#DROP MIA ROUTE

[k-0re]

are you aware that team-avia MIGHT be releasing a new Mia route after a project they are finishing..? :3

YUP AND IM SO EXCITED

[just-a-ghost00]

Your future spouse : Who? Where? When?

Group 1 - Van Gogh

Letters : E M D E R U O E P W T Y

Words/signs/names : deputy, Rudy, Emery, Roy, power, true, Morty, drum, poetry, proud, meet, WED, route, pure, Tower, remedy, dom, prom, word, rude, drop, rope, dye, eye, TUE, wet, pet, pouty, muted, dope, prude

Recommended songs : Fly me to the moon Frank Sinatra, Sweater weather The Neighborhood, Snooze AGUSTD, MIA Bad Bunny ft Drake

WHO? - White Numen / Ask body / Magnesite : get your mind right.

Oh this person is powerful and stubborn AF. The bull and the panther may be spirit animals of this person. If not, they like these animals or their personality matches those. In terms of astrological placements, we have Taurus and Aquarius, as well as Earth signs in general (Taurus Virgo Capricorn). They are a boss ass B. They are masculine. Like reaaaallyyyy masculine. They have BIG DADDY energy. Jupiter might be very well aspected in their chart or the sign in which Jupiter is in their chart matches well with the energy of Jupiter. That would be Sagittarius, Pisces and Cancer. This person is a creator and a good manifestor. They think a lot. They are cerebral. They may strugg with overthinking but their mind reminds their best asset. They are the epitome of brains are sexy. This person would know everything from ancient languages and art skills to the newest knowledge in technology and medicine. They can do anything and everything they set their mind to. In terms of their looks, they are definitely tall. They would tower over you and lift you up like you were a feather. They are strong in all aspects. Their torso is bigger than the lower part of their body. They have broad shoulders, big hands, big forehead and nose, prominent jawline, regardless of their gender. Maybe for the women identifying people the bum and chest would be bigger than other features of their body. And for the men identifying people, the pectorals would be juicy. With the ask body card, this tells me this person works out a lot. They are also very spiritual. They give off a lone wolf energy when really this person has a lot of love to give they just know what they want and they have strong boundaries. So they would never let themselves be walked over or let in people who would bring more BS than anything. This person would keep you on your toes for sure. I feel like they would have a bold fashion style. Something that stands out from current trends or that is unusual for people who are like them. For instance, let’s say this person is quite old, maybe you’d expect them to wear suits and fancy watches. But instead this person has a very casual look or dresses like the younger people. They could be your boss or at least someone who has a higher status than yours. It wouldn’t surprise me if they already had kids. They are well established.

WHEN? - Page of pentacles / Higher perspective / Bismuth : rewrite your code with rainbows.

In terms of timing, the page of pentacles represents several months. Now if we look at the meaning of the page of pentacles, it talks about education. The page is a learner, a student in matters of material aspects. Combined with the Higher perspective card, this definitely gives me the feeling of going back to college. Or getting a training in something very specific. Potentially something involving spirituality. Like taking reiki courses or tarot reading lessons. So I feel this person is a teacher or a mentor to you. With the Bismuth card, I feel like this person will be opening doors for you. And that could be litteral because the door of my room opened out of nowhere as I was trying to get more information from the card. Higher perspective is related to Ether. This means to me that you will meet at a point in your life when you wish to evolve, to embody a better version of yourself and seek to gain knowledge or power.

WHERE? - King of cups / The Explorer / Malachite : claim your success.

We already had kind of a hint with the previous section. And I feel like it’s further confirmed by these cards, especially the Malachite card. Now if we talk about geographical indicators, water seems to be relevant. Also on the Explorer card there’s a compass. So it tells me that where you meet them, there is either a plan or something related to navigation or orientation. Also when looking at this card I heard "you already know where to find them". So it gives me the strong feeling that many of you already know this person and already met them. It’s just that you didn’t consider them your FS. Also the malachite card mentions the workspace. So you could work together. Or you’re doing the same job and you go to them for advice. Also the king of cups card depicts a man sitting on a thrown spilling water in an ocean of sharks. So this also tells me there’s a lot of competition where you meet. And it’s like this person is trying to educate or heal the sharks somehow.

Group 2 - Monet

Disclaimer : I kept confusing you with group 1 and there were cards of group 1 that kept wanting to come into your reading so you might want to check group 1 as well. I think there are two people that have the potential of being your future spouse.

Letters : L I S G E S T M S I E K

Words / signs / names : Selim, time, lies, mess, Tess, seek, kisses, misses, meets, lists, sees, skies, ski, Mike, miles, gems, glee, mist, melt, GSM, kit, leek, miel (French for honey), TMI, MIT, Stiles, geek

Recommended songs : Easy Camilla Cabello, Life goes on AGUSTD , Hall of fame Stray Kids

WHO? - Ace of pentacles / The Seeker / Aragonite : find your center.

Earth signs are being shown here. On the ace of pentacles card there are 8 hands reaching for the pentacle. So your person is wanted by many. They feel younger than you. They are possibly a student or a young active. With the Seeker card I feel like this person hasn’t found their true calling yet. They feel lost and out of balance. Maybe they got a job that doesn’t make them happy or their studies aren’t as fulfilling as they thought. They are super shy and reserved. They may appear as cold when they are just a softy. They have trust issues. They feel really cute to be honest. But also they are lonely. It’s like they keep searching for the one, when they have so many prospects. I feel like they have a lot of high standards and they know that other people don’t match the vibe they’re going for. I feel like this person only has eyes for you but you don’t see them. Again, this group knows their FS already. In terms of physical traits, I feel like this person has good hands. But their body might look out of shape a little. They’re more on the chubby side. They look comforting. Like the type of person that would give the best hugs. Their gaze is really soft. Like a puppy. They feel pretty needy tbh. But not the suffocating type of needy. They just want to be loved and crave for connection. Someone that will share their interests and values. Who will match their crazy and feel safe in their presence. I feel like this person has faced a lot of rejection in the past and they kinda are stuck with this idea that no one wants them. They are an introvert. They like to isolate and be in their bubble. I feel like people have an idea of them that is completely false. Like maybe they think this person is a flirt and parties all night when in truth they’re a couch potato and a gym rat. They only go out of truly needed and they would rather be alone than surrounded by tons of people they barely know. This person wants a family of their own so bad. Like a big family with the white dog and pretty little house. They’re a hopeless romantic and an idealist.

WHEN? - 2 of pentacles / Reclaim / Scolecite : dive into your dreams.

On the 2nd of a month, two months from now. It feels like you may be going back and forth with this person before fully knowing them or being close to them. There’s a chase and run type of energy to this connection. You’ll meet them when you or they are reclaiming your/their power and changing something in your life. So moving houses, changing jobs or getting back to studying. When you start chasing your dreams. Also you could meet them in your dreams before meeting them in person. During any earth sign season.

WHERE? - Queen of pentacles / Power / Amethyst : get drunk on your highest self.

In a places of power or worship such as Cathedrals and Churches, Mosques, temples, town halls, or in a place of education. Also monuments came to mind. Like the Eiffel Tower, the leaning tower of Pisa. There were many stars on the Queen of pentacles’s dress so Europe came to mind. The US and the UK as well. Other places include : Siberia, the Far East, Brazil, Uruguay, Sri Lanka, South Africa, Mexico, Australia, South Korea, India, Austria, Germany, Italy, Canada.

Group 3 - Hokusai

Letters : C Q T E C S L I G A L I

Words/signs/names : Ali, Alice, Alicia, Cecilia, Scilla, Giles, Gael, Gaelic, sigil, sea, sail, Lisa, aigle (French for eagle), Elisa, Elias, Cali, cast, list, tails, IQ, Tesla, sage, Isac, Lila, lilac, cis, alt, ciel (French for sky), call, site, Lise, teal, lace, acts, sell

Recommended songs : Mon amour GEMINI , 3:00 AM Finding hope , Dark on me Starset

WHO? - 6 of pentacles / The Revolutionary / Honey calcite : break through your limits.

First of all, your person might have a white dog. Second of all, they have tanned skin. Thirdly, they could work in law enforcement or they are studying at Law school. They could be doing humanitarian work. They are balanced and grounded. Both in their attitude as well as their personality. They know when to give and when to take, when to talk and when to listen, when to act and when to observe. With the revolutionary card, this tells me that they are pretty determined and ambitious. This person likes to stand for greater causes. So you’d bet that they advocate for children and women rights, for the LGBTQIA+ community, for the respect of nature and animals as well as the end of wars. The signs of Taurus, Aries, Sagittarius and Leo are significant. This person is very sweet. Almost to the point where sometimes they put others needs before their own. Especially if it’s about being fair and giving retribution for wrongs caused by previous generations. This person feels like they have a debt they need to pay. Also they might have suffered abuse in the past so they want to have retribution for them but also for the people who were wronged like they were. In terms of physical traits, their body is harmonious. So for female presenting individuals, they would have kind of an hour glass body type. Same for male presenting individuals. This person feels gender fluid. They are a minimalist. They like to keep things simple when it comes to the way they look. Honestly if they could be naked on a daily basis they would be. They’re in touch with nature. Animals love them. They have a very comforting aura. This person really is as sweet as honey. They could be a creator, a designer, a public speaker. They like to use their voice and their status to raise awareness about things they care about and value. They could be a teacher as well or someone that works with kids.

WHEN ? Page of swords / Paradox / Hematite : align with your wholeness.

When stars align. When you finally let your guards down. When you align with your calling, your soul mission. During any air sign season. Within a few weeks from now. When you’re on your period. When you let go of your old beliefs on love or when you move on from a past love, an unrequited love or a crush that would never have evolved into anything more than friendship. When your spiritual beliefs change drastically (i.e. you decide to convert to a new faith, you no longer believe in God, you choose to follow a spiritual path).

WHERE? - Queen of swords / Get wild / Emerald : point your heart toward grace.

In terms of countries, we have : Colombia, Brazil, Zambia, Zimbabwe, USA, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Russia, Australia. Now, in terms of where you could meet, I'm not getting much from these cards. It's like your FS wants to play hide and seek. They're not really comfortable sharing where they are. The only thing I'm picking up on is somewhere where the law is involved. So it could be an administration, a police station, law school, a lawyer's office, a prison. With the get wild card, the only hint I can get is that it can get intense. I asked for a card to clarify the Queen of swords and I got the 9 of pentacles. So law and money are involved. So maybe a bank or an insurance company. Or somewhere businesses and entrepreneurs go to get advice on how to invest their money or know if something they intend to do is legal or not.

[perkqularkreashions]

Living with the Enemy, Joe Goldberg x Reader

Part 1: Last Nice Guy in New York??

Prompt: YN is close friends with Peach, Annika, Beck, and Lynn. She doesn't fit into their circle, nor does she try to. Joe soon sets his sights on YOU, leading to a domino effect within Y/N's life.

Requested: YES | Requested are OPEN|

Warnings: Mature Content, Manipulation, Stalking, Slightly Proofread.

It had been some time since you last spoke with Peach and her willing and obedient entourage. You blissfully ignored them, avoiding the usual hangouts and skipping daily walks with your son. You took different routes and dined at other eateries, and for a while, you enjoyed this simple and slow-paced lifestyle. 

It was a particularly warm day in New York; the increasing winds had died, allowing you to turn off the space heaters that litter your apartment. You relished the smell of cleaning products and baby formula rather than burning rubber. You watched as Rafi bounced around in his walker from his room back to the living room. His hand slapped against some trinket that sang a quick tune of “You are my sunshine.” It was probably his favorite plaything on that bouncer, but it annoyed the absolute hell out of you. The loud and high-pitched continuous loop of "you are my sunshine... my only sunshine", but he loved it, so you endure it. You cracked open the window, allowing the fresh air to filter into the apartment, the warm breeze washing over you briefly before returning to stillness. Contently, you sighed. Your eyes flickered to the door; a hesitant knock followed by two more confident knocks. You shuffled off the couch, unable to gaze through the peephole due to the grime built up over the years. You mentally noted that you need to tell the landlord about that. Unlocking your three deadbolts, you pressed your ear against the door, hearing the muffled female voices.

You opened the door and noticed Peach, Beck, Lynn, and Annika. Your eyes widened as you stumbled back, Peach charging into the apartment. Her eyes glanced around as she brightly smiled at Rafi before returning her cold gaze to you. She crosses her arms, waiting for you to fill the silence with an apology. The tension hung in the air like a heavy fog, palpable and suffocating everyone as they all watched you, their once easy rapport replaced by an uneasy silence. Every word left unsaid seemed to echo between them, filling the space with a sense of unease that was almost tangible. You chuckled before turning away, gathering some of Rafi’s items out of habit. “You don’t just go MIA for weeks like that!” Everyone slowly shifts into the apartment; you feel suffocated. “I called, you never answer.”

You plainly answered, “I know.” You shoved some clothes into the hamper before returning to the group. You tried to think of something to say and formulate something harsh and crude to say back to Peach and her brainless minions that followed her every call, jumping at the snap of her fingers and pleading for some sort of acceptance from her. You sighed, sitting on the sage-colored love seat, your elbows resting on your knees as you rubbed your temples gently. “Peach, you and your…whatever this is. Can happily get the fuck out of my apartment. You can’t just storm into my home and expect me to drop to my knees begging for you to what…forgive me?” 

You felt the couch dip next to you, the smell of her engulfing you. It iterated the fuck out of you yet offered you a warm feeling. She was home; despite her manipulation, gas-lighting, and bitch behavior, she was home. You finally looked at her, your face growing warm as you pressed your lips together. Her smile growing as she knew, she squealed, wrapping her arms around you. “Say you forgive us… me?” You nodded against her before pulling back. “Great, let’s go out to eat! We’ve missed you and have lots to catch you up on!”

You nodded, pressing a feigned smile on her lips; Annika smiled, wrapping you in a brief, one-armed hug. She was followed by Lyn, who seemed more than pleased that you had returned. They moved away, gawking at Rafi as they spoke with him in an annoying, high-pitched tone. They were flashing toys in front of him before snatching them quickly as he giggled loudly. You stood beside Beck; an awkward silence washed over you both. Beck wanted to speak… she wanted to ask if what Peach had been filling in her head was true. Suppose you had been trying to pine after Joe; how would she feel? She admitted her feelings for Joe were growing; she liked having him around and the attention he provided her when Benji was off on a binge of whatever drug would provide him with whatever relief. “We missed you… I missed you,” Beck spoke, cutting through the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, bumping into her shoulder and offering her a half smile. She tucked a small piece of hair behind her ear.  

“I’ve been dying to tell you about everything, I mean everything,” Beck whispers through her laugh as she watches you for a moment. Beck confided you about everything; you weren’t judgmental and never gave advice—you were just a lending ear that she craved in the whirlpool that was Peach. You sighed, knowing that no matter where you were in your life and how far you thought you had escaped Peach, she was always lurking in the shadows, ready to devour you at any minute.

You hummed softly, your hand occasionally, moving the visor back to check to see if your son was still alive. Your hand fluttered in front of his face; quickly, he reached for your fingers. You had spent most of the morning shopping for groceries and wanting to find some fresh produce. You gathered green apples, strawberries, and some blueberries. It has been a slow-paced morning; class was canceled, you were finally caught up on your assignments, and only needed to grade some papers from some of your classes. You hadn’t seen Peach since your lunch date with the girls two weeks ago. It was spent, for the most part, talking about Beck’s choices in men and the plethora of men that have taken her to bed… all this steaming from Benji ghosting her. You didn’t know what she saw in him, but he was a poser and couldn’t hold down an idea, let alone his own business. She had fucked, Mr. Bedroom Eyes, someone that she had met in the library, all while leading on Joe and worrying about Benji.

Your eyes shifted slightly; noticing him underneath the navy-blue baseball cap, he examined the fruit before placing it down. You smiled brightly, peering left and right before approaching him. You stuttered for a moment; wait is it weird that you were approaching him? Did you even need to say hello? You stood behind him, mindlessly watching his gaze at the fruit. Weaving through the throngs of people as your eyes held steady on him, your hands tightening against the stroller. Panic surged through you, threatening to overwhelm my senses as your hands hesitantly reach out to his shoulder. Joe jumped as he spun around; a toothy grin fell on his lips as his eyes shifted to Rafi. “Sorry, this must be weird.” You quickly tried to explain, and yet there you stood. 

“No!” Joe smiled, “No weird at all.” He watched you, taking in your beauty from the curve of your lips to the furrow of your brows. Your eyes are a soft color, filled with so much emotion. He contained his excitement, continuing to handle the slightly ripe peach in his hand. A soft breath of relief escaped your lips; Joe watched you, taking in every moment, from the twitch of your eye when you smiled to the slight tightening of your hands against the stroller’s handle. Were you nervous? You didn’t need to be! I am all yours! Joe’s thoughts muddled aggressively through his head, his eyes concentrating more on your slight movements, the way you shifted your weight to your left hip as you stood there, watching him. Your index finger nervously taps before stopping.

“Good, I thought it’d be weird if I recognized you in this crowded space,” you laughed; it was soft. A small smile crept on his face as he moved closer to you, a single step to be closer to you. You slightly shifted, leaning against the stroller as you pushed it in front of you before bringing it back. “It’s nice to see you again.” Your heart fluttered as you watched his goofy take hold of his lips. His cheeks dusted pink as he nodded hesitantly; he stepped forward, watching you walk away in the crowd, occasionally wiggling your fingers in front of your son’s view. 

“Are you alone?” Joe mentally cringed as you paused, peering over your shoulder in confusion, “I meant, I could keep you company while you go shopping… If you don’t mind.” Do you mind? You wouldn’t mind, would you? Joe thought; he watched you ponder his offer, and you fully faced him as you smiled, nodding at him. Joe joined you, shoulders bumping into each other as you continued to walk through the farmer’s market. Looking at the different herbs and vegetation sprawled on the tables, you fingered at them, rubbing your fingers with a concentrated look on your face as Joe pushed Rafi. Joe watched you in awe, his hand gripping against the stroller in angst and yearning. He watched you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear; you quickly turned to him, putting a strong-smelling herb in his face. He winced as he swatted at his nose; you laughed softly before agreeing with the saleswoman that the left one was more pungent. 

“My mom made this weird-tasting soup for me when I was sick, but it always helped. It helps when Rafi has a little bug. He hates it; he scratches at my arms when I force-feed it to him.” You laughed, showing him the small craters in her skin that hadn’t healed properly. Joe took your arm, letting his thumb trace over the craters. “He’s so mean when he wants to be; I guess he gets that from his dad.” Joe watched you, taking in every word that was said. 

“His dad hit you?” You were stunned; you placed the herbs in your tote bag before looking at Rafi, making a slight face and tickling him. Joe observed you, your face tense as you seemingly tried to feign enjoyment in the brief time with your son. He watched how you weren’t standing so close to him; your shoulders still touched every again, but not the same as before. Joe cursed at himself for bringing it up; Joe hated that he made you feel so small and helpless again. You froze at the sound of your name; Joe noticed it, too. He peered over his shoulder seeing someone rush to you, his hand waving wildly as he began to jog to catch up to you. He called your name again. Joe’s eyes flickered at you, and you were frozen, eyes wide in fear. Joe leaned closer to you, but you were snapped out of thoughts when the man stood directly behind you. You slowly turned, now facing the stranger. Joe watched the man; something about was familiar, the curve of his lip and the bushiness of his brow. His hair was long and pulled into a rendition of a man-bun with some pieces falling in front of his face; he was clean-shaven and muscular. His skin was a deep cooper color that glistened but wasn’t sweat…more of an oil-based lotion. 

“It’s been so long!” he smiled with a bright smile, teeth perfect and in a row, no obscurities or imperfection. He tried reaching out for a hug, but you backed away, letting a small smile rest on your lips. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to for Joe to notice how uncomfortable you were. “Who’s this?” His eyes never left yours. Joe could see the intimidation in his eyes, and his smile never reached his eyes when he spoke. 

Joe moved the stroller before him, stretching his hand in the process; a bright smile rested on his lips. “Joe.” The man didn’t acknowledge him or care for his name. Finally, he passed him a glance, his face churning into a distasteful look. His eyes moved to the stroller, and as a bright smile crossed his lips, he bent down for a moment. Wiggling at Rafi’s shoes, speaking in a babbled baby talk before looking up to you again. 

“You know he misses you and him; you shouldn’t run away. Especially with his child.” The man spoke, and he stood to his feet. “See around.” He spoke before brushing past you. Joe grabbed your arm, and you winced momentarily, flinching away from him. Your eyes finally connected with Joe’s; you sucked in a deep breath before grabbing unto the stroller. A sense of comfort washed over you. 

“Thanks for today… for this. I appreciate it,” you hummed. Joe nodded, watching you walk away; his eyes focused on the man who had ruined your perfect day together. It started innocently enough, stumbling into an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. Plunging into the maze of crowds, Joe found himself, trailing the stranger, drawn by the same curiosity that everyone in the market has. Joe shadowed his movements, picking up a weathered journal or a fruit that was slightly ripe. His eyes cut to the man every chance he had gotten. As Joe meanders through the maze of makeshift booths and colorful displays, the man he’s following remains blissfully unaware of his presence. They weave through the crowd, partaking in a dance that only Joe is aware of. 

