#I feel like I could be killed for that comment

[somerandomcockroach]

F*** my writing shyness, it will be bad and utter stupid mushy dumbness and I don't mind, because I need MUSHY AND TOO SWEET AND STUPID KISSES THROUGH THE SCREEN WITH CONFUSION

Swerve x Blurr silly short oneshot Reverse mecha au by Kerefon

Silly kisses inside the games is the normal thing for humans, Cybertronians don't quite have such interactive games, at least he never was interested in Cybertronian ones, Blurr doesn't know why he feels so shy over this friendly joke that he was perfectly pulling off in the real life by himself.

Blurr has been watching streams of Serving_Metal_Nerdulgist for over 1 year now. He still has no idea how he found this line since it didn't have registered ID in the interplanetary lists, but the streams on it turned out to catch all of his attention. Interplanetary streams weren't something new or interesting (most of them were boring stuff with their strange ugly food that they were munching with even more ugly sounds, some strange sports, absolutely wasteful dramas and other things), but this one he never saw before. It was a game, cubic game, vibrant, green, full of details, explorations, it was fascinating to watch someone explore a newly created endless world, go on adventures, kill interesting monsters and make creations out of blocks that looked strange as a separate but gorgeous as a one. He was making it look gorgeous.

He supposed it wouldn't have been so interesting if not the voice behind it, who always was sharing his thoughts and ideas. Blurr was listening to them and wondering how one comes up with such ideas while himself getting inspired thanks to it (he tried to make a little blocky house with melting metal, but ended up burning surface of his digits and "house" looked like nest of these Gazin ants with three mouths).

It became the part of his free evenings, the chat became his dream chat group come true with never ending different interesting topics about anything and everything. Not like he could properly write on "human" so most of the parts he was using translator. Translator kind of sucked because it had barely any idea what the "human" is as much as Blurr did (he supposed the cubic human inside the game was based on real humans) and AI was learning words and their adaptations pretty slowly.

Unlike the person behind the stream.

He learned fast and over the year almost became fluent in Cybertron. He said it was the power of nerds.

Blurr felt himself pretty happy (immensely gleeful) about the fact that Nerdulgist did so to talk with him, to be able to play and talk without the need to switch to chat typing (not like he could type with Cybertronian syllables anyway).

He was watching him when there were only a few people. To be more precise, first time he found him he also joined his game, since ID applied to the game too and Blurr thought it was open to join for everyone. Reaction of pure horror and sudden boost of comments applied it was not. But Blurr was spamming shift after smashing all the keys to find some way to show that he is… friendly? He perfectly knows about ban option in public places and he didn't want to be banned even if it wasn't a thing here (he found out later it was a thing indeed). Maybe Nerdulgist thought that being friends with someone who could join your game without host's permission is safer so he rolled with it. He still didn't get what the herobrine is though, some kind of hacking program? He isn't to be blamed for ID leaking.

They became game friends. It became Blurr's second favorite thing after winning races and outside races he was finding excuses to abandon wreckers to play Minecraft.

He was sure Nerdulgist also found his company pleasing. He was especially affectionate during the game today, it was a "chill stream day" (he was changing all the above blocks in the area on different colored ones to make something like clay forest). Over the year his followers count grew noticeably so now instead of non-stop chattery he could do non-stop question answering.

"Do I like Blurr? What a sil– no, stupid and offending question-"

Blurr's screen suddenly was filled with detailed cubic face skin of some, as he was told but didn't find the source, anime character, but with red hair, and then he heard a very characteristic and loud soft kiss in his audials.

"I love him, he is the man of my dreams, I would have built a home with him in real life and placed our beds next to each other."

Blurr saw that there was a sudden flood of comments but he urgently rolled out of the table with his digits to the face and he couldn't understand what Nerdulgist was saying. He felt his cheek plates warming up under digits. He did not expect it.

They were joking like this before, but before was much faster, more joking-like and Blurr was prepared, he could read mood good even inside the game. Here he was just caught off guard. And that wasn't because he found Nerdulgists' voice attractive lately due to hoarseness from his past sickness, no. And didn't notice after that that his voice actually always was quite attractive to him, no.

He was very good with physical contact and attention! He was the man of physical attention! He was expressing like this to the ones he considered enough to be pals.

He considered Nerdulgist his friend and he. Could. Do. Nothing. To show it! He reacts like this definitely because he can't find no "friendly hugging" functions and so he wasn't prepared for audial way of such acts. Acts of kisses? Not cheek kisses. When did they skip one part of the progress chain? Yes he wasn't prepared for it to be outside chat. If only he could somehow spend more time nuzzling with him so he could be prepared to steadfastly stand this affectionate attack! Sleeping on the beds next to each other didn't count.

"Blurr? Are you good?"

[Great_Cucumber: he probably passed out, you just kissed him, let him cool down]

[SweatNana243: Blurr ~ Come back, your man misses you~]

"Chat, shhh."

Blurr snapped out of his thoughts only when Swerve (Swerve said his name only to him and asked not to call him by his real name, so they were having fun by coming up with new strange names to "accidentally" say on streams) asked him on cybertronian if he is okay. Hearing it on cybertronian both deepened his warmness and got him back to his field of confidence. What is wrong with him? Two can play this game and he doesn't plan on losing!

Blurr: Yes, I am good, you have to kiss me longer to get rid of me

(The statement was absolutely true, he perfectly remembered his only few kisses he ever had in this life, he was drunk and it took noticeably more time for him to pass out. Of course he remembered real facts to apply to a silly game kissing, who doesn't?)

[Great_Cucumber: OOOOOOOOOOOO]

[Funtime90008: OOOOOOOOOOO]

[WBlurrNerdNation: OHOHOHOHOHOHOH GUYS]

There was a rich chuckle and chair creaking. "I'm going after my kissy plushie toy and I am about to measure your limits of hit kisses!"

[SweatNana243: your WHAT]

[Great_Cucumber: virgin spotted pointy finger]

[WBlurrNerdNation: I'm calling my friends, they can't miss it]

Okay, maybe Blurr wasn't as prepared to this. He rotated around in the search of something. Whatever. Something that also fits for a kissing practice, for no other reason but to not feel "attacked" if he also will do this dumb thing.

Blurr heard almost every possible transformer. Their voices became so common to him that when he first time opened interplanet stream with some ugly three mouths thing talking, the voice of that thing was disgusting, unusual, but mostly disgusting. Blurr was paying closer attention to people's voices, you could find so much information in them; and cybertronians' voices were consistent of precisely built in individual characteristics of waves. You could hear a silent static and a muffled echo inside throat. You could hear and sense the mood of the person if you knew how to do it. Organics? Their "static" voice cracks were grotty, they couldn't regulate their voices when they were loud, the sound was coming out of wet sources as if they were drowning. It was unpleasant. He didn't like noisy sticky figures.

Swerve's voice was… very pleasant. He guessed it had wet source just as organics, but it sounded dry, rich, vibrant, and when his voice was cracking up in excitement, it was contagious. When he was yelping and screaming on higher waves it sounded cute after his deep, slightly nervous bass. Funny even. He wasn't gulping after hours of talking like others did, he clearly needed water but he was too deep into explaining his new idea for the swamp area until his voice was becoming desiccated and he had to whispers while his chat was spamming "serve aqua".

Swerve indicated his return with two exaggerated smacking sounds of lips. Blurr laughed, nervously and generously. Swerve was a total maniac once he became comfortable. "Are you ready my handsome alien?"

Blurr managed to write "Wait a min dying laughin" before he clung to his knees with static laugh and burning cheeks. A cube person with strange skin was about to kiss him!

"I don't have the whole day, dear gringo, 1 minute and you will have to face me"

He clearly was in a very playful mood today as he said it in cybertronian to mock his viewers. It didn't help Blurr. Swerve's voice compensated all his hilarious looks. Where was his coolant?

Blurr looked around to check that the door was closed, he didn't want to die out of embarrassment. After making sure that there is no one sneaking on him (though the existence of guilty ghosts was especially believable right now) he braced himself and was looking at the screen.

Blurr: Deliver it (He meant "Bring it on" but translator didn't reach such levels of smugness yet)

Swerve seemed to lean closer to the microphone since the sound of skin pressed against the soft plushy was very clearly heard.

[Matador: SEND CREEPERS ON THEM WHILE THEY ARE BUSY]

[WBlurrNerdNation: SHUT UP, THERE IS RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPS]

[DBlurrNerdNation: WTF]

[JBlurrNerdNation: I will fight with mobs for the pride of their first proper kiss]

Okay. It sounded… soft. Blurr unconsciously touched his lips, he guessed his lips weren't as delicate as organics'… he had nothing to compare it with. Maybe jellied energon? He remembered his drunk kisses. They were soft for him but we talk about tender kind of leathers here. He felt frustrated but didn't stop listening and watching. That was an unusual sudden attention directed to him but he didn't dislike it.

Primus stop thinking about it with such seriousness it's a silly joke. From someone he found very nice to talk to. And listen to. Swerve is a great, very funny, smart dude. Silly a little bit, isn't it perfect? Oh, he heard a… breathing? Some fleshings had nostrils, looks like humans have them too and they are located above the mouth. And their breathing isn't as stable but very soft sounding. His vents suddenly clicked on to mimic the breathing rate, he gave up fighting with his processor. Sadly right now his attention was perfectly locked on one thing and was rotating only around arising from this event imaginations.

His imagination was too bright as he was imagining a presence on his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned in toward the sound. Then he opened them again and looked behind his back. No one was there. Thank Primus.

There were only a few bots who's voices he liked. Like, liked liked. But they were only transformers, never flesh organics. He might have liked liked liked this human's voice and vent (newly discovered breathing) more than all others that he liked liked.

Swerve budged from the microphone and made teasing chuckling sounds while still keeping hold of the plush. He was a streamer who felt like a scrapper in the metal pools after being sure that such jokes are good with Blurr.

"Still didn't fall under my obviously great and very expert kissing skills?"

[Great_Cucumber: you suck, I feel bad for Blurr]

"Hey what? That clearly was perfect! Not too long, not too short, with pauses, a little bit of teasing for the mood…" The microphone transmitted the sounds of his exaggerated hand gestures. Good microphone. "So what if it was only with plush? Do you not kiss your pets?"

[Great_Cucumber: I should be worried about your pets. But for your knowledge, my pomeranian kisses better.]

[WBlurrNerdNation: you are such a mood breaker, use your damn imagination, he wasn't kissing you!.. But yeah ah it sounded kinda gross actually]

"Chat. Chat, I hate you all and just for your knowledge, komondors are better than pomeranians."

[SweatNana243: look, he started mumbling under his nose, you all are so mean]

Nerdulgist turned away and got back to changing blocks while explaining all pros and cons of the bigger dogs compared to little ones. Blurr finally got back to his keyboard and mouse after his vents calmed down.

It definitely shouldn't have felt like whatever he felt but he couldn't help himself.

So instead he decided to not pretend to be dense and cool and started running laps around Swerve, shifting and jumping to lift their moods up. Worked perfectly, attention immediately switched and Blurr confused everyone with how getting pets where he is was kind of an illegal or kinky thing. They didn't finish what they planned because they saw turtles ashore and ended up breeding them while Swerve was talking about some cool mutated turtles, then just as usual they went back in their too gorgeous for Blurr's comprehension house with red and blue beds and orange and white carpets beneath them in the further room.

For some months now Nerdulgist was ending his stream first and then was spending some more quality time with Blurr until their attention was switching to opposite directions and they were chatting on absolutely different topics while still listening to each other.

Wreckers still didn't come back. Blurr was lying on the berth and rotating some favorite events from today in his head. Usually it was the whole stream and everything they talked about but this time he mostly was remembering the breathing and soft touching of skin that he heard, it was something new for him and he couldn't calm down and especially couldn't understand why he couldn't calm down. He wouldn't mind sharing a room with such cool person. He decided to run around the ship outside until his processor got overheated. ___________________________________

Swerve on the other side of the screen flying in heaven because he finally found someone who passed his vibe check, on who he could pull off all of his affectionate impulses and flirty jokes. ___________________________________ IN MY DEFENCE! Swerve here is the human from the beginning in this reverse version and he technically in the surrounding where he can feel less alone, nerds are all over the world on Earth so I believe this version of him is so much more confident in himself. He is the man of a good talents and great social education and awareness. He has a job that he even if don't love but clearly enjoys and it serves a good and visible purpose, he gets home and releases all the stress in other activities he likes. And it is known that confident people (not in an arrogant manner) are more attractive so his jokes get like, [10 buff due to him feeling sure not even if about them but about himself saying them. And yes aghsfa I think he would have a deep voice with a bit of a high cracking during laugh and nervousness. And he screams like a girl when startled, then coughs and screams again but now like a real man.

Blurr for me is only the friendly flirting kind of guy who does so to make people comfortable. And he will understand his interest in romance way with someone only when other close friend of his starts friendly flirting with him and Blurr will have to reconsider some of his life choises. And I just wanted Blurr to have a panic first. And find more attractive different qualities in Swerve. Please don't look at me I didn't even write it enough fluff for my liking I am holding well.

[Also Swerve added "Serving" in his name after he has read too many isekai mangas with 127 words long titles]

[rottenspawn]

Goob reader being in forsaken tho I imagine we would be good at distracting and that we would still have the grabbing ability

“I LIKE HUGS”

(CHEESEBURGER yum)

—Despite being uh particularly not the brightest you still are pretty good at support

—Killers DESPISE you from how many times you’ve taken their kill

—“Oof uhm,Elliot mind passin me a slice I don’t feel very well”Elliot request line

—“TY IMA GIVE YOU A BIG SQUEEZE AFTER THIS ONE :D”Elliot giving you pizza line

—Your maximum radius is a quarter away most likely,has to be in line of sight

—Either your using those packs from poppy playtime or your EXTREMELY stretchy there’s no inbetween

—Hoe why are you so fast(you loose 14 stam per every 2 secounds when sprint bc of ur speed)

—2nd in terms of “distraction” behind two time

—D1 Ankle breaker

—One of your eyes could be lazy and looks downwards

EXTRA

—Ix4 would write hate comments under every post you do

[cherryswisherz]

UNRAVEL ME: escape/return

♱ CONTAINS: a closer look into paige and sierra's relationship dynamic, a physically abusive marriage (this chapter contains descriptions of abuse, descriptions of bruising from abuse as well as homicidal intentions) a toxic marriage, alcoholism, forbidden feelings and an unhealthy amount of commas and parenthesis.

♱ NIYAHSPEAKS: based on this request. this is kinda ass and i'm sorry for the wait, i started a new job and ive been trynna adjust to the new schedule, but hers the new chapter and i'm working on yall requests, first one will be from @fuddsgf because gf comes first (im being forced)

"our days are numbered, wired and i'm tired of it. i know you're trying but you'll never unravel me"

unravel me (sabrina claudio, 2017)

♱♱♱♱

in Fucked Up Fairytales, megan fox writes:

Violent boy, full of rage and insecurities. Your hands are so beautiful and strong. You use them to hurt me now. Delicate bruises splayed across my jaw. I wonder what you are thinking while I cry and beg you to stop.

obviously kaylee fudd was a woman, but azzi still found herself thinking of this poem as her uber driver drove at an ungodly pace to her hotel in sicily.

she knew what was coming the moment she stepped into that room and she found it helpful that she wasn't anxious or weighed down by anticipation. she'd done this too many times to not know.

what she did feel, was fear. every time kaylee hit her, azzi wondered if that time would be the last. if that time would be the time kaylee killed her, or if that time would be the time she'd had enough and killed herself.

as the car slowed to a stop, azzi forced herself to push the beginning of the day to the back of her mind. thinking of her excertions with paige would only make what was about to happen hurt worse. and by the time she'd gotten her room key, and found room #13 azzi found herself unsuccessful.

she stood outside that door for 2 full minutes telepathically apologizing to paige for the way she left, then, after she felt her message had been delivered, she slid the card into the reader and slowly pushed the door open to collect her penance for sins she didn't quite understand.

♱

paige didn't have to take an uber to get to hotel alberi del paradiso. the restaurant that azzi had left her at was close enough to walk. and while she walked, she tried her hardest to understand.

to understand why azzi had switched up so quickly. to understand why it bothered her so much that azzi wanted to be anywhere else but with her.

there was so much about azzi that she didn't understand and she had the strongest feeling, deep in her gut, that that's what azzi wanted. azzi was hiding something.

she was hiding something, and paige wanted nothing more than to uncover the truth, but she knew it wasn't her business. she had her own shit to worry about, like her marriage.

sierra- who she hadn't heard from all day- wasn't in the hotel when paige got there. the room hadn't even been checked into and paige didn't feel like going back to the boat to get her luggage.

she honestly didn't want to call sierra, but her laziness was something she was working on. the phone didn't even finish ringing once, before sierra's whiney voice cut through.

