#and an inability to do it is just laziness or whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

Note

OMG IM A FAN OF YOUR WRITING IF DMC

i was wondering,if u wanted, could u do a Dante x user,cuddles? simple as that just cuddles with Dante :3

thanks in advance

it was a lazy day, at least according to Dante, no missions which meant he could do whatever suits his fancy; today's agenda? cuddling with you in your shared bed that was the least comfortable thing in existence, but that didn't matter much when all your vision allowed you to see was the white haired half demon with the -sometime- tenancies of an overgrown cat.

An overly affectionate cat with how he was hellbent in keeping you within the confinds of the bed, whining whenever you even made a slight shift beneath him, tightening his grip on you and burrying his face deeper into your neck as he made a noise of content; a noise that might as well have been a deep purr when you began to run your fingers through his hair.

'You ever thought about out growing your hair?' you asked softly as your fingers trap a couple of strands of his white locks, holding it there for a few seconds before letting them fall back to where they were.

'no,' came Dante's voice, muffled from your neck and sluggish from sleep, 'why? you like guys with long hair or?'

you laughed, kissing the side of his head. 'no, just you really, only if you were to ever do so though.' that was another thing you loved about Dante. He was more then willing to indulge in your most stupidist, most sleep deprived of thoughts and delve into conversation, as though they were the most insightful things to ever happen between the two of you.

Dante hums as though in thought, his mind half awake and just as lazy as he was in this moment and finding no reason to leave when everything he could possibly want was right where he wanted, within his arms making not so sutble mentions on how he should grow his hair out for whatever reason. 'i'll think about it if it means i keep being the apple of your eye sweetheart.' He kisses your shoulder, tightening his hold on your waist as his legs interlock with your, leeching off of your warmth as if he didn't have ten times your warmth as well as being a six foot something demon hunter.

'You'll always be the apple of my eye doffus.' you began as you moved from caressing his hair to rubbing his broad back, feeling him melting further into you, purring softly it made you smile. 'Tell me who else would indulge me in the debate of why orange is the name of both fruit and colour late at night when we should really be asleep instead.' you added as you press another kiss to the side of his head, wanting to get rid of the thoughts floating within his head, reminding him that you weren't going away so easily as his mind makes him think you will.

You were here for the long run alongside your beautiful and golden hearted Dante.

'That's true,' Dante groans as he lifts his head begrudingly to look at you with softened blue eyes acompanied with a tired but content smile, 'we still need to finish that debate by the way, you fell asleep halfway through your own argument.' He laughs at the memory of you suddenly stopping half way through your sentance, only to look down on his chest and see that you were fast asleep, inable to finish your statment; and while Dante was sitting on his own statement on the matter but you were adorable, so he let it slide and fell asleep afterwards.

You rest your forehead against his, nudging his nose with yours, never having felt happier then you had in the time you have been with Dante. 'i did didn't i.' you said softly.

'You did but don't expect me to allow such a thing to happen again when adressing something so serious.' Dante joked as he stole a kiss from your lips before burrowing his head back into your neck where he pressed a kiss there out of habbit, breathing you in deeply as though he was trying to keep you within his mind even as he fell asleep.

'i'll keep that in mind the next time we debate how did someone know left is left and right is right.' You replied, resting your head atop of his and closing your eyes as sleep began to lull you into drifting off, but you tightened your hold on Dante as though he would slip through your fingers. So you made sure you were gripping the back of his shirt as you fell asleep, knowing he'll be there when you awake, real and living and breathing.

'then i shall bring my best arguments sweetheart.' Dante murmurs, feeling your fingers grip his shirt and pulls you in closer to his chest in hopes to calm your mind, all the while calming his own by squeezing your waist and nose the side of your neck as reminders that not everything in life will go against him; somethings were meant for him without any catches or conditions that were nedded to be met. He could be himself -whether it's him cracking jokes or him confessing his worst fears- without fear of judgment or worry that you wouldn't accept him, but he was gladly proven wrong when you held his face while in his devil form and saying; 'you're the most beautiful being i have ever seen.'

'wrong,' Dante said to no one in particular as he got comfortable for sleep by somehow cudding further into you then he already was, 'you're the most beautiful being i have ever seen. thank you for blessing my life like my own personal angel sweetheart, you really did save me.'

#dmc x reader #dmc imagine #dmc imagines #dmc fanfiction #dmc x you #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry imagine #devil may cry imagines #devil may cry x you #dante sparda x reader #dante imagines #dante imagine #dante x reader #dante x you #dante sparda imagine #dante sparda imagines

349 notes · View notes

pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 11 months ago

Text

When They Accidentally Bring Up an Insecurity| Minho

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

You were used to Minho's bluntness. His words often came out sharper than he intended, but you loved him for his honesty and straightforward nature. Yet, there was one aspect of yourself you were always sensitive about: your disorganization. It wasn't that you didn't try to be tidy, but somehow, clutter always found a way to surround you.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon when the incident happened. Minho had come over to your apartment to spend the day with you, as he often did. You were in the kitchen, trying to find the lid for a Tupperware container amidst the chaos of mismatched containers and lids. Minho was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone, when he glanced up and took in the scene before him.

"Seriously, how do you live like this?" he said, his tone carrying more frustration than he intended. "It's a miracle you can find anything in this mess." He sighed and put his phone down, with the intention of getting up and helping you find the lid, but instead you dumped the contents of the container down the disposal.

"It won't stay good anyways." You say, playing off the hurt you felt.

You had always been self-conscious about your inability to keep things organized, and hearing Minho point it out so bluntly stung deeply. You bit your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay as you continued to search for the lid.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just not good at keeping things tidy." You placed the container in the sink before making your way to your room, not sparing another glance at Minho.

Minho's eyes widened as he realized what he had said. He hadn't meant to hurt you; it was just his way of expressing concern. But the look on your face told him that his words had cut deeper than he had anticipated.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," he called out, getting up from his seat and walking over to you. "I just… I worry about you, you know? I don't want you to get stressed out because you can't find things."

But the damage was done. You felt a lump forming in your throat, and despite your best efforts, a tear slipped down your cheek. Minho reached out to wipe it away, his expression softening.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice gentler this time. "I know it's not easy for you. I shouldn't have said it like that."

You nodded, appreciating his attempt to make amends, but the hurt still lingered. You loved Minho, but sometimes his harsh words made you feel inadequate and small.

"I'm kind of tired Minho. I think I'm gonna take a nap. Can we rain check?" You asked meekly, afraid if you spoke any louder tears would start to spill.

"Y/N..." You took a breath and opened your room door. You turned your head slightly as a goodbye and closed the door behind you.

You spent the majority of the day in your room. You genuinely had fallen asleep after a while, and when you opened your eyes, it was five in the evening. You groaned, since you had wasted six hours of your day. You got up and when you opened your door you were surprised to smell bleach and other chemicals. But the closer you made your way to the kitchen the more that chemical smell turned into a food smell.

You were very quick to recognize the backside of whoever was hunched over the stove.

Minho seemed to have had a six sense for your gaze - (you hated to admit but whenever his back was to you, the temptation to trail your eyes down there was just to hard to resist) and turned with a small and tentative smirk.

"Ya, jagiya...you know my eyes are up here..." His laughter didn't reach his eyes. You looked tired, and he hated that you wasted the day alone and instead of with him because he had to go and put his foot in his mouth about one of your biggest insecurites.

He turned whatever was on the stove down to a simmer and walked towards you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft.

You hesitated, not wanting to reopen the wound from earlier but knowing that you couldn't ignore the issue or it'd get worse. "It's just… what you said. It really hurt, Minho."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I never want to hurt you. I guess I just don't always think before I speak."

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "I know you don't mean to be harsh, but it still affects me. I've always struggled with being organized, and hearing you criticize it makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Minho reached out, taking your hand in his. "You're more than good enough. I'm the one who needs to be more careful with my words. I love you, and I want to support you, not make you feel worse."

He took a breath. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not one to typically apologize when we argue, and our dynamic is just showering each other with affection after we get upset, but this time I want to say it so you genuinely know that I'm gonna try and fix myself."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of relief. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he held you close. "I love you too," you whispered, feeling the tension begin to melt away. "But just because you don't say the words doesn't mean you're not sorry. I know you are and I'm sorry I'm so messy. It probably stresses you out considering you come here for a break from all the chaos yet you see it in material form." You joke, Minho's mood easing lightly. "I clean all day tomorrow."

"You don't have to jagi...I cleaned up while you were asleep to say sorry.." He said nervously. "And I cooked us dinner, and dessert for a movie marathon?" He propsed. "And bought some wine..."

You smiled at your boyfriend, as he waited for the words.

"You're forgiven Minho." You say placing a kiss on his lips. "The apartment looks beautiful by the way. I'll try my best to maintain it. But...I may need a little help." You move your lips closer to his with a smile. He gives you a sultry look and a hearty chuckle as he kisses you this time, his lips moving along yours slowly.

"I think a helper could be arranged." He murmured against your lips. "I don't think the guys will miss me all that much if I moved in. They'll still see me everyday at practice."

"So...I take that as a yes?"

"Well if that was your way of asking me to move in than yes."

From that day on, Minho made a conscious effort to be more mindful of his words. He helped you organize your things without judgment, turning it into a fun activity that you could do together rather than a chore. He was also learning to appreciate your unique way of doing things, realizing that it was part of what made you who you were.

You, in turn, felt more comfortable opening up to him about your struggles. You explained how your mind worked, how you often felt overwhelmed by the chaos but didn't know where to start. Minho listened patiently, offering his support and understanding.

One evening, as you were both sitting on the floor of your now shared living room, sorting through a pile of old magazines, Minho looked at you with a soft smile. "You know, I think your messiness is kind of charming," he said.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Sure, it is."

"No, really," he insisted. "It's part of what makes you, you. And I love every part of you, even the messy ones."

You felt your heart swell with affection for him. Minho's words, once harsh and hurtful, had become a source of comfort and reassurance. You realized that his bluntness came from a place of love and concern, and that he was learning to express it in a way that didn't hurt you.

The incident that had once caused a deep but temporary pain became a distant memory.

For the most part-

"Appa! Nae sinbal eodigass-eo?" You groaned as you were changing your son's diaper. "Appa, jeodeul-eun eodie issnayo?" Your first born asked from down the hall.

Minho was rushing around your two daughters' room.

"Baby, have you seen Mi-Ae's shoes she's asking you if you know where they are. But I have to finish changing Ryung's diaper and then go help Bora look for her bear. She left it on the table and now she can't find it, and refuses to go to daycare without it."

"I'm in the middle of looking for Bora's shoes. She threw a fit because she doesn't want to wear her sneakers." Minho looked around the disorganized room as you joined in too, putting Ryung in the playpen and starting to pick things up from the ground.

"Girls! When you get home I expect you to help your father and I pick up this room, its messy. You don't want to live in a messy house do you? I know your father doesn't."

Minho chuckled as he picked up a scruffed up bear and two shoes that belonged to two different girls. You had the other two in your hands.

"But what if I do?" He asked, smiling a little, his nose scrunching up.

"What if you do what?"

"Want to live in a messy house."

"Babe, you hate being disorganized."

He smiles, pulling you closer to him. "I think it's grown on me." He mumbles leaning into kiss you but instead you feel a small but mighty force hit your legs.

"Appa! We're gonna be late! We're watching a movie at school today I can't be late." Mi-Ae exclaims, flailing her hands like the world is ending. Bora waddles in too, immediately reaching for Minho to pick her up.

He scoops up one daughter in each arm. "Hmmph- okay lets go." He leans in to give you a kiss. "I'll see you after work jagiya." He says as your daughters make disgusted noises, and Ryung starts blabbering.

You smile as you watch him walk out with both of your daughters leaning on him. And break out laughing as you hear Bora's faint voice. Your heart swelling with extreme happiness.

"Appa, why is it so messy?"

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel

#skz imagines #skz stay #stray kids reactions #lee minho #skz minho #skz fluff #skz angst #minho fluff

711 notes · View notes

radioactiverats · 5 months ago

Text

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (2/?)

Continuing to mash up all the timelines. In my mind, this version of Starscream and Megatron are like in the immediate aftermath of TF One, where Starscream is clearly the older and more experienced one but everyone witnesses Megatron's transformation into a very warped and corrupted version of himself as he comes to terms with his newfound power, then asserting his dominance through violence. At the same time, we've somehow timeskipped to fighting the autobots on earth. These are just a bunch of very messy and self-indulgent thoughts, but I am recently exploding with this idea about Starscream and need to get all of them out bit by bit sksksk. Thank you all for reading and for the encouragement!!

