought. This did not help Leilani's perception of the situation at the moment.

“Beck, I don't think you understand; the Mighty Numbers are the most dangerous robots in the Battle Colosseum. The only way you guys lose is if you purposely throw the fight.”

Beck must have given her a funny look, because she continued.

“I've seen Pyrogen throw a fight before. Cryosphere, Dynatron, and Brandish are known to do it too.” She gave a small pause before looking Beck right in the eye. “You have too. That last match you had that Sanda made me oversee- you threw the match because you saw me in the audience. Didn't you?”

“I...” Beck faltered, but could find that he had no answer. “I did.”

Leilani stood a bit straighter before leaning closer to Beck, as if this next part of their conversation was top secret information. “You know what the most disturbing this is about you Mighty Numbers?”

“What?”

“If Raychel is attracted to me, and you apparently are too, does that mean the others are as well? And if that's the case, what does that mean of William Blackwell when Cryosphere was activated the same year I was born?” Leilani gave a rather unnerved sigh. “I think I'm just being paranoid. Or full of myself. Maybe both. But you Mighty Numbers… You're something else. You're your own identity. The Mighty Numbers as a whole, you guys… You're all so terrifying.”

Beck hung his head in shame, almost acknowledging that he knew how dangerous the Mighty Numbers could be had it not be for several laws and a decent morality system. With her pressing issues out in the open, Leilani relaxed a little before looking down at her empty cup.

“You know how only my dad can call me Leilai?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there's only one person in this world that is allowed to call me Leila.”

“W-who's that?”

Leilani looked at Beck- it was an expression that was trying to be hard, but it was gentle instead. That was when the realization hit the bot.

“Y-you mean it? I can?!”

“Just promise me one thing.” the young woman then told him. “Never lie to me, Raychel, and -most importantly- yourself. On anything. Got it?”

“O-of course!” Beck eagerly agreed. “Anything you say!”

#mighty no 9 #mn9 beck #mn9 oc #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #mn9 #MNo9 #orignal character #robots #nicknames #short story #flash fiction #mighty number 9 #androids #xel #fridge horror

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shogetsus · 6 years

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Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

Prologue Pt. VI

Read on Ao3 | Read on FFN | Masterlist

Summary: "My lord, I bring Mai Mizusaki and Lord Masamune…"

Gulping hard and pretty much frozen in her spot, all she can do is stare at the very Devil King, Nobunaga Oda, as he fixes his fiery, very intimidating eyes on her and her only.

"You kept me waiting, Mai…" He says, his face unreadable, before his gaze falls further down to her hand, and then up again to acknowledge the warlord who brought her before him. A brow quirks up, yet barely and almost imperceptibly, but enough to make her lose her unconsciously very tight grip on Masamune's hand and flinch away from him as if he just burned her.

Mai

It’s worth to mention she had someone to guide her through the place in the first place, otherwise she’d have gotten hopelessly lost in no more than five minutes. Whoa, so this is what they call a castle, huh.

Once inside the castle, Masamune gets into a quarrel with Mitsunari and Hideyoshi about who should take her to her assigned room, but the former finally gives up as Mitsunari’s insistence for all of them to attend to their own recently arrived vassals instead. Easily enough, the warlords scramble away one by one, leaving Mai with the only company of the sweet Mitsunari.

She shakes her head, partially amused by that situation. “Are they really always like that?”

After apparently noticing she’s not disturbed by such friendly display, he smiles brightly. “Indeed they are. It has been some time since my lords’ last reunion, so as you may figure out, there is a lot to catch up on,” With his companionable guide, Mai’s lead to a spacious and quite comfortable looking room. “This room is yours to use as you like, Lady Mai. I hope it’s enough for you.”

She spares a moment to admire the decoration. “Wow, it’s more than enough! In fact, it’s almost too much,” Despite refusing to be there, she can’t help but be truly surprised at the commodities offered—too regal and even royalty-like, with expensive tatami mats spread all over and a huge futon at the center, nearly inviting her to throw herself over in an unceremonious way with how comfy it looks. “But please, it’s alright with the formalities. Just call me Mai, alright?”

Mitsunari seems to flush at that, “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly! You’re a lady and Lord Nobunaga’s savior…” He avoids his eyes and Mai’s not sure if to be flattered or concerned.

“It’s really fine, though. I’m not truly used to titles and all this fancy treatment, it kind of makes me uncomfortable. And, to be honest, I don’t need them either…” She just shrugs, trying to make her point clear.

He seems to relax at that statement. “Then… I agree on the condition as long as you stay as familiar and informal with me. Is that alright, Mai?”

Finally, she smiles back. “You’ve got a deal, Mitsunari.” It’s not like she could really say no to that angelical face of his, for the matter.

“Thank you. Now, take your leisure. Someone will come to fetch you soon,” The polite smile remains on Mitsunari’s face until he leaves the room with a courteous bow and closes the door behind him.

Once she’s left to her own devices, her brain makes fast work of filling on the gaps, sinking into the futon with a deep sigh. For how spacious and stately the room is like, it’s actually too quiet for her liking, her thoughts running wild and very loud in her head. There’s been absolutely not a single clue of Sasuke’s whereabouts since she last met him, and there’s no way of knowing what to really do next without him.

Lost for anything else, Mai empties her belongings onto the futon, looking for the best way out of the concerning situation she’s into; or at the very least, a distraction. Her only possessions are her guide, cellphone—pretty much dead for all it takes, naturally—wallet, house key, makeup bag, pads, sewing kit, and her test piece, Bearsace, looking back at her with warm acrylic eyes. Mai happens to have it with her as an example of her sewing skills, along with her dress designs inside a notebook, piled up for a job interview, and it’s been in her purse ever since.

She lets out another longing sigh, raking a hand through her copper hair. I was so excited to start my dream job. Why did this have to happen? Am I really the most unlucky girl in the world? A heavy feeling settles in her chest, beginning to truly realize how she can pretty much scratch that down her list.

Until a sharp ‘tock, tock’ sound startles her thoughts, looking up to the ceiling and the source of that noise just in time to see a panel slide open. Her hand scrambles for the closest object to grab on, happening to be her house key, deftly holding it between her knuckles and leaning back to prepare for whoever’s about to invade her room.

A familiar face appears in the opening, and Mai’s shoulders sag down in sheer relief.

“Hey there,” As if being summoned, Sasuke shows up, removing his mask and cracking up a friendly smile, “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“Sasuke! I’m so glad to see you!” Brightening up at the mere sight, she makes room for him to get down the ceiling. “Did you follow me here?”