"paigey?"

paige hated that nickname when it came from anyone besides her little brother, drew. when sierra met paige's family, she took it and ran with it.

throughout their relationship, she did alot to try and mold herself into the family. she'd adapted nicknames, looked though photobooks, planned vacations. she did so much, and yet... she never really fit.

and paige never heard the end of it. after every family excursion, sierra would whine about looks that her brothers had thrown her way, or comments her sister would make that didn't sit right on her chest.

and paige felt bad. trust that she tried to talk to drew, ryan and lauren. but she couldn't force her siblings to like her wife. she could make her parents stop with the side bar convos, or judgemental remarks to something sierra said. (even if paige agreed that sierra needed to learn the art of time and place)

but again, reader, paige loved her wife. and so yes, she did try to talk to her family about the way the treated sierra, and no, she didn't roll her eyes when she called her the nickname reserved for drew.

"hey si." paige breathed out. she was sprawled out on her hotel bed, talking to her wife, but her mind was still on azzi. "where you at?"

"i'm on the way to the hotel right now," sierra started. "i've just been going, taking pictures and st- OH!" she cut her own self off, "you'll never guess who's on the cruise!"

paige could hear the smile in sierra's voice. she didn't really care she was talking about, but she sounded so happy, that she had to feed into it.

"who, baby?"

"carter!"

carter is sierra's personal trainer. the one paige pays for every month despite the fact that she's a professional athlete who kills herself to keep in shape.

he's a really short guy, but beefy. the kinda man who would be endorsed by creatine and vape pens.

paige never really liked him, and sierra never talks about him, so she's a little confused by the pure joy in her wifes voice, but she digressed.

"oh for real?" she asked, not really interested. "ya'll been kickin it?"

"yeah, he showed me around," paige got up and went to the bathroom, putting the phone on mute, so she could piss. "apparently he vacations in sicily every summer."

paige didn't respond because.... ya know.

"heelllooo?" sierra questioned, "you still there, p?"

now, done and wiping, paige unmuted herself. "sorry, si, i was using the bathroom."

a scoff came through the line, and paige automatically knew it was boutta be some shit. "are you serious?" sierra's voice raised a little, "you're peeing while i'm talking to you?"

paige rolled her eyes in the mirror as she washed her hands. "si, i was listening i was j-"

sierra cut her off (something you'll learn is a common occurence) "no, you weren't listening because you were on the toilet."

"sierra i had to piss." paige picked the phone up, and left it on speaker, throwing it on the bed when she reached the bedroom of their suite. "what the fuck was i supposed to do?"

"you could have waited!"

"bro-" the blonde ran a hand down her face in an attempt to remove the tension growing in her forehead. "i'm not doing this right now."

"of course not,"

it was almost routine. sierra getting mad, paige getting annoyed, paige trying to nip it in the bud, sierra never letting her.

you'll read the word 'exhaust' quite a bit, reader, because that's what this marriage was.

exhausting. paige was exhausted.

but that's what she'd signed up for, right?

"you on your way or not?" she asked, desperate to get off the phone.

"yes." sierra bit out. "i am on my fucking way. be outside in 20, because your back is fucking huge and i'm not carrying it the whole way."

"fantastic."

and the paige ended the call.

♱

azzi almost doesn't recognize herself.

her swollen lip stings as she pats it with a hotel wash cloth. her eye is swelling and black and her cheekbone is bleeding.

times like this make azzi regret buying that wedding band. she was losing count of how many 'acne scars' it had caused.

she wasn't even crying, just tapping at her bleeding fac, but it was no use. the blood just kept on flowing, pouring out of her in a way that was almost symbolistic.

she sighed and threw the cloth onto the counter, limping her way out of the bathroom.

not to anyone's surprise, kaylee was passed out on the couch in the suite. she reeked. azzi could smell her from across the room as she stared at the ring.

silver. with diamonds surrounding the center and two bands of smaller ones surrounding the edges.

when azzi was picking it out, she thought it was beautiful. she'd nver thought she'd be looking at it covered by her blood.

she saw her wallet on the coffee table in front of the couch, and an idea popped into her head.

azzi wasn't known for her impulsivity. she'd always been a planner. but she was in a different country.

she was in a different country, and if she stopped sharing her location, kaylee would have no way to find her. she had enough cash to get a hotel and she could just.. stay in an air bnb until she figured out what the fuck she was gonna do.

there were air bnb's in sicily right?

azzi didn't know. she didn't know anything, honestly. she just knew she was hurting.

and she was so tired of hurting. of aching.

so with a shakey voice, she called out, "kay?"

kaylee sniffled and rolled over a little, but she didn't wake up.

that was all she needed.

azzi snatched her wallet off the table and bolted towards the door.

she ran. out of the room, out of the elevator, out of the building.

she sprinted until she realized she didn't have shoes on and her big toe was throbbing more than it had been the past few days.

then she walked. speed walked, actually, and found a hotel on google maps that was a mile away.

hotel alberi del paradiso.

freedom.

during that mile walk, azzi thought about what she was doing. she was a public figure. the state of her would be leaked to every magazine. she'd always had a special hatred for people's...

she'd never be able to play basketball again, because she knew if she returned to the states, kaylee would find her.

how would she explain to her family that she was now a resident of italy?

but it didn't matter. all of the technicalities were null and void because she was free.

she was starting at her safe haven.

not a big hotel, but a flashy one with tree's by the entrance.

it was beautiful. azzi could have cried as she teetered to the door.

but once again, she was struck across the face, only this time, it was a door, and not the woman she'd sworn her love to.

"shit- i'm so sor-" the voice sent a chill down azzi's spine and she was reminded of the other woman she'd run away from that day. "azzi?"

paige.

of. fucking. course.

paige was crouched down beside azzi, who was halfway up by then.

"i didn't mean to hit you with the..." her sentence faded off when she finally got a look at the other woman's face. "the fuck.."

azzi rose with quickness, not saying anything when she pushed past paige, but paige was quicker, grabbing the brunette by the bicep and forcing her to turn back around.

or at least she tried to.

azzi jerked out of her hand and froze like a deer in headlights.

she knew what she looked like. she was the epitome of 'battered wife' and she knew that. bare, bleeding feet. her natural hair peeking through from braids that slipped from being pulled. her face had to have swelled and brusing even more in the time it'd been since she left.

yeah... azzi knew how she looked.

but she hated the way paige looked even more than she hated herself in this moment.

she was looking at her like she was fragile, and azzi had survived too much to be fucking fragile.

so for once, she spoke her mind. "stop... looking at me like that." she had a lisp from her busted lips. "it's fine."

paige's eyebrow's shot to her hairline for just a second, before she caught herself. then, she fixed her face and took a step forward, testing the waters in a sense.

"okay-" she halted when azzi took a step away from her. "it's fine. everything gonna be fine."

her tone...

her voice was soft. and it didn't sound like she was trying to convince anyone of anything. it was like it was fact. like she truly knew that everything was going to be fine.

and that's when the tears started welling in azzi's eyes. burning like alcohol on a wound. she tried to bite her lip in an attempt to stop herself from crumbling but that hurt like a bitch, so she let the tears fall with a sharp inhale and a hiss of pain because everything was not gonna be fine.

everything was ruined, and azzi said that when her knee's buckled underneath her and she almost fell to the ground in a pathetic puddle of tears.

key word: almost.

♱

paige was there in a second, breaking her fall. and there they were. azzi trembling in this woman's arm that she hardly even knew. and the other woman, holding her and fighting off tears of her own.

and they stayed there- with passersby giving them cruel looks- azzi folded in paige's lap, for an unknown amount of minutes.

a bellhop eventually came and told them that they 'couldn't do this here' to which paige replied, 'get the fuck on somewhere'

and he did in fact, get the fuck on somewhere. and paige thought that was the end of the interruptions until a manager approached them and asked that they move.

"i mean i can't really make her move."

"i'm just asking-"

"you see she's going through something, right?"

"well, yes but-"

"it's a yes or no question." paige deadpanned.

she didn't understand why he'd thought she was gonna do anything other than allow azzi all the time she'd needed.

"do you, or do you not see she's going through something?"

"yes." the manager gave a curt nod and began fidgeting his fingers. paige was fully aware that he was just doing his job and that she and azzi's position was anything but convenient.

she also couldn't give less of a fuck about convenience in that moment.

"then give her a fucking secon-"

she was cut off by that same whiney voice, "paigey?"

"jesus fucking christ..."

"is she okay?" the way sierra said 'okay' made is abundantly clear that she didn't care about azzi's current state. she sounded less concerned than the manager who'd just told them to move.

sierra seemed... annoyed. with her face scrunched and her nose literally turned up at the scene, paige's wife seemed annoyed at an obviously hurt woman moaning in pain in the middle of a hotel entrance.

"not right now, si." paige muttered, turning her attention back to azzi, who was still a mess in her arms.

"why not right now? what the fuck is happen-"

"NOT RIGHT NOW, SIERRA."

now reader, you might remember the rules from the previous chapter, and i feel the need to say paige hadn't meant to yell. not as loudly as she did, and she didn't mean for her voice to crack the way it had, but this was ridiculous for reasons i dont think i have to explain.

"just-" she closed her eyes for a second, willing herself to whoosah. "just go to the fucking room, please?"

sierra was silent as she made her way into the building. when she was gone, the hotel manager looked like he was gonna open is mouth again and paige nipped that in the bud before he could speak.

"i'm workin on it."

and then they were alone.

paige looked down at azzi and her heart broke. she was bloody and bruised and still so beautiful.

"hey," she whispered, sliding fallen curls across the womans forehead. "we gotta get up, can you get up for me?"

azzi said nothing, but sucked in the sob she'd been about to release and that was signal enough for paige that she couldn't get up so she got up on her haunches and hooked a brown arm around her pale neck and it didn't move until they'd gotten to her hotel room.

"alright, we're gonna go to the bathroom okay?" paige's voice was soft, almost weary. "when we go in, we're gonna go to the bathroom, and you can take a shower, okay?"

"it hurts." azzi sounded scratchy.

she'd stopped crying, and moved on to silent trembling, which drove paige crazier.

she thought she'd rather hear the hurt than see it.

"what hurts?"

"every-" azzi swallowed. "thing."

"everything?" a nod. "let's go in first, yeah? then i can look at you."

when they got in, sierra was sitting with her ankles crossed, back to the headboard, scrolling on her phone. paige didn't even have time to think before,

"she can't stay here."

paige froze, gobsmacked. "bro?"

"i'm not your 'bro', i'm your wife and i say she can't sleep here." sierra sassed with a nod at azzi, who again, said nothing.

"can you wait in the bathroom for me?" paige looked to the woman b by her side and guided her to the suite bathroom.

when the door closed, paige whipped her head towards her wife. "sierra, look at her. she shouldn't be alone."

"i don't c-"

the blonde put her palm in the air, "she's staying."

"no, paaaiiiggge." sierra whined, like this was going to ruin her whole night. she rose from the bed, making her way to paige, who was beginning to get irritated.

"you s-"

"she stays, i go."

it was as if it truly wasn't her problem so she truly didn't care, "you serious right now?" paige whole face screwed up, staring at this woman, who used to have a heart of gold.

sierra was mute as she hardneding her stance, folding her arms across her chest.

clearly, the same couldn't be said today.

"then charge your room to my card."

♱

in the bathroom, azzi sat on the toilet internally yelling at herself.

she really thought she'd get away? she thought- what? she'd become italian? tan for the rest of her life and eat authentic italian dishes and forget the that she's married? that she's a public figure?

how could she be so fucking stupid?

now, she's sitting in a bathroom, listening to someone she hardly knew argue with her wife about her. because all she was in that moment was a charity case.

fuck.

she didn't stop cussing herself out when the bathroom door creeped open and paige poked her head in and spoke. azzi didn't hear what she said, until a hand wrapped around her shoulder.

"huh?" she snapped her head up.

"i said, do you wanna talk?"

did she want to talk?

it was like her brain was running behind. she'd heard what paige said, but she couldn't even begin to answer that question.

did she wanna talk?

about what?

there was so mu-

"how bout this." paige sat with her back to the wall across from the toilet. "imma ask you a question and if you wanna answer, you can and if you don't, just say that. aight?"

azzi nodded, not because she wanted to talk, but because she knew she seemed insane right then. that she looked frazzled and shell shocked and she didn't know paige enough to trust that she'd be fine helping her without an explanation.

"what hurts?" azzi wiggled her toes a little because her feet were still achey and had started to scab. "your feet?" azzi nodded and jumped a little when the blonde jumped up and took the empty bag out of the waste bin.

she turned the hot water on in the bathtub and when it was hot, she filled the bin and planted it in front of the toilet.

"soak em." azzi did.

"kaylee did that?" she wagged a finger at azzi's face. "she hit you?"

azzi didn't say anything, but she knew she'd answered when her eyes flew to paige's.

what was understood, didn't need to be said.

"she been hittin' you?" azzi hugged herself, feeling the scar under her breast beneath her clothes. "you gotta answer me, fudd." paige sighed, sliding back down the wall. "is this the first time she's hit you?"

azzi wanted to say that no, it isn't the first time. she wanted to say that all kaylee does is hit her, but she didn't. she couldn't think of the words. instead she thought of the actual first time, and how the shock hurt worst than the actual slap.

she just nodded. lying was easier than explaining that she's chosen to stay with an abuser. people tended to judge situations like hers, and though she hated being pitied, she didn't have it in her to be judged. so as far as paige had to know, yes, it was the first time kaylee hit her.

"it's the last." paige determined. "you're not going back to her. i hope you know that."

azzi's ears wanted to perk up at the idea of being rid of her wife, but her body deflated instead.

she knew better.

"i have to." she croaked out. "i always have to go back."

"you just sai-"

"the last time i tried to leave, she tried to kill me." azzi looked at paige then. her expression was readable- to say the least. "she tried to put my head in the lazy susan, but it wouldn't open wide enough so she cut me."

her eyes never left paige's.

"so i have to go back." azzi thought about getting up to right then, but she was tired, and she doubted paige would let her go anyway. "i wanna sleep."

"yeah..." paige trailed off before snapping out of whatever daze had her staring. "okay. imma get you some clothes."

♱

paige spent that night watching azzi sleep from the lounge chair across the room. her heart dropped at every twist and turn, every unconscious hiss, every crack in azzi's bones.

she paid every ounce of attention she had to the woman in her bed until the sun came up and she fell asleep.

when she woke up, azzi was gone and a note was on the coffee table in the suite's living room.

" i'm sorry about last night. i gave the linen to room service. i'll see you on the boat. thanks, fudd. "

♱TAGLIST: @patscorner @fuddsgf @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @janaelalfysblunt @kmoneymartini

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[dantes-jacket]

I’ve only wanted you

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #3! You confess to Dante and he rejects you. You two get into an argument, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, love confessions

Dante Sparda. The infamous half demon half human demon hunter. Everyone in town knows his name and his business, Devil May Cry. But you know him as a goofy guy that loves pizza and strawberry sundaes.

He is also your closet friend and your biggest crush. But you’ve taken that secret to the grave. Or well you’re trying. Every time you two hang out it comes closer and closer to being blurted out.

Would it be a bad thing if it got known? You don’t know because you can’t even begin to think what he would say or do. He’d probably think you were just joking and brush it off like he does to the waitress at the cafe. Soon you’ll probably be in her boat at this rate.

You can’t help it though, Dante is so sweet and caring. He’s also super protective about you. He acts differently around you than he does with any other girl. He’s a lot more touchy and flirty with you compared to when he’s with Lady or Trish. He also doesn’t shy away from acting that way when they are around. It’s like he wants to make something known. Maybe you do have a chance.

You’re laying in your bed looking up at the ceiling while all these thoughts run through your head. It just makes your heart hurt more and more. Keeping this secret is really hurting you. Tonight you should tell him, even if it ruins everything. The thought of losing him hurts but the pain you’re feeling now also hurts a lot. You’d rather rip the band aid off instead of hurting yourself slowly.

You get out of bed with groan and get ready to head over to Dante’s. He called you earlier asking if you wanna hang out, of course you didn’t decline because you just want to be near him.

The walk to Devil May Cry is about fifteen minutes. It’s nice because the cool breeze is helping calm yourself down. Today is the day you’re going to confess. You know it could end horribly but that isn’t going to stop you now.

When you arrive you knock and the door and it swings open revealing Dante. “Thought you were the pizza man.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh I’m sorry, I can leave if you want.” You jokingly say while turning around to “walk away”.

He laughs at your joke and grabs your hand, “Not so fast, you’re mine tonight.”

You try to control yourself from blushing so he doesn’t see his comment makes you flustered. It does send your heart racing though. You let him drag you inside and he announces the plan for tonight, “Thought we could eat some pizza and catch up.”

“Sounds like fun.” You nod along with the idea. Wonder what kind of games he has in mind.

