#three of you self absorbed motherfuckers

[sarucane]

How did Stede leave pirating so easily?

So in the space of 2 episodes, Stede goes from being "the motherfucking man" to an innkeeper, and there's really not *much* in between there--all his scenes are primarily about other characters in the finale. So I wanted to rant about what I think fills in this gap.

Why did Stede become a pirate in the first place? Well, because he wanted to be a "real boy." He wanted to have a life that felt like his own, a life that wasn't swaddled in comfort (completely, at least). He wanted to break the monotony, the despair of a life without room for deep emotions or agency. And he became a certain kind of pirate because he wanted to be someone important and good in the lives of others, not just a marginal figure.

But why did Stede become a pirate the second time?

Ed.

Sure, there were other reasons: he didn't belong with his family anymore, didn't fit in his old life, and trying to have his cake (having run away) and eat it too (coming back) was just hurting everyone. He changed, and they changed, and a foundational truth of this show is that you can't change back.

But the reason he didn't belong with his family anymore was that he had gotten his original wish. He'd become a "real boy," someone who felt things deeply, who didn't need to keep one foot in his old life by hanging onto his wealth. He'd become important and valued in the lives of his crew, which they demonstrated when Chauncy challenged his right to the Act of Grace

But the moment Stede crosses the line forever between his old life and his new one is when he tells Mary "his name is Ed."

When Stede leaves, he falls in with the marooned crew--but he spends more time pining for Ed then talking to them. There's a place for him with his crew, and he fits in it, and we see in E5-6 that he cares deeply about doing right by them.

But neither Ed nor Stede fully fit into the crew when everyone's back together. Ed's caught up in his own self-reckoning, and Stede's splitting attention between the crew and Ed. In a way, they've outgrown Stede: they no longer need his help to enable the community on the ship. They've reached a point where they can deal with the conflicts in E4 by themselves, can absorb Archie and then Izzy and give both of them space to relax and integrate. They like having Stede as captain, but they don't need him anymore. In E7, Stede takes Olu leaving as a betrayal, but even that goes back to Stede being more focused on Ed than on the crew, and acting out over hurt feelings from a fight.

The only thing left that Stede can only get through piracy is the lure of fame. And that's a real perk--Stede genuinely enjoys his taste of infamy in E7. It's fun, it's a fulfillment of a childhood dream.

But it's also hollow, and it's a trap. It's hollow because Bill isn't Stede's real friend, and the loss of Steak Knife wasn't worth Stede dying by challenging Zheng (nor was Stede's ego worth Steaky's death, but that's another thing). And it's a trap because Stede really is a terrible pirate. Stede has to deal with the pirate world without Ed three times during the show. The first time, the Spanish almost kill him; the second time, Spanish Jackie almost maims him; the third time, he challenges Zheng to a duel and refuses to back down, then tries to "ambush" British officers who kick his butt. Stede's fantastic when he stays in his lane of nontraditional piracy, but if he became a really successful traditionally infamous pirate, he'd no longer be Stede.

So Stede doesn't need the infamy of success as a pirate, any more than he needs is pretty clothes (though he likes both). Stede doesn't need to stay a pirate to keep his relationship with the crew, and they don't need him either. Stede doesn't need to go out and be a pirate to feel real things, or think he's "adequate" enough for his father.

But Stede does need to give his relationship with Ed a real chance, to be what they want it to be. And Ed just cannot be a pirate anymore--there's too much damage and pain. Plus, living on the ship, their lives in danger all the time, heightening everything, pushing their actions out of their control. Their relationship was crushed under that pressure in S2, and it's still a pretty fragile thing. They need space and time. And by leaving the ship, they can have it.

For Stede, piracy meant belonging, love, and fulfillment.

He has those things now: He's got Ed. He doesn't need piracy anymore.

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta #ed teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #i love the finale and i'm eternally grateful a cancellationwon't be straight traumatic but just FIVE MORE MINUTES oh well life is what it i

[thatonebylershipper]

silly byler ficlet that is basically 665 words of me projecting onto mike

@bylersrise @unsurebisexualcore

Mike knows he should be asleep. He does. What he doesn’t know is why he isn’t sleeping yet. So he slowly, slowly, carefully, carefully extracts himself from his boyfriend, who has been asleep for three hours at this point, to get his earbuds out of the basket they have tied under the bedside table.

Scrawny by Wallows has been on repeat for a few days, so obviously Mike just keeps listening to it. He physically restrains himself from wiggling around under the blankets with excitement for the song and gets the urge to bite something on about the third repeat of the night. He doesn’t remember where he put his chewy necklace so he settles for biting the heel of his hand, smiling all the while.

He’s so absorbed in the music that he doesn’t notice when his sleepy boyfriend shifts underneath him and seemingly out of nowhere, Will is pulling Mike’s hand away from his mouth. Mike turns to look at Will, grinning sheepishly and pulling out his earbuds one at a time.

“Mike, what are you doing?” Will asks, voice hoarse with sleep. It makes Mike’s smile wider. Will is adorable. “It’s almost 2 in the morning. You should be asleep. Also I can hear that,” he adds, nodding at Mike’s earbuds that are resting on the blankets.

“Me too.” Mike grins. “And I know. I just couldn’t sleep. I don’t know why,” He responds, subconsciously bringing his hand back to his mouth. Will pulls it away before it even gets there.

“Where’s your necklace? I know it’s hard to accommodate yourself sometimes but I don’t want you hurting yourself like this.” Mike shrugs. Will rolls over to dig through their basket. Some of the contents include various fidget toys for both Mike and Will, Will’s headphones, phone chargers, a shared water bottle (okay maybe they’re a little bit gross but neither of them care. Haters gonna hate), and usually Mike’s rubber lego brick necklace that he chews on as a stim but it seems to be missing at the moment.

“Aha,” Will mutters, rolling back over with Mike’s necklace wrapped around his fingers. “Stop biting your hand.”

Mike slips the soft cord over his head and immediately starts biting the rubber. “Shorry,” he says, muffled. “It doeshn’t hurt doe,” he adds.

Will smiles at him endearingly. “It might not feel painful but look at the bruises on your palms. Biting your hands hurts you. That’s why we got you the necklaces in the first place, ya goof.”

Mike unclenches his teeth, letting the colorful lego brick drop to his chest. “I couldn’t find it.”

“It was right there,” Will grins at him incredulously.

“Object permanence issues?”

“Okay fine,” Will compromises, having suffered from the same problem for his whole life. Just yesterday morning he was looking for his keys for ten minutes before realizing they were literally in his hand. “Still listening to Scrawny?”

“Yes,” Mike gushes. “I am a scrawny motherfucker with a cool hairstyle, if you didn’t know.”

Will laughs. Mike has said the same thing at least five times a day since someone recommended the song to him last week. “Trust me, Mike, I know. Can you at least try to go to sleep soon?”

“I can try,” Mike agrees, putting his earbuds back in his ears but turning the volume down so it’s not distracting enough to keep him awake. Will kisses his forehead and mumbles a “goodnight” before settling down onto the pillows to go back to sleep.

Mike loves him, Mike loves him, Mike loves him. He pulls out an earbud. “Will,” he whispers, nudging his tired boyfriend.

“Mike,” Will whispers back.

“I love you.”

Will smiles, eyes still closed. “I love you too.”

It’s not the first time they’ve said it to each other but it still gives Mike butterflies everytime he hears it.

That night, Mike falls asleep next to his favorite person, listening to his favorite song, in his favorite place: his home.

uhmm hope you liked it if not then kiss my ass because i dont actually care this was very very self indulgent 😘

#byler #autistic mike wheeler #my writing #autistic will byers

[themaninyourcomputer]

CAN WE TALK ABOUT IZZY MOTHERFUCKING HANDS??? YOU GUYS?? Season three ripped my heart out. I'm absolutely devestated. I was talking with @vampireteaspoon about this-Izzy isn't being redeemed in the Zuko sense of the word. The people around him are just fundamentally broken, damaged people, and the events of season one/leading into season two highlight their flaws. It's not necessarily that Izzy is getting better, it's that the other characters are...well, being fucking awful to eachother.

The plot is bringing out the worst in everyone, which levels the playing field, and allows us to see the humanity in Izzy. We sympathize with him, not because he's a good person, but because he-like Ed-is a flawed individual. However, we recognize that he is a complex person. It's very Bojack Horseman.

Like, we're rooting for Ed, but his actions are so vile. We SEE the Kraken. And while we understand that his actions come from a place of hurt ("I'm not a good person, Stede"), there are moments, specifically in episode 2, where we DESPISE him.

Same goes for Stede. Stede is frustratingly ignorant. He's self absorbed to the point of being borderline narcissistic. He is not considerate of other people's feelings. This is evident in the way he brushes off Lucius, and-more importantly-in his abandonment of Ed. And he is still COMPLETELY ignorant of all the pain he caused Ed. Ed grieved him. He fucking grieved him. He actually mourned Stede. He lashed out at the people around him. This mf tried to kill himself, and Stede doesn't seem to grasp the severity of his actions.

This show is grabbing the audience by the shoulders, violently shaking us, and screaming, "Maybe there are no villians, maybe no one is 'evil,' maybe hurt people hurt people, maybe morality isn't black and white."

Basically, the OFMD characters all suck, and god, I just want them to be happy.

#girl how are you #This is irrelevant but I HAVE LOVE FOR YOU ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME ARGHHHH #posting this shit on main #ofmd season 2 #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #izzy hands #blackbeard #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd lucius #lucius spriggs #ofmd blackbeard #our flag means death #ofmd edward teach #ed teach #ofmd rant #ofmd 2 #ofmd 2x03 #also they really did shoot that scene in the avatar tank...a little silly

[skxllz]

{ 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒐 𝒐𝒂𝒌𝒔 }

quote(s): “ i’m a pretty strange motherfucker. ”, “ i will never in my life use mc squared unless it's to calculate the perfect location for a fucking bomb. ”, “ is it true birds don't have nuts or did that movie strays do me dirty? ”

age: 18 (eighteen)

sex: female

pronouns: she/he, her/hers/his

alias: marlo oates

> oates was a misspell on her last name during a time (s)he was arrested. she never corrected it because (s)he thought if was funny.

personality: idiotic, laid back, random, sarcastic, witty, a bit of an asshole, over dramatic, self absorbent at times, annoying, caring

likes: randomly rolling her r's in a stuttering motion, she finds it satisfying (and funny). painting fruit (quite literally). arguing over stupid things just to get a rise out of people. using the word dumbass more than she should. watching reruns of the golden girls with her grandfather. obsessing over billy loomis. playing cod zombies and cussing the screen out. making random noises. saying yeah, okay, cool unironically during any situation. quoting vines, movies and tv shows for the hell of it. practicing tiktoks but never posting them. scrapbooking. making youtube shorts of her everyday life. physically boxing her pitbull. running up the stairs on all four's. walking on train tracks. collecting outside things such as acorns. keeping a random tin of bobby pins in her jacket pocket. doing that thing with her septum where you put your upper lip behind it. + many more.

dislikes: motherfuckin’ ANTS and SPIDERS and BEATLES. the word poop. people who can't have a good time. the smell of pine. the name xavier. being put in serious situations (she ends up finding everything funny). having to act natural in certain public areas. the smell of cigarettes. people who say sure jan. people who don't embrace their weirdness.

appearance: shoulder length, messy, honey brown hair. hazel green eyes. dimples below her bottom lip when she grins. straight nose with random freckles dotting across the bridge. her figure is slim but she do got a bit of that thickums to her ass. height of 5'5. slightly tan skin. full lips. kinda o'dessa what's her face vibes.

additional info: she never graduated high school and dropped out in 11th grade. her favorite color is army green. she has a brother who's three years older than her. her mother is no longer in the picture, and her father is deceased.

#oc #skullz

[shoezuki]

writing my final essay on the Beat Generation rn and that whole literary movement in america. and my essay topic is basically me arguing that bob kaufman Fucks and was the best beat. because tbh he was

but this also like. contains a lot of my distaste for the beat movement and that this course has really made me more.... like. i dont really like the beat movement much? i mean the biggest aspect of it, of the idea of freedom and no responsibility or consequences is somethin i dont like. most the other shit, bout sexual freedom and movement and anticapitalist n antimaterialist notions are all good. but the beats are just so inherently American. the underlying idea of freedom is SO inherently american in terms of like... the idea of it. its so very 'i can do whatever i want, whenever i want, and i dont care if it hurts other people because i value my freedom over the consequences or responsibilities i would be expected to assume.' its this idea of freedom in terms of absolute individuality and its far too self absorbed for me.

but another Issue i take w it was like. the movement was heavily inspired by black culture, and all about defying social norms and rejecting conformity. but there was still a major issue with norms in the movement itself or at least in terms of how media perceived it. like yes it was about liberty and freedom but also all the most well known beat writers are white dudes. many of them like kerouac held views of women as inherently lesser still.

and like. in that regard most of the most known beats who are like. THE beat writers. were kinda hypocrites. like kerouac didnt think women could write and when he met one woman who was a good writers he saw her as an exception. and with burroughs he was like, from an extremely wealthy family and was given an 'allowance' his whole life and never had to work and so his rejection of capitalism and the job market feels flat in that he can say all that from a place of privilege.

i mentioned it to my professor when we'd talk bout it but honestly the most authentic beats who didnt seem hypocritical or make the movement feel hypocritical to me were those who were marginalized and didnt have a choice in rejecting society. like allen ginsberg was one the Big Beats as well and to me he is the most Beat out of the main three of him and burroughs and kerouac. cuz ginsberg was an openly gay man in a long term relationship, he was jewish and lived on the fringes of 'acceptable' american society as an outlier.

it especially goes for bob kaufman. he was always left out of the beat movement and ignored and even in modern times doesnt really get the credit and recognition that he deserves. but holy fuck if anyone was ACTUALLY beat it was him! he was a black man with a jewish father. he created poetry without ever really writing it down besides on napkins and would 'perform' his poetry on streets and yelling out poems or sticking his head in peoples cars. he did not ever seek out publishing his work and he purposefully would confuse any publishers and would lie about himself and his life so even now some of the aspects of his biography is confusing. he wanted to be forgotten! he was never concerned with actually carrying on his work or creating it and there was something beautiful in that. he was constnatly accosted by police to the point that specific officers would harass and abuse him whenever they felt like it. he actually experienced a lot of the bullshit and hardships the beats rejected and criticised. many white beat writers chose to reject social norms, but he had no choice! theres something so much more authentic about the rejection of society when you by virtue of existing cant even exist within societal norms itself.

he was just. such an interesting dude. and the beat movement abandoned him because he was too far on the fringes of society that the public couldnt accept him. motherfucker wanted that, in a way, though. like he took back his silencing by silencing himself. he wasnt being forgotten or silenced or ostracized anymore, because he wanted to be forgotten.

#egg rambles #new tag for word things when i go off bout literature #allen ginsberg was interesting to me as well. #its kind of interesting that he was regarded as a Major Beat considering he was a jewish gay man #but i think it was like... his jewishness was really watered down and rarely actually regarded #so he was easier to digest by society #like by just seeing him as 'white enough' he was able to be publically known and regarded #while kaufman couldnt ever be seen as white #like in many regards i think the beat generation kinda sucked but some specific ppl who came from or around it #like ginsberg and kaufman and jan kerouac #were fucking phenomenal. they actually embodied what beat couldve/shouldve been

[incarnateirony]

Patrick out here desperately scrambling to concoct a universe in which he didn't spend several months making shrill noises mocking the exact elements of ACTUAL POSTS OF ACTUAL STUFF I WAS ACTUALLY SPECCING which turned out to be, SURPRISE TO NOBODY, THE ACTUAL PLANNED ENDING GRADUALLY RELEASED IN INFO BYTES.

Dude out here basically crawling through my #shitposts #crack tags like "LOOK HOW WRONG THIS MOTHERFUCKER IS"

bro I also have crack posts of Jared sleeping with DJ Qualls that doesn't mean that was my actual fucking information

ARE YOU OKAY BRO

L I T E R A L L Y HOW CAN YOU NOT TELL APART "FUCKING AROUND WITH FRIENDS IN SILLY THREADS-- HEY HEY HEY WHAT IF WHAT IF" from "So anyway the ending will involve Castiel dying in subsuming death by facing his shadow, and then dean will die next before sam gets a full life on earth, while the others reunite in heaven at the roadhouse"

LITERALLY. I HAVE LIKE. ENTIRE VIDEO SERIES DOCUMENTING THIS ENTIRE "SPECULATION" PATH, THERE ARE HOURS OF STUDIOUS FOOTAGE COVERING TO DETAIL OUT FOR THE VIEWER WHY IT WOULD TREND THAT WAY. THERE IS a 6 HOUR PATHWAY I EDITED FOR YOU GUYS.

THERE ARE LITERALLY DOZENS OF POSTS AND POSTS WITHIN MASTERPOSTS THAT WERE RELEASED WITH THESE VIDEOS EXPLAINING WHAT THEY MEAN AND HOW THEY MOVE AND WHERE THEY WERE GOING AND HOW DIFFERENT AUTHORS WERE DOING IT AND WHERE THEY WERE TAKING IT.

THE FIRST RELEASE ALONE WAS THREE VIEWING HOURS OF CONTENT BEFORE THE FOOTAGE AFTER AS NEW CONTENT RELEASED.

AND HE CAN'T TELL IT APART FROM A SHITPOST.

That about sums up his general reading or media comprehension at the end of the day, doesn't it.

This dumb motherfucker heckled and laughed then REFUSED omission and

I cannot emphasize this enough

I repeat,

HE SPENT 5,000$ IN HIS OVERBLOWN CONFIDENCE JUST TO PROVE HE IS, IN FACT, AN OBLIVIOUS DIPSHIT.

Five thousand dollars. I need you to understand this man's mental state. He was so goddamn confident he worked with Kelios and Vinnie and burned literal thousands of dollars to prove I was right all along, even without Dabb clarifying the roadhouse or everyone else the thousand other elements I laid out there.

All he has to grasp at straws with now is crackposts and denial of the very obvious chain of events.

What a sad self consolation. I think he feels it. His entire relevance and platform is withering before his eyes. Everything he has ever been a pretender for already festers on the floor and the next few years is nothing but vultures picking apart the carcass.

Patrick's apparently been trying to read the goddamn memes on my blog like tea leaves holy buddha on a pickle

miserable, self absorbed jared stans like himself wanted to believe Jensen would let it rest. That he "liked" the ending. They ignored everything--they ignored him ignoring the finale, even, and waxing poetic about something else. They ignored the omissions, they ignored the upset, they ignored the BTS info of what caused the breakdown, they ignored it all.