He climbs down with a certain grace Mai couldn’t possibly have expected in him, reminding her of the vocation he happened to take on in this timeline, landing without a single sound. “Yes. I just hid when those men arrived and kept up following your trail,”

“Oh, thank heavens you did!” She truly feels like hugging him tight, but refrains herself just so, lest she’d be accidentally pushing some boundaries she shouldn’t—only the gods know how many awful times she’s done so in the past. In the end he notices the gesture and leans down himself, trapping her arms in a warm hug, if politely brief.

“It’s good to see you safe and sound, Mai,” He says to her hair before letting her go, an honest look in his face. “I’ve already pieced together much of what happened,” His genuine smile falters a bit, “I see you’ve got yourself into some trouble.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve been through worse in your four years here,” Mai gives him a thoughtful once-over, “I mean, it made you into a textbook ninja after all,”

“Yeah, there’s trouble, and then there’s Trouble,” Sasuke snorts, looking like appreciating her concerns, “Anyways, I’m here because I forgot to tell you something really important back at the forest.”

Her brow quirks up in sheer curiosity. Gods, let it be good news, please, please. “I did mention I was researching a way for us to get home, right?” Mai only nods, waiting for him to continue, “Well, recently, I was able to confirm that the wormhole opens here at fixed periods.”

“Oh, really?” That tidbit really catches her undivided attention, “Then that means—!”

“Ssh, keep your voice down, please. I’m not supposed to be here, remember?” Right; finding what is obviously an enemy ninja in someone else’s castle would be, classically and naturally, bad. “I’ll keep it short. The next wormhole will most likely provide our way home.”

Her eyes go wide, mindful of not making much noise this time and covering her mouth with both hands to muffle an incoming gasp. “So, there’s actually a way to get back home!”

“All in all, yes. Leaving the reasoning behind its recurrence aside, according to my data, the next traversable wormhole will appear in six months from now.” He explains solemnly. “I’m still calculating its location, but chances are good that if we make contact with it, it’ll return us to our original timeline.”

“Sasuke, honestly… all you just needed to tell me is that we can get back,” Mai brings her hands up to her chest, already feeling a terrible weight being put off her shoulders. “I’m so relieved I can’t even explain it,”

He smiles again in return, but only briefly, before adjusting his glasses, “However, it’s best if you spend your next six months here.”

Blinking twice, she frowns slightly, “You mean, here in Azuchi? Why don’t I just come with you? Isn’t it best if we team up or something?”

“Mai, we’re in the midst of a chaotic civil war. One that’s now further away from ending than the one in our timeline due to Nobunaga Oda’s survival…” Right, that’s another point she’s accidentally left out. “Besides, Nobunaga and his men seem rather fond of you, isn’t it? I doubt they’d let you go that easily,”

She winces, but naturally he’s not wrong. “Yeah, given their penchant for hunting me and handling me as a trophy woman, I suppose you’re right…” Her shoulders slump down, recalling the dire situation she’s into. “I don’t like the idea of staying here, though,”

“My employer’s base of operations isn’t here, but what I can promise is that I’ll try my best to stay in Azuchi for as long as I can. You can send a smoke signal if you run into any trouble!” He jests as if to cheer her up, giving her two thumbs up.

“Yeah, right… after I figure out how to make one, though,” She snorts, appreciating his will to help regardless.

“Oh, there’s one more little thing,” Mai notices how much the quirk of Sasuke adjusting his glasses are a sort of signal that he’s about to get serious, “Mai, don’t get deeply involved with people in this time.”

“Deeply involved?” Her brows knit into a frown, “Sasuke, I’m going to be in close contact with them for the next six months…”

He shakes his head, “I’ll be blunt, then—don’t fall in love, alright?” His lips purse, giving her a solemn look, “Doing so may cloud your desire to return to the future…”

A second of silence goes by, then two, and then three, before Mai has to cover her mouth with her two hands so to muffle a loud laughter bubbling up from the bottom of her throat.

“Hahaha, oh, Sasuke…” As she wipes tears of mirth with the back of her hand, she realizes he’s not really joking. “Love? Are you serious? How can you possibly worry about that happening? Like, really, have you talked to any of this people?”

“… All right,” For what’s worth, Sasuke doesn’t find that remotely funny, however, but decides to drop the matter for the moment. “I also recommend you keep the fact you come from the future a secret too.”

That tidbit makes the most sense as for their whole conversation. “Yeah, well, about that…” She bites her lip worryingly, “I’ve already told that to Nobunaga and Mitsunari. Not like they find it believable in the slightest, though.” She’s quick to add, “In fact, they didn’t even consider it for a moment. I think they took it as me having taken a hit in the head, or smoke-addled, but regardless, they didn’t buy it, that’s for sure.”

He nods in understanding, clapping a friendly hand on her arm. “Hmm, well. Best to keep it that way,” Then, he rolls his shoulders before propping himself up, “Anyways, my employer is in the city below and I’m staying with him. I’ll be able to come to your aid quickly should you need it, for now.” He flashes her a warm smile and adds, “Best if you learn fast how to make smoke signals, right?”

“Haha, alright, will do. But, what’s that your employer? What are you here for…?”

However, her question goes unanswered as Sasuke’s gaze shoots to the door at their left. Mai hears it too—footsteps approaching and fast. Faster than a gust of wind, her only ally is up in the ceiling before she can even notice.

“I’ll come back in another time. See you!” Pulling his mask up with one hand, he hushes in a whisper before becoming one with the shadows right in the nick of time.

Mai can’t help but startle as there are three sharp knocks on the door before it’s burst open, a man with silver hair sauntering in. His golden eyes are as cunning as they come, such as like that sly smirk crossing his face as he gives her a thorough look.

“I see you weren’t able to get away from Nobunaga after all,” He observes, his expression leaving nothing to make of. And this one is… right, Mitsuhide Akechi. “He’s calling for you…”

“I-I… beg your pardon?” Mai stammers, whatever words she had for him caught in her tongue, intimidated by that intense gaze examining her all over. All in a sudden, she feels very small and poorly dressed.

Until a second figure approaches, leaning nonchalantly onto the doorframe, chuckling softly, “Don’t mind this kitsune, lass. He meant to say Nobunaga is requesting you,” Masamune Date, all the ever charming, bats away the growing tension inside Mai’s room with the help of his playful smirk only—definitely more open and inviting to talk to than her former visitor, though.

However, Masamune has to step aside as, per the other warlord’s sign, a couple of maids politely walk inside the room. The two of them hold another set of a more regal kimono than the one she’s currently wearing as well as hairpins and some more accessories.

“’She can’t go dressed like that. Take this to lady Mai,’, is what Hideyoshi said, and pushed them onto me,” Mitsuhide explains to the group, that ever so sly expression never leaving his face.

“Sounds pretty much like Hideyoshi,” Masamune seems to feel inclined to admit, shrugging before addressing his associate. “Are you going to stand there while she gets changed? Come on, man, let’s wait outside. She’s not going anywhere…”

“Of course,” It’s all Mitsuhide says before leaving her with the maids, closing the door behind him.