You set your purse down and kick off your shoes and head into the kitchen. You grab two beers and bring them back to the living room. You immediately fall onto the couch letting out a sigh of relief. Dante’s couch might be worn and old but it’s comforting and warm at the same time.

Dante comes to join you but it’s stopped in his tracks when he hears a knock at the door again. He grabs the pizza and walks back over to you. “Did you even pay for that?”

“Nah I had them put it on my tab.”

“Dante you’re probably going to go even more in debt if you don’t start paying for this stuff.”

“Hey it’s fineeee. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” He opens the pizza box and instantly digs in.

You try to not blush at this comment too. He definitely didn’t mean anything by it and was just playing with you. You change the subject and ask, “How have you been?”

He swallows a massive bite then answers, “You know same old same old. Killing demons while looking like a total sexy badass.”

You slap a hand over your face and drag it down of course he had to add the last part. “Yeah, yeah. But I meant how you actually are like as Dante.”

“Oh well that’s not fun. When I’m not hunting and killing demons I do nothing but wait to hunt and kill demons. I mean I’ve had some good pizza and strawberry sundaes recently.”

You roll your eyes, this man is really dense sometimes. “We need to get you a hobby that isn’t hunting and killing demons.”

He looks at you like you were the one that killed him family in front of him, “How dare you say that!”

Great now he’s pouting. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant find something to do in your free time while you wait. You like to dance but you’ve barely done that recently. We could get you some books to read-“

“BLEH, books? Are you trying to kill me with boredom? I’d rather sit in complete silence than read a book.”

You roll your eyes at the man again, “Sometimes I really think you’re a child.”

“Hey-“

“But then I remember you are probably the furthest thing from one.” You look over to him and he’s looking at you. You have his full attention and don’t seem like you’re going to lose it any time soon.

“You’re very strong Dante, the strongest person I know. You care so much about everyone around you and carry so many burdens just so you can help them. You’d take away all the pain from everyone and carry it yourself if you could. You hold the weight of the world on your shoulders but you never complain about it. You only face the problems head on and without any hesitation.”

You let out a shaky breath and continue, “I guess that’s why I fell for you. Everything about you is so admirable that it’s hard not to fall for you. I love you Dante and have for a while.”

You hear his breath hitch and you don’t dare to look at him. You close your eyes and pray that it doesn’t end like the bad scenarios you’ve made up in your head.

“Why did you have to ruin this?”

Your eyes fly open and you snap your neck to look at him. He looks absolutely pissed. “Tell me why did you have to fucking say that?”

Now you’re confused, “What- I don’t get what you mean.”

“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TELL ME YOU LOVE ME!?” He’s standing up now and yelling. He’s never once raised his voice at you. This is a different side of him and you don’t like it one bit.

You stand up and try to stand toe to toe with him even though you know it’s probably useless. “Because keeping it a secret was hurting me! I had to tell you so it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

“I don’t fucking care! We are friends and now you had to try and cross that line.”

Now you’re mad, “Don’t act like you don’t act differently around me! You act completely different with me compared to Trish and Lady.” You argued back.

“Well I don’t see you any different from those two! You mean the exact same to me as they do, nothing more nothing less. You’re basically a work friend. I’m not interested in you that way at all.”

Work friend? That’s it? After everything you two have gone through together in the past years, he doesn’t see you as someone close to him. You freeze and bite your lip at his comment. It’s like he’s tearing out your heart and handing it right back to you.

“I’m not even a demon hunter Dante!” You yell back. You lower your head so he wouldn’t see the tears that are starting to run down your cheeks. You lower your voice, “I was wrong, you’re not a good person. You’re just a jerk.” You lift your head to look at him and you see him open his mouth just to quickly shut it.

“I guess I made another mistake in loving you. I thought you’d be at least nicer.” You walk past him and slip on your shoes. You grab your purse and open the door.

Dante can’t move. He can’t comprehend any of this. He doesn’t know how it got so bad. But he doesn’t want you to leave. Not like this. Not when he lied to you.

“Hey come on wait-“ he steps closer to you reaching his hand out to grab your hand again.

You move your hand out of his reach, “Don’t touch me.”

“Wait I-“

You look at him solemnly, “This is goodbye Dante.” You then walk out and close the door behind you. Once you’re a couple feet away you sob harder and run back to your apartment.

This went worse than you ever could have imagined. You knew there was a possibility of him rejecting you but you never knew it would end like this. You two are definitely on opposite side of a cliff, with the biggest ravine between you.

Dante begs for you to open the door again and come back. He stands and watches hopelessly. He knows you’re not going to and he’s stupid for thinking that it’s even possible.

Why did he yell at you? Why in the actual fuck would he yell at his favorite person in the whole world? Why would he yell at the woman he loves?

Dante knows why he was so quick to say no though. Everyone he’s ever loved has died or been in some kind of pain because of him. He can’t put you through that and he can’t put himself through losing someone else he loves. You told him he was super strong but he feels so weak now. He feels weak because he broke everything between you two.

His necklace starts to feel oddly heavy around his neck, great his mom is mad at him too. He grabs the necklace and looks up, “I am going to fix this mom. I’m not going to let her get away.” He promises.

While you’re running back to your apartment you run into someone. You mentally curse yourself because now you’re going to be in an awkward situation. Before you can apologize you hear two people call out your name.

You recognized those voice. Shit you gotta run. You try to get around them and mumble a sorry but your hand is suddenly grabbed.

“Why are you running from us?” Trish asked.

You turn to look at them and they freeze at your tear stained face. You hide your face and try to stop the tears. But your broken heart won’t let you. Lady looks at Trish and they silently agree to get you back to your apartment.

They walk you back while you silently cry. Lady takes your purse and grabs your keys from it to unlock your door. Once you’re inside they guide you to the couch.

You finally calm down enough to where you’re not completely sobbing. But still have some stray tears rolling down your face.

Lady now speaks up, “Okay what in the hell happened?” Trish smacks her arm. “Ow what was that for?”

Trish only glares at her, “Let her go on her own time.”

“It’s fine.” You cut the arguing duo off. You tell them what happened and you have to hold them down.

“Oh I’m going to fucking kill him. Shoot him right between the eyes,” Lady growls.

“I’m right behind you girl. Let’s go.”

“Wait stop! Just leave it. It’s already so messy between us and I don’t want the rift to grow even bigger.”

Lady rolls her eyes and questions, “How can you defend him after this? He was a total douche to you.”

“I’m not defending him. I don’t even know if I could do that. What he said hurt me more than anything ever has. But I don’t want to completely burn our bridges. He’s good at what he does and that’s helped me many times.”

Trish sighs knowing you making a good argument. But she isn’t just going to sit around and let you be upset.

“How about this, tomorrow we all go out! I’ll invite some drinking friends and we can relax together. We gotta get your mind off of this.”

“Sounds good to me,” you respond. It actually sounds awful but you know they are going to drag you out no matter what you say. So it’s better to agree than disagree and make another argument happen.

•

A couple weeks have gone by since your big argument with Dante. You two have spoken a word to each other and haven’t seen each other since. You went out with Lady and Trish the next night and it was hell.

Most of the people Trish invited were guys so they were trying to hit on you and it made you feel uneasy. One guy was really persistent though.

His name was Jackson. He was kinda nice and okay to look at. He wasn’t funny, he didn’t like to dance, he wasn’t cocky, he wasn’t Dante. You shook your head at the thought. Dante is your standard now and you can’t even change it.

The going out for drink because quite common within the past few weeks which means you see Jackson more and more. Last night he asked you out on a date. The thought of that made you sick. You didn’t want to go out on a date with him. You’re still thinking about Dante.

You wonder how he’s doing. He’s been radio silent with Trish and Lady too. Maybe he knew they’d be on your side so he just kept to himself for now. You hope he’s okay. You hope he’s eating enough and getting enough sleep. You hope he’s taking care of himself during missions and resting properly after them.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you look to see Jackson, “So is that a yes?”

Lady buts in and says yes for you. You give her a glare and she just shrugs it off. So much for no date.

Now you’re out shopping with Lady and Trish to get an outfit for the date tonight. They claimed you needed “a fresh new look for a fresh new start.” You hated every second of this. They kept handing you dress after dress to try on.

You ended up falling in love with one dress though. Of course it was red and of course it made you think of Dante. You tell them you want this dress and Trish eagerly buys it for you.

You three are walking out of the store that’s when you see him. The man you secretly have been yearning to see again. You can’t help yourself, you still love him. Even after what he said to you.

As if he senses eyes on him Dante turns and sees you three. He then quickly walks over to the group. Lady and Trish sees him approaching and goes to cover you. All he manages to get out is, “Hey.”

“Hello Dante.” Trish responds. The brave soul that’s going to go toe to toe with him.

“What are the three of you doing here?” He tries to look around the barrier they made to see you but they keep you blocked.

“We’re shopping for her date tonight. Now if you excuse us, we gotta go get her ready.”

“Date?” Dante stammers out not believing what Trish just said. She just nods and pushes you away.

Lady stays back and Dante looks at her, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No we aren’t. There’s some men out there that actually want her unlike you.”

“I WANT HER MORE THAN ANYTHING!” He snaps back.

“Then why yell at her like you did? Why say she means nothing to you?”

“Because I’m fucking afraid of losing her. The thought of it hurts so bad. I can take shots like nothing but she can’t. What if something happens to her because of me? I can’t live with that.”

“So you’d rather live without her?”

“No I want her right by my side.”

“You have to pick. You can’t say you want her then push her away. You also can expect to push her away and expect to have her.”

Lady starts to walk aways and looks over her shoulder, “She still talks and thinks about you all the time. She’s leaving at six for her date. If you want to fix this, stop her and apologize.” She then goes to catch up with you and Trish.

Dante stands there watching hopelessly again hoping you’d come back to him. But after Lady’s last comment there’s new fire that burns within him. He’s determined to get you back.

These past few weeks has been absolute hell for him. All he’s wanted to do is reach out to you. He can’t deal without your presence anymore. He misses how your laugh would fill up the quietness of Devil May Cry. He misses how the pillow on the couch you always slept on doesn’t smell like you anymore. He missing calling you and having you come over just to goof around with him.

He misses your beautiful self. He’s always thought you were eye catching. Your presence made him calm and happy. He needs you in his life again. He can’t go a minute without you anymore. Tonight he’s getting you back. He’s sure of it.

You finished getting ready and all you have to do is slip on your heels. You’re happy Lady and Trish left even though it kind of confused you. Lady whispered something in her ear and the two of them suddenly announced they are leaving. But it is peaceful because now you just get to think freely.

You slip on a pair of black heel and look at yourself in the mirror. You looked great, the red dress and heels really complement one another. You wonder what Dante would think of this dress. You shake your head trying to get the thought out. You finally got to see him today even though you didn’t get to talk to him. He looked exhausted, he must have just came from a mission.

You smack your hands against your cheeks to focus yourself. You’re going on a date with someone else tonight. You can at least be decent and not think about another man.

You hear a knock at your door and look at the clock. It’s 5:30 and you agreed to meet at the restaurant. So who on earth could be knocking?

You walk to the door and open it to be greeted with the man that hasn’t left your thoughts. You two stare at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence.

Dante swallows thickly and then murmurs, “Don’t go on the date.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“No Dante I don’t.”

“I can’t really say…”

You were happy to see him now you’re mad. You’ve had enough of this. He’s telling you not to go on the date and won’t tell you why. What is his goal here?

“Okay bye then.” You start to shut the door but he scrambles and stops you.

“Wait please don’t shut the door again. I have a feeling if it shuts again we are done.”

“What’s your goal here Dante? Are you trying to make me miserable?”

He pushes the door open so you two have no barrier between you two anymore. “Hell no. That’s honestly the last thing I want.”

“Funny, didn’t seem like you cared about that last time.”

“I know, I was a dick and shouldn’t have yelled at you. I regret it with every fiber of my being. Human and demonic side.”

“Dante, that doesn’t change what happened. You said I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“I didn’t mean it I promise. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I wish I could take it all back because I regret it all. I want to punch myself for yelling at you but most of all I hate myself for lying to you.”

You gulp at his words. You think you know where this is going and you don’t know if he’s just going to say it or if he means it. “Dante, what do you mean?”

He steps forward and raises his hands to your cheeks. Seeing that you’re not stopping him, he rests them on your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs back and forth against trying to soothe you.

“I love you. I’ve always had.”

You bite your lip and close your eyes. You are taken back to when he said he saw you as nothing more than a work friend. That you meant nothing more to him. You hear that replaying in your head over and over again.

“You said I was nothing more to you than a work friend.”

You feel him flinch and him whisper, “I know.”

“You yelled at me and said I ruined everything.”

“I know.”

“You said you weren’t interested in me.”

“I know.”

“But Dante the funny thing is even after all that, I don’t hate you. I still am in love with you.”

He sighs and hangs his in relief. “Fuck I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it all up to you. I’ll take care of you and protect you. I’ll treasure your love till the day I die. Please give me the chance to make it right.”

“I trust you Dante but you only get one chance. Don’t waste it.”

“I’m not going to fucking waste a second more.”

He dips down to connects your lips. It’s as if a switch has gone off and made everything right again. This kiss feels so perfect and warm. It’s passionate and loving, like Dante is trying to confess even more than he has.

You two break apart and you look to see your lipstick smudged on his lips. You laugh at the look. You raised your hand to his lips and wipe off the lipstick.

“Heyyyy don’t do that I wanna walk around with that.”

“You’re fine. But now I gotta cancel the date. Great Trish is going to be mad the dress didn’t get its use.”

You start to walk away but Dante pulls you back into his embrace. Your back is against his chest and he leans down and whispers into your ear, “Nah you’re going to be a no show baby, no more talking to that guy. But I’m going to take you out because I’m not wasting this sight. You look so fucking hot in red.”

@fashionloverr846

[sturnboos]

KIDNAPPED BY CHRIS PART ONE

CURRENT WARNINGS: sadistic!chris, physical abuse, mental abuse. Please read at your OWN risk

STARING: Sturniolo triplets x Delilah

I walk through the empty, cold streets, no one near by. It's nice. The rain drenching me as I walk. I've been warned about how dangerous the streets here are but I don't care. They just seem empty, all the shops have been closed for ages here, it's creepy but cool. I rather walking here then in town, there's hardly any cars by, the only weird thing that's happened to me was someone once trying to sell drugs to me. I refused. They followed me for a little then stopped.

It's beginning to get dark. I hear footsteps behind me, I turn around, no one. I turn back around. I'm just imagining things. I hear glass smash on the concrete not to far away from me. I don't turn around, I walk faster, starting to get a little scared now. I suddenly feel something hard hit me on the head causing me to fall to the ground, then I'm completely out.

Blackness.

"She's quite pretty isn't she?" I hear a mans voice.

"Indeed" another man says.

"How hard did you hit her Chris, she's been out for like 6 hours now, it's supposed to be 2 hours" Someone else says.

"Maybe she's dead" one laughs.

I try to move my arm to rub my eyes but my arms are tied behind something.

"Oh she's awake" one of the men say.

I open my eyes slowly, my head throbs. I look up at three men. One had curtain bangs, one with a mullet and last one was wearing a black ski mask as if he wanted to look more intimidating then the other too. I could only see his dark blue eyes and the tips of his fluffy hair.

"What is happening?" I whisper.

"I don't know" the one with the mask says. One of the others laugh. One walks out of the room and the other follows.

"Who the fuck are you?" I say. mask man leans down to my height of where I'm sitting. He grabs my chin and pulls it towards him.

"Didn't anyone warn you of walking around the streets" he whispers. I stare at him, he runs his thumb over my lips then pulls my bottom lip down.

"especially when your so small and pretty" he adds on. I move my leg to kick him in the crotch. He puts his knee down on my calf and puts his weight on it, I wince, "don't do that" he whispers. He moves his knee off me.

"Take off your mask" I whimper.

"if I take off my mask then I'll keep you forever" he whispers.

"where am I?" I look around the room.

"No where near anyone you know Delilah" he whispers and let's go off me.

"How do you know my name?" I ask. He shrugs and stands so I try to kick him again. He turns around and stands on my thigh, making me yelp in pain, he brings knife to my throat. "Don't do it again, I don't really want to have to kill you so early" he whispers. A tear leaves my eye. "I'm not going to hurt you Delilah" he whispers slipping the knife up my throat and pointing at my chin.

"What do you want?" My breath hitches. "I wanted to punch the shit out of you everyday until you're dead but I think I'll keep you" he whispers.

"Maybe you will get a couple punches though" he shrugs and pulls the knife away from me.

"Why me?" I ask, "because you were stupid enough to walk around the streets" he whispers. Then he stands and walks out of the room slamming the door. Tears stream out of my eyes and I bring my knees to my chest.

"How long should we keep her?" I hear the faint voice of one of the others say.