“Dom! Dom! Dom Batista! As I live and breathe in the flesh it is you!” Joe groaned at the dramatic nature of New Yorkians, every word that stumbles out of their mouth an illicit affair with Shakespeare and a Soap Opera. “It has been so long since we’ve last seen each other!”

Joe followed behind you, face low as he watched you hurriedly move through the streets, passing men and women alike. 

Batista….Batista….Batista is the name of a Judge in New York City; their mother was an actress who starred in plenty of movies before her fall from grace and getting addicted to cocaine. They had three children, three boys: Jonathan, the oldest—who was a criminal defense attorney. He was married with two sons. He didn’t post on social media, but his wife, Mary Glassgo, came from an Affluent family in Virginia who had established wealth through “other means.” during the late 1700s, did, in fact, post and posted often. She was overly descriptive and pictured all the locations where they dined, shopped, and vacationed. She was on a trip with her two sons, enjoying the mountains in Vermont.  The caption was, “Can’t get away from life all the time, but when I do, it’s always with my two favorite boys.” Joe followed you across the street, scrolling through her Instagram until he came across a photo from Thanksgiving; he dragged his thumb across the screen, revealing a picture of her and another man who looked similar to Jonathan, tagged was St_Do_Batista. Dominick, the middle— Joe, recgonized him as the man he saw today; he frequently posted almost every day at the gym. He was a professional boxer; his face wasn’t riddled with too many lacerations and scars, which indicated that he was good at his craft. He had a girlfriend, one of many girlfriends. They all came and gone, as soon as a new one would be posted with a bright smile, not knowing her fate. Petite blondes, curvy brunettes, tall red-heads, even some bald girls with tattoos riddling every surface of their bodies.  

“Hello….” Joe thought; he scrutinized the photo, and you were smiling, your cheek pressed against him as you embraced him. He just won a fight; he hugged you tight. Joe scrolled to the following image… it was a video; he played it. You giggled as he spun, cheering as one hand held you tight against him. You spoke gently, words that the camera didn’t pick up, nor did anyone else. He continued to scroll as he noticed that most photos were of you cooking in his house, at the park with him, on his couch with the laptop tucked on your thighs as you carefully examined whatever was on the screen. You took up a majority of his life and then nothing. Joe saw a picture of him and another look similar to the Batista family; he clicked on the tagged name. RafiBat didn’t post much, but when he did, he generated a lot of attention from women. He was a boxer, too, and he and his brother were often referred to as the Basista Brothers. He didn’t post you often, once or twice; that was in photos with Dominick. But it was evident that you both were friends. He was attending a university known for its Marine Biology program. He had been traveling overseas, where he had been for the last few months, pictures of him with sharks, fish, turtles, and some other classmates. There was a picture of you, smiling brightly in his bed with her belly exposed; it was small, possibly in the early months of your pregnancy. His caption read “My Everything.”

Joe’s attention was averted to the left as he noticed someone briskly walking, eyes concentrated on you. His hand dug into his pocket as he pulled out his phone, dialing quickly. He spoke before hanging up. Did you not notice? Did you feel someone following you? Joe broke off in a sprint, laughing softly before calling out your name; you peered over your shoulder in confusion, hesitating as you squinted your eyes at him. 

Joe’s body collided against yours, taking your hand as he smiled gently. “Why’d you run off like that? I was looking for you everywhere!” he calls out exaggeratedly loud, his hand falling at his side; he watched your wide eyes swiftly snap to him while he continued to guide you forward, Joe’s hand pressed on your lower back. “Someone has been following you,” he whispered through a gritted smile. Her body stiffened as his words echoed through the stillness in the air; you were tempted to look, her head inching to the left slightly. “No, don’t look… Just keep walking baby.” You hummed in understanding. Joe peered over his shoulder, watching the man avoiding the dim street lights, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his body focused ahead of him, but he could see the whites of his eyes and the darkness of his orbs staring deep into your side. Then Joe remembered the small encounter you had at Peach’s party, the drunken party-goer grabbing you, retelling his woes of missing their friend group and a man who seemed to miss you just as much. Your body reacted negatively, your eyes watering, and your skin paled as you stumbled away from him.  Joe watched your hands dance against your face, trying to wipe the anxiety that was trailing through your body. Joe wanted to lead you home, protecting you from the evils lurking in the shadows you weren’t aware of. Joe allowed you to lead you both to your apartment complex. Joe swiftly grabbed Rafael, allowing you to close the stroller. You put in the code 76477; Joe held open the door as you shuffled in your hands, digging through your satchel in search of your keys. He noticed three locks; just as if you practiced this a hundred times, you easily unlocked the door. 

Joe smelled deeply, taking in the scent of baby powder and your aroma. Rafael rested against his neck, his chest breathing gently as he slept. His tiny breaths could be heard as they smacked against his pacifier. Joe scanned your apartment again; it was vastly bigger than Beck’s and his. His eyes fell on an opening; it wasn’t too big but just big enough to have a window, an oak-colored crib decorated with white and green. “You can just set him down in there…He won’t last too long in the crib,” He heard your voice as you locked the front door. You were latching on the deadbolts and other self-brought knick-knacks. Joe set Rafi down, brushing his hair out his face; he squirmed slightly in a panic. Joe quickly turned on the mobile, slightly out of reach for Rafi. He pressed a button; the mobile began to hum to live, and soon, water sounds came on. Splashing, sounds of whales and dolphins, and what seems like rain hitting the waters. It was soothing, and Rafi’s face soon mellowed. Joe allowed Rafi to hold unto his finger; his grip was tight as his body sprawled on the crib’s mattress.

“He usually isn’t so peaceful to put down. He must like you.” He heard you whisper; Joe peered over his shoulder, watching your head pressed against the door’s frame. Joe removed his finger, returning his attention to you. You walked out of the room as Joe followed you. The silence washed over you as you paced around the room, trying to find the right words. Joe stood there, waiting, allowing you to take as much time as needed. 

“Joe?” You finally whispered, your eyes finally landing on him. In that moment, Joe felt your souls tying together, latching and burning into each other. “Thank you.” you pushed out, tucking your bottom lip into your teeth. 

“I noticed him following you after the market…I didn’t know what to do but when I saw him trying to cross the street… Who is he?” 

“Dominick, my ex’s brother. Rafi’s father.” Joe nodded; you trusted him, you trusted him. You weren’t a liar like Beck, “Dom and I were close; I even thought we would be together, but then he got a girlfriend. He stopped coming around, that’s when I met Rafael, he was gentle at first…but I guess that was the point. I had a fling with him and then with his brother, shit just got messy fast, and I got pregnant. That’s when he got abusive… I tried pressing charges, but his dad always dropped the cases, saying that I was a daughter of a junky prostitute and a “john.” I asked for a different judge and each time I was denied. I was finally….finally allowed to get a restraining against him, but it expired, and I wasn’t allowed to renew due to no current impending dangers.” Joe watched you; he stepped close to you, grabbing your arms. You sighed, looking up at him. 

“If you need anything, anything… I am here for you.” Joe whispers; you nod, folding your arms underneath each other.

Please ask me to say; please beg me to stay. Joe thought; he nodded as he moved away from the couch. “Joe, wait!” You stood up, “You don’t mind staying for the night, do you? I would feel comfortable with a man around the house… just for the night.” Your voice is soft, and Joe could tell you needed him. He couldn’t deny you. He peered over his shoulder and smiled. 

The night progressed as you lay in the bed, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. Your eyes squeezing shut, trying to feign being asleep in hopes of tricking your mind into slumber.

“Joe, are you sleeping?” You called out into the darkness, “Joe?” You called out once more, panicked; you sat up quickly squinting through the darkness as you watched his chest slowly fall and rise. You sighed for a moment, shifting comfortably in the bed.

“Yes?” 

Joe rises from the couch, groaning as he shuffles to you. He crawls into bed, and you open the covers, allowing him to slide in. His eyes were low from being awoken from his sleep, his hands tight as he observed you move closer to him. You craved his warmth; a sense of comfort and protection seeped through to you. Your eyes focused on Joe’s, watching through the stillness of the night and the slight light that the moon gave you. His hand gently reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear, holding onto the strand until he reached the end. He moved closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. He held it, trying to compose himself. He didn’t want to push himself onto you; he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He wasn’t going to be like your ex or your father. Joe pulled back, your eyes fluttering open hesitantly, and you moved closer to him. Your lips molded together, smacking in the silence as your slight hums vibrated into his mouth. He pulled away; you were vulnerable and seeking out comfort in him. He needed to wait to see if this feeling rang true. He wanted you more than you could know, more than he thought possible. He couldn’t take advantage of you like this, not right now… not ever. He cuffed your cheek, kissing your forehead before you, wishing you a good night.

Burning something evoked a wide range of emotions in Joe, a symbol of something new shifting in the atmosphere. The flicker of a match igniting, the scent of smoke swirling in the air, and the crackle of flames consuming the body— the overwhelming sensory experiences that engage him in the death of Benji. He stood over the growing flames, watching them dance against his body; Joe thought he would feel at ease. He couldn’t–his mind racing back to you and Rafi. Joe grew angry, feeling compelled to kill Benji; he was powerless against the woe of Beck, her smile and innocence being stripped away. It's as if his autonomy is being stripped away, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. The heightened feelings of frustration and resentment began to grow through this loss of control. 

He thought of you as he smelled the charred remains of Benji, your face dancing in the flames. He sighed, pushing his forearm against his brow. He quickly dialed you; he needed to hear your voice. 

“Joey?” Joe heard you whisper, soothing all anxieties that rushed through him. His hand gripping the steering wheel. “Joey? Everything alright?” He hummed, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. It has been one month since he had forced his way into your apartment, leaving articles of clothing behind and coming up with any excuse to stay the night, not that you minded. He had a key to your apartment now, coming in the mornings and getting Rafi together for daycare as you prep for classes and graded papers. Your glasses hung off the bridge of your nose while you gnawed on the cap of the pen—your eyes shifting from the monitor to the paper as you scribbled some markings on it before moving on to the next. The way his lips danced against yours, his hands gently caressed your skin as your lips tangled.

“Yes, everything is alright.” He heard you shuffling, the covers shifting off your body. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, Joey, no, you didn’t. What’s wrong?” You could always read him; you would always tell. You didn’t even have to look at him to see that something was picking at him. He knew that you were good for him; you were everything that he needed you to be. Joe remained silent; the only that was heard was Rafi’s babbling. “Just come over and well talk, okay.”

“Okay.” Joe hung up and made his way to you, his head spinning from his recent murder. His fingers trembled as he pulled down your street, finding a parking spot adjacent to your apartment building. He moved out of the car. His key jingled in the locks swiftly; you swung open the door, watching in bewilderment. Worry drawn on your eyebrows and lips. “Joey, what is going on? Was it—”

“No…no, just Beck.” You nodded for a moment, allowing him to enter the apartment; slamming the door, you proceeded to deadbolt the locks. You stared at the final lock, trying to compose yourself; he wasn’t yours. You were just friends. Why did it hurt at the mention of her name at the thought of him being at her apartment, embracing her? “She just makes me insane, always having to watch her and look out for her. All the lies and the—” You picked up the clothes that scattered the floor, tossing them in Rafi’s dirty clothes hamper. Mindlessly, you grabbed the toys, tossing them in a bin as they interrupted his sentence. 

“I see.” was all you could mumble out, your eyes flickering to him. He continued to ramble about how he didn’t trust her–how she was always so secretive around him. But that was Beck; the doe-like look in her eyes always masked the truth that crawled beneath the surface. She was manipulative; everything she did was calculated and meticulous. Her bold red lip contrasted against her pale skin, and her dress revealed just enough of her thigh to keep her professor yearning for more. The way she teased and poked at man’s most animalistic and primitive yearning, dangling it in front of their face before yanking it. You turned to face him, letting the hamper fall against the floor. 

“I frankly don’t want to hear about Beck. I understand she’s your girlfriend or whatever she is but, I can’t take hearing about her. When you’re sitting in my apartment, helping me take care of my son… playing house with me. I don’t want to hear about Beck. I get enough of her when I am with them. Every issue that plagues her, I hear about, all the damn time. Benji, you, the Captian. I can’t–I just can’t do it.” You turn away, heated you move into the bathroom face burning with embarrassment and angry. Angrily you slapped at the knob, turning on the hot water on. It screeched for a moment before the hot water spit out.

As you step into the shower, the hot water cascades over your skin, offering a momentary reprieve from the turmoil. Droplets dance across your body, carrying away the remnants of anger and frustration that cling to you like a heavy cloak. With each passing second, the tension melts away, replaced by a soothing sensation of renewal. You close your eyes, allowing the water to envelop you completely, washing away the Beck and Joe's monologue that echoed in your mind. Steam fills the air, wrapping you in a comforting embrace as you stand beneath the gentle stream, letting it cleanse your body and soul. Slowly, the weight of the conversation begins to lift, replaced by a sense of clarity and calm. In this sanctuary of steam and solitude, you find solace. You sighed as the shower opened; you saw his feet planted in the shower and the sound of a soft sigh resting in the air. You feel his hands gliding against your waist, pulling you closer to him. His lips pecked your shoulder, sucking in the aroma that cascaded around him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”  His hand gently drummed your abdomen, his cock hardening against you as he pecked at you, his hands moving to your breast, kneading at them slowly, letting his fingers squeeze and tug at your nipples. 

“Please, forgive me” he whispered; you couldn’t say no to him. So, you nodded, turning around fully to face him. Pressing a gently kiss against his lip, stepping out of the shower, grabbing the towel as you instantly moved to Rafi’s crib. 

As the tears streamed down his Rafi’s flushed cheeks, Joe’s heart ached with empathy. With gentle hands, he lifted the sobbing child into his arms, cradling him against his chest, his hand rubbing circles against his back something that he noticed his mom and he liked. Leaning close, he murmured soothing words in a soft, reassuring tone, his voice a balm to the boy's distressed soul. With each gentle stroke of his hand and whispered promise, Joe felt the tension begin to melt away from his Rafi’s trembling form. He rocked him back and forth, a steady rhythm that mirrored the beating of his own heart, a silent vow to always be there to chase away the shadows and dry the tears. Joe moved back your bed, and you reached out your arms, allowing Rafi to settle into your chest and Joe to cuddle back into your side. Rafi was a crybaby and wanted you to hold him 25/8; you wanted to break him out of that habit. Joe and you had been working on getting him to sleep through the night in his crib, it would only last two nights out of the week before Joe caved and dragged himself to Rafi’s crib, engulfing him in his arms. You didn’t bother to correct him; you could tell that something was off with him. You two didn’t speak much after your moment the shower; you didn’t try to get him to speak either.

A heavy knock on the door had woken Joe; he hissed in frustration, moving the walker out of the way as he stumped his toe against it. He looked back, seeing Rafi whining for him, his arm stretched as he crawled closer to the edge of the bed. Joe scooped him up, snatching your phone and checking the time—7:37 AM. He grunted as he moved to unlock the deadbolts and finally the door. The door swung open, revealing Peach. Her eyes widened as she glanced at Joe; quickly, she shook her head, trying to find the right words to say but couldn’t. Peach observed him, eyes squinted in fury and confusion. “She’s sleeping Peach.”

She called out your name, moving into the living room, her eyes falling on you as you lay in bed. Her head snapped to Joe, realizing that he was in his boxers. “What the fuck! What did you do to her?” Peach asked as she tried to grab Rafi. Joe stiffed her and backed away as she continued to reach for your son. 

Joe held Rafi tightly in his arms as Peach had her outstretched arms and a determined frown on her face. Ignoring Joe’s protective grip, Peach reached for the child, her fingers brushing against Joe’s before clasping around the little one's hand. Joe’s heart skipped a beat, a surge of protectiveness welling up within him. He pulled back, his hand resting against Rafi’s back as he watched Peach’s face morph, her eyes narrowing before he turned her attention to you. 

“Peach? What–What are you doing?” You shifted from the covers, you were in a grey crewneck, a B printed in brown and outlined in red. Your hair messing tied away from your face as you squinted to fully focus on her. 

“No! No—what are you doing?” She hisses, stomping towards you, your finger jabbing into the air as she throws her hands dramatically. 

“Peach, he was just—I saw Dominick. Since then, he has been here for me. Nothing… Nothing else has been going on.” You shouted over her rambles. Something in her face changed; she slammed her mouth shut, looking at you, taking in your words. She grabbed the back of her arm, holding it tighter to her person. Joe noticed the slight change in her demeanor at the mention of Dominick; he scared her. 

“Did you–” You quickly shook her hand, stretching out your hands for Rafi; Joe quickly moved to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as Rafi crawled into your lap. Joe’s hands rested on top of yours; he pressed his lips against Rafi’s head before cuffing your chin. He rose to his feet. He grabbed his things, placing them on his clothes. He jiggled his phone before leaving out of your apartment, a silent single for you to call him when she leaves. “When did that happen?”

“Nothing happened. He just was here for me at the time and… I trust him.” Peach laughs, sitting on the bed. 

“Trust him, absolutely not. You know he’s playing you just like he’s playing Beck!” You rolled your eyes, unsure of what to make of her accusations. I mean, they weren’t incorrect in their entirety. Joe had a fleeting romance with Beck and probably still does. “He’s using you. I lost Beck to him, and I am not going to lose you. In this stupid ideology where you think you need him! You don’t need him! I am here for you; call me if you are feeling scared; call me if you are feeling down!” 

“I know” you mumbled, caressing Rafi. “I shouldn’t trust him” you confessed. “I really shouldn’t” a bitter laugh left your throat as you chocked on a sob that rose in your throat. 

“He could be like Rafael! You are so blinded by love that you didn’t see it then, but I did, and now, I do.” Peach whispered, as she inched in Joe’s spot. Resting her head against your chest, her hands wrapping against your torso. 

 Joe stood outside the closed door, his fists clenched at his sides, he strained to hear the muffled voices from within. Anger simmered beneath his skin, fueled by the snippets of conversation that reached his ears. Each word felt like a dagger, piercing through the thin veneer of his composure. He could hear her strained voice, a mixture with a Peach’s voice—a voice that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. His jaw tightened, muscles coiling with tension as he fought the urge to burst through the door and confront the source of his jealousy head-on. The temptation to intervene, to demand answers, pulsed through him like a steady drumbeat, drowning out reason and restraint. With every passing moment, his anger mounted, a raging inferno threatening to consume him whole. Yet, for now, he remained on the other side of the door, a silent witness to his own unraveling emotions. Something needed to happen, Peach was always in the way, the intricate dance of relationships that she always blocked. Stepping on his toes and stealing you away from him. Tangling you in her grasp, the same spell that Beck was under.  She was a figure looming in the background, casting a shadow over any potential romance that Joe worked so hard to grow and nourish. Her presence was like a shield, deflecting any attempts at romantic advancement with a casual remark or a well-timed interruption. 

He needed to kill her; her undoing was all the fault of her own. 

Goodbye Peach Sallinger. 

[spideystevie]

bad for business

summary: steve’s good for your heart but he’s really bad for business word count: 4.5k a/n: me every time i post after being mia for months: who’s missed me! this was technically supposed to be inspired by bad for business by sabrina carpenter and then suddenly it wasn’t. not even sure there’s much of a plot but alas! also feel a little rusty at this right now, it’s been a while since i’ve really written anything but i’ve missed steve a crazy insane amount. love you, miss you, hope you all enjoy this <3

You’re late. You’re never late. 

The bell above the door to Dottie’s jingles as you hurry inside. Your fingers work on muscle memory to tie your apron around your waist as you slide through the mismatched seating arrangements inside the diner to get to the back office. 

You’re not sure if the way your stomach flips is from it being full of a single gulp of coffee or because it’s more than an hour past when you should’ve been here. The time punch on your card reads 9:07 am and your stomach lurches. Definitely not the coffee. 

It’s a Sunday, arguably your busiest day in the diner and arguably the worst day for you to show up like this. No doubt Dottie has noticed but you’re hoping against hope that she didn’t. God, what are you going to tell her?

Sorry Dottie! My super hot, super charming boyfriend wouldn’t let me out of bed this morning! Won’t happen again! 

Your face feels warm, like you’ve just spent an extensive amount of time in the sun in the middle of July. You knew you shouldn’t have stayed over last night, but you were so tired and Steve’s couch is way more comfier than yours. It really doesn’t help that his bed isn’t any different. 

“Lots of traffic this morning?” you jump, notepad falling out of your hand. Susan starts to snicker as you drop down to pick it up. There’s a smirk on her face when you rise to full height. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her name tag is crooked on her apron. You’re not sure you’d consider Susan one of your closest friends but you find yourselves pulled together considering she’s the only other young person working here. 

“Oh you know…,” your voice rises in pitch and you clear your throat, hitching one shoulder up to your ear in a shrug. “Sometimes you just hit every red.”

Susan’s eyes narrow. There’s only one working light on your usual route to work. Coming from Steve’s adds only two. Not to mention, you didn’t drive yourself today. Steve dropped you off, promising to pick you up at 4 on the dot when your shift ended. Susan pops her gum in her mouth, not convinced with your fib.