With a dejected huff, Mai is left once again without a choice in the matter, submitting to the ladies attending her as if she were a royal figure from a faraway land. The maids praise her for helping prevent Nobunaga’s demise all the way into fitting her into what certainly looks—and feels like, to Mai’s embarrassment—a very expensive kimono. Then, they proceed to brush and adorn her hair, leaving her copper locks down and loose over her back, adding some quick yet elegant braids on the sides of her head.

After quite enough pampering than she’d be able to endure for much longer, the women finally leave her to meet the pair of warlords awaiting her on the hallway. A set of very pleased smirks meet her once the door slides open, but there’s definitely something smugger in Masamune’s face as he all but ignores his associate, sauntering past him in a moment’s notice.

She feels those sharp golden eyes straight on her as Masamune gracefully offers his hand to her, adding up some teasing exaggeration in the gesture. “Shall we go, Mai?”

His sapphire eye gleams in a delighting expectation, drawing her into its spell. It’s in that very precise moment—somewhere between when a blush creeps onto her cheeks and when her fingers slip into his palm all as if but having a life on its own—when she knows it with absolute certainty.

She’s undeniably doomed.

And by the looks of that wicked smile plastered all over Masamune’s face, she can tell it’s precisely what he was looking forward to doing to her.

Guided by his hand, all she can do is follow Masamune’s lead, flanked by a very amused Mitsuhide. “No sense of self-preservation at all…” He comments to no one in particular, hands clasped on his back, eyes straight ahead, just as relaxed as if they were taking a nice stroll across a park.

The words hang in the air, nagging her if briefly, before Masamune’s soft chuckle brushes them away. “Still with this tendency of always having the last words, I see,”

“Says the one who still manages to be fashionably late to every gathering he’s summoned to,” Mitsuhide spices up the little prodding game between them.

Truth be told, Mai’s still not quite sure what to make of Mitsuhide Akechi. He’s betrayed Nobunaga and arranged his gruesome assassination from the history she knows of, yet the fact of having seen someone else at Honno-ji doesn’t truly make him innocent of any possible scheming against his lord. But for some reason, the one man among them all who she’s slowly growing a genuine liking to seems to be alright around Mitsuhide, just as how he is around every warlord in Azuchi—and naturally, Masamune does know them better, after all.

Deep in the castle and after taking a set of turns that mostly loses her for a reasonable attempt to retrace her steps back to her room, they come to a stop in front of a wall of gorgeously painted screens. Mitsuhide then shoots them a curious look, apparently in sheer expectation of something, yet it’s as he swings the screens aside when Mai’s feet suddenly lose their will to move.

“My lord, I bring Mai Mizusaki and Lord Masamune…”

Gulping hard and pretty much frozen in her spot, all she can do is stare at the very Devil King, Nobunaga Oda, as he fixes his fiery, very intimidating eyes on her and her only.

“You kept me waiting, Mai…” He says, his face unreadable, before his gaze falls further down to her hand, and then up again to acknowledge the warlord who brought her before him.

A brow quirks up, yet barely and almost imperceptibly, but enough to make her lose her unconsciously very tight grip on Masamune’s hand and flinch away from him as if he just burned her. She doesn’t dare meeting his face, growing flustered like a child just caught on a mischief, but either way, she can practically feel his sheer amusement from miles away. That gesture alone seems to please Nobunaga, the dais void of any people but him—although the power of his presence practically fills the very room nonetheless.

Not long after and forming rows on either side of him, appear Hideyoshi Toyotomi, Mitsunari Ishida, and Ieyasu Tokugawa, coming up with Mitsuhide as well and Masamune for last. The sight is just baffling for any mortal eyes; some of the country’s brightest minds, stronger warlords and infamous conquerors, all but in one single room.

“Don’t just stand there. Approach me,” Nobunaga insists in a commanding tone, one that clearly isn’t up to a negative, a voice so deep it sends an unnerving chill down her spine.

Ever so careful, Mai forces her feet to move and waltzes across, doing her absolute best in shoving down her mortification, unable to meet anyone’s eye as she gets on her knees before him. For all it takes, the whole scenario seems like she’s about to be sentenced for a crime unbeknownst to her, feeling about to pass out in any moment.

When a satisfied gleam crosses Nobunaga’s copper-ish eyes, the look almost confirms her suspicions. “Henceforth, Mai Mizusaki, you are to reside in Azuchi Castle and give your service to me.” He proclaims; his speech—as becoming so very usual—not allowing any objection from anybody.

His assertion makes her all the more nervous. “I, um, thought I was up to hearing an offer from your part, my Lord…” Mai observes, worrying her lower lip, anxiety dangerously creeping its way up and threatening to get the best of her. “I said before I have another job. Am I allowed to… politely decline this, then?”

Judging by the ice cold in his gaze, it clearly doesn’t look like it. “That is of no matter to me. All you have to do is say ‘Yes, my Lord’.”

She gulps hard, bearing in mind her options. All things considered, she’s in a very precarious position; surely Nobunaga wasn’t going to be so gracious if she ran away once again—that thing being precisely what her mind is all but screaming to do as of then. But perhaps Sasuke is right, and her best shot is to spend her next six months in Azuchi.

For some reason, her thoughts drift to her father—as it tends to happen when she’s in a particularly concerning situation. What would dad do? The picture of Haru Mizusaki’s determined gaze falls upon her, always steering her resolve.

“If the world falls into chaos all around you, remember that sometimes the very eye of the storm is the safest place to take shelter on.”

Her eyes shoot to the left, catching up the striking blue and black patterns of a kimono, a hakama tied up by a golden crescent moon in the middle; regardless, Mai still doesn’t dare to bring her gaze further up to meet the wearer’s face. The sight does strengthen her resolve, though, bolstering her father’s words clinging to her mind.

“So be it.” It hardly is the wisest thing she’d done, but resigning to her fate is the best card she can play for the further moment. “Yes, my Lord,” She says to Nobunaga’s face, “I do have a question though. How exactly am I going to serve you?”

Nobunaga shows no hesitation, naturally. “However you like.” He says as if it’s obvious. At her confused look, he leans down and catches her wrist, pulling her nearer and onto his lap—his fingers remarkably and elegantly long. “Your only duty is to stay nearby. That is what I need of you.” His low voice turns to become surprisingly pleasant to her ears this time, yet there’s still not a bare hint of kindness in his words. “You will be my lucky charm as I unify this nation and all that lies under the sun.”

She flusters, mortified by the undignified treatment. However—and judging by no one in the room seems to bat an eye about it—it all pinpoints for her to contain herself and not slap that haughtiness out of his face, swallowing down her disgust.