"I think we should keep her for a while then kill her, I mean, we can't keep her for to long, they'll have everyone looking for her" the other one says.

"No ones gonna find us nick" the masked one answers.

"I know, but, if we keep her, what are we gonna do, I mean, we'd have to feed her" one says.

"And thats what we'll do"

TAGLIST: @blushsturns @blahbel668 @riasturns @iloveduckssm @cl1tlover3000 @emmaweasley @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy comment here to be added

[mintyys-blog]

LOVE ME NOT | tim drake x west! reader

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: extremely self indulgent, neglectful relationship, mention of virginity loss, seeking online validation, implied sex, angst.

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission.

— © @mintyys-blog

SONG: LOVE ME NOT — RAVYN LENAE

The quiet hum of the city outside does nothing to fill the silence in her room. The glow of her laptop screen fades as she closes another tab—another sweet comment on her latest fic, another reader telling her how seen they feel. If only she could feel that in her real life. If only he could make her feel like that again.

She hasn’t messaged Tim since Monday. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the ache in her chest is starting to feel like punishment. Four days of silence, and she tells herself it’s giving him space. But deep down she knows—it’s just her trying to protect what little self-worth she has left.

The knock on her door is soft, but she doesn’t answer. It opens anyway.

“Hey,” Wally’s voice is gentle, but there’s something in it that makes her gut twist. That careful tone—he knows something.

She turns away, brushing at her face quickly. “What’s up?”

He sits beside her, eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for ghosts. “I’ve been watching you,” he says plainly. “And I’ve been trying not to say anything because… I know you’re in love with him. But I can’t stay quiet anymore.”

She freezes.

Wally sighs. “I like Tim. You know that. But I don’t like what he’s doing to you.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he raises a hand.

“No. Let me finish.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You haven’t seen him in weeks. You text him, and he leaves you on delivered until it’s convenient for him. You cry yourself to sleep, and then you wake up and still defend him.”

Her throat burns. “It’s not—he’s just… busy. He has a lot going on. I knew that before we started dating.”

“Busy people still show they care,” Wally says, voice harder now. “I’ve seen you twist yourself into knots trying to be the perfect girlfriend, afraid that if you bring up your feelings, he’ll walk away.”

She doesn’t respond. She can’t.

Wally continues, softer now. “You lost your virginity to him, and you haven’t seen him since. That’s not love, sis. That’s abandonment.”

“I don’t want to lose him,” she whispers, eyes burning. “He’s everything to me.”

“That’s the problem,” Wally says quietly. “He shouldn’t be everything. Not if it’s killing you inside.”

She lies in bed long after Wally leaves, staring at the ceiling. The silence presses in on her again.

Maybe she is overthinking. Maybe she’s needy. Clingy. Too emotional. Maybe if she were more like him—cool, calculated, independent—he’d love her better.

But then again… shouldn’t love feel like something? Like effort. Like safety. Why does it feel more like starving?

She scrolls through her phone. Her finger hovers over Tim’s contact. The chat is mostly her—little blue bubbles trying to spark warmth, dying out against the gray silence.

She types something.

“I miss you. I don’t know if you care, but I do. So much it hurts.”

She stares at it. Then deletes it. No. Not tonight.

Tonight, she lets herself feel the weight of it. Not to wallow. But to understand. She’s not wrong for needing love. She’s not broken for feeling too much.

The days feel longer now. Too long.

She scrolls through her texts again, looking for something that isn’t there—him. The little blue bubbles on her screen are cold now, like ghost conversations with someone who hasn’t really been present in weeks.

She checks his social media. He posted a story this morning—a blurry shot of coffee, tagged at some café in Gotham. She tries not to take it personally, but her stomach sinks all the same. He’s out. He has time. Just not for her.

It’s been almost a month since she saw him. Two months since they’d crossed that line—since she gave him everything. And now she wonders if that’s when it all changed.

She’s tired all the time. Her creativity has slowed to a crawl. She used to pour her emotions into her writing, but even the fanfics feel forced now, hollow, like she’s faking joy. She stares at the blinking cursor for hours, trying to feel something that isn’t dread.

Then come the thoughts:

Maybe I’m not interesting anymore. Maybe I’m too clingy. Maybe I did something wrong.

And the worst of all:

Maybe I was just convenient.

She’s curled on the couch in an oversized hoodie, fingers mindlessly scrolling through nothing on her phone when Wally enters. He hesitates in the doorway, watching her. Concern written all over his face.

“You gonna eat something today?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” she says, not looking up.

“You said that yesterday.”

She exhales hard through her nose. “I’m not starving myself. I’m just not hungry.”

He comes to sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. “It’s about Tim again, isn’t it?”

Her fingers stop scrolling. She stiffens.

“Seriously?” she says, forcing a laugh. “You’re starting this again?”

Wally’s eyes narrow slightly. “I’m not trying to start anything. I’m worried. You barely leave your room anymore. You flinch when your phone buzzes. And when it doesn’t buzz, you stare at it like someone just died.”

“That’s dramatic,” she mutters.

“So is spiraling into a depression over a guy who hasn’t made time for you in weeks.”

Her jaw tightens. “He’s busy.”

“You’re busy,” Wally shoots back. “With your writing, your friends—hell, you used to laugh all the time. Now it’s like… watching a light go out.”

Her chest burns. She pushes off the blanket and stands, arms crossing over her chest.

“You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like—loving someone who’s got a million things pulling him in different directions. He’s not perfect, Wally, but he tries.”

“Does he?” Wally says, standing now too. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the only one trying.”

She recoils like he slapped her.

“You think I don’t know how it looks?” she snaps. “You think I don’t see how pathetic I am, checking my phone every five minutes like a lovesick idiot? But I love him, okay?! I love him more than I probably should, and it’s not something I can just turn off because it hurts!”

Silence.

She wipes at her eyes, angry that she’s crying now. Angry that it’s Wally, of all people, seeing her like this.

“I’m tired,” she whispers. “I’m so tired of everyone thinking I’m just… sad and stupid. I’m not broken.”

Wally’s voice softens. “I don’t think you’re broken. I think you’re holding on to something that’s breaking you.”

She turns away. “Just leave me alone.”

He watches her for a long moment, then nods.

“I’m here when you’re ready,” he says quietly. And then he’s gone. She stands there, hugging herself, the silence pressing in again.

The moonlight cuts soft lines across her room. It’s quiet—too quiet. Her heart pounds in her chest like it knows what she’s about to do. Her phone glows in her hand. One text box open. His name at the top.

She stares at the blinking cursor, her thumbs frozen. Every version of the message has already played in her head a hundred times:

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

“I deserve more than silence.”

“You hurt me, and I can’t keep pretending you didn’t.”

Her breath catches. She scrolls up through their messages—past her unread texts, her check-ins, her “just thinking about you”s, her little photos and open invitations. Each one was her way of saying I love you without really saying it.

Most of them never got a reply.

She bites her lip hard enough to sting. Her vision blurs, tears building. She’s so tired of waiting for him to notice. Tired of feeling like a placeholder in someone else’s life. Her finger hovers over the send button. This is it. She’s going to choose herself. She’s going to— Ping. Her phone vibrates. A new message. From him.

Tim: “Hey, wanna hang out tomorrow? I miss you.”

Her heart stutters. The tears that were about to fall just… stop.

Her brain screams: Don’t do this. You were ready. You were finally ready.

But her heart—the part of her that’s been starving—lights up instantly. He misses her. He misses her.

She erases her breakup message with trembling hands and types instead:

You: “Yeah, that sounds great.”

She hits send before she can regret it.

She lays back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her chest feels tight. Not from sadness. Not from relief either. Something in between. Something like defeat. Because deep down, she knows tomorrow won’t fix anything. But God, she just wants to see him again. Even if it hurts.

She stood on his porch, heart hammering like it always did before she saw him.

For a second, she didn’t move. Just stared at the dark wood of his front door, breathing in the chill spring air and the nervous anticipation bubbling up in her chest. She hated how excited she felt. How her hands were already fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. How her lip gloss had been applied three times before she’d left the house.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Tim.

Hair a little messy, dark circles under his eyes—he looked tired, but still managed that soft, lazy smile that always made her stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said.

Her heart jumped. “Hey.”

He stepped aside, letting her in. She didn’t hesitate. The warmth of his place wrapped around her like nostalgia, like something she missed but never really had to begin with.

He closed the door and led her upstairs to his room like it was just any other day. Like no time had passed at all. Like she hadn’t spent the last month crying over him, wondering if she meant anything anymore.

His room was the same as always—clean in a distant, impersonal way. Organized chaos with papers and files, half-finished coffee on the desk, blinds half-closed to keep the sun at bay.

She sat on the edge of his bed while he moved around, tossing his phone onto the nightstand and shrugging off his jacket.

“Sorry I’ve been kind of MIA,” he said casually, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things have just been… y’know. Busy.”

She nodded, smiling too fast. “Yeah. I figured.” She didn’t ask what kept him busy. She didn’t press. Because pressing might make him pull away again—and she couldn’t bear that.

He looked at her then—really looked. And his gaze softened. “How’ve you been?” he asked, voice light, almost teasing.

The question caught her off guard. Her smile faltered, just for a second. She looked down. “I’ve… been okay.”He reached out and touched her chin, turning her face gently to meet his again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

His voice was low, almost reverent. It made her breath catch for a second. That ache she had been carrying for weeks—tight and raw in her chest—eased, just a little. Like his words reached inside her and smoothed the edges of her pain.

Her heart fluttered, desperate for the feeling to last. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a small, almost shy smile. The kind of smile she used to give him all the time. Before things changed. Before she started wondering if she was the only one still trying.

He leaned in and kissed her—soft and slow—and she melted into it like she always did. Like muscle memory. Like instinct.

His lips were familiar, and in that moment, it was so easy to pretend that everything was okay. That she was enough. That she was still his favorite place to land after long days and long nights. That he still saw her.

They fell back onto the bed together, their bodies fitting like puzzle pieces worn down by time.

Hands moved over skin. Clothes slipped away. Whispers blurred into breathless silence. And she let it happen. Because she wanted to feel close again. Wanted to believe this was real. That this was still love.

This has to mean something, she told herself as his mouth found the curve of her neck. It has to. But later, when it was quiet again, and she was curled up against him—her cheek against his chest, his arm loosely draped around her waist—something inside her cracked.

The room felt cold. His touch, once a comfort, now felt distant. Like muscle memory for him too. Something he did out of habit, not hunger. She stared at the ceiling, heart pounding—not with excitement, but with emptiness. This wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. Not after what they’d just shared. Not after she’d given him everything. Again. Her chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths. And he didn’t notice.

His breathing was even, peaceful. Like he was already asleep. Like nothing was wrong. Like nothing had ever been wrong. She blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes, swallowing hard.

The ache had returned—worse this time. Because now she knew: not even closeness could fix the distance between them. He was next to her. But she had never felt so alone.

The moment his breathing settled into something deeper, steadier, she moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

She eased herself out from under his arm like she was trying not to wake a sleeping version of her old self. The floor was cool against her bare feet as she padded toward the bathroom, the sheet wrapped around her loosely.

The light stung her eyes when she flicked it on.

She stared into the mirror again, and for the second time in weeks, she didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

Her mascara had smudged faintly under her eyes. Her lips were still slightly pink and swollen from the kisses. She looked… loved. Desired. Like she should be glowing.

But her eyes were hollow.

Tired.

She turned on the faucet to drown the sound of her breathing, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes until stars danced behind her lids.

It wasn’t that he had been cruel. Or unkind. He had said the right things—held her, touched her, kissed her like he meant it.

And maybe that was what made it worse. Because even when he gave her everything, it still didn’t feel like enough.

She wiped her eyes quickly, fixed her hair. Re-applied a little lip balm like she was smoothing cracks in a mask. Then she looked at herself again. And she forced a smile.

FLASHBACK:

It was a quiet night.

The kind of still, late-summer air that made everything feel suspended in time. The porch light cast a golden haze over the two of them as they sat on the wooden steps, knees barely touching. The cicadas hummed in the background, but she barely heard them.

She could hear her heartbeat louder than anything else.

Tim was next to her, close but not too close. Like always. Respectful. Careful. It was one of the things she loved about him early on—how he never rushed her. Never made her feel like she had to be ready before she truly was.

They had been talking about something stupid—superpowers, maybe. She didn’t even remember. All she remembered was the way the conversation had drifted into silence. A comfortable one, at first.

But then it had stretched. And when she looked at him, really looked, she found him already watching her. His expression was soft, eyes a little unreadable. Like he was trying to memorize her. She felt her breath catch. His voice broke the silence first—gentle, almost a whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. It had been months. Months of lingering glances, of hands brushing and holding on just a second too long, of late-night texts and slow-building affection. And yet, even now, he didn’t lean in without asking.

She nodded.

Barely.

And he moved in slowly—so slowly—giving her all the time in the world to change her mind.

His lips brushed hers like a secret. Feather-light. Testing, almost. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her fully—still soft, still slow, like he was savoring something sacred. She remembered the way her hands shook slightly as she clutched the edge of her sweatshirt, grounding herself. How his thumb lightly traced her jaw when he pulled back, just enough to look at her.

“Was that okay?” he asked. She had smiled so hard her cheeks hurt.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “That was… perfect.” They stayed like that for a while—heads leaning together, hands brushing, hearts wide open. And in that moment, she believed he was someone who would always handle her like she was something precious.

He was already sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone. The food she had started—some scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit—was on two plates, waiting.

She walked over, slipping into the stool beside him.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes still half-glued to his screen.

She smiled, too brightly. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

He nodded and put his phone down long enough to grab his fork.

She watched him, every little movement. Noticed how he glanced back at his phone between bites. Saw the lock screen light up every so often. Instagram. Maybe Twitter. A couple missed notifications.

Her chest tightened. He was on his phone constantly. Constantly.

So why didn’t he text her back when she said she missed him? When she asked if he was okay? When she told him she couldn’t sleep without hearing from him?

He could see her messages. He just didn’t care enough to answer. The bite of toast in her mouth turned to dust. She chewed. Swallowed. Smiled again. She wanted to scream.

But instead, she said nothing. Because if she said it—if she spoke that truth out loud—she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stay. And she wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

The city passed in a blur on the ride home. Streetlights streaked past the window like quiet stars, each one casting light on the gnawing hollowness blooming in her chest. The silence in the car wasn’t peaceful—it was loud. It echoed louder than any goodbye ever could.

Tim hadn’t even walked her out.

Just a kiss on the forehead, a distracted “Text me when you get home,” and then the door had shut behind her.

She didn’t cry this time.

She just… felt nothing. Like there was a version of her still sitting in his bed, still pretending his arms were enough. And now this version—the one in the back of the car, face blank and hands clenched in her lap—was just a ghost wearing her skin.

She peeled off her jacket slowly, letting it drop onto her chair. The soft glow of her desk lamp was the only light in the room. Her bed called to her like a tired whisper, and she sank into it without changing clothes, curling up into herself.

The tears came then—quiet, barely there. Not sobbing. Just… leaking pain.

She didn’t want to think about how cold his arms had felt. How distant his voice had sounded, even when he was right next to her. She didn’t want to feel how she felt used again—like her body was welcome, but the rest of her was inconvenient.

You’re so beautiful, he had said. But beautiful wasn’t the same as loved.

Wiping her face, she reached for her laptop. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a moment—then began to type.

A new chapter. A new world.

One where love was soft and certain. Where someone noticed the cracks in her voice when she said “I’m fine.” Where someone reached out first. Held her tighter. Chose her.

Word by word, the ache in her chest began to ease. Her inbox pinged—a comment.

“This made me cry. Your writing always hits me so deeply.”

“I wish I could hug the character. You make them feel so real.”

“Please never stop writing. Your stories are everything.”

She smiled softly, fingertips resting on the keys. Her eyes were still glassy, but a small warmth grew in her chest. At least someone cared.

At least here—in these stories, these messages, these strangers—she mattered. Here, she was seen.

It had become a ritual.

Long after everyone else had gone to bed—when the world was silent and her texts to Tim had once again gone unread—she would curl up in bed, knees drawn tight to her chest, and open her laptop. The screen’s soft light washed over her like moonlight through a window.

It was the only time she felt like herself anymore.

Her fanfic site loaded automatically—like it knew. Notifications flooded the corner of the screen: dozens of reblogs, likes, new follows, and—bless them—comments. So many comments.

She exhaled, already feeling the tension in her shoulders start to unwind.

They were still reading. Still following the slow-burn romance she updated religiously, like clockwork. In her story, the love interest never forgot the little things. They noticed when something was wrong. They asked. They held her through the heartbreak, kissed her forehead, and made stupid little jokes to make her laugh.

She clicked into the new batch of comments:

“This chapter emotionally suplexed me and I thanked it afterward. Are you a wizard???”

She laughed out loud, snorting into her sleeve. God, they were dramatic—but it made her feel warm in her chest.