They wanted, no they NEEDED it to rest. If it rested, they could continue to air out this "EVERYONE ELSE WAS WRONG TRUFINALE IS KING JENSEN IS BIBRO GOD" if Jensen had let it go.

But Jensen can't let it go, and they can't let THAT go.

...you know what happens? To angry spirits that can't let go?

They hate the prequel and drag it and act like they have any comprehension what's going on when they're literally 8 episodes behind the curve. They see the signs, they all saw Jib, most got angry in the moment. They know what's fucking happening and they're losing their shit and popping open any google argument loophole they can perceive for a road out.

There isn't one.

They aren't the vengeful ghosts.

Jensen, and all that was ripped away from him is and are.

At the end of the day, that's all this noise is. Their upset that their parasocial, projected, idealized version of Jensen doesn't exist. That he isn't that man, just like I said days before Jib to him in open warning full of as many bold headliners in this post.

That Jensen doesn't exist. But to face that they need to also face they've sided with the oppressor. Some, i think, consciously know and do it for that cause. Others, I think, just acted in pride and desperate need for attention online. The longer I've known of Patrick, the more convinced I am that he is a conscious bad faith actor.

Those bad faith actors are aware they are the enemy. And they welcome that role and, just like his malicious rending at Jensen and the Winchesters as a person and idea each their own, he will gladly fulfill that position. And part of his bid for enemy action is sewing this rotten discord or the lies he was called in advance on and caught in live in my pinned post. That's it. That's who Patrick is.

And that is All. he is.

Not even as a fandom.

Just as a person

that's all he is.

not even a person really. just a miserable pretending sack of shit and lies, who's terminal onlineitis comes to catching M&Gs and badly warped fan rumors to warp himself again, and pretend, hey, this makes me connected, and valid. He lives for it. And he fails for it. And if you look at what his notes rot at, frankly his social media presence has rightfully died for it. He used to get notes every post in the hundreds and a few tipped to thousands. Now, he's lucky if his hottest of takes collects 30 notes, and the better part cap at 5. How the mighty have fallen with the public's growing awareness.

Frankly he just needs to disappear but I think he imagines rebuilding that following and that narrative with new oblivious parties to his game. It's only going to get worse for him from here.

[winepresswrath]

I used to be into adversarial JC/lwj but I've seen the light and now I'm really into them really liking each other. Idk how this happened I have nothing to back it up. Realistically it can only exist in aus and my dreams. But I think about them mutually judging people, or JC doing the needed yelling for both of them when LWJ doesn't want to talk, or lwj helping stop wwx from doing stupid shit while also thinking he's great and JC silently approving ben and IDK HOW IT WORKS BUT I LIKE IT.

I’m still into their mutual war of petty antagonism (and very much of the opinion that the death toll makes it pettier) but every time I read an AU where the author has put work into highlighting the reasons they might actually work as friends I surprise myself by how charmed and delighted I am. They are both extremely petty and skilled in the arts of passive aggressive sneering. They do both love Wei Wuxian while thinking he should set himself on fire less often. They’re bad at expressing themselves in different ways, and I think that makes it easy for them to fall into a cycle of misunderstanding that’s particularly hard for them to extract themselves from because Lan Wangji is a champion grudge holder and Jiang Cheng’s instinctive emotional response to rejection is to reject the other person back harder, but I think in the happy universe they’ve got a shot of forming an alliance of eye rolls and disgusted barely perceptible lip pursing. Even in canon, they’re going to live until they’re what, 300 or so, barring any other civil wars or lucky ghosts? It’s not that I doubt their ability to be mad at each other the whole time if they really feel like it but I can also see them making accidental eyecontact over dinner one day and being mutually surprised to realize they don’t actually hate each other.

#lan wangji #jiang cheng #seriously any time a third party dies and they make it about wei wuxian #that’s very human and understandable and sympathetic to me but also petty as shit #jc: how do you reconcile being a good an righteous person with still loving him after he killed members of your clan #lwj: the fact that you don’t just do that automatically is yet another reason you are TRASH actually he’s very sad about that #and needs emotional support #the ghosts of redshirts past: on the one hand in life we too had people we loved best. on the other we’re gonna haunt the shit out of all #three of you self absorbed motherfuckers #but yeah i think it’s that the thing between them in canon is wei wuxian #lan wangji is perfectly capable of understanding that family can be complicated and fucked up without anyone being a monster #when the family in question is his #and jiang cheng was willing to play nicely enough with jin zixuan of all people #and zixuan was willing to play nice back #so if lwj totally drops the ball he’s losing at brother in lawing to zixuan #unacceptable

[mistydear]

soften me now, let me take as is given (i)

billie dean howard x reader

summary: You meet Billie in mourning. She’s too professional, and you’re too angry, and it takes too long to see her again. And again. And again as your lives tumble together.

w/c: 3.4K

notes: not quite enemies to lovers but there's definitely a strong dislike to lovers lmao. multi-chapter slow burn! warnings for grief, death of a loved one in ch 1. title from The Lady is Risen by Johnny Flynn

chapter two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

It’s a particularly awful day when your doorbell rings. You’ve been curled on the couch for most of it, unable to eat or sleep or do much of anything but cry. There’s a used tissue crumpled in your fist as you bite absently at the side of your thumb, paralyzed by the emptiness that follows rough sobs. You blink at the sound of the bell, your eyes refocusing briefly. You’re in no mood for company, and you’ve told everyone who matters that you’d like to be left alone right now. So you suck in a breath—what feels like the very first one in your life—and burrow defiantly into the cushions, into the blanket that still smells faintly of her.

After a minute, there’s a firm knock on the door, three successive raps. You startle at it, clenching your jaw.

“Motherfucker,” you hiss, anger swelling in you. It feels like that’s all you’re capable of lately. Because if it’s not anger it’s the most oppressive, suffocating sadness or the most hollow numbness you’ve ever felt in your life. But yelling at someone instead of this empty house seems cathartic to your grief-addled mind, so you trudge to the front door, sniffing roughly and wiping your red rimmed eyes. “What is it?” you snap, throwing it open, anger burning and itching under your skin.

The woman behind it is startled, blinking as she stands on your porch. She’s wearing pearls and a dusty pink silk blouse and the most obscenely tall heels for a Wednesday afternoon. Her dark brown eyes narrow briefly, and she cocks her head in confusion.

“I was told I’m expected,” she says, eyes flitting over you. There’s no judgement there, but you feel self-conscious about your days worn sweatpants and greasy hair anyway. You find yourself irritated by her pensive calm, the way she absorbs the storm radiating off of you and dissipates it. You need to burn hot and bright. It’s the only thing that’s kept you from completely losing your mind lately.

“You certainly are not,” you shoot back, mocking her propriety, the careful way she’s holding herself. She glazes over your rudeness like it never happened which absolutely infuriates you.

“This is the correct address?” she attempts to clarify, reciting from a piece of paper in her hand. You clench your jaw.

“Sorry, Rotary Ann, looks like you’re in the wrong place.” You both know she’s not, and she presses her lips together, determined. As you move to shut the door, she grabs it, stepping forward.

“Margot Hill called me?” she ventures, and you pause, releasing your grip on the door. She gently swings it open. “Billie Dean Howard,” she says, holding out a hand to shake. The name sounds vaguely familiar as you consider her. Then she sees the wadded up tissue in your right hand and thinks better of shaking it, sliding her thumb across the pads of her fingers. “Maybe not.” You don’t blame her. In fact, the whole thing makes you laugh when you finally recognize where you’ve heard the name.

“Wait a minute,” you start, amused, pointing to her. “The Craigslist psychic?” For the first time, a twinge of irritation shows on her face, and you revel in the rise it gets out of her.

“Medium, dear,” she clarifies tersely. A week ago, Margot sat in your living room showing you an ad for Ms. Howard, careful but insistent, claiming she was the very best—the real deal—and that she could give you closure, give both of you closure. You’d shut her down with a derisive laugh and a firm no, and you should have expected that she wouldn’t listen.

“Wow. I’m gonna kill her,” you muse, biting hard into your lip, a distant grin on your cheeks.

“I’m sensing I might be a little early.”

“Oh, really, are you sensing that?” you mock, and she lowers her chin, giving you a reprimanding glare over false lashes.

“I’m sorry. I don’t like surprising clients. It puts both of us in a very awkward position,” she offers, shaking her head.

“So this has happened before?” you ask, motioning between the two of you. She shifts and sighs, giving you an uneasy nod. You watch as her long, manicured nails tap an uncomfortable rhythm into her purse.

“Family does what they think is best for grieving loved ones. It’s not the first time I’ve been put in the middle of a divided household.” Grieving loved ones. The phrase makes your stomach cramp and a lump lodge firmly in your throat. How small and ordinary that makes such an unfathomable loss seem. You find yourself getting angry again.

“By divided household do you mean rational human beings and people who believe in ghosts?” You ask sharply. A slow smirk spreads across Ms. Howard’s face, and she hums dangerously, like it’s a challenge. Which is exactly when Margot runs up the front steps and stops between the two of you.

“Oh god,” she gasps, out of breath as she brushes strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes. She seems to realize the mistake of letting you two meet before she could be there to act as a buffer, and her face is struck with a horror you find gratifying. Even Billie Dean Howard looks both mildly irritated and relieved. Anyway, you aren’t sure her high society, sculpted face is capable of twisting with emotion the way yours is. “What time is it? I’m late, aren’t I? Shit. I was gonna prep her, really. Fuck,” she explains in a hurried breath to Ms. Howard who just raises her brow.

“I’m right here,” you drawl, narrowing your eyes at Margot. She turns to you, steading herself before grabbing onto your upper arms and shaking you once.

“You are going to suck it up and behave.” Her eyes are blue as crystal, just like Catherine’s, and tears well in your vision.

“I don’t want this bullshit in my house,” you insist, though your voice wavers, and you swallow harshly, avoiding Billie Dean’s curious, unoffended eyes.

“I don’t care. If you won’t do this for you, do it for me. Please, Y/N,” she sighs, brow furrowed tightly. You chew your lip, wishing not for the first time that Margot didn’t look so strikingly like Catherine in the eyes, in the way she begs. There are sharp, painful moments every once and a while in which you see it, and they never fail to make you weak in the knees. So you relent, bowing your head and nodding tiredly, sniffing and wiping your nose with your used tissue. She rubs your arms and kisses your forehead, and then she invites Billie Dean into your home, leading you to the dining room and away from the living room which looks like a tornado swept through—tissues on the floor, blankets crumpled on the couch.

You sit across the table from Billie Dean and pick at your fraying tissue as Margot makes tea and opens the blinds, dust dancing in the sunbeams. You watch her closely, the way she looks around, assesses the place. It’s almost as though she’s listening for something. So much so that she’s startled when Margot sets a mug down in front of her, a distracted thank you leaving her painted lips.

“So what did she tell you?” you ask as Margot plucks the disintegrating tissue from your hands and sets a box of them down in front of you instead. You glare mildly at her and at the assumption that you’ll be breaking down in front of this stranger over things that aren’t real.

“Next to nothing,” she answers easily. “Just that you’re both grieving, and you’d like to make contact with a loved one,” she says, nodding to both of you. “It’s policy, really. I don’t want details.”

“Why? Does it influence what you tell people?” you ask bitterly. She cocks her head at you again, blinking.

“No, but it affects how people receive me. The less I know, the easier it is for clients to trust me,” she explains plainly.

You grit your teeth and sip your tea. It’s made the way Catherine used to make it for you, with an extra sugar you always denied wanting but she knew you liked. You didn’t know Margot knew about that. You imagine them sitting together one sunny afternoon, Catherine telling her about all your silly little rituals and grinning the way she does when she talks about you, cheeks rosy, eyes bright. That gentle affection makes you want to cry again, and you set down the mug, avoiding Margot’s knowing gaze as she sits down beside you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Everyone says you’re the best at this,” Margot offers, her hands wrapping around her own mug as she shifts forward. She’s been interested in the paranormal for as long as you’ve known her, so her awe and respect is disgustingly genuine. “Helping people move forward, I mean.”

“Well, thank you,” Billie nods with a faint smile. Her modesty irritates you, and your shoulders tense against it. “But I don’t deal in bereavement,” she explains gently. “I’m not here to coddle you. I’m here to speak for those who can’t anymore.”

“So speak,” you say, and Billie’s eyes drift to you, piercing and blank.

“Y/N,” Margot reprimands quietly, but Billie waves her off.

“It’s alright. I understand why you’re angry. I don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t think you do understand, actually,” you reply, voice sharp and cutting.

“You think I’m a hack. That I take advantage of people’s pain, their desperation. That I’m taking advantage of Margot. And you’re angry because I’m not even nice about it,” she muses, a satisfied smile teasing her lips. She’s exactly right, and part of you wants to throttle her for it. “I won’t try to convince you of the truth. In fact, I don’t care whether you believe or not. What I do care about is Catherine.”

You dislike the way her name rolls off Billie’s tongue, soft and careful, and you hate the way Margot’s spine straightens next to you. You wonder how she knows her name but figured it was easy enough to google. The accident was all over the local news.

“She’s here?” Margot asks breathlessly. You roll your eyes, mostly on principle, partly because you want Billie Dean Howard to know exactly how much you don’t believe her. Billie hums, glancing down and away, rings clinking on her mug as she listens to something you can’t hear. Something you know isn’t there.

“She says she’s glad you got her message,” Billie offers, her eyes closing, and Margot grips your forearm. “And that you knew to hire a translator,” she adds, surprised, and then chuckles, shaking her head. “That’s a new one. Usually I just get called a psychic.”

“What message?” you ask, looking at Margot and trying to ignore the way Billie seems to be bonding with your dead wife.

“Our sign. The one we decided on when we were little,” she explains hastily as Billie begins tapping out a rhythm with her knuckles on the kitchen table. Not even you know what the sign is. The two of them were sworn to secrecy so that they could be sure it was a genuine message from beyond. Margot claimed to have heard it a few weeks ago, and you hadn’t believed her, too sick with grief to deal with that kind of false hope. It was what set her on the hunt for a medium in the first place, desperate to get you to see, to understand. As Billie taps, Margot’s eyes widen. “Oh my god. Y/N, that’s it,” she gasps and then, to prove her point, sings along to the song she and Catherine had made up when they were kids. You remember Catherine saying she’d teach it to your own kids once you had them and tear up for what feels like the tenth time in the last hour.

You aren’t sure how to explain Billie’s knowledge of that song, and the thought sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine.

Wordlessly, Billie holds out her hand to you, and you look down at her open palm then back at her waiting eyes.

“Kate would really like to talk to you,” she says quietly, and the nickname digs into your heart as a cruel but lucky guess.

“I don’t believe you,” you insist hoarsely, feeling as though the walls are closing in on you. Billie sighs but doesn’t retract her hand.

“She says you’re being needlessly stubborn, sunshine.” The pet name, however, strikes you like lightning, the breath knocked straight from your lungs. Margot’s thumb rubs circles in your forearm, and then all at once you’re crying, hot tears dripping down your cheeks. Your chin wobbles, and you wipe your eyes bitterly, shaking your head as you pull away from Margot’s touch, breath hitching.

“I can’t do this,” you sob, a hand pressed to your heart as you stand up and walk out, making your way through the front door and into the afternoon sun. You gasp, finally able to breathe as you sit down on the step and press your palms harshly into your eyes. You’re barely out there a minute before heels are clicking on the concrete behind you. The noise that escapes you is somewhere between a frustrated whine and a growl as you dig your nails into your scalp, trying desperately to control yourself in front of Billie Dean Howard, Craigslist psychic.

“Do you mind?” she asks, sitting down next to you. You’d expected some kind of platitude on grief, so the question catches you off guard. When you glance over, Billie is holding a cigarette between her teeth, lighter poised and ready. You can only vaguely shake your head, and the lighter flicks on. Her cheeks hollow out when she inhales, blowing smoke away from you as she leans forward on her knees. The sharp, heady smell of tobacco fills your nose, and you think you haven’t had a cigarette in years. Catherine would kill you. You laugh at the thought, just a little, and Billie’s gaze narrows on you, curious and watchful. So, you wipe your eyes and try to stop the tears from coming and coming as you sit up straighter.

“I’m sorry.” Your nose is stuffy, voice muffled, and Billie taps ash onto your front step.

“Please don’t be,” she says immediately, and you’re confused by how soft her voice is, how placating. It leaves room for vulnerability, and your stupid body latches onto the invitation with frightening speed.

“You being here,” you start, but your voice cracks, and you bite hard into your lip to keep the sob down. “Is just another reminder that she’s gone.” Your shoulders cave, and your breathing catches, and Billie’s brow furrows, a frown settled deep into her mouth. She reaches out, carefully, hesitantly, but you shake your head. She retracts her hand as you press your shaking palm into your forehead. You can’t look at her and her perfect hair, her perfect makeup. “It just hurts so much. I’ve barely been able to go through her things. And Margot, god, I love her, but this whole...beyond the grave shit is too much,” you sob and then laugh, near delirious. “Oh god,” you groan, shaking your head and wiping your puffy eyes. Margot, of course, had been right. You did break down in front of Billie Dean Howard.

“I just don’t think she’s ready,” you hear Billie whisper, and you swallow, swiping tears from your cheeks. She’s looking up and behind you, and you turn on instinct—almost hopeful—to find the space empty, devoid of Catherine.

“What?” you rasp, your heart aching. Billie turns back to you, her attention refocused, and shakes her head, taking another drag.

“Your wife isn’t a fan of my smoking,” she offers, amused as she snubs it out on the step. The reminder is unkind, you think, and you’re angry with yourself for allowing Billie to convince you—for a brief moment—that your wife might be standing right behind you, running her fingers through your hair in that soothing way she does. You can almost feel it now, in fact. “Grief is a funny thing,” Billie says. “It only lets us hear what we want to. Not always what we need to.”

Her words strike you as condescending, but the way you’re imagining Catherine’s fingers in your hair is too soothing for you to feel any meaningful irritation. Slowly, your eyes dry, and the two of you sit in silence for several minutes as the birds chirp in the summer heat.

“You know what I don’t understand?” you ask finally, and Billie hums, glancing at you. She looks ridiculous sitting on the step with you, done up and gorgeous while your only accessories are fuzzy socks and the dark bags under your eyes. “If there really is something after this, why would Catherine stick around?”