Although the last comment makes her curious, “Um, you only want me around because I’m lucky?”

“Exactly. But fear not,” A devious smirk makes its way across his face, “You shall be known as a princess from afar and will be treated as such.” He spares a glance at his subordinates as if to make sure they all properly understood. “Spend your days on makeup, or Hanafuda games if it suits you…”

Am I just supposed to loaf around for six months and do ‘girly’ things? That’s almost preposterous to her. “No, thank you. I’ll go stir crazy if that’s all I can do here.”

“What?” Oddly enough, that single word question seems to start becoming the only one Nobunaga’s capable to make to her.

A musical laughter makes its glorious return to cut down the tension, though. “I agree with you, Mai. I feel the same way,” Masamune nods in earnest approval, and Mai has no idea how he—or any of them, for that matter—is so collected and easygoing around such an intimidating man as Nobunaga Oda.

It’s another sort of concern with the One-eyed Dragon, however. Isn’t his so very flirty bantering with her kind of getting in the way of his lord’s wishes? Sure enough, she may not know much of proper decorum in the Sengoku period, but historically, crossing a superior has never fared well for anyone.

Either way, regardless of the way he does it, Masamune’s addition seems to do it, prompting a sigh from Nobunaga. “So be it, then. I shall appoint you as my chatelaine.”

She makes a quick rundown of the word. That’s the caretaker of a castle, right?

Mitsunari steps in, brightening the room with that angelic smile of his. “What an excellent idea! Mai, count on me to provide you with all the support you need to get started!”

Ieyasu doesn’t seem to be in agreement, as very characteristic of him. “How could this waif possibly be of any use?”

Hideyoshi, as the ever admirer of Nobunaga, scoffs beside him, “It’s Lord Nobunaga’s decision, Ieyasu. Hold your tongue.” Luckily, no one seems to notice Mai’s exasperated eye roll at that, “Though only time will tell if we can trust her…”

“Who says you have to?” Mitsuhide points out, shrugging nonchalantly, “Just keep an eye on her. You’re good at that, right?” He directs a brief yet all the same mischievous glance at Masamune before adding, “She may surprise you.”

Masamune’s flashes a wicked smile, but thankfully doesn’t comment back on it. “Then it’s decided.” Nobunaga concludes, chin straight and looking pleased, “Work hard and prove your worth to me, Mai.” ‘Or else…’, his tone seems to slip on, but that goes without saying.

She opts for letting them bicker on without interrupting, hyper-aware of having the unrelenting gaze of Nobunaga upon her, adding that intimidating smile playing across his face. I only need to put up with them for six months. Just six months. I can take it as an internship! Plus, I’ll have Sasuke around, so it’ll be alright. Although that could hurt more than it helps, considering he just disclosed his employers seem to be nosing around and stirring trouble—and that’s without contemplating the true reasons why they’re in Azuchi all along.

Then again, if she allows her thoughts to run wild she knows she’ll never be able to stop.

“I won’t let you down.” She settles for saying, as collected and resolute as she can.

And true enough, she can do it. She’s faced hard challenges many times before and while not always she has come out unscathed, that doesn’t mean she’d be brought down by this. She will endure and learn from the waging war of this time and survive enough to make it back to the present time, making it all an incredible adventure to get a good laugh from. She has to live to tell it, it’s even preposterous to think otherwise.

Besides, having to spend six months of her life in a chaotic period such as the Sengoku doesn’t truly mean she wouldn’t be able to have some entertainment in the process. And if a playful look from a sapphire eye is anything to go by, fun times seem more than assured.

Hanafuda: Playing cards of Japanese origin that are used to play a number of games. The name translates to "flower cards”. The name also refers to games played with the cards.

#Cassie writes #Stripes fic #Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Masamune x MC #Ikesen Shingen x MC #Ikesen fanfiction #Ikesennw reblog #Hoo boy it gets so much better from here onward :D #MitsuMasa as Best Power Couple in Sengoku period #That's all I'm saying lol

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evescole · 6 years

Text

So It Goes... // Peter Parker

word count: 1,421

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: flirty flirty flirty (like wow), cursing, i didn’t proof read lol

summary: you’re fed up with peter’s excuses and lack of presence so you decide to get his attention the same way you did the first time.

a/n: so i’m sorry, again, that i disappear off the earth. i’m a busy nugget right now so i’m doing my best to keep up with everything. this is kinda a part two for End Game but can be read alone. also, with the reputation series, they’re each kinda their own story. it’s not like each one follows into the next, if that makes sense. idk how to describe it. hope this is good!

part of the reputation series

masterlist

ask me stuff

A few months into your relationship with Peter and things started falling apart. You didn’t want to admit it, but it was crumbling to pieces right in your hands. You had grown tired of the constant excuses, missed dates, and the obvious lies. Peter wasn’t the same kid anymore and it broke your heart.

You threw the apartment door shut after another failed date before stomping into the kitchen. You couldn’t even bother crying anymore. You had expected it as soon as you walked in the restaurant so you couldn’t say you were surprised. There wasn’t a text, wasn’t a call. He just, as usual, ditched.

You ripped a carton of your favorite ice cream out of the freezer and left it on the counter to thaw for a bit as you changed. As soon as you walked into your bedroom, you froze. MJ thought it would be funny to buy you a new outfit, quite a revealing one, after you took her on a shopping trip for her birthday. It was laying across your bed, the black, skin tight fabric taunting.

Smiling to yourself, you grabbed the clothing from its spot while yelling for Siri to call MJ. You went into the bathroom and flicked the light on as your phone started calling MJ in your hand. Looking across the counter, you grabbed a tube of red lipstick, smirking at the color.

“Y/N, what’s up? How was your date?” Michelle’s voice crackled through your phone speakers.

You kept your eyes on the tube of makeup in your hand. “MJ, how fast can you get over here?”

You heard her hum in thought before she responded, “Ten minutes, tops. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” You chuckled, setting the lipstick down. “Just get here quick. Oh, and bring the hair dye.”

“Hell yes! Y/N Y/L/N, I fucking love you!” She shouted into the phone before hanging up on you.

Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you nodded to yourself. “Time to end this game, once and for all.”

MJ made it to your apartment in record time -- “See Y/N, I only took nine minutes!” -- and she was more than ready to jump on board with your plan. It wasn’t long before the apartment smelled like hair dye and various candles you dug out from the closet.

Some song by The 1975 blared from the bluetooth speaker MJ had grabbed, the sound echoing throughout the whole floor. She hummed along, shouting lyrics here and there, as she began curling your hair. You did your best not to move as you started on your makeup, trying to keep everything precise and even.

Thirty minutes later, Michelle was throwing her stuff back in her bag as you looked over your appearance in the mirror.

“I owe you, yet again, MJ.” You smiled at her as you leaned against the wall.