“You write slow-burn like it’s a martial art. I am both devastated and in love.”

Another laugh. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye—not even sadness, just the weird mix of affection and gratitude that came with being seen by someone who only knew her through her words.

“This is so specific I know you’ve been in love before. Like painfully, hopelessly in love. Whoever hurt you, I hope they stub their toe.”

She paused, eyes lingering on that one. A soft smile touched her lips. They didn’t know how close they were to the truth.

“The way you write love… it’s like you’re inside my head. I cried. Then I reread it. Then I cried again.”

“Your dialogue is better than my real-life relationship, and I wish I was joking.”

Her heart swelled, bittersweet and full. She wasn’t invisible here. She wasn’t too much, too needy, too emotional.

Here, she was magic. Here, she was wanted. Not for her body. Not because someone felt obligated to answer her texts. Not as a placeholder or a convenience.

Just… her. Her words. Her soul. Her broken, bleeding, dreaming heart. And it was enough. Meanwhile, Tim hadn’t texted her since the day she left his place.

No follow-up. No “Did you get home okay?” Not even a reaction to her latest story update—something he used to tease her about with mock jealousy. She glanced at Instagram.

He was tagged in a story. Laughing. Some rooftop bar. His arm slung over a friend’s shoulder, smiling like life was full of sunshine and freedom. Not a single thought spared for her. Not even a shadow of her in his world. So, she opened a blank doc.

And she wrote.

She wrote the ache she couldn’t say out loud. She wrote love that burned and held and chose her. She wrote the kind of softness she only got from people with usernames and no faces. And when she hit post, and the comments rolled in like waves, she didn’t feel so hollow.

It was 3:27 a.m.

The kind of hour where the world felt still and strange. Where the silence became loud, and your heart said the things your mouth never dared to. Nothing good ever happened at this hour.

But somehow, everything made sense.

She lay on her back, tangled in the bedsheets like a ghost of herself. The ceiling above her was cracked in one corner, a detail she’d never noticed before. Funny, how heartbreak made you suddenly see everything.

Her phone rested against her palm, the screen lighting her face in a soft, tired glow. Her eyes were puffy, rimmed pink from crying earlier—but the tears had long since dried. Now there was only quiet.

Quiet… and resolve.

Her thumb hovered over Instagram. A digital world where people curated joy, cropped out pain, filtered flaws away. She wasn’t going to make a scene. No long paragraph. No sad song in her story. No cryptic quote to spark gossip.

Just… her. She tapped on her profile.

Her chest tightened the moment she saw it: the photo of her and Tim. He was pressing a kiss to her temple, and she—God, she looked so happy. So radiant. Her cheeks were lifted in the kind of smile that came from laughing too hard, from feeling too much.

That used to be her favorite photo. Now it felt like a lie. A cruel reminder of what it used to mean. Of what she used to mean.

Her heart thudded once—a low, dull ache—and she stared at it for longer than she meant to. Letting the pain wash over her. Letting it bleed through one last time.

Then, with a breath held in her chest, she changed it.

Just a simple selfie. Warm lighting. A soft smile. Barefaced. Real.

Her face. Just hers. No caption. No message. No cry for attention. Just a quiet reclaiming of her image, her narrative. Her self. Her hand trembled slightly as she hit save.

It was done.

It didn’t feel triumphant. It didn’t feel like revenge. It just… was. Like taking off shoes that never fit. Like closing the door to a room that no longer felt like home.

She exhaled slowly, thumb dragging through her feed.

Photo after photo—her hand in his, arms wrapped around each other, blurry Polaroids on late nights that felt like something permanent. Each one made her flinch a little, like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt.

It did. But not as much as before. She didn’t delete them. She wasn’t ready for that. But she began to archive. One. Then another. Then a third. Not in anger. Not in bitterness.

Just in gentle self-preservation. Like pulling thorns from her skin one by one. Tiny wounds healing, quietly, without anyone watching.

No one would notice. Not right away. There wouldn’t be messages asking what happened. There wouldn’t be drama.

But she would know. Her page was hers again. She switched apps—instinctively, her fingers opening the tab that brought her comfort: her fanfic site. Tumblr. Notifications blinked across the screen, soft little stars in the dark.

A new message waited in her inbox.

“Your writing is something I look forward to every week. Thank you for sharing your heart with us 💗💗💗 ”

Her breath hitched.

She smiled, faint and shaky, as her eyes filled again—not with grief, but with something that shimmered quieter. Gentler. Someone saw her.

Not for how she looked next to someone else. Not for what she could give, or what she withheld. But for what lived inside her.

Her words. Her pain. Her heart. She didn’t need to scream to be heard. She didn’t need to beg to be loved.

She was still here. Still writing. Still breathing. And slowly, without fanfare or ceremony, he was disappearing from her story.

Not erased. Just… rewritten. And this time, the main character was her.

[fluemsiie]

cruel world [ d. winchester ]

synopsis. you run to the bunker after getting attacked. notes. violence, bruises, flinching, getting attacked by someone — comments & rbs appreciated.

dean’s usually calm when it comes to his loved ones getting hurt, as mild as he can be. except you’re knocking on the bunker door right now, drenched because of the rain, and he’s pretty sure your red eyes means these are tears on your cheek.

most of all, you’re knocking. knocking on a thousand pound door that’s soundproof. the only way he heard you is because he was checking if he’d left his bag up there next to it, the freakin’ coincidence.

“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he shuts the heavy door behind you, the sound alone woke up half of the bunker but knowing sammy’s room is slightly deeper inside does put that worry to rest. he turns around to see you dripping onto the floor. “c’mon.” he takes your hand, running down the stairs and letting you sit on the table the way you usually do.

thank god he has his stupid robe on; he shrugs it off and tells you to unzip your hoodie. you’re shivering, looking apologetic but dean’s pretty sure if he hears an ‘i’m sorry’ he’s gonna kill you. you take it off, a shirt that barely covers your pant’s waistline underneath. you wear his robe and it instantly helps with the cold.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, a hand on your shoulder if only to help slow down your heart rate and warm you up. even as he stands between your legs, he can’t help but keep moving the robe so it’s wrapped tighter around your body. “it’s twelve am.”

“i know that,” you whisper, your teeth chattering, “i’m—”

“if you apologise, i swear to god.”

“fine, i won’t, i was nearby and i couldn’t get home so i just… i found the bunker.” which is damn near impossible unless you’ve lived in it for years like the boys did. you’ve slept over, sure, but not enough to get here in the dark and rain. if you did, it took you hours.

“what about your car?” you shrug, not looking up at him, mumbling about your phone getting soaked and changing the subject a thousand times in a second until he grabs your chin, making you look up at him. “where is it?”

“i don’t know, i don’t, some guy he, he took it and kicked me out of it—” you’re a damn good hunter, dean doesn’t doubt that if any asshole tried to mess with you, you could take him on, hell, he’s seen you do it before. he doesn’t believe you let someone highjack your car. “can i stay the night?”

“can you— yeah, of course, but tell me what happened! where’s the asshole and how did he—”

“i don’t know!” you shout and he’s a little tacken aback. “i can’t— he took everything. he took my car and keys and phone.”

“you were just talking about your phone.”

“i can’t find it! it isn’t—” you can’t breathe. because of a damn phone. dean’s eyes soften and he tries to pull you in for a hug but you shake your head, pushing him away. “i’m okay. he just took my stuff.” your huff out the last word, hardly.

dean’s patched you up after hunts. you’ve killed ghouls and vamps and yet this is the most worried he’s ever been about you. you’re not yourself. maybe you got hit with a curse, or something else happened, but this isn’t the full story.

he takes a step back, accidentally knocking the chair behind him. it almost falls over and the way you flinch makes his heartbeat pick up. something happened, he’s damn sure of it. “you can take my room.” he offers, knowing how well your respond to warmth whenever you’re scared. he’s seen you after your first vamp hunt, a little shaken, nothing even close to this, but when he offered his bed, it made you feel a hundred times better. you nod and thank him quickly before hopping off the table. he walks behind you, still unsure.

“can you—” you start, looking back at him and he doesn’t need more to pass you and walk in front of you, leading you to his room. you thank him again.

when he opens the door to his room, his bed slightly unmade since he was resting in it before looking for— right, his headphones. he never did get those.

“i’ll be at the one in-front of you, okay?” you nod. “you can shower, grab anything to wear, if you want.” he says quickly, shutting the door before you reject the idea. he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. now he doesn’t have his bed, he’s worried, and no headphones.

he’s not being creepy, he just wants to make sure you’re okay so he stands in-front of the door for a few more minutes, listens to your soft steps, something that’s always helped in hunts. when he’s sure you’re in bed, he walks into the room opposite to yours, his, whatever.

the second his head lands on the pillow, your door opens. he sighs, not even sure what’s wrong but he’s certain it won’t be faint on his chest. you knock on his open door before entering. “dean?”

“yeah, sweetheart.” he responds, not much left in his voice.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you up.” he shakes his head and looks up, his breath catching in his throat. you’re gorgeous; hair still wet, his flannel and random sweatpants a little too big on you.

“it’s okay, what’s wrong?” you don’t look like you even know so you only walk towards him until he moves so you can sit on the edge of the bed. “are you hurt somewhere?”

“no, yes, i don’t know.” your head’s all over the place and he doesn’t mean to make it worse but this is killing him. he sits up, holds onto your arms.

“i need an answer. are you hurt?”

“he hit me.” his eyebrows furrow. you take the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and dean’s entranced for two reasons. one of them is the red swollen bruise on your side. that can’t possible be okay, he’s scared to even breathe next to it, how on earth aren’t you screaming in pain.

“we need to go to a hospital—”

“i want to sleep.” you let out shakily, the shirt covering falling past your waist again. he nods, getting your point and moving further so you can slip beneath the cover. he holds you close to his body, hands primarily on your hips now that he knows you’re waist’s injured. “i was scared.” he doesn’t doubt it, you look it. “i don’t know why i was scared he’s just human and i’ve dealt with worse,” your hesitant breath, the way your words slightly slur, all break his heart to hear but he keeps his mouth shut. “i’ve dealt with angels and demons but he just— i stopped to text mum and he came out of nowhere, opened my car door and started beating me.”

dean hates that out of all the things he’s seen, human are still the thing that will forever confuse him if not scare him. “you’re safe now, angel.” he kisses the top of your head, feels the corner of his mouth tug up slightly at your soft breaths not a few seconds later.

notes !! hi i hate humans incase you haven’t noticed and they’re super mean and scary . && i’m low on ideas if you have any send them my way <3 might make a second part but not too sure .

[goodqueenaly]

Your grasp of ASOIAF is fantastic, so hopefully you can answer this. I've seen some Pate and Rosey shippers out there, and it made me uncomfortable. Am I off-base in thinking Pate's dream of buying this girl is not only not actual love but would have probably not turned out well? Or am I missing something in the AFFC Prologue?

More under the cut:

Number one, I can’t tell you or anyone else how to feel or react to a given character or plot point. I can say how I feel about characters and plot points, and I can talk about how I think the author wanted readers to react, but I can’t tell any individual reader how to experience the books. So I can only comment on how I see the Pate-Rosey situation and how I think the author wrote it.

In that context, do I personally find it disturbing that Rosey was being sold, by own her mother, into sex work, with the price based on her virginity? Of course! As a young, lowborn Westerosi girl, working at an inn with her “serving wench” mother (who may have herself engaged in some level of sex work), Rosey had extremely limited agency over either her future or her body. Think of, say, the “serving wench” by whom Robert fathered twins at Casterly Rock, or young Glendon Flowers’ sister at the Pussywillows, whose virginity was used as a means of exchange for Glendon to receive his knighthood, or girls like Bella and Lanna, destined to become sex workers in the same brothels in which they were presumably born and where their mothers still worked; these few examples (among many others) highlight the extent to which Westerosi girls and women of lower status, in similar positions to Rosey’s own, may be viewed as freely available sex agents or objects, with little or nothing in the way of other opportunities. By selling her daughter in this way, Emma had eliminated the ability - however much or little it may ever had existed - for Rosey to choose her own romantic partner or spouse, and had defined Rosey, likely long term if not forever, as a sex worker: here is a girl, according to Emma, with whom sex can be bought for the right price. 

Consequently, I think it is fair to recognize that what Pate was buying from Rosey was, at least very strictly or literally, the right to her body. Pate’s thoughts along these lines begin in the opening portion of the chapter, when Pate comforted himself that “[b]y the morrow the girl could well be his”. Most of Pate’s fond musings on Rosey focused on her physical features: “her hazel eyes”, “her budding breasts”, “the clean fresh smell of her” and “the way her hair curled behind her ears”. Rosey was, in Pate’s mind, “all he wanted in the world”, and when he finally did secure the fatal gold dragon, Pate told himself to “[r]un back to the Quill and Tankard, wake Rosey with a kiss, and tell her she belongs to you”. On the flip side, Pate could not disguise his jealousy when Rosey touched Alleras on the arm, or his fury at Lazy Leo’s casually cruel needling of him over her;  indeed, Pate’s parting words to Leo were a threat to kill Leo should he touch Rosey, a bold (if drunkenly so) vow for one who well knew the martial and dynastic advantages Leo enjoyed over him, rooted in Pate’s own desire for Rosey. 

That said, do I think the author wants us to view Pate as some sort of lascivious villain who simply viewed Rosey as a means to a sexual end? I don’t necessarily think so. Pate first thought of Rosey when he imagined sleeping “with Rosey’s arms around me”, and he promised (to himself) that he would "take her far away from Oldtown, across the Narrow Sea to one of the Free Cities” - neither aim specifically or exclusively sexual. Pate also envisioned himself and Rosey in a different future, in which he would “buy a donkey with the coin he’d saved, and he and Rosey could take turns riding it as they wandered Westeros” - again, a future which did not solely focus on sex between the two of them, and which he himself described as "enough ... so long as I had Rosey". Too, while Pate related the physical features he loved about Rosey, he also remembered a night where “she’d let him rub her feet and play with them, and he’d made up a funny tale for every toe to keep her giggling”, which seems presented as a sweet anecdote between the two rather than a malicious or cynical one on Pate’s part. Moreover, the last line of the chapter is that Pate’s “last thought was of Rosey”, recalling the trope of the dying lover thinking of his beloved in his final moments. Whether or not any given reader wants to call this situation “love”, I think Pate believed that he was in love with Rosey. (It is also possible that, because Rosey brought the alchemist to Pate, Rosey herself wanted Pate to earn the gold dragon from the alchemist to buy the right to sex with her.) 

Were Pate’s dreams with Rosey particularly practical? I would say probably not, but I would also say that we probably should not expect Pate to have had a very practical plan for the future. Indeed, this is the ironic joke of Pate the prologue character being named for Spotted Pate the pig boy of those well-loved Westerosi fables: where Spotted Pate would seem like “an empty-headed lout” but would nevertheless always triumph though his “uncouth cunning”, our Pate may have seemed like an academic (ostensibly) in the making but was in fact a fool destined to fail and be tricked in his turn. If Pate’s, well, rosy ideas of a future with Emma’s daughter seem idealistic and vague, they were the plans of a teenage all-but-failed novice without the intellect and ability to succeed as a maester, the family standing and wealth to cushion him if he failed at that, or the skills necessary to make a career (to extent any member of the smallfolk can) outside of the maesterly course - simply the rudiments of his education at the Citadel and a horror of spending the rest of his life as a domestic servant to an elderly, senile man. Pate, I think, did not know exactly how he would make it in the world, but he knew that he didn’t want to stay where and how he was and that wherever he ended up, he wanted to be there with Rosey.

[wallofchynax]

BROTHERS BEST FRIEND

Requested anonymously: 🫣…Hunter’s twenty-something year old sister reader sneaking around with his best friend Shawn? 🤭 yes i know this has been in my inbox for two months please give me peace

Bit of a shorter one this time but I made it filthy to hopefully make up for it.

tag list for shawn michaels fics:

tag list: @coffincorey @sultryfandoms @prettylittlegleek16 @dilanmoodboards @chaerityy @sparkinthedarkuk @vixenhatesyou @hbkchokeme @oldmanluvr13 @lmntl

if you want to be added to the tag list: comment or answer this.

content warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 30s), daddy kink, degradation, sex in a risky location, breeding kink.

Hunter's baby sister was off-limits.

Everyone knew it.

Shawn Michaels especially knew it, he’d been warned more than once. But rules never meant much to him, especially not when she looked at him like that. Late nights turned into stolen glances. Stolen glances turned into even filthier secrets. Now, every time Hunter leaves the room, Shawn is pulling you into a dark hallway, a supply closet, or the back seat of his car like a man possessed. You know it’s wrong. You know if your brother ever found out, he’d kill him. So why does it turn you on even more?

Hunter had made it crystal clear the first time he caught Shawn looking at you a second too long, voice low, jaw tight, that protective older brother edge turning sharp.

