“Look at him, Sam,” you nodded towards Steve, “have you ever
seen someone so bummed out by their own birthday?”
Sam stood at your side, the two of you almost uncomfortably
wedged in the kitchen doorway that overlooked the living room of your Wakandan
home. It wasn’t meager by any means, but
it wasn’t a good environment to lend itself to privacy either, and Steve had
failed miserably to find any in the spot he had chosen to sulk in. “No one likes to get older, (Y/N),” he
answered quietly, “and he’s only got one year left before he hits the century
mark. You saw how low Barnes got when he
reached triple digits.”
“That was only because we ruined his cake. What’s Cap’s excuse?”
Milky Chain has announced a new drama CD series in the works! The theme of this series is you/your lover being fixated on two-dimensional characters, and your lover/or you trying to seduce you/them out of that fixation. ( • v • ) Basically, either you (the MC) is an otaku, or your boyfriend is one.
On The Toxicity of the Fallout LGBT Fandom At Large
I had a long chat with a friend today about some issues which underlie criticisms of the disproportionate ratio of mxf content to fxf and mxm content in this fandom.
I’ll start by admitting that this all came about from a different conversation with another Tumblr user I disagreed with. I’m not going to name them. But whether I refer to them vaguely or overtly in this confession, the rest of this post is not about them. It’s about a set of attitudes I’ve witnessed from various sources, in different forms, on various platforms and to a spectrum of degrees since I became active in the fandom, and which have been verified to me in the observations of other participants.
When we talk about content in terms of Straight (mxf) content vs Gay content (fxf and mxm) and criticize the clear majority of Straight content, there are two alarming trends that aren’t being addressed:
1) The erasure of most of the LGBT community
2) The dismissal of women as consumers and contributers
Tumblr lets me fuck with font sizes now so I’ll break those topics into headers.
But first let me establish some credentials. I have openly identified myself as a transgender man in the past. I am also bi and demi in some combination of sexual and romantic leanings that, going on 27 years of age now, baffle even me.
My dysphoria has typically been too severe to function in romantic and sexual relationships, though I’ve had a few of both with men and women, and it’s for that reason – and a long history of tacitly letting people around me draw whatever conclusions they wanted about my identity in order to avoid conflict – that I tend to more readily identify myself as “off the market” than bisexual.
I say all of this to curtail the slinging of accusations and assumptions about my place in the LGBT community, in the usual effort to undermine my credibility and the validity of my opinion on these issues.
When criticism of mxf fan works comes up, it seems to be understood that the target behind them is Straight and Cisgender sector of the fandom.
Bear in mind, there is a huge disparity between the amount of gay content vs the amount of straight content that we see in this fandom. However – digressing for a moment from my ultimate point – given that inspiration and creativity are not limited resources that need to be rationed out, it doesn’t make sense for us to blame straight content creators for the issue.
The source of the problem lies with the LGBT community. The Straights are not siphoning off our collective, finite reserves of creative power to steal for themselves in some dark ritual (that I know of). They are simply supplying more content than we are, dwarfing our pitiful efforts and outstripping our poor participation.
There are more of them and fewer of us, sure, but we are not as a group putting in the time to create or effectively fostering the creativity of those with potential. The Straights are beating us at a trot because we’re on the bleachers having a smoke and mocking their technique. The handful of Gays who bothered to compete are getting a token party whistle as their only show of moral support, and they’re falling out of the race one by one on low morale.
But here’s the real kicker, the clincher, the real point to my rambling. When we talk about mxf content – Straight content – we are not automatically talking about Straight content contributors.
It is a viciously narrow-minded and prejudiced mindset to take, for us to say that behind every scrap of Straight Content, there is a Straight Person. If you see a piece of fan art or fanfiction that revolves around a mxf relationship you might assume that you’re looking at the work of a cishet creator. At least, that’s the assumption I keep seeing from various sources. But consider who in our own community might be interested in creating and consuming that content.
If you couldn’t think of anyone, I’ll give you some examples off the top of my head:
Transmasculine people who, exclusively or nonexclusively, love women
Transfeminine people who, exclusively or nonexclusively, love men
Nonbinary, genderfluid, agender and other individuals who do not specifically and/or consistently identify with a singular gender, but wanted to explore mxf relationships in fiction
To state the obvious a bit, since they (we) are overlooked:
And, perhaps surprising to some readers:
Lesbian writers who want to explore a fictional mxf relationship
Gay writers who want to explore a fictional mxf relationship
And this is what I mean when I say our community is guilty of a virulent strain of erasure.
By assuming all Straight Content is created by Straight, Cisgender People we reduce the entire spectrum of human sexuality and gender identity to a black and white concept we should be well quit of:
You are either Gay/Lesbian or you are Straight. You are either Gay/Lesbian or you must be Cis. You either create Gay Content exclusively, or you are not a member of the LGBT community.
Which rather makes us the LG community. LGT, if we’re feeling generous, but only if you’re trans AND gay.
Most of the above I like to think of as objective truth rather than opinion, but if you’ve gotten this far and are interested in my opinion I’ll say this: I support the LGBT community. I do not support whichever community refuses to acknowledge its members when they express a shred of interest in mxf pairings. I do not consider those two to be the same community.
And here we have an even deeper issue that permeates the above.
Let me backtrack to my comment about mxf content creators (then referred to as The Straights to avoid spoiling the shocking reveal that not all of them are straight) and how they are outstripping the production of non-straight content by miles.
There are a lot of mxf writers and artists. I do not think it would be sensational to state that a lot of those are women. We all accept that to be a statistical fact, right? The majority of mxf fan art and fanfiction is understood to be the work of women (discounting a subset of grossly exploitative works best left to the bowels of 4chan). Not exclusively, mind, and the male contributors are not exclusively creeps. Let’s get that disclaimer out of the way before I get inundated with #Not All Men anons, and move on to examining our attitudes towards those women.
They’re dominating our fanfiction databases but why? Why is there so much of this content in the Fallout fandom?
Because it enables gamers to create female protagonists.
It sounds like I’m stating the obvious here but there is Subtext here, and Implications, and an explanation for why I, as a feminist, cannot countenance the arbitrary blanket criticism of mxf content and its place – and its women creators’ place – in our fandom.
The gaming industry inundates us with that tired trope of a protagonist we all (myself included) like to rag on: the white, cishet male, bestubbled brunette heartthrob, just striking enough to be attractive and just plain enough to act as a stand in for the male gamers and their hunger for testosterone-fueled action.