“It’s not exactly a matter of choice,” Billie admits, folding her hands against her black slacks. “Some spirits can’t move on for whatever reason.”

“Of course,” you nod sagely, sarcastically. “Unfinished business.”

“Do you have any idea what that might be for Catherine?” Billie presses, cocking her head delicately. You scoff, the anger swelling in you again.

“I dunno. Maybe her whole fucking life?” you burst, looking wildly to Billie. She doesn’t react, just presses her lips together sympathetically. You feel as though you’re being pitied now, and you can’t bear it. “Please leave,” you choke, turning away from her. You almost feel Catherine’s thumb against the back of your neck, swirling slowly, and a shiver runs down your spine. If only, if only.

Billie sighs and digs in her purse. She comes back with a business card for you to take. When you do—however reluctantly—she takes your hand in both of hers and holds it tightly, leaning close to you.

“Call me, Y/N. When you’re ready,” she breathes, searching your eyes for understanding. You aren’t sure what there is to understand, but you nod, and she gives you a tight, sad smile. She smells like cigarettes and oranges and cherries. “Take care of yourself,” she instructs, standing up and smoothing down her blouse. For a moment, you even think she means it.

When she’s gone, Margot steps outside and sits where Billie had been, her arms folded across herself.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she breathes heavily. Your eyes mist over, and you shake your head.

“You got what you wanted. Your proof, your sign,” you confirm, sniffing. She swallows, considering you, and then nods.

“Yeah,” she gasps, tears welling in her eyes. “I did.”

“She’s good, isn’t she?” you concede even if you do think she’s a fraud, and Margot laughs, wiping her eyes. Billie Dean Howard is a striking woman, and you wouldn’t be surprised to see her in the limelight one day. Or at least her own little niche of limelight.

“Listen, honey, I probably shouldn’t have…” she sighs, leaning over to squeeze your knee. Margot’s never been as good with words as Catherine, but her heart is just as big. “That was a shit show, wasn’t it?”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you’re chuckling still when you lean your head on Margot’s shoulder. She wraps an arm around you, holds you close, and you think—maybe—that you can feel Catherine’s fingers intertwined with yours.

#another impulsive upload from june :) #american horror story #ahs murder house #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #ahs fanfic #writing #ahs

[botwstoriesandsuch]

hey Kip! I’m sending asks into different writer’s askboxes, inquiring about cool themes/development facts/stuff the author wants to share about their personal favorite work of their own. What’s yours? :)

Ok so this ask is old and when I first got it I was like “dang I don’t really have a lot to talk about, what should I talk about I could those revalink headcanons the Kip Cut that turned into a working fic uhh hmm maybe I’ll just make something new to talk about real quick” and then I did and now there is a 12+ chapter Revalink fic in my drafts and I’m gonna talk about that now, whoopsie doopsie [click "j" to skip]

aHEM, OK so allow me to break out the primary school white board because yeah, I have a lot of thoughts and the oxford comma has not yet made it’s home into my brain. oh and spoilers for paraphrase. for both all of Chapter one and future events in later chapters, but it’s really nothing you couldn’t surmise from the AO3 tags

so I really wanted to tell the story of Revali and Link learning and struggling to love again after the less-than-fortunate events of Botw, but I wanted a...how you say...fresher, approach on the subject? Like I know we always say that fanfic writers writing the same tropes and stories time and time again is good because we eat that shit up--but at the same time I had asian parenting as was told never to half ass anything ever, no matter what. So now I'm gay and extra and have depression maybe and oh would you look at that @motherhyrule has dropped a beautiful revalink prompt right into my lap

Great so now that we have, that, I shall take you on the step by step process on how to make a :sparkles: story. So step one is to spend at least five to eleven business days for your white board to dismantle your genre and themes and work them around your character arcs. Luckily I have prepared one ahead of time

s*breaks out those laser pointers that uni professors use* So let's start with defining genre. As define because I HATE you, fuck you. I want you to suffer and writhe on the ground, motherfucker. How dare you think that I would give you nothing but pure predictable fluff, fuck you and yours

is the set of expectations that your audience has when consuming a piece of media

And the great thing about fanfiction is that unlike movies or book where the genres are more vague like, "oh it's a noir mystery genre. so there's a crime, maybe a murder, and a detective and a criminal." or "oh it's a teen romance. so there's some white people and a morally questionable six-pack 18 year old love interest that will be painted as desirable for some reason" BUT with fanfiction HALF of the work out the window, because as soon as you see those #revalink #aro sidon #zelpha #revali is an idiot and #found family tags you already know what's up.

Now what's so great about genre and expectation? Well the fun thing about it is that

I will use it to fucking break you.

... ... ...

<3 For example! <3

In Chapter 1: Holes, you already expect there to be revalink, you already expect them to be soulmates with the soulmarks and there's angst and yadayada ya. Revali and Link have to match because thatttss what this is all about, this is about them! This is about cute, little soulmarks and romantic words!

But whoooopsie doopsie [disney channel laugh track plays] they DON'T match anymore! Link's got a different mark! The number one rule of this entire genre has been broken whoooooooooooooooops. *ba dum tiss*

You might notice with a lot of my writing that I do this a lot, this whole..."oop but there's one little thing that's different." TebaSaki sick fic? Ok cool, but what if Teba burns an irreplaceable relic of the Rito champion to fight a wizzrobe first to characterize why his dumbass clicks with Saki. Mipha deciding to persue Link? Ok what if she chases after a dragon to externalize this conflict as she pierces it's flesh for a scale. Link fighting a Lynel? Ok but what if it's actually a sidlink angst fic in disguise and it's also world building on how Link deals with the bloodmoon that erases all of his efforts which is sort of similar to how his existence was erased from Hyrule 100 years ago mwaahahaha! Ok now that I say this outloud I think I just have a pattern of using fight scenes to externalize character growth. I like fight scenes...anyways.

I think another great thing about the realm of fanfiction is that with the tagging system, I can basically use a chekhov's gun sort of deal, without doing any writing. You know I'm gonna use that gun marked "soulmates" but you don't know when I'm gonna shoot it, and you SURE as hell don't know how.

And huzzah! One of the main points of conflict both drives the tension between Revali and Link, solidifies the unique genre and setting of this world, while also creating a new mystery that will carry over for the next few chapters.

Is Revali right in that Link's rebirth makes him destined for someone new now? What will Link do with the information that his soulmark has changed? Why did it change? Did Revali's change as well? How does anything fucking work right now?

And sure, you might be able to tell where things will end with them, but you sure as fuck will not know how because I HATE you. Fuck you. I want you to suffer and writhe on the ground, motherfucker. How dare you think that I would give you nothing but pure predictable fluff. I am not your goddamn fairy godmother, I will do as I fucking please. You will suffer as you fucking deserve, fuck you and your little tiny--

/j

Oh! But you might have noticed on my little planning whiteboard thing that there was a little T-Chart! For Revali and Link! That's because the next important thing besides plot (and in a lot of cases, including this one, it's argued to be even MORE important than plot) is

~CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT~

[to the tune of that history of the world video on youtube]

So yes, it's a little T-Chart outlining their character views in relation to the themes. And the great thing about themes is that they're not something you can necessarily predict in the same way you can with the genre and plot.

But now see, I'm very lazy so I'm just gonna plagiarize @hyrule-kingdom-updates thingy [that you should read btw] because they said my point quite clear enough

Now I don't really need to care about those points about bond and relationships and being understood, because I'm dealing with already established canon characters. I'm not some NERD who dabbles with entire casts of ocs who even cares about ocs not me that's for sure ahaahahaahahahahahaahahahahahAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH *cries in my orphaned WTTU fic* AHAHAHA*sobs*DONT FUCKING LOOK AT ME THAT WAY I SWEAR--

/j I love ocs

But the points I do wanna focus on is the idea that characters provide new perspectives on the theme, and that characters growth can be tracked based on their wants, lies, and needs.

So see, themes can be predicted the same as genre/plot because while you can have the same fanfic plots and tropes, theme will always vary!

Sometimes it's a journey of selfworth with Revali! Sometimes it's an exploration of trauma with Link. Sometimes it's about how you deal with the vulnerabilities of love with Mipha. Sometimes there's straight up NOOOO theme, and people just be fucking, and kissing, and baking, and having a good time. And that is totally fine too!

But I'm not a fucking coward.

I'm gonna weave in themes with my plot, because I fucking can.

I'm not a weakling like you.

Do you hear me, 2019 Kip? Do you hear me Demmers? Do you hear me Quill? I'm coming for your ass. You think you're so great, but I'm coming for you. Rest assured that your graves will be as deep as your sculptured pride--

Heeeere is that T-Chart again, plus more!

yyyyyYou might notice that Revali and Link are quite parallel, to paraphrase. Ayoooo, see what I did there? *dabs* I'm a genius. Anywho

They both start off the same way: 100 years ago they were in love and happy. Basically the equivalent of childish naivety. For the first time in their lives, life is whimsical and charming, and they make each other happy. In fact, it's almost a flaw with how they perceive this happiness. But don't worry! It doesn't last long!

You know what happens.

I think the chart is pretty self explanatory. Revali builds walls fast enough to give a republican a wet dream. Meanwhile Link makes every aromantic in the chat groan with his doubled down sentiments in the idea that his chances of being truly happy again are gone.

Now, I can't exactly describe the full on process of the inbetweens, and where Revali and Link are gonna go from here, because...you have to read it for yourself! Heehee...but something I did think was fun was how these character views on the themes are revealed. Because you'll notice that, I never give exposition. Ever.

Ok well, let me rephrase that. I never give exposition scenes. I will never give you a big LOTR fancy wizard scene explaining the ins and outs of a character's question or the world's magic or whatever. I'm a very impatient Kip, and I value efficiency. Nonono, it's all about multi tasking, baby!

Chapter 1: Holes is divided into three parts.

Post 100 Years - Medoh (Establishes Ghost Rev/Bonk Head Link's view)

100 Years Ago - Flight Range (Establishes old Revalink views)

Post 100 years - Mark (Develops Ghost Rev/Bonk Head Link's view in contrast to who they once were)

I think the way that you structure flashbacks is incredible vital, as it's a very quick way to characterize people without having them say stuff like "I used to be like you, until I took an arrow to the knee" or whatever.

And with the main structure of the chapters and the fic as a whole is focus on their characters, that means I can hide whatever other stuff I want in those scenes, becuase you're too busy absorbing the fun character stuff to realizing I'm giving you boring exposition. Like for example:

Post 100 Years - Medoh and Mark

Foreshadowing for the end of the fic

Set up connection to Medoh with Revali

Link has defeated Windblight

Link has been visiting Revali every night for the past few days

Link has already met Kass and presumably Teba

Link doesn't have the Mastersword

Revali's Gale is still an ability that needs master and practice on Link's end

And that's just some of the stuff.

And see, the only reason I can efficiently give all of this information regarding character, and even exposition, is because of the theme. The themes make everything relevant, and everything circles and encompasses one another, so there's absolutely no wasted space. I mean don't even get me started on how it's gonna be to characterize the other characters around this

I don't wanna talk about the other characters too much either because that's spoilers, but you can probably take a gandar based on my notes.

And oh my god this is just on the theme of the faults that come with "soulmates" and "true love" and all that, and how even magical destined relationships still require work and effort, and that no one thing or person solves all your problems. And that's not even TOUCHING the shit on trauma and scars. I didn't think it was even possible for me to talk about botw without touching on that, ha. Ah well, I've been talking for too long.

Revalink has a lot o' writing potential so das pretty cool yeah, I am excite

#revalink #paraphrase revalink #writing

[theladyofdeath]

The Ranch {8}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

A/N: We love that you guys have been loving this so much! Please continue to let us know what you’re thinking. We loved writing this fic, and your love means the world to us. 

The Ranch Masterlist

Cassian didn’t see or hear from Nesta for the rest of the day. He saw her in the main house around dinner time, but decided he would let her cook in peace. He didn’t know what kind of demons had reared their ugly heads at her today, but whatever had happened between Nesta and Tomas Motherfucking Mandray had screwed with her so badly that he barely recognized the woman he found in the paint department today.

He remembered Nesta from high school, had known that she had dated Tomas then. But, he didn’t know much. At least, not about Nesta. As for Tomas, however, he and Cassian went way back, and none of their interactions had ever been pleasant. Tomas had always been a self-absorbed little bitch. He hated Tomas.

And he had hated him even more when he walked into the paint aisle and saw how fucking terrified Nesta had been.

Yet, he wasn’t going to push her to talk about it. She would come to him when she was ready. Maybe. Hopefully. Either way, Cassian had convinced himself that it was none of his business. 

Even if he really, really wanted it to be his business. 

As night approached, Cassian made sure all the horses were ready for bed, and all the cattle were where they were meant to be. He whistled for Beau to follow him into the cabin and, the good pup he was, Beau obeyed. Once inside, he slumped into the recliner and checked his phone.

There was a text from Rhys that read, Being engaged is fucking awesome. It ended with three flame emojis. Cassian found the text as a whole repulsive and unnecessary.

There was a text from Azriel, too, that read, Drinks on Friday? Elain is working all night.

Cassian dismissed it, making a mental note to reply in the morning.

Then, he had one last text.

From Nesta.

Thanks for today. Sorry I spaced out.

He read the text once, twice, three times before finding the nerve to reply. Anytime, he wrote. He wanted to write something else, anything else, wanted to add a fucking speech at the end of the one-worded text, but he decided against it.

He pressed send.

It wasn’t two minutes later that he got a reply. You should be sleeping. You’ll have to wake up early to get on the stables, won’t you?

Cassian chuckled to himself. Maybe. But you have to be up early to do your makeup before you finish the landscaping, he replied.

Her reply wasn’t as quick this time, the dancing dots disappearing every so often. But when his phone finally vibrated while he was brushing his teeth, he laughed out loud.

Don’t act like it takes me more time to do my hair than it takes you to do yours. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those man buns are a little TOO perfect sometimes.

He replied with no hesitation. Glad to know you’re looking at my man buns.

He swore that he could feel her eyes roll from across the property. Goodnight, Sexy Ranch Hand.

Goodnight, beautiful.

He sent the text, hoping it would bring her a little bit of joy, a little bit of comfort, but then, when she didn’t reply, he grew nervous.

He felt he was walking a fine line with Nesta, ever since she scolded him for being his boss.

His hesitation didn’t last too long, though, because his phone vibrated the minute he climbed into his bed. The text was short, but it gave him comfort.

A smiley face emoji greeted him as Beau climbed up on the bed beside him.

He slept good that night, smiling stupidly to himself as he snuggled up next to Beau. And when morning came, he felt completely refreshed.

He was up and getting dressed with a cup of coffee at four, and as sunrise approached, Cassian grabbed a bag by the door and he and Beau were walking out into the cool, muggy summer morning. It wouldn’t be long until the sun was beating down, drenching him in sweat.

Instead of heading toward the stables, Cassian went across the grass and the gravel driveway, and up the steps of the tiny, modern house that sat there. 

He pounded on the door and Beau stayed in the yard, chasing his tail. 

No answer.

He pounded his fist on the wood once more.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Cassian kept knocking, and didn’t stop. He pounded repeatedly on the door for at least thirty seconds when the door was thrown open, and Nesta stood there, looking like she wanted to set him on fire.

“What the hell?” She asked, voice raspy, hair a mess, body wrapped in a crocheted blanket. 

“Rise and shine,” Cassian grinned. “Go on. Get dressed.”

Her eyes narrowed as she flipped on the porch light. Cassian lit up as she groaned from the brightness of it.

“You wanted to learn how things are done around here,” Cassian laughed. “Well, I start at sunrise, ever day.”

Nesta rubbed her eyes and snorted. “Unless you’re hungover.”

Cassian grinned. “Fair enough. Alright, go on, get dressed, I’ll wait.”

Nesta sighed but didn’t protest as she took a step back. 

“Oh,” Cassian said, before she could close the door on him. “Here.”

He held out the bag.

She blinked. “What is that?”

“I kept telling you,” he said, shaking the bag until she took it. “You own a ranch. You need a pair of boots.”

“You...bought me boots?”

Cassian shrugged as she took the bag and shoved his hands into his pockets. “With your sisters’ help. Consider it your welcome home gift.”

Nesta was speechless as she slowly went back into her little house.

She didn’t bother closing the door, so Cassian stepped inside as she went back into her bedroom.

He looked around, although there wasn’t much inside. He noticed Elain’s old furniture, that he had helped move in upon Nesta’s arrival.

“Hopefully they fit,” Cassian said as he went to the little fridge in the kitchen and looked at the pictures that covered it. “I may have snuck a glance at your sneakers the other day when you weren’t looking to check for size.”

Nesta’s quiet laughter flooded through the hall. “Creep.”

Cassian grinned to himself as he studied a picture of the girls when they were young, smiling with their mother. Cassian had never met her. She died years before Isaac had hired him.

Nesta came out a minute later, and even in the dim lamplight, Cassian was breathless.

Her hair was pulled back in a high point tail. She wore jeans, a tank top, and an old flannel shirt, which remained open.

And her boots, which fit nicely.

“Okay, stop staring,” Nesta muttered. “I realize you’ve never seen me in boots and it’s shocking.”

Cassian cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded. “They look nice.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and her boots thumped toward the front door. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, let’s do this.”

Cassian allowed himself to watch her walk out the door and down the steps before he followed her out.

————

“Harder.”

Cassian grunted.

“Harder.”

He groaned, but did as he was told.

“Harder!”

Cassian was out of breath, but he said, “This is as hard as it gets, I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, but still managed to roll her eyes. “I want you to try harder.”

He grunted and said, “Okay, okay, put it down. Stop pushing.”

They both moved away from the enormous roll of hay they’d been trying to roll through the south pasture. It had rained overnight, nearly doubling the weight of the hay and Cassian had suspected he needed a little more muscle than what Nesta had to offer.

“I’ll have to call Rhys,” Cassian said, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. Nesta was folded at the waist, her hands braced on her knees.

“No, we can-.” She stopped to breathe. “We can do it. We got this”

He chuckled, “Nes, that hay weighs over 5 times your weight. We absolutely do not got this.”

Her lips tightened as she sized up the roll of hay. “We-.”

“Nesta,” Cassian breathed, laughing quietly. “It’s not a big deal. Your ability to move a roll of hay doesn’t dictate your ability to run a ranch. Well, own it, I run it.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth. “You’re incredibly annoying.”