“She’s not a toy, Shawn. Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But Shawn never listened. Not when it came to things he wanted.

And right now, what he wanted was you, bent over the sink of a grimy backstage bathroom, panties shoved to the side, his jeans barely down his thighs as he rutted into you like he couldn’t get deep enough. His grip tightened on your hips, knuckles white as he pounded into you like the world might end if he stopped.

"Look are you," he grunted, breath hot against your ear, "All bent over for me like a fucking slut. My best friend's baby sister, begging for daddy's cock where anyone could walk in,"

You whimpered as your hands slid against the sink, but his arms were snaking around your waist to hold you right up, hold you still.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and filthy as he pounded harder, "That's it baby girl. Take it. Be good for me,"

You didn’t need to be told. You were already melting around him, slick, trembling, utterly ruined.

He chuckled, dark and hungry. “I just knew when I first saw you, all sweet and innocent, clinging onto Hunter like a lifeline that I had to have you and see what kinda slut you are,”

You clenched at the words and he felt it, of course he did.

“Ohh, you like that,” he purred, rutting in deeper, filthier. “You like knowing I’m the one corrupting you. You gonna come on Daddy’s cock, baby?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, head lolling back against his shoulder. “Please, please! Need it, Daddy—”

Shawn moaned, fucking you keeper in now as his hand went around your waist only to dip between your legs and rub tight quick circles around your clit, "Just knew Hunter's baby sister was going to be a slut with a tight pussy... he'd fucking hate me if he found out..."

You should absolutely hate his words but the constant reminder of how forbidden this was and how Hunter made you swear you wouldn't let any of his friends take advantage of you, especially Shawn, made you feel like you were doing something bad. You weren't...but...

You promised Hunter you’d stay away from guys like Shawn. Promised you weren’t dumb enough to fall for the cocky charm, the sleazy grins, the smooth-talking eyes that undressed you every time you walked in the room.

"Shouldn't be doing this..." Shawn groaned against your shoulder, by the sounds of things, close himself, "Shouldn't be fucking you like this. No condom, not a fucking care in the world but your pussy is just so sweet..."

You could only cry out in response, legs trembling from the rough angle, the way he kept hitting that perfect spot deep inside. His hand between your thighs never stopped moving, rubbing your swollen clit in tight circles, forcing your orgasm closer and closer.

“You want me to pull out?” he taunted against your neck, biting just below your ear. “Tell me now, sweetheart. Tell me not to come inside this pretty little pussy.”

Your brain screamed yes. You would get in some much trouble if it was discovered that one of your brothers friends got you knocked up but your soaking cunt begged for an entirely different thing.

"Don't" you could barely whisper, "Fuck...just... I want it. Want you to come inside of me...fuck,"

Shawn groaned loud at that, the sound echoing through the tile walls like sin.

“Fuckin’ dirty girl,” he growled, grabbing your hips tighter, thrusting harder, "You want me to fuck a baby into you right here?"

You moaned, nodding frantically as the heat inside you snapped,your orgasm tore through you with a gasp, thighs shaking, body spasming in his grip. You could hardly hold yourself upright as you felt Shawn's hands grip on you tighter. Your pussy fluttered around him, squeezing and milking him dry.

“God damn,” Shawn hissed, right behind you. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make you a mother right here in this filthy fucking bathroom,"

You felt it. You felt it when he suddenly stopped and rested his head on your shoulder, cursing out. The warmth of him, the pulse of every thick spurt deep inside of you. It was too late now. Shawn didn't pull out, he didn't even want to pull out. Just stayed pressed against your back, chest heaving, cock buried to the hilt, still twitching inside your overstimulated cunt.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than you, his voice hoarse and ragged. “You took it all, sweetheart. Every last drop.”

You were shaking, body spent and clinging to the edge of the sink like your life depended on it. Your panties were useless now, bunched at one thigh, his cum already leaking from you in slow, sticky drips.

And he still hadn’t let go. His hands slid up your slides, more gentle than they had been before, coaxing your body back against his chest as he kissed your shoulder and then your neck.

"Hunter's gonna kill me if he finds out," he breathed, nuzzling your neck, "Fuck, I just pumped a load into your and didn't even think about pulling out,"

You whimpered at the thought. Not because you were afraid, because you liked it. Liked how the words made your core throb all over again, already aching and stretched and full.

"Shawn..." you whispered, half dazed and eyes fluttering, "This is so wrong..."

He chuckled as he finally pulled out of you, letting your feel the wet slide leaving you empty. The aftermath was immediate as you felt the hot messy trail of cum slide down your thigh but not for long as Shawn caught some with his fingers and stuffed it back in you, grinning like a cat with cream.

"Too bad," he said, leaning in close behind you, hand reaching to turn your head, "Too late to back out now, baby. Might have knocked you up already,"

[mixelation]

oh yeah i saw a revenge of the sith screening. unfortunately my audience was well behaved and didn't scream memes at the movie, so i had to pay attention. here's my sizzling hot star wars takes

Remembered why I don't like Anakin: he is so whiney. I actually googled how old he was supposed to be in this film because his behavior and attitude was on par with a twelve year old and characters kept commenting on how young he was. He's 22 but personally I feel Hayden's glowering made him look much older and it really emphasized how immature and whiney he was. I do think there were several instances were the Jedi should have been more communicative with him, but at the same time he reacts like a child to almost everything, so I can also see why they took a different approach. Certainly Anakin failed to communicate he was frustrated about the lack of communication (the closest he gets is randomly apologizing to Obi-wan and saying he's frustrated, but he doesn't really articulate his particular frustrations, TBH just based on this movie, it's not particularly clear WHY becoming a master immediately is so important to him, which adds to why him bitching about it feels so whiney). Note that Palpatine's manipulations involve speaking to Anakin like he's a child.

why are Grievous's internal organs so flammable

anyone defending Padme's writing/characterization in this movie in particular is kidding themselves. I am absolutely pro headcanon-ing such that female characters get more interesting, and I'm under the impression that her writing in other pieces of media is better (her writing in the first two prequels is better, even), but please do not pretend like she was secretly well-written to be anything but Anakin's prize he smashes in a fit of jealousy. we no longer see her working in the senate-- there's only a VERY short scene of her even in the senate. she even says that "the queen probably won't let her" keep working in the senate once she has a baby (???). the closest she gets to being a sharp witted politician is when she asks anakin if HE thinks anything's wrong in the senate and expresses anxiety over if "they're on the right side," but within the context of this movie we're not shown why she thinks that and she spends 80% of the film sitting around her apartment looking pretty for anakin rather than doing anything about it. the closest she gets to agency is going off on her own to confront anakin, but narratively this is only to maneuver Obi-wan to him and then to show Anakin final "fall" by him lashing out on her.

honestly think obi-wan should have mercy killed anakin lmao, and surprised i've never seen this take? someone must have had this take. like why did he leave him. either he genuinely thought he was going to die and left him to go out in a horrible and cruel manner, or he knew there was a chance he'd live and palpatine would scoop him up. i guess he also could have hauled anakin back to the ship-- it's not like the guy was going to fight back? also wtf was this movie's stance on killing an unarmed but highly dangerous opponent. it was bad when anakin did it, but bad to stop mace windu, but obi-wan just leave anakin burning alive ????

my hottest take is that order 66 being a "brain chip" is stupid. let the clones willing kill jedi

[brain4stew]

The witches’ or Telamon’s bride, which do you desire? ( | )

I desperately need more of @angel-deadth ‘s bride reader au dude… 😞💔 I may as well continue writing from the prologue I did for that au.

Here is the prologue if you haven’t seen it already! ;

(Writers note; may be ooc, and I deeply apologise for that. The colors have some meanings by the way 😇 I’ll put them in the comments ofc).

As you sleep, you get this dream, that you cannot recall. All you see is a blur, but you can tell that something, or, someone, is trying to talk to you.

You think you questioned them, but you do not remember, as it was all a blur, and you could not hear anything. It was all just… Static.

All of a sudden, the scenery changes, it is still a blur, and the static is still there. But the scenery… Is not what you expected to see. It is like a nightmare.

You vaguely recall something, however. A glowing sword, almost entirely made out of light. But, there’s red on it. And when you blink, the one holding the sword has changed to something, someone more terrifying, as the sword too has changed.

.

.

.

You wake up in cold sweat, immediately panting for air, like it’s your last. You look at your clock on your bedside table. 3:27. You groan in frustration. You don’t want to be too exhausted to not focus more on their wedding with you!

You shift a bit in your bed, before you spot the feather from your wedding dress. You lift a brow at that, confused on why it is on your bed instead of in that plastic bag with your dress in it.

You pick up the feather carefully, you don’t notice when the feather somehow flinches at your touch. You examine the feather for a bit, before you decide to just, put it on yiur bedside table for now.

You shift in your bed again for a while, getting comfortable, and dozing off again.

.

.

.

He watches your dream, and your little so called nightmare. He finds it cute, and adorable how a mortal like you, can have him head over heels…

He watches as you’ve awoken due to the nightmare. Watching every breath you take as a way to calm yourself down. How… Interesting—

His wings flutter and a shiver runs down his spine. He blinks in shock and confusion for a moment, before he glances at you… His face flushed, as he realises why he got that sudden shiver.

“…You’re going to be the death of me I fear… My dear bride…”

He murmurs to himself, his wings fluttering from time to time, as he watches you for a while as you sleep.

.

.

.

They felt weird, a weird shiver running down their spine, as they were just checking in on the beasts. (Ik the witches don’t check up on the beasts, but this witch, does.)

Was it something horrible that happened? Couldn’t be. Did one of their creations get destroyed? No, they would’ve been notified of it somehow.

But, it did feel like… They got stabbed and killed by something, or someone…

They shrug it off, and go back to what they were previously doing.

(This was a bit short, bc I’m tired af, it’s legit 2:20 for me lol, anyway gn, I’ll prob post more for this au, idk. 🤭)

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

Can you elaborate about your perspective on AI/ChatGPT? Do you use it? I have knee-jerk negative thoughts about people who rely on it to write everything for them or who talk to it like a friend, but I don’t want to be reactionary

i don't use it and in fact have never used it for the very specific reason of i heard you had to make an account and i'm lazy lmao, so i would not say that i have a super developed perspective either way. i think some concerns about chatGPT and similar programs are pretty well-founded and of ones that i share i would say they fall into two buckets:

(1) people talking to it like a friend, as you say - on the one hand, as i've said before, i think people saying things like "chatGPT helped me more than my therapist ever did" mostly just points out that a lot of therapists are not very good at their jobs. on the other i do think that for some people in particularly vulnerable frames of mind, it absolutely can wreak absolute psychological havoc on them to interact with something that feels really human but isn't. the recent story about that kid who killed himself and also had a longstanding "relationship" with a character-based chatbot (not GPT, some other site/program/whatever) is a pretty clear worst-case scenario and while it's obviously impossible to prove he wouldn't have killed himself without it, and while in any case like this there are a lot of factors at play, i don't think it's being alarmist to note that a young, lonely person finding what they view as the deepest emotional connection in their life with a robot cannot possibly be good for their individual mental health or for their developing ability to make connections with other real people (which is ultimately related to their mental health as well). and even in situations where the "ultimate" outcome is less devastating, i think it's a pretty real possibility that someone not currently socially comfortable who interfaces a lot with e.g. chatGPT becomes less likely over time to develop the skills to forge real human relationships, because if you have an "emotional" relationship "with" something that never, ever, ever demands anything of you, it's going to feel like an uncomfortable and unwarranted friction when other people do ("demand" here being as simple as like "have a different point of view"). this is a belief i have based largely on my time working in private school where i absolutely knew kids whose parents went so out of their way to prevent them from ever feeling uncomfortable that they experienced any kind of encroachment on Whatever They Wanted as a personal affront lol. a recent reddit (iirc) thread that was making the rounds on my dash of people worried about loved ones having their delusions validated by chatgpt points to another really genuinely worrisome (IMO) scenario - one that's already "real" to some degree because you would not believe the amazingly delusional things people are saying back and forth to each other on the weirdest parts of reddit but i can totally see the relative frictionlessness of making a chatgpt account and getting as much interaction as you want (as opposed to a reddit post where maybe no one comments, you have to find a community where people are receptive to this, etc.) accelerating this/making it more common. recently actually i was on the openAI subreddit and someone there made a comment to the degree of "recently i had this really cathartic venting session with chatGPT and what it did was just reflect back at me what i had written in such a way that i had a really powerful response to it and could see it in a different light; i am an engineer and i understand that it's just pulling out what i put in front of it but it's easy for me to imagine that if i didn't have a decent understanding of how these things work it would be very hard for me to keep in mind that this isn't 'real'."

(2) education.... i don't know guys it's really grim out there. i'm pretty blackpilled on ed stuff in general but this doesn't help. and actually the specific concerns i have are pretty similar to the social concerns, which is that like... once a student has internalized how easy something "should" be it's very difficult to convince them it should be harder. this is something i've encountered a bunch in working on reading with kids/teens - there are some kids who do have the skills to read text written for the educated layperson adult (the kinds of passages the ACT uses and the SAT used to) who it's very very clear are just not used to having someone at their shoulder forcing them to work as much as they need to in order to comprehend it. i wonder a lot about what happens to those kids in college when they're reading stuff they can't read but no longer have me asking them constant comprehension questions that they need to actually do cognitive work to answer. and one of the recurring traits of poor readers in general is that they are not used to thinking as they read and don't really know how to do it. they're totally lacking in the instinct that says "wait, i zoned out this sentence, let me read it again" or "who's talking? let me read back and figure it out." assuming they don't have any major decoding problems (not always the case - but it's very possible to be a reasonably fluent decoder who still can't functionally read) they are often students who think of reading as like "saying the words in your head" without any additional cognitive effort and it's really, really, really, really hard to get them to break that habit. so, like, yeah, i think growing up with the understanding that using chatGPT et al. for schoolwork is potentially super damaging intellectually in the long run. and the students i am worried about here are also i think not prime candidates for teaching them better uses of chatGPT which as i understand it also require delayed gratification/effort on the front end, not to mention like... i think it's really different to use chatGPT as an adult who has a healthy understanding of like how to fact-check when appropriate and also a broad knowledge set that makes fact-checking more doable (even if you "know how to fact-check" it's still really hard to parse which facts are checkable if you just don't know a lot of stuff IMO), than as a child/teen of basically any age who does not have this and whose teachers are almost definitely not equipped to teach them. and actually i feel like this is the scenario where i most feel shame is appropriate in that the only prophylactic i really see is parents positively brainwashing their kids into internalizing the belief that using chatGPT for schoolwork is really really really bad, the way that one hopes at least some parents currently do for, like, cheating and plagiarism. like it has to be instilled as a value that students find viscerally abhorrent the way that parents try to convince their kids in general that school is good. that's probably my most reactionary ai related take lmao.

other than that i find a lot of AI discourse just kind of like... i dunno. logically lacking. the employment stuff, i just am no longer open to employment related arguments that don't boil down to "time for UBI." people who use it to write stuff for them, case by case basis for me. like do i really care if customer service emails that were probably already being adapted from templates are now being crafted by a robot? do i think it makes the customer service email jobs people stupid to do that? no i don't. i can't imagine caring about that at all. i'm not sure how much of your life you have spent interfacing with "emails from the average adult" but FWIW i can tell literally just by the ask you sent that you have better written communication skills than a lot of people... do i care that someone who finds it really painful to write a 3 sentence email that will come across stilted and awkward to the person reading it (which describes MANY ADULTS including SEVERAL teachers i have worked with) now uses a robot to do it? no. the one case of writing i can actually completely envision myself using chatGPT for is student reports, which in the schools i worked in were super formulaic anyway, and were also a huge pain to write for me, a person comfortable with writing, and like truly excruciating for many of my colleagues. do i think a teacher, who is already probably overworked and underpaid, inputting their observations about a student into a robot that saves them hours that they could spend on lesson planning, assessing student work, or having a fucking life outside the classroom i an idiot who doesn't deserve their job? i do not. is it concerning that the people to whom we entrust the literacy skills of the youth are often really uncomfortable with email-level writing? idk maybe but i don't see that chatGPT has any effect on that either way once you're dealing with people who already have masters' degrees. a while ago i saw someone being like "if you use chatGPT to write lesson plans you shouldn't be a teacher" and like i have some real bad news for that person about where the lesson plans of america are coming from (is chatGPT worse than dumb slop you found on teacherspayteachers? is it worse than some bullshit from the mind of lucy calkins lmao?) and also many of them are already bad and also the public school job i quit four months in was always on my ass about having a written lesson plan on my desk whenever admin dropped by even when i was working off a 165-slide deck that i had clearly spent hours on so like yes i also could have seen myself using chatGPT to appease that idiot administration so that i would have more time to (1) do my actual job and (2) sleep. (not to mention like i actually think in a best case scenario as far as what runs a successful school, teachers should be doing minimal lesson planning because they should have a good curriculum to work from, because doing actual high quality lesson planning and curriculum planning takes more time than it is physically possible to spend while also actually teaching.)