She looked up, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “It’s my job, Y/N. You don’t owe me anything.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, twirling your hair around your finger. She gave you a reassuring grin before looking back at the ground to make sure she had everything. You glanced over the bathroom counter to make sure you cleaned everything up from the rushed makeover. Your eyes landed on the familiar object resting in the corner.

“All ready?” Michelle asked as she stood up, watching you through the mirror.

A smile formed on your face as you picked the black tube up. “One last thing, actually.”

And with that, the red lipstick cap was off.

Peter Parker had been through a lot of tough situations. He was a superhero after all. He’d battled countless villains, given hundreds of elderly directions, and received plenty of churros for his favors.

Despite all these events, Peter could verify that he was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his life, as he walked up the stairs to your apartment. He knew he messed up and he knew it was bad. He kept running every situation through his mind and they all ended up with you leaving him.

His hand was absolutely shaking as he knocked on your door. He knew there was a key in his pocket that you had given him but it just didn’t seem right at the moment. You were going to be through the roof.

Peter stood there for a good thirty seconds, maybe more, without an answer. He knocked again, this time leaning against the door. “Y/N? I know I messed up, okay. Will you please let me in?”

If it weren’t for his stupid enhanced abilities, he wouldn’t have been able to hear the click of the lock, yet he did. He took a deep breath before twisting the knob and pushing the door open to let himself in.

“Y/N? Are you in-” Peter lost the ability to talk as soon as the door shut behind him. No, he didn’t wimp out. He just wasn’t ready for the sight in front of him.

You had your boyfriend right where you wanted him. Leaning against the wall, you bit your lip as you took in his appearance. His normal science t-shirt stuck to his sweaty body, leaving you to guess that he ran here. The way his hands shook at his side told you he was nervous. You were the cat and he was the mouse. Unfortunately for him, you were hungry.

“Peter,” You kept your voice steady as you pushed off the wall. “Glad you could finally make it.”

Peter’s eyes scanned your body, drinking in every detail. He notice the tight, black dress covering your skin, the black heels on your feet. What his eyes really focused on, the deathly red lipstick that painted your lips.

“You dy-dyed your ha-hair again,” He stuttered, trying to start a normal conversation.

You nodded, pursing your lips. “You noticed.”

Peter nodded dramatically. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Taking the initiative, you grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the couch before forcing his body on the furniture. He gasped at the action, eyes darting to meet yours.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He asked shakily.

You smirked, leaning closer to his ear as you straddled his hips. “Just making sure you’re okay, babe.”

“You’re making me nervous, Y/N,” He admitted, looking over your shoulder. “I know I messed up but-”

You shook your head, pressing a finger to his lips. “Ah, ah. Don’t talk. You don’t get to talk.” You pressed your lips against his neck as you spoke. “You ditched me again, Peter.”

Peter’s muscled form tensed beneath you as you continued your assault on his skin. “I-I know. I’m so-sorry.”

“You better be,” You mumbled, whispering against him. “You’re hiding secrets, Parker. Why can’t you tell me?”

Peter fought to whimper beneath your touch. He knew his cheeks were bright red as you teased him but he didn’t dare stop you. “B-because. I can’t.”

“Aw,” You pouted, sitting on his thighs completely as his hands grabbed your waist. “You know, it’s not fun to keep secrets.”

“Y/N.” His eyes widened as you tilted your head. “What are you doing?”

Your hand moved forward, caressing his cheek lightly. “You know, I’m not a bad girl but I do bad things with you.”

And then, Peter understood. This was you getting back at him. You were fed up, frustrated, and just wanted some attention. He had done a number on you, whether it was missed dates, forgotten calls, or left-on-read texts. He deserved the lipstick littering his skin, the harsh remarks. He knew he did.

“You’re mad at me,” He mumbled, grabbing your wrist to finally stop your actions. “I know you are.”

You shrugged. “So it goes. If you want me to be yours to keep, yours to lose, you better start acting like it, Parker. I deserve to be fought for.”

Peter watched you get up, leaving him with pink cheeks and short of breath. He watched as you moved towards the hallway, the sway still in your hips as your curls swished back and forth against your shoulders.

The teen stood up from his spot, licking his dry lips slightly. He had to make it up to you, he knew that. Kicking his shoes off, his hands practically tore his shirt off his head as he slowly started after you. He had to make it up to you, and he was going to start right now.

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timalexanderdollery · 4 years

Text

Teens are calling themselves “ugly” on TikTok. It’s not as depressing as you think.

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Instagram is a beauty pageant. TikTok is where kids are free to be mediocre.

There’s a TikTok that’s just a boy saying, “I may be ugly, but at least I’m also … dumb and annoying.” Then he dances while Ariana Grande’s “Successful” plays. It’s extremely funny, and a little bit sad, and I think about it every day.

Kids on TikTok call themselves ugly all the time, most of the time as a joke, but not always, and I’m never sure how I’m supposed to feel about it. “Why do I look like this? What’s the reason?” asked the popular TikToker @emmwee in her car without makeup. “Me being shocked at how ugly I look,” wrote Brittany Tomlinson, better known as the kombucha girl, at one moment in an unrelated video. “I like a boy but I’m ugly, what do I do with that?” sings 18-year-old high school senior David Postlewate, in one TikTok about a highly familiar experience.

David isn’t ugly by any means — none of these kids are — but the internet has created a never-ending conveyor belt of people so bafflingly good-looking that everyone else is immediately rendered ugly by comparison. “I know that I’m not going to look like Benji Krol,” says David, referring to the TikToker with a nest of raven hair and 5.6 million followers. “But I’m my own person, and that’s what makes you beautiful,” he says, not consciously referring to the One Direction song.

The thing about TikTok is that as much as it is a place for teenagers to goof off in their bedrooms, it is also the world’s largest beauty pageant. After all, part of the fun about making TikToks is getting to stare at your face for as long as you want, and if you happen to be very, very beautiful, then other people will enjoy staring at your face, too. A stunningly massive portion of the app is devoted to genetically blessed users, e-boys like Benji Krol and human Barbies like Loren Gray. A scroll through the TikTok’s home For You feed will reveal plenty of content where, despite whatever action is going on in the video, the real takeaway is “I’m hot.”

It is against this backdrop that its inverse, “I’m ugly” culture, has proliferated. Rather than trying to compete for views and likes with the genetically gifted, kids are pivoting to self-deprecation in a way that’s less depressing than it might seem to concerned parents: it’s a reclamation of mediocrity in an online space where everyone else is an overachiever.

17-year-old Annie Pham was satirizing TikTok’s culture of hot people and glow-ups when she made her viral video in late August. Using a popular meme where people would show their “before” selves and their “after” selves on the beat drop, Annie’s instead showed her “before” self trying and failing to transform. “Why isn’t it working?” she complains to the camera. “After like, a week, I was reading the comments, and it was really cool to see how much people relate to it,” she says.