“Right.”

“Yeah. Now if you’ll excuse me, Cliff is waiting for me in his usual booth,” you hurry past before she can ask you anything incriminatory. You hear Dottie before you see her, on your way to grab the coffee pot. 

“You feeling okay, sweetie? You’re normally here right on the dot. An hour isn’t like you.”

Dottie’s older than most and she’s been running the diner outside Hawkins for a whopping 30 years now. She hangs out behind the counter and loves to chat with the regulars and get to know those just passing through. With rosy cheeks and gray streaked hair almost always pulled out of her face in a bun, she’s almost like another mom with how long you’ve been working here. 

You snag the excuse she basically throws you out of the air. 

“Had a bit of a rough night, but I’m feeling a lot better now, Dot. Didn’t realize I had overslept until I heard the birds chirping outside. It won’t happen again,” you say. 

You didn’t oversleep actually. Whatever natural circadian clock inside of you wakes you up at almost the same time every workday but Steve can be quite convincing when he wants to be. Your heart does a little sigh of his name. Steve. You swallow and try to blink away the image of him.

Dottie gives you a sympathetic smile with a concerned tilt of the head, taking your flustered mannerisms and the way you wipe your palms against the sides of your jeans as lingering symptoms of whatever she thinks ailed you last night. She squeezes your bicep, the press of her mixed metal rings cool against your skin.

“Take it easy today, okay? You let me know if you need anything.”

“Course, Dottie. Thank you,” you give her a smile and grab the coffee pot. 

Cliff sits at the same spot every morning. A little booth along the window wall, three down from the door to the diner. He looks a bit rough around the edges, his coat well loved and worn and his hands weathered from years of hard work. He’s worn the same baseball cap every time you’ve seen him and he’s always got a copy of the morning paper open and propped in front of his face. 

He spots you out of the corner of his eye and scoots his empty mug closer to the table’s edge. You smile and pour the coffee, leaving enough room for his two packets of Sweet ‘n’ Low to be stirred in. 

“Anything new this morning, Cliff?” 

You’ve only known Cliff on his own, but you know he used to come with his late wife Winnie for coffee every morning before she passed. He’d summarize the big news and events and she’d do the crosswords on the back. Now, you let him summarize to you and he leaves the paper on the table for you. You do the crosswords on your break. 

“Same old, same old. They’re thinking about rebuilding the mall that burned down in Hawkins a few summers ago. You hear anything about that?” He sets the paper down to the right of his coffee mug and grabs two pink packets of sweetener. You watch him tear the paper and pour them in. When he looks at you, you shake your head. 

“First time I’m hearing of it. My boyfriend used to work there before it…you know,” you mention, unable to stop the morsel of information from slipping out. A twinkle sparks in Cliff’s eye, a small smile on his face as he diverts his attention back to his mug. The spoon he’s stirring with clinks against the coffee stained ceramic walls. 

“Are you ever gonna bring this boyfriend of yours around here so I can actually see that he’s real?” He’s teasing, tapping the handle of the spoon against the rim of the mug and setting it in the gap between the coffee and the newspaper. You roll your eyes but a smile lifts your cheeks. 

“I don’t know if that’d be too good for business around here,” you joke. 

“And was he the reason you were late giving me my coffee this morning?” He's quick to cover his smirk with the coffee mug as he takes a sip. Your mouth falls agape and you fluster, shaking your head and laughing shakily. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Cliff. No, he was not. There was traffic!” Cliff makes a face at this and you don’t blame him. Has the traffic excuse ever worked for living in a small town, you wonder. “And I had a rough night and accidentally overslept, is all.”

He grabs his morning paper again and opens it up. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The rest of the morning starts to fly by in a blur. You recite your favorites off the menu to a couple passing through from Chicago. Refill Cliff’s coffee twice, each time dodging whatever he tries to insinuate about your tardiness this morning. Sneak an extra pancake onto little Sofie’s plate with a wink. The early morning breakfast rush blows through and things start to quiet down. 

You’re wiping down the table adjacent to Cliff’s booth. His mug is empty and he’s left the paper for you like usual. The bell rings as he opens the door to leave. 

“See you tomorrow, Cliff!” you call after him and he raises a hand in a wave as he walks through the door, thanking the young man that holds it for him. 

You have to do a double take as you swipe the paper off the table. It’s not just any young man in passing holding the door, no it’s Steve coming inside Dottie’s. It’s Steve standing at the entrance in his usual Levi’s and a white tee with sleeves that seem to strain around his biceps with windswept hair and a bright smile when he sees you. 

There goes your heart again with the sigh of his name. Steve. Though maybe this time you think it was your voice instead, airy and soft. You can’t believe he’s here. It’s nowhere near 4’o’clock. You’re aware of Dottie’s eyes on you behind the counter and Susan’s from across the diner and nearly every regular scattered about as well. 

Your knees wobble at the sight of him, the disbelief fading away and giddy smile falling into place as he meets you next to Cliff’s booth. Cliff, who’s standing outside the diner and staring and you worry he might come back inside to hound you and insist you introduce him, but he doesn’t. 

Steve wraps an arm around your waist, fingers hot against the side of your stomach through the layers of your apron and shirt, and dips to press a kiss to your cheek in greeting. There’s a rush of a swoon that goes down to your toes, the bulk of it getting stuck in your abdomen and swirling like crazy.

You’re in the middle of a greasy old diner but Steve’s somehow tucked you away from prying eyes and into your own little safety bubble. He’ll be the death of you one day. Your heart’ll just keep expanding until it can’t fit inside your ribcage anymore and has no choice but to explode from adoration and kill you. 

“What are you doing here?” you wonder aloud, eyes scanning all around his face, taking in every freckle and crinkle and mole. You pause for a minute on his lips and then you blink and find his eyes. He’s smiling at you, in a way that tells you he caught that and you feel struck by that feeling of being caught in the July sun again. He looks around the diner and everyone’s attention goes back to what they were doing before.

“Thought I’d surprise you! Also, it’s supposed to rain later and you didn’t take a jacket so I brought you one.”

Only then do you notice the gray fabric in his other hand and your heart twists and flips and oh god, you think this might be the moment it explodes. He presses it into your hands, the newspaper crinkling against it. 

“What’s that?” he asks as you go to thank him. Your brow cinches for a minute before it smooths in comprehension.

“Oh! Cliff,” you point towards the door he’d just walked through, “one of the regulars, leaves the paper behind for me every morning so I can do the crosswords. A little tradition we’ve got going on.”

“A tradition? Should I be concerned?” He jokes and you laugh. 

“Oh, definitely. Cliff’s your biggest competition,” you throw back and now it’s his turn to laugh. A glittering light fills your chest. You glance over to where Dottie is engaged in conversation with a middle aged woman just passing through. She can’t hear you from this far but you drop your voice nonetheless. “No but, he did give me a bit of a hard time about his coffee being almost an hour late this morning.”

At your pointed look and sly smile, Steve winces, fingers pressing a quick squeeze against your side. An embarrassed blush blooms on his cheeks, bridging across his nose. “Right. Sorry.”

“Forgiven,” you lean up to press the quickest flash of a kiss to his cheek. You wrap your arms around the newspaper and jacket, holding them to your chest. “Do you wanna sit for a minute? I can get you some coffee? Although be warned, Dottie might come up and talk to you.”

His arm drops from around your waist and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, coffee sounds great.”

You smile and motion him into Cliff’s booth. When he sits, he insists on holding onto the jacket and newspaper for you and you let him. He watches you take Cliff’s mug away and walk to Dottie behind the counter to get him a fresh one.

Dottie bumps her hip with yours as you pass and you give her a look. The pot’s nearly empty and you wait the few minutes it takes for it to fill, eyes catching on Steve while you wait. He’s stopped staring and has instead taken interest in the comics in the paper. 

“He’s handsome,” Dottie’s voice snaps you back into your senses. You glance at her and she’s got a special look in her eyes to match the smile on her face. You check the coffee pot that’s filling up quicker than normal. But your focus drifts back over to Steve, who senses your gaze and looks over to you and flashes a big grin. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he is.”

Dottie looks between the two of you and then takes a look around the diner. It’s not the usual Sunday hustle and bustle, post early breakfast rush and the impending rain could be the indicator for that. She's got Susan and Judy’ll be coming in any minute now and Pam right after at 12. When she looks back at you, you’re watching the last few drops of coffee fall into the pot. 

“Take the rest of the day,” Dottie says. Your eyes snap up to meet hers over the coffee pot between you.

“What?”

“Go sit and have coffee with that boy of yours and then go home,” it doesn’t sound like a suggestion, more like an order but you look around the diner and hesitate. 

“Dottie, it's Sunday. I can’t just leave this early on our busiest day of the week.”

“There’ll be other Sundays busier than this one. And you need your rest after the night you had. We’ll be okay, now go,” she pushes. You bite back a smile as you relent, kissing Dottie on the cheek as you pass with the full coffee pot and two mugs gripped tightly in your other hand. She shakes her head watching you cross back to the third booth from the door. 

Steve lights up when you enter his line of sight but his brow furrows at the two mugs held in your left hand. You set them on the table and fill them both with the fresh coffee before setting the pot down on the table. He watches you slide into the empty spot in front of him. The same place you assume Winnie occupied when she’d come here with Cliff. 

“Dottie’s letting me off early,” you say, grabbing an almost obscene amount of Sweet ‘n’ Low packets and dumping them into your mug. “Can you hand me a creamer?”

Steve finds himself staring at you, doctoring your diner coffee to how you like it, hearts for eyes and a wistful smile taking permanent residency on his face. When he doesn’t hand you the creamer right away, you look up, only a little confused but mostly amused at the blatant and overwhelming display of admiration across his features. 

“Steve?”

He blinks in quick succession and clumsily reaches for a creamer while you giggle and god, it’s killing him that he hasn’t kissed you right yet since he’s been here. You hold out your hand and he sets the mini pod on your palm, your fingers brushing his as they enclose around it with a thank you. 

He watches you finish stirring in the creamer, the coffee in your cup now a light shade of brown. You take a sip, both palms wrapped around the mug and your eyes on his when you set it down on the table. 

“You look nice,” you say, eyes dropping down to the simple white tee he’s wearing. When you look back up at his face, his smile is cheeky and his cheeks are flushed. It takes an incredible amount of self restraint not to kiss him across the table.

“Yeah? The plain white tee is really doing it for you?” he leans closer over the table, voice dropped just the slightest bit. You mirror his movement almost like there’s a magnet pulling the two of you together. Steve pulls one of your hands into his, weaving your fingers together across the table. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” there’s a flirtatious thrum in your voice that makes Steve grin. His mouth opens to respond, another silly flirty quip back when Dottie appears at the side of the table. 

“You kids want anything to eat?” 

The sound of her voice sends Steve jumping back against his seat, like he’s 15 and getting caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You lean back slowly, amusement clear on your face and a question in your eyes. Do you?

Steve looks from you and up to Dottie who watches with a knowing gleam in her eye. He starts to shake his head but then his eyes fall back to you and he’s repeating the question to you with his eyes. You consider it for a second and then shake your head slightly which Steve repeats to Dottie.

“No, we’re alright, thanks,” he says and Dottie nods. She grabs the coffee pot but doesn’t move. 

“Heard a lot about you…” she trails off and Steve’s eyes widen just a tad. 

“Oh! Steve. Harrington. Steve Harrington,” he fills in the blank for her, even reaching out his hand for her to shake. 

“Dottie. She talks a lot about you, Steve. Sometimes I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it.”

You try to cover your face with your one free hand and groan, “Dottie.”

Steve lets out a small laugh and squeezes your hand, always finding it endearing to see you flustered. You slowly move your hand away, to which Steve gives you a quick wink which only makes you want to hide away again like you’re 16 with a crush. 

Dottie pulls him into an easy conversation. How is Hawkins? Where’d you both meet? And: Do you have a job? I expect only the best for my girl here, you know. And: you’ll have to come back and have something more than just coffee next time. 

By the time she’s finished and gone off to engage with the newest patron in the diner, your coffee’s finished and Steve’s has gone cold. You watch Dottie walk off and when you look back, Steve’s staring at you, soft and kind. His gaze makes you squirm. 

“I like her,” he says. 

“Uh oh, do I have to worry about having competition now?” you joke and Steve shakes his head with a laugh. 

“You don’t have to worry about anyone else, you’re the only one for me,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb against your hand. There’s that feeling like your heart might explode again with a sigh of his name, Steve. Though this time, you’re positive you’ve said it outloud.

“Steve,” you tilt your head, voice soft. He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles and if you don’t kiss him in the next minute, you’re going to have a problem. As if he can sense it, Steve sticks a five on the table and grabs the jacket he’d brought for you as well as Cliff’s leftover newspaper.

He holds his hand out to you to help you out of your side of the booth and you take it, his palm soft against yours. You make it to the door and then pause. 

“Oh! Gotta grab my bag from the back,” you lean up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Meet you at the car?”

Steve nods, squeezing your hip briefly. He watches until you’ve disappeared into the back office before he walks out to his car. You come out not even a minute later, apron off and over your arm and bag hanging off your shoulder. There’s a slight skip in your step. 

The air smells like rain, an earthy petrichor that makes things somehow feel lighter. Steve’s leaning against the passenger side, the door already open and waiting for you. When you’re close enough, he hooks a finger through your bag strap to pull it off your shoulder. It gets caught on the crook of your elbow when you reach up to cup his cheeks with your hands. 

He’s confused for the briefest of seconds and then your lips are on his and he forgets about the bag on your shoulder. His hands fall to your hips, one of his arms wrapping tight around your waist. Something inside both of you is cheering, finally. 

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing Steve. Both of you fit perfectly into the empty spots of each other, as if you were carved from the same stone upon creation. It’s a kiss almost far too explicit for outside Dottie’s diner midmorning on a Sunday but you can’t bring yourself to care. That is, until you need to come up for air. 

You pull back, Steve chasing your lips and winning. You’re almost smiling too much now for it to work, your hands sliding from his cheeks to the sides of his neck. This time, he pulls away and your chests rise and fall in sync. 

“Been needing to do that since you first walked inside,” you breathe out and Steve lets out a laugh that you can feel reverberate through you. He kisses you again, quick and soft and his hand moves to take your bag off your shoulder again. 

“And why didn’t you?” he jests, stepping back enough for you to get into his car. One of your hands rests on the top of it, the other hanging loose at your side. Steve wishes he had a camera on him just to capture you in that moment with the sun hitting you in just the right way, playful adoration in your eyes. 

“Because,” you shrug, stooping to get inside the car, holding a hand out for your bag when you’re situated. Steve passes it over and closes your door, jogging around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. 

“Because…?” he pries, sticking the key in the ignition but not yet turning it. You’re pulling your seatbelt across your chest, turning your head to smile at him as you click the buckle into place. 

“Because Dottie might’ve gotten suspicious as to why I was so late this morning,” another pointed look his way and Steve shakes his head, turning the engine over and quickly buckling in his seatbelt. He shifts into reverse, checking his rearview mirror and then slinging his arm across the back of your seat. 

It’s like a feast for your eyes. The stretch of his arm, a long expanse of muscle right by your head that carries a strong whiff of his cologne. The swift, smooth, one handed feel on the wheel. You’re staring unabashed, only getting knocked out of your reverie when he responds. 

“I’m never living this down.”

He glances at you, his arm dropping from your seat to shift into drive. You lean your head against the headrest and shake it with a smile. 

“So what was your excuse then? For being late?” 

He pulls onto the street to take you back towards Hawkins, his right hand leaving the wheel and dropping to find your hand. You take the liberty of slotting your fingers into the spaces between his. 

“Oh you know. Rough night being sick. Oversleeping. Like something out of Steve Harrington’s playbook for getting out of work,” you tease. He scoffs, sparing you a quick amused glance. You lift your hands to your lips in response, your smile hiding behind the kiss you press to his knuckles. 

“And did it work? Did she buy it?” 

“Oh, of course. Why do you think she let me off so early?” 

Steve looks over at you again and sees the slight smirk on your face. He shakes his head with a slight laugh. 

“Wow, you’ve been hanging around me too long. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Like that’s such a bad thing,” you roll your eyes, turning your head so your cheek rests against the leather of the headrest. A gooey softness melts into your gaze. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

Steve smiles, his cheeks blooming with a slight twinge of pink. He doesn’t say anything, just takes his turn lifting your joined hands to his lips to litter kisses along your knuckles. Your heart goes mushy, such has been the case since you started dating Steve. The mush liquefies, seeping through your body with a shiver when you notice the picture he’s got propped on his dash. 

He’s had to have just added it recently. A grainy film capture of the two of you, you think Max must’ve taken it if you remember correctly but you haven’t seen it before. You’re both leaning against the hood of his car, Steve’s arm around your shoulders and your hand lifted to hold his hand that hangs there. A big toothy grin is spread across your face, your head tilted slightly against Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s not looking at the camera though, he’s looking at you with a lopsided smile, adoration spilling out of him clear as day. 

“When did you add that?” you ask, pointing at the picture with your free hand. Steve glances down at it and immediately breaks into a smile.

“Just the other day. Surprised it’s taken you so long to notice it,” he replies, looking over at you and then back at the road. You’re about to ask if you can somehow get a copy of your own when he says, “I have a copy for you at home, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get it before you go back to your place.”

You smile at him, one that’s soft around the edges, a perfect mirror of how you feel. It feels so wonderful to be known and seen by somebody the way Steve knows and sees you. Making sure to get two prints of that picture of you. Bringing a jacket to work for you for the rain that doesn’t arrive until that afternoon as you’re about to leave his house to go back to yours. 

He uses it as an excuse to keep you with him for another night, something you weakly protest against because the roads aren’t completely slick yet and you can get home just fine. But he insists, his eyes round and pleading and really you can’t deny that you’d rather stay with him anyway. 

Even if it means you’re tired again in the morning and rushing to work. You think being with Steve is a worthy price to pay, you never thought you’d be so glad to be so tired. 

And, at least you’re not late this time.

[odinsblog]

Dear President Biden,

We come together as artists and advocates, but most importantly as human beings witnessing the devastating loss of lives and unfolding horrors in Israel and Palestine.

We ask that, as President of the United States, you call for an immediate de-escalation and ceasefire in Gaza and Israel before another life is lost. More than 5,000 people have been killed in the last week and a half – a number any person of conscience knows is catastrophic. We believe all life is sacred, no matter faith or ethnicity and we condemn the killing of Palestinian and Israeli civilians.

We urge your administration, and all world leaders, to honor all of the lives in the Holy Land and call for and facilitate a ceasefire without delay – an end to the bombing of Gaza, and the safe release of hostages. Half of Gaza’s two million residents are children, and more than two thirds are refugees and their descendants being forced to flee their homes. Humanitarian aid must be allowed to reach them.

We believe that the United States can play a vital diplomatic role in ending the suffering and we are adding our voices to those from the US Congress, UNICEF, Doctors without Borders, The International Committee of The Red Cross, and so many others. Saving lives is a moral imperative. To echo UNICEF, “Compassion — and international law — must prevail.”

As of this writing more than 6,000 bombs have been dropped on Gaza in the last 12 days — resulting in one child being killed every 15 minutes.

“Children and families in Gaza have practically run out of food, water, electricity, medicine and safe access to hospitals, following days of air strikes and cuts to all supply routes. Gaza’s sole power plant ran out of fuel Wednesday afternoon, shutting down electricity, water and wastewater treatment. Most residents can no longer get drinking water from service providers or household water through pipelines…. The humanitarian situation has reached lethal lows, and yet all reports point to further attacks. Compassion — and international law — must prevail.” – UNICEF spokesperson, James Elder

Beyond our pain and mourning for all of the people there and their loved ones around the world we are motivated by an unbending will to stand for our common humanity. We stand for freedom, justice, dignity and peace for all people – and a deep desire to stop more bloodshed.

We refuse to tell future generations the story of our silence, that we stood by and did nothing. As Emergency Relief Chief Martin Griffiths told UN News, “History is watching.”

Alia Shawkat

Alyssa Milano

Amanda Seales

Amber Tamblyn

America Ferrera

Andrew Garfield

Anoushka Shankar

Aria Mia Loberti

Ayo Edebiri

Bassam Tariq

Bassem Youssef

Cate Blanchett

Channing Tatum

Cherien Dabis

Darius Marder

David Cross

Dominique Fishback

Dominique Thorne

Elvira Lind

Farah Bsaiso

Fatima Farheen Mirza

Hasan Minhaj

Hend Sabry

Ilana Glazer

Indya Moore

James Schamus

Jeremy Strong

Jessica Chastain

Joaquin Phoenix

Jon Stewart

Kristen Stewart

Macklemore

Mahershala Ali

Margaret Cho

Mark Ruffalo

May Calamawy

Michael Malarkey

Michael Stipe

Michelle Wolf

Mo Amer

Oscar Isaac

Quinta Brunson

Ramy Youssef

Riz Ahmed

Rooney Mara

Rosario Dawson

Ryan Coogler

Sandra Oh

Sebastian Silva

Shailene Woodley

Shaka King

Susan Sarandon

Vic Mensa

Wallace Shawn

Wanda Sykes

👉🏿 https://variety.com/2023/biz/news/hollywood-demands-gaza-israel-ceasefire-joaquin-phoenix-cate-blanchett-1235763646/

[castiwls]

two people .ᐟ part two

Paring; patrick x reader

Requested; anon

Synopsis; being stuck in the friend zone sucked, it sucked even more when your best friend was Patrick zweig. (part one)

Warnings; jealous patrick? (if that counts)

Notes; This was gonna be two parts but I didn't wanna rush it so I'm aiming for 3 - 4 parts

reqs and inbox are open !