“I know,” he grinned, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, once more. Nesta’s eyes lingered a little bit too long on his abdomen, just above the waistband of his jeans, which were hanging loosely on his hips. He didn’t seem to notice as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Rhys. “Rhys will be over soon, I’m sure, he has the day off. Unless your sister kept him up all night.”

Nesta scrunched her nose. “No need to reference my sister’s sex life.” 

Cassian’s grin widened as he put his phone back into his pocket. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Nesta stilled, and her hesitation made him howl.

“I meant on a horse, Nesta,” he said, unable to control his laughter. “Calm down.”

“Asshole,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were red, both from the sun they’d been in all day and the blush now tipping her ears as well. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I don’t have a horse. I’m okay.”

Cassian had an eyebrow raised. “You actually have eight.”

“I have-.” Nesta paused. “Oh. You’re right.”

 But not Phoenix.

“Hey.” Cassian’s voice was soft and she looked up, not expecting him to be so close. His hazel eyes were the color of the forest floor. As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “You’ll never be able to replace him, Nes. You’ll never get back that bond with him. But that doesn’t mean you can’t build another bond with another horse.”

He was right, of course, but she hadn’t been on a horse in nearly a decade. The thought alone terrified her. Yes, she was beginning not to mind being back in Velaris, had even started enjoying herself while working on the B&B, but to ride again? She wasn’t sure if she was ready for such a huge step.

And it was.

A massive step.

Yet, Cassian’s eyes were so full of hope, and the way they watched her, so softly, Nesta couldn’t say no.

Didn’t want to say no.

“Okay,”  she breathed. “Fine.”

Cassian slowly shook his head. “I need to hear you say it with a little more enthusiasm.”

Nesta pursed her lips and shoved him in the shoulder, which only made his cocky ass grin return.

“Come on,” she said, heading in the direction of the dilapidated stalls the horses stayed in. She walked about twenty feet before she realized he wasn’t walking with her. “What?”

Cassian chuckled. “You really were tired this morning, weren’t you?”

Nesta blinked. “You banged on my door at, like, three in the morning. Of course I was tired.”

“Okay, first of all, it was four thirty,” he said, laughing. “Second, follow me.”

Nesta wasn’t sure exactly how she’d missed it. He was right, she must have been half asleep to miss the framework nestled back into the trees between their two houses.

But this was not the basic stable and tack room she’d described to him. 

No, this building was going to be massive.

“There are going to be sixteen stalls,” Cassian said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “The tack room is going to be on that side,” he indicated to the right. “And the lodge, will be to the left.”

“The lodge?” Nesta asked, turning to look at him. “Figured it might be nice to have a little getaway out here. If you don’t like it, I can scrap it from the plans, make this a second tack room or storage area.”

But Nesta wasn’t listening, she’d turned back to the massive framework of beams in front of her.

She breathed, “Cassian, it’s perfect.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s going to take me a while to finish-.”

“Tell me what you need and it’s yours.” There was no hesitation to her words. “We can even hire someone to help, if you want.”

Cassian chuckled, softly. “That’s okay. I got it. If I need help, I’ll ask Rhys and Az. They’ll be more than happy to help when they can.” 

“I can’t believe you…” Nesta shook her head, and looked at him. “Put so much thought into it.” 

He shrugged. “You asked for updated stables. I just did what I’m told.”

“You really do love this place, don’t you?” Nesta asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, meeting her gaze. “I had a bad reputation, from a lot of stupid shit I did when I was younger. Your dad really took a chance on hiring me, but I’m grateful every day that he did. He gave me a sense of purpose, when I thought I didn’t have one.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, and did not back down from his gaze as she said, “I’m grateful, too. That you’re here. I’d be completely lost without you.”

Cassian’s eyes softened, and she thought he was going to say something sweet, but then he said, “Yeah...all the other ranchers in this town aren’t as sexy as me, so, you really did luck out.”

“Oh, cauldron boil me,” Nesta groaned and Cassian put his arm around her shoulder and steered her towards the house, towards the shed where the saddles and other tack was kept.

“Ahhh, I didn’t want it to get too sappy.” He said, grinning down at her. “But now, we’re gonna see if you’re really worth your salt on this ranch.” He stopped in front of the shed and unlocked the padlock.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Nesta asked, not so subtly watching the way his back muscles moved under the blue t-shirt he wore.

He turned and Nesta cleared her throat and looked at him. He had a lead rope in his hand.

“Time to go catch you a horse, Nesta Archeron.”

——————

As the sun was setting, Nesta and Cassian walked back from the pasture, laughing.

“I had no idea that you were the one that released the dissection frogs!” Nesta said, locking the gate behind them. “Was it in protest of animal cruelty or something?”

Cassian thought for a second. “No, but if I had gotten caught, that probably would have been a better excuse than the one I would have gone with.”

Nesta chuckled. “Which was?”

He smirked and said, “Because I got bored.”

Nesta froze and watched him walk the rest of the way to the shed. “You let over four hundred frogs loose because you were bored?”

He put the ropes back in their place and locked the shed up. “Yup.” The grin on his face told her he, indeed, was proud of himself. And she was grinning, too.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you want to come have dinner with me?”

Cassian’s eyebrows raised. “Tonight?”

“Tonight, tomorrow night, whenever.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as a casual offer, and not that asking had filled her stomach with butterflies as strongly as it had when she had her first kiss. “We can meet for dinner in the main house every night. There’s no need for us to both cook.”

His smile returned, but it was softer. “I’d like that.”

They headed back around the front of the house, Cassian rattling off his favorite foods, most of which consisted of red meat and starches. When they came around the corner, Nesta froze.

Cassian’s words trailed off as he stopped beside her. A little black truck had pulled up, old and rusty. But the girl that came out of that little, rusty truck was stunning.

Nesta looked over at Cassian, to see if he recognized the young woman.

And, oh, he definitely did.

“Emerie,” he said, uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come by to say hello,” she crooned, grin wide. Then, she seemed to notice Nesta for the first time. “Oh. Who are you?”

Nesta blinked, then realized she was being spoken to. “I own this property.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes growing wide with recognition. “Your Isaac’s oldest? Wow.” She looked Nesta up and down, and the gesture had Nesta seeing red. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Emerie.”

“I’ve heard,” Nesta muttered.

Cassian was fiddling with the hem of his shirt when he said, “You know, we’re a little busy, Em, why don’t you come back later?”

“Later works,” she said, sliding her hands in her back pockets. “I was going to see if you wanted to have dinner, too, but it seems like you’re...taken care of.”

Cassian cleared his throat and said, “Nesta and I were just-.”

“Just finishing up for the day,” Nesta interrupted. She turned to Cassian and the warm, playful nature he’d seen emerging earlier had gone cold. “Thanks for showing me the ropes. I really appreciate it.” She began up the porch steps and Cassian reached for her hand. He gently gripped her fingers.

“Nesta, wait, let me explain. It’s-,” he dragged his hand down his face, the callouses catching on his stubble. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“I fell for that once before,” she whispered, her fingers tightening in his. “I won’t fall for it again.”

A look of confusion crossed Cassian's face, but his hand dropped. Emerie had gotten the hint, had gotten back up into her truck and was backing out.

“Are you jealous?” He asked, and it was almost anger that replaced the spark in his hazel eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not jealous,” Nesta snapped. “But it’s really inappropriate-“

“If you say that word one more time, Nesta, I swear on the fucking cauldron-.” Cassian’s words faded away and he raked his fingers through his long, tangled hair. “Must I remind you that you didn’t want me?”

There it was.

The words hung between them as complete silence consumed them, Emerie’s old truck driving away the only thing to be heard.

Nesta stared down at him, hurt written plainly across her face.

Hurt.

He had expected her to be jealous of Emerie, but he didn’t expect to see pain roiling in the depths of her eyes.

“Nesta, I-.”

She cut him off. “Did you lie to me?”

He blinked up at her, the sunset making her hair glow. “What?”

“That night, I asked you point blank if you had a girlfriend,” Nesta said, voice wavering. “You said no.”

“No,” Cassian said, eyes growing hard. “I have never lied to you, Nesta, I’m not a fucking liar. Emerie’s just a friend. She comes by every now and then. I haven’t seen her in months. She only comes by when she wants something.”

“Sex?” Nesta asked, before she could stop the word from tumbling out of her mouth. 

Cassian shook his head, ignoring the short question altogether. “It doesn’t fucking matter. But, I’ve never lied to you. And, if you think I would lie to you….fuck.”

She could see the anger brewing inside of him, could see the frustration, but Nesta didn’t care, because she was pissed. And yet, she had no reason to be. He was right. She had turned him down. She had no right to care. 

She was hurt, though.

And that hurt grew when she saw the hurt, saw the anguish, in his own eyes.

“I didn’t lie,” he repeated, looking away from her, out toward the pastures. “I’m a lot of things, Nesta, but I’m not a liar.”

She knew he wasn’t, knew it in every fiber of her being.

She hadn’t even been back in Velaris for a month, had just started to open up to the complicated man in front of her. Day and night, he always found a way to creep into her thoughts, into her dreams. But she couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, couldn’t afford to get tangled up with the man she couldn’t get off of her mind, no matter what she may want.

Not when her father's dream was on the line.

So Nesta closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that has silently started slipping down her cheeks.

She turned her back to him, and hurried up the stairs of the main house.

Cassian was calling her name, but she forced herself to keep walking, to open the door, enter the house, shut herself inside.

She leaned against the slab of wood, stayed their as her eyes filled with tears, even as Cassian knocked on the other side.

“Nesta,” he said, voice calm, quiet, broken. “Hey, open up, come on.” He knocked again.

Nesta didn’t move.

She stayed there, leaning against the door, listening to him knock, listening to him beg.

But no matter what he said, Nesta didn’t open the door.

#theranchnessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fanfic #au #nessian #shara collab #sharacollab

[dizzydancingdreamer]

My Just Dance Playlist and who I would battle against / team up with in order to remain the champ

Hey lovelies so I— like usual— am procrastinating so I have decided— at the behest of literally no one— to extensively go through my workout Just Dance Playlist and explain in depth who I would 1 v 1 against, why I would pick them, and why I would— most likely— win.

PSA: This will be very biased and will literally be me bragging about how I would win at Just Dance every time with very little factual proof (because, really, how am I getting this proof?) and then literally me being self absorbed for the entirety of this essay length post— a girl’s gotta’ self care you know?

This is also lowkey practice for a fic I’ll be putting out at the start of Dinner at Dizzy’s so stay tuned it’ll be a fun one

Sorry in advance for the 2.4k essay of me being self obsessed

Also the links are just vids of the choreo in case you’re invested

Into The Unknown | Idina Menzel

This is a warm up song— like if I don’t do this one to stretch I’ll literally die— but definitely Wanda because we’re both soft (don’t fight me on this— I just know she’s a soft girl and would LOVE Just Dance). I don’t think I would aim to win on this one— I like her too much and, again, this is a warm up. She would definitely sing along with me too. If Sam was in a good mood he would also join in on this one— he has two nephews and is fun as fuck so I do not doubt he knows all the words and would be all in. Honestly this song is a warm up so anyone could join and I wouldn’t aim to win— unless it was Tony— because the man’s ego is perhaps the only one bigger than mine— or Steve— because I don’t know why I just think it would be cute to watch the man fumble because he 100% can’t dance beyond the slow dances.

Let It Go | Idina Menzel

Okay so another warm up (yes, I need two warm ups) so again the same principles apply. Again Wanda would be all over this one and I would go as far as to say Pietro— fuck off he is an Avenger and in my head he’s still very much alive— would join in too because he’s like a puppy. I would make Bucky do it too— cue the pout because he would try to say no and nope, no sir, you’re playing— because, uh hello, super soldier dancing to Disney songs. I think I would pull Nat in too because she needs a little push and once she’s in she’d be fully in— and, duh, I want a sexy woman assassin to dance with me.

Bad Romance | Lady Gaga

This isn’t my favorite song but— lucky for me— it’s a group song with three dancers so it won’t make me look bad right away. I would pull my sexy girl gang and get Nat and Wanda in on the action. I feel like Nat would be in the front— because, again, hello sexy— and not to mention that I feel like her skills would make her able to easily adapt to the moves— and then Wanda and I would just be chilling in the back, giggling and being cute. This is Nat’s moment— can you tell I only get competitive against the men? Fuck trying to beat Nat, I’m using this time to absorb the sexiness— I will be needing it for later on in this playlist.

Hot N Cold | Katy Perry

OKAY THIS IS ARGUABLY MY FAVOURITE SONG ON MY PLAYLIST! This is 100% my best song. Like “perfects” across the board every single time. I have it memorized and if this song ever comes on in public I’ll be fucked because I’ll have to dance to it and look dumb. Anyway— given that this is my best song— Sam. I can afford to throw him in here because— despite the fact that I know this man has literally all the moves— I have this song ingrained in the essence of my soul. It would probably be a semi-close race but I have the added bonus of knowing the tricks of the choreography. He may be skilled but I am obsessive and have poured hours into this song. I would probably laugh when he loses because of the adrenaline (again, it was close, my heart would be pounding). This is dirty and strategic but this is about me winning and nothing else. Better luck next time babes— rematch anytime.

Girlfriend | Avril Lavigne

MY THIRD FAVOURITE SONG— JUST LIKE BEFORE THIS IS IN MY SOUL! I have actually spent a lot of time thinking about this. I could use this song to knock out a more skilled dancer— Tony, Sam (again), Pietro (you know I’m right)— but I have made the executive decision to pull Steve in on this one. Clearly it has nothing to do with skillful planning on this one— I would 110% win this game— but rather it has everything to do with the fact that I want to look this man in the eye and mouth “Hell yeah, I'm the motherfucking princess” and watch him get flustered and maybe tell me not to swear. Clint would laugh and that’s more than enough motivation for me. I also want to giggle and stare at the super soldier the entire time because I can hit the moves with my eyes closed and he would be flicking his eyes between the screen and me wondering how on EARTH I got so good at this. SO CUTE!

California Gurls | Katy Perry

THIS IS THE ONE THAT IS TIED WITH HOT N’ COLD FOR FIRST! I’m good good at this one. I grew up on Snoop Dogg and I fully believe that is why I am so good at this song. Anyway Pietro— without a doubt in my mind Pietro would kill this song (or in the very least try to kill it) and I’m not worried about losing because of the sheer amount of gameplay I have on this song alone. He would have the most fun with me and it would be the literal time of my life. Like I might actually lose this one just to see him get all happy and puppy-like about winning— LOL just kidding no I wouldn’t, sorry peanut better luck next time. You killed the hip wiggles though!

Forget You | CeeLo Green

Okay this one might not make any sense but Bucky. This is a hard-ish song but I think some of the moves really scream like old-timey and I think— if he could get rid of his pride for five seconds and let some of the fun-loving, silly Bucky out— that he would really enjoy this song. It’s fast paced but repetitive, the lyrics are fun, and I would be laughing enough for the both of us that he wouldn’t think about how dumb he looks because I’d be looking doubley stupid. Don’t let that fool you— I am a whiz at this song too. There’s a lot of jumping and spinning and jump spinning that entice that perfectionist side of me in a way that has driven me to perfect this song. This isn’t a heavily strategic move— it doesn’t need to be, he, again, hasn’t danced in years— but it is fun while allowing me to still win. NEXT!

Waterloo | ABBA

Okay two teams here, this is where it gets fun. This could go in a lot of directions. If Tony isn’t there then I would pull Nat— the gameplay is easy and she would pick it up within seconds. I would then pair up Steve and Thor because they’re both huge and clunky and would spend the entire time bumping into each other. Dirty but I’m doing it without regret. NOW— If Tony was there then we’re teaming up. I don’t trust him to not be on a team with me because he’s too competitive. I won’t risk it, not today, not ever— we’re eternal dance partners because I refuse to be bested by a man. Even a sexy, silver fox millionaire. The other team would be Sam and Bucky. They would fight the entire time. I can hear it now— “That was the wrong move, dumbass.” “You stepped on my foot, asshole.” — it’s a virtually flawless game plan. There’s a 1% chance they would team up to win against me but even then Bucky hasn’t danced since the 30’s. Foolproof.

Just Dance | Lady Gaga

I am AWFUL at this one but luckily it’s a group dance again. If I had to choose any song to take a break for— because I’ve literally just whooped Avenger butt at this point and deserve five minutes to sit down— it would be this one. This is 100% a strategic move. Love you miss Gaga but the choreography is WACK and I will not be losing. Anyway I will be nominating Tony, Pietro, and Sam— a dance battle of epic proportions and I honestly cannot tell you who I think would win. I can, however, speculate. Sam right off the bat would be a hard player to beat. I said it before and I will reiterate now— Sam Wilson has all the moves. But, that being said, Tony would not want to lose. Like at all. So I am pushed to believe that this fight would be a tough battle. Pietro I don’t think would try too hard to win but, then again, I just pitted him against Tony and, well, we all know how that goes. He has an ego too so honestly it could go in any direction. Pietro might be soft with me but against Sam and Tony— this fight might get dirty. Camera’s out people!

Gimme! Gimme! | ABBA

Thor. Like— there’s just no other person that I want to disco with. None. I want the blonde god up there next to me or nobody. Well, besides Steve because LOL yeah he’s not winning that sorry pumpkin we’ve already covered that. Thor I could simultaneously beat and laugh my ass off with. It’s a lot of tricky moves— ABBA didn’t come to play— and way too much variety for him to be able to catch on right away but he would also not care about looking like an idiot and might end up just picking me up and spinning me around because why not right? I would win and be happy.

Starships | Nicki Minaj

This is pure strategy— Tony. This is the only one I could beat him at because of the sheer amount of moves and plot twists in the choreography. There’s a lot of jumping, spinning, kicking movements and if you haven’t had two months to memorize it then you’ll be fucked. Even then it’s a long shot because— AGAIN THE EGO DRIVES THIS MAN TO HEIGHTS I HAVE YET TO SEE ANYWHERE ELSE— but it’s my best bet. If I could blindside him enough with the hip wiggling then it would be a sure win but he might see through the strategy. He’s smart— too smart. I would fight dirty— I don’t lose. Now, if Tony— again— was not present then I would pull my baby Wanda for this one because she would have so much fun and it would be 1000% worth it. Literally my ray of sunshine— let’s do fun girl things like dance to Nikci like the entire team isn’t watching. Clint and Sam would be singing along— that’s canon. Nat would be filming and cheering. The super soldiers, iron boy (assuming he’s sitting this one out), the fast one, and the gods would be slack jawed. It doesn’t get better

Maneater | Nelly Furtado

I can’t even explain how long I’ve had the plan for this one. Too long. Remember the sexiness I was talking about? Yeah— here’s where I’m gonna’ need it. This is ALSO one of my favourite songs on this playlist because of how sexy I feel dancing to it. The moves are *chefs kiss* so fucking amazing I could cry. I feel like a maneater when I dance to this and that is a blessed feeling. Anyway— I will be pulling two people for this song and those people are Clint and Nat. I think Clint— contrary to popular belief— is secure enough to have fun dancing to this and, also, not to mention the most important part— whoever wins gets to take me on a date. The big guns. Literally it’s a foolproof plan. First, I can’t lose because this choreography is hard as fuck for beginners and I have been practicing and perfecting it for months. Second, the fight between Nat and Clint would be so fucking entertaining. They’re skilled, agile, sleek assassins who would literally dance to Nelly Furado like their lives depended on it. I think what’s even funnier is that Nat is for sure the better dancer but I just know Clint is a) only a fraction less better than her and b) would be trying SO HARD to win. Like I wouldn’t put it past him to not play dirty. I am cute, after all. His 6’3” ass would be sweating trying to get my 5’2” ass on that date.