@dratchetsimp this is for you!!

It's painful to watch the pressure mount on Starscream by the day as Megatron's anger grows. Once upon a time, you might have agreed with him - you, like many others, felt betrayed by Sentinel and wanted to see Cybertron rebuilt. But over time, Megatron loses himself to the insanity of plotting and revenge. You'd heard that he'd gone by D-16, once. You wonder what that bot was like, before shaking your helm to remind yourself that no matter who he was, D-16 was gone and there was no use lingering over such thoughts.

Starscream barely recharges - you used recharge stiff and upright in the barracks amongst the other low-ranking decepticons - but Starscream had somehow pulled a few strings to allow you to share his habsuite. He doesn't divulge the details, deliberately evasive - but you've managed to piece together the gist of it.

"It's admirable how loyal your pet is, Starscream," Megatron sneered. "Impressive given that I cannot expect the same from you."

Starscream had taken all of it - the insults, the humiliation, with clenched servos and wings trembling with rage. But in the end, it had been worth it, because Megatron finally dismissed him with a lazy wave of his servos with permission to do whatever he wished with you.

As bots in the barracks milled around, preparing for recharge, you hadn't realised that the chatter around you had petered off into unsettled silence until Starscream barked your designation, curt and commanding.

"With me," he commanded, and abruptly stalked out of the barracks before even waiting to see if you would follow (of course you would).

The whispers of the others fell on deaf audials as you hurried out of the barracks to chase after Starscream - you fall into step behind him as he leads you to some part of the base that you've never seen before. You pass door after door, and it soon dawns on you that these are the officers' habsuites.

"Sir...?"

Starscream doesn't deign to answer you, instead coming to an abrupt stop in front of one of the rooms. The suspicion as to where he was taking you had taken hold, but you had scarcely dared to believe it. Yet, the door to Starscream's habsuite whooshes open, leaving you with the inability to deny your suspicions any longer.

"You are to recharge here, now," Starscream says curtly. "Do not return to the barracks unless ordered. Is that clear?"

You can only nod, shocked by the turn of events. Your old sleeping arrangements hadn't been that dire. That is, if you didn't count the filth, the sounds of snoring, fighting, fragging - and bolting awake from your nightmares only to have some other bot yell at you to keep it down. Okay. Maybe it wasn't great. But did he really care that much?

As your processor works to digest your newfound situation, Starscream promptly flings himself down onto the berth. "Well?" he says, with an irritable growl. "Are your pedes rooted to the ground, or are you going to recharge?"

You're startled back into motion, tentatively approaching the berth before clumsily attempting to maneuver yourself into a position where you won't touch Starscream. It's awkward, to say the least, lying next to your commanding officer like this. To make matters worse, Starscream's habsuite runs cold - and you are becoming increasingly aware of your smaller frame's inability to conserve heat. Starscream must have picked up on the small tremors of your frame (he'd been lying awake the whole time to carefully gauge your responses), because all of a sudden, your commander's handsome faceplate is right in front of yours, and you squeal as you find yourself yanked closer to him, right up against his chassis.

"Pathetic," Starscream snarls, even as he's carefully tucking you against him. "How are you going to fend for yourself when you can't even fend against the cold?" Against your better judgement, you snuggle closer, gratefully taking in the much-needed warmth of his frame. Even if his words are harsh, the gentle way he cradles you against him betrays his true intentions.

"Recharge," he orders, and you, like the good soldier you are, promptly obey.

Which is why, after settling into a routine in his habsuite, you are very aware of just how little Starscream recharges. He's always at his desk, viciously muttering something or other over a towering stack of datapads. His frame is tense, as well - plates drawn tight around him defensively, wings constantly hitched up with the amount of stress he's under. You've tried to persuade him to recharge, but he simply snarls and waves you away. The most that he will accept is the energon you bring him. These days, it's a challenge to find any empty space on his desk to set the cubes down.

After Starscream successfully locates an energon mine, you are hopeful, perhaps naively so, that Megatron will finally give him a break. You finally understand the grim look on Starscream's faceplate right before he went to report to Megatron about his findings. The warlord is pleased, but not necessarily at the idea of your species' continued survival - rather, the discovery of abundant energon had swelled his confidence in plans to launch an offensive against the Autobots. You glance at your commanding officer, standing at attention on the bridge - his posture appears relaxed and confident, but you as a seeker know what tells to look for - his twitching wings say it all.

Starscream is exhausted, even if he stubbornly refuses to admit it. His systems are on high alert and constantly fire off at the tiniest things - he'd nearly taken your helm off with his null ray when you came to deliver him a cube of energon. His wide optics meet your terrified faceplate before he quickly disables his weapon, optics offlining as he sags back in his chair.

"Frag it," Starscream mutters, rubbing his faceplate with rough servos. "That slagging, good-for-nothing spawn of a glitch. We're in no shape to fight."

It's true - demoralization was at an all-time high. Bots were exhausted and running on fumes from the prolonged lack of energon, and would need time to recover. However, you're more worried about Starscream - inevitably, he's going to play a major role in the attack. While you don't doubt his strength, sheer willpower could only get any bot so far - and you've been worried about him keeling over on the spot for a while.

Leading up to the attack, you gaze at your commander as he stands on the precipice of a rocky cliff overlooking the Autobots' regular area of patrol. He looks so alone, and you cannot bear it as soon as you watch his servos curl into a fists, the only show of emotion he will allow himself. You know he's forcing himself to stay upright, if only to hide the defeated slump of his shoulders because as he said - the Decepticons are in no condition to fight, and you only need glance back at the rest of the straggling troops to see that he's correct.

He glances at you as you quietly step forwards to stand beside him. His faceplate is expressionless, but his servos relax as your optics meet for a few nanokliks. "With me," he says quietly, only for your audials. Then, he's looking forwards again, resolute, as the Autobots rev into view below you and Megatron roars the command to attack.

The battle was a disaster. Under Orion Pax's - no, Optimus Prime's - leadership, the Autobots had spent time refueling and familiarizing themselves with their new surroundings, giving them the upper hand in both physical combat and strategy. It wasn't long before Megatron was bellowing at you to retreat, and Knockout soon found himself with his hands full and a line of the injured spilling out of his medbay and winding down the corridors in a cacophony of pained groans.

You'd escaped relatively unscathed, with no injuries that required immediate attention, and were thankful to see that Starscream was the same. However, he only seemed to grow more tense as you both landed back at base. "Go to my habsuite," Starscream orders. He's so tense that his frame is close to vibrating. "Do not come out until I return."

Before you can ask him what's happening, he's stalking off in the direction of the bridge, and... oh.

You're once more struck by the sheer feeling of helplessness as you watch him go. You couldn't even get him to recharge properly, take better care of himself when he took such good care of you, considering the circumstances - and now, even though the battle had left you both relatively unscathed, it seemed that you'd counted your blessings too early. You knew you had no hope of protecting Starscream against what Megatron was about to do, and you hated it.

Back in Starscream's habsuite, you'd dragged the med kit out and waited anxiously, wearing circles into the floor with your pacing. You hoped it wouldn't be too bad. After all, the failure had not been Starscream's fault and he'd just located an energon mine. Surely...?

By now, you really should have learned not to get your hopes up. It's a few cycles before a loud bang shudders unexpectedly through the room, as if something - or somebot, had fallen against the door. You shoot up, frantically slapping at the door unlock button, and Starscream all but collapses into his habsuite in a bloodied heap.

"Oh, Primus," you breathe, horrified, and launch yourself forwards to drag him into the room.

Even just by touching him, your servos are sticky with energon, and you bite back a sob as you fumble with the latches of the med kit. You have no idea where to start and are the least qualified bot here to do this, but you know that if you tried to drag Starscream to the medbay in front of lines and lines of Decepticon soldiers, he would regain consciousness just to tear you apart himself.

His optics are offlined, and the only thing keeping you from breaking down is the subtle rise and fall of his chassis. You reign yourself in best as you can, and try to remember what you've been taught in the one stellar cycle you were at the Academy. Okay. Initial assessment: jagged rips in his plating, torn wires... it looked bad, but these were all injuries you could deal with as accidents during training had been inevitable - and you thank Primus that the integrity of his wings had been spared, with rips in the plating like the rest of his frame but no torn wires there.

You snatch a cloth and the welder out of the med kit with shaky servos, swiping haphazardly at the energon on Starscream's chassis. A screeching buzz fills the air as you get to work on the biggest tear that you can see. He can get Knockout to buff them out later, because as ugly as your handiwork might be, right now you're only concerned with getting the energon to stop because there's just so much.

You're almost done with the biggest rip when Starscream's systems suddenly hiss back to life, and his optics cycle before blearily landing on you. After a moment, they slide to the screeching welder in your shaky servo, taking in his battered frame, the pool of energon below you both before offlining his optics again and lying back with a groan. You continue with your work, and Starscream doesn't interrupt you, allowing you to turn his arms this way and that as you re-join wires and solder his plates to the best of your ability. At some point, he'd regained enough strength to quietly watch you work, voicing no complaint about the quality of your rough patch job nor flinching or making any sound of pain.

Eventually, the only thing left to patch is his wings. Your vocalizer resets with a click before you can speak. "Sir," you mumble. "Your, uh, your wings need repair as well."

To seekers, wings are sacred, treated as the most intimate parts of one's frame. To be honest, you weren't sure if Starscream would let you touch his wings, and you were really going out on a limb to ask. However, you couldn't sit idly by and not even attempt to fix the jagged rips that marred his beautiful wings. To your shock, Starscream soundlessly heaves himself upright and turns around to bare his wings to you. You must have taken a few nanokliks too long, because Starscream shifts impatiently. "Turbofox got your glossa?" he rasps, and even if his voice sounds weaker than usual, you could cry with relief to hear him again.

You kneel delicately behind him, servo hovering over his left wing before you finally dare to lightly brush your fingers over the smooth plating. Starscream's wings twitch ever so slightly and he ex-vents sharply, but otherwise makes no motion to get away. Wings are especially sensitive and while he betrayed no pain when you were welding the other parts of his frame, you almost felt bad for having to touch the welder to his wings, despite the necessity. The welder screeches again, and Starscream visibly shudders when it touches the edge of the first rip. His servos are close to digging dents into the floor by the time you get to the second one, and he's ex-venting raggedly. "Last one," you murmur, wanting desperately to offer some comfort.

Starscream nods wordlessly and braces himself again, shoulders tense as the screech of the welder fills the air. The last rip has torn into his aileron and he can't hold back a ragged gasp as you work the welder over the tender area. You hate feeling him jerk and twitch beneath your servos in barely-suppressed agony. But finally, after what feels like forever, you click the welder off and plunge the room back into silence, save for Starscream's rough ex-vents. You are reluctant to move away from him so quickly, especially when he's in this condition, so you quietly stay where you are, gently brushing your servo over the broad, unmarred sections of his wings in silent comfort.

He could have easily pushed you away, but you're relieved that he doesn't, allowing you to continue touching him as he collects himself. It's a few kliks before he makes to get up, scowling in disgust as he takes in his energon caked frame and the rapidly drying puddle on the floor. You busy yourself with tidying the med kit, purposely looking away as Starscream takes a nanoklik to steady himself.

He's no doubt due for a visit to the washracks, and looking down at your own frame, you're no better. If anything, you're eager to cleanse yourself of Starscream's energon - the memory of his crumpled frame on the floor flashes through your processor, and you accept with quiet resignation that this will feature in your nightmares at some point.

"Cadet."

You look up, and Starscream is watching you with an unreadable expression on his faceplate.

"You performed well."

With wide optics, you nod jerkily at him from where you're still kneeling on the floor. You swear you caught the corner of his intake twitch upwards before he whirled round and stalked off again, clearly in dire need of a wash.

Rising to your pedes with a wince, you shake out the numbness of compressed wires in your legs. However, your spark thrums with the dizzying satisfaction of having been able to help, and the lightheaded thrill of receiving praise from Starscream.

Previous / Next

#transformers #maccadam #starscream #transformers x reader #starscream x reader #tf starscream #Cadet AU

219 notes · View notes

ninguitar · 9 months ago

Text

LOWKEY.　　◦　　next.

one. the party & the after party.