Relatable videos are why people like TikTok in the first place, and feeling unattractive on TikTok is one of the most relatable experiences of all. David, of the “I like a boy but I’m ugly” video, for instance, has a TikTok bio that reads “ugly is my only personality trait.”

David only made the video because that’s what was happening in his life: He liked a boy who he thought was out of his league. (“He’s really cute, he goes to my school. We’re both in theater,” he says.) He describes himself as a “really confident person,” by the way. He just doesn’t take himself all that seriously.

Normal kids have created an entire genre of internet comedy devoted to how constantly seeing exceptional talent and beauty go viral makes the rest of us feel like ugly losers. On my feed I see videos of kids turning the shitty aspects of their lives into funny content: their most embarrassing sports mistakes, hideous childhood photos, dilapidated apartments, unfortunate haircuts, leg nipples, imprisoned parents, disproportionately long thumbs, sexual ineptitude, mental illness. And of course, their minor physical insecurities: girls who feel like they’re asymmetrical, girls who hate their smiles, girls who have a cute, pretty face but a body that “looks like a fucking potato.”

The layers of irony on any social media app that young people are using can be difficult for adults to parse, but when it relates to topics like body image and self-esteem, psychologists take it seriously. “I kind of celebrate what they’re doing — they’re trying to push back on the idea that we all look perfect on social media,” says Sara Frischer, a psychiatric nurse practitioner at Union Square Practice in New York City. “But I think it’s just a little misguided in how they’re doing it. It’s deflection, and it’s self-protective to then make a joke about it. It protects people from feeling vulnerable.” She gives the example of being a bad speller. If you say to yourself that you’re the worst speller in the world, that’s protecting yourself from someone else pointing it out.

But what if you’re just objectively a bad speller? What would true acceptance of that fact even look like? “That’s where self-compassion comes in,” she says. “Saying, ‘This is something I really struggle with, and I just happen to not be such a great speller.’ Having compassion for yourself, talking about how hard it is to struggle with this, and all the emotions involved. It’s adding self-compassion instead of self-deprecation. That’s the missing element.”

“I’m ugly” culture has spread so far on TikTok that now even TikTok’s “pretty people” are co-opting sounds and memes meant for those self-described uglies. That’s given way to a wider culture of policing, wherein those users’ comments sections are flooded with fishing rods to signify that they’re fishing for compliments.

In July, Ryan Sterling, a 23-year-old in the Chicago suburbs who has had alopecia since he was in middle school, uploaded a video that begins with a picture of Britney Spears with a shaved head followed by a picture of Mr. Clean, and then himself: “It all started when my mom met my dad, then they fell in love, and they had me. Hi, I’m Ryan,” he says. “And my life? It’s kinda crazy.”

Within a few weeks, the “Hi, I’m Ryan” video had spawned a massive viral meme, even ending up on a segment of Ellen. But whereas Ryan’s original video made fun of the way he looked, iterations that came after — often where a person would show their two very attractive parents and the punchline was their even more attractive self — were little more than excuses to brag. In September, Ryan posted another TikTok directed at them: “Get off my sound, it’s for ugly people!” he says. “All you pretty-ass people with your pretty parents and your perfect genes, get out of here! We uglies and the balds and the grosses and the ickies, we need to fight back!”

Olivia Chesney, a 19-year-old at Roger Williams University in Rhode Island, was in the middle of homework when she went into the bathroom to make a random video. She’s standing in front of the mirror and asking, “Why do I be looking so good from the front?” Then she turns to the side and bursts out laughing. The joke is that she looks bigger that way, and the video now has more than 2.5 million views.

That video isn’t the only TikTok she’s made about her body, and not all of them are self-deprecating. There’s one where she shows cute photos her friends have taken of her, and another lip synching to the 1958 swing song “The Bigger the Figure.”

Olivia, like all of us, lives in a world where even if you aren’t born skinny, or distractingly gorgeous, or whatever, you’re still supposed to do everything you possibly can to become those things; to starve your body down and add on some lip fillers until you’re deemed presentable. Americans continue to spend more money on plastic surgery and weight loss plans every year, and one study of UK youth showed that Instagram had the worst effect on body image among any social media site. There are an ever-growing number of billion-dollar industries built upon the profits that come from making people feel awful about themselves, even if those products are shrouded in the aesthetics of positivity and empowerment.

Calling yourself ugly on TikTok, then, is a form of freedom from the expectation of hotness. It’s a self-deprecating in-joke that only excludes the extraordinarily beautiful, who could maybe stand to be excluded from something for once.

“I’m ugly” culture on TikTok also obfuscates its happier subtext: That yeah, it’s okay to be ugly, because now you can focus on more important things. Olivia explains this feeling while talking about a video where she calls herself fat: “People who are ugly, people who are fat, it’s just like, why are we trying to hide it anymore? We can still live our lives and be that way.”

It’s not like “ugly” people don’t happy lives or fall in love or get rich or go viral on TikTok. The boy that David sang about? The one he liked? It’s possible that they’re maybe, sort of in the process of getting together.

“If I’m going to be completely honest, and I don’t know yet because things haven’t really been official,” he tells me, “but I think that stuff is starting to happen with him.” It’s all extremely beautiful.

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gracieyvonnehunter · 4 years

Text

Teens are calling themselves “ugly” on TikTok. It’s not as depressing as you think.

Getty Images

Instagram is a beauty pageant. TikTok is where kids are free to be mediocre.

Sign up for The Goods’ newsletter. Twice a week, we’ll send you the best Goods stories exploring what we buy, why we buy it, and why it matters.

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corneliusreignallen · 4 years

Text

Teens are calling themselves “ugly” on TikTok. It’s not as depressing as you think.

Getty Images

Instagram is a beauty pageant. TikTok is where kids are free to be mediocre.

Sign up for The Goods’ newsletter. Twice a week, we’ll send you the best Goods stories exploring what we buy, why we buy it, and why it matters.

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shanedakotamuir · 4 years

Text

Teens are calling themselves “ugly” on TikTok. It’s not as depressing as you think.

Getty Images

Instagram is a beauty pageant. TikTok is where kids are free to be mediocre.

Sign up for The Goods’ newsletter. Twice a week, we’ll send you the best Goods stories exploring what we buy, why we buy it, and why it matters.

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snappedsky · 7 years

Text

Fanatics 48

This was an idea given to me by a very supportive fan on Deviantart. Previous! Next!

New Hobbies

“Coming in!” Devi announces as she and Tenna burst through the door of house number 777. But it’s completely empty; nobody’s around.

“Huh. They must be out,” Tenna says, “should we come back?”

“Nah. Let’s just hang out,” Devi replies.