Good Feeling | Flo Rida

Clint, baby, knowing full well you could have possibly just lost the last round to Nat, I will give you one more chance— mainly because this whole song is a vibe and the choreography is so much fun and there’s a handful of moves that I both want to do in sync with you but also want to laugh watching as you flounder them. Clearly as a stealthy archer assassin I am testing my luck with this one but he just doesn’t know the in depth ins and outs of this choreo. He doesn’t know about the like seventeen hundred bridges that this song has and the robot moves in the middle. So I’ll wrack up those extra points where needed. Honestly if you only click one link make it this one— I can’t describe how fun this would be with him. Competitive but fun. I have faith in myself that I would come out on top. He’s agile but I’d risk it all for the title of champion. Still, he would fight hard— that’s why I love him though.

How Far I’ll Go | Auli’i Cravalho

This is my cool down song but there’s someone here who has managed to hide his way into not playing and that is unacceptable— Loki, babe, you’re doing my relaxing song with me because the gods only know how much you need a break. I’ll look dumb because— believe it or not— the slow song trips me up the most. But it’s fun and it’s the reason I don’t have a heart attack when my chubby ass is done all the fast songs— so it’s necessary. It’s also slow enough that he won’t look dumb and thus won’t literally kill me because he won’t be embarassed. I would willingly lose to Loki because I don’t want to lose my life. It isn’t a loss— it’s survival. That and I think he’d smile if he got a good score and that alone is worth losing to this one (1) man. I also want to add that I think Clint would secretly love this one because you can’t tell me that a man with an aim as good as him doesn’t meditate. He does and he would perhaps beat Loki at this one. Rest in peace to the love of my life when the trickster god literally tears his head from his body but sometimes you’ve got to take the L baby.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Tony Stark #Clint Barton #Natasha Romanoff #Wanda Maximoff #Pietro Maximoff #Loki Laufeyson #Thor Odinson #Captain America #Winter Soldier #Falcon #Iron Man #Hawkeye #Black Widow #Scarlet Witch #Quick Silver #Loki #Thor #dizzy rambles #lol can I even say this #Dizzy plots #sounds more like it #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Six Degrees Chiller (Brick/Blossom)

A new cute one-shot in honor of @carriedreamerx birthday! In the same high school AU as part 1, part 2, and part 3, but can totally stand-alone. Also posted on my AO3. Tune in for some laughs and some Reds cuteness!

Summary: Brick goes deodorant shopping. It doesn't end well. (Or does it??)

xxx

Brick squinted at the nine-foot shelf packed with a full color wheel of deodorants and antiperspirants. The sheer surfeit of brands and scents was as daunting to behold as it was absolutely batshit insane—how many ways did people need to not smell like a dirty gym sock?

He picked a random stick and scowled at the label as if it had offended him and all his future progeny. Who the fuck would want to smell like mango lassi?

The squeak of a shopping cart rolling down the aisle sent Brick into a febrile panic for a hot second, and he shoved the saccharine deodorant stick back onto the shelf. A geriatric woman with a hunched back, a bright head scarf, and eyes so folded over with wrinkles it was a miracle she could see anything at all wheeled her cart slowly past Brick, who froze where he stood. She smiled politely at him, and he nodded out of sheer self-preservation instinct. The moment she passed him, he yanked the bill of his red cap lower over his eyes.

“Get a grip,” he grumbled. He was an eighteen-year-old guy buying deodorant, not stool softener. He was totally casual and had absolutely no reason to be so fucking paranoid. Nobody who might recognize him was coming to Cooper’s Market at 8 a.m. on a Sunday.

Brick wiped his clammy palms on his jeans and searched the shelves for what he’d come for so he could hurry up and leave. There it was, fifth shelf in a sea of sleek black and edgy, neon letters: Axe Ice Chill.

“Okay, do you consider yourself more of a music lover, sports star, gaming guru, or style icon?” Boomer had asked as he sat cross-legged on the sofa with his laptop open to the Axe “Find Your Magic” test a few months ago.

“Sports star,” Butch had said on his left, and poked the screen that wasn’t a touch-screen.

“That’s you, moron,” Brick had said, totally above this stupid test. “Pick style icon.”

Boomer grinned. “Oh yeah, your hoodies are so stylin’.” He clicked the next question. “Signature scent? Huh, maybe warm and aromatic?”

“Sounds like one of those Yankee holiday candles,” Butch had said.

Unfortunately, he had a point.

“Well, you're not exactly woody and earthy, and you’re definitely not fruity and sweet—”

“Just go to the next one.” Brick clicked on “fresh and cool” and waited for the screen to load. “Smellin’ good!” the loading page flashed at him. Jesus fucking Christ.

When the quiz presented a true or false statement, Butch moved like he had a bug up his ass and slammed the touchpad before Brick or Boomer could do anything about it.

Boomer tried not to laugh. “Dude, come on.”

“Please, he’s a punk-ass dweeb who’d never make the first move in a fight, let alone on a girl—” Butch had taunted.

Brick punched him in the throat with his Super speed and smiled at the sound of his asshat brother gagging. “Choke and die, motherfucker.”

Butch wheezed as he laughed through the pain, and Brick and Boomer breezed through the more generic age and appearance questions: under 18, long hair (“Mane Man!” the quiz gushed, and Brick almost melted Boomer’s laptop right there), and natural look. After an artificially anticipatory loading screen, a picture of a dude with a clown nose crowd surfing in a sepia Instagram filter appeared on the screen with the generic “Be your best self!” encouragement in blocky letters superimposed upon it, and finally the expert, personalized recommendation for Brick’s body spray needs.

“Because you’re hotter when you’re chill.” Brick had cringed when he read that idiotic tagline the first time, and he cringed reading it again now in the deserted personal hygiene aisle where he prayed no one would find him buying this cry-for-help vanity spritz.

However.

He sprayed a bit of mist in the air and reveled in that cool, icy scent that wasn’t a scent so much as a feeling. Six degrees chiller in a bottle. The first time he’d tried it (under great duress), he’d griped and bitched and slammed his bedroom door to get away from his howling brothers. Settled on his bed with a frown, he had to admit it did cool him off. It was almost pleasant. The smell wasn’t overwhelming like that tiger piss Butch bathed in on the daily. But it wasn’t out of this world compared to the generic shit he’d been using before.

It wasn’t until Blossom sneezed on their way out of AP Lit that her ice breath—and understanding—hit him with the force of a cold snap to the balls.

“Sorry, did I get you?” she’d said, abashed as she covered her mouth with one hand and fished out a bottle of Purell from her messenger bag with the other. Her ice splatter fast melted on his shoulder as his too-warm body absorbed the cold with a bizarre, but extremely pleasant, shiver down his spine.

Son of a bitch, but he had a kink.

Which, of course, spiraled way the hell out of control when he found himself here months later with a recycled shopping bag he’d brought so he could carry the three bottles of Axe Ice Chill he planned to purchase home, because Brick planned ahead and liked to keep his bathroom well-stocked.

Which also, of course, was why at that very moment, fate decided to punch him in the dick.

“Bubbles, you have, like, fourteen bottles of shampoo at home! You don’t need another one,” Buttercup groused at 8 in the goddamned morning on a Sunday.

“Those are all different products, not just shampoo. Honestly, Buttercup.” Bubbles zipped into the aisle with Buttercup on her tail just at the moment Brick had his second panic attack in the span of five minutes and completely lost his shit.

He launched the bottle of Axe Ice Chill so hard into the ceiling that it lodged in there tighter than a prairie-dogging turd.

“Brick?” Blossom’s hand on his shoulder nearly sent him yeeting after his abused body spray, if the sheer mortification didn’t rob him of further motor function and exactly one hundred percent of his brain cells.

Like her sisters, she wore a jacket over her pajama pants. They must have just popped over for some last-minute breakfast staples and a side of peer humiliation. But even in those criminally hideous Ugg boots and five boxes of pancake mix in her shopping basket at 8 on a fucking Sunday morning, her smile glowed.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he returned lamely, because that was all she was getting from him until his neurological functions rebooted.

“Hi, Brick,” Buttercup said, suspicious like usual and searching for some excuse to bust his balls for a laugh. “What’re you doing here?”

The Super sisters had cornered him in front of the Teen Spirit, which came in an absolutely frightful eighteen scents because there was nothing pubescent teenagers needed more than eighteen reassurances that their social survival depended on smelling like a potpourri candy bar.

“Shopping, obviously,” Bubbles said. “Ooh, Brick, you have straight hair. What do you think?” She held up two bottles of brightly colored free-range, organic hair shit.

“I think I was just leaving,” he managed.

“Empty-handed?” Buttercup peered at him like he might transform into a literal dick with ears if she only managed not to blink for long enough. He could smell the threat of a joke on her.

“They didn’t have the brand I wanted.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Bubbles said, genuinely stricken.

“Girls, let’s get going. I really want those pancakes,” Blossom said.

“We better grab more syrup. Buttercup finished it all,” Bubbles said, already moving away. She dropped both hair products in Blossom’s basket, not bothering to choose between them.

“Oh please, everybody knows you and the Professor are the syrup fiends in this house.” Buttercup floated after her and waved to Brick. “Hey, tell that shithead to answer my texts. He owes me $20.”

“Uh-huh,” Brick said, fully intending not to mention anything about this conversation to Butch at all.

“Sorry about your favorite brand being sold out,” Blossom said.

It’s fine, he would have said had she not caught his cheek in her hand and pressed a frosty kiss to the corner of his lips before he could do anything about it. Frozen fernlings crept over his cheek and chin, down his neck, and slowly absorbed through his now flushed skin, and he shivered. Without even thinking about it, he reached for her, but she was already walking away to catch up with her sisters.

When she got to the end of the aisle, she shot him a cheeky grin over her shoulder and had the nerve to wink at him. “Stay cool, Brick.”

Red in the face and high on her, Brick just stood there like an idiot gawking at his kind of unofficial girlfriend and the singular dominating object of his fantasies, be they sexual or otherwise. What was dignity when she smiled at him like that? What was a paltry imitation in a bottle when she kissed him like that?

The paltry imitation fell from its hole in the ceiling and exploded on the tiled floor at Brick’s feet with a winter ferocity that, in that moment at least, rivaled Blossom’s in the heat of battle.

When Brick got home later that morning and Boomer asked him why he smelled like a snowman’s asshole, Brick burned the clothes on his back and spent the next half hour in the shower thinking about how he was going to convince Blossom to make the first move and finally make them official.

xxx

Y’all better appreciate the research that went into this fic. That Axe quiz is real and I took it pretending to be Brick, and it literally does spit out a photo of a dude wearing a clown nose in a club. If that’s not a sign from the Daddy that I’ve chosen the righteous path, then idk what is. Sacrifices to my Chrome search history were made for this fic in the name of celebrating Carrie, ergo, worth it.

#Blossick #PPG Reds #Blossom #Brick #Powerpuff Girls #PPG Fanfic #Powerpuff Girls Fanfiction #february fic prompts #ppg shook

[artificialqueens]

Gigi Has an Intelligence Kink (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

Life gets a little bit more interesting when Crystal fully embraces the fact that Gigi has a thing for her brain.

In the same universe as Slow Hands. But you don’t need to read it to get this.

The first time it happens, Crystal thinks it’s just Gigi rewarding her for a job well done.

Crystal is obsessively refreshing her Twitter feed, waiting for an announcement that the MCAT scores have been released.

Refresh.

Nothing.

Refresh.

Still nothing.

Refresh.

“Crys.”

“Hmm? What?”

Gigi gently takes her phone off her fidgety hands. “Just turn your notifications on, hun,” she says, doing it herself.

“But –“

“I know. It’s been a month and they’re scheduled to release today,” she repeats what Crystal has been telling her for the better part of the day.

“It’s been a month and they’re scheduled to release today,” Crystal sighs.

Gigi pulls her in closer and sets her phone under their pillow. “Now, try to concentrate on this instead,” she suggests, motioning to the laptop where an episode of Gigi’s new favorite TV show has been paused. Crystal nods in agreement, hits the space bar, and snuggles in closer.

It takes another episode and a half for Crystal’s phone to vibrate, making them both sit up quickly. If Gigi’s being completely honest, she’s just as nervous as Crystal. And she didn’t take the damn test. But she makes the conscious effort to be the calm one here. One of them has to. And it surely won’t be Crystal.

Gigi hits the space bar to pause the show while Crystal gets up from bed to pace while she loads her account. She watches Crystal, jaw slack in apparent shock, stare at her phone before she gets up on her knees to take a look herself. The torture is killing her. She pulls on Crystal’s shirt to maneuver her closer to the bed so she can peek to see.

521.

“Is that good?” Gigi asks.

Crystal hands over her phone to Gigi, still in quite a bit of shock.

“Crys, is this a good score?” Gigi asks again before looking through the lines and numbers on the screen.

Crystal points to the bottom of the screen. “I would hope so because a perfect score is a 528 and this score is in the 99th percentile.”

When she realizes what this means, Gigi drops the phone on the bed to jump on Crystal who stumbles backward, barely catching her. “Your brain, it’s amazing. I’m so proud of you,” she says in between dropping loud wet kisses all over Crystal’s smiling face. “It’s enough for your dream school, right? With your GPA?”

“More than enough, I hope,” Crystal says.

“Is Crystal happy?” Gigi brushes a thumb over the apple of Crystal’s cheek.

“Crystal is still in shock but Crystal is very, very happy.” The pride in her voice makes Gigi’s heart swell.

Gigi takes Crystal’s face in her hands to give her a proper kiss on the mouth — slow and wet and full of tongue and obviously leading to something else.

“Okay, med school talk later.” She slowly slides off Crystal, gently planting her feet onto the floor. She walks them back to the bed, pulling Crystal down with her when the back of her knees hit the edge. “I think you deserve a treat,” she says reaching up underneath Crystal’s shirt.

“I’m not a dog, Gee,” Crystal laughs.

“Shut up, don’t ruin the moment.”

The next time it happens, Crystal thinks it’s just Gigi being her usual clingy self.

She’s on the floor, as usual, three videos deep into her cadaver dissection videos, her anatomy atlas splayed open on her lap, and drowning in paper and pens and colored pencils. She’s struggling to draw and take notes and memorize all at the same time. Maybe, she thinks, she’s bitten off more than she could chew.

Crystal’s muttering anatomic structures under her breath when she hears Gigi whine her name from behind her. If she wasn’t busy, she’d drop everything she was doing to attend to that very needy whine. But she’s too busy, too tired to even think about doing anything other than studying. She doesn’t even have time to sleep. So she ignores it.

“Crystal,” Gigi calls out again. It’s longer. And breathier. And needier.

Crystal turns to look at Gigi, comfortably nestled on the other end of the couch, making grabby hands at her.

“Sorry, babe,” she says before turning back to her work. Her tone is regretful. The smile on her face is tired. But the feeling at the pit of her stomach is telling her to just go for it. It’s Gigi. And she can’t ever say no to Gigi.

“I don’t want to have to deal with things on my own,” Gigi huffs.

“You know what to do with your hands.” She continues this conversation without looking up from her drawings.

Honestly, she doesn’t know why Gigi is even here in the first place. She knows it’s a busy night. She could be home catching up on sleep or hanging out with her friends. But she’s here. Doing what?

“Crystal.”

“Can I make it up to you tomorrow? Please?” She really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. She looks at the time on her phone, it reads 11:27 PM. “Look, I have less than 12 hours until this test and then I promise I’m all yours. I’ll come straight home after. I don’t mind if you do it right there on the couch if you really have to.” Gigi pouts at her so she reaches for Gigi’s hand to kiss her fingers. “Sorry, really. I am.”

She turns back to her notes before Gigi can make a face that she can’t resist. Suddenly, the dwindling time until her test gives her tunnel vision. Nothing else occupies her mind but this, Gigi’s whining is long forgotten.

Crystal doesn’t know what she expects Gigi to do while she studies. Scroll through her socials? Watch a movie? Online shop?

She doesn’t know what to expect.

But she didn’t think it would be this.

Not Crystal being pulled out of focus by the sound of Gigi’s moaning.

And that moan sounds like she just finished.

Crystal slowly turns her head towards Gigi, looking at her with narrowed eyes in disbelief. When she said she didn’t mind, she didn’t think Gigi would actually do it. “Gigi motherfucking Goode, did you just –“

Gigi looks at her smugly, raises a brow at her as she wipes her fingers on her shorts. “Yes. Yes, I did. You said you didn’t mind.”

“Really, Gee? Did the cadaver video do it for you?”

Gigi scrunches her nose at Crystal. “No, that’s gross. It was you studying and being smart.”

“What?” Crystal chuckles.

“It’s hot, okay? You’re hot. It makes me feel things.”

“What?”

“When you’re being your normal smart self – it’s a turn on, okay?”

“What?”

“Shut up!”

It happens again on Gigi’s birthday and Crystal thinks Gigi is losing her mind when she directs Crystal’s hands to her pussy and asks to be fingered while telling her about the cardiac cycle she was studying earlier today. Crystal thinks this request could have quickly pulled her out of the mood but oddly enough – with her whispering in Gigi’s ear, with her fingers inside Gigi, and with Gigi writhing and moaning and babbling against her – she finds that it makes her feel things too.