Tags; @vyctorya

Masterlist | part one

“Here.” A cup was placed down besides your note book, the smell of coffee immediately filling your sense. Looking up a small smile pulled at your lips as you placed your pen down. “How did you know i was here?” Your hand wrapped around the cup, the heat warming up your hands as you took a sip.

“You said you preferred to study in the library, i went to your room and when you weren’t there i figured you’d be here.” Luke shrugged and you could swear his cheeks were dusted red as he pulled out the seat opposite you. 

Patrick had been MIA for the last two weeks and while normally you’d be pulling at your hair staring at your phone just waiting on a text or a call, you’d found yourself happily distracted. For the first time in possibly your whole life Patrick Zweig no longer held a unyielding grip on your life and part of you relished in your new found freedom.

Luke was a relatively new person in your world. He’d always been in your class but you’d never actually spoken until a few months ago when you’d been desperate for the notes that you’d missed and he’d been kind enough to lend you his. 

Slowly he’d integrated himself into your life, almost as if he was filling a hole you’d never noticed existed. In a way he was everything Patrick wasn’t - the thought left you feeling almost nauseous - he paid attention to small things (your order from the cafe and even your preferred route to class) and you never had to compete for his attention. 

If you called he’d been there, something which Patrick seemed to be unable to do. 

For once in your life you weren’t playing second best to whatever girl of the week it was. And it felt good. So good that the last two weeks you’d barely thought of your best friend.

You were happy in your own little bubble.

“Thanks.” You smiled placing the cup back down before glancing down to your note book. “You ready for the exam?” Luke piped in leaning forward on his elbows as he flipped a page in your book. “I think if I look at another paragraph my brain might melt.” He mused as his eyes flicked back to yours.” 

Humming you pursed your lips. “I’m surprised you have enough brain left for it to melt.” You teased, a small smirk pulling at your lips as his face dropped for a moment. “Hey,” His foot nudged yours. “Have you know, I am a very smart person.” He puffed out his chest in a mock show of arrogance.

Stifling a laugh at his display you rolled your eyes. “Oh im sure you are. Like im sure it was a mistake the other day when you managed to burn a ready made pizza.” 

Luke narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly closer. “Hey! Those ovens have a mind of their own miss I can’t use a toaster.” Your own eyes widened in response. “That was one time.” You defended, pouting slightly as he chuckled quietly. “Sure it was.”

You lapsed into a comfortable silence as you glanced back at your notes while he looked around, watching the few people dotted around the space. His eyes landed back on you after a moment, his tongue darting out to run across his lip as he watched you. 

Your own eyes flicked up. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing just…people watching.” He shrugged leaning back into the chair. “You know you tend to do that with people you don’t know right?” Tapping your pen on the paper you looked back down. His gaze stayed on you, a quiet noise leaving him. 

Your quiet was broken by the noise of someone clearing their throat. You frowned slightly turning to look behind you, your pen pausing its movements as you noticed the figure behind you. 

Luke’s own brow furrowed slightly as he caught the way the newcomer's expression seemed to pinch slightly when he noticed him.

“I didn’t know you were back?” You said as you placed your pen down. Patrick’s eyes moved from Luke to you, his expression softening as a small smile replaced the frown that he’d been supporting.

“I called, you didn’t answer.” He pulled out the chair beside you, settling down with a small hum. He stretched his legs out, his knee brushing yours as he invaded your personal space. His gaze hardened again as he looked at the man opposite him up and down. Who was this guy?

An uneasy feeling settled in his chest as he noticed the way he seemed to be leaning towards you. His eyes darted between the two of you for a moment as his mind spun slightly. You couldn’t be together? Could you?

Sure enough, you’d tell him! You told him everything. 

When was the last time you’d even spent time with a guy that wasn’t him? Hell when was the last time you’d expressed an interest in a guy? He racked his mind for a moment but came up empty.

You didn’t hang around with other guys.

“Who’s your friend?” Patrick asked, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. A tight smile pulled at his lips as you closed your notebook. “Oh, this is Luke. He’s in my class.” You nodded watching Patrick for a moment.

The hand around the back of your chair shifted to rub over your shoulder for a moment and for a brief moment, you thought you must be dreaming. Sure Patrick could be touchy but never in public, never like this. 

His leg continued to press into yours as he hummed thoughtfully.

Part of you hated the effect he had on you. Hated the fact that he’d been sat down for all of two minutes and you could already feel the butterflies returning as his hand continued to rub your shoulder. 

He stook out his hand after a moment. “Patrick.” He kept the same tight smile on his face as Luke reached over, shaking his hand before they both pulled back. “You know…she’s never mentioned you before.” Patrick tilted his head, his tone dripping in innocence.

Your own eyes widened as you jabbed him in the side. “What’s your issue?” You snapped lowly, hoping the other man wouldn’t hear. 

You could practically cut the tension between the two with a knife as Patrick fell quiet for a moment. “What? I’m just saying, you've never mentioned a Luke to me before.” He looked back to you, his hand squeezing your shoulder. 

Sucking in a breath you shook your head. “I would have but you didn’t answer your phone. I thought you wanted time with Karleigh anyways?” Wrong name, you knew it when you said it. His eyes narrowed but he didn’t correct you.

If he wanted to be petty you could be petty right back.

Luke frowned slightly clearing his throat. “I need to go help my roommate moving something but i’ll see you tommorw?” He raised an eyebrow as he stood. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

Luke shrugged, smiling slightly as he grabbed his own cup. “No problem.” He shot Patrick one last look before giving you a small wave.

The moment he was gone Patrick was on you. The hand on your shoulder squeezed you closer as he turned his body to face you. “He bought you coffee? Seriously?” He scoffed. “That’s like high school flirting.” He shot the cup a look as if it offended him. “You can’t seriously like that guy?!”

“So what if i do?” You shrugged, ignofing the way his closeness seemed to make your legs feel weak. “He’s a nice guy.” 

Patrick scoffed again, leaning slightly closer as he pointed towards the door. “He’s a boy scout.” He pointed back to you, his finger brushing your chest. “You shooting way below your level.”

You swallowed. “Oh, am I? Who do you think I should go for then? Someone more…douchy?”

Patrick pulled a face looking over your shoulder for a moment. “I don’t like him.” He said after a moment. “Of course, you don’t”

Patrick's eyes glanced over to your hand, still resting on the table. What have you been doing with him the last two weeks? Had he touched you? How many places have you gone together? His blood almost boiled at the thought of you having someone else take up your time and attention.

Someone to take you away from him.

His hand behind your back clenched for a moment as he looked you over. “C’mon. We’re getting food.” He grabbed your stuff, unceremoniously shoving it into your bag before standing.

“Careful.” You huffed as he kept the bag in his grasp. He was acting strange. You’d only ever seen him this riled up about tennis matches, and even then you’d never seen him this agitated.

You could tell from the way his mouth seemed set in a firm line as he waited for you to stand that he was annoyed. Part of you relished in it. Let him feel the way you always did whenever he’d come to you for advice or randomly bring his dates to your meetups.

Standing, a small gasp left you as you felt his arm wrap around you, almost possessively. You barely managed to grab the half-drunk coffee before he pulled you towards the door.

Patrick glanced down, his eyes narrowing as he noticed you’d grabbed the cup. Picking it from your grasp he threw it into the bin as you passed. 

Your mouth opened in protest but he cut you off. “I’ll buy you another.”

[anthurak]

Something I’ve come to appreciate in video games recently is when a game about some special place needing to be saved by a newcomer who just showed up doesn’t actually have everything go to hell before the protagonist shows up or within a few minutes of them arriving.

To use the example that really made me appreciate this trope, I actually really like how in Psychonauts, Raz/the-player gets to experience Camp Whispering Rock as more or less normal for a while before Oleander’s big ‘steal a bunch of kid brains and stick them in an army of psychic-death-tanks to take over the world’ plan gets revealed, Lilli gets kidnapped by the giant, hulking traumatized lungfish and everything really goes bad.

Like I feel that most games would have all that stuff happen within the first five or ten minutes or so, but with Psychonauts, somewhere between a third and a full half of a playthrough can potentially take place before night falls and everything really goes bad.

Just to give an example, look at how much the game restricts your movement around Whispering Rock in the early game, or rather doesn’t actually restrict it. I think it’s easy to imagine a version of the game which blocks off the different areas of the camp until that area’s relevant mission became available. But no, the only real roadblock to exploration the player faces in the early game is the first mind level. Once Raz completes Basic Braining, the entire rest of the camp becomes open to explore at your leisure.

Heck, the game even encourages exploration by being deliberately vague on where exactly Sasha Nein’s secret lab is. And with the combination of the game both explaining how PSI-Challenge Markers work right in the tutorial and teasing you with a ‘New Psychic Power When You Reach Level 10’ whenever you level up, and a lot of those Markers and Cards being accessible even before you unlock Levitation, the game is already nudging you to go out and explore the camp. And that’s not even mentioning the Scavenger Hunt items.

Or how while the game does direct you to Ford Cruller after the first Brain Tumbler experiment, it’s entirely possible, even likely, that you’ve ALREADY met Ford thanks to simply dropping into one of the fast-travel stumps while exploring.

I mean, consider this; it’s entirely feasible and without too much trouble for Raz to have Pyrokinesis before he even learns PSI-Blast from Sasha. And to have Pyrokinesis, Telekinesis and Invisibility by the time he fights the Blueprint Tank at the end of the Brain Tumbler Experiment. Heck, if you’re really going the grindy-route, basically ALL the collectables in camp, save for one scavenger hunt item, can be acquired before nightfall.

And personally, I really like that you can do this.

Because it feels like Raz/the player gets the chance to experience Camp Whispering Rock as a camp in a more relaxed, easy-going state before night falls, Oleander’s plot is fully revealed and everything becomes a lot more urgent and dangerous. Instead of being thrust into the meat of the action right off the bat, Raz gets the chance to explore and learn and basically do the stuff he actually WANTED to when he came to Whispering Rock.

Thematically, it fits really well with just how driven Raz is to become a Psychonaut, as well as the limited time he seems to have before his dad comes to pick him up. Why wouldn’t he throw himself into exploring, learning and generally doing everything he can at Whispering Rock with what little time he had?

And it also fits nicely with the rest of the game as well. It makes the first third/half of the game feel like Raz is actually learning to become a Psychonaut, and the battle against Linda, breaking into the asylum and rescuing Lili, Sasha and Mia feel Raz is putting everything learned in the first third/half of the game into practice.

Or how Ford’s faith and confidence in Raz’s abilities start making a lot more sense if Raz has both picked up and become reasonably proficient in FIVE psychic powers in what was basically an afternoon.

Honestly I wish we could see this sort of thing in more games with this sort of ‘hero arrives at a super special place and has to save it from destruction’ premise. Just let the protag/player explore and experience the place in a more casual, relaxed manner before everything goes to shit. Like give them a reason to get invested and CARE about this place so it feels all the better to actually save it.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i'm begging you for some Keegan angst🙏🏼 like perhaps he and his s/o get split up during an ambush; their s/o goes MIA and when they're finally found, they're badly injured,,, something like that. maybe some fluff/comfort at the end

happy holidays!🎊

Laughing Poets

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

Synopsis: It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity. How will Keegan react when he realizes that he has to leave you behind?

Word Count: 10.8k

Warning: Angst, fluff, blood & gore, torture, Keegan calls you 'Kid' a lot, happy ending

A/N: This was supposed to be done about two days ago but I decided I hated it so I re-wrote the last half (might have switched a few things around). Enjoy, Anon, and thanks for the request. Also, not quite sure on the exact characterization of Keegan yet but I'm getting there. Slowly.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity; so much so that it splattered the far wall of the decrepit house. At that moment, as you felt all the air being expelled from your lungs in a shuttering gasp, you could see poets from the long-gone Romantic Era scratching at thin paper with an ink-stained quill, laughing. Their charcoal-stained fingers would twitch as they write out your life with a furrowed brow, bathed in candlelight, and would smile as they slashed their signature at the bottom.

Would the poem of your life end so quickly?

Your head slams to the ground, white light erupting from behind your eyes as you try and suck back enough air just enough to be able to scream in agony. Molten heat is tearing you apart, peeling back nerves; breaking bone, and slashing past muscle with an inexhaustible surety. Dropping the modified AX-50 from your grip, the black and grey metal slams to the ground with a defining clatter as your ears ring with lightning. In the back of your mind, you hear the glass of its Thermal Duel Power Scope shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Shit, you had just gotten that from Kick a week ago. 

It was strange – the repercussions of your actions were happening all around you, but it felt like it was a world away as realization set in. You’d gotten shot? How? You got shot?! 

You wished your pitiful existence was worthy of a poem, truth be told; that it was worth more than the crimson that leaks from your left shoulder to the old, cracked, wooden ground. But that was never the case. 

Your body writhes and you wail out, head jerking back and forth in a primal display. 

You had chosen this life, whether by your own need for revenge or the sense of duty…you knew not. And now you would pay for it. 

Nobody knew you were hit, because you hadn’t told anyone through the comms, but there was also the fact that you were never meant to be this far out anyways. Merrick had fucking warned you this would happen if you stalked off on your own again, but as always, you had chosen the stubborn route. When you had seen this run-down shack of a house with a perfect vantage point, it made that predatory part of your brain sing with a need to hike to it – nestled right in between an outcropping of trees and overgrown vines atop a hill. With the threat of Federation soldiers in the war-torn town below, it was a God-send. You controlled it. You were master here.

Like a bird, Keegan would tell you, striding past, you just can’t resist a good perch, can you, Kid? 

The thing is, your Ghost Team shouldn't know you’re injured out here, but soon enough as you frantically try and grasp at your decimated shoulder with burning tears in your eyes and a gaping mouth, a stiff voice wavers through the static of your radio. The blood pools from you like an overturned ink well and your face pulls back in a desperate snarl.

The sound of gunfire was still raging hundreds of miles down into the remains of what was once the outskirts of San Diego but is now known as No Man’s Land. 

“Kid,” Keegan’s voice plays along your ears, but you’re too busy trying to force yourself up, blood hacked up from your mouth as you let out a strangled, no, “Where’d your scope go? Ajax needs cover fire two clicks to the west. Eyes up. No time for foolin’ around.”

Your skin is peeled back, and your flesh is infected with bits of your shirt and padded vest fabric inside the wound itself – like bugs crawling all over. You don’t want to think about the exit wound. The bullet had come from another sniper farther in the city, and, you knew, you were lucky you had survived the shot at all just on that fact alone. In your case, when you pulled the trigger, you rarely missed a killing blow. 

That was probably why Elias Walker had approached you in the first place – your kill count for Federation soldiers was off the charts, even with how young you were. Not quite a Ghost in full, but something in the middle; nearly there but not quite. You had to earn the mask first. Ajax liked to call you Greenhorn, but Merrick was more prone to Rookie. Kick was rarely out of his lab, so he didn’t call you much of anything. But Keegan…

“Blue Jay?” Keegan’s voice once more wafts out into the burning air, “Sitrep. Now.” 

“Keegan, push forward,” Merrick cuts through the channel and his heavy tone fills the house just as you begin to drag yourself across the floor. The echoes of the gun battle reverberate over the hills, “They’re boxing us in! Move, move, move!”  

You collapse against an overturned and broken coffee table with shaking limbs and tear-stained cheeks, struggling to find a good enough hold to press down on the wound as crimson leaks from between your fingers. A lung-shuttering gasp exits the flesh of your lips right before a burning makes itself known in the back of your throat. Not able to stop yourself, bile is forced all the way from your stomach, making a trail up your esophagus and finally pooling in your mouth. Gagging, you reel forward onto one hand and release the contents of Keegan’s ration bar from lunch back into the earth, watching the liquid concoction pool onto the ground that has grass whisps sneaking in from between the floorboards. Seeing that, and barking out another wail as long ropes of crimson drip down from your limp arm, you throw up once more. Everything is on fire. 

“When…when Ajax said getting shot felt like your skin was being flayed,” You groan, head starting to feel light-headed, “I thought he was just joking.” 

The sound of your agony-drowned voice brought a sense of urgency into your rapidly fading psyche. 

“Apply pressure,” Merrick’s imaginary voice in your head makes you straighten your spine – like he was a little angel on your shoulder hitting you with a newspaper. You call-back the memory of the Ghost as he was going over medical procedures a month back, “If your hand slips, you die, and I'm not carrying your limp body back to the Fort like a fucken’ sack of potatoes. No one can respond better than yourself in this type of high-risk situation, you understand? Panic is not an option in No Man's Land and if you think it is, you have no right being here...Make a tourniquet; tie it off, and wait for backup. Here, Rookie, practice on Keegan.” 

Doing the best you can with only one functioning arm, your fingers twitch as you card them clumsily over the pouches on your chest. Finding the velcro of your medical bag, you whine as you rip it open, flesh so sensitive that even the rough fabric of your own property is grating to feel. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you tell yourself, you most likely would have already passed out.

Ripping out the roll of medical gauze and praying you had enough, your shaking hand travels to your right shoulder, not even noticing the hurried conversations and screaming orders over the comms. 

Make a tourniquet, You think to yourself, grunting out into the air when you have to move your arm into position. The entire limb was stained red, liquid dripping off your nonresponsive fingers to the floor. What if you never regained the function of your arm again? Your thoughts were running. What if you could never shoot your rifle all because you felt the need to go too far on your own? To prove yourself?

The thoughts scared you more than you liked to admit. This life was everything to you – pushing back against the Federation, who had taken so much from you, and being alongside the Ghosts. It was what you had worked so hard for. 

Then fight for it, You don’t know why Keegan’s smooth voice comes to you at that moment, but as you pull the gauze so tight around your open wound you scream and see stars; nearly keeling over as well, it brings forward a steely determination, Don’t expect everything on a silver platter, Kid. But then again, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that.

“Fucking hell,” Face contorted with unmatched distress, you suck down breaths and let the gauze soak up your life; blood in deep puddles already seeping through, “I need to move – t-tell the others…”

“Blue Jay’s not responding,” Keegan speaks over the static of the comms channel, “I’m doubling back.” 

Your functioning hand latches onto the radio, weak fingers slipping for a moment as your body sways forward. Struggling, you stumble to your feet and steady yourself on the termite-eaten wall near the window. You peak out and try to spot the enemy sniper with wheezing breath and a sweat-flooded forehead. 

Pressing down on the radio to speak, you’re appalled by how hard the simple act was. 

Am I dying? 

“Don’t Keegan – in order to break the line you’ll need everyone to be there,” You have to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, “I’m spotting twelve tangos near the storage facility. Merrick, I’d suggest taking a left and circling the flank.”

Merrick responds, “Good eyes, Rookie. Ajax, on my six!”

Your vision swirls, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath and splay your legs shoulder length apart so you don’t fall forwards. You pointedly avoid look at your wound.

“You want to explain why you weren’t responding?” Keegan’s voice is stern, hiding an edge somewhere in its tone that you choose not to acknowledge, “This isn’t a game!” On a far-off building, you spy a glint, making your attention snap to it like a cat and a mouse—sniper scope. 

There’s that Bastard, Your fingers twitch with hatred, glossy and tear-clogged eyes narrowing. If you had the ability to shoot right now…

A bullet nearly takes your head off, splintering the frame of the window before lodging into the floor.

“Shit!” You yell, reeling back; forgetting for a moment you were on the open channel.

“Greenhorn, what’s going on over there?” Ajax finally graces the line, “You doing something stupid again?” You don’t know why you hesitate…why you’re so cautious to reveal to them that–

“That’s it,” Keegan snarls, “I’m going to your position.”

You shake your head, your mind so jostled that you don’t say anything for a moment until you realize that no one can see you.

“I took a bullet to my right shoulder.” You concede, voice low with self-hatred, “Clean through, nothing to worry about, just won’t be able to cover anyone…C-can’t feel my arm.” 

The line goes dark for a moment, and as you listen to your own ragged breathing that leaves you more hunched over the longer you stand up, it suddenly explodes. A cold shiver travels down your spine; sweat drips from your nose. Your eyelashes flutter.

“What the hell do you mean you got hit!?”

“Son of a Bitch, Rookie, give us your position, now. We’re pulling back.”

“No!” You yell, growling, and shaking your head, “This is a key location to taking back San Diego – there are vantage points, cover, hell, even weapons caches left over from before the war in one of the military bases. We need to secure this town. I’m fine!” But they weren’t listening, even if everything you were saying made sense. 

They can’t ruin the operation over one person, You told yourself, heart pumping a mile-a-minute, No one I’ve worked with has ever done that before and the Ghosts sure as Hell shouldn’t be the first. These guys were Special Operations before ODIN destroyed half the US – they know better.