❛ in which a concert you were tantalized by your friends into attending led to a one-night hook-up with band member, yu "karina" jimin, who was coincidentally a classmate, too. though incredulous and foolish, in karina's eyes, you were way too good to have you slipping through her fingers, but even so, she couldn't just act on it, leaving the two of you in an awkward predicament, keeping the feelings amidst lowkey. ❜

WILD, BUSTLING PARTIES were never your type of scene; though, nonetheless, you attended them—out of boredom, of course. you couldn't go a month without being dragged to some lousy party by one of your friends, mainly keeho or chaewon.

while your hands interlaced with one-another, you waited for manon, hoping the girl would appear magically. running a hand through your hair, you sighed before rubbing your temples.

the scent of lavender infiltrated your nose, providing a welcome contrast to the raucous chatter of people over the roaring music. the only break in the impending noise was a group of girls engaging in animated and playful banter, all dressed in matching, biker-adjacent attire.

"uh, hey."

your mind instantly snapped away from your lost, recurring thoughts, and turning around, your head was met with a girl who gave you a delicate smile—the same girl who'd you been promptly staring at previously. careful, concentrated brown eyes rake up your figure—up and down. "can i sit with you?"

you only nodded, the tips of your fingers tracing along your knuckles, which only made the girl more confused. "i'm jimin, but karina's fine, too," karina murmurs, her hand flat on the wooden planks of the stairs.

again, you nodded, glad that you could put a name to such a gorgeous face. "y/n," you merely slur out before muttering something incoherent. "you, uh… listen to the band?"

"what?" a snicker escaping karina's breath, to which you replied with, "y’know, aespa or whatever." a lazy smile plays on karina's face at your response, as she simply giggles.

"yeah— yeah, sure, i do," karina meekly shrugs, a grin tugging on her face. god, she couldn't believe your drunken haze spurring further than the inability to even hold a conversation without giggling; though, she couldn't help but admit that she was probably even worse, considering the way she practically staggered while walking to you.

you lean back on the steps behind you, your neck craning away—only for karina's hand to meet your chin, cupping it gently, as if you were a delicate artifact. her eyes locked onto your lips, tracing the start and end of it. with your back plastered against the cold, wooden steps, you met eye to eye with karina.

"can i? i promise i don't bite," to which, you meekly nod, closing the gap between you two. her tongue darted out swiftly, as her arms snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer in any possible distance between the two of you.

phones rang, beeping repeatedly, while you two were too entangled in each other to notice—your lips against her's left karina hazed, everything seemingly like a blur. and so, for the rest of the night, you two were away—doing who knows what.

notes. i PROMISE the future chapters will be a lot better than this 💔💔

taglist. ୨ৎ @yeetaberry127 @yoontoonwhs @1luvkarina @sed7ction @stareaa

@cceanvvaves @ariiiiii8iiiii @nwjnsloona @yjiminswallet (send an ask, or dm if you want to be tagged !! )

#୨ৎ AESPA — LOWKEY #fics 　.#kpop smau #smau #kpop imagines #kpop x readers #aespa smau #aespa imagines #karina smau #aespa karina #aespa karina x reader #yu jimin #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader

147 notes · View notes

movingmusically · 1 month ago

Text

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 17

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist

I woke up slowly, stretching against the sheets, my body still warm from sleep. The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside, but the night before still lingered—thick in my thoughts, in my skin.

Austin.

The way he’d kissed me, slow and certain, his fingers skimming my hip like he was memorising the feel of me. The way he’d hesitated before stepping back, like he didn’t really want to leave.

Yeah.

I exhaled, running a hand over my face before forcing myself up.

In the kitchen, Callum was already up, slouched at the counter in his hoodie, cradling a cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Golo sprawled at his feet, tail flicking lazily when he saw me.

I grabbed a mug and poured myself a tea, leaning back against the counter as I took a sip.

Callum barely glanced up. “You’re up early.”

I smirked. “So are you.”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, well. Some of us have jobs.”

I hummed over my tea. “Must be tough.”

His eyes flicked to me then, lazy but sharp. “Not as tough as whatever’s got you looking all…” He gestured vaguely at me. “Dreamy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please shut up.”

Callum smirked into his mug, but let it go.

I pulled myself up onto the counter, stretching out my legs. “What’s on the schedule today?”

“More cockpit stuff,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Twelve hours of pretending to fly a plane.”

I sipped my tea. “Sounds thrilling.”

He sighed. “You joke, but it’s like playing the world’s longest game of ‘don’t touch the wrong button or we all explode.’”

I grinned. “So… your dream job, then.”

Callum snorted, shaking his head. “Right. Anyway.” He drained the rest of his coffee, pushing off the counter. “We probably won’t be back till late, so try not to disappear into your writing hole completely.”

I shrugged, tracing the rim of my mug. “Haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.”

Callum nodded like he’d expected that, then shot me a look as he grabbed his bag. “Just don’t sit around too long waiting for lover boy.”

I flicked a tea bag at him. “Leave.”

He chuckled, dodging it as he pulled open the door. “See you later, Ange.”

And then he was gone.

The flat fell into silence again, and I exhaled, gripping my mug.

I had work to do.

And if I happened to glance at the time more often than usual today…

Well.

I wasn’t going to overthink it.

The sun was low, stretching long golden streaks across the pavement as I sat cross-legged outside Callum’s place, papers spread out around me in a mess only I could decipher. Photos, notes, half-written pages of dialogue—an entire web of thoughts tangled together.

I needed the space to lay everything out, to see it all at once, to let my brain make the connections it had been circling all day.

At least, that was the plan.

Instead, I was mostly just staring at the same paragraph I’d rewritten five times, chewing the end of my pen.

Golo, sprawled beside me in the last patch of sun, let out a long, exaggerated sigh, like he was personally exhausted by my inability to focus.

I reached over, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah, yeah. You and me both.”

His tail thumped once.

I sighed, stretching my arms overhead, letting my gaze drift unfocused over the houses, the street quiet except for the occasional murmur of voices in the distance. It was nice out—cool but not cold, the air fresh from the earlier rain.

Maybe I should’ve just taken the day off from this. Given my brain a break instead of forcing it to work.

I tapped my pen against my knee, frowning at my notes, willing some kind of clarity to strike—

The low rumble of a car engine broke the quiet.

I glanced up just as a black car pulled up along the pavement, and a moment later, the doors swung open.

Callum climbed out first, ruffling his hair as he yawned. “Christ, that was long.”

Austin followed, shutting the door behind him, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the weight of the day.

My stomach did something stupid at the sight of him.

Because he looked good. A little rumpled, a little tired, his hoodie slung over his shoulder, damp hair falling over his forehead.

He clocked me immediately, sitting there amongst my scattered papers, and his face shifted—just slightly, something easing at the sight of me.

“Hey,” he murmured, a little softer than usual.

I hummed, tucking my pen behind my ear. “Long day?”

Callum groaned. “Understatement.” He threw himself down onto the step beside me, rubbing his face. “If I have to fake fly a plane for one more second—”

Austin smirked, stepping over my notes as he sank onto the step on my other side. “You’re not even the one flying.”

Callum shot him a look. “Irrelevant.”

I bit back a laugh, glancing between them. “So, what’s the plan now? Sleeping for twelve hours?”

“Tempting,” Callum muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “But we’re heading to Barry’s for food and drinks.”

Austin nodded, bracing his arms over his knees. “You should come.”

It wasn’t a question.

My stomach flipped.

I reached for a stack of notes, gathering them into some semblance of order. “Who else is going?”

“Most of the cast, I think,” Callum said, stretching his legs out. “Nothing crazy. Just a few drinks, food, hanging out.”

Austin’s gaze flickered to mine, unreadable. “You in?”

I hesitated, glancing down at my scattered pages like I was still pretending I was going to get something done tonight.

Then I exhaled.

“Yeah.”

Austin’s lips curved slightly. “Good.”

Callum nudged my knee with his. “Right, then. Go get pretty.”

I rolled my eyes, shoving his leg away as I pushed up to stand. “I’m already pretty, thanks.”

Callum snorted. “Yeah, yeah.”

Austin just watched me, still smirking. “We’ll leave in twenty?”

I nodded, scooping up my notes and heading inside, heart thudding in a way I was trying really hard not to overanalyse.

I pulled off my t-shirt, tossing it onto the bed before grabbing another from the neatly folded stack. Nothing fancy—just a fitted black one—but the simple act of changing felt more deliberate than it should have.

Not that Callum would let me get away with pretending otherwise.

“You know,” his voice came from the doorway, dripping with amusement, “for a casual night at Barry’s, you’re putting in quite the effort.”

I sighed, not bothering to look at him as I pulled the top into place. “I’m literally just changing my shirt.”

Callum hummed, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “And fixing your makeup. Very suspicious.”

I picked up my mascara from the dresser, flicking him a sharp look. “Maybe I just don’t want to look like I’ve been sitting outside all afternoon, Callum.”

He smirked. “Right. And that has absolutely nothing to do with a certain American?”

I swiped the wand through my lashes, calm, collected. “Would you shut up?”

“Can’t. It’s in my DNA.”

I exhaled slowly, pressing my lips together to blend in my lip balm. “It’s just dinner.”

Callum let out a low whistle. “Jesus. We’re at the part where you start going to social events together. Very couple-y.”

I shot him a warning look, but he was undeterred.

“No, no, I support it,” he continued, all false sincerity. “It’s nice to see my best friend in love.”

I huffed, grabbing a pillow from the bed and chucking it at his head. “I hate you.”

Callum barely dodged it, grinning as he straightened. “Austin’s smitten, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, but something fluttered in my chest. “He is not.”

Callum just gave me a knowing look—one I pointedly ignored as a knock sounded at the door.

Right on cue.

Callum grinned, smug as ever. “That’ll be lover boy now.”

I groaned, shoving past him as I went to open the door.

And then—

Austin.

Standing there, easy and relaxed, his expression softening the second his eyes landed on me.

“Hey,” he murmured.

My stomach dipped.

I smoothed my hands down my jeans, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck.

“Hey.”

Austin glanced between us, his brows raising slightly. “You two ready?”

Callum clapped him on the shoulder. “Always.” Then he glanced at me, smirking. “Though some of us needed a little extra time.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hate you.”

Callum just grinned. “You’ve mentioned.”

Austin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, before Barry starts thinking we ditched him.”

And as we stepped out together, I refused to think about how right it felt.

The walk over to Barry’s wasn’t long—just a short stroll through the complex, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting the pavement in a warm orange glow. The air still carried the lingering chill of early spring, but it wasn’t cold enough to be uncomfortable.

Austin walked beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets, his steps easy and unhurried. Callum was a step ahead, glancing back every now and then with a smirk that I ignored on principle.

The buzz of conversation and the faint sound of music drifted from one of the nearby houses, the low hum of laughter and clinking glasses growing clearer as we reached Barry’s place. The door was open, the unmistakable scent of food wafting out, mingling with something smoky—probably whatever Barry had insisted on grilling.

“Alright, who let him near a barbecue?” Callum muttered as we stepped inside, pulling off his jacket.

Austin chuckled, tossing his keys onto the side table. “It’s a trust exercise at this point.”

Inside, the place was exactly what I expected—warm, relaxed, filled with half the cast lounging on mismatched furniture, a few people leaning against the kitchen counter with beers in hand. There was an ease to it, a natural camaraderie that had formed from months of working together.

Barry appeared from the kitchen, a pair of tongs in one hand, a grin on his face. “About time, ya fuckers.”

Austin smirked. “We had to drag Callum out the door.”

Callum scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Barry barely paid him any mind, his gaze flicking to me instead. “And you—” He pointed a tong-clad hand in my direction. “—our honorary mascot. Finally making a proper appearance.”

I snorted. “Honorary mascot?”

Barry shrugged. “What else do you call someone who keeps showing up and somehow makes us all a little less feral?”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s the bar, huh?”

He grinned. “It is in this lot.”

The conversation easily pulled me in, the energy of the room warm and familiar despite not knowing everyone that well.

Callum had already made himself at home, dropping onto the couch next to Anthony, stealing a sip of his beer without asking. Austin, meanwhile, lingered just a little closer to me, his presence grounding without feeling overbearing.

Barry tilted his head, eyeing us with thinly veiled amusement. “Drinks?”

Austin glanced at me. “You want anything?”

I hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Beer’s fine.”

He nodded, already heading for the kitchen. Barry, of course, didn’t let the moment slide.

As soon as Austin was out of earshot, he smirked. “That’s cute.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What is?”

“The way he looked at you just now.”

My stomach flipped, but I kept my face neutral. “You’re imagining things.”

Barry just let out a low hum, clearly unconvinced. “Sure.”

I sighed, swiping a handful of crisps from the nearest bowl and tossing one into my mouth. “Is this a thing now? Everyone suddenly weighing in on my personal life?”