Life gets a little bit more interesting when Crystal fully embraces the fact that Gigi has a thing for her brain. Once in a while, when they’re bored of just moaning and groaning and panting their way through having sex, Crystal would look at Gigi – hair fanned out on the pillow, red in the face, chest heaving and sweaty – and lean closer to her ear and indulge Gigi in her ridiculous idea of dirty talk. She’d count the number of ATPs produced in the citric acid cycle, explain to her the mechanisms of action of cephalosporins, run down the cardinal movements of labor, practice on her techniques for a thorough physical examination.

When she passes major exams. When she aces her boards. When she graduates medical school with high honors. When she gets accepted to the surgical residency program of her dreams. Gigi is there – willing and ready and able to reward her, generously, for a job well done. Going as far as buying a new strap, saved and used only for occasions like these.

Crystal is in the middle of her orthopedic surgery residency training and there’s barely any time left for alone time. So Gigi takes what she can get. Even if it’s just a night out for drinks at the bar a couple of blocks away from the hospital with Crystal’s other doctor friends.

She listens to Crystal and her friends (Jackie, a urology resident, and Widow, an anesthesiology resident) exchange stories from their day in the operating room. Gigi is perfectly fine absorbing the excited energy they all seem to have; perfectly fine holding Crystal’s hand under the table; perfectly fine being close. She doesn’t mind that they go into graphic detail; doesn’t mind that they use medical jargon; doesn’t mind that they seem to have forgotten that they have a non-medical person in the group; doesn’t mind that all she is there is present.

When Jackie and Widow get up to get the next round of drinks, Gigi slips a hand up and in between Crystal’s thighs. Crystal catches her wrist before she can go further. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just playing,” she shrugs.

“I know. I meant, why?”

Gigi shrugs again. “You know shoptalk gets to me.”

Crystal knows but she still raises a brow at her. “That wasn’t too graphic for you?”

Instead of answering, Gigi takes Crystal’s hand and positions it underneath her skirt, letting Crystal trail her fingers upward, toward the seam of her underwear. Crystal’s fingers brush over a particularly damp spot. “Already?” Gigi nods like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. And Crystal thinks it really isn’t, at least for Gigi.

“I bet you are too.” And Gigi’s right; she’s always right.

Crystal looks up to see her friends walking back to the table so she signals that they’re going to the toilet. Jackie nods at her so she pulls Gigi up onto her feet and towards the back. It’s a one-person toilet and Crystal wants to thank all the gods looking down at her that it’s empty.

The door is barely locked when Gigi pushes Crystal against the wall and connects their lips and bodies together in a movement that’s demanding and hungry and contagious – hands tangling in hair, lips and tongues desperate to connect with the other, bodies arching and pressing.

“Listening to a story about me pounding at metal and bones got you this hot?” Crystal asks when she pulls away for a breath.

“I want you to pound me instead,” Gigi says, latching her lips onto Crystal’s neck and worming her hand into Crystal’s pants. Crystal moans and drops her head onto Gigi’s shoulder when she feels Gigi slip a finger into her. “But you can do that later.”

Gigi’s thankful Crystal isn’t wearing jeans; her slacks are loose enough for her hand to move freely. She slips another finger in and angles her hand so Crystal can grind against the heel of her palm while she pumps in. And out.

And in.

And out.

Faster.

And harder.

She nips at Crystal’s earlobe. “I expect a good pounding at home.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Crystal pants, head now resting against the wall, eyes now glazed over, breath now ragged, hips now following the pace that Gigi has set – slow enough that it builds, fast enough that it’s not frustrating.

Gigi concentrates on pumping and rubbing and kissing and licking and biting and making Crystal hum and moan and whimper. She feels Crystal’s body tense against her, feels Crystal getting wetter, feels her fingers slipping easier. Her muscles are strained but she speeds up the movement of her hand and Crystal speeds up the movement of her hips against Gigi’s palm.

“That’s it,” Gigi encourages as Crystal squeezes her closer and tighter, gasping and shaking as she comes. Gigi keeps a slower, gentler pace, shifting so she can rub her thumb against Crystal’s clit to drag out her orgasm.

She pulls Crystal in for a languid kiss as she waits for Crystal to stop trembling. When she does – it takes a little longer than a moment – Gigi pulls her hand out of Crystal’s pants and holds it up. Her hand is glistening in the low light, covered in Crystal’s slick. Crystal looks up in time to see Gigi lick her fingers, sucking them into her mouth with a sound so needy, Crystal is sure she needs to take care of it. Right now.

“Home time?” Gigi suggests as she straightens up Crystal’s pants.

Crystal manages to shake the clouds away. “There’ll be more later but I think I can get one out of you now,” she says, turning Gigi towards the sink and bending her over with a hand between her shoulder blades. Crystal leans over her to keep her bent, makes sure she’s braced herself on the sink, and slides a hand down the length of Gigi’s back to the curve of her ass, slowly lifting her skirt to expose her now soaking panties. “Missed you this week,” she says, dropping a kiss on Gigi’s jaw while she lets her fingers slip underneath the wet fabric.

Gigi wants to say she missed her too; wants to say she’s happy to have her at home for the next two days; wants to say they should just leave their friends so they can continue this at home. But Crystal is already on her knees behind her, not caring if the floor is dirty; already moving her underwear aside – one Gigi isn’t sure why she even wore in the first place; already burying her face into the heat between Gigi’s legs.

She puts both hands on Gigi’s ass to grope and fondle and squeeze and spread while she licks and nips and sucks at her folds. She feels Gigi squirm; arching and pressing back into her mouth, encouraging her to do a little more. A lot more. All of this is exciting and overwhelming and extremely naughty – a far cry from the white coat wearing, scalpel yielding, professional front Crystal puts on just two blocks away.

Crystal keeps her mouth on her clit as she presses two fingers into Gigi and lets her control the pace, lets her rock back and forth to chase her own pleasure. She feels Gigi contract around her fingers and she thinks it’s time to change things up.

Yes, Crystal thinks to herself, the bathroom of a bar you’re a regular at is the best place to change things up.

She licks long and hard from her clit to her hole, around her fingers, up her perineum, and over her asshole – something she thinks Gigi doesn’t know that she knows Gigi secretly likes. Crystal feels her freeze for a split second before reaching behind her to grab Crystal’s head to keep her in place.

“Fuck, Crystal,” she pants.

Gigi’s rhythmic movement is now jerkier and erratic and Crystal knows she’s close. Very close. Crystal continues to lick and pump and rub while Gigi continues to moan and rock and chase. She hangs her head between her arms and whines and pants and shakes as she comes.

Crystal gets up and leans over Gigi’s body, fingers still pumping inside – prolonging and intensifying. She’s wrapping her free arm around Gigi’s torso, nuzzling her nose into her hair to kiss the back of her neck when she feels her mewl and tremble and shudder into another one – unexpected but highly welcome.

“Love you,” she whispers into her ear.

Gigi turns her head to Crystal – her eyes are glassy, her forehead is sweaty, her cheeks are flushed. “Love you too,” she whispers back before catching her lips for a kiss.

They take their time straightening up; not worried about a line possibly forming outside, not worried that they’ve been gone from their friends for too long.

When they make their way back to the table, she sees Widow look at them with a knowing smirk. And Crystal can’t find it in herself to make up an excuse – there’s no excuse for being gone that long and they’re all adults here anyway. So they gather their things, say their goodbyes and see you laters, and rush home to give Gigi what she promised.

When Crystal graduates from residency, of course, she bags the outstanding resident award and the best scientific paper. All on top of being chief resident in her final year. Because of course, Crystal doesn’t do anything half-assed. Gigi decides, when they’re both stripped off their gowns and heels from Crystal’s hospital graduation dinner, that it’s an important enough occasion to use their special toy – there’s really nothing special or different about that strap; Gigi just uses it particularly on days when she wants to celebrate Crystal. It’s Gigi’s turn to prove that nothing in this house is done half-assed.

Gigi gives Crystal one final lick before trailing up her torso with wet open-mouthed kisses, lingering momentarily on her breasts, taking a nipple in her mouth – licking and biting and sucking. She drops herself onto Crystal’s side, hooking her legs over Crystal’s, and kisses her way up her neck, across her jaw, skipping her lips, and bumps their noses together, “Congratulations, baby.”

Crystal reaches up to cup her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss, tasting herself on Gigi’s lips. “You know I couldn’t have done all of this without you, right?”

“Nope, all you,” she says, nuzzling her cheek against Crystal’s palm before taking Crystal’s hand in hers and kissing the rings on Crystal’s finger – the rings she only usually wears around her neck when she’s at work are now on her left ring finger, where they’re supposed to be. “This is all you. I was just there. I’m just here.”

Gigi gets up to step into the leather harness – fastening the straps and adjusting the cock, all while watching Crystal rub at her clit, flicking back and forth lazily. There’s a satisfied smile on Crystal’s face that Gigi wants to keep there forever. She leans over Crystal, peppering her face with kisses, whispering how immensely proud she is of her, how she loves her dearly, how lucky she is to have her. She braces her arms on the bed, resting the length of the cock against Crystal’s wetness, just content with being skin to skin.

“What’s taking so long?” Crystal whines, breaking the little tender bubble Gigi created.

Gigi chuckles at Crystal’s impatience and decides, yes, okay, tonight is about her. She sits back on her heels and realigns her cock, settling the tip at Crystal’s entrance. With steady pressure, she presses inside; one hand guiding the dildo, the other stroking gently over Crystal’s clit. She stretches over Crystal, letting her weight rest on her when she’s buried deep inside. She pulls back a little and gently slides back in, hooking Crystal’s leg over her hip as she goes. Gigi keeps a slow rhythmic pace, hoping to stretch this out the whole evening.

Sure, the slow thrusts are good. Satisfying, even. But Crystal knows she could take more. And she knows Gigi could give more.

So.

Much.

More.

“This feels lovely and all but I need you to fuck me.”

Gigi thinks for a beat and reminds herself again that what Crystal wants, Crystal gets. At least tonight.

And Crystal will get all her favorite things.

“Up,” she instructs as she pulls out.

“What?” Crystal is confused at the sudden emptiness.

She pulls Crystal up from the bed and pushes her on her knees on the floor. Understanding dawns on Crystal’s face as Gigi steps forward, gripping the base of the cock – still wet with Crystal’s slick, guiding it towards Crystal’s mouth.

“I want to see you take it all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Crystal murmurs, her eyes locked onto Gigi’s as she takes the dildo inside her mouth, slowly working her tongue along its length. Gigi groans at the sight of Crystal taking a silicone cock all the way to the back of her throat without gagging. She remembers asking Crystal why she likes doing that. All she got was a vague answer about liking the force. Whatever that means.

Crystal makes a show of licking and sucking and deep-throating. The way the harness rubs against her is not enough to tip her over the edge but it’s there and looking at Crystal taking it all oddly makes Gigi feel like this appendage is hers.

Gigi groans a she watches Cyrstal swallow the full length of her cock. “God, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” Crystal responds by making sure she’s tugging at the base harder so whatever part of it that’s brushing against Gigi is hitting her right. She grits her teeth and buries her hands into Crystal’s hair as Crystal slips a thumb beneath the harness to press on Gigi’s swollen clit.

“You’re going to make me come,” Gigi breathes out.

And she does.

Her body really doesn’t give her a choice.

When Crystal presses particularly hard on her clit, her thighs tremble and she thrusts forward and tightens her grip on Crystal’s hair.

And Crystal is quick to grab onto Gigi’s ass, clutching and pulling, keeping her there – nose pressed against Gigi’s pubic bone – as she rides it out.

Gigi pulls back quickly, aware that she’s cutting off Crystal’s air supply. She looks down to see Crystal reluctantly let go of her cock with an exaggerated slurp, looking up at Gigi with needy eyes and pouty lips, blinking away involuntary tears.

She helps Crystal to her feet and kisses her senseless, not minding that saliva has dribbled down Crystal’s chin.  Crystal grips Gigi’s side for balance as Gigi walks her backward against a wall.

Crystal is startled out of her daze when Gigi grips her waist and turns her around, effectively disconnecting their lips and pushing her flat against the wall. She looks over her shoulder to see Gigi squat, suddenly she’s very aware of the very aroused state of her pussy.

“Always so wet for me,” Gigi says, running a finger over Crystal’s lips. Crystal bites on her lower lip as she resists the urge to quote WAP lyrics and for good reason – Gigi hates that song. She, on the other hand, secretly loves it – the OR nurses may or may not have caught her attempting to do the dance in the dressing room.

Gigi spreads her lips apart, a moan stuck in her throat when a string of clear juice dribbles down her finger and onto the floor.

“Crystal, you fucking just dripped on the floor. Jesus fucking – “

Crystal shakes her ass in Gigi’s face. “Please, fuck me. Please.”

And Gigi gives her what she wants. Gigi gets up and slides the full length of her cock easily inside Crystal in one quick fluid motion. She’s rewarded with a deep moan and expletives begging for more.

Crystal’s pussy clamps down on the dildo when Gigi moves to give her a short quick thrust. “Yes, more, like that.” She isn’t sure where this savage need to fuck Crystal like this is coming from but she decides to embrace it. So she grips Crystal’s hips tighter and slams hard repeatedly, making them both grunt. She would have been worried that she’s being too rough if Crystal hadn’t instantly pushed back against her with a very enthusiastic, “Fuck, yes!”

It’s a pace they’re both surprised they both can keep up with. And they’re both determined to keep going. The jumbled words and incomprehensible sounds coming from Crystal’s mouth spurs Gigi on – orgasm after orgasm stealing her words from her.

Gigi is getting frustrated trying to chase an orgasm of her own. With a yelp from Crystal, she pulls completely away and flips Crystal around so her back is against the wall. She hikes a leg up, hooking it over Gigi’s hip. Crystal reaches between them to guide the cock back into her pussy and encourages Gigi to keep on pounding into her. She coos in Gigi’s ear, her hands groping Gigi’s breasts, her lips busy kissing Gigi’s face and neck. Soon, their sounds turn into whimpers and pants and sharp moans as they both race towards another orgasm.

Gigi gropes Crystal’s ass hard and leans to bury her face in Crystal’s neck as a strangled moan works its way from her throat. She thrusts one last hard thrust up into Crystal before she comes. Hard. Leaving them both trembling against the wall.

Gigi shifts to help Crystal regain solid footing, letting the cock slip wetly out of her, scattering kisses over her neck and shoulders.

“God damn,” Crystal breathes out.

“That was intense,” Gigi muses, holding on to Crystal tightly, still leaning themselves against the wall.

Crystal with her vision still cloudy and marked by black spots, pushes herself upright and pushes Gigi back into bed, and crawls over her. “No more for me,” she says trailing a series of wet kisses down Gigi’s body. “Your turn now.”

Crystal takes her time – So. Much. Time. – to let Gigi know how she’s wrong. How she wasn’t just there. How she isn’t just here. How the past almost ten years with school and training was because of her, for her, and with her.

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #crygi #smut #lesbian au #atresia

[thebyunhip]

Start Up | episodes 1 ~ 12

I feel like right now is a good moment to talk about the show, with the time jump and stuff. I’ll talk about the characters and then the plot, as I usually do. This is going to be a very long post, I never had so much to say about a drama before, so I’ll add a cut and it’s entirely up to you if you want to read my rant.

Han Ji Pyeong: look, he is not my favorite guy but I also don’t hate him and here’s why: 1) I don’t care how good he is at his job, I don’t care how rich he is, I don’t care how rough he had it in life, nothing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING gives him the right to be a dick to others. I understand that he is scared, had no one care for him and had no one to care for but he is still a human who lives in society. Being polite (and that’s really the only thing I’m discussing here), is not the same being someone that lets people step on him. And we’re all vert aware of the fact that he can tel people the truth, as harsh as it may be, without bein a complete fucking bastard 2) I fucking hate the tropes “he got there first” and “here’s a troubled man, fix him girl”. Like, just no. Teenager me would love that shit and eat it up like a fucking starved bitch, but not right now. I also think he is incredibly selfish and self-absorbed however both of these I can overlook, this is the kind of thing that be blamed on his upbringing (or lack of it).

Seo Dal Mi: the writers really said “let’s take this girl’s sister and mom away, make her sister say very stupid and hurtful things to her, now kill off her dad, she’ll get into a good college but will drop out because she has bills to pay”. I like that she is, after all that shit, bright and is willing to fight for things, not let her dad’s memory die. The world is telling her “bitch stay down” and she is legit yelling back “no motherfucker, I will not” and that’s great. The one thing I don’t like about her is that she is way too forgiving, I mean she found out that she was lied to by grandma, her mentor and her boyfriend of sorts and she just tossed that aside like it was nothing. Some of it I can understand, they work together so she would have to, you know, keep somethings inside. It all went away too fast, she forgave all three of them very quickly.

Nam Do San: at this point, if you’ve seen any of my previous posts, you’ll know that that he is my favorite and I’ll use this bit here to tell you why. I’ll put aside the cuteness, okay? Out of all the characters in this drama Do San was the one with the most personal growth. In the beginning you had a guy who couldn’t speak properly to strangers, let alone look at people eyes, when people put him down (yes, I’m fucking looking at Ji Pyeong and his dad) he kept his head down. And slowly, throughout these 12 episodes we see him mature (because yes, he was very immature), he can now answer, he can look at people in the eyes, hell he even can start fights. Like dude, he stood up to his father twice. He is not perfect and I’m  no trying to paint him as if he were. He still has problem to deal with but he is open to do improve. This was not said anywhere in the show and it’s only a personal thought of mine, Do San suffers of the imposter syndrome and Asperger Syndrome, and that would explain some of his behaviors.

Won In Jae: now let’s talk about an underused character. She is here simply to be a shitty sister and drag Dal Mi down so we all can watch our beautiful protagonist rise again from the ashes. When you look at her, she just has that resting bitch face so she makes it easy to dislike her  (but please can we please stop type casting Han Na as a bitch or someone can please tell me a show/movie she did where she is not one?).

Grandma: finally the real “villain” of the whole story. I get what she was trying to do, okay? Dal Mi’s life was spiraling out of control, shit hit the sky and she need some comfort and surely the letters were the best way to do that and it’s fine. But you all are willing to tell me that in those 15 years she didn’t have a single chance to say “hey kid, listen, there was never a Do San. I asked some boy to write you letters but he is gone now and so are the letters” or idk “The boy who wrote you letters was Ji Pyeong, a kid I used to help, he didn’t want to use his own name so we chose one from the news”. I’ve changed my mind, this not HJP fault. Its grandma’s.