Fallout, like several similar RPGs, provides us with a customizable player character whom those of us not in the mouthbreathing cishet white guy demographic can fashion into a form WE relate to. And that means female gamers (cis, trans, or otherwise femme or female-identifying) can see themselves as the heroine, the protagonist, a being of power and agency who drives the forces of change in her world. We can all see women take the spotlight, standing glorious and strong beyond the clutches of the dreaded Fridge, not relegated to the classic two dimensional roles of Love Interest, Spunky Sidekick, Plot Device, MacGuffin, Damsel In Distress, so on and so on and et cetera ad infinitum. We can explore them as characters with their own stories, motivations, arcs and ambitions instead of viewing them only through the lenses of Male Gaze or whittling their development down to only that which directly impacts the development of their male counterparts.
That is POWERFUL. That is IMPORTANT.
Female gamers get to explore a world that a woman shapes through strength and will, and they want to explore these women’s stories outside the impressive but still limited parameters of coding and animation in their local sandbox RPG. They want to flesh these protagonists out past the prerecorded dialogue, examine their backstories before the opening credits and their futures past the end credits, develop their relationships with the NPCs that populate their world, give them new adventures and obstacles – or delve into the nitty gritty emotional/psychological and ramifications of the obstacles they face in canon.
We cannot fail to support the creative endeavors of women who have been inspired by the awesome power of their female protagonists. If we do that then we also fail women themselves. We let them down. I don’t like letting women down. They deserve better.
But when they flock to creative spaces to share their fan works about their female protagonists we complain:
“Too many F!PCs”
“Too much mxf content”
“Not enough Gay content”
As my friend pointed out today – though it has been pointed out to me many a time before and remains a valid and salient point – when we say we want Gay content… we really mean mxm.
Let’s face facts. Fxf content receives support primarily from the wlw corner of the LGBT community, and maybe a small smattering of token support in solidarity from the rest before everyone moves on to demand more mxm content. Of the minority of overtly LGBT content demanded, created and consumed, fxf content is an even slimmer margin.
And then we criticize mxf content and the prevalence of F!PCs on the whole in the few major games that allow female protagonists to carry the narrative weight with agency and aplomb.
Do you see what I’m getting at here?
The LGBT sector of our fandom doesn’t appreciate women, doesn’t support wlw, and criticizes the rest of female fandom’s self-expression.
We erase half of ourselves by excluding our own if they’re not hard-line, exclusively gay or lesbian. We lump anyone on the LGBT spectrum in with the Straight sector by default if they express themselves via mxf content.
We don’t support our lesbians. We criticize the creative exploration of women.
We oppress our own and pretend the Straights are our oppressors.
Can you write a story about Dipper meeting human Bill for the first time at a coffee shop? Like, demon bill doesn’t exist in in this universe
As a note: I’m not going to take many requests during nanowrimo, because I have many things to write, but…… I took this one as an excuse to avoid my major project.
“A soy venti latte with three pumps of caramel, two of strawberry, aaaaand could I get enough space for whipped cream. Oh! Oh. And do some latte art on it, too! I mean, I’m gonna cover up your probably pitiful effort, but I like to see people try.”
It’s seven in the morning.
Dipper blinks a few times.
This is the first customer of the day, and he’s already a jackass.
He meets this smug, grinning eyepatched guy’s face and, simply, stares.
“Welp,” The guy says, and claps his hands, clears his throat. He’s grinning. He taps his watch a couple of times. “Get going, kid. I’ve got a very important business meeting later.”
“Okay,” Dipper says, and, working on automatic, pulls a shot.
It’s too early to even get angry. He can almost feel the gaze of the man on him, as he runs through the steps, getting the espresso going.
The man starts speaking again. “Is this your first day?”
Dipper says nothing. it’s, way, way too early. This isn’t the first jackass customer he’s had, either. Dipper can deal.
“Wow, you’re real slow on this, kid.”
Dipper moves, mechanically through the motions. He makes the stupid latte. He pumps in the syrup.
“Hey! I never asked for that much-”
Dipper pauses, mid-pump of that gross, thick, sugary strawberry syrup. He watches the tiniest bead off it fall into the liquid.
“That isn’t what I-”
And the guy flails, and swears, reeling back, wiping at his face.
The usual line of customers backs up a pace, that’s weird too.
Dipper looks back down at his hand, at the empty paper cup.
Actually… now pretty much everyone has backed away from the counter, leaving a wide semicircle. The only ones remaining in it are Dipper, and the guy he just-
Kinda threw hot, syrupy, sticky espresso at.
As the jackass straightens up, looking furious -
Dipper throws the now-empty cup at his head, and takes more pleasure than he should at the way it makes his eyes widen, when it bounces off his stupid head.
“There’s your drink,” Dipper says. He clamps his hands tight against the counter. “Sir.”
The asshole with one eye blinks rapidly. He seems completely thrown.
Dipper jabs a thumb at the tip jar. “Feel free not to tip if you didn’t like it. I don’t care either way,” And he straightens up, turns back to what’s left of the line. “Next!”
Two customers later, Dipper looks up for that eyepatched jackass. He’s probably going to get in trouble for it, but if that asshole’s upset? It was worth it.
He’s nowhere to be found, for the rest of Dipper’s shift.
When he heads out -
There’s three hundred in his tip jar, and a small note with a number.
Here’s a deleted scene from the story I’ve been working on (currently in beta… stay tuned).
Sidney’s parents came out for the parents’ weekend. Zhenya wasn’t sure when they got into town, but they were at the arena the morning of the game against the Sabres, politely participating in the group locker room tour although they had been in the arena many times.
Sidney came over to Zhenya’s stall, wearing all of his gear aside from his jersey and skates. “Did Jen text you?”
To see all my nightmares relived through your eyes of innocent blue would make me feel small and pitied for each painstaking effort of stemming the bleeding; for having scar tissue of long forgotten wounds,
I do not wish to be understood;
I want you to hold my hand on the path of becoming someone new.
If the prompt list is for promoting then: Are you fucking insane?! (Sherlolly please!) If not just ignore me XD nevertheless thank you! :)
thanks for the prompt, I hope you like it ♥♥
Molly fiddled with the hem of her ‘business
skirt’, glancing up at the door in front of her leading to Mike’s office. She’d
been invited to attend a meeting regarding the opportunity to study and teach
pathology to eager students, which meant transferring to another location for
the better part of half a year, somewhere up in Scotland, she’d heard. Molly
had accepted immediately, deciding to worry about telling her friends later.
Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary and Greg would be accepting and supportive, of that she
was certain. She’d Skype Rosie and send her gifts and her mother could take
Toby. That just left Sherlock…
The thought alone of telling him
gave her a headache; she could already hear his excuses, how he needed her at
Bart’s because none of the other pathologists were as lenient with body parts.
Tough. He’d just have to cope. Molly quickly glanced at her watch, nervous
excitement beginning to ripple through her stomach. That was when her phone
URGENT. BAKER STREET. NOW
Molly blinked at her phone, wondering
for the briefest moment if she should just drop everything and run to
221B.After all, the last time this happened, several police helicopters had
followed Greg only to find out the consulting dick was stuck with his best man
speech. Just as she’d decided to ignore it, another message came through.
PLEASE. I NEED YOU MOLLY
“Ah, Doctor Hooper,” Mike appeared
at his door, then, flanked by a member of the Hospital board. He looked as
nervous as she felt as he adjusted his tie and smiled forcefully, “we’re ready
when you are.”
Molly swallowed – she hated letting
Mike down but if anyone could understand her situation it would be her
kind-hearted boss. “Err, thank you, but there’s been a change of plan. I’m
terribly sorry to put you out, sir,” she addressed the chairman and smiled
apologetically, “something has come up and I must leave. Thank you for the
“I’m sure we can reschedule,” Mike
cut in, waving off her concerns with a light-hearted chuckle; the chairman didn’t
look at all happy at this but didn’t say anything more. From the way he kept
checking his watch, Molly could tell he didn’t want to be there anymore than
Mike did, “I hope it’s not too serious. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Molly didn’t stick around for an
earful from the chairman and instead set off for a cab, shrugging on her jacket
as she walked. She managed to hail a cab on her second attempt and gave the directions
for Baker Street; she tapped her fingers against the window frame impatiently,
repeatedly checking her phone for new messages, causing several concerned looks
from the driver. By the time they’d pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, Molly
had driven herself almost mad with thoughts of what could be going on inside.
She handed over the money and hurtled out of the cab without waiting for her
change; she found the door open and her heart leapt to her mouth as she stepped
through. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so she hurried upstairs,
consequences be damned, and threw open the door.
He wasn’t injured.
Or high off his tits.
Oh, no. The great consulting
detective and certified git, Sherlock Holmes, was sitting in front of his TV
dramatically wielding a toy steering wheel (from the Wii console, she
recognised) and throwing his body left and right every now and then; it looked
as though he hadn’t moved for hours, maybe even days. Cups of coffee littered
the coffee table and plates of half-eaten sandwiches covered the floor. He was wearing
his traditional -day off- clothes: dressing gown, old t-shirt and pyjama
bottoms. He didn’t seem to notice her at first, instead swearing frantically
when a blue shell struck his vehicle.
Of all the possibilities and hellish
scenarios Molly considered on the way over, finding the Sherlock Holmes
engrossed in an energetic game of Mario Kart was not one of them. Suddenly,
Molly felt furious.
“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?”
“Molly,” he said without looking at
her, too busy focusing on his game, “glad you made it. There’s a spare
With her hands on her hips, Molly
deliberately stepped in his way, “please tell me you did not summon me here to
play a stupid game, Sherlock Holmes!”
“Of course not,” he replied
distractedly, craning his neck to see past her, “you weren’t busy, were you?”
Molly hesitated, “no, of course not.”
She could tell he was looking over
her appearance out of the corner of her eye, lingering on her pencil skirt and loose-fitting
top. She felt a smug satisfaction when she heard him swear under his breath as
his racer struck the wall as a result of his staring. Moments later, the race
ended with the detective placing third much to his annoyance. Peering at the
screen, Molly could see why and she couldn’t help but smile; Rosie’s initials
dominated the leader board until the very bottom where WSH was visible.
“Something funny, Molly?”
“No,” she said, hiding her smirk
behind her hand; it never took very long for him to somehow make her forget she
was pissed at him. Didn’t help that she was still stupidly in love with him,
really. Still, his eagerness to best his six-year-old niece was rather amusing.
She cleared her throat in an attempt to stop her laughter, “just…something I
heard at work, that’s all.”
He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing
her, “you think you’re better than me.”
“Well, come on, it’s not hard. If a
six-year-old can do it…” she said, a hint of a challenge in her tone; their
eyes met and lingered. After what felt like hours, Sherlock nodded.
“Fancy a game?”
“No, I…just came to check on you,”
Molly shook her head quickly, reality catching up to her. She was mad at him,
wasn’t she? She set about gathering the coffee cups and plates, “I mean, I
thought you were dying you sod!”
“It was the most effective way of
getting you here,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, shrugging casually as he
set up a new two-player game, “just one game. Mary and Rosie are coming to
collect it later,” he glanced at her, watching her place the dirty items in the
sink, “unless that was all talk.”
“Oh, no. I’ll happily kick your arse
any day of the week,” Molly declared, returning to his side and whipping off
her jacket. She sat herself beside him and took up the spare controller,
nudging him playfully, “I have to warn you, though. I’m the reigning champion
in my family. My niece got me into it, too.”
He smiled, “we’ll see about that,
An hour and six games later, Sherlock
rendered completely speechless by the six times over champion Molly Hooper. To
her credit, she’d kept her gloating to a minimum, although she’d made a show of
adding her name to the leader board, just above his pitiful effort, the letters
MEH mocking him. He blamed her for his lack of concentration, her arm
constantly brushing his, her hand landing on his knee whenever either of them
used a power-up, and generally being around her. Sherlock ruffled his hair,
beyond annoyed at the ridiculous game, figuratively and literally. Molly
returned from the kitchen with two coffees, placing one in front of him on the
“I still think you cheated!” He
murmured, sipping his coffee. Molly rolled her eyes.
“How did I cheat?”
“I never got that star thing once.”
“I’m not having this argument again,”
Molly protested, remembering the time she’d received a string of invincible
stars, on Rainbow Road no less, whilst he’d been reduced to repeatedly tumbling
over the side, cursing as he did. That had been quite amusing. Molly replaced
her cup on the table, “this is why no one wants to play games with you.”
He said nothing, preferring to hug
his knees as he sulked. After only a few minutes, Molly couldn’t take it
anymore and shoved the steering wheel at him, “come on. One more game.”
“No.” Dear Lord, he was actually
pouting. Molly gritted her teeth.
“Choose your bloody character.”