But you were forgetting one critical detail. The Ghosts aren’t just any other team; they care about their own perhaps even more than the missions they get sent on. 

But I’m not one of them, You grunt to yourself, letting your eyes close and knocking your head back into the wall behind you. The fact makes you want to cry, but you’re forced to acknowledge the sore spot later. 

God, your arm felt like it was being burned to a crisp. You grunt and grit your teeth as another wave goes through you.

“How long ago did you get hit!?” Keegan barks and the sound of shouting from below your perch momentarily increases.

“I..” You try and think. How long had it been? More than seven minutes couldn’t have passed. 

“Answer me!” 

“F-fuck, I don’t know! Four-five minutes ago!” Yelling makes your head throb, a deep booming that echoes like a drum in your consciousness. 

The door to the house squeaks as it opens. 

Eyes snapping to the wall that separates the living room from the foyer, your voice cuts out immediately. Keegan was fast – lethally fast – but the town below your perch was at least a few miles, this was because your AX-50 was specialized at long-distance shots. It would be no good in the heat of an ongoing ground battle. I mean, hell, it only held seven shots; even with the modifications you had added on by yourself. 

The person who had opened the door wasn’t a Ghost.

And that meant they were your enemy.

Doing the best you can to move stealthily, you unclip the combat knife from your belt and listen with bated breath as you slink over to the doorway. You hate the way your hand shakes as it holds the hilt but revel in the fact that your left arm is numb enough to not cause you to bellow out. Holding your breath, you lean against the barrier on your good shoulder and bring the blade up near your chin. 

There are hesitant footsteps that shake the fragile frame of the building, and you feel the reverberations travel up your feet and make your skin shiver. Goosebumps form along your arms. 

Creeeek, crack-clack

The floorboards squeal like a stuck pig, the old boards splintering off as an unseen assailant’s feet cautiously move through the house. The sound of heavy breathing comes closer, nearing the doorway to the room you say stone-still in. 

Your radio flares to life.

“Rookie–” It only takes a moment, but Merrick’s voice is the signature at the end of your poem; whatever you would have heard from the man was lost. 

A Federation soldier dressed in camo and grasping a shotgun rampages around the corner. 

—

Keegan knows he’s too late when he sees the run-down visage of the shack with its front door open.

I taught her never to leave the doors behind her ajar. 

The Ghost had been training you for months – taking you somewhat under his wing, albeit reluctantly. Elias was clear when he gathered everyone together, train her to be like us. And they had all done just that, Keegan more harshly than anyone, but that wasn’t to say you were untalented. 

The stoic Ghost had yet to see a more talented sniper than himself, but you came in as a close second. You were the perfect asset, able to stay back when everyone else went in. You were the cover, the master behind the curtain that clears a path with a pull of a trigger. The Ghosts owed many missed nicks and scrapes to you and your calls. So when Keegan had heard you stop answering over the comms; not responding to Ajax’s hurried quips…

Keegan’s heart hammers as he ascends the front steps overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, the Honey Badger Assault Rifle held white-knuckled in his grip. As if on autopilot, the man switches the safety off and enters, face behind the fabric of his balaclava. The contorted visage of the white paint over the front created quite the nightmare and paired with the black eyepaint Keegan could only be compared to a beast. 

The slight clinking of the rope hook tied to his waist and the metallic bit and bobs in his vest was the only sounds he made, the years upon years of perfection ingrained into the way he breathed; the press of his feet to the floor. Keegan would only allow someone to hear him if he wanted them to, even if he was the size of a boar.

His cerulean eyes flicker down the hallway, but nothing moved beside the stale wind – smelling only dirt and…

Blood, Keegan’s nose twitches, eyes narrowing. The man tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace.  

Had he really grown so attached to you that he would forsake his teammates to come and check on your situation? Perhaps the stupidest thing he could do to himself was begin to enjoy your presence. But that didn’t change the fact that you were his responsibility, and in the back of his mind there was a nagging concern. 

He had grown to care for you, and that was unexceptable.  

Keegan enters the living room with his rifle held ahead of him, scanning the room for tangos before he lowers it. Empty. 

And then he sees the remnants of a struggle. Head going back and forth the Ghost follows a trail of gore along the floor, an explosion of crimson over the wall behind him, and feels his chest rumble in a growl over the image of a broken AX-50. His breath stills.

The metal was dented, and the scope shattered, leaving glass over the ground like marbles. Keegan felt a dangerous heat enter his blood, eyes flashing; a specific type of rage growing in his gut and twisting his intestines. 

“Where are you, Kid?” He mutters, fingers flexing over the trigger of his weapon. Where did you go? His throat tightens, lips thin. Merrick’s voice comes over the radio with a hard edge.

“Keegan, sitrep. How’s our girl doing? Evac is on its way and we’re pulling back. Getn’ pretty hot over here.” Keegan takes a moment before rushing over to your signature weapon, letting his own fall against his chest and bounce off his vest. Grasping the gun you worshiped by the blue strap, his eyes go along its long body, spying the custom modifications and intricate detailing over the stock. Tiny Blue Jays are scratched and covered in crimson; the colors faded.

You had painted it yourself when Keegan had taken a liking to referring to you by the callsign, and he had never really had the chance to look at it until now. Staring at it for a moment longer, his thumb lightly swipes away a droplet of blood, letting one of the birds once more be visible. Keegan swings the rifle over his back and feels the heaviness of it – the weight of the customizations and the top-grade material. This was your pride and joy along his back, moving with every flex of his shoulders with the barrel hitting the back of his knee. 

He carried it was a sort of reverence; a delicateness that was never connected to his name.

She’d never leave this behind without a fight. 

Keegan’s tense fingers go to his radio, eyebrows pulling in and eyes emotionless. But the stubble shake of his hand makes him want to punch someone. Whoever had done this to you would pay.

“Blue Jay’s gone.” He states, monotone, “House is empty with signs of a struggle.” 

The man turns back to the doorway, glass crunching under his feet, and walks back out into the hallway. 

“What do you mean ‘gone,’ man?” Ajax butts in, and over the comms the sound of bullets hitting metal creates a ringing sound, “She’ll bleed out!” 

“Move!” Merrick’s voice sizzles out as a grenade goes off, and the line cuts for a moment as Keegan nonchalantly comments, 

“All good?” 

“We’re taking heavy fire. Without the girl’s backup, we can’t stay here – Ajax and I are heading to the Evac point and’ll draw their attention into the woods. Find that damn kid, Sergeant.” 

“On it, Sir.” Keegan releases the device on his vest and turns his hidden head. He sweeps the rest of the shack with a heavy weight on his shoulders, taking notice of a constant trail of blood throughout the hallway. With every moment passing the weight of the situation settles in his gut.

“C’mon Kid,” He whispers, voice gruff, until he finally goes to the busted-down back door and finds the body. 

It was laying face down in a bed of wild grass, a thin breeze moving its shirt sleeves. A shotgun lays a few feet from the corpse, surrounded by old rubble and a small downed treetrunk; it was still smoking, dark metal caressed by dirt. Keegan rushes over, taking in the motionless branches of the forest and the knife still lodged in the Federation soldier’s head. 

Tapping the man with his foot, the Ghost goes to grab the blade by the hilt and rip it out. Hearing the shink of metal separating from flesh and feeling the spray of blood over his tactical glove. 

Just as he feared, the knife belonged to him. His body coils.  

Keegan had given it to you after you lost your own on the last mission, the black blade a perfect match to the one currently sitting on his waist. He had wanted it back, but you had teased and asked what if I needed it in the future with a raised eyebrow and body leaning into Ajax who sat next to you. Begrudgingly, Keegan had deadpanned and said he expected you to return it after you found a replacement. But you had just smiled at him, lips pulling back into a bright display and wrinkled eyes. Your face had glowed in the daylight, shadows disappearing and the heavy bags everyone was sporting under their eyes vanishing on yours. Keegan had felt his chest hitch, even if outwardly he remained as stoic as always, and that was it.

The man had dropped the conversation and had never asked for the blade back. In fact, something had swirled in Keegan’s gut the next time he saw his knife strapped to your waist, the band holding the hilt tight against you and bunching your shirt up. It was pathetic, Keegan admitted when he had frozen at the sight at the time, legs jerking, but seeing something of his own on your body had made his heart go wild; eyes so obviously boring into you that your cheeks had gained a sheen of embarrassment that day. Keegan had stalked away, unable to admit to himself that something was going in inside of him that he had no control over.

That was the point of no return, he realized. The overturned inkwell onto the thin parchment. 

You were the poet and him the words in your head, using him without a clue. 

“Fuck,” He growls, gripping the knife so tightly it digs into his gloves and hurts the flesh inside. His head turns to the forest, burning eyes roving for any sign of you even as a strike of pride filters through him. Injured and disoriented, you had taken down a man two times your size with only his knife and your wits. Now that really got his blood pumping.

Besides a thin trail of blood drops over the grass, leading far into the tree line, you had all but disappeared. Keegan’s heart was pounding, ready to run in after you.

She couldn’t have gotten far, especially not with a wound like she described. I’ll catch up. I have to.

“Keegan we need you at the Evac point, ASAP!” Ajax screams, voice strained, “Else we’re going to be coming home in body bags, man!” 

“I don’t have Blue Jay yet–”

“There’s no time,” Merrick yells out, and Keegan hears the whizz of bullets from over the line, “Federation soldiers are storming us – get here now! Or you’re getting left behind. That’s an order, Sergeant!” 

She won’t survive, Keegan tells himself, forcing down the mucus in his throat, not by herself. 

Ghosts don’t leave their own behind. Merrick undoubtedly planned to return when the heat was off them; send a recon force to the area to look for signs of life. Keegan clenched his fists, eyes dead as they stare off into the trees and expansive foliage. This area was notorious for its high cliffs and steep dropoffs – one wrong move and everything was over in an instant. The earthquakes were worse. Ever since ODIN was fired the tremors had been constant. 

The odds weren’t in your favor even without adding in a possibly fatal wound.

Keegan takes a step forward, inching closer to the treeline unconsciously with firm feet. 

“Keegan – do you trust her!?” 

“What?” Merrick’s loud comment had shaken Keegan, making him freeze; eyes wide. He was only one step into the wild, perhaps only one step closer to finding you. Did he trust you? What kind of question was that? The woman who always fooled around with Ajax, pushed Marrick’s buttons to a point the man had begun to respect you? Blue Jay, who always made a point to bring Keegan into conversations and try to get him to smile at her – carrying herself with elegant confidence? 

Did he trust you? How does one even describe trust? After everything that’s happened, could he place his trust in someone else other than his Ghost brothers? Keegan’s jaw clenches, head looking back and forth before slowly going to sneak a peak at the body behind him. His chest tightened. 

He already had an answer, but found that he couldn’t say it aloud. 

Apparently, the moment of silence gave his friends what they needed.

“Then get your ass back here! The sooner we have a chance to regroup we’re comin’ back and gettin’ her. Rookie knows what she’s doing…we’ve given her every lesson we could. It’s up to her for a while.”

“Trust in her, Keegan” Ajax chimes, “Just as she trusts you.”

Keegan turns his back to the forest, hearing every step of his feet over the ground as they carry him away from you. 

“Copy.”

The words are firm, but the ink of them bleeds.

—

You wake up chained to the ceiling, shoes gone, and socked feet dangling over the floor. Blood from a new gash on your head trails over your right eye and leaves the already flickering movement of your eyelashes more constant as the liquid dribbles to your tense jaw in a steady flow.

It had happened so fast – far faster than your already addled mind could have comprehended. A group of Federation soldiers had been camping out in the woods and had sent only one of their men into the shack you had deemed too far out of the way for any up-close confrontation; the rest had stayed and waited. The minute your back was too close to the tree line after you had lodged Keegan’s blade into the lone man’s skull, they had grabbed you. 

Apparently, they dragged me back into town, too, You growled to yourself, how could I be so dumb?! 

The only upside of this situation was that in order to question you they had to keep you alive long enough to get you to speak. Already the heavy padding over your numb left shoulder calls to you like a siren song; the dichotomy of the position you were in almost made you laugh. The Federation soldiers had you hooked up to the ceiling like a butchered pig but took the time to dress your wound so you wouldn’t bleed out. 

You wiggle your fingers, the lack of circulation already leaving the top half of your body tingly. Next, your feet. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ve been drugged, because the words from your head seem to spill from your lips unprompted and the pain of your situation is dull; muted.

“Hell,” Your voice is loud, tone slurred, and rough. Oh yeah, definitely high off something, “If you wanted to tie me up you could have just asked me!” 

Opening your eyes as full as you can, you look around weakly and lock onto rusted metal walls and a set of large warehouse doors. 

“You brought me to the warehouse? How stupid could you be?” You say aloud, twisting your neck around before the clinking of chains stops you, “Isn’t this near the old logging company? This is close to the edge of the town! If I wanted to escape I’d be gone in five seconds.”

Your drugged snickering echoes off the walls, bouncing back at you mockingly. Soon enough footsteps sound off from beyond the closed door, many, many feet marching down an unseen hallway. You smile, thinking, finally, and hear the blood from your head drip to the floor every other second. The warehouse door slides open with a shriek and your vision blinks out, black momentary shrouding you before it filters back. 

Three men enter the room, all dressed in the black and gray camo of the Federation – straps and combat vest so similar to your Ghosts that in your state you confuse the two. They even wore black balaclavas and the one in the middle is a similar build to your Sergeant, tall, and built like a damn bear.

“Keegan?” You whisper, head tilting to rest on your strained arms as your eyebrows pull in before sparks of pain fly. Was that…you have to shake your head, skull suddenly burning. No. There’s a thin moment of clarity before that haze re-settles. 

This isn’t right. That is not my Keegan. Not my Ghosts.

The middle man leads the other two at his sides, nodding his head behind him and the door begins to close; the others peel off and go to guard the entrance, leaving you and the man to have a conversation semi-alone. 

He stops a few feet from you, eyes a deep brown and boring into your body. Your lips pull back.

“There are more simple ways to question someone besides stringing them up, man.” Your sentence cracks halfway through, but you don’t notice. 

The man just stares, tilting his head to the side. After a moment of eye contact, he speaks.

“You are not a Ghost.” His voice is accented – Spanish is most likely his first language.

“Yeah, trust me,” You groan, head once more pulsing. Your feet shimmy over the ground, toes lightly brushing the concrete, “No one’s more fucked up about that than I am. I train my ass off–” 

A sold punch is landed to your gut, tossing your body back as the chains above you squeal. The air is expelled from your lungs in a series of deep coughs, lungs rattling as spittle flies from your lips, you feel your organs shake inside of you. It takes a few moments for you to catch your breath and dispel the sledgehammer blow, but already the man is talking when the bulk of your panting has barely slowed.

“You are going to tell me a way into Fort Santa Monica,” He pulls a knife from his waistband and takes a step forward, putting the blade directly on your right side. Your clothes crease where the tip presses and needle-like sparks fly from your flesh, “Or I will have to ring the answer from you like water in a rag.”

With a pounding heart, your mouth runs unprompted, “Ghosts don’t break, asshat. And I may not be one of them, but I certainly know that I won’t let my boys down.” 

What the hell did they give you? Keegan had warned you to never say too much when captured. Don’t make ‘em angry unless you want a reminder of the power they have at that moment. But it wasn’t like you could help it anymore–

The blade sinks through hot flesh, and inside the warehouse, a high-pitched scream flows outside; scattering birds and beasts alike. 

This continues for three long days. 

—

Keegan was stone-still as Elias bend over the meeting table, a map of the town and surrounding forest where you had gone missing spread out. Everyone was silent, and Keegan has to shuffle his feet to reduce the tension in his thighs and shoulders; his hands tighten over his chest. Ajax is the first to speak over the tense air as Merrick repeatedly itches at the skin of his bald scalp from where he stands behind a chair.

“We have to move,” The Ghost growls, and when no one responds Ajax hits a closed fist to the table, “soon, Elias.”

The slam echoes over the room, bouncing off the walls.

“Ajax,” The man in question shakes his head, “What we need to do is think this through. Form a proper plan and carry it out with more intel.” 

Elias pulls back to his full height but Keegan’s eyes stay locked on the map, flicking mutely over the marks and topography. 

It’s been three days, He tells himself, She’s probably dead by now. The files already have her labeled as MIA.

Under his balaclava, his jaw clenches in feral denial. Why did the thought of that fact make him want to go out and search for you himself, regardless of Elias’s sound logic? You couldn’t be dead. Missing was better than that – missing meant he could find you.

Perhaps it was the same emotion that had given him a sinking feeling when, two days ago, the entire Ghost Team had gone back out to the forest under the cover of darkness to search for you. All Keegan had found was the footsteps of multiple Federation soldiers and signs of one of them dragging something heavy behind his back. 

It was obvious what had happened, and as he had slowly turned his head down to the town lit up by spotlights, the only thing that had stopped him from tracking you down was Elias’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Keegan’s eyes were lit with a dangerous light, glinting with the promise of revenge. 

He wanted you back – he would get you back – regardless of the consequences. No one messed with you and lived, whether that meant the revenge was carried out by your own hand or by his doesn’t matter. That town would be purged. Keegan would see to it. 

The Federation had made it personal. 

“She’s getting tortured!” Ajax yells, insight voicing what everyone already knew, “Greenhorn would rush in if it was one of us out there instead of her!” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here, isn’t it?” Elias runs a hand down his face, army shirt and cargo pants noticeably wrinkled. No one had slept while they waited for more recent intelligence on the number of tangos in the town, “We can’t be rash. They’ll know we're comin’ for her if we mess this up.”

“Elias,” Merrick finally speaks up, placing his large hands on the chair’s back and leaning into it, “You know we all trust you to make the call…but I have to agree with Ajax on this. We’re practically leaving the Kid behind if we wait any longer.” The stocky Ghost scratches at his beard, “You know what they’ll do to her.”

The older man has a soft spot for you, Keegan realized with a roll of his head and a crack of his neck. All of them had a soft spot. Waiting here was like keeping a group of trained attack dogs from a target – most of all Keegan. Patience was supposed to be his ally, and he had taught you just the same, so how had it left him so stupendously?

Elias grunts, crossing his arms. He looks over to the only person who had thus far been silent and brooding in the corner. A dark cloud was heavy over the Ghost’s head, anyone could see it. A man at the edge of an already fraying rope of sanity. 

“Keegan?” Elias asks, gruffly, already knowing the man’s emotions and thoughts, “Do you have anything to add?”

Normally Keegan was one who would wait for a sure answer, but in this instance, the next words he said rocketed out of him before he could fully think over the gravity of what they meant. Always the cautious one, the times he wanted to rush in blind could be counted on one hand and on less than five fingers…but that was before you. Before the hours the two of you spent together training, building trust, and protecting each other in the field with knife and bullet. 

All that mattered was getting you back to him. And the words wrote themselves, curved, under the gentle influence of an ink quill. 

“I’m bringing my girl home.” 

A moment of silence tightens over his throat; the stoic man’s feet move from under him as his eyes slightly widen. If he had the ability his face would have blossomed with a blush, but even so, the embarrassment was visible to those who had known him the longest. 

Shit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that.

Keegan dares to look back at Elias, only to find the leader smirking, a knowing glimmer in his eyes that leaves him freezing like a mouse under the gaze of an owl. 

“Well, then, let’s go get your girl back.”

Ajax snickers and him and Merrick spare glances, amused, nearly saying about time.

—

Your body lightly swings, blood in a pool below your feet and rippling as another drop enters the flood. Your nose is broken; bleeding, just like your ribs. Cuts litter your skin, clothes are ripped and shredded and swarmed with crimson both dried and new. Your combat vest had been ripped off, the rough material thrown somewhere behind you by enraged fingers and ripped apart for any indication of a blueprint of your Fort or useful intel.

The Federation soldiers had left you alone with your thoughts not five minutes ago and to your credit, you have not broken. Not even after everything – the hits, stabs, and beatings that left you sobbing and biting back pleas. Throughout all of it, Keegan’s voice stuck with you; you had drowned in good memories in the small moments you were able to breathe without being slugged in the chest. 

The way Keegan would send you soft glances when he thought you weren't looking and how the blank-faced man kept your skills sharp as a way to make sure you were safe. His rare smiles; comforting interactions when you were up late practicing with your rifle. A weak smile filters over your bloody and bruised face, eyes blinking closed as the air is expelled from your lungs in a deep sigh. 

“You’re going to get a sore neck if you keep doing this, Little Blue,” The words startled you, eyes widening from where one looks through the scope of your AX-50. Your head jerks back, finger immediately dropping from the trigger you were just about to pull. 

“What the actual fuck, Keegan!?” Hair whips around you as your body turns, facing the man leaning against the doorway as a nightly breeze rustles through the outside firing range, “Has no one told you not to sneak up on the person with the gun?”

“I was the one that told you that, Kid.” He raises a brow, strong jawline on display for the moon. 

It was rare that the man took off his balaclava when in your presence, and you took a moment to stare from your position on the ground; your heart jerks against the concrete before you shove the feeling in it’s tissue down. 

Keegan’s presence made the heat on the back of your neck increase, hands getting clammy over the metal of your gun. You flex them in what you hope looks simply like a resetting method.