Barry grinned. “Absolutely.”

I groaned. “Fantastic.”

Before he could get another word in, Austin reappeared, a cold beer in hand, passing it to me without hesitation before popping open his own.

Barry watched the exchange, a little too smug for my liking.

But, for once, he let it go.

The night carried on easily after that—drinks, food, effortless conversation. The kind of gathering where nothing felt forced, where the warmth of familiarity filled the spaces between jokes and stories.

At some point, someone pulled out a deck of cards, a drinking game unfolding in the middle of the living room. I ended up wedged between Callum and Austin on the couch, my thigh brushing against Austin’s, his arm resting loosely along the back of the cushions.

It was easy. Too easy.

And I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

After a while, the game got louder, Barry’s voice carrying over the music as he argued over some ridiculous rule. Drinks sloshed, laughter echoed, and when Callum elbowed me with a grin, daring me to get involved, I took the excuse to slip away.

Austin followed.

Not in a way that made a big deal out of it—just a natural, unspoken decision, like neither of us really had to think about it.

The kitchen had taken on a quieter kind of energy, separate from the chaos in the living room. From here, I could still hear Barry’s voice carrying over the music, loudly arguing the rules of whatever drinking game they’d started, but it felt distant—like background noise.

Austin and I sat on the stools by the counter, turned toward each other, the space between us nonexistent.

My leg was between his, warm where it pressed against the inside of his thigh. Not an accident, not quite on purpose either—just the way we’d settled, the way neither of us had moved away.

His fingers tapped absently against the countertop, the only real sign that he was paying attention to the sounds from the other room. But I felt his body shift slightly, leaning just a fraction closer, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

I swallowed, tracing the rim of my bottle with one finger, hyperaware of the heat where we touched.

“So,” Austin said, his voice low enough that it barely carried past the counter. “Not getting in on the game?”

I smirked. “I think Barry’s making up half the rules as he goes.”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

From the other room, a round of groans and laughter erupted—Callum swearing loudly about something, followed by Barry’s unmistakable cackle.

Austin took a sip of his drink, his free hand resting against his thigh, just next to mine. Close enough that if either of us shifted even slightly, he’d be touching me.

I glanced up at him.

His gaze flickered to mine, steady, something unreadable behind it.

I wet my lips, feeling my pulse pick up. “You good?”

His lips twitched like he was considering something, but instead of answering, his hand shifted just slightly—fingers ghosting against the outside of my thigh, light but deliberate.

I inhaled softly, barely resisting the urge to press closer.

Austin watched me for another second, then, like it was nothing, leaned in just enough to murmur, “Barry’s gonna drag you into that game eventually.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, feeling my heartbeat everywhere. “We’ll see.”

Austin smirked, but his fingers brushed against my leg one last time before he pulled back, reaching for his drink again.

And maybe it was nothing.

But maybe it wasn’t.

The noise from the living room swelled again—another round of laughter, the unmistakable thud of something hitting the floor, followed by someone (probably Callum) groaning in protest.

Austin glanced toward the doorway, amused. “Think they’ve started wrestling yet?”

I snorted, tracing my thumb over the condensation on my bottle. “Give it ten minutes.”

His lips twitched, but his gaze flickered back to me, lingering. “You having a good time?”

I tilted my head, considering. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

Austin hummed, swirling the beer in his bottle. “Barry likes you, you know.”

I huffed. “Barry likes causing chaos.”

He smirked. “That too.” A beat passed, then—quieter—“You fit in with everyone.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.

Because it wasn’t just a casual comment.

He meant it.

Like it wasn’t a given, like he’d noticed. Like he’d been watching.

I shifted slightly, feeling the warmth where our legs pressed together, feeling the weight of his gaze.

From the living room, Barry’s voice rang out, cutting through the low buzz of conversation. “Oi! Where’s our mascot?”

Austin exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, his gaze still steady on mine.

I smirked, rolling my bottle between my palms. “Sounds like my break’s over.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but as I moved to stand, his hand slipped down, pressing lightly against my thigh, just above my knee.

Not stopping me.

Not holding me there.

Just… reminding me.

I swallowed.

And then I stood, smirking down at him. “Coming?”

Austin’s gaze flickered down my body—quick, deliberate—before he grabbed his beer, pushing up from the stool.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Right behind you.”

And when I stepped back into the chaos of the living room, I still felt the ghost of his hand on my leg.

The energy in the living room had shifted into something even rowdier—Barry standing on the couch, arms raised like some kind of victorious gladiator while Anthony and Callum booed dramatically. A pile of playing cards lay scattered across the floor, along with several empty beer bottles.

I shook my head, stepping back into the fray just as Barry spotted me.

“There she is!” he bellowed, pointing. “You’re up next.”

I smirked. “I didn’t agree to anything.”

Barry scoffed. “Not how this works, mascot.” He bent, swiping a card from the floor. “Right. This one means…” He squinted. “Shit, I don’t remember. Someone get me the list.”

Callum groaned from his place on the armchair. “For fuck’s sake, Barry.”

I snorted, plopping down on the couch next to him, tucking my legs up beneath me. Austin followed, sliding into the spot beside me with an ease that didn’t go unnoticed.

Anthony waggled his eyebrows, but I ignored him.

Barry, still struggling to remember the rules of his own game, let out a long sigh. “Alright, new plan. Mascot gets to pick someone to drink with.”

I quirked a brow. “That’s a real rule?”

“Nope,” Callum muttered, rubbing his temple.

Barry shot him a look. “Don’t question the system.”

I rolled my eyes, but my stomach dipped slightly. Because, really, there was only one choice, wasn’t there?

I glanced to my left, where Austin was lounging back against the cushions, his arm stretched along the back, fingertips brushing lightly against my shoulder. He met my gaze, eyes warm, waiting.

I exhaled, reaching for a fresh beer from the table.

Austin’s lips twitched as he leaned in slightly. “That a challenge?”

I smirked, passing him the bottle. “You tell me.”

His fingers brushed against mine as he took it, slow and deliberate, before he twisted off the cap with one hand, tipping the bottle toward me in a silent toast.

I clinked mine against his.

Barry let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, this is interesting.”

Callum groaned. “Shut up, Barry.”

But he was grinning. And so was Anthony. And so was half the damn room, watching with varying degrees of smugness.

Austin ignored them all, his gaze still on me as we both took a sip.

Just a drink. Just a game.

But his knee was still pressed against mine.

And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t just a game at all.

The night stretched on, drinks flowing, laughter echoing through the room. The low thrum of a familiar song weaving between conversations, mixing with the warmth of it all.

I let my head tip back against the couch, watching the way Austin’s fingers absently traced patterns along the label of his beer bottle.

Unhurried. Unthinking.

Like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Like he was just—comfortable.

With me.

The thought lodged itself somewhere deep, something warm curling in my chest before I could shove it away.

Austin must’ve sensed me watching, because he glanced over, brows raising slightly. “What?”

I blinked. “What?”

He smirked, tipping his head toward me. “You’re looking at me like you’ve got something to say.”

I exhaled, shaking my head. “Just thinking.”

Austin hummed, shifting slightly, his knee nudging mine. “Dangerous.”

I rolled my eyes.

But I was still smiling.

Barry, now fully sprawled across an armchair, groaned loudly. “Alright, I’m calling it. Game’s over, I’m old, I need food. I need sleep. I need—” He waved vaguely. “Something.”

Callum stretched, knocking his empty bottle against Anthony’s. “Yeah, yeah. Think we should feed the old man before he starts making up more rules.”

Barry shot him a lazy middle finger but didn’t argue.

People started shifting, grabbing more food, gathering in small groups around the kitchen and living room, the energy shifting into something softer, more subdued.

I stayed where I was.

Austin stayed too.

His fingers drummed against his knee for a second before, without thinking, he reached out, trailing them along the back of my hand. Just light. Just barely there.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb against his, tracing along the side, mirroring the touch.

Austin watched me.

Didn’t move, didn’t smirk, didn’t turn it into a joke.

Just watched.

And maybe it should’ve felt like something fragile, like something we needed to talk about or define or pick apart.

But it didn’t.

It just felt right.

Anthony was the first to call it. He stretched with a groan, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, I’m old, and I’d like to be horizontal somewhere that isn’t Barry’s questionable furniture.”

Barry waved a lazy hand. “Fair enough. See you tomorrow, grandpa.”

Anthony flipped him off on his way out, and slowly, the rest of the night started winding down.

Barry let it go for a bit longer before finally pushing off the arm of the couch. “Right, much as I love hosting, I’d also love to sleep at some point before sunrise. Get out.”

Callum smirked. “So hospitable.”

Barry clapped him on the shoulder. “You know me, mate. The perfect host.”

People started shifting, gathering jackets and finishing off drinks, the night settling into its last stretch.

Callum had drunk more than Austin and me, but not enough to be drunk. Just enough that he was a little looser, a little more talkative. He was still mid-conversation with Nate about some film they both loved when Austin nudged my arm.

“Ready?”

I nodded, pushing up from the couch.

Callum glanced over, raising a brow. “You’re leaving together?”

Austin shot him a flat look. “Yeah, genius. We’re walking back to the same place.”

Callum hummed, like he was deeply considering that. “Right. Of course.” Then he just smiled. Not smug, not teasing—just pleased.

Outside, the air was crisp but not cold, the streetlights casting long shadows along the pavement.

The three of us walked together, Callum still talking, still riding the last edge of his buzz.

Austin walked beside me, easy, unhurried.

And then—

Without thinking, without hesitating—he reached for my hand.

Not subtle. Not some light brush of fingers. Just… there.

I glanced down, warmth blooming in my stomach as his fingers slotted between mine.

Ahead of us, Callum clocked it.

And for once, he didn’t say anything.

He just smiled again, small and knowing, before turning his attention back to the path ahead.

Callum peeled off first, stretching as he pulled out his keys. He glanced back at us once, a small smile still tugging at his lips, before shaking his head like he’d already seen enough.

I narrowed my eyes. “Not a word.”

Callum just chuckled, pushing open the door. “Night, lovebirds.”

I exhaled, shaking my head, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

And when I glanced up at Austin—yeah.

That feeling curled deeper in my chest.

Austin was already looking at me.

Not rushed, not teasing. Just watching. The kind of look that felt like being seen, like he was committing something to memory. The streetlights caught the edges of his face, the softness in his expression, the flicker of something warmer beneath it all. His thumb traced absent circles against my skin, his grip easy but firm, like letting go wasn’t even a thought.

My breath hitched.

I didn’t look away.

“Night, Cal,” I murmured, but the words barely mattered.

Because Austin was still looking at me.

And when his lips curled—just slightly, like he was fighting the urge to really smile—something in my stomach flipped.

His fingers tightened around mine, just enough for me to feel it.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he gave my hand a gentle tug, pulling me toward the door.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

And as we disappeared inside, his fingers still wrapped around mine, it didn’t feel like a decision at all. It felt inevitable.

Taglist:

@slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @myradiaz @butlerrizz @chocolatetree222 @richardslady121 @ilovereadingfanfics

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #fan fiction #fanfic #imagine #austinbutler #austin butler fanfic #fiction #callum turner fic #callum turner #what are friends for fic #waff

40 notes · View notes

worgengel · 2 months ago

Note

Your art feels, for lack of a better term, dirty and grungy in a really good way. Effortlessly messy but still careful and intentional. I really love it. I was wondering, do you have any tips for how you achieve this, and who/what are your inspirations? Thank you, and keep doing what you're doing man, it's really cool. <3

thank you, that means a lot to me, that's really kind

I think i started my process simply from being aggravated that i couldnt draw as neatly as i liked, so i lean into that inability. i dont think its laziness, i think you have to work with how your brain works and the kind of art you enjoy. i think i had to learn what the difference was between "i was avoiding learning this because its hard" vs "this is how my brain works + making difficult art that works with how i visualize the world"

as for what i do to get digital art look nasty and grimy (through a lot of blood, sweat, and tears trying to learn how), i have a few things ive found helpful.

for one, i dont make a seperate layer for my lines vs pencils. the inks go right on top of the pencils and i just erase and carve away as i go.

another thing is working really loose, and a) tightening up your work as you go, erasing stray lines and making clearer forms and b) working with mistakes. also good to not overwork like, effects.

textures are your friend. scan papers and trash and junk. its fun and also you'll see potiental in trash

spattery brushes, rough brushes, scratch and scribble. i recommend collecting as many as possible LMAO, use any and all resources.

dirty up your canvas as you work, not AFTER youre done drawing, at least in my experience

draw a lot. it's gonna look bad a lot of the time but that's how you end up making good bad good art

as for inspirations, i think i have a lot of things i love and it changes often. as for now, i really love the art of robert weaver, brian sanders, bernie fuchs, austin briggs...artists in the late 50s and 60s KNEW how to work seemingly wild lines into a picture. its fascinating.

i really like dark black shadows like mike mignola, ayami kojima, and q hayashida. typically dark shadows make stuff take on an edge

i look at a lot of 90s graphic design. they knew how to make actually interesting graphics back then and it rules, its great to study just to learn how to put together interesting objects into a cohesive artwork

as for general inspo, i watch a lot of movies and listen to a lot of music. movies that mix industral and natural themes together are my groove (the texas chainsaw massacre 1974 and stalker 1979 really hit the mark.) i like metal, goth, industrial, grunge, hip-hop, and country. i just gotta say, like what you like and DONT stick to aesthetics. aesthetic culture is the worst (despite tagging stuff that appeals to my own tastes as aes on my personal blog). 60s art and skater magazines are really different but you gotta like what you like, thats how youre a unique person. i like to pick out any and all pictures that appeal to me. i hoard pictures, sounds, whatever looks cool. its fun. did I mention animal encyclopedias?

overall though, dont stress it ✌️ slap some paint here and there and remember its ok to make art just for the sake of it looking cool

#asks #anon

42 notes · View notes

yizeom · 9 months ago

Text

sharpest tool - gojo satoru

inspired by "sharpest tool" by sabrina carpenter

INFO!