Sighing, he settled for Toad, as
usual – ‘…small stature is ideal, makes him light and agile, more aerodynamic,
statistically speaking…’ – whilst she picked Yoshi simply because he was her
favourite. Halfway through the race, a race Molly was determined to lose, she
peered out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock; he was really cute when he was
concentrating, his tongue peeking out from between his lips and his hands
running through his hair in frustration.
“I was going for a meeting…for a
chance to leave for six months.”
He shook his head, “nope, it’s not
going to work. I’m in the zone.”
“I’m not trying to put you off,”
Molly giggled, her race abandoned as she wrung her hands, “I was offered a place
in a teaching hospital over in Scotland. They said it could be anything between
six months and a year.”
It took a while for Molly to notice
his character had also stopped moving, “when do you leave?”
“I don’t. I got your texts before I went
“I’ll fix it…whatever it takes, I’ll
Molly turned to stare at him in
shock, “you’d…do that for me?”
“Of course, it was my fault it was
ruined in the first place. As long as you promise to come back, I’ll-“
She grabbed his face and kissed him
hard, silencing any further thought from his sweet lips. Sherlock cupped the
back of neck tenderly, holding her in their embrace as Molly’s hands landed on
his chest. They only broke away when an excited scream ripped through 221B.
“Mummy! They’re kissing! I told you,
I told you!”
Sherlock and Molly exchanged shy
smiles as Rosie clamoured between them, eager to get her own hugs in. Meanwhile,
Mary stood in the doorway frantically texting her husband; hopefully, she’d be planning
a wedding within the next year.
hey could you do a hannah x fem! reader where she usually goes to bryces house after school bc her brother (alex) always drags her there and she hates it because bryce always hits on her but instead she go to hannahs house to study and tells her about it because she doesn’t have a lot of friends so hannah confesses her feelings and maybe hannahs mom can walk in on them cuddling and her parents shipping the two (hope this makes sense its my first time requesting something oops) and thank you!! :)
First time writing Hannah! If you have any tips/suggestions leave a comment or message me!
Ever since moving, things had been different. Even Alex, your older brother, had changed. The only thing that hadn’t were the cliches of High School. Alex hold even succumbed to the pressures of fitting. He started to hang out with the jocks, who you tried to give the benefit of the doubt. It was hard though, giving them a chance. You witnessed, or so it seemed, every bad move made on their part. Drugs, hardcore drinking, and serious lack of control.
It had become part of your daily routine, going to Bryce’s house that is. It was not your first choice, but Alex had a habit of bringing you wherever he went. The only time you didn’t go over to his house was when you first moved and Alex was close with Hannah Baker. When he started dating, and then broke up with, Jessica Davis, that’s when he became ‘friends’ with Bryce. You couldn’t help but pity your brother and his efforts to fit in with people like Justin Foley. So, almost everyday you found yourself at the treachery of high school boys. Bryce just seemed to think anything or anyone that walked through his door was there because he owned them; including yourself. You were subjected to Bryce’s gross flirting while Alex played video games with Justin and Monty. Everyday went the about same :
“Lookin’ good Y/N.” Bryce said, lowly enough for his words to escape Alex’s ears. He leaned in close to you, as you sat with your feet in the pool. A shiver went down your back as he breath tickled the shell of your ear. “You wanna go up to my room and show me how great you look without clothes?” You turned your head, an appalled expression on your features. Before he could continue, Zach called him inside the pool house. As he walked away, Bryce shot you a lewd wink. You rolled your eyes and mentally gagged. If it wasn’t the constant, sleazy flirting, it was touching your arms or legs when you obviously didn’t want to be touched. Being around the over-privileged jock made you miss the times your brother would drag you to Monet’s. At least there you’d get along with Jessica and Hannah while your brother worked his way through the extravagant menu.
You had always enjoyed being in the company of the two girls. While Jessica had a flare for the dramatics, Hannah was always reasonable and kind. You missed the way she’d laugh when you said something totally stupid and how bright her smile was. You couldn’t help but form a little crush on the witty brown haired girl. So it really confused you when Alex dropped away from the F.M.L. group, even more so when he started to date Jessica. Being the younger of the Standalls and in freshman classes, you rarely saw Hannah in the hallways. The one time you did see Hannah during the day was lunch; but then Alex, under the teachings and rules of your father, wouldn’t let his little sister stray to a different table.
“Hey Y/N, why don’t you have a drink with us?” Bryce shouted, bringing your attention away from the water and your thoughts of Hannah. You shook your head as you brought your feet out of the water. You walked over to where you backpack was, slipping on your shoes. You wanted to leave now, but convincing them that you had to go would be tough. At least convincing Bryce to let you go. He’d probably try to sway you every which way and win over Alex.
“I have schoolwork and a project to work on. Alex, can you drive me?” It was a lame excuse, but you had hopes it would work. Bryce let out a groan and draped an arm over your shoulders, You shrunk against his touch, getting free of he reach as quickly as you could.
“C’mon Y/N, just loosen up a little,” he teased in a disgusting tone. You looked over at Alex, whose blue eyes were on you for a brief moment before looking back at the video game. You let out a small gasp at your brother’s action before turning your back on him entirely.
“I’m going,” you said, “I’ll see you at home Alex.” You headed off towards the gate to Bryce’s yard when you heard someone running up behind you. You almost spun around, ready to strike at the hand on you shoulder. But when you turned around you saw Alex.
“I’ll drive you,” he said, but you shook your head. “What is it Y/N?”
“Just stay here with your friends! I’ll be at,” you paused, “Hannah’s house.” Your brain had thought of the nearest place you could go to, to someone you consider a friend.
“Why her house?” Alex asked dumbly. You just rolled your eyes and pushed open the gate. You walked down the street and away from Bryce’s house. It wasn’t that far of a walk to Hannah’s, but you hadn’t been there in so long you had to think back on street names so not to get lost. You made it to her door 15 minutes after leaving. You knocked a few times, rocking on your feet as you waited for an answer.
“Hello-Oh! Y/N, hi!” Hannah greeted you, pulling you inside without a second thought. You smiled as Hannah told you to relax and asked if you needed anything.
“I’m fine Hannah, really.” You said as she lead you into her bedroom.
“Are you sure? My parents aren’t home so we can stuff ourselves with enough junk food to feed an elephant.” You let out a giggle as the two of you walked into her room.
“I’m okay. Well not really but, yeah.” You said, standing awkwardly in her room while Hannah flopped down on her bed. Her long hair fanned out against her pillow, making it look like she was an angel; maybe she was.