“Well, then you’re not good at taking your own advice...” You grumble, huffing and fixing your posture, looking back out over the field and the white target over six hundred feet away, “And my neck is perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It won’t be if you keep getting up and creeping out here every night. I thought I wore you out today?” The memory of getting thrown to the ground more times than you could count during a sparring match made your muscles remember to ache, “Or do I need to ramp up the difficulty? You almost pinned Ajax today.” You suppress a wince and send a quick glance over to the Ghost, who pushes off the wall and sighs, stalking over to you. 

“If you think you need to,” Licking your lips, you feel his heavy shadow over your form. You replace your cheek to the stock of your rifle, once more seeking to line up the shot as quickly as possible, “And you did ware me out.” Muttering, you feel yourself get lost in the wave of the sensation of purpose – superiority singing in your veins. 

This rifle was your quill, and with it, you signed the signature of death on the poems of others’ lives. 

This was your calling, and not a moment later, not feeling the reverent eyes on the side of your face as Keegan stills his breath, you pull the trigger. It lands just a millimeter from the center of the target. Your jaw tightens and you tell yourself, ‘not good enough’ with a narrowing of your eyes. 

The action wasn’t missed. 

“You’re at this every night, Kid,” Keegan stands by your left thigh, his eyes digging into you, “Don’t pretend like I haven’t noticed.” 

You pull back, shame coursing through your veins. You had tried to be stubble, but were you really that bad? 

But of course you were, your cheeks head, you lived in the Ghosts’ barracks. They all knew you were sneaking off at night to practice. Your lips thinned at that realization; you really had a lot to learn.

“Blue Jay,” Keegan prods, the authority of his rank now leaking into his tone; it has you straightening unconsciously, “Answer me.”

“...I just need to be better,” You mutter under your breath, going to line up another shot. 

A hand on the scope jostles the view, making you pause and tense. Your breath stills in your chest, feeling body heat beginning to leak into your shivering form. 

No words are spoken in that silent minute, but you know enough about your Sergeant to tell when he wants you to stop doing something. Keegan’s silence was a mystery that you had only just started to unravel for yourself. Your hands loosen enough for him to take the rifle from your grasp, bringing it up into his grip delicately. 

Shuffling up to your knees, you place one hand on your thigh as the other goes to rub at your eyes, feeling the fatigue leak out onto your fingers. 

“You’re not going to get better if you keep forcing your eyes open,” Keegan mutters, and his form knees down next to you. The rifle was placed on the ground a few feet away. A warm hand lays on your shoulder and you stifle a hitch in your breath managing to inhale the scent of gunpowder and fresh-cut grass; hickory wood. You have to blink away the sleep that settles on your eyelids. 

How was he so warm?

“How do you know that?” You grunt out, itching your eyebrow. You don’t register right away, but a deep chuckle settles warmly on your chest as the man at your side releases it.  Reverberations like a purr make you sigh slowly.

“You’re good, Little Blue,” Keegan’s hand goes to your chin, and your cheeks heat as he directs your gaze to his gently, thump and first finger firm. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in every line and imperfection before settling on the black and blue bags that have lived on you for weeks. In turn, you study him – the strong jaw line, usually hard eyes leaning towards soft and caring. You liked when he looked like that; more than anything, you liked when he looked at you like that, “don’t reduce your skill to anything less than what it is. Practice is good, Kid,” Keegan lowers his voice, and your eyes stay locked, “But I can’t watch you ruin yourself.” 

Your heart stutters, and your body becomes soft under his touch.

“...but I don’t want to let anyone down.” Eyebrows turning in, Keegan pauses a second at your comment, fingers on your chin tightening for a moment before it begins to travel. 

Heart pounding, his touch leaves electricity behind with every scrape of his callouses and healed scars. His eyes stay trapped on yours, watching every minute emotion and movement from you and your hands shock-still in your lap. 

“Let ‘em down?” Keegan huffs, the breath ruffling your hair, and his hand settles over your cheek. He continues as his large thumb goes to pet the skin of your undereye, leading your eyes to flicker shut as he mutters your name, “Not a damn chance. You’re a natural, Kid. Hell, you get some proper sleep for once and maybe one day you’ll be as good as me.” 

Even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over your face, feeling his eyes softly fall over your visage.

“Promise?” 

You missed the small twitch of Keegan’s lips, “...I promise.” 

Shaking yourself out of the memory, your body plays dead as the warehouse door once more opens. A plan had formed, taking root and digging into the small tissue of your brain. 

“Why isn’t she moving?” The voice of the Middle Man was enough to make your body tense, toes twitching. No one seemed to notice before you once more went slack, “Get her eyes open!” 

Twin pairs of feet slam to the floor, coming closer; soon hands are slamming into your ribs, shaking you back and forth. The bones in your chest move strangely, disconnected from where they were supposed to be. But you hold back your screams, a thin, lip-bitten whine stuck in your mouth. 

Your body whines to a stop when the blows halt. 

“I said get her eyes open!” Words are yelled in Spanish, and if you were in the right state you would have been able to translate them. 

Merrick made sure you were fluent in multiple languages and was one hell of a rough linguistics teacher. Every day you had kept a count of how many swear words he let loose. The undefeated record was fifty-five in one session. 

“Let her fall, then! She can’t be dead.” The last half is muttered, followed by a tapping of fingers over palms. Your ears twitch at the sound of receding steps, fast feet, and then the sound of a pulley system and rattling chains. 

Your body drops, slamming to the floor, and head bouncing off the concrete like a ball. You don’t have to play dead at that moment, because you’re sure that you passed out, a crack resounding in the bone of your skull and shaking your brain. The chains around your numb arms loosen, leaving your bloodied wrists burning as the air hits them. 

Staying still, your body lays sideways, but small trails of water dribble out from your tear ducts. 

Just a little longer, You try and tell yourself as circulation comes back to your arms. Shadows dance behind your vision, people moving by you and circling like wolves. Your limbs want to writhe back and forth, help make the needle-like stippling in your nerves go away if only for a millisecond. It was a battle of will. Move or don’t. Be a Ghost, or be helpless.

Well, when you put it like that…

A hand grabs your shoulder just as you clock the two others standing behind you, waiting silently for any signs of life. The gloved hand moves to the pulse point on your neck, heavy fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. One breath. Two.

And then you jerk up and headbutt one of the soldiers right in the nose. Pushing back the black dots that nearly swallow you whole your hands rip out of the lost chains and throw your body at the man. Grabbing his shoulders, curses and sharp barks fly out over the air, and just before the bullets from their guns rip through you, your broken figure twists to shove the man in front of you. 

Shots make your ears ring, but the spray of blood comes from the Federation soldier you used as a human shield, screams playing in your head like a symphony. Quicker than a switch, you grab the pistol strapped to the now dead man’s waist, and the minute the body ahead of you stumbles and hits the floor, you fire. 

The twin soldiers drop like flies, and the recoil of the gun leaves your weak hand flying back. Clattering to the floor, the weapon stays stationary as you pant and gasp down deep breaths. Blood stains the floor as well as the chains still on the cracked ground, and the vile substance flows from the three men that release death rattles. 

Your shattered mind thinks of a snake’s hiss before the sound divulges into a deep gurgling as you stare with blank eyes. Their forms twitch and jerk, brain dying or already dead.

But there was a spark of pride in you that stayed as your hands slap to the floor, pushing your body up with muffled wails and gritted teeth. You shimmy up to your feet and grab the gun on the way up, looking around as you stumble before righting your shaky legs. 

Looking around dumbly your limp arm pulses, and your mind runs so fast the festering wound on your head feels like cigarettes are being put out on it. 

Someone had to have heard those shots, You reason, and gasp as you walk forward. Your bones don’t feel right. They aren’t supposed to move like that – like they were just floating inside of you not attached to anything. 

Blinking rapidly, your vision blurs as the first shouts spring up from outside. 

Gotta move, Limping heavily you go as fast as you’re able to the warehouse doors, pushing on the metal as sweat falls down your nose.

Your body aches, muscles constantly tightening and then loosening within seconds of each other. It was getting increasingly harder to push back the need to scream in agony as the adrenaline in you seemed to disappear. Taking to breathing out of your mouth to help out your broken nose, you nearly fall onto your face as you shimmy out into the dirt perimeter surrounding the building. 

First, you see the town. Your eyes widen, focus suddenly less on yourself as you take in a sheen of smoke rising up. The raging shouts hadn’t been coming from Federation men rushing to the warehouse – in fact, they were rushing past it. People zip from the corner of your eyes into the treeline, abandoning the houses and buildings with screams of, fantasmas, fresh in the burning air.

Ghosts.

“They came back for me?” Rough and broken, your voice makes you flinch when you finally hear it. Your vocal cords were damaged. 

And they torched the whole fucking place! The gun is like iron in your grasp, heavy and cold. Or maybe it was your hands that were the cold ones? You couldn’t tell, but as you lean back into the metal of the warehouse exterior you smirk, blood breaking out from your chapped lips.

Vision once more peeling out, you drop the pistol and slide down, mind floating far above your form and doing jumping-jacks in the clouds. You don’t know how long you’re slumped like that, neck compressed against your chest as your lungs fight for air, but the next thing you remember is panicked shouting.

“--Found her! Warehouse! Blue Jay, open your eyes!” Your eyebrows furrow as strong hands grip you tight, manhandling your body to the ground so you’re laying on your back, “Open your damn eyes, Kid!”

There’s a sound of frantic breathing before the tearing of velcro. Pressure is put on your shoulder. 

“Ah!” You scream, bearing your teeth and raging at the sensation of firm hands and an unrelenting weight.

“That’s right,” The smooth voice says, “Keep responding, keep making noise for me.”

“Kee?” You ask, only able to half-open your eyes and call out his nickname that you had never actually used aloud before. If possible, the weight is ramped up ten-fold, and you have to wonder if the Ghost is putting a knee up on you to try and stop the bleeding. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Keegan grunts, and his body comes into view as your eyes clear, though one is more muddled than the other; like a body of water filled with mud. Afternoon light shines off the man’s combat vest and back attire, his signature balaclava looking like it had been messed with and run over with rough hands. His black face paint is patchy and in places streaked. Keegan looked tired, you numbly realized as a chill made you shiver, “Look at me.” 

You were. 

His eyes snap to meet yours, and you’re taken aback by the creases around them; the wrinkles straining his forehead and nose bridge. The color is darker as well, no longer a calm and blank blue but a fiery shade, burning and boiling water. They flash when they already see you looking at him, and his high-hackled shoulders minutely lower as they soften to give you that look that you love. You pray only you’re privy to that look because it makes your shaking hands heat up.

“You have reall–really pretty eyes,” You whisper, voice cutting out, “You know that?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” He says, eyes flickering away and scanning your body. Behind the fabric you see his lips pull back in a soundless snarl, “But If you think they’re so pretty you’ll have to trouble keepin’ yours locked on ‘em, right?”

You can’t laugh, so the small exhalation from your mouth will have to do. Your eyelids flicker.

“Hey,” Keegan’s hand goes to your cheek, jostling your head so hard you groan, “The hell did I just tell you, Blue?”

“...Hurts,” You whimper, tears gathering as your lips twitch. 

You can only do so much to push back the inevitable, and every breath feels like someone’s shoving your chest into a table saw. 

Keegan moves one hand from your shoulder and sets it on your cheek, tilting your head to the side, “I know it hurts, Blue, but you gotta keep lookn’ at me, okay? You’re doing good.” 

It was the softest you had ever heard him speak. His finger brushes your undereye and makes your eyelashes flutter open.

“There she is,” He grunts, and with a start, you see he’s pushed up his face covering, the fabric a bundle on top of his head. Your face heats at his handsome visage, roaming his lips and cheekbones, “there’s my girl.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to,” Fluid pools in the back of your mouth, and you cough before you can continue, sprinkles of phlegm and blood spraying Keegan’s attire. He doesn’t seem to care, “come back for me,” Uttering the words weakly, you feel yourself speak as if separate from your own body, a willing participant watching just beyond the way of sight. 

Keegan’s eyes narrow, face pulling closer unconsciously as if he were trying to shield you with his body from the gunfire far off behind him. Across the field, familiar voices had started to ring out.

“Why the hell would you think that? What kind of dumbass made you–” He stops when your eyes sneak away in shame, numb lips pulling down as tears make your sclera red. A pause ensues before a deep sigh falls from his lips; Keegan taps his thumb on your cheek until you look back at him. His face is tense, but a blatant surety is in his tone, “I would never leave you behind. If you had trouble figuring all that out until now, then you don’t anymore. Got it?” 

“Copy, Sarge,” Your eyebrows soften, body going slack and loose. Keegan’s hand is so warm, “You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.” 

Eyes going out of focus, your head lulls before Keegan can rip you back to the present with his deep words just as the ground reverberates under you. They say the sense of hearing is the last to go, and that rings true, because the last thing you remember is Keegan’s voice yelling your name so gutturally that you almost miss Merrick’s voice. 

“Blue! Shit, Elias, we need Med Evac down here, now! She’s down!”

—

The Med Ward was just how you remembered it, but the man sitting in the chair near the window was new. You were no stranger to the alcoholic scent of the rooms, the blinding overhead lights, and the coarse bed sheets. Around your body, the tight bindings restricted you from sitting up and walking, so for upwards of ten minutes you had stared at Keegan’s figure. 

He was sleeping, in nothing more than a black T-shirt and cargo pants. His head was tilted to the side and his arms crossed over his chest; legs out and crossed at the ankles as his combat boots rest on the tile. You should wake him up. You should, but you haven’t and probably won't. Keegan’s dark hair is glowing in an early morning light, making it glow amber and cover him like a halo. 

The pillow under your head is hard, uncomfortable, and stinks of bleach, but instead of worrying about it, your mind was running over what you had said before you passed out.

“You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.”

Fuck me, Cheeks heating, your eyes flicker down his body, catching his veiny arms and watching his chest steadily rise and fall. Had you really said that? 

Your head begins to hurt, and not only from the tight bindings and the gauze pad around it. 

“You’re staring, Little Blue.” Gasping, your eyes widen in their sockets at the sleep-dipped tone. 

Keegan’s eyes slide open fluidly as if he were never asleep in the first place. His head moves to right itself and stare directly at you, blinking slowly. Locking gazes, you freeze as your jaw goes slack – it was a good thing you were on pain meds because otherwise, your ribs would be aching at the way your breath halted. Stuttering, you let the room lapse into silence as he watches you. Keegan’s lips flicker into a smirk. 

Standing he stalks over to you and drags the chair behind him. Getting about a foot or two away, he stops and flips the chair forward carefully before sitting down once more. Keegan leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees as you watch. 

“...You feeln’ alright? Need me to get the nurse?” He has black and blue under his eyes, colored iris’ strained. Keegan was a man of few words – his actions always spoke louder; like how he let you keep his knife, or told you to go to bed when you were up late shooting. 

At that moment the cold Ghost’s hand went to your arm, lightly brushing over the bandages and pauses to see if you register any pain. When he doesn’t see any discomfort, he settles his grip and runs his fingers over your skin. 

You blink. 

“I’m good.” The words come out breathlessly, and where his touch continues to rove, sparks light under the skin.

Keegan’s soft sigh enters the cold air, and his gaze flickers to the floor for a moment. His jaw clenches, like there was something in his head that refused to come out of his lips. The man’s scream still haunted you – how he yelled your name so raw and vulnerable. You had never heard something like that from him, not even when he had to have you stitch him up one time during a mission.

I’m never letting you anywhere a needle again, He had said with his face flushed of color. You really were bad at sutures. 

Smiling to yourself, you lift your hand with every bit of cotton sticking to your brain and shimmy it out of his delicate grip. Not wanting to hurt you he pulls back and looks with wide eyes at what you were doing. 

“Kid, I don’t–” His comment is halted when your fingers graze his cheek, just the tiniest hint of stubble making your fingers itch perfectly. Freezing like a bird, Keegan’s sights are set on you, confusion bleeding into this expression as his lips pull into a line. 

This was stepping a line you hadn’t crossed before, but you didn’t really care all that much. 

Caressing his jaw, your hand cradles his face. To your surprise, Keegan leaned into you, tension leaving and body going slack like putty in your grip; a second later, his hand comes and encompasses your own, molten heat radiating into your bloodstream. Your heart skips a beat when his eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Tired?” You ask, slightly amused.

“No,” Keegan grumbles, face blank, and you flinch as a laugh barks from your lips. Not a good idea. Weaving his fingers so he can grip your hand more tightly, he peels you from his face and opens his eyes. 

Watching you and clocking your emotions, he lays your hand to his lips and lays a gentle kiss, lips moving over your skin as he places another right after. You’re surprised you don’t catch on fire – especially with that look on his face.

How could a man so cold be as gentle as he was with you?

“You worried the boys,” He says when he pulls back but still holds your hand close, “Ajax nearly strangled Elias to get him to hurry up and go after you.” 

Smirking, you hum, “And you? Were you worried, Kee?” Teasing with the nickname, you watch as a small smile forms over his face, eyes lingering so beautifully on your visage.

“No,” You raise a brow at the bare answer, but he wasn’t done, “I was damn near terrified.” Licking your lips, you watch him track the motion, and he rises and leans closer to you, “What gave you the right to make me feel like that, Kid,” His breath fans over your cheeks, and your eyes flutter when his nose caresses your own. You can feel his eyes bore into you, unrelenting as they look over every pore and mark. 

Keegan’s lips whisper over yours. 

Yes, Your mind sings at the contact, and a small whimper falls into the air. 

“...Who gave you the right to make me want to be yours?” All but growling the words out, his lips descend onto yours, firm but still gentle. He would never hurt you, even if he wanted to feel you against him. You were injured, and that reality never failed to leave his head.

So for now, he would kiss you as if you were the most delicate of glass; worship your skin and bestow on it everything he couldn’t say. 

As you both move together, his hands come up and grab at your jaw as your own travel to rest on his chest that looms over your own, mapping out the dip of his muscles and the way he shivers when your nails rake into the fabric of his shirt. 

This was what you had wanted, to feel him move over you and flex as your fingers go to grip at his hair. 

Pulling back, the man pants in breath with you, lips were swollen. It was quite the sight, and you swore you felt your pupils dilate just by staring at him. Keegan hums deep in his chest and then places his forehead gently to your own – careful of the bandages and, most likely, stitches that live under there.

“I lost your knife,” You whisper out, and almost cringe at the needy tone of your voice. Were you really this infatuated with the man? …You already knew the answer to that question.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keegan grunts, and keeps the knowledge of the fact that the blade was already paced back in your room by his own hands to himself, “I’ll make sure you pay for it when you’re well enough to be discharged. Can’t have my Blue Jay leaving weapons behind, now can we?”

It’s safe to say you prayed for a speedy recovery, just like how poets of days long past wished for a gentle rain or mist-filled morning – if only to have something to quietly worship. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

tale of woe

ARTICULO MORTIS- the moment of death

(Reblogs/comment are appreciated, I read every tag! :3 See under the read-more for an alternate version without the lighting effect, notes on details, as well as a copy of the final sketch)

The constellation is one of the two mentioned during Cassandra's stargazing scene, Ursa Major. The other, Orion the Hunter, was already featured in my previous piece, Stargazer.

Having a 'halo' of red around her head was one of my earliest concept points for this piece, in reference to her cult ending.

In Romeo & Juliet, Juliet's decision to end her life isn't just about her grief over Romeo, it's the knowledge that her only real options are either to die or to be sent off to live as a nun. When so much of her story is already about trying to choose her own fate, to avoid the life that has been planned out for her, it's easier to understand her final decision. Anywho, the real point of this paragraph is that this is why the left side of the piece features a church building.

The circular window in the church has 8 slices, each with a color representing one of the 7 routes, plus a bonus one for Mia. The colors are all eye-dropped from the character sprites, minus Miranda's, which I selected from the piece I did for her.

The three graves on the left are for the Stans. One of them literally says STAN, one is blank, and the last one has the initials R.S. (Rebecca Stan). On the right side we have a grave for the MC, partially since they die in the cult ending, partially because the right side is more symbolic of the play's canon ending, so the MC's grave is really Romeo's grave.

The main color for the curtains was taken from Cassandra's default sprite, specifically her shirt, because why not? Similarly, the color for the boards/stage at the bottom is taken from her pants. Because why not?

technically the flowers in her hand are supposed to be roses, but I realized about halfway through this piece that over the years my simplified way of drawing roses has gradually turned into just drawing tulips. oops. seriously tho, oops. also realized that this one pan I use for cooking, which I always thought was an 8x8 pan, is actually a 9x9 pan. which explains several recurring difficulties with some of my favorite baking recipes. guess I'm just a silly goose

this had so many layers holy fuck. I used the same file for the original pose sketches, as well as a bunch of reference photos, but even with that in mind it's crazy that this had over 70 layers. by the end there's still, like, 20 active ones. each section had a separate layer for the outline + the color, another couple layers for the banner on bottom, one for lighting, and then the constellation was it's own layer.

Final outline sketch:

Version without the lighting effect (which is intended to mimic the way stained glass looks when hit by sunshine):

[mashup-writing]

Food for thought for a Mia Route:

I know that we all love pitching in possible unhinged comedic scenarios because Mia is a Girl-Loser when put in a 1v1 against our other LIs.