so, like, i dunno. i'm not like super pro any particular tool or pro the concept of AI in general and i think there are some real problems here (the ethical stuff wrt training corpuses is something i haven't gotten into that i do think is like bad but it's bad on a company level not on like the... concept of ai or a chatbot?) and reasonable actually quite grim concerns and yet also i find a lot of the specific complaints people make about it to be revealing in terms of the complainers' own ignorance of how the world works or else just preachy and dumb (again i literally can't imagine giving a shit that people are using robots to write professional emails when most professional emails are like already formulaic and generic and that's not even a bad thing, like i don't want william faulkner in my inbox if i'm complaining that my highlighters grew mold lmao). i also think that the fact that people now use "ai" and "chatGPT" interchangeably is bad for the discourse on all sides which is why i keep saying chatGPT (et al.) because the reality is i have no fucking idea what other AI shit is being gotten up to and i have a pretty strong suspicion that like... at least some recent AI "controversies" are about things that would have been considered completely normal 5 years ago, especially in the realm of film where i sort of doubt the line between "human using a graphics/audio program" and "ai robot" is quite as strong as people think (the brutalist accent controversy in particular strikes me as like... ok you guys cannot possibly think the same concerns about chatGPT apply to altering a few syllables of hungarian....) i don't know if that clarifies things but that's kinda what i got! you can feel free to ask for more clarification but i do not promise it will make any more sense than what i have here.

oh PS i personally would never use ai in a creative endeavor because that would destroy the whole purpose but i feel like "i don't care what people do in their free time to get their rocks off" also applies to people asking chatGPT to write them stucky fic or whatever lmao. like ok your taste is bad but ? this does not affect me at all... to some degree the idea of "if you never internalize the idea that it being hard is normal you will never develop your skills" applies here i guess but i'm not really worried about that in the context of Fandom, A Weird Goofy Thing People Do For Fun

[rmbunnie]

Okay, here's part two of my Green Arrow: Seeing Red thoughts. I'm going to be talking about the much more well-debated side of things here, and that is, of course, the Mia-Jason side of things. I don't really have a thesis for this essay of a post, besides the basic ground rule that I don't think Jason intended to kill Mia, and that's written out pretty clearly in the text. Also that the idea that Jason was lying about his history and beliefs to manipulate Mia (to what end people never really say, as similarly to the "killing her" misconception, he also wasn't trying to recruit her or really make her do anything) isn't particularly supported by anything in the storyline OR any of Jason's previous characterization, adds very little to the story except maybe peace of mind that his entire presence and everything he says aren't worth thinking over because they're just lies anyways and one contribution to a hypothetical callout post for fictional character Jason Todd that needs to be beefed up with conjecture because actual published stories about him aren't cutting it, and kind of just doesn't engage in like, the basic concept of accepting the premise of a work of fiction imo. I do love a good theory, but there's no subtext really there to support it, and the only piece of evidence is just "what if the story itself was wrong." What if he was lying? Well, then it would serve no purpose and go nowhere. What if Oliver Queen was secretly named Pete Arrows and they just didn't say it ever. What if. This is really just going to be loose thoughts on the storyline, but having said that:

I think Seeing Red coming relatively close after Heading Into The Light contextualizes the story in several really important ways: it makes Jason's actions read even less as an attempt at lethal harm with Dr. Light's actual go at killing people in mind, and it gives Mia a reason to be on high alert. Whether it was an intentional parallel or Winick just had certain scenarios he liked to default to during the mid-2000s I can't say for sure, but Heading Into The Light gives us a benchmark to compare Jason's scheme to of a sadistic villain intending permanent harm through an attack with shared elements to Jason's... thing, only implemented much more severely. And let's be clear, two things can be bad, and Dr. Light is the genuine worst. He is potentially the easiest character to ever be a better person than. but lining them up side by side? Dr. Light attacks Mia's school with full attendance, remotely mass murdering her classmates in a very methodical and near-instant pattern as a way of drawing her out. Jason shows up in her high school gym at night, when the building is empty, and attacks with the single goal of prolonging their conversation as he goads her to fight against him more and more viciously. Dr. Light actually DOES explicitly mock Mia for her HIV status, both internally (implying Ollie would be predatory towards her if he wasn't afraid of catching AIDS) and externally "(I guess hookers really are street smart and tough,") as well as making uncomfortably suggestive comments towards her ("Not quite the schoolgirl in that belly shirt. I feel like you should be in a bar with eight other girls. I could always go for some jello shots.") Jason brings up Mia's history specifically as a response/correction to "You don't know anything about me." Tactless to say the least, but not unprompted like one would expect from a taunt (and like Dr. Light's references to Mia's abuse,) and much less derogatory than "you hookers are tough." The part of his statement that reads as aggressive is centered around Mia's (alleged) unwillingness to kill, her status as a victim isn't the target of his scorn. Which, that isn’t a feat to be clear, i just don’t think he’s mocking her for her diagnosis like I see claimed. In terms of reaction: Mia usually likes to dish it out back, and when Dr. Light disparages her her knee-jerk reaction is saying he has no right be talking shit about her when he's dressed like that (to summarize.) When Jason says they're similar in background she just goes back in for another attack with a yell. Which seems like she might be more upset with Jason's reference than Dr. Light, but not like her usual response to insults.

I also think it's worthwhile to note that the gym is, up until this point in the comic, exclusively the setting where Mia came out to her entire school as being HIV positive. I wouldn't assume Jason knows that specific info, but the location already has a strong association with Mia revealing a personal secret to her peers, and it's where Jason's little chat with her, another teen sidekick, about them having similar pasts and parents goes down. It could be adding a layer of legitimacy or subtext to Jason's speech through the parallel to Mia's earnest coming-out and bid for understanding from her peers, it could be tainting Mia's reclamation of her diagnosis to have the place where her past was owned become the place where it linked her to a guy who cuts off heads -- do with it what you will. The gym is blown up at the end.

Jason actually does lie to Mia in this one, just not about himself or his past. He says that when she runs out of arrows, she knows that's gonna be it for her, and he'll be coming for her. It's technically true in the sense that she does know that, but it's ultimately an incorrect perception. Her bow breaks halfway through the fight, and Jason tosses her a pair of swords, then waits for her to get back up to keep fighting. In the end when she's pinned down, unarmed, and he's coming towards her with a knife, there's a panel of her face as she more or less accepts her fate, before it cuts to her safe outside of the building. So. He will not be getting her when she runs out of weapons. (I am so curious what happens on their end in the time between those panels, besides "he lets her go.") This also establishes a pattern of behavior consistent with his Onyx encounter, and which leads me to believe the Onyx interaction probably wouldn't have ended with him killing her either: He starts the combat with a big display of strength (kidnapping Mia/stabbing Onyx in the shoulder,) frees the opponent from it (unties Mia/dresses Onyx's wound with his special instant suturing bandaid,) insists that he's going to kill them if they fight him, and then doesn't. With Mia, he lets her go, and with Onyx, he's interrupted before she can start attacking (which he's waiting on her to do.) But applying the Mia pattern to Onyx, I do in fact think he's full of shit, and that even if Bruce hadn't shown, we can retroactively assume he would likely have had little intention of actually killing Onyx.

I just think it's fun that Mia's high school is named after Dennis O'Neil (Green Arrow/Green Lantern) and Kevin Smith.

I find it vague what Jason means when he says Mia "understands that very bad things need to be done to accomplish a great right." Obviously it's just Jason's worldview, that evil can be a tool to accomplish good outcomes, and the simple answer is him broadly saying she can relate to it, but why is he telling her? "You do [understand]" feels more personal than that, and what the "great right" actually is, in regards to what Mia is doing, seems unclear. It's a separate statement to "doing bad things just to get by" which references her/their background/s, and frames the good outcome as just surviving another day. I'm sure for Mia it reminds her of the end of City Walls, when she shot that guy because she had to take his wall/police-state curse down, but the thing is, even if she didn't like it, and had a major crisis of conscience over it, she did kill that guy. Not that Jason knows. In general, Green Arrow has much less of a revulsion to killing and death than Bruce, for whom it's nothing short of a fixation. So unless Jason just doesn't know that about Green Arrow, nor that Mia had already killed, it's a really weird point to argue. That probably is the situation, Jason just straight up does not know and is projecting his dynamic with Bruce onto a more understanding father, but it's a weird page, with the cut from him closing in on her to her safe outside, the emphasis on his dagger. Could Jason coming over to her with his dagger, taking into account the fact that she's open and he's shown to not kill her despite this, be following the pattern, shown twice in this issue alone, of him providing opponents weaponry to use against him? Was the "bad thing that needed to be done" his way of prompting her to use the dagger on him, in line with his efforts to make her shoot for his face? Probably not. It's a stretch, but then again, he did move the encounter along to the "advanced readers group" where he starts to allude to his own past and their similarities only after Mia followed up on her threat to shoot for his eye, effectively setting up a system where she "progresses" for hurting not villains or criminals, but him personally. Reading too far into this, but something about that page feels odd to me. It's just SUCH an ambiguous place to cut the scene. Anyways, whatever he way saying there, Mia seemed to be convinced.

I think the thing that bothers Mia most about the Jason interaction, by far, is that it inspired doubt in her relationship with Oliver. That, and the idea that overcoming her circumstances might not be enough to actually keep her Good, which are kind of the same thing. Mia seems to take a lot of pride in being like Oliver, and almost sees him as a uniquely good man, in her history at least. (Connor too, but he's not in the same type of caretaker/authority role.) She spends a substantial amount of time majorly upset after she finds out he cheated on Dinah, which seems somewhat charged taking into account her history, and the fact that he saved her from that politician, saved her from her abusive boyfriend, always responded appropriately to her early series crush, while every other man she interacted with only continued to perpetuate her suffering. (I see Winick's Green Arrow critiqued for having Ollie cheat, and while I absolutely don't agree with the choice to kill Joanna off in the manner that she was killed, and Winick's interview answer when asked about the choice to have Ollie cheat was that he just liked writing Oliver flawed, which is fair, I also think it serves Mia's character really well to have this kind of trial come up in her new parental relationship.) In the same issue where Jason says she's emulating her new flawed "daddy," she lies about her favorite type of pizza so she can agree with Ollie. Throughout the issue, her points of contention with Jason are less about his stance on killing and more that his claims that they're alike are incorrect, at a point where all she knows about him is that he's no longer good, and his father thinks he's trash in the gutter. Ollie will understand when push comes to shove. Ollie is unlike every other figure she looked up to who came before him, and she is unlike Jason, who attracted the wrath of his father by turning to evil. And are their situations similar? In some ways. Like I said in my mentor thoughts, Ollie is much more aware of his role as a parent than Bruce. We see his reaction to Mia killing, which is nothing like anything Bruce would even consider with the extent of his hang-up. He does share his privilege and wealth with Bruce, which Jason talks about as the root of their unwillingness to compromise in their values, while he, Mia, and people like them sometimes have to make the choice to do wrong in order to survive. (I do also think there's something to the fact that Jason comes to the conclusion that Ollie wouldn't understand Mia after pressuring both of them to opt for lethal shots on him, which Ollie abstains from and Mia gives in to, when really, there isn't a ton on the line for them to lose against him? He makes himself out to be like the benchmark of evil for a hero to use lethal force to stop, but like, there's no real threat that needs stopping in these scenarios.) Neither show up to their sidekicks' explosions in time to help them. Whether or not they're the same, (which to be clear, I don't think Mia could be put in Jason's position with Oliver as her parent,) I do think Mia assumes pre-encounter that Jason was sort of passively on the unchallenged side of good until he got sick of it, with how she says "stay on the right side of the line," and I do think it scares her, a character so centered around overcoming her past, to see that another kid started out needing to do wrong, getting the opportunity to leave that behind, and then ending up finding it necessary again of their own volition. But the idea that she might have picked the wrong person to follow again, that even if you rise above you can still end up being Jason, and even rising above can mean putting aside your past and trailing behind your new dad's convictions while your own sit latent, is probably what has her pushing him away when he tries to hug her outside.

[kathlare]

look up at the stars

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie surprises the boys by showing up unexpectedly, breaking the silence that’s hung between her and Lando since their kiss in Hawaii.

Wordcount: 3.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

August 11th, 2020 - Barcelona, Spain

The restaurant buzzed with the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a little tucked-away spot near Passeig de Gràcia the boys liked to hit when they were in Barcelona. Dark wood tables, low lighting, endless tapas. No cameras. No fans. No chaos. Just them, and dinner, and beer that always arrived too quickly and disappeared even faster.

George was halfway through a rant about tire degradation when the door creaked open.

—So then I’m like, ‘Why the fuck are we doing mediums when it’s basically lava out there?’ and my engineer goes—

—You’re kidding.— Alex leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. —No one actually believed that was a good idea?—

—Mate, they always think it’s a good idea. Until I’m sliding around like I’m in Frozen.—

Lando snorted into his glass, but he wasn’t fully there. He hadn’t been all night. His phone was face-down. He kept fidgeting with the paper napkin, folding and unfolding it like he was trying to give origami anxiety. And Max’s stupid comment from earlier was still echoing in his head.

"Maybe she’ll show up."

She wasn’t going to. She hadn’t been to a race since Hungary. She'd bailed on both Silverstones. She was probably still in Hawaii, wrapped in silk robes and poolside coconut drinks, filming fake murders and pretending she hadn’t ghosted him since... the kiss.

Fucking kiss.

Stupid, perfect, maddening kiss.

And now they were just "friends" again.

Except he wasn’t sure if they ever were. Or if he could still pretend to be.

The door creaked again.

Charles looked up. —Madre mía.—

Lando’s head snapped toward the entrance.

There she was.

Amelie.

Wearing a loose white linen button-down over a tiny black top, high-waisted jeans, her hair up in a careless bun, and her mask tugged down under her chin, already fanning herself with her phone like she’d sprinted the whole way.

—Did I miss the bread basket? Because if I did, I swear to God I’m leaving.—

For a second, nobody said anything.

George blinked. Alex blinked. Charles actually dropped his fork. Lando just stared.

She waved. —You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost.—

—Holy shit,— Alex finally said. —You’re alive.—

—Barely. Barcelona traffic is a war crime.— Amelie made her way to the table, eyes scanning for an empty chair. —Also, who chose this restaurant? There’s like five steps to get in. I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had.—

Charles stood, moving his jacket off the chair beside him. —You didn’t tell me you were coming.—

—I know. Surprise.— she grinned, and it almost reached her eyes.

Lando still hadn’t said anything.

Amelie didn’t look at him.

She sat down, grabbed a menu she definitely wasn’t going to read, and sipped the water Charles poured her like it was tequila. She hadn’t seen Lando since July. Since Hawaii. Since the kiss.

Fuck. The kiss.

He still hadn’t said anything.

—So, Hawaii, huh?— George asked, casually stabbing a croqueta with his fork like it had personally offended him. —You done filming rich white people killing each other or whatever that show is about?—

Amelie smirked, eyes flicking toward him. —That NDA says I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.—

—You bailed on both Silverstones,— Alex added, feigning betrayal as he reached for the olives. —We had a pint poured for you and everything. Just sat there. Getting warm. Dying alone.—

—Okay, Romeo, relax,— she said, chuckling softly.

Still, she could feel it—Lando’s silence. Thick. Uncomfortable. Like the way too-warm air felt after you’d been inside with the A/C blasting. Her skin prickled.

She finally looked at him.

He was already looking at her.

Of course he was.

He looked tired, in the way that meant not sleeping properly rather than just finished FP2. His curls were messier than usual, his mask tugged down and forgotten, jaw tense as he blinked at her like she wasn’t real.

—Hi,— she said, small. Barely audible over the clatter of plates and George still ranting about strategy.

Lando didn’t blink. —You didn’t tell me you were coming.—

Her heart stuttered. She shrugged, looking away too quickly. —Didn’t tell anyone.—

—That doesn’t count,— Lando said, quieter now, but it still cut through everything. —You tell me shit. Always.—

Amelie fiddled with the condensation on her water glass, nails picking at the edge. —Not always.—

—Yeah. That’s the problem.—

Charles glanced between them, brows lifting slightly like he was trying to put together a puzzle he hadn’t realized was in front of him. George and Alex, bless their clueless souls, were still talking tires and tuna tartare, oblivious to the tension thickening by the second.

—Mate, I swear, if the FIA doesn't sort that out by Spa, I'm rioting,— George muttered, tossing a napkin dramatically onto his lap.

Alex nodded along, still chewing. —It’s always Spa with you. You say that every year.—

Amelie forced a smile, but her spine was stiff. Her eyes flicked to the menu, though the words swam uselessly. Not that she was hungry. Her stomach had been twisting since she stepped out of the cab and saw the dimly lit windows of the restaurant.