“What happened?” Hannah asked as she moved to sit up. You shook your and looked around her room. Her walls were littered with photos of family and friends from her home town, band posters and doodles. You looked back at her and saw that she was patting the spot next to her on her bed. “Come, sit, tell me of what haunts my precious Y/N.” You laughed at the goofy voice she used but sat next to her anyway.
“It’s just my brother, you started, “he’s been hanging out with the wrong crowd. Like Bryce and Justin. They’re not good influences on him.” Hannah nodded as you spoke, taking in your words. “And I always have to go over to Bryce’s house because that’s where Alex goes after school. It’s just annoying. Bryce is annoying.”
“How so,” Hannah asked, her voice weary. You locked eyes with her, wondering if you should tell her. Her blue eyes looked at you with a sincerity you haven’t seen in awhile. The concern on her face was overwhelming, convincing you to tell her.
“Bryce flirts all the time. Like he says sexual things sometimes and it’s gross. He also doesn’t seem to know that I like personal space, or space away from him. I had to tell all of them that I had to study in order to get out of there.” You looked away from her, down at your hands that fiddled with your fingers; to hide the tears that had escaped your eyes. Suddenly, Hannah placed her own hand over yours, stopping your fidgeting. You looked up and saw how close she was.
“Me and my Mom can drop you after school. You can stay over after school, I just want you away from Bryce.” You were a little shocked at her bluntness, but appreciated her protectiveness. “Really Y/N, let me help. You don’t have to hang around your brother’s friends. ”
“Yeah, but it was nice when he was friends with you. I missed hanging out with you, even Jessica,” you teased. Hannah smiled and brushed a piece of hair from your face.
“I missed you too,” she whispered in return. Your felt your heart flutter at her words. “I wanted to see you,” she said, “but it looked like you were okay. I’ve should’ve-” You cut Hannah’s speech by pressing your lips to hers. As inexperienced as you were, you had the basic idea on what to do. As you moved your mouth against hers, Hannah smiled into the kiss.
“Yeah, I really missed you,” she mumbled against your lips. You let out a soft giggle as you rested your forehead against hers. You smiled brightly at each other before you spoke up.
“I-I uh, I like you.” Hannah’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Since my Freshman year,” you added, “I always wondered how someone could be so wonderful and pretty.” You ran your fingers through the hair that had fallen over your shoulder.
“I like you too.” She whispered and you felt a wave of affection wash over you. “Do you wanna watch a movie on my laptop? A documentary for you know, studying purposes. We wouldn’t want to like now would we?” You nodded while Hannah grabbed her laptop and settled on her bed. You laid down next to her, resting your head on her shoulder.
“Ok Y/N, this is the biggest choice of your life,” Hannah teased. “Walking with Dinosaurs, a Space Documentary, or Why Sharks Attack?” You laughed and choose one of the movies. It didn’t really matter to you though; you were too caught up in the warmth of Hannah’s body to care about anything else. You cuddled closer to her as the movie started up, wondering how you got so lucky.
Mr. and Mrs. Baker came home a little later than they had planned. Mrs. Baker crept towards Hannah’s bedroom, hearing the sound of a movie being played. She peeked through the slightly open door and saw Y/N Standall curled up next to her daughter. She rested a hand on her heart, internally cooing at the sight. She walked off down the hall, happy to tell her husband that moving was the right choice after all.
Can we please have more of Empress Rey and Senator Ben. Like the first time she falls in love with him or make love? Not sex but make love? Please...
my poor little heart
It started from afar. They were close up, but the pining—it was distant, detached, discordant. Their bodies met at night but not their emotions. She kept him an arm’s length away and her heart, a lightyear apart. She forgot he existed when courting him late at night, only remembering his personhood when the day roused her to an empty sea of white linen sheets.
After what felt like months, she admitted to herself she stole glances when in the senate house. At the center of the room she deflected attention to him, called him out, made him argue with passion and heat. Fire filled his eyes where only awe reflected back from hers. He was headstrong and disagreeable and altogether bewitching. And she was mesmerized.
It was a pity she’d devoted so much effort to making him detest her.
| Sonic Chaos | Chapter Four: The Crazy Jungle Girl
(GUESS WHO’S BACK!!!! Gosh, it’s been SO LONG since the last chapter! But it’s finally here, and I promise I will speed up the process…it’s a long story why I got so hung up, but it’s back now, so it’s alright. Thank you @mangaanonymous for the illustration ilyy <3)
~ Chapter Four~
Amy’s eyes painfully fluttered open. She covered them with her hand to protect them from a bright orange light. She found herself leaning against a tree with a baby blue blanket draped over her. Amy took a few deep breaths, looking to her side to see nothing but green plants and trees. She turned to her left and her right, her neck ached as she did so. The sun was setting on the horizon.
She opened her mouth to say something, but words couldn’t reach her. Her head was pounding and her muscles were all sore. Her blood felt like molasses and for some reason, she felt extremely heavy. Every ounce of her being was telling her to just go back to sleep and never wake up.
Hello! I love this drabble thingy. I may or may not send a lot of requests. Só get yourself ready ;) 02- with Mark from Got7, fluffy.
2. “Quit looking at me, you’re making me nervous.”
“What did you get for number eight?”
I glanced up my worksheet, eyes crossing at all the sine and cosine formulas and graphs before I found my work for question eight.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I looked up nervously. I was nervous for many reasons. Firstly, I was dreadful at math. My insecurities started when the alphabet was introduced into my math class some time around 4th or 5th grade. Secondly, anytime anyone better at math asked me what my solution was to a math problem, it never ended well.
But probably the biggest part that made me nervous was my tutor. When my mom suggested it, I grudgingly agreed, thinking it would be nice to see a B at least once on a math exam. I was almost sure she would get me an old guy or someone at least non-attractive.
Instead, I got an incredibly handsome math tutor, the son of her friend from work and a grade ahead of me–and a math genius apparently. And his name was Mark.
His blonde hair was already eye-catching, but his face was just so aesthetically appealing. High cheekbones, a defined jawline, a strong chin. He had everything most guys dreamed of, including the dreamy dark brown eyes. It was…exhausting trying to ignore him for eight hours out of the week.
He could sense my nerves so he threw in an encouraging smile, stretching his neck slightly to look at my paper. His laugh followed when I attempted to shield the paper from view with my forearm.