Gojo Satoru x Gn!reader

mentions: no use of y/n, situationship, gaslighting, cheating, no clear communication, lying, toxic!satoru, reader is a grade 1 sorcerer, use of “baby,” satoru is a bit ooc, minimal fluff, angst, reader sucks at making anything look delectable, flashbacks <3

word count: 1.8K

You swear your heart was once again cleaved in two when you hear of your freshly ex-boyfriend, Satoru, was indeed spotted leaving a past exes house. It had been two weeks since he left your apartment, furiously packing his expensive backpack with the various articles of clothing he left scattered across the abode.

two weeks ago

“Satoru, please!” You rushed to grab his jacket sleeve as he fussed it on.

He raised his arm, leaving your arm to fall to your side.

You clenched your fists at your side, a pleading look crossing over your face as he bore holes into you with uncharacteristic blue eyes.

“God, it's the same thing every time.” He raised a hand to his face, his pointer finger and thumb coming up to pinch the bridge of his slender nose. “You always do this.”

Nose crinkling in what you couldn’t tell was anger or sadness, you watched as he scoffed, removing his hand from his face to stare at you. “Call me once you finish working out whatever trust issues you have.”

With that… he left you looking defeated at the door, little reminders of him spread over your now, foreign feeling apartment.

The breakup was inevitable. Satoru was busy fighting curses, getting sent all over the world for weeks at a time. You were busy as well, focusing on the grade 1 curses that have been popping up more frequently throughout Japan.

You didn’t even know if you could call it a “breakup.” The two of you had been seeing each other exclusively for the past seven months yet there was never any clarification on what the two of you were. If you were his “significant other,” you had no idea. It’s not like he made any effort to actually ask you.

Satoru wasn't really the smartest tool in the shed, emotionally-wise. Put him in a warzone and he would have it cleared out in mere minutes. Yet when it came to you two, you coun't really say he was too clever. Claiming that he liked how casual the two of you were, that labels were typically overrated.

Satoru was as emotionally confused as they come, claiming his past ex had screwed him over so bad that opening up would be hard for him. Having your fair share of bad exes, you eagerly reassured him it would that everything would work out in the end.

You weren't entirely sure if his issue with your now-ended relationship was his inability to commit to you or just the mere subtle feelings you had about him lying about how he felt about his ex. He often turned his phone face down when he came over, claiming that he didn't want any distractions from his limited time with you yet you couldn't help the subtle feelings of distrust that lingered.

three months ago

"-then on my walk home, I got another call from Ijichi..." Your voice died off as you glanced at Satoru. Currently, the two of you were laying in your bed, curled up enjoying the little amount of quality time you had with each other. Satoru came to your apartment uncharacteristically early which was a great way to end the day.

When you had asked earlier why he was off so early, he shrugged. "My last appointment for the day was canceled so it looks like I'm yours for the night," he purred into your ear.

Noticing his inattention to your mundane story, you stared at Satoru until he noticed your silence. One of his arms were around you, rubbing small circles on your back while the other tapped on his leg. His face was tilted slightly towards his phone which faced upwards.

Your hand tapped on his thigh and he turned his head towards you, a small yet lazy smile slowly emerging on his face. "Then what happened, Baby?"

You hummed, narrowing your eyes at him teasingly before reaching for his phone. "What has you so distracted?"

He disregarded your joking manner and grabbed your hand in his, shaking his head quickly, "It's nothing, what were you saying?"

Your eyes glanced at his phone and noticing your gaze, he reached over and flipped his phone face down. "I'm just waiting for Nanami to text me back about our mission from today, its no big deal."

You gave a slight nod, your smile had long since faltered but you laced your hand with his, faking a smile while you continued talking about your day, choosing to overlook the fact that Nanami had been with you the entire day and never saw Satoru.

Satoru was usually pretty guarded, even after being with him for months at this point. In the past, you chose to overlook it. Letting him open up to you about things as time goes on but it felt like this relationship was going nowhere. Everything was at a standstill as if you were always the one expressing your feelings and talking about your day.

Although Satoru rarely opened up, it was the little things that really mattered. Him choosing to spend his nights with you when he is probably the most busy person around made you feel all warm inside. Being with him felt right, you couldn't even dare to think about any of your trashy exes when he was with you.

The apartment was cold when you arrived home from work the next day. It was a chilly fall day, with leaves littering the streets and sidewalks. The past two weeks had blended together. It was a new routine of leaving early in the morning, fighting curses or training all day, then returning late at night. Tonight was different, it was the only day you had where you got off somewhat early so you decided that you would treat yourself to a self-care night. It was a different kind of routine, one that kept you busy. The kind of busyness that kept someone from thinking of topics that plagued their mind.

Before, you would eagerly rush to your small apartment, baking any sweet treat recipe you scoured the internet for. You would wait hours for Satoru to reach your apartment. He always wanted to stay in your homey, quaint apartment rather than his skyrise penthouse that overlooked Tokyo. You always thought it was weird but you usually disregarded many things that Satoru did, writing it off as a quirky personality trait.

one month ago

You heard the door open from the kitchen and you peeked past the corner, seeing Satoru slipping off his shoes. Quickly, you rushed over to the counter top, rearranging the sweets for what had to be the tenth time.

“Baby? You up?”

His voice echoed throughout the small area of the apartment. You turned around as he entered the kitchen, covering the sweets while an even sweeter smile was painted on your face. Satoru was easily intrigued by your deliberate position to cover whatever was behind you. He wasn’t too surprised to see you up, you typically waited for him to get to your apartment when you knew he was staying over.

He tried to maneuver around you, slowly slipping his blindfold off in the process. His silky, white hair fell over his face, tickling his eyelids. You tilted your head to the side, teasingly blocking him from seeing whatever it was that you made this time. He raised an eyebrow at you, wiping his mouth at seeing your stare. He distracted you with a hug and glanced over you to see nothing other but what looked like a failed attempt at Kikufuku.

Satoru stepped back, his fingers trailing over his undercut as the scratched the back of his head. It was quiet for a beat before he bust into laughter. Confused, you stood there with your arms crossed over your chest. Satoru doubled over, his laughter never ceasing as he laughed. A sigh left your mouth, your foot tapping against the hardwood floor as you glared at him.

“I was trying to be artistic,” you grumbled. At this, he laughed harder. This was not amusing. How could Kikufuku be this amusing to this man?

His laughter eventually died off and he stood straight again, his right hand coming to his face to wipe his mouth. Your eyes were narrowed at his audacity to laugh at you while you had been trying to do something nice for him!

“Im sorry, okay. Im sorry, but this is just,” He paused, a burst of laughter threatening to leave him again. “It’s just an interesting take on what looks like… Kikufuku? Am I right?”

You deadpanned, eye twitching just slightly to where it suddenly seemed like a good idea to throw something at him. “Yes, Satoru! Ugh, you are so frustrating.”

Satoru pulled you into a sideways hug, giving you a lazy grin, “It looks good!” Your eyes pierced him with a warning look. He chuckled, wiping his mouth before grabbing your face with both hands. Your eyebrows raised as you watched him do the same weird action for the third time. “Why do you keep doing that?” The words left your mouth out of pure curiosity.

“Doing what?” He tilted his head slightly to the side, hair falling over one of his eyes.

You reached up with a hand, brushing the piece of hair out of his eyes while scanning his face with eyes filled with suspect.

“You keep wiping your mouth.”

At your words, his eyes widened a fraction. It was barely noticeable. If you weren’t examining his face so closely, you would’ve missed it. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly before dropping his hands from your face. His hands rubbed your shoulders as he spoke, “I grabbed some dessert on the way home, I guess I keep thinking there’s crumbs on my face.”

Lying came easy to Satoru, it always had and probably always would. He just had to give a sweet smile and bat his thick, long eyelashes and he could get away with anything when it came to you.

You were quiet for a hot second before humming, eyes narrowing slightly before you jokingly questioned why he didn’t bring you any. The corners of his mouth tilted up and he pulled you into his chest, rocking the both of you back and forth slightly before gesturing to the dessert.

“Should I see if you were telling the truth about the Kikufuku?”

You groaned, collapsing onto the couch after slipping off your shoes and trudging into the apartment. It was a tad bit messy… which the plan was to clean last Tuesday yet exactly a week had passed and nothing of the sort was done yet. Your feet ached from walking around all day and you silently cursed yourself for wearing the worst shoes for the day you had. You were just about to get up and massage your aching soles when your phone dinged loudly from the coffee table. Sitting up, you grabbed the device, eyebrows furrowed as you read the notification.

You stared at the text from Satoru, a feeling of dread filling you but also a tiny sliver of hope as well. Your hand ran through your hair as you sighed, the apartment that reeked of him seemingly closing in at the unresolved feelings that stirred in your gut.

an: i fully believe in the satoru gojo loverboy agenda but im obsessed with this song rn so… sorry ! i kinda gave up on this but im just gonna blame it being the second week of school...

#satoru x reader #satoru gojo jjk #satoru gojo #satoru x you #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk #gojo jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

69 notes · View notes

mullermilkshake · 2 months ago

Text

Anaphylaxis.

Levi's night in the emergency room takes an odd turn.

Doctor!Levi Ackerman x Fem! reader Medical,Blood,Description of gore,Kidnapping,Death,Allergic reaction,Anaphylaxis,Restraints

<<< For more Levi content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

Accident and Emergency was always something of a disguise.

That was what Levi thought anyway.

So many individuals crammed into one space, never making ridiculous small talk, the typical banter having no place in such an environment. The patient was a centre of focus, pathetically howling away in agony, or so silent to the extent of their injuries.

With surgical masks on, anyone could walk around without being noticed, or scolded for their inability to think for themselves and actually do the work they were paid to do.

Like Levi.

He never wanted to become a doctor. Especially wasting his life away with his residency, traipsing around after stupid idiots who got themselves into a car crash, drunk. Or those pathetic enough to drop a knife on their foot.

Levi was always surprised how the latter were even given the trust to cook for themselves let alone prepare Christmas dinner for more people than just themselves, it was all so pitiful. He doubted the cleanliness of their houses too, like that would be any better. He could see it now, cat hair and throw rugs that were breeding grounds for bacteria.

Lazy, foolish pigs who would most definitely fail in life.

Maybe there was some use to this profession after all?

Levi could pick up a scalpel and make those necessary incisions with the utmost precision. Surgeries were the only thing he took pride in, the wet sucking noises inside a body cavity of someone vulnerable enough to put their life in the hands of a stranger, that was something which intrigued him.

Crunching bones and lost blood over his gloved hands enough so he could scribble on the wall and have an infinite writing source to mark make without issue. He had no favourites, but there was a nostalgic vibe whenever the scent of freshly sawn bone wafted up his nose.

It was disgusting, unsightly and messy, but he was always in a sterile field. It was the cleanest place in the hospital and Levi counted down the minutes until he was back in the operating room again.

And this night wasn’t anything unusual. The A&E was as busy as one could assume.