Lando still hadn’t looked away.

She could feel it. Like his gaze was pressing on the side of her face, peeling back the layers she’d spent weeks building up. Since Hawaii. Since she’d told him it meant nothing, when it obviously had.

Because nothing meant something. That’s how everything between them always went.

She set the menu down.

—So, uh...— she cleared her throat, smiling a bit too wide —how’s the championship fight? Still pretending to like each other, or have the claws finally come out?

Charles scoffed. —Alex almost punched me in the sim room last week.—

—Because you brake tested me, you dickhead.—

—Boys,— George interjected, raising his glass like a white flag. —Please. Let’s not make Amelie regret coming back from her secret island cult.—

She laughed lightly, a sound she didn’t quite feel. Her hand found the edge of the table, thumb brushing the wood like grounding herself.

Lando’s voice was low when it came. —It’s been five weeks.—

She knew what he meant. Five weeks since she left Hawaii. Five weeks since she kissed him. Five weeks of pretending it didn’t happen.

—You counting?— she said without thinking, her tone flat, teasing, but also tired. Defensive.

He leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table. —You ghosted me, Ames. I think I earned the right to count.—

The name. God, it hurt. Her throat tightened.

—It wasn’t ghosting. I was working. Busy.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —Too busy to send one fucking text?—

That silenced her.

The table had gone quiet. Charles was frozen halfway to sipping his wine. George and Alex were staring now too, finally catching up. The tension was impossible to ignore.

—You two good?— George asked, brows knitted, cautiously amused.

—Peachy,— Amelie muttered, grabbing her water again.

Charles frowned. —Wait. Did something happen?—

Amelie’s heart kicked. Her grip on the glass tightened.

Lando didn’t say anything. Just exhaled sharply through his nose and looked down at his plate like it had insulted him.

Charles turned to her, expression softening. —You okay?—

She nodded too quickly. —I’m fine. Really.—

A beat. Then she laughed, trying to clear the air. —God, I forgot how intense these dinners get. Did you all make a pact to emotionally waterboard each other or...?—

Alex cracked a smile, clearly trying to steer the ship back to calmer waters. —No, that’s just George. He thinks being emotionally available makes him a better driver.—

George raised his hands in faux surrender. —You’re just mad because I cried watching Marley & Me and still qualified higher than you.—

—Bastard,— Alex mumbled, half-laughing.

Amelie played along, lips twitching into a smirk, but her eyes flicked back to Lando. He was swirling the condensation on his glass, jaw clenched. That nerve near his temple—the one she used to poke when he was stressed—was twitching.

He hadn’t touched his drink.

She knew she should say something. Crack a joke. Apologize. Explain. Anything.

But her mouth was dry, and her hands were cold, and that part of her—the one that always panicked when things got too close—was screaming at her to run.

Instead, she stayed seated.

—So, uh,— she began, tongue heavy —how’s the car?—

It was stupid. So stupid. Like asking how the weather was after a hurricane.

Lando finally looked up at her, and it wasn’t angry. Not exactly. It was worse. Disappointed. Hurt. Like she’d taken something from him he didn’t know how to ask back for.

—Fast,— he said simply.

She nodded. —That’s... good.—

Charles cleared his throat and took mercy on them all. —So, Amelie, are you back for good, or is this just a surprise pop-in before you disappear again into the Hollywood jungle?—

—Back until the end of September,— she replied, grateful for the shift. —I’ve got press, some promo stuff, a few shoots. You know. Nothing dramatic.—

George leaned in, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. —Wait. You haven't been to a race since Hungary, right? July?—

—July 19th,— Lando said without missing a beat.

Silence.

George blinked. —Weirdly specific, but okay.—

—Well, someone’s keeping receipts,— Alex muttered under his breath.

Charles gave Lando a pointed look. Then turned back to Amelie. —Why haven’t you come back? To a race, I mean.—

Amelie hesitated. She felt Lando’s stare before she saw it. Her throat bobbed. —I’ve been... busy. And it’s not exactly easy flying back and forth. Protocols. Testing. Quarantine.—

—You were in Hawaii,— George pointed out.

—Yeah,— she said. —For work.—

—And we were there too,— Alex added, sipping his drink slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. —But then you bailed on Silverstone... both times. Even with us all there. Even Callum came, and that man makes stone look warm.—

That made her crack a real smile. —Don’t drag Callum. He’s just misunderstood.—

—He once looked me dead in the eye and said “I’ll break your knees if you make her cry again.” What exactly is misunderstood about that?— George said.

Amelie shrugged. —He was in a good mood that day.—

Laughter hummed around the table again, light but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity that hadn’t quite left.

Charles tilted his head, folding his arms on the table. —So why now? What made you come tonight?—

She opened her mouth, but her answer stalled. Because what could she say? Because I missed him? Because I’m tired of pretending that kiss didn’t flip my world upside down? Because I keep dreaming about him and it scares the shit out of me?

—Because I wanted to see you guys,— she said instead, plastering on a smile.

—All of us?— Lando asked, voice quiet.

Her eyes locked on his. It was a challenge. A question with a loaded gun behind it.

She didn’t look away. —Yeah. All of you.—

The boys fell quiet again, understanding creeping in even if they didn’t have all the puzzle pieces. Lando did. He always had.

Lando suddenly pushed his chair back a little. —Be right back.—

He stood up without waiting for a response, grabbed his mask, and disappeared toward the back of the restaurant.

Amelie didn’t breathe.

No one said anything for a full beat.

—Okay...— Alex dragged out the word slowly. —So, that wasn’t weird at all.—

George snorted into his beer, but Charles was watching her now, eyes narrowed—not unkind, just perceptive. Too damn perceptive.

—Did something happen in Hawaii?— he asked, not accusing. Just curious. Just concerned.

Amelie blinked. The air felt thinner. Her pulse was loud in her ears.

She could lie. God, she could lie so easily. They’d believe her. They always did.

But she didn’t.

Not really.

Instead, she pushed her chair back.

—Gonna check on him,— she said, grabbing her own mask and standing up too fast. Her napkin hit the floor like punctuation.

No one stopped her.

She moved through the restaurant, nodding vaguely at the waiter who tried to offer her another drink, and followed the direction Lando had gone. She found him outside, behind the restaurant, near a crooked ashtray and a cracked tile wall. He was leaning back against the bricks, hands in his pockets, mask tugged back up. His eyes flicked to her as she stepped into the alley, then away just as fast.

—Thought you left,— she said quietly.

He shrugged, kicking a pebble by his sneaker. —You’d have liked that, huh?—

That stung. More than it should’ve.

—Don’t be an asshole.—

—Then don’t act like nothing happened.—

She swallowed. Her throat was dry again. —I’m not.—

—You kissed me.— His voice was low, but sharp. —You kissed me, and then told me it meant nothing. Then you vanished. Not even a “hey, sorry for ruining your whole fucking world” text.—

Amelie took a shaky breath. The alley smelled like cigarette ash and wet concrete, and the air was still too hot, pressing against her skin like guilt.

—It didn’t ruin your world,— she whispered, barely audible.

Lando laughed, bitter and breathless. —No? Because it sure as hell didn’t leave it the same.

She stepped closer, arms crossed tight over her chest like armor. —I panicked. That’s what I do. You know that.—

—Yeah,— he said, his eyes still not meeting hers. —But I thought maybe… this time would be different.

That cracked something in her chest.

—You don’t get it,— she said, voice rising despite herself. —I was terrified, Lando. You looked at me like... like I was everything. And I didn’t know how to deal with that. I didn’t want to ruin it.—

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

—You didn’t ruin it, Amelie. You walked away from it.—

The words hung there. Heavy. Final.

She didn’t realize she was crying until he stepped closer and his hand hovered near her cheek, unsure if he was still allowed.

—You think I didn’t feel it?— he asked, softer now. —You think I’d still be waiting out here if I didn’t?—

She blinked up at him, lashes damp. —Then why didn’t you call?

—Because I was trying to respect you. Give you space. I thought if you wanted to talk, you would.—

—I didn’t know how,— she admitted, a crack in her voice. —I wanted to. I tried. I wrote the text like... ten times.—

He reached out slowly, brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of his knuckle. —What did it say?—

She gave a watery laugh. —I don’t know. Something stupid. ‘Sorry I kissed you, it won’t happen again.’ Something that made it small.—

Lando shook his head. —It wasn’t small. Not to me.—

Silence stretched between them again, but it was different now. Not sharp. Not angry.

She stepped closer, so close she could smell the citrus on his skin, the familiar clean scent that clung to his hoodies.

She stepped even closer, heart thudding like a warning. Her hand brushed his wrist.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

So she did what she always did when she got scared. When it got too real. When the ground felt like it was shifting beneath her feet.

She lied.

—It didn’t mean anything,— she said, voice quiet. Flat. Practiced. —We were drunk. Jet-lagged. It was stupid. We’re just... friends. Best friends. Like we’ve always been.—

Lando didn’t flinch. But she saw it. The way his eyes dulled. Like a light going out.

He nodded once, slowly. Like she’d punched him and he was still deciding whether or not to bleed.

—Right,— he said, mouth a thin line. —Just friends.—

She forced a smile.

He didn’t smile back.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like neither of them believed her

-------------

liked by georgeginandtonic, ameliewifey, and others

f1teaofficial:🚨 THROWBACK TURNED REALITY: The Twitch Quintet is BACK?? 👀 George, Alex, Lando, Charles, and AMELIE were spotted having dinner together in Barcelona tonight — and yes, it’s her first time back at a Grand Prix weekend since Hungary 👏💥

View all 57,673 comments

lanmeliesupremacy: twitch quintet is BACK and so is my will to live → drs4dayman: @lanmeliesupremacy this dinner cured my seasonal depression → alexneedsashug: @lanmeliesupremacy group therapy but it’s just Amelie calling them out and Charles giggling

landoismylockscreen: she really said “let me just reclaim the grid real quick” → helmetkisser69: @landoismylockscreen her power is unmatched.

softlaunchcentral: they let ONE woman into the group and it became iconic again → georgeginandtonic: @sauftlaunchcentral feminism won tonight → alexsplusone: @georgeginandtonic the only woman who can out-banter all of them at once

gridgossipqueen: i know lando sat next to her. i just know → f1shipyard: @gridgossipqueen and offered her his fries even tho he said he wasn’t sharing

lanmeliecore: twitch quartet WHO?? this is a LANMELIE REUNION → landoverit: @lanmeliecore lando was smiling so hard i could hear it through the photo → daymanszn: @lanmeliecore he sat next to her on purpose don’t talk to me

georgetteed: george absolutely booked this dinner like “let’s get the band back together” → alexstan27: @gerogetteed and dragged them all in like it’s a marvel reunion → leclercslegs: @gerogetteed avengers but make it emotionally unstable and british

ameliewifey: girlies rise we’re being FED again → twitchquintet.mp4: @ameliewifey drop the group selfie pls i’m begging → landohoe44: @ameliewifey if they go live together again i’m throwing my phone in the ocean

-------------

The car was silent.

Not just quiet. Not just low-music, city-night ambiance. It was dead silent—so thick with unspoken words that the air inside felt heavier than the Barcelona humidity outside. The only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional squeak of the brakes, and the click of Lando’s blinker as he turned onto another side street.

Amelie sat curled in the passenger seat, one leg folded under her, staring out the window like the answer to all their problems might be written on a billboard or whispered by the passing buildings. Her fingers picked absently at the edge of her sleeve. She hadn’t said anything since they walked out of the restaurant. Not one word.

Neither had Lando.

His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles pale. He was driving slower than usual, like he didn’t really want to get where he was going.

Her hotel. That was the plan. Drop her off. Say goodbye. Pretend they hadn’t spent the last two hours pulling every unhealed wound between them into the open air like it wouldn’t bleed all over the pavement.

But halfway there, something in him snapped.

He didn’t even decide. He just did it.

Took a different turn.

Didn’t say a word.

Amelie noticed, of course. Her head turned slightly, eyes narrowing, watching the unfamiliar path unfold.

—You missed the turn,— she murmured.

Lando didn’t answer.

Another turn. Narrower street. Then the road widened again, the city falling quieter as they pulled up near the fountains. The Plaça de Carles Buïgas. Empty at this hour, glowing under the soft city lights, quiet like it knew how many people needed silence and space more than noise and neon.

He parked. Killed the engine.

Amelie stared at him. —What are we doing?—

He finally looked at her, expression unreadable but so open in a way that made her chest ache.

—Come on,— he said. —Just… come with me.—

She hesitated. Then nodded.

They didn’t speak as they walked. The plaza was quiet, the distant trickle of water from the fountains the only sound beside their footsteps. A faint breeze tugged at Amelie’s bun, loosening a few strands. She didn’t bother fixing them.

They reached a bench tucked beneath a tree. Lando sat first, elbows on his knees, looking straight ahead at the dark sky above Montjuïc.

She sat beside him.

Silence stretched again—but it was different now. Softer. Less like punishment, more like a held breath.

After a long beat, Amelie leaned sideways and let her head rest on his shoulder.

Lando didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just let her stay there.

And she didn’t know why it took her so long to say it. Maybe because saying it out loud made it real. Maybe because if she said it, and he didn’t say it back, the little thread holding her together would snap.

But she said it anyway.

—Lando... I don’t want to lose you.—

His breath hitched, barely perceptible, but she felt it against her cheek.

He turned his head slightly, resting it gently on hers.

—You won’t,— he said, quiet but certain. —You’ll never lose me, Ames.—

Her eyes closed. She believed him. She wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

They sat like that for a while, shoulders pressed together, watching the stars peek through the clouds like shy confessions neither of them had the courage to speak.

And for once, silence wasn’t something to be afraid of. It was a promise.

[nikethestatue]

do you think it’s possible that BB is removing comments on insta? i keep seeing so many people in the elain tag mentioning that people are still trying to fight with BB in the comments on the updated bracket about who killed hybern, but i went to check and i only saw one?

and this isn’t me saying elain fans are lying, bc i saw firsthand the craziness on the og bracket post. but this is why i wonder if they’re deleting comments bc they’re just over it. if that’s true, could it be a hint that BB will not take elain slander anymore??

Maybe? But I saw one eriel comment with like 18 responses where a person kept arguing about who killed the king.

There are definitely some there.

I feel like some GAs are less engaged now because they have nothing left in the brackets. The desperate ones are still there but otherwise I think it’s just Olympic sized seething.

[lytkinlicker]

give me a whole personality analysis on nikita twin

OH HELL YEAH!!!

Nikita —

If i had to sum nikita up in one sentence, I'd say he was "a good person who was failed by life and the people around him."

Nikita had skills, talents, and passion for the things he did. He wrote and sang (or more like screamed) music, was an artist (i hope we get to see his art some day) and a good and loyal friend

"Stop acting like he was an angel!" i hear the crowd say, "he killed people and didn't regret it!"

to you, i say, im talking about nikita, not fuckinneffor.

I am a true believer in the theory that fuckineffor- the alias he made music under, as well as his accounts on social media- was his alter ego made as a coping mechanism to mask his more vulnerable traits, and also a source to vent through. Nikita is seen describing fuckineffor in a bad light, basically talking bad about himself.

Nikita was doomed from the beginning, his family a mess, his mental state a mess, he had no one at his side throughout his entire life and he died the same way. Personally, I'm glad he's out of his misery. He knew artyom was taking advantage of him, as stated to his mother, "if only you knew what kind of friend he was" (not the direct quote, but very close) The only friend he had was mentally abusive towards him and he still stuck with him because it was the closest he could feel to being loved and seen.

Nikita's relationship with Artyom —

Personally, i dont believe Artyom's abuse was physical. I could see them getting into fights every now and then, but never just artyom hitting him purely because he felt like it. Personally, i believe nikita was groomed into committing the murders. There are multiple signs of this. I ask you to have an open mind, grooming doesn't have to mean that they were actually gay and in love. It means that Artyom took advantage of his vulnerability and trust, artyom was the only person he felt he could trust with his deepest thoughts, and he took advantage of them and promoted his violent behaviors, and then blamed it all on him when they got caught. Another sign that nikita was groomed was the way he would continuously make attempts to be resentenced to life in prison so he could be in the same colony as Artyom, even though their relationship was horrid.

I find it absolutely disgusting that Artyom was in the process of getting married while Nikita was being raped and beaten every day in his prison colony. How does he live with himself? I guess if you can kill, you can manipulate and groom too. The only person I'd trust information about their relationship from, is nikita himself, and we all know that wont be a possibility anymore. I could see artyom lying about their dynamic to make himself look better, seeing as he already has

If you dont agree with my theory, that's okay. All i ask is that you leave genuine and respectful constructive criticism with evidence to back it up rather than mindless hate comments.