They flop down on the couch, turn on the TV, and make themselves at home.

Nobody shows up for about an hour. And then suddenly the basement door swings open and Johnny walks out, blood dripping from his clothes and face. He spots Devi and Tenna and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” he exclaims.

“Forget us. What happened to you?” Tenna asks.

“What, this?” he questions as he gestures to the blood. “None of its mine.”

“Then whose is it?” she asks.

“Don’t answer that,” Devi says quickly, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Hey, don’t shout at me,” Johnny snaps, “you two are always barging in here without knocking. You were bound to see something you didn’t want to eventually.”

He wipes some blood off his cheek. “I’m gonna go clean up. The two of you should take this time to think of what lessons you can get from this.”

He goes down the hall to the bathroom. The girls stare after him for a second before Devi sighs with aggravation.

“He’s so disgusting,” she comments.

“You know what we should do?” Tenna asks.

“Well, we could turn him into the police but I don’t think Squee would be very happy about that,” Devi replies.

“No. I was going to say we should help him find a new hobby,” she says.

“What?” she questions.

“He just needs a better way to spend his time and energy,” Tenna explains, “we can help him find it.”

Devi shrugs. “Well, he did use to like drawing.”

“And City University offers all kinds of community classes,” she adds, “we should sign ourselves up.” “Yeah,” Devi smiles, “let’s go.”

They leave quickly to put their plan into action.

A few minutes later, Johnny finishes showering and changing and goes into the living room. He looks around with surprise when he notices the girls are gone then smiles, pleased.

“Much better,” he sighs as he lies down on the couch.

The only reason Johnny leaves the couch is to drive Squee to Skool the next day. Afterwards, he returns to it and enjoys a couple quiet hours to himself.

And then Devi and Tenna burst through the front door, smiling excitedly.

“Ugh,” Johnny groans with blatant disgust. “You two never learn.”

“Come on,” Tenna orders, “we’re going on a field trip.”

“Huh?” he grunts.

“We signed ourselves up for a bunch of community classes at CU,” Devi explains, “we’re gonna help you find a new hobby.”

“Why?” Johnny asks.

“You need one,” Tenna insists, “honestly, how else do you spend your time other than watching TV?”

“Well, yesterday I spent a couple hours drilling into-.”

“Ah, we don’t need to know,” Devi says quickly, cutting him off.

“Just come on,” Tenna orders.

Before he can argue anymore, they grab Johnny’s arms and drag him out the door and into Devi’s car.

“Fuck,” he huffs as he pouts in the backseat. “What sort of classes?”

“Sketching, painting, and pottery,” Devi replies.

“Those all sound awful,” he comments.

“What, even sketching?” Tenna questions, “we chose that one just for you.”

“If I could still draw, then I would,” he points out, “some pretentious stranger trying to teach me shit isn’t gonna help.” “How do you know they’re pretentious?” Devi asks.

“Why else would they be a community class teacher than to showcase their skills to people of all ages?”

“Jeez, you’re so negative,” Tenna scoffs, “some people do it because they’re desperate for money or have given up on their dreams.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Nny shrugs.

An hour or so later they arrive at City University, the biggest, most prestigious advanced educations school in the city. They enter through the front gates and head through the campus to the main building.

“I thought about coming to CU for an arts degree,” Devi says, “but the second I mentioned it to my parents they started bringing up all kinds of other classes they thought I should take instead and they ruined it for me.”

They enter the main building and follow a map to their class. As they’re heading through the halls, they spot two familiar people sitting on a nearby bench although it takes them a second because they’re normally wearing face paint.

“Hey, Nny, Devi, Tenna,” one of the Doughboys waves happily. It’s difficult to tell which one but it’s probably Mr. Fuck.

“Wow, you two are eerily identical without makeup on,” Tenna comments.

“Don’t remind me,” Psycho Doughboy groans.

“Which raises the question, why don’t you have your makeup on?” Devi asks, “and what are you doing here?”

“Aron goes to CU and he sneaks us into the communal showers once in a while,” Eff explains, “we just finished up. Now we’re waiting for Sickness and Reverend Meat.” “They take so long,” D-boy comments.

“What are you guys doing here?” Eff asks.

“Taking some community classes,” Tenna replies, “we’re gonna find Johnny a new hobby.”

The Doughboys stare at her for a second before bursting into loud, boisterous laughter. They literally hold their sides and double over as their laughter bounces off the walls.

“We’re serious,” Devi growls.

“That just makes it funnier,” Eff guffaws.

“Oh, man,” D-boy sighs as he wipes his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard.”

“What’s so funny?” Tenna snaps.

“Nny can’t do hobbies,” Eff says, “the Nightmare drained him dry.”

“But I thought Johnny had endless imagination or something,” Devi points out.

“Well, sure but what good is imagination if all your creativity and originality is gone?” Eff questions as he stands up next to Nny. “Look at him. He’s completely hollow.”

To prove his point, he knocks a couple times on his head. Johnny immediately punches him in the face. Eff cries out in pain as he falls to the floor.

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Devi states, “if he still has imagination then he can still use it.”

“Alright, believe what you want,” Eff grunts as he rubs his nose. “But trust us; we were there the entire time the Nightmare was feeding off him. He’s got nothing.”

The girls both huff as they grab Johnny and lead him away.

They find their classroom and let themselves in. There are easels with large sketch paper and different pencils, erasers, and sharpeners lined up throughout the room. A few of the easels are already taken, mostly by young adults like them. They pick three easels next to each other in the middle of the room and wait for the class to begin.

The teacher comes in a few minutes later. He’s dressed in a black, semi-formal suit. He stands at the front of the room and examines the class.

“Welcome to sketching class,” he says, “here I will attempt to teach you the most basic form of drawing but I can’t guarantee anything. Not everyone is born with a natural talent for art, like I was.”

“Pretentious and arrogant,” Johnny mumble, “a double threat.”

“The best way to get better at anything is practice, but that will only get you so far,” the teacher continues, “so to begin I want you all to sketch this bowl of fruit.”

He goes into a nearby closet and produces a bowl of apples, oranges, and bananas, which he rests on the front desk.

“I will be going around critiquing your work but don’t let that pressure you,” he says, “remember if you’re not good it’s not your fault. You just weren’t born with the proper skills.”

The students pick up their pencils and start drawing on the easels. The teacher walks down the rows, quietly looking over everyone’s shoulders. Occasionally he’ll make some sort of noise, like a sigh or a snort that sound derisive.

Johnny tries to ignore him and focuses on drawing. It’s been a while since he drew something other than loudmouth stick figures. It’s a little difficult but he doesn’t hate it.

The teacher comes by and glances at his work. He lets out a small scoff and a bolt of fury shoots up Johnny’s spine.