“Come on, you’re not going to get any better if I can’t see your work,” he quipped, arching an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes, “It’s probably wrong anyways.”
“If you think it’s wrong then it must be right,” he joked.
Reaching over me and nearly sending my heart into a stuttering mess, I watched as he snatched the paper away from me with force.
We sat in anticipatory silence as his dark brown eyes scanned over the problem and mentally calculated whether I solved it. Pulling out his calculator after a minute or so, I assumed he checked his own work before he looked up at me, eyes big and his lips relaxed into a neutral position.
When he didn’t say anything, I sighed deeply, looking away from Mark. “If it’s wrong, you could just say so. No need to be all weird about it,” I commented.
He breathed out a laugh as he slid the paper back to me. “It’s actually strange. You did the whole problem right.”
“…if it were a 30-60-90 triangle that is,” he said, giving me a pathetic smile. He probably meant it more as a smile that was meant to pity the amount of effort I put in the wrong answer to the given question.
Snatching back the paper, with all the frustration bubbling just at the surface, I pulled out a separate paper and began rewriting the problem.
Probably sensing that I would be useless trying to solve this problem in my current state, Mark’s hand landed on my arm. And like a really bad reflex, my whole body froze as I turned to look at him.
Warm brown eyes stared back at me as he wore a very soft smile, one that made him seem a little younger. “Let’s take a break from the triangles,” he offered. “I’m going to write out a problem on the board. If you get it right, and I know how big of an if that is–”
I threw a highlighter that hit him squarely in the chest, earning an airy cackle from Mark.
“If you get it right, we wrap up our tutoring session early.”
Tilting my head to the side, I gave him a suspicious glance. “And then what? We just go home?”
I watched in silent awe as Mark scrunched his nose from one side to the other before shaking his head. “I was thinking we could do something.”
“You know, just hang out or whatever.”
My frown only deepened as I tried to understand what he was saying. “Hang out?”
Laughing in exasperation, he nodded. “Yeah, you know, that thing people do when they’re getting to know each other outside of a classroom setting.”
The shock set in a lot faster than I thought it would. Mouth agape and my eyes slightly widened, I could almost feel my brain scrambling and bumbling around for an answer. A cute guy wanted to just “hang out” with me. A cute guy that I hadn’t really been able to look in the eye since I met him.
But then again, he was right about the “if” part. He knew nine times out of ten I wouldn’t get the problem right which is probably why he felt confident in proposing a hang out session if my answer was correct. He knew there was no way in this lifetime I’d answer it correctly.
When the silence stretched on too long, Mark decided to ask the question again.
“So do we have a deal?”
Blinking a couple of times, I sighed deeply, “You seem confident I won’t get it right, so sure. I hope you aren’t banking on leaving for a hot date in the next ten minutes.”
He laughed and began to write out a problem on the board.
It was surprisingly more along the lines of a review problem from the week before. Graphing trig functions. Once he was finished writing out the parent function, he tossed me the marker and nodded toward the board.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
It took me at least fifteen minutes to complete the whole problem. Mapping out how far it would translate, the amplitude and whether it had a phase shift took me no time, finding the period did. But once I checked my work and was sure this was the best I could do, I turned around to see Mark staring at me.
I waited in silence, hoping he was going over the graph and whether it was right or wrong. But when the silence continued for what seemed like half an hour (it was only a couple of minutes), I noticed he was still staring at me.
“Quit looking at me, you’re making me nervous,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
Tilting his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed, he nodded at the board. “I’m just trying to decide…”
“Are you a burger girl or a pizza girl.”
It took me a few beats before I caught on, my face slowly lit up. “You mean–the problem–everything is right?!”
“Everything,” he confirmed, nodding his head.
Packing up his books, I watched in silence as I did the same. He barely gave me time to properly erase the board. If he was going to ignore the fact that I drew a wave instead of a cone shape for my graph, I guess I would too.
GOODBYE TO PROMPO *CHEERS* This is the last sin. And it sure took a heellla lot of time to write it down. Because I keep OOC 😂😂
I… wanted to thank @minminami for this. Because of a random chat with her she gave me the fuel to write this due 4-month fic….. Tbh I am at the verge of giving up, because I have 0 ideas for Greed… yet… SHE DIDN’T GIVE UP ON ME. HOW CAN SHE???? AND I AM SUCH A BAD WRITER WHO USES CLICHE SCENES *self shows* Thank you darling, for giving life to a fic that would rot in my brain… And thank you for following this series for oh so long… THANK YOU GIRL ♡♡♡
Ahem…. okay so I am obliged to tag… my dear Sari @rainbowatnight who I first met during my first debut for this prompt because of your comment and we came best friends… @moonlight-nightingale my sister who kept pushing me to write even though I kept procrastinating… and of course, @jemchew because I feel I should return the favor for your recommendations of awesome fics… I OWE YOU DEARRRIE!
Okay back to main point :3. If you want to read my other works please search
my fanfiction masterpost or search the tag: sonya writing fanfiction.
Jack resisted the urge to stroke over the darkening bruises Davey had gotten on his arms when he’d collided with the edge of the lifeboat, hating that he was so marked by the evening. They’d all but abandoned the idea of not being close in public. If they were going to die because of White Star Line negligence, then they deserved the right to hold hands on the ship before it went down. Those left in the stairwell seemed less convinced and there were more than a few stares but Jack pointedly ignored them as he kissed Davey again. He was relieved to have him back in his arms and, as guilty as he felt about the selfish feeling, he couldn’t quash it.
“I couldn’t go. I couldn’t go, Jack,” Davey babbled, still holding on to him tightly. “It’s alright. We’ll think of something,” Jack promised. He knew the words were empty, but he still wasn’t about to sit down and wait to die. They were fighting until the bitter end – he didn’t know how to survive any other way. “I just needed to stay with you,” Davey said, half laughing half crying. The night was turning him a little delirious.
He knew it was stupid to be so invested in what was barely even a relationship. He’d only known Jack a couple of days and they hadn’t exactly had a period of stability to work out if they were well matched together. All he was certain of was that there was something that just felt right about Jack. He was irrevocably home.
A/N: The third and final part of the ‘Caught’ series. I got a little carried away. And by carried away, I mean I wrote my longest fic ever, clocking in at 4.3k words. Keep hydrated, prepare your underwear ladies- because it is about to get hot in here.
The older I get, the more I realize: “Adults” don’t reference outdated memes or old slang in a pitiful, too-late effort to be ‘cool.’ It’s just that to us, three or four years isn’t that long ago. Y’all are talkin’ ‘bout 2014 like it’s ancient history but that was like yesterday to me. Relative to the amount of time I’ve been alive, a few years is nothing.