A screeching child and his mother, clutching him in the corner of the waiting room, howling at how unfair it was, losing out on his birthday cake with his fingers wrapped up in tissue paper.

On the other side of the waiting room, a fully grown adult man sobbing away next to the artificial potted plant like it was going to hide him. He had already lost his dignity after grasping at his eye with blood trickling between his fingers. It was by far the most pathetic thing Levi had ever seen.

“Which one do y’want Levi?” Hange blundered over from the front desk snapping her gloves over her hand like a large and incredibly happy labrador.

Levi lent against the wall with his arms crossed, hoping he wouldn’t take either before he was called to surgery. “I don’t care four eyes. I won’t be here long.”

“Assisting another surgery eh? Chief Erwin Smith really does have a favourite.” She elbowed him annoyingly as if it would make him smile.

“It’s none of your business. Why don’t you stick to your own… whatever it is that you do and leave me out of it.” He was only doing this department to score more points with his higher ups. He didn’t actually care for the emergency department unless they resulted in surgeries.

“Oh, such a grump!” Hange nodded in the man's direction. “I’ll take him, there’s something interesting about seeing a grown man cry when he’s possibly got one of his eyes gouged out- oh! What if it’s hanging out? I’d be annoyed if I missed out on that.”

The whining child it was then.

Levi prayed for a miracle, something gruesome and ghastly enough to require surgery. As he strode across the waiting room, he wondered, maybe that finger needed reattaching, or it was hanging off with necrotic tissue and tendons severed by a large knife. Maybe it was a crush injury?

Who was he kidding? It was an eight year old kid. He probably just cut himself on gift wrap or burned himself on a candle. He was making enough noise, no way was it as bad as Levi hoped.

He snatched the clipboard from the reception desk and gleaned over at the notes. Eight year old boy, hurt himself on… What? Jesus, was the mother trying to waste his time?

“Hello.” Levi shifted through the notes and did his best not to blow up in her face. “I see your son hurt himself?”

“Yes, it’s his birthday and he said he trapped it in the door and it started bleeding. I’m worried it’s broken.” She clung to the child as he cried, wriggling his hand and glaring at his thumb.

“Hey, kid.”

“H-huh?”

“How did you hurt your thumb?” Levi couldn’t stand kids.

He stopped crying immediately, dropping his hand down to his lap and watching Levi with intensity. “I shut it in the door…”

“Let me see.” The boy did as he was told, sitting upright and pulling the paper napkin away to show a completely ordinary thumb.

“Don’t you need to take us to a room or something?”

“No, we don’t need a room. His thumb is fine.” Levi pinched it and gave it a little wiggle.

The boy beamed and bounced up and down in his seat. “Mama! My thumb is okay, I can eat my cake now!”

She scoffed a little, though Levi was unsure who it was for, not that he cared. “So i-it’s just fine then?”

Levi nodded slowly so she could comprehend it. “There would have been a mark when it happened, maybe a tiny bit of blood, but all the time you’ve been sitting here and he’s held his thumb up, it’s stopped the swelling. It’s not broken; it never was.”

“So we didn’t need to come here then?”

This was Levi’s favourite part. “Nope.”

The woman looked as though she was going to go off in floods of tears, scooping her child up and pulling him out of the emergency room. What an idiot.

Out she went, and in another came, straight on a gurney and before Hange could even look up, Levi rushed over. Gurneys were the best, the highest chance of a surgery.

And right on that Gurney, was you.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Someone who kept him at that hospital, laying silently on the rolling table coming through those automatic doors.

Levi spoke your name, there was no response. “Petra, what happened?”

She wasn’t in her uniform, just a flowy summer dress to battle the humidity away from the air conditioning. “She just collapsed, we met for drinks and we were barely there ten minutes. It could be an allergy, her breathings off but she has no epi-pen. She said she was feeling a little off.”

You and Petra were close. Levi wasn’t worried about how she would handle this, rather he was concerned how your husband would react. And he would catch on far to quickly by word of mouth alone.

For your husband, was the chief of the hospital.

“You did well, Petra. Now leave it to me.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t tell the Chief about this, I’ll do it.”

Without a word of confirmation. Levi wheeled you through the emergency room and looked for somewhere to put you, the beds were full and Levi would not leave you stuck in the corridor all night for Erwin to see.

So he kept pushing down the long hallway that branched off into the different wings for phlebotomy and x-ray and down to the large service elevator down the end, there were more beds available downstairs and preferable away from the idiots screaming and whining over a few broken bones. It would let you heal from whatever alignment you were experiencing faster than waiting around with wastes of space.

“Stay with me.” He said after the doors to the elevator closed.

You were barely breathing, dry mouth, with a blue like tinge to your skin. It was most likely an allergy, one you weren’t aware of.

Further and further down, Levi got the gurney out of the elevator and pushed you down another hallway and there it was good enough for now.

“Come on… don’t do this now.” You had stopped breathing all together. “Stay alive for me; you have to stay alive!”

Levi never panicked, but right now was as close to getting anxious as he ever had done. You weren’t just a patient, you were his boss’s wife. He snatched the defibrillator from the wall and charged it up, he hadn’t even made the time to hook you up or call a nurse.

He climbed the gurney with epinephrine from the drawer, and got on top of you as it charged, stabbing your thigh and overlapping his hands to push down consistently for compressions. One and two, and three, and four. Right up until thirty.

The defibrillator rang a note and was charged. “Don’t fucking die on me.” Levi got down swiftly and pulled the paddles out, everything he did right.His compressions were flawless. There wasn’t anything else he could do right now but wait.

He never saw himself telling Erwin Smith that his wife had died. An allergic reaction to something took your life.

“I did everything I could.” Was all Levi said to him.

“I know you would have, Levi.” His boss could no longer look him in the eye.

It turned out that Erwin had no idea that you had come in at all until he was informed of your death. Levi had expected Petra to speak about you anyway despite his order not to. But she didn’t, Petra had done exactly as she was asked.

Erwin Smith was in the same building as his wife and he didn’t even know. Well, he resigned that same day, taking a step back from medicine for good as far as Levi understood. After that, Levi worked hard to study on allergens and develop his own specialty within that field, giving up on surgery all together.

It shot him up the promotional ladder like nothing else. A man, riddled with guilt from being unable to save the life of someone so close to one of the most influential men in medicine in that part of the country.

Valiant and admirable. People often told Levi that. He was reliable too, working copious amounts of more overtime than before. Working. Just working.

Working.

“Doctor Ackerman?” In a little over a year, Levi had made it to the head of his own department.

“What is it?” Levi was collecting his things from his locker to take downstairs, more results called for more overtime and he required silence to concentrate away from stupid questions.

“How do I calculate the concentration of Mr Yeager’s dose?”

It really was a stupid question. “I’m clocking off, go ask a nurse.”

“But sir-”

“Go ask a nurse.” Levi did not have time for pathetic students when there were easy solutions right in front of them. He had to learn the hard way and so could they.

He hooked his coat over his arm and wandered down to the elevator, taking it down to a quiet sub level. Down each floor this way often got him thinking of you, one of the reasons he had stayed at the hospital for so long. Though after everything, he wasn’t really sure why he stayed in this specific hospital either.

When he could have just moved you.

The elevator doors opened and Levi walked the long hall pulling out a key from his pocket, a special key to open a very special door that no one else had access to. A door that was hidden. A door that was unnoticeable.

He heard you as soon as he opened the door, still, you weren’t adjusted to life down here, not even after a year. Levi had explained to you exactly what happened and that Erwin was long gone from the hospital and that part of the country too.

You still weren’t convinced and had to fight him every step of the way. At least you had spirit. Levi liked that.

Levi was certain you had tried all day to find something to escape with or to hurt him when he came through the door, that was why he shortened your restraints.

It was far easier to fake someone's death than Levi first though. Originally, he really did think you were dead, laying there ready to be identified, but you were still breathing, heart pumping just barely enough for the monitor to pick up. And Levi did it all on his own down in the basement.

You hadn’t left this place since that day.

One comment about how 'fucked up' your face was beyond recognition and Erwin decided it best not to see your body. Levi handled everything. Levi controlled the entire situation in his favour.

“Stay the hell away from me.”

“I work hard all day and this is the greeting I get?” Levi sighed and wiped the day from his eyes, laying down his coat on the back of the little swivel chair in the corner.

“I don’t greet psychopaths. One day, someone will know I’m down here. And my husband will come back for me- do you hear me?!” You launched a little metal trash can at your feet in his direction, but it never even got close to hitting him.

He loosened his tie and sat down to slip off his shoes. After a few months, Levi had sold his apartment and lived permanently down in the hospitals old blocked off basement. He made it his own, cleaned it up enough that it was sterile with endless supplies of chemicals upstairs. The place still had electricity and made a wonderful home.

“Look, I don’t want to argue today. Can we just be civil and speak to each other like adults? I’m tired and just want to spend some time with you.” Eventually you would give in, and in due course you would let Levi in and push Erwin Smith from your mind for good.

But until then, he would keep taking care of you and keep trying to show you just how much he cared for you.

That was his job as a doctor after all. To care for people.

He just happened to love you as well.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#yandere levi ackerman #levi ackerman #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #levi x reader #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi x you #aot #shingeki no kyojin #doctor levi #minors do not interact #minors dni

29 notes · View notes

tagthescullion · 5 months ago

Note

I love how Hades does care about his kids but simultaneously has absolutely no clue how to show it. He wants to show Nico he cares about his wellbeing while solving his problem of how to travel anywhere without collapsing from exhaustion for three hours? He'll get him a zombie chauffeur to drive him around so he doesn't have to travel! Perfectly reasonable gift like mortal parents get their kids! Great!...Honestly I wish we could've seen the scene when Nico got Jules-Albert.

ask and you shall be given (months later bc I'm horrid at juggling class, life, and tumblr), this hasn't even been proofread, so apologies for anything I messed up with!

AO3 link

Abnormally Normal

"Eh..." Nico stared at the car apprehensively. "I-- grazie, papà."

Hades nodded, seemingly pleased with himself. Unbothered by the late January cold, he crossed his arms and watched Nico fidgeting with the keys to his new Fiat coupé.

Nico hesitated just a second longer before adding. "You do know I don't have a driving license, though, don't you? I'm not sure how strict things are around here," or around now, he didn't add, "but I'm not old enough to drive. I'm not sure I could... reach the pedals, if I'm honest."

Hades hummed. "Yes, right, I forget mortals can't change form."

He grabbed Nico's shoulder with a hand, and the shadows enveloped them in what --in his father's grasp-- felt like safe darkness. Only a few seconds later, they came out of the shadows into a cemetery.

Nico wasn't sure where they were but the sun cast somewhat longer shadows than it had in New York, so he guessed it was Western Europe.

In the distance --the cemetery was clearly several acres big-- he saw dark roof tiles over lighter material, and the spires of a cathedral.

"France?" He wondered.

Hades nodded. He tapped his staff against the grass they were standing in and the green melted into a circle around a meter of diameter. From under the earth, after a frankly disturbing noise that sounded like wood being splintered, came out a corpse.

The corpse wasn't the big deal, after years handling his father's lesser business --or whatever the god wanted done but was too lazy to do-- Nico was used to morbid occurrences.

No, his bemusement arose from the corpse's outfit... Well, whatever was left of it.

"Is it dressed as..." Nico began. "A car racer?"

"He," Hades corrected. "Is a car racer. That is to say, he was. He cheated and lost his opportunity, as so many do."

Hades didn't seem all that bothered by the poor fellow's unfortunate life choices. That was to be expected, his father was often more interested in people's use after their lifespan.

"He'll drive you around."

Nico stared at Hades open-mouthed. "Drive me around?"

Hades nodded.

"Where?"

His father shrugged. "I've no idea what the youth does these days. That part is for you to figure out."

"Right..." Nico studied the corpse.

Added to the car, it completed the sentiment his father had tried to convey: Nico was to try and have a common teenage experience.

"Your inability to drive won't be an issue, now, will it?" Hades stated confidently. "Jules-Albert will do that for you."

Hades grabbed Nico again, and seconds later they were back in the US, in front of his new car.

Jules-Albert had popped out a few meters away. He saw the car with pearly eyes and muttered angrily- Nico could only understand something about preferring Renault. As if, Nico would rather break pasta to fit a little pot than drive --be driven around by his undead chauffeur-- one of those cheap French monstrosities.

Nico twirled the car keys in his finger a couple of times. He looked at Jules-Albert, at the car, and at his father.

He felt a sudden burst of contentment about the whole situation. It wasn't normal --he'd given up on normal the moment he'd flown in Apollo's car away from Westover Hall--, but here was his father, allergic to all kind of emotion, offering him a birthday gift.