“I see some talent here,” the teacher says as he walks up to the front of the room. “But mostly I just see false hope. You poor souls enter this class thinking you can just learn talent. I hate to tell you this, but art isn’t for everybody. Better you quit now before you really fail.”

Johnny growls and squeezes his pencil.

“Not everybody can be as skilled as I am.”

The pencil snaps in half.

“That’s it!” Johnny barks as he throws aside his easel and stomps up to the front of the room. “You arrogant, pretentious, annoying asshole! I’m gonna cut out your irritating vocal chords with my pencil and hang you with them!”

The teacher cowers before Johnny’s booming voice and terrifying scowl while Devi and Tenna race over and hold him back.

“Okay, time to go,” Tenna says as they start pushing him to the door.

“Let go of me! That annoying thing doesn’t deserve to live!” Johnny shouts.

They successfully get him out into the hallway, where everyone is staring. After a few seconds, Johnny gives up. He drops his broken pencil and trudges down the hall. Devi and Tenna follow close behind.

“Well, that was a disaster,” Devi comments.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” Tenna shrugs.

The next day they have their painting class. They drive to the school and head to the classroom.

“You think you can behave yourself today?” Devi asks, “we’re lucky nobody called the cops after your little episode yesterday.”

“That douche had it coming,” Johnny growls.

They let themselves in and pick their easels. Each one has a canvas and some painting supplies. The teacher is already there. She’s built like a cute dwarf and is dressed in really bright clothes.

“Welcome to painting class, everyone,” she chirps, “here I’m gonna teach you the basics of painting. But remember: the most important rule is to have fun.”

“Is this teacher better than yesterday’s?” Tenna whispers, “at least she’s not arrogant.”

“Her giddiness makes me sick,” Johnny mutters.

“Yeah, me too,” Devi agrees.

“Now painting isn’t just about using colours to draw an object,” the teacher explains, “it should be about expressing your feelings and putting those onto your canvas. Paint what you feel. So to start off, I want everyone to paint something that makes them happy.”

“Happy?” Johnny questions.

“Just paint Squee,” Devi shrugs, “he makes you happy, right?”

Johnny groans in reply as he picks up his paintbrush. He stares at the colours and then at the canvas and back at the colours. How does he even begin? He dips the brush in black paint and starts dragging it somewhat absentmindedly across the canvas. Squee has black hair. He could try painting that.

After a few minutes he’s somewhat successfully painted a rather messy looking portrait of Squee. He’s not really sure how to feel about it. This whole assignment makes him…uncomfortable.

The teacher comes by and examines his work.

“Okay, that’s a very nice portrait,” she says, “but I want you to paint how this person makes you feel.”

“How the hell do I do that?” Johnny asks.

“Be creative. Use different colours and brushstrokes. Think about how you feel when you’re with this person and paint it. Use your imagination and visualize your feelings.”

He just stares at her with a blank, somewhat irritated expression.

“You... do have feelings, don’t you?” she asks.

Johnny growls with annoyance and squeezes his paintbrush. Then he catches Devi watching him from the corner of her eye.

He can’t do anything here. If he tries, he’ll miss his shot just like yesterday.

He huffs, drops his paintbrush, and stomps away. “I’m done.”

The next day is pottery class. It seems like an odd choice to Johnny until Tenna says that she’s always wanted to try it.

The teacher seems tolerable at first. He sticks to the basics as he explains how to make pottery.

“The most important thing is to be gentle,” he says sternly, “you don’t wanna squeeze the clay too hard or you won’t be able to shape anything.”

The students get to work on making their pottery. Devi and Tenna enjoy themselves. Playing with the clay is messy and fun. But the second Johnny puts his hand on it, clay splatters all over his shirt and the floor.

“I told you, you got to be gentle,” the teacher snaps as he comes over. “Try it again and this time control your strength.” Johnny tries again with the same result, except this time clay also splatters all over the teacher.

“Ugh, what did I just say?” he barks, “you need to be more careful! Can’t you be the least bit gentle? Pottery is a delicate art!”

He constantly scolds Johnny like a child while his anger slowly rises. Devi and Tenna watch wearily, knowing it’s only a matter of time now.

He snaps quickly. He grabs the teacher by the back of his head, slams his face into the clay, and stomps out of the classroom.

Devi and Tenna sigh with defeat. They apologize to the teacher, help him clean up, and leave.

“This was a total failure,” Devi groans as they leave the school.

“Yeah, but in hindsight I guess we should’ve known it wouldn’t end well,” Tenna points out.

Johnny is leaning against their car when they arrive, tapping his fingers angrily on his arms as he waits.

“I knew this would all be a waste of time,” he scoffs with annoyance.

“Yeah and you were right,” Devi snaps, “sorry for taking an interest in your personal life.”

“You should be,” he retorts, “it’s not like I ever ask for it.”

He gets off the car and goes into the backseat.

“Why do we even try to be friends with him?” Devi growls.

“Well…we like being around Squee,” Tenna shrugs.

They get into the car and drive away.

Later that evening, after Johnny has picked up Squee from Skool, the two of them laze about on the couch and watch TV.

“So the hobby search didn’t work out,” Squee states.

“No,” Johnny growls, “I guess the Doughboys were right. I really am hollow.”

“Well, hey, you draw Happy Noodle Boy sometimes,” Squee points out in an attempt to make him feel better.

“That doesn’t require imagination,” Johnny scoffs.

“No, I guess not,” he sighs.

“Oh, well,” he grunts, “it doesn’t matter anymore. I lost that part of myself so long ago I don’t even remember it.”

“Maybe you’ll reinvent it someday,” Squee suggests, “like how you’ve been reinventing yourself for the past couple years.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Later that night, after Squee’s gone to bed, Johnny goes downstairs into his underground floors. He goes down a couple levels and goes into a room with dim light and lots of tables holding multiple sharp objects. In the middle of the room, three familiar people are tied to bolted-down chairs: the teachers for each of his community classes.

“Maybe I am hollow,” Johnny says, “I’m no longer creative and I can’t use my imagination. I see things I had drawn in the past but I don’t remember drawing them or what I felt at the time.”

“You three are art teachers. I assume you must be very imaginative and creative, although I haven’t seen evidence to support that theory. All you guys did was lord your creativity over everyone like some arrogant wannabe god,” he rambles as he picks up a three-bladed knife with serrated edges.

“Still, teachers are meant to help their students,” he says as he faces them. “So do any of you have any advice for me as to how I can be creative again?”

They only whimper and sob fearfully in response.

Johnny glares at them with disappointment then sighs, “ah, well. I’ll reinvent myself some other day.”

He lifts his knife and slices through their chests simultaneously.

#Johnny the Homicidal Maniac #Johnny the Homicidal Maniac fanfiction #JtHM #JtHM fanfiction #IZ JtHM crossover #my art #my ocs

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