I’m not trying to be cool and failing. I’m just old.
Honestly, you weren’t sure
what to think, but JJ was in a panic. Though there was next to no one in the
restaurant, her eyes were darting all over the place, suspicious of everyone
that walked in. “JJ, breathe. We can’t do anything about it.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I
just…” Her beautiful blue eyes started brimming with tears. “I’ve had
relationships ruined by the media before.”
It wasn’t going to be easy
sure, but you wanted to be with JJ. “JJ, I want you, okay? We’ll get through
this.” Standing up, you moved to her side of the table and wrapped your arms
around her, kissing her cheek in a pitiful effort to get her to smile. “I’m not
saying this is gonna be easy. I’ve never been followed like that, but you’re
As the waitress approached the
table, JJ leaned her head against yours. Your bad attempt at getting her to
smile had worked, at least for right now, so you ordered your meals and a
couple of drinks. “Well, considering we might have a sea of paparazzi outside,
maybe we can just stay in tonight. Go to our room after dinner?” There was a
whole load of things you could imagine doing that didn’t involve going outside
“I think I could do that,” she
laughed. Your drinks came and you downed them quickly, eventually asking for
another before your meals finally arrived. It was one of the nicest restaurants
in the state, so the food was delicious, although it wasn’t Rossi’s place.
“We need to go back to
Barbetta’s one of these days,” you said. It was going to be great to get away
and have a break after the chaos that was Fashion Week, but NYC was your home,
and it was JJ’s too, no matter how much you both traveled; it was where your
hearts lay. “I miss the charmer.”
JJ laughed the first genuine
laugh since she saw the headline exposing your relationship. “Rossi definitely
is a charmer.” While you ate your meals, you fell into a slightly heavy
silence. You were trying to stay on the positive side for JJ’s sake, but the
idea of being followed around and photographer all the time was not something
you were looking forward to. “I need to warn you, Y/N…my past relationships
have imploded because of the complete lack of privacy, especially when the relationship
was just starting out.” Like it was with you was what she really wanted to say.
You pushed your plate out of
the way and reached your hands across the table – the ones that had captured
her effortless beauty behind the lens just weeks earlier. “Look, I don’t know
what we’re going to go up against, but I’m willing to try and work through
“What did I do to deserve
you?” She asked.
Shrugging, you leaned back and
asked for some chocolate mousse to go. “Nothing. I just kind of like you a lot.
Besides obviously being beautiful, there’s a side to you others haven’t gotten
“The last…my ex-boyfriend left
as soon as we were outed, and we had been dating for nearly six months under
the radar. And in these past few weeks, I’ve gotten to like you more than I
ever liked him…I don’t wanna lose you.”’
After your takeaway dessert
came to the table and you paid the bill, JJ reached for your hand and leaned
into you, clutching onto you in a way she never had before. “I love what I do,”
she said suddenly as you pulled the key out of your pocket. “But there are
times I think about giving it all up because of things like this.”
“I can’t even imagine,” you
replied, striding into the room and letting the door float closed behind you,
shutting out the outside world and whatever bullshit was going to greet you
when you walked out of this hotel. “But let’s not think about that, because we
have a lovely extended weekend ahead of us that’s just about us and getting to
know each other more.”
“Biblically or otherwise?” She
Maybe it was because she was
so distraught by this whole situation, but you strode up to her, wrapped your
hands around her waist and pressed a kiss to her nose. “How about a little bit
She tried smiling, but this
was obviously hitting her harder than she was letting on because her lip
started to quiver as she attempted to keep from crying. “I’m sorry,” she
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
JJ nodded, her eyes heavy with
sleep. “Let’s get changed first and then, yea…”
As you pulled out a pair of
orange, pink and white flannel pajama pants and a baggy ass t-shirt, JJ
couldn’t keep her eyes off you. “Maybe tomorrow…”
“Definitely,” you replied. Her
skin was smooth and taut, kissed by the sun. Tomorrow, it would be kissed by
you, but you needed to make sure she was okay first. “But first, come here.”
Sitting down on the bed, you
pulled her into you, her head resting in your lap so you could run your hands
through her hair while she told you about her first relationship after making
it big. It was another woman by the name of Kate. Apparently, JJ had been in
love with her, and Kate with JJ, but the paparazzi - the constantly being
followed around and violated through the lens – broke them apart. “I could’ve
married her Y/N, and this life ruined that for us.” She was also a behind the
scenes industry professional like yourself. Although you weren’t up on the
tabloids, her name rang a bell; you hadn’t had the chance to work with her yet.
“She was a hairdresser right?
She has her own line of products?”
A soft smile crawled across
JJ’s face. “Yea, I still use her stuff.” She laughed as she touched her hair.
Turning over to face you, she clarified herself. “I was in love with her, but
I’m not anymore. She walked away. But I just figured you should know because I
want you to know where I’ve come from and why I’m so worried.”
“I get it, babe.” Although it
wasn’t late, Fashion Week had drained you both and the food was also making you
sleepy, so you grabbed your chocolate mousse and sat up in bed. “How about we
have some of this and go to sleep? Tomorrow’s another day.”
After taking a bite, she
thought it would be funny to flick a blob of mousse onto you. “That it is.”
The next two days passed by in
a blur of bliss and ignorance. After having a mild breakdown shortly before
going to sleep that night, JJ was able to let go of whatever doubts she had to
enjoy your weekend.
Hours of conversation, getting
to know each other, learning about each other’s true likes and dislikes dissolved
into getting to know each other in a deeper sense, her lips trailing over your
skin and bringing you to the brink over and over again. In kind, you pressed
heated kisses to every inch of her body, telling her silently how much you
cared and leaving you both tired, quaking messes.
It all went by too quickly.
Before you knew it, it was
time to check out and make your way back into the world of flashing lights and
shouting cameramen that were about to pry their way into your lives.
“Ready?” She asked.
You could already hear some
voices outside and your heart was pounding. “Yea.” Before leaving, you entwined
your fingers in hers and gave her hand a light squeeze.
The lights almost burned they
were so strong. Flash after flash blinded you as you walked forward, unable to
distinguish the mess of voices coming at you. Men and women alike shoved
cameras in your face, asking all kinds of questions from the most benign, like
when did you start dating, to the most invasive, including how JJ was in bed.