He looked back at Hades, who he could see was staring back, his certainty less strong than it had been when he'd first presented his gift to Nico.

"Grazie, papà," he said. "I--"

Perhaps, his father wasn't the only one disinclined to express affection.

Instead, Nico smiled. A real smile. Not common these days.

Hades cleared his throat.

"All right, well," he waved vaguely around, "enjoy the car."

"And the zombie," Nico nodded, schooling his face into a serious expression. "Will do."

Hades patted his back awkwardly once, before Nico could turn around, he was gone.

#nico di angelo #hades pjo #jules albert #hoo #pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #tagthescullion #mis fics #cevenini responde

38 notes · View notes

devilsmarmalade · 14 days ago

Note

Stance on Eli and Serina's relationship?

i think that eli and serena's relationship is a very interesting perspective from which to view eli and victor's relationship, actually, considering that serena and victor are pretty obvious parallels for each other. i have a complicated relationship with ve schwab's female characters apart from sydney, and i think serena is a good example as to why--she doesn't serve much more narrative purpose other than to support the characterization of the two main male protagonists (which she does so well, but i think that creating a female character for this purpose is lazy).

eli's inability to kill serena, regardless of her ability to literally make him do whatever she wants, is something that i find really interesting. to me, this is eli's inability to kill victor manifesting ten years down the road, which is a fun thing to pick apart. in general, i think their relationship is just really fun to pick apart bc it's like analyzing evervale with extra steps, haha.

i have more that i could say, but i digress. thanks for the ask!

#asks #evervale #eli ever #serena clarke #victor vale #vicious ve schwab

16 notes · View notes

youremyheaven · 1 year ago

Text

female (yin)-centric exercises and movement practices

i am personally all for the burgeoning popularity of somatics and i think the rise of pilates is wonderful.

for a long time, "exercise" meant hitting the gym and painfully enduring sessions that felt like physical torture. unless you're a high performance athlete, i dont really see the merit in resistance training tbh. obviously everybody has different tastes and preferences and some people probably find somatics and pilates too boring and slow and want something more high intensity which is 👍🏼

however, for many of us who struggle to keep up with these and repeatedly admonish ourselves for being "lazy" due to our inability to thrive or be consistent or enjoy these workouts, there are manyyyy other forms of practices that are wonderful and fun to do and are perhaps better suited for our bodies, temperaments, lifestyles etc

first of all, the concept of "exercise" has become synonymous with either losing weight or making gains. we are told that we have to "exercise" to stay fit. but exercise can mean manyyy different things, its not just cardio and weights. and this means a lot of people think if you're not trying to gain or lose anything, you dont "need" to "exercise".

but this is not true, i think "movement" is a better word and everybody regardless of their weight, age, gender or whatever else needs to move their bodies. we were not meant to just sit, stand and lay down, we need to move. not to serve some moral purpose of "fitness" (another flawed concept) but because its spiritually, physically and emotionally bad for us to not move. we feel more alive when we move. our culture has become so dopamine fried, sex addicted, toxic eating and drug abusing in large part because our lifestyles are so sedentary and we crave stimulation. we wouldnt depend on external substances to feel "alive" if we felt that aliveness within us every day.

you dont need to "exercise" but you def need to move!!! when we dont, we feel lethargic, stagnant, our joints (from years of inactivity) become more sensitive, our body hurts, our immunity suffers and aging can bring aches of all kinds but this does not have to be anybody's reality. we change this!!

you're not lazy for not exercising, if you liked how doing an activity made you feel, you would do it all the time. dont punish yourself!!!

i personally think strength training works for many people. this can mean, swimming, cycling, hiking, dancing, pilates, yoga, barre etc

now about somatic movement practices,

somatics is all about the mind-body connection and intentional movement. pilates (which was basically developed from yoga) and yoga are examples of somatic practice

but there are other methods as well:

Rolfing

Alexander method

Feldenkrais method

Laban movement analysis

Fascia training (myofascial release)

and somatic practices also include things like progressive muscle relaxation, emotional freedom technique, body scanning etc

i know it can all be a little overwhelming but tbh there is a lot of overlap between all of these practices so dont feel like you're missing out by not trying them all,, stick to what feels right for you and focus on that.

yin yoga and restorative yoga (very similar but also different) are also helpful

the reason i put "female centric" in the title is bc i feel like the world of diet and exercise is dominated by a masculine worldview of doing things the hard way/aggressive way and by acting with resistance/restraint instead of a more open/whole approach and valuing "slow" progress over quick and easy ones. the reason why ppl hit the gym make quick progress and then relapse is bc its genuinely difficult to put up with a gym routine for most people who aren't physically immune to pain. movement does not have to "hurt", be "draining" or a proof of your willpower as a human being. its fun, easy, natural, fulfilling and a part of life<333 you can proceed more slowly and make progress over time but tbh you'll be lost in the flow so you wont bother checking to see if you have and life is long so there's no rush!! what we gain slowly will last us forever!! bc we alter our body's alignment and our own relationship with it + our lifestyle/routine to truly embody it instead of a "crash and burn" style that leads to burnout.

remember, the river wears out the rocks not through force but simply by flowing<3

anybody can do these exercises btw, not just women lol

if you have doubts or questions, feel free to ask me <333

#somatics #yoga #pilates #yin exercises

80 notes · View notes

angelic-waffles · 4 months ago

Text

I’m powered by Dan Dan noodles and a childlike sense of whimsy, my second Lord of the Flies oc Brick!

Unlike Angie, he was actually specifically created for Lord of the Flies! More info on him under the cut

Pre crash- Brick lived a very normal life pre crash. Almost to a boring degree. His parents weren’t particularly rich, nor were they struggling for money. His father wasn’t a military man, his mother not a radio host, but they were good parents. If not a touch over protective. He was born with albinism and because of this his parents were always wary of him going outside, whether that be due to bullying, his easy to burn skin, his poor eye sight, or all the above. Because of this he was quite a sensitive little boy. Too scared of sports and not particularly interested in any activity, he made do without many friends.

Post crash- (this is the part where Micheal starts writing in past tense but was too lazy to edit it. Just know this is supposed to be current) And then it all went to shit. Yes unlike Angie, Brick does not do well on the island. His first problem would come before alliances even became an issue. He needed to find shade. Not for comfort or rest, but to live. He’s not the brightest crayon in the box but he’s smart enough to know beating sun and no melanin means you’re screwed. So with that and his visual impairments, he resigned himself to the more forested areas, and later the settlements. Sadly for him, he didn’t do much better at forming bonds with the other boys. His naturally panicked demeanor lead him to follow Ralph, but much to everyone in Ralph’s groups chagrin, his inability to be outside in the sun meant he could only really watch the fire at night, if that. He didn’t make many allies on the island, he cried a lot and was too nervous to reach out and talk to anyone first leading to him simply not talking for the most part. His only solace was the fact he became viewed as an object of pity. Maybe Ralph’s crew didn’t think he was useful, but he was a fellow kid stuck on the island, and for that matter a kid who couldn’t help himself like everyone else could.

General info- Brick is 11 and a half, German with albinism, and uses he/him. When it comes to his personality, he’s a hard person to get behind. He’s got insane anxiety, so much so that if you saw him in a parking lot you’d assume he’s on drugs. It’s beyond just the usual ideas of the disorder, rather an all consuming fear of the world and things around him, likely from his sheltered upbringing. He’s almost like a baby in that way, everything is new and terrifying to him all the time and it practically paralyzes him sometimes. He’s also rather sensitive. Brick cries at a lot of things. When he’s happy, or sad, or angry, or excited, his tears just start flowing. He’s definitely a kid who was called a pansy among other things. But despite his anxiety, he’s rather curious by nature. He’s not super smart but he loves learning new things and would listen to you talk about any topic for hours and still be interested. His sense of morality is also pretty strong. He’s seen cruelty from other kids and he knows how it hurts. He’s not a strong person, physically or in will, but he’ll do whatever he can to help people, even if it’s just crying with you. Overall Brick is really childlike. Well obviously he’s 11 but he acts almost younger than he is, especially with his sense of wonder in learning things and his many fears. I don’t actually have a character comparison for him oop

Don’t actually have any bonus content to thank you for reading all this so I’ve just gotta say thanks for staying

#my friend keeps joking about him having radiation poisoning but I’m just not realizing that he technically does?#like he has severe sun burns and the sun is a radiant energy source so… ig he does have radiation poisoning? This is probably wrong idk #art #my art #drawing #artists of tumblr #artists on tumblr #oc #oc art #illustration #lord of the flies oc #lord of the flies #lotf oc #lotf

23 notes · View notes

mxmorbidmidnight · 10 months ago

Text

To disabled people, you have a right to support, you have a right to exist.

We must end this idea of “disabled enough” so many of us deny ourselves or have been denied accomodations and support due to this idea. If you benefit from a cane then you have a right to use a cane. You are not taking away resources from others who “actually need it” if it helps you go about your life with greater ease then you are who it was made for. You have a right to use facilities such as priority seats. You have the right to rest. I promise you my dear that does not make you lazy in the slightest. You have a right to ask when you need support you are not being needy or demanding. If you struggle with urgency issues, you have a right to use the disabled bathroom, if you benefit from it then you have a right to use it. If digit toys help you, then you should be able to carry a fidget toy. If you need more time for certain tasks, you have the right to be given such. I cannot stress this enough, this does not make you lazy. Asking for support does not make you selfish.

You have a right to call others out on their ableism. You are not “too sensitive”, having a disability does not mean you always have to be in good humour about your condition, it does not mean you have to take whatever comes your way. If you are being treated cruelly, if you are being dismissed, demeaned, insulted and talked down upon you have a right to address this.

If you benefit from pre-prepared meals, use them!! It does not make you lazy. All I want you to focus on is that you are keeping yourself as well fed as you can. Reduce your struggle wherever possible! What abled people often consider laziness often is in fact rather how a person with a disability is able to assist themself in their daily life. You are allowed to make things easier for you, in fact I ask that you do.

You are allowed to use mobility aids in public, glucose monitors, nasal cannulas or any other devices that keep you safe and healthy. It does not make you look worse, it is not an eyesore or something that must be hidden. Your disability does not make you unpresentable, you have a right to be in public if your disability affects the way you look, if you make noise or you drool. Your disability does not make you unworthy of being seen.

Your disability doesn’t make you “stupid”. Not scoring well in school does not make you stupid, difficulty with reading or speaking does not make you stupid. Inability to work does not make you a burden. Not contributing to capitalism does not mean your life has no value.

Just because your disability is not as severe as that of others does not mean you shouldn’t be given support. The same goes for if you don’t “look” disabled. You do not owe explanations to others, you should not force yourself to do the same things in the same ways as those without your disability. You are going to do things differently and there are going to be things you can’t do. That does not make you lazy.

I tell you this with all the sincerity in my heart, the only person when it comes to your disability you owe anything to is yourself. You have a right to put yourself first. You have a right to rest. You have a right to exist as you are, a person with a disability.

61 notes · View notes

luckyfinch · 30 days ago

Text

The Magnificent Sans’ Guide to Serving your New Evil Boss

Chapter 13: Almost (But Not Quite) Crazy

🔗 Warning & Chapter List

word count: 2.3k

After trashing, angry-cleaning, trashing a second time, and then angry-deep-cleaning and finally rearranging his bedroom, Swap’s anger subsided.

Killer laughed at him for it as he explained himself over dinner. Swap lunged across the table, and had to be pried off of him by Nightmare.

The reason for his outbursts?—A talk with the Guardian of Negativity himself.

An emotional, disturbing talk, in which Swap subjected himself to ridicule, annoyance, and feelings which he much preferred to keep buried far, far away.

It was awful, but unfortunately necessary to ensure his health and reliability for the team. He listed his concerns, and ‘vented,’ whatever the Hell that was supposed to do.

Nightmare poked around his head with that creepy empath-magic of his to see what the problem was. Turns out, Dream did a lot more SOUL-related tomfoolery than Swap knew. Or, at least, it impacted him more than he’d realized.

To rephrase the Guardian, Swap was so used to Dream regulating his feelings, that, now, he is unable to regulate them himself.

Hence his ‘loud tantrum.’ (Seriously, Fuck You Killer.)

And then Nightmare had the gall to ask Swap if he’d had any ‘anger issues’ before joining the Stars.

..Admittedly, yes, Swap recalled such a time—back when his name was simply Sans, and his lazy-bones baby brother would make jokes about ‘Sans’ lil’ anger problem’ that paired with ‘his lil’ height problem.’