But has anyone ever considered the possibility that MC has never ever ever ever picked Mia across any of the past resets? And what if MC has never actually had any romantic feelings for Mia in their first life, but Mia is/has always been the "Pine after my bestie in torturous silence" kinda gay?

What if a possible Mia playthrough will be the very first time across all the resets + OG timeline that MC ever ends up with Mia? Can y'all imagine the possibility for gutwrenching ANGST?!

It took forgetting "Us" for you to choose Mia?

The possible existential crisis Mia may have over wanting her OG bestie back vs. Wanting a future with the current reincarnation.

The possible existential crisis Mia may have over MC having the face of the person she had wanted all those years ago, yet not being the same person anymore. The person she had loved for so long is dead and never coming back...

Mia dropping an inside joke that OG!MC and her used to laugh about all the time, but Current MC doesn't get it at all and Mia has to settle for a "Meh, nevermind numbskull" while feeling her heart shatter into a million itty bitty pieces.

[fountainpenguin]

So I was rereading your lore on witches in your riddledeep au and um.

Would this technically make Dev a witch??? lol. He also freebies a pizza across a digital title card that episode too.

😂 Y'know, it's funny you say that because for the past month, I've been wondering if anyone was going to ask me if Dale or Dev are witches. I don't know why I was wondering that, but it's been clinging to me. I couldn't think of a way to bring up "btw, they're not witches in my work" without it feeling weird.

My witch lore for context

Dale and Dev can specifically not be witches under my lore even if I wanted them to be, even if I were following a headcanon where the Dimmadomes get around the XYZ chromosome sterility through clones, because of something extremely specific that also exists in my lore that I cannot go back on.

Magic Colors

So, I have a whole magic system set up around the colors of magic. There are 6 possible colors in the OG series- 5 of which are represented on the Rainbow Bridge, 4 of which are represented on the Fairy Council, and 2 of which are extremely rare.

I gave the Fairy Elder (namedropped in "Timmy's Secret Wish") yellow robes, thus tying the Fairy Council together.

Each magic color has a meaning associated with the mood or thought pattern behind magic use. I drew my original inspiration from the colors Timmy's brain turns when Poof's controlling his body in "He Poofs, He Scores."

For those interested, my Colors of Magic post (From May 2016, but has screenshots) & my worldbuilding sideblog's post on magic colors (Cleaned-up lore with no pictures). Short version below:

Red is an extremely uncommon magic color, though we see it when Foop is fighting Cosmo and Wanda in "Playdate of Doom" and when Wanda jumpstarts Timmy's heart in "Yoo-Doo." It's the color I associate with life and death magic. So, y'know... Foop is very okay.

There's also indigo (used by Juandissimo in "Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary"), which I consider a subset of blue.

Green is also extremely rare. Notably, it's the color Foop's magic slowly starts to turn throughout "Scary Godcouple"- He started off with blue, but sours to green in one of the only appearances we see of green in the entire series.

But you know what commonplace color we don't see?

Orange.

In my lore, orange-haired magic users (both Fae and genies) are the equivalent of shiny Pokémon. Even two orange magic-users don't normally have orange offspring- They produce yellows and reds.

And the thing is... I've already set up Happy Peppy Gary to be the only orange witch in my lore. In fact, I have a WIP multi-chapter 'fic about Gary getting discovered by H.P. and Anti-Cosmo, who lose their minds when they realize what he is (Pink and Gray).

Shout-out to one of my favorite dialogue exchanges I've ever written, from H.P. trying to sus Gary out as genie-descended:

H.P. brought his hand up to fiddle with his glasses. "Okay. Completely random get-to-know-you question. By any chance, are you afraid of small spaces?" "Deathly. Why?"

And Dale is Gary's age - in the same city where the Pixies dropped Gary and Betty after taking them in - which means if he WAS an orange witch, he would've been clocked so hard, so fast. Also, since I'm going the route of H.P. being Dale's godfather, there's no way he wouldn't have noticed even though Dale was MIA for years.

Fun Fact! Gary and Juandissimo are "related!" Juandissimo was finger-snapped into existence by Gary's ancestor, Crimsona. He's arguably a great-great-great-great uncle (5 generations up from Gary). In Cloudlands AU, Gary's middle name is actually Juandissimo! That's because Juandissimo's been assigned to godparent to this family several times (We met Gary's dad and grandmother, Quincy and Eunice, in Baby, You're a Rich Man; Sanderson matches Eunice's name to Juandissimo's in Chapter 10 while looking through godkid files).

Anyway, I COULD have witch genes passed down through Dev's mom's side of the family (Leadlys in my headcanon), but that comes with its own issues: if Leadly had XYZ chromosomes, he can't have Hadley, and I'm not going back on that. I could make his wife a witch, but that STILL has issues.

In my 'fics I play Ed Leadly as a guy who's looking for magical creatures (hence him being willing to drop 17 million dollars on someone else's dog in "Dog Gone"). I have literally shown him onscreen holding a witch-detecting compass that points to Gary (in "Opportunity"). There is no way he would not have clocked his ex as a witch, sldkfj...

Closing Comments

Dale and Dev are some of the only characters in my universe who are absolutely confirmed to not be witches, despite how much I have actually wondered if it would be fun to portray them as such.

I don't have a lore reason for the visual gags in that episode- I sadly have to clock it up to random cartoon silliness akin to Jenkins exploding into pieces when Jasmine sings in "Fly" (or Hazel also falling apart or exploding when people expressed crushes on her in "Multiverse of Jenkins").

In my lore, I actually do have Gary set up to be able to pass his witch powers to people he kisses (Because I thought it would be funny if that's why Betty is taller in some scenes than others; yes, I am that pedantic and it makes Betty's "But I don't like you like that" line exponentially funnier), but I've established that only genie-descended witches can pass powers... That doesn't make sense for Dev in this episode either.

Technically all the fluids can pass magic, so a blood transfusion would make Dev "a permanent false witch" if I wanted to do that, but I'm not gonna bother when again, we have people exploding in this show as a gag. Cursed gags I cannot touch with lore 😔

If anyone else makes the Dimmadomes witches, I'd be totally down to read that. I think it would be extremely funny if Dale Dimm was also a witch despite sentencing Alden Bitterroot to 350+ years of clawing his way out of Dimmsdale's well for witch crimes, but my AUs have pretty firmly locked Dale and Dev out of that option.

Riddleverse Design Facts

Here's another fun fact for any new followers who don't know I do this: I draw witches with spirals in their hair! Pics under the cut due to length:

Crocker has his in the back and Kevin has his on top!

You could TOTALLY make an argument that Leadly's spiral is in his mustache

Also, it's a very good thing I do this- I joked in the past that Gary and Dev look eerily similar (even sharing lots of body language), so it's nice to have things like freckles and a hair spiral I can fall back on.

I'm VERY happy with my adult Dev design, but I definitely kept freckles and hair spirals away from him, haha. Sneak peek of him next to his mom:

Note- Spiral headcanon excludes H.P., who has a unique family cowlick I gave him before doing this for witches. Poof doesn't count either since he's under Fae Get Alphabet Hair rules:

Whistle and Anti-Whistle [Soren] (at the bottom) are some of my favorite designs... I can't get over his upside-down W hair sldkfj.

But Wanda and Anti-Wanda having completely different Ws is another favorite thing. I'm especially proud of Dusty's little D tuft.

I'm not sure why Smoky ended up with what looks like an F (unless it's a T since he was Talon before Talon was Talon), but I remember doing a lot of designs for him. Sometimes I don't commit to alphabet hair if letters are hard (Soren's top zigzag is meant to be an S, which is a very hard letter to incorporate, and I think I didn't want Smoky and Soren to have the same one). I've been wanting to redesign Smoky a bit, so I'll probably fix it then.

Goldie's is subtle and you can see it better in some drawings than others, but she has M hair because her full name is Marigold :)

I should probably re-add her middle tuft to her official sideblog art, whoops.

Also, if this is how someone is finding out Poof and Foop literally were designed with alphabet hair, I have wonderful news for you. Fun fact, the "Anti-Poof" storyboard portrays Foop with a square spiral instead! It was the final detail of his design.

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

Hello, I read ur rule and it says you write about mental health issues so, can I request a resident lover one where mc copes in a way that uses cutting basically

Sh, and it's not like.. obvious but concerning enough, and id like to see how donna would do, or react in your perspective,thank you ❤️ also the previous Donna fix was awesome, got me feeling butterflies

(Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words. I’ve decided to do Donna and Bela like you asked in the other ask you sent. I really hope that you enjoy this and that it helps you)

Donna & Bela reacting to their S/O hurting themselves

RL! Donna x Reader & RL! Bela x Reader

(Warning: Self harm, mentions of blood, comfort)

💐Donna Beneviento💐

- When she first found out, she was utterly stunned, not once did she expect you to do this.

- A million thoughts run through her head, mainly self-deprecating thoughts blaming herself for not noticing sooner.

....

It felt like time had frozen in place as you saw Donna standing in the doorway. You saw that she had already left for work but you didn’t expect is for her to come back so soon.

“W-what, cara mia-” is all Donna could say. She walked away to get some things to clean up the blood and treat your wounds. When she got back she sat you down and began the treatment, staying silent most of the time until she spoke up.

“Tesoro, you don’t have to do this. I’m here, if you need to talk to anyone I-I’m always here for you.” Donna says nervously, afraid that she may say something wrong and make it worse.

She swiftly finishes up rubbing the disinfectant on you, taking the bandages and stares through them like she’s zoned out in thought. Donna looks at your fresh wounds and leans forward to place a small, quick kiss on one of them. This caught you off guard but you were touched by the sweet gesture, making you smile a little.

“I love you, caro, and don’t you ever forget that. If I ever lose you my whole world would be shattered.” Donna says, placing another kiss but this time on your lips. “Now let’s get you wrapped up and you can vent to me if you’d like. If not then we can have a you day and do whatever you want.”

🫀Bela Dimitrescu🫀

- She was shocked when she found out that you self harm. She even scolded you, telling you that if she ever lost you her newly beating heart, the same heart that you helped her get back, would be shattered.

- Though she stops talking and takes a deep breath once she realizes that she’s scolding you. She then takes the more comforting route.

....

Bela felt as if her heart dropped down to her stomach when she saw what you were doing. She ran towards you and grabs your shoulders firmly but still gentle.

“W-what are you doing- no, why are you doing this?!” Bela frantically asks, looking into your eyes, seeing fear and guilt in them. She takes a deep breath to calm herself before pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“It’s okay darling, I’m not mad. I was never angry at you I was just scared. Let me clean your wounds.” Bela assures, pulling away to get a wet towel and some disinfectant.

When she got the supplies, she began to clean you up. Staying quiet to gather her thoughts. After she was finished she gently pulled you into the bed with her, your face in her chest.

She played with your hair to comfort you as she spoke, “I’m sorry I didn’t notice this sooner. Please don’t do this anymore, if you ever need to talk, no matter what time it is you can always come to me and I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.” Bela says, kissing the top of your head.

“But for now, rest up sweetness and I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Masterlist

[sunnyikemen]

For Her

Pairing: Ikevamp Leonardo x MC

Summary: Leonardo takes on the heaviest burden for love. And he defies those who condemn this love.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying.

Word count: ~850

Notes: Replaying Leonardo's route and am in a Mood. Might do more with this later, but for now kindly accept this small offering of tragic man.

***

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Leonardo's fingers continue tracing the contours of her face, but his eyes shift to hers, “Intriguing. Don’t think I can decline that offer. What’s on your mind?”

She lets her eyelids drop as fingertips trail down the bridge of her nose, and she breaths. Deep and slow. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around…mortality. Specifically, mortality mixed with immortality,” another deep breath, “I think I’ve found a benefit.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Unfortunately, it’s only a benefit for myself, and it’s very selfish.”

“That’s not like you. It must be a very beneficial benefit.”

“Oh, it is,” she says.

Leonardo gives her a moment to elaborate, but it never comes. He cradles her face with his hand and brushes his thumb back and forth across her cheek. She doesn’t open her eyes, but her brows are tense.

“Ah, cara mia. You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

Her eyes open, and he sees doubt flash across them. Unlike her, he thinks.

“It’s’ not very kind to say, I’ve realised,” she says softly, “I never want to be unkind to you.”

Leonardo adjusts his head on the pillow so her wandering gaze finally focusses on his, and he brushes the rosiness of her skin with his knuckles. Sometimes he wonders if her goodness rubs off on him whenever he caresses her. He hopes so.

“I could never take what you say as unkindness,” he coos, but her worry doesn’t seem to ease, “What’s got you wound up, bella? Let me in. I wanna know what goes on in that pretty head of yours to give you an expression like that.”

“I just had the thought that…” she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I won't have to grieve you.”

His fingertips finally stop their journey at the tip of her chin, his brows furrowed, “Cara mia, why are you thinking things like that?”

“And you never do?”

He doesn’t answer, “I don’t like when you think like that. It upsets you.”

“I know, but I selfishly can’t help it,” she takes a long breath through her nose, like she’s about to do a run up, “I’m aware it’s horrible, but in a way I’m glad that I’ll be the first to leave. I couldn’t bear any other outcome,” she opens her eyes, “I don’t want to miss you.”

Leonardo suspects she had imagined a different reaction from him. He feels her nails scratching nervously against his scalp, bottom lip between her teeth, anticipating his reply. But he smiles at her, and continues drawing patterns across her skin. Because she was right, he had thought about it too. And he had come to the same conclusion.

“I’m glad too,” he says steadily, “Can’t bear to see you upset, you know that. If that benefit is comforting to you,” he kisses between her brows, “then I’ll take this burden for you. I’ll miss you instead.”

Oh, how his love ran so deep for her that he’d do absolutely anything she asked. He never imagined, in all his amazing and ridiculous dreams, that he’d ever have a love like this. He is grateful to have it at all.

Leonardo can imagine others scoffing at a love so doomed. Sticking their noses up, laughing in his face. He can even imagine some pitying looks, with a hand on his back, and a why on the tips of their tongues. Why put yourself through that?

And his reply?

So am I not allowed to love at all, then?

He’d become defiant of that ‘why’ hundreds of years ago. He’d had much time to think it over, and he’d reached his conclusion.

If he was not allowed this joy, for the simple fact that it is fleeting, then he’d sit in the dark alleyways of life and he’d love. He’d brush his hand against the hand of a passerby. He’d catch eyes with someone from across the room and smile. He’d embrace another. He’d call them ‘lover’. He’d kiss them. If the world decided he shall not love then he shall do so illicitly, with the kindness and rebellion of a man who cared not if that same world abandoned him, for he knew he had his heart and that his heart was full.

And at his trial, he’d stand tall. At the condemnation of his heart, he’d look into the eyes of those who saw his feelings as a crime and him as a prisoner. He’d rattle his chains at them, knowing that he’d feel more love in his lover’s lifetime than they’ll ever feel in their own.

But even that last statement wasn't entirely true, for he’d love her even when she had no air in her lungs. He’d love her even if her heart turned to stone. He’d love her even when she is frail. And centuries after her eyes had closed for the last time, he’d love her. For her, even then.

“When I die, I hope it’s like this,” she croaks, “I hope we’ll be holding each other. I hope I’ll still feel your fingertips on my skin.”

Even then.

***

masterlist

[armpirate]

Soundleasure | Choi San || CH. 35

Pairings: Soft!San x fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, fake dating

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, online sex, ghosting

Warnings: inexperienced!San, fem!reader, masturbation, online sex, camboy, first times.

Summary: You can do whatever you please and be whoever you want on the Internet. And San knew that a little bit too well.

After finally following all the signs the universe was throwing at him, he started living a double life that no one was aware of. Everyone in his daily life knew him as Choi San, the reserved and quiet boy who wouldn't raise his voice, and would barely communicate with anyone outside of his comfort group. But only a few knew him as Soundleasure, the man with a sexy voice and a filthy mind that had their toes curling just with his narrations.

He never thought of the possibility of those two lives ever meeting, he had always tried for them to follow a parallel route and had always played safe to keep his friends from ever suspecting that side even existed. But his plans will start to crumble when he gets a little too close with one of his subscribers and she invades his real-self and altergo's universes without being able to stop it.

Y/n will not only help him to keep his secret from his circle, but will also show him there's more of Soundleasure in him than he'd like to admit. 

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 20 minutes

Chapter warnings: Smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, explicit language, protected sex, recording of audio porn

Y/n's eyes opened slowly, realizing she was trapped among San's embrace, with his cheek squishing against the back of her head. Breathing in his scent first thing in the morning, that musky smell that remained even hours after he put the perfume on, was like the biggest energetic boost she could think of. And that thought itself had her smiling against his chest, feeling a warmth in her belly when his fingers momentarily spasmed on her nape, before they went back to their natural steady pose.

She couldn't describe with words how happy he made her with such simple things. He didn't even need to try.

And that realization had her smile slowly dropping.

Whoever the person was behind those notes, they were persistent on how she was going to make her way to them by herself. That person had mentioned San in such despective tones that it had her stomach shrinking down her body, slowly feeling her blood stop running through her veins just at the thought of something happening to him.

Her face hid in the curve of his neck, hugging closer to him, closing her eyes to absorb as much as she could of the moment, unaware that it'd make San to wake up.

He first groaned, stretching his legs while his arms were still lazily around her. And when he realized what woke him up, he could only think of sinking his face deeper in her head, closing his arms around her.

—Good morning to you, too —he lowly giggled, kissing her head—. What time is it?

—Don't move —she whispered, fists clenching on his t-shirt when he attempted to roll on his body to reach his phone.

And San aimed to please her, quickly letting go of the idea to care about the time, or being late to work.

—I don't want to go to work today —she confessed.

—You? —San managed to move his head back a little, enough to earn a difficult vision of the side of her face— My Y/n? The same person who works on her free days? You worked even in the hospital when you were recovering.

—I just don't want to go —she whined, hiding her face in his chest.

—Babe, I know you might get away with missing one day, but I won't —he clicked his tongue—. Mia is already annoyed enough after I rejected her and called her out. Missing would be a chance to fuck me up.

Any other day, his girlfriend would have answered to his sensible response, moving back and accepting the fact that he was right, but instead Y/n moved closer to him, shaking her head.

—What's wrong? —he directly asked, accepting the fact that he wouldn't move away anytime soon.

—Nothing —her voice sounded muffled against the fabric of his clothes.

—Y/n... —San warned her.

That warning was a reminder of what they went through and how they had just made things up after they went through communication problems. They assured each other they'd be honest just one day back.

—I don't think it's a good idea to be away from each other —she confessed, slowly moving back—. What happened last night... I just don't want anything to happen to you.

—They broke into your place —San commented—, and you're worried about me.

—The crazy person always goes against their competition —she explained—. Haven't you watched those thrillers?

—And here I was thinking of taking you to the cinema —San scoffed.

—San, I'm serious —she sat up on the bed—. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you because of me.

—Well, you don't have to think about it, because nothing will happen to me —he also sat up, cupping her face—. Will you be more calm if we're together today?

She first side eyed him with unsure eyes, only to finally nod while pressing her lips.

—Aren't we working on that project? —San asked, caressing her cheek with his thumb— Come up with an idea for the whole team to be together. Say you saw on a research that results are better when group work is done that way. I don't know —he shrugged—. You're the boss, it's not like you need to give explanations.

And she didn't hesitate in putting his idea into practice.

At first, the team was surprised by her decision, but neither complained or tried to change her mind as they all moved to one of the large conference rooms.

The familiar hum of office chatter filled the large, glass-walled conference room as Y/n settled into her seat. San was seated a few chairs away, his focus glued to his laptop screen, although his eyes kept flying -not so subtly- in her direction to check on her.

The morning passed in a blur of meetings and brainstorming sessions. Y/n was just beginning to think she would be able to focus when Tom showed up, leaning casually against the doorframe of the conference room, his usual easy grin in place. Her heart sank.

—Y/n, got a minute?

The way he said her name made her stomach twist. She glanced at San, whose shoulders had tensed at Tom's arrival, not even trying to hide it. Y/n forced a smile, gesturing for Tom to follow her into the hallway, while her boyfriend's eyes followed them until they stepped outside. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

—It better be something work related —she warned him.

—I just wanted to make sure you were okay —Y/n slightly furrowed her eyebrow—. These days you seemed quite upset and running out of energy.

There was something off about the way he phrased it, as if he knew more than he should. Y/n's heart raced. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, refusing to give away any of the panic swirling inside her.

—I'm fine —she answered, coolly.

—You sure? —he leaned closer—. I know it might be difficult to work with your boyfriend when you're in the middle of a crisis. Or did you make things up?

Y/n's breath caught. She took a step back, trying to put some distance between them. Tom's eyes flicked briefly to the conference room, and when he looked back at her, his expression was one of feigned concern.

—Did you seriously ask me for a talk for this? —her eyebrow was lifted, while her arms remained closed on her chest— It's not like this is the best place to talk about this —she looked around—, and it isn't any of your business either.

—I was just checking up —he shrugged nonchalantly—. People talk. And I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay, that's all. I know things didn't end well between us, but that doesn't mean I don't care.