Now, let’s talk about this drama’s biggest and most unforgiving mistake: the first episode. They spent way too much time on the letters and Ji Pyeong, making a lot of built up and then they didn’t showed the main guy at all. We got to see Do San in the last what, 5 seconds of the episode? I can get the confusion people are having as to who is the main and second lead here, for a second even I was confused. I only knew teenager Ji Pyeong wasn’t the main guy because before watching the show I read that Joo Hyuk’s character name was Do San. The first episode was a bad call. I mean it has 1 hour and 24 of running time and they could only spare 5 SECONDS TO THE MAIN GUY? No wonder there is a shit show towards Do San.

The entire revenge plot was poorly used but I’ll admit that I like the whole “my biggest revenge is to prove HJP wrong”. We’ve seen the destroy company, kill a guy ploy way too many times.But the entire thing was just tossed in there, there was maybe one clue but it lead to believe that Yeong San would steal the code, not seek revenge.

I know that some people were bummed out that there the show doesn’t focus a lot on how to build a startup but this is mostly a romance drama, so they wouldn’t include a lot of how to here.

Also, I know that people don’t think Do San has real problems because you know he has both parents and Ji Pyeong is an orphan, but like please… just listen. Being someone that has to live up to parent’s approval and expectations, especially to academic and business success, is not a problem that we westerns face so constantly in our lives. I know it happens, I’m not living under a rock, but we can’t even begin to compare to how it is for them and us. Suicide rates are high in Asian countries amongst younger people who fail to reach standards set by their parents and the society. Both Do San and Ji Pyeon have problem, of course, but they are very different and incomparable.  

As for the next four episodes… I think we will see a very changed Do San, more serious, a lit bit more calloused from the three years in the US (the black gave it out). I feel like Dal Mi might have changed a bit but I can’t point how. Ji Pyeong had on line in the preview and it was enough to not give me any hopes about him.

I’ll just say this here because I feel like I have to: Han Ji Pyeong is not such a great a second lead, full of layers, that could actually make people question why he isn’t the main guy. The only character ever that has that right is Baek In Ho, and would you look at that he is also a character that went through shit but is not an asshole just because he can.

#startup #start up #start-up #nam joo hyuk #bae suzy #kim seon ho #tvn start up

[returnn-of-the-mac]

Companions (+ Maxson, Haylen and Sturges? 👀) react to a female sole who has long hair that gets caught on things / is always in the way but refuses to cut it.

Ahh this one was so much fun to write! I kinda went a bit crazy; the reacts are looong. But the more the merrier, right? I kinda have to cite the US Navy handbook for *spoiler* Maxon’s React; I copied and pasted some parts directly from there *end spoiler*. Please enjoy!😸

FO4 Companions React: Female Sole’s Long Hair Being An Inconvenience

Preston: Preston and Sole were hiding in a steam trunk, preparing a sneak attack on a gang of raiders that had taken over a newly established Minutemen checkpoint. When the raiders had gotten close, Preston turned to his partner. “On the count of three, we’re going to leap out of this truck and attack, okay?” Sole nodded. “One...two...three!” The pair leaped out of the trunk, safety’s off and ready to attack. Sole suddenly shrieked. The trunk had slammed shut behind her, right onto her long hair. She was stuck in place. “General! Stand your ground! Try to do as much damage as you can in that position and I’ll hold them back!” Guns blazed as the gang of raiders swarmed the little shack, trying to get past Preston who was standing in the doorway and fending them off. From behind, Sole aimed at the raiders, able to pick them clean with expert precision. When all the raiders had been cleared, Preston approached his companion and opened the trunk. Sole stood up, gently massaging her sore scalp and apologizing profusely. Preston chuckled. “It’s okay, I know how much your hair means to you.”

Sturges: Sturges and Sole were enjoying a relaxing afternoon in Sanctuary, listening to country music and crafting armor. “Hey, I made a prototype heated metal press,” Sturges mentioned. “It might make it easier to make thinner parts for your armor. Why dontcha try it out? You can be first to test it.” Sole beamed at the offer and followed Sturges over to the complex contraption he designed. Sturges picked up a metal bucket and set it down on the platform. “Whenever you’re ready, just pull the lever and boom! Gotcha self a sleek new piece of metal to work with.” Sole set a cluster of aluminum cans on the platform. Just as they were about to pull the lever, a gust of wind blew her long hair forward. The hot press clamped down on her hair. Sole shrieked as Sturges quickly yanked the lever up. “[Name], are you okay?” Sole stared in horror at the long locks of burnt hair still attached to the metal press. She then ran their fingers through her hair. Half of it was gone. Her eyes began to water. “I’m so sorry, [name]. Come here,” Sturges said, opening his arms to a devastated Sole. She accepted the gesture and mourned the loss of her majestic locks.

Cait: Cait and Sole were crawling in an air vent, prepared to ambush a group of gunners below. “We best be careful,” Cait warned, “these gunners have eyes like a Deathclaw and ears like...a Deathclaw. They are human deathclaws. With guns.” A gunner walked right under where they were standing. “Ye jump down behind me, yeah?” Cait gave Sole a thumbs up and then kicked the vent out. “COME ON YE STUPID BASTARDS!” Cait landed on the gunner’s shoulders and bashed his head with her gun. She then got up and started shooting frenetically, “How does it feel gettin yer arses kicked by girls?” It was when the gunners began to gang up on her that the redhead noticed the absence of her partner. “[Name]? Where the fuck are ye at ye whore?” She turned around and saw Sole hanging from the ceiling by her long hair. “Motherfucker.” Cait muttered in annoyance, “Well, I guess it’s gonna be a one-woman’s show then. INCOMIN’!” Cait chucked a grenade, and, using a fallen bookshelf as leverage, launched herself back into the air vent, dragging Sole with her. Using her knife, she chopped Sole’s hair to free her and they quickly retreated, just before the bomb went off. Cait woefully looked at her partner. “I’m sorry about yer hair. You probably ain’t pleased. But I didn’t want you to get blown to smithereens.”

X6-88: X6 and Sole were exiting the Institute, on their way to start their next mission. On the way out, the pair discussed their strategy to destroy The Railroad when Sole suddenly shrieked. X6 turned around to see his partner flailing. He then noticed that her long hair had gotten caught in the automatic door...again. Ma’am? May I suggest getting a haircut?” X6 asked flatly, “This is the second time this week and fifth time this month that this has happened.” Sole huffed and X6 rolled his eyes under his glasses. She could be stubborn; especially when the subject involved cutting her beloved locks. X6 made another attempt to change his partner’s mind. “What if this happens during our mission? The repercussions could prove fatal. Please, reconsider.” After seeing that Sole was not going to be persuaded, X6 held out an elastic. “Put it up. For this mission, at least. Now’s not the time to be irrational.” Sole finally gave in and put their hair into a bun.

Gage: Sole and Gage were sounding the evening constructing a base for a raider gang. Sole had just finished nailing a wooden wall into place when she walked away to take a sip of purified water. She took a few steps toward before she was yanked backward. She turned around to confirm her worst fear: she had nailed the board right over the tips of her hair. She called for Gage, who was busy spray painting the exterior of the shack. “Sup boss?” Gage asked. Sole pointed and Gage rolled his eyes. “You gotta be kiddin me. And I thought you were a smart one.” Gage examined the board and nail. “What’ve we got here? ...Hey, you ain’t half bad at carpentry. But as for common sense. That’s another story.” Gage skillfully removed the embedded nail using just a pocket knife and a bottle opener. He removed the board, freeing Sole’s hair. “Impressed, boss? Ya gotta learn how to improvise sometimes.” Gage chuckled dryly. “But uh. Ya ain’t gonna try that again without pullin your hair back next time, right? Don’t be stupid. You're on your own next time.”

Piper: Piper and Sole were standing outside Mayor McDonough’s door, trying to break in and free Geneva. “Okay so obviously kicking and screaming didn’t work,” Piper scratched her head nervously, “Any ideas, Blue?” Sole approached the door and began to pick the lock. “Oh that’s right, you’re the queen of lockpicking! Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit back and take notes.” When the lock clicked, Sole and Piper looked at each other, nodded, and flung the doors open. “I knew it! I knew you were a synth, McDonough! Now let that hostage go!” Just then a breeze came through the window and slammed the doors behind them. Sole flew backward; as her hair had gotten caught in the door. “Dimwits.” McDonough muttered, watching Piper panic as Sole frantically tried to free her own hair. “Blue, woulda quit fidgeting for a minute? I’ll open the door for you. Just stay still.” Piper turned the knob on the wooden doors and pushed out, freeing her partner. A disoriented Sole scrambled to her feet. Piper shook her head and focused her attention back on the deranged mayor. “I hope you enjoyed that little show, because now we mean business,” She turned to her blushing partner and smirked, “Right Blue?”

Hancock: Sole and Hancock we’re enjoying a relaxing afternoon on Spectacle Island . They had just taken down the Institute and decided to take a well-deserved vacation. “This is niiiice,” Hancock beamed, taking a long hit of jet. “I could really get used to this.” Sole smiled as she laid down in the sand, absorbing the warmth from the sun. She closed their eyes and imagined she was at the beach in Cape Cod with Nate and Shaun— a vacation spot the family frequented. She was just about to drift into a deep sleep when suddenly she felt a powerful force grab hold of her hair and toss her across the sand like a rag doll. Dazed, Sole looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. “[Name]! Are you okay, doll?” Hancock yelled, trying to fend off a mirelurk. “Bad move, buddy.” Hancock stayed as he repeatedly shot the underbelly of the ferocious crab. The mirelurk eventually gave in to its injuries and fell to the ground, dead. “Looks like I’m your king now.” Hancock teased. He then ran over to his partner and knelt beside her. “Seriously, though? Are you okay?” Sole nodded. “How’s the hair?”Hancock laughed, grabbing a thick lock of hair and examining it. “Is that a bald spot I see..!? Nah, I’m just messin with ya. It’s all still there.”

Deacon: Deacon and Sole were leaving the Railroad for their next quest when the secret door closed behind them, right onto Sole’s hair. Sole cried for help and Deacon sprinted over to her. “Looks like you’re in a bit of a hairy situation.” Sole shot daggers at Deacon as he chuckled at his own joke. “Alright let’s see here...shit. What’s the password?” A livid Sole screamed ‘Railroad.’ Deacon looked at them. “What? No way, that’s too easy. Knowing Des she probably made the password something complex like...schadenfreude.” Sole was now cursing in frustration. Deacon had a goofy smile plastered on his face “Okay, fine, if you insist, I will try ‘railroad.’” Deacon spun the wheel to spell out the password and the door opened. Sole freed herself and glared at Deacon. He chuckled, “You’re fine, you were never really in real danger anyway.” Deacon explained, putting a playful arm around Sole’s shoulder. “Maybe you should cut hair a little so it doesn’t get caught on everything. You could even donate extra inches to Lockes4Deacon. I’m am bald, after all.”

Strong: Strong and Sole were wandering around Back Bay When Sole suddenly felt a massive tug on her hair. She was practically flung into the hard ground. A confused Sole yowled in pain; everything hurt from her head all the way down to her legs. Her vision was blurry— definitely a concussion— and she couldn’t get back up. “Strong sorry, human!” Strong apologized, “Strong step on fur and human kept running! No mean to hurt!” Sole weakly begged their Supermutant friend to give them a stimpack. Strong obedient searched through Sole’s inventory and grabbed the medicine, promptly injecting Sole. Sole stood up and massaged her scalp. “Human should cut fur.” Strong advised, “Long fur is weakness. Easy target.”

Longfellow: Sole and Longfellow were fishing on the docks of Far Harbor when suddenly a gulper leaped from the water and chomped down on Sole’s hair, dragging her into the salty water below. “Shit! I’m commin!” Longfellow yelled as he dove in after her. He took out a spear and swiftly swam toward the enemy. With a powerful jab, he impaled the creature, killing it instantly. Sole and Longfellow then swam to coast. When they had both reached the sandy shore, Longfellow chuckled. “Well, that was a doozy! Good thing I didn’t start my drinking at 7am today!” He joked. He then studied Sole’s hair. “Well, would you look at that; not even a scratch on the hair. Impressive! Mind donating some of that so I can use it as fishing line?”

Ada: Ada and Sole were fighting off robots in the mechanist's lair when Sole screamed. Her hair had gotten caught in one of the hostile robot’s machinery. “Hold on, ma’am! I’ll be right over to assist you.” Ada finished off the robot she was currently fighting and scrambled over to her struggling companion. She scanned the area of the trapped hair. “My diagnostic revealed that your hair is stuck in between a coil and a gear. There is only a 3.776% chance of getting your hair out unscathed. Your viable options include: manually freeing hair and risking a large bald spot— or— cutting hair short to at least have a style that looks half-decent—or— doing nothing.”

Nick: Nick and Sole were sloshing around the flooded streets of Forest Grove Marsh when Nick turned to his partner. “Careful,” he whispered, “I hear this place is a popular vacation destination for ferals.” Almost immediately after he said that the pair spotted emaciated bodies of the ghouls patrolling the end of the road. It was then that Nick noticed a building that was still in-tact but had a few openings that could be used to discreetly shoot the ferals. “Now, would you look at that? This building would make a fantastic shooting post.” The detective mused, “If we sneak into the building and lock the door behind us, we might be able to wipe them out from a spot where they can’t reach us.” Sole nodded and the two crept into the building. Sole closed the door behind her— unaware her hair had yet to make it through— and Nick barred it. “I’ll shoot from the window first; you stay there. We’ll trick them into thinking it’s just me over here. Then, you jump in. Ferals are pretty...feeble-minded. So your surprise attack will probably disorient then.” He then walked over to the window. “Ready?” Sole gave a thumbs up. Nick aimed his laser rifle and shot at the hoard of ghouls. Nick was able to take down about 1/3 of the mob when he called to Sole. “NOW!” Sole leaped toward the window—or at least tried to. She hollered in pain as her hair tugged at her scalp. Nick immediately understood what had happened. “I’m coming, pal!” He ran over to his companion. After quickly assessing the situation and realizing that opening the door was out of the question, he took a machete out of his inventory. “I’m so sorry I have to do this [name], but it’s either this or becoming feral food.” Sole gave Nick the okay and with the swift swipe of the blade, Sole was freed from her long locks. The pair quickly moved to the window to continue their ambush.

MacCready: Sole and MacCready were making their way down a dirt path in the woods when a pack of five wild mongrels attacked. All but one of the dogs were easily killed. The fifth dog— an alpha— snuck up behind the pair and clamped onto Sole’s hair. Sole screeched in pain and MacCready pulled out his gun. He aimed and fired, immediately killing the canine. Sole thanked her companion and MacCready smirked. “Hey, don’t mention it. That’s what I’m here for, right?” He shifted uncomfortably. “Actually [name], there’s been, uh, something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, and I think this might’ve been the universe’s sign that now’s the time.” Sole perked up. “I...I don’t really think it’s a good idea to be wandering the Commonwealth with free-flowing hair that practically reaches your thighs. It could be dangerous. Like what just happened. What if that dog were a feral? I don’t even want to imagine-“ he realized he was rambling and stopped himself short. “But I digress. What I’m trying to say is maybe that was a sign that you should cut your hair.” Sole shot him a look. MacCready immediately understood that he had not gotten through to her. “It’s kinda a liability, yanno. For both of us.” Sole rolled her eyes and MacCready scoffed. “What? You gonna miss all those hairballs that clog the drain in the only working shower in Sanctuary? They’re gross.” Sole turned away and continued walking down the path, MacCready following close behind. The pair continued on their trek, an awkward silence between them. Eventually, MacCready sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. Your hair is beautiful. And I really don’t care about the darn hairballs in the shower. How many times do you think I actually use the shower? I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Sole turned to face her partner and saw how genuinely distraught he was. She felt bad, and the two compromised that from here on out, Sole would wear her hair up in a bun.

Codsworth: Sole and Codsworth were walking around Sanctuary when Sole’s hair randomly got caught in a rotted doorframe. She called Codsworth for help, and the robot sighed. “Mum, remember back in the old days when your hair was...groomed? Well, wasn’t it easier to maintain? Didn’t it feel good not worrying about getting it stuck in everything?” Sole rolled her eyes at the robot’s question. Codsworth signed. “Fine. I suppose it’s none of my business. I just think you would be better off without your hair holding you back.”

Curie: Sole and Curie were approaching the Saugus Ironworks when they were attacked by a gang of Forged raiders. The pair fought valiantly and had taken out most of the group until a Forged managed to sneak behind Sole and set her hair on fire. “Madam! You’re hair! It’s been set ablaze!” Sole shrieked and threw herself onto the dirt ground in an attempt to smolder the flames. Curie defended Sole while they recovered. When she had defeated the Forged, she knelt down beside Sole. “Are you alright?” Curie asked, concerned. Sole sat up, revealing hair that was charred up to the shoulders as well as some minor neck burns. “Oh...” Curie mourned, “Let me treat your burns. As for your hair—“ Curie touched the burned hair and it crumbled in her hands. Sole began to cry. “Oh no, please don’t cry,” Curie pleaded, she wrapped her arms around her sobbing companion and gently held her. “I know you’re going to miss your long hair, but it will grow back. And hair can still look nice short.” Curie smiled, looked at Sole, and wiped away her tears “We can be like twins until your hair grows back.”

Danse: Sole and Danse were sneaking through the buildings of college square, fully prepared to ambush the synths that had taken over the area. “Remain vigilant.”’Danse warned, “These synths are stealthy sons-of-bitches.” Just then, a mob of synths busted down the door, revealing the duo. “Show no mercy!” Danse bellowed, loading his laser rifle and shooting at the robots. Just then, a gust of wind blew Sole’s long hair into Danse’s face. “View obstructed!” Danse yelled as he missed the targets. The synths used this error to charge at the pair. “They’re closing in— melee!” Sole and Danse put away their guns and engaged in physical combat with the synths. When the synths were finally defeated, Danse looked at his partner. He was not pleased. “Soldier! Do something about your hair!” The Paladin berated, “It’s a hazard, and it’s a violation of policy. I’ve been letting it slide, but this could’ve ended in a fatality had we not been prepared for physical combat.” Danse took a minute to cool off before continuing, “I apologize for scolding you. But this is a written rule, and it’s enforced for a reason. I know you take great pride in your hair, but for your own wellbeing and for the safety of your brothers and sisters please just...manage it.”