But he was still mad Nightmare would accuse him of such a pitiful trait!

—Again, the reaction unfortunately proved Nightmare’s query, as the Guardian simply raised a brow at Swap when he finally paused his angry ranting.

So. The mood-swings, annoyance, and general unhappiness could all be chalked up to Swap’s now-inability to regulate his emotions like the adult he is. Nightmare suggested he inform the rest of the gang, so that everyone is aware they shouldn’t take Swap’s pissiness too serious for the time being. At least, not until he Gets A Fucking Grip.

“Swap, you good?” Cross yells back, pausing in his tracks from up ahead on the path.

At least he can get some of that excess energy out today.

“YEP!” He calls back, hurrying to catch up to Cross and Horror. When he’s close enough, he continues, “I Was Just Thinking, Apologies. It’s Not Quite The Same, But Seeing Snowdin Is Still…”

“‘s okay, swap,” Horror says before he can continue. The larger Monster places a bony hand on Swap’s shoulder, squeezing lightly in a small gesture of understanding.

He nods. The trio continues forward.

So far, Swap’s Very First Official Outing has been nothing but smooth. Nightmare brought him, Cross, and Horror to some quaint version of Mafiafell first, to Swap’s surprise—what supplies could be found in this…

… well, dump is really the only word he can think of to describe it.

Apparently their Boss had some sort of deal in place with the Sans of this AU. Despite Swap’s attempts to keep his judgement quiet, Nightmare still shot him annoyed glances whenever his emotions flared up in disgust or the like.

Come on, though! How can he not have such reactions when this place is so shitty?

“—IS THAT A FUCKING CORPSE?” Swap exclaims in horrified shock as they pass by a small, gross alley. Cross shushes him immediately, but he doesn’t care. There is a Toriel-Damned body on the ground, beaten and bloody and- it’s THERE!

ON THE GROUND!

SOLID!

Monsters are supposed to dust, not- not do this!!!

Horror slams a hand down over Swap’s mouth before he can start shouting again.

Just as Swap pushes the hand away, gesturing wildly at the body, the Rabbit Monster’s form shudders and then finally gives out on them. Their dust leaves a small pile on the grimy ground.

Swap stares at it with the utmost shock, disgust, and horror possible. They’d looked that awful, and were still ALIVE?!

“You get used to it,” Cross murmurs in a low voice to him,

“….Right, Y- Yeah,” Swap stutters out, feeling choked. His eyes don’t leave the dust until Horror nudges him onward. “Ha, I Know I’m— Well, I-I’m Evil Now, But I-“

“‘Evil?’”

He scoffs at Cross, “You Know What I Mean! I’ve Joined A Band Of Murderous… Eh.. Sociopaths, Really. But It’s Not Like I’ve Ever- Ever… KILLED Someone!”

Swap carries on his ranting, judgements pouring from his mouth.

He doesn’t notice the glance Horror and Cross share as he takes the lead.

“We don’t really… kill people, though.”

“Scoff!”

“he’s not messin’. boss doesn’t like it so much.. can’t get negativity from a corpse, see?” Horror chimes in, awkward.

Swap gives a skeptical look back over his shoulder, but it turns contemplative as he refocuses forward.

Nightmare finishes up his dealings with the Mafiafell Sans within an hour, whatever dealings they may be. He takes three steps out into the snow from the Sans’ house front before an inkling of alarm takes his attention.

Just as he starts on towards the loud whirlwind of mad-agitation-ANGER, a satisfied smile coming to form on his face, there’s a spark of surprise-dread and the tell-tale sound of a bullet leaving its chamber.

Nightmare sighs, hurrying his pace. He rounds a corner and then comes to a stop. There’s more dust than he was expecting, with that he wasn’t expecting any at all.

“Boss, I tried to stop him—“ Cross starts immediately, hands up as he sees Nightmare’s flat expression.

Swap snaps at his friend, “HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK US!”

“That doesn’t mean you—you weren’t supposed to kill him, Swap!”

“Uh, We Work For THE GOD OF NEGATIVITY!”

Cross and Swap continue to yell, and Nightmare lets his eye follow the metallic glint of the gun Swap begins waving around in Cross’ face pissily.

“Horror,” Nightmare calls the tallest, who’d been watching the conflict silently,

“Was he well?” He asks, carefully.

Horror nods. “jumped right up inna’ action.”

“Thought so,” The Guardian hums quietly. Swap wasn’t supposed to dust the assailant, but, then again, the arranged assailant wasn’t supposed to have a gun. It’s a surprise, really, that his freshest ward disarmed and even finished off an attacker so quickly.

It’s the perfect show of dedication—of his moral-compass chipping at last, irreversibly so.

…Though, Nightmare will, of course, need to have a chat with the AU’s Sans for the stunt he tried pulling. The arrangement they made did not include any weapons.

“Silence,” he growls, at last putting an end to Cross and Swap’s argument. Nightmare rolls his shoulders, subtly wincing at the blossoming soreness in his spine. “I have to have a ‘final’ word with this world’s Sans. You three can manage gathering some food from Farmtale without me having to babysit, I hope.”

“Of Course, Sir!” Swap barks immediately, posture straightening like a rod.

Cross nods, simply, the barest hint of purple on his cheekbones the only indication of shame for his bickering—to Horror and Swap, that is. Nightmare can practically taste it, and he waves a hand at Cross to dismiss any concern over it.

“Farm?” Horror speaks hesitantly, eyelight large in his socket.

“Yes,” Nightmare agrees, “You can have a little chat with the Farmer.”

His sharp smile grows wider, red light wavering with his excitement. Nightmare opens his mouth—

“—CAN I KEEP THIS?” Swap shouts suddenly, just as Nightmare’s about to send the three off. The Guardian’s displeasure is made clear as he gloweres, though Swap doesn’t appear to care, attention instead taken-up by the firearm still in his hold. “I Grabbed It Off That, Uh.. The.. Monster.”

Guilt trickles and seeps from Swap’s SOUL, with a hint of self-loathing and an aftertaste that somehow contains both glee and disgust. Nightmare shrugs, then glances down at the ground; the dust has all been swept away with the breeze, or otherwise is good as untraceable, mixed in with all the surrounding snow; a dark holster lays where the Monster must have Fallen, half-sticking out of the snow now.

“..Why not. Don’t shoot anyone, I don’t want to waste my time healing Killer.” The tar-dripping skeleton waves a hand, gesturing at the weapon’s holster in the snow. Swap alights with excitement, quickly moving to grab it.

As Nightmare finally sends the three through a portal to Farmtale, in the silence of his short-standing reprieve, his grin morphs into what could have been a proper smile on anyone else’s face.

Horror vanishes the second the three skeletons step out of Nightmare’s portal, feet just touching the grassy ground when he’s speeding off in a hurried pace.

Before Swap can say a word, Cross is shaking his head exasperatedly. “Horror always gets really excited to see Farm—that’s, ah, Farmtale’s Sans.”

He nods. Swap figures he’d be really excited to see Red, too, after such lengthy times. The familiar face (pun intended) surely would be nice; seeing a friend rather uninvolved in the Multiversal conflicts Swap’s been dragged down and tied to.

Cross shows Swap the way to a nice little barnhouse, and instructs him on what all to grab. The pair make short work of gathering what fruits and vegetables Horror will want, placing everything into tough, tan sacks they found hung on racks in a corner. Swap grabs a bundle of carrots, and hesitates a little too long in putting them into the sack—

(“carrot,” Ink had called Papyrus once, way back when. “it matches with ‘blueberry,’ y’see?”

Swap had told Ink to stop calling him that, for what must have been the hundredth time. “Oh, Ink, It’s Just ‘Blue!’”

The joke was… heartwarming, though.)

—Cross chuffs in the way only a skeleton-Monster does; in-place of clearing one’s throat. Swap looks over, sees his friend staring at him with the flattest expression possible. Cross raises a hand, and as Swap’s mind registers the single blueberry held pinched between Cross’ thumb and index finger, he promptly bursts out laughing and his troubles are forgotten.

When they finish up, Swap and Cross make their way towards the small home Horror ran off to, bags carried in-tow. They take to loitering a few feet away from the porch, allowing Horror his own time for leisure.

In the meanwhile Swap studies his new, nifty weapon. It's a shiny matte-black that could be described as non-descript, though he thinks it’s rather nice—sleek, maybe, would be a fair word-choice. The holster-belt is something else altogether; old, dark-stained pleather that feels cheap beneath his gloved fingers. Still, the attached storage is quite exciting.

He holsters the firearm a little clumsily, securing it with a sewn-on little hoop attached to the belt. “When Horror Gets Back, Let’s Go Ahead And Leave.”

“Mh,” hums Cross, and Swap can tell by now that it’s his friend’s way of giving a lazy agreement.

Vworp. The faint sound of magic.

“Sorry, are you—?” A voice begins to ask from behind.

Swap spins around, gun unholstered and pointed straight out. A cut-off shriek answers in turn.

Another skeleton—another Sans, stands with his hands up in surrender. The guy looks exhausted, big bags under his sockets and a scared smile on his skull. He’s got on a weird blue hat, and a matching uniform. Nothing like a Royal Guardsman’s uniform, he can’t help thinking.

“Who Are You?” Barks Swap threateningly, pushing the barrel of the stolen gun harder against his alternate’s forehead.

“i’- i’m j-just the messenger, bro. just the mail guy.”

“Aahhh, Post.” Cross snaps his fingers, nodding. To Swap, he says, “I know him. He’s some weird, ah.. sans-versial mail service. Came by the Castle once to deliver Killer a letter.”

The gun lowers, but Swap remains wary. “Okay.. Apologies, Then.”

‘Post’, apparently, sighs in relief, straightening himself out. “its cool. cool cool cool. uh, i got a letter for a ‘swap?’”

“… That’d Be Me.”

The mailbringer reaches into his satchel and procures a wrinkled, bunched up ball of paper, which he extends out to Swap.

“Well, You Mustn’t Be A Very Good Mail-Man,” he huffs, taking it.

Post looks away. “he gave it to me like that..”

Swap shrugs, not really caring. He begins to unfold the paper.

“…Ah.” Swap finally manages, staring down at the page. It’s.. thoughtful, coming from Error.

Maybe.

Almost suspicious, really, considering Error is apologizing (APOLOGIZING!!!) to a ‘glitch’ like himself.

Cross grabs his arm, trying to look over his shoulder. “What? Who’s it—damn, that handwriting..”

The Soldier shrugs Cross away, folding the paper up much more neatly than it was delivered. It’s tucked into his bandana. “It’s… Kind, Of Him, To Write Me An Apology.”

“Seems half-assed.”

He glances sideways at Cross. “It’s Kind,” Swap repeats. “Error Isn’t … Normal. Coming From Him, This Letter—It Means He Went Out Of His Way To Write This, And To Find, Er.. Post, Here, To Deliver It To Me, Instead Of Simply Dragging Me Off To The Anti-Void To Say He’s ‘Sorry.’”

The monochrome Monster simply stares at him, blankly. “…You’re too nice, Swap.”

“I Know,” he sighs. “But… Error’s My Friend.”

Swap feels something dull in his chest, something like surprise, muted but present, at the truth in his words. He shouldn’t by any means think of Error as a proper friend, but he does. His insane, cruel, destructive friend… who, despite his nature, writes letters saying he apologizes rather than just a simple sorry, and who would draw a stupid little doodle of them together on the same page.

He sighs again, louder. “…I’m Far Too Nice.”

“cool. i’m gonna head out now, so..”

“Can I Send Something Back?”

“……yyyep. ‘course,” Post grits out, looking annoyed yet resigned.

Post hands over a blank piece of paper from his bag, and a blue pen, chuckling under his breath at the look Swap gives him for it.

He writes a quick note, thanking Error for apologizing, and as a last thought he doodles a little something as well before handing it to Post.

Horror comes out from the house just a few minutes after Post’s gone. He lifts the food-filled sacks with ease, and it’s not too long at all before their Boss decides to come get them.

“So, Can We Get A Shooting Range? Please, Please, Please—“

————

< previous | next >

* Post!Sans created by @ridgewell04

** Swap’s new weapon inspo was this tiktok by @beaboepx

#swap’s magnificent evil guide #swap joins the bad sanses #tmsg #nightmare’s gang #underswap sans #swap sans #utmv au #utmv fanfic #utmv #cross sans #xtale cross #horror sans #dreamtale nightmare sans #nightmare sans #post sans #chapter 13

17 notes · View notes