His hand laid on her shoulder, fingerprints slightly pressing on the fabric of her white shirt to reassure her.

—And if he isn't treating you well...

—Ironic coming from you —she scoffed, quickly snapping back.

His words were laced with something that made her skin crawl. Tom had always worked on his own, barely giving her any explanations on what he did or why; he was the best example of emotional immaturity. Yet there he was, attempting to work as psychologist out of nowhere.

—I appreciate your concern, but I'm handling it —she moved her shoulder away—. I really need to get back to work.

—Of course. I just thought... Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands, I'm here.

She nodded, turning quickly and heading back into the room, her heart pounding. She could feel Tom's eyes on her as she closed the door, the unsettling sensation of being watched making her skin prickle. She forced herself to focus, pushing the conversation with her ex boyfriend to the back of her mind.

But the unease lingered, gnawing at her concentration like a relentless itch she couldn't scratch.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being monitored. Tom seemed to find reasons to pass by the conference room, glancing in with what she could only describe as a calculated gaze. Once, he came in under the pretense of needing a document, lingering just a bit too long by her side, his shoulder brushing hers as he handed her the folder. She flinched, almost imperceptibly, and he smirked, that same unsettling smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Across the room, she saw San's jaw tighten as he watched the exchange, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. When Tom finally left, his eyes followed him out, a dark, unreadable expression on his face.

By the end of the day, the conference room felt stifling. Y/n was exhausted, her mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts she couldn't control. As the team started to pack up, she found herself still sitting in her chair, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart as she allowed herself to burst all of her worries out.

San came back a few minutes later, his expression softening when he saw her.

—Are you okay? —he asked, quietly.

—Yeah, just a long day —she nodded, not convincingly.

San sat next to her, a hand reaching the side of her neck to give her a soft touch that had her whole body responding to it.

—Did he bother you?

Her eyes slowly opened back, reminded of how they had no time to be alone to talk, not even for a few minutes, throughout the long day that was left behind. San had seen her nervously bite the reverse of her thumb, shake her legs nervously, look around for any indicator. It even was obvious on the way she aimed at the small group of people in that room, with the confident side of her slowly fading with each passing second. It was as if she was alert to everyone and everything.

—He just wanted to check on me —she shrugged—. Apparently it's well known in the company we had problems, so he just wanted to know if I was doing okay.

His eyes were full of concern, and that made her feel a pang of guilt. Why did it always feel like she kept adding bad things in his life instead of good ones?

—Don't worry though. You're the first victim, remember? —she joked, trying to get him to calm down.

—I don't like him around you.

—Honestly, I don't like anyone around me right now —she sighed, moving away from him—. It's like everyone is guilty, everyone has something to do with those notes... And the most frustrating thing is that... —her tongue clicked, unable to say any more words when a knot tightened in her throat.

San held her close, hiding her face just when the first tear started rolling down her chin, snuggling their bodies together while he let her let everything out her chest.

—What if we do something nice? —he suggested, trying to give her mind something else to think of— We can get an ice cream, go for a walk... and maybe meet up with the boys. It might do you good to see them all.

But before she could say how much she liked his plan, two knocks on the door made them move away from each other slowly.

—I'm sorry —Jennifer apologized, looking down—. I thought you were alone —she mentioned, referring to Y/n.

—It's okay, Jen —despite everything going on, her smile still remained shining for others—. Did you need me?

—Well, I wanted to discuss some doubts that came up while reviewing some documents...

Y/n sighed, pondering whether they could be as important for her to think of staying there for longer than the five minutes it'd take her to grab her coat and leave. But one look at San and she knew nothing, in that moment, mattered enough for her to pause all of her plans.

—Can we leave it for tomorrow? —Y/n asked— Don't worry about it, we'll sort it out.

One weak wink and a sided smile, and she thought it was done. Jennifer simply accepted Y/n's refusal to help her, pressing her lips while looking down.

—Shall we leave?

San's dimples were the most visible she had seen them in the past few days, smiling widely before nodding.

His fingers moved in between hers, intertwining them together as they made their way to the front door. It was his way of showing her he didn't care how dangerous it could be or not for him, he'd always support her. He'd be there to protect her in case things didn't go right, and neither of them should care of what others could think of their actions from that moment and onwards.

As they walked out of the building together, side by side but not quite together, Y/n's thoughts were consumed by the cryptic messages, the lingering glances, and the suffocating feeling that something -or someone- was closing in on her. Although one quick pressure brought her back to reality, leaning on his body with a lovely gesture

Getting some fresh air, even if it was something as simple as going for a walk around the park near his house, was something she didn't think would make such a big impact. She allowed her mind to relax, to get away from the stress by just being around San. That was probably what helped the most: his company.

San clicked his tongue on her back, looking up at his phone while he closed the door behind him with his other hand.

—What?

—Wooyoung isn't coming today. Seems like his date with the cute guy is going in a good direction —he followed her to his room, seeing through the corner of his eye how she took her coat off—. And Mingi is going to stay with Yunho, since Iseul went back to visit her family.

—That means we're alone tonight...

—Yup, the house is all ours —he gracefully confirmed, slipping his jacket through his arms—. Although it seems like you've thought of something already.

His comment laced with the way her fingers traced the curve of the mic on his desk, glancing a malicious look at him. Her eyes were tempting when they narrowed that way, with her lips curving up in that usual shape that had his knees going weak.

—Did you record the video for this week? —she asked.

—Not yet.

She typed in his computer with his answer, unlocking the screen and clicking straight on the icon she had seen him click on before whenever they were together in his place and he used that time to film. Despite all being fake, those few times she found herself pressing her thighs together, looking for relief and earning a mischievous look from him before he continued with his thing. All those times, he ended closing the app and joining her in bed to do to her everything he narrated.

That time, and with everything going on in her head moving aside to give space to that idea, she wanted to lead one of those recordings with him. Carrying out the promise they both made when they started speaking.

San walked to her, intrigued by her idea, and too enchanted to move his attention anywhere else that wasn't her.

Rubbing her fingers with his, he pushed her hand away to click on the recording. His tongue traced her upper lip, before making its way in her mouth in a hungry kiss that almost made her lose her balance.

His fingers gripped on her hips over her blouse, asking her to take it off without emitting any sound other than a groan when she bit his lips. In front of his desk, they both took off each other's clothes slowly, until they were just covered by their underwear.

Her hands moved up the waistband of his boxers, touching his subtly-marked abs, moving past his sensitive nipples -earning a squirm from him- before moving her hands away from his wide shoulders, reaching the headphones that were placed over the mic support.

She had watched him for long enough to know what he used those headphones for, and she was so ready to use them on him. And there wasn't a better moment than that one, sure they'd help to erase any thought in his mind that wasn't her.

Her tongue licked his jawline, reaching her earlobe, and biting on it. His breath fell heavily on her hair, moving her locks with it. For a second, she could feel his pulse against her muscle, a bit faster than usual. And she couldn't imagine the speed it had reached when she sat in front of him at the edge of his bed, and pulled down his boxers.

The microphone was moved down, left at the same level as her mouth, before she started licking the tip. He felt so hard, yet at the same time so soft when she first took him in her mouth, knowing it'd take him seconds to be hard and thick in a matter of seconds.

That day, everything felt multiplied per ten. The way her lips around him felt even more powerful with the clear sounds he heard through his headphones. Every groan and moan while her head bowed all over his length, the few reflex gags that made her throat close around his tip when she took in too much... hell, he could even hear the way some lines of saliva piled up on the corners of her mouth, while his moans were overheard.

His hand, whose only role was to stroke her head as support, tensed when her fingers cupped his balls, making his cock twitch in a reflex.

—My turn —he groaned, pulling from some of her locks to move her head back, mesmerized by the way her lips were still connected to him by the thin string of saliva.

When he tried to clean it, Y/n skillfully moved her tongue up, licking his thumb while her eyes penetrated through his.

—Fuck, babe. If you keep looking at me that way, I'll end up fucking you so hard against the bed you'll start seeing stars —he bent over—. I'd eat you out until you only see white, anyway.

—Good —she smirked—, because that's the only good way I expect you to fuck me tonight.

She unclasped her bra, but before she could take it off, San's lip fell adamant on hers, possessive and authoritative. He helped her get naked through the kiss, dragging her to the edge as much as possible and pushing her body to the mattress so she'd be lying up.

—Why don't you take a pic of me? —her head tilted to the side, with the amount of time he took admiring every corner of her naked body.

—I want to, I will —he nodded—, but when you're so fucked up you can't even recognize yourself.

He passed the headphones to her, carefully putting it around her head, before he moved down to lick from her belly button to the space between her breasts. One knee was between her legs, the other one on the side of her hip, and his hand moved the microphone so it'd be pointing to her core.

Her nipples were already hard when he got to them, but he could feel them sticking against his tongue whenever he twirled it around either of them. The wet sucking sounds were loud against her ears, making her body instantly react, arching her back as she was looking for more, but only found herself disappointed when her boyfriend started moving back down on her.

San pulled from her panties, and a groan escaped from the back of his throat. Her juices coated her folds and leaked from her entrance like a fountain, that he was desperately dying to drink from.

He wasn't subtle like other times, he didn't taste the waters, his head sunk in her core like he had been thirsty for days.

His lips enclosed around her button, pulling from it and letting it go a few times, the sound of each suck rumbling through her ears.

—Fuck, I love it when you press your thighs around my head —he commented, loud and clear through her headphones, before he bit on the sensitive skin of the inner skin of her left thigh.

Y/n could clearly hear each breath he took before he closed his lips and sucked her clit, after his tongue licked all the way up from her entrance to her clit. He was everywhere at the same time, and that barely gave her a chance to settle, which she loved. A throb of pride beated in her chest, and her pussy, when she reminded herself she was the only one he learned all those techniques from, and the only person he had used them on. And she could only wish it was the same the other way around.

Two of his fingers brushed any thought in her head away, combining the soft groans with the push sound his digits made against her wetness every time he dug in her channel.

Her fingers ran through his head, wanting him to stick against her pussy, but also dying for him to look up. And, as if he had read her mind, his fierce gaze trapped her, instantly clicking her body to an orgasm she thought she was ready for. But it ran over head, from her scalp to the tip of her toenails, allowing her to hear her moan -which San had only been able to hear until then- through her headphones.

She didn't know exactly when he took the device away from her, when he moved the microphone up so it'd encompass his whole bed, or when he wrapped himself in a condom, but she felt his body on hers while she kissed her to calm her down. A brief sweet moment to make sure she was alright before they continued. His Soundleasure role took complete control of him that night.

—On all fours, babe —he whispered, caressing her hair.

Although her legs still felt weak, Y/n managed to move over the mattress when he gave her space to move.

His hand traced her arched spine when she was in position, moving up to her nape to squeeze it and rub his thumb on her jawline, before he sank down in her pussy, lining up himself with his other hand.

Soon the room left its momentary quietness to be replaced by lewd claps from their bodies, filthy words, and guttural moans and groans that had the other yearning for more.

She was so fucking right when she said her moans would sound so well mixed with his. He knew it the first day they slept together, but it was confirmed that night.

—Please.

The urgency in her tone just told him what her pussy was hinting, by the way she kept closing around him. His movements kept the same speed and power, adding his fingers rubbing her clit until she was shaken by another intense orgasm that almost had her collapsing over the mattress.

His hand cupped her ass cheek, squeezing her skin, before she was back to her senses and looked up over his shoulder.

—On your back —she commanded.

And San obeyed. Fuck yes he did.

He laid next to where she was, exactly in the middle of his bed, before she straddled his hips and sank himself back in her after moving her hips down. To all the lewd sounds from before, the sound of his bed squeaking under them with each jump she made was added.

—Fuck, you look so beautiful like this —he moaned—. A fucking goddess.

That compliment made her smile, although it disappeared quickly when the first wave from the third orgasm was hitting her.

—Rub your clit against me —he commanded.

She did. She sank his dick inside of her, completely connecting them, until their pubes met. Each of his hands were on her hips, helping her move while she frantically humped against him, the friction causing those starts he promised to show up in front of her eyes, while he twitched inside her tight channel.

Her hand fell around his throat, not closing her fingers around it nor choking him, only looking for some support when she was sure she was close to passing out.

—Hmm, are you going to cum with me? —she asked, almost out of breath, managing to let some words in between her cracked moans.

—Uhum, babe —he groaned—. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.

It all happened so fast, and they both got momentarily clouded by each of their highs, that they lost consciousness of time when she collapsed all over his body. Even forgetting the app was still recording their soft pecks and giggles while they touched each other.

—I don't have to upload it.

—Why? —she looked genuinely disappointed when she looked up to him.

—Well, I understand it'll make you uncomfortable.

—Not really —she sighed—. Nobody knows it's me, or you. And it'll work pretty fine to let some of those women know you're pretty much taken.

—Babe, I was taken even before we dated. None of them stood a chance against you.

He always knew the right words, and he was always vocal about his feelings. And what drove her even crazier was knowing how real and genuine they all were.

—I'm so lucky to be with you —she whispered.

—I'm the one who's lucky, actually —he didn't let her snap back, his lips were on hers before she could—. Shall we make some dinner?

—Please.

The night went on with that intimate atmosphere that clouded them whenever they were together, that lovey dovey vibe that always made them feel dizzy, and that accompanied them from their kitchen, to the couch, until they were back in bed.

Both of them were on their phones, scrolling through emails, social media and texts, before one made her stomach twist.

If you're not mine, you'll be no one else's.

It was sent from a different number, but she knew what it was. She still hid it, sliding her finger to the side to make the notification at the top of her screen disappear.

Y/n left her phone on the night stand on her side, covering her body with the sheets, and immediately after feeling San's arms wrapping around her with a sigh, his face buried in the curve of her neck.

She wished they could go back to a few hours back, when her mind was able to rest from that stalker and everything they caused her. But she'd never feel genuinely calm, not until the police caught them.  

Taglist: @brown88

[thegoodending-thelasttime]

my reaction to the resident lover lore drop: part two

access the doc yourself here

spoilers utc

DONNA CONTD

i have a lot to say about the the donna and daniela relationship section, none of which i feel capable of putting into words for the time being. i will, however, say this.

"Donna is watching what could've been in regards to her past self when it comes to Dani and MC"

"Just sometimes [Donna] really wants to hit [Cassandra] you know?" i think a lot of people in the fandom know after Cass' infamous neutral ending

"She grieves but she lets herself live too." all the muscles in my face are convulsing

"Donna struggles to stand up for herself for a long portion of her route and only through the aid of MC will she start to show a little more of her backbone." Donna. i can help you be brave Donna. pick me. choose me. love me. (delusional 3)

"There is a brief scene in which Miranda and Donna are having tea while Donna has a complete and utter breakdown about just how on the edge she is. Miranda of course encourages her to keep spiraling..." miranda i'm going to get you.

"Donna is mentally unstable at this point and can either be sent into the abyss or helped out of the low point toward a brighter future." I CAN HELP YOU TOWARD A BRIGHTER FUTURE DONNA I SWEAR PLEASE (delusional 4)

Depression being a theme is just. I'm going to write a hurt/comfort fic about this.

and, "Destiny [Soulmates]" don't think I'm normal about that either. cuz i'm not.

the nursery being an allegory for Donna. my brain feels like a backyard and you're mowing it with a tiny little lawnmower.

"Hades and Persephone" words. in my mind.

glad that Donna fans unknowingly cracked phantom of the opera though, that's fun

"...she is not unwilling to lunge towards Miranda herself and brandish a weapon in her direction." she's so real for this

"Miranda has had to trigger the loop several times in reaction to a violent outburst of Donna’s." WOOOO YOU GO BABE. FUCK UP MIRANDA'S LIVES HELL YEAH

"MC shows unconditional and unwavering love towards someone with severe abandonment issues and gets a very attached flower shop owner for their troubles." SHUT UP MY HEART.

"...a small part of her is pleased to know she got the upper hand on Miranda. Donna’s ability to make MC explicitly reject Miranda has left the goddess incredibly pissed..." FUCK YEAH

"Post Donna Miranda is particularly cruel about how she treats the toxicologist and parades MC near her but never in reach." top five sentences that make you want to kill a cult leader

"LIKES: Stuffed Animals..." help i love her so much my heart really can't take this

"LIKES: Pranks. I’m sorry she’s a menace" i'll prank her back (by kissing her on the face)

"DISLIKES: Those really sad adoption commercials where they play ‘I Will Remember You’ while a slideshow of really sad puppies plays. They make her cry" NO DONNA POOKIE BEAR DON'T CRY COME HER LET ME HUG YOU

"DISLIKES: Miranda" OMG SHE DISLIKES MIRANDA TOO (shocker) !?!?! WE'RE SO SIMILAR WE SHOULD MARRY ACTUALLY

MIRANDA

MC and miranda being burned alive the first time around. man wtf

love that they were both canonically sickly victiorian children at one point

"Death penalty for sodomy" that actually has me so fucked up. how could you do this to me

"[MC] Drowned, Miranda was nearby but chose not to save them" WHAT WHY

"Mia got mad and threw a stone at MC" i would get mad too if i saw someone repeatedly fall for miranda over the course of multiple timelines

"Miranda ran MC over in an accident" HELP 💀

miranda really fell for the unluckiest motherfucker goddamn. tom and jerry ass

"Yes + Mia" "No + Mia" best way to word this. i will be using these from now on. ask me a yes/no question i dare you.

"This life is when the very first iteration of Eva is born and it completely changes Miranda’s soul as a confounding variable in their soulmate-hood" oh my GOD. i'm a little scared miranda's section might be making me start to like her a little.. NO I REFUSE. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING.

"Toxic Yuri + Loving" thank you Cinder. i appreciate you for your silliness.

really wish we got more eva content but oh well. maybe in the dlc content the team said would probably come out in a few years/maybe more

"Mia’s soul has slowly changed over time and has grown to naturally despise Miranda’s soul for its unwitting part in MCs death every life" nvm i like Mia infinitely more than miranda

"Mia acts as a foil to Miranda’s relationship in every life they meet because she is - without fail - naturally resistant to them being together and highly suspicious of the way Miranda behaves" FUCK MOTHER MIRANDA ALL MY HOMIES HATE MOTHER MIRANDA. MIA'S A REAL ONE.

"[Bela and Miranda] would be insane if they worked together, but unfortunately, they are narratively designed to be pitted against each other" i disagree i think it's very fortunate they're not on the same team

"Miranda is afraid of [Donna] because she remembers every single time loop... Donna is also handy with sharp objects and has been known to attempt a few murders at meetings when pushed..." fuck yeah. be afraid miranda.

"...views Donna as “cursed” due to her family history of deaths" can i say kys just this once (to miranda).

"Intrinsically offended when MC chose Donna during the loop" be offended. L + bozo + cry about it + Donna's better

"[Donna and Miranda have] used each other as crutches in moments of weakness... they used to have regular tea together in which they would act out their familial roles and encourage each other further down their spirals" i'm actually not okay rn thanks for asking!

...that legitimately has me so fucked up

"Miranda actively encourages Donna’s fears to keep her under control..." "She would kill Angie to both punish Donna and to relieve herself of the annoyance" hey miranda come here. what do you mean, i don't have anything in my pocket. don't worry about it just come here. so i can... hug you. SHANKS YOU MIA STYLE BUT IT ACTUALLY WORKS THIS TIME SHANKS YOU MIA STYLE BUT IT ACTUALLY WORKS THIS TIME SHANKS YOU MIA STYLE BUT IT ACTUALLY WORKS THIS TIME

"Miranda and MC are soulmates, all the way up to their 19th life this is 100% proven and true (even though they don't always get to meet) but the 20th life is different because Miranda is still in her 19th. It could be argued that MCs soulmate is who 20th Miranda was supposed to be. (Could've been if a coin had been flipped)." I'M ACTUALLY HYPERVENTILATING RIGHT NOW THANK YOU FOR FEEDING USTHANKYOU MY HEART OH MY FUCKIUNG GOD ASDFGUIHUADSDHLFKAJHSDFKLGJHDAFKJG. I BANGED ON MY DESK THAT'S NOT EVEN A JOKE WHAT THE ACTUASL FUCK

"MC would go into divorce arc which is salvageable but very long winded" need yall to elaborate on this, also it made me giggle

"The only exceptions are Mia (who told Miranda to fuck off), Bela (who still remembered), and Angie (who doesn’t listen to anybody)." that's so based of all of them. naming them the based squad for this.

"DISLIKES: Her height being mentioned" i don't care if it's a low blow and that she's actually one inch taller than me. i'll call her short. short ass. imagine being 5'6" lmao

part three coming up

[miafeystits]

DAHLIA: Oh, I see. You don’t want the truth—you want a story. I can give you that. I could give you the tragedy, if you like—the sad, lonely girl who never knew love, desperate for any drop of attention, who was twisted by circumstance into something ugly, something cruel. Or we could go down the easy route. We could play the one where I was just born wrong—the evil twin, the lesser half, the demoness with a black hole where her heart should be. The beast masquerading as beauty, hungry for blood from the very beginning. Which do you prefer? MIA: Which one’s true? DAHLIA: Oh, neither. Or maybe both. It’s just a matter of perspective.

I'M BACK BABY