Your girlfriend did her best to shield you from the crap, and then all of a
sudden you saw her lock onto one paparazzi in particular.
“Who is that?” You asked. Was
he a famous paparazzo? Was there such a thing?
JJ’s eyes burned with a raging
fire that took you off guard. She was normally so light and carefree, it was
surprising to see her so angry. “His name is Michael Hastings, and he’s the
same scumbag that outed myself and Kate.”
Congratulations nonnie, you and @jjellybean are the winners this evening because it’s what I felt like writing. Or at least the nessian part. Have fun.
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have a dramatic and necessary break up.
To Say the Things I Want to Say to You
There was something about the way that he looked at her. Something in
the way that he told her he cared without having to say the words, told her he
would always be there and promised her the world if only she would keep looking
at him like that.
In the beginning, there had been a racing heart, a warmth in her core,
Nesta’s thoughts finding Cassian when she didn’t want them to. His glaring good
looks had softened into something more as she grew to know him. If she’d been
more like Feyre, she might have tried to paint him. If she’d been more like
Elain, she might have given him shy, flirtatious glances. But she was like
neither of them, something wholly apart, somehow more and less and never quite
what others wanted.
And yet. He had wanted her.
The beginning had been everything she never knew she could want. She
found herself seeking him out, looking for his approval, words spilling from
her lips before she knew they had left. Others around her talked about marriage
and love and which man would be a worthy, fair husband. She had never cared for
those things, because the value they might bring seemed unlikely to be worth
the trade-off. All Nesta saw in marriage was the potential raise in social
station, but love? That was unlikely, and being uninterested in such a thing
didn’t help matters.
“I feel like I need another weekend after the weekend spent
with them”, he groans, taking a long swig of his beer. Shirayuki hums from
where she’s tucked at his side, her own bottle of beer pressed against her
cheek in a pitiful effort to cool her skin. They’re settled on the sofa, watching
a movie - it’s too hot to do anything else. All the windows are wide open,
letting the sound of cicadas’ loud screeching in, but the air still feels
heavily humid. He knows that when it’ll finally rain, it’ll pour.
“I really liked them,” she murmurs.
They loved you, he
almost says, but instead he groans.
“You like everyone
and everything.” He can’t contain a fond smile when her brows furrow in
“No I don’t.”
He makes a show of rolling his eyes extravagantly at her. “Sure.
Name one thing you really, really dislike.”
She blinks up at him, not expecting the challenge.
“Well, I can’t stand this stupid movie.” She slurs, chin
pointing at the TV screen. Obi eyes the half-drunk bottle in her hand - being a
lightweight is no fun. He notices half-removed tag of her bottle curiously –
she’s been fiddling with it non-stop all evening. It’s not like her to be this
“Of all things to hate, miss. Isn’t it a Tanbarunian movie?”
He laughs. “At least you can keep up with the dialect. I can’t understand shit.”
She glares up at him skeptically. “You understand me.”
“I don’t think you realize how un-Tanbarunian you sound. It
comes out only when you’re angry.”
She lets out an unconvinced sound deep from her throat and pointedly
resumes watching the movie.
It’s a rom-com, by the looks of it, and Obi understands the
dialogue better than he made it seem. Right now It’s one of those cliché scenes: the
lead actress is running down the street, soaked under the rain, with the
bastard who broke her heart at her heels.
Of course he’s going to
catch up with her, apologize with sexy earnest expression on his face and then
the scene will cut to them boning in a hotel room, he thinks bitterly as he rolls his eyes. It’s
what happens in movies. Or rather, it’s
what happens to moderately lucky, normal people – a ruthless voice in his
head offers helpfully – fight, make-up,
make-out, the golden formula of romance. Whereas his own romantic life is caught up in the vicious circle of being
greeted by the sight of barely-dressed Shirayuki cooking breakfast in the
kitchen first thing in the morning, then sharing the meal with her, because why,
they’re best friends slash roomies of
course, and finally jerking off in his
room guiltily, because the morning boner keeps making a come-back as early
afternoon boner and he can’t afford walking all day perpetually hard - he has
things to do.
Oh, and then envying rom-com couples.
You lied to me, you
piece of shit! The woman yells on TV, flinging her arms at the man who’s
trying to calm her down in front of a bus stop, neither seeming to mind a group
of on-lookers gawking at them.
“She’s saying he lied to her.” Shirayuki murmurs and lets out a small sigh. For a
second he considers telling her there’s no need to translate, that he understands
the conversation alright, but that means her breath won’t be fanning his collarbone.
I’m too good for you!
A worthless stray cat like you doesn’t deserve me! The woman keeps yelling.
He stiffens, hoping that she won’t deem it necessary to
translate the last sentence, that she’ll assume he understood it just fine. She’s
really known him long enough to know that he has been called “worthless stray
cat” in every language on the continent. After all, she was with him the other
day when a couple of skinheads referred to him with the same exact words in a
When she speaks her
voice hasn’t changed from the monotone, bored pitch.
“She’s saying she’s too good for him, because no other woman’s
make-up remains that intact under all the rain.”
With a long swig of beer he tries to muffle a snigger and the
surge of affection that threatens to overwhelm him. With his free hand he
squeezes her against him in silent gratitude. Her eyes remain fixed on the
screen, but he feels her fingers running over his knuckles reassuringly. He shivers.
The female character has finally stopped yelling. But when
the man grabs her by the shoulders in an attempt to hug her, more yelling
ensues, causing the roommates on the sofa to groan in synch.
Fuck you! She
shoves him away.
He laughs. “You don’t need to translate that to me, miss. It’s
She gulps down the beer, saying nothing.
“What do you think she said?” She asks, her tone
He scowls. Where is
she going with this?
“She told him to, er, go get stuffed?” Since he’s known her,
he’s only heard her swear twice – the first time when she accidentally
overwatered her potted basilicum and then when a heavy blizzard prevented her
from driving to a conference last winter.
Shirayuki shakes her head, an odd smile lightening up her
features. She pulls herself off his shoulder, pulling herself up till they’re
at the same eye-level. Involuntarily he leans back a little, because the sight
of her smiling lips so close to his is making his heart drum in his ears.
“She said I love you.”
She stresses the words with exaggerated singsong voice, a sardonic eyebrow
rising at him.
From the TV they can hear what sounds like relieved sobbing
and gentle, apologetic cooing, the scene having reached culmination; but
neither of them is watching the screen anymore.
“What?” He finally manages.
She blinks slowly, face carefully innocent. “What?”