Haylen: “You sure your hair isn’t gonna get stuck in the power armor?” Haylen asked, concerned. “It might get locked in the door or caught on a gear or something. Thankfully there are emergency release switches but—“ Sole stepped into the power armor. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Haylen muttered to herself, “And that makes 3 of the 4 members of this squad hardheads.” She looked back over at Sole, holding up an elastic, “You sure you don’t even want a hair tie? I have plenty extra.” Sole shook her head and activated the suit. It powered up and sealed— right onto their hair. Sole shrieked in pain, and Haylen rushed over to activate the emergency release. When the suit opened back up, Sole was greeted by Haylen, arms crossed and smiling smugly. She silently held out the hair tie again and Sole snatched it. “1 for Haylen; 0 for [name].”

Maxon: Sole was nervously sitting in Maxon’s quarters, waiting for the Elder to arrive for the private meeting he’s called for. The Elder finally entered the room, closing the door behind him. He took a seat across from Sole. “I called you here today to discuss a policy violation. Specifically the uniform code.” Maxon pulled out the Brotherhood of Steel Employee Handbook. Page 124, Rule #22 states: Because it is impossible to provide examples of every appropriate or unacceptable hairstyle, the good judgment of leaders at all levels is key to enforcement of Brotherhood’s grooming policy.  Therefore, grooming appearance while in uniform shall present a neat, professional appearance. It should not impede one’s ability to enter/exit power armor and/or fight in combat. Hair length, when in uniform, may touch, but not fall below a horizontal line level with the lower edge of the back of the collar. Long hair should be pulled back.” Maxon sternly looked at Sole, who was obviously avoiding his gaze. “You are not an exception to the rules, so the choice is yours: you can either cut your hair or pull it back. You can no longer have it free-flowing.”

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #danse #paladin danse #deacon #hancock #maccready #piper #cait #curie #maxon #sturges #haylen #preston garvey #x6 #x6 88 #nick valentine #porter gage #gage #longfellow #ada #strong #codsworth

[qobiin]

when i fill them, they’ll shine forever | ch 5

pairing: todobakudeku (bakugou x midoriya x todoroki) 

genre: angst | abo au, canon-compliant 

warnings: swearing, trans male character, violence, misgendering, transphobia, mineta  

word count: 3180 

summary: Katsuki being an omega from birth changes a few things. 

chapter five of when i fill them, they’ll shine forever 

Katsuki is an idiot for running forward when his alpha told him not to. Such a stupid fucking idiot really.

It's bad enough Katsuki got caught up in the dark fog from that misty motherfucker, but now he's fighting back-to-back with Shitty Hair. At least Shitty Hair isn’t awful at fighting and these villains are insultingly easy to handle. Even the stupid chameleon-like one isn’t a match for him.

Can’t these stupid fucking villains fight him like he wants to fight? Or are they all this ridiculously weak? Why did they even bother storming USJ if that was the case?

Whatever. Katsuki needs to find Deku and that stupid Half-and-Half bastard as well first and then he can figure everything else out after.

Katsuki quickly leads the way out of the evacuation site they were meant to train in and they catch glimpses of a fight going on in the very center of USJ.

All Might is fighting some black humanoid figure that Katsuki can’t make sense of, the number one hero at a disadvantage when that misty motherfucker with the teleportation quirk interferes. Deku is running back towards All Might, feet pounding the floor furiously as his alpha moves. Katsuki runs forward before he can really think about what he's doing, growling when Half-and-Half suddenly appears to his right, flanking him. Shitty Hair is to his left, trying to keep up and ultimately failing.

“You, freeze the huge, black one. Shitty Hair, go after the one with all the hands. Misty Motherfucker is mine,” Katsuki barks out orders, hoping with all his might that the betas will listen to him.

He is only mildly surprised when they do, Half-and-Half quickly freezing the monster looking thing as Katsuki tackles Misty Motherfucker. Shitty Hair fails in getting to the leader though and Katsuki grits his teeth, hands warming dangerously on the metal body he knew he would find when he attacked this villain.

Deku stares at him for a moment like a blind man staring at the sun for the first time. It makes something in Katsuki want to preen and say, I can take care of you too. Instead, he bares his teeth with a growl and gathers more sweat in his gauntlet.

It all goes to shit soon after though.

All Might is releasing smoke that is expertly hidden by the steam of the last attack and Katsuki remembers that the alpha had run out of time beforehand. He knows he won’t reasonably be able to do anything but that does not stop him from turning back.

And then Deku shoots forward like a bullet before Katsuki’s very own eyes, somehow thinking that he can do something to help All Might where others can’t. Katsuki makes a step to go after him but is halted by a cold hand on his shoulder.

“Stay,” his beta Orders, eyes glowing gold for a moment before Katsuki obeys.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to kick and scream and go after his alpha, but the omega deep inside him has recognized the Order for what it is. He couldn’t take a step forward even if he fought tooth and nail to break free from the shackles of the Order.

Even still, Katsuki manages to raise his arm and fire a long-range explosion right at the villain covered in hands. Katsuki thanks his alpha once more for a feature he had not thought to add himself when submitting the appropriate papers and applications for his hero uniform as the blast narrowly misses Hand Freak.

The other pro heroes arrive then, Hand Freak gets shot multiple times, and Cementoss throws up a barrier to hide All Might from view as Shitty Hair runs forward.

Katsuki feels the Order slide off him like a wave at that moment and shakes the beta’s hand off of him as he rushes to Deku’s side as soon as All Might has been secured properly.

“You’re such a fucking idiot, Deku,” Katsuki growls as he checks his alpha over, wincing at the broken legs. “And there you go again, breaking your fucking limbs like an overpowered dumbass. Stupid, self-absorbed alpha! What did you think you were gonna do for the number one hero, idiot?”

Katsuki looks up towards Deku’s face when his alpha doesn’t respond, lips turned down in a frown. Deku’s eyes are glowing gold and there’s someone standing over Katsuki’s shoulder, meeting Deku’s gaze while his eyes also glow gold. His alpha blinks, eyes returning to their normal shade of color, face pale as he looks towards Katsuki with a panicked expression. Katsuki only scoffs, rolling his eyes as he tries to get Deku to settle down before he causes himself even more harm.

Fucking Half-and-Half just has to be their mate, doesn’t he? Fucking hell.

Half-and-Half kneels down beside Katsuki and runs a hand through Deku’s hair, scent spiking with surprise when Deku relaxes. Katsuki chuffs under his breath, trying his best to ignore the golden warmth building up in his chest.

The paramedics that swoop down on them soon after disrupt the moment and Katsuki steps back so they can load Deku onto a stretcher. Another medic runs over to them and insists on checking them over for injuries, but Katsuki refuses. He doesn’t want to have someone shoving their hands under his shirt and exposing him to the rest of the class, fuck that.

Half-and-Half allows the medic to examine him quickly as Katsuki continues to argue with them, the beta’s expression kept perfectly blank. Katsuki is almost certain that he’s going to get away with not being cleared by a medical professional until Half-and-Half turns his head towards him and meets his gaze.

His eyes glow gold for the third time today as he Orders Katsuki again. “Let her check you over.”

Katsuki glares at him, moving towards the medic without wanting to. “Stop fucking ordering me around or I will kill you!”

Half-and-Half’s expression doesn’t change. “Midoriya-kun would not forgive me if I did not make sure you were properly looked over and cleared of injuries before you go to see him later.”

“Screw you, asshole!”

This time, Half-and-Half’s expression does change, the corners of his mouth lifting with the promise of a smile. “Maybe another time.”

Katsuki feels his brain stall, appalled that his quiet classmate was capable of humor. “That wasn’t an innuendo, you fucktard!”

“Okay,” Half-and-Half shrugs, not the least perturbed.

Katsuki breathes out through his nose as he turns to the medic, sensing that he isn’t going to get out of this until the Order slips off him again. “In private. I don’t need someone taking off my fucking shirt right here.”

The medic nods and leads him towards one of the idle ambulances waiting near the entrance. Katsuki can see his classmates crowded together, all of them looking perfectly fine, but he ignores them as the medic climbs onto the ambulance and waves him aboard. The doors are shut after him and Katsuki glowers at the medic as she checks him over.

The medic, fortunately, doesn’t comment on the binder she can feel in the top half of his hero uniform and sighs in relief as she gives him the all-clear. He nods his head, jaw clenched, and kicks open the doors of the ambulance.

Shitty Hair immediately approaches him, crowing with happiness about no one getting hurt. Katsuki feels himself growl at that, remembering Deku and his broken legs.

A warm hand grips his shoulder but he already knows from the scent alone who it could be, so he restrains himself lest stupid Half-and-Half fucking Orders him again. The fuckwad. As if Deku wouldn’t rip him a new one the moment he finds out about the Ordering.

But when Katsuki goes to see his alpha after school, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he lets Deku grip his hand and tells him some mindless story to get his mind off what happened today.

  Deku makes an effort to include Todoroki (as he has insisted on them calling their mate) when they are together.

Todoroki just so happens to always decline.

Katsuki doesn’t take it to heart - he can only guess how ill-prepared their mate must feel - but Deku obviously does. Beforehand, he was okay with the distance Todoroki kept between him and Katsuki, but now that all three of them are mates, his alpha has changed his mind.

He wants to include Todoroki in almost everything they do. Katsuki doesn’t mind it, he’s just growing irritated every time their mate says no. Honestly, Katsuki is pretty sure that Todoroki wants nothing to do with them or the whole mates business either.

He’s sure about this being fact until almost a week after the USJ incident when they are getting changed for another special training exercise with All Might.

Katsuki is in the bathroom stall furthest away from the door that leads to the changing rooms and has just pulled his shirt off when the squeak of a sneaker against the linoleum floor makes him freeze. Slowly, he looks down at his feet and freezes when he finds the Perverted Grape peeking at him from underneath the stall beside him.

“Hey, everyone! Bakugou is a girl!” Perverted Grape yells loud enough for those in the locker room to hear him. “And she has some pretty great tits, too!”

Instantly, rage overcomes him at that moment and Katsuki roars, a loud explosion following the too high-pitched noise that escapes him. The stall door flies off its hinges and hits one of the mirrors, cracking it. Katsuki is too focused on murdering the Perverted Grape to realize that his classmates had run into the bathroom, witnessing him in a sports bra that leaves nothing to the imagination firing off at a streak of purple.

Katsuki freezes again, fear taking him by surprise once he notices his audience. He fights the urge to put his arms over his chest to cover himself up, his explosions dying in an instant.

Then Todoroki is there with a blank look on his face but a hint of rage colors his scent, the only incriminating thing that gives him away. He has a towel in his hands which he wraps around Katsuki silently, eyes trained on the Perverted Grape Motherfucker who is cowering in the corner of the bathroom. Katsuki feels something inside himself stutter, face starting to flush with shame, embarrassment, and a new boatload of anger before Todoroki speaks up.

“Midoriya, if you do not kill that sorry excuse for a hero-in-training for violating our mate’s privacy and misgendering him, I will.”

Katsuki feels his anger spike in indignation, face feeling much too hot as everyone’s gaze is drawn towards Todoroki now. His mate has his gaze pinned on Grape Motherfucker though, something dark and dangerous flashing in his eyes as he waits.

“You came in here to watch Kacchan change?” Deku asks, his voice kept deadly quiet and full of promise.

Grape Motherfucker starts to stutter out an excuse that is drowned out by the loud Alpha Roar Deku lets loose within the next moment. Katsuki shrinks back at the sound, relaxing when Todoroki moves with him, keeping the towel in place so no one is able to stare at his practically naked torso anymore. Deku’s eyes flash gold for a moment, rage coloring his usually kind face as Katsuki watches with a horrifying sense of adoration.

Katsuki is gearing himself up for a murder case involving Deku and Grape Motherfucker before Glasses rushes forward out of nowhere and restrains his alpha. Hundred Arms and Sugar Might come forward to help, all of them struggling with a snarling and furious Deku that Katsuki has never had the pleasure of seeing before. Deku looks beyond reason, eyes flashing gold again as he breaks free of Glasses arms, darting forward to tear Grape Motherfucker apart before he is captured by Hundred Arms instead.

“Midoriya-kun, stop this at once! Violence will solve nothing,” Glasses shouts, his pleas falling on deaf ears. “I already went and got Aizawa-sensei! He was right behind me. Please, stop!”

Glasses’ words do nothing to stop Deku. He only fights harder, almost managing to free himself from all three of the alphas holding him back when a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Katsuki looks up to find Aizawa-sensei standing behind their gathered classmates at the entrance to the bathroom. Aizawa-sensei takes in the scene, eyes darting from Deku, Grape Motherfuker, Katsuki and back underneath his bandages before his hands curl into fists at his sides and he steps forward. It’s clear what has happened, seeing as Katsuki’s status had been made aware to all the teachers, including those that oversee physical activities and Aizawa looks angry enough to strike fear in Katsuki himself. Katsuki’s classmates part to let their homeroom teacher through, everyone now holding their breath as they wait to see what will happen.

“Mineta, gather all of your belongings and report to the principal’s office to await punishment for violating the privacy of your fellow classmate,” Aizawa-sensei announces, looking over his shoulder to spare a bland look at the gathered crowd and ignoring the squeak of terror Grape Motherfucker makes. “Bakugou, Midoriya, and Todoroki, you three stay. The rest of you, clear out. All Might is waiting for you.”

Todoroki’s grip tightens on the towel as he moves in closer to Katsuki, shielding him from the others’ curious gazes as they leave. Deku snarls at Grape Motherfucker when he sprints past him out the door but doesn’t follow him like Katsuki knows his alpha wants to do. Eventually, it is only Katsuki, Todoroki, Deku and Aizawa-sensei left in the bathroom.

“Bakugou,” Aizawa-sensei says then, eyes trained on Todoroki’s back instead of Katsuki. “What happened?”

Katsuki stutters through his explanation, his face and his body feeling too hot as he does. He still feels angry, but now there is embarrassment coloring his mood and a deep pit of shame that makes Katsuki want to blow up an entire building and then some. Deku stumbles into the stall Katsuki was changing in earlier and returns with the shirt he had just taken off before that shitstorm began. His alpha hands it to him as he finishes talking, staying crouched by his side as Aizawa-sensei keeps staring at Todoroki’s back instead of Katsuki.

“I see,” Aizawa-sensei finally says, his voice cold and dead. “I will handle this problem then. In the meantime, you three need to update your forms and information before the sports festival next week. Go to the office after school and do that. You’re all excused from the training exercise today and may remain here.”

“But-!” Katsuki starts to say, feeling like he is going to vibrate out of his skin if he stays still for too long right now.

Aizawa-sensei cuts him off, voice still cold but not unkind. “This is not up for discussion.”

With that, their homeroom teacher strides away and Katsuki watches him leave, shifting with discomfort. Deku lays a hand on his shoulder, looking rattled. His alpha’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes and Katsuki flinches away, hating himself at that moment.

Todoroki’s hold loosens on the towel, shuffling backward to give Katsuki more space. He glares at his beta though, hand flashing out to grab his wrist and stop him.

“You have questions,” Katsuki says when Todoroki finally meets his gaze.

Todoroki shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Katsuki scowls at him, taking his shirt from Deku. He twists out of the towel and stands, exposing his stomach, toned arms, and the black sports bra that Deku stares at for a moment before looking up towards Katsuki’s eyes.

“Kacchan, did you wear your binder for too long yesterday?” Deku asks, head tilted to the side in mild disapproval.

“Shut the fuck up, nerd. You don’t have any room to rag on me after what you just did,” Katsuki grumbles, pulling his shirt back on and kneeling so he isn’t towering over the other two anymore. “What the fuck was that anyway?”

Deku flushes. “I told you, Kacchan. I wouldn’t hesitate to go after anybody who insults or threatens you again, especially because of who you are.”

Katsuki’s scowl deepens, but he sighs and fixes his gaze on Todoroki instead, deciding to just rip the bandaid off before Deku can start overthinking anything. “In case you couldn’t tell, I’m trans. If that’s going to be a fucking dealbreaker for whatever the fuck we’re all going to build as mates, you can fuck off right now instead of wasting our time.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Todoroki responds, his tone flat now. “I don’t have a problem with either of you. You’re both my mates.”

As much as Katsuki wants to believe him, his recent behavior isn't supporting his claim very well right now. Todoroki must see it on his face because the beta blinks owlishly at him, then sighs and readjusts himself until he is sitting more comfortably on the bathroom floor.

"I had my suspicions on the first day of school. Cis male omegas are extremely rare and I knew that if you were one, you would have flaunted that," Todoroki explains, his dual-colored eyes on Katsuki. "Either way, it's not any of my business what or how you treat your body, Bakugou-kun. It is my business, however, when others think they have any right to disrespect you or other trans folk for simply being that."

Katsuki frowns. "Honestly, I didn't even think you cared enough about either of us to have this kind of thought process, fucking Half-and-Half."

"Kacchan," Deku whines, slapping Katsuki's arm half-heartedly. "Be nice."

"Deku," Kacchan mocks, slapping Deku's arm harsher than the alpha had. "Fuck no."

Todoroki shakes his head, the movement of two bright colors grabbing Katsuki's attention once more. "You are my mates and since I was curious, I did a lot of research during the first week of school. A lot of the transphobia I stumbled upon online made me angry and I told myself I would stay away, but what Mineta did today is unforgivable and I had to intervene, to do something."

Deku grins, resting his chin on Katsuki's shoulder. "Glad to know you agree then. You're having ice cream with us on Sunday and that's not a request."

Katsuki scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm paying."

"What? No, Kacchan! It's my turn," Deku whines again, hands gripping Katsuki's shoulders as he lightly shakes him.

"You can pay next time. Shut up, you dumbass, overprotective alpha," Katsuki spits.

Deku laughs, the sound light and bright as always. Katsuki finds himself smiling at the sound, only mildly surprised when Todoroki's lips start to curve into a smile as well before his expression smooths over again.

Katsuki looks over his shoulder, finding his alpha has noticed the same thing. They nod, deciding to do something about that.

With time, of course. No need to rush into something so precarious after all.

a/n: i'm still in the process of moving and i have no wifi so i'm using my phone's hot spot rn, but i managed to update on time! next ch might be up by next thursday, i'm not 100% sure honestly. you can always check my #progress-report tag tho :D if you have any side pairings you want to see, just lemme know! i really only have iida/uraraka/tsuyu decided on at this moment 

(this won't be addressed in the next ch but mineta does get expelled bc they find photos of the girls changing in the locker room when he goes to the principal's office after this)

thanks for reading! please remember that my requests are open (:

#todobakudeku #bakudeku #todobaku #tododeku #bakugou x midoriya x todoroki #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #chaptered #f:bnha #g:angst #t:chaptered #p:ot3 #p:bakugou/midoriya/todoroki #wifttsf